#why it's such a bad blemish for him

[midnightwind]

hhhhuh there's.... there's a decent chance that a Rook de Riva would have been there when Viago took control of the House.... might have even helped....

[lolana101]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐔𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒

⤷ VIKTOR: SLOPPY SECONDS

⤷ feat. viktor (arcane league of legends)

cw: 18+ , oral stimulation (m), edging, dirty talk, dom! f reader, saliva, nsfw, angst? enjoy!!

“i don’t do this.”

viktor’s accent was heavy against his tongue, his gaze weighted with an unsure haze. his now useless cane clutched in his hand as he stared down at you, between his legs. you knew you’d find him here, working late, jayce long gone. was hexcore even a shared project anymore?

his bad leg dangling over the work bench, his weight crushing the onslaught of papers and tools beneath him.

“i’ve never- done this.”

his breath hitched, as you softly caressed his thigh. a soft, hum arose from your throat in understanding, as you looked fixedly up at him.

“say something.. please.”

the cane clatters against the floor as he hesitantly reached and touched your cheek - a soft poke. did he think you weren’t real? he probably thought of that possibility once; he is always thinking.

“what do you want me to say?”

tour voice was soft, eyes never leaving his. his gaze flickered at the hexcore, the room enclosed in a soft blue hue.

you continued to softly rub his thigh, inching up and up.. you could feel the soft twitching of his thigh, the needy yet silent urges emanating from him. what did he look like voicing those sins?

then again, that’s why he liked you. you could practically read through him. you started to fiddle with his belt, sliding the leather off with practiced ease.

“you’re hard.”

you voiced, slowly rubbing the bulge through his pants. his breath paused, a soft buck up into your hands.

you leaned down, pressing soft kisses against his twitching, clothed need, humming softly. Your fingers slid up to his zipper, tugging it down and pulling away. With his jeans open, you could get a look. a soft dark patch forming as his pre-cum weeps through fabric.

his face was red now, those soft blemishes over his face highlighted with the blue. he looked gorgeous. his mouth was agape, silently begging. I guess he waited enough.

your hand softly jerked at the pretty, pink mushroom tip. his length astonishing, not too thick but freakishly long. your fingers slick with his arousal as he let out almost pathetic whimpers. his eyes fluttered close, his thick brown eyebrows curving at the softest stimulation of your hands. his semi - hard member rose up quickly, your finger slowly pumping, pulling up the shaft until your plant wrapped around his head, then moving down.

leaning closer your tongue swiped at the base, slowly trailing up until you could taste the salty need pouring out from him. he let out a shaky sigh, as your plush lips wrapped around his head, sucking and licking. your tongue swiping curiously at his hot need, your hand still gently stimulating him, though gradually gets pulled away as you take him deeper.

it felt so good, his legs twitching. deeper, is all he wanted. you soon obliged sinking down onto him, until your nose was pressed against the soft hair of his stomach, your throat contracting against him. he smelled good, the soft hairs under his stomach and lower smelled of soft musk. so manly.

“fuck..”

a breathless whisper, as your head bobbed on his throbbing cock, spit dribbling down his base only to get slurped back up. every movement had him twitching, he swore he would cum under the first minute. he couldn’t help it, his hand grasping at your curls, swiping them up into a bun to aid you into drilling his length into you. his dick twitched, heat pooling in his stomach threatening to spill.

“I-i’m..”

In an instant he twitched, though as the pleasure washed over him he let out an uncomfortable whimper, your tongue pressed roughly against the slit, humming. he huffed, staring down at you with pure need. his body was hot, needy. his hips twitching, your fingers moving to softly caress his bad leg easing the achy muscles.

“please..? why..”

you smiled up at him, his thighs twitching, as you kissed his base, sucking on his balls for a little before letting them go with a pop if your lips.

he was begging, you could see it. your wrist flicked at his head again, twisting, the lewd squelching echoing as he stared down at you. He was going to cum again, as he started to slowly fuck himself up into your palm.

he was getting more vocal, those sweet huffs turning into pliant begs, your wrist not moving anymore as you felt a familiar twitch in his base, before your thumb pressed against his tip.

“….f-fuck please-“

he whimpered, staring into your gaze, you were so evil. not letting him cum, not letting him desperately release that sweet orgasm he’s been holding - saving up for.

after a moment you remove your thumb, pressing a soft kiss against his tip before staring up at him, fingers skipping up his chest to grab his tie, hauling him down and pressing a sloppy kiss against his lips.

that taste, fresh black coffee. he chased your lips like a lost puppy, sloppy, licking up the dried drool off your lips, tasting the salty goodness he left on you.

“want me to make you cum yeah? fully?”

you asked, nipping at his neck before letting hip sit back up, your gaze down at your twitching cock.

“please? please please..”

he begged, your name rolling off his tongue, so close to sweet melody. you smiled up at him, before your gaze snapped back down, his hand wrapped around his base, as he pointed his needy dick to your lips.

that thick accent rolled your name off his lips for one last time, as you leaned down. your lips wrapped around him, head bobbing sloppily around his dick. you could hear him moan and groan, his hand sinking ti your scalp to guide your movements.

you were still in control, you both knew it. yet his needy whimpers allowed him to soften you just a little, to let him fuck your throat. his tip hitting the back of your throat, your hands splayed on his thighs. You could feel your own heat growing wet, pussy twitching just from him fucking his brains out into your mouth.

he let out a almost howl, your gaze snapping up at him, your eyes watered as you gaged slightly. you could feel warmth deep down your throat, his pretty pink cock twitching in your mouth. you came a a little too, your clothed clit twitching softly.

“…nng.”

he was still going through the after shocks, poor little viktor twitching, not even having the energy to form a sentence. he eased his cock out of you, It growing soft as he pulls you up, kissing you softly. he whined softly, feeling your hands softly jerk at his overstimulated sex.

“…good?”

“amazing.”

he pants out, nuzzling himself in your neck.

happy thanksgiving y’all !! hope he on my plate 😫please like and follow, and request!!

my most recent post here

[pomefioredove]

for a oneshot how about vil gets sick and reader/yuu (your choice) helps take care of him? :3

o7

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ it comes with a fever

type of post: fic characters: vil additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, took a more unique approach to the sick prompt, would say ooc but this is just how having a cold sore makes you act

"He hasn't left his room all day,"

Epel's still got that uncomfortably tight grip around your wrist. He hasn't let go since he dragged you out of Ramshackle.

"Not even Rook is allowed in. It's... damn strange," he mumbles, disturbed.

You stop in front of the Pomefiore Housewarden's door.

The boy looks at you. "I'd go in myself, but... ah, I'd figure you'd have more luck,"

Which you suppose is his way of saying "Vil PROBABLY won't kill you"

"It's got everyone spooked, Prefect. Like a herd 'a sheep without a sheepdog,"

So, it's up to you. Somehow.

Epel finally lets go of your wrist and disappears before you can ask any questions. Your newly freed hand closes around the door handle.

It's probably nothing, you tell yourself. But if Vil won't even see Rook... there's a slim chance he'll be happy to have you waltzing through the door.

You walk in, anyway.

The room isn't dark or dreary. There are no strange smells or messes. Nothing is out of place, except for the bundle of blankets on the bed and-

FWISH!

You drop to your knees just before a cushion-turned-missile can hit you.

"Get out!"

Definitely Vil. At least he's alive? "You're not supposed to take the name "throw pillow" literally!"

The familiar canto of your voice makes that bundle go quiet and still. And then, from its depths, a loud, uncharacteristic whine. "Don't look at meeeee-"

You can suddenly see why everyone in Pomefiore is "spooked".

"I'm not going to hurt you," you say, as if approaching a wild animal caught in a trap. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" he hisses.

"That's not very convincing,"

And, of course, he knows as much. Vil sighs, and you can see the bundle moving. He pulls out an arm and elegantly drapes it over his head. "I'm hideous,"

Did he get hit by a bus or something? You blink. "You're just sick. It's not the end of the world,"

A long, long sigh follows. The bundle moves again, and a person comes out of it- and if you weren't in his room and responding to his voice, you might not have recognized them as Vil.

He's messy. His hair is tangled and limp. His face is flushed and sweaty. He looks...

"See?" he points to his lower lip.

With the general state of him, you honestly hadn't even noticed the small bump on his lip. You blink.

"...That's what you're upset about?"

He glares. "Don't patronize me. I have a standard to uphold. I can't go out looking like this!"

"It's just a cold sore, Vil,"

"Just?" he crosses his arms. "Just, you say? You're either lucky or stupid. This isn't some common blemish I can cover up with a patch and concealer! This is a personal failure! All the supplements, all the medicated chapstick, and the vitamin C and I still-"

He shudders. "...And it comes with a fever, so if you have any sympathy to give, at least let it be for that,"

You sigh, a weary, but fond smile on your face. "Oh, Vil... let me get you some orange juice,"

He crosses his arms and almost pouts. "And the strawberries in the bottom drawer of the fridge,"

"Those, too,"

.

With your service, Vil eventually calms himself down, though he still lies in bed as if he were dying of something terrible.

By the third or fourth bad Neige Leblanche movie of the evening (making fun of them with you is good for his mental health), it's starting to get dark.

"Seven already?" you mutter, checking the time on your phone.

Vil's eyes widen, and he pretends as if he wasn't staring when you look back. "So?"

"So... I have to go," you say. "I have to make dinner. I have to-"

"You're not seriously going to leave me in this state, are you? I'm supposed to avoid stress,"

You blink. Is he really... He's guilt-tripping you?? You almost laugh- it's endearing to see him so...

...Not him.

"You want me to stay?"

"Yes," he says immediately. He clears his throat, and then: "...For my health. Go speak to Rook, get us takeout."

If you were a worse person, you might have teased him about how cute he is when he's needy... But you also know he's not going to be indisposed for long, and you'd like to survive to see next week.

You smile. "Sure. Can't say no to free food,"

"But no chocolate or nuts, and I'd like something with a lot of lysine, some order of tofu and beans. Ask Rook, he'll know what to get,"

A pause.

"...Thank you,"

He really is quite cute like this. Then again, Vil Schoenheit can pull absolutely any look off.

You head for the door, your hand closing around the cool handle once again.

"And Prefect?"

You turn. Vil hesitates, seemingly warring with himself over something. You can't say which side won, because he only sighs.

"Help yourself to whatever pajamas you'd like. And don't bother asking some dimwitted question about where you're going to sleep. You'll obviously be staying in my bed,"

[mochinomnoms]

Can i ask for some NSFW scenes in the PTM universe?

If your not comfortable with that please ignore this ask

sure! honestly im surprised more people haven't asked yet lol

this is a scene that i am debating will go into the main story or be a side story since i'm not sure where i'd place it. it's not the most explicit but i still consider it nsfw

tag list: @ghousus

How you got even got to an empty classroom was a miracle, seeing as the festival was in full-blown swing.

But you weren't complaining, in fact you greatly appreciated that Jade at least had gotten you somewhere private.

“Aah!”

Especially since you were having trouble keeping quiet.

Pretty sounds! Pretty sounds! Make more my pearl, you're so enticing, I don't think I could control myself if I tried~

Jade ground your hips harder into his own, shuddering as you two dry humped against each other.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, like you were burning up from the inside, like you could feel everything twofold.

Maybe you were.

“Jade! Please, we can't—shit—not here, please—mmph!” He crashed his lips against your own, groaning as you tightened your arms around his neck and tugged him closer, pressing yourself as close to him as possible.

You could practically feel his heart beating through all the layers of clothes, right against your chest, rhythmic pounding the same as your own.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

But it wasn't enough.

Why am I so hot? Why do I feel so, so, so much? Why can't I pull away? I don't want to pull away! But I do—no—yes!

Why was the thought of pulling away from Jade so distressing? Like you could never live the thought of molding your skin with his.

I need—please!

Jade's groans were making you hot and bothered, whining as he pulled away to admire you. At this point, you two were quickly building up a dampness in the fabric between your legs.

“P-please, Jade, I'm—” You threw your head back as Jade pressed open mouth kisses against your neck, freeing a hand to pull at your tie and yanked down your shirt to expose your neck and chest.

Mine. Mine. All mine, mine to hold, mine to take!

Jade continued giving you wet kisses down your chest and navel, bringing his gloved hand to your lips, pressing the tip of his middle finger against the plush skin.

“Bite.”

A scrape of sharp teeth at the skin above your heart, a shudder rumbling through your body, a soft, breathless whine leaving your mouth as you did as told.

Feeling you take the tip between your teeth, Jade tugged his hand out of his glove. Moving up, Jade started kissing the pulse in the curve of your neck, suckling as he dragged his now bare hand into your shirt and down your exposed skin.

Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump.

“Mmh, Jaaade—” The curve of your back melted into his touch as he caressed your skin, dragging his fingers against every single bump and blemish he could find.

You felt Jade shiver, moving back up to hover his mouth over yours.

“Say—” You think he almost melted as you almost smashed your mouth against him, hands tugging at his tie in annoyance.

Say my name again, pleasepleasepleaseplease—

“Jaaaaaaade!”

Jade let out a soft, breathless chuckle as you groaned into his mouth and finally yanked off his tie and threw it behind him.

“Mm~” You taste so… “Eager, aren't we?”

You huffed, leaning back to glare at him, freeing one of your hands from around his neck to gesture at your open shirt, falling over your shoulders like a lead in a bad porno.

“You did this,”

And I'm not finished with you.

“You let me.” Taking a deep inhale, Jade's gaze drew over your exposed body. It made you feel hot, the need to swallow the drool growing in your mouth as you watched his tongue wet his lips. Slow and sensual, like he was savoring the flavor on the skin.

Savoring your flavor.

As he continued speaking, Jade gently guided you to lay down on the desk, melting along with you and grinding into you hard, making you gasp.

“That says more about you than myself, does it not?”

[yurinaa-world]

Hi hello! I love your writing!!

Could I request Aventurine, Ratio, Jiaoqiu, and Boothill with an s/o whose love language is bitting?

"𝑅𝒶𝓏𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓅 𝓉𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Aventurine, Veritas Ratio, Jiaoqiu, & Boothill x Gender-Neutral

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a s/o whose love language is biting

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶��𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

He’s a romantic guy, words and actions alike, and loves anything you give him but biting was something he didn’t expect at all. Some people have this idea of branding someone with bite marks but you just do it out of your love, that reason alone makes him want all that love since he's a greedy gambler.

Come on, how about he pays you back for it? Forget jewelry this time, how about he returns your love the same way? 

Since you get so joyful when you do it to him, what kind of reaction will you have, flustered? Shocked? Maybe a pretty smile on your face? Who knows until he finds out?

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Why so nervous? I'm only returning the favour.”

He's crazy not know why you're so nervous, eyes wide and mouth agape, his face was just inches away from your own. He loved seeing that look on you, it was better than any other expression you could ever make. 

Even better when he leaned into your neck, shrieking the second you felt his teeth nipping into your next.

Before fully sinking his teeth into your neck, leaving a dark red blemish on your skin. It’s absolutely cute! now you're both matching. Forget about matching jewelry or matching tattoos on each other's skin, this was better.

“We’re the only ones matching now.”

💫𝒱𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒶𝓈 𝑅𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐼𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒾𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈𝒾𝒶 𝒢𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹

He can’t help but lecture you about those things, and open your mouth as well, who knows you might have damaged your teeth from the obsession you have with biting people (him). Horrified when you first bit him, only until you explained it to him that he understood your nonsense but at the same not really…

But he can’t stop you from loving him, can he? Seeing that happy smile on your face when you lean in to bite him on the neck, the blood rushing to his ear while he hides his face with his book.

 Lecturing again but failing since you won’t listen, what will he do with you? Seeing that loving look on your face even when he lectures you he ends up just taking whatever you give me

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Veritas.”

He hears the giddiness in your voice as you poke his shoulder to get his attention off his book onto you, yet to no surprise he already knew what you wanted, a nice chomp on his cheek as usual, he always lectures you about the harm that can come from yet you refuse to listen using the words: “I’m just showing how I love you.” 

“No.” 

And as usual, He shuts you down immediately, not even looking your way which just makes you frown—which is your second tactic, to make him feel bad that he let you do it and if that doesn’t work then onto the third one, guilt-tripping.

“You don’t want my love, do you hate it?”

Shutting his book so fast you could still hear the slam echoing from the walls, staring at you with a determined look in his eyes, at the same time filled with love. “Ridiculous, I would rip my heart from my chest for you just to have the essence of your love.” He speaks blankly as if speaking scientific facts without hesitation or fear.

“If you love me that much, would you let me bite your cheek?” you suggested clasping your hands together as if you were some kind of beggar—you were acting like one—he was staring back at you with the most deadpan look you had ever seen before “You compare my heart to biting?”

“No, but you did say you’d rip out your heart for the essence of my love.” he cocks his brow before sighing at you, putting his book aside, giving you a chance to bite him willfully. You grin so happily at his words of acceptance, leaning in to gently leave a bite on his cheek as if he were dessert sold in the best restaurant in Penacony. 

“Happy now?” 

The tips of his ears were sooo red! He loves to much to stop you.

💫𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

He’s a victim, you’ve made him a victim with your love. At least do something with your teeth, maybe try his cooking, sinking your teeth into his cooking instead of engraving in his skin, leaving such marks that make people look at him funny.

He can’t forget how you love biting his ear—though you’re always gentle with it, like your teeth just graze his teeth, only to close in a little to make it feel like you're biting but it’s always so gentle, instead of pain he could feel the blood rush to his face, hiding behind his fan

Don’t act as if you weren’t the reason he’s like this. Since you like to bite so much, did you know that it’s customary for people to leave bites on their lovers in the Yaoqing, why doesn’t he do the same to you as well? 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

He finally can relax after a long day—he feels his sore body still in pain while sitting down, collar unbuttoned to reveal several bite marks left all over his neck by you. The whole day he couldn’t even dare to think of unbuttoning his collar until he was alone, if anyone saw they would be utterly speechless, and he wouldn’t blame them for what their imaginations would lead them to.

“Jiaoqiu,” 

As if on cue you showed up as if you were reading his mind.

Your gentle voice rang through his ears from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck, before gently grazing his ear with the edge of your teeth, closing down ever-so-gently, like a little mouse in your palms with how easily you left much so flustered over something so small, he can’t help but want to pay back, repaying the love you give the same way. “You’re not too tired, are you?” you worried, acting so concerned for him when you see his ears go flat.

“I’m fine,” sighing in your arms, gently taking your arm around him and biting you gently back. “But I’m starting to get tired from all that teasing from you,” he mutters, turning his head back just to grab the back of your head, and pull you down to chomp down on the skin of your neck. 

“...Jiaoqiu.” you groaned his name, feeling the slight sting from his bite as if he were a vampire instead of a healer, drawing back to open his eyes—the slight of his teeth engraved into your neck made his smile wider, it suited you better then it did him, along with that flustered expression as well.

“Just returning the favour to you. And it suits you quite well.”

💫𝐵𝑜𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓁𝓁 "𝑀𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝒶𝓁𝒶𝓍𝓎 𝑅𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓈"

You're shattering your teeth if you try any part of his body, like I mean you’re chipping or cracking your teeth for sure and he just laughs at your face when you cover your mouth, whining and complaining about the pain. So you're just getting veneers unless it's his face you're biting.

He’s completely touch starved, he’ll take anything you give him affectionately even the bitting, like he just loves it so much, sucks his face is the only place you can bite.

Imagen bitting his face out of nowhere, he just freezes, feeling your teeth dig into his cheek as if you were some kind of a monster, leaving teeth indented into his cheek. Before he just starts smiling like an idiot, you know what! He’s going to show his love too! Let him bite your pretty self.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You just couldn’t resist from just chomping down on his cheek as if his cheeks were like brownies, there wasn't a taste or anything but it just felt nice doing so, even when you left back to find a boothill open mouth and confused that staring back at you with teeth marks into the skin of his cheek.

When you smile back at him with your pretty smile, he can’t help but get in a giddy mood, a cheeky grin placed on his lips as if you had kissed him—but that just might be his every reaction when you show him some of your love.

 ”Now we’re speaking my mother fudging language.”

The expression on his face looked like crazy murderer and lovesick madman mixed—impressive that he was able to do that so naturally—you could hear his gears grinding so fast, maybe even the fans speeding up as well. He looked like he was going jump you, which isn’t too far from what happens in the next moments.

Leaping towards you, pushing you down on the ground, with a large grin on his face—his sharp shark-like teeth, you probably see your face reflecting from it. Just feeling the sharp sting on your cheek, his sharp teeth just teeth unusual dark red engraved into your cheek, leaving you whining and complaining at the pain.

“You know how much that hurts!”

“I was just shownin’ my love, just like you.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[fanficsat12am]

pairing: Obanai x Reader 

wc: 1.8k

prompt: “You weren’t there…why weren’t you there?”

A/N: This is my first kny work so I'd love to hear from your feedback :>

📜 𝙼𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃!! 📜

It’s hard to think that the face that typically adorned a bright and beautiful smile is now littered with scars and bruises. Tanjiro’s forehead was wrapped with an otherwise white bandage had it not been for the tints of red seeping through the cloth. Despite the gruesome image, his body wasn’t any better. On each arm lay great purple blemishes that peeked over the dressing prepared by Ms. Shinobu. Despite being tended to by multiple Kakushi as well as the residents of the Butterfly Mansion, the metallic scent of blood remained. 

As you watched the boy’s chest rise and fall, you couldn’t help but wish you were there, or another hashira for that matter. Perhaps everything would have turned out differently. The trio wouldn’t have left the battle in such bad conditions, Uzui wouldn’t have lost an eye and a hand, and maybe he wouldn’t have retired from the corps. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the presence by the door, heterochromatic eyes staring at your slumped figure. 

Obanai glared at the unconscious boy, feeling the seed of jealousy continuing to grow in him— the albino serpent slung on his shoulder hissing at the scene in front of him. He never understood why you cared so much for Tanjiro. In his eyes, you were far from the women he had the displeasure of meeting. You were strong, determined, selfless, and many more. Perhaps that’s why Obanai had grown to enjoy being in your presence, unaware of how he’d subconsciously always want to be by your side. So to see that Kamado kid steal you away from him made him loathe the boy with a passion.

He scoffs, alerting you that you were no longer alone, with your eyes darting towards him. “You shouldn’t get all bent out of shape about him. It’s his fault he’s lying in that bed right now.” He crosses his arms, gaze hard as it trails to the bandages on the boy with the Hanafuda earrings.

Your eyebrows crease. “What?”

“He’s weak and impulsive. The kid couldn’t even kill a lower moon demon without a hashira’s help. It’s a surprise he got out of there alive.”

“Iguro-san, I know you’re not too fond of him, but he did his best to help and survive. He and Tengen kill the first upper moons after 100 years. That’s a huge step for the corps and–-”

“They got lucky. Had it not been for Uzui, those demons would have just ended their pitiful lives right then and there. At this rate, he can forget about defeating Kibutsuji and just get it through his brain that his sister’s stuck like that. Maybe tell him to kill her already while you’re at it and save us all the time.”

Your eyes widen, unable to believe the words coming from the Serpent Hashira. You pursed your lips, a mixture of shock, disappointment, and disbelief brewing within you, but mostly that of anger. You were no stranger to Obanai’s sharp tongue, his words venomous like that of a snake’s bite. But to demean the work of those involved in the Entertainment District was beneath him. You huff before turning your gaze back to Tanjiro. He doesn’t miss the glare in your eyes as you scan every injury on his body.

“You weren’t there…” you said through gritted teeth. “Why weren’t you there?” 

He took a sharp breath, masking it with a scoff. “They shouldn't have needed me in the first place.” They were trained demon hunters, not children who had to be looked after every minute of the day. 

You couldn’t help but drop your jaw in disbelief, attention now back on Obanai. Despite his harsh words, he looked unfazed. 

“How can you even say that? They could have died!”

“With lives like ours, death is always around the corner. As a hashira yourself, you should already know this”. 

“But—”

“But nothing. We can’t save everyone, (Y/N). The weak have no place in the corps” he said, leaving no room for debate. Why did you care so much? Those who don’t have what it takes only have so much time before a demon puts them six feet under. Seeing how it’s futile to make you see his side of things, he turns to leave, but what you say next makes him stop in his tracks.

“You know… You hate your family for what they’ve done to you, for treating you as nothing more than a mere tool, just a sacrifice for their benefit. But from what I see, you’re no different…”

He was stunned into silence, the only response being the hiss Kaburamaru sent your way.  The expression on his face got darker before stalking off, making sure to slam the door as he slid it close. Walking through the hallways of the Butterfly Mansion, he couldn’t deny the pain brought about by your words. Perhaps he was a fool to think that the suffocating grip his bloodline held on him would ever disappear. 

***

Guilt gnawed away at you as days passed without Obanai. Despite his harsh words towards the others, you knew you went too far. After that day in the Butterfly Mansion, he had yet to talk to you again, no surprise visits to your abode nor a crow in sight. You finally had enough after enduring his silence for a week. Enough was enough, and you needed to be the bigger person here. 

The two-step plan of privately talking to Obanai and apologizing proved to be harder than expected. It felt like hours had gone by as you continued to knock on his door, calling out his name. You sighed, thinking about trying again another day, had it not been for the underlying feeling within of being watched. Sharply turning your head to its presence, you saw a blur of black and white zipping from the trees.

“Obanai!” you call out, immediately following after him. He whisked through the forest, his serpentine-like running style allowing him to maneuver around each obstacle with immense speed. 

“Please! I just want to talk”. Despite his speed, you were able to catch up to him. Just as he rounds a wisteria tree, he disappears from your sight. Darting your eyes around your surroundings, you see nothing other than miles upon miles of leaves and bark. Only when a low hiss from above you sounds do you find Obanai perched on one of the tree’s long, winding branches. You don’t miss the way his eyes follow your every movement—like that of a predator stalking its prey.

“There’s nothing to talk about. You’ve said all you needed to say. Now leave.” 

Seeing how he was about to leave yet again, you quickly leap up the tree and grab a hold of his haori. Wishing to protect his friend, Kaburamaru bares his fangs on instinct. You draw your hand and try to step back, but instead feel your foot slip off. 

A surprised shriek leaves you as you flail your arms around, trying to grasp at anything. Before you could fall off completely, a strong tug on your uniform wrenches you into a tight embrace. Pulling your face back from his chest, you meet the eyes you had been missing for days. Despite both of your feet now flat on the branch, his hold is still tight—one arm securely wrapped around your waist as one reached from one shoulder to the other. 

You both stay like that for a while, not breaking the comforting silence. Staring down at you, Obanai can’t help but bask at how the wisteria flower’s glow encapsulates your beauty. Despite almost memorizing your features, from the rounds of your cheeks to the crinkles on your eyes when you smile, he can’t help but still be entranced by you every time you look at him. 

He blushes at the realization that he has been holding you for far too long. He turns his head in embarrassment, trying to avoid your gaze, but is stopped by your hand cupping his cheek to face you once more. As your fingers graze over the fabric, the hand once by your shoulders shoots up to grab your wrist. 

“Don’t…I’m hideous,” his gaze falls,  “Just like they were…” 

Your heart squeezes in pain. This was your fault—the words you had thrown just to hurt him had done its job. All those times you had reassured him that he was nothing like his family were crushed by your own doing. You could only hope that you could still mend the pieces that remained.

Despite his dissuasion, you slowly take hold of the bandages once again and pull it down. Had it been anyone else, Obanai would have pushed them off immediately. But with you, it was as if the walls he had built around him crumbled with your gaze alone. The band unravels to show the shameful scars it hid underneath, its jagged lines decorating his face from ear to ear. He’d expected you to look away or even squint in disgust. But no, instead, your eyes held intrigue as the pads of your fingers ran across every bump and crevice of his wounds.  

“I’m-” disgusting,  he’d wanted to say, yet you had cut him off before he could say anything else.

“Beautiful. I’m sorry I let you think otherwise, Iguro-san,” you pause before bringing your gaze back to his own. “I shouldn’t have said what I did when it was further from the truth. Please believe me when I say that you are not hideous in the slightest bit. No one in this lifetime nor the next can convince me otherwise.” 

He tries to look for any signs of you lying—dilating pupils, or even a slight flinch—nothing. You lean forward, staring down at his scarred lips, with Obanai doing the same. Before your lips get close enough, you stop.

“May I?” you ask, taking a deep breath in anticipation.

“If you’d have me” he whispers, finally allowing them to meet in a long-awaited kiss. His lips closed on yours, soft yet engrossing, kind yet strong all at once. He felt rough, a stark contrast to that of yours, which was soft and delicate. They fitted together like two puzzle pieces. Obanai pulled your waist to him, drawing you closer. There was no lust, just two souls finally finding one another. Pulling away, your breaths heaved, both wishing that this moment would never end. 

The silence was cut off by a hiss from Kaburamaru as he tilted his head in awe before slithering his way onto your shoulder and nuzzling himself on your cheek. You giggle as you place a finger on the top of his head to pet it, the snake leaning into your touch. As Obanai watches the scene in front of him, a feeling of hope blossoms within his chest. His past may stain the blood inside him, but he will never let it tarnish the future he could have with you.

[jenneyquinn]

“who do you think you’re impressing with this stuff?”

“everyone. you wouldn’t understand.”

after adjusting his tie, pacifica looks up from dipper’s neck, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. it’s the very first time she sees him without that lame pine tree cap on, so naturally, her eyes aim a little higher.

upon inspecting the brunette’s tufts of hair, she thinks to herself, he definitely doesn’t shower much, trying her best to not react too visibly to the accumulation of sweat. who knows, making him feel more awkward will just make things worse—after all, that suit must be stuffy enough as it is.

so, she remains indifferent as she continues inspecting his hair. despite a lack of showering, she thinks, he’s lucky to have fluffly hair… for a nerd, i guess.

before she backs off completely, walking back into the party to the ‘problem room’, pacifica notices something about dipper’s forehead. a blemish, perhaps? or maybe, a hint of acne.

acne makes sense for him, trying very hard to roll her eyes at the thought, obviously not the type to spare time for proper skin care, geez.

for all she knew, pacifica soon came to the conclusion that from all that sweat… the pores on his forehead being clogged thanks to his brown hair and that hat of his, she wouldn’t worry much about giving away some facial cleanser, mosturiser, and a trip to pick up some ointment (since she never needed any).

yet, before she could start on a list—first, she needed to know how bad it was.

pushing his hair back, dipper feels his whole body go stiff in a flash. what the heck was she doing?

“i don’t have time to give you a total makeover, but the least i can do is advise you on better personal hygiene.”

pacifica answers, which meant that dipper was definitely thinking out loud.

stupid! now that, he whines in thought, but refrains from physically face-palming himself.

when pacifica fully pushes dipper’s hair back, his forehead now bare to her, she observes it, her face remaining indifferent as she focuses on what lies before her. it’s… a big dipper?

behind that poker face of hers, she’s laughing inside; trying desperately to not let the corners of her lips twinge up and succumb to her amusement.

clearly embarrassed, dipper’s face flushes red, but finds himself staying still as he feels frozen under pacifica’s gaze. his doe-brown eyes are only glued to her diamond-hued irises, then glances a bit down to her glossed lips, awaiting the inevitable mean-girl cackle.

“so that’s why people call you dipper.” pacifica points out softly, showing the smallest hint of a grin on her face.

only, it isn’t malicious—dipper notes to himself. amused, yes, but not in a cruel, insulting way.

feeling awkward enough as it is, dipper breaks away from pacifica’s touch, backing himself away and heading towards the door; laughing inorganically.

“yeah, it’s just a dumb birthmark, started going by dipper so no one could tease me about that anymore, heh,” he tries to explain in a single breath, pulling out the third journal to avoid being further burned in her gaze, “anywaysweshouldgoaheadandfindtheroomwheretheghostwaslastspottedright?”

“i don’t think it’s dumb.”

the confession slips pass pacifica’s lips almost instantly, unable to stop the words from spewing out.

now, they’re both pink in the face, both in disbelief of the blonde’s admission.

[moominsuki]

really fond of the fact that bakugou is really confident about himself as a hero and a man - he’s at his prime of 24-27 and his body is jacked, like he’s an adonis of a man and he’s objectively hot, all that jazz. bakugou doesn’t really think of his body in that regard: he works out but it’s for the job and he likes the general aesthetics of his body and thinks his scars are kinda cool. and they are!! very cool!! his friends think it makes him look scary (adds to his scary character which they like though :})but he likes the edgy look. a shrewd reporter once tried to insinuate that his scars were boorish and large and he shrugged them off with a snarl and the weight of his body. so yeah, he’s not insecure. not really.

it’s not until he’s interested in you does he start second guessing his physical appearance; the scar across his face looks larger, his hands suddenly feel more rough despite his quirk and he swears the blotchy cicatrix on his chest looks way worse than it did. you’ve even got him flexing in his bathroom mirror, ignoring the highlights of his muscles and fixating on what he’d now call ‘disfigurements.’

the crazy thing is, you don’t even care about any of the blemishes!! and not even getting into the fact that he’s practically blind to the way you salivate over him (that’s a whole other bridge to cross) but one day he unknowingly brings up how big the scar is across his nose, chastising it while you’re both talking by the photocopier, “if i knew the fuckin’ guy was gonna get me across the face, i woulda jumped out the damn way.”

you look at him slightly confused by his tone, eyes wide. “well, i like the scar. makes you look tough.”

“tough.” bakugou repeats, and you double down, nodding.

“nothing wrong with tough. girls - well i like tough. i mean, it’s not a bad thing! it’s kinda sexy on guys. also because you’re a pro hero. it tells a story, y’know?… it makes your face, you.”

bakugou nods slowly at that, touching his face again, your words resonating with him throughout the day. and the next. and the day after the next. and he thinks it’s so silly how worked up he gets over your off handed comment but what you think matters (much to his heart’s chagrin).

he’s so shy and so gruff at the same time. terrible romantic which is why he needs you to tell him how gorgeous he is: even though he appreciates his good looks and even though what people think shouldn’t matter but it’s different with you.

just imagining a shy, gruff twenty-something bakugou blushing at your not-so compliments is soooo incredibly heart wrenching. just imagining.

[ofpd]

1st century roman siege of jerusalem dashboard simulator

🐮 barkamtza

why does this shit always happen to me

#oh my goddd the ONE time it seems like people actually wanna hang out with me. #turns out they meant to invite kamtza instead #everyone hates me and i was SO fucking nice i offered to pay for the party #god i'm so pathetic. kms kms kms #they're gonna pay for this i swear #delete later

0 notes

📜 zekharya-ben-avkolas

Ok so obv it's not ok to sacrifice a blemished calf but the blemish is just on the eyelid? So maybe it's ok? But also and i don't want people to start going around thinking that it's ok to sacrifice blemished animals. But the thing is that if i don't bar Kamtza will tell the Romans we insulted them and that will be bad probably. And like no one likes bar Kamtza anyway will people really miss him..... but ugh neither of these seem like good things to do i don't feel like it's my place to make a decision about this :/

32 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏺neronero

off to war wish me luck! 🇲🇪🏹

🏺neronero

nvm guys. ✡️✡️

🏛 vespasian

my turn lol

53 notes

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport reblogged

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

Hey everyone! These are difficult times, and some friends and I have put together some mutual aid resources for our community to have access to wheat, barley, wine, salt, oil, and wood! More info below the cut. Take care of yourselves! 🫶

Read more

🧑🏽‍🦳 not-an-airport

fuck

7,235 notes

⚔️ biryonei-yerushalayim

anonymous asked:

Hey, I'm trying to ask this in good faith, and I hope you can take it that way. how can you possibly defend burning our grain stores. I understand that you want to radicalize more people but you're taking things too far. Jerusalem's blood is on your hands.

anon, what you need to understand is that the blame for the carnage in jerusalem lies primarily in the hands of the roman invaders and secondarily in the hands of the rabbis for refusing to resist. would you have told the hashmonaim not to resist their oppressors by any means necessary? just because this is getting inconvenient for you doesn't mean we shouldn't be doing it. it's frankly offensive that you'd imply that we, the defenders of jerusalem, should incur any blame for her current state.

#biryonim.answer #grain storage discourse

231 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael

did anyone else see the "zealot blocklist" going around lmaooo

#how do these liberals expect anyone to take them seriously #do they not have anything better to do.

7 notes

📚 stammaim reblogged

stopbeingpoor-deactivated3830102

ughh why is my servant so incompetent! i deserve the best flour why doesn't he get it...

stopbeingpoor

ykw i'll go get some myself. i'm desperate at this point i gotta do something

stopbeingpoor

EWWWW update: i stepped in something NASTY. this is why i don't fucking go out oh my god im gonna die

stopbeingpoor

gonna throw my gold & silver away for the good of the peasants or whatever it's not like it's any use to me when im literally dying -_-

📚 stammaim

lmao look at this it's exactly what yehezkel was talking about! ur gold won't save you!

#yehezkel #marta b. baitos

162 notes

🕎 yalla-hapoel

🌿 amicus-iudaeorum asked:

Hey, love your posts! They're very informative about the Jewish perspective on this war. I'm just wondering whether you condemn the actions of the zealots? I don't really feel comfortable following someone who supports that.

are you fr.

#if youre seriously concerned about this idt this is the blog for you i fear

28 notes

🛡 goel-yisrael reblogged

📖 ben-zakkai

⚰️⚰️⚰️⚰️ lol

🛡 goel-yisrael

? what does this mean

🗡 abbasikkara

dw about it bestie

🛡 goel-yisrael

ok 💗 yay 💗

6 notes

👩🏽‍🌾 discoursedumpblog

I've compiled a list of some of the most rabid zealots on this website. Remember, don't engage, just block and move on.

Read more

152 notes

🏛 vespasian reblogged

🏛 vespasian

some jew got an audience with me & called me king (im literally not lol thats so disrespectful to the actual king + if i was king then he shouldve met w me much earlier??), i think i should kill him

🏛 vespasian

AND my shoe is being so annoying. horrible day 👎

📖 ben-zakkai

omg just came across this old post

🏛 vespasian

OMG sorry i don't mean it anymore 🙏

14 notes

🫒 a-simple-yid

yirmiyahu tzadak...

#not to pretentiously quote tanakh but literally like. #hashiveinu hashem eilekha venashuva hadeish yameinu kekedem.

3 notes

[beifong-brainrot]

Something I've always loved about atla is how it handled scars, particularly Zuko's facial scar and Aang's lightning scar.

I've probably spoken before about how, as a burn victim with a ton of skin grafts on my legs, torso and hand, Zuko really was the first character "like me" that I saw on TV. It was, as you can guess, quite a momentous moment for kid me. Which is probably why I'm so disheartened on the live action show shrinking and toning down Zuko's scar significantly.

Too often scars, especially burn scars are seen as gore or body horror and too graphic to be seen on TV that isn't horror or related genres. And often scars, especially facial scars are reserved purely for villains and are used as a signifier for 'evil'. A trope that you'll find is still alive and kicking even today even in big franchises.

And while Zuko does reinforce this trope to some extent, I think it was subverted enough for it to have irs own merit. Atla also steers away from the scars=evil narrative, by having a lot of "good" characters have scars too like Bato and Song. This helps destigmatise scars as a whole, making Zuko's 'scarred villany' seem like a more individual case.

In Atla, scars are more the trademark of victims rather than villains and this rings true for Zuko too.

Zuko is a victim of the Fire Nation in the sense that the Fire Nation's values of war, strength and honour facilitated Ozai's abuse of him, particularly the scarring.

Zuko's scarring does follow a very established trope of a son being scarred by a father, which is surprisingly prevalent, especially with burn victims. Seriously I collect these men like pokemon. This tropiness isn't a bad thing, since I think it leads to us very quickly sympathising with him. I certainly did, since his experience mirrors my own.

The scene of Zuko's scarring is also particularly special, due to it being rather unique, because it isn't quick or an action scene, nor is it shown as an overly gory horror scene, despite it being, well, horrific.

It's... tasteful. Or at least, as tasteful as the scene of a child getting scarred by their father can be, I suppose. It doesn't linger on the violence, but also doesn't sugarcoat it. The scene of Zuko's scarring, and the events leading up to it also give us a good exposition to his better qualities, like his compassion, and a good explanation for why these qualities stay buried.

I can understand why some people in the fandom believe that Zuko's scar symbolises his 'worse side', but I actually believe its the opposite. Very often, when a character has a 'split down the middle' type of scar, their scarred side represents their worse half, like with Two Face from DC.

Because Zuko's scar doesn't symbolise his allegiance to the Fire Nation, it symbolises the fact that he failed to live up to the Fire Nation's standards. It's a physical reminder of the time Zuko actively defied the Fire Nation's standards and mindset.

We get a lot of nods to Zuko's scar aymbolising disgrace and failure to uphold ehat the Fire Nation expected of him. It's literally a physical blemish upon his 'honour'.

This is especially noticeable when Zuko's appearance is contrasted with Ozai, who exists as sort of the human stand in for the Fire Nation's imperialism. For most of the show, we are not shown any of Ozai's features, his face being obscured by shadow or out of frame.

We finally see Ozai's face, it's when Zuko is seeing hik for the first time in years. And Ozai looks so similar to Zuko. An unblemished, perfect, complete Zuko, so to speak. In Zuko's fever dream, where we see an unscarred Fire Lord version of Zuko, he looks exactly how I imagine a younger Ozai would look. I also love that Zuko's adult design seems to lean into this similarity.

Furthermore, Zuko's scar is used time and time again as a way he connects with victims of the Fire Nation. People who don't know him, like Song and Jet, assume him to be another victim of the Fire Nation, citing his scar as the reason why. Which is half true, Zuko is a victim of the Fire Nation, just not in the way they think.

Jet: I think Lee would make a good Freedom Fighter. He's just trying to find his way in the world, like us. Smellerbee: You don't know anything about him, Jet. Jet: I know he didn't get that scar from a waterbender.

One person who doesn't connect to Zuko over his burn scar is Katara. I love the scene of Katara and Zuko in the crystal catacombs. It's a profound scene and one that always makes me a bit emotional, especially in the wider context of atla, a subject I've touched on in this post.

However, the handling of Zuko's scar in this scene is especially dear to my heart. I strongly remember that, when Katara offered to heal Zuko's scar, I actually got scared and upset. I was terrified of Zuko's scar being erased, of the connection I felt to him snuffed out and one of the best parts of his characterisation being erased.

But that's not what happened, and the scene is amazing on that front and all others.

We learn that Katara asscociates Zuko's face with the Fire Nation, which makes sense, since he's been kinda clingy for the entire 1st season. Katara denies it having to do with anything with Zuko's scar.

Katara: It's just that for so long now, whenever I would imagine the face of the enemy, it was your face. Zuko: My face? I see. [He touches his scar.] Katara: No, no, that's-that's not what I mean.

The Katara lover in me believes her. As a a member of the Sothern Water Tribe, she probably has seen many burn victims. And her pursuing healing would also probably lead her down the route of normalising and understanding burn scars.

However, I would not be surprised or disconcerted if the scar did have something with Katara perceiving him as a villain. After all, to a lot of people, scars and "ugliness" denote moral ugliness. The very obvious fire asscociation probably doesn't help someone traumatised by the Fire Nation too. It is a sad fact of life that even those who know better subconsciously react to people with scars and other "deformities" with disgust and distrust.

We also see Zuko explicitly give us the rundown of his previously unspoken struggle with feeling like his scar is defining him as a person.

Zuko: It's okay. I used to think this scar marked me. The mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever. But lately, I've realized I'm free to determine my own destiny, even if I'll never be free of my mark.

This is something I can relate to as someone with prominent scarring and I'm sure we all sometimes feel defined by things outside of our control. Sometimes It's hard to seperate your identity from your appearance. And it's even harder to seperate yourself from events that influenced you so harshly.

As I previously highlighted, Zuko's scar relates strongly to his failure to adhere to the Fire Nation's ideals and conventions, his failure to be the perfect prince of the nation. And while to us, that is a good thing, to Zuko, at least at first, that is a very, very bad thing.

To Zuko, the scar is a symbol of his flaws, and a just, if not harsh punishment for his percieved transgression. He sees it as a brand, denoting his mistake and shame. He sees it as the physical manifestation of what his banishment and scorn from Ozai means.

It's only when he begins growing as a person away from the Fire Nation's influnece, that he starts to realise that the scar is just a scar. It holds no power over him. And while he relapses for a moment, "demystifying" his scar allows him to do the same to the event of his scarring. It allows him to look back at that moment and not see righteous discipline, but rather see it for what it was and go "hey wait a minute that was actually fucked up.". Which allows him to look at The Fire Nation's conquest of the world and go "hey this is also fucked up.", when the lessons he's learnt in the Earth kingdom finally click.

I believe this is why we see Zuko almost purely from the side of his scar in the scene where he confronts Ozai, especially when it's contrasted with Ozai's unscarred eyes.

Zuko's scar, like many scars in fiction, symbolises imperfection. But rather than an "objective" imperfection, as most fictional scars do, Zuko's scar symbolises his imperfection through the skewed and biased eyes of the Fire Nation. It's a nice subversion of the trope that usually encourages us to equate beauty with goodness and ugliness with evil.

Side note, I know I've been using the terms "ugly" and "ugliness" to talk about scars. I just wanted to note that I don't think scars automatically mean someone isn't attractive/scarred people are ugly. But in a lot of media, scars are seen as gross and ugly, which is why I've been using these terms.

I like that Zuko defies this trope by being drawn as very attractive with his scar, and even being seen as desireable in canon.

Even though it does loop back to the 'attractive=good' symbolism, I don't think it totally invalidates the story Zuko's scar is telling. Plus it WAS an ego boost to child year old me who thought no one whould ever love me bcs I looked like a burnt chicken nugget. So I'll let it slide.

I love Zuko's scar, and I love how it seamlessly fit into the story, while also subverting tropes and invalidating stigmas towards scarred people. It's probably one of my favourite, if not very personal aspects of the character.

I do however, also want to analyse and go over Aang's scar from Azula's lightning and I plan to go over it at a later date, since this post is getting a bit long and overwhelming.

Toodles!

[avelera]

How did Jayce know Viktor was erasing the blemishes of others as well?

Because Viktor did it to Jayce too.

I was admittedly a bit puzzled when Jayce made the leap to Viktor being ashamed of his own disability and seeing it as a flaw. Viktor wanting to erase his disease made sense, it was literally terminal, and Jayce was all in on helping him with that.

But Viktor has never actually said aloud that he wanted to get rid of his limp too. However, he has demonstrated this desire with the fact he first tested out the Shimmer/Hexcore transformation on his bad leg and the whole scene with him yelling on the docks while he ran.

But there's another moment too that I realized would clue Jayce in: on the astral plane when Viktor first drags him there.

Here's a picture of Jayce's hands while he's there:

It's the first thing he looks at while he's giving his speech about Viktor wanting to cure what he thought were weaknesses.

By now, Jayce's wrist had the gem embedded in it. He had the rot from the poisoned future dimension creeping along his skin in what looked like an increasingly severe, if not fatal, infection.

In addition he presumably had cut and scars from his time in the other dimension, burn marks from his years working in forges, not to mention broken nails and darker skin (though that could just be the lighting). Yet his hands here look luminous and young, untouched by any sort of work or damage.

These are not Jayce's hands. These are hands that have been stripped of every flaw or mark of individuality.

I think Jayce recognizes that and it helps him piece together what exactly Viktor is doing here, and why.

[uplatterme]

all out?

—sub!scara/dom!reader, amab!reader | office sex, exhibitionism

—not beta read so excuse some mistakes if there are any TT

honestly, scaramouche should have seen this coming.

he stares at his empty cabinet, dumbfounded that there’s nothing inside it. surely not…

the balladeer wants to scream. just his luck, that it happened today too, when there’s a meeting scheduled that he cannot skip.

“fuck.”

the harbinger walks through the chilling halls of the zapolyarny palace. the cold has never bothered him in any shape or form, yet today proves to be an exception.

there are lower-ranked fatui passing by, hastily running off, not wanting to meet his gaze. an action that he isn’t unfamiliar to.

he hisses and stops when a certain ginger blemishes his view.

“looks like someone’s having a bad day!” he greets.

for a moment there, scaramouche thinks that he’s caught red-handed. not until he realizes that the youngest harbinger couldn’t have possibly seen through his facade.

“you’re deafeningly loud.” he bites back, continuing his steps despite the aching in his lower half.

“ah, still the same as ever. not that im surprised.” he says, chuckling echoing through the halls.

“the meeting’s to start in a few, although the director and the overseer hasn’t arrived yet.” tartaglia informs.

he flushes at the mention of your title, the one behind this problem that he’s facing right now.

“hello?” he calls out.

“can you learn to shut up just at least once?!” he yells.

currently, he sits on the chair provided for him, next to pulcinella and sandrone. as long as he doesn’t get seated next to that blue-haired freak, he considers any situation to be pleasant.

the door opens with a slam and the rest of the harbingers bow their head as greeting. there you stand, that folder you always carry in your arms and a pen between your fingers.

that’s when the memories comes back to him.

flashes of each time you’ve ripped his underwear with those fingers of yours, the scene claws into his brain as he bows down his head in unison with the others.

it was fine the first time. it was only a one-time thing, after all.

oh, how naive he was thinking that.

he then realizes that it wasn’t a one-time thing, seeing as there’s none of them left in his cabinet, forced to attend this meeting with his cock slapping against his thigh each time he walks.

it’s embarrassing. he seethes at your voice, talking about some topic that he couldn’t give a shit about. he adores when your tone is like that, commanding and strict. the more you speak, the more the harbinger wants to cave in.

his cock presses hardly to his shorts, begging for any kind of attention. unfortunately, he’s forced to endure it. to sit there in agony while he stares at you, giving out orders.

oh, how he wishes that you bend him against the table right now.

he can see it visibly twitch from underneath his clothing. if you were to see this, what would you have done? scaramouche’s imagination runs wild, thinking of how you’d make him take your cock. overusing his body and milking him dry. a doll, whose only purpose is to serve you.

“balladeer?” he snaps back to reality, hearing you mention him.

he bites back a needy whine, feeling everyone’s attention now centered on him.

“yeah?” he spit out, his eyes meeting with yours.

“you’ll be sent off to a separate mission, is that all right with you?”

god, you could ask him to do anything and he’d agree.

“sure.”

when the meeting ends, his body was moving on its own, moving towards you to grab you and pinning you to the wall.

“you! you better take care of this!” he shouts.

you were confused at first but it didn’t take you long to see his cock fully outlined through his tight shorts.

“why should i? you’re the one who decided to attend this meeting like that.”

he groans. he does not have the time for any of your teasing right now.

“you kept tearing through—just, ugh!

fuck me already!”

his voice echoes throughout the room. he would have never expected this kind of situation to happen but he needed you so badly. he’s been hot and bothered ever since this morning.

he lets out a relieved groan once he feels his abdomen pressing on the table.

then, next comes the sound of his shorts being ripped apart. he would have complained about your tendency to tear through his clothes but all the complaints in his head goes away once he feels your fingers digging inside of him.

“hnngghh—fuck, finally. only thing you’re fucking good for—oh god!”

“shit, shit, shit!”

his face presses up on his hands, far too drunk as drool goes down his chin. he’s loving each movement inside of him, the satisfaction and pleasure you give are intoxicating him and he wants more.

his body squirms, his feet constantly misplacing themselves on the floor. his dick leaking precum as you stroke it at a pace, leaving him panting and breathing like a dog who had just gone for a run.

“look at you, all loose already…your body’s just made for fucking, isn’t it? always wanting to prove something when you can just show everybody how much of a cumdump you are.”

scara grunts at your insult (praise?), wanting to spit back something to defend himself. but his body is then shifted around, his back laying on the cold table as you took no time in penetrating his hole.

his mouth is left wide open by the stretch. it burns but god, he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the pain. the pain that would soon then transition into pleasure by each. single. thrust.

pounding into him mercilessly, his mouth being covered by his own mouth to desperately hide his cries from enjoying it too much, smiling underneath.

eventually, he just decides to let go. his hands reaching up to fondle his own chest, playing with his nipples while you shape him into your own cocksleeve, his leg up as you wanted better access into fucking him as much as you can.

scara’s so damn loud. of course, he doesn’t notice it. nor does he notice a certain redhead blushing needing to do a double take to see if he’s seeing the right thing.

“f-fill me up! fuck, please!”

“haaah—! more, more!”

after a while, those sentences are no longer coherent as he’s turned to just moaning and whimpering, slurring his words that you can barely understand.

the table is a cum-filled mess, his dick spurting out white as his eyes roll back the furthest they can into his head.

and yet, he doesn’t stop.

even better, he’s started to match your rhythm and grind himself onto you.

there’s a bit of a swelling in his belly from your cum and yet that isn’t seen as a blockade.

each thrust, your cum slipping out of him and back into him and the warm feeling of your stickiness is just enough to send him over the edge.

in the end, he’s left with a satisfied smile. laughing and chuckling while struggling to breathe, his walls aching and not sure if he wants more or to just stop moving for as long as he can.

one thing’s for sure though,

he’s completely forgotten that his shorts are torn apart.

[myballsyourballs]

Bakugo, Todoroki, and Midoriya with recovery girls grandson? They get injured and we kiss them to make em feel better. (:

a healthy recovery!

bakugo, todoroki and midoriya (seperate) x m! reader

genre: fluffy drabbles

notes: i enjoyed writing this! thanks for the req

masterlist | make a request

bakugo !

"Bakugo, seriously. Just let me--"

"Fuck off! I'm not letting your gross lips kiss me!" Bakugo is blushing furiously, limping around with a surprising amount of speed given his sprained ankle.

"Stop acting like such a child!"

"FUCK YOU!"

You quickly dart around the bed he's hiding behind, grabbing him by the nape of his neck and smashing your lips against his cheek. You activate your quirk quickly, and then pull back just as fast. "See, that wasn't so bad!"

Bakugo doesn't answer. In fact, he looks like he didn't even register your words. His face is completely red, but his features are contorted into the most furious scowl you've seen on him yet.

"Woah, okay... look, I'm just doing my job, okay? Please don't--"

"Bye."

Bakugo stomps off on his now healed ankle, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Once the door is slammed behind him, you swear you hear him mutter a "holy fucking shit holy shit oh my god holy shit"

...Nah, you're probably imagining things.

todoroki !

"You... have to kiss me?" Todoroki frowns at the burn on his arm.

"Yes. As I said, I'm Recovery Girl's grandson."

"She... has a grandson?"

"...Yes," you furrow your brows, watching as Todoroki stares at you with a perplexed yet intrigued expression. "Please just let me kiss you now."

He nods, and leans in with his eyes closed and lips puckered. Aiming for your lips.

"Woah, now!" quickly, you place a hand on his mouth. He opens his eyes, startled. "Take me out to dinner first. I meant on your cheek. Or your hand, or something."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

You feel kinda bad. The poor guy averts his eyes completely, the tips of his ears red and his head lowered. He raises his hand towards you, and you quickly grasp it and kiss him on the back of his hand.

Mesmerised, Todoroki watches as his burn slowly recedes until his skin is smooth and free of blemishes. "...Thank you."

"Not a problem!"

Silence, for a moment. You wonder why he hasn't left yet.

"Can I take you out to dinner?"

midoriya !

"Is your quirk an exact replica of Recovery Girl's?"

"Mine doesn't make you as tired."

"Really? How does that work? Does it use your stamina instead of the stamina of person you're healing? Or does it drain something else from someone? Let's say, their thirst? Maybe hunger? What about--"

"Midoriya," you sigh. He stops muttering. "I'm here to heal you. I'm happy to answer your questions, but you are getting blood all over the floor."

He looks down.

There's... a bit of a puddle. Not a big one, but still... a puddle.

"Give me your hand," you murmur, holding out your own hand. He obliges, blushing heavily when you gently grasp his. Bringing it up to your mouth, you kiss Midoriya's hand softly -- the large cut on his arm fading into pale, freckled skin.

"Perfect," you drop his hand. "Are you feeling better?"

He nods enthusiastically, inspecting his arm with interest. Midoriya watches intently as you walk over to the cupboards and grab a towel to mop up the mess on the floor. He stays silent for a minute or two, just watching quietly. Once you finish, he speaks once more.

"...Can I ask you questions now?"

[runninriot]

Beautiful Boy

written for @steddiesmuttyseptember

week 3 prompt: lingerie | rated: E | wc: 4.551 | tags: shy eddie munson, lovingly mean steve harrington, dom/sub undertones, sexual content, self confidence issues, body worship | complete fic on ao3

  “This is stupid. So, so stupid.”

Eddie has been keeping himself locked away in the bathroom for way too long now. He should go out and face the music, but he can’t, feels too humiliated to move.

   “What the hell am I doing?”

He should’ve known it was a bad idea to agree to this, should’ve known his childish behaviour would come back to bite his ass.

Eddie lost a bet to his boyfriend, a stupid bet he’d agreed to easily because when has he ever said no to a challenge? But Steve beat him and now Eddie is getting ready to pay up.

Or at least he’s trying to. Because he’s still not sure he can really pull it off.

He keeps turning from left to right, skeptically looking at his reflection in the mirror.

    God, he looks ridiculous, doesn’t he.

This stuff isn’t made for him. It’s for people with less bony asses. People with more meat on them and with defined muscles they can show off. Pretty people, whose perfect bodies would shine covered in black lace.

Eddie just looks… wrong. Like he’s trying to be something he’s definitely not.

The dainty floral pattern is a harsh contrast to the crooked lines adorning his skin – too soft, too delicate, enhancing all his little flaws and blemishes rather than fulfilling the purpose of making him feel good. That’s why people usually choose to wear these things, right? To feel hot and pretty and confident.

Well. He definitely doesn’t.

He hates the way the panties sit too low on his hips, digging into the sharp edges of his bones. The way they sit snug around his flat ass, revealing the lack of shape. The matching bralette is made of the same lacy material, thin straps holding nothing in place – Eddie’s not graced with the body of a god like Steve is. He’s got nothing much to show off.

Eddie takes one more look at himself and sighs defeated when he sees someone he doesn't recognise staring back from the mirror.

And it bothers him, how much he hates the view. How insecure it makes him feel, how it makes him question what Steve sees in him, why he settled for someone like Eddie when he could’ve had anyone else.

Someone just as beautiful as him.

At least Steve will get a good laugh out if it. That’s probably why he thought of the punishment in the first place. Not necessarily to make fun of Eddie, he’s not that mean. But- whatever.

A bet is a bet, and he lost, so he’ll suck it up and get it over with.

He’s got a one-man-crowd waiting for him in the bedroom and the sooner he gets what he wants, the sooner Eddie can get out of this fucking lingerie.

-----

Steve’s buzzing with anticipation. He’s been sitting on the bed for what feels like hours, waiting for Eddie to finally come out of the bathroom.

He’s been dreaming about this forever, literally. It’s a secret fantasy he’s had ever since Eddie and him started dating a few months ago, since they started exploring each other’s bodies in the most intimate ways.

To see Eddie’s perfect body covered in lacy lingerie, to let his fingers dance over the soft fabric, gently caressing what’s underneath, mouthing at his cock through his panties just to tease, just rile him up – God, what a vision, what a thought. And soon, so soon, it’ll become reality.

He can’t wait for his boyfriend to walk out dressed in the matching pieces Steve had chosen himself, went for the black set because it’s Eddie’s favourite colour.

Steve’s hard just from imagining it. Can barely keep his hands to himself at the dirty thoughts looping in his mind.

He needs to see it. Needs Eddie to come out right now or he’ll combust.

And then, finally, Eddie does. Slowly opens the bedroom door before he hesitantly steps in. And he’s even more beautiful than Steve could ever have imagined.

Standing there, all shy and pretty, with his cheeks tinted pink and his arms crossed before his chest, looking so… so perfect.

   “Fuck,“ is all Steve can get out, too stunned, too lost in the vision his boyfriend is.

He let’s his eyes roam slowly from his face to his shoulder, following the line of the straps down to where the v-shaped neckline reveals Eddie’s hairless, tattooed chest. Stops to take in the sight of his pierced nipples, metal glinting through sheer fabric that hugs his shape so beautifully.

Eyes raking further down, Steve feels his own cock twitch - the low cut panties enhance Eddie’s narrow waist perfectly, catching Steve’s full attention where the lace encloses Eddie’s glorious dick. He’s soft but still prominent under the see-through material that leaves nothing to the imagination.

It’s a mouth-watering vision and Steve silently curses himself for not being bold enough to get the fishnet stockings, too. They’d sit so perfectly around Eddie’s muscular thighs and long legs.

    “It’s okay, Steve. You can laugh. I know I look stupid.“

Eddie’s words pull him out of his trance and Steve blinks a few times, feeling a little hazy.

The words take some time to sink in but once they do, Steve suddenly notices that what he thought was Eddie just being a bit shy is actually him being uncomfortable. That the way he tries to hide his body behind his own arms is not him acting coy, it’s him being ashamed.

    Oh, hell no.

That just won’t do. That’s not what Steve had planned.

Luckily, he knows just how to turn this around.

-----

continue reading here

[leth-writes]

Fishbowl

yandere Chrollo x reader

Summary: There's something wrong with your boyfriend. If only you'd figured it out before it was too late.

Warnings: brief discussions of death and serious injuries, nothing is done to the reader!

There’s something wrong with your boyfriend. You’d never really noticed, beyond the slight, subtle signs, but now, sitting in a dingy warehouse with a raving man waving a gun in your face, you don’t really have much else to do except think. And what you think, is that there’s something wrong with Chrollo.

Chrollo’s kind of a weird guy, as much as you love him. He’s pale and quiet, though he often wears that small smirk, especially when he’s correcting some asshole about the pronunciation of some long-dead composer. His skin is so white it’s almost translucent, and he seems to glow in the moonlight, skin taking on an otherworldly quality you hadn’t ever seen outside of the movies. You’d asked multiple times, only half-joking, if he was part-fae. He always said no, though he did laugh and squish your cheeks, calling you adorable.

His eyes were remarkably shallow, though you often attributed that to some unknown trauma he refused to really address. They were a deep, rich black, and when you stared into them it felt like they’d swallow you whole, but there was a noticeable barrier that blocked you from understanding how he was really feeling, what he was really thinking. 

His face, free of wrinkles or blemishes, often stayed in a flat, resting expression. He didn’t often show extreme emotion, seemed to avoid it, and stared at you like you were a particularly interesting insect whenever you expressed a strong feeling. It sometimes felt like he didn’t… get your emotions, like he only played along to make you happy, rather than understanding how you felt. It sometimes led to problems, like the time you’d been crying because you got fired (you got accused of sending harsh messages to your coworkers, though your phone showed no such logs), and he’d just chuckled and patted your head like you were a dog.

His hair often framed his face perfectly, slick and choppy like he’d just come from the barber, perfectly accentuated by the grey cloth headband he never took off. You’d asked why he wore it so low, once, only for him to say he had a particularly bad scar. He never offered to show you, and you never asked again. You knew not to press when he’d ended the conversation. It wasn’t like he’d tell you anyways.

He always wore dark pants, usually slacks, contrasting with his wardrobe of soft cashmere sweaters and white dress shirts. He dressed like an office worker, so you assumed he was some higher up at a big company in YorkNew, but Chrollo never answered when you asked. He only replied “It’s not important,” and laughed at the confused expression you’d make.

He loved watching you, like he’d never seen another person before. Sometimes he’d just spend hours watching you read or work, face never falling from a gentle smile as he leant on one hand and crossed his wrinkle-free slack-clad legs, staring at you like you were a new species. He loved watching the muscles move under your skin, tracing them as you lay next to him in bed. Sometimes you’d even wake up to him staring at you in the dark, sitting in a chair he’d surreptitiously brought into the bedroom. He’d always said he was making sure you had good dreams.

You had never met his friends, you didn’t know their names, but he loved telling you about their shenanigans. He’d tell you about his boisterous friend getting drunk and starting fights, his friend with the short bob who was an incredible shot, even his friend obsessed with samurai memorabilia. Yet, he refused to let you actually meet them, or even call them. He knew everything about your friends, even more than you had ever told him. You weren’t sure how, because they couldn’t recall telling him anything. That was before they’d all left you, refusing to hang out if you were still dating Chrollo. They all said he was creepy, that he hated them, that he was dangerous. You’d just thought they disliked him for his upbringing, growing up poor. It was about the only thing he’d ever told you.

Now, you were wishing he’d told you more. You imagined going back to that younger, naive self and agreeing with your friends, breaking up with Chrollo and never looking back. Alas, it was too late. You were stuck, and there was nowhere for you to go. You were stuck in some gross, dark room, with the man who had thrown a bag over your head and shoved you into his trunk. Your ankles and wrists were raw from trying to escape the bonds, but they were tied remarkably tight to the thin metal chair you were placed upon. All you could hope is that your death would be quick, that they’d find your body before it decomposed too much to identify you. You could imagine the terrible reconstruction they’d put on the news, Chrollo being interviewed about how tragic it was you were missing while a new girlfriend hung on his arm.

The man who’d kidnapped you said he was trying to get revenge on Chrollo for taking someone from him, but you couldn’t help but think that he was overestimating how much Chrollo cared for you. Then, the lights went out. The man shouted, though it suddenly cut off, and a sickening crunch resonated and echoed around the warehouse. The lights flicked back on and there stood Chrollo over top of the man’s body, neck twisted and bones poking grotesquely through paling skin, white so bright it looked like fresh snow. Chrollo smiled, stepping toward you despite your flinch, and untied you. He smiled, eyes crazed in a way you’d never seen before, and kissed your head gently. “Let’s go home, sweetheart,” he said, smile growing softer and more gentle. His eyes returned to their normal, dead, state.

As you stared into the wide, unseeing eyes of the man who lay dead on the floor, you wondered who was worse off.

[georgiapeach30513]

My Worth In Blood

Summary: If he catches you, he gets to keep you.

Pairings: Vampire!Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, chase kink, teasing, blood kink, unprotected sex, PIV sex, minor breeding kink, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 2.9K

Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

Inhale. Long, slow, and drawn out. Exhale.

Breathe in, “Mmm.”

Delectable.

Ransom’s piercing cool blue eyes scan into the dusky night. Who is that? He runs a tongue over his razor sharp teeth. Moving the muscle over it before he pierces his tongue. He inhales the intoxicating aroma of you again. You smell divine. Heavenly. But where are you?

Taking a few steps, he scents you again. He can already taste you on his lips, and pouring down his throat. His eyes nearly glow as he finds the pathway to you. Pupils immediately dilating when he sees you. Alone, minding your business, and reading a book at a cafe. Oblivious to the noise and hustle of the city. Your foot taps a steady rhythm on the table leg, and you flip a page of your book.

Lifting your mug to your lips, he smells your body’s beautiful scent mixing with the aroma of chai tea latte. His vision zones in on the pulse on your neck. Your body is heating up. Your chest heaves a bit more than the other patrons at the cafe. Heart beating so much faster. Your mouth opens as you inhale sharply. You’re fucking aroused. So heated over whatever you’re reading he smells your honey, and can already taste you.

He shakes himself out of his stupor, smiling as he walks over to you. You’re so caught up in the book you don’t even pay him any mind, so he sits down in the chair in front of you. My gods, your neck is a work of art. Pristine, and blemish free. Perfect for his bite. You don’t care about him, or the fact that he can feel your temperature raise. What has got you so turned on? What is it that makes you feel so — flustered?

He clears his throat, watching as you finish your page before closing your book, “I’m not moving. There’s other tables you can sit at,” and you lift your book up again.

“What are you reading?”

“Not into small talk,” you chide, trying to read despite his inquiries.

“Little Stranger?” Ge looks at the blackened book in your hands with a smile. It looks almost sinister.

“Mmm,” you respond. You weren’t going to finish this book if he didn’t stop talking. You want to roll your eyes. You want to show him just how annoyed you are, but you continue along your merry way. Enjoying each line despite the intruder.

“What’s it about?”

You roll your eyes up to look at him over the book, and finally you see him. He’s dangerous. You didn’t know who he was, or anything about him, but danger radiates off his pale skin. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness with how bright they are. You want to look away, and can’t. He smiles the most devilish handsome smile, and you need to melt into yourself.

“Don’t do that,” you demand of him.

“Do what?” He’s an arrogant thing. His mouth curls up into a grin that would have girls losing their panties immediately. But you sense the danger.

“Whatever you’re doing,” his head cocks to the side in a question, looking like an innocent pup instead of the predator you know he is, and it makes you you gulp. You don’t miss the way his hungry eyes go to your mouth, and then your neck. Nostrils flaring when he notices your pulse, “Stop it.”

“What exactly am I doing?” He’s a tease.

“You’re fucking me with your eyes,” his boisterous laugh startles you, but it’s not a bad sound. It’s musical. “You know what you’re doing.”

“My sweet little mouse,” that nickname? Why would he use that one? He isn’t allowed to make you feel weaker than you already are. And ‘my’? He’s already claiming you as his. Are you in a book? Is your fantasies coming to life right before your eyes. “Trust me, if I was fucking you, you’d know.”

“I said with your eyes,” his brows lower as he stares at you. Staring right into your soul. No, your core, sensing the heat and slick pooling in your paties. You whimper. Heat courses through your body, and you feel it tingle all the way to your toes. Your body suddenly has two heartbeats, and one is making you double over. “Stop!”

The feeling immediately quits, and you gape at him. “What are you doing?”

“Judging by the swelling of your lips, the dilated eyes, and the scent coming from between your thighs, you know exactly what I’m doing,” you press your fingers on your mouth. Running the pads of the digits over your lips. He’s lying. “Little mouse, I didn’t mean the lips on your face.”

“You pervert!” He chuckles again, and you lay your book on the table. Crossing your arms over your chest, and he reaches for the book. “Stop! Don’t read that, it’s private!”

Randomly the strange man opens your book, stopping where you last let off. His mouth quirks up with each line. His eyes move unnaturally quickly over the words. “I don’t think I’m the one that’s a pervert,” he chuckles, and then clears his throat. The man looks at you, while he closes the book. Clearing his throat, “Has anyone ever told you how delectable you smell?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you cross too many boundaries?”

“Has anyone ever told you how your heart rate spikes when you read your filthy smut?” You gawk at him. The audacity. “You’re reading this out in public. Is that part of the turn on?” You didn’t have to answer that. You’re enjoying yourself reading. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s quite a turn on for me that I could smell your arousal across the street, and all because you were reading that,” you clear your throat.

He isn’t a bad looking man. He’s actually — beautiful in an otherworldly kind of way. What he’s saying is embarrassing, and enthralling all at the same time. The man picks your book up again, and starts flipping through the pages. “You don’t lack many pages. Mmm,” his nostrils flare, and his jaw tightens. The man adjusts his sitting, and his pants.

“You’re uncomfortable with my book?”

“No,” gulping, you look down at your cup. You wonder exactly what he is reading, and why a stranger is making you feel things deep in the pit of your stomach that you can’t explain. It is completely animalistic, and you don’t want to fight it. What are you thinking? This isn’t fiction. This is real life, and he’s a real man. “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“A man,” he is all man. You can see that clearly. “Nor am I turned off by this. This brother is a menace. Why is he putting blood on his sister?”

“Concerned about the blood and not the fact they’re siblings?” His nose curls up a bit. An intimidating man, looking adorable. He flips a few pages before glaring at you, “They’re not actually siblings.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” he doesn’t even ask. He grabs your book, and holds out a hand for you. “I won’t bite. Hard anyways,” so corny. And yet, you still give him your hand. Gulping as his eyes scan over your entire body when you stand in front of him, “Immaculate.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr.?”

“Ransom,” it’s a fitting dark name for him. “Don’t ever call me Mr. Drysdale,” lifting your hand, he takes a long whiff before pressing his pillowy lips on your chilled hand, “What are you?” Those eyes flit back and forth across your face. “You’re like no human I’ve ever smelled.”

“You’re strange.”

“And there’s more to you than meets the eye, little mouse,” you roll your eyes, going to lead the way to somewhere, when Ransom looks up at the name of the cafe, “Coven Cafe, servicing wicked brews, enchanted espressos, and potions all to you from a mystic mug?”

“Is there a problem?” You moan as he pulls you into his marble hard body, and he sniffs up your neck. His tongue flicks out onto your skin, and he licks you, “Are you as impressed as I am that after all these years, you found me?”

“You bitch.”

“Witch,” giggling, you push Ransom away from you. “And yet, you can’t get my scent out of your silly little vamp mind,” his eyes set afire. Glaring at you while your lips turn up into a devious smile. “You think you finally deserve to bite me? To feast on me? Go on, you can bite me if you want to,” pouting up at him, you bat your lashes, “I like it.”

His eyes flutter close, and you take it as an opportunity to run. He could outrun you with his eyes closed, so any head start would have to do. Sprinting to the nearby woods. He can track you. He probably enjoys that even more. Cackling the moment you get into the trees, you begin to peel off parts of your clothes.

Leaving him a trail of discarded pieces of you. Letting him know just how undressed you are. Teasing him as you run away. Whore of a vampire. You are no fool to Ransom, and what it is he wants, and you’re willing to give it to him. Even for just one night. You’d become his obsession, while he became your ultimate prize. He could deny it. He could say that witches and vampires are mortal enemies. But Ransom has dreamed of a taste from you for too many years. You made sure of that.

“Where are you?” His voice echoes into the night, and you can’t help but to laugh again. Letting your voice ring out into the night.

“Use your vampire made senses. Find me. Claim me. And you can finally taste me,” you duck into a thicket. Your eyes looking into the dark for a sign of one of nature’s ultimate predators. Waiting on him like you’re his prey. And you want to be. You want him to pounce. The stamina of a vampire is said to be unmatched. And you want to test out that theory.

Quieting your breathing, you hear crunching of the leaves, and it’s not the pretty creature of the night. The woods come alive, altering your senses, and you have a deep urge to flee. You don’t want to. You need him to catch you. But there’s too much movement all around you. His presence wakes up the woods. They all want to get away from him.

“Run,” a voice whispers against your back, and you bolt. He chortles. He’s only letting you get ahead because he loves the chase. Loves the adrenaline rush right to his groin. Loves the way that you smell when you’re scared. Those muffled little snickers tickle on your skin, letting you know just how close he is to you.

All he has to do is reach out, “Got you. Now,” he pushes your body up against his own. Grinding his hips into your ass. “It’s a bit cliche to have a witch running through the woods naked on a full moon, isn’t it?”

“Better make it quick. We might not be the only creatures of the night out here,” he thrusts himself forward, grinning when you whimper.

“Think you can handle that much?” Pressing his bulge up against your ass, you get weaker with every rub against you.

“Oh, baby, I’ve been on my knees while a werewolf tried to mate with me. You think your little cock is going to be enough?” His fangs snap out, and you gasp. “Do it,” whining as a fang runs softly against your skin. “I dare you,” your knees buckle, and you mewl as he pierces your skin.

His hips still dry hump you. A free hand roams down your body until he sinks between your velvety lips. “My gods, you’re leaking,” his fangs retreat back in, and you spin around to glare at him. “Oh shut up, you needy little bitch. Are you trying to mate with every creature out there? I’m a vampire. I don’t procreate.”

“Did you ever think that was the appeal?” Ransom rolls his eyes, but calmly starts to remove his clothes. “Able to fuck all day with no consequence. You could spill in my cunt, and never sire a child. And…”

“Did you really let a filthy mutt mount you?” The disgust on his face is evident. It makes you giddy knowing you can get under his skin so easily.

“Why?”

“I don’t much care for sloppy seconds,” pulling his pants down, his cock springs free, and you nearly drool at the sight. A rock hard rod, looking more like marble than flesh. “Are you a whore?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Oooh!” He picks you up without any preamble. Both his hands gripping a thigh as he spreads you out wide, and lifts you up to his face. “What are you doing?” You screech, and he sniffs you.

“Staring at your cunt.”

“Why?”

“Have you actually taken a mutt?”

The one thing that would offend Ransom, and you said it just to get a reaction. Typical. “No. Even I have standards,” he starts lowering your body, gazing up at your eyes that are pitch black with sinful lust. “You gonna fuck me?”

“I’m gonna fuck, and claim you,” lowering you further, he impales you on his cock, and you screech. His pulsing member stretches you out in such a state that you can’t even see straight. Giving you no time to adjust to him, he uses your body like a cocksleeve. Lifting you up and stabbing into you over and over again. Wanting you to feel every blinding pleasure throughout your body.

You’ve fucked other creatures, but never a vampire. Their skin is a crawling frost, but the speed at which he moves is enough to make your toes curl. The friction heats you up, even if his body can’t. “Gods, you are a pretty little witch. Too bad I can’t fuck my spawn into you.”

“Shut up with the breeding kink. You can’t deliver,” Ransom growls. It isn’t humane, it’s feral. He leans forward, biting onto your neck, while your body crashes into him. You’d heard of such highs as a vampire feasting on you during sex, but you weren’t prepared for this. This is heavenly. Setting your soul and skin on fire.

It’s like feeling your pleasure, but also his own. His passion. The way you feel to him. It’s beyond just orgasmic, you are giving him sustenance. You’re giving him air to breathe. To survive. “My gods,” he pulls off your neck, crimson drips from his lips, and he licks it off, savoring the taste of you. “What are you?”

“A powerful witch,” moaning, when he makes you take every inch of his veiny cock. Settling you over him balls deep Holding you still while he looks over your face. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Witch’s got my cock,” you snort, and he pulls you off him, only to slam you back over his length. “Bind yourself to me,” he demands. Vampires have been known to be cocky.

“Absolutely not,” his brow quirks up. This time he pulls himself out of you slowly before he rails back into you. “You’re amazing with that magic wand of yours, but I will never bind myself to you without a cost.”

“And what’s that cost?”

His eyes look at your open wound before he leans forward. His tongue flattens against your skin, and he pulls it up your neck. Sealing up the wounds. Returning to look at you. “Bind yourself to me,” Ransom scoffs. “It’s only fair. You have a blood bank, and my powers.”

“And what do you have, my little mouse?”

“You,” he settles your legs around his waist. Turning to place your back against a tree. “I know you’ve been searching for me. But you enjoy the chase too much to just let you have me. Now you do. Now take me, and become mine.”

“We barely know each other.”

“You thought differently when it was just me binding myself to you. We’ve known each other for decades,” he shakes his head, smiling, and you lift the veil. Memories of him following your scent. Getting almost close enough, before you enchanted him. Engraining your essence into him. “You’ve always wanted me. You’re mine. And I’m yours.”

His mouth turns into a grin before he slams into your own mouth. Tasting yourself mingling with his sweet decadent being. His hips thrust into you with so much force that your back edges up and down on the tree. So much stimulation for so early in the night. He’s yours. He. Is. Yours.

With the force he’s pushing into you, you’ll be bruised. You can take it. You can take everything this beautiful vampire gives you. Everything. He’s yours. You were made for him. You can take it.

“You’ll take everything I give you,” Ransom rares back. Panting as he whispers on your lips. “All of it.”

“Every last drop,” you respond as his teeth pierce the other side of your neck, and your body comes undone. Euphoria settles throughout you. Sealing your fate with him forever. “Forever.”

Yours.

“Mine,” he growls onto your body. And lightning courses through your blood. He feels it. He feels it all. He feels you. “All. Mine.”

Next

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