#the upward droplet things i draw on him

[squidkid15]

ghost au ;_; why must you hurt me ths tuesday morning.................

can wukong interact with anything? or is he strictly incorporeal?

Because it's been beating me up for the past few days and I gotta share the agony.

As for Wukong, he can interact with small and lighter objects! Stuff that fits in his hands and isn't more than a couple pounds he can lift, and he can interact with most objects to some degree if he chooses, and theyre not too large/heavy for him. Like uhh...if a cat could move the object, he could. If a cat couldnt, he probably can't.

He can also be fully incorporeal, phasing through things. He doesn't do it super often though, and actually engages in surprisingly few "ghosty" abilities, and usually acts relatively "normal" whenever he can. He can float, but walks most places.

All his senses still work, he can feel and smell and all that. He can't eat, but he can taste! Seen here after discovering a peach stash. (His love of them was not forgotten.)

[moonstruckme]

Hello! First I wanted to tell you how much I love your work, I think I almost read them all ! Second, I wanted to request, if that’s ok, a poly!marauders or any marauder with a reader insecure about her small chest. I thank you for the time you’ll take reading my request, and hope you’ll continue writing !

Thank you lovely :)

cw: smut mdni, reader has insecurities around breast size and makes a joke about looking like a boy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 797 words

The sky outside is a pale gray, and droplets of rain cling dearly to leaves and flower petals. You’ve left the bedroom window open, letting in the cool breeze that smells of green and freshness. It licks over your skin like a fine mist, sweet and earthy. 

But you like Remus’ licks better. 

His mouth is warm on your breast, both of your books turned over and forgotten at the end of the bed. You have one hand burrowed in his hair, extra fluffy from the damp air, while your other runs up and down his back, beseeching. Remus kisses and sucks at you so gently you don’t even suspect the hickey he’s leaving behind until he moves to a different spot and you see the mark. You don’t let him get very far on his next project. 

“Rem,” you plead, giving his hair another little tug. 

He chuckles but complies, stretching up for a syrupy, lingering kiss. You sigh into his mouth. He devours it happily, slipping a hand around to the small of your back and starting to press you downwards onto the pillows. But that’s a position you haven’t taken for a reason, and you push back, covering your resistance with the guise of kissing Remus harder, forcing you both upright. 

Remus’ mouth curves against yours. He goes along with you, nipping playfully at your lip and gripping you tighter, rougher. 

But it’s not long before he tries again, urging you horizontal so he can get on top of you properly. This time, when you don’t go, he takes notice. 

“Something wrong?” he asks casually, still tending to the corner of your mouth with soft, sweet kisses.

You hum a denial and go for the distraction, clutching at the muscles of his back and trying to maneuver yourself into his lap. Not particularly easy, since he’s currently in your lap, his body spread over you with his legs on either side of your hips. 

Remus sets a hand on your shoulder. A restraint. “Sure you don’t want to tell me?” he asks softly. “I can tell something’s bothering you.” 

Your lips still on his. For a few moments, the only sounds are bird calls and the tinkling of raindrops falling from trees like silver coins. Remus doesn’t pull away. He waits for you. 

“I don’t really want to lie down like this,” you admit. 

“That’s fine.” Remus’ hand slopes down your shoulder, thumb beginning to draw circles into your arm. He’s always had a sense for when you might need soothing. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah.” You laugh at yourself, a light little puff of air that sounds as forced as it feels. “I’m being vain.” 

His eyebrow twitches upward. “How’s that?”

It’s an effort not to look down at your chest. “I’m just not really feeling my boobs lately,” you say simply, trying once more for insouciance. “I don’t even want to think about how they’d look concaving back into me, so I’d rather avoid having to see it.” 

Remus grins, a small, crooked thing that lets you know he’s playing along with your levity even if he doesn’t buy into it. “They do not concave,” he sneers teasingly. “And you don’t have to be the one feeling them, dovey. I’ve been feeling them for about a half hour now, and I’d say they feel excellent.” 

“Ha ha.” You direct your smile just over his shoulder. 

Remus hums and plants a hand in the middle of your chest. “Now, that didn’t sound very sincere,” he says, pushing downward. 

There’s a bit more force to the motion this time, and you can’t resist for long. You go down giggling, even as unease twists peskily in your gut. 

“See?” Remus bends over you, laying a kiss on your cheek before creeping downwards. “Still lovely.” 

“I’ve become a young boy,” you lament jokingly, but squeak when Remus nips admonishingly at your neck. 

“They’re perfect,” he says, mouth marking a trail down into the valley of your chest. He presses his lips to the inside of one breast. Lets them linger there, emanating a tenderness you can feel seeping into your core. When he lifts them, it’s with a soft suctioning sound. “Perfect.” 

“Remus,” you whisper. 

His eyes flick up to yours, eyelashes nearly brushing his eyebrows from the angle. “Yes?” 

“You…you don’t have to.” 

He looks back down, tsking. He sets another kiss on the same breast, moving slowly closer to the stiff peak of your nipple. “Still doesn’t believe me,” he mutters as if to himself. Another press of his lips, this one almost directly on the bud. 

Remus sighs, and goosebumps skitter over your skin. You shiver.

“I think you may have to get comfortable, darling. I’m going to be busy here for a while.”

[whateveriwant]

No thoughts, just Punk!Simon.

Punk!Simon who dresses like he shops exclusively at Hot Topic. We're talking band t-shirts, combat boots, leather anything he can get his hands on. His style is bold, accessories maximized, and his entire wardrobe can be condensed into one of three colors: black, gray, and dark gray.

Punk!Simon who likes to wear lots of jewelry. Thick chains, bulky rings, decorative pins pressed into his jackets. His pieces are mostly silver and always real, none of that fake, turn your skin green shit. Keep him far away from metal detectors because he will set them off.

Punk!Simon who listens to only the grungiest of grunge rock music. Ask him for recommendations and he's spouting off six or seven bands that are so underground they may as well reside in the Earth's mantle. Don't leave him in charge of the playlist when driving together unless you want a bad case of tinnitus for the next four hours.

Punk!Simon who’s tatted up to high heaven. You thought he only had his left sleeve done, until you saw him working out without his shirt on one day. Turns out it doesn't just stop at his shoulder, but continues downward, wrapping around his trunk like vines of black and gray ivy.

Punk!Simon who's sporting more than one set of piercings. You ask him how many he has and (with a smirk) he tells you six, and you try to take a mental tally of the ones you've seen. 1) eyebrow 2) industrial 3) nostril 4) snake bites 5) areolas 6) . . . 6) . . . . . Huh. Where's the sixth?

Punk!Simon who experiments with a little body modification. Not just the normal piercings and tattoos, but things many people would consider to be on the more extreme side. Stretched lobes, sharpened canines, . . . bifurcated tongue? 👀

Punk!Simon who, on an uncharacteristically unmasked day, grabs your attention as you enjoy a round of drinks with friends. One minute you were sitting there, chatting, just minding your business, and the next your gaze was locked onto Simon's tongue as it darted out from in between his plump lips. You tried not to let your eyes linger, but you couldn't help it. You'd never seen something like that before in person. A tongue split right down the center, cut with surgical precision from the looks of it. It had clearly been done on purpose, not an accident or deformity, but you hadn't expected to see it as you watched him lick away a bourbon droplet from the corner of his mouth. As you stare, said mouth then curves slyly, impish, into a grin just shy of wicked. The movement makes your eyes dart upwards, where they meet Simon's, and he's giving you a look that says one thing: Caught you.

With that taunting expression, Simon turns in his seat, plants his elbows on the table, and blocks out the rest of your group as he asks lowly, “Somethin’ the matter, sweet’eart?”

His tone makes you startle, eyes rounding in surprise, mouth fluttering open and closed like a flailing fish. “N-No, I was– I– You– I–”

“Wha's wrong?” His brow furrows, teasing. “Cat got your tongue?”

Oh, the bastard.

But the reminder has your gaze dropping back to his lips unthinkingly, almost like you secretly wish he'll grant you another peek for your sick fascination.

He doesn't, keeps that serpentine tongue tucked within the confines of his jaw, but it's like he can read your mind because his smile curves further, drawing even closer to you as he says, “Curious?”

It's like the rattling of a deadly snake's tail, the way he hisses out the question. It means to warn you of danger ahead, of expert predation, of total and utter annihilation should you let him take a bite.

You drag your eyes back up to his smoky ones, half expecting to find slitted pupils that speak of poison. There isn't, just a mirthful quirk to his brow, and a solitary nod is all you can offer him in return.

“‘S alright.” He tips his chin in encouragement. “Go on, then. Ask.”

Another glance to his lips as you rummage through the dense brush that entangles your brain. Plucking one of the first you find, you ask, “Does it hurt?” eyes moving back to his.

That earns a little chuckle from Simon, an even smaller shake of the head. “Not now that it's healed,” he tells you truthfully, cheek dimpled in amusement. A beat passes, him waiting for another of your questions, and when you don't conjure one up, he jokes, “That it?” Clearly, he expected a barrage.

You take a second, searching for another, then simply, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why'd you do it?”

Simon raises his shoulder in a shrug. “Dunno. Wanted to do somethin’ fun; different I s’pose,” his reasoning is as carefree as his voice sounds. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Plus, ‘s more useful than you think,” he tacks on at the end, something mischievous glinting in his eye. Deception maybe. Bait definitely.

Useful, he says? You doubt it. Having a second tongue sounds like a burden honestly. You'd have to learn how to talk, eat, and drink all over again, just like when you were a small child. But if he said so, and with such confidence, then it begs the question: “How?”

How is having a second tongue useful?

Throughout your entire conversation, Simon's maintained steady eye contact with you, his focus never faltering from yours. But now, as your brow creases in confusion, Simon breaks away, lids lowering as he gazes down at the floor. He rolls a thought around his head for a moment, that cheeky look still etched into his face. When he huffs an amused breath through his nose, it only deepens his smirk that much more, and then slowly, painfully unrushed, his eyes rake up, up, up your body, until settling on yours once again.

The look he gives you now is dark, a grin like the devil’s as he peers up at you. The tip of his forked tongue pokes out as it makes another swipe across his bottom lip.

No thoughts, except for Punk!Simon who takes you back to his place and shows you just how useful two tongues can be.

[saturnville]

Voting for more hamilton content!!!

wash day, l. hamilton

pairing: he (lewis hamilton) x she (black fem oc) content: non-physical intimacy is just as important as physical intimacy. warnings: none. an: the girlies want lh content, so here we are! likes are cool, but we love reblogs and comments! let me know what you think <3

The soft pallets of her fingertips danced along his scalp. Her manicured nails brushed the sides of his temples, swiping away any beads of stress and insecurity that might have lingered longer than needed. Her gentle actions pulled a moan from his throat. She smiled softly.

A soft hum from the fan in the bathroom was the only sound that could be heard. That and the sloshing of the water in the tub when they moved ever so slightly. 

She combed through the beautiful coils upon his head with her fingers carefully. With ease, the knots and tangles broke away. Strands of his hair fell upon her wrist as she raked through his locks. 

Wash day was her favorite as much as it was his. It was a time for intimacy between them that did not require any sexual activity. Non-sexual intimacy was important. She stood by the sentiment and was willing to die on the hill most desired to climb upward in competition. There were important things, she noted, that deserved cultivation and just as much attention as learning her partner’s body. If she was honest, she felt closer to him in moments like these compared to when his body was pressed against hers.

She easily remembered the first time she participated in wash day with him. She came over one Sunday afternoon and found him in the bathroom scrubbing away at his scalp with his shirt drenched in water. She vividly remembered giggling at his state and offering to lend a hand, which he desperately needed. Sure, some people did his hair for him, but he figured he’d try it out himself. He did learn, however, he enjoyed it when she did it. There was something about being trapped between her legs as she wrapped his ringlets around her fingers, that he couldn’t get enough of.

“My hands are starting to prune,” she admitted as she dropped her hands into the water. She swished her hands to remove the remnants of deep conditioner trapped between her fingers. “You let this sit for a few minutes. I’m gonna rinse off in the other shower.”

She pressed her hands against the floor of the tub to push her body up, but his hands against her thighs halted her movements. “Mhm, stay.” His fingers danced along her calves. 

“By the time you get out, I’ll be waiting for you. I don’t want to shrivel up,” she replied, tapping his shoulder. With a dissatisfied groan, he released her body from the trap he had her in. She pecked his neck as she stood to her feet. 

His eyes were on her as she walked towards the rack that held her black towel. His eyes followed the droplets of water that slivered down her chest, to her hips, and down her brown legs. His tongue grazed over his lip. She sent him a wink before exiting the bathroom and starting towards the other one. 

He joined her hardly ten minutes later. She jumped when she felt his hands on her hips. She turned in his arms, gently shoving his shoulder as a repercussion for scaring her. The playful scowl on her lips did nothing but only egg on his desire for her. 

“Sorry, baby,” he mumbled, drawing her wet body close to his. She hummed in response, allowing her lips to brush against his. Her teeth gently nipped along his bottom lip before capturing his mouth completely in a steam-filled kiss. She swallowed his quiet noises and broke away before his wandering hands spurred her on. 

The warm water beating against them only intensified the heat burning between them. By the time the fire was extinguished, the water was as cold as a winter day, probing them to exit the shower.

“You don’t make yourself discreet at all,” she said while looking over her shoulder at her lover who smiled innocently. He was perched against the doorframe, a gray towel tied tightly around his waist. His damp hair leaked small droplets of water that slid down his bare chest. He smiled at her. 

She shook her head and continued to moisturize. She slid on a clean shirt and underwear. She sat on their shared bed and ushered for him to get dressed so she could finish his hair.

“You want two pieces left out or not?” she trailed off once he sat on the floor between her legs. Beside her was the “hair bin” filled with the creams, serums, gels, and oils they used on their thick locks. 

“No,” he replied, lifting his arms to place them on her thighs. His fingers drew imaginary doodles on her skin. Mumbling a quiet, “Okay,” she retrieved what she needed from the hair bin and began combing his hair softly.

Small conversations and little comments were made, but, a comfortable, silence dawned over them. She was focused on parting, moisturizing, and braiding his ringlets,  and he was basking in the relaxation he felt. He nodded off a few times, only to be awoken by her giggles.

“I’m almost done, baby,” she assured. She took a nice amount of oil in her palms and rubbed them together, taking the time to massage his scalp softly. She ran her hands over his hair, watching as the curls jumped under her fingertips. She wiped her glistening hands on an old towel and then patted his shoulder. 

“You’re good to go. Tie it up.” She tossed a black durag at him, which he caught with easily. 

“Thank you, baby.” He kissed her gently. She smiled and pushed the hair bin to the side, making a mental note to put it away in the morning.

Tiredly, she pushed her body up the bed and swiped her scarf from underneath her pillow. It was silk and smelled like a variety of oils. She tied the fabric around her twisted hair and laid against the pillow. Just moments later he climbed in bed next to her. He was quick to engulf her in his arms and press a gentle kiss against her forehead.

“You know I love you right?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “I love you too. That’s the only reason I’ll spend four hours doing your hair every month.” 

“I’m lucky to have you,” he said in response. His words were muffled as his lips moved against her neck. She sighed softly at the feeling of the open-mouthed kisses against her neck and his hands against the flesh of her thighs. 

“I’m lucky to have you,” she replied quietly. “and also lucky that wash day is over. I’m going to bed; cuddle me.”

Lewis hummed and slid his hand beneath her shirt, palming the heavy flesh of her chest. “Yes ma’am.”

[poetryandfluffycats]

helloooo may i ask for afab!reader degrading and pegging keito if it’s possible? maybe him whimpering too… have a great day!

A/N: i bark like a feral dog every time I get a keito request AF AF AF AF WOOF WOOF. anyway, enjoy

Pairing: Keito Hasumi x fem!reader

Content: You've been wanting to try some new things out in the bedroom, but Keito isn't one to stray away from what he believes is 'normal'. So, you come up with a brilliant plan to convince him.

Warnings: NSFW, pegging, degrading from both sides, spanking/ass slapping, handjobs, one use of the petname daddy, use of slut & whore, teasing

Words: 1.5k

NSFW oneshot under cut!

You want it?~

"You must be joking"

The green haired man who once laid relaxed on the bed now sat upright, face as red as a strawberry and hands clenching the bedsheets as if they might fly away from underneath him. A simple ask, and he had become a horrible blushing mess. God knows how he'd be during the actual act of what you were suggesting, it made your core tingle with delight.

"You think I'd lie?" You feigned sadness by sticking out your bottom lip as much as humanly possible, batting your freshly applied eyelashes at him. The perfect image of innocence. "You're very mean, Keito"

A groan left his lips, eyes darting backwards and forth from his feet to wall, like he was trying to look anywhere but your body, the racy set of lingerie you wore, and the leather strap-on and dildo held in your hand. "And I apologise for that, however, this.. thing... you have asked of me, its simply inappropriate! You cannot expect me to indulge in these silly ideas of yours"

You would have rolled your eyes if you weren't trying to keep up the image of someone innocence and sweet. Keito was clearly trying to convince himself he didn't want it just as much as he was trying to convince you he didn't, his face said it all. Flushed cheeks, fidgety hands, the faint budge growing visible through the confinements of his pants-something that he shamefully tried to hide by crossing his legs.

It was a challenge, one you were more than willing to accept.

"So you're telling me, I could strip myself naked right now, climb into your lap and ride your cock and drain your balls so much it looks like you've pissed yourself, and you wouldn't have an issue with that" You lifted the strap into the air, waving it around a few times. "But this is too scary for you?"

"Get out of that stupid outfit and put your clothes back on, (name). Now" Keito scolded, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he finally made eye contact with you. "If you don't listen to me I swear I'll-"

You cut him off by jumping onto the bed, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, biting open mouthed kisses into his collar bone. "Don't go all Daddy on me now, I'm meant to be the dominant one here"

Keito gulped, his adams apple bobbing up and down as his eyes glossed over with a sweet mix of fear and anticipation. A layer of sweat had begun to form on the skin of his forehead, the redness of his cheeks moving to cover nearly his entire face. It was adorable how pathetic he looked, his hips grinding upwards into your barely covered heat.

The hard-on he had been so desperately trying to hide was now poking into your thigh, the tip leaking droplets of pre-cum and staining the front of his jeans. His teeth bit down hard against his bottom lip, drawing a tiny bit of blood as he fought back the urge to scream, to whimper, to beg for you to fuck him senseless. He was failing miserably, though, you could see right through those yearning green eyes of his.

"I know you want it~" You cooed, brushing the tip of the dildo against his cheek, coaxing a small grunt out of the man beneath you. "It's okay, you can let go. Better than cumming in your pants like some sort of horny teenager, no?"

Keitos eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of the cold silicone on his skin, his whole body tensing and untensing with each breath he took. "Just do it, please"

"What a naughty little slut you are"

"(name)~"

You giggled, bringing your hand not holding the dildo down to palm the outline of his cock through his pants. He was practically bursting through the fabric, throbbing with each tiny movement you made. You couldn't help but crack a smile at how adorable he looked. Finally at your mercy after months of teasing and denial on his part.

/--------

It wasn't long before your clothes had come off and you had Keito bent over on the bed, ass high up in the air and face pressed down into the pillows to muffle his moans and sounds of bliss. Slender fingers traced over the boney structure of his back and back down to his ass again, squeezing it and leaving bright red handprints all over.

The strap was tightly attached on your hips, the tip of the lube-covered dildo prodding against his puckered up hole. Keito let out a whimper at the feeling, arching his back even further so that just the smallest bit of the silicone spilled inside-almost like a desperate puppy begging for its masters praise.

"Don't fucking tease me-" SMACK!

You brought your hand down hard on his ass. The slapping noise echoed throughout the room followed by Keitos groans of pleasure. "Don't be a brat, or else I'll leave you here whining for me" There was a hint of sadism in your tone as you cooed out the cruel words, massaging over the area you had spanked. "Patience"

The man beneath you grumbled something unintelligent in response, probably something along the lines of 'I am patience' and 'just fuck me already'. But you decided to pay no mind to his mouthing off this time. Punishment for that could come later, right now all you wanted was to fuck your boyfriend stupid.

With that thought in mind, you at last started pushing the length of the dildo inside of Keito, slowly, inch by inch so you could indulge yourself in the sweet, beautiful moans he let out each time the toy sunk in deeper. His hole was so tight, sucking it in like a vacuum, like he was made to be used like this.

"Feels good? I bet it does, your such a whore for me, aren't you?" You bottomed out, his whines as you hit the deepest part inside him like music to your ears. "You like this?"

Keito nodded his head, whole body shaking as he reached one of his hands behind his back to wrap around his cock, which had been rock hard and leaking all kinds of juices onto the sheets this whole time.

But, you weren't going to let him get that release he craved, not by his own hands at least. So, you grabbed his wrist and pulled it back, earning another whimper and another mutter of curse words. "No touching, alright? You'll only cum when I say you can"

He didn't respond, too far deep into the pleasure he was feeling just from being full to do so. His face and the way his knuckles gripped the sheets until they turned white was enough of a yes for you, so you pulled the dildo all the way out, only leaving just a smudge of the tip inside, before slamming right back in without warning.

You set a fast paced and rough rhythm within the first couple of thrusts, your hips bouncing and slapping off of his with each one. The room immediately filled with lewd sounds; Keitos moans of pure ecstasy, your grunts of effort and sadism, the bed creaking from all the movement on top. Like an orchestrate of sex.

"Shit!~ Fuck, (name), you~!" The man was a mess, drool dripping down his chin, eyes blown wide with lust, the works. He could barely speak, only really able to let out babbles of your name and attempted insults.

You thought of how he usually acted, so prim and proper, controlling, and bossy as ever. Seeing him reduced to nothing but a dumb slut whose only thought was your fake dick inside him? It had your core clenching around nothing at all, and a ring of wetness pooling around your hole.

With one hand rested on his hips to keep you steady, you used the other to reach down and gently stroke his cock, meeting the thrusts of your hands with the thrusts of your hips. "Wanna cum, baby?" You leaned forward to lick a stripe from his ear to his neck, "Wanna cum like a little bitch? Then do it, show me how messy you can get all for me"

Keito didn't need to be told twice. Maybe half a secound after those words left your lips, hot ropes of cum were shooting out of his aching cock, covering your hand in the white sticky substance. His back arched until it looked as if it might snap in half, and his moans were so loud the whole world might have heard. It was a sight that left you in pure awe, truly, Keito had never looked more gorgeous in your eyes.

You continued to thrust into him through his orgasm, only stopping once he had gone limp and slumped down onto the bed into what could only be described as a puddle of sweat, cum, drool, and a withering mess of a man.

And damn, was it beautiful.

[queenofanime]

Matching Tattoos

"You know I can see you, right?" The girl, who until now was strolling through the dark alleys, stopped. Her question was met with silence, with complete stillness. Y/n just wanted to get home, but she knew that as soon as her back was turned, the person walking behind her would follow.  

"Just come out already. I really don't have time for this." Irritation laced her words... honesty too. She truly didn't have the time nor the patience for this. Y/n had lied before though, for she couldn't actually see the person. She could only assume it was a man. Living in the red light district had changed her perception of life, of love. She was cynical and street smart. By now, she had heard too many stories of raped women, too many horrors happening a couple of blocks away from her flat. She had experienced quite a few scares herself. 

Despite her efforts, nobody answered. 

At the other end, Gyutaro felt conflicted. The demon had gone out to town, trying to find a meal. His standards were never high, therefore, when he saw a bunch of middle aged hags, he was ready to devour at least two, but then he got distracted by the commotion from across the street. 

Apparently a woman had trespassed into Triple Thread territory, and was now having a hard time getting out of trouble. 'The Triple Thread' were nothing but a bunch of low-level thugs. However, over the years they had become quite the gang. Nowadays, they basically ruled part of the district and controlled more than half of the whore houses.

Three of them had corner the young girl, who he, was currently trailing. Gyutaro hadn't thought much of it at first, but when the men got their asses kicked and send to the hospital, he became intrigued.

Looking back, he should have just minded his business and try to eat someone, instead of trailing the poor girl, who seem to have an attitude and was now asking questions... questions he wasn't ready to answer.

He wasn't used to being noticed. And if he were to step into the light, she would probably faint.

Maybe he should just eat her. 

"Okay, you clearly are taking your sweet time so I'm coming over." Y/n's voice and the fact that she was closing in, brought the demon back to reality. However he couldn't move, his feet were completely glued to the ground. Maybe he wanted to see the girl's reaction and entertain his sadistic side. Or maybe he simply was a full-on masochist and wanted to damage his self-esteem even further. Maybe he just wanted to hear more of the girl's voice, even if it meant hearing insults and hurtful words. Whatever the reason may be, he didn't move, he didn't hide, no... Gyutaro just waited patiently for his arm to be yanked into the light. 

Yet the moment never came. Gyutaro most certainty was not yanked by the arm as he had mentally script. No, no, he was yanked from his ear. The nails from the girl painfully pinching at the tender skin, almost drawing blood. 

An audible yell escaped the demon as his thoughts ran wild. 'Did this human just had the audacity to do something as stupid as this!?'

Unpleasantly, Gyutaro was thrown just below the lamp-post, the only lamp-post within 5 blocks. 

Recovering from the shock and the slamming of his spine against the metal tube, Gyutaro's eyes glanced upwards in rage. "You BITCH! What the hell was th-"Kill me now, because I'm done saving myself." 

The interruption of the girl quickly had the demon shutting up; his mismatched eyes staring in disbelief. In return, the girl's gaze looked back at him. Not a single hint of fear or disgust could be seen through her orbs, just boredom and completely unimpressed. As if seeing a demon was a daily occurrence. 'Just another Tuesday for this asshole', thought the male. 

Somehow the night seemed darker than usual. Small droplets had started to appear, littering the street. Soon, the sound of rain was the only thing that could be heard. 

Gyutaro took the moment to actually analyze the girl's features. She was quite pretty, but it was an unconventional pretty. She had a knife-cut scar gracing her left cheek. Unlike Daki, her nose wasn't a round perfect button shape. Her hair was messy, her eyebrows were bushy and edgy. And her makeup wasn't the usual pastel colors that girls loved to wear. Maybe unconventional pretty wasn't the right description. The girl was harsh pretty... warrior pretty pretty. 

"Are you going to kill me?" 

"I'm not sure yet."

__________________________________________

"Quit watching me." 

"Did you do something different with your hair?"

"No."

To put it shortly, Gyutaro didn't kill Y/n, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he became a guardian demon angel of some sort. He knew Y/n could handle herself, as she had demonstrated weeks prior. Still, he felt useful watching over her. Both parties had come to some sort of mutual silent agreement, allowing Gyutaro to crash in Y/n's flat, as he was doing tonight. 

"I really think you did something with your hair."

"I didn't! Cut it out!" 

The girl decided to stop asking, as she had clearly irritated the demon, but her staring didn't weaver. Annoyed and self-conscious, Gyutaro shot Y/n a menacing glare, however she seemed unaffected by it. 

"Where did you get your spots done? Which artist was it?"

"What?" 

Y/n's question had genuinely confused the man. What did she mean by artist? Did Y/n actually think his ugly birthmarks were made with ink? Gyutaro hated everything about himself. He hated his face, his body-shape, he even hated his attitude. But... if there was one thing he hated above all else, were those ugly dark spots which adorned his body in the most horrible way possible. He hated them the most because they were a constant remainder of the lack of love his mother had had for him. 

"Woah, you really are dumber than I thought." The words slide from his mouth harsher than ever before. For the first time Y/n was taken aback. For the first time, she actually felt cold sweat run down the back of her neck, fearing what the demon would do. 

"I-I j-just- "You really think I'd litter my face like this, by choice?"

Before Y/n could say something else, a giggle escaped the green-ish creature. A giggle that soon turned into a psychotic laughing fit. The girl could only watch in horror as the demon, with its nails, scratched and teard at its skin, drawing red blood lines.

The flame from the alcohol lamp flickered with the wind. Y/n prayed the only source of light wouldn't go out, leaving her defenceless. 

"My mother tried to kill me several times before I was born. She ended up dying of syphilis, the hateful bitch." 

In reality, Gutaro didn't know why he was sharing. His tongue was faster than his head, which was a very rare occurrence. Trauma dumping the woman in front of him was a test. Just like the night he met her, Gyutaro wanted to see what she was made of. What unexpected reaction she would come up with next.  

The girl was at a loss of words, now understanding it was likely that Gyutaro suffered from congenital syphilis. She wanted to say 'sorry' but that seemed superficial. Sometimes words aren't enough, but actions were. 

Without looking at the demon, Y/n's hand slowly reached out for the small nightstand. Gyutaro watched her intensely, knowing for sure a woman like her would have a blade or some kind of weapon hidden. However, Y/n had something else in mind. Seeing as the demon hadn't move from his spot and wasn't trying to stop her, Y/n pulled out a paper rice sheet, an ink pen, and a needle. That certainly got Gyutaro's attention. 

The night was cold. Shadows danced across the room, casting an ethereal glow upon the worn furniture and faded walls.

Y/n approached the boy cautiously. Her steps measured and deliberate towards the skinny boy, who still looked angry and distrustful. She understood the depths of his longing, his hunger for affection, yet she knew all too well the fortress of distrust he had built around himself. But she was determined to bridge the gap, to breach the walls that confined him. Slightly gulping, Y/n closed the gap between the two of them until they were just a few inches apart. 

With gentle grace, she extended her trembling hand, her fingertips craving the warmth of human connection. She closed in slowly, mindful of every fragile moment that passed. Her touch was like a whisper, delicate and tender, a beacon of solace in a world that had shown him little to no kindness. 

Y/n didn't think her next action through. If she did, she would probably have never done it. She reached and delicately traced her fingers across the black spots covering his left prominent hip-bone. This time, it was Gyutaro who gulped, feeling the chill of her freezing hand. 

Since he didn't move, Y/n took the opportunity to take out the sheet of paper and the ink pen. Gyutaro's yellow eyes widen, gleamed with an otherworldly glow, reflecting the untamed curiosity that coursed through his veins. The girl, with full-on concentration, covered his hipbone with the paper. And with the pen, started tracing the birthmark's shape. 

Once she was done, Y/n removed the paper and set it aside. 

She then proceeded to undress herself, shocking the demon (even further). And soon, Y/n was left in her undergarments, exposing her own hipbone. 

Slowly but surely Gyutaro started to understand... understand her, and he couldn't help but feel a tug within his heart (if he had one).

The air was thick with a sense of determination as she prepared to embark on whatever journey this was. With trembling hands, she carefully grabbed the needle, that until now had been forgotten and started burning it with the flame. Once the tip was dark, bordering black, Y/n removed the insignificant metal item, recovered the paper, and placed it over her own skin. 

Part of him wanted to stop her, wanted to tell her not to ruin her own perfectly soft skin, but Gyutaro has always been selfish. So he didn't. 

Y/n had a million thoughts running though her head: 'Was it safe?' 'Should she do it?' 'Was it too late to turn back?' 'Was it going to hurt?' 

No it wasn't safe. She shouldn't do it. It wasn't too late. Yes, it was going to hurt. But she had made up her mind. She wasn't going to back down from a promise, a promise of a better, honest world. 

Despite knowing that this act would forever mark her skin, Y/n took the needle and grazed her flesh. It burned. A searing pain jolted through the girl's body. Pain the demon could see through her eyes. The smell was probably the worse. 

Wherever the needle grazed, splatters of blood followed. Instinctively Y/n wanted to pull away, but the logic within her wanted to get this over done quickly. 

Y/n spent over an hour carefully filling in the area while Gyutaro just watched, mesmerised. 

When she was finally done, the burned birthmark took and ugly red-brown color. The angry blood lines starting to dry up. 

Despite the painful experience, Y/n was satisfied with herself. 

Finally she looked up towards the demon, acknowledging him with a cheerful smile. 

"See, now we match..." 

______________________

(image taken from Pinterest by Jenn)

______________________

If you enjoy my writing, even just a little bit... can you follow my insta?

I'm trying to grow my newly created art account: nena_rpa

Your support would mean the world to me :)

[divine-misfortune]

I don't know what possessed me...feral t4t raindrop sex I guess.

@sphylor and @riverghoulsworld I offer you both an egg in these trying times.

Explicit below the cut; contains oviposition, tentacle fucking, and some mildly dubious consent towards the end.

The grass was not a kind or very pleasant sensation on his back, but the slight tickle and cold drag of it against his body was one of the few things Dew could confidently tether his mind to. Normally, this early on, Dew would still be a semblance of collected but like this it was harder. Without the glamor, without the need or true capability to retain humanity, in the true shape of a demon, Dew was slipping. Slipping fast.

Rain wasn't helping either, but Rain was further gone than he was. Dew couldn't fault him, what with the moon as full as it was. His rut had him by the throat, and Rain in turn had him by his. All he could do was dig his claws into the cool earth and take whatever shallow breaths Rain's inconsistent grip allowed him.

It could have been hours, or maybe even minutes. Dew had lost track of the concept of time the second the sound reached his ears, haunting and enthralling. Familiar like water droplets on glass. By the time he'd found Rain, the water ghoul was already reduced to instinct and need. They ended up in the grass, bodies desperately slotted together. His scent alone had Dew dizzy. It was all he needed to be coaxed back to the fur and shredded, singed fins from another life.

The place their bodies met felt feverishly hot. With the way Rain frantically rocked their hips together all Dew could hear the obscenely slick sound and the pulse in his own throat. Rain pushed his leg further with a low whine, trying to chase the angle that really allowed the drag of his engorged clit through Dew's folds. Every little nudge against his own left Dew reeling and weakly trying to meet the movements.

"Fuh..." Rain opened his mouth but could barely managed the single syllable. His brain was too clouded by heat and primal instinct to remember proper words. The sound dragged and dissolved into something close to a cry, as shrill as it was, it stoked the fire in Dew's belly.

"No words Rainy," Dew quickly reassured when he faltered and scowled in frustration. "Don't, don't need to talk, just take what you need."

He watched a sort of relief soften his features, eyes drawing shut in his concentration, and Dew felt another sort of warmth in his chest. Endearment. Rain was beautiful like this, scales and translucent fins making him ethereal in the moonlight. A mix of sweat and lakewater clung to his skin, droplets glittering like stars. The sheen on his body caught the cool night breeze causing goosebumps to dimple his skin, and made his nipples stand stiff. He truly was a siren, and Dew was well past enthralled. He couldn't take his eyes off him if he wanted to, and he did not.

Rain's lips parted wordlessly, abruptly pulling his hand from Dew's throat to the space between them. His eyes followed to watch the water ghoul curl his fingers inside himself, thighs trembling as he chittered with a slight urgency. He almost folded in on himself with a strangled sound.

"Oh-"

He jerked his hand away suddenly, hips bucking. A string of slick connected his fingers to his cunt as he withdrew, the thick muscular appendage creeping cautiously out after him, trying to immediately find friction against Dew's inner thigh.

Seeing Rain's tentacle always made his brain full on fizzle out. Stopped his thoughts in their tracks and left his cunt feeling stupidly empty.

"Oh Lucifer…" He breathed, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "You gonna fuck me?"

The water ghoul trilled, watching Dew through heavily lidded eyes. He swore there was a faint glow to them. The suckers along the underside caught against his clit as it ghosted over him, eager to explore the heat beneath it. Dew bit his lower lip, body unwillingly twitching upwards to meet it. If just seeing his tentacle made him restart, feeling the tapered tip circling his entrance sent his brain entirely offline.

It pushed into him without hesitation, the sound of it beyond obscene.

His eyes roll with a gasp.

It was thicker than usual, bigger than he was used to. Much like the rest of Rain, it was cool to the touch and more importantly, wet. He could feel Rain's slick seeping out of him as it worked its way deeper, rubbing curiously against his inner walls.

Rain's head tipped back as he tried, seemingly in vain, to thrust into him. His tentacle had a mind of its own, moving as it pleased despite Rain’s little movements. The moan that spilled out of him was enough to make his little cock throb.

He’d been content to let Rain and his heat-addled brain rut himself exhausted against his cunt, even if the only real pleasure Dew could derive from it was brief and far from enough. He knew Rain needed this more than he did, that didn’t change the fact his body still wanted.

The sensation of the suction cups catching along his walls, while not unpleasant, drew a feeble cry from Dew. It wriggled its way deeper until Rain’s mound was entirely flush to his, and the fire ghoul still didn’t feel close enough.

“Kiss me, kiss me, fuck, please.” Dew reached for him, voice pitched in a whine but Rain was just out of his grasp. His ribs felt confining. Desperation was apparently contagious. He wanted him closer. Selfishly needed Rain to encompass him entirely.

Rain dipped down to catch Dew’s lips and he never wanted to let him go, fingers finding purchase in the slightly damp curls at the nape of his neck. He could taste the faint essence of something metallic on Rain’s tongue, and the taste of blood didn’t surprise him. It went straight to his head. His brain, already fuzzy around the edges, felt further away. Not gone entirely, but if it meant letting Rain and his siren’s song in deeper, he’d gladly let go of it.

Dew winced suddenly as the tip of his tentacle prodded deeper. It probed against his cervix for much longer than Dew would have liked, he tried to endure it, nails digging into Rain’s bony shoulders, but the appendage didn’t retreat and neither did Rain.

He mewled weakly into his mouth, protest gone entirely ignored as Rain’s grip on him seemed to tighten. Instead of just rubbing against his cervix, Rain's tentacle pushed against it and he greedily drank in Dew’s sob. It was an unexpected and sharp feeling, the intrusion bringing literal tears to his eyes.

He couldn’t tell if Rain was shushing his cries or hissing at him for trying to wriggle out of his vise. Rain was intent on keeping him in place, even more so when Dew could feel sudden swell pushing down the length of his tentacle. His eyes went wide as Rain tucked his face into the crook of his neck, open mouth panting and licking over the old scars of his gills.

“Nn…Take, fuck, clutch,” Rain groaned, the first true words he’d managed to get out.

It was about the size of a golf ball and firm, forcing the entrance to his womb further open. Dew tore fistfuls of grass from the ground, full body shaking from the strain of it. When the first egg pushed past the tight ring of muscle Dew saw stars in his vision, the pain was white hot. The tears brimming in his eyes finally streamed down his cheeks.

After the first came the second and the third and the pain began to meld into pleasure as his body grew accustomed to the intrusion. His sobs died down into hoarse moans, left pathetically clinging to Rain. After the third his brain felt like it had melted from the conflicting sensations, dripping out of him just like Rain’s slick.

He’d lost count of them quickly. Rain’s eggs had pushed the last of the thoughts from his head. The water ghoul filled his body, his mind, his everything. All there was to Dew anymore was Rain.

His body spasmed weakly at one point, orgasm wracking his frame. All he could manage was a whimper and a hiccup through his slowing tears.

With a final stretch and a sudden gush of fluid inside him, Rain’s tentacle withdrew from him. Content to curl back inside Rain’s body as he shakily untangled their limbs. Dew felt a fresh wave of tears spilling over at the loss of physical contact but Rain wasn’t gone long, rearranging himself to be tucked into Dew’s side. The water ghoul rested his hand against his belly, thumb petting over the skin, and Dew could barely pick his head up to see the swell to his stomach.

Rain purred and nuzzled his cheek against Dew’s ribs. He felt like relief, cool against his feverish skin, the low and pleased vibrations lulling the fire ghoul into a drowsy state.

[comicaurora]

So far, has there been any sort of art technique or process you've tried that made you go "that was surprisingly easier/harder than I expected"?

Oh man, yea. So many things. Doing this comic has been a learning experience and a half because of all the textures and effects I have to do, most of which I figure out on the fly because I've either never done them before or I've never done them that many times before.

The first "surprisingly easy" effect I'd never succeeded at before was the scales on the Storm Drake in the interlude after chapter 6:

It's a Droplet particle brush used on two layers, one set to Multiply and the other to Screen. It produces a very easy texturing effect that works on everything from scales to sand to rock, making the surface look like it's catching the light in complicated ways. I used it again in Dainix's desert flashback in chapter 19 to make the sand look like it was catching the light.

I actually used a similar method to draw the background in the arena fight in chapter 12 - using a rounder particle brush, but the same combo of Multiply and Screen to produce a chaotic pattern that gave the illusion of a massive background crowd without making me hand-draw ten thousand tiny people.

This one was an effect that didn't surprise me and that I sadly had very little cause to replicate, but I LOVED the multicolored highlighting effect in Erin's chapter 6 flashback in the heart of the Storm. It ended up being very simple to do and it just looked SO pretty.

Changing the highlighting colors to just the cool-tones for this page just made me like it more.

When we hit Falst's intro arc and I had to draw about a million forested backgrounds, I decided to refine the process I'd used in the first few chapters, because I wasn't happy with those results:

Starting in chapter 8 I tried a lineless style for forested backgrounds, and it worked out better than I'd hoped. Not only did it produce a feeling of depth and shadow, I didn't even need to plug in my drawing tablet to do it - I could literally do these backgrounds with my trackpad and mouse, which was a huge timesave. Combined with a little experimental sunbeam stuff and these forest backgrounds ended up both shockingly simple to make and VERY nice to look at.

I used a similar technique for the soulcrystal in The Collector's lair - stacked Multiply and Add layers with nested rough shading patterns similar to the ones I used for foliage, but with more overlap to produce the effect of chaotically scattering light.

This was another no-drawing-tablet one, and I liked this texture so much that I willingly redrew it for the stinger in chapter 18 rather than copying the texture from the earlier chapter.

In terms of effects that took longer than I anticipated, Dainix's fully-realized Crucible form has been giving me trouble for literally as long as I've conceived of the comic. Drawing fire is already hard enough, but giving that fire a semi-solid, tangible form that was clearly readable as a humanoid figure was a HUGE pain in the ass. The head and arms were easy to design, but what to do with the bottom half was always a struggle, and beyond that I wasn't always sure how opaque to make him - real fire is a semi-translucent light source in constant motion with no clearly delineated edges, and if you draw it in a way that deviates from that too much it can make it feel less like fire. It took a while before I was happy with the color balance on him to make him suitably glowy without losing the internal detailing that made his expression readable.

Similarly time-consuming, working out how to do Vash's "nova mode" took some trial and error. I wanted to make it clearly visually distinct from Paladin light magic and regular fire magic, so I focused on trying to replicate the texture of the surface of a star, with sunspots and flares rather than licks of fire or sharp-edged lightsaber vibes. I'm happy with how it ended up, but if I recall correctly it took upwards of two days just getting all those glowy effects sorted out.

Then drawing the actual starfire blast was an even bigger pain, because again I didn't want it so glowy that it was completely unreadable. To be honest I'm still not sure if it worked.

This is a very recent one, but it took me a while to figure out an effect I was happy for to communicate "this place is really, really dark." I didn't settle on a blanket dusty purple desaturation layer until quite late, to sort of replicate what night vision supposedly looks like for animals that can see decently well in the dark. Lights and darks are preserved, but color isn't so much, and this way I wasn't way-overshadowing everything and making it impossible for US to see. And conveniently the actual effect is quite simple to do - it's just a universally gray layer at 50% opacity set to the "Saturation" combine mode, stacked with a universally dusty purple layer at 70% set to the "Color" combine mode. Very easy to add quickly and copy/paste across different pages.

There's probably more, but yea. Almost all of the "that was surprisingly difficult" effects either get easier with time or I figure out ways to simplify them and make them work in fewer layers. This is the really fun thing about a longform project like this - I keep finding new ways to challenge myself I'd never even thought of before.

[mitochondriencocktail]

Someone sent me a cowbojan prompt but I suddenly can't find it. However... I have rotated it in my head because I loooove a cowboy AU.

Whoever you are, thanks!

Prompt: Cowbojan AU

Getting Tired of the Same Thing

Bojan nods at the newcomer who pulls up on his horse outside the inn, a lively look in his blue eyes that rival the spark before a thunderstorm.

"I'm Jere," the man says. "Where're you from?"

"Name's Bojan," he says. "That's all you need to know about me. We move the cargo, then go our separate ways."

The other man - Jere - reels back at the bluntness of Bojan's words, but nods back, an acknowledgement. An unspoken agreement. More of the same, just as Bojan expected.

-

"You never answer my question..." Jere asks on the second night of their journey. It's an easy parcel delivery, but two riders required for the security of it all. Bojan's employer had briefed that Jere was a quick draw with his pistol, something about twitching fingers and fast hands.

"What question?" Bojan says around a mouthful of beans.

"Where you are from."

"There's no use in getting to know others when you're just an errand boy," Bojan grouses, poking at his plate of beans around the fire that flickers and licks their face with light. He steals a glance upwards at Jere, watching the warm colors wash over his sun-kissed face and dark hair.

"You say that, but... do you not ever get tired of same things? Loneliness, canned food, never having home?"

Bojan shrugs.

"You get used to it."

His companion, Jere, opens his mouth as if to say something, but then shuts it. Shakes his head. Tries again. "Yeah, you do."

Bojan wishes he'd have said something else. Anything else.

-

"They say the veil gets kinda thin 'round these parts," Bojan finds himself saying one night, tucked into his bedroll. The fire has burnt down to just embers and all they have above them are stars draped from one end of the sky to the edge of the mountains.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." Bojan's throat closes at the realization of what he's just said. The embarrassment of having spoken so suddenly and without reason.

Enough time passes that he thinks Jere's fallen asleep until he hears, "What kind of story you hear?"

Bojan rolls on his side to face Jere, even if he can barely make out his face in the dark. He summons from deep within his belly tales about snakes who arc up toward the sky and make monuments of stone, how people go missing and reappear after years, how sometimes you can hear the voices of loved ones calling to you in the distance.

"Ah," Jere sighs at the last claim, the sound like a paper bag slipping onto the floor; quiet, almost unnoticed, hard to catch with your hands. "Well, I have no loved ones, so, no worry about that one," he softly laughs.

Bojan's stomach lurches.

"I-" he chokes out, "I understand."

"Oh," Jere whispers. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Bojan shrugs.

He stays facing Jere as the other man shuffles his sleeping roll closer; the features of his face coming into focus, a soft, feathery look to him.

Bojan sleeps soundlessly.

-

Bojan learns that Jere's never had fresh biscuits. The kind that are warm and buttery and flaky. Slathered with jam and steaming inside when you take a knife to them.

"The shit they send with us, these hardened mockeries? Garbage," Bojan says as he dunks it in some water to soften. "We're going to get you some proper biscuits as soon as we're done here."

Jere laughs. "You promise?"

Bojan's head is nodding before he can process the implication of those words, but, well, fuck it.

"Yeah. I do."

Jere takes a swig of his canteen and Bojan watches, rapt, as his lips shimmer with water. Droplets catching in his beard.

"What? I have something on face?"

Bojan swallows.

"No, sorry," he shakes his head.

-

Bojan might be all words, but Jere is all action.

Which is to say, Bojan's the one whose mouth keeps running - a nervous habit, which, Christ, when was the last time he was nervous? - as Jere crawls into his bedroll, hooks a leg through Bojan's, a hand caressing his cheek, and kisses him silly.

As a calloused hand works itself into Bojan's trousers, a name leaves his lips over and over like a church hymn: Jere, Jere, Jere

Pushing it into the nighttime desert air.

Calling out the name of someone beloved in hopes that Jere hears the reverence with which Bojan says it. That Jere knows, despite whatever happens next, that Bojan will always be calling his name in the distance.

That morning, still swallowed whole by the vastness of the desert, Bojan takes his hat off and shields his face as he presses a kiss to Jere's lips; only the sun and two horses as their witnesses.

-

They use the money they make on fresh biscuits; buttery and steaming just like Bojan said. ("I wouldn't lie to you!") One slathered in jam, the other in gravy. Hands covered in dirt and sand and rope burns and this inn has never tasted so good.

Bojan takes a sip of his coffee and looks up across the table at Jere. He has jam in his beard and Bojan stymies the impulse to reach out and wipe it clean with his thumb. Not here, not right now.

Instead, an offer: "Hey, I'm thinking of leaving the frontier life."

"Oh?" He pauses.

"Yeah," Bojan nods. Stares Jere down, knocks his own boot against his underneath the table in an unspoken question. "Try something new."

Jere grins. Sets the biscuit down. Knocks Bojan's boot back.

"I like that."

[phonkscribes]

write a fic where Wesker somehow (you don't even have to explain it I just want you to write it because I love your writing.) Gets stepped on lol

Can do, Anon :) !

Minors DNI.

It's the first time you're able to meet him in person, finally where he's no longer able to hide behind the vessel. Anger pools in your fiery irises as he looks up with shock across his features. Did he not expect this day to come? Did he not pray and wish for it every night, day after day when the world would reset and their progress came undone. Your hand finds his throat, feeling press flush against your blackened hand. The virus manifests through the epidermis of your skin, forming jagged teeth that start to sink into the pitiful mortal's neck. He can only make a choked noise, something short of a gasp and a moan.

"It hurts, doesn't it?", you coo, your lips twisting upwards into a big grin. "I finally have you, right where I want you"

You chuckle in that strained tone of yours, because as much as you want him to suffer for putting you through a never ending loop, he is weak and will break easy. He hasn't the herbs or sprays to heal himself, nor his infuriating little partner to get in your way to try and stop you. His hands circle around your wrist, looking into your eyes with something other than fear. You grimace. On his face, there is not that of dread, nor sadness. Behind those sun glasses, he's quite happy, nervously grinning from ear to ear as you hold him tightly. That's when you remembered the reason why he kept coming back through the vessel. It's always to see you, it's always been to see you.

Disgust infiltrates your mind as you toss him to the floor, watching as he falls onto his back, propping himself on his elbows as he struggles to find words to say. He hadn't ever thought that this day would come, should it come at all. How he was even here boggled his own bright mind, and quickly as he began to stammer did he realize how excited he'd become. He couldn't quite think, believing it to be a dream of sorts, but your hand on his body had been very real. The warmth of your claw around his throat was true, and so was the little droplets of blood that formed when you'd thrown him.

"It's your lucky day, worm", you regard him, turning your attention to his pitiful form on the ground when you notice the certain tent in his pants.

"I-... You don't mean to kill me do you?", it felt like such a foolish thing to ask, his face burning from embarrassment as he moves to sit up.

If he's going to face you, he's going to do so with dignity. Although, you quite preferred him the way he was before.

"And if I did? Would you beg me for your life?"

"I would thank you!", he blurts out.

Such devotion, such worship...

You can feel something in your chest throb, that smile of yours creeping across your face as you look down upon him. You chuckle, a hand coming to cover your face as it erupts into a fit of laughter. You throw your head back, your shoulders bouncing as you shake your head in your own disbelief. Good answer. Your heels click against the ground as you loom over him, the sole of your boot lifting and resting upon his chest before you send him back to the ground. He grunts from the force, nearly having the wind knocked out of him as he gasps in discomfort. As he tries to look up, you bring your foot down to his crotch.

He shivers at your touch, going silent as his gaze travels up your leg and then to your face. He's so happy he could cry, but to cry in front of you would be--

"Is this what you want?", you ask, grinding against his erection as you watch him.

"Wh- nn.. No- I--", You press your toe against him, folding your arms as you glare.

"Do not lie", you tease, stroking him with your foot.

He sucks in a breath through his mouth as his eyes fall back down to your heel, drawing delicious friction as he balls his hands up into fists at his sides. How pathetic... but it only makes you want torment him more. You want to see him cry, tears streaking down those pale cheeks made rosey from the shame of cumming just by touch alone. When you stop, he groans, as if in pain. Those sky blue eyes glance up at you with want as you tilt your head.

"If you don't want this, I'll kill you and be rid of you now. Don't waste my time", you growl, smile replaced with a stern scowl. After a moment, he responds.

"I... want... I want this", he pleads.

It's so delightful to hear, and you resume stepping on him, since he wanted this after all. Wesker loses himself to the feeling, panting as you massage his cock. It must hurt with how hard he is, knowing that it's straining against the fabric of his pants. You remove your foot, and tell him to free himself. Like an obedient dog, he unbuckles his belt and slides his pants down low enough to reveal his throbbing dick. A bead of pre sits at his tip as you muse to yourself. You lift your foot again, bringing it up to his face expectantly.

He begins to kiss it. Wesker's soft lips caress the leather of your sole, tears welling up in his eyes but he does not move to touch himself. You're quite surprised by how obedient he is, his will strong enough to not want to disappoint you or to have you chastise him. It's adorable, which is something you shall gladly take advantage of. Your heel finds itself back to his dick, stroking it a bit faster as you look into his eyes. He moans like such a little whore, and just from your foot alone. What noises might he make if it were your hands, or even your mouth?

If you keep up your pace like this, he'll cum. You can tell from the sound of his hoarse breathing as he starts to close his eyes, expecting that white release to overtake him. But you are cruel to deny it. Your foot falls back to the ground, resting as you stare with indifference. He opens his eyes to furrow his brows, as if he's been caught doing something wrong. He parts his mouth to ask, but you silence him with the quick raise of your hand.

"You're forgetting something dearheart", you smile, looking gentle as you loom over him.

"When you want something, you ought to use that pretty little mouth of yours. What is it that you want?"

So angelic is your voice to him, that he cannot be frustrated with him when you ask this of him. He knows the answer, but to beg for it again? Please, he'd never felt so pathetic before in his whole life. It was bad enough that he loved it. He loved the way you talked down to him, he loved how you had every opportunity to kill him as you'd done time and time again in your game. His cock ached so badly he might've cried out from the denial.

"[Y/N]... please... please let me cum", he whined, going to clutch at his shirt as he slowly rolled his hips. Just a little more. He needed just a little more.

Your laugh alone was nearly enough to do it, and he has to clench his jaw from becoming undone for a little longer. You spit on Wesker's cock, smearing it up and down his shaft with your boot as you get back to it. He whimpers, bucking his hips up and into you as he cries out. His moan catching in his throat as he growls, breathy as he throws his head back. His semen coats his stomach in white, ruining the blue button up he'd worn.

A bit of it gets on your shoe, but you could wipe that off on the ground. You watch as he brings his head back up, panting as his erection jumps with life. He's spent, but that shouldn't matter.

"Now that you've been satisfied, it's time for you to do something that satisfies me. I'll find something for you, yet", as his eyes fall close, the last thing he hears is your sinister chuckle loud against his ears.

When he wakes up, he's in his bed, alarm clock buzzing loudly with a moist sensation between his legs. He lays in a cold sweat, the annoying ringtone filling the morning silence as he cannot wait to spring to his desktop.

[gokartkid]

chalex + 16 please??

16. things you said with no space between us

Charles is in the bathroom. Alex can hear him, running the shower and wailing along to another Adele song off his playlist — never mind that he can’t really match the pitch no matter how he tries. 

He stretches idly against the sheets, rolls over into the patch where the sun is piercing through the blinds, stripes of warmth along white fabric. He kicks a leg out from under the duvet cover to maintain the ideal temperature.

His phone is somewhere on the bedside table and he flings out a hand, taps along the wood with searching fingers until they collide with cool smooth glass. 

It’s the usual notifications, some texts from group chats that he won’t read, instagram, headlines from the news. His mailbox is one of the first apps he opens every morning, gets a suggestion for it even, when he opens his phone in that Apple machine-learning way. 

It’s a little bit horrific— mostly funny. 

Alex can feel his chin squishing into his chest as he sits up at an awkward angle to scroll, brain waking up slowly. He can hear the shower shut off in the background, ambient noises of Charles getting out.

He walks into their room putting on his face creams, unabashedly, unashamedly naked still. He’s towelled off, droplets of water still caught on his collarbones, trickling down his chest.

“Alex!” Charles beams at him as hie fingers rub deftly into his forehead, fourth finger tapping the soft underneath of his eyes, “you’re finally awake. You sleep in so much mate.”

“Some of us need rest,” Alex flings a forearm over his eyes performatively, slides down the pillows back onto the bed as if to pass out.

“No! Don’t sleep.”

He barely has time to react before Charles jumps on top of him on the sheets, fingers poking viciously into his ribs. He yelps, curling away, and kicking upwards. Charles is cackling above him, face crinkling unattractively, dimples deep in his cheeks.

“Stop, stop, I give up, mercy-“ he pushes at him until Charles falls backwards, pins him down by his shoulders.

“Pussy,” Charles pokes his tongue out of his mouth. Alex can feel his damp skin against his chest, along his thighs where they’re pressed together, the way their calves link together.

“It’s actually sociopathic that you would tickle me first thing in the morning, so.”

Charles twists his mouth into a petulant moue, before flopping back, looking up and away dramatically.

“Fine,” he draws out the word, inserts more vowels than should exist, “anyway. I’m hungry, we should go to breakfast.”

It’s always ‘we’ when he’s with Charles, like he takes it as a granted that they’ll move as a pair. It’s not like he doesn’t ask, but more that he expects the answer already. 

“Alright,” Alex says, ducks his head to press a kiss to the divot of his neck, mouth soft against damp skin, “you should probably put some clothes on so we don’t get arrested, or something.”

“People would be happy to see me,” Charles winks, crinkles up the side of his face. Alex pushes his hand into his cheek, open palm, just to see his mouth widen with faux-shock, big eyes.

“Hurry up, or they’ll run out of croissants.”

[fourandmoreeyes]

Poets of Disaster

↪ based off this post ↩

I've been trying to be normal, but that post got stuck in my head, so now I have to do something with it.

cw: murder, descriptions of death, body horror, mutilation, hallucinations, grief, trauma, etc.

"I had warned you... if so ever you grew bold enough to defy me, you would pay dearly."

Fang Ye pulled against the strings holding him. They tightened in retaliation and cut deep into his skin. "Don't— Not Hua Xue! Please, anyone but—"

"Even now, you're being impertinent, Little Fang. You dare draw boundaries when you have so often crossed mine?"

Fang Ye pulled again until the strings made him bleed. Even when they dug threatening into his throat, he strained forward as if that would bring him closer to his fearsome elder, to his lover there on the dais between them. Fang Ye sobbed.

"Forgive me— Please! Allow my boldness one final time." His sobbing shook his body so violently that it only made his shallow wounds deeper. He dropped his head in supplication. "Please grant me this: release Hua Xue... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, Fang Ye..."

Hesitantly, Fang Ye summoned the wherewithal to slow his tears and lift his head. He blinked, and fat tears rolled down his cheeks. His hope lived and died in that blink for his heart sank as he watched Elder Bai bring his sword to Hua Xue's throat.

"Forgive or release... You ask me for a single request, so I cannot do both."

"Please." Fang Ye was frantic once more. "Pleasepleaseplease!"

"And so, I shall grant you neither."

Fang Ye felt the warm spray of blood against his face. Droplets mixed with his tears, which ran anew and turned the crimson a blushing pink. For the longest time, for minutes—maybe eons, he couldn't blink. He could only watch unwaveringly as the life drained from the person before him. He didn't even spare a glance upwards to meet the cold stare of the elder watching him.

At the edges of his vision, he watched as gentle, pale hands reached over his shoulders and lowered down until they set upon his own. Soon, a cheek touched his own, and a soft laugh filled his ears.

"Xiao Ye... What's wrong?"

Fang Ye blinked, and he was standing in his kitchen, staring at the booklet of pressed flowers. Hua Xue laughed again.

"Are they truly so awful that you would rather be somewhere else?"

"No." Fang Ye hastily put down his knife and curled his fingers around the soft hands that cradled his own. He kissed the small knuckles.

"You can tell me, Xiao Ye. I can find another hobby."

"No, no!" He immediately released Hua Xue and spun around to face her. He met her eyes and admired the mischievous glint in them. "I like the flowers. They're very beautiful."

She pouted a little and turned her head away. "You say such wonderful things about pressed flowers. When will you gather your courage to say them to me as well?"

She was teasing him, playing a silly game, but how could he resist falling for her trap. He curled a finger under her chin and guided her to look at him. In that small movement, he watched as her lips twitched with an urge to smile.

"You are more beautiful than your namesake. If it didn't mean I would have to leave you, I would quest the realms looking for ways to adequately capture your grace and radiance, Hua Xue."

She stayed quiet for only a few seconds before giggling shyly. "It's a start." She touched his chest with both hands and smiled fondly at him. "Is everything alright?"

"I." He looked over his shoulder to the knife and radish still left alone on the cutting board. His stomach turned unpleasantly, and he quickly looked at Hua Xue. He feigned a smile as he led her away from the counter. "Everything's fine."

"But you look so pale." She followed his guidance, though she didn't look away from his face. When they came to the dining table, they sank down together in unison. "Is it that dream again?"

He knew that it would be pointless to pretend for long, and so Fang Ye sighed and nodded sadly. "'Nightmare' is more like it..."

"Xiao Ye..." Hua Xue reached out to place a hand over his. She leaned a bit closer. "Is there anything I can do?"

He started to speak, but the words choked in his throat, all threatening to get out at once. He swallowed them down before trying again. "No." He set his free hand atop hers and then cradled her single, small hand between his much larger ones. "Having you here with me is more than enough."

"Then, I suppose my presence is nothing short of overwhelming."

When there was a new voice, Fang Ye's heart leapt into his throat. He hadn't seen Elder Bai in nearly a decade, and he had moved far away to ensure they would never cross paths again. For a moment, he suspected the worst—that assassins had come to undo them both, for Elder Bai's wrath to curse him once again.

And yet, somehow this was worse than even that. He and Hua Xue both whipped their attention over to the unexpected guest, and there before them stood the eerily handsome figure of Qi Jinghe.

"Brother." That single word was little more than a croak. "What are you— Why— H-how?"

Qi Jinghe ignored the clumsy attempt at conversation. Instead, he turned his head to stare at Hua Xue, and there was such a deep expression of disgust, sadness, and pity that Fang Ye was struck by a sudden wave of insult to add to his fear.

"Brother Fang. I won't allow you to live like this any longer."

"Like what?" Fang Ye countered suddenly, his tone waspish and sharp now. "Happily?"

"'Happily," Qi Jinghe repeated. "Is this what you call 'happiness', Brother Fang?" His gaze didn't waver from Hua Xue, who began to look self-conscious under his scrutiny.

Fang Ye rose to his knees and cast out a hand to protect her from Qi Jinghe. "Don't look at her like that!"

"Like what?" Qi Jinghe looked solely at Fang Ye now. And his expression didn't change; those emotions were still there, but the sadness deepened. Or was it the pity? It didn't matter to Fang Ye as neither were wanted.

"Leave us alone. Go and be with the others."

"You don't want me to go back, Brother Fang."

"Brother—" Fang Ye bit his tongue and shook his head. "No. I don't claim ties to you anymore. Not you, not the rest of the sect. I left."

"Yes, but—"

"I left!" Fang Ye repeated, his voice raising until it thundered in the empty space. Outside, the birds chittered loudly and flew away in a hurry. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face after all these years."

Qi Jinghe bowed his head. Ever the picture of grace. Fang Ye found it mocking now. "It's regrettable that it took us years, but we've been searching for you every day."

"Am I supposed to believe that? Every day for eight years? Even the most devout followers would give up hope if a king were to vanish for eight years, and you think that I would believe you searched for me? For us?"

Qi Jinghe frowned and lifted his head. A single lock of stark black hair fell in front of his eyes, but he didn't stop to tuck it away. Fang Ye swallowed again, his mouth suddenly dry as he waited for Qi Jinghe to fix himself.

"Every single day," he said resolutely. "We searched in the mountains..."

Fix your hair.

"...We looked in the villages..."

Fix your hair.

"We went to your home town; we asked after Hua Xue's family—"

"Fix your hair, Qi Jinghe!!"

Qi Jinghe fell silent. His posture stiffened slightly, and then with familiar, steady movements, he elegantly reached up to brush his hair back. He tucked the tail end into his headband once more and waited a few seconds. When Fang Ye didn't speak again, he continued on.

"We couldn't find a trace of you."

"That was for a reason. Elder Bai is still looking for us."

Qi Jinghe's expression changed then. It started with a brow twitch, and it evolved into something tense, barely restraining the emotion that wanted to spill out.

"Elder Bai is dead."

Time froze. Incense stopped burning. Even butterflies ceased to fly. Fang Ye tightened his hand around Hua Xue, more a twitch than anything purposeful.

"...W-what?"

"Elder Bai died in the Marching Flames. Brother Fang."

"Shut up."

"You broke your silence. You called on your pact—"

"STAY RIGHT THERE."

Qi Jinghe froze in place. He was as still as a statue and just as unnaturally beautiful. His brow creased further; his fingers curled in the air where he had his hand extended.

"Let go of Hua Xue, Brother Fang."

"No."

"We need to let her rest."

"Shut up."

"Time is running out; if we don't take her soul now—"

"Xiao Ye," Hua Xue began with a trembling voice. "What does he mean?"

Fang Ye wasn't sure what he should do. He wanted to smile; he wanted to beat Qi Jinghe to death instead. He quickly spun to face Hua Xue and gave her his full attention.

"It's nothing, Hua Xue. We're being tested, don't you see. It's merely a ghost. I used my pact."

"But you said you'd never—"

"I know. I know." He ducked his head, silently praying for her forgiveness as he brought her hand up against his forehead. "But it was for us. It was to protect you."

"You protected her, Brother Fang. You've fulfilled your duty."

"Shut up, Qi Jinghe!" Fang Ye lifted his head. Red tinged the whites of his eyes. "I'm not speaking to you!"

"I would rather you speak to me than a corpse."

Fang Ye jerked as if to attack him, but he merely lurched instead. He needed to stay here and keep Hua Xue grounded. With him, she would... He didn't want to think about it. He wouldn't dare start the thought!

Qi Jinghe moved his hands in the air in a calming gesture as he took another step. He took another approach. "Let her go, Fang Ye." His voice was deceptively soothing. "Don't give into your bloodlust."

"He's right, Xiao Ye." Hua Xue's voice was paper thin now. "Don't give in."

"But I have to protect you again." Fang Ye was desperate. He squeezed her hand tighter until he felt something give. Hua Xue's face didn't betray any pain. "He's going to take you. He's going to give you to Elder Bai."

"I would never betray you."

Fang Ye raised a hand, ready to attack. "You already have—"

The moment he tried to summon his qi, he already lost the battle. There was a sharp pain through his meridians and another as Qi Jinghe slammed his head into the table. He heard Hua Xue give out a terrible groan (or was that the wood bending?). He felt the warmth of blood in his nose, and his eyes began to roll.

Energy flooded his body, and his heart kicked up another ten beats. "It won't be that easy!" Qi Jinghe stated. He lifted his head and soon shouted. "He's in here!"

"Hua Xue..."

"In here! In here, quick! I can't hold him."

Fang Ye's skin felt as if it would slough off. His face was hot from the energy pumping directly into it. He broke out in a sweat—he was covered in blood.

He saw Hua Xue's face. Her beautiful countenance, once filled with fear, now lax from blood loss.

Now withered and aged.

He blinked, and she was staring at him, horrified. But soon, that was merely a blur. Several voices flooded the silence, and bodies hurried over to meet his. His hands were drawn behind his back. His wrists were bound together with 1,000 year old leather strips and bound by a talisman. He tried to resist, but his qi drained whenever he tried.

That sent him into a panic. He bucked with renewed energy, and as soon as he was on his feet again, he howled like a beast. "Hua Xue! Hua Xue!"

She stared at him with wide empty eyes. Her mouth was wide, toothless, a gaping maw of rotting flesh. She leaned towards him, a hand outstretched, a hand missing, crushed and left in pieces on the table.

Fang Ye felt hands firmly grip his forearms. They sealed tight against his skin, clinging as closely as Hua Xue's rotting skin on the tips of his fingers.

He howled again. He sobbed once more. Blood turned blushing pink, strings dug until they almost choked him. Elder Bai reached into the wound on Hua Xue's neck and pulled under her head began to lull.

"Hua Xue, Hua Xue, run!"

"We have to sedate him," someone said.

"There is no running anymore," Elder Bai warned. "You must pay for your actions."

"Forgive me," Fang Ye begged. His memories and voice doubled as his feet nearly tripped over a missing floor panel and the roots sticking up from below.

"Forgive me," Qi Jinghe whispered as he reached out for Fang Ye once more.

Hua Xue's body fell to the floor of a decrepit home to the floor of a lavish manor. Her hair and blood spilled around her pale face around her withered and rotting face.

Fang Ye screamed and wept until he couldn't anymore. Another member of his clan walked forward with the Soul Sealing Jar, and the last he saw was Hua Xue turning into dust

Hua Xue bleeding on the floor

Hua Xue smiling and holding out her hand. "Promise you'll be happy for me."

"I promise," Fang Ye whispered as he felt qi flood his aching veins, and as darkness took him for what he wished was the final time. "I promise."

[weirdmageddonbaby]

Spill it

This is my very first thing I’ve written for this ship publicly. Just some random fic after their graduation party from senior year and Dipper is a freaking dork and wants to plan a special thing yada yada. This is more Mable perspective but a few of Dipper’s as well.

The sky is swarmed with hues of blues and pinks crashing into one another showing the slightest hint of purple. Both backs flattened against the grassy meadow floor. They lay intertwined as they gaze upon the sky shifting from day to night. Mable was in awe. Dipper planned this special twin time that she wasn’t even told about. She was surprised he had any time to plan anything. He became so wrapped up in college essays and applications he hadn’t allotted enough time for twin time. She understood though. Her head lying on her brother's shoulder sneaking a few looks at his jawline with scruff. Gosh, when did dip-dop get all manly man over here? She smirks but feels her face flush. His arm tightens around her middle as he keeps his face sternly upward to the stars. Her frame molds into his side. Naturally, Mable lays her hand softly onto his chest. She can feel the sparse chest hair as she draws small circles with her index finger. She looks up again to steal another look at her brother. His face reddened with droplets of sweat beading down from his forehead to his temples and downward.

Her face scrunched in dismay. What is going on with him ? Why is he making that my-brain-is-gonna-explode-face? Mable decides to break the confusing tension lifting her head propped by her hand. Her head overtops his. Less than an inch away. She's taking in every part of her brother now. Okay, wow. How have I never noticed how friggin handsome he is. Geez gimme a dollop of that manly dippin sauce. Though she gives herself a brow questioning why the hell she's getting all hot over her bro she ignores it. Focus Mable girl focus. Rationalizing it's just simply admiration for her twin and nothing more. In a tone of concern with her fingers pressing deeper into his chest, "So what's going on in that nerd brain?" Dipper is at loss for words. He tries not to make eye contact in order to let any words escape his mouth. Giving out a terrible fake chuckle, "What are you talking about Mabes ?" Mable begins to roll her eyes with a disgruntled sigh. "Dip we have been through this. You know that I can tell when something is off with you. Now spill the beans." She does a fake flick in the air demanding the beans must be spilled. He sighs as he lifts himself from the ground. Both of them sat crisscrossed staring at each other. Mable feels a churn in her stomach. Aghhh Dipperson sir you are causing so much not good feels. What could you possibly say that'd make you act like such a sweaty dork? Besides his usual sweaty self. He puts his head in his hand. Burrowing as much as possible to become invisible. She can't watch her brother like this. "Dipper what's wrong?" She started to think it must be school. Going to college next month in different states farther than they've ever been from each other. "Dip I-" but she stopped to find her brother lifting his head with his eyes darting at her.

His eyes are dark but glassy. There are pricks of droplets on the ends of his eyes. He is on the verge of crying but passionately determined. He whispers leaning inward, "Just please don't freak out." She doesn't register his words as he cups her cheeks pressing his lips against hers. Her mind is ablaze. She doesn’t pull away. She let’s it linger for as long as she can have this moment. She knows this is not okay normal twin activities. The idea of actually realizing why this is continuing on her behalf she can’t think about right now. Naturally her lips take his in. Softly suckling his bottom lip into her mouth. Dipper is now holding his breath trying not to breathe through his nose to hard and ruin this moment. Mable pulls away as her lids are low sheepishly. The twins take in the deepest breathe they may have ever taken. So deep they can both feel the tightness in their chests. He looks at her in shame. Mabel can’t watch a second more of that face. She wants whatever he is giving her more than she can admit. She pulls him in by his shoulders kissing him hard and frantic. He lets his sister do whatever he wants to her. He is just thankful she isn’t running away. He could be shitting his pants and throwing up his intestines. In the insane almost impossible realm of possibility that isn’t happening. She is here. With him. Grateful she’s giving back what he couldn’t even imagine would come to fruition. Her rump cushioned in his lap as she wriggles her legs around his waist. She pulls herself away to breathe. Where the heck in the hoot did all this pent up kissage for dip n dops come from? THIS IS HER TWIN. WHat is going on with you Mable girl? She gets lost in her mind for a moment trying to string together her impulsive desires. A familiar hand reaches out to move strands of hair from her face to the back of her ear. His hand falls back to her cheek. His thumb is coarse from the calluses he’s developed over the years but its comforting as he rubs her cheek.

Grabbing at his hand her eyes become watery. She is feeling so many emotions it becomes overwhelming. Dipper stares at her with admiration but sees the tears form in her eyes. He starts to imagine forcing a giant boulder overhead of himself to crush him. Of course your sister would not be okay making out with you. You nasty perverted stupid moron. “Ma-Mable I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for this…oh god I-“ He stops to his sister laughing as she wipes away her tears. “Dipper, its okay. I um haha how do I say this…. I frigging liked it okay.” She shrugs her shoulders not sure how to act about any of this. It’s not like there is a guide book for this exact situation. She sniffles, “I am just feelin a lot of feels right now. Most of ‘em are real good tho. Whew yea.” He sighs relief but still notes the uncertainty she is feeling. “O-okay so uh does that mean we are good…is this good? Are we all around good?” She widens her eyes. Oh crap-a-doodle. She has to give him a straight answer or he is gonna die in not knowing. C’mon Mabes give an answer ya know he will take. “ Dip, we are good. Twins good.” She bites her lip knowing she needs to address the actual thing he wants answered. “As for this neeeeewwww stuff um…it’s good. Maybe we shouldn’t but uh yeah dippy I am down to clown all the way around town.” She smirks at herself reassuring that this is uh new but also okay. Okay enough to enjoy right now in this moment. She can’t think about the future it will be too much to spoil the moment.

Dipper is biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. “Wow alright this uh yeah this is really happening.” He smiles ear to ear. He knows this is really bad. He knows all the possible repercussions. God has he mulled them over after rubbing one out to her. He KNOWS. But he just can’t care enough. He is too wrapped up in his sisters embrace and warmth to even think anything outside of this perfect moment. They giggle at each other as they peck kisses back n forth. Playing a game of stealing back kisses. It’s nice. Silly even. They fall back to the ground laying next to each other face to face. An alarm rings in the background but he grabs it to dismiss. Nothing else matters. Just him and her.

[kittiofdoom]

Parings: Kenna x Odin

Tags: Drunk Odin, Manipulation, Humiliation, Odin is an entire trigger warning, mentions of blood, gaslighting, Heimdall is a little shit

Wordcount: 3624

A/N:  I had one little fleeting thought of an idea and this entire thing happened. It draws from a few different lore snippets, Odin getting drunk and him often giving the person he loves leeway. The alternate name for this fic is Heimdall talks shit get hit.

Summary: It was supposed to be a quiet evening for Kenna, but the best laid plans oft go awry when Kenna is asked to deal with a drunk Odin.

—CUP RUNNETH OVER.

“Kenna?”

There was a knock on the doorway to her and Odin's room. Kenna was just settling down for the evening, brushing out her hair and undoing each individual braid. She looked behind her and offered a polite smile.

“Oh, Thrúd, good evening, what can I do for you?” Kenna asked with a little welcoming gesture. She continued working as she heard the girl approach.

“Mum sent me,” Thrúd began and Kenna heard the way her feet scuffed against the floor in a sheepish gesture. “She said to invite you to come get a drink in the Great Hall, but uh... if you're just about to go to bed.. it's okay..”

Kenna's smile became thin lipped, but she kept her expression pleasant for Thrúd's sake. Ah. Sif was calling her in for some reason or another like she was the All-Father's keeper. Well... she supposed she was in a way. Sif and Kenna didn't see eye to eye at the best of times, but Kenna always came when Sif called.

“Tell Sif I'll be down in a couple minutes.”

---

It had taken her exactly a couple minutes to throw on a loosely belted dress and walk at a slightly faster pace than her usual gait to get to the Great Hall and she could see instantly why Sif wanted her around.

Thor and Odin were sat at the table, Odin looking like he was a good many cups into his drink while Thor kept the tankard of alcohol at a safe distance. Kenna could hear Odin from where she stood needling Thor in all the ways Odin knew would get under his skin.

“Thor, c'mon it's just one drink it's not going to kill you!” Odin pushed his arm, it did nothing to move the beast of a man. He sat unyielding in will and in body like stone with an expression that Kenna could only describe as incredibly uncomfortable.

Thor shook his head, muttering something Kenna didn't catch but she shared a silent look with Sif, who then indicated at the pair with a small tilt of her head and muted fire in her eyes. Sort this out.

“Dearest,” Kenna put on her softest, sweetest, voice as she crossed the hall to the pair. She just needed to keep Odin distracted enough that Sif could pull Thor away—an age old strategy at this point.

Odin snapped his head up, a hand flying out to catch Kenna by the arm and pull her down into his lap. He smelled of mead, magic and books—must've been another night pouring over the mask that went nowhere.

“You'll drink with me wont you, little snow owl?” Odin slurred as he pushed the cup into Kenna's grasp. The amber liquid sloshed over the side trickling down her fingers and onto her dress in little wet droplets. His gaze flickered back to Thor with a sneer. “She's not a stick in the mud unlike some people I know.”

Kenna cleared her throat, bringing the cup to her lips wordlessly to sip. That wasn't enough for Odin as he pushed the bottom of it upwards, tipping half of it down her front. Kenna coughed and spluttered, shooting Odin a look as she set the drink down.

“I can't drink it when it's all over me, my beloved,” Kenna commented dryly, but she soon squeaked as Odin pressed his face into the slope of her neck, kissing at the places where the alcohol sweetened her skin.

“I can,” he rumbled in return, teeth and beard scraping against her throat. Hands began to wander, one splaying out against Kenna's shoulderblades to support her as the other groped a handful of her breast.

“Od-Odin!” Kenna gasped, batting his hand away with a flustered huff. Somewhere behind her Kenna heard the sound of Thor getting up and escaping the entire situation now that Odin was well and truly distracted.

“C'mon love,” Odin slurred as he buried his fingers at the back of her head, brushing through the strands with a delicate care. “Your hair is down. S'nice like fresh snowfall. Beautiful, you're so beautiful. My Kenna.”

Kenna melted into the affections, letting Odin push her head down while he leaned into her.

“I love you,” Kenna said breathlessly, speaking into the kiss even as Odin muffled her words with his lips. She felt him smile into it and tasted the mead on his tongue as she returned the kiss with as much passion as was given.

“Love you too,” Odin slurred as he pulled away enough to let Kenna breathe but he was still there consuming her space and oxygen with his very presence.

Kenna reached up, trailing the lines of curled ink up Odin's neck until she touched his face. He caught her hand in his own, kissing her fingertips.

“Come to bed with me, beloved. I miss you.” Kenna said as she began to slide off Odin's lap. He allowed it, and followed, standing—stumbling—and leaning on her for support. It was slow going, every few steps Odin would stop, either getting distracted by something in the room, or by pulling Kenna impossibly closer to him to hold her.

They nearly made it out without incident until blue eyes met purple ethereal ones. Heimdall smirked. Kenna realized what was about to happen a second too late because Heimdall had already gleamed her thoughts.

She opened her mouth to plead, “Heimdall don-”

“-Those are your intentions with the All-Father?” Heimdall raised a single—judging—brow as he cut her off. He was loud enough that it drew the attention of several nearby spectators.

Embarassment in a hot flush flooded Kenna's body, made worse when Odin pulled away from her, brows furrowing in suspicion.

“Kenna?” He questioned, stepping back when she reached for him and denying her the comfort of his touch.

Of course he'd gotten the wrong idea he was drunk and Heimdall was capitalizing on that to make a scene. Kenna looked back from Odin to Heimdall, hoping he could sense the absolute hatred for him for putting her on the spot like this.

She opened her mouth to mutter something softly, looking down at the floor to hide the way her expression shifted. She was absolutley mortified.

“I can't hear you Kenna, speak up,” Odin snapped. He took a step towards her, swaying dangerously and Kenna reached for him once more. He didn't let Kenna anywhere near him and a nervous noise escaped her in concern that Odin might fall.

“Yes, Kenna, speak up for the whole hall to hear,” Heimdall added, leaning against the wall as he embraced the entertainment in front of him with the biggest smirk.

She was still trying to grab ahold of Odin's arm but Heimdall kept inclining his head and telling Odin which way she was going to grab allowing him to step out the way. She wanted to murder Heimdall, she wanted to hex him in all the most brutally painful ways. She was going to and not even Odin himself was going to stop her.

“My... intentions were.. to make love to you,” Kenna forced out in a panic when Odin over balanced. She leapt forward, wrapping her arms around him to keep him upright.

Odin at this revelation laughed, wrapping his arms around Kenna and if he noticed how furious she was he didn't comment on it, instead kissing her forehead and face. Finally Kenna was allowed to help him keep steady and some of her building anxiety was settled.

“Oh, well why didn't you say that in the first place love?” Odin asked, grabbing at her dress posessively.

Kenna grunted in reply, ignoring his affections as she put a hand out expectantly. She was in no mood for his flirtations now.

“Gungnir,” she all but ordered.

Odin huffed, but none the less the weight of the spear in it's shortened form appeared in Kenna's grasp and for the briefest moment Kenna let Odin stand on his own as her other hand came to the spears shaft. With a twist of her hands the shaft elongated to it's full form and she handed it back to Odin to use a walking stick but she made sure to look Heimdall directly in the eyes so he knew what she'd rather be doing with it.

“Goodnight Heimdall,” Kenna said curtly as she tucked herself under the arm of Odin's blind side so he couldn't see her but she could still assist him. They began to shuffle down the corridor towards the rooms.

“I could just telepo-”

“-Absolutely not.” Kenna cut him off. “Remember what happened last time?”

Odin was silent for a few moments, indicating to Kenna that he did, infact remember. Kenna heard the first few caws of ravens and instantly veered Odin into the wall. He hit it with a small grunt of surprise. Her body pressed against him, voice low.

“Now love, if you teleport us I can't do this can I?” Kenna whispered. She wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips against his teasingly.

The sound of ravens stopped. Technically she could still do that while he teleported them but Kenna was banking on Odin being far too drunk to multitask that well. She didn't want to end up in Midgard again because he got the destination wrong.

She was right.

Odin kissed her until she was breathless and the slights of Heimdall were but a distant memory. It wasn't enough to make up for earlier but it was a good start. Eventualy Kenna pulled them both from the wall to resume their walk to the bedroom.

There was a few more stops before they got there—drunken antics from Odin. He was stealing kisses and tugging on her belt trying to undo it but Kenna batted him away playfully to keep them on track. Oh she loved this infuriating man.

She pushed the door open and kicked it shut as she passed it to close them off from the rest of the world. No more distractions, just the two of them.

Finally.

Gungnir vanished with a flick of Odin's hand in a purple blue glimmer of magic as he stumbled towards the bed. He sat on the edge of it, beckoning for Kenna with a small motion of his fingers.

“Kenna, my love, come here, let me see you,” he began as Kenna took his hand. He pulled her close, standing her between his legs as he rested his head on her chest. “I know you're mad I'll make it up to you.” And then in the same breath, even quieter. “You can't stay mad at me you love me too much.”

Kenna made a noise between exasperation and endearment, kissing the top of his head while stroking up and down his spine.

“Mm, you might be right about that,” she hummed, listening to the way Odin's breathing slowed to a steady pace as he fell asleep listening to the sound of her heartbeat. Kenna sighed, pulling away so she could lay Odin down on the bed. Rings were removed one by one and placed on the bedside table, followed by boots at the bottom of the bed. The belt was a little more difficult but she managed to untie it and wiggle it free. Last came his eyepatch, removed with care and set down. She kissed his cheek and wrapped him in her side of the furs.

Now Odin was settled Kenna had some business to attend to.

---

When Odin awoke that morning it was with a pounding headache and very little recollection of the night before. He groaned and reached up to scrape a hand against his face.

To his left Huginn cawed, perched on the edge of the nightstand preening his feathers.

“Kenna says drink the whole drink,” Huginn said, tapping on wooden cup beside him. Inside was a dark liquid that did not look pleasant.

“I didn't know you answered to Kenna now,” Odin grumbled as he sat up. The room was spinning, the pressure behind his eyes like his head was about to split open.

Huginn chirped a sound almost like a laugh and ruffled his feathers.

“Kenna gives us many treats and makes you less grumpy. What's not to like about her?” Huginn replied, tapping the cup once more demandingly.

“Alright, alright cheeky, you win, stop squarking you're giving me a headache,” Odin said as waved the bird off with a huff. He pinched the bridge of his nose before grabbing the cup and downing the contents in one go. It tasted foul but it made the pressure behind his eyes fade considerably.

Oh, he loved that woman, the miracle worker that she was.

“She also told me to tell you that when you're ready she's in the study and she'll accept any punishment you're going to dish out,” Huginn said when he was certain Odin had finished the entire cup as instructed.

“Punishment? What punishment?” Odin stood and busied himself with changing his clothes. Based on the placement of his posessions Kenna must've partly undressed him last night. She always took such good care of him.

“She got into a fight with Heimdall last night,” Huginn explained, picking up the eyepatch with his claws and bringing it over to Odin when he was ready.

“Oh, well I'm sure it can't be that bad it's Heimdall after all, right take me to her.”

The world shifted in an unkindness of ravens and Odin was staring down at Kenna in his chair reading a book in one hand, and occasionally looking over to the mask on her right. She looked up at him with a warm smile and closed the book.

“Good morning dearest,” Kenna began as she rose from the seat and circled the table to kiss him on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”

Odin smiled, returning the kiss with one of his own.

“Better thanks to you, now what is this about a punishment and fight with Heimdall?” Odin asked, swiftly moving the conversation to where he wanted it to be. Kenna smiled a smile that Odin had come to learn was a dangerous expression on his witch's face as she pulled away from him with a little not so innocent hum.

“Oh, that. Well you might as well hear it from Heimdall himself he's been loitering outside all morning waiting for you, Heimdall!” Kenna called out and as if on cue the doors opened and in came Heimdall.

“All-Father!” Heimdall said as he entered the room in a flurry of movement that he was trying to keep contained. He came to a halt in front of Odin, arms spread wide as he bowed. “She attacked me in my sleep!”

“I didn't attack him, I stabbed him. Once.” Kenna scoffed to the left, sitting on the edge of the table. She was examining her nails while she spoke as if this wasn't a serious situation.

“You stabbed him?” Odin repeated, he didn't know if he was impressed or irritated with her. That was no easy feat after all.

“Once. With the tip of a blade. He's being a child.”

Heimdall gestured at her as if to say see and Odin could feel the his temples beginning to throb again. Wordlessly another cup was pushed into his hand by Kenna—where did... no nevermind all that mattered is she'd come prepared. Odin drained the cup and set it down. This was going to be tiresome.

“Kenna, why did you stab Heimdall?”

“Because I wanted his blood.” Kenna said with a shrug, she gestured back to Heimdall in the same manner Heimdall was gesturing to her. “He's being a baby. I barely even scratched him. I could've done far worse.”

Odin knew she was right, and by the looks of it Heimdall wasn't even cursed yet so that meant Kenna was either biding her time or she wasn't even going to use the blood in the first place. She was making a point.

“I want my blood back, you shouldn't have it. It's not yours,” Heimdall took a step towards Kenna as she pulled out a small vial of the liquid, holding it up to the light. He stopped when Odin cleared his throat. It was a simple enough sound, but the silent warning was there.

“No,” Kenna said, hiding the vial back into her dress. “It's mine now. I earned it. Sleep with one eye open next time, Heimdall, and maybe your behaviour wont come back to bite you.”

Muninn chirped a noise that sounded like agreement as he landed on the desk next to her and Kenna rewarded the raven with an affectionate scratch.

“Heimdall, wait outside,” Odin instructed, waving him out the room.

Heimdall hesitated, looking between Kenna and Odin a few times before he finally did as he was told, closing the doors behind him on the way out.

“You keep bribing my birds I'm going to get jealous,” Odin began, moving towards Kenna, shooing Muninn away. He trapped her between himself and the table behind her, hands either side of her body on the wood. “Where's my affection?”

Kenna tilted her head away from him, looking off towards the wall. She wasn't going to fall for it. Not this time.

“You're mad at me,” Odin said with a sigh. Maybe he should've just stayed in bed for an extra hour. “Tell me what slight I committed against you then, Kenna.”

“I'm not mad at you,” Kenna grumbled, leaning further back as Odin leaned in to kiss her cheek. He could see she was fighting herself in the action. She wanted to touch him but was holding out. “I'm mad at Heimdall and I'm not letting you sweet talk me into giving you the blood.”

“Oh, well, are you actually going to use the blood against him?” Odin asked with a single raised brow. He already knew the answer, but hearing it from her own mouth would assure him she was still acting within her own nature and not going against him.

Kenna looked back towards Odin out the corner of her eye. There she was. She was beautiful even in all her fury, something about that dark pettiness in her so easily stoked into a flame.

“No.” She said with a shrug. “The threat that I can use it is better than any short lived curse I can inflict on him.”

“That's my Kenna.”

She let him kiss her this time before he pulled away. He didn't go far, leaning on the table next to her, their fingers touching as they splay behind them on the wood.

“Heimdall,” Odin called out to bring him back into the room.

Heimdall re-entered the study, glaring at Kenna before he turned his full attention to Odin. He stopped, an arm raised to his chest, and bowed.

“After careful consideration, I have decided that Kenna earned the blood fair and square but she will apologize for attacking you in your sleep since that was not a polite thing to do. Smart, but not polite,” Odin said inclining his head towards her with a sharp look of encouragement.

“I'm sorry Heimdall, I acted without honour in my anger, forgive me,” Kenna said, copying the bow of respect that Heimdall had given Odin. She did her best to make it seem sincere but Odin could read in her eyes how she really felt—Heimdall could too.

Heimdall opened his mouth to protest but Odin beat him to it.

“Do you question my judgement, Heimdall?” Voice was sharp as he spoke and Odin pushed away from the table to step towards Heimdall. Instantly Heimdall lowered his head. “Perhaps next time you'll keep your room door locked so this loophole of yours wont be exploited in the future. You was lucky that it was Kenna, someone whom I love and trust who pointed this out, and not an assassin in the night trying to weaken us. Really you should be thanking her for this information. Be better. I expect better. Dismissed.”

Heimdall shrunk away, gaze flickering around the room as he tried to school his expression into something acceptable.

“Yes... All-Father,” Heimdall said and with a small disismissive wave of Odin's hand he left the room in a hurry. He stole one last fiery look towards Kenna before shutting the door behind him on the way out.

With that, all attention turned back to Kenna.

“Do not do that again,” Odin ordered. “I know, I know, you have your difficulties with Heimdall, but please I implore you Kenna to maintain your composure. I expect better of you, too.-” Kenna scowled at him but Odin had already anticipated it “-No don't give me that expression. You have better things to be focussing on than petty squabbles. Now, I have given you leeway in this, don't be difficult with me now. I don't deserve that after what I just did.”

Kenna's expression fell, the proud body language she had collapsing in on itself. She sighed, her shoulders and head dropping with the exhale.

“Yes, Odin. I will not do that again. You are right. I was being petty. I'm sorry, ” She said.

Odin stepped up to her, tilting her head back up to look at him with a smile of approval.

“Good, now, tell me have you learned anything new about the mask?”

[crwr213pictureperfect]

Picture Perfect: I. Awkward Encounter

I take in a breath of fresh, earthy rain–the kind that fills the air in the aftermath of a heavy downpour. I’ve been smelling it a lot lately, even though it’s the middle of summer. I don’t mind it much, but it is a bit weird; out of place, in a way. 

Oh well, I think to myself, boots whipping up tiny droplets of water as I step through the wooden front gate, and onto the doorstep of my home.

I chuck off my boots as I enter. “I’m home, wonderful mother of mine! Prithee tell thine location?” No response. Frowning slightly, I walk further down the hall towards the living room. “Mo- oh.” Sitting on our worn tweed couch is a boy that looks slightly older than me. He’s wearing a dark orange beanie, and in his hands (as well as the coffee table in front of him) are old cameras. He’s also my new step-brother. Moe, I think.

Drawing by Velocesmells, found on Pinterest by LJ

“Uh, hey. You must be Lara.” He tries giving a friendly smile but instead of curling upwards, his lips stretch into an awkward, thin line. I only purse my lips and nod, averting my stare. Moe coughs, then goes back to fiddling. 

Tapping my fingers against my thigh, I take a sharp breath, “Do you know where um…” my foot joins in on the tapping as I mull over my words. Would saying ‘my mom’ be weird? Well, I think ‘our mom’ might be weirder… maybe just, ‘mom’?

He responds before I can decide. “Yeah uh, she’s upstairs.”

I give a nod and a brief thanks, shuffling up the carpeted stairs. Yeesh, that was awkward. I probably should’ve said hi, or something. Maybe ask him what he’s doing? I don’t know, anything other than ‘I know you just said hi to me, but I’m just not gonna acknowledge you and look for your new mom’. At this point, I wouldn’t mind if the stairs just gave out and plunged me into the earth’s core.

I groan as I drag my hands down my face. This is going to be a nightmare.

“Mom?” I peek into the room meant for Moe, and see her clearing things out to make room for the pile of boxes by the door. This used to be our guest room; not that we have many guests to begin with, but it works in a pinch.

She turns with a stack of books in her arms. “You’re home! You say hi to Moe yet, hon?” 

I rub the back of my neck. “Sure, you could say that.” She squints at me, then sighs through her nose.

“You know, he told me he wanted to give you something. I think you’d like it. And I think he’d really like that you like it.” She hands over the stack to me.

“Okay,” The stack weighs down in my arms, “Well do you think he’d like that I like it because he also likes it, or because it would be awkward otherwise?”

My mom shakes her head and turns to another pile of junk. “Why don’t you find out?”

I blow air through my lips then descend back down the stairs.

[targaryen-dynasty]

WHAT NOURISHES ME, DESTROYS ME.

Maegor I Targaryen x little sister!Reader

You and Maegor have always been a good team, but when he sits on Iron Throne after your older brother‘s death and doesn't allow you to come to war with him, you have to remind Maegor that he wouldn‘t be where he is without your help.

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT–MINORS DNI; DUB/NON CON, spit kink, humiliating, size kink, size difference, power imbalance, hate sex, canon typical incest/targcest, fighting, violence

WORDS: 2.6 K

NOTES: This is based on the scene in Vikings season 1 episode 2 where Lagertha fights Ragnar.

Maegor was only half dressed as you stepped into his chambers. The stool he sat in looked ridiculously small underneath his bulky presence, just like the castle’s barber did. His head was tilted back, allowing the much smaller man to attend to the grooming of his neat beard, and despite his eyes being closed, the smug smirk on his lips gave away he knew it was you barging into his quarters. 

“Why must mother inform me that I cannot come to the Blackwater with you, brother?” You all but spat the words out, hands formed to fists at your sides with your knuckles already blanching. 

“It is Your Grace for you,” Maegor’s voice drawled as he did not move, voice uncharacteristically soft but still determined to put you back in your place. 

Your level of anger did not allow you to pay any attention to it, not caring enough to respect the courtesies. It was surprising that Maegor managed to keep his temper at bay, considering he was far more quarrelsome than you were. 

“This was going to be the most exciting battle of my life,” you hissed. “To fly upon Dreamfyre’s back, alongside Balerion.”

“I do not want you to come,” he said, still in the same position as before, though you could hear just a hint of irritation in his tone. “I need to leave the castle in the hands of someone I trust, and there is no one else besides you and mother.” It was a poor attempt of him to lessen your anger, but caused quite the opposite. 

Having brooded over it ever since you broke fast, your patience ran thin, and in moments like this, you felt the Blood of the Dragon coursing through your veins. 

With quick strides, you headed over to where Maegor sat and snatched the sharp knife out of the barber’s hand, pressing it to your brother’s throat. That seemed to stir him enough to open his eyes, and the familiar purple quickly flickered up to meet your matching pair. You could feel his pulse quickening through the blade, yet you did not apply enough pressure to draw some blood. 

 “I have dreamt of this many times, and in my dreams, Dreamfyre and Balerion were always together. We were always together,” you tried to reason. 

Maegor had your wrist in a painfully tight grip within seconds without giving you any chance to react. The tight impact caused you to sharply draw in some air, before you found yourself being pulled into his lap with an equally tight grip capturing your throat. 

There it was. He had snapped. 

The sharp blade clattered to the ground as you clawed at his large hand with both of yours, panic settling in your bones. “You would do well to follow your King’s orders,” his hot breath fanned across your face when he brought yours closer to his. 

In the distance, you faintly heard the door to Maegor’s chambers fall shut, indicating that the barber had left without a word. 

A lightheaded feeling spread throughout your mind with you choking for air, not getting better when his lips captured yours in a kiss that was shy of gentleness and chasity. 

When your teeth harshly bit down on his bottom lip, he released you in surprise, seizing the chance to bring some space between your bodies. Upon a closer look, you spotted a few droplets of blood on his pale skin, and your panic was replaced by pride, even if it only lasted for a few seconds. 

As his bull-like body rose from its seat and proweld towards you, your head craned upwards to meet his purple eyes. It was a good thing he was not able to see how your heartbeat quickened at his movements, and though he was your brother and twin, Maegor still was unpredictable and always in control. 

For a split second, you thought he would actually do something, however, it had merely been an intimidation tactic, a clear warning. He stopped just a few inches shy of you, crossing his rippled arms in front of his chest. 

You grabbed a hold of the closest item you could grasp–a candlestick in this case–and proceeded to try to swing it at him, but someone as skilled as Maegor had an easy game ducking and grabbing something to block your attack. 

It was obvious that he held back, because otherwise you would’ve been flung through his chambers by now. What you did not notice was that he slowly but surely backed you up against the bed, stalking closer towards you with each step, practically herding you.  

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?” You asked, swinging the candlestick at him once again. This time around, Maegor did not try to lessen your blows and just ducked. “Am I not strong enough for you?” When there did not come any objection or reaction from him, you moved to kick him with your foot, which didn’t do more than barely pushing him back. It was clear you did not have anywhere near the physical strength required to move someone of his caliber, more without his compliance. 

“Don’t you remember?” You asked–no spat. “I fought with you in the Stepstones. I saved your life.”

By the look on Maegor’s face, he seemed to find a certain liking in your outburst, not because he had not seen you like that before, but because he always enjoyed putting you back in your place after. In that moment you truly were your mother’s daughter, and Maegor loved your mother just as dearly as you. A smirk that dripped with malice was etched onto his features, sending shivers down your spine once you noticed it. 

The realization was short lived, because your next blow was seized by him getting the candlestick from you by twisting it, recklessly throwing it aside and demolishing some vessels standing on a chest of drawers. “Without me, you would not sit on the Iron Throne!” A harsh kick of him pushed you down to the bed behind you with him following shortly after and settling between your parted legs, immobilizing you. You grunted at the impact, but where quickly shushed by his proximity.

He had your throat captured once again, but not as tight as before, and allowed you to actually breathe. “How could I forget!” His deep voice rang out, resembling more an animalistic growl than an actual human’s voice. “You keep reminding me,” each word was emphasized with a tight squeeze to your throat, inevitably pushing you deeper into the mattress beneath. 

His bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, the entirety of your neck covered by his hand though he hadn't even splayed out his fingers. Your hand clasped around his wrist with your nails digging into his skin, but he did not hiss at the pain, effortlessly keeping you pinned beneath him. 

“I am so angry with you.”

Maegor made it no secret that the whole act aroused him, and shamelessly pressed his bulge against your womanhood, causing you to take in a sharp breath, as you felt your own arousal coating the inside of your smallclothes. 

Upon seeing the smug grin that adorned his features, you had never longed more for Dreamfyre to unleash her flames, because Maegor knew you could never say no to him - regardless of how angry or sad you were. 

Your eyelids lowered as you looked up and down his stern face, trying to observe his darkened eyes. They met yours, trying to guess your next move.

“Are you sure?” Came as a reply, and within seconds, his large hands had grasped your waist and flipped you over onto your stomach. One of his hands applied a good bit of pressure to the back of your neck, while the other pushed the skirts of your dress up and pulled down your smallclothes in one motion.

As his calloused fingers dragged through your mound, you refrained from bucking your hips into his touch and opted to try to wiggle out of his grasp. Maegor just chuckled dryly at that, and when two of his digits eased into your core, every sense of restraint left your body. 

Your face was pushed into the bedcovers, though the moan you released still was perfectly audible to him. 

“That’s what I thought,” your twin replied smugly. “You would not be so wet if you really were angry with me, Y/N.”

While you felt ashamed he had noticed your body’s reaction to him, you could not deny that the silence between you was thick with tension, both of you obviously longing for more. And with Maegor being a bit blunter than you were, he had no shame wording his desires. 

“Must I fuck some sense into you, sister? Must I treat and fuck you like a common whore to remember you of your place again?”

Even with your head barely turned to the side, you could see the way his bulky frame was looming over your much smaller one, covering its entirety in a mere display of dominance. That alone almost was enough to put you into submission, but a few threads inside of you still clung to the initial hurt of him not wanting you to join him in battle, hence you tried your best not to give in to him. 

But still, his condescending words put a bright blush to your cheeks, the color even running down your neck and spreading along his large hand clasping the back of it. “There-There is no-no need for that, brother,” you stuttered, voice not louder than a whisper.

You should’ve seen it coming, but his fingers quickly were replaced by his hard cock. When the bulbous tip of it prodded against your entrance, you already tried to prepare yourself for it, but to no avail. 

Being as rough as always, Maegor practically forced himself into your tightness, causing you to cry out - but not in pain or dismay. The daunting size of his cock always rendered you speechless, though it was very much in proportion with his large body. 

The pace he set up was reckless and harsh from the very beginning, and whenever the tip of his member brushed the sensitive spot within your core, the breaths hitched in your throat, hiccuping and trying to fill your lungs the short moments he used to draw his hips back. 

Instead of being propped up on your hands and knees, you just laid on the bed, unable to move even in the slightest. Maegor seemed to relish in the dominance he held over you, and your body seemed to keen at the realization, too. 

Your bodies were an interesting contrast, despite you being twins. His broad and powerful form, even larger than your father Aegon The Conqueror, was towering over, driving into and domineering your delicate body in every possible way. 

You fisted the silken bed covers as if your life was depending on it, knuckles blanching from the force in an attempt to keep your body grounded and strong for his reckless assault. “G-Gods… be… good,” you whined through particularly harsh thrusts, your voice increasing in volume. 

The sounds of his heavy stones slapping against your slick core and the creaking of the bed probably could be heard by anyone that passed by the King’s chambers and even further down the corridor, but neither of you cared. Maegor and you were dragons, true blood Targaryens that were determined to rule the Realm together. If it was up to him, he’d take you in the Throne Room atop the Iron Throne and have everyone of court watch–or at least hear–the pair of you. 

“I am your King, and I expect you to treat me as such,” Maegor growled through gritted teeth, emphasizing the meaning of his words with harsh thrusts of his hips and a tight squeeze of his hands on yours. “Am I understood?”

“Y-Yes, Your Gr-Grace,” you stuttered out, clearly cock drunk. 

“Good.”

You were so lost in the bliss your twin granted you, that you had not even noticed your eyes squeezed shut with tears brimming in the corners–until his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks and turned your head to force you to look at him from over your shoulder. 

“Not so bold anymore, mh?” Maegor asked, though it was obvious the question was outright sarcastic, not expecting an answer from you. “Where is your confidence now, silly girl?”

As your lips parted in an attempt to hiccup something in return, Maegor seized the chance and spat a thick puddle of his saliva straight to the corner of your pouty lips. A bit of it dripped into your mouth, whereas the rest stayed exactly where he had spat it to.

The second your tongue darted out to gather the rest of his saliva, he pushed his hips into yours harshly and immediately stopped in his tracks while buried to the hilt inside of you, a loud tsking echoing through the chambers followed by a “No.” You stopped–of course you did–and only gasped once you noticed the fullness within you and the warmth of his saliva spreading all over you flushed cheeks with his thumb smearing it.

Shame rose within your body, fighting with the despair you felt at him not moving anymore. You figured it was time to take your pleasure into your own hands, and started to rock your hips against his, though your movements were far slower and much more sensual. Maegor chuckled dryly at that, and released your face in order to serve a stinging slap to your arse. 

You squealed and inevitably clenched down around him, resulting in the bull behind you drawing in a sharp breath. “Just as desperate for my cock as any of the common whores in the Street of Silk, I see,” he remarked snakily, the smirk on his chiseled features perfectly audible. 

“But I will be no cruel man,” with that, he proceeded to impale you on his hard cock, snapping his hips into yours over and over again, until the familiar coil in your belly seemed to tighten. 

There was no one else that knew your body better as your twin, and as if he was spurred on by the reaction of your body to his ministrations, he snaked his large hand flatly underneath your lower body and started to circle his deft fingers around the sensitive bud at the apex of your legs, amplifying your pleasure and your following peak. 

Your core was clenching around him so tightly with whines and moans spilling past your lips like prayers, that Maegor barely was able to declare his own approaching peak, only noticing he reached it once his warm seed filled your body and added to the overall fullness you felt.

Without another word and not even the repercussions of his peak fully subsiding, Maegor pulled out and laced the front of his breeches back up. Picking the knife of the barber up from the ground, he trimmed the rest of his beard himself, only sparing you a scarce glance through the mirror.

You rearranged your smallclothes and dress, despite his seed oozing out of your core, and slowly stalked towards him like a hunter. The emotions within your body had calmed, clearing your mind again. 

“So, I assume I am allowed to join Your Grace on his flight to the Blackwater?” You asked in the sweetest voice you could muster and even paid attention to the damned courtesies, determined to get exactly what you wanted. 

But without even turning to look at you, Maegor retorted a stern “No,” before placing the knife down as he was finished. “You are dismissed now–I have to sit on Dragonback in an hour.”