#this is meant to be entirely incoherent as i am literally still so. just so.

[lingeringscars]

I'm still not over bullet with the butterfly wings playing. Despite all my rage im still just a rat in a cage. The mouse is dead. They're angry. They're enraged but they're still trapped. They built a cage of their own. Later they built the pit. They're trapped in their rage in a cage of their own making. It doesn't matter how angry they are when they're trapped by the wilderness.

Then the rituals, fuck, the rituals. The queen, picture of beauty, meaning of destruction. The world is a vampire. Secret destroyers. What is lost can never be saved. They can never reclaim their innocence it does not matter how far they remove or distance themselves or look to the wilderness or lottie for answers. Manufacturing your own suffering. Suriving horrible conditions.

[mysticallystilinski]

i just need the sappiest like nap with stiles he's such a baby i cannot

BABY LOVE

a stiles stilinski x fem!reader fic

— ౨ৎ masterlist

CW ! (literally only the most cutest fluff)

lav speaks.. i’m so tired and it’s 3 am! i listened to the feels by twice the entire time while making this fic; take that as it is :)

heading to the stilinski household after lacrosse practice was the highlight of your day. of course — stiles lacrosse practice. one day in particular, you had happened to head to his house a little bit later than normal.

going up the front porch steps, and knocking on his door to no response was a little confusing to you. usually with the 4 knocks, stiles and yours speciality, he would run down the stairs, knock into a few things, then quickly open the door.

nope, today it was an embodiment of silence. beacon hills was growing darker by the second. of course with the reputation of the supernatural, you had to either go home and explain to stiles later why you didn’t show up, or risk being hit by a baseball bat in self defense.

you chose the second option.

slowly creaking the door open, the lights were on, but sheriff stilinski was at work; meaning that stiles had to be somewhere. fear creeping within, you quickly ran up the stairs and towards stiles room. his door was ajar, meaning he was definitely home.

“sti?”, you questioned softly while opening his door. your face contorted into an awe once you saw he was sleeping on his bed, still in his lacrosse jersey. stiles shoes were on, his hair slightly sweaty, and he was hugging one of your blankets that you gave him tightly.

you slowly pulled out your phone, and snapped a photo of him, sending it to his phone for him to look at later. heading over to him, you quickly took off your shoes and jacket, and laid right next to him.

“stiles — wake up i’m here”, you giggle. stiles groaned, turning over while practically crushing you underneath him. he mumbled something incoherent, so you didn’t even bother trying to understand what he meant. “sti, you’re hurting me”.

his arms started to feel around, as if he was looking for something important. finally finding your warm body, he pulled you in closer making you breath in his musky scent. you practically died at the touching from him. even though he was your boyfriend, every experience felt new and never got old.

he embraced you, as you wrapped your arms around his torso. you felt his chest rise, slowly up and down. he was dead asleep, and there was no waking him up from this comfy position.

you gave up fighting it and actually gave in. making yourself comfortable, you wrapped your legs around stiles legs, interlocking each-others bodies. with being able to slightly use your hands, you connected your phone to his speaker and put on some soft music.

stiles woke up in a haze, trying to figure out his surroundings and who he was cuddling. once he realized it was you, a smile absorbed his face. “hey”, he spoke softly. you laughed at his expression, half-asleep, and practically dreaming.

“did lacrosse kick your ass?” you slight snickered. stiles just groaned at the thought of lacrosse, “yes — yes it definitely did.” without second thought, stiles pulled you closer to his sweaty body. you didn’t mind it though, you guys were just close like that.

besides, it was kind of a turn on.

stiles yawned, which caused you to yawn — complete chain reaction. “baby, are you tired?”, stiles asked in a compassionate voice. in a sleepy haze, your eyes started to droop and your thoughts wandered. “mm’ so tired sti.”

he smirked at your words, slightly rubbing your back to make you even more sleepy. “here, wear my jersey baby”, stiles spoke in a whisper. he stripped himself of the jersey, and slowly maneuvered it onto your body.

it had to be immediately after that action that you were out like a light, breathing in the comforting scent of his. stiles faced his back towards you and took your hand around his body. he needed to be comfortable too, and of course he was the little spoon, always.

minutes later, stiles was sound asleep in your arms. both dreaming of each-other, lovers became closer.

— ᡣ𐭩 LAV

[killkaramazov]

fuck it I’m drunk. The points being articulated in TBK are literally incoherent! Every single idea established is then torn down--- either parodied, deconstructed, inverted, or paralelled at some other point, to such a degree that it turns into idealogical and philosophical soup. "Pro and Contra", as is stated. The ending is bleak, underwhelming, and ineffectual! Alyosha's speech at the end is a failure. He is trying SO hard to follow the doctrine that Father Zossima gave him, that he is needed in the world, he is trying so hard to say the right thing to these poor children but his words pale in comparison to the great suffering that has transpired and will continue to transpire ceaselessly. These children then hear his words and exalt him and the Karamazov family name, that stands for all that is base and sick in the world. Ivan is still sick. His ideology and intellect, all he is and all he has, has failed him. He has a very long reckoning yet to come. Dmitry is still imprisoned and in purgatory. Absolutely everyone has completely failed to acknowledge that Smerdyakov was a human being and their family member, despite the entire idea being repeated, ad nauseum, that we are ALL meant to be "servants to our servants and servants to all men" and our brothers keepers. Despite or even because of all of this, the book is extraordinary. Though he had ideas that any particular reader may disagree with, this incoherence cannot be an accident. Dostoevsky can convey a point to exactness, in all it's complexity, to a degree that rivals any author who has ever lived. Then I am reminded that this was not even meant to be THE Book, this was only ever the PRELUDE to THE Book. This was all just the set up for something. And the payoff of whatever was supposed to be "The Life of a Great Sinner" was robbed from us by his death! And so Dostoevsky himself departs, and takes all the answers with him, into the great mystery. And we are left only with the endless questions, the ineffectual answers, the contradictions, the speculations, and the mystery. Exactly as we are in regards to the questions and ideas posed by all of religion itself. It's the kind of allegory that would be much too on the nose if you tried to put it into a film or a story.

[shreddedleopard]

I am absolutely bursting at the seams to scream about Morimyu Op 3.

Wanna write a very structured, intelligent analysis post but I don’t even know where to begin. Just … all of it.

— incoherent rambling about Moriarty the Musical Op 3 in-coming so quick — scroll if you don’t wanna see!

The way William’s yearning is portrayed. And Sherlock’s frustration. All the little references to Sherlock being a puppet on William’s strings. The way William is so infuriating and yet heartbreaking in the same breath. I totally get what Shogo meant when he once said, ‘it would be nice if William could be honest.’

The songs.

Spinning Around the Rondo? That entire spectacle. The lyrics, but also the way William steers and manoeuvres Sherlock at his whim … and the fact that they’re dancing with one another. I just. The metaphors. It was everything I needed from them.

I also love how we see the theme of the scarlet thread connecting them — this idea that they’re both attached but William is the one literally ‘pulling the strings’ — again in the scene with the Jack the Ripper culprits murdered. William tugging on an invisible string as he leaves and Sherlock immediately turning up to investigate. Chills.

In This Lonely Room I think is my favourite song from all 5 Opuses. When I say my jaw hit the floor … the dialogue from Albert beforehand — “you seem quite taken with him” ????? Umm. Okay. So it’s not just us then 😂 WILLIAM. You have been perceived 👀

And Shogo’s perfect called-out expression. But the pain in his eyes like … he doesn’t want to be made to face reality. He was having fun with his own little delusions and fixation with Sherlock. He was living in happy denial. Why do you have to go and be all voice of reason and ruin it, Albert?? “It will only hurt you.” EXCUSE ME is this advice on dealing with an unhealthy crush from your older brother time? I DIED.

But anyway. The song. Oh god, the song. Shogo sang it so beautifully and emotionally it made my soul ache for William and he’s like … he’s got this little glimmer of hope in Sherlock and when he LIES ON THE SOFA and sings TO HIS HAND LIKE A LOVER and then CLUTCHES IT TO HIS HEART. I cannot. Breathe.

What were they thinking? HOW can anyone be normal about them after witnessing that?

All of the songs in the second half pretty much ended me, to be honest.

I’m not sure how many times two people need to sing about having each other in their hearts to get the message across. I heard it the first time. And the second. And the third. BOYS PLEASE I UNDERSTAND don’t make it hurt more.

And then … the Durham date? THE DURHAM DATE!?

Ryo’s acting here was so good. The range of emotions he goes through during his talks with William — from notice me senpai to omfg challenge accepted to oh god we just sang about changing the world together do we really have to return to the weighty matter of why I came here — the LOC — after that? To oh shit you really do want someone to stop you to actually the RELIEF because that means you are a good person underneath it all if it’s really you — and I hope it is because I want you to be as obsessed with me as I am with you.

WILLIAM��S SHERLOCK AFTER HE LEAVES? The way he smiles so full it’s visible even with the dimming lights.

And then the final song … the repetition and switching of ‘I hope’ and ‘I will.’

I now fully understand why Morimyu twitter cannot stop saying those phrases and I am fully with everyone because ever since watching Op 2 they have been echoing in my mind but NOW — now I feel them in my bones like a bloody mantra.

Yes, I am dramatic about this. What of it?

😂😭🥹🤦🏼‍♀️

(Not even gonna start on Op 4 because that also broke me in very specific ways but it still comes in hard second to Op 3 my love.)

[bonesandthebees]

Also, I was wondering why there would be spoilers for the entirety of Stars and then I got hit in the face by Ranboo again. Let it be known that I am still mad about that. And not even because the plan, because it’s a good and fair plan and Wilbur was fully aware they would pull it at the start. It’s the not realising how wrong it was that still pisses me off. Maybe I’m also a bit mad that Wilbur was right, but Tommy wouldn’t listen. Just a little. Doesn’t mean Wilbur wasn’t being a dick about it.

Anyway, onto the main course: The first little bird was accidental! Oh the irony of Phil pointing out Wilbur being in denial while in complete denial of his parental instincts. Damn. It’s also interesting how it starts with the hypothetical of Wilbur having wings. If I remember correctly, that’s the point where Phil realises that he can no longer ignore the parental feelings. Maybe the conversation catapulted back. Tbf, I think that’s also after he has to explain what little bird means.

But it’s funny to see how much of his emotions Wilbur seems to wear on his face (or how well Phil can read him) and how that speaks the parental train lf though because Phil thinks it similar to wings giving emotions away. The train of thought feels very natural too. Including Phil having a ‘hold up’ moment when he realises what he’s thinking and then vaulting straight into denial. Also, more irony, his won't know what’s up, good thing Wilbur doesn’t know how to read them.

Okay, so the second time the “little bird” is very much on purpose. It’s very clear from Phil’s pov that it was never meant or used as an insult like Wilbur thought at first. His age isn’t something to be looked down about. It’s a sign of his potential and that potential has always been what Phil has been after.

But down in cave 4, it’s clear how fond he is of Wilbur. He likes seeing him happy, even of it doesn’t register that way. He’s aware of how tired he looks (worried even). He can’t stand seeing him cold. And the internal switch for Orpheus to Wilbur especially. Phil can see the person underneath all those titles and that’s the one he wants (even when Wilbur has no idea who he is). But it doesn’t register as care to either of them. Fools.

I’m sorry if this is an incoherent mess. It’s been a while since I’ve done starts analysis.

(4/4)

-🌲

LOL YEAH I almost forgot to put that spoiler warning and then I was like "wait phil talks about ranboo so much shit I need to warn for that" because the ranboo reveals is one of my favorite twists in the entire fic. that was one of the things I had planned since before I started writing stars. ranboo was always going to be spying on the brothers, so I wrote even his earliest interactions with that in mind.

but yeah. wilbur was being a dick about it because if he had been wrong, damn, he would've been an asshole. but he was right. tommy should've taken his opinion into consideration a bit more but yknow he's 15 and dealing with a lot he's gonna push back on certain things with his brother even when his older brother probably has a point.

that bit about the first little bird being a slipup was so fun for me to include. phil did not do that on purpose but then he was like "shit I gotta roll with this" and wilbur, in all his amazing paranoia, was like "this must be another power play he's trying to demean me he's trying to make me feel stupid-" it's so funny wilbur overthinks things so much sometimes

phil was on the denial train for so long. I'd say that first 'little bird' is where it really began, but then things just progressed from there with phil denying it all the way down.

but speaking of denial, little bird count number 2 was no accident so hm phil... what's up with that? it was never an insult though. it's exactly like you said. wilbur's age wasn't something to be looked down on, it was just an example of how much potential he had.

literally yes phil is so fond and doesn't even realize it because god knows phil hasn't admitted an emotion in decades. he wants to see wilbur's potential shine. he wants to see him be more than what others expected. he wants to see wilbur in a good place, and he wants wilbur specifically, not the etiquette mask of orpheus.

this was lovely to read as always ty spruce anon <33

[baldpeoplehater]

ok so its 2 am. i am tired, i am incoherent and i have a lot to say.

first of all, before the final 10ish minutes i was actually pretty ok with the ending! i was so happy to see that most of the stories were wrapped up really nicely and were headed for a good place. but as soon as ted boarded that airplane. oh god.

although i never really shipped tedbecca before season 3, to me it kinda of seemed like they were ending up together? and i wasn’t mad about it. i actually got pretty invested in it after the whole matchbox/soldier thing. and it really sucks that they build all that up for nothing! all the signs with the psychic (“oh but they could have been for the dutch guy” yes! why not just leave them for scenes with him then?), the multiple ted/rebecca fakeouts (the whole bantr thing and the beginning of the finale episode), the AIRPORT SCENE? SERIOUSLY? and the worst part about it is that by building all this up but not having them end up together, rebecca’s ending felt unfinished and rushed (we barely got to know the guy and even though is “meant to be” or whatever they interacted once. come on), and (for me personally) it seemed that the show implied ted going back to michelle, which makes no sense at all. there was no need for tedbecca to be endgame, but both of their characters deserved better.

the whole roy/keeley/jamie debacle. (i think i just get throuple baited by ted lasso) seriously, i’m ALL for keeley ending up alone since she’s been in relationships basically the whole show. but why make her go back to roy when he apologized????? if they made up, as friends, there wouldn’t be A SINGLE storyline that would have to be changed. they still could’ve gone after jamie. the fight between jamie and roy could still be a catalyst for her to realize that she doesn’t want to be with either of them for now. it was completely unnecessary for them to sleep together.

why. on. earth. would you, for three entire seasons, disapprove of a relationship, show us how toxic it is, and then have them marry each other. seriously. of all the couples, beard and jane ended up together? dude. come on.

ok. let’s ignore the whole beard and jane thing being toxic and just assume they’re good now and she’s improved (her shredding his passport so he couldn’t leave was barely a figment of my imagination). although i dislike ted and beard being apart, i do understand that people move on and even the closest of friends sometimes have to grow apart. but why couldn’t they show us ted at beard’s wedding? he clearly was ok with beard staying for jane. there was no bad blood and even with him going back to kansas, i really doubt he would miss his best friend’s wedding.

and finally, i hate that ted went back to kansas. i can’t really logic myself out of this one, like i did with my other complaints because the reason why he went is really simple: for his son. and it’s the right thing to do. must be really hard parenting from another country and i’m absolutely sure that henry missed him a lot. but michelle could’ve gone to london with him, specially after it being implied that dr. jacob was out of the picture. it just makes me really sad that ted had to go back while everyone else moved forward.

ok! now the positive points because im not a complete bitch.

love to see rupert get absolutely shitted on. the wanker scene? poetic cinema.

i’m really happy that rebecca didn’t sell the club and that she realized that, although it wasn’t what she imagined would happen at first, they were her family now. also loved the juxtaposition of her giving 49% of shares to the fans against edwin akufo’s idea of a super league or whatever the fuck

COLIN GOT TO KISS HIS FELLA. THATS ALL I WANTED I LITERALLY CRIED

the ted/nate scenes really moved me. even though nate’s arc was kinda rushed, i was still happy to see him thriving at the end and going back to being the sympathetic character he was at the beginning of the show. him saying i’m sorry, crying on ted’s shoulder, coming back as assistant kitman instead of coach, it all showed that he changed. i’m also really glad that richmond won with his false nine after all.

MY BABY SAM GOT TO BE IN NIGERIAS TEAM IM SO EXCITED FOR HIM I DONT EVEN CARE IF IT DOESNT MAKE SENSE JUST LET HIM PLAY OK

the goodbye song from the boys and their reaction when ted says he liked it. priceless. (bonus points for trent joining in)

trent’s book being successful

willis

anyways. it was a hell of a ride. i don’t think we’re getting a season 4, but if we do i’ll be back on my bullshit. believe guys :)

[just-some-random-blogger]

I'm not the same person I was one fic ago

Edit: this is extremely long (like twice the length of your fic probably 💀) and unhinged and 75% incoherent but know I mean it all with love

FIRST OF ALL WHEN I STARTED READING THE FIRST LINES I WAS LIKE DAMN THIS IS GOOD then my eyes skimmed back into the a/n and I was like well fuck little to no dialogue 😔😔😔⚰️💀 my brain do be shutting off sometimes when I read little dialogue. Idk it be like that, that's why when I write I'm dialogue heavy (most of the time)

I DIGRESS MY POINT IS

IM NOT THE SAME PERSON I WAS ONE FIC AGO

This is a long ass reblog AND HONESTLY YEAH I DO THINK I HAVE TO APOLOGIZE FOR REQUOTING YOUR ENTIRE FUCKING FIC BACK TO YOU BECAUSE

DAMN

I haven't felt a rush like this in so long.WHAT A TIME TO BE ALIVE YOU KNOW?! WHY KILL YOURSELF WHEN YOU CAN READ DAEMON FANFICTION ON TUMBLR FOR FREE

✨✨✨✨✨Free real estate✨✨✨✨✨

ig a minute sorry for the shit spamming reblog but you must know I do this out of love because I'm an unemployed fresh grad with no spare change and this is the only way I could ever pay you. I'd give you my hair if you asked I'd go bald for you

Ok this is getting weird

Did I say I really like this already? Idk I'm too lazy to go back and check also if my words/sentences are incoherent 😬 thank you for dealing with it because I will not be going back to check if I spelled and typed everything correctly we die like women

OK WAIT I GOT DISTRACTED I MEANT TO PREFACE THIS BY SAYING I DONT LIKE LIGHT DIALOGUE ON FICS COS IDK SOMETIMES MY BRAIN IS LIKE ENOUGH BACKGROUND GIMME THE ACTION but that's not what happened at all THE CHEMICALS IN MY BRAIN ARE SO ALIVE AND HAPPY WOW NOW I KNOW WHY IVE BEEN SO SAD LATELY ITS BECAUSE I HAVEN'T BEEN READING FICS

Idk it felt daunting and scary to do so ??? And tiring and I almost didn't read this because of that IDK MY BRAIN WAS LIKE DONT DO IT IT WONT BE FUN JUST GO TO A TRIED AND TESTED SOURCE BUT DAMN YOU DA SOURCE MY DEAR I AM A DESERT AND YOU ARE MY OASIS

Maybeeeeeeeeee you're gonna be the one that saves meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhh

Ok that was a long enough preface, in coming my live (not so live) reaction

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

INSANE. AN INSANE OPENING.

Ok another sidenote, im on mobile and I can only add 10 pics 😔😔😔🤚 smh so I would add more mem reactions for you to vividly understand what and how I'm reacting but

🤚IN🤚SANE💅😩😖 literally just the first line, the first sentence.

WHAT SHE SAID WHATTTT 💥💥🎉🎉🤯🤯🤯🤯 THATS SOME BIG BRAIN LEVEL OPENINGS. SUCH A STRONG OPENING DAFAQ 😒 PACK IT UP EINSTEIN LEAVE SAME BRAIN CELLS FOR THE REST OF US. LIKE HUHHHHHH????????

JUST AGAIN THE OASIS TO MY DESERT UGH (you probably don't care but I used this analogy in one of my Kylo Ren fics and 😗☕👌 I ate that up tbh. I miss her. I miss her, who could write 11k shit fics of her favs 😔) IDK IDK JUST RANT I RANT A LOT IN MY FIC REBLOGS BECAUSE 💅💅💅💅 I HAVE NO FRIENDS LMAO AHHAAHHAHAHHA

🤬🤬🤬get used to it because you can't get rid of me.......... lol

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

NO CUZ THIS HADME SCREAAMMINNGGG HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHH SHE REALLY SAID 🤢🤢🤢🤢🤢 GET IT I GUESS WESTERNERS 🤮 DAFAQ

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

White people

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

RAHHH I DONT EVEN REMEMBER WHAT MY REACTION WAS TO THIS BUT IM WILLING TO BET IT WAS KICKING MY LEGS SCREAMING BLUSHING LIKE A CLOWN

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GIRL BOSS SLAYYYY GASLIGHT GATEKEEP GIRLBOSS SLAYYY HER FATHER ATE ok tbh I don't remember my live reaction to this either but something to do with her father. Im pretty sure at this point you had my soul in your hands I was like this kid is great at writing (and I don't mean that in a oh I'm definitely older than you or condescending way but in like a memey 'hey this guy is good' way)

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

NOW I KNOW EXACTLY HOW I REACTED TO THIS. I WAS GIGGLING AND FROTHING INT HE MOUTH OVER HIS AGE LINES COS YEAH YEAH OK IM A LIL BITCH FOR IT HUH WHAT ABOUT IT SUE ME. In fact I was so distracted by it I didn't even realize there was a mention of viserys in this 💀💀💀💀🤚🤚🤚 HAAHHAHAAHAHAHHAH WE LOVE ME SOME GOOD OL ROTTING VISERYS SLANDERHAHHAHAAH IDK EVERYTIME ITS MENTIONED ITS JUST SO FUNNY TO ME LIKE I LOVE TO SEE IT HAHAAHHA

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

AIRYYY LANGUAGE 😩😩😩🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 I LOVE THAT DESCRIPTION. Made me think of elvish/silmarillion/Sindarin lol even though I only know the lotr movies. Also it's such a slay, so fresh and clean to have them not speak the same language. UghHHHH SUCH VIG BRAIN. Also I love the sound of rhoynar. Just the name. No idea what the language sounds like IN FACT I SPENT THE ENTIRE FIC TRYNA GUESS WHAT BONDABIL OR WHATEVER THE FUCK THAT B WORD WAS MEANT

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

NO YOU DONT UNDERSTAND RAHHHHHHHH

He got me fucked up when he started teaching her. AND NIT EVEN COMMON TONGUE. HIGH VALYRIAN. ⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️ HIS presumably MOTHER TONGUE BITCH DAFAQ AITE IMMA HEAD OUT IT WAS ZO NICE KNOW ALL OF Y'ALL BYEEEE

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Bro mad that girls be winnin

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

GASLIGHT GATEKEEP GIRLBOSS RAHHHH. HER YES AND ERA (altho Ari be problematic) BUT SHE REALLY SAID 😒💅 ???? ITS TRUE???? 😗☕👌 WHAT ABOUT IT

You get no further lessons.

RAHHHHHH

JUST SO CONCISE. SO POWERFUL. AND DAEMON BE MAD AS FUCKKKK. SO PETTYYYYYY 🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮🤮 EWWWWWWWWW MENNNNNN

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

No cuz the speed in which I thought 'oh to be sold of to-' I really had to stop myself. I really had to take a moment and call myself out for THE SPEED the feminism left my body. NAH BUT THEN I WAS LIKE NO FUCK THAT IN THIS ECOMONY?????? IN OUR YEAR OF THE LORD 2024? TO A PRINCE??????? NAH CUZ AT LEAST HER DAD SOLD HER TO A PRINCE 🤚🤚🤚 YEAH IMMA SAY IT OH TO BE SOLD OFF TO A PRINCE IN THIS ECONOMY 😩😩😩✨✨💀💀⚰️⚰️

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

... I forgot again... But slay girlie get that dragon husband yipyip

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

This wasn't my honest reaction but 💀 Daemon kinda dumb for that. BUT YEAH MY HONEST REACTION IS STILL THE SAME WHY THE FUCK DID SHE POKE DAEMON HELLO????? IN WHAT UNIVERSE IS THAT A GOOD IDEA??? LIKE??? HELLO?? I GET HE WAS SCREAMING AT YOU BUT POKING???

Like you thought you ate with that?? Girl I get punching him, slapping him, SCREAMING BACK but poking????????

Ok your honor I've thought about it and I guess she didn't want to be violent cos hell yeah daemon would knock me out one punch man style but your honor in the moment it was just confusing and a really bad idea I stand by this GIRL

乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ乁⁠(⁠ ⁠•⁠_⁠•⁠ ⁠)⁠ㄏ u do I booo ok? I got it 😒☕👌

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

Rip lady rhea Royce, you would have loved women's suffrage

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

ARE WE ABOUT TO KISS RIGHT NOW

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH NO CUZ HE WAS LIKE 👹👹👹👹👹👹 IM SO SCARY IM GOING TO PRESS MY FACE REALLY CLOSE TO YOU yes yes irl it would be scary but 😋😋😋😋😋😋😋😋 he's such a dummy baby girl

ALSO 👀👀👀👀 TOWARDS RHE BED???

Yes I'm a depraved daemon slut spray me with water all you want HISS HISS

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

RAHHHH OKAY THESE MIGHT BE OUT OF ORDER COS MY CLIPBOARD AND COPY PASTE DOESNT MALFUNTIONS SOMETIMES BUT RAHHHHHHHH YOU GO QUEEN CHEW HIS HEAD OFFF GRRR BARK BARK SHE LIKE ME FR I BARK AND SNARL TOO 😖😖😖😖👹👹👹

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

UGHHHHH RAHHH BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK YOUR HONOR I DONT KNWO WHAG ELSE TO SAY ITS SO DAEMN ITS SO JUICY DELICIOUS HE CAN PUKK MY BUTTRONS OFF ANYTIME IM NOT EVEN SORRY IM JUST SPEKAING M TURHT

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

NO CUZ QUEEN BEHAVIOR. I CANNTO TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES I SLAPPED MYSELF IN THE FACE WHIEL I SQUEALED READING THROUGH THIS. IM PRETTY SURE I WAS KNEE DEEP IN DOING THAT BY THIS PART AND SHE REALLY ATE HIM UP WITH THIS. SHE DEVOURRRREDDDD SHEEEE LEFFTTTT HIM GAGGEDD LIKE BITCH YOU MEEANNNNN WHAT I SAID DAORRR 🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚🤚 PUT A SOCK IN IT RAGGED RAT

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

THE CROWD GOES WILDDDDDDDD I CANT BELIEVE IT AHE GIRLBOSSED HERSELF TO THE SUNNNN HES BACKIN UP WITH HIS TALE BETWEEN HIS LEGS 🗣️PACK🗣️🗣️IT🗣️UP🗣️ LIZARD🗣️MAN🗣️

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

NOOOOO CUZZZZ GIGGGLIINGGG IS SUCH A POWER MOVE SHE WAS SO 😩😩😩😩 SO OP FOR THAT WHATTTTTT

Gagged

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

It's me I'm the slut for lip swiping. Fuck. Fuck me. Please I begging you. I'm on my hands and knees. You rlly got daemon goin

And I respect that

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

LAUGHING DAEMON❓BITING DAEMON❓GAGGED READER❓HUSSY READER❓DEAD ME. AND THATS ON PERIOD

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

I hate her (I wish that was me)

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

Your honor I creamed my pants. I WISH I COULD JUST DO VOICE RECORD BECAUSE NO AMOUNT IF TEXT COULD DO THE REACTIONS IM DOING ANY JUSTICE DAFAQ THIS GOT ME CURLING MY FINGERS CURLING MY TOES SCREAMING (silently cos it's the wee hour of the night and I can't be waking up the dead now)

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

SO FUCKING ME

I WILL CONSUME HIM

He pets your hair.

What if this was my last straw

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

🥲STOP😭MAKING💔FUN😔OF😩ME😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡 sroppp it I will cry at you kiss me right now 💔💔💔💔💔

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

BRAT TAME ME I DARE YOU FUCK YOU DAEMON I WILL WHINE I WILL TANTRUM SO HARD I FUCKING HATE YOU CODDLE ME RIGHT NOW I WILL CRYYYYY

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

Ok

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

NO NO NIT DAOR NO NO PLEASE STOP IT I WILL CRY AT YOU

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

SISTER I KNOW IM REDUNDANT BUT IM GAGGED IM SO GAGGED NO CUZ I DOUBT HED GIVE A FUCK AND BE THIS THOUGHTFUL IF THEY SPOKE THE SAME LANGUAGE TBH HES JUST SO KDKSKJDJD FUCK OFF FUCK OFFF

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

😩😩😩😩😩😩😩 finally some fucking food (kisses) I'd use the Gordon meme but I'm saving my meme reactions as I've mentioned

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

Me asf. 10/10 no notes.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

She's so me. Me 🤝 her. We are one exo (it a kpop meme ignore it if u don't know lol. Nah I'll explain just in case it's like their (kpop boy band 'EXO') tagline

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

HAHAHHAAHH NGL I GAGGED MYAELF WITH THIS MEME REACTION. THIS WASNT THE ONE I WAS THINKING OFF BUT YAH SAME. GOD BLESS DONNA. GOD BLESS MERYL

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀️🤽‍♀��🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪YOU CHEEKY FUCKING BASTARD 😡😡😡😡😡 CLEARLY NOT THIS IS WHY MEN DONT DESERVE RIGHTS

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

MEEEEEE ME AS FUCK ME ME ME HAIR PULLING YEARNING WANTING NEEDING DEMANDING I WANT HIM I LOVE HIM MOST ARDENTLY

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

AND I OOP BUT IM NOT COMPLAINING JUST MAYBE A TINY KINDA

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I wish I was her I 'm so jealous of her I'm fucking beefing with a bunch of lines fuck outta here

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

Hey so I'm going to set myself on fire. Cool. Cool. I'm so normal. 100 percent no doubt no doubt

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

I love it here

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

😵wanna😵‍💫die😔so😖fucking😩bad🥲ha👹🤽‍♀️ha🔪

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

I was not the same person I was one fic ago

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

[journeyforthepublic]

Now it's getting toxic...

Today I drove by ex's house, several times actually. But it wasn't completely out of the blue or crazy. I had an appointment in the city over from him and my mind that is not yet fully healed decided to just drive by and see what's going on. I'd be lying if I didn't have a small hope that I would drive by and he would be outside and see me and remember how it felt in the beginning and tell me to get out of the car and bring me inside and kiss me like me loved me again and tell me how he wants nobody but me. But that did not happen. You wanna know what did happen? I drove by several times, his car was there, a car I didn't recognize was there, and I was supposed to work tonight but instead drove home (crying), stopped at my local Walgreens, bought some alcohol, cookies, and ice cream, and have been home listening to my sad girl playlist ever since. I wish more than anything that I didn't and never loved him. Oh also, if this feels a little incoherent that's because I have had about 6 shots already. Completely by myself. Literally at home, listening to my sad playlist, taking shots, by myself. And he has no idea that I even drove by, am thinking about him, or miss him so much that I think about dying without him. And what is it exactly that I miss? Do I miss him cheating on me over and over again? him never making me a priority? Him saying one thing and doing the complete opposite? What is it that I miss? Surely being alone should be better than being with him but I still want him so badly it hurts. I also have the worst abandonment issues probably ever known to man, and I feel so alone where I live right now, so maybe its boredom, maybe its loneliness, maybe its past trauma but part of me feels like I'd rather be toxic with him than be alone. It's funny too cuz even if I unblocked him and texted him all of this and told him exactly how I feel and what I think, he wouldn't even reply. That's how little I meant to the first person I've ever truly loved in my entire life. Yet I still sit here, crying, wanting, and hoping that he will love me back. someone please help me.

[lu-sn]

omg lusn i am going absolutely FERAL over your supposed incoherent pete meta (supposed because, it MAKES SENSE). I agree with you about the scenes in ep13 and 14 and what it meant in terms of what it's going to take for pete to be completely honest/open. i spoke about ep14 with someone that i think what he said about being vegas' pet and being hungry... idk if he truly meant them. he said those basically in desperation, because he needed vegas to stop, to think, to come back to him. (and even then it didn't completely work - it was when pete pleaded with him to turn around to look at him that vegas finally relented).

in fact, i have this feeling that even in ep14, in that last scene at the hospital, pete had his walls up back again. because he said so little. he said what's necessary, sure, and he 100% truly meant them given his body language and the way he was looking at vegas (with such softness and longing and purity that I bet surprised even him), but just a couple of lines to let vegas know that he is here to stay, and even then it was only after vegas' questions and prompting. i think it's mostly him thinking 'shouldn't you have realized by now? i've been here all day, day after day', but also his self-preservation coming in full force once again. he didn't want to reveal more than what he has to. though to be fair, the little he said was already so much.

(referencing this post)

listen i promise when i start typing the metas they are just hints of a vibe i have no idea how they're going to turn out 😂

for me, whether or not he meant the pet/owner bit literally is something that can be up for interpretation. i've seen lots of commentary on it leaning either way and i can respect it either way. i personally don't think he meant the pet bit literally, but i do think he absolutely meant it metaphorically. it's the idea of "i need you to survive so that you can take care of me." and you're right! it made vegas stop in his tracks. but for pete to say something so selfish like that, even if it's to get vegas to live, is still pretty incredible for someone who never asks for anything for himself.

and god i think you're spot on for that final scene. i don't even think that he's doing it in purpose, or that he realizes that his walls are up. he's had a lot of time to process everything that vegas has not had, and so he can be that source of reassurance: i want to stay, i need to stay, i'll be happy if i stay. what he's not bringing up here (and probably won't for a while) are any doubts he might have had while vegas was comatose, or any of his negative feelings about the entire situation that he might be shoving down at the expense of taking care of vegas's feelings. i want to stay, he says. i'm here because i have nothing else left, he doesn't say.

pete doesn't lie. but he deflects and omits like nobody's business. and he does it in a way that sounds very genuine, because it is. and so i think the biggest hurdle for vegas is going to be figuring out what pete isn't saying.

[mypoisonedvine]

It’s Always The Quiet Ones... | college AU dark!Peter Parker x (slightly)naive!reader

for @nsfwsebbie​​‘s dream fic challenge, I was assigned to write something for @harryspet​​ which was vv exciting bc I love her stuff ;-; no pressure right? lol (also thank you to @evnscvll​​ for being my proofreader, sounding board, and partner for some very strange texting for the purpose of screenshots!)

Here is the prompt I got: peter is a dork and is weird and quiet, and the readers friends dared her to sleep with him. turns out he was really kinky and is really good at sex. can be dark.  And hoo boy, did I run with that.  I hope you like it!!

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: smut (it’s consensual but with dubcon undertones, manipulation, and implied coercion/dubcon at the end), stalking, blackmail, voyeurism, and general creepiness.  Oh yeah and there’s some degradation and dacryphilia in there for good measure.

You and your friends were in the middle of your daily cafeteria lunch, chatting about the same sorts of small talk you always did.  

“Oh god, it’s that weird guy from class!” Jackie blurted out suddenly around a mouthful of fries, pulling you out of the conversation you’d been having.  Everyone at the table whipped around and your eyes went wide. 

“Come on, don’t look all at once,” you hissed.  

“Who is this guy?” Cody asked, looking around with confusion.

“The guy in the blue hoodie over there,” Jackie answered, motioning toward him with her head.  It was Peter, setting down his tray of food and opening up his laptop, putting earbuds in.  He was pretty much always on his laptop, it seemed like.  He took a bite of his pizza before getting back to whatever he was working on.

“He looks normal, or normal-ish,” Mia shrugged.  

“No, no, you don’t get it,” you shook your head.  “We have him in Computational Physics on Tuesdays and Thursdays--”

“Plus Friday lab,” Jackie interjected.

“--and he’s… kinda…”

“Creepy,” Jackie concluded.

“No,” you denied, “not creepy.  He’s just… a bit awkward, I guess.”

“And he stares at you, like, the entire time we’re in class.  But won’t even talk to you.”

“Oh, that’s weird,” Mia agreed with a shudder.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “it’s kinda… sweet, maybe?  I mean, he’s just shy, right?”

“Oh my god you are such a slag!” Jackie teased, shoving you on the shoulder.  “You’re into him, aren’t you?”

“No!” you denied with wide eyes.  

“You’re just into the attention,” Cody rolled his eyes.

“I mean, it’s kind of flattering, isn’t it?��� you admitted.  Jackie laughed.

“You should go over there and talk to him,” she decided.

“Nooooooooo, no way,” you shake your head.

“I kinda wanna see this,” Cody smirks.

“Literally just go over there and flirt with him, his head would explode,” Jackie suggested excitedly.

“I don’t even know how to flirt,” you chuckled.

“So you’re considering it!” Mia accused.

“I didn’t say that!” you squeaked.

“Pleeeeeease,” Jackie whined playfully.  “It’ll be funny.”

“I don’t usually sleep with people for comedic effect.”

“I’ll chip in $20 if you do it,” she offered immediately.  She turned to the rest of the table, “come on guys, we need to pool together and make her do it.”

“I’ve only got a ten,” Cody mumbled, pulling it out slowly before Jackie snatched it away.

“Okay, $30, who can make it $50?”

“Jackie, calm down,” you hissed.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t sleep with him for $50?  He’s cute!”

“I have $35 and 67 cents,” Mia counted, shuffling through her wallet.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, your head falling into your hands.

“Just do it, for me,” Jackie said, suddenly sounding oddly serious.  You didn’t understand why it mattered so much, but you decided it couldn’t be that bad if you just did it.

“Fine, fine, just shut up and don’t stare at us,” you instructed, getting up to a ruckus of cheers.  You didn’t even take the money.

You walked across the cafeteria, messenger bag slung over your shoulder, and hoped you wouldn’t totally make an idiot of yourself.  If you hadn’t already just by talking to a guy over a dare.

He didn’t seem to notice you when you stood by his table, still focusing on his computer.

“Um, hey,” you waved, and Peter looked up at you as he took out his earbuds.

“Hi,” he replied quickly.

“What… what are you working on?” you asked, motioning to the laptop.  He didn’t stop looking at you, and he didn’t say anything.  “I… we have comp together?  You know who I am, right?”

“O-of course I do!” he suddenly perked up.  “Yeah, I just…” he trailed off and turned to his laptop.  “I was just working on this model.”

“Can I take a look?” 

He smiled a little, and moved his backpack out of the seat next to him.  “Go ahead!”

You sat down and leaned in to look at his screen.  

“It’s-- it’s not finished but, basically I just put the kinetic energy of an object on the x-axis, the potential energy on the y-axis--” 

You used the laptop’s touch screen to move the model around, impressed with his work.  “And the z-axis is the conservation of energy for work done on an object,” you finished.  

“Uh, yeah, exactly,” he nodded.

“It’s beautiful!” you realized, appreciating the variety of colors as each data point was suspended in the graph.  

“Do you do any modeling?” he asked you, and for a hot second it felt like a line.

“Um,” you laughed, “no, not much at least.  Nothing extracurricular.”

“Oh.”

“I’m more into abstract math, if I’m being honest.”

He smiled.  “Oh, you’re one of those.”

You laughed, shoving him on the shoulder playfully, but regretting it as you saw his smile drop a bit.  “People are so judgmental about abstract math, as if it isn’t the study of the founding principles of mathematics.”

“So you think adding a pineapple and a banana is the foundation of mathematics?” he quirked an eyebrow.

“Okay, there’s so much more to abstract mathematics than weird variables,” you frowned.  “Like basic functions on matrices!  Don’t act like it isn’t dope as fuck to add, subtract, multiply and divide matrices.  If you saw my whiteboard in my dorm you would understand.”

“If I had a whiteboard now I could prove to you that abstract math is overrated,” he countered.

“I’d love to see you try,” you scoffed.  You hadn’t really meant it literally.  

“I don’t have anything for the rest of the day,” he shrugged.  It took you a moment to realize he was suggesting to actually come to your room and talk about math.  You weren’t sure if that was even what would happen if you went back to your dorm…

You opened your mouth to say that you were busy, that you couldn’t, that you shouldn’t, so you were a little surprised when you heard yourself say “sure” instead.

And that was how you ended up sitting on your kitchen counter with Peter Parker between your legs, kissing you like you’d never been kissed before.

It sort of happened all at once.  He just grabbed you and you were confused but went with it, because life is short and he was cute and his hands felt unexpectedly wonderful as they gripped your back.

You gasped a bit when he started to pull your shirt over your head but he didn’t slow down, quickly removing his own-- oh, hello there six-pack, nice to meet you-- kissing you again as he wrapped his hands around your waist and slid you off the counter, guiding your legs to wrap around his hips.  He carried you to the bedroom with unexpected grace; he was so much stronger than he looked.  And he looked different than he ever had before as he tossed you down onto your bed and started to kiss his way down your abdomen while his fingers slipped under the waistband of your shorts.

“Oh god, Peter!” you yelped as he kissed along your thighs, pulling down your shorts and underwear and tossing them to the side.

“Say my name again,” he demanded before instantly latching onto your clit, sucking and licking directly onto the bundle of nerves.

And you really had no choice in the matter, his name pouring from your lips over and over, accentuated with a yelp as he shoved two fingers into you, finding and massaging your g-spot before you could even process everything you were feeling.

“Oh my god, fuck, Peter!” you hissed, your head falling back onto the mattress so hard it bounced a little.

You were barreling towards an orgasm faster than you probably ever had before.  This was nothing like the few other hook-ups you’d had since starting college-- it wasn’t even like the times you’d been alone with your hand or a vibrator.  This was like an assault on the senses, so powerful that you couldn’t even really keep track of the sounds you were making or anything that wasn’t his mouth on you and his fingers in you.

“I’m gonna come, oh my god, I’m gonna come don’t stop please--” you moaned as your words turned into mostly incoherent nonsense.  How could you be expected to form a sentence in these conditions?

Thankfully, he didn’t stop.  He kept lapping at your clit as if he hadn’t even noticed your pleading, his fingers twisting inside you even as your walls clenched so tightly around them that it became difficult to keep up the pace.  Your hips involuntarily bucked against his face, your legs quivered as he refused to give you any reprieve from the sensation, but he kept going.

“Oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck Peter I can’t-- it’s too much-- oh god,” you babbled, but it fell on deaf ears.  A small part of your brain was confused why he wouldn’t stop-- you hadn’t told him outright to stop but it was kind of implied, right?  Wasn’t it some amount of not okay that he was still going?  It made your gut sink in a way that was equal parts disturbing and erotic.  

You were trying to pull away but his arms wrapped around your thighs and held you down.  God, he was strong.  He looked kind of skinny in those hoodies he was usually wearing, but now that he was actually exerting some force he was clearly muscular.  You felt helpless and it, oddly enough, turned you on.

“Peter, please, oh my god, slow down I-- I can’t take any more,” you whimpered; your voice came out all high-pitched and squeaky and it would’ve been embarrassing if you had enough brainpower left to care.  

He groaned against your skin but said nothing, using his teeth to lightly graze your clit.  Your whole body jerked at that, a sob tearing from your lips suddenly.  It felt like you were past the point of orgasm now and just lost in some sort of aggressively intense world of pleasure-- it neared pain, really.  You had never been pushed to your limits like this; you hadn’t even realized that there were limits which one could be pushed to this way!  It was exhilarating and exhausting and overwhelming.  You fought tears from forming because it would be so embarrassing to cry right now, and he would probably freak out and think you were hurt or something… maybe you were hurt, you couldn’t even tell at this point.  But at this point, it was unstoppable.  You were fucking crying from the overstimulation and he hadn’t even put his cock in you yet.  Your face was so hot that your own tears felt cool as they poured down your cheeks.

Finally, he stopped when he heard your sobs.  But instead of concern or fear or confusion, his expression was simply joy.

“Oh, you look so cute when you cry,” he cooed, sliding back up your body to kiss your tears away as they fell.  Then he kissed your mouth, open and sloppy and aggressive, and the taste of yourself on his tongue made your head spin.

Before you could collect your thoughts, he pulled back and made quick work of his jeans and boxers-- fuck, he was big.  

“You’re too kind,” he grinned, discarding the clothes and stroking his cock a few times.

You hadn’t realized you had said it out loud, and you felt a little nervous but then he was on you again, kissing you roughly and forcing his tongue into your mouth.  You felt him reaching down, gripping his cock and rubbing it through your folds.  You were soaked, and swollen, and nearly sore.  Every time the tip slid over your clit, you jumped a little.

He pushed into you ever so slightly, moving the head of his cock inside you and nothing more.  You whined with confusion and anticipation, but he continued on teasing you.

“Please,” you whimpered into his kiss.

He pulled back and looked down at you, his eyes blown so wide that they looked like they’d gone black.  “What was that?” he asked, and you sighed because you knew he could hear you the first time.

“Please, Peter,” you repeated, louder, “I need more.”

“More…?”

You sobbed with frustration, and desire.  “Fuck me, please.”

He thrusted forward and you groaned as his cock stretched you open.  It was like night and day, how he went from slowly teasing you to slamming into your eager walls.  You cried out and gripped at his arms, just trying to steady yourself and maybe stop your skull from whacking the headboard if possible.

“You love it, don’t you?  You love my cock,” he growled.  His voice was lower, gravelly.  He sounded like an entirely different person.

“Yes,” you replied weakly.

“Say it,” he demanded.

No one had ever talked to you like this before and it made your cheeks burn.  “I-- I love your cock,” you stammered.  

He smiled and you hoped you’d done it right, and that he wasn’t smiling at your obvious nervousness or lack of experience.  You didn’t understand how this was normally supposed to go, because you didn’t normally hook up with people so casually-- you had just never really been interested in it.  But now that he was fucking you so hard you could barely breathe, you were starting to get the appeal.  God, your last boyfriend hadn’t even made you come in five months of dating, meanwhile five minutes with Peter had made you a sobbing mess.  Even now you were biting your lip to hold back your tears from the sheer intensity of the sensations you were experiencing.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he pouted condescendingly.  “You don’t wanna cry but you can’t help it, huh?  You’re my dumb little crybaby aren’t you?”

You tried not to react to that but you knew he felt your walls clench suddenly.

“You like that?  You like being my stupid whore?”

“S-stop,” you begged weakly, feeling beyond humiliated.

“But you like it, angel, I can tell.  Don’t lie to me.”

He reached down to swirl his thumb over your clit, laughing at the way you tensed up and tried to squirm away.

“Is it too much princess?” he asked, but the nickname read less sweet and more mocking.  “Isn’t this what you wanted?  You asked me to fuck you.  Begged me.  Now you act like you can’t take it, like you’re this delicate little flower and not the dirty fucking whore I know you are.”

“I-- I’m not a whore,” you denied even as you struggled to suppress your obvious arousal from the derogatory nature of his words.  You felt a little guilty for being into it, and slightly insulted, but fuck if it didn’t make your back arch and your throat dry and your pussy so excessively wet.

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” he scoffed.  “But, maybe you’re not playing.  You really are dumb, aren’t you?”

You logically knew that it was too late to deny anything he said, but you still clung onto your dignity as best you could.  “N-no!”

“Not all the time, just when you’re wet.  Isn’t that right?  You get so desperate for cock and you don’t wanna be smart, you just wanna be somebody’s brainless fuckdoll.”

That sounded so appealing in some forbidden, filthy way and all of a sudden you were going to come again, any second now.

“Yes!” you nearly screamed, falling into your pleasure.

“Come on my cock, baby,” he encouraged, “come for me.”

You didn’t even sound like yourself with the noises you made, or maybe it was just that you’d never had the chance to make noises like that before.  Either way, your orgasm crashed through you and nearly punched the air out of your lungs.  Your toes went numb.  You didn’t even know that could happen.  And most important of all, your walls tensed and fluttered so hard that he began moaning into your ear.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna come inside you.”  You couldn’t tell if it was a warning, like he was asking permission, or if he was just informing you of his intentions which you would be powerless to stop even if you told him not to.  You didn’t have to find out because you were on the pill, but it made you realize all too suddenly that you should’ve had him put on a condom-- how could you have forgotten?

His moans turned hoarse and with a growl and a tightened grip on your hips, he spilled deep in you, coating your walls as his length flexed and twitched inside you.  For a moment you were just stuck like that, his weight holding you down as he caught his breath, and finally he rolled to the side and you could breathe cool air again.

“That was…” he began but trailed off, pulling you closer and kissing your shoulder.  “You’re amazing.”

It was quite the shift from how he had been talking before.  It was comforting, but you were still a little confused.  “Really?”

He laughed softly.  “Did you not notice?  God, I’ve wanted you for so long…”

You were curious about where he was going with that, but then he suddenly sat up.

“Do you want some water?” he offered.

“Uh, yeah,” you smiled.  “The cups are in the cabinet just to the left of the microwave.”

He nodded and gave you a quick peck on the cheek before sliding out of the bed, slipping his boxers on over his still-hard cock which was now coated in your come and his, and dashing out of the room.

You were mostly content to just lay there, although you felt uncharacteristically sore between your legs, and quite… sticky.  You glanced over to your whiteboard and realized he never had any intentions of talking with you about abstract math.  Was this just a one-time thing, or was he going to come back and ask you out?  Were you boyfriend and girlfriend now?  Or were you just a clueless romantic who thought that sleeping together meant more than it really did?

You rolled over and saw Peter’s phone resting on the bedside table.  He must have set it there when he was stripping quickly while you two had been making out-- or that’s what you were pretty sure the order of events had been, it had all happened so fast…

At that exact moment, the screen lit up with a notification.  You were about to roll back and not look at all, until you got a glimpse of the words.

PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14

You furrowed your brow.  It looked like an alert for an upcoming class, except that this was your class, the one you had with him, and it wasn’t until tomorrow.  No assignments due today, either.  And what was with the row/seat thing?  Peter didn’t sit in the third row… you did.

You picked up the phone just enough to angle it to see the rest of the notification.  It wasn’t a calendar alert; it was a text message.  “PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14” was the contact name.  You could only get a preview of the message…

okay, it’s done isn’t it?  can you please delete those pic….

You were curious, or maybe just concerned.  Was the seat number supposed to be the person texting him?  How were you supposed to keep track of who sat where to know who it was?

It had to be somebody from your row, but it was just you, Jackie, and a bunch of random dudes that Peter had never seemed to have any interaction with.

You assumed you wouldn’t be able to unlock the phone to even try to snoop, which you didn’t want to do anyways, but when you slid your thumb over the screen, you gasped when it opened straight to the conversation.  Who didn’t put a password on their phone?

okay, it’s done isn’t it?  can you please delete those pictures now?  I did what you asked.  I won’t tell anyone.  just send me proof that the photos are gone, please.

You felt a little sick.  You had no idea what this meant but it scared you.  You saw the conversation from before but it didn’t make any sense.  You scrolled back up to try to figure out what they were talking about and gasped when you saw a picture Peter had sent to the contact.

It was Jackie.  But she wasn’t alone.  She was on her knees in the lab room, and you gagged when you realized what she was doing-- or really, who she was doing it to.  

She’d told you she had a casual thing with a new guy but refused to say who it was.  You realized why now.  She was fucking your professor, and you just knew she was doing it to get a better grade.  You had been trying to figure out how she was earning higher marks than you but never seemed to be able to discuss the class material.  It all made sense now, but it wasn’t a comforting feeling.

You scrolled down a bit to see the conversation after the photo, and your blood went cold as you read it.

You saw several more messages but you couldn’t bring yourself to read any of it.  You knew everything you needed to know.

You weren’t sure what inspired you to open his camera roll… of course you wouldn’t find anything comforting there.  But you had to see for yourself.

It was just a list of folders, so many you could keep scrolling for ages.  Each had a label and a thumbnail image.

The thumbnail of Jackie on her knees jumped out first.  PHYS 507, row 3, seat 14.  45 images.

A girl in a lacy bra posing for the camera.  PHYS 509, row 1, seat 8.  12 images.

Two girls making out in a crowded room, holding red solo cups.  ENGL 104, row 12, seat 5.  6 images.

A nude selfie in front of a mirror.  PHIL 108, row 2, seat 2.  14 images.

And then the one that made your heart stop.  It was a picture of you in a bikini, taken by a friend on spring break.  PHYS 507, row 3, seat 13.  1 image.

The second you jumped up, dropping the phone, he was there with your promised glass of water in hand.  

“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently.  Just a second of silence was enough for him to pick up his phone from the floor and realize what had happened with a grin.  “Oh, that,” he sighed, slipping it into his pocket after looking down at it with a sort of loving look, like he was proud of his work.  “I suppose it’s my fault for leaving my phone right there, without a password, knowing I would get a text from Jackie any minute.”

“You wanted me to see it,” you grimaced, “you wanted me to see what you did to my friend.  What you did to all those girls.”

“I didn’t do anything.  They do all the heavy lifting, I just hack them and get pictures of it.  Or, in your friend’s case, I hack them, find out they’re fucking the professor, and follow them to their next rendezvous.”

“You’re fucking sick,” you spat, and he just shrugged.  “You’d better delete those photos of Jackie.”

“I will, don’t worry,” he soothed.  “It’s a shame though, she was pretty prolific.  You, on the other hand, you’re a good girl.  You even had pretty good security, I respect that.  Here’s a tip: your ISP creates the intranet that your wireless webcam uses to connect to your laptop.  It’s password protected, but it defaults to your phone number, and most people never change it.  Including yourself.”

You shivered.  “You watched me with it, didn’t you?”

“Well, I had to since you didn’t have any good photos of yourself.  And you do a decent job of erasing your porn history… but not a perfect job.  You watch some interesting stuff.  And you look so hot with your hand stuffed in your panties, rubbing yourself to whatever nasty shit you’re watching...”

“Shut up,” you demanded, covering your ears, “stop, please.  This is so fucked up.”

He laughed a little.  “You look better in person though.  A webcam could never capture how perfect you look when you come.”

“Please just stop,” you sobbed.

“Stop what?  I’m just telling you the truth.”

“I should’ve listened to my friends.  You’re a freak.”

“Hmm, you seemed to like it before.”

“Just delete those pictures of Jackie… and let me go…” you seethed.

“I will,” he promised.  “But, I need something to make up for the loss of some great spank bank material.”

You felt sick.  But what else was new?

“I need to finally get some good pictures of you.  Come on, isn’t it sad that your folder is so empty?” he pouted, pulling the phone back out from his pocket. “I could ruin a lot of lives with these folders.  Just let me take a few photos and you can spare them all the humiliation.  Nothing I haven’t seen you do before.”

You really really wanted to just deck him, but you knew he could probably release those photos with just one push of a button.  He was prepared.

“Don’t post them,” you pleaded.

“You’ll be good?”

You clenched your jaw.  “I’ll be good,” you answered through your teeth.

“Oh, look at you,” he cooed, “such a sweet girl you are.  Helping out your friend even after she threw you into the lion’s den to protect her secret.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way.  A pit formed in your stomach.

“Now come over here and get on your knees,” he grinned, turning on the camera.    

[vizowrites]

OOOH I GOT A GOOD BLITZSTRIKE IDEA FROM EPISODE 6!! So you know that blitz had a I'm assuming was a illusion with poorly drawn moxxie and striker, etc yea that but striker just came to save the day! Da da daaaaaa (I am morning drunk-)

I made a post about just how badly I needed this exact thing in my life so THANK YOU SO MUCH for sending it to meeeeeeeeeee!! <3 <3

Now normally I'm all for the AU idea of Striker joining I.M.P. and just kind of automatically jumping in as an official member of their unofficial family, but I have to say for this.....I actually kind of like it better if I stick more to the canon here. Striker's not a member of I.M.P., he's still got his angel weaponry and the bounty on Stolas's head to settle after the mishap at the Harvest Moon Festival, and--most importantly--hasn't crossed paths with Blitz [or any of the others for that matter] since.

He hadn't been expecting it to happen when it did that night, either.

There wasn't much on Striker's mind other than his target as he slithered his way through the servant's quarters entrance of Stolas's manor house, entirely uncaring of the numerous cameras and other security features that he passed along the way. He had it on good faith that they would just happen to be disabled that night--a pissed off royal birdie had told him so. He'd also been told exactly how to navigate his way through the house undetected, exactly which rooms to avoid, and exactly where he would find the "cheating prick" at this hour. What he hadn't been told--and what he'd deliberately chosen not to ask--was just what the Goetian Prince would be doing by the time he made his soundless entry into his study. There was a small part of him, somewhere deeper than he usually cared to try to reach, that couldn't help but think of a certain impressive imp Boss that might be involved. There was an even deeper part of him, though, that felt the sharp sting of conflict as he found he couldn't make up his mind on whether he was hoping to see said impressive imp Boss there or not, considering what he would probably be doing.

His tail unconsciously flicked once, causing Striker to coil it tightly around himself in order to prevent what would have become a full blown rattle otherwise. This was ridiculous. He was here for one thing and one thing only: he had a job to do.

A job he was fully intending to enjoy.

A slow grin spread across his face as he shrugged the strap of his angelic rifle down from his shoulder, catching the weapon effortlessly and feeling the warm sting of its power against his fingertips. He really was going to enjoy this, he thought to himself as he silently crept into the study, taking advantage of the many outrageously sized pieces of furniture casting shadows around the room to stay hidden.

Just one shot. He just needed one shot.

The flickering glow of what he presumed to be firelight seemed to beckon him, encouraging him, and before he knew it he had the butt of the rifle pressed firmly into his shoulder and his right hand hovering just beside the trigger--ready and waiting to take aim and fire. All he needed was one glance now, just enough to see where exactly Stolas was in the room, and then it would be over. The fact that he couldn't hear the owl demon moaning in ecstasy strangely pleased him at his core, confirming that he in fact wasn't enjoying the company of his favorite plaything tonight. Good. It meant he didn't need to spare a second thought for who else might get caught in the crossfire. Anyone else honestly wouldn't matter.

.....He tried to distract himself from thinking about that thought too deeply by finally taking his glance, trying to focus back on the one who didn't matter to him at all.

Instead, he found himself looking straight at the one being that did.

"Blitz--" The half-whisper caught in the back of his throat, thankfully stiffling the majority of the sound as Striker's eyes went wide. He didn't know how the hell Stolas was doing this--he didn't know this was something the Ars Goetia could do--but somehow, in the middle of what he'd previously thought was just a fireplace casting the twisting forms of light and darkness across the room, was a strange mirror-like orb that seemed to be reflecting an image to the Prince sitting across from it in one of his high-backed chairs.

An image of Blitz, tied to a much smaller chair, struggling as some strange green something started to pool beneath his feet.

What the flying fuck was happening?

"Oh darling, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Stolas cooed from across the room, completely oblivious to the hitman staring at him as he watched the scene unfold before him as if it was his favorite daytime drama. "Let's be extra careful about what we say from here on out, shall we? You're not going to be very happy with me if I have to come down there and take my book back from your charming daughter. Especially since that's going to delay her rescuing of you by quite a bit."

Striker didn't know what to do. There was a part of him that felt the unmistakable urge to just raise his weapon and fire, to carry on with the plan just as he'd intended and figure out the rest from there. But there was that other, deeper, part of him that had frozen, leaving him unable to look at or think about anything other than the imp that was now spilling his guts out in whatever room he was in as easily as if he'd just been sliced open.

And the vermin was there with him--apparently tripping balls as he slumped into his own chair and started mumbling incoherently.

Perfect.

"Now just what is happening here?" Stolas murmured, his voice catching Striker's attention--that urge flaring up in him again, and yet, before he could think about whether or not to actually take aim at him, he instead watched as Stolas lifted his hand from beneath his chin and gave a little wave over the orb. The image within shifted, rippling as if it were made of water, and when it finally settled again it was of something new:

Moxxie, now freed from his bonds, making his way up a marble staircase lined with candelabras towards a cape-wearing Blitz playing piano.....and they were both singing.

What. The. Fuck. Is. Happening??

"Ooohh my," Stolas chuckled delicately from behind his curved fingers, amusement sparking in his glowing crimson eyes as he watched the scene unfold. "Your little underling here has quite the imagination now, doesn't he? Well if his truth is this entertaining--" He lifted his hand once more, his fingertips hovering over the unnaturally glowing scene. "--I really must see yours now, Blitzy."

Don't--

Striker didn't know why he felt such a sudden surge of protectiveness for Blitz's privacy of all things in that moment, but seeing the image ripple again as it began to change had him biting his lip hard enough that he could feel it start to bleed. Just what the fuck was this asshole doing? Did he just get himself off to spying on Blitz like this?? At times when he's clearly in trouble and needing help that isn't prying into his drug-induced hallucinations??

If he'd been a better person, he would have killed Stolas then and there just to make this stop. But since he wasn't, his curiosity stilled his hands for another few moments as the window into Blitz's vison settled into view.

He didn't like any part of what he saw.

The memory of himself referring to Blitz as a "rodeo clown of a boss" came back to him with the viciousness of a bite, causing him to tense as he watched as Blitz--stumbling around in a clown costume--started getting tormented by voices and swirling figureless masses of color. The first to solidify was Moxxie, spewing bullshit that honestly Striker could barely care to keep up with, except for the fact that it was so obviously berrating Blitz for.....something. Just what the hell did Blitz care what that little baby dick had to say? He knew he was better than that.

.....Didn't he?

Striker felt his grip on the rifle loosening as he sank back fully onto the floor, his pale eyes glinting and his tail starting to vibrate hard against his shirt. He tried to muster up every ounce of his self control, willing it to stop before the rattling sound tipped off Stolas--only for his tail to go utterly still as something very similar lashed its way around Blitz's throat and threw him to the ground.

And there he was, staring at himself.

"But you don't want to do things alone Blitzo!"

Hearing himself--not himself, that wasn't even his fucking voice--say that made his blood run cold with rage. How fucking dare whoever was doing this impersonate him like this! Using him to torment Blitz like this! And Blitz was seemingly actually buying it--wait, Stolas had called this Blitz’s “truth”.  Did this mean.....was this what Blitz thought of him?? What the fuck!? Since when the hell did Blitz ever hear Striker call him "Blitzo" once before in his life?? Never! He wanted to grab Blitz by the shoulders and shake him, screaming right into his face that he would never say his name like that when he knows damn well that the O is silent! Okay, so he might’ve called him “Blitzy” when they parted ways because he was bitter over Blitz choosing to stop him from killing Stolas instead of running off with him to take down Overlords--and that was his bad.  And yeah, he might've been trying to get on his good side to have an easier shot at killing Stolas, sure, but...that didn't mean that the things he'd said to Blitz weren't true! He really did want to be partners!

The scene changed again, another set of stairs, and Blitz frantically climbing up them to try and escape the figures that were literally haunting him--Striker feeling that cold burn spread in his chest at the sight of being one of them.

Though nothing could have prepared him for the tidal wave of feeling that would crash over him in the moment he saw just who was waiting for Blitz at the top of those stairs.

Stolas.

You Daddy Fucker.

"Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?"

Striker's fingers clenched so hard around his rifle that he thought he was going to snap it in two, his pale gold-green eyes fixed on the sight of Blitz crawling on his hands and knees up that glowing staircase, as golden chains fastened around each of his wrists and around his neck. The rest of the voices were lost to the roar of whitenoise now ringing in Striker's ears as he watched Stolas pull Blitz willingly onto his lap, holding him by that chain attached to the collar at his throat.....

"Oh Blitzy--!"

And when he heard that erotic gasp and saw that look on Blitz's face, he finally couldn't take it.

The next thing he knew, he was back in the hallway, making a beeline for the room that he'd been instructed to go to only after he'd finished the job. Oh he was going to finish it all right. He was going to finish it slowly and painfully. But there was something even more important that he had to finish first.

He honestly didn't remember what he'd said when he stormed into Stella's room. He didn't know how long he had been there and he had no idea how he got away with being there for any amount of time without her calling for security to run in and tackle him to the ground. Most of all, he had absolutely no idea what the hell kind of reason he could have possibly given for her to locate the party of imps on Earth and open him a portal to get to them--but whatever reason he gave must've been a pretty damn good one. The next thing he knew there was a glowing blue door literally opening in front of his face, revealing a blood soaked room and the now united beings of Hell trapped between a steel door and two human fuckers who were pointing pistols at their faces.

At Blitz's face.

The shots rang out one after the other, followed by the distinct meaty thuds of two bodies hitting the floor. Striker didn't particlarly notice the fact that the portal had closed behind him the minute he stepped into the room, rendering him just as trapped as the others, but he also didn't particularly care. That bird bitch was still going to get exactly what she wanted when he got back--he would make sure of it. But for now, at least, it was enough just to be able to stride over to that face--full of disbelief and shock--and cup it tenderly in his palm.

"You ain't gotta do jack shit alone, Blitz," he said, and the sincerity of his own voice shook him from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet. "You're not alone, Blitz."

He didn't know it until much much later, but hearing Striker say those words to him had made Blitz feel as though he'd just been handed the keys to his chains.

[svnoohe4rts]

why am i crying at your sweet note? it's like our baby is finally grown up and leaving for college. okay time to cry cry. LETS GAUR~

all Sunghoon wanted to know was if you were okay.

I WILL NEVER BE OKAY, YA HOE

He hadn’t cried in years, yet there he was; standing on a dimly lit street, tears leaving his eyes as he desperately tried wiping them away using the sleeve of his shirt.

asdfghjk i guess i feel bad ugh

Your phone turned off, refusing to accept reality - refusing to accept the fact that it had all been nothing but a lie.

ugh this hit a little too close to home. we all had our emo days and yeah, turning off our phones and not wanting to face reality is just it.

Sunghoon making you believe he actually felt something towards you or Jake not telling you about the bet in the first place.

): this ugh i hated high school boys so much because YEP! similar situation smh

Jake quickly realized you weren’t going to reply, letting out a small sigh as his gaze left your side profile only to meet his own shoes.

I HAVE A BONE TO PICK WITH YOU, JAKE!!!!

With Jake’s hand intertwined in yours and the spring breeze hitting your face, your heart felt lighter than it had done an hour earlier; all thanks to Jake.

UM EXCUSE ME? YN you can have sunghoe! JAKE COME HERE DHAJHSAJ

the words of you being spotted holding hands with Jake reached him.

my entire body laughing and shaking at sunghoe!!!!!

You’re being petty.

JAY PUT A RING ON MY FINGER RIGHT NOW! Matter of fact, I'll go put a ring on his finger

‘’What the fuck, Y/N?’’

Was the only thing Sunghoon let out as soon as the door opened.

NO U WTF, SUNGHOE

What he needed was to stay right where he was, with you. He needed to stay with you before he lost his mind.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH INSERT INCOHERENT NOISES SHAKJAK SAGE YOU DID NOT FUCK MY HEART OMG MY HEART LEGIT LEAPT OUT OF MY FUCKING CHEST AND DROPPED T_T I don't want you sunghoon, GTFO

fighting the urge to slap him across the face.

let me volunteer!!!!!

"You’re fucking miserable Sunghoon, does this feed your ego? Did breaking my heart feed your fucking ego?’’ At this point, you were rambling.

okay me crying because holy shit, i wished i had done this back then BUT IT'S OKAY

He wanted to grab you, pull you into his chest, and just let you cry. He wanted to apologize, he wanted to kiss your forehead and tell you over and over how sorry he was; that breaking your heart didn’t feed his ego, that he never meant for it to be this way.

SHUT THE FUCK UP, PARK SUNGHOON T____T im in my moment, let me fucking cry, hoe

But as you covered your face using both your hands, he could no longer fight the urge to pull you into his chest.

I AM ON THE FLOOR, DO U HEAR ME?!

Leaning down, his lips met yours; his hand still caressing your cheek.

uh i just left town bye

your whole neck on display for him.

brb choking myself

‘’I hate you,’’ You mumbled between kisses, causing yet another groan to leave his lips. ‘’I know baby, I know,’’ He mumbled as he pulled away

SAGE I AM SUING YOU FOR THE PAIN IN MY HEART FML @_@

‘’I’ll fuck you hard if that’s what you want,’’ He hissed, his tip brushing against your g-spot.

i just fainted and cant get back up. I SAID SHOW ME HOW SORRY NOT FUCK ME HARD WTF

maybe, crossing paths with Park Sunghoon wasn’t so bad after all.

SAGE MAJOR WHAT THE FUCK? you dont get to run. COME BACK HERE!

first things first, holy shit, i am so emo??? and then I got all gushy and giddy because sunghoe's sorry ass came to apologize!!!! afterwards, I guess the love making made up for it -_- I STILL HATE HIM ugh once a hoe ALWAYS a hoe!!! T-T I just wanna punch him but also hug him at the same time. i cant stand his stupid pretty ugly face. this was so good, sage. SO FUCKING GOOD!!!!!!! i cannot wait for game over because huhusadhajskdjak ok bye

GENIE I’M FUCKING WHEEZING AT UR REACTION PLEASEEEEEENSNSB

first of all YES LITERALLY?? like off she goes to college </3 i’m lowkey sad it’s over like this is our baby fr

FIRST OF ALL NOT LAUGHING AT HOON CRYING IN THE DARK?!/!!/ GENIE PLSSSS i literally CACKLED when i read it bc same i wrote it while rolling my eyes bc why tf are u sad hoe. u don’t have the right to be sad.

also y/n can keep sunghoe we literally do not want him anywhere near us thankfully jake and jay r still single 💍 don’t be shy now jakey pookie come over here

THE “uh i just left town bye” AND “I SAID SHOW ME HOW SORRY NOT FUCK ME HARD” IM FUCKIFN CRYINGGGG GENIE IM ACTUALLY CRACKING UP I SWEAR TO GOD UR REACTIONS R ALWAYS THE BEST U NEVER FAIL TO MAKE ME LAUGH

& to finish things off, as genie once said, ONCE A HOE ALWAYS A HOE !!!! sunghoe will never learn and he’ll probably break y/ns heart AGAIN . i just didn’t have it in me to give them a sad ending </3 she should’ve ended up with jake

THANK U SO MUCH FOR UR KIND WORDS GENIE MY LOVE <3 i’m super excited for u to read game over, now that sunghoe is gone it’s time for fratboy hoeseung…. i don’t think we’re ready for this :’) I LOVE U HOE THANK U ONCE AGAIN FOR HELPING ME OUT without u bed of lies part four would’ve never happened 🫶🫶

[neon-junkie]

The Big Bad Wolf

Summary: After a too-close-for-comfort encounter with a wolf, Flaco finds himself in a new form, and he's willing to put all of his new abilities to good use.

Pairing: Flaco Hernández x f!Reader

Word Count: 5254

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Werewolf/Human, Mating, Accidental knotting, Monsters, slight A/B/O, Scents, Praise, Dirty talk, Mating press, Transformation, Smut without a plot.      

Notes: This is ENTIRELY self-indulgent and super horny. I'm not sorry for it at all, not in the slightest.

It was just a scratch. A tiny, little scratch that could have been much worse if Flaco hadn't managed to draw his sawn off shotgun just in time, blowing the wolf's chest open. You fussed him, jabbing back at his protests, insisting that despite it barely bleeding, the wound still needed to be treated; who knows what diseases that wolf was carrying.

Flaco's gloves were ruined, and another scar is soon to join his various collection, dotted across his body. "I'll buy you another pair when I come to see you next," you told him as you patched him up before both of you retired to bed, throwing a few extra logs on the fire to keep the chill out tonight.

Only you wake up sweating, peeling off your clothes, tossing them to the floor in an attempt to cool down. You're no stranger to being naked around Flaco, considering how many times you've found yourself in those kinds of situations with him, but it feels odd, being completely bare and rolling over, your eyes half-lidded, to cuddle up to the thickness of his coat.

But his coat feels thicker than usual; the fur feels longer, cleaner, not matted and slightly rough like the usual, well-worn Bison coat that he wears. You try and not pay much attention to it, wrapping your arm around his waist, attempting to be the big spoon, only to be met with even longer hair as your palm rubs across his chest.

Not only does his coat feel unusual, but he feels big. Well, Flaco's a big man, but this is suspiciously big, as if he's doubled in size. After a few minutes of trying to ignore it, you give up, propping yourself up on an elbow and tapping Flaco awake. The logs from a few hours ago are finally turning into embers, barely lighting the cabin, but still keeping it somewhat warm and lit, not that you need that extra heat right now.

"What?" Flaco grumbles, making no effort to move.

"..." what are you meant to say? that you woke him up because his coat feels weird? "Just roll over," you instruct, and he complies without question.

Flaco's reaching out, attempting to bundle you up in his arms, assuming you just want to cuddle. However, you feel the life suddenly drain from you as you're met with a sight that you can't quite explain. That's not Flaco, or at least, not the Flaco that you know. That's not human, either, but it's still... him...

"Look at me," you order, your voice quiet yet firm, and Flaco laughs at your sternness.

"What? am I cuddling you wrong?" he chuckles. Flaco looks up with a happy smile, warmth in his deep, brown eyes, his ears perking up, and his wet nose wiggling. Your mouth is wide open, stuttering a string of incoherent sounds, and Flaco's smile soon fades away as he realizes that you seem off. "What is it?" he questions, shuffling up the bed and sitting upright, the blankets pooling down over his waist, exposing his thick hairy chest, only this time, he's covered. Literally.

"You're... uh... Flaco, you're a..." you attempt to inform in, but words continue to fail you. Should you laugh? cry? scream? Instead, you scurry out of bed, rushing over to your rucksack and fishing a pocket mirror from it. He laughs when you hand it over, assuming that you're making a fuss over nothing.

"Oh, have I got dirt on my face again? you know, it's not that big of a deal, there's no need to-" Flaco shuts his mouth once his gaze meets his reflection, only for it to fall open again seconds later when he's confirmed that yes, that really is what he looks like right now. "I'm a wolf," Flaco exclaims, and begins grinning at his own reflection, checking out his teeth, or specifically, his fangs.

Of course Flaco is going to be overjoyed about this. Something catches the corner of your eye, quietly thudding in the darkness beside the wall. You pull the blanket from Flaco to be met with his tail, long and fluffy, wagging away joyfully. "Nice," Flaco comments with a laugh, brushing through the fur on his tail with his large paws, as if to confirm that it's really there.

"Nice?!" you yelp. "How is this nice, Flaco? you're not human!"

"Yeah, nice! Now I really am a wolf, huh? it's not a metaphor any more," Flaco laughs, flashing his fangs as he chuckles to himself.

Oh, you know how much Flaco likes to call himself 'the wolf.' He wears his title with pride, like a badge of honour, so much to the point that he often refers to himself in third-person with that nickname. He's a proud man, and even prouder to associate himself with such an animal; and his pride only seems to be doubling in size due to his new form.

Flacos focus is on his reflection again, and you watch as he shuffles out of bed, attempting to stand, only to bonk his head on the roof of his cabin. "Mierda!" Flaco hisses, crouching over and giving the top of his head a rub; he lets out a soft whimper as he settles down by the fire, using its light so he can admire himself in more detail, opening up your pocket mirror once more.

You sit and watch, mouth open, questioning how this has happened. Flaco's reaction really shouldn't be a surprise to you, and you decide to leave him to gussy himself up, whilst you begin trailing into deep through about how this might have happened.

It must have been the wolf from yesterday, the scratch on Flaco's hand. "I think it's a curse," you mutter to yourself as you pull the blanket up over your shoulders, bundling your naked body up, something that for once, Flaco has paid no attention to. The blanket covers most of your frame, your feet sticking out at the bottom, and the rest of you is snugly covered.

"Cursed?" Flaco repeats. "Eh, I don't think it's a curse, but a blessing instead."

"A blessing?!" you yelp, "how?! what if you're stuck like this forever?"

"Well, I guess you'll have to get use to having a big, loving werewolf as a partner then," Flaco laughs. His laughter is deep, coming straight from his chest, as always. However, there's now a soft growl in the mix, his fangs on display as he chuckles away.

"Flaco this isn't the time for jokes!" you pout, standing up and peering down at him with softly furrowed brows. "I'm not joking!" he defends, and attempts to stand yet again. This time, Flaco doesn't hit his head; he's unable to stand up straight, his back arching slightly, his frame standing tall over you in a way that doesn't mean to be dominating, but it is. And for some reason, you don't seem to mind, knowing that this werewolf in front of you is far from a threat... unless this really is a curse, and he begins to change even more.

"You don't like me like this?" Flaco questions, and lets out a soft whine when you don't reply, his ears falling flat. He crouches back down to your level, attempting to meet your height. "C'mon, look how nice and soft my fur is," Flaco states as he moves your hand to stroke over his chest, "and look at how my tail wags whenever I look as you!"

You let out a light laugh, peering behind him to admire the wag of his tail. He knows you're concerned, seeing as you're the logical one in this relationship. "I don't want to start petting you until I know how to get you out of this mess," you explain, moving your hand off his chest to wrap the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

"Okay, chiquita," Flaco nods. "You have a think about it," he encourages. Flaco finally puts your pocket mirror away, slipping it into your rucksack, and watches as you begin pondering on your thoughts.

The wolf from yesterday. The scratch on his hand. A curse. A blessing. You're no stranger to reading about werewolves in books, fictional books, fantasy ones, books that aren't real, or aren't meant to be real. Only there's a werewolf crouched beside you, watching in awe as you begin pacing around the room in thought. Flaco tries not to stare, not wanting to overcrowd you, and continues checking his new form out instead.

He gawks down at his frame, coated in a layer of thick, dark hair. His paw pads are soft, squishy, complimented by his long claws, sharp enough to cause some serious damage. Flaco's tail relaxes behind him, but begins softly wagging as he peers over to you, watching you pace and ponder.

You pull the blankets up higher, the edges brushing against your neck, your arms beneath them, cocooned inside with only your feet and head poking out. Flaco's head tilts as he admires how protective you are over him, so concerned for his safety, his future, and his current form. However, his admiration is paused, and Flaco's nose begins to twitch, picking up a scent he's never noticed before.

Flaco begins sniffing the air, his head perked up at the ceiling, eyes falling shut so he can put more focus into the scent that's caught his attention. It seems he's developed heightened senses, and he's putting them to good use.

"Can you smell that?" Flaco questions, but you're too trapped in thought to bother replying. "You smell different," Flaco states, his head now peering down at you, watching as you continue to waddle about his cabin. "Now right now, Flaco," you brush him off, shutting your eyes and rubbing your temples, attempting to find some sort of cure for Flaco's new form. "You smell sweet," he states, and shuffles closer to you, his nose twitching as he presses it to your shoulder. Flaco quickly moves it away, your scent now being covered up by the thick blanket, so he crouches further down, only to be lightly pushed away seconds later. "Flaco," you grumble. His deep eyes meet yours before he dips his head down again. He buries his nuzzle beneath the blanket, and you yelp as a cold, wet nose presses against your knee, swatting him away once more. "You smell slick," Flaco states. There's a huskiness to his voice, a deep and low growl that comes straight from his chest. His eyes meet yours, dark and alluring, peering up at you before disappearing beneath the blanket again. "Flaco!" you grumble again, but Flaco doesn't let you push him away this time. You feel something cold and wet on the inside of your thighs, followed by a gust of wind - Flaco has his nose pressed just below your pussy, and he's inhaling your scent. A large paw wraps itself around your thigh, and Flaco boldly moves his nose up, his wetness now pressed softly on your clit. "You smell like you need me to help you calm down," he states after taking in another deep inhale, before removing himself from under the blanket. Flaco stands tall, his back slightly bent over, gazing down at you with slightly furrowed brows - a natural expression for your partner. The hand on your thigh moves itself to your waist, now pressed over the blanket; his hands have always been big, but this is ridiculous. Flaco could pick you up as if you're nothing, his single paw covering most of your body, making you feel so small and inferior. "I know that tone, Flaco, and I'm not letting you... seduce me right now, not when you're like this," you huff, sending him a glare and gesturing to his body. He laughs. It's deep, a mixture between a growl and a human laugh, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. "C'mon, don't you want to try it?" Flaco questions. "You're just turned into some... dog... and the first thing you want to do is fuck?!" you yelp. "Correction, I've turned into a wolf, a werewolf, and mhmm," he nods. "I do, do you?" Your eyes meet the floor, looking away from the beast towering over you, his thumb now softly stroking over the blanket, attempting to soothe you. You can't deny that you're not curious, but is it wrong? to fuck somebody that's... well, that? He's still Flaco, he's still your partner; only now he's doubled in size, is covered in hair, and has perky ears, a snout, and a tail. "I can sense how curious you are, chiquita. My senses have heightened. I know how you look when you're aroused, but now I can really smell it," Flaco flashes you a toothy grin, dipping his head down to your level as he crouches. He licks your cheek, his rough and damp tongue brushing over your skin, coating most of your face in one stroke. "What was that?!" you cry, and attempt to push his snout away. "A kiss," Flaco states, before licking you again. Ugh, should you be surprised? of course Flaco is going to put all of his new abilities to use. All of them. He moves from your cheek, making his way down to your neck, attempting to kiss the usual spots that you enjoy. "C'mon, we can do doggy style," Flaco urges with a soft laugh, chuckling at his own joke. "You're a menace, you know that, right?" you huff, placing your hands on his large cheeks and moving his head so that he's looking directly at you. "I know," Flaco laughs again. "We can give this a try... but if I say stop, then you stop, alright?" "Oh, come on, you know I'll stop if you tell me to," Flaco shakes his head. He understands that you're after reassurance, concerned with exactly how this is going to go. "Flaco promises he'll take care of you," he says with a wag of his tail. "...and don't start howling," you order. Flaco laughs again, giving you another cheek kiss between his chuckle. "Okay, no howling. Flaco promises," he giggles, and begins urging you over to the bed.

Flaco's gentle as he slips the blanket from your shoulders, letting it fall back onto the bed. He attempts to kiss your neck again, running his tongue over your skin, resisting the urge to attempt giving you a hickey. The last thing that he ever wants to do is hurt you, so he's being extra cautious in his new form; his claws are sharp, his teeth even sharper, not to mention his intimidating size and figure. But his eyes remain soft, a deep brown, the same shade as his 'normal' ones. Those dark eyes meet yours as he climbs on top of you, before shutting them as he nuzzles you. Large paws find their way to your waist, trailing down to your thighs, the rest of his body following after as he shuffles down the bed. The bed is far too small for him, so Flaco pulls you until your legs are dangling over the side, and he settles on the floor, still having to dip his head so that he's in line with your body. His breath is hot, tickling your skin as he dips between your thighs. There's a pause of uncertainty, before Flaco presses his wet nose against your clit. He instantly moves it away, exhaling heavily, and mutters "too much," under his breath. His tail is wagging, thumping against the floor, and you can only assume your scent is making him a little too excited. Flaco dips his head down again, this time letting his tongue fall from his mouth, and licks a firm stripe across your cunt. He peers up to watch your reaction, checking for any signs of discomfort, and since you've shown none he does it again, over and over, both of you getting use to this new sensation. His tongue is rough, but soft, squishy, but firm, the perfect balance between wolf and man. The paws wrapped around your thighs tighten their grip, his claws pressed against your skin, but not digging into you. Over time, Flaco becomes more confident, and begins lapping at your clit, his tongue occasionally slipping into your cunt, making his thick hair tickle the inside of your thighs. He's bigger in every way, his tongue reaching depths that it's never reached before, making you whimper as you finally relax on the bed. Flaco's ears perk up, overhearing your positive reaction, reassuring him that he's doing well. His licks become firmer, longer, wetter, more open mouthed; unintentionally Flaco's fangs begin to trail over your skin, light enough that he's not hurting you, or even realizing what he's doing. However, you're definitely aware; it's a strange sensation, having a set of sharp teeth almost nibble at your lower stomach, often trailing up to your bellybutton whenever Flaco opens his mouth wider, pushing his tongue deeper into your cunt. "F-Flaco, that's..." you stutter, your head still pressed to the bed. "Huh?" Flaco hums. He slips his tongue from you, resting his chin on your stomach, worried that he's accidentally hurt you. "Your teeth, they're..." "Sharp?" "Uh-huh, but they're... it's uh... they feel nice," you manage to stutter. Flaco bites back a laugh. He licks his chops, your taste heavy on his tongue and around his mouth, and dips his head back down to lap at your cunt again. "Oh, so you do like it when this big, bad wolf has his jaws wrapped around you?" Flaco teases, ensuring that his teeth continue to trail over your skin in between kisses. "Yeah..." you shyly confirm, and let out a soft yelp as Flaco dips his tongue into your cunt again. He removes one of his paws from your thighs, going to slip a finger into you, but stops in his tracks. "Mhm," Flaco grumbles, realizing that his claws are far too sharp to be risking that. "Hey, finger yourself for me," Flaco orders, and grins when you readjust your position, reaching down and beginning to work yourself open. You dive straight in with two fingers, seeing as Flaco's thick tongue already counts as one, possibly more. He watches for a few moments, admiring how flustered you look, before dipping his head between your thighs again. You know what's going to happen, but since Flaco is crouched down on the floor, his body bent over, you're unable to see what he looks like. Is his cock... normal? it must be bigger, surely? seeing as he's doubled in size. You decide to prepare yourself for the worst, or the best, you'll just have to wait and see. You begin to scissor yourself, attempting to loosen your cunt up as much as possible. Flaco takes up the opportunity, and dips his tongue into your pussy, slipping it between your fingers, and runs it along your soft, velvet walls. The noise you let out can only be described as a bitch in heat, a whine, calling out for Flaco to come and fill you up. "You can fit another," he urges, and lets out a soft sigh when you slip a third finger in. "Good girl," Flaco praises, and you assume the thumping you can overhear is his tail wagging against the floor again. Yet again, you attempt to scissor yourself, and within time you're certain you could fit a fourth finger in... but what about fitting Flaco? Hm, you'll find out eventually. You're getting there, slowly but surely; Flaco's spit and slobber is slick enough to help stretch you open, and he graces you with even more as he slides his tongue into your pussy again. Flacos hand disappears from your thigh, dipping down between his own legs, and you know he's touching himself. Nervously, you ask an important question "Flaco, how big are you?" "Big," Flaco blankly states, chuckling as he removes his tongue. "D-Do you think it'll fit?" you question. "I guess we'll just have to find out, eh?" he laughs. "Do you think you're ready? you look it," he comments, and moves his head back down to press his wet nose directly on your clit, his ears perking upright and his tail wagging even faster. "You smell it, too," he grins, flashing his fangs. "Yeah... Okay, I'm ready," you nod.

And with that, Flaco's up on his feet, crawling on top of you on the bed. He wolfhandles you, moving you up to the centre, giving himself enough room to join you. Flaco's grinning, and places a soft lick-kiss to your cheek before sitting back on his knees, finally showing you what's between his legs. Liar. There's no way he's going to fit. "What the-" you stutter, sitting upright and reaching out. Your hand alone is nothing compared to his cock, and even as you wrap both hands around it, there's still some untouched space left over. "Flaco, there's no way this is going to fit," you sigh, comparing his cock against your forearm. Flaco laughs. "It will, Flaco promises," he nods. "You've just gotta relax and let me take the lead, okay?" "Okay, but I-" "-Shh," Flaco hushes. "Stop doubting yourself, we both know you can fit me," he reassures, and presses his paw to your chest, lightly pushing you back down against the bed. The paw on your chest moves to your thigh, holding you steady, and his other hovers by his cock. You watch as Flaco spits on his cock- no, he dribbles on it, letting thick strings of spit coat his length, falling from his jaw, and then pumps himself a few times, ensuring he's generously slick. He moves his hand to the bed, just above your head, and uses the other to hold his length steady as he begins pushing into you. You lie there awkwardly, feeling the tip of his thick cock rub against your entrance, unable to slide in. Flaco begins to grumble, his tail no longer wagging, and his brows furrowing. He dribbles again, being far too generous and soaking your cunt, but it's enough to help ease in the head of his cock. You yelp and begin hissing, unintentionally tightening up around the tip of Flaco's cock. He's thick, unbelievably thick, and you're starting to question your life choices. "Relax," Flaco orders. He dips his head down to your level, placing a wet kiss to your cheek, and grumbles "relax," softly against your ear. Deep breaths. It's not that bad, honestly; once you begin untensing and calming down, you realize he's surprisingly snug, stretching your pussy in a way that makes you shiver, and your reaction came from fear, not his size. "Good girl," Flaco says as he licks your cheek again. "You let me know when you're ready for more." You take your time, relaxing your walls, unclenching them around Flaco's length. Finally, you give him a nod, and he begins sliding into you. There's a slight burn as he stretches you out, his cock getting thicker the deeper it goes, and he comes to a halt just past halfway. There's a knot to your stomach, a tight one, and you can feel the tip of his cock hitting your cervix. "How is this? okay?" Flaco double checks, straightening his back and talking down to you. "Y-yeah, it's okay," you nod. Once again, you're struggling to relax, so you calm yourself by rubbing quick circles on your clit, along with taking deep breaths. "Too big for you, eh?" Flaco chuckles. "Of course you're too big, Flaco." "Give it time, you'll warm up to me eventually," he shrugs, cockily grinning as he talks. Flaco's patient, waiting for you to ask for more, and when you do finally ask, he happily delivers it. He continues sliding in slowly, and your eyes go wide once you feel his fur press against your clit. "You fit?" you question, shuffling up on your elbows to peer down between your legs, instantly noticing the bulge to your stomach. "Mhm," Flaco nods, "I told you I would. Now we've just gotta see if you can keep up," he smirks.

Flaco takes a hold of your legs, lifting them up and wrapping them around his waist, your ankles barely crossing over behind his back. He bends forward, his body towering over yours; one paw stays wrapped around your thigh, whilst the holds his weight up, placed above your head. Your knees hit your shoulders, practically bent in half, and you're about to ask why Flaco's wolfhandled you into this position, but he begins thrusting.

His patience has worn thin, and Flaco jumps straight in with a quickened pace, forcing you to yelp beneath him. The new position makes sense, as he's able to really drive his cock deep inside you, smacking your cervix with every thrust, turning both pairs of your cheeks red. "You are tight, aren't you?" Flaco smugly comments, flashing his fangs as he licks your cheek again, his attempt of a kiss.

All you manage to do is nod, unable to process words, let alone thoughts. You begin rubbing your clit again, whining beneath Flaco, whimpering as he fucks you, the sound of skin against skin echoing around the cabin. "You sound like you need me to fill you up," Flaco states. He lets out a deep breath before saying "and it smells like you need it too."

"Y-yeah, I do," you stutter, nodding at the same time.

"All in good time, loba."

Flaco picks up his pace, mercilessly slamming his cock into you; his ears perk up at the sounds you're making, moans and mewls, and Flaco can't help but let out a choked whine, intoxicated by every part of you. He soon begins softly panting, slowly over-working himself from the fast pace, but Flaco's stubborn to the point that he won't slow down, not until you're overflowing with his load.

There's still a slight burn to your cunt, and you'd be lying if you said it didn't feel strangely good. Flaco's knot is threatening to slip inside you; it's wider than the rest of his cock, but only slightly, and you're certain that within time, it'll slip in. How big do those things get? There's only so much that you can, and now that you've taken this much, far more than you ever thought you'd be able to handle, you're uncertain on where your new limit lies.

You tighten your legs around Flaco's waist, feeling your orgasm slowly approaching, your clit rubbing so fast that your wrist is starting to ache. You attempt to grip onto Flaco's arm with your spare hand, but Flaco swats your hand away, and pins it down to the bed, his large paw wrapping around your wrist, feeling so dainty in his grasp.

"You're going to cum for me soon, aren't you?" Flaco questions, speaking directly into your ear.

"Uh-huh," you manage to nod.

"Good girl. Go on, I want to feel how tight you get around me," he orders.

Should you feel this good? being mercilessly fucked by your werewolf partner, whimpering and whining in his grap, your orgasm threatening to hit at any moment. You've always felt small beneath Flaco, but this is taking things to a whole new level; he's towering over you, folding your body in half, your knees pressed firmly against your shoulders. Flaco shifts his weight, planting his feet on the bed and bending his legs, bucking his hips down against yours. He whimpers at the slight change of position, and both of you let out a choked moan as Flaco's knot finally slips into you.

The sensation of being full to the brim - overly full - causes you to cum. Your wrist is burning from being over-worked, and you clench tightly around Flaco's cock, panting and sighing as your body begins to tremble. Your orgasm catches Flaco off guard, letting out a choked moan as you squeeze his cock, milking him for all he's worth as he joins your high. Flaco cums, and he doesn't seem to stop cumming, fucking his load into you, hoards of it over-flowing and spilling from your pussy, dripping down over your ass and onto the bed.

His tail is wagging in the air, your knees are pressed right against your shoulders, and Flaco won't stop thrusting, over-stimulating both of you. Eventually, he's forced to stop, his cock buried deep inside you as his knot begins to flair up. "Mierda," Flaco yelps, tugging on it; he instantly stops when you yelp in pain, and mutters another string of swears under his breath.

"I didn't think it would do that," Flaco confesses. He sits back on his knees, not bothered by his mess on the bed, and gawks down at the sight of his swollen cock buried inside you, a visible bulge to your stomach. "Are you okay? does it hurt?"

"Not really," you shake your head; you're still trembling, catching your breath, barely able to keep your eyes open. There's a slight burn to Flaco's knot, but you've been stretched to a point that your body seemed to be expecting it, and thankfully, it's oddly sensual, similar to whenever you've cock warmed him, only on a larger scale. "It's uh, strange, but it doesn't hurt. Just don't tug on it..."

"Good," he sighs.

Flaco asks you to wrap your arms around his neck, clinging onto him as he shuffles about on the bed, finding a comfortable position for you both. He kicks off the dirty cover after using some salvageable parts to clean both of you up, and thankfully, Flaco's warm, warm enough to keep you cosy throughout the night, and you feel even warmer as he wraps his arm around your waist, your head resting on his chest.

"What did you think of that, huh?" Flaco eventually questions.

"It was... something," you sigh, unable to find the exact words.

"Oh. Did you not enjoy it?" he whines, perking his head up to peer down at you.

"No, no! I enjoyed it... a lot... too much," you sheepishly reply. "And I think you enjoyed it too," you tease, tensing your walls, giving his knotted cock a squeeze.

"Don't do that," Flaco whimpers, his ears falling back, "you'll get me worked up again."

Is that a bad thing?" you raise a brow, and Flaco chuckles at your eagerness.

"Hey, earlier on you were too nervous to try it, and now you're asking for me to fill you up again?" he laughs, trailing his paws tenderly over your back.

"You did spill most if it," you shrug, and Flaco rolls his eyes at your comment.

"How about I wake you up with a morning surprise? once this swelling has gone down. We didn't do doggy, so I think we need to make up for that?" he offers. Flaco smirks when you nod in agreement; if you had a tail, it would also be wagging.

He places another kiss to your cheek, but this time uses his nose rather than his tongue. Flaco's head rolls back onto the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly, his arms wrapped around you, acting as a blanket. His cock is still swollen, but it's strangely soothing; it's practically the same as falling asleep whilst cock warming, something that you two have done many times before.

And you won't be surprised when Flaco wakes you up how he usually does, with slow and deep thrusts, and soft coos of praise and affection.

[atherix0]

Very exciting news - i converted my main tumblr blog because it was supposed to be a blog for me to try and post about writing and became inundated w minecraft boys so here we are - feral mumbo anon is off anon >:) now i no longer have to worry about hitting the button hehehe

UH SO GRIAN AND MUMBO???? Gayer than hell. Gayer than the devil himself. No normal person sees an ex-engagement gift in their friend's bag and go 'no hes MINE' BOYS THATS GAY YOU ARE BEING GAY

Also all of scars backstory aaaaah. Did i wake up at 3 am and read this again so my thoughts are incoherent at best yes. But lil baby scar and cub were so cuiuuute oh my god two lil 7 year olds just out here makin it til they break it

I do love how the entire time scar was like "I am Aware cub and I share a birthday [i think???], got 🌟 randomly 🌟 paired up as kids, are two entirely different classes, and debuted super early. And hes so smart. And somehow an arranged marriage never crossed his mind. Jesus the DEVASTATION

Also the awkward teen kisses were everything tbh. I love when teenagers are like "*shuffles nervously* i know what im doing" bless them.

But scar???? Telling off the entire elven court in front of them and getting free because of Cleo??? I love it. Brave man, he deserves the world. I cant wait to meet cleo tbh, at least i hope we do. Cleo my beloved. But also i hope we meet the elven king not in a memory because something tells me bird brain and blood brain would do something drastic and dumb, like yell at him. Or punch him. 👌

But also just like, for them to get to sit their and assure scar that their friendship [and love] comes with no strings attached is everything to me. For this to be the moment both grian and mumbo are looking at each other like - "Wait a minute- Scar-?" Cannot wait for them to have that conversation tbh. Imagine looking at your boyfriend, realizing hes got feelings, and being like "oh thank god" if these two dont TALK i am gonna go MAD i am NOT a slow burn girlie pop

Oooooh nice, welcome to non-anon <3 Nice to *formally* meet you~ <3 If only I could be main blog </3

They are SO gay Grian really saw that old engagement jewelry and was like "break it break it breAK IT-" his first thought was really "hold up wait a minute just a sec wait Scar's around my age his ex whatever could still be around I don't Like That(tm)" lmao just wait until Cub actually shows up cough AND YEAH Mumbo was chill until he learned what it meant and then he just. "No" lmao

Writing Elven children is weird cuz you have to find that balance between "super formal society" and "children are children regardless" and just jgfdkl little Scar had my heart while writing <3 little Cub did too ofc just babies <3

[same birth month&year basically but close enough to same day for beings that live 700+ years <3 Elves are so long-lived that it's not UNusual to be born in the same year but definitely not the norm, but to be born in the same month is like. Very unusual <3] Have I mentioned that Scar can be so oblivious lmao BUT ALSO to be FAIR to him, he knows absolutely no one who has ever been in an arranged marriage, his cousins are between 5 and 200 years older (the King is his great great great grandfather lmao there's a lot of gens there and long lived species whoo) than him and only a handful of them are married to people they chose so poor thing literally looked at this situation like "Grandfather wouldn't invite just anyone to the Palace especially when he's so overprotective... I'm sure that doesn't mean anything for me specifically" lmao But like. For him it wouldn't have been that BAD if they had just TOLD him, because if he had known from the start he'd have seen it as him and Cub making the best of an unfair situation, but because he was never told until the engagement day every Moment(tm) between them felt like a LIE which </3 Hurts so bad- Also Scar being aware of the class difference I knew needed addressing at some point which is also why it's important that Cub made the first move, even though Cub was already aware that he would end up marrying Scar and Scar wasn't kfdsjlk

hgjkfdgjk precious children just trying to act like mature grown ups but at the end of the day they're still teenagers who have no clue what they're doing and share awkward nervous kisses <3

The fact that literally the only people who TRIED to stop him were the King, his mother and to a degree, Cub (though what was Cub going to say, I wonder...) even though the Court was full of their most immediate family? I mean. If that doesn't speak to something Scar hadn't noticed at the time- :) Cleo really had this little knobby teenager come to them with an engagement piece in his hair and break down about how his entire life has been a lie and everyone he thought loved him was just using him and said "This is not happening. Nope, not happening. Run, kid" Cleo is my absolute beloved <3 I love them. Now I wonder why Scar is so hesitant to meet up with them... :) Haha we definitely haven't seen the last of the Fae King. Unfortunately for Grian and Mumbo, if there is ever an OP character in this series, uh, it's definitely the Fae King. (Not OP enough to save Scar tho </3 rip) And meeting him might not be under the best circumstances... :) I wonder how that will be resolved, huh. I hope everyone understands Unreliable Narrator tag means Everything Is Not What It Seems while also not assuming it means the King isn't an ass at the same time

Yessssss <3 we love a good "no strings attached" love story <3 Just three guys who love each other very much and have no ulterior motives <3 HAHA yes <3 them just looking at each other like "ohh okay I see, this is good" jkgfdlkfdsk NOT A SLOW BURN GIRLIE how have you survived 90k+ words without a single Scar-Kiss <3 Did the accidental flirting and the bite tie you over my friend <3 hhhahjfd-

[kjack89]

Belle Épitaphe

Because this post has lived rent-free in my head for the past six years :’)

Happy Barricade Day, y’all!

ExR, canon compliant(ish) soulmate AU.

As was not uncommon, Enjolras’s parents hosted a party for him when he turned sixteen. Not quite a debut into society, it was instead an opportunity to gather and to wait for the words that would appear on his skin, just as they did on all upon reaching one’s sixteenth birthday.

The words would indicate his soulmark: the last words that his soulmate would ever speak to him.

It was an old tradition, the gathering for the words, dating back as long as any could imagine. But where once an entire village might gather to pray for good words, for words that revealed a name, or clue, of his soulmate’s identity, now it was more a formality to see if his parents need wait for a specific person to marry him off to, or if easier arrangements could be made. Now, instead of praying for a name, his parents – and more than a few young ladies from surrounding houses – hoped for vague words that could be uttered by anyone.

Enjolras hated every minute of it, dressing in uncomfortable, fancy clothing and pretending to make polite smalltalk with all of his parents’ friends. But most of all, he hated the very idea that some words that appeared on his skin might bind him to someone without his – or their – consent.

No matter how unlikely their meeting one day might be.

So he alone did not celebrate when he felt the words sear against his wrist; he alone did not hold his breath as he twisted his arm around to see the words that stood out starkly against his pale skin.

“Do you permit it?” his father read aloud for the assembled crowd, and his mother let out a small, delighted gasp.

“Such romantic words,” she told Enjolras, holding onto his other arm with both hands. “Think of what kind, loving wife will utter those words at the end of your long life.”

There was nothing Enjolras would rather imagine less.

And as he glared down at the words that had appeared on his arm, he vowed silently that he would never allow any to get so close to him as to say those words in any kind of final parting.

----------

It was, bluntly speaking, an easy vow to make and a far easier one to keep than Enjolras had at first anticipated, in no small part because he escaped from his parents before they could force him into anything resembling a courtship. Once he was in Paris, once he was surrounded by like-minded youths, he felt no need to give literally any thought whatsoever to soulmates, to soulmarks, or to the last words fate had destined someone to speak to him.

It had long since fallen out of fashion to endeavor to search for one’s soulmate, so it was not something of which most young men spoke, save in – gently or otherwise – mocking the lovelorn among them. How many times had Courfeyrac sighed and made an excuse for his errant roommate, telling them, “You really must forgive Marius; he is looking for his soulmate, after all”? 

It was something to roll one’s eyes at, if the subject even came up at all.

And around Enjolras, whose sole concern could be best summed by those three words liberté, égalité, and fraternité, it very rarely came up.

He may well have gone to his grave without ever giving it another thought, were it not for a casual utterance by someone he knew not at all.

When the barricades arose, Enjolras was filled with conviction, even more so than what usually filled him, conviction and righteousness enough to displace what little patience he had for things not associated with the Cause for which he had pledged his life, and very likely his death.

Which was perhaps why his temper soured so quickly upon hearing the latest of Grantaire’s many drunken soliloquies. Usually he could block them out, or ignore them as he tended to more important things, but standing on the crest of the barricade, facing down what was to come, he could not find it in himself to ignore it, or Grantaire.

“Grantaire,” he shouted, “go get rid of the fumes of your wine somewhere else than here. This is the place for enthusiasm, not for drunkenness. Don’t disgrace the barricade!”

Had he known what effect his words would have on the man, he might’ve tried shouting at him sooner. Immediately, Grantaire sobered, something Enjolras couldn’t quite read softening his expression. “Let me sleep here,” Grantaire said, almost gently, and Enjolras shook his head, already turning away.

“Go and sleep somewhere else.”

But Grantaire did not turn away, and something in his voice kept Enjolras rooted to the spot where he stood. “Let me sleep here—until I die.”

Anger welled in Enjolras’s chest as he stared balefully at Grantaire. When so many would doubtlessly lose their lives in service of freedom...what right did Grantaire have to use death as a bargaining chip, there of all places?

“Grantaire, you are incapable of believing, of thinking, of willing, of living, and of dying.”

He knew the words were harsh even as he was speaking them, a cold pronouncement of Grantaire’s character. But if Grantaire seemed affected by them, his expression did not show it. Only his tone seemed affected as he told Enjolras, his voice low, “You will see.”

He mumbled something more, something incoherent, but Enjolras was saved from having to decipher what else the man might possibly have said to him, but Bahorel shouting, “Here’s the street in its low-necked dress! How well it looks!”

And then Enjolras’s returned to the barricade and directing the efforts of the newest recruits who had arrived just as the rain stopped. They were a motley assortment of troops, but still Enjolras called each comrade as he gave out instructions.

As he paused near two men arranging a table on its side against the barricade, he could not help but overhear a snippet of their conversation. “I am confident we will survive this,” one said with a grunt as he shouldered the table into place. “After all, my wife did not utter the words marked on me before I left this eve.”

“Strange,” his companion said. “Your wife said the words marked on me when I left her this eve.”

The first man guffawed and shoved his companion with the camaraderie many of their number shared, their jokes about bedding each other’s wife continuing as they headed in the opposite direction, and Enjolras just shook his head before returning to the task at hand.

That should have been the end of it, an offhand joke shared between brothers at arms, but instead, the thought of the last words he might speak or hear stuck with Enjolras, even as the barricade was completed, even as they lost Prouvaire, even as they discovered the spy among them.

He endeavored to put it out of mind, and succeeded in ignoring it until they finally all settled in for the night. Then and only then did the thought begin to twist, low in his stomach. Especially when he thought of what he had said to Grantaire.

To say that Grantaire vexed him was a vast understatement; Grantaire vexed, irritated, confounded, and infuriated him. And yet for all his drunken ramblings and professions of belief in nothing, for his interruptions and distractions, for the way he had offered once to black Enjolras’s boots and for his failure to complete the one task Enjolras had ever deigned to assign him, Enjolras had never once been able to bring himself to send him away.

Not until that night.

And now, as he tried to get what little sleep he could in the shadow of the barricade as they waited for what battle was to come, he felt something like guilt seep through him.

He had not meant it, what he had said to Grantaire, and he knew better than most that the chance of them both surviving the barricade was not high. As much as he had never wished to care about the last words he said to any, the thought that those were the last words Grantaire might ever hear from him was unbearable.

After everything, he owed Grantaire a better farewell than that.

Mind made up, Enjolras stood to return to the Corinthe. The motion woke Combeferre, who had settled nearby. “Enjolras?” Combeferre asked quietly. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Enjolras assured him. “There is simply something that I must do.”

He could not quite make out Combeferre’s expression in the darkness, but he knew him well enough to guess what look he might wear. “The best thing for any of our number right now is sleep,” Combeferre said. “And to let those already asleep continue so undisturbed.”

“And if the last words I said to you were in anger, would you sleep undisturbed?”

There was a challenge in Enjolras’s voice, but Combeferre did not rise to it. “Had I drunk that much wine, I imagine so,” he returned instead. “There is but one thing Grantaire would wish to hear from you, and as you cannot offer that, it is best to let him sleep.”

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said. “But still I must try.”

If Combeferre made any further argument, Enjolras did not linger to hear it, instead slipping into the Corinthe and making his way to where Grantaire still lay with his head against the wooden table, fast asleep. Despite what Enjolras had said to him, his expression looked almost serene in the dim light, and Enjolras hesitated for a moment before shaking his shoulder. “Grantaire,” he said, his whisper sounding overly-loud as it pierced the silence. “Grantaire, wake up.”

Grantaire’s eyes blinked open, and he stared, unfocused, at Enjolras for a moment before his vision cleared enough to recognize the man half-kneeling beside him.

Then, to Enjolras’s surprise, his eyes widened in horror. “No!” he half-shouted, scrambling backwards from Enjolras and almost falling out of his seat. “No, no, please—”

“Grantaire—” Enjolras started, concerned, but Grantaire shook his head wildly.

“Do not speak to me, I beg of you,” he pleaded, and Enjolras frowned.

“I must,” he said firmly, and Grantaire let out what sounded almost like a whimper, covering his face with his hands. “Grantaire, please, you must let me say this. The words I last spoke to you – I would not have my last words to you be in anger.”

Grantaire lowered his hands, looking at once very sad and very tired. “But you must,” he said, sounding more sober than Enjolras had ever heard him. “Those words were the best gift you have ever given me.”

Enjolras’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you—” he started, breaking off when Grantaire turned suddenly, and yanked his shirt up to show Enjolras his back. “Grantaire, what—”

Again he broke off, but this time not in confusion. He broke off in recognition, seeing the words he had spoken reflected back at him from where they were marked on Grantaire’s skin. Almost without meaning to, he raised his hand to trace with trembling fingers the words he had shouted earlier. “Grantaire,” he whispered, though he knew not what to say after that.

Grantaire flinched, just slightly, at the sound of his name, and Enjolras pulled his hand away as if he had been scalded. “So,” Grantaire said, lowering his shirt after the silence that stretched between them had turned uncomfortable. “Now you see.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I do,” he said, “but I also do not. Those are my words, but they are not the last that I will have spoken to you.”

“Apparently not,” Grantaire said. “Though how I wish that they were.”

“What do you—” For the third time in as many minutes, Enjolras broke off as realization hit him. “Because if they had been, I would be your soulmate.”

Grantaire couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “Long have I imagined what it would be like to hear those words,” he murmured, so quietly that Enjolras could barely hear him. “What might my soulmate be like, to have such harsh words be the last spoken to me? But then I met you, and I knew, if there was any from whom I could hear those words fall off his lips and have them be sweeter than any confession of love…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras bowed his head, his chest feeling tight. He could not pretend that he had been fully unaware of the way Grantaire looked at him, or spoke to him, but to have it confirmed like this was more than he thought he could bear. Especially now, with those words between them and so little time left. “So when I said them earlier…”

“I knew that if I were to die, it would be worth it to know that you were my soulmate.”

Grantaire delivered the words evenly, even as Enjolras looked away. “I am sorry,” he said finally. “For what I said, and for all I have said after if I have ruined what peace you found.”

“May I ask one thing of you?”

Enjolras glanced over at him. “If it is again to black my boots…”

Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said. “I wish to know what words are marked on your skin.”

Enjolras hand flew almost immediately to the words on the inside of his arm, and he rubbed them subconsciously. “I am not certain what good it would do now,” he hedged. 

“Perhaps none. But that does not change the fact that I wish to know.”

Enjolras hesitated before bowing his head in acquiescence and rolling his shirtsleeve up until the words were revealed, as dark and imposing as they had been when first they had appeared so many years before. He thrust his arm toward Grantaire, who bent his head to read the words silently to himself. Then he straightened and met Enjolras’s eyes. “I have seen the problem.”

Enjolras frowned, rolling his shirtsleeve down again. “What problem?”

Grantaire nodded toward his arm. “I’ve once asked you for permission to do anything.”

Enjolras laughed, a sharp, surprised sound. “I suppose not,” he agreed.

“And I doubt that even now I shall suddenly start.”

“Again, I suppose not.” Enjolras hesitated. “I have never given much thought to my soulmate, even to the idea in general. What good is a soulmate found only at death? My concern is with the rights of the living. Including the right to never find their soulmate if they do not wish.”

Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “I would never dream—” he started, but Enjolras shook his head.

“I know,” he said softly. “And yet, there is a part of me that now hopes that I will not go to my death without hearing you say those words.”

He would never know what possessed him to say it – undoubtedly, the same instinct that had driven him to wake Grantaire in the first place, the same instinct that had stopped him from removing Grantaire from their meetings all these years, the same instinct that drew them together when they were the last two in the Musain late at night. It was that same instinct that made him painfully aware how close they were even then, and how little effort it would take to close that space and press his lips against Grantaire’s.

But he was saved from that instinct by Grantaire saying, quietly, “I am sorry.”

Enjolras blinked, confused by the apology. “What for?”

“That I will never speak those words.”

“Even if I were your soulmate, I don’t think I could ever bring myself to.” Grantaire gave Enjolras a small, sad smile, and the breath seemed to catch in Enjolras’s throat. “To utter the words that would sever us...if those are the last words that I am to speak to you, then I would rather be struck dumb than speak our last.”

This time, when Enjolras again felt the instinct to close the space between them, he did not fight it, leaning in to kiss Grantaire. Grantaire was frozen for a brief moment before melting against Enjolras, curling one hand in Enjolras’s shirt and pulling him even closer. Enjolras reached up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, kissing him desperately, the weight of the moment leaving him wishing he could stretch the kiss into infinity.

But all too soon, he knew he had to pull away, to end the moment, because he knew Grantaire would never have been able to bring himself to. “I love you,” Grantaire told him, his hand still balled in Enjolras’s shirt, and Enjolras covered his hand with his own, squeezing his hand gently.

“I know.”

“Will you do one more thing for me?” Enjolras did not answer, just looked at Grantaire expectantly, and Grantaire swallowed, hard, before asking, a little hoarsely, “Will you say them again to me?”

Enjolras knew instantly that he meant the words he had spoken earlier, the ones written on Grantaire’s skin. “Grantaire—” he started, the name sticking in his throat.

“Please.”

Enjolras released Grantaire’s hand. “I cannot,” he said softly. “They were needlessly cruel then, and unspeakably so now.”

Grantaire just lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Perhaps,” he said. “And yet, I am asking you to.”

Enjolras tilted his head, trying to read Grantaire’s expression. “Why?”

“Because hearing you speak those words again…I will go to my death with a smile. It is all I have ever wanted, to hear those words from you. And I beg of you the chance to hear them again.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt unbearably tight. “Grantaire—”

“I have been resigned to my fate for longer than you could ever know,” Grantaire told him, though there was no resignation in his expression. Just something as close to hope as Enjolras had ever seen there. “Will you not do me this last kindness?”

“Grantaire—”

Grantaire’s expression did not flicker. “One way or another, I die with this barricade. So I beg of you, let me die in peace knowing, for however brief, that you were mine.”

For the third time, Enjolras said his name, but this time, it was not to deny him. “Grantaire—” He could barely speak around the lump in his throat, but he knew he must. He owed Grantaire this much. “You are incapable of believing—” Grantaire’s eyelids fluttered closed and Enjolras could not help himself, reaching out to again touch Grantaire’s cheek, his fingers so pale against the flushed skin. “—of thinking, of willing, of living—” His voice broke, and Grantaire opened his eyes and reached up to lay his hand over Enjolras’s, turning his head to press a kiss, featherlight, against Enjolras’s palm. “—of dying.” 

They stayed like that for a long moment until Grantaire let go of Enjolras’s hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Now go. And if the Lord is kind, I will see when I wake.”

Enjolras bowed his head and swallowed, hard, before nodding, just once, and retreating from the Corinthe without speaking another word.

It was done.

And he had a battle to prepare for, one he hoped would make him forget how much, in that moment, he wished to hear Grantaire say the words marked on his own skin.

----------

It was fitting, in a twisted sort of way, that Enjolras found himself back there, not even twelve hours later, backed into a corner with the barrels of twelve guns aimed at him. 

They had offered to bandage his eyes, but Enjolras wished to stare down his death with what defiance he had remaining. He lifted his chin as the sergeant repeated his order, “Take aim!”

But then, another voice shouted from beyond them, a voice that Enjolras knew, a voice he had resigned himself to never hearing again: “Long live the Republic! I am one of them.”

There were no words that Enjolras could muster as Grantaire crossed the room to stand next to him, but he did not need any. 

His words to Grantaire would be his last. For whatever peace it might bring both of them.

“Finish up both at one blow,” Grantaire said to the sergeant before turning to Enjolras.

As their eyes met, Enjolras understood, finally. Romantic, his mother had called the words on his arm, because she had envisioned them said by a doting spouse at the end of a long life. But she could never have imagined how much more beautiful they would be when spoken by someone he had not realized until too late was the one person who could ever have been his soulmate, the one with whom he would die in service of the idea of freedom for all men.

“Do you permit it?” Grantaire asked. The first, last and only time Grantaire had ever asked his permission. The only time he had ever needed to.

And Enjolras wordlessly pressed his hand with a smile.

[emmajh97-mumaji]

"YOUR TWIN SISTER BETRAYED ME! YOUR DAMN SEMBLANCE KILLED SUMMER! And now my daughters are dead because YOU FAILED TO PROTECT THEM!"

"T-tai I--"

"GET OUT, QROW. I never want to see your face again."

Taiyang Xiao Long had never regretted saying something so much in his entire life.

It had been weeks since Qrow had come by to tell him Ruby and Yang were gone... but Tai was still haunted by how devastated Qrow looked as he left.

Tai had been extremely upset... overcome with sorrow and hate... it made sense to lash out. However, that didn't make the guilt any less heavy...

Tai knew none of those words were true. Raven may have left him, but Qrow had proved to be the most loyal friend Tai had ever known. Qrow's snarky attitude was infuriating and he was certainly a bad influence... but when Summer died he went out of his way to help raise Ruby and Yang.

It was evening... Tai sat in the kitchen, bathed in moonlight from an open window...

Qrow was probably all the way in Vacuo now... And as he stared down at the table, Tai finally realized... there went the only family he had left.

Then... Out of the corner of his eye... Tai noticed the dark shadow of a bird come towards him.

Tai: (hopeful) Qrow...?

Tai looked up as he heard the 'pwoof' of a transformation-

Tai: ...oh.

Standing before him was Raven Branwen. His hopefulness immediately faded.

Tai: ......it's you.

Raven: (sarcasm) I missed you too, sweetheart.

Tai: What do you want, Raven?

Raven: I don't want anything... I just thought you might like to know about your daughters.

Tai's face filled with suspicion as he rose a brow.

Tai: ...what are you talking about?

Raven: The girls are still alive, Tai.

Tai went wide-eyed.

What did she just say? Yang and Ruby were alive?!

But wait. This was Raven he was talking to. His expression became jaded as he glared at her.

Tai: ...messing with my emotions is a new low for you.

Raven: I'm not joking, Tai.

Tai was caught off guard again.

Tai: But... where?! And how do you know?!

Raven: My portals, you idiot. I have one for Yang, remember?

Tai: (JUMPING UP from his seat) Take me to them!!

Raven was startled by that-! It took her a few seconds to calm down and remove her hand from her sword hilt.

Raven: I can't.

Tai: Why not?! Your protals can take you literally anywhere on Remnant--

Raven: They AREN'T ON REMNANT, Tai.

Tai took a beat to process that, then glared.

Tai: That's bullshit-!

Raven: (glares back) I'm telling you the truth!

She grabbed her sword, and swiftly opened a portal behind her--

Raven: See for yourself.

Tai ran over and inspected it... the red swirling energy was unstable, wobbling violently. It stung him when he tried to go through it! But... he could hear them... the words were incoherent from the distortion, but those were definitely Yang and Ruby's voices!

Tai: But if they aren't on Remnant... where are they?!

Raven: My guess? ...they're stuck in the same realm where Old Man Oz kept the Relics.

Tai was exhilarated. For the first time in ages he felt hope again. Like there was something he could do to bring his family back-!

Tai: If that's so, then... we should be able to go save them!

Raven: (disgusted look) We...?

Tai: (annoyed) Oh, I'm sorry, I meant *I* can go save them. I keep forgetting you don't care about your own daughter.

Raven: I'm just being realistic.

Tai: So am I! You said you opened the Haven Vault, right? We can just walk in through there!

Raven: And get ourselves lost on in some mysterious realm with who knows what dangers awaiting us?!

Raven: No Tai-- I'm staying here and watching over my tribe, like a rational person.

Tai: (hisses) Fine..! Then I'll find someone else to come with me!

Raven laughed mockingly at him.

Raven: Who? In case you forgot, the entire world is currently being besieged by Salem's forces!

Taiyang grew anxious. All he cared about was seeing his daughters again.

Tai: Huntsmen and huntresses are gathering at Shade, I'm sure I could find someone there who will--

Raven: Someone? You're going to trust your life, the lives of your daughters, to some random huntress?!

Tai: If that's the only choice I have!

Raven: It's not, Tai.

Tai glared at her. She took the hint, continuing-

Raven: There IS a huntsman who would be willing to help you. Someone with experience scouting and searching for people. Someone strong enough to take on even ME in battle... well, when I'm not using my power, anyway~

Tai gave her a look of curious confusion. Raven sighed, frustrated that he wasn't getting the hint yet.

Raven: He's the only other man I know who would be foolish enough to sacrifice the fate of the entire world... for the sake of Ruby and my daughter.

Tai felt a pit start to form in his stomach... He finally realized who she was talking about.

Raven smiled sadistically at his face, and twisted the knife--

Raven: ...and you told him you never wanted to see him again.

Tai swallowed the lump in his throat. With a sigh he looked over at Raven-

Tai: So you were listening in that time?

Raven: It was hard not to hear, when you were yelling so loudly. (smirks) My favorite part was you blaming my dear twin for the death of Summ-

Tai: (cutting her off) OKAY!! I get it! Look- are you going to make me a portal to Qrow, or what?

Raven looks Tai over, admiring his pajamas-

Raven: Aren't you a bit underdressed to be going to Vacuo right now?

Tai: (groans) YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT!

Raven chuckled, giving him a terse nod before turning away and walking over to the window.

Raven: ...I'll be back in three days. Be ready.

And with a puff of feathers, she was gone.

...

Afternoon, three days later...

Raven: Tai.

Tai: What?

Tai stopped right as he was about to step through the portal.

Tai had already taken care of everything. Port and Oobleck would help teach his classes at Signal. Some neighbors on Patch would watch over the house and dogsit Zwei. He had all his desert exploration supplies prepared. New haircut, new gear-- the only thing in his way was his ex interrupting him.

Raven looked him square in the eyes for a solid minute.

Raven: ...I am no traitor.

Tai took a few second to process that... then his eyes widened-

Tai: Is that SERIOUSLY the only reason you're helping m--?!

But before he could finish, a gust of wind pushed him through the portal, which then closed behind him!

Tai stumbled out into what appeared to be some sort of sandy-colored diner.

Tai: --me?! ...Ugh.

Tai sighed. He could deal with Raven later.

For now...

...there was someone he wanted to apologize to.