#this gift from god of a beast | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saetiate · 19 days ago

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okay i ran out of space in the tags when i was almost finished sorry for the additional short comments here :') please read the tags first and then this comment ahaha i have been commenting as i go through!!! tldr this is a beautiful fic i have been so excited to read it and your writing is brilliant!!!

OHMYGOD THE WAY THAT MYDEI WAS CAPTURED??? omg this plot twist... waugasf;jds i cannot believe this i am jaw dropped fr

WAHH IM SO EXCITED TO READ THE NEXT PART!!! i love that at the end he allows reader to feed him :') I WANNA KNOWW what the conditions are and how he gets out and i wanna see him and reader's relationship progress!!! im so excited ahaha this has been so fun!!! thank you for sharing your writing w the world!!!

Series Synopsis: When the husband you’ve never met returns from the war you’ve never understood, he comes bearing a strange and inexplicable gift — a prince in chains who he refuses to kill.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mydei x F!Reader

Chapter Word Count: 10.2k

Content Warnings: pls check the masterlist there is. a lot. and i’m not retyping all of that LOL

A/N: I AM SOO SCARED TO POST THIS NGL LMAOAO like i said in the warnings i literally. have not played amphoreus yet. idek anything about mydei SDKJH i am so worried i will disappoint everyone who's expressed interest in reading this HAHA i was also. not expecting anyone to do that tbh. BUT thank you all for your kind words on the masterlist and i hope this lives up to expectations at least a bit!!

You spent the day of your wedding with a man made of marble — a stand-in for your new husband, who was off fighting in a war of the kind which had neither cause nor, seemingly, end. The statue was carved in his image and sneered down at you as you whispered to it, swearing vows of duty and obedience and docility, but, in spite or maybe because of its detached lifelessness, you found its presence to be a kindness. What did it say of your husband, that you preferred the company of that dead stone to him? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

He is a generous man, the servants assured you, giggling amongst themselves, exchanging knowing looks as they dragged you into the foreign palace where you would spend the rest of your days. You will want for nothing.

It was draftier than your home, the wind bouncing off of the white walls and nipping at you skin. You spent your time buried under seven-and-twenty layers of furs and fabrics, lying in an unfamiliar bed and flinching away from the shadows upon the ceiling. This was an idle and dull way to waste away your existence, and yet you could not bring yourself to do anything else, trapped in the mire of waiting and waiting for your husband’s return.

He came back in the third month, which was as auspicious as anything. They loved that number here, you had come to find: three, the symbol of fortune and fate, of magic and mischief, of power and punishment. Three vows sworn; three blessings granted; three months passed before you finally met the man you had married.

There was much fanfare about his arrival. When you peered out of the window, you saw that the streets were stuffed to the bursting with throngs of people shoving one another around, hissing and biting as they craned their necks. At first it surprised you — was he truly so loved here, even when he was elsewhere despised? — but then you realized that it was not your husband upon his charger that they were all lined up to meet. Rather, it was the procession following him which captured their interests, the spoils of war which he displayed with a juvenile, worthless pride.

A triad of elephants covered in finely wrought armor, their heads hung low and resigned, their plodding walks spiritless and lame. A herd of sheep with silver wool, dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars, stumbling along at the prodding of a soldier-turned-shepherd. A wagon filled with spears and swords, ostensibly once neatly stacked, now a matted mess of steel and bronze. Vases carried in the arms of the younger men, overflowing with coins that trailed after them like breadcrumbs, snatched up by the most daring of the onlookers, who did not fear rebuke. And, finally, in a place so honorable it could only have been mocking—

“Lady,” a soft voice said. You drew your coat tighter around you, although today was, by all accounts, warm for the season, and pretended like you did not hear the girl. She sighed and then tugged on your arm insistently; perhaps it was improper, but there wasn’t anyone who would chide her for it. “You have been summoned by his majesty.”

Hadn’t you known this would happen eventually? Hadn’t you expected it? You had had your time to come to terms with it, which was more than most got, and so there was no excuse for the reluctance which choked your throat and stilled your footsteps. This was your duty, this was what you had sworn, and so — and so you could not hesitate.

“Lady…” the girl said with another sigh. You pretended to be all-consumed with the action of closing the curtains, your back to her as you struggled to force a smile onto your face. When you deemed your expression acceptable, you spun around and nodded at her.

“It will not do to keep him waiting,” you said, motioning for her to lead the way. She did so without complaint, perhaps relieved that you were not giving her further trouble; even now, the servants did not know what to think of you, could not quite fathom what category of being you were. Some were fond of you, but most treated you with a careful distrust that you could not blame them for, even though you sometimes wanted to.

The grand entrance hall of the palace opened to the mouth of the road, which swelled out into a sprawling courtyard. Its centerpiece was an enormous fountain which sprayed a fine, cool mist into the air no matter the time of year, and it was by this fountain that you waited, wringing your hands as your husband drew nearer and nearer. Belatedly, you thought that you should try to conceal your distress, but there was nothing to be done about it now. The best you could do was say, if you were asked, that it was simply the joy of a bride faced with the prospect of a reunion with her beloved. Nobody would question that, although then again, nobody questioned you very much in general, so it was doubtful that you’d even have to use the quick excuse.

Your husband’s warhorse was a sprightly, slender beast, its coat the dappled grey of royalty, its face pretty and dished in the way of the Eastern breeds. When it paused in front of you, it shoved its black muzzle into your shoulder, nearly knocking you down, and then it stomped its hoof when your husband tightened the reins, pulling it back before dismounting and handing it off to a waiting stableboy.

“My apologies, dear lady,” he said, bowing before you with as much gallantry as you had been told he possessed. His voice was gentle and amused, his face even more handsome in flesh than it had been in stone; you should’ve, by all rights, felt pleased. You were married to this man. You belonged to him. How many women wished to be in your place? Yet all you could muster was fear, throttling and all-consuming. He was beautiful in the way of a snake, and you knew without knowing that he was poised, in some way, to strike.

“It is alright,” you said, disguising the tremble of your voice with a broad, false grin. “I am glad to finally make your acquaintance…my lord.”

The address was unfamiliar on your tongue. What would your younger self, that girl who had never known subservience nor strife, say if she saw you ducking your head in defeated compliance? How she would laugh! How she would pity you! My lord. But he was exactly that.

“The sentiment is returned in full,” he said, and then he extended his arms in a grand, sweeping motion. “Indeed, to celebrate this momentous occasion, I have arranged for you a gift!”

“A gift?” you repeated. Certainly, you had asked for no such thing, and you did not have the time to school your face into neutrality, naked surprise flashing across it. Your husband chuckled at the sight, nodding at you.

“I have brought the finest of plunders for you, dear lady,” he said, and your stomach twisted into knots at the familiarity with which he spoke to you, as if you were affable lovers instead of strangers. “Even your father’s treasures, vast and bountiful as they may be, cannot compare to this!”

The mention of your father stabbed at your heart, and hidden in the folds of your coat, you clenched your fists. Your father, the richest man in the world…and yet your husband dared compare his meager gift to that? You wanted to spit in his face that for your third birthday, your father had gifted you a villa made of gold, the walls inlaid with gemstones and painted with flowers. Indeed, you might’ve goaded him in such a way if you had the capabilities, but then you noticed what the army-men were bringing forth and your mouth suddenly refused to move.

It was the prisoner, the one kept in a place of honor by your husband and his soldiers, the one who the entire empire had ridiculed as he had been paraded through it like a champion hound. He was tall, towering over the army-men flanking him, and although his eyes drooped nearly shut, there was a heat to his demeanor, a severe, ferocious anger which shone through his exhaustion. He seemed like more of a half-tamed jungle cat than a man, and indeed when he halted before you, you half-expected him to snarl, to bare bloody fangs and lunge at your throat with fingers like claws, like swords, tearing through your neck as if it were paper.

“When he’s like this, you almost forget what a monster he can be,” your husband mused, reaching out and flicking the man on the forehead with a snicker. “Isn’t he all but lovely? Oh, don’t worry, dear lady, he can’t do anything to you. He’s under the influence of a sleeping draught at the moment, and anyways, those chains are thrice-blessed. It’s perfectly safe.”

The chains he spoke of were as gold as the man’s hair, looping around his wrists and forearms, curling over the red marks emblazoned on his shimmering skin, weaving in between his legs and around his torso. They were sturdy and gleamed with the power of their three blessings, and although you still understood little about this strange place with its strange power, you could tell that it would take a great force, greater than was possessed by any mere man or deity, to break them.

“He’s the prince of Kremnos,” your husband said when your shock stretched on. “A right beast, I’ll say. We almost fell to his efforts, but in the end, we bested him — as you can see. What do you think? Do you like him?”

“He’s — it’s — horrible,” you said, your skin crawling the longer and longer you stared at the prince, your words a jumble, your head spinning. You wanted to be anywhere but in this courtyard, in front of this fallen man, who was kept alive for — for what? For amusement? For play? As a gift?

“Isn’t he?” your husband said, patting you on the shoulder with a grim smile. “And now he is yours.”

The thrice-blessed chains flashed in the sun, and you shook your head, both in refusal and to clear your vision of the blinding, searing spots they left in it.

“I have no need of a prisoner,” you said, and although your tone remained ever-muted, you spoke as cuttingly as you could manage to. “What will I do with him? Why do you torture him so? You bested him; if he was as fierce an opponent as you claim, then the least you owe him is a death with dignity. Kill him and be done with the matter. Why have you brought him all this way? I don’t want him.”

“He will die, eventually,” my husband said. “I shall execute him myself when it comes to it, but the time is not yet right. I don’t expect you to understand such matters, and neither should you trouble yourself with doing so…but know this, dear lady: you cannot give back a gift once it has been freely given. You can do what you’d like with him now that he is yours, but you cannot refuse him. Perhaps that is how affairs were conducted in your backwards land, but here it is not so.”

You wanted my land, you longed to say. You took me from my father and wed me to a statue in search of it. And still you call it backward? But you could not, so instead, you turned away — away from the prince, who was close to crumpling and only remained standing out of sheer will, and away from your husband, who beamed as if he had done something great or wonderful.

“I will retire now,” you said. Do not follow me. This remained implied, unsaid, but a fool your husband was not, and so he only hummed in agreement.

“Be well, dear lady,” he said. “My messengers have told me that you are having difficulties adjusting to the climate here. I shall be sure to pray for your feeble constitution.”

“Thank you, my lord,” you said, stiffly, primly. It scratched like bile and you hated every minute of it, but you had no recourse for the matter, so you swallowed it down, as you always did and always would.

“And what of the prisoner?” he said. “Shall I send him to a jail? Do you think he is better suited for deprivation or pain?”

They meant to make him shatter, to methodically yank him apart until he faced death with the dull eyes and swayed back of an over-aged broodmare. You supposed to them it was meaningless — why should they show consideration or kindness to a man who would never show them the same? — but you were no warmonger, and that apathy did not cling to you yet. The prince was a beast born of sun, a wild, vicious creature, and if he really was slated to die, then you wanted him to meet his end as just that, nothing less.

“Leave him be,” you said. “Treat him as well as you are able.”

“He would’ve killed me,” your husband said, a low note of warning in his voice. You shrank into the safety of your clothes, as if they were a shield against his vexation.

“But instead you will kill him,” you said. “So how does it matter? You said I could do as I like; well, this is what pleases me. Don’t prolong this anymore than necessary.”

You darted back into the palace without waiting to hear his answer, your jaw burning and your footsteps heavy against the mosaic floor as you ran all of the way to your chambers and slammed the door shut behind you.

For three days and three nights you did not leave your room, taking all your meals in seclusion, refusing any visitors that might attempt entry. You could not help it; the thought of seeing your husband or any of the soldiers made you want to weep — you! Who never wept, even as a baby! So you claimed that you were terribly unwell, that you could not stand for fear of collapse, and that managed to ward away your husband without incurring his wrath, even though it was only a temporary solution.

As the sun set on the fourth day, there was a knock on your door, and you were about to call out that you had no interest in conversation when someone hissed through the crack in the entrance: “Lady, I come not on your husband’s behalf but another’s. There is trouble, and you must attend to it.”

“What?” you said, scrambling to your feet, crouching by the entrance, pressing your ear to the wooden door without opening it. “Who is this? Who are you? Speak plainly, so that we may understand one another!”

There was a shuffling sound, and then an exhale. You worried with the collar of your shirt as you waited for them to continue, your arms pulled tightly around yourself, your brows furrowing together as you chewed on your lower lip.

“The prince of Kremnos,” they whispered. “He calls for you.”

“Are they mistreating him?” you said, straightening and flinging the door open. “The prince, are they — hello?”

The hallway was devoid of life. You peered down it, craning your neck this way and that, but it was placid, showing no signs of having been disturbed. Shutting the door slowly, you leaned against it, holding your head in your hands. Was this place driving you to insanity, then? And if it was, then why could you not have thought of something more pleasant than summons from a prisoner — prisoner!

Wasn’t it your duty to make sure your husband had held good on his word? The prisoner was yours, though the notion of ownership sent unpleasant shivers down your spine and didn’t feel quite right — perhaps a better way to think of it, then, was responsibility. He was your responsibility, and maybe the strange vision had been nothing more than a reminder of what you owed the man.

You waited until it was midnight, when you could be certain that your husband would not rise from his slumber at the sound of your activity, and then you donned a pair of slippers and a cloak, throwing the hood on and retreating into the billowing depths of the fabric, so that your face was obscured from prying eyes. Of course, there would not be very many of those, not at such a late hour, but you did not want to risk even one person recognizing you and reporting back to your husband, whose reaction to this escapade you could not foretell.

Although you were not so familiar with the palace’s layout, as you had never spent much time exploring it, most constructions of this nature followed a similar plan, and you had grown up in exactly such a grand, sweeping home, so you found the doorway to the cellar in record time. As the palace had no towers, the cellar was the only logical option for the keeping of such a dangerous prisoner, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was where you would find the prince, if he was still somewhere that you could find him.

The half-moon was your only witness as you fumbled with the lock, trying every key in your possession until one finally slotted into place and turned. Wincing as the door heaved open with a profound creak, you yanked it shut behind you quickly, without ceremony, lighting a small candle and using it to guide your way down the dark stairs, rushing so that you were out of sight in case someone came to investigate.

You did not know how long you walked for, but eventually the stairway ended, giving way to cool, damp earth. The must of uncut stone permeated the thick, heavy air, and the adjustment of your eyes to the surrounding blackness was slow, the pain of it only alleviated somewhat by the little candle’s valiant flame.

“Come to toss scraps at me?” The voice was rumbling and low; in spite of its weakness, you could hear a sneer in it, a disdain in the rough baritone. “You needn’t try again. Like I told you, I won’t eat your trash.”

“No,” you said. “I’ve brought nothing with me.”

There was a brief pause, and then: “You sound different than the others.”

“This tongue is foreign to me, as it is to you,” you said. “I cannot speak it in the same way as those who were born here. Verily I have been instructed in the art since I was but a child, for my father must have known in that manner of his what would eventually become of me, but I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would.”

“You’re his wife.” Chains clanked, the harsh drag of metal against stone reverberating in the cellar, and then you felt more than saw his looming countenance, filling what you had mistakenly believed upon arrival to be an empty room. Swinging your candle before you so that it was close to your heart, you gasped when it reflected in a pair of eyes glaring at you from mere paces away, the irises possessing a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers might.

The chains now only encircled his left leg, binding him to the wall but leaving him otherwise free to move as he liked within the length of his confines. He had been stripped of armament and adornment alike, his mane of hair tangled and falling lank about his broad shoulders, yet for all of these injustices, you had no doubt in your mind that he was anything but a prince. He had a dignity to him, a hard-won pride to the straightness of his back and the firmness of his gaze; before you could chase it away, the thought came to you that there was far more intrinsic nobility to this man than there was even your husband.

“I suppose that I am,” you said.

“Have you come to gloat about your craven lord’s cowardly victory, then?” he said. The chains were pulled taut, so he could come no closer to you than he already was — you were sure of this, but you were still a slave to your instincts, which urged you farther and farther from him with every second. He watched you go with some measure of delight, like he was relishing in this power which you had inadvertently gifted him, and when you skittered to a stop, he huffed. “There is nothing to be proud of, and you look a fool for suggesting there might be.”

“I was just…” you trailed off, because it suddenly felt entirely absurd to suggest that you were inquiring after his wellbeing. What did it mean, the wellbeing of a doomed man? What reason would he have to believe your intentions? “What is your name?”

“My name?” he said with a brittle, incredulous laugh that rapidly descended into a cough. “Why? Do you wish to curse your husband with it? Does your language not have gods you can swear on?”

“You’re sickly,” you said, frowning and ignoring his jabs.

“You have torn me from the sun and chained me in this dingy room, and yet you have the gall to be surprised by that?” he said, scoffing. “You’re more of an idiot than that husband of yours.”

“I did no such thing!” you said. The defiance took you by surprise. You had forgotten what it felt like to defy someone, to disagree and resist their words, to feel alive with resentment and bad-temper. “I didn’t wish for this. I didn’t wish to keep you here anymore than you wished to be kept!”

“Is that so?” he said, and then he grinned at you, but it was less of a smile and more of a threat. “Then free me.”

“What?” you said.

“If you don’t want me, then free me,” he said.

“You’ll kill me if I do,” you said uneasily, shifting from foot to foot.

“I give you my word that I will spare you,” he said, placing a solemn hand over his heart.

“Not the others?” you said.

He did not respond, which in and of itself was a response. It was one you shouldn’t have liked as much as you did, but in truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him. Only for a moment, and immediately, you shoved your hands behind your back, but it was too late — he had seen, and he raised his eyebrows at you in return.

“Well, anyways, it doesn’t matter,” you said hastily, hoping to distract him before he could comment on the treason. “I couldn’t free you even if I wanted to. Your chains are thrice-blessed. I didn’t know what that meant until recently, but now that I do, I understand why you have been kept without even a permanent guard.”

“Blessings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t tell me you put genuine stock into that drivel.”

“Perhaps the gods of other lands have forsaken their subjects, but this empire is known as the birthplace of every divine act, and so deities still sometimes glance upon its people and offer up their favor. Thrice-blessed chains are one such offering, for they are in fact more like contracts than they truly are chains,” you said. When he did not interrupt you with any snide remarks, you were emboldened to continue. “They can restrain anything, even a god, but this strength comes at a cost: they are conditional. If their captive can understand this condition and meet it, they will crumble into dust, but until then, the chains remain unbreakable.”

“What is it?” he said insistently, reaching out his hands like he was going to grab you and shake the answer out. He fell short, grasping at empty air, his muscles straining against the chains which, true to legend, did not falter. “This condition. Whatever it is, I will do it. You only need to tell me and I will do it!”

“I don’t know,” you said. His lip curled, and you shook your head frantically. “No, no, I’m telling you the truth, I really don’t know! Only the wielder and the gods he prayed to can know for certain. The conditions are decided arbitrarily, without trend or reason. It could be anything from singing a song to moving a mountain! At least, that’s what I’ve gathered from the little I’ve read on the topic.”

“The wielder — your husband, then? That’s easy enough. Bid him to tell you, and then relay to me his answer,” he said.

“Easy enough? Not in the slightest. He would just as soon do your bidding as he would mine,” you said. The prince squinted at you, and evidently he must’ve determined that you were serious, for he broke into that awful laugh again, the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air.

“You are pitiful,” he said. “I thought that you must be some great, fearsome empress, as wicked as your husband, but you are just a frightened mouse of a girl. You would not survive a day in Kremnos, you know. It would crush you.”

Duty. Obedience. Docility. They were branded onto you, swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke, and you could not escape them any more than the prince could escape his chains. If only you could argue with him, tell him that once upon a time, you had been someone unrecognizable from who you were now…but already, you had tested their limits. Your tongue was frozen in your mouth, refusing to move in anything but accordance with your oaths, and so you only clasped your hands together.

“If you say it is so, then it really must be the case,” you said. “Farewell, prince of Kremnos.”

“Farewell,” he said, but it was clear he did not mean it. “Dear lady.”

“Don’t call me that,” you said, recognizing the provocation for what it was. “You are not my husband, nor do I wish for you to be.”

“Then what should I refer to you as?” he said. “Your excellency? Your grace? Your most exalted highness? Your holiness, the saint of the realm?”

“Here, I am only known as lady,” you said quietly. “But I bore a different name before. I cannot…I cannot say it anymore, but if you ever come to know of it by other means, then please call me as such.”

Morning brought with it a freezing palm pressed to your brow. It startled you to consciousness both because of its temperature and its temerity, for you could not fathom who had dared to enter your room without your permission, and while you were asleep, at that! In the haze of your sleep-addled mind, a rebuke rose to your lips, but then someone clicked their tongue and you fell silent even as you clambered to a more alert state.

“Your fever has finally broken, dear lady! You do not know how overjoyed I am to hear it,” your husband said, helping you into a sitting position, one hand cradling the back of your neck and the other holding up a glass. You blinked, trying to clear the fog from your vision, swallowing down the water he poured down your throat without objection.

“Fever?” you said.

“The ailment you have been suffering from,” he said. “I was told it was a fever of some sorts. I bore it quietly, the prospect of your malaise, but today I could not stop myself from checking on you. I had some dreams of playing the nurse, but here you are, entirely well! Such a miraculous recovery.”

His grandiose words masked suspicion with affection, but he did not make any further accusations, for just as you had sworn to heed him, so too had he promised to trust you. His vows had been made to a portrait of yours, as well as written in pig’s-blood and sent to you in a sealed envelope. You could recall them with perfect clarity, the way the stench of iron clung to the parchment as you unfolded it and rang your fingers over the lines, which were grouped in stanzas of three.

Trust. Favor. Companionship.

You spent the entire day with your husband, although you had neither the desire nor the will for it. You hardly ever had the desire or the will to do anything, of course, not nowadays, but this was the worst of all, because your husband was not just a reminder but the very reason for everything which had happened to you. Still, you could not refuse, so you trotted along at his side, motionless as he showed you off to his officers, his advisors, and even, at one point, his cousin, who could not be less interested in you if he tried.

“Brother,” he said boredly, for indeed he and your husband were the only children of their respective fathers, and so were more like siblings than anything, “you have better things to be doing than showing off a woman who doesn’t bear showing off in the first place.”

“Are you saying that she is somehow deficient?” your husband said, swelling up with righteous indignation. Anyone else might’ve lost their head for the statement, especially given how blandly he had said it, but his cousin was above reproach, being the only person he really loved.

“I’m saying that she looks ill with misery,” his cousin said, and then he sighed, returning to his book. “I’m not so sure the lady has recovered from her illness. You ought to be more cautious with her, that’s all.”

His cousin was younger and handsomer than he, and as the two of you walked away, you thought that you would not have minded marrying him as much. Though perhaps this was a paradox — after all, if he had taken you in the manner that your husband had, then you would have hated him, too. It was your lot in life, then; always you would detest whoever you wed, whoever stole your freedom in that way and bound you to them with the cruel ropes of matrimony.

The hall where you took your dinner was like an enormous cavern, so large that you felt like your voice might echo if you spoke. You and your husband were the only ones in it, which heightened the effect, and every clank of his silverware against his porcelain dishes resounded in your ears like discordant bells.

“My prisoner,” you said after a long time had passed wherein the two of you discussed nothing. Your voice was dry with disuse, and you pushed the food on your plate around without attempting to eat, although it was all appetizing and you were certainly hungry.

“What?” your husband said, covering his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

“My prisoner,” you said, clearing your throat but keeping your gaze trained firmly on your food. “The prince of Kremnos. Is he well?”

“You’re asking after his health?” your husband said with a chuckle. When you did not laugh or otherwise indicate that you were joking, he frowned at you. “You needn’t fret. As you requested, I am treating him as well as I am able. Far better than he deserves.”

The image of the prince, chained and kept in darkness, the only sound his persistent cough and unsteady breathing, given scraps for sustenance and mice for company, flashed across your mind.

“I wish to see him,” you said. There was a warning in the back of your head — duty, obedience, docility — but you ignored it as best as you could, stabbing oversharp fingernails into your thighs, hard enough to draw blood and distract you from the dangerous line you tread. “My lord, I wish to see the prince and ensure that he is alright with my own eyes.”

At this your husband did not even pretend to humor you. He burst into a raucous fit of cackles, his fork and knife clattering to the table, his eyes watering at the corners. You waited for him to stop, picking your own cutlery up in vain before setting it down and folding your hands in your lap.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that I cannot allow that, dear lady.”

“You cannot—” you began, but it was too much, you had stepped over that precarious boundary, and now you were frozen. Gulping, you counted to five before continuing. “He is mine. He is mine, you said it yourself, so why — can’t — I — see — him?”

Each word dug into you like gravel, and you knew that you had lost this argument before you could even attempt to have it. How could you ever win? When you had sworn thrice over that you would be tractable, how could you ever try to be anything else? Your intentions did not matter as much as the execution, not to the number three and the power it lent this empire.

“How obstinate,” your husband said, appraising you with a new eye. “I am sorry, dear lady, but as my cousin said, you are still weak. It will do you no good to be faced with such a base creature. You can see him again on the day of his execution.”

“Yes,” you said through gritted teeth, which was not as much as you wanted to do but was as much as you could, at present, manage. “Might I be excused?”

“Excused? You haven’t eaten anything,” he said, pointing at your plate. True to his word, it was untouched, and you picked it up, holding it close to your chest as you stood.

“My stomach is protesting,” you said. “I will take it to my room and eat it later. If it pleases you.”

“Very well,” he said, waving at you. “I shall pray for your health, dear lady. Sleep as late as you’d like tomorrow, but once you are awake, I implore you to join me in my preparations. There is a grand celebration in the afternoon, as a marker of our victory against Kremnos, and I have been summoned to speak; if you could muster some words as well, it might hearten the people and warm them to you.”

“Yes, my lord,” you said. “I shall think of something.”

“See to it that you do,” he said, watching you with an unreadable expression on his face as you left, your footsteps growing faster and faster until you were all but racing to your room, your head spinning and palms clammy like you had gotten away with some great crime.

Tonight, there were no strange voices beckoning you, but that did not stop you from staying awake far past the moon’s rise, waiting until it hung over the clocktower before picking your way back to the cellar, your heart pounding as you crept back down those dark, endless stairs, an actual lantern in one hand and your plate in the other.

The prince was still there. You had half-expected him to have disappeared, to have turned out to be some figment of your imagination, but he was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pursed as he watched the light of your lantern approach. When he realized it was you, his eyes narrowed, and he tucked his chin to his chest in what you could only assume was a stubborn display of the meager strength he had left.

“I brought food for you,” you said, setting the lantern on the last stair and presenting the plate before you. “Please eat it.”

“What do you think I am?” he said. “Some kind of a dog, such that I am eager for you to foist your refuse on me? Hardly. Take it and leave me at once.”

“You’ll waste away,” you said. “You are only doing yourself a disservice! This is my own dinner, which I have gone without so that I could bring it to you. Does that make it easier to stomach?”

“Shall I sit on the floor, then, and eat it with my hands?” he said with a disparaging smile. “Will that amuse you? Is that why you’ve come? I heard your husband, you know. ‘Do what you’d like with him now that he is yours.’ How joyless your life must be, to think that this is what you entertain yourself with!”

“It is joyless,” you bit back, and your eyes widened at the freedom of the declaration. “It is! But you are not my — you are not some kind of amusement, I resent that you — I even spoke against my husband for you, and you say that! Fine, then. Starve, you thoughtless simpleton! Starve and die for all the good it’ll do me!”

You turned on your heel and stomped towards the stairs with the graceless irascibility of a child, not even sparing a glance over your shoulder at the prince. He was quiet, but you knew from the heavy weight of his stare on your back that there was something like turmoil brewing in his mind, a turmoil which weakened your resolve with every step you took away from him.

It was to your credit that you made it all of the way to where the lantern was sitting before you wavered, your stride shortening until you halted in place. Scrunching up your face, wondering when you had developed this love for punishment, for strife and conflict, you allowed your shoulders to sag in acceptance.

“Dispose of this before anyone comes to see you,” you said, shoving the plate into his hands before he could protest. “I suppose it matters little how you do it, but you must, or else I will be convicted of treason, and where will that leave us? Imprisoned side by side and left to rot together.”

He did not respond until you were almost out of earshot entirely, and then he coughed. You could not tell whether it was to capture your attention or to clear his voice of any residual hesitance; regardless, he accomplished both objectives, as you lingered for a moment longer than you would’ve.

“Ten,” he said. “That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here. But I—”

You continued walking before you could hear the rest of it.

You woke up the next day in better spirits than you had in some time, and in fact when a servant announced that you had a visitor, you opened the door with a new vigor. Upon realizing that the man in front of you was not your husband but rather his cousin, you thought that you might die from the glee of it all. Taking his arm, you allowed him to escort you to where the imperial contingent was setting up for the festival, at a grand stage which took up most of the square and was already laden with visitors at its base.

“It is a relief to see you recovering so well,” your husband’s cousin said. “The rumors in the palace are that you’ve contracted some illness of the chronic variety; in truth I believed them, especially after our meeting yesterday, but today I see that you have been revitalized. Did you rest well last night, then? I heard that you did not eat your dinner, but you must’ve taken it in your room, yes?”

You had done neither of those things, and his questioning did make you pause. What was the cause of your good mood? You had gone to sleep for only a short time, without much of anything in your stomach, and your situation had not improved any, so why did you feel, even if only marginally, as if you were something like yourself again?

“I suppose it must be something like love,” he mused, without waiting for your answer.

“Ah, pardon?” you said, startled from the winding turns and byways of your thoughts at the strange declaration.

“To think that even a day in your husband’s presence has cured you to such an extent,” he explained. “Surely it is love? I cannot think of any other name for it…but I apologize! It is not my place to inquire, nor to speculate. I trust you will not tell my cousin about this?”

He had, in the taken-aback blink of your eyes and the pinch of your brow, found what he was seeking: a demure shyness which he could only comprehend as a lack of affection. You knew, then, that you had passed the test of the man, who had not believed any more than your husband that you were truly ill.

“I will take your leave,” he said, and then his palm clamped down on your shoulder. “But I trust you know this: however much you may love your husband, he is a difficult man to be loved by in return. If ever you are in search of solace…there are places you may turn to, dear lady.”

“What did he say to you?” your husband said, appearing at your side with his expression arranged into something like a frown. “I could not hear. Was he bothering you? I am sorry if he was. He has always been headstrong.”

“He was not bothering me,” you said, incapable of lying to your husband with any great skill but remaining certain that it was absolutely imperative you did not divulge his cousin’s secrets to him. “We spoke as family members might.”

If he recognized your evasive language, he did not comment on it. Instead, he stroked his chin in thought, and then he directed his attention towards the stage, where one of his generals was beckoning him — and, by extension, you.

The sun hung high in the sky as you ascended to the podium, though its rays did not dare touch you, disguised in your husband’s shadow as you were. Your vows tied more than your tongue, after all; your entire being, everything but your heart and your mind, were trained and twisted into the picture of submission, and soon those, too, would fall, leaving you a husk which could do nothing but nod and follow along.

Your husband did not need to start with any address. His mere presence was enough to silence the gathered empire, every single onlooker leaning towards the stage in eager anticipation of his words. From your vantage point, it was like the swell of a tide, crushing and suffocating, inescapable in its overwhelming intensity, but where you withdrew, your husband brightened at the weight, lifting his head and squaring his shoulders.

“Mydeimos,” he said, over-enunciating every syllable. The word, unfamiliar and foreign to your ears, had a rhythmic, marching cadence, more suited to a battle-cry than a formal declaration, and it seemed you were not alone in your thinking, for it had all the effect of one on the crowd.

A heckling clamor burst from them, the individual words indecipherable but for brief snippets. Demon. Monster. Warmonger. Kill. Curse. Blood. Kill. Kill. Kill! Your husband waited for them to quiet of their own volition, and only then did he venture to continue, this time with a wide, beaming grin.

“Mydeimos has fallen. The prince of terrors is no more!” he shouted, raising his fist in the air to thunderous applause. “Without him to lead the army, Kremnos will surely follow suit. Their lands will be ours within the year, of this much I assure you! Our empire will soon be the most prosperous in all the world. Even the great lands of the Southern Sea will pale in comparison!”

Your heart twinged at the mention of the Southern Sea. You could envision it even now, the streaks of salt left on the cliffs where the water lapped at them, the ripples in the placid blue where the balmy winds skimmed along the surface, the moon-white sand as it clung to the crevices of your feet and hands.

When you were younger, your father would take you on his boat and dip his fingers into it, urging you to do the same. You would ask him why and he would answer, always with a laugh or a smile: of all the jewels in my treasury, my darling, the Southern Sea is the second-loveliest. Then you would ask him which could be the first, if even the sea was not its equal, and he’d press his damp hands to your cheeks and kiss your hair and say you, my darling, you and only you.

“What a horrible thing he was,” your husband said. “Mydeimos. That wretched excuse of a man…the world is all the better now that he is locked away. I watched him — watched him, good citizens, with my own eyes — tear out a man’s heart with naught but his nails and teeth! Even now I can imagine it…the tips of his canines dark with pierced flesh…bits of entrails coating his fingers…the heart still beating in his palms…he looked the proper part of a devil, and I was certain that I had died and found damnation!

“But as I said, he is no more. Our army prevailed, as we always have, and as we always will; I made Mydeimos beg for mercy with my sword at his throat and my foot upon his inhuman heart, and then I dragged him back so that all of you could see what he has been relegated to — a chained puppy, given to my dear lady as a pet and kept as a servant until the day of his execution.

“For the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!”

Your husband concluded his speech and pulled you forward simultaneously, with a great flourish which invited praise and drew attention to you both. You swallowed, your mind racing at breakneck speed, far too quickly for you to make any sense of the things you were saying until you were saying them.

“I have not seen the prince of Kremnos — Mydeimos — since the day that he was brought to me,” you said. The applause that had begun faded as soon as the soft words sparkled into existence, and the many eyes of the audience blurred together until you could pretend like you were alone, like you were speaking to nothing but small, bright stones reflecting your own sentiments. “But as my lord husband said, he was proud. I feel as though I have never seen a man prouder. Even after his loss, he remained proud. Even with nothing else left, he clung to that pride, that assurance…I remember thinking to myself that it was, in its own way, admirable. That he was admirable.”

Your husband’s arm around your waist grew tighter with unspoken warning, though it needn’t have. You had said all that you wanted, all that you could, and now there was nothing left but the judgement of the collective.

“Lady!” someone shouted, the singular soul brave enough to speak. She was a woman — you wondered if this was what bolstered her confidence, a perceived kinship between the two of you for that fact alone. “Do you fear the prince?”

“No,” you said, and although you had meant it only as a vague and empty placation, you were surprised to find that it rang true. You were not afraid of him, and it wasn’t his chains or his infirmity which caused this emotion to surge in you; rather, it was what he had told you last night, that declaration he had made with the utmost of seriousness, which you had not even allowed him to complete. “I am not. He cannot harm me.”

You knew your words would be interpreted as faith in your husband and the empire, and furthermore that this misinterpretation would curry favor with your subjects and your lord alike, so you did nothing to correct it. Yet you would know, and would hold close to your heart the knowing, that it was not your husband who you held faith in: it was Mydeimos, the prince of Kremnos, who might’ve killed you ten times over but had instead let you live.

“You have much to improve in terms of your orating,” your husband said coldly as the three of you — him, his cousin, and yourself — returned to the palace.

“I thought her speech was excellent,” his cousin said, shooting you a sly smile behind his back. “Very concise, and of a good style. It’s a gift to be able to convey meaning so succinctly. You ought to nurture it.”

“She certainly conveyed a meaning,” your husband said. “It remains to be said what value that meaning truly holds.”

“Is that for you to decide? Ah, brother, don’t be a curmudgeon, I am only teasing you! You spent so much of our childhood poking fun at me, so how can you fault me for paying you back in kind?” his cousin said.

“You need some lessons in respect,” your husband said, but without any real bite behind it. His cousin snickered before sobering, shifting his weight toward you.

“Will you take your dinner in your chambers again, lady?” he said. You nodded.

“If it does not offend,” you said.

“Do as you please,” your husband said. “Though I expect you’ll do that anyways, sworn to me or not. Isn’t that right, dear lady?”

You couldn’t think of any response which would be satisfactory, so you said nothing, allowing the two of them to escort you to your room, where you waited with bated breath until the night fell and you could return to the cellar.

The entire way down the stairs, you turned the name over in your mind, polishing it in the way waves polished driftwood, battering it with incessant worry until it shone, uncanny and unrecognizable. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. Mydeimos. The prince of terrors. The man who had torn a heart out with his teeth. What did it say of you, that you were making your way to exactly such a knave? With trepidation, of course, but what did it say that you were still doing it anyways? Perhaps very much, or perhaps very little.

“There is an odd pattern to your footsteps,” he said before you could even greet him. He stood as he always did, prepared for a battle that he would never again see. “Or perhaps it is your breathing, or something else entirely.”

“What do you mean?” you said, putting your lantern and the dinner down in the space between you both. “I walk and breathe as I always have, as others do.”

“I know you,” he said, disgust mingling with the barest traces of awe in his tone. “The door to this cellar opens frequently. All manner of men come to visit me, to mock me from their places at the bottom of the stairs, lambasting me from the safety of their distance. I recognize few, and I remember fewer — nor do I have any great desire to — but when it is you, I know. From your very step, from the very creak of the door, I know. I cannot understand how or why, but I know.”

“My husband told me your name,” you said after a pause, when it became clear he was not expecting a reaction from you. Motioning towards the food in a gesture you hoped he took to kindly, you continued: “I did not ask him, but he mentioned it in passing, so naturally now I know it.”

“I see,” he said, and although his gaze flicked towards the ground, he did not move. You remembered, then, what else your husband had said in that speech of his, the vainglorious words echoing in your ears: for the surest way to kill a Kremnoan is to destroy their pride, and the prince of terrors has more pride than most, so we must endeavor to strip him of it, systematically and fastidiously, until even a child can cut him down!

“Mydeimos,” you said, and then you sat on the floor, which was made of a cold stone that shot chills down the backs of your legs. Resting your elbows atop your thighs and your chin in your hands, you blinked up at him. “That is what he called you. ‘The prince of terrors.’”

“How unimaginative,” he said, and you suppressed a shudder at his glare, which was baleful and acute as it settled upon you. “My-deimos. Many-terrors. Yes, that is my name, though that ridiculous nickname is of his own invention. The Kremnoans would laugh if they heard it.”

“He said that he watched you tear out a man’s heart with your nails,” you said, and then you glanced at his lips, simultaneously and unconsciously wetting your own with the tip of your tongue. “And your teeth.”

He bared those very teeth, white and glinting, in a barking laugh — as much an expression of warning as it was humor. “My teeth! Your husband is one for fiction.”

“And — and he spoke of how he defeated you,” you said. At this, anything resembling mirth vanished from Mydeimos, and he grew curiously immobile — you almost thought that you had frightened him into the grips of memory, but then you realized that he was not frozen as much as he was waiting.

“Did he?” he said. “And what did your husband say of my defeat, dear lady?”

“He made you beg for mercy with his sword at your throat and his foot upon your inhuman — upon your heart,” you said, correcting yourself for the slip of the tongue, finding no merit in telling him about that particular detail. “And then he dragged you back here.”

The longer Mydeimos remained silent, the shallower your breaths became, a cold fist forming around your heart and squeezing, the muscles in your arms and legs contracting, protesting their inactivity. You needed to run. If you were wiser, if you had anything resembling self-preservation, you would run, would flee and hope that you were fast enough to make it to the stairs before he pounced.

You supposed you lacked both wisdom and self-preservation in spades, for you remained on the floor, peering up at him and praying that he could not read your mind, could not comprehend the depths of your thoughts.

“So that is his story,” he said. “I should’ve known he wouldn’t tell his people the truth.”

“He made it up,” you said rhetorically.

“You don’t sound surprised,” he noted.

“It is not — it is not —” You gnawed on the inside of your cheek, trying to come up with some way to circumvent your wedding vows, some way you could impress upon him what you were trying to say. “When we were wed, it was said that I loved him madly and completely, that I bawled to my father until he allowed me to come here.”

“Then it is not his first time dabbling in such falsehoods,” Mydeimos completed. When you nodded, he snorted. “You cannot speak ill of him, can you? Is it magic?”

“In the way of this land,” you said with a shrug.

“What an emperor,” he said. “So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation? Where I come from, they have a word for those like that, but as it is foul, I will not trouble you with hearing it.”

“What do you mean?” you said. “Ah, not by the foul word…that is, what tricks do you refer to? If the story he told is inaccurate, then how did he really defeat you? For surely he must have, or else you would not be here.”

“He did not defeat me,” he said. “Believe it or not, but that is the truth.”

“How?” you pressed, for you had already eschewed wisdom once and did not mind doing so again.

For a moment, it was as if the sun shone down upon him again. You saw him as he was on the day he met you, or perhaps even before — the prince of Kremnos, sleek and powerful and indomitable, red marks blooming in place of the scars he would never receive, eyes ablaze in his hollow face, hair as wild and untamed as his spirit.

“He surrendered,” Mydeimos said, scowling. “Our numbers were smaller, but Kremnoans have never cared for things like odds. We were winning, indubitably we were winning, and your husband knew it as well as we did. They attacked us in our own territory, fought us with our own weapons…how could we have lost? We would’ve wiped them out, but your husband and his men raised their white flags, and so we ceased to attack them.

“I went to parley with them, to negotiate the terms of their surrender. In a show of goodwill, I agreed to your husband’s request to come unaccompanied. His men were exhausted, and I found it honorable that he was putting their wellbeing first, so I ignored my instincts and the warnings of my advisors, going forth alone, leaving my armor and weapons as I was instructed to.

“That was my mistake. I should never have expected honor from a serpent, whose nature it is to bite. The surrender was a ploy; I was met by hordes of guards, each with a spear pointed at my heart. Even then, I fought. Do not think I met my end willingly, dear lady — I fought and killed as many men as he threw at me. I could’ve killed them all, I would’ve killed them all, but right as I was about to, he threw these chains at me from the corner where he hid. It should not have worked, his aim and the strength behind it were both lacking, but it was as if the metal had a mind of its own, and before I knew it I was bound.”

“As I told you, they are thrice-blessed,” you said. “Divine. They long to fulfill their purpose, and will do anything to that end. If it defies the laws of nature, well, what are those laws compared to the ones who wrote them? Those men were only a distraction. Once my husband received these chains, there was nothing which could’ve changed your fate.”

“What sort of a god favors a man who feigns surrender?” Mydeimos said. “What kind of deity loves perfidy?”

“I have often asked myself the same questions,” you admitted, half-expecting yourself to be unable and closing your eyes in relief when you weren't. “Why is it that he is the one they champion? What justice is there in that? He must have been a saint in his past life, to be treated as he is. A saint, or a martyr, or something like that. Something wonderful to the point of deserving so many miracles in this next iteration of his.”

You chose your speech carefully, injecting as much resentment into it as was needed to convey to the prince what you really meant, but not enough that you seized up into inaction. Not enough that you strained against the hold that your vows held over you.

You heard him exhale, and at this, you allowed your eyes to flutter open once more, peeking up at him and immediately wishing you hadn’t.

Whatever had briefly rallied in him, whatever fervor and fire he had briefly regained…it was gone. It was gone, leaving him fractured and bereft, forlorn instead of fearsome, prisoner instead of prince. Your husband had done that to him. Your husband had destroyed him, as he had destroyed you, and it was this reflection of your own fate which tore at you the most.

Breaking off a piece of bread, you dipped it in the long-cooled sauce pooled in the corner of the plate, and, without a word, held it out to him. He eyed it suspiciously, and for a moment you thought he might refuse it. The beginnings of an argument bubbled to the surface, but it never had the chance to take shape — before your lips could so much as part, he knelt across from you and took your proffered hand by the wrist.

Holding it in place, his thumb digging into your pulse like a reminder that he didn’t want this, didn’t want to accept your help, he used his free hand to swipe the bread from your palm. Then, his brows heavy, low over his eyes with mistrust and reluctance, he shoved it into his mouth and ate it.

taglist (comment/send an ask to be added): @mikashisus @ivana013-blog @mizukiqr @shehrazadekey @simp-simp-no-mi @reapersan @casualgalaxystrawberry @secretive3amramenmaker [if your tag does not show up in grey, that means tumblr had an issue with it, sorry! sometimes it does that sadly]

#been waiting to have a moment just to read this :> excited hehe #cora rb: hsr #you 🤝 me ; not knowing much about amphoreus ahaha i have not played it yet either outside of seeing phainon’s entrance #i am immediately intrigued omg the statue and reader lowkey not even liking her husband???#calling his pride worthless and juvenile omg i love seeing through reader’s perspective #‘dotting the dark cobblestones like a cluster of stars’ absolutely beautiful line your writing is incredible #i love the way you write it truly feels like a novel or a fairytale written long ago ; like i’m reading the old folklore of another land #the comparison to a snake is absolutely stunning too ; actually lowk reminds me of oliver HAHAHA sorry that’s my wandering mind #yo what kinda gift is this (playful) (i’m aware it’s a development of the story dw HAHA i love how this is going and how you introduce plot #points)#thinking about mydei tied up did smth to me SORRY sorry irrelevant and inappropriate LAHDK he is so hot tho #YOUR BACKWARDS LAND HELLO I WILL MURDER HIM (playful and lighthearted but also a testament to the emotions in me your writing evokes)#‘scratched like bile’ same reader ohmygod u and i can start a murder this man alliance #‘a beast born of sun’ wow this is so beautiful. love the way you weave words together #reader having the foresight to put a hood on ; i love her intelligence and forethought. idk i just really love reader in this ahaha she #feels like a real character which i love a lot personally!!! i love her depth ; OKAY HELLO I got called away i hath come back to finish #reading!! sorry for the delay!! ; 'I will never lay claim to it the way that a native of this empire would' again so beautifully written #also mood as someone who has like never lived in the country they're from :')) waugh #'a hollow and impossible brilliance in the way a pair of fading embers' this is absolutely stunning too ; the dignity and hard-won pride #u describe i really really love this about him too and i love your characterization of him in this sense #'Does your language not have gods you can swear on?' WHEWWW WHAT A LINE (compliment)#'n truth the prospect of such a slaughter made your fingers twitch towards him' YEAHHH GIRL LET HIM KILL YOUR HUSBAND WOOO (playful) HAHA #I'M ON TEAM MYDEI BABEY ; i love the lore building with the thrice blessed chains very very cool #'the one that must’ve once been handsome and full-bodied but now was little more than a rattling plea for air' another absolutely beautiful #line ; 'swirling letters that you had unwittingly carved into yourself with every wedding vow you spoke' I LOVEEE this #'Ten. That’s how many times I could’ve killed you in the time you’ve been here' AND THEN SHE WALKED AWAY HAHA I WAS LAUGHING #PLEASE the cousin thinking it's HIS LOVE ohmygod. ; awee reader's father loved her :'))) i love that for her ; OHMYGODDD MYDEI KNOWING #READER?? i LOVE a i have known you trope ohmygodd i love this #'So he can neither bed his wife nor win his battles without the use of tricks and obfuscation?' HAHA YEAHH GET HIMM

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ozzgin · 4 days ago

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Y'all, I've been possessed by the idea of a yandere nymph grove. Flesh-eating alien creatures who lurk in the dark corners of the forest you've been warned to stay away from. Yet their song draws you in, and you find yourself wandering towards the forbidden light.

You've caught them in the middle of their ritual! Normally you would be swiftly torn apart and fed to these monstrous beasts, but their eyes swallow you up with a different kind of hunger. You must be the God-sent gift, the chosen mate of their tribe. It was fate that brought you here.

Their sharp teeth glisten from within a knowing grin: you're not leaving this place. In fact, you're just in time for their mating.

Anyways, big, violent, and territorial fairies who are utterly obsessed with you. You're their chosen partner. They'll hunt down anything and anyone that dares to interfere. I don't know, just a thought.

#doodle #my art #nymph grove #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere monster #monster x reader #monster x human #monster fucker #terato #monster boyfriend

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obsessivevoidkitten · 11 months ago

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That Time You Got Yeeted Into Another World, Mistaken as a God-Sent Gift, and Used as a Prize in an Arena

Yandere Bear-Man Dilf x Gender Neutral Reader

CW: Noncon, framed for a crime, language barrier, eaten out like it's groceries, biting, scent marking, musk, combat, general yandere behavior

Word Count: 765

(Speed written out of nowhere because I had the idea suddenly, not beta read so please forgive any mistakes. I hope you guys like this ficlet. Also forgive the title, in a game I was playing there was a crossover with "That Time I Got Reincarnated as a Slime" and I liked the vibe of the title.)

You were framed for a crime you didn't commit and in your village the punishment for that crime was immediate exile via being shoved down a steep crater in the center of which is a one-way portal to what is thought to be Hell.

What no one on your side of the portal knew was that on the other side was just another world. A world that celebrated with a great holiday anytime a human came through the portal. It was also a world populated entirely, with the exception of humans who crossed over, by human-like beast hybrids.

Driders, lion hybrids, nagas, aqrabuamelu (scorpion-men), harpies, dog people, centaurs, minotaurs, gnolls, and many other races that seemed to be part human.

They have a connecting portal in their universe, but any who try to go into it are spat back out. The current went only in one direction.

Every few years, a human would be flung forth from the portal, a gift from the gods! But only the worthy can keep such a gift. So whenever a human comes to the realm from the watcher of the portal will ring the bells and all the warriors assemble and a grand tournament is held at the arena. Whoever wins gets to keep the human and gains enough wealth to care for them properly.

Things are no different when you arrive, you are immediately ushered away, examined, and pampered like a prize doll with no agency. Despite your objections. It seems like only the keeper of the portal has any rudimentary undestanding of your language, not that it helped you. He didn't explain much and his speech wasn't that great. Something about... a big game?

You were naturally frightened beyond all reason, seeing all these beast-men, but it didn't seem like you were being harmed. It really wasn't what you thought hell was going to be like.

On the day of the big tournament, you were dressed in the finest silks, given a tiny crown of silver, and taken to the best seat in the arena. One where everyone could see you. A cushioned throne was provided for you to sit upon. You figured that this must be a ceremony to welcome people from the portal.

You watched as all the combatants sparred. At first you were horrified, but it became evident that people could yield and death was, almost always, avoided. There were combatants of every variety.

Even from the start the best seemed to be a naga woman named Eeris and a bear-man named Brakwen. As they advanced through the fights they both finally made it to the finals where they'd clash. Eeris favored twin daggers and fangs while Brakwen used claws and brute strength. He had a sword but had not resorted to using it.

It was a mighty battle but Brakwen the bear-man managed to win. You still did not yet realize you were the prize. Not until you were escorted down to him and were carried bridal style out of the arena with the crowd cheering. Brakwen had won the god's favor!

From close up he looked even more imposing. He seemed to be in his late 30s to early 40s. He mostly looked like a hairy man from far away though up close his massive size, sharp teeth, claws, thick fur covering his arms and quite frankly adorable bear ears, gave him away. He was rugged but admittedly rather handsome. You knew there was nothing you could do so you let him carry you away.

Despite the language barrier, Brakwen did his best to please his god-given prize. He could tell you feared him. Especially since you tried to run off a few times. But Brakwen didn't get angry. You never even managed to get past the door. Even if you did there were two gates outside the house. You were far too valuable to let wander off.

Eventually when you had stopped running off, and when his rut demanded he wait no longer, he began acting a bot more aggressove and sexual towards you.

Though you tried to stop him it ended with him stretching out your hole with his powerful tongue, lubing you up with his copious amounts of drool, and sliding into you with his massive musky cock.

That's what your life was now. Being treated like a fragile precious gem most of the time and then for one week out of every month you were fucked full of hot bear cum in every possible position, bitten possessively, and scent marked by being forced to wear his oversized clothing.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere monster #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x gn reader #my ocs #My OC Brakwen #yandere exo #yandere exophilia

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lynxgriffin · 7 months ago

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Eldritchrune - Kris's Birthday

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

Close to the end of their journey, Kris has a small celebration with the beasts, and reflects some on both their past with their brother, and the light world ahead.

(Reminder that I draw these scenes out of chronological order!)

YAY managed to get another part done! This one won the poll, so had to go with it first! At least Kris finally gets a nice, happy moment with all the beasts they've recruited!

Alt text under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Wide opening shot. Kris sits facing Ralsei, with the rest of the Fun Gang surrounding them. The Gang now consists of Susie, Noelle, Lancer, Berdly, Catti and Jockington, and Monster Kid. The Fun Gang have set up camp in a hollow crater, the landscape around them rocky and barren. Everyone is lit solely by the glow of a campfire in the center of the crater. Ralsei addresses Kris: “Get plenty of rest, Kris.”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris and Ralsei, still across from each other with the fire between them. Ralsei continues, “Tomorrow we face the last bound god before the Dark Fountain…it’ll be our toughest fight yet!” Kris responds, “Yes. I understand.” They stare into the fire.

Panel 3 - Closeup on a happy Ralsei as he holds up one claw. “And since we’re so close to the end…”

Panel 4 - “...I thought I’d conjure up a special surprise for you!” Ralsei moves his claws, and magically congeals a plate, food and frosting all together in a swirling center.

Panel 5 - Ralsei holds up the finished object in front of the fire: a small frosted cake, topped with strawberries. “SURPRISE! Happy birthday, Kris!” he declares with a broad smile.

Page 2

Panel 1 - Ralsei holds the cake up in the foreground. Kris looks at it in surprise. Behind them, Susie and Noelle look on with interest. “Wow! Is today really your birthday, Kris?” Noelle asks.

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris. They scratch at their head in confusion, and respond, “I… Is it? I’ve lost track of the days since arriving here…”

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Ralsei happily hands the cake to Kris, who takes it. He says, “Well, I’m not sure if it’s exactly today. But by my estimates you should have had one by now! So now is as good a time as any!”

Panel 4 - A wider upshot as Kris takes the cake, and the beasts watch. Berdly leans in closer, curious, and asks, “What do you humans do on these ‘birth-days,’ as you call them?”

Kris replies, “Well, typically…you eat cake, or some other sweet treat, and you spend time with your friends and family.”

Panel 5 - Kris stares into the fire again, and continues, “And usually, they also give you gifts.” Behind them, as if in abstract shadow, is an image of a younger Kris surrounded by the other Dreemurrs, all smiling. It seems to be a memory of a past birthday.

Page 3

Panel 1 - Closeup of Kris still looking into the fire, their eyes hidden by their hair. A shadow seems to fall over them. The memories of happier times still hurt.

Panel 2 - Lancer pipes up: “Ya got the cake and friends part right here!” Kris turns to see Lancer and Susie smiling at them, and gives a small smile back.

Panel 3 - Noelle leans in over Kris as well, her head taking up most of the panel. She says, “Sorry, we don’t have any gifts for you…but two out of three isn’t bad, right?”

Kris’s smile broadens a little, and they reply, “No, it is not.”

Panel 4 - Kris pulls out a smaller knife…

Panel 5 - And in a shot focused on the cake, begins to slice the cake into equal pieces with the knife.

Panel 6 - Kris offers a piece to Catti, who happily licks it up. “Tasty.”

Panel 7 - Kris tosses a piece across the fire to Berdly, who catches it in his mouth. “Thanks, Kris!”

Panel 8 - Kris turns around and tosses another piece into Susie’s open jaws. “Hell yeah, cake!” she says, excited.

Page 4

Panel 1 - A wide shot as the whole Fun Gang sit around the fire, enjoying their cake slices, small as they are. Kris works on eating their own slice. Noelle says, “That was good! …Do you think there’ll be lots more cake in the light world?”

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris, who turns to look up at Noelle. “Yes, there are. But I would have thought you’d be interested in the humans more,” they say around a mouthful of cake.

Panel 3 - Noelle looks off to the right, and responds, “Sure, I’ll have some, if they’re soft… I don’t like the hard bits, like armor and bones.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Noelle leans back against Susie, snuggling into her side. “I mostly want to get to the Light World and quiet this feeling in my mind…once I do that, I’ll be happy,” She says.

Susie grins, and says, “More for me, then! I can’t wait to get to the Light World and all that food…”

Page 5

Panel 1 - Susie rests her head on the ground, and continues, “I’m gonna eat up all those humans and finally feel full!” She smiles and licks her lips at the thought. Lancer sits just nearby.

Panel 2 - Wider shot of all the beasts around the fire. Across from Susie, sitting in a loaf, Catti says “Greedy.”

“Oh come on, like you aren’t excited for the food!” Susie responds with an annoyed look.

Panel 3 - Medium shot as Catti looks up towards the dark clouds above them, grinning broadly. Behind her, Jockington also looks Skyward, his body wiggly. Catti says, “Not just that. Open skies. Sun. Fresh smells. New magic.” Jockington adds, “It’s been, way too long since we, learned a new technique!”

Catti reiterates: “Lots of things. Looking forward to them.”

Panel 4 - Wider shot as Kris turns to Monster Kid, who’s been quiet this whole time. They’re mostly buried underground, but their tail is currently out of their mouth. Kris asks them, “You’re looking forward to leaving the Dark World, too?” They reply, “Y-yeah, Kris! I wanna eat some humans too, but…also wanna be someplace niver, y’know?”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Monster Kid’s face as they continue: “Here it’s really hard to find food. And it’s so dark and cold, and e-everyone’s trying to fight each other… I hate it, yo.”

Page 6

Panel 1 - Wide downshot of the whole Fun Gang huddled together in the empty crater. The barred landscape stretches out around them. Berdly looks to the skies, and says, “Yes, it’s true. The terrain here is so bleak and devoid of sidequests.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Berdly as he smiles, looking excited and proud. “But if the Light World has as many humans as you say, I’ll be able to max out my volume in no time!”

Panel 3 - Susie looks away and sticks out her tongue, clearly annoyed at the prospect. “Oh goody, we’re aaaall excited for that…”

Berdly, not picking up on her sarcasm, just continues to beam proudly. “And rightfully so!”

Panel 4 - Noelle nudges her enormous nose against Kris’s back, and says, “We’re all really excited to see the Light World with you, Kris.”

Kris turns back towards her slightly, and smiles. “Me too.”

Panel 5 - Kris reaches around the fire to hand the now empty plate back to Ralsei, who takes it.

Panel 6 - Ralsei makes the plate vanish into shards of nothing with a wave of his claws. “Then let’s get some rest!” he says, satisfied.

Panel 7 - The small campfire is now extinguished. Only a thin wisp of leftover smoke rises from the blackened wood and coals.

Page 7

Panel 1 - A wide shot of the crater, still at night. With the campfire out, all of the eldritch beasts are now asleep. Monster Kid is buried underground. Catti is sleeping as a loaf, with Jockington resting on her back. Berdly sleeps with his head tucked under one wing. Susie and Noelle sleep snuggled up together, with Susie’s long tail curled around them. Kris lays nestled between them, long hair and shaggy fur serving as a makeshift bed. Ralsei stands off to the side.

Panel 2 - Medium shot of Kris. They lay awake between the two beasts, staring up at the sky. They look pensive.

Panel 3 - Slightly closer, Kris looks down and to their right. Ralsei asks from offscreen: “Kris! Are you feeling all right?”

Panel 4 - Downshot of Ralsei as he looks up towards Kris. He spreads his arms out in a hopeful gesture. “I know perhaps this isn’t the sort of birthday you would have had back home, but I was hoping I did okay on such short notice…”

Panel 5 - Closeup on Kris as they close their eyes. “I just…” They take a deep sigh.

Panel 6 - Kris looks up from the makeshift bed, looking sad. “I can’t remember the first birthday I had with mom and dad and Azzy anymore.”

Page 8

Panel 1 - Shot of the dark skies above. Thick clouds silently roll across a starless expanse. “The whole day feels like it’s completely gone.”

Panel 2 - Wider shot, with Ralsei in the foreground. He still watches Kris carefully. “Oh, I see. I suppose Seam has asked for quite a few payments from you during your time here…perhaps you sold the memory?”

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as they squeeze their eyes shut, trying to block out budding tears.

Panel 4 - “Yes. Likely,” they say. Kris sadly holds up their left hand above their head. Their hand is missing the pinkie finger…another payment to Seam.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Ralsei as he looks downward. “I’m sorry, Kris.”

Panel 6 - Medium shot as Kris hugs themself, still nestled in the hair and fur. “Asriel would usually get me a book he thought I’d like, and I’d complain about it, but then read it cover to cover in one night. Once I learned how to read, anyway,” they say with a small smile.

Panel 7 - Low angle shot as Kris continues to reminisce, watching the dark clouds above. “Mom and dad also always got me a square of chocolate. I don’t know how they afforded it.”

Page 9

Panel 1 - In a flashback panel, Asriel and Kris sit across from each other outdoors, each leaning against trees. Simple woods surrounded them, and a lazy river rolls by just past them. Beyond the river are a few small homes and farms from the town. Kris holds an apple, while Asriel has a book and feather pen. Both are talking, looking happy.

Kris speaks over the flashback: “Azzy and I would go and sit by the river in the summer, and he’d point out plants and animals and tell me to give them science names. Even when I said crass or foolish ones, he wrote them down and said he would petition to get the names changed.”

Panel 2 - Closeup on Kris as they look away, the memory still feeling a bit sad to them.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Ralsei, interested and responding to the stories. “Your brother sounds like a generous soul.”

Panel 4 - Kris looks down, still sad and reminiscing. “He didn’t have to be so nice to me. Everyone said he’d leave town and go do great things.”

Panel 5 - Another flashback panel, this time in Azzy and Kris’s shared room. It looks similar to their room in canon, but much older and more bare-bones, with simple wood walls. Kris sits on the edge of their bed, listening. Asriel sits on the edge of the bed, looking pensive, his cheek resting against his hand.

Kris continues over the flashback: “But he…he told me that he didn’t like that pressure. That I was more fun to hang around than whatever great thing the town expected him to do.”

Page 10

Panel 1 - Closeup on Ralsei. He looks on, his tattered scarf flowing behind him. A curious smile crosses his face. “The way you have spoken about him, all this time…I am so curious to meet him.”

Panel 2 - Kris nestles down into the bed of fur and hair, and shuts their eyes, drifting off to sleep at last. They mumble, “Maybe…maybe soon.”

Panel 3 - Wide shot of all the beasts, asleep in the crater. Kris finally sleeps as well, tucked between Susie and Noelle. It’s dark, and quiet. In the foreground, Ralsei remains awake and watching, his back to the camera. It’s unknown what he’s thinking.

#lynx art #eldritchrune #deltarune au #kris dreemurr #ralsei #susie #noelle #lancer #berdly #catti #jockington #monster kid #whole crew is here!#and for those curious: Kris traded away their finger to Seam at some point

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twinklecupcake · 9 months ago

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Thinking of the library scene from the animated Beauty and the Beast.

He's so freaking adorable and excited. He's so excited to give this girl a gift and he really really hopes she likes it.

You just know that the "close your eyes - it's a surprise" was completely spur-of-the-moment too, as he's starting to open the door when he suddenly stops and goes "But first you have to close your eyes." Like, he was about to open the door and lead her in, but then thought wait, but this would be so fun.

And she lets him lead her in... Not only does she do as he asks (and GOOOOD the way he waves a paw in front of her face to make sure she's not peeking and then that SMILE...) but she allows him to take her hands, and she allows him to draw her into the room. She's completely trusting of him, she's not hesitant or resisting, she has no problem closing her eyes and allowing a monster to not only touch her, but to guide her steps without bringing her into possible danger. And she still doesn't peek until he says so - she just eagerly asks if she can look now, but she listens when he says not yet.

And then just that eager, anxious smile he has during the entire rest of the scene, you know he's so hopeful even before he asks "You like it?" and he's so pleased with himself and god damn this movie makes me soft.

#beauty and the beast

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heyimkana · 20 days ago

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Waking up to your yandere!fiancée Sung Jinwoo

This is a deleted scene from Limerence but can be read separately. It's basically just Jinwoo showing how much of a red flag he is and reader (colorblind af) thinking that he's just roleplaying 😌💀

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: YANDERE, smut, fluff

Content Warnings: oral sex, penetrative sex, choking, swearing

Word Count: 4K

Waking up to Sung Jinwoo’s heavenly features was God’s greatest gift.

Sunlight streamed golden through the window, adorning every slope and rise of his muscles with an angelic glow. His strong arms were wrapped around your body, protective even in his sleep.

You took a moment to admire, adoring him with your heart fluttering fondly as your eyes absorbed every detail. He looked like a dream. He felt like a dream even as you trailed your fingertips over his features, reveling in the smoothness of his skin. His hair was adorably tousled, his eyelashes long enough to brush against his cheekbones. He was still nude beneath the sheets, his upper body bare and exposed, giving you the perfect view of the scratches you had left along his spine and the searing passion you had drowned yourselves in just a few hours before.

Jinwoo seemed so vulnerable like this, but only because with you, he found the chance to be. You were the serenity that allowed him to return to his roots, to let him be the little boy who was not yet aware of the burden the world would place on his shoulders, of the power he’d be bestowed upon. And that little boy, without fail, always sought for your affection, yearning for your undivided attention, and it made you feel wanted. Needed. Loved and desired.

You rolled to your stomach, propping yourself on your elbows as you pressed a light kiss on his shoulder. Carefully, you slipped away from his embrace, wanting to freshen yourself before he stirred awake.

Jinwoo groaned, the sound low and hoarse, murmuring your name in his sleep. “Don’t go…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured him, carding your fingers through his hair. He let out a blissful sigh at your touch, perhaps even a purr, falling back to sleep with his lips slightly curving up in the sheer happiness of having you there.

He’s so cute, you pondered to yourself, almost like a child. Giving him another soft kiss on his forehead, you climbed down the bed, your naked body sore after hours of being bitten, folded, and bent over.

“Fuck, he didn’t hold back at all last night, did he?” A painful hiss fled your lips as you looked down at your body, a territory marked with a very eager, very talented mouth and bottomless passion. Then again, I told him not to hold back, you giggled as the memory of you begging him to go faster, harder, came to your recollection. Seeing all his marks on you gave you a sense of pride and euphoria, and honestly, you wouldn’t have minded if they lasted forever. You belonged to Sung Jinwoo, and he belonged to you—only to you. What woman wouldn’t be proud of that?

Despite wanting the same, your fiancée was always considerate not to indulge his greed. He never left his lovebites in places other people could see. No matter how much the beast inside him wanted to, he chose to put a collar around himself and placed the leash in your hand. He’d only ruin you when you gave him permission to.

“God, I want to marry him,” you uttered aloud with a yearning sigh as you made your way to the bathroom.

You returned a little while later, your body adorned by the silky nightgown he nearly tore apart the night before. His lids slowly fluttered open at your movements, hazy with sleep. Jinwoo was gorgeous; even with his hair all disheveled and his eyes bleary, he remained the loveliest thing you’d ever seen. His pretty smile broke on his lips, slowly and softly, the second he found your face.

“Hey, Angel…”

No sound on earth was more pleasing than his voice in the morning, except perhaps the sweet moans and the subdued whimpers that rang through your ears when he released himself inside you. The rasp in his husky voice, how it vibrated nicely in the air in the form of the sweetest purr… His voice was the song the heavens created to bless your ears.

“Hey, handsome,” you slithered back under the covers, sliding closer to him. “You slept like a baby.”

“Mm. Someone wore me out last night.”

“I wonder who that was,” you tittered.

Jinwoo drowsily smiled, thankful he could hear your sweet sounds so early in the morning. “Come here.” He brought you back to his embrace, wrapping his arms around you again like he did every night. It was the only way he could fall asleep, with your body pressed flush against him, your warmth seeping into his pores. “Why did you move away? I was holding you before.”

“I’m sorry.” Your arms slid up and down his biceps, kissing the protruding muscle. “I went to brush my teeth.”

“Next time, don’t bother. I want to wake up with you in my arms.” He pulled you close, sighing in contentment at the contact. “Mmm… You’re so warm.” His hand drifted down your nightgown, following the contour of your spine, his touch reverent. “And soft...” His fingertips traced the skin underneath, roaming until they settled on the dip of your neck, lifting your face for him to marvel upon. “And beautiful…” He sighed, almost dreamily. “How did I get so lucky to find a woman like you?”

You chuckled, “Feeling grateful today, aren’t we?”

“I’m grateful every day, Angel. For every second of my life that I spent with you.”

“And a little cheesy.”

He scrunched his nose in response, which you kissed with your giggle reverberating right after.

“What time do you have to leave for work today?” Jinwoo asked, tugging you close enough for him to settle his chin on your head.

“Hmm…” You drew your name on his chest with your digits, not knowing that he’d already had it carved in his heart from the first day he met you. “In less than an hour, I think?”

Nuzzling his nose against your strands, he hummed, “Mm. I’ll call in late for you.”

You chortled quietly, answering his embrace with another. You drowned yourself in his warmth, in his sweet scent, your heart full of never-ending affection.

“It still feels like a dream to me,” Jinwoo murmured, “that I can wake up to you like this every day. To hear your voice the first thing in the morning… to see your face… to feel your body pressed against mine…” He returned the small distance between you to meet your eyes, his fingers tracing the apple of your cheek as devotion filled his gaze. “I’m the happiest man in the world.”

Moments like this made you feel like you owed the deities your soul for bringing him into your life. Unsure of how to convey that into words, you leaned in to present him with a kiss. Your lips just barely grazed his when he suddenly pulled away. “I haven’t brushed my teeth,” he whispered rather sheepishly.

“I don’t care.” You drew him back to you, your lips interlocking, your fingers twisting in his hair.

Jinwoo rolled you to your back, his body hovering close above yours. He kept the kiss chaste and sweet, smiling softly once it ended. “I love you.”

”I love you more.” So, so much more.

To your astonishment, however, the romance in his eyes transformed into something grave as his fingers played with your strands, his eyes glued to your face but not truly looking at you.

“What is it?” you asked, confused by the sudden change of his expression.

He drew a breath. “We’ll always stay like this, right? You and me?”

Hearing a hint of nervousness in his voice, you couldn’t help but tease. “If you want me to.”

“I’ll want you forever, Angel, you know that,” he replied with all his heart, his feelings too intense to reciprocate your jest with another. “There’s not a day that I don't need you in my life.”

You kissed the inside of his palm. “Then maybe forever I’ll stay.”

“You’ll never… leave me?”

“I’ll never leave you.” Your heart thawed. The slight tremble in his voice reminded you of that of a child frightened to bid his mother goodbye. “Why, Jin? What’s the matter?”

He turned hushed. Your words were crystal clear, and he could etch them in his chest, but for some reason, he needed more. Some kind of proof, a reassurance. “Will you promise me that?”

"Promise you?" Although it felt exciting to be so wanted, you always loved it better when he became desperate for you. “What, you don’t trust me? Do I need to spell—”

The sudden grasp of his fingers around your wrists instantly washed your mischievous grin away. He pinned you down to the bed, his grip far from hurting but firm enough to deliver his message. He was not taking this matter lightly, and neither should you.

“I want you to promise me,” Jinwoo repeated solemnly, almost like a harsh demand. “I want you to mean every single word you say when you tell me you’ll never leave me.”

The intensity in his stare, his touch, his voice… It burned you. However, the moment your eyes met, the flame turned subdued, as if the astonishment in your eyes doused it a little. The pressuring tone in his voice switched to pleading as he brought your wrist closer to his face, kissing you above your pulsating vein. “Please, Sweetheart…? I need to hear you say it for me…”

And when a man, more powerful than the Gods, shed his armor to show the frail pieces of him only for your eyes to see, how could you not grant such a request? “I promise,” you said without a doubt, without a second of hesitation, with all the fragments of your soul you could offer. “I promise never to leave you. I promise that I’ll stay here with you forever.”

His lips momentarily parted in surprise at your vow before he tautened them again, bowing as profound joy rippled through him. Jinwoo breathed a relieved sigh, cradling your face as his lips grazed your cheek. “I love you.” Your jawline. “I love you.” Your neck. “I love you so much.” He settled a lingering kiss above your heart, one that beat only for him. “My sweet girl… You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. The only one I can ever love.”

You squirmed; his lips felt ticklish and electrifying on your skin. As his hands and mouth continued to roam, the primal need for his touch returned, swelling rapidly within you. “Jinwoo…”

“I know, love.” His mouth was hot and wet against your sweet spot, the soft flesh of your neck tugged gently between his teeth. “Let me return the favor this time. Tell me, how do you want me?”

Everywhere. I want you everywhere on my body. Your lips. Your hands. I want your cock inside me, but before that—

“Your mouth,” you breathlessly replied. “I want your mouth on me.”

He nearly moaned at your request, elated that you asked him to do what he’d been craving the most.

You sighed in rapture, your body being pleasured once again, inch by inch. You arched your back as he kissed his way down your navel, your tongue wetting your lips as you watched him part open your legs.

“Right here?” Jinwoo asked with a rasp in his voice, his fingers gently caressing your heat, his mouth sucking another bruise on your inner thigh, so dangerously close to your core, you could already feel his breath on you.

You chewed on your lip, nodding.

He wasted no time, diving his head low, prying your folds apart with his thumbs before he darted out his tongue and licked you from your entrance to your clit. “Fuck,” you moaned, your body contracting as the sensation of his mouth closing around your nub washed over you. “God, baby—” Your hand settled on his head, grabbing a handful of his locks to keep him still as you bucked your hips forward, causing him to groan as he plunged his tongue deeper inside you. “Your mouth feels so good.”

He moaned softly, loved being praised by you. His grip tightened around your thighs as he sucked at your most sensitive spot, lapping every drop of essence that seeped out of you like an obedient dog. His eyes turned half-lidded, drunk in the taste of you, appearing so differently than the way they stared at you before when he demanded you to state your promise.

Promise, huh..? “Hey, Jin,” you started, still slowly grinding against his face. “Out of curiosity, what would happen to me if I—ngh—broke my promise?”

He stopped for a second, his lids flickering open, and then it returned, the glimpse of darkness you saw glinting in his eyes before. Jinwoo broke away from you, his thumb replacing his tongue as he collected his composure, rubbing it firmly against your clit. “You’re gonna leave me?”

You shuddered at his tone, how it altered the air between you with only one question. He pressed his thumb further against your bud as his two other fingers slid inside, wedged tightly between your walls. You writhed, his touch rougher than before, so intense you could almost feel his nails scraping against your walls. “H-hypothetically speaking.”

“Hypothetically speaking,” he repeated with a scoff. “Hypothetically speaking, Sweetheart, you’ll be punished.” He scissored his fingers inside, stretching you apart, no mercy in his smile.

“How—” Your soft whimper interrupted you, your body flinching under his ministrations. “H-How will I be punished?”

A new kind of thrill suffused him to the brim, his eyes gleaming at your curiosity. “Oh, your punishment would be severe, Angel.” His silvery voice soothed you as his words set you ablaze. There was a hint of playfulness there, which swept your fear away. He knew you simply wanted to tease him, so he played along. What was left inside you then was only excitement, born from every word he spoke. “I would make sure you knew exactly what happens when you even consider leaving me. You’d be kept close to me, watched at all times. You wouldn’t even be able to leave my sight without my permission. You’d be completely under my control every second of your life.”

It scared you how much it adrenalized you in the most wonderful way, his lines taking you to places your mind never dared to wander. You enjoyed it, this little performance he displayed. Jinwoo had always been nothing but a sweet, tender lover to you. Seeing him take a sadistic role for the sake of indulging your fantasy was a nice change. “You think you have the heart to do that?”

“Oh, honey,” he chuckled deeply, placing his mouth on you once more, his tongue swirling sinfully inside. “I can be whatever you want me to be. I can give you pleasure,” he purred against your soaking cunt, the vibrations making you squirm. “I can give you pain.” You quivered, your hand pushing his head further to your core, silently begging for more. “I can give you fear if that’s what you desire.” He let his teeth graze your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through your streams. “So, don’t tease me too much, Sweetheart. You don’t know what I'm capable of.”

There was a subtle threat in his tone, and you fucking loved it. You wanted it. You wanted it all. You wanted to see just how far he’d cross his own limits for you.

“But, of course,” Jinwoo brought your thigh closer to him, guiding you to wrap your legs tighter around his head. “This is only hypothetical.” He stroked your skin before he planted a soft kiss there, his cheek nuzzling against your inner thigh. “Because you'll never leave me”—something changed in his eyes, a certain glint in his cobalt blues that stunned your heart—“isn’t that right, Sweetheart?”

You couldn’t yet fathom what was written in his gaze, but it felt… unnerving. He was completely immersed in his role, so much so that you wondered if he wasn’t acting at all. That there was truly a part of him that wanted to keep you tied up to the bed, used solely as a toy for his pleasure.

You wished it were true. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?

Your filthy pipe dreams, combined with his talented mouth, brought you closer to the edge. And you would’ve crossed it had he stayed still between your legs, his tongue fucking you until all the knots in your stomach loosened at once. But he didn’t. Jinwoo moved away right when you needed him the most, his tongue sliding across his bottom lip, tasting the sliver of your essence as he returned to you.

You whined in protest, frowning as you watched him crawl up your body. “Why did you stop—”

“I asked you a question.” His tone, gentle yet intimidating, led to goosebumps breaking on your skin. The hunter hovered above you domineeringly, staring down at you as if you were his prey. “And I demand an answer.”

God, he sounds so sexy when he’s like this. “Of course, darling, I’ll never leave you. But…” Your lips tilted into a smirk. “I can’t deny there’s a part of me that wants to try, just to push your buttons and see how far you’ll go.” You angled your head slightly to the side, exposing the column your neck, your gaze painted over with allure. “Being punished like that isn’t so bad. Especially by you.”

“Is that so?” He showcased a nefarious smile, his face sinking into the crook of your neck. “I fear you’re playing a dangerous game, Sweetheart.”

“But that’s my favorite one to play, you know that.” You granted him more access to your skin, your eyebrows adjoined in the middle as he sucked an angry bruise on your collarbone. “So, indulge me, Jin,” you sighed out. “What would you do if I ran away?”

“I’ll hunt you down.” He felt you shiver under him, your body burning up quickly as excitement pumped through your veins. “I'll search the whole world for you to make you mine again.”

“Search the whole world for me, huh?” You forced out a breathy chuckle, your fingers threading through his hair as his mouth suckled on your breast. “But what if I’m very good at hiding? What if I—ngh, yes, right there—keep running away from you just to make it interesting?”

He drew his mouth away with a pop, a string of saliva connecting his lip to your nub before he ran his tongue over it. “Oh, there will be no escaping me, Sweetheart,” Jinwoo smirked, his voice dense with confidence and arrogance. “But I’ll let you try your best. I love watching you struggle, after all. I love it when you get desperate for me.”

I guess that’s why we’re a match made in heaven. Because I love seeing you act that way, too. The sadistic glow in your eyes rivaled his own. “And what are you going to do to me once you catch me? You’ll have me locked up?”

“And tied up, if I had to.” The feelings of his lips traveling to your ear, his hot breath skimming across your lobe, his tongue sliding against your shell—everything filled your senses at once. “I’ll have you bound to my bed, and I’ll claim you any chance I get. Every day, every hour, every minute I’m awake, I’ll have my cock buried deep inside you, my teeth on your skin, my fingers in your mouth. You’d be mine, Sweetheart. Completely and utterly mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the vivid image he drew in your mind. Though you were certain he’d never have the heart to do such things to you, the mere thought of being used, controlled, dominated past your boundaries exhilarated you. “That sounds… exciting, actually.”

“Oh, I’ll make it so, Angel.” His hand glided up your thigh, his nails raking against your flesh. “I’ll make you feel all sorts of pleasure.” He pushed it forward, spreading your legs wide open for him. “And I’ll give it to you”—he pressed down on you, making sure you understand how much he was throbbing at the thought of ruining you—“Again”—he abruptly pushed hips forward, his cock sliding between your folds—“And again”—the protruding vein underneath his length rubbed against your clit, each thrust harder than before—“and again”—he watched you mewl at the sensation, at how wrecked you look beneath him, wanting so desperately to have him inside you—“until you’d never find the will to leave me again.”

Your hips moved on their own, rocking against him, matching every sway. No matter how much you tried to seduce him, Jinwoo refused to give it to you just yet, not until you understood the consequences of what you wished for. “What if I persist?” you asked between jagged breaths. “You know how stubborn I can be sometimes. Would you hurt me?”

Only then did he stop. He leaned back to stand on his knees, his grip tightening around your thighs as his gaze darkened. “I would never hurt you,” he said, stating it like a vow.

You went still for a moment, stupefied by the sudden sincerity. “Too bad,” you smiled, a little minx disguised as an angel. “I think a little pain could be fun.” Curling your fingers around his wrist, you brought him closer to your neck. “Like this.” You guided him to splay his hand at the front of your throat, letting him feel your vein pulsing beneath his palm. “Wrap your fingers around my neck like this and—” You choked in the middle of your words, his fingers suddenly tautening around your throat, stilling your breath. He was only answering your challenge, doing what you taught him to do, but God, it made you weak, made you realize just how powerless you were beneath the man who could shatter your bones to dust.

Thank God, he promised not to hurt you, right?

You laughed softly, the sound strangled as he continued to hold you by the neck. “I—I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” you said, your mouth breaking into a grin. “Never thought someone as gentle as you could choke me like this.”

“Like I said,” he smirked, staring down at you mercilessly. “You don’t know what I’m capable of. If you want your limits to be tested, then I’ll make sure we find out.”

Jinwoo had had his hands around your neck before, but it was always with the intention of possessiveness, never controlling. And this? This excited you. It should’ve terrified you just how rough he was, but no. You loved it. You loved it so much, you could barely recognize yourself.

He could see it, the way pain elevated your arousal, and it delighted him, his eyes gleaming in the temptation to do more, knowing how badly you enjoyed this type of pain. The sweet torture that only he could give. “Too tight, Sweetheart? Should we come up with a safe word?”

“N-no,” you coughed out, not wanting to lose, not yet. “I love it. I want it harder. Give it to me harder.” He did without hesitation, robbing another hiss out of you. "Fuck."

“Careful what you wish for, love,” he warned, bringing tears to the edges of your eyes.

“I know what I wished for.” To his surprise, there was still a spark inside you. You wrapped your legs around his hips, drawing him closer to you. “Are you gonna keep talking, or are you gonna fuck me now? Or maybe I should flip us over and ride you like last night. Maybe we should come up with a safe word then 'cause you best believe I’m not gonna let you off easy, Sweetheart.”

He chuckled, impressed by your taunt. He thought you were adorable. “Saying things like that with my fingers wrapped around your neck is a bold move, Angel.”

“You don’t know what I’m capable—” Your sentence ended abruptly in a silent moan when he thrust inside, filling you with everything at once, burying himself so deep, you could almost feel him in your stomach.

Expletives toppled over your lips as you tossed your head back, feeling so full, so complete, your hands gripping onto the sheets. He fucked you slow, then fast, then slow again, throwing you off your rhythm, filling you with frustration, all the while keeping his hand on your neck. It doubled the tension, doubled the pleasure. The sense of danger was always there, like he could crush you any moment, and it was so, so damn thrilling that you fell into regret for not asking him to do this sooner.

“Fuck,” he groaned through clenched teeth, his head hanging low as his body caged you inside. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

Fucking you rough and deep—he could make you come just like that, you knew it. But then, seeing how close you were, Jinwoo pulled himself out entirely, choosing to squeeze his cock between your folds, sliding back and forth on the bundle of nerves, instead of stretching your walls apart.

“Jinwoo—” Your nails clawed against his wrist as your legs wound tightly around his hips. You pulled him down toward you, wanting nothing more but for him to bury himself to the hilt again. “Don’t tease me—”

“Tell me what you want, then.”

He was messing with you, a sight you rarely saw, as he was always determined to make you reach cloud nine as fast as he could. Mischief looked perfect on him, and as much as you wanted to witness it longer, your need for him was starting to grow painful. “Fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

Though elated, he was far from satisfied. “More, Angel. Do your best.”

Fuck having him punished you. I’m going to punish you later for this. “Jinwoo, please! I need you to fuck me, please!”

That was it. That was the kind of desperation he wanted to see. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He chuckled near your ear, “You look the prettiest when you’re begging for my cock, you know that?”

Your walls clenched tightly around his throbbing length as a forbidden kind of pleasure burst through your system, feeling burned in the most exciting way. “Hard,” you breathed out, your throat dry. “I need you to fuck me hard, Jin.”

He felt like a king, owning the world in his hands. “Where’s your manners?”

“Please,” you said as tears glazed your eyes. “Please give it to me harder.”

Perfect rows of marbled teeth peeked from behind a wolfish grin. “Good girl.”

He lived up to your words. Every sway of his hips, every drive of his cock inside you was everything that you desired and more. You couldn’t scream his name as loudly as he wanted you to, your throat still strangled to produce anything louder than a whimper. But he relished the sight, nevertheless. If anything, he looked even more excited.

You felt it building, one wave of pleasure after another, ready to crash and drown you like the ocean. “Close, Sweetheart?” he asked, and you gave a shaky nod, biting your lip.

When you were put in a similar situation the night before, your body tensing as your orgasm approaching quickly, Jinwoo had sweetly kissed your temple and whispered, “Come for me, sweet girl. Let yourself go for me.”

But right now…

“I’m gonna make it clear for you, Sweetheart, so I’ll say it again,” he said amidst heavy breaths, almost in a growl as his teeth grazed against your ear. “If you try to run away from me, I’ll wrap my hands around you again, just like this.” He tightened them slightly to paint a picture for you, the added pain nearly sending you over the edge. “And I’ll keep you here with me.” His tongue traced the contour of your ear, his smirk dark and sinful as he made an oath of his own. “And I’ll fuck you like this, the way you want me to. I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll only remember my name. And I'll keep fucking you until you stop wanting anything else, but me.”

He proved his words by snapping his hips roughly against yours, causing your vision to turn white. Your orgasm shook you to your core, your strength leaving you almost immediately as he continued to chase after his own high. As your body turned pliant beneath his, Jinwoo pried his hand away from your neck, choosing to slip his fingers between your own. His gesture romantic, a complete opposite of how he was a second ago.

“I’ll have you trapped in my arms, Angel,” he promised as your lids turned heavy. The feeling of his lips caressing your knuckles was the last thing you felt before your unconsciousness slipped away.

“Forever.”

*** AN: I was going to include this in part 2 at first but I feel like it's too long and I don't want to drag the story any further than I already do LOL but throwing this scene away feels like a waste too so idk have your weekly dose of yandere!jinwoo ig 😌

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handledwithgloves · 7 months ago

Text

inspired by this post ❤️

fics where draco takes care of harry >>> lol anyway, mind the tags before you read !! (all of these are completed works on ao3)

running on air by eleventy7 | 74k Teen

such a good read, i cried the whole time, my first ever drarry fic that i read ❤️, hurtcomfort, auror harry, missing draco

two to lie and one to listen by fluxweed | 84k Explicit

so good omg, sad harry, romione are good people, fake dating but not between the main pair lol, 8th year

something there by 1bad_joke | 27k Explicit

god. this story, sad draco, loving harry, ron/pansy, ginny bashing, beauty and the beast/phantom of the opera vibes, 8th year

at your service by faithwood | 95k Explicit

well written and paced, great characterizations of canon characters, draco and harry work together to solve a mystery, 8th year

forgive those who trespass by lomonaaeren | 135k Explicit

mystery/thriller/horror, so romantic, crazy shit happens man idk, missing romione, harry goes looking for them, draco helps

all life is yours to miss by saras_girl | 114k Mature

beautifully written story, reads like a feel good movie from the 60s, so nostalgic, professors drarry, fell in love with draco

the ordeal of being known by louisfake | 146k Mature

great gateway into drarry, my third (?) ever drarry fic i read, mute harry, skilled legilimens/mind healer draco, dumbledore bashing

eye of the storm by OTPshipper98 | 27k Not Rated

god. i cried and i cried, hurtcomfort, skilled legilimens/mind healer draco, catatonic/comatose harry, i loved everyone in this god.

now i know in part by dodgerkedavera | 39k Explicit

blind and semi-deaf harry, caretaker draco, sad draco, loved the ending, god. draco is so sad, hurtcomfort, draco :(

---

some honorable mentions:

the name on your forehead | 10k

the way your say my name | 5k

all i have to do | 9k

what's mine is yours | 17k ❤️

sealed with a kiss | 46k

a pulled down shade | 43k

aural gratification | 10k

most arrogant and loving of men | 30k

house proud | 23k

nor all that glisters | 110k

there's no place like home (unless i'm with you) | 40k

a little bird told me | 18k

the gift | 25k

trouble, my old friend | 21k

anything by dustmouth

---

look, ik that most of these are rlly popular fics, im typically really picky about re-readability, but i think i would re-read all of these again if i haven't already ❤️ in some of the fics there are pairings that i dislike and bashing of characters that i like, but good writing is good writing idk wat 2 tell u

if you have fics to recc, drop them!! i typically read everything, but i do have my limits (looking at you draco --- i'm pretty picky about him)

#new art style bc idk how to draw chibi LOL #i didn't use the original template but thts ok bc i had more room to draw teehee #drarry #drarry fics #drarry fic recs #drarry fic rec #harry potter #draco malfoy #glovetalk #glove comp'art'ment

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societyfolklore · 2 months ago

Text

Hellcat

Title: Hellcat

Pairing: Loki x Barbarian!Female Reader

Summary: Captured as a spoil of war, you are dragged before the Asgardian victors-fierce, untamed, unwilling to bow. Meant as a gift for Thor, your defiance amuses him, but he has no desire to take a wild thing like you. Instead, he offers you to Loki as a reward. Shackled and bound in his chambers, the Trickster God promises not to break you-but to tame you.

Word Count: 9k (Yes it is this long, No I’m not sorry)

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI Dub-Con/Non-Con, Power Imbalance, Forced Submission & Domination Themes, Restraints & Bondage, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, Possessive!Loki, Dom!Loki, NO BETA A/N: I FREAKING LOVE THIS ONE!

The scent of war still clung to the air, thick with the metallic tang of blood, the acrid burn of fire, and the musk of sweat. Vanaheim was silent now, its fields ravaged by years of barbarian invasions from the mountains, its people caught between the brutality of their attackers and the intervention of Asgard. The cries of the fallen had long since faded into an eerie stillness, leaving only the flickering of flames and the distant clang of metal as the victors restored order to the realm.

Among those caught in the aftermath was you.

You had fought. Gods, you had fought with everything you had, teeth bared, nails clawing, muscles straining against the bonds they’d wrapped around your wrists. You were more beast than woman in that moment-feral, untamed, driven by rage and survival.

The grand drinking hall was alive with celebration, filled with Asgardian warriors feasting and boasting of their victory. The cacophony of noise filled your ears as you were pulled along, Volstagg and Hogun keeping their grips firm but without malice. The great wooden doors slammed open with a resounding boom, silencing the revelry for but a moment as all eyes turned to the spectacle.

“Thor! She’s been offered as a gift,” Volstagg declared, his voice booming over the gathered crowd. “A token of goodwill from the surviving Warlord himself. A gesture to ensure peace.” They announced as you were pushed in front of the head table.

There was nothing peaceful about you. You twisted in their hold, kicking, snarling, your teeth bared in open defiance. When a warrior reached out to touch you, you snapped your teeth at his fingers, nearly drawing blood. The gathered men laughed, a mixture of amusement and admiration for your spirit.

“She bites,” one of them chuckled.

“She would take your throat if you let her,” Hogun muttered, adjusting his grip as you tried to break free once more.

The torches lining the hall cast flickering shadows over your sweat-slick skin, your hair wild and tangled. You were a spectacle, a display of raw, untamed defiance, and despite the bonds on your wrists and the chain wrapped around your ankle, you held your head high. You would not bow. You would not kneel.

Thor rose from his seat at the head of the table, gaze sweeping over you with the same measured calm he had shown on the battlefield. His voice, steady as ever, carried across the room. “Vanaheim has suffered greatly at the hands of your people,” he stated, his tone neither cruel nor amused. “They burned, pillaged, and destroyed without reason.” He gestured toward you, “Without honour."

He stepped down from the dais, moving closer, though he kept his distance. “And yet,” he continued, meeting your wild gaze, “you fight as though your defiance alone will undo what has been done.”

Thor regarded you with something almost akin to pity before shaking his head. He took another step forward, watching you with that same unreadable calm, and that was when you lunged.

A snarl tore from your throat as you surged toward him, teeth bared, your entire body straining against the grip of your captors. The hall gasped-some in shock, others in delight at the sheer audacity of your attack. The chain at your ankle snapped taut, yanking you backward.

You stumbled, your body wrenched back with a violent jolt. Still, you did not stop. You spat at his feet, chest heaving, eyes burning with hatred.

Thor merely exhaled, glancing down at the spittle that now marred the polished stone floor between you. A slow shake of his head, a sigh that was more tired than angry. “She is wild, brother,” he said at last, turning away, clearly uninterested in engaging further. “Perhaps she suits you more.”

Loki, still seated, watched with a smirk curling at the edge of his lips. The shadows danced in his sharp, calculating gaze as he leaned forward, propping his chin upon his hand, while his other strummed the table with long elegant fingers. His amusement was clear, his interest undeniable.

“What a gift indeed,” he murmured, standing as the crowd quieted. He stepped closer, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with amusement, the cold depths of them sharp and assessing. He eyed you as one might a wild creature caught in a snare, intrigued yet entirely in control. “Tell me, little hellcat-are you meant to be a prize or a test?”

You hissed at him, your body straining against the hold of your captors, and he only chuckled. “How delightful.”

The hall erupted into raucous laughter and cheers as Thor waved a hand, dismissing any notion of keeping you for himself. “She is yours, brother.”

And so, you had been dragged from the hall, still growling, still spitting, your fate sealed.

You thrashed as they dragged you through the halls, your screams echoing against the remnants of what had once been your home. The metallic bite of your shackles cut into your wrists as you twisted against them, your breath ragged with exertion, your heart pounding with fury. They merely held you firm, letting you exhaust yourself. Let her fight. Let her waste her strength. It will not change her fate.

Each step you took toward it was another step away from everything you had ever known, from the land your people had struggled to protect. Yet you did not falter. You refused to let them see fear. Refused to let them witness anything but the fire still burning in your soul.

You were hauled past towering figures dressed in regal armor, past the golden walls that whispered of power and privilege. Every breath you took filled your lungs with the scent of Asgard’s influence, the lingering essence of gods who ruled with a steady hand, whose intervention had saved this realm from a worse fate. But you did not see it as salvation. To you, it was simply another form of conquest.

Then, you were thrown into darkness. Loki’s chambers. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving you in unsettling silence. You barely had time to gather yourself before rough hands shoved you down onto the thick furs covering the bed. The air was thick with incense, its cloying scent curling around you like a phantom touch. The chain at your ankle was yanked taut, the cold iron cuff pressing against your skin as it was secured to one of the ornately carved bedposts.

You thrashed, kicking out, but the restraint held firm. A sharp tug wrenched you back toward the bed, a cruel reminder of your powerlessness. The guards chuckled at your defiance, one giving a final jerk on the chain before stepping back.

“Feisty one,” he muttered, shaking his head with a smirk before turning to leave. The others followed, the door groaning as it shut behind them.

You barely waited a heartbeat before scrambling off the bed, your bare feet hitting the cold floor as you tried to bolt. The chain rattled violently, jerking you to a sudden stop just before you could reach the far side of the room. You stumbled, falling hard to your knees, your breath leaving you in a sharp gasp.

A slow clap of footsteps echoed through the chamber.

"Leave us..." Loki’s voice cut through the space like silk and steel, his tone effortless yet commanding. He strode inside, the door locking behind him with a finality that sent a shudder through you. A bottle of something dark and strong dangled from his fingers, his other hand lazily tracing along the edge of a candleholder as he passed, the flames flickering to life in his wake.

He made his way toward the bed, his sharp gaze drinking in the sight of you-wild, breathless, your body taut with resistance. He perched himself at the edge of the bed, setting the bottle aside with a quiet thud.

“There, there,” he murmured, amusement curling at the edges of his voice. His fingers trailed lazily along the length of the chain before giving it an experimental tug, watching as it forced you back ever so slightly. “Wouldn’t want my little hellcat thinking she could just... run off. Not before we've had our fun, would we?”

His words made the hair on the back of your neck stand up as you crouched the glow of golden lanterns casting flickering shadows across the polished floors. You were breathing hard, chest rising and falling, hair a tangled mess around your face, sweat and dirt smeared across your skin. Finally your let out a rumbling growl from somewhere deep in your chest.

Loki watching you with keen interest. There was no pity in his gaze, no soft words to soothe your fury. He enjoyed this, relished in the fire still burning in your eyes despite your captivity.

“You hiss, you snarl,” Loki mused, tilting his head, amusement lacing every syllable. He let out a slow chuckle, the sound rich and indulgent. He took his time, letting his gaze linger, his blue eyes gleaming with something dark and unreadable. Slowly, he leaned forward, his expression one of idle curiosity. “Such a little hellcat.”

You bared your teeth at him, muscles coiled tight as if you would spring for his throat.

“I do love a challenge.” He chuckled again.

With a deliberate slowness, Loki reached for the buckles of his leather tunic, undoing them one by one. The supple material shifted under his touch as he shrugged it off, the weight of it hitting the floor with a soft thud. Beneath it, his undershirt clung to the lean muscle of his torso, the flickering lanterns casting deep shadows along the sharp planes of his chest.

He exhaled, stretching his arms briefly before grasping the hem of his underlayer. He peeled the fabric away, revealing the sculpted ridges of his abdomen, the pale skin marred only by faint scars-remnants of past battles. His movements were unhurried, measured, as though daring you to look, to acknowledge the power he held not just in his presence but in the body before you.

His blue eyes caught yours again, filled with something both wicked and knowing. He tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Come now, little hellcat. Have you never seen a god undress before?"

He stepped to the far side of the bed, his long fingers curling around the neck of the bottle as he lifted it effortlessly. Tilting his head back, he took a slow, measured swig, throat bobbing with the motion. The scent of strong liquor filled the space between you, and your dry tongue darted out instinctively to dampen cracked lips.

How long had it been since you had something to drink? Your throat ached at the thought, your parched lips tingling as your body reminded you of just how much it craved even a drop of moisture.

Loki’s gaze flicked downward, catching the fleeting motion of your tongue. He let out a quiet hum of amusement, rolling the bottle between his fingers before taking another sip, slower this time, watching you the entire time. "Thirsty, are we?"

He tilted the bottle slightly, letting the liquor swirl before pouring a generous amount into a goblet. Without a word, he bent down, placing it on the floor between you, the dark liquid sloshing slightly as he set it down. His smirk lingered as he straightened, drawing himself back up to his full height, stepping away with lazy confidence as if to give you space.

You shifted, eyeing the goblet warily, moving slightly to keep your distance from him. The scent of the drink was rich, spiced, and it called to you like a siren’s song. Your throat burned with dryness, and despite yourself, you could not tear your gaze from it.

Loki turned his back to you, taking his time as he walked toward the far side of the bed, exuding nonchalance. That was your moment.

You lunged forward, snatching the goblet up in both hands, guzzling it down so fast that some of it spilled over the edges, sliding down your chin, trailing over your throat and chest. The warmth of the liquor hit you instantly, spreading fire through your parched body, but you didn’t care. You drank greedily, too desperate to savour it, too frantic to stop.

Loki’s chuckle came slow and knowing. "There’s a good girl." Your hands trembled slightly, but as he took a step closer, you hesitated, eyes flickering between him and the cup in your hands. The moment he moved, you set it down hastily, retreating a few paces, your body tensed as if expecting a trap.

Loki hummed, tilting his head as if considering something, before reaching down and refilling the goblet. He set it back onto the floor, stepping back again, though this time, not quite as far. His movements were slow, calculated, a silent test.

You hovered, shifting on your haunches, your instincts warring against your need. The scent of the liquor was thick, tantalizing, and your throat still burned. Another moment passed, and then you lunged, snatching the goblet once more, bringing it to your lips and drinking deep. The fiery liquid coated your throat, spreading warmth through your limbs, but this time, it was slower, the edges of your mind turning hazy from the alcohol’s effect.

Loki let out a satisfied chuckle, rolling the bottle between his palms. "You learn quickly," he mused.

Loki took his time closing the distance between you, his boots barely making a sound on the polished floor. He crouched before you, watching with unhidden amusement as you gasped for breath, the warmth of the drink settling into your stomach. His long fingers reached out, trailing up the column of your throat, catching a stray droplet of liquor that had slipped down your skin. He brought it to his lips, his tongue flicking out to taste it, a slow hum of satisfaction escaping him.

“Messy little thing,” he mused, his tone rich with indulgence. “Was it that unbearable, I wonder? That thirst clawing at you, making you forget everything but the need to drink?”

His eyes flickered with dark amusement as he lifted the goblet from your grasp, turning it over to show its emptiness. “How quickly you took what I offered.” He let the cup fall from his fingers, the soft clatter against the stone floor barely registering over the sound of your uneven breathing. Loki’s gaze burned into you as he leaned in, his lips barely a whisper away from your ear. “Tell me, little hellcat… what else might you take from me so eagerly?”

You hissed at him, baring your teeth once more, but Loki only tutted, shaking his head as if you were an unruly pet testing its boundaries. You instinctively moved back, trying to put distance between you, but the sharp rattle of the chain gave you away before you could make it far.

Loki’s hand snapped out, gripping the chain just above where it was secured to your ankle. With a single pull, the metal links tightened, dragging you forward before you could dig your heels in. You gasped, arms scrambling against the floor to brace yourself, but he yanked again, forcing you closer, the cold iron biting against your skin. The sudden loss of control sent a fresh wave of fury surging through you, but he only smirked as if the struggle pleased him.

He let the chain go slack, but not enough for you to retreat. No, Loki did not need brute force to corner you.

Prowling forward, he closed the last of the space between you, lowering himself to your level, making sure you felt the way his presence consumed the air. His fingers ghosted over your skin, feather-light, maddeningly delicate. A whisper of fingertips along your bare arm, a teasing stroke down the ridge of your spine. Your body tensed, caught in the dissonance of instincts-one screaming to fight, the other to yield to the sensations he so effortlessly evoked.

He was studying you, an insidious look on his face. The growl coming up from you again.

“You can snarl all you want, little hellcat,” he murmured, his voice like velvet and steel. His breath ghosted over your skin, lips brushing close but never quite touching. “But we both know what happens when something wild is handled with the right kind of touch.”

He was close enough to strike, to kick, but your limbs felt heavy, your head clouded, the warmth of the liquor seeping into your veins. A slow, creeping lethargy dulled your movements, your body betraying you with sluggish resistance. Yet, even as your instincts screamed at you to fight, another feeling curled at the edges of your awareness-something unfamiliar, something dangerous.

Your breath hitched as Loki loomed over you, his face sharp as a blade in the dim light. He was beautiful in a way that should not have struck you now, not here, not like this. The flickering lanterns carved shadows along the angular planes of his face-the high cheekbones, the wicked tilt of his mouth, the piercing blue eyes that seemed to drink in your every reaction. There was something predatory in his gaze, something that sent a shiver down your spine-not entirely out of fear.

His smirk deepened, as though he sensed the shift in you, the momentary lapse in your defiance. His grip on the chain tightened, the metal links rattling sharply as he gave a sudden pull. The force sent you tumbling forward, your hands barely catching against the floor to stop your fall. Before you could regain your balance, his arm wrapped around your middle, lifting you effortlessly.

The torn rags you wore shredded further under his grip, the fabric giving way in places as your body was pulled flush against his. The solid press of his bare chest against your back. His grip was unyielding, every movement forcing you against the hard lines of his body.

A sharp intake of breath escaped you as you became aware of the aching hardness between his legs, pressing insistently against your lower back. Loki let out a quiet, pleased hum, his fingers digging into your waist as he relished the way you tensed at the realization.

Then, with little effort, he tossed you onto the bed, his grip never loosening as he followed, pinning your wrists above your head. The soft furs did little to cushion the weight of him as he hovered over you, his blue eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

You bucked beneath him, twisting in his hold, snarling through clenched teeth. The fight had not left you, not yet. Your legs kicked against the furs, your body writhing as you tried to dislodge him, but Loki merely chuckled, his grip unyielding.

“Even in defeat, you people don’t give up, do you?” he mused, easily evading a knee aimed at his side. “Never know when you’re beaten. Your people certainly didn’t. They fought and bled until the last, screaming curses at the sky even as they fell beneath Asgard’s might. And for what?”

His words burned, but they did nothing to quell the fire within you. What else was there but defiance? To yield was to accept that your people had died for nothing. That all the battles, all the blood spilled into the dirt, had been futile. You could not-would not-let go of that rage, even as your strength waned, even as you remained bound beneath him. Loki’s amusement only grew, his fingers trailing down, catching on the torn fabric of your clothes. Another snarl tore from you as you tried to pull your arms down to cover your bare chest. But his hold stayed firm.

"In the end you all kneel.."

He hummed in mock contemplation, tilting his head as he studied you, his touch deceptively light over the exposed skin.

His hand drifted away for a moment, and you had just begun to brace yourself when a dagger appeared in his palm as if conjured from thin air. The sight of it made your body go rigid, breath catching in your throat. This was what you knew, what you expected-pain, brutality, the sharp bite of a blade to punish defiance. You stiffened, your muscles locking up as you prepared for the inevitable sting of steel against flesh.

Loki, perceptive as ever, watched the tension ripple through you. His smirk deepened, but instead of pain, the cold kiss of metal whispered along your ribs, tracing over your side. Then, with a deliberate flicks, he sliced cleanly through the remaining shreds of your clothing. The tattered fabric fell away, leaving your chest bare before him.

His gaze roved over your body, taking in the hardened lines of a warrior’s form-tanned flesh marked by scars, some fresh, others long healed. A map of survival, of battles fought and endured. He ran the blunt edge of the dagger along one particularly jagged scar over your hip, his eye focused as if reading a story carved into your skin. “Oh, you are something savage, aren’t you?” he mused, almost appreciative, almost reverent. There was no mockery in his tone now-just a quiet understanding, as if he recognized the kind of life you had lived, the brutality that camp from the raiding war camps.

"Your own people handed you over to us as a prize," Loki murmured, the blade continuing its slow, measured path over your body. "A peace offering, they called you a token of goodwill." He scoffed, the amusement never leaving his tone. "And yet here you are, snarling and spitting like a beast in a trap. Tell me, little hellcat, what good has all this defiance done for you?"

Your breath came shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. He was toying with you, chipping away at the last remnants of your certainty. What else did you have but resistance? To yield was unthinkable. To surrender meant losing the last piece of yourself that still felt real.

But then his dagger moved lower, the edge gliding over the torn remnants of your skirt. With a flick of his wrist, the fabric gave way, slipping from your body in tattered ruins. The knife disappeared as quickly as it had come, vanishing into nothing, and his hands replaced it, broad palms smoothing over the newly bared skin as his hands pushed the fabric away.

The touch was different from the cold bite of the blade. Warmer. More consuming.

You stiffened, writhing beneath his touch, your body instinctively twisting away, but the chain at your ankle rattled, holding you fast. Loki only chuckled, low and pleased his grip on your wrists tightening. "Now, now." His fingers of his free hand traced over the same paths the dagger had travelled, slow, deliberate.

"You probably don’t even understand what it is I’m offering you," he mused, his voice lilting, coaxing. "Fighting is all you’ve ever known, isn’t it? Pain, brutality… those are the only languages your kind understand. But conquest doesn't have to be something to fight against."

His fingers continued their slow exploration, gliding over your skin with practiced ease, trailing over battle-worn flesh as if memorizing each mark. "Your kind only know war. You think surrender means death, that yielding means ruin. But power does not always come from battle. It can come from knowing when to stop fighting."

His voice was softer now, deceptively gentle, a lure wrapped in silk. "How much blood have you seen spilled, little hellcat? How much have you lost? And for what? Your people are gone, their screams swallowed by the battlefield. Their legacy burned to ash. Yet still, you fight. Still, you bare your teeth like a wounded animal."

His touch grew firmer, fingers trailing lower, pressing just enough to make you aware of them. "Tell me, what did all that defiance earn you? Did it save your home? Your kin? Or did it leave you here, chained at my feet, your body trembling beneath my hands?"

Loki shifted closer, his breath warm against your skin. "I could teach you something else. Something far sweeter than war. If only you’d stop fighting long enough to feel it."

His words slithered around you like a net tightening, and before you could muster another snarl, his grip changed. His hand slid upward, fingers skimming over the curve of your ribs before trailing higher, brushing against the soft flesh of your breast. You jerked at the contact, instinctively bucking but his grip on your wrists kept you pinned beneath him, leaving you helpless against the slow, measured exploration of his touch.

A pleased hum rumbled from his throat as he traced over your skin, his fingers circling, teasing, playing. "So fierce" he murmured, almost thoughtful, his thumb grazing over a sensitive peak. "You don't even know how to yield, do you?"

A sharp gasp escaped you, hips shifting involuntarily as your muscles coiled with tension. Loki only chuckled, his touch growing firmer, more deliberate. He watched the way you writhed beneath him, the way your body reacted despite the hatred burning in your eyes. It was fascinating-watching something so wild resist what it was built to crave.

"Just like your people" he murmured, dipping his head lower, lips hovering just above your skin. "Your body will betray you.." His breath was warm, sending a shiver across your flesh before he finally closed his mouth over you, sucking lightly at first, teasing. His tongue flicked against the sensitive pebble, and despite everything, your breath hitched, the sensation sending a traitorous wave of heat through you.

Loki smirked against your skin, lips curving in wicked satisfaction as he lavished the tender flesh, his hand keeping you still as he took his time with you. His tongue flicked over your harden nipple before he drew it between his lips, sucking with slow, measured precision, his breath warm against your fevered skin.

You twisted beneath him, your body arching despite yourself, despite the warning cries in your mind. Your thighs clenched as heat coiled deep in your belly, an unfamiliar pulse growing with every touch, every teasing stroke of his tongue. You growled, low and defiant, but the sound was breathy, lacking its usual bite.

Loki chuckled, lips dragging over your skin as he pressed a kiss over your ribs, his voice purring with amusement. “Still so eager to fight? I wonder… do you even speak?”

His hands trailed lower, fingers mapping the soft dips and curves of your body. The pressure was maddening, never quite enough, teasing but never giving you the friction you needed. You shuddered, frustration coiling in your muscles as you twisted against him, your breaths uneven.

Loki let out a pleased hum before shifting, reclining onto the bed as though this were all a game to him. His grip on your wrists loosened just enough to move, but before you could attempt to escape, his free hand pressed firmly against your thigh, forcing them open.

A growl tore from your throat as you bucked, but his strength was undeniable. He wrapped one of his long legs over yours, pinning it in place with ease. The shackle at your ankle rattled as he gave a slight tug on the chain, making sure you understood-there was no closing your legs, no escape from him.

His fingers resumed their lazy exploration, trailing higher, his touch feather-light but purposeful. The sheer vulnerability of the position sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through you, your body reacting despite the war waging in your mind.

“Will you call for your heathen god while I fill you over and over again?” His voice was smooth, taunting, vibrating against your sensitive skin. One of his hands slid between your thighs, ghosting over you but never settling, never giving you the satisfaction of contact.

Just like he'd said you could feel your body betrayed you, shivering under his touch, the anticipation unbearable. His fingers barely grazed over you, and yet it sent a sharp, hot pulse through your veins, your breath stuttering in response. Loki hummed in satisfaction, his smirk widening against your skin.

“I do not intend to break you, hellcat,” he murmured, his lips dragging slowly over your throat, the warmth of his breath a cruel contrast to the chill of the room. "Only to tame you."

You growled once more, the last embers of resistance burning in your chest, shifting your hips in a desperate attempt to protect your more sacred parts. But Loki’s grip remained unyielding, his body a wall of restraint as his fingers trailed lower, slipping along the seam of your core.

A sharp inhale left your lips, your body stiffening at the intimate touch, but all it did was amuse him further. A knowing hum rumbled from his throat as he dipped his head lower, his mouth pressing against the curve of your neck, the heat of his lips sending another traitorous shiver through you. Then, without warning, his fingers pushed between your folds, parting them with devastating slowness.

The noise you made was somewhere between a gasp and a growl, caught between rebellion and undeniable pleasure. Loki smirked against your throat, revelling in the way your body tensed beneath him, your breath hitching as he explored the traitorous wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Oh, my little hellcat,” he purred, his fingers stroking with languid precision, teasing, never rushing. Occasionally, he let his fingers trail higher, brushing against your clit in the lightest of touches, just enough to send a sharp pulse through your body. Your breath stuttered, a fresh growl tearing from your throat, but the sound faltered, for your defiance there was something dangerously close to need in that noise.

He chuckled, dragging his fingers down again, gathering the wetness that betrayed you, before resuming his torturous rhythm. The sensation built slowly, unbearably, your body growing restless beneath him, heat coiling tight in your belly. You bucked again, trying to twist away from his touch, but he merely tightened his grip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

"Ah, still fighting," Loki mused, his voice dripping amusement. "But look at you. So wet. So desperate. And yet you still snarl at me like a beast."

Your hips moved despite yourself, your breath catching, fingers curling into fists. You growled once more, low and warning, bucking your hips in a last-ditch effort to be rid of him-only to feel his fingers slide lower.

"Shall I make you purr instead?"

Your chained foot kicked out as the sensation built, as if you could somehow escape the unbearable pleasure creeping into your limbs. But Loki was already prepared, already shifting, his weight pressing down as he tightened his hold.

His lips found your throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin before he latched onto the spot just beneath your ear. he murmured against your pulse, his voice filled with amusement, his fingers finally dipping lower, teasing your entrance before pushing inside, slow and deliberate.

Your back arched, the stretch sudden, unexpected, your walls yielding around the slow, deliberate intrusion. It was too much, too intimate-the way your body opened for him, taking him in deeper than you wanted to accept. A sharp gasp tore from your lips, your breath coming in shallow, uneven pants as you tried to adjust to the fullness of his fingers pressing deep inside you.

Your muscles clenched around him in instinctive resistance, but he only hummed approvingly, revelling in the way your body fought against the pleasure unravelling through you. His grip on your wrists never faltered, keeping you pinned beneath him, helpless against the slow, torturous invasion of his fingers. You were utterly exposed, spread wide, unable to twist away from the deliberate rhythm he set.

“That’s it,” Loki purred, his voice dripping with indulgence. “Open up for me, little hellcat. Let me feel all of you.”

His fingers spread inside you, scissoring deliberately, stretching you open as he took his time working you apart. The sensation was unbearable, burning and invasive, every movement pushing against resistance, coaxing your body to yield. Your breath hitched, your back bowing as your hips tried to sink back into the furs, away from the overwhelming fullness.

But there was no escaping him.

Loki smirked, watching the way your body instinctively tensed, your walls fluttering as if unsure whether to reject or welcome the intrusion. His fingers curled, pressing against that devastating spot inside you, sending a sharp, liquid heat rippling through your core. A ragged sound escaped you, caught between a growl and a plea, your body trembling beneath his touch.

“Look at how you take me,” he murmured, almost fascinated, his pace slow but unyielding. “So tight, little hellcat… but you’ll soften for me. You’ll take more. You were made for this.”

Your wrists strained against his hold, your hips fighting to move-whether to flee or to chase the friction, you weren’t sure. Loki simply chuckled, his thumb flicking over your swollen clit, sending another helpless shudder through you.

“Such a lovely contradiction,” he purred. “Your body is so honest, even when you lie to yourself.”

His fingers curled slightly, pressing against that spot inside you, dragging another ragged sound from your throat-a sound you could barely recognize as your own. Your back arched, the stretch deep and invasive, a sensation that made your breath stutter, your mind war between the urge to fight and the unbearable fullness of his touch.

He worked you with a wicked patience, every motion deliberate, teasing, pushing you further into the trap your own body had laid for you. Your walls clenched instinctively, as if to force him out, but he merely smirked, his pace unhurried, savouring how you trembled beneath his hold. The slick evidence of your betrayal coated his fingers, making every slow thrust effortless, every withdrawal torturous.

“You tried so hard,” he murmured, his thumb ghosting over your swollen clit, sending another traitorous jolt of pleasure through you. “Yet here you are-writhing, shaking, taking everything I give you.”

Your hips jerked, desperate to escape the overwhelming sensations but finding no reprieve. Loki chuckled, his grip tightening, his body keeping you caged beneath him. His legs moved to pull your further aside, his hips pressing down, forcing you to stay open for him.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice rich with satisfaction. His thumb brushed lightly against your swollen clit, drawing another unwilling shudder from you. "Listen to yourself," he murmured, his fingers slipping through the slick evidence of your body’s betrayal before pressing deep again, curling just right. "So soaked, dripping onto my hand, and yet you still bare your teeth."

The sound of his fingers pushing into your wet core was obscene, each slow stroke echoing in the chamber. The slick noise sent heat flooding through you, humiliation and something darker twisting together in your belly. Your walls clenched around him, trying to resist, but he only chuckled, unfazed.

“That knot inside you… I can feel it building,” he mused, almost thoughtful. "Tight, pulsing, desperate to snap. You don’t want it to, do you?" His nose tracing along your jaw, his fingers spreading again making you feel every deep, deliberate movement.

You choked on a breath, your body seizing, another growl rumbling from your throat. Loki grinned. "Trying to fight it? But you will surrender, little hellcat. You were made to come undone for me."

Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms hard enough to make the skin bleed, every muscle in your body coiling against the inevitable. You fought it, bucking against him, growling through clenched teeth, but it only heightened the sensations. The more you struggled, the more the pleasure built, sharp and consuming, your own defiance turning against you. Every roll of your hips, every attempt to twist away only sent another wave of heat spiralling through your limbs, your body working against your mind.

The tension in your core coiled unbearably tight, searing through you, refusing to be ignored. The pressure was relentless, twisting pleasure with humiliation, with fury, with something darker that clawed at the edges of your resolve. You couldn't stop it. You couldn't stop him. He was going to take everything from you now.

And the worst part? You were going to let him.

You were going to come apart at the hands of the one who destroyed your people. And gods help you-

You were going to like it.

Your body seized, every muscle tightening as the pleasure coiled unbearably tight, a taut, trembling wire on the verge of snapping. Loki's fingers never ceased, working you open, stretching you, his movements as measured as they were merciless. The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you, the obscene slickness that marked your betrayal, filled the chamber alongside his quiet laughter.

"Ah, there it is," he murmured, feeling the way your walls fluttered, grasping desperately at his fingers, your body surrendering to the inevitable. "You're close, aren't you? I can feel you clenching down on me, trying so hard to deny it."

You shook your head, a growl rising in your throat, but it was ruined, trembling, edged with something fragile. You didn't want this, didn't want to fall apart like this. Not for him.

But Loki had already won.

He curled his fingers again, his thumb flicking over your throbbing clit with precision that shattered whatever fragile hold you had left. The tension broke, pleasure tearing through you in a violent wave, your back arching, a cry ripped from your throat before you could stop it. It crashed over you, wave after wave, your vision blurring as the force of it stole every last breath from your lungs.

Loki didn't stop. He worked you through it, his fingers unrelenting as you writhed beneath him, moaning, gasping, your body boneless in surrender. His laughter curled around you, wicked and indulgent, as if savouring the sight of you completely undone.

"There we go," he purred, his fingers still moving inside you, dragging out every last aftershock, his thumb teasing over your clit again just to watch you spasm beneath him. Your body twitched uncontrollably, muscles trembling from the intensity of it, your breath coming in broken gasps.

Loki chuckled, thoroughly pleased with himself, his fingers still buried inside you, pressing deep as addicted to the way your walls pulsed around him. "Such a sight," he murmured, voice dripping with satisfaction. "You tried so hard, and yet here you are-ruined and trembling, undone by my hand alone."

He finally withdrew his fingers, slow and deliberate, revelling in the way your body clenched instinctively, as if reluctant to let him go. He brought them up between you, slick with your release, watching with dark amusement as he spread them apart, the evidence of your surrender glistening in the dim light.

"To think," he mused, his tone teasing as he brought his fingers to his lips, tasting you with an permissive hum, "you fought so hard to resist this. But as I said, your body always knew the truth, didn't it, hellcat?"

You lay next him, panting, dazed, limbs weak from pleasure and the lingering warmth of the drink. Your muscles refused to obey, spent from the relentless waves that had wracked your body, leaving you a trembling, boneless heap against the furs.

The fight had left you. You knew it. Yet you refused to acknowledge it.

A flicker of green blurred at the edges of your vision, and Loki shifted, his smirk widening as his pants vanished with an effortless pulse of magic. He loomed above you, his sharp blue eyes gleaming with conquest as he took in your wrecked state-wild and undone, your body betraying you even as your mind screamed defiance.

His fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I felt you shatter for me, my little hellcat…"

You clenched your jaw, refusing to speak, to give him the satisfaction of a response. But Loki was nothing if not patient.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he let go of your chin and dragged you onto your hands and knees, the chain at your ankle rattling as he positioned you exactly where he wanted. You didn't even attempt to strike or claw as he let go of your wrists, rolling you over. There was no real fight now.

Loki ran a possessive hand down your spine, his fingers splaying over the curve of your hips before gripping them firmly. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured, "Since you behave like such a beast, I shall take you like one."

Loki moved behind you, his heat pressing against your back, his hands roaming over your waist, your hips, possessive in their claim. One large hand slid lower, guiding himself against your soaked core, running his hardened length through your slickness, teasing, coaxing, revelling in how wet you were for him.

A small, broken whimper slipped from your throat before you could bite it back.

Loki smirked. "No more hissing, hmm?" His voice was rich with amusement, the arrogance of victory settling into every syllable. He gave a slow, deliberate thrust between your folds, letting the head of his cock graze against your swollen clit, pulling another unbidden tremor from your body. "Good girl."

Your head fell forward, the weight of exhaustion, of pleasure, of surrender too much to bear. And then, before you could stop yourself, before you could think-

"Please…"

The word barely carried past your lips, quiet, breathless. You weren’t sure if you were begging for mercy or for more, if you were pleading for release or for an end to the torment of knowing how deeply your body had betrayed you.

Loki stilled, then let out a delighted chuckle. "Oh? You do speak?" He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice dark with satisfaction. "Let’s have you scream my name then."

Without further warning, he pressed forward, the thick head of his cock stretching you open, slow and deliberate. The intrusion was overwhelming, your body hypersensitive from his earlier torment, the burn of his size making your breath stutter into a ragged moan. Your limbs trembled, fingers clawing at the furs beneath you as he filled you inch by inch, ensuring you felt every hard, unrelenting inch of him.

Loki groaned, his grip tightening on your hips as he sank into you fully, his body shuddering in satisfaction. "So warm… so tight," he murmured, his fingers digging into your flesh as he held you in place. "You were made for this, little hellcat, made to be tamed, made to be mine."

Your body clenched around him involuntarily, the sensation too much, too consuming, leaving you keening softly, your breath shattering in the stillness of the room. You were no longer thrashing, no longer resisting-only whimpering,

Loki rejoiced in your submission, relishing the way your body moulded around him. He withdrew slowly, only to press back in with the same torturous precision, making sure you felt every inch of your surrender. His hands gripped your hips, holding you still as he set a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust sending fresh waves of sensation rippling through you.

"There now," he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. "No more hissing, no more claws. Just this."

He moved-slow at first, each thrust deliberate, forcing you to feel every thick inch stretching you open, every drag against your sensitive walls. The overstimulation made your breath stutter, made your limbs tremble. The pleasure was relentless, raw, tearing through you with every slow roll of his hips.

Loki groaned, "You take me so well hellcat." his voice thick with satisfaction. "Oh gods…" you gasped, your fingers clenching the furs beneath you, your body rocking with the force of his movements.

He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your waist to hold you in place. "I doubt your gods can hear you now," he murmured, his thrusts beginning to quicken, deepening with each snap of his hips. "But this one can."

His rhythm grew more forceful, his pace unforgiving as he chased his pleasure, as he drove you further into submission. The stretch of him, the way he filled you completely, made your body tremble with the unbearable mix of pleasure and something teetering on the edge of pain. Every thrust forced you open wider, made you feel just how much of him you had to take.

You tried to adjust, to find some control, but he gave you none. Your fingers clawed at the furs beneath you, your breath coming in ragged pants, but all it did was amuse him. "Poor thing," Loki purred, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Are you struggling? Is it too much?" His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back against him with each deep stroke. "But your body doesn’t seem to mind."

You whimpered, heat coiling unbearably tight in your core, each brutal thrust sending another wave of sensation crashing through you. "Uhrgh! …" you gasped moans slipping past your lips before you could stop them.

Your body clenched around him involuntarily, the overwhelming sensation tipping closer and closer to the edge. You wanted to resist, wanted to deny him the satisfaction, but it was futile. The pleasure was unbearable, tightening, building, burning through you until there was nothing left but the devastating need to surrender completely.

Loki leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a dark whisper. "Say my name," he murmured, his thrusts growing deeper, more punishing. "Tell me who you belong to."

You bit down on your lip, refusing, even as your body trembled, even as your walls fluttered around him, dangerously close to another devastating release. But Loki was patient. His hand slid down, fingers pressing against your aching clit, circling it in a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your vision blur.

"Say it," he urged, grinding deeper, his cock hitting a spot inside you that made your breath hitch, made your limbs quake.

The pressure inside you coiled unbearably tight, the need to break overwhelming. You fought it, fought him, but the pleasure was too much. Your body gave in before your pride did, the words falling from your lips in a gasping whisper.

"Y-you…"

Your body shattered around him, pleasure ripping through you in devastating waves, your climax seizing every nerve, every muscle, forcing you into complete submission. A strangled cry tore from your throat, your back arching as the overwhelming sensation crashed over you, leaving you trembling, writhing, unable to control the helpless spasms that wracked your body. The intensity was unbearable, your breath coming in ragged, broken sobs as your walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, refusing to let him go. But Loki did not stop.

He groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his thrusts growing rougher, more insistent as he fucked you through it, forcing you feel ever clench ever flutter your walls made around his cock. Each snap of his hips sent another jolt through your overstimulated body.

"Not done yet, hellcat," Loki growled, his voice thick with possession. He gave a brutal thrust, driving himself to the hilt, his tip pressing deep into you. "You will give me another."

Your body was still trembling from the force of your last orgasm, oversensitive, raw, but Loki did not stop. He kept moving, his thrusts relentless, dragging another cry from your lips as your limbs quaked beneath him. The pleasure was unbearable, bordering on torment, the overstimulation making your breath hitch, your muscles weaken. You collapsed onto your forearms, panting into the furs, your body no longer able to hold itself upright against the force of his claiming.

Loki only smirked, his grip unyielding as he held you in place, making sure you felt every deep stroke, every possessive roll of his hips. "That's it," he purred, voice rich with satisfaction. "No more fight left in you, is there? Just this-just me."

Your walls clenched involuntarily around him, the relentless friction taking you apart, your will, your soul fracturing, every thrust sending a fresh pulse of heat spiralling through you. Your body was betraying you again, the pressure already building, the cruel edge of another climax creeping closer.

Loki chuckled darkly, feeling the way you trembled beneath him. "Oh, you will give me another, little hellcat. I will take you apart again and again until there is no thought of defiance, no memory of resistance-only me."

His thrusts never slowed, never wavered, driving deeper, harder, until all you could do was gasp, your fist twisting up in the furs beneath you. Your body no longer fought him-it sought him. Each desperate clench of your walls, each helpless moan torn from your throat only spurred him on, his pace punishing, possessive.

Your limbs shook while you mewled, your mind hazy, drowning in the pleasure he forced upon you. Where had pleasure like this been? Nothing had felt like this-not the rush of battle, not the joy of victory. Nothing compared to this. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember why you had ever tried to resist him. There was nothing but him-his touch, his voice, his relentless claim over your body and soul.

The pressure built again, cruel and unrelenting, another climax cresting far too soon, but there was no stopping it. Your body craved him now, needed him like air, like sustenance, and the realization shattered the last vestiges of your will.

A strangled cry ripped from your lips, your back arching as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body convulsing around him, tightening, drawing him deeper, surrendering completely. Your voice was raw, broken.

"LOKI," you gasped, his name spilling from your lips in a breathless, desperate prayer. The pleasure tore through you in a relentless surge, dragging you under, leaving you helpless beneath its weight. Your walls fluttered around him, pulsing, milking every inch of him as your muscles locked and your breath hitched, caught between a sob and a moan. The sensation was too much, too consuming, sending sharp jolts of overstimulation rippling through your body.

Your body shaking, but there was nothing-only him. His scent, his body, his merciless rhythm. You shattered in his grasp, boneless and wrecked, pleasure surging through every nerve as your climax sent fresh spasms through you, your legs shaking as if they threaten to give out.

Loki's breath hitched, a sharp exhale breaking through his usual control. "That’s it," he groaned, voice thick with possession, "Take it. Take all of me."

He thrust deeper, his movements becoming erratic, rougher as he chased his own release, every stroke driving the sensation higher, pushing you past any hope of resistance. "You feel that?" he growled, fingers tightening around your hips. "You want this, you need me now." His voice was strained, fraying at the edges, his own pleasure consuming him as your body clenched around him, dragging him to the brink. His grip on your hips unrelenting. "Mine," he rasped, his voice dark and hoarse, his rhythm faltering as he finally lost himself in you. His thrusts grew erratic, his breath turning ragged as your body clenched around him, dragging him closer to his own end. His fingers dug into your flesh, his control fraying as he drove into you harder, deeper, chasing his own pleasure with the same ruthless intensity that had shattered you.

Loki's breath catching as his closing down like a vice, his body tensing, and then with a deep, guttural groan, he spilled into you, his seed flooding deep inside, hot and unrelenting, marking you as his own. He buried himself to the hilt, holding you firm, refusing to let you escape the finality of his claim. "You belong to me now," he murmured against your skin, his breath ragged, his pleasure still echoing through his limbs. But still, he did not let go. Even as his body shuddered, even as he pressed in deep one final time, he kept you close, his hands possessive, his breath hot against your damp skin.

"So docile now.." he rasped, his voice rough with exertion, his lips ghosting over your shoulder as he held you through the aftershocks, whimpering keens coming from you.

When he finally withdrew, you collapsed, your body trembling, boneless. His seed and your nectar spilled out of you, running over your skin to make a sticky mess on the furs beneath you. The evidence of what he had done to you, of how completely he had claimed you, was undeniable.

Loki leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. "Such a good little thing," he murmured, his voice filled with the purrs bought from his own sated need. With a flick of his fingers, the shackle around your ankle unlocked, the metal slipping away with a quiet clink. Not because you were free-but because you would not run now. There was no need for such a restraint.

His hand moved to your hair, stroking through the sweat damp strands as he indulged in the warmth of your ruined form against him. He curled himself around you, his touch possessive, his presence inescapable.

"Rest, little hellcat," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "You belong to me now."

465 notes · View notes

red-garden · 3 months ago

Text

Liu Qingge was not supposed to hunt the Lunar Madness Beast. It was big, it was fast, it was smart, it was dangerous. Most importantly, it’s saliva can cause a partial transformation effect on the afflicted during the lunar phase the bite occurred.

The beast keeping peak lord told him not to hunt it. Mu Qingfang told him not to hunt it. Even Zhangmen-shixiong told him not to hunt it.

But he had already delivered so many impressive carcasses to Shen Qingqiu’s door and still, the man didn’t seem moved by his courting gifts!

So he hunted it.

And he got bit.

Shen Qingqiu was very impressed with the body! “How are you still alive? We’re explicitly forbidden from attacking them because they’re so dangerous! What were you thinking?” Clearly this was a win.

…… until the next waxing gibbous rolled around.

Horns, claws, fangs, and glowing yellow eyes weren’t a good look. They made it hard to talk, his clothes didn’t fit right, and don’t even get him started on the tail! And there was an overwhelming craving, and insatiable need….. for praise and a scratch behind the ears.

Every moment he didn’t have it, his skin itched. It’s not like he could ask his disciples, he’s their Shizun! And Mu Qingfang would scold him after explicitly forbidding him from hunting the beast……

He was left only with sheepishly sneaking into Shen Qingqiu’s backyard to paw at the door like a pathetic dog begging to be let in.

“I thought you said you weren’t bit?”

Rub it in why don’t you.

After the initial shock wore off, Shen Qingqiu was practically vibrating with excitement. Apparently very few records existed of the transformation since most people bitten were killed in the initial encounter. When he reached up to study the horns, Liu Qingge actually purred at the touch. He was too far gone to even feel embarrassed.

Shen Yuan was…. A bit baffled to say the least. The war god was nuzzling into him like an over large house cat begging for attention. With a tentative pet, the man purred like an engine and tried to hang all his weight on him.

Shen Yuan maneuvered them onto the couch as best he could. Liu Qingge was puddled in his lap, contentedly purring nonstop. Shen Yuan scratched up and down his back, stewing in the absurdity of the situation. The Lunar Madness Beast’s bite had been reported to have all manner of symptoms- extreme violence, heightened libido, gluttony. It sounded more like lowered inhibitions and dominant id but why would acting like a big house cat be the most basic desire of Liu-shidi?

His fingers grazed over the horns again. They were iridescent like some snakes- an intense black until hit with light. “Beautiful…” he muttered aloud.

Liu Qingge’s grip on him tighten and he pushed his face into Shen Yuan’s stomach. His tail (HE GREW A TAIL?!?!???!?) wrapped around one of Shen Yuan’s legs.

It couldn’t be that the War God’s id only wanted for praise and petting!?

#svsss #scum villian self saving system #scum villain #shen yuan #shen qingqiu #liu qingge #liushen #sy absently calling lqg a good boy one time rewired his brain #sensory seeking autistic lqg my love #shoutout the sensory experience of being pet like a dog

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juricel · 3 months ago

Note

heyyy its me again

I have a silly request for you which you can ignore if you want to, since I think your ask box is piling up haha!

basically,

Yandere reader x pre corrupt shadow milk cookie turns to reader x Yandere shadow milk cookie

Reader, at first is super obsessed and does a lot of stuff for pre-corrupted shadow milk cookie and hes like super disgusted by how they’re acting. And suddenly, reader disappears one day, and hes fine with it

beasts get corrupted then get jailed,,

while in jail shadow milk cookie misses how loving y/n was, and realised that he has taken them for granted </33 And now he wants them back because of how love deprived he became

when hes out of the silver tree he see’s y/n again and at first hes all hip hip hooray !! until he sees that y/ns clinging onto the THIEF!!!

he goes batshit crazy, you can be creative with this if you want or just give your little ideas/comments I just really want more food wahah

so sorry if this doesn’t make much sense, it’s 2am :’)

tysm for reading oh great one!! you don’t have to do this right away dont worry love ur work already

—💤non

a/n: it's okay, i understand what you were aimimg for! I focused on the other requests before this one and had some church duties to do, so I apologize for having you need to wait for so long.

— yandere! shadow milk cookie x past yandere! reader (ft. the bus driver, pure vanilla cookie.)

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ۪ ׂ CONTENT WARNING: manipulation, physical abuse, heavy possessive and obssessive behavior, unhealthy relationship, implied forced established relationship, implied mindbreak, corruption, objectification, stalking, pure vanilla cookie needs a fucking break, one of these warnings is not like the rest, potential ooc.

𖦁 blueberry milk cookie was a heaven sent gift from the witches above, he was a celestial jewel, an angel's whisper brought down to earth, the very breath of seraphim—an impossible, transcendental blessing cradled in the tender arms of witches' own grace. he was a splendid confection, kneaded from divine essence, destined to scatter blessings upon the crumbed multitudes of earthbread—a being way out of your league, you, an ordinary cookie who could crumble and wither into a flour with not a single eye batting to your direction.

𖦁 ah, but how radiant he was, you couldn't help yourself from your love, your dear, your luminous, immortal darling. does he even know? does he grasp the way his mind glows, the way his thoughts spill like molten gold onto the parchment of your very soul? he was your everything, your love—your guiding star, your perfect darling, your sole, necessary breath. and yet, the world, the pitiful, ignorant world, could not comprehend his brilliance, like a mere toy, they had molded him, and cast him aside once their utilitarian need had been served; they did not deserve him. no, the world could not deserve him—those who fail to recognize the sacredness of his mind, who treat his wisdom as commonplace, who look upon him without the reverence of a disciple at the feet of a god—it sickens you, stirs a fury deep within your chest. in the hollowed, gleaming corridors of his towering spire, you would see them—fawning, indulging in their miserable, blind inanities, lost in the sick lies they prefer over the sublime truth he alone could offer. and mind you, it was he—he—who spent his invaluable time, his precious moments, entangled with these dull, odious fools, these imbecilic cookies just for them to throw it away! he should not have to share his divine self with such paltry, uninspired creatures. no, no, no. you could not abide it. you would sever every connection, carve away every distraction, erase every tether that pulled him from you. and if it were required to cloak him in the softest, most unrelenting shadow, to shield him from the world that could never grasp his greatness, to hide him where only your gaze could drink in the luminous glow of his mind—so be it. you would protect him, cherish him, and keep him safe from those who could never understand him as you do.

𖦁 yet, he couldn't seem to understand it all; with every embrace, a look of disdain was given to you, as if you were a taint smeared upon heavens, can't he understand? these cookies were the one that were evil! they will defile him, corrupt his very name with degeneracy! you were merely shielding him away from the evil, how could he not comprehend that? he must've been brainwashed. yes, surely, or so that was what you wanted to believe, however, all his actions proved otherwise: with every touch, he recoiled, like a skittish moth repelled by the flame it once sought. with every affectionate word, he replied in clipped, mechanical syllables, blunt and cold, each one landing with the weight of a slammed door. there was no love in them—no warmth, no hesitance, no trace of a feeling that might, by some miracle, have softened the harsh lines of his indifference. you learned quickly that tenderness was a language he neither spoke nor cared to decipher. a hand reaching for his own was met with a perfunctory pat, a touch devoid of meaning, as if acknowledging, rather than returning, the gesture. you could pour all your warmth into him, let it trickle down the cracks in his facade, but he would not absorb it. He remained, steadfast in his distance, near enough to torment, far enough to elude. you tried to believe in the silences, in the space between his words, in the possibility that somewhere beneath that marble exterior, there was something that resembled love. but hope, much like affection, was wasted on him. you tried, really! to continue loving him, you truly did, but, ah, your feelings leisurely diminished into grains of flour until your love turned into rust and dust.

𖦁 it wasn't long until then your unfortunate sweet dear darling, the celestial beacon in your life was sullied into taint when you vanished into thin air. from graces, he fell, and into the bottom of the endless pit of corruption.

𖦁 and oh, how much he changed: in the cold, lonely cell, he reminisced the past, thought of you, thought of your oh so tender gentle caresses! and to say that it made him deprived of warmth, made him ache—hunger not for food, but for yours was an understatement. he sought and yearned for it, hunger gnawed, a sensation with fangs, sharp and insistent, curling inside his ribs like a starved serpent. he gwaned for you—not sweetly, not poetically, but in the way of a body denied water, of lips cracked and trembling at the edge of a mirage. oh, to be held, to be devoured, to be anything but this wretched hunger pressing against the ribs, licking at the throat, whispering: more, more, more... ah! he couldn't stop it! he promises to himself that he'd apologize to you and pamper you with affection once he gets out of this petulant little silver tree!

𖦁 and he'd definitely stick to his word; the moment he flees from the withering tree binding him and his allies, he had his priorities straight: to find his dear darling! he was beyond ectastic, thoughts filled of embracing you once more and kissing you, but, ah, none could prepare him for the sight that would unfold infront of his very gaze—his sweet puppet was linking arms with /him/. at first, he laughed, he chuckled and brushed it off, no, no, surely he was just presuming things! there was no way his dear would betray him and replace him with such a... ungracious caricature of a cookie, right? right? if you were, he'd definitely need to give you a better eyes as a replacement which was a no worries for him! he has a nice stock of replacement! surely, you wouldn't stoop down to that level of degeneracy. yet, you didn't approach him like he thought and dreamed of within the silved tree, you only took a cautious step back, away from him, away from your perfect celestial darling and to the burlesque version of himself, realization dawned and it made him seeth with anger.

𖦁 blasphemous! how dare you! you superseded his spot with this thing?! to betray him was one thing, but to replace him with this cheap copy of himself whom hadn't grown ever slightly intelligent despite wielding his own power?! you little pest! he'll make you pay for this. oh, and, don't worry your pretty little brain! he promises to be much, much more tender than he will be to him, it will be grand, a show that will mark itself in earthbread's history. so won't you be a good little dear and wait till he finishes his one last marionette show before tending to you?

𖦁 and as for the destiny of the silly little thief... ah, he vows to make him taste his own medicine and he'll make certain it will be a fate worse than crumbling away! he wasn't gonna kill him, no, no, death was far too gentle, he was gonna corrupt him, brainwash his mind with sweet, insidious poison, and distort his reality into a glistening hall of mirrors where every reflection was a lie, every whisper a trick of the light. he would unravel, unravel most grotesquely, as his reason frayed like moth-eaten silk, his thoughts dissolving into the same exquisite delirium that had once seized his own skull in its venomous embrace! and most importantly, he was gonna make him feel like what it felt like to be in his place! he stole his soul jam and now you, surely he doesn't think he can get away with that, can't he? no, no, if he wants to take from him so badly, he was gonna make him /him/.

𖦁 but ah, don't be so upset, dear. shouldn't you be exhilarated? he's giving you the attention you craved for, the attention you digged the sand and soils for until your fingers scarred and numbed for, the attention you yearned and sought for like a madman. so, why won't you clap, give your sweet jester an applause for his spectacular show? don't tell him you were still concerned of pure vanilla cookie! he simply put him in the right path, the road down to the deepest depths of hell, of course, but it was still a befitting destination!

𖦁 yet, still, still, you prattled on, fretting that lovely little head of yours over pure vanilla cookie—his name tumbling from your lips like some sacred incantation, a hymn to a god too distant to listen. and oh, how it curdled something deep inside him, how it set his very marrow alight with a fury so exquisite it was almost pleasure. could you not see? he was here. here, before you, in all his resplendent, fevered devotion, and yet you—blind, foolish, maddening thing—spoke of another. oh! perhaps a lesson was in order. yes, yes, that's right, a lesson. a gentle one, at first—he was, after all, a man of remarkable patience. a game, then, a little amusement, something to turn those wandering thoughts back where they belonged. he would not interrupt, no, never that. he would only guide, nudge, mold. and in the end, oh, you would see. you would understand. you would learn.

𖦁 and to say the wait had been merely excellent would be a crime of understatement, a paltry insult to the fevered anticipation that had coiled and uncoiled within him for so long. no, the outcome was a marvel beyond the bounds of mere expectation. you were back, back as you had been, intact, whole—his darling, his own, still in possession of that precious, once-fractured self. giddy with triumph, he would fall against you, arms encircling the exquisite stillness of your form, his dear darling, still and unresponsive—your gaze, those glassy and depthless eyes, did not meet his but stretched past him, unfocused, fixed upon some distant and nameless horizon. there was no flicker of recognition, no gentle return of his embrace. and yet, he clung to you, triumphant, unbothered by your silence, unshaken by your vacancy. you were here. that was more than enough.

a/n: I've received like... so many requests featuring pure vanilla cookie with yandere shadow milk cookie after i made that one post... do you guys want him dead? anyways, i just lost my pity in the guaranteed banner to fucking sherbet cookie. i need frost queen to turn him into snow once again... can someone bless me their mystic flour luck, ill give you my burning spice who is currently 4 stars (f2p)

#new trailer killed me. shadow milk cookie just wants to be understood and hes willing to ruin pv to make that happen.. my little projector #i just know hes fucking cooked when the update releases though #shadow milk cookie x reader #shadow milk x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #crk x reader

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scribblestatic · 2 months ago

Text

The autosave didn't work. Thrice.

*kicks my feet and screams*

THE WORLD SHAN'T STOP ME, tho do excuse me if some of the stuff seems short. I got tired of writing some parts over again lol.

Spider Shen Yuan, aka, continued creaturfication of the twink.

More people ask for silk so they can use it for repairing clothes, making rope, and other necessities. It's stronger than iron and softer than a silkworm's well-treated cocoon. They use it for rope, integrate it into their utilities, everything. And it's such an iridescent color, very enchanting to look at.

Considering the thick forest and the mist that flows through it, perhaps someone could mistake them as a village visited by a god responsible for clouds, capturing rays of light and stringing them into form for their favored worshipers.

But, well, no. It was a spider.

A spider that, despite the agreement and the comfort many people came to have with him, they never quite forgot that he was a beast. Of course, that was well and good enough. Their relationship was built on mutual respect with some reverence built in.

Fan Zhenzhen's relationship with him was much closer to that of a devout follower, it seems.

That was the only way he could explain her standing in the snow of winter, bundled warmly in fur coats and thick boots, her cheeks pink from the chill as she held her infant.

"He is Ruoxing. 'Like a star.' Because of Zhizhu and your blessings, he was born safely."

(若星 - Ruò Xīng)

Shen Yuan's largest two eyes focus intently on the child, who coos and gurgles, unable to move in his warm swaddle. He smells like milk, and looking at him evokes memories of a life he perhaps had begun to forget. If he'd been a little girl...

"Zhizhu, this lowly woman has a request. As payment for today's story, please bless this little boy, that he may have a good fate."

"...Mm. Commence."

This time, Zhenzhen tells a story about her husband, the man she'd lost just a few months before. She talks about how they met in their old village, he being a known playboy and she being a stalwart visitor.

It was through communication and budding love that he decided to marry her. But his family didn't approve. While he wasn't exceedingly rich, he wasn't a commoner either. His family was relatively affluent, and his marriage to her was seen as a slight, like someone trying to pull themselves out the mud by hugging someone else's thighs (not the term she used, but it felt right to think of it that way). This disdain toward her only became stronger when she failed more than once to have a child.

But her husband loved her. Defended her for as long as he could, even after they cut him off from his wealth, sabotaging his business and saying they would only return his earnings if they divorced. He was stubborn, though, and refused. He even began doing hard labor to try to feed the family, eager to make a living.

It was during that hard labor that a bull went awry. He was gored in the stomach by its horns, and he was made bedridden. He suffered in pain, but he tried to recover for his wife. They spent his last days cuddled in his bed when she was home from work. One morning, she woke up, and he was gone.

But, he hadn't left without leaving her a gift. A little star in her stomach.

...Having gained the ability to speak more clearly, Shen Yuan murmurs his dissatisfaction with her family. Whispers little curses, that they would never know peace for what they did.

But he turns his words around upon the request for a blessing.

This isn't just a story to critique. There's a little boy here, and she wants him to bless him.

He's just a spider, however. How could he do something like bless someone? Even so, her story had been genuine, full-hearted, and overall, not yet a tragedy. If this boy lived well, she said, she would consider her life and success.

In the face of that, he must repay her for the tale she told.

"...Burn brightly, little star. Stay true to your path, young stallion. May you weave a tale that blesses those who bless you, and curses those who curse you. Be firm, and be kind."

He gives her a little woven blanket for the child, and Fan Zhenzhen, with tears in her eyes, bows as low as she can manage with the babe in her arms.

As she leaves, Shen Yuan wonders how he knew the boy was born during a Fire Horse year.

...

Winter turns to spring, and spring to summer, and so on.

The seasons change, and Shen Yuan receives many stories, from enchanting and thorough to boring and benign. Regardless, he continues to trade with them as he always has.

Little spiders that once had nothing to do with him were steadily coming under his control. After eating the insects that would try to eat his plants, it seemed their little minds connected to him, and they went out of their way to follow his will.

His own qi was also getting stronger, and his abilities more numerous. Cultivation and meditation became second nature to him. Along with his diet of qi-dense fruit and spiritual and demonic creatures, he felt like his skin was growing a tad thin on himself. For sure, it would be time to molt within the next few years.

As that time approaches, he watches as Ruoxing grows. He goes from being held in his mother's arms to holding onto her hand as he toddles beside her, to walking on his own and bowing to him when his mother does.

He also starts telling him his own stories. As a toddler, of course, it was mostly nonsense babbling, but it had been more entertaining that some of the half-assed attempts a few other villagers tried. The older he grew, the more his stories took shape, although the characters didn't always make sense and the plot could change at a moment's notice.

Shen Yuan, being himself, couldn't help but lightly critique the stories with genuine intent. After all, a child raised with too much praise and not enough guidance could quickly become a fool. He wasn't nearly as tough on the child as he was on the adults, so he was clearly just teaching him the elements of a good story.

...Apparently these critiques caused a slight shift in how Ruoxing saw him.

While Fan Zhenzhen revered him, Fan Ruoxing seemed to see him like some sort of uncle.

That was probably what explained the boy's reliance on him for decidedly human issues.

"I don't know what to get Miyun for her birthday. But I really want it to be nice. Zhizhu, what do you think I should get her?"

Ruoxing, now a young teenager, is cutting into some wood, trying to sculpt something, but clearly not trusting that whatever he made would be enough for her. He gazes up at him hopefully, as though he's a reclusive neighborhood uncle and not a giant spider that could quite literally eat him whole.

Being a spider notwithstanding, he also had never mated, not in this life or the one he feels he may have lived before. As such, he was, quite literally, the worst being to ask for romantic advice.

"...This spider cannot be sure what little Miyun likes. Xing-er would know more. However, a gift given with heart and meaningful intent often means the world to those receiving it. Perhaps Xing-er could recall something little Miyun finds of particular interest?"

"Erh...she likes clothes, I think. Not the hemp ones. I'd want to give her something fancy. She's the eldest daughter, so she works hard. She deserves something nice to wear, like A-niang has. You know, A-niang still wears the coat you made for her. She only ever wears it in the house..."

He sits up straighter, as if in realization.

"A coat! Zhizhu, if I, ah—" He clears his throat. "If this servant tells Zhizhu a story, could he make a coat for Miyun?"

"...It...would be difficult. The coat this spider made for your mother was done in her presence, where this one could see and hear her, measure her. Little Miyun does not visit this spider, so he cannot make a coat to fit her. Unless. If Xing-er describes her well, perhaps he can make one anyway."

Ruoxing hums, his fingers pausing on whatever he'd been sculpting.

"Well...she's older than me by three months, but she's a little shorter than me." He illustrates this by holding his hand horizontally, just a bit above his chin. "Her hair is dark brown, like chestnut skins. She's not pale like some ladies in the big town, but she's really pretty."

Shen Yuan had really meant for the boy to describe her size and features more, but he didn't stop Fan Ruoxing as he started waxing poetic about her personality and beauty.

The more he listened, the more he decided against anything particularly fitted. Something like...a poncho. Yeah. A poncho-like cloak that can fit over her clothes. Something that looks nice, but not so nice that she'd get robbed or accused of theft...

By the time Ruoxing finished, stuttering to a stop with a red face, Shen Yuan had finished most of it.

"Hmm... Heartfelt. Earnest. This one thinks this gift could use a personal touch."

Per his suggestion, Ruoxing carved the wood into a triangular, rounded pin with a hole through the base. Shen Yuan wove thread through the hole, making the pin into a clasp, and had a small hole on the other side of the shawl-like cloth. Pushing the pin through that hole would secure the shawl around her shoulders.

"Thanking Zhizhu for his guidance!"

"Mm. You guided yourself to this. May your gift be received well."

Fan Ruoxing grins eagerly before running off. He only just remembers to turn back and bow in respect before making his way down the hill.

Humming, satisfied with himself, Shen Yuan crawls through his webs, back to his cave for him to relax and meditate in peace.

...

And despite his efforts to accommodate their economic status, it seemed he still made Miyun's poncho shawl too nice.

A few weeks later, a demoness stands where humans usually would, surrounded by demon guards. She has her hands on her hips, glaring up at him. Her eyes are a bright yellow, hair black and skin pink-toned. She wears long, silken clothes that are, honestly, ill-fitted for trouncing around his forest, gold vambraces and necklaces denoting her status.

"This is what you said made your coat? This dumb beast?"

She sneers at her captives, one of whom is Ruoxing. He leans near a shivering girl, who, by the looks of her and the shawl on her body, is Miyun. However, she doesn't seem to be shaking completely from fear, judging from her furrowed brows and severe expression. Fan Ruoxing does his best to shield her, but with his own arms caught and held tightly, it is difficult to do so.

"It probably can't even speak. Ugh. Whatever. Human, how does Li-er make this...thing...produce the silk to make my clothes?"

"...What does the miss want?"

She turns back to him, eyes wide with clear shock. The demon guards also stiffen, becoming more wary of him. They point their swords and spears in his direction.

Miyun flinches in fear, toward him, her eyes shutting tight.

Ah, he probably understands now. Is she arachnophobic? No wonder she never visits. Quite understandable.

"Oh... So it speaks." The demoness huffs, putting her hands back on her hips. "If you understand this girl, listen well. There's no reason for a mere human to have such clothing. This benevolent one shall give you the opportunity to rectify your sin. Make her a beautiful dress, and she shall let you live."

If Shen Yuan had eyelids, he would certainly lid them.

Instead, he just crawls down a little further, staring at her intently.

"...Tell this one a story."

"Excuse me?"

"Tell this spider a story. It is payment."

"Payment? What need do you have of any sort of payment? The only payment you deserve is to keep your—"

"Guuakk!!"

A guard jumped out in front of the demoness. Despite the hard armor on the guard's body, Shen Yuan's leg pierces easily through their torso.

He smells the blood dripping from the demon's body...and can't resist.

It was like putting a prime steak drizzled with butter right in front of him, okay? Sure, he had an audience, but food was food!

So, not minding the iron armor, Shen Yuan's teeth pierce through the chest plate as the demon cries out. He screams in agony as his organs began to liquify, but Shen Yuan's venom acts quickly. Once the demon chokes on his own blood and falls still, he easily sucks up all the guard's innards and qi with a deep, hearty slurp. Not a single thing is wasted, not even the marrow in the demon's bones.

Once emptied, Shen Yuan drops the guard's body like a crumpled carton.

The demoness had stepped backwards, more guards standing in front.

Shen Yuan sighs, then settles in his web.

"Tell this one a story, and the miss may have her dress."

#static writes #dp writes #spider shen yuan #svsss #svsss au #au post 2 #static drabbles

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sideysvault · 3 months ago

Text

.𖥔˚ NEW SURROUNDINGS.𖥔˚

Cregan Stark x fem!targaryen!reader ₊ requested ₊

Tags. [sfw]; Arranged marriage, ‘cultural’ differences, misogyny, fluff, happy ending, dragonrider, weaponized fasting.

Wc. 0.8k

────────

Everyone had heard such stories. It was known that unsuspecting, kinder houses produced girls that despite aristocratic breeding, their innocence and ill preparation made them feel totally at sea in the deferential hierarchy of political marriage.

The Targaryen Princess was nothing more than a child at the horizon of puberty, with something more akin to distaste rather than horror when she first bled. And while she’d been aware of what that meant for a woman, she desperately became aware of the danger this might put her in. There were many tears in those first months and many more to come after that.

Weight simply dropped off, as well as her white hair. Plagued with the knowledge that outside the Targaryen's protective niche, she was determined to a less glorious fate than she had imagined when she had become a dragon rider.

And then came the preparations. In fact, it was her late cousin’s advice that helped her successfully avoid getting married in its entirety. At least for a few years. The technique was rather simple; If the Princess would get word that her husband to be was ill-mannered, brutish, stubborn or violent, the woman, in order to guarantee compliance, or to avoid the marriage, was to initiate a fast until a change of circumstances arrived. Not as a form of self mutilation, but as a means to stop the fertile blood from running between their legs, This, naturally, would only be successful as long as a male heir wasn’t yet produced, or if the princess isn't yet married.

She had even heard stories that certain houses even encouraged this behavior. All to guarantee that the husband was willing to listen to the whispers of his wife, assuring the will of her lineage.

This technique, of course, had severe downsides, if taken too far, the body would stop tolerating food, making the wife immobile, dead, or worse; Infertile.

However, some people denounced the practice entirely. Those who are keen to self-sacrifice for the political and economical greatness of their lineage, who saw conceiving themselves to a life of child bearing as a form of honorous martyrdom. Like her mother.

But, when her family let her know that she was to be betrothed to Cregan Stark, she knew that all of her efforts were not in vain. His reputation preceded him. Handsome, honorable and just.

She truly felt a sense of genuine relief. Neither the backwards ways of the Northerners nor their reluctance to respect people from the South could dissipate her enthusiasm. Despite her best efforts, The Reed Keep was never really a home to her.

The Princess, of course, had failed to foresee one important detail. The people of the North felt a genuine aversion towards her dragon, probably one of the few kind, loyal things to have been gifted to her by the Targaryen lineage, it had become somewhat of a family to her. While she was aware of the strong, devastating power Maegor possessed, all her soul saw whenever she interacted with it was all those magnificent flights, all of those years of training, and the rather small, innocent look her dragon had when it was young.

All they saw, nonetheless, was an extraordinary beast covered in scales and spines, the horns that framed the edges of Maegor’s face, running along the back of that skull that had never truly seemed to stop growing. It filled them with pagan horror.

From common folk, who were rendered immobile by its appalling black profile dancing through the skies, children and adult alike screaming and gasping, to the highest members of the council, whose clenched jaws and tight fists were evident despite their best efforts to hide them. -Although, she supposed their terror had something to do with its rider, a foreign invader -

Dear Gods, even her husband flinched around it. Of course, he had graciously tried to compartmentalize his fear as soon as he saw the way his wife's eye brighten when she hoped onto the riding chair and looked at the sky above them, how excited she seemed to the prospect of sharing that experience with him, how terribly tender she was with Maegor and the sweet offer she had made to the Maestres to help them map out the territory for their cartography efforts.

It hadn't taken as much time as he had thought to become pleased with her presence. While Cregan was weary of her at first, he noticed how hard she was trying to accommodate to the region's costumes, how quick her wit was, how curious she was about the world.

Once he discovered how charmed he was with her personality, he was quick to notice how beautiful she was as well. Targaryen features had always seemed too alien to him. But on his wife? He adored the lavender haze in her eyes and the moonlit hair.

The Princess always laughed when she thought about it. She had found warmth and comfort in the coldest corner of the entirety of the Seven Realms.

────────

Notes. I've been pretty offline for some time but here is the request! Hope everyone likes it. As usual, take care, and tell me if you wanna be added to the Cregan fanfic taglist! -Sidey x

CreganTaglist. @damnedamsy @prose-before-hoes-blog

#hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd s2 #house of the dragon #house of dragons #hotd cregan #cregan stark #cregan x you #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #game of thrones x reader

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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I just watched The First Omen at the cinema and you may go ahead and cuff me for blasphemy, but…

Devil x Reader

You have been chosen by the Cult as the one to carry their ungodly plan after many failed attempts. This time it was a success, yet not for the reasons they might expect. The Devil has his eyes on you.

Content: female reader, mentions of pregnancy, religious themes, blasphemy, violence, horror, a non-consent scene!, based on The First Omen (2024); image from the promotional poster

Why you, of all people? You're not particularly devoted to religion, nor do you stand out in terms of virtuousness. Or lack of, for that matter. Alas, their reasons remain unknown.

What's certain is that you woke up one day and found yourself strapped to a foreign bed, staring into a ceiling you didn't recognize. You weren't alone. Around your helpless form stood men and women, dressed in black and wearing a solemn smile. Your forehead received a gentle, encouraging stroke from the hand of the priest. The scent of chrism invaded your nostrils.

You begged them to release you. The older man spoke softly in your ear. "You are serving a greater purpose. It is all in the name of God." God? Purpose? You rolled your eyes back and gazed upon the large painting hanging behind you. Virgin Mary and her blissful smile and stretched out hands felt like a mockery.

The holy image vanished as a black cloth was nonchalantly draped over your face. You felt the rope tighten around your neck and begun gasping for the scarce air barely making it through the thick canvas. A crescendo of muffled chants, and the room went abruptly quiet. Had everyone left?

Then you heard it. That profane growl, causing the entirety of your body to shiver in repugnance and terror. You trashed, and pulled, and screamed, to no avail. A clawed hand rested on your bare stomach, then a second one traced the rest of your body. You laid limp, vision blurred as the room swayed in tandem with the sacrilegious act.

You'd been defiled by a Beast. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your bed. Your hopes of it being a mere nightmare were shattered the moment you lifted your gown and noticed the deep scratches, the monstrous prints left on your skin, and the hollow sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your body had been tampered with, and something was growing out of your misfortune. A vile blight, throbbing with life within the comfort of your flesh.

You spent the months haunted by voices and visions. The grotesque, horned Creature would frequently reappear in your mind, exhausting all other thoughts. Such a heavy, imposing presence. It wouldn't let you forget, not even for a second: you belonged to Him, and He would soon return to retrieve you. The mother of His child, the object of His adoration. Was such a thing even conceivable?

You prayed to be left alone, yet the Cult naturally longed for its promised gift, bound to come back eventually. And so, once more, you were facing the people who caused your despair. "We've come for the child", the priest explained, glancing at your obvious, bulging belly. The clawed hand framing it was still a fresh wound that never healed, almost as an ominous warning: this body was owned by a jealous God.

Your trembling hands revealed a pocketknife. This time, you were prepared. The group took a moment to observe your daring gesture, then proceeded to approach you with calculated steps, with newfound resolve. Would you be able to keep them away? Their intentions were clear: you were in possession of the Antichrist, and they needed to secure this immense power.

The ground shook, and everyone froze. You glanced at the altar painting, the same one that witnessed your corruption. Virgin Mary remained with an unfaltering smile. From behind the ornate frame, large, horrid hands creeped out. A travesty of everything Holy. The priest gasped and quickly threw his hands in prayer. This was not part of the plan. This was not meant to happen.

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis-" he began, but his voice was cut short. His face turned pale, and he clutched his chest with a terrible grimace. The nun next to him let out a scream before she was pushed away by an invisible force. Her body hit the wall with a loud, wet sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing. You stared at the massacre unfolding before you, devoid of any fear. Somehow, in the depths of your soul, you knew you'd be safe.

An enormous shadow emerged from behind the painting, twisting, bending, stalking towards you. Your nose scrunched at the stench of blood. You were the last one standing among corpses. To your surprise, you exhaled deeply, shoulders drooping in comfort. A silent voice murmured in your ear, telling you not to fear. That Father was finally home for you.

Foolish, ridiculous humans. He'd been willing to entertain their petty plans of grandeur, until he met you: your tender, frail body, your innocent soul. How exalting it was to have his way with you. You were meant to be the one. To carry His offspring into the damned world. But not for some trifling reason of a Cult desperate to crawl their way back into control. Their greatest mistake - which led to their demise - was to assume the Devil himself can be controlled, ordered around. He has allowed you the greatest honor of joining him, out of your free will, to sow the seeds of chaos as his beloved mortal.

Thus, he couldn't have possibly allowed anyone to interfere. What you saw that day, in that old, musty underground cavern, was an omen: a bloodbath awaits the one who dares to approach his human.

You look up into the demonic orbs: trenches of madness, obsession, vulgarity, burning holes into you, slurping your very existence with hunger and lust. You are his.

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arnaerr · 1 month ago

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An updated ref sheet for my Tarnished OC Hildegarda. Closeups and delusional lore ramblings under the cut prints ✦ patreon ✦ more about my OCs

Close ups:

I've been working for weeks on this updated ref sheet for Hildegarda - I wanted her to have a new look for the post main game/post DLC plot. Basically, after striking an accord with Messmer and dealing with Miquella and Radahn together, she goes back to Lands Between to claim lordship and usher the Age of Stars. Ranni brings the Shadow Lands back to Lands Between and 3 of them have funny shenanigans that include slaying gods, burning down Caelid and Haligtree, learning emotional intimacy of forming a bond. The latter one is the most difficult task because all 3 of them are wary of trusting someone else, but somehow their alliance works. Hilde is the glue that keeps them all together, because her patience and compassion know no limits.

Hildegarda's weapons broke upon slaying Miquella and Elden Beast, so she forged new ones/altered the ones she found or got as gifts. I had lots of fun altering in game weapons and mixing together different armour sets to find something that works for her, and I'm very happy about the result. I was afraid of adding intense red to her colour scheme, because Hilde is all about cold colours, but I think this burgundy works quite well. My friend also noted that it's cool that this colour isn't the same as Messmer's scarlet - they're devoted to each other, and Hilde is loyal to him, but also doesn't lose herself in this union, and she managed to create something new from herself.

As for her weapons, the essence of Hilde's fighting style remains the same. The staff can be combined with the sword to form a magical Halo Scythe (now it's infused with cold magic) and one of the swords is imbued with Messmer's shadowy flame. The Star-Lined katana that I use in the game is now a light greatsword (Carian Sorcery sword (the one that fot imbued with messmerflame) is now a light greatsword too instead of the thrusting sword we see in the game) because I feel like their theatrical and dance like moveset suits Hildegarda more.

Here are some of the references from the game that I used:

And her pre DLC look:

#elden ring #tarnished #hildegarda #oc #oc ref sheet #concept art #character design #my art

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sailornymph · 3 months ago

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slut me out; naruto various

synopsis — how naruto, neji, gaara, & kiba are in bed

content warning — bondage, exhibitionism, established relationship

a/n — all are adults, they just looked better in shippuden

♡︎ naruto uzumaki

— 6 inches, he’s slightly above average, but that isn’t bad!! he knows how to use every inch

— this man is embarrassingly loud, without an once of shame, 10x worse than madara

— he likes your legs on his shoulders, giving him perfect access to pound into your cunt

— he has the stamina of a beast, thanks to kurama, literally wanting to go all night

— he loves foreplay, playing with your clit as he kisses your neck, you giving him a titjob, or just dry humping each other

— eating your pussy in his office, telling you to cum before someone interrupts

— the pace depends on the mood, if it was a hard day, then he may be a little rougher, but something like morning sex, he is gentle, handling you with the most care

— he is another one who didn’t know the importance of aftercare, but once getting with you, he takes care of you in every way

“n-naruto, we have to hurry,” you moaned, the back of your hand pressed against your mouth.

laying on his desk, the fear of anyone interrupting far from your mind, too clouded with lust to stop him from pounding into your soaked pussy. how did you end up in this position? you were only supposed to be bringing naruto his lunch when he began to whine about how he missed you.

“i know, i’m almost there,” he groaned, leaning down to motorboat your breast. gods, you had to be a gift from the gods, absolutely perfect for him.

“right there,” you cried, as he rubbed your clit. he had a meeting in twenty minutes, meaning he had less than ten minutes to make you cum.

“i’m about to cum,” he told you, grunting loudly, as you began to moan, releasing all over his cock, covering your mouth in the process.

“that was great, let’s go again,” he smiled.

“we can't, did you forget that fast that you have a meeting?”

“i’m thinking of skipping, just this once, and taking you home,” he chuckled, as you kissed his lips, accepting his hand, and getting up to fix your clothing.

just as your dress was fixed, there was a knock, making naruto, raise an eyebrow in confusion, but walking over to answer.

“lord seventh,” shikamaru said, extremely flustered.

“what is it?” naruto asked.

“your meeting was supposed to be at noon, in your office,” he said, shifting his eyes as you came into view.

“that can't be, y/n has been here since then, i thought you said, after noon,” naruto said, scratching his head, as you realized what happened.

“the shinobi came to his office?”

“yes, and they heard a disturbing noise, so i decided to come to see for myself, but i realize, you were a bit busy,” shikamaru said.

“oh my-they heard us,” you covered your face, moving away from the door.

“sorry about that, shikamaru, you know how it is when you haven't seen your woman all day, could you see about rescheduling?” naruto asked, sheepishly.

“will do,” he nodded, while naruto reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“there's nothing to be flustered about, you were amazing,” naruto grinned, leading you out of the office, to walk you home.

♡︎ neji hyuga

— he has nearly 7 inches and is on the skinnier side

— muffled moans and grunts because he can’t bring himself to make such noises, but he is into degradation

— he is into bondage and finds pleasure in making you his ragdoll

— tying your hands over your head, your legs around his waist, as he fucks into you

— he treats your relationship like a reward system, if you can take all of his cock like a good girl, then he will reward you with his tongue

— claims to hate foreplay, but the sight of you on your knees in front of him, begging to be fucked, he can’t help but reach out to hold, caress, kiss on you

— despite how to rough seem, lightly slapping your cheek, when you’re not sucking his cock like a good girl, he is incredibly gentle, when fucking you. he comes off as mean to many, but he is very in love with you and likes to show it through intimacy

— aftercare is very important to him, he is able to express his love, by catering to your body, after the long session of pleasure

“neji, please, i need it,” you whined, thrusting your hips up, craving more pressure from the vibrator to be held to your clit.

he hadn't seen you in a few weeks, and he missed you dearly. however, when he approached your house, you sat outside, speaking with sai about his drawing. he had no right to be jealous, he told you from the beginning, that being with him meant secrecy because he wasn't allowed to be with outsiders. still, now that he had you alone, he couldn't deny that he was releasing a bit of his frustration.

“but do you deserve it?” he asked, his pale eyes set on you, nodding earnestly.

“yes,” you whined when he pulled the toy away, furrowing his eyebrows.

“tell me how much you need it, and i will consider putting it back,” he said, turning the toy off.

“i want to cum so bad, i can't take this,” you shook your head, closing your eyes in frustration. however, you quickly opened your eyes, feeling his fingers pressing against your clit, rubbing slowly.

“there is no need for you to become so frustrated, love, use your words, what do you want me to do?” he asked.

“fuck me, all i want is your cock inside of me, please,” you squirmed.

“only because you asked so politely,” he smirked, removing his clothing, and climbing into your bed. stroking himself a few times, he began to push himself in, humming as he went into your comforting hole.

“i love your cock so much,” you moaned.

“shut up with your babbling, love,” he chuckled, kissing your lips. reaching to hold your hips, lifting your lower body into his lap, he began thrusting.

moaning loudly, the palms of your hands nearly red from how tight you squeezed the rope. your eyes rolling back, as neji continues to kiss your lips, moving down to your neck. you only pant, wrapping your legs around his waist, when he pulled away.

“wh-

you stopped, realizing that he was reaching to loosen the knot, releasing your hands from the ropes. immediately, your hands were around him, moving his soft hair from his face.

“i love you, neji,” you panted, lewdly staring into his eyes, smiling at the pink tint on his cheeks.

“i love you too, beautiful,” he whispered, as your fingers moved up his chest.

“i’m cumming,” you moaned, your mouth going into an ‘o’ shape, as he moved his mouth to your breast. lifting, he began grunting, eyebrows furrowed, but concentrated, as he came inside. sighing, he pulled out, laying on top of you.

“what made you untie me so early?” you questioned, your fingers running through his thick, but silky brown hair.

“i’ve missed your embrace is all,” he sighed.

“are you alright? do you want to talk about it?” you questioned, making him grin. how could he even get jealous or question you, when you were so loveable?

“i’m fine, i just want to hold you a while longer”

♡︎ gaara

— this man is packing and he’s so shy about it

— he stays quiet, you are his first and he is completely unsure of what noises are or aren’t acceptable

— he doesn’t know what position he likes, but he’s willing to try anything you’re willing to teach him

— he does know for sure he likes when you suck his cock, on your knees, it is such a beautiful sight

— he’s awkward during foreplay, and you have to guide him on where to lick or touch, but once he understands, he’s a pro

— you never knew sex could be so gentle, until getting with gaara. he has hurt so many people and he could never hurt you, even if it was supposed to be pleasureful

— he speaks so lowly, you usually think he is completely silent, but sometimes, you can hear him whisper words of praise and encouragement

— to say he doesn’t have any prior experience, he is really good at aftercare. he insists on catering to you and promising that it brings him joy to do so

“oh gaara, i’ve missed you so much,” you moaned, propped up on your elbows, your kimono open. gaara was eager as ever, peppering kisses along your neck and breast.

“i apologize, my role as kazekage is more demanding than i thought it would be,” he pulled away, answering seriously.

“it's okay, i understand, i just miss having you home sometimes, to kiss me, love me, fuck me,” you said, in between kisses. reaching for your panties, you lowered them, allowing him to pull them from your legs.

leaning forward, you kissed his lips, while opening his pants. his cock sprang free, veins visible, leading up to his pink tip — his precum dripping onto the sheets. biting your lip, you began to stroke his cock.

“fuck me,” you whispered, as he kissed you again. moving his hand on top of your own, he began to stroke his cock, as you let go.

laying back, you stared into his eyes, as he moved to hover over you. rubbing his tip against your slit, he began to push in. biting your lip, you shut your eyes, allowing yourself to adjust to his size. however, gaara immediately froze.

“am i hurting you?” he asked, sounding scared, about to pull away.

“no, never, you’re perfect, i am just adjusting to you-

“i’m hurting you because it’s too thick, i’m sorry, i-

“gaara, what did i tell you? we’re compromising. you like to go slow, so you don’t hurt me, and i like the feeling of you stretching me to your size. you’re fine, i know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me and i would let you know before we could get to that point,” you explained, reassuringly, reaching to hold his cheek.

staring into your eyes for a moment, he leaned down kissing your lips, before continuing to fit the rest of his size inside. he squeezed his eyes shut, the idea of you hurting, crushed him. pulling away from him, you moaned loudly.

“oh my god,” you slurred, a lazy smile on your lips.

gaara never knew he could be so passionate about someone, until you. even if he didn't care about how hard he pounded into you — he found himself in love with the action of lovemaking. he still struggled with expressing himself, but perhaps you could understand how much he loved you, by his decision to move slowly. you could feel every inch, taking it all on to make it cherishable.

“so beautiful,” he mouthed, taking slow strokes. his hands on the sides of you, watching in amazement as you unraveled before his eyes. your eyes rolling back, your airy moans, occasionally gasping. god, how did he end up with such a perfect wife?

"you're going to make me cum too fast," you whined, throwing your head back, as he continued thrusting, staring in amazement. perfect. perfect. perfect. everything about you was the epitome of beauty.

“how does it feel, baby?” you continued, leaning to kiss his jaw, through your moans

"you feel amazing," he said, trying to hold back his noises.

“you can make as many noises as you'd like, it’s just us,” you whispered, smiling as the tiniest moan escaped, his face becoming flustered.

"please make me cum, gaara," you moaned, as he kissed your lips again.

"i love you," he said, lowly, smiling as you pulled him into a hug, while he continued moving his hips.

"i love you too," you whined loudly, as his thrust became uneven. you were creaming all over him, as he moved his hand down, slowly rubbing your clit, until your leg started shaking.

"j-just like that," you moaned, nodding, as the knot in your abdomen finally was released. pulling out, gaara jerked his cock a few times, reaching for his handkerchief off of the counter, you tiredly watched as he came on it, closing it up. once done, he had a sheepish expression on his face. he had been pulling out, since the two of you became intimate, out of fear of becoming a terrible parent, but unlike what his thoughts said, you didn't judge him.

“would you like a shower, love?” he asked.

“only if you are joining me,” you bit your lip, satisfied at his shy nod.

♡︎ kiba inuzuka

— oh my, this man has a force to be reckoned with in his pants lol, and it's very girthy

— he is almost primal, grunting and growling, as he fucks your beautiful pussy

— doggystyle or spooning, it doesn’t matter, but he is a bit of an exhibitionist, he adores fucking you anywhere outdoors

— he eats pussy so good, will have your legs shaking and loves spanking you

— something about seeing your ass all sensitive, your legs clenching to hide dripping pussy, turns him on in a way beyond words

— no lovemaking for him, instead he fucks you, each touch as desperate as the last to get you off

— he’s kinkier than neji, spitting, slapping, bondage, anal, he loves it all

— on his own, he is terrible at aftercare, but he likes to think of it as a partnership. as a team, catering to each other (and with you walking him through each step) he is much better

“keep quiet, wouldn’t want everyone to see how much of a slut you are,” he laughed, pressing his thumb against your second hole, making you moan louder, rushing to cover your mouth.

“ugh, baby, you’re fucking me too good,” you cried to him, your right hand muffling your moans, while your left squeezed the green grass.

the two of you intended to only spend some time together after constantly working, but it was so hard to keep your hands to yourselves.

“you’re so hot, babe, you’re taking my cock like a good girl, yeah, you like when i fuck you like this, huh bitch?” he said, his canine teeth showing, slapping your ass.

wincing you tiredly fucked him back, when he sat on the grass, pulling you into his lap. throwing your head back, as he pushed his cock into your pussy, he bit your nipple, lightly tugging.

“oh kiba, i love it so much, don't stop,” you moaned, as he slapped your ass again.

“i won't, not until you cum all over my cock,” he grunted. he was unashamed, grunting and growling like he was in heat. for him, he was mating, and he certainly intended to get stuck to you.

“i-i’m go-ing to cum, baby,” you moaned, as sped up, thrusting, as he squeezed your ass. your breast bouncing in his face. he couldn't help but feel like the luckiest man around, you were the people’s princess, and only he could get you to act like a primal slut and you loved every moment of it.

“fuck,” he hissed, cumming, as your pussy clenched around him, repeatedly, as you came. holding onto his shoulder, you kissed the side of his mouth, before fully connecting with his lips.

“that was fun,” you said, both of you sharing a laugh, as he stood up, still holding you, before he let your feet touch the ground, then pecked your lips.

“what do you think about ramen and then a nice bath?” kiba asked, as the both of you began dressing.

“sounds good to me,” you agreed. after he finished, he waited for you, crouched down.

“hop on,” he said, standing up, and headed towards the village with you on his back.

#naruto x reader #neji x reader #gaara x reader #kiba x reader #naruto uzumaki #neji hyuga #kiba inuzuka

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