#tw: death by thirst

[princesssarisa]

The last three Donkeyskin tales in Cinderella Tales from Around the World come from South and Central America: Brazil (@ariel-seagull-wings), Chile, and Nicaragua.

*The Brazilian version featured in this book is Dona Labismina. A queen prays for a child, "even if it is a snake," and as a result, her daughter is born with a snake around her neck. But the princess, named Maria, and the snake, named Labismina, grow up together, and Maria loves Labismina and sees her as her sister. Eventually, however, Labismina leaves the land for the sea, but she promises to come back and help Maria whenever she calls for her. Some time later, the queen dies, and the king decides to marry Maria because only she fits her mother's ring. At Labismina's advice, Maria asks for gowns that like a field full of flowers, the sea full of fishes, and heaven with all its stars, then sails away on a boat that Labismina provides. Labismina tells her that someday she'll marry the prince of the kingdom she sails to: on her wedding day, if she calls for Labismina three times, then Labismina will be freed from her snake form and be a princess too. Maria becomes a poultry-girl at the prince's palace, then attends a three-day festival in her gowns, and when the prince falls ill with love for her, she slips a jewel that he gave her into a bowl of broth that she sends to him. Thus her identity is revealed and she marries the prince. But sadly, she forgets to call for Labismina, who is doomed to remain a snake in the sea, and this is why the sea storms and rages to this day. This unexpectedly bitter ending parallels some oral versions of Puss in Boots, where the young hero forgets to be grateful to his animal helper after he becomes a prince.

*The Chilean version, Florinda, stands out for one main reason: it's a lesbian version, or possibly a transgender version, much like the Romanian tale of The Princess Who Would Be a Prince! When Florinda's father (a commoner, not a king) wants to marry her, she runs away disguised as a boy. Soon she meets the king, who so admires the "young man's" beauty that he decides to give "him" his daughter's hand in marriage. On the wedding night, Florinda secretly admits her true gender to the princess, who is delighted to be married to a woman! But when the king sends the news of the princess's marriage to her godfather, another king, the latter consults a fortune teller, who reveals that the new "prince" is really female. The other king sails to their kingdom and makes a bet with the princess's father that he can reveal the "prince's" true gender. But Florinda upholds the masquerade, until the visiting king insists that they all bathe nude together in the river. But thanks to a mystical crucifix, which earlier helped Florinda to escape from her father, Florinda is bodily transformed into a man. Thus the visiting king loses the bet, and Florinda and the princess live happily ever after.

*The last story in the book's Donkeyskin section is the tragic ballad of Delgadina, which exists in many forms throughout all Spanish-speaking countries, though the version here is from Nicaragua. It's not strictly a Donkeyskin tale, or a fairy tale at all, but is about a princess with an incestuous father. In the version that this book features, Delgadina's mother is still alive and her father just wants to sleep with her, though apparently in some other versions her mother is dead and he wants to marry her. Either way, when she refuses he has her locked in a tower with no food or water. She pleads for something to drink, until finally her father relents and sends servants to bring her wine. But when they arrive they find her dead, and two doves and two butterflies fly from her body.

This is the end of the Donkeyskin tales, but there are still more subtypes of Cinderella tales to come. Stay tuned!

@ariel-seagull-wings, @adarkrainbow, @themousefromfantasyland

[angelplummie]

OKAY FIRST OF ALL HEY BABY IVE MISSED YOU SO MUCH

And yesssss I see the update where you’re writing for killing stalking!!! 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩 literally going to die I’m so happy

BUT OKAY, a chubby reader (yk your girl thicc 🤪) yandere/toxic relationship/SMUTTT with Sangwoo where he cheats on Y/n all the time but she’s cocky because he always comes back to them. Then one day Sangwoo gets upset by Y/n’s cockiness and he teaches her a lesson…..

I LOVE YOU BABE AND MUAHHH I MISSED YOU

LOSING YOU

OH SANGWOON X FEM!CHUBBY!READER

cw: degrading, dubcon, implied kidnapping, references to murder, infidelity, he’s just super mean and weird, jealousy, threats of murder

a/n: this one is so fucking late and i’m sorry but i did it! this is going to flop because i never post and it’s a weird one so reblog please i love you

“Y/N? You awake?”

Of course you are, you always wait for him.

“Yes. You’re back late.”

Your voice was quiet with fatigue, but he could hear you alright as he removed his clothes and dropped them beside the bed. You had your back to him, but you could hear the soft thud of his jeans coming down to the hardwood floor, you could hear his shirt land on the edge of the bed. The house was eerily quiet when he wasn’t there, you didn’t like when he was gone. He always came back though. Always.

“Yeah, I was talking to this girl, Jieun. She goes to the same university as me.”

He lifted the covers and slotted himself behind you, your ass tucked right into his crotch, and he slung his big arm across your chest. You could smell him, he reeked of alcohol and girl. You’re sure if you turned around you would see his neck littered in hickeys, the top of his shoulders covered in nail marks. It was the same every time he went out, but what did that matter?

Those girls may think they’ve done it, gotten sangwoo to ’open up’, show them the ‘real him’, but they’re wrong. They’re all wrong. Only you know sangwoo, the real him. He probably tells all those girls about some version of his tragic past, his abusive father, his suicidal mother, and they think they know all there is to know about him. Until the next day and there’s parts of them rotting in sangwoo’s trunk.

You know everything. And you love him anyway. You are the only one for him, and you know it. He always comes back. You know he belongs to you. With you. He needs you like air, every day he comes home and fucks you like an animal, holds you tight, kisses you, he’s even soft with you, real sappy and disgusting. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he likes you a lot, he just... has a short attention span. You’re all he thinks of when he gets home, and it’s not like he really thinks about the other girls. You know it means less than nothing to him with them, and that’s all that matters. And when they’re dead afterwards, there no competition of who he likes more. You were never a jealous type anyway.

“I had sex with her in the men’s bathroom. From behind, against the wall. Then up against the mirror.”

Well, that was new.

“Oh?” you said, ”Did you have fun?”

He never told you the details of his flings, he just didn’t try to hide them, so this was strange. Maybe it was a close call with the authorities and he’s anxious about it.

You feel an curt exhale on your back.

“Of course I had fun. She’s not dead if that’s what you’re thinking. We just fucked.”

Why was sangwoo being so strange?

“Ok,” you turned around to face him, still in his hold. You noticed it’s getting tighter. Just as you thought, you could see blotchy pink hickeys on his neck in the dimming light. His face was neutral, unreadable looking down at you. You can’t lie, he was intimidating like this. To survive sangwoo, to live with him, you have to read him, and read him you cannot.

“Are you alright sangwoo?”

“Obviously,” he snapped, before sighing,

”Don’t you even want to have sex?”

You nearly laughed, but it’s in your best interest not to.

“You mean right now? Aren’t you tired?”

“No I’m not tired!” his voice booms, and you flinch against the covers.

He rolled you over to your back and now he loomed above you, something burning in his eyes. His hands were either side of your face, and his knees caged in your body, tapering in at the thighs, pushing the fat around to a near painful squeeze.

“Whats wrong with you? Aren’t you angry? I fucked someone else, stupid bitch.”

Mouth slightly agape, you tried to process. You didn’t even react to the name calling anymore, although the throb of hurt would never go away.

“You want me to be angry with you?”

“No, of course I don’t. I just want to know why you’re so ok that I cheated on you.”

You had absolutely no idea what was going on, and you were afraid to ask.

Isn’t this every mans dream? A girl that doesn’t care when he sleeps around? What’s his problem?

“Sangwoo...” you breathed, struggling to find the words. You were so confused.

“You always come back,” you wait a second, and when he doesn’t seem to be appeased, you continue, “I don’t care because you always come back to me. I know you like me best, that’s all I care about.”

His frown falters, momentarily, before a meaner, colder look takes his face. In the darkness he’s still beautiful and terrifying.

He hated that you make him burn. Sangwoo doesn’t burn for anyone, he burns people. And yet, everything about you is so... he can’t put it into words how he needs you. The thought of you with another man makes him close to violence, very close. So why can’t you do the same? Why don’t you care? He knows you love him, he isn’t an idiot. But... you aren’t showing it how he wants. Maybe you’ve gotten a little too comfortable. Maybe he needs to rectify that.

“You think I need you that much?” his voice had dropped an octave, gotten quieter. You knew to be careful now.

“No, but-“

“You do, don’t you? You think I’m your lovesick puppy? You think you’re in control?”

“Sangwoo, you’re not-“

“Don’t try and deny it.” his face was blank, totally blank, eyes boring into yours. He stares at you a while longer, and when he got no reply, he continued.

“Well, you’re wrong Y/N. I don’t need you. You need me.”

“I know Sangwoo, I do need you,” your voice shook, heat of the bed doing nothing to quell the cold creeping up your spine.

“Do you think you’re the only one that makes me cum?”

“No, but-“

“But I’m the only one that makes you cum?”

“Well, yes-“

“So what are you so smug about? Get up.”

He leant back, away from you to let you obey him, and got up slowly, towering above you. He stood expectantly, and you stared up at him from the mattress, not quite sure what to think.

“I said, get up,” his tone was sharp, it was hard to disobey.

You pushed yourself up as fast as you could manage, rocking gently to your feet. Your arms hung awkwardly at your sides, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. His glare was unforgiving, but you couldn’t deny the throb in your clit at the anticipation.

“Turn around.”

And you did, a thrill running through your body. You were still stood stock still when he pried your arms from your sides and he pushed you against the wall, body pressing up against you. It hurt a little, but he was quick to make you forget.

Hands gripping your waist, he ground himself against your plump ass. Your hands were in front of you, bracing yourself against the wall. You made chopped breaths and little whimpers as he groaned into your skin, getting more and more annoyed at you; you drive him insane, why are you so calm? Why can’t you be like he is? You should be stupider, need him more. What the fuck is wrong with you?

He stopped grinding his erection on you all of a sudden, grip not relaxing for a second. Your eyes darted around the icy dark, heart thundering in your chest, face still against the wall.

“Sangwoo...” you whimpered, and he could feel the heart beat of your fat little pussy, “please, keep going.”

He huffed from his nose and his breathe ran down you neck once again.

“Then beg.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you stopped to process what he had said.

“Are you deaf? I told you to beg. Beg for me if you really want me that bad. Prove it.”

“Oh!”, you started as it clicked in your head, and the throbbing of your pussy became insatiable,”Please Sangwoo! Please, give it to me, please! I need you, please!”

He smiled at the whininess in your voice, the desperation. The need.

“I still don’t know if you deserve it,” he had taken on a playful tone now, temper seemingly subdued by your little display.

“Sangwoo!” you whined in protest, desperately pushing back into him. He groaned breathily at the feeling of your ass pressed right into him, the fat cushioning his cock teasingly.

His dick throbbed and he gave in,

“Fine, I’ll give it to you. You really are pathetic you know that?”

And he yanked down your tiny little pyjama shorts, to find your bare pussy underneath.

“Anything I tell you to do you do it.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you yelped when he delivers a sharp slap between your legs, spread awkwardly open for him against the wall.

“But you still act like your better than me.”

He pressed against the small of your back with one hand, keeping you squashed tightly against the wall, chubby cheeks squishing at the pressure. With the other hand, he hastily undid the zip of his jeans, pulling them down around his thighs. Erection bobbing against your bare ass, he pulled his boxers down to his jeans and you stifled a whimper at the anticipation.

He always got weird like this when he was angry, and mostly you just had to stick it through. He would calm down after he had had his way with you.

Slowly, he lined up, relishing in the little whimpers coming from you. And he pushed in, groaning at how fucking wet you were. It was nearly impossible to go slow, you were so soft and he was angry at you, and yet he did, for fear he would cum too quick if he didn’t.

“You’re not better than me, alright?”

You huff, the stretch of his thick cock making you tense.

“Alright?”

“Yes,” you whined through pouty, drooly lips,”I’m not better than you. I’m sorry Sangwoo, I’m really sorry.”

“tsk,” he gives you one grind of his hips, nestling his enormous cock into you,”You’re just saying that ‘cause you want me to fuck you.”

“No! That’s not it.”

Tears were blurring your vision and you fought with your entire being not to moan, feeling his fat dick rub warm against your insides. He was moving ever so slightly to torment you, make you feel guilty for wanting to moan like a bitch when your poor boyfriend was so upset at you. You knew you had to keep talking, because he still wasn’t moving, and the feeling was enough to drive you mad.

“I love you, Sangwoo, I promise, it’s not-“

But suddenly, he started drawing in and out of you, not slow but not fast either. You let out a gasp of relief, and he smirks behind you.

“Alright, that’s enough outta you. Just take my dick like a good slut. Ohh fuck-“

You squeezed hard and his hips stuttered, pace increasing involuntarily.

He fucked hard into your gummy cunt, and you dripped down onto his balls. Eyes rolling back, he let out a string of grunts right next to your ear, making you shudder.

“See how I got you?” he said breathlessly, gripping the fat of your waist so hard it will probably bruise. The feeling of his breath against your neck made your stomach flip.

“This is just how I was fucking her,” and he drove into you again, grunting.

“I’m fucking you just like I was fucking her.”

You can only whine in response, something he takes as dismay. It pleased him.

“She was tighter,” his balls slap on your clit,”Not such a whore.”

Drool is inched past you lips, but you’ve gone limp in his grasp, only able to brace yourself against the wall. You heard him, but you’re unable to think about what he’s saying. You mumbled,”yeah, yeah, yeah”, he likes to be listened to.

“Maybe I should just get rid of you and keep her instead, maybe she’d be more fucking grateful”

Your breath hitched and there’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. You froze, and he laughed.

“That got your attention, didn’t it?”

You whined as his cock ploughed against your insides, cheek mushing against the wall. But that sinking feeling got deeper.

“Shit,” he hissed, his pace slowing,”I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum inside you.”

You hummed, still panting.

That feeling of dread didn’t fade. It didn’t fade when he came inside you, gruff grunting and a punishing grip on your waist. It didn’t fade as he pulled out, let go of you and let you fall to the ground. It didn’t fade as you felt his presence behind you, staring down at the top of your head.

And it didn’t fade as he walked away, back into bed, called you to him like he loved you. Told you that he loved you, kisses your temple.

And as you crawled into his arms, shaken, sweating, Sangwoo smiles. You need him to keep you alive.

You need him.

His hand rested over your chest, he could feel your heart rate. He could feel your fear. And it made him happy.

You were as afraid of losing him as he was of losing you.

[kit-williams]

Plague Soup for the Soul

Plague Witch!Rader x Typhus the traveler, Herald of Nurgle

Tag list: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@plegg

Song on repeat: Hold, Release; Rakshasa & Carcasses

Word Count: 3242 3602 words too many

tw: Casual body horror? Gonna be real people idk how to tag this. Lots of insect stuff, update: SMUT

Food was important for Nurglites. It was embedded deep into their worship, their mythos, always a key part in their legends, and of course highly important to Grandfather Nurgle. For Plague Witches they acted as conduits for two important aspects of their god... as their bubbling cauldrons contained eternal soups and through these soups is how they would preform their magic & spread the love of Grandfather. They say the most skilled Plague Witch would even get a drop of the eternal brew into their cauldron if their soup and their skills of incorporating plagues into the broth was as skilled as how Grandfather did. A good base was the key like with any good soup! Just as much as Love, good ingredients & along with their own ways of enchanting their soups kept them going century after century. But, to get them that far wasn't easy as some would too quick to ravage the body fizzling out rapidly after infecting many... and others would get cold before the potency was there.

Typhus was the Herald of Nurgle... so deeply tied to his god... so he could tell that something had agitated the Lord of Plagues as the Nurglings were not giggling they were frustrated and impatient... no mischievous glint in their eyes, "Dearest little ones," He spoke to the hoard of Nurglings that kept him company the closest one looked up at Typhus with a dopey grin, "What displeases Grandfather? Have I not done enough to sway the Great Game in his favor? Have I not brought his love to enough planets recently?"

Grandpa is pleased with you!" One shouted over the rest before the hoard babbled out, "However, there is a plague witch in your fleet with the most delicious soup! But! They offer such a meager portion that it has taken Grandpa this long to figure out where they are." They babbled excitedly.

Typhus drummed his fingers against his stomach... it couldn't be any of the Plague Witches in his direct service as they all had large bubbling cauldrons and he knew for a fact they gave him & Grandfather their portions; even if it was a new brew they were trying. It had to be a fledgling... a newly blossomed witch with a starter base... Typhus drummed his chin humming. Such a potent base for a young soup... would mean they would be a powerful witch long term and if Typhus mentored him or her... "What is the soup like?"

"OH!" One shrieked as his hoard of nurglings had heard Nurgle praise the concoction, "Grandda says it hits right in the soul! Truly made with love! A perfect base that will lovingly cradle any plague! Grandda must find this witch! They hide from his blessings! I wonder if they are shy?" They all talked over each other leaving Typhus to wonder how to lure the witch out...

The wizened crone rubbed her chin as she was far more pus and pestilence than human at this point as she spat to the side onto a nurgling, "It has to be a fledgling doing this my lord... only one like that would offer so little, not out of being selfish but simply because of how little they have. Cauldrons like these take up so much room." Behind her was her brood of nurglings giggling & babbling as they worked around her cauldron for her as she talked to Typhus. Mortal helpers got ingredients ready passing them off to the bloated demons who giggled as they tossed them into the pot, "There are a couple of fledglings on this ship that I could think might be the ones you're after but their soups aren't even twenty years old... but if it is a fledgling they'll be feeding the masses and perfecting their craft. Though... I question if they are even trying." The crone says dismissively as a nurgling brings a ladle over for her to try and she sips her soup.

"What makes you say that?" Typhus inquires as he is not a Plague Witch and does not peer into the coven politics as why would he they simply have to make sure they give him their best.

"This mythical soup grandfather is looking for doesn't sound like it has any plagues in it. No one on your ship would dare try to make a soup like this without plagues. They might be simply dabbling in the techniques which has made something that infects the soul, a grand base if it exists, which would be wonderful for converting others to the cause. But, there are a few upstarts on other ships in the fleet... that I've heard grumbles and groans from of such young things competing with others whose cauldrons have been bubbling for centuries and millennia. But this is all I can theorize to help my lord." In the list that she gives to Typhus... your name is amongst them.

Your bells jingled as you carried your tiny portable cauldron now full of donated ingredients, used bones, scraps of meat, a few fungi, and other scavenged or bought items. Three tails behind you with bells tied to them via ribbons jangled behind you as you moved through the packed halls. You were excited as you got a small bit of pork as you had arrived when it had been freshly butchered. A small amount for you and the rest for your soup! So then everyone who ate what you cooked would be able to share even if they weren't as lucky as you.

You were almost home and you could maybe take a small nap before- you stop as you look down at the small hoard of nurglings just waiting in a pile outside of your door. You looked up at the many mouthed cultist with them giving you a haphazard grin at you, "I'm sorry miss they had heard about your soup..." You watch as one of them starts to lick your door, "They've been patiently waiting."

"I... I've got enough for them to share a bowl." You sigh softly but you can't help but smile at their antics... you suppose you didn't mind a late dinner. As you unlocked the door they were wonderfully well behaved as none of them rushed inside when you opened it and walked in just letting them watch you. Your own "cauldron" full of soup wasn't much larger than the portable one in your hands as you place it on your small counter. You pulled out your nicer wide rimmed bowl as it was for nurglings... "How paitently did you say they were waiting?" You ask as you grab your ladle.

"Very." The man said with a charming smile as your three tails whiped about behind you causing the bells on them to jingle as you walked over to the pot and gave them a large serving.

"Well I hope you all enjoy." You say putting the bowl down and then handed him a small cup full.

"Oh! Thank you." He says as you walk back into the room just barely hearing his mutter, "Divine Excrement... that's fucking amazing."

Moments like this you lived for... the way others eyes would light up as they would enjoy your cooking. It was always hard to refuse their request for seconds... just as you stood there as they all looked up at you holding the bowl politely asking for another bowl... "Ah ah ah fellas remember what she said. She could only spare us this amount and I'm certain she'll have more tomorrow?" He looked over at you and you nodded.

"Tomorrow I'll have a full cauldron and if you come early enough you can ask for seconds." That got the happy little creatures to cheer as you waved them off as you closed your door.

The cultist looked down at the nurgling with a large eye on its stomach as its iris was beloved grandfather's symbol... it was excited, bouncing all around as it was certain that this was it! The cultist pulled out a small device and radioed his lord, "Lord Typhus we found the witch."

You were tired as all you had left to do was enchant the soup and then you could finally enjoy your dinner. You rubbed your eye with the palm of your hand as the bells on your clothes and tails felt so heavy by this point but just a little bit longer. You thought to how you were close enough to be able to afford a proper cauldron and then you wouldn't have to limit yourself too much on how many people you could feed. Sure it would take up more of your already limited space but you knew it would be worth it! You were getting ready to enchant when you heard the door unlock... you looked worried as no one should be able to unlock your door even if they had good intentions. Your hand grabs the wood of the cleaver handle as not much of a fighter but you were going to try... why was there suddenly a buzzing noise and why was it so loud? The door opens and it gets even louder as you back yourself up into a corner as a Space Marine wedges themself into your door... and not just any Space Marine but the Herald of Nurgle himself... Typhus the Traveler... when his yellow eye lenses look right at you, you drop the clever out of fear and press against the wall.

He chuckle softly, "Well the blossoming Plague Witch that has been eluding Grandfather..." He looks around the room and right at your cauldron, "I can see why your offerings have been meager. Let me have a taste."

You swallow the lump of dread in your throat as you dare speak up, "It's not done yet.. my lord." You quickly tack on.

"Oh?" He said as he regarded you like a scared cat as you were pressed against the far wall, eyes wide with fear not daring to leave the threat in your sight, "When will it be?"

You swallow again, "Four minutes... I have to enchant it first." You hoped he would leave.

But you were not that lucky as he gestured to the cauldron, "Well do not let me keep you little witch. I might be patient but I do not possess Grandfather's long patience."

You inhale as you have to be a brave girl. You peel yourself away from the wall and stand in front of your bubbling cauldron, your back to Typhus. Your mind began to play its song as your head bobbed before your body started to sway as your bells began to jingle. The mouth on your lower back opened up as you sang with two mouths. Your movements were bouncy and at time violent as you focused on the words leaving your mouth and the way the bells rang with such pleasing chimes. You had forgotten Typhus was there watching you. You made your bounding way around your cauldron singing loudly as you were having fun, like you always did, putting your hands together as you crouched before jumping back up with a grin on your face.

Typhus watched as your hair bounced free from its ribbon holding it back. Your eyes glowing a bright green as you were lost in the ritual process as small jars of spices, herbs, and powders floated their way over to you. You took handfuls, pinches, and scoops as you added them in time with parts of the ritual where you weren't singing. The smile on your face wide as you sang louder and louder in a language unfamiliar to Typhus but that hardly mattered. Witches all had their own ways of enchanting and if a nonsense song was your way... he wouldn't question it.

You stop for a moment before violently spinning in place, your bells clamoring, as you sang in a high pitched voice... and Typhus could hear something respond in a voice that wasn't your own. You did this call and response three times. The climax of your enchantment approaches and you sing so loudly before your mouths howl in an otherworldly way. Your cauldron bubbling violently as you grab a handful of a spice blend from a pouch as you pause and chant out the last words before throwing it in. A cloud appears as it bubbles violently changing color from a dark brown to a yellow.

You deflate as you finish dancing. It was always so physically demanding to enchant your soup but it was worth it done this way... to see the happy faces of those eating your food! You turn around and yelp as you see Typhus in your doorway as you remember he was there watching you the whole time. You quickly grab your small portable cauldron and fill it, trying your best to not let any spill as you offer it to the Herald. He takes it and opens up the mouth plate and you avert your gaze as for Typhus he finally gets to taste this soup that Grandfather Nurgle has been pining after.

Typhus takes large gulps from the tiny thing you handed him... Oh! He can feel it worm its way right to his soul like some burrowing parasite! Yet it was like getting a warm embrace from a parent... or even a lover... that filled his limbs with a tingling warming happiness. Yet he could feel it also be akin to a gentle kiss from death... the sweetness of the lips leaving a mark on the skin and yet death fails to collect. He could feel his powers swell... his connection to Nurgle strengthen even! It washed over his SOUL and it was absolutely INVIGORATING and perhaps even a little ADDICTING like getting praise from Grandfather Nurgle.

"Fill it again." Typhus demands of you and of course you obey.

"Someone tend to her cauldron." You hear him bellow out as he pulls himself free of your door and you look confused. As another woman walks in and starts to tend to your soup. You put a lid on your small portable cauldron.

"Wait... what is going on." You say as you are led outside and other cultists lead you after the Herald of Nurgle. "Where am I being taken too." You ask fearfully.

Typhus decides to answer you, "To the Plague Cathedral upon the flagship, my ship. Grandfather demands a serving. And what better place to offer it to him."

You swallow as you follow him as those around you make sure you will be taken to the Cathedral.

You had only been here once before as the Cathedral on the flagship was more like a massive hive as unlike the giant fungi that grew around the church you went to... this was massive with so many insects around. You were led closer to the large ornate altar as it oozed honey as you could feel your shoes stick to the floor as well it went from floor to comb. Large insects of Nurgle skitter on the walls and ceiling as they watched and buzzed the closer you got.

"Come now little blossom." Typhus coos as you notice that the cultists with you stop at the last row of pews closest to the altar and yet Typhus gestures you to follow. The lump in your throat grows heavy as you say close to the herald as your new companions are a hoard of nurglings and the swarms that enter and leave from the large structures on his back.

"Open it up and leave it on the altar then come back right here." Typhus orders and you obey, putting it on the altar before you take the lid off and rush back to Typhus' side. You jump as the braziers suddenly blaze to life with sickly green flames.

You might not have been as connected to the warp as Typhus was but he could see a visage of his deity looking down, it was still a small offering but... it didn't matter as Nurgle finally had a taste of this soup that was eluding him just like the plague that made Ku'gath.

"Typhus! Have you tried this?" The voice said to him as you just flinched not understanding the loud voice filling the air around the alter and you wanted to hide behind the marine but you stayed.

"I have." He replies just looking up at the loud buzzing swarm that seems to gather. You try your best to not cower.

"Blessings! Blessings! How old is this soup?" The Grandfather inquired.

Typhus turned to you, "How long have you been tending to this?"

"Five years my lord."

"All of this in such a short amount of time! Blessings Typhus! Blessings! The garden will surely flourish with her delicious food!"

"Of Course Grandfather." He slammed his scythe into the comb keeping it standing as the destroyer hive buzzed loudly and you flinched.

"Blessings upon thee child! For the Grandfather has told me to bless thee! I come from the garden of plenty overflowing with milk and honey." He says just as if a sermon was being held. "And just as you will be embraced by the garden you two shall be a fountain of plenty... rejoice young witch!" The buzzing got louder and louder as the destroyer bugs all swarmed inside of him. The hand suddenly on your throat has you kicking your feet as they leave the ground as you are place on the altar and he once more removes his mouthplate. "Open up." His thumb rests on your chin and you obey... afraid of what will happen if you don't but equally scared of what will happen if you do.

As you open your mouth he opens his as you watch several destroyer bugs crawl out from his mouth as you can hear the faint noises from him as he... starts to regurgitate something. His shoulders move as his throat bobs and you are left helpless as to what is about to be placed into your mouth. You feel destroyer bugs landing on your face and on your body... antennae drumming against your skin. His mouth pushes to yours as something slowly crawls into your mouth... it's honey.

Your eyes open wide as destroyer hive honey was something that only champions of the Grandfather could have... but only in small amounts as too much would leave one into a mindless warp spawn. You eat the sweet sticky liquid as it just keeps oozing and oozing into your mouth before you... you start to convulse as Typhus pulls away running his tongue around your mouth just licking up the excess and wiping what oozed out onto his chin. Typhus enjoys the sickly sweet smell that permeates from you... or perhaps that is more of the hive's enjoyment as the smell he likes comes from between your legs but he could indulge in that later.

The sickening crack echoes as the side of your skull breaks apart as your hair solidifies into petals and a large, yet lightweight, flower has bloomed. A gift directly from the garden... Typhus lets his hands wander over your form letting his fingers press hard against your breasts and between your legs as you whimper feeling dazed and confused. Typhus decided that later was now as he bit the rough material between your legs and ground his teeth as it was shredded.

His tongue swipes up against your bared cunt as you whimper still confused as to what was going on... why your head was pounding... why there was so much buzzing in your ears... you're cunt quivers as you don't realize how the insects crawl over transformed flesh and lap up your nectar and brush against your pollen. Typhus in the meantime buzzes loudly himself as your honey is far more like nectar as well. His tongue pushing in hard and deep deep into your stigma like an insect pushing their labium deep down the style. His tongue pushed hard against the clitoris trying to get you to orgasm again... give him more nectar... Little Blossom give him more nectar!

You whine out as your nectar is swallowed up by Typhus for his hive to use... and he's not going to leave your flower wanting. He places his codpiece on the altar as Typhus grunts softly pushing the far too large cock inside of you. Your body relents as he buzzes out in enjoyment as he starts to cross pollinate you. Though if he were to go off of his allusion of earlier... this was the milk he had alluded to earlier. But his eyes were focused on the lovely flower on the side of your head... blood pooling in one of the combs on the altar as the pink petals had swirls of your hair in them... the rest was brain matter colored... bones... muscles... a beautiful human flower.

You look up at him still so very dazed but whimpering underneath the space marine as you wonder where you are... not realizing you're being fucked on the altar within the grand Cathedral. "Such a pretty little Blossom." Typhus grunts as he stills and rushes himself to completion as he will have more time to savor you later.

Typhus looks at you as he puts his codpiece on as cum oozes out of you as your flower is slowly closing up as you seem to be passing out. He picks you up and freed his scythe as it was now time to let you rest... for there was much for you to learn.

[lika2]

Ah yes. In order:

The 26 yr old who decided it was totally ok to murder a sheltered 16 yr old for accidentally disabling two people and not understanding the repercussions of that (because nobody would tell her)

The man who shot a lion and covered up a horrible accident, refused to let his daughter face the consequences for her dumb mistakes, and put the paraplegic on the 3rd floor, so he couldn't leave his room w/out outside help. Moe's room is on the 1st floor.

The 22 yr old who tried to go on a date with a 16 yr old

And the 16 yr old whose negligence and blaze attitude towards danger and death led to the permanent maiming of two of her co-workers.

"Not a single one of them was a bad person on the inside, huh?"

Are you sure abt that Maya?

[oyasuminto]

Law definitely manhandles you. He isn't always aware or his strength, nor how much normal humans can handle. He doesn't care. You're his, he can do whatever he wants to you and you just have to take it. He grabs you hard enough to leave bruises, pushes and pulls you around when you're in his way or he wants you somewhere specific, hits you to watch the way your eyes widen and your body jolts.

He especially likes winding you. There's beauty in the way you gasp and writhe and struggle to regain your breath. The way you panic, never knowing what he'll do next. You don't even do anything to earn his wrath. Staying quiet and still may allow you a moment of peace, if only because he almost forgets you're there. But it never lasts long.

[firedragon1321]

Normal users of this website can just write/talk about smut and I can't even pen one word without going full Ken Ichijouchi (Angst Edition) imagining myself being crucified and attacked by colorful characters. They mean too much to me...

(Don't put advice on here I just need to vent.)

[treysimp]

I can't get over Malleus in glasses. Imagine you are in drama class together. His character wears glasses in this scene. You notice he has them all smudged up so you ask him if he'd like you to clean them. Does he look when your shirt lifts up a bit as you use the hem to wipe the lens? Maybe. Do you lean in close enough to feel his breath on your cheek when you put them back on his face? Maybe. Should you ad lib some kissing in this scene? Maybe. 😏

Oh my godddddd this is so cute this is my shit are you kidding are you gonna write the fic or do I have to if I could have literal hearts in my eyes I would

Can you imagine Malleus on stage like he would kill of course! Whatever the twst Shakespeare equivalent of Hamlet and Malleus is eating that monologue and everyone’s (okay let’s be real it’s Ace) is like

“what’s he ‘to being’ about what does that mean?”

and malleus breaks character and is like

“he’s debating about killing himself”

and the drama club is like screaming because Malleus has no idea that you’re not supposed to break character and this is the dress rehearsal

But uh also his outfit is so complicated that you just HAVE to help him get dressed and undressed and when he comes to whisper in your ear about a scene the stage lights shine off of his eyes and you swear your heart stops in that moment.

Also Malleus has no idea how you’re supposed to do a stage kiss and just like planted one on people before someone told him that there were ways to make it look like you were kissing when you aren’t lmao

Also fr whos can draw and get me malleus in glasses with a sword and a doublet holding a script and a rapier and slightly sluttily unlaced (knee high boots are a must of course) this is a necessity who is talented and open for commissions lmao

[ddarkroomm]

Based off a joke on a jigsaw apprentice edit saying “do you guys think their periods ever synched”…

In Adam’s apprentice au, yes. His and Amanda’s periods do synch. That’s possibly how Amanda finds out he’s trans is her going “oh god I’m such an emotional mess and I’m so damn hungry. I hate my period” and Adam’s like “same my cramps are fucking killing me.” And then they both just look at each other for a moment as they realize

[s-talking]

“Damn it, Greg!” A young man snaps at his friend, his blue eyes searching every corner of the dark corridor. “I told you I didn’t wanna be here! This is creepy! Can we just go back to the dorms?”

“Hold on! We still don’t know if he’s here.” Greg answers with a chuckle. A hand claps The other’s shoulder as he continues. “You said you want to know of the Little Killer is here, yeah? In this spooky decrepit place with all the ghosts and ghouls?” He laughs with a shake of his head. “Relax, Mark! Those are just rumors, you know? How much you want to bet that he’s here? Come on, let’s look a little more. It’s not that bad!”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘. at the very end, a single shaft of light cuts through the pitch black void, illuminating what vaguely resembles an old-timey kitchen with grimy windows & wooden flooring, its planks stretching far past their feet. they are all terribly rotten & layered with dust, imprinting footsteps & groaning loudly as they draw closer.

oh... these poor... sweet... innocent things...

grandmother always told him to be careful with butterflies, because their minds are just as fragile as their wings, that they will fly away at the first sign of trouble. yes, he remembers that lesson well... still reminiscing the day where he had to butcher his entire adoptive family just because he wasn't discreet enough & let one of them scream. oh, such pity indeed. somewhere in that non-existent heart envy truly did believe that he loved them & only intended to kill the father for being too nosy, too curious for his own good ── having found out his true name. & now, they are dead. the mother, the father, & even the two children.

envy swore to never make that same mistake again, currently standing on top of the very same staircase he once dragged his adoptive mother, his tall figure completely swallowed by familiar darkness. the boys didn't even saw him standing there, gravitating straight for the kitchen like butterflies in search of light. how endearing, envy muses, his black-nailed thumb idly brushing down the handle of a knife. ❝ why don't you welcome them home, my dear? we must be respectful to our guests... ❞ she suddenly whispers into his ear, ❝ you wouldn't want to be a bad host now, would you? ❞

envy rolls his strong shoulders just then, cracking his neck. without missing a beat he begins to descend down the rotten steps with ghostly grace ── both soundless & languid ── the knife pressed firm against own thigh to prevent glints. again, the poor boys remain unsuspecting, chatting & laughing as the whole crooked house revibrates with the echoes of their voices, never to realize how the infamous little killer of mississippi is now stalking their ignorant steps, entering the same light.

it is then when envy's face becomes slowly illuminated, his dead black eyes contrasting sharp & heavy against his ghostly white complexion as the soulless hues quickly glance between the pair, studying them, dissecting them with horrific precision; they are simply far below his league. as such, envy draws closer, closer, closer.... only to suddenly grab one of the boys by the hair & brutally yank his head back, pressing the knife against his throat.

the boy screams & immediately tears up in pain, closing his shimmering eyes as he is forced to rest back against envy's muscular chest & shoulder, the hairlocks trapped in a vicious grip. still, no particular emotion crosses the little killer's face, his dead eyes locking 'pon the face of the other. oh, mercy... what a delightful expression...

a low sound like that of a purr escapes envy as he tilts his head, rubbing own cold cheek against the quivering boy he is holding ── greg, was it? he will be sure to remember. after all, they are never going to leave this crooked house ever again, forever tapped in the red butterfly room with all the other, unfortunate souls. he can still hear them cursing him from downstairs even now, wailing far louder than mark could ever do for his crying friend.

❝ shhh.... ❞ envy coos, dragging the boy back into the dark with the other one in tow, leading them both to a door that's just outside of the old-timey kitchen. he doesn't even bother to answer any of the desperate pleas or panicked orders mark keeps on spewing, most nonchalantly reaching with a free black-nailed hand for the nearby doorknob, twisting & pushing the door wide open with a loud creak. a black maw opening up before them all, far darker than the one currently surrounding them.

only then does he smile, leering into the eyes of the terrified boy ahead before, just like that, removing the knife from greg's throat & in the very same breath shove him down the steps of the pitch black basement, watching how mark suddenly screams & runs after him without any sense of rationally. it's quite endearing, really. the thuds of racing footsteps & crude slams of a body almost end up sending a chill down envy's spine, already imagining their faces when they find themselves knees-deep in dead bodies waiting for them at the bottom ── but sadly it never comes. what a shame. the little killer sighs a little sigh, for he cannot possibly feel any thrill right now, only imagine it. picture it with that handsome, delirious smile etched to his face, his hand already slamming the door shut just as both boys start to scream, surrounded by a sea of blood & mutilated victims.

❝ i will prepare a room for... mark. ❞ he murmurs, nonchalantly slotting a key into the lock & turning it with a click, ❝ i really like... that one... ❞

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Sometimes I’ll see stuff and remember how my friend was really into it, and how we talked about it, and I’ll have the weirdest mixed feelings because it makes me think of a dead friend but is also somehow numb? Like I have a few conflicting emotions come up at the same time so I end up not feeling much at all

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Love and Care.

Pairing: Yandere!Clark Kent x Reader (DC).

Word Count: 4.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @distortedhumor.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Prolonged Captivity + Kidnapping, Spanking, Psychological/Physical Abuse, Slight Infantilization, and Delusional Behavior.

You were going to freeze to death.

That was – if you didn’t die of dehydration, first. You really weren’t sure which was supposed to work faster; thirst or exposure, the acidic dryness crawling up the back of your throat or the slow, numbing chill spreading up from your toes, your fingertips. You didn’t have to worry about hunger – even if you could feel something sharp and hollow gnawing at the pit of your stomach. You remembered reading somewhere that it took longer than a month for someone to starve to death, even if it was hard to believe that when it felt like you were on the verge of collapsing into yourself.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t been prepared. Admittedly, it’d been an impulsive thing to do, the half-baked result of a door left unlocked and the daunting awareness that you had at least twelve hours before you so much as heard from Clark again, if not the full twenty-four. You didn’t have shoes more durable than house-slippers and the delicate, lovingly polished, Mary Jane heels he liked to see you in, but you’d put on your thickest dress, stuffed a bottle of water and a few slices of homemade bread into knapsack, and started walking into the lifeless, rolling plains that surrounded the rustic farmhouse he kept you in. You didn’t run – he always seemed to know if your heart rate spiked– but you had all day to walk until you found a road, or a phone booth, or anything else that could at least remind you that other people existed. You figured you’d come across something eventually, even if you couldn’t find the help you were looking for.

Except, you’d underestimated just how cold the countryside could get in autumn, and you hadn’t thought to ration your meager supplies until after they’d already run out, and as far as you could tell, he’d found the most vacant, lifeless, desolate corner of the world to trap you within. The hem of your skirt was caked with mud and dust, your knapsack had been left behind entirely after you realized there was no point in carrying and empty bag, and one of your heels had broken off about two miles back – leaving you reduced to a slow, hobbling limp. Your body was exhausted beyond exhaustion, but you couldn’t imagine a world where you stopped walking. The only thing worse than knowing you were going to freeze to death in the middle of nowhere would be knowing that you’d just laid down and accepted it, and if you’d been willing to do that, you wouldn’t have run away at—

Your foot caught on a dense patch of undergrowth, and too tired to catch yourself, you crumpled – your knees hitting the earth with enough force to make you whimper. The last of your perseverance crashed and shattered as soon as you hit the ground, and before you could so much as try to stand up, you fell apart completely. You felt the tears before you realized you were crying – just one, at first, then another, then more than you could ever hope to count. You threw your head forward, sniffling miserably as you collapsed onto your side. You were going to die out here, but…

But, that was probably for the best, wasn’t it? It was either die out here, or die in that lonely farmhouse when Clark finally lost his temper or the roof collapsed or the ‘villains’ he was also so worried about finally did their job and put you out of your fucking misery. With a full-fledged sob, you curled into yourself and clenched your eyes shut, and—

And of course, less than a full second later, you felt a pair of muscle-bound arms your crumpled form, sweeping you off the ground and dragging you into a broad chest. You were too weak to meaningfully resist, but still, you tried to writhe and nudge yourself out of his iron-clad hold to little success. He was already talking, too. Great. On the ranked list of things you might’ve wanted to hear immediately after accepting your own mortality, your kidnapper’s nervous babbling didn’t crack the top hundred.

As if that had ever stopped him before.

“—and I thought you’d gotten hurt, and your pulse sounded so far away, and— and I don’t know what I would’ve done if it’d taken me any longer to find you.” You tuned in mid-rambling, trying to swallow your agitation. He was bent over you, his face buried in your hair, giving his voice an unsteady, muffled quality. For the world’s strongest man, he was quick to fall apart whenever he thought you so much as might be in danger. You couldn’t really judge him for that, though. You fell apart whenever he wasn’t around, too, and you didn’t care about him at all. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? There’s a hospital about fifty miles away, I can—”

“I’m fine,” you cut in, your hands shoving at his forearm where it was barred over your waist. With an airy sigh, he repositioned you – letting you fall into a proper bridal-carry rather a fully-body tackle. You noticed, for the first time, that his feet weren’t touching the ground. He was levitating, a nervous habit that that back into too often to keep track of. He must’ve genuinely thought you were in danger. More importantly, he must’ve known there was no one around to see him doing something so obviously superhuman. “Just a little cold. I‘m sorry for worrying you.”

Another sigh, this one more genuine than the last. For the first time, he drew back, and you were able to see him properly. He must’ve come straight from Metropolis; he was still wearing the suit you’d seen him in that morning, his hair slightly disheveled and his glasses shoved haphazardly into his shirt pocket. You tried to breathe, not to be thankful for how quickly his inhuman warmth was ebbing away the harsher edges of your hypothermia, and for the most part, you succeeded. You felt his lips brush against your cheek, then the corner of your jaw – Clark as affectionate as he was paranoid. “Poor thing,” he muttered, haphazardly shrugging off the jacket of his suit and draping it over your shoulders. “We’ll have to get you warmed up once we get home.”

Despite yourself, you stiffened. It was over - you knew that. He caught you, and even if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been able to go on much longer. You knew that.

And yet, you held yourself that much tighter as you asked, “…do we have to go home right away?”

Clark’s smile softened; his expression slackening is a patronizingly sympathetic sort of way. He didn’t need to answer, not really, but you still cringed when he inevitably did. “Of course, dear.” And then, with another kiss to your forehead. “How else can I keep you safe?”

You might’ve been nicer than him, after all. Rather than respond, you bowed your head and tucked yourself against his chest, shutting your eyes and blocking him out entirely. Clark only hummed in acknowledgement, flying that much higher and taking you home.

~

It took an embarrassingly short time to reach the farmhouse – less than a full minute, if that. It wasn’t what you deserved, but it was what you needed: a reminder that you were trying to run away from someone who didn’t have to run at all to keep up with you. Trying to escape on your own was pointless. You’d either have to find another way to get away from him or give up entirely.

Despite your constant squirming, Clark only put you down once you were inside (meaning, once the front door was locked and deadbolted with you securely trapped behind it), and you stumbled to your feet, still on the verge of collapsing. He let you struggle through all of two steps before taking you by the hand and, with that award-winning smile, guiding you through the farmhouse. “A warm bath should do the trick. Some tea, too – or coffee, to keep your blood flowing.” His eyes flickered down to the mud-caked hem of your dress, your ruined shoes. “It’s a pity. I know that’s one of your favorites.” He paused, squeezed your hand. “We’ll have to pick out another together. Maybe tomorrow, before I leave for work.”

You bit the side of your tongue, nodding along absently and letting him ramble. When you passed the staircase leading to the second floor, to your bedroom, you started to move towards it, but Clark only continued further into the house.

“Uh, Clark?” You dragged your feet as he pulled you into the kitchen. “I— Um, tea sounds nice, but I’d really like to change, first, and—”

“In a few minutes.” Another infuriating smile, another squeeze to your hand. “Do you remember what happens when you break one of our rules?”

You felt something in your throat tighten. You’d managed to forget, but it came back quickly enough. “I do, but�� I was out there for a few hours, and I can’t really feel my—”

“We’ll take care of that in a few minutes, love.” He was already moving towards the kitchen table, your hand still trapped in his. “We should get this over with now.”

Trying to argue would’ve been useless. You did your best to grit your teeth, to brace yourself, but your vision still blurred as he finally released you, settling into one of the simple wooden chairs. You crossed your arms over your chest, but it did little to put a barrier between you and his prying gaze. “Do you want to undress yourself? Or, do you need my help?”

Shaking your head, you fumbled with the buttons lining the back of your dress. Usually, you could manage on your own, but your hands were still numb, and you were fighting back tears, and Clark only watched you struggle for a few seconds before motioning for you to come closer. Soon enough, cotton and lace pooled uselessly at your feet, leaving you all-but entirely exposed in front of him. You didn’t need to be told to take off your shoes, kicking them into the depressing pile of fabric that used to be your favorite dress, but when it came to your panties, you hesitated, glancing toward Clark with a pleading look. “All of it,” he confirmed, with a tone bordering on apologetic. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

As if that would make you feel any better.

You sucked in a deep breath, then eased your panties down to your ankles. You’d been wearing one of your nicer pairs – white and silken, with a lace trim around the edges and a ribbon bow that was just slightly too big to be entirely inconspicuous. They were one of Clark’s favorites, even if you doubted you’d ever hear him admit something crude out loud. You could only hope you’d never see them again.

You kept your eyes on the floor as he took you by the waist and with as much effort as it might’ve taken to move a doll from one shelf to another, lifted you up and laid you over his lap. His thighs bit into your stomach as a hand found its way to the small of your back, rubbing slow circles into the base of your spine. “We’re only going to do fifteen, alright?” It wasn’t really a question, so you didn’t bother pretending you were going to answer. Clark didn’t seem to need you to. “And you know I’m doing this because I love you, right?”

That, you couldn’t get out of so easily.

“I know,” you mumbled, because that was what would upset him the least. “That doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.”

He didn’t make a sound. You wondered if he’d heard you at all, at least until the flat of his palm came down on the plush of your ass and immediately, it was impossible to think about anything at all.

It was a small mercy that he didn’t make you count. It was something he’d tried early on, the first couple of times you‘d thrown a chair through a window or stolen his phone or hoarded weapons underneath the mattress of your shared bed, but you’d never really been able to hold yourself together long enough for anything like that. You broke down too quickly, too easily – fuck, you were breaking down right now and he’d only hit you once. You could already feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, a knot welling up in the back of your throat that only seemed to let little, pitiful whimpers and miserable sobs slip by. You tried to steel yourself, to bite back any signs of weakness, but that only meant you’d forgotten to brace yourself for the second strike – just as bad as the first, centered more towards the back of your thigh than your ass. He was trying to spread the pain, to make sure any marks he left wouldn’t be permanent. He was trying to be gentle.

It was scarier than it should’ve been – knowing that he really did care about you. You couldn’t call it ‘love’, not really, not if you still wanted to be able to live with yourself, but he had to care about you, at least enough to pay some amount of mind to your well-being, at least enough for you to be sure he didn’t hate you (although, some days, you could still be convinced otherwise). He didn’t love you, but he thought he did, and the fact that he could earnestly believe he loved you and still treat you like this made you very, very afraid of what could happen if he ever changed his mind.

By the third strike, you were crying unabashedly, and by the sixth, your hands were clamped around his thigh, your nails biting into his skin in less of an attempt to hurt him and more of a desperate scramble for any kind of stability he had to offer. It was all force, no friction – a bruising, throbbing type of pain quickly spreading outward from every part of your body unfortunate enough to be under his palm. You couldn’t seem to talk, but Clark didn’t have an issue, pausing after every blow to rub circles into your bruised skin and mutter to himself. You couldn’t imagine he still thought he was talking to you. “I just worry about how you’d manage things, out there, all on your own,” he explained, his tone cloyingly sweet. Like he was talking to a child, too naïve to know any better. Like he could still expect you to believe there was anything in the world more dangerous than him. “You know I’ll always keep you safe, but I can’t be everywhere at once. It’s easier for both of us if you just—” A pause, an airy chuckle. “—if you just stay out of trouble.”

You’d lived in the city for years and never gotten into trouble, not before meeting him. Saying that felt pointless, though, especially when he was already moving onto the seventh.

Fifteen was a terrible number. If there’d been twenty or more, you might’ve been able to go numb by the time he finished, and ten or less would’ve given you a chance to preserve at least some of your dignity. At fifteen, though, the pain was still intense enough to be blistering, and you couldn’t seem to choke down your own keening sobs as Clark brought down his hand for the final blow – using just a little more force than he really had to, making sure the lesson would stick for the next couple of days, if not the next couple of weeks. He was strict, like that, despite how tender-hearted he pretended to be. If he wasn’t, you would’ve acted out more often.

You had to believe you’d act out more often.

You were still limp and crying when his arm wrapped around your waist and with a raspy, adoring sound, he sat you up – letting you straddle one of his thighs. Whatever relief you might’ve felt at the end of your punishment was immediately overshadowed by the pale, reddish tint spread visibly across his face, the feeling of something too large and too stiff pressing into your leg where it fell between his. Clark didn’t acknowledge it, though, and you were happy to follow his lead, melting into his hands as he cupped your face, basking in his happily provided comfort. There was a shallow exhale as he tilted your head back, pressing another lingering kiss into your forehead, before dipping lower – falling immediately to your neck. You let his lips make contact with your throat before sniffling and shifting in his lap. “Hurts, Clark,” you murmured, doing your best to make your voice that of something small and in need. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but… can we go upstairs, first?”

That was enough to snap him out of it. “Right. Of course.” There was one last peck to your collarbone before he pulled you into his arms, any thought of letting you walk on your own prematurely dismissed. You tried to go blank as he trailed through the farmhouse, not to focus on anything but the pain and your exhaustion, but your gaze seemed to catch on everything you didn’t want to see – the bowl of dough still rising on the kitchen counter, the torn dress-shirt you’d planned on mending today, a dozen tiny things that all drove their own little needles into the pit of your stomach. In Clark’s defense, the housewife shtick hadn’t been his idea, but you couldn’t say he was entirely blameless, either. When you were left trapped and alone, given nothing to do and no way to occupy your time, there was only so long you could last before resorting to household chores. It was just a happy coincidence that the byproducts of your captivity were practically identical to the kind of sugar-sweet, domestic behavior that’d always seemed to melt his heart, back when your relationship wasn’t so insidious.

At least the bathroom was warm. Still too unsteady to be trusted to walk on your own, you sat on the vanity while Clark ran a bath, staring at your hands absentmindedly as the steam started to ebb at the chill. When the tub was nearly full, he helped you into it, more than happy to make it seem like you couldn’t so much as move without his help – which, in his defense, you really couldn’t. As you sunk into the scorching water, you made a mental note not to let him touch you at all tomorrow. You doubted it would be enough to fix the damage tonight had done, but it’d be better than letting him coddle you half-to-death.

Surprisingly, Clark didn’t hover over you for very long. “I think I promised you something to drink,” he explained as he moved to the doorway, his smile suddenly sheepish. Like he had any right to be shy about what he’d done to you. “I’ll be back in a second – unless you think you’ll need a hand?”

You hesitated, but shook your head. “’m fine. I just need some time to think.”

“Not too long.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes prying into you for a second, then another before he turned away. “I think we should be careful about what gets into your pretty little head, for the next few days.”

And just like that, you were left alone. For the first time since he’d brought you home, you let yourself relax. The hot water momentarily dulled the pain, but without the agony to distract you, humiliation quickly took its place. You shouldn’t have let Clark take you back so easily – that only gave him more leeway to treat you like some naïve, fragile object he’d been tasked with looking after. You shouldn’t have taken your punishment so quietly, even if you doubted clawing at his legs and thrashing would’ve actually accomplished anything beyond salvaging your pride. You shouldn’t have run away at all, not if it meant triggering Clark’s paranoia, not if it reminded Clark that you’d still take any chance you saw to get away from him. You’d have to be smarter about it, if you ever to escape tried again.

(You did your best to ignore that, a few months about, the same sentiment would’ve been followed by ‘when you inevitably tried again’. You weren’t superhuman. You didn’t always have the strength to be so delusionaly optimistic.)

When Clark did return, he was blissfully quiet and careful to keep his distance, sitting on the edge of the tub while you haphazardly washed the dust out of your hair and scrubbed the mud from your skin. Even after the water had gone cold and you’d managed to struggle to your feet, his touch remained fleeting, ginger as he bundled you in a towel and lifted you into his arms – his sudden distance no excuse to treat you like a living, breathing, capable person, apparently.

You didn’t have the energy to be frustrated. Exhausted and beaten down, you closed your eyes and rested your head against his chest, only stirring slightly when you felt Clark lower you onto a quilt-padded bed. You started to sit up, but the feeling of a hand laying over your hip was enough to stop you. When you opened your eyes, you found Clark, still standing, still staring down at you with that dazed, lovesick smile. “It’s really amazing, how someone like me could ever end up with someone like you.” He dipped lower, his lips finding the side of your throat. There was no pretense of innocent affection, this time, just his mouth on the side of your neck, his teeth ghosting over your skin. His voice was stifled by proximity, but mournfully audible. “I love you. I’m always going to love you. You know that, right?”

“I... I do.” You sounded hoarse, weak – more so than you would’ve liked. Clark nipped playfully at your collarbone, nearly breaking the skin. “I know you’ve been waiting, but—”

“Guess I’m just that impatient, when it comes to you.” There was an airy chuckle, a glint to his smile, but neither were very comforting. Again, you made an attempt to flee, and again, he found a way to keep you where you were – his hands curling around your thighs as he eased your legs apart. There was a hollow thud of body against floorboardas he fell to his knees, as he pressed yet another open-mouthed kiss into the inside of your thigh. “I just can’t help it. You make it hard for me to think straight.”

Not that he was trying to. You opened your mouth, trying to think of something that could distract him, that could convince him you just couldn’t do this, but he’d latch onto your cunt before you could spit anything out – the flat of his tongue running over your entrance while his nose ground into your clit. With your ass still blistered from your punishment and your nerves still on-edge from the cold, that was all it took for you to bolt upward – your hands automatically finding their way to his hair in a desperate attempt to pry him off of you. Of course, he didn’t budge, and of course, when he did glance up, he did it with that lovestruck expression that you’d never been able to stand. That you never wanted to see again.

That you just couldn’t seem to wipe off of his fucking face.

“Clark,” you whined, his name fractured and mangled on your tongue. “Please, I— It hurts, and I’m so tired, and I just—” You cut yourself off, swallowing harshly and trying to catch your breath. “Please, don’t.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Your heart skipped a beat, hope swelling in your chest. He melted into your palm, grinning like an idiot. “You can relax. I promise, I’ll be gentle.”

And just like that, you felt something deep in your chest crack open and shatter.

The next time he bowed his head, burying himself between your thighs, you didn’t bother trying to stop him.

You didn’t do anything at all.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon, poverty & debt, gun violence, organized crime, death threats, arranged marriage

fem reader

Thinking about owing the mob…

Not you specifically, but your family – debt you weren’t aware of before you’re being cashed in to settle it.

You imagined several terrible things before the arrangement was explained to you. 

One of the sons needs a wife with a clean reputation. 

It’s a simple equation. You’re eligible, and he isn’t picky.

And though it leaves you in mourning for a life yet lived, it still comes with a sense of relief. It’s one of the better deals you could’ve gotten. At least you wouldn’t need to witness or partake in any crimes, nor act as a scapegoat for the likes either.

Besides… though you’ve yet to meet your fiancé, you’ve been explained that he only plans on treating you like a wife on and for the camera – that his tastes otherwise lie in the gentlemen’s lounge. 

All you ever have to do is smile. He isn’t interested in anything else.

That’s what you were told, and yet…

“It’s funny.” Your husband says after the wedding ceremony. 

You’re back at the mansion you’re meant to call home. The grounds are about twice the size of the block you come from. Marble, gold, and diamonds – it’s so outrageously excessive it’s shameless. 

“I was told your brothers run routes for us to make ends meet.” He continues, looking at you and the expression on your face as you stare up at the chandelier – it’s clear you’ve never seen anything like it. “Fuck, I mean, I can’t imagine risking my life and still end up needing to pick between food or rent at the end of the day.”

Your gaze falls down to him at that. 

Clad in lush wedding expense – white gown and silver tiara – you still stick out like a sore thumb. Something in the way it wears you and not the other way around. It’s obvious you’re uncomfortable with it all. It’s probably worth more than your family's ever owned.

He steps closer with a chuckle.

“Then, the poor suckers go and fuck up so bad they end up needing to sell their own sister.”

He spots your fists ball at your sides. But you keep your cool. Only a slight grimace curling your lips along a tiny furrow between your brows. It all smoothens into something else when he reaches out to grab your chin.

“What’s even more funny…” He tilts your face in his hand – jaded eyes assessing you like he’s found a coin on the ground. “You don’t look like street trash like I expected.”

Your frown returns, and you try pulling back – but he grabs your arm before you can.

Tsking, “Ah-ah – Remember,” His smile sharpens. “You’re property now. When I touch you, you let it happen.”

You weren’t that easily convinced. He bet you’ve had to fight off a lot of unwanted attention back where you come from. But he isn’t some back-alley thug. When he wants something, he expects it not only to be served on a silver platter but to be hand-fed to him with a silver spoon.

He pulls the gun out from behind him. Slotted in the band of his dress trousers, it had stayed hidden beneath the coverage of his suit jacket during the ceremony.

Your throat dries up, and any protests you had died of thirst along with it – eyes wide as you stare at the piece.

You can’t believe he’d carry that thing into a church with vows upon his lips – now pointing it at the very same wife he’d made those vows to. 

“Make me spend a single bullet, and your family will share the rest.” He taps the barrel’s mouth against the quiver of your lips. “I’d rather not it come to that. It’ll ruin the carpet…”  

You quiver, feeling weak with a shudder – your eyes slip closed with a shivering tear.

“Not to mention this…” He strokes the pitiful droplet off your cheek with the weapon while eyeing the way you quake with grinning eyes. “Pretty little body I’ve only just acquired.” 

BNHA – Dabi

JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

BLLK – Reo

HxH – Illumi

[cozykali]

Heartbeats (Astarion’s POV)

I downloaded Baldur’s gate 3 and immediately feel for this sexy vampire the moment he tackled me to the ground and held a knife to my neck. I’m in act 2 right now (no spoilers!) and the brainrot is BAD. I’ve read some amazing period sex fics involving Astarion but I wanted to craft one from his perspective. Let me know your thoughts!

Master list can be found here!

Pairing: Astarion x fem Tav/reader

Rating: SMUT! NSFW, 18+, Minors DNI

Words: 4700

TW: (this fic is FLITHY), mentions of death and dying, biting (duh), drinking blood, period sex, blood kink, oral (fem receiving), unprotected P in V, kissing, fingers, stalking, multiple Os, passing out, blood-loss, mentions of past torture/trauma, tension, begging, fluffy ending, ‘who did this to you?’,

Notes: Tav and Astarion have been travelling together for a few weeks. No romance scenes have happened yet, but she allows him to feed on her nearly every night. She hasn’t seen his scars yet. Tav is on her period and it’s making her vampire friend go crazy. Tav has feelings for Astarion but hasn’t acted upon them. This story is told from Astarion’s perspective. Tav can be any race or class you want (probably not durge though).

Bonus: Check out this massive playlist I made inspired by Astarion!

The fading fire crackled softly; its once licking flames now reduced to gentle, glowing embers. A thin line of smoke ascends into the damp air that coats the earth in a delicate layer of cool dew.

Astarion lies beside the fire on his bedroll, flat on his back, with his arms slightly splayed at his sides. Most nights, he is grateful that he doesn’t need sleep like his companions do. He can immerse himself in the peaceful sounds of the night, meditate, slow his breath, and calm his mind without slipping into unconsciousness. This ability had saved his life on more than one occasion.

However, tonight is different. Tonight, he wishes for sleep to claim him. He longs to drift away and escape the torment of the spell unknowingly cast upon him by Tav. He turns his head to gaze through the soft light of the fire in her direction.

Tav is laying on her side facing the fire, her mouth slightly open as she emits soft snores barely audible over the crackling flames. But what troubles Astarion tonight is her scent. It wafts through the acrid smoke of the fire like a gentle breeze through a sail, sweet as usual, but it’s currently mixed with blood and musk.

Astarion has been avoiding Tav for the better part of two days now. Whenever she drew near, he held his breath and averted his gaze. He knew he must keep his distance from her, because the alternative would be ripping her apart, which would not win any favors with the rest of the party.

Tav has also been careful around him. She must know that he can sense her menses. Despite inviting him to feed on her each night for nearly two weeks, tonight she did not proposition him, nor the night before. Last night, his attempt to catch a deer had been futile, leaving Tav as his last meal.

Lying on his bedroll, Astarion stares up at the stars, after a seemingly endless eternity for an immortal being, he hears Tav stir slightly. He glances over at her curiously, hoping she doesn’t notice his gaze. She lets out a quiet groan, clutching her lower stomach before curling into a fetal position, her face contorted in pain. Moments later, she slowly starts to rise.

Tav stumbles to fetch a flask of water, guzzling it down greedily. Astarion envies her ease in quenching her thirst while his own thirst rages inside him. Before long, he senses her absence, her scent growing fainter. He debates whether to leave her to sort herself out, but the primal urge to hunt and stalk his prey cannot be ignored.

Rising slowly, Astarion follows her scent through the trees to a nearby stream. His movements are fluid and silent as he approaches her. Tav is kneeling in front of the water, wringing out a blood-soaked cloth.

"Seems such a waste to wash that delicious blood away, darling," Astarion's voice, silky and smooth as velvet, slices through the night like a dagger. Tav lets out a startled squeal, spinning to face him.

"Astarion!" Her voice cracks with surprise as she stumbles back, but his hand shoots out to steady her, his touch cool against the small of her back as he prevents her from falling into the rocky stream.

His gaze is locked onto Tav's eyes, wide with astonishment, her pupils are dilated so only faint rings of color remain around dark voids. With his keen elven senses, he can hear the rapid thrum of her heart beneath her chest. Releasing her gently, Astarion steps back, his posture graceful and poised.

"Sorry, my dear," he says, softening his tone to one less intimidating. "I was merely ensuring no creatures were stalking you in the night as you wandered off. There are far worse dangers in these woods than bears, you know?"

"You mean like you?" Tav's words are sharp, but Astarion detects the faint quiver of her bottom lip.

"I just prevented you from bashing your skull on those wet rocks, and this is the gratitude I receive?" Astarion scoffs.

"I wouldn't have nearly slipped if you hadn't snuck up on me, asshole," Tav retorts, pushing him in the chest, though his feet remain firmly planted.

"Oh, my, you look adorable when you're angry," Astarion can’t help but smirk at her.

Tav lets out a frustrated grunt, attempting to stomp away, but Astarion catches her arm before she can pass him. Confusion clouds her face as she searches for an explanation for his unusual behavior. The facade of his usual sassy indifference had vanished, replaced by a tumult of desire and longing.

"Are you here to bite me?" Tav's voice trembles, strained as if she’s fighting back a scream. "I thought you were better than that. You promised me you wouldn’t feed on me unless I asked you to."

Astarion reaches out and takes the wet cloth from her hand, the hunger gnawing at him like a demon. Shamelessly, he presses it to his face, inhaling deeply. His vision is blurred, his head swimming in the intoxicating scent of her body that lingers on the fabric.

"Astarion, knock it off! You’re freaking me out," Tav snaps, snatching the cloth back and tossing it into the dirt.

"Tav," he whimpers, hating the desperation in his voice. Slowly, he releases her wrist, turning away to pinch his brows in an attempt to ease the splitting headache caused by her overwhelming scent.

"What in the hells is wrong with you?" Tav's voice remains cold, but concern flickers in her eyes as she speaks. She feels sorry for him.

Astarion straightens his stance, clearing his throat. "I apologize that I disturbed you. I’m not thinking straight," he announces before turning to walk back to camp.

"Wait," Tav said, and he freezes.

"I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you. That I haven’t asked you to bite me the past few nights. I know you must know I’m on my period," she admits, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I didn’t know how you felt about it. I can see now that it’s driving you to madness, but I thought ignoring it was the best course of action. It’s embarrassing, really, and I’m having terrible pains in my stomach."

Astarion closes the distance between them in two swift strides.

"It’s hard to see you like this, so crazed with hunger, and I…" Tav's words falter as Astarion gently places his hand under her chin, lifting her face to meet his.

"Shh, Tav, my sweet. You’re going to put me in a second grave," he murmurs.

To his surprise, Tav presses her face into his with a gentle kiss, and Astarion's eyes close as a deep growl rumbles from his chest.

Tav removes her lips, "I’m sorry that was stupid of me to…" but Astarion wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer, pressing her body against his. He kisses her ravenously. His sharp fangs scrape softly on her bottom lip. A sensation of an unraveling overwhelms Astarion as he kisses Tav. It's a mixture of desire, longing, and perhaps even a hint of vulnerability. This feeling is unfamiliar to him, stirring emotions he's long kept buried beneath his cool exterior.

She relaxes in his arms, sinking deeper into his kiss. Her hand reaches up to ruffle his soft white curls while the other slips under his linen shirt, exploring the ridges and lines of his abdomen.

As they momentarily break their kiss, Astarion feels a rush of dizziness. He gently brushes her hair away from her neck and nuzzles into the curve of her shoulder. His tongue traces the faint marks on her skin, remnants of the nightly feedings he's had days prior. Despite the hunger clawing at him, he restrains himself from indulging further.

His hands, trembling with desire, slide down to the hem of Tav's shirt. He breathes against her ear, his voice a husky whisper, "May I?" Without a word, she responds by lifting her arms, granting him permission. In one smooth motion, he pulls the shirt over her head, revealing her skin. Astarion’s hands cup her breasts. The soft sound she emits as his mouth finds her nipple is music to his ears.

"Please, I need to taste you." He pleas between nibbles and licks on her chest. He no longer feels ashamed by his desperation.

"Oh, Astarion." Tav smiles, "You look so pretty when you beg."

“Gods," he groans, then steps back to remove his shirt before kneeling to the ground in front of her, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight. "Tav," his voice is deep and soft, "I beg you." His hands reach out to grab her waist. "Let me taste you." He rests his forehead softly on her bare stomach. She places her hands on his and slides them down, encouraging him to remove her pants. Astarion is nearly trembling with anticipation as he helps her step out of her garments.

"Hold on," she stops him before he rips off her underwear. The bloodied rag that was freshly changed before he found her, was now soiled again with arousal and blood. "Should we find somewhere more comfortable?" She offers him her hand to help him rise back up.

Astarion feels lightheaded for a moment as he returns to his feet. However, as soon as he regains his balance, he scoops Tav up and carries her with remarkable speed to a clearing near the stream, where the ground is more sand than rocks. He lays Tav down on her back. He crawls towards her slowly, until his thigh is pressed firmly against her sex. As he lowers himself to kiss her once more, he gently hooks his other leg under hers and slides it up slowly, allowing her legs to part for him.

"Astarion?" She whispers to him when their kiss breaks, "You can feed on me tonight if you like."

He doesn’t even recognize the deep, feral growl that escapes his throat in response. "I was so hoping you would say that darling."

Astarion kisses his way down Tav’s stomach. She squirms at the feeling of his fangs brushing lightly on her ribs. He catches the waistband of her undergarments between his teeth and slides them down her legs to remove them.

He stops to hover over Tav for a moment now that she’s fully undressed. He savors the look she’s giving him through hooded eyes. Pausing, he appreciates the beauty of her bare skin splayed before him, relishing her scent before he consumes her.

"You’re too good to me, my pretty thing. I don’t deserve this, and I don’t deserve you." Astarion remarks before his head dips between her legs.

Astarion flattens his tongue and licks her once slowly, bottom to top. Tav tastes unbelievable. It still tastes like her blood, metallic and rich, but it’s enhanced with the flavor of her slick arousal, the must of her sweat, the flesh of her womb. If the blood in her veins is his water, his life source, the blood between her legs is like the finest of wines.

The hums and moans that leave Astarion's throat as he devours her are so animalistic, he can hardly hear Tav’s whines. He licks up every drop until she is clean then sticks his tongue deep inside her searching for more. His nose rubs in a side-to-side motion, pressed firmly against her apex, as his tongue explores.

"Oh gods, Astarion!" Tav gasps. He feels a slight sting on his scalp as she grabs a fistful of his silver curls while rocking her hips to match the speed of his tongue.

"I need more," Astarion rasps. His lips close around her bud He slides two slender fingers inside of her and starts pumping them in and out, coaxing out more blood. Her moans fill his ears like a siren’s song, adding to his pleasure. He can feel her insides tightening around his digits.

"Astarion. I…" Tav’s sentence is cut off by a wail of pleasure. He can smell the ecstasy flooding her blood, hear her heart pounding in her chest, and feel her body spasm and quake where he touches her. He doesn’t change the pace of his tongue or hand, dragging out her orgasm until she is panting and spent. He removes his fingers from her to lick them clean like a cat and notices a small trickle of blood leaking out of her.

"You may have just finished, darling, but I am not done yet. Nothing compares to the sound of my name cried from your lips, and I intend to hear it again." Astarion’s face dips back down to clean her folds. The amount of blood he can get from her body is not nearly enough to fill him. He needs to feed soon, a real meal, a pint of blood or more, not just a taste. But it can wait; the taste is too divine to stop.

Astarion hooks his arms under her thighs and flips onto his back, pulling her with him in one smooth motion. He grabs her hips as he forces her to a sitting position on his face, drinking her in. She shrieks and tries to pull away.

"Astarion, I need a minute. It’s too much." He releases his hands and stares up at her face with mid concern while she hovers over him. He tries to imagine how he looks to her right now.

"Can I ask you to be my mirror again, love?" He recalls the evening Tav found him looking at his empty reflection.

She studies him. "Your pretty face is absolutely covered with blood," she states. "Your lips are puffy and swollen. Your skin is thin and pale, paler than usual. Then there are your eyes…" she pauses, "they’re so red right now that they nearly glow in the light of the stars. There is nothing human, or even elf, left in them. They are the eyes of a monster."

Astarion grins wide, displaying his sharp fangs to her, "I am a monster, dear. Now can you please let me get back to consuming my prey?" His tongue extends from his mouth to lap against her swollen sensitive skin.

Tav tilts her head back and moans, exposing the full length of her gorgeous neck. Her back arches as she lowers herself onto his lips. Astarion grumbles in satisfaction when the taste of her dances on his tongue again. He grabs her thighs, in case she decides to pull away again, but instead she lowers onto him more, smothering him. She rocks against him, rubbing herself against his mouth and nose.

His lungs burn slightly, but he doesn’t need to breathe air to survive; it’s just a matter of an unconscious habit from before he turned into a vampire spawn. He needs air in his lungs to be able to speak, and it’s slightly uncomfortable if his lungs go without air for extended periods of time. He represses the memories of torture he had to endure over the centuries, where Cazador would deprive him of air for days just to watch him struggle. Astarion silently scolds himself for focusing on his lungs when his attention should be on the woman on top of him.

Tav bends her back further and places her hand on his waste to steady herself. Her hand brushes against the swollen bulge in his leather pants. His other primal urge is nothing more than an annoyance compared to his crazed lust to feed. But Astarion doesn’t protest when she starts to pet him through his pants as she continues to use his face like a toy. His pants suddenly feel uncomfortably tight.

"Astarion!" His name sounds like a symphony when it exits her body. She collapses forward, cradling his head with her arms. He drinks her in, savoring all his senses. His hands run up and down her bare thighs that seem to burn with heat. She rolls off him and lands in the sandy dirt of the bank, lying flat on her back beside him. They breathe in sync, shallow and hard.

"Tav, I…" Astarion pants, still laying on his back. "I need to feed."

"I know, I told you that you could. It’s not enough, right? Down there I mean. I figured as much. Why didn’t you just go for my neck in the first place? Why starve yourself on tiny mouthfuls when you can just bite me?"

"The taste," he whispers, "It’s addictive. I can’t stop." He swipes a finger between her legs and places the pad of it against his tongue and groans.

"Astarion?" Tav rolls onto her side to gaze into his eyes. She places her hand against the puncture marks on her neck from his fangs. "Bite me."

Astarion rises to his feet. Stars briefly dance across his vision, then fade. He is again reminded of the throbbing of his groin and decides to remove his confining leather pants and exposes himself to her. It seems only fair to be as naked as she is.

Tav’s eyes bulge and her jaw slacks as she stares at him. She props herself up on her elbows and slowly opens her legs to him. The wanting look she gives him is the closest thing he’ll get to a reflection of his own eyes. He waits, tension coiling in his muscles in anticipation as he searches her expression for the words he longs to hear.

"Darling, I am supposed to be the one looking at you like a feast laid before me, but here you are, looking at me like I’m a fresh baked pie. I could practically wipe away your drool." He smirks down at her. His hand lazily strokes his length to tease her.

Tav's lips form the word "Please," her voiceless plea echoing in the quiet night.

"Please what, my pet?" Astarion teases, his voice low and filled with anticipation, as he listens to the rapid rhythm of her heart, quickening like a drumbeat.

"Please. I want you to bite me while you fuck me." Her voice deepens, her eyelids are heavy with lust. Astarion’s stomach flips, and he pounces onto her like a fox catching a mouse.

"Such a filthy little mouth you have." He tuts. While he arranges himself over Tav. It's a familiar position that they have practiced nearly every night since she invited him to feed on her, only this time they are skin to skin. His face lingers over her neck, his breath cools her blazing skin. The tip of his shaft is posed at her entrance. She bucks her hips in response, and he sinks into her partially, then withdrawals.

"You are mine." Astarion whispers into her neck. Pressing his lips to the partially healed wound from his last bite as he enters her again, sinking his entire length into her. Tav cries out in response, but he doesn’t move.

"Astarion, please," She whines. He raises himself onto the palms of his hands to look at her. Her eyes are glossy, tears are forming in the corners.

"Tav, Darling, you look so pretty when you beg." He echoes her earlier words. He wishes he could hold out a little longer to see how far he could tease her until she breaks, but his need to feed is too intense. He starts slowly pumping in and out. Her eyes close and her mouth opens wide in pleasure. She feels amazing, so tight, so soft, so wet with blood and arousal.

Tav places her hands on Astarion’s back and digs her nails in, only to pull away quickly when she feels the bumps of the scars she hasn’t yet seen. She opens her mouth to mention it but he quickly covers it with his blood stained lips. His tongue slips past her lips and moves with the same rhythm of his thrusts. She moans into his mouth as his pace quickens. Then he breaks her kiss to purr into her ear, ‘Do you taste yourself on my lips, beautiful? It’s delicious, isn’t it? You taste divine.’

Tav shivers beneath him and lets out a sob. His lips brush down her neck. Astarion snarls to expose his sharp, elongated canines then grazes them against her throat, ready to strike. His thrusts never stop, slamming into her repeatedly, as he finally sinks his teeth into her neck and sucks her blood.

"Oh fuck, Astarion!" Tav releases a scream and falls apart under him. Shaking and panting while grinding against him. He can taste the electricity of her climax surge through her blood as her heart beats with a steady rhythm, allowing the blood to flow through her veins until it reaches his mouth. Astarion feels a rush stronger than any drug, more enchanting than any spell or potion. Her walls spasm around him, while he slurps against her neck. He sucks her blood with intense force. Pinning her under him. He can’t stop.

After several moments of bliss, he notices she has gone completely still beneath him. It takes all his willpower to unlatch his fangs before he sits up quickly.

"Shit’." A wave of panic washes over Astarion as he inspects Tav. Her skin appears paler, almost gray. Her breaths come slow and shallow, and her heartbeat is faint and stuttering. Without hesitation, he scoops up her limp body and wades into the waist-deep waters of the nearby stream, gently lowering her in. The water feels warm against his skin, though he himself is generally cooler than most creatures. He hopes the temperature doesn’t send her body further into shock.

As he holds her in the water, Astarion's mind races with worst-case scenarios. He imagines having to speak with Withers to revive her, dreading the thought of explaining his actions to the rest of the camp. Tav won’t easily forgive him this time, he fears. He might be cast out or even killed. He curses himself for following her out here in the first place. She was right to avoid him these past few days.

Just as he begins to entertain thoughts of escape, Tav’s soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. "Star?"

Relief floods through him. "Oh, thank the gods, Tav. I’m truly sorry. I got a little carried away." He holds her tighter against his chest, feeling her shiver against him.

"Cold," Tav manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Astarion carries her out of the water and gently sets her down in a patch of soft grass. He hurries to gather their scattered clothes, helping her dress into her pants and shirt. He wraps his own rumpled white shirt around her for extra warmth, then puts on his pants before rinsing the remaining blood from his face in the stream.

Returning to her side, Astarion finds her hugging her legs, the color slowly returning to her face. "Let’s get you back to camp near the fire. I’ll wake Shadowheart to see if she can heal you," he suggests, wrapping his arm around her.

Tav turns to him, her voice airy and soft. "No, I think I'll manage until morning." Astarion kisses her forehead as she embraces him, her hands rubbing slow circles on his back.

"Turn around," Tav demands, and he complies, allowing her to view the intricate scars covering his entire back. She traces them with her fingers. "What happened to you?" Her voice carries a tone of pity, and Astarion swallows a lump in his throat.

"It’s a poem," He explains calmly. "Cazador did it to me. He took his time. I don’t know what it says."

"Oh, Astarion, I’m so sorry," Tav responds with compassion that almost irritates him.

"You’re sorry?" Astarion snaps, turning to face her. "I nearly killed you tonight, and you’re sorry?" He immediately regrets the sharpness of his words. "No, Tav, I’m sorry." Pulling her into him, he collapses to the ground, and she lays her head on his bare chest.

‘Astarion, I…’ Tav starts to speak.

"Hush," he interrupts, holding a finger to her lips. "Listen." He tunes into the sounds of the environment around them—the rustling of tree branches in the breeze, the chirping of insects in the reeds, the rushing of water in the nearby stream. But the sound he wants her to hear isn’t external; it’s coming from within him. After several seconds, she jerks her head up from his chest to meet his eyes.

"Did… did I just hear your heart?" Her voice is filled with astonishment. "You have a heartbeat?" Her brows furrow in confusion as she searches his face for answers. "Is that another side effect of the tadpole? Like how you can walk in the sun?"

Astarion smiles at her. "Yes, you heard my heart beating. No, it’s not from the worm in my head. It’s from you, darling."

"What? How?" Tav’s confusion deepens.

‘Well, when I feed, especially if it’s a big meal, my body must circulate the fresh blood throughout it somehow. And in case you weren’t aware, I’ll give you a little anatomy lesson. I need blood in a certain area of the body to give you a performance like I did back there."

She stares at him in shock "So your heart will kickstart when you're full, or horny?"

"In simple terms, yes dear, and I do feel both of those right now. However, it only beats a couple times a minute, not like a living creature. Have you noticed the color return to my skin, and that my temperature is at least five degrees warmer than usual?"

Tav smiles softly as she lays her head back on his chest in silence, waiting to hear a soft thump again. "I can make your heartbeat," she whispers.

"Well Tav, it seems my heart belongs to you now," Astarion sighs. "I’ve never felt anything like that before. I’m practically drunk on you right now. When I told you were my first bite, I meant it and now I can’t imagine drinking the blood of anyone else. Not like I have many options anyways, no one else is exactly offering me their neck." She smacks him softly, and he lets out a chuckle before his face softens with worry.

"I don’t think it’s safe to do that again, though," He grumbles. "I nearly lost you." Tav looks up at him with sadness in her eyes. "I mean I would happily bed you again," Astarion continues, "and I still wish to feed on you if you allow it, once you're replenished, but I think we should keep dinner and sex separate from now on."

Tav scoots up to kiss his neck. Then rises to her knees and straddles him. Her hair forms a halo around her face as she looks down at him.

"What is Withers there for if we don’t use him once and a while. Plus, we have at least ten revival scrolls in the chest at the camp."

His heart beats again, slightly harder than the last time. "Are you giving me permission to suck you dry? You filthy little pup." His hands grab her rear, and he squeezes. "How did I get so lucky? Getting abducted by mind flayers seems to have been the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"I mean, I've never felt anything like that either. When you were draining me of blood, I let it happen, I didn’t want it to stop. I was in a daze as I slipped away. To be clear, I don’t think the others will approve of paying 200 gold coins to Withers, or wasting revival scrolls that could be used during a fight, every time I come to your bed, but if it happens… I trust you to bring me back. I guess my heart belongs to you now too. Since it pumps the blood through me that keeps you alive and thriving."

Astarion inhales deeply. "Well in that case, darling," his hand reaches up to grab her neck and he pulls her head down so her ear touches his lips "I think you're beating me three-nil in climaxes this evening. And I intend to double your score at the very least, and maybe get a point on the board myself before the sun rises." He glances down and notices a blood stain seeping through her pants onto his. He realizes didn't put her underwear back on nor replace her blood rag when he dressed her earlier. "Also, it looks like you might need a little cleaning up again, my love."

END

[simplyalicee]

˚₊‧꒰ა bittersweet ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Sebastian x GN!reader, angst(?) and fluff

TW: none

You were tired. Oh, so tired.

Your fraile figure trembled from the unbearable freezing temperature. Your body ached with exhaustion and hunger. When was the last time you had a proper meal? Hours felt like days. You were numb. So much pain, yet you stood. How could you possibly continue with your state? You felt as if you were about to collapse from the pressure.

You wanted to go back. Stop your mission and head back to the surface. But could you risk that potential for freedom? To go back empty-handed and be tossed back in your cell? To risk more years of being falsely incarcerated? No, no you could not. You hadn't seen the light of day for years. It felt like forever since you've last saw your loved ones. You craved their affection, their gentle touch, their words sweet like honey. You missed them so terribly.

Going back was not an option.

Urbanshade made the objective very clear; retrieve the crystal. You weren't disclosed of any other information. You were going into this deadly mission practically blind. You were left to navigate through the destroyed labs and risk your life with dangerous creatures with the thirst of blood and malice. It always amazed yet terrified you of how capable every entity was.

Speaking of... what was that sound?

You heard the faint sounds of something— screaming? No, it didn't sound like screaming. But whatever it was, time ran shorter as the room shook, knocking drawers and other objects down to the ground. Glass shattered on the ground. You grew frantic of this new presence and rushed to the nearest locker. You crammed yourself inside and closed your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for an angler fish to swoop by.

But it wasn't an angler fish.

Instead, you were met with pounding against the locker doors. You shook with the locker and, fortunately, instinctively dug your bruised fingers into the opening slits of the locker. You opened your eyes to see an entirely new entity— all you could see were the many eyes that burned through your soul. You could feel your heart race as this new creature kept pounding on the locker, aching to reach you. Tears streamed down your face. Your grip loosened. You fought to keep up and keep the doors closed, but your exhaustion was catching up quicker.

As the doors were slammed against one final time, your fingers gave up and ceased proper functioning. You lost your grip. The locker shook once more and you closed your eyes. You prepared yourself to be met with nothing but cold, stinging death. You took what you thought was your last breath and murmured a goodbye.

But nothing happened.

Intrigued, you open your eyes and saw nothing. Was it already gone? You couldn't tell, but your heart pounded the longer you stayed inside. You quickly hopped out and took deep breaths to calm yourself. What was that thing? What did it want? Dumb question, it wanted you dead. Everything down here wanted you dead. But you tried not to think about that too much.

Once calmed down, you looked around your surroundings, noting the new hazards laid before you. You were so tired. You wanted to rest so badly. But rest was not an option here. You had researchers that needed your help, unfortunately. With a sigh, you forced your aching body through the doors and continued your path.

Foot after foot, breath after breath, you really were unsure if you'd make it out alive. You were deprived of food, sleep, and warmth. Not to mention that there were more ponds of water to swim through than anticipated. You were soaked. And, with the harsh coldness burning your exposed skin, you were left numb and pained. The urge to cry became strong but you were simply too weak to cry.

Come door 50, you were met with another dark room. Wonderful. Your flashlight was nearly out of juice and other light sources you had on you were dead. So much for savoring light. You decided to try to save the remaining battery power and venture through the darkness. Each footstep inside made you more paranoid of those squiddles. Those horrific faces that would burn into you if you dared to flash your light or come close.

Alas, as your paranoia was at an all-time high, you heard a voice call out to you.

"Hey friend, over here."

You shrieked and jumped from the sudden break of silence. Oh no, was tnis your demise? You couldn't tell anymore. But judging from whoever just spoke to you actually communicated with you through language instead of aggression, you were quick to get moving to find the source. Now was the good time to use the flashlight. You turned the light on and cautiously waved the light around. You found more desks, the usual. But a vent caught your eye. Maybe it came from there? You were uncertain, but it was better than being out here. With a mumble, you got down to your knees and crawled through the tight space.

The path wasn't long, and thank heavens that there was some decent lighting up ahead. You crawled and made your way into a decently big room. But that's not what caught your eye, obviously. As you stood up and began dusting yourself, your eyes met some... thing? Unimaginable. Your jaw dropped. This creature was huge, possibly 20 to 30 times bigger than you. You couldn't help but stare at his features; pale blue skin, his eyes glowing a soft cyan, his black hair that looked soft to the touch, his attire covering his upper body; you couldn't help but be both amazed and petrified.

"Welcome, new friend! Don't be afraid, I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Sebastian, your only friend." His voice was oddly warm and welcoming, but you knew to not underestimate him over some hospitality. You were very small compared to him.

Sebastian opened his mouth to continue but stopped himself almost immediately. You were confused for a moment, not aware that you were slowly slumping to the ground. You were trying to pay attention and had not realized your own body was giving up on you. And Sebastian was no idiot. He could easily tell you weren't well. And before you knew it, your knees buckled below you, causing you to slip and crash down on the floor. Consciousness slipped mere seconds after.

Sebastian stared down at you for a short moment. He was clearly dumbfounded, had he not expected this outcome. He could just leave you be on the cold surface. But instead, he slowly reached his hands out and carefully picked you up. You were so small, so fragile. So tired and numb. Sebastian frowned, knowing there wasn't much he could do. He felt your cold state and shivered.

"You're colder than ice," he murmured under his breath. In a way, he kind of felt bad. There were no blankets around, so Sebastian resorted to carefully holding you in his arms to keep you warm. He kept you close to him as his eyes examined your state. He simply sighed and shook his head. Why go this far for you? You might as well be someone ungrateful, right? His thoughts rushed through his head but yet kept you in his arms regardless. Eventually, he gave up and sighed.

"You owe me," he mumbled under his breath and covered you with his jacket before leaning himself against the wall. He couldn't believe he was doing this for you. So ungrateful.

Although, he hadn't had something to hold in a little while. So maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Written closely to lore, writer is tired.

[cutiecusp]

Viral.

What happens when a simple scroll on TikTok leads you to something unexpected?

a/n i wrote this at 3 a.m. today, and after a little adjusting, I'm happy with it. I love the idea of a confident Simon Riley, using his Ghost persona to satisfy a little fantasy or two. Especially if he got to know you, the newest recruit a little better.

TW/ Kissing, smut so MDNI!

Lying on your bunk after a long day, you find yourself doom scrolling on TikTok, navigating your way through recipes, cat videos and pranks, when a biker in a black leather jacket and dark helmet catches your eye.

As usual, the comments are full of thirst posts, proclamations of marriage, one night stands and more. You raise an eyebrow at some of them, incredulous at some others.

He was simply putting his gloves on, while straddling his bike, his visor flipped down, adding to the mystery. The Sleep Token song that played over it fully caught your attention.

The filter over the video made the skeleton print of his gloves stand out against the dark of the leather... very similar to the gloves your lieutenant wears.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you zoom in on his body, looking for something that could identify him more, and you spot it, a small Soap charm on his laces, one you all collected after London.

Your eyes widen.

This man doing thirst traps on BikeTok was your boss.

You refresh the page, and hide your face in your sleeve. How could you act normal around him now?

A live notification pops up at the top of your screen, and shakily you click on it.

There he is, Simon Riley.

All black leather and mystery as he leans into the shot. He has a mic tagged in his collar, and you would know that voice anywhere.

He's outside on the airstrip of the base, you knew he liked to ride out there between deployments, normally kept himself to himself, but now you knew better.

His voice rang out clear, and you almost dropped your phone.

"Welcome in Nya, hello again gorgeous Dolly, Hey Cosplay Queen.."

He pauses, his head tilted.

"We have a new member, hello you." His voice rich, like honey, travelled down your spine.

"Glad to have you here, first times are awkward, I'll be gentle." he teases, watching the hearts collect in the corner of the screen.

By this point you have a death grip on your phone, too stunned to speak. Did he know it was you, you?

You throw out a heart emoji, hoping to blend in a little. You eyes glued to the screen. He was so different to his work version. He was relaxed, cocky, funny... Not the cold and distant lieutenant.

The live goes on for a few minutes, before he logs off for the night. Blowing a kiss, the screen goes black, and you blink again. What on earth was happening?

You put your phone down and begin to get ready for the night, shaking off the imaginary lust dust that flittered over you. Urging yourself to breathe, and not think about the fact your boss was turning you on.

You heart bobbed in the back of your throat when you heard Simons bike return to the barracks, the headlight shining bright in the darkness.

You hold your breath as you hear his footsteps along the corridor, the squeak of the leather and metallic zip undoing are the loudest noises on base. You squeeze your eyes shut as the heavy footsteps stall outside of your door.

Three knocks ring out, forcing your eyes open. He knows. You think to yourself.

You force yourself on jelly legs to answer the door, a smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes.

"Ghost, you okay?" You stammer out, mentally kicking yourself for sounding so obvious.

"You tell me, love." He says gruffly, forcing his way into the room, placing his helmet on your desk.

You squeak at the same time he spots your phone, your screen still open on his page.

"Naughty little thing, aren't you. Thirsting over your boss on TikTok what does it for you, love? The bike, the helmet, the appeal?"

your cheeks redden, and he steps closer to you, closing the gap between you both. Gripping your chin with his fingers, he forces you to look at him.

"Not a word to anyone else, love."

Eyes wide, you nod.

And he presses his lips to yours softly, sealing your secret.

........................................................................................

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @azxulaa @yesornowaitidontknow @enjisbf @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @evie-119 @cmbghost @midwesternwitchery

[expirednukacola]

ORANGE COLORED SKY 🏜️ || The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

𐚁⊹₊ ⋆☆

AHHHH! The first chapter is getting so much love and attention! I can’t believe it- This is making me cry! I love you all so, so much! SUMMARY: After two hundred years of some much needed beauty sleep, reader wakes up and realizes she has been given a second chance at life.. only to look like a piece of scorched summer sausage.

TW: GORE + GHOUL CANNIBALISM? + A BRIEF MENTION OF A “BIG IRON” 🔫

og gif made by: @lousolversons

“Don’t they know it’s the end of the world..”

“..‘Cause you don’t love me anymore.”

As your limp body fell to the brown, dead grass beneath you, you look up at that disgusting orange sky with such hatred and contempt before — Darkness. Nothing but darkness shrouded your senses alongside Death’s eery, cold chill.. At least death provided some relief for your decrepit, burnt body.

You finally felt.. free. Free from life’s fleshy binding that attached you to the mortal plane. Free from life’s troubling trails and tribulations that would’ve dragged like heavy chains on your body until the weight of them became too much. Free from pain, free from suffering, free from fear — Free from the horrible world itself.

…Until some asshole decided to turn the damn lights back on.

You woke up with a loud gasp and almost immediately, the pain of hunger and thirst was overwhelmingly evident in your facial expression. “Fuck- W- Water..” Like a zombie who was ran over by an 18 wheeler, you stood up on your little “Bambi” legs and looked around the wasteland that surrounded you. Nothing but patches of dead grass, cracked and crumbled dirt, and the occasional tumbleweed was all that you could see — Besides the dilapidated remains of Mr. Shit-Stain’s house.

“..How the hell is this thing still standin’?” You rasped out as you fumbled towards the tumbledown remnants of the house, the P.O.S. glass shard still sticking out of your leg like an annoying family member that never wanted to leave when it’s Christmas- or any holiday for that matter. Carefully stepping over the pieces of glass, you cautiously entered the house through the large broken windows and looked around what used to be a living room. Some things were still standing, like the couch, the television (minus the ginormous crack its screen had), and one of the most rinky dink coffee tables you have ever fuckin’ seen. “..Pretty sure ‘Bobby’ picked that shit out-”

You cut yourself off by letting out a much needed laugh and after a few minutes of laughing and snickering like a hippie high on mary jane, you staggered on over to the kitchen.. and that’s when you saw your saving grace- THE FRIDGE! Somehow, that piece of metal was the only thing unscathed from that damn blast! You thanked the heavens for this one of a kind gift that you most definitely deserved and you opened it to find-!

…A shit ton of mold and one dead and pretty large roach. “…After all I’ve fuckin’ gone through, I am gifted THIS?! THIS IS WHAT I GET?!” After kicking the fridge door shut, you went to pinch the bridge of your nose only to find out that you no longer had one. That’s when you finally looked down at your hand and your arm. With your heart now starting to collide with your ribcage, you quickly inspected both of your arms and then both of your legs, noticing how one of your arms was more skeletal than the rest of your limbs. “No, no, no, no..!”

You quickly ran around the decayed bits and pieces of the house until you finally found what used to be a bathroom. Immediately gazing into the shattered mirror, you saw how your once beautiful and youthful face had now become twisted, corrupt — grotesque, if you will. On one side of your face, it resembled shattered porcelain and your eye was milky white.. the other side was just a burning memory of what you used to be.

After a few minutes of pulling yourself together, and pulling that damn piece of glass out of your leg, you finally ventured out of the house and back to the “wild, wild west” of Lost Angeles (see what I did there?), and began your little adventure to find something to eat and at least a pond to drink out of. As you hobbled around the wastelands of an already wasteland-like city, you finally stumbled upon the rotting “corpse” of someone who looked just like you. He had the same red, fleshy blotches all over his face and his entire body, and his nose was missing as well. You guessed it was some type of peculiarity people like you shared.. well goddamn-

But something else about him struck a tender little chord in your hungered state.. His chest cavity was busted wide open, like the doors of a Golden Corral on a Sunday afternoon. Your mouth started to salivate, your stomach started to rumble, an animalistic growl spewed from your vocal cords.. and you ran as fast as your legs could, despite your leg that was still in its healing process. Once you were right next to the decaying and rotting body, you quickly dropped down to your knees and began to feast.

Dark, thick blood covered your hands, your chin, and those sweet lips of yours as you stuffed your mouth with that man’s flesh and what remained of his organs that once nestled underneath his ribcage. The only thing that was left whole was his heart.. his delicious, succulent heart. Slowly, you lifted his blackened heart out from his body and began to suck the little bit of blood that dripped out from the aorta, lapping it up as if it were the best water you have ever drank.

“Oh, sweet heavens above!” -were the first words you have uttered in a hot minute when you finally had your hunger satisfied — your thirst quenched by your newfound animalistic appetite for flesh and blood. “..Fuck- Thanks for your help, sir.” As you stood up and wiped your bloodied hands on your top, you heard the familiar sound of a gun getting cocked.. Well shit-

“Hold it right there, missy.” That voice.. That southern twang.. That teeny tiny lisp that’s barely noticeable unless you really listen.. You quickly whipped your head around, but instead of seeing your beloved cowpoke with those sweet dimples you love oh-so much, you saw someone who merely looked like him. You let out an audible gulp and reached your skeletal hand out towards the creature’s face, but he stepped back in response.

“..Cooper?”

“..Y/N?”

Your vision slowly began to fade in and out and the one to catch your collapsing body was that sweet, tender man you knew and fell so deeply in love with before The End. “I got you, missy.. I got you.” Were the last words you heard before you finally gave into the darkness once more. The Ghoul cradle you close and tight to his chest — Oh, how he craved feeling your comforting warmth against his own once more. How he yearned to hear your sweet, gentle voice again. How he ached to gaze into those kind eyes of yours; those pools of life that he had to be careful with because he didn’t want to drown in them.

Now, he’s finally got you safe in his arms..

..Or does he?

———————

I apologize for this chapter being shorter than the first one so consider this chapter 1.5! I was a little busy today with some personal stuff but you all asked so kindly and I hope you all liked this one as much as the first one!

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