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keiwanamichale · 5 months

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Embracing Serenity with Cool Blue Tones

Are you tired of the daily hustle and bustle? Do you crave a moment of tranquility in your busy life? Picture this: you walk into a room adorned with serene art, bathed in cool blue hues that instantly transport you to a place of calmness and serenity. Cool blue tones have long been associated with stress relief and relaxation, making them the perfect choice to create a visual sanctuary for your soul. In this blog, "Embracing Serenity with Cool Blue Tones," I'll dive into the world of cool blues and explore the various shades that can bring solace to your life. From icy blues reminiscent of peaceful winter landscapes to deep navy tones that capture the vastness of the ocean, the possibilities are endless. Join me as I unlock the secrets of incorporating cool blue hues into your art and let serenity wash over you.

Short Summmery

Cool blue tones have long been associated with tranquility and can bring a sense of calmness and serenity to your art.

Various shades of blue, from icy blues to deep navy tones, can evoke different emotions and create different visual effects.

By incorporating cool blue hues into your art, you can create a visual sanctuary that provides stress relief and relaxation.

Embracing cool blue tones in your artwork can transport you to a place of tranquility, offering a moment of solace in your busy life.

Introduction

When it comes to creating art that exudes a sense of tranquility and serenity, cool blue tones have long been the go-to choice for artists. The coolness and calmness associated with shades of blue can instantly transport viewers to a place of peace and relaxation. Whether you're a painter, a photographer, or any other type of visual artist, incorporating cool blue hues into your artwork can help you create a visual sanctuary that brings solace to your soul. Establishing a serene atmosphere is essential for stress relief and a sense of calm, both for the artist during the creative process and for those who experience the artwork. Cool blue tones can achieve this effect by evoking feelings of openness, stillness, and expansiveness. Let's explore the various shades of blue that can be used to create artworks that embrace serenity.

1.1 Icy Blues: Capturing the Peaceful Winter Landscapes

There's something incredibly soothing about the cool and crisp tones of icy blues. These shades of blue bring to mind the tranquility of winter landscapes, with their glistening snow and frozen lakes. Incorporating icy blue hues into your artwork can evoke a sense of peace and calmness, transporting viewers to a serene winter wonderland. Capture the beauty of frosty landscapes by using light and airy shades of blue, such as baby blue or powder blue, to create a sense of ethereal tranquility in your art.

1.2 Deep Navy Tones: Embracing the Vastness of the Ocean

When we think of the ocean, we often envision its deep, mysterious depths that appear infinite and awe-inspiring. Deep navy tones can capture the essence of the ocean's vastness, creating a sense of serenity and wonder in your artwork. These rich and intense blues can be used to depict the depth and power of the seas, immersing viewers in the peaceful and meditative ambiance of the ocean. Incorporate deep navy tones into your art to evoke a sense of reverence for nature's majesty.

Midnight blue: Like a starry night sky, this shade of blue invites contemplation and serenity.

Indigo: A deep and mystical hue that carries an air of wisdom

The Psychological Impact of Cool Blue Tones

When it comes to color psychology, few colors have as powerful an impact on our emotions as cool blue tones. The calming and soothing effects of these hues have made them a popular choice for creating serene environments and inducing a sense of tranquility. In this section, I will explore the psychological impact of cool blue tones and how they can be harnessed to bring a sense of peace and relaxation to your art.

1. Calming Effects of Blue:

Blue is often associated with feelings of calmness, serenity, and relaxation. Research has shown that exposure to cool blue tones can lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety, and promote a sense of well-being. Incorporating shades of blue into your artwork can help create a visual oasis that invites viewers to escape the chaos of everyday life and find solace in the peacefulness it portrays.

2. Symbolism of Blue in Artistic Traditions:

Throughout history, blue has held deep symbolic meaning in various cultures. For example, in ancient Egypt, the color blue was associated with the sky and the eternal nature of the universe. In Buddhism, blue is considered a color of wisdom and spiritual elevation. By incorporating cool blue tones into your art, you can tap into these rich cultural associations and add layers of depth and meaning to your work.

3. Creating a Sense of Space and Depth:

Cool blue tones are known to create an illusion of depth and distance, similar to the vastness of the ocean or the expansive sky. By using different shades of blue, you can manipulate perspective in your artwork, giving it a three-dimensional quality and making the viewer feel as though they are immersed in the scene. This can evoke a sense of tranquility and contemplation, further enhancing the calming effect of your art.

4. Complementing Other Colors:

Cool blue tones also have the amazing ability to complement a wide range of colors. Whether paired with warmer hues like oranges and yellows for a contrasting effect or combined with other cool tones like greens and purples for a harmonious palette, blue can add depth and balance to your artwork. This versatility allows you to experiment and create visually captivating compositions that engage the viewer on both an emotional and aesthetic level.

Exploring Different Shades of Cool Blue

When it comes to creating artwork that exudes a sense of tranquility and serenity, few color palettes can rival the calming effect of cool blue tones. The diverse range of shades available within this color family allows artists to delve into a world of soothing hues, each with its own unique qualities that can evoke a sense of peace and relaxation. In this section, we will explore different shades of cool blue and how they can be used to create a visual sanctuary that brings solace to your soul.

1. Icy Blues:

One of the most popular shades within the cool blue spectrum is the icy blue. This pale and delicate hue is reminiscent of peaceful winter landscapes, evoking a sense of crispness and purity. Incorporating icy blues into your artwork can infuse it with a serene and ethereal quality, transporting viewers to a tranquil world.

2. Sky Blues:

As you gaze up at a clear summer sky, you may find yourself mesmerized by the soft, dreamy hues of the sky blue. This shade captures the essence of a carefree day, with its light and airy nature. Utilizing sky blues in your art can evoke feelings of freedom, serenity, and optimism, creating a sense of calm within the viewer. Sky blue can be paired with fluffy white clouds to create a sense of vastness and openness. Incorporating sky blue brushstrokes in a seascape can mimic the endless expanse of a clear blue sky meeting the ocean.

3. Deep Navy Tones:

For a more profound and contemplative ambiance, deep navy tones offer a rich and mysterious side of cool blue. These hues encapsulate the vastness of the ocean, invoking a sense of depth and introspection. Infusing your artwork with deep navy tones can elicit feelings of calm strength and provide a sense of grounding amidst the chaos of everyday life.

Using Cool Blue Tones in Artwork

**: Symbolism of Cool Blue Tones in Art

Cool blue tones have long been renowned for their symbolism of tranquility and serenity. In art, these hues can evoke a sense of calmness, making them a popular choice for artists looking to create soothing and relaxing artworks. The subtle variations in shades of blue allow artists to convey different moods and emotions, from a gentle sky blue to a deep, mysterious navy. By harnessing the power of cool blue tones, artists can transport viewers to a place of peace and serenity, offering an escape from the chaos of everyday life.

**: Creating Depth and Space with Cool Blues

One of the remarkable qualities of cool blue tones is their ability to create an illusion of depth and space in artwork. By utilizing lighter shades of blue in the foreground and gradually transitioning to darker tones in the background, artists can generate a sense of distance and vastness. This technique is particularly effective in landscape paintings, as it mimics the atmospheric perspective found in nature. The cool blues in the distance not only convey a feeling of distance but also enhance the overall sense of tranquility and calm in the artwork.

**: Enhancing Emotional Impact with Blue Hues

While cool blue tones are often associated with calmness, they can also evoke other emotions and enhance the emotional impact of an artwork. For instance, deeper and more intense shades of blue, such as royal blue or indigo, can evoke feelings of introspection, mystery, or even melancholy. By strategically incorporating these hues into an artwork, artists can create a juxtaposition between tranquility and deeper emotional undertones, adding complexity and depth to the viewer's experience.

**: The Versatility of Cool Blue Tones

Cool blue tones offer immense versatility to artists, allowing them to explore a wide range of subjects and styles. From abstract compositions to realistic depictions of nature, blue hues can be seamlessly integrated into various artistic genres. They can be used to depict serene seascapes, icy landscapes, or even aspects of the human form. The ability to evoke different atmospheres and emotions through this color family makes cool blues an invaluable tool for artists seeking to create engaging and introspective artworks.

Adding Depth and Contrast to Cool Blue Art

When it comes to creating art with cool blue tones, adding depth and contrast can elevate your artwork to new heights. By incorporating these techniques, you can create a visually captivating piece that draws the viewer in and enhances the sense of serenity.

1. Layering Shades of Blue:

Experiment with different shades of blue to add depth and dimension to your artwork. Start with light hues as a base and gradually build up layers using darker tones. This layering technique creates a sense of depth and adds visual interest to your piece.

2. Introducing Complementary Colors:

To create contrast and make your cool blue art pop, consider incorporating complementary colors. Colors like warm oranges or vibrant yellows can create a striking contrast against the cool blue tones. Use these complementary colors in strategic areas to draw attention and create a dynamic composition.

3. Playing with Texture:

Texture is an effective way to add depth and tactile quality to your artwork. Experiment with different techniques such as dry brushing, palette knife strokes, or even incorporating textured materials. By adding texture to specific areas of your cool blue art, you can create a visually captivating piece that invites the viewer to engage with the work on a sensory level.

4. Utilizing Light and Shadow:

The interplay of light and shadow can instantly bring your cool blue art to life. By strategically placing highlights and shadows, you can create a sense of depth and dimension. Experiment with different lighting angles and intensities to achieve the desired effect. This technique not only adds depth but also enhances the overall mood and atmosphere of your artwork.

5. Incorporating Contrasting Elements:

Adding contrasting elements can create a captivating visual impact in your cool blue art. Consider incorporating elements such as bold, graphic lines, or organic shapes that juxtapose against the calmness of the blue tones. This contrast adds a dynamic element to your artwork and creates a sense of tension and balance.

Key Takeaway:

Adding depth and contrast to your cool blue art is crucial in creating visually captivating and engaging artwork. By experimenting with layering, complementary colors, texture, light and shadow, and contrasting elements, you can elevate your art to new levels and evoke a sense of serenity that resonates with the viewer.

Cool Blue Art in Interior Design

When it comes to creating a serene and peaceful ambiance in your living space, incorporating cool blue art can work wonders. The calming effect of blue tones has been well-documented, and b strategically placing artwork featuring various shades of blue, you can enhance the overall tranquility of your interior design.

1. Abstract Ocean Paintings:

"Imagine gazing at a captivating abstract painting that portrays the swirling depths of the ocean. The different shades of cool blues can transport you to a state of calmness and relaxation."

Abstract artwork inspired by the ocean can serve as a focal point in your living room or bedroom, bringing a sense of depth and serenity to the space. Consider investing in a large canvas piece with shades of turquoise, cerulean, and navy blue to create a visual sanctuary.

2. Watercolor Landscapes:

"Watercolor paintings with serene landscapes featuring rivers, lakes, or coastal scenes can infuse your home with a peaceful atmosphere."

Choose watercolor artworks that incorporate cool blues to create a sense of tranquility. Whether it's a soothing mountain lake or a peaceful seaside view, these artworks can transport you to a place of calm and relaxation.

3. Minimalist Blue Prints:

"Minimalist blue prints can add a touch of sophistication and tranquility to your home decor."

Opt for minimalist art with blue tones, such as line drawings or geometric prints, to create a serene and modern atmosphere. These artworks not only provide visual appeal but also evoke a sense of simplicity and peacefulness.

4. Seascapes and Beach Art:

"Capture the essence of a beach getaway with seascapes and beach-inspired art."

Artwork depicting sandy shores, crashing waves, or gentle sea breezes can create a soothing atmosphere reminiscent of a coastal retreat. By incorporating pieces with cool blue tones, you can evoke a sense of relaxation and tranquility, even in the heart of a bustling city.

5. Blue Floral Art:

"Bring the beauty of nature indoors with blue floral art."

Floral artwork featuring blue blooms can add a touch of elegance and serenity to any room. Consider artwork with delicate blue flowers like hydrangeas or forget-me-nots, which can create a calming and refreshing atmosphere. 6. Mixed Media with Cool Blues: "Explore the versatility of mixed media art infused with cool blue hues." Mixed media artworks featuring an array of materials and textures can provide a unique and captivating focal point in your space.

The Symbolism and Cultural Significance of Cool Blue

When it comes to colors, cool blue tones hold a special place in the art world. Beyond their visual appeal, these shades have profound symbolism and cultural significance that can add depth and meaning to your artwork. In this section, we will explore the various connotations associated with cool blue and how it can enhance the overall impact of your creations.

1. Tranquility and Serenity

Cool blue tones have long been associated with feelings of tranquility and serenity. Just think of a peaceful lake on a clear summer day or the soothing waves of the ocean. Incorporating shades like sky blue or pale aqua into your artwork can instantly create a sense of calmness and relaxation. These hues evoke a feeling of tranquility that can provide solace to viewers, transporting them to a serene mental space.

2. Emotional Stability and Trust

Blue is often linked to emotional stability and trust. It is a color that exudes reliability, dependability, and integrity. In many cultures, blue is associated with loyalty and is often used to symbolize trustworthiness. By incorporating cool blue tones into your art, you can convey a sense of reliability and emotional stability that can resonate with your audience.

3. Spiritual and Mystical Associations

In some spiritual and mystical traditions, blue is believed to have a deep connection to the divine and the infinite. It can represent spirituality, wisdom, and higher consciousness. Deep navy blues or midnight shades can evoke a sense of mystery and introspection, inviting viewers to delve into the depths of their own thoughts and emotions.

4. Refreshing and Cooling Effect

Cool blue hues have a refreshing and cooling effect on the human mind and body. Just think about the sense of relief you feel when diving into a pool of crystal clear water on a scorching summer day. By incorporating cool blue shades in your artwork, you can create a visual experience that provides a similar refreshing and rejuvenating effect.

Key Takeaway:

Cool blue tones hold profound symbolism and cultural significance. They evoke feelings of tranquility, emotional stability, spirituality, and refreshment.

Conclusion

Cool blue tones can help to reduce stress and promote relaxation. By using cool blue tones in your artwork, you can create a calming visual sanctuary that can help to reduce stress and promote relaxation.

FAQ

What are some examples of cool blue tones?

Some examples of cool blue tones could include blues that range from icy to deep navy. Other examples could include blues that are lighter in color, such as baby blue, light blue, and powder blue.

#icy blues #peaceful winter landscapes #deep navy tones #vastness of the ocean

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snooyaki · 5 months

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이찬연 — BARISTA BOY ☂︎ CH. I

a/n: my first ever written work on tmblr wooo 🥳 if this receives good feedback i’ll be willing to turn this into a series! hope you enjoy 💗

‘DONT CRY … DONT CRY.’ anton repeated to himself, feeling the lump forming in his throat as his eyes couldn’t help but begin to grow glossy. having a full mental breakdown in the middle of brewing up a coffee for a costumer was not an option for the boy. anton sniffled, a shaky exhale releasing from his trembling lips as he finished off his cappuccino with his signature leaf art. what a sad looking leaf it was. anton took a deep exhale, placing the coffee cup down as he pushed it forwards against the counter. ‘speak… you can do it..’

“o-order for minyoung?” anton’s delicate voice cracked.

the boy mentally cussed at himself, watching in fear as the scary woman he had encountered earlier stomped her way up to the counter, anton flinching with every clack of her heels. the woman’s sharp wrinkly eyes glared daggers at the anxious boy who couldn’t help but gulp at the sight.

“finally got my order right??” the woman’s icy tone spat, as anton quickly nodded his head. “y-yes maam… i apologize again for the inconvenience…” anton managed to speak despite his heart rate going off the charts.

anton was having a shitty day.

the boy had woken up that morning and not a thing was going his way. he had slept through his alarm and missed his bus on the way to work, resulting in being scolded by his manager. he had burned himself on one of the steamers, causing a mug to fall and shatter. not to mention the rude customers. anton did not know what was going on today, as it seemed that everyone was not having a good day. especially him.

anton was an emotional boy, one who got overwhelmed easily. today was taking a toll on him. it was mentally and physically draining to contain his tears and his thoughts. he just needed to make it through the day, he kept telling himself.

“excuse me,”

anton paused, eyes widening slightly in realization. he had been staring down at the cash register lost in his thoughts as a customer was patiently waiting for him to come back to his senses. god he was embarrassed. could this day get any worse? the boy lifted his head, ready to apologize to the customer before his words got stuck in his throat at the sight before him.

“… hi,” y/n smiled warmly, gazing up at anton with kind yet curious eyes. “you’re anton lee … right?” her soft voice rang out, a bright and comforting aura radiating off the girl.

anton stared at the girl in disbelief, the tips of his ears slowly beginning to turn a deep shade of red. out of all days his crush could have shown up at his work, it just had to be today? anton shook his head as he snapped back to his senses, a soft chuckle and forced smile came from the boy.

“yeah … yeah that’s me.” he spoke, rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly, before meeting her gaze. “you’re y/n l/n … right?”

of course, anton knew who she was. everyone in their school knew who she was. y/n was a star student, known for her good grades, kind soul, and her beauty. it wasn’t a surprise that anton began crushing on y/n in the beginning of tenth grade after being in three out of the six classes a day for a whole year. it had all started the first day of school, when y/n had spoken to him for the first and the last time.

ೀ

“excuse me!” a hurried voice spoke, catching anton’s attention as the boy curiously turned around, his gaze instantly shooting down. there she was, in all her glory.

y/n gazed up at the boy with a kind smile, holding out a familiar navy-blue notebook in front of the boy. “here, your notebook. you left it in the classroom.” she hummed, as anton’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“oh …” anton muttered, slowly taking the notebook from the girl, a small smile lifting on his lips.

anton could feel his heart beating out of his chest as he stared at her pretty smile. “thanks …” he had managed to speak, before the girl had nodded her head.

“of course,” y/n smiled, before retreating to her friends. anton watched as she walked down the hallway, laughing and giggling with her friends. he watched her until she had disappeared in the large crowd of students.

“anton…?” sohee spoke, not snapping the boy out of his daydreams.

“anton… why are you so red?!”

ೀ

although of course, anton had no intentions on pursuing her. y/n was way out of his league, or that’s what he believed. he was a silent admirer and planned on keeping it that way.

well, until today.

the girl nodded her head enthusiastically at anton’s question, delighted that he had remembered her name. “mhm! i didn’t know you worked here… this is quite a famous coffee shop.” y/n chuckled softly in attempts to make small conversation with the quiet boy.

anton felt his heart skip a few beats at the sound of her melodic giggle, nibbling his lip anxiously before nodding his head. “ive been working here for a few months now…” anton spoke, his eyes not being able to trail away from the girl’s face as she scanned the menu. anton couldn’t get his eyes off her. it was like he was stuck in a trance, analyzing every feature on her face. her beauty marks, her hair, the way her eyes sparkled excitedly while deciding what she was going to drink.

“make me your favourite order here. i want to try something new.” y/n eagerly spoke, taking anton for surprise. he had never had a customer ask for that before, but he was willing to do it. especially for her.

anton finally gathered the courage to show a little smile, nodding his head in approval at her request. “sure. i’ll make you something good.” anton stated, earning an excited smile from the other.

anton didn’t know what was with him in that moment. he felt a surge of confidence rise. ‘its now or never …’.

“it’s on me,” anton added, his eyes gazing down at his crush, watching as her expression quickly falter. anton rang it through the register before she was able to protest, chuckling at the sight of her shoulders falling in defeat.

“you didn’t have to do that anton…” y/n frowned, almost as if she was glaring at him in disappointment. anton looked down at the floor, a soft blush rising over his cheeks mentally preparing himself to meet her eyes again.

“but… i wanted to.” anton managed to say, his eyes searching for a reaction from the girl.

anton swore he saw her blush. he swore by it, but the self-doubt was convincing him otherwise. he couldn’t tell if he was imagining things. “it’ll be ready at the end of the counter.” anton then added, snapping y/n out of her thoughts.

the girl then showed off her signature smile, letting out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding in. “thank you anton.” she hummed.

anton’s day was suddenly, not so shitty anymore. he couldn’t help but smile as he made her order the whole time, silently giggling to himself as he thought. he talked to you. he had finally talked to you again. something he had been meaning to do for two years. it finally happened.

anton gazed down at the cup, focusing hard on the heart he hadn’t even realized he made on your latte, resulting in a soft blush when he came to his senses. anton grabbed a lid, placing it over the cup as he let out a soft exhale in preparation before making his way towards the end of the counter.

“order for y/n!” he called out, catching her attention.

y/n gazed up from her phone, shutting it off as she stuffed it into her jacket pocket. the girl then made her way over to anton, grabbing the cup from the shy boy. she examined the way he had written her name. ‘y/n ᵕ̈ ‘ it read in his hand writing. she felt like she could stare at it for days, as a smile began slowly spreading over her face. y/n gazed up at the boy, letting out a soft chuckle. “thank you again anton.” she beamed, as anton gazed down at his feet, flustered.

“of course, y/n.”

the two shared a soft gaze, both in a comfortable silence unable to rip their gazes away, until you had spoken up. “i’ll see you at school…” y/n spoke, not breaking eye contact with anton once before slightly hesitating her next words. “dont be a stranger.” she stated, watching as anton shook his head at the girl. “i wont.” he stated back.

anton watched as the girl then began making her way out of the coffee shop. it saddened him a bit, to see her leave, her figure slipping past the door. but after his encounter with you, he couldn’t have been happier. anton stood there, smiling like an idiot. there were hearts practically surrounding the boy in love.

maybe today wasn’t so bad after all.

— nari ¨̮

#ˋ ୨୧ ˊTAGS !

#snooyaki ¨̮#anton lee #anton x reader #riize anton #riize x reader #anton lee x reader #riize #riize imagines #anton imagines #kpop #anton fluff #anton fic #anton scenarios #anton #anton x y/n

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hier--soir · 5 months

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night breeze

joel miller x f!reader

rating: explicit, 18+ mdni summary: joel comes home to find you sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes. warnings/tags: established relationship, consensual somnophilia, oral [f receiving], joel loves when you wear his clothes, premature ejaculation, reader wears joel's clothes; body type is not described explicitly but his boxers are described as "snug" on her thighs. word count: 1.8k masterlist follow @hier--soirupdates if you'd like to be notified when i share my writing this is envisioned as a part of the ALP universe [set between 7 and 8] but it can be read as a stand alone.

The air is calm at dusk.

Soft and sweet against your skin, the smell of salt in your nostrils.

The sky is a kaleidoscope of purples and pinks and blues, and a slick orange sun drips and wanes until its belly kisses the ocean. Lower, lower, until the sky spins navy and the water pitches black. You float in that black darkness, unbothered by the heavy swells that rise and roll beneath you. The water is rocky and rough, though the waves never seem to break. Too far from the shore, they simply build and build, with no end in sight.

And the water should be icy, cold enough to chill you to the bone and set you shivering, but you just feel hot. A searing, stuffy heat that clings even as you float over the rolling masses, letting them lap at your neck and face. Humid and dry, you want nothing more than for the water to suck you in deeper. Down, down, until your body is covered, and your hair is a floating halo, and you are finally cool.

Yet as time passes, you find that it is not the water that is warm, but you. That stifling sticky sun that sank beneath the horizon now burns at the centre of you, red hot and raging, ready to rise again already.

You try to smother it, to tamp it down. Tangle your legs on the water’s surface and hold your breath, but it burns still. A scorching scratch at the inside of your skin, your skull, your chest cavity. And something crawls its way up through your chest now. Something loose-limbed and drowsy, working its way past your stomach, your lungs, your throat, your—

A ragged moan wakes you.

Your fingers twitch and tighten, gripping soft sheets. Eyes roll behind lids as you drift slowly into consciousness. The air in his bedroom is cold, but in the haze of your sleep-addled brain you can’t quite pinpoint why you’re so warm. Face down on a pillow, you blink lazily and start to piece together what’s happening.

Your shirt—Joel’s shirt—clings to your skin. Sweat beads along the skin of your back, soaking into the thin fabric. The waistband of his boxers is forgiving, resting against the soft flesh beneath your belly button, though the hem of each leg is snug around your thighs. Oh, your thighs…. something sturdy holds them apart.

Two solid weights pressing against the inside of your legs, spreading them wide across the bed. A third weight against the small of your back… a hand. Fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, bunching the material at the base of your spine, keeping your stomach flush to the bed. Another moan startles you, sharpens your mind a little. Your tongue feels heavy, mind a slow blur as you realise that the sound came from your own mouth. And as that understanding sinks in, you finally feel it.

Something hot and wet, lapping at the dark fabric shielding your cunt. And you’re wet. Fucking hell, you’re so wet it’s near uncomfortable. The sopping material clings to your folds, a persistent tongue pressing it in deeper, soaking the material in your slick juices as they drip from you. You gasp, trying fruitlessly to turn your head and see over your shoulder in the darkness.

“S’me,” he says then, and his voice is a pained, haggard thing. Rough and wanton with desire, with need, muffled from how his face is buried between your thighs. “S’just me… fuck, m’sorry.”

“Joel,” you rasp, breathless as his tongue glances over your clit through his boxers. He groans and then the thick point of his nose is pressing between your cheeks, nudging at your covered asshole. The pressure there sharpens your senses to a point, and sends a surprised moan peeling from your throat.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, just let me…” Joel inhales deeply, cursing under his breath when you lazily rut your sex back against his face.

“Jesus Christ,” you whimper. When you move your face, something damp tickles your cheek. Saliva, pooling out the side of your open mouth and leaving a small damp circle on his pillow. Embarrassment warms your face, but the sound of Joel moaning against your cunt is a welcome distraction.

Muscular shoulders keep your thighs wide open, and he mouths shamelessly at the material, licking and kissing everywhere he can reach, and it suddenly makes sense why you feel like you’re on the edge already. The boxers must be ruined; slick and spit mix together to soak the entirety of the fabric until it clings to your swollen skin.

“H-how… fuck, Joel, how long have you—”

“Don’t know,” he mumbles. “Twenty minutes? Fuck, I don’t—”

Lewd sucking noises fill the room and the muscles in your abdomen go rigid, mouth hanging wide open as his fingers curl around the gusset of the boxers, dragging them to the side. You moan and squirm against the bed as he dips his tongue between your folds, gliding it through the sloppy messy of you. His sounds match yours; hot exhales billowing against your exposed skin and sending goosebumps sprouting across the backs of your thighs.

Joel pulls back for a minute. Keeps the material pulled to the side, allowing the cool night air to dance across the scorching skin between your legs while he watches you drip for him.

“Got home late,” he apologises, and you twitch as his breath hits your centre. He’s still so close. “Jimmy needed help with somethin’ and I—fuck, it doesn’t matter, but you were so perfect. My good girl, all tucked up in my bed, wearin’ my fuckin’ clothes, just waitin’ for me.”

“Tried to stay awake.” You hum softly, trying to inch yourself back against his face. But Joel just tuts, and you feel a sharp sting as he nips at the skin of your thigh. You pout against his pillow, body going lax and pliant once more. “Wanted to fall asleep with you.”

“I know,” he soothes, licking over where his teeth marks mar your flesh. His lips dance higher and higher until his tongue flicks into your hole. He swears low, resting his forehead against the soft plush of your ass. “But this? Comin’ home to this… fuckin’ luckiest man in the world, I tell ya.”

It's slow and steady when he lets his mouth fall upon you again. Soft little licks around your lips, tracing the dips and folds of your labia, mapping out every inch of you before his tongue dares graze against your clit. And when he does finally make contact, you jolt and whimper, already acutely aware of that familiar tingle in your spine.

Unable to reach him, your fingers tangle uselessly in his sheets, entirely at his mercy as he devours you from behind. Thick thumbs spread you open for his eyes to see, keeping you apart as he licks broad strokes up the entirety of your cunt before lathing languid open-mouthed kisses against it. Hot and wet and needy, his moans vibrate through you, letting you know he loves this just as much as you. Maybe even more.

Your clit pulses against his tongue, alive with a throbbing heartbeat of its own. And with every swipe and glide and circle you feel that heat swirl stiffer in your belly, the wave building and building. You can feel the way your hole, painfully empty, clenches over and over around nothing but air, winking at him and begging for more.

The slippery sounds of your arousal fill the room once more and soon enough you’re keening his name beneath your breath, spurring him on as you imagine the way it must shine on his beard, his lips, even in the darkness.

“Please,” you mewl, drooling against his pillow still, vaguely aware of your saliva gliding down your neck, thick and viscous. “Joel, fuck me, I want it, want you—”

“I will,” he swears, but you can feel how rapt he is by this. How every facet of his attention is trained on keeping his mouth on your pussy, his tongue rubbing firm circles around your clit just how you like. He gasps and pants against you, nodding a little, groaning when his nose glides through your folds and your scent coats his nostrils. “I will, I will, I just need you like this a little longer. I will. Promise.”

His grip is tender against the crease of your thighs, fingers digging in right where your leg meets the flesh of your ass as he eats at you. And you can tell by the way his noises deepen, turning guttural and depraved, that he won’t be making good on that promise tonight. Know it from the way his face ruts forward into your core every few seconds that he must be grinding his leaking cock against the mattress, feverish and desperate for relief. And the mere thought of it, of him hot and hard, straining inside his pants, has the muscles in your legs going taut.

Joel murmurs your name, so soft under his breath. His long tongue dips inside of you and then strokes up to flick against your clit, and finally you dissolve under his mouth.

The orgasm flows through you much like the waves in your dream. Joel coaxes it out from deep in your stomach until you’re a wet trembling mess beneath him; nothing but a rolling mass of waves for the sticky sun to sink into. Warm and wet, the high laps at your body from every angle until the edges of your mind are fuzzy, molten heat drooling from your cunt and onto his grateful tongue as he groans.

He doesn’t let up those soft swirls of his tongue until your hips are twitching away and you’re whining his name, and begging him to come up here. And so he crawls up your body, movements slow and sleepy as he drops heavily against your back. Thick thighs bracket your own, and that scruffy chin sits against the slope of your shoulder as he presses a kiss and a drowsy mumble of hey baby behind your ear.

“That was nice.” You smile when he takes your earlobe between his teeth. Curious, you work a hand between your back and his chest, fingers trailing down until you reach the damp spot at the front of his trousers. He exhales roughly, hips jerking backward, sensitive. “Fuck, did you come?”

“Shh,” he murmurs, his smile sheepish and shy against your skin. You laugh, heart swelling and eyes falling shut as you let him tip you onto your side and pull you back against his chest. A broad palm snakes over your hip, fingers dancing beneath the band of the boxers to rest against your skin, and he squeezes the flesh there greedily. “Gonna fuck you in the mornin’,” he vows.

You hum, already half asleep again despite how chilled your skin turns as your sweat cools. “Gonna wake me up with your cock inside me, hm?”

“Fuck,” Joel chokes out, his grip on you tightening. “Yeah, baby. I will.”

“Is that a promise?”

“S’a promise.”

thank you for reading x

#my writing #fic: night breeze #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #ALP #somnophilia #cw consensual somnophilia

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justblades · 1 year

Text

⌕ CRAVINGS, 18+

⟢ CHARACTER : gepard landau x afab! reader WC : 1.5k

⟢ WARNINGS : MDNI. fluff, breeding, impregnation, pussy deprived! gepard, cervix kissing.

Gepard Landau is a stronghold of resolve and kept promises; the one who truly fits the theme of what a captain is made up of. Should you hear his name spilling from the silvermane guards' lips, they were all praises and musings, hoping that their captain would acknowledge their efforts and promote their position.

To be a resolute person, showing no signs, leaving no traces of weaknesses behind for they can be used by your foe when time permits; it was indubitable when he seeks for his solace, a place he can rest and let his guard down once in a while. To let his sharp, firm edges soften— admittingly wanting to be caressed with intimacy and care no one could give him but his lover.

Even though you could pick up how his work had taken a toll on him from the endless fragmentum monsters emerging from the depths of the shadows, he still puts up a façade of being strong, facing everything head on. As much as you wanted him to drop it and just bask in the feeling of being held, Gepard wasn't that type of man. Everything he says, he sees through.

Fortunately, the Belobog's crisis wraps itself up at last. With the emergence of overworld and the underworld, he'd been cut some slack. No need for heightened patrols since the curfew was abolished, for once, he could finally rest in your arms. His luscious, smoked blonde hair falls over right below your ear, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"I missed holding you like this." He says, voice laced with a sweet tone to it, his arms wrapped around your waist tightly. You cup his hot pink tinted cheeks and lift his face to level with yours, your eyes agleam of love and passion, you press a chaste kiss on his icy skin.

Gepard draws you a gaze, one that emits confusion. "Let loose for a while." You say and slowly glide your hands from his face down to his stomach. His breath suddenly hitches the lower your touch traveled, you whisper to his ear meticulously, "It's been so long. You sure you don't miss it?"

A sly smirk creeps on your face meanwhile the blonde male does his best attempt to hide it. Although his growing bulge that came contact with your thighs gave it away. His rover blue hues only averted away from your figure, embarrassment gushing through his system. All he needs is just a little teasing, and then, the cogs of his body's lust will soon start moving.

You press your lips onto his in lento, making sure he could feel the warmth of your breath tickling his skin, and your fingers slightly playing with his clothed erection. A soft mewl comes out of your mouth and there he felt a little too defeated, for he lost from battling his temptation and his tongue enters your mouth, twirling with yours in satisfaction.

His soft, tender side flips 180 degrees, his actions now radiate hunger and fervor. Gepard's hands land on yours, but you were only taken aback when he makes you stroke his crotch more, in a pace you knew very well he was fond of. The captain moans into your mouth, a guttural one at that.

"Since you're offering nicely, I'm just accepting generously." He says and as if the time came to a standstill, your clothes were ripped apart with Gepard's brute force alone. He uses his teeth to rid himself of the pearly white gloves he sported, carelessly throwing it away somewhere it wouldn't bother you. Your back suddenly meets with the soft, cushioned sofa, breathing becoming ragged.

One thing's for sure, you're loving how everything is unfolding. Surely the yearning for some intimacy also left him with a pent up sexual frustration, it was no wonder he suddenly bursted with a deep desire to conquer, to ruin, and to prey on. His usual navy irises transition into darker shades, unable to control himself any longer.

"No foreplay for now. Maybe later for round two—" He says as he sweeps your undergarment to the side, eyeing carefully your throbbing entrance with his watchful eyes. "Doesn't look like you need it either when you're already this sopping wet." Gepard pumps two digits into your hole, his fingers already drenched with your love juices.

You feel like your tongue betrayed you for you were at a loss for words in the heat of the moment. But nonetheless, you brace yourself from the incoming sensation. The crown of his dick was hot, rubbing against your slit naughtily at a painfully slow pace.

It has been so long hence why you were this wet already— imagine being that desperate for your lover's touches that snuggling with him makes you think of the dirtiest things. But with how the tables have turned, the man atop you is now whose minds are filled with corrupted, lewd thoughts. Fantasies in line waiting to come true now that you're here with him.

And as he bucks his hips, his rock hard cock fills you to the brim. Your walls contract from the abrupt intrusion while you could only hold onto his biceps for support. His arms propped both on your sides, the soft glow of the lights cast over to Gepard's half naked body— tracing his muscles flexing in every thrusts that he does, as well as how his golden locks tumble on his face along with his rhythm.

Your walls cling onto his dick, remembering his shape whenever he prods through. You wince from how girthy it was and as anticipated, he's purposely being slow today. His rams were gradual wherein you could feel his aching prominent veins rub on your insides. "Faster, Gepard."

He only hums in question - sarcastically. It was then a dilatory realization sinks in your mind, he wants you to plead for him. As shocking as it is, you never got to experience Gepard being like this for the record. It only reinforces the thought that he was indeed sexually frustrated. Sex encounters with him are always sweet, wholesome and carefree. If you had to describe it with one word, it'd be vanilla.

But Gepard Landau is being the complete opposite, however, he still has many sides of him to discover. You choose to indulge him more so you'd experience this kind of sex more often. Vanilla isn't bad, but changing once in a while is even better.

"Faster . . Gepard, please." Your breathy voice could only make out weak words. Meanwhile down there, it's muffled from the squelching noises reverberating inside the four beige painted walls. The male leans lower to you and crashes his lips once again, never getting tired of your warm, sticky liquids meshing with his.

With one last sluggish thrust, he hastily pounces into your fluttering hole, almost as if it was at 20 machs speed, not to mention he's digging deep. Your eyes widen into two full moons from the feeling, your cervix kissing his very dick's small slit. A moan bubbles from his throat, "You're so warm . . you're sucking me in . ." He muses and breaks the lascivious kiss.

Eyes heavy lidded with a piercing lustful gaze that bore straight through your soul, he builds momentum and doesn't let himself be swayed. He's here to accept your kindhearted offer and Gepard only makes the best of it. He huffs as he pounds faster, picking up the speed of his pistoning thrusts.

Meanwhile you were there, already a mess from how Gepard's touches turn you into a melting putty. In contrast to the city outskirts being traced with icy temperatures, your bodies were in heat - literally. The captain's eyes never once left your face, lips a little parted to make way to stabilize his breathing.

In sync, two of you sense that particular feeling, a satisfaction of release wherein you both tried so hardest to catch on. Bucking your hips along with your lover's, the sex fills your minds with sexual gratification. Your body trembles from the immense ecstasy, and suddenly, Gepard's mind starts to drift to ecstasy.

The way your walls coil around his dick, the way you begged for him for the both of your contentment; a thought crosses his mind. From that moment, he could envision a family, you holding something swaddled while your eyes twinkled of love and wonder. As if he was in another dimension, he treads closer to your figure. It was then he realizes it was his and your offspring, the baby uttering noises with a toothless, innocent smile. You'd make a great mother undeniably, Gepard thought, thus leading to his breakthrough.

"Let's . . have a family." He coos in between the strings of mewls escaping his sultry, sloppy lips. You were caught off guard, even though you were hoping for a long time he'd say that, you didn't think today would be the the day. With a snicker, you reassure his ideals. "Today seems like the perfect day." With one last open mouthed kiss, the blonde head shoots his seeds deep into your walls - with intentions of not just solely quenching his lascivious desires, but also having another life form birthed into this world.

His cum spills into your slit right until Gepard pulls out from your cunt. He buried so much in deep that you were certain he'd knock you up with one round alone, but your lover didn't share the same sentiment. "Let's do it thrice today, just to make sure."

my masterlist !

#gepard landau #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #gepard x reader smut #gepard landau x reader smut #hsr x reader

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azsazz · 7 months

Text

Midnight Muse

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1,804

Notes: This is going to be a good one you guys 💙 (yes I know I have a fic titled this already but it’s too good not to reuse, they’re not related btw)

_________________________________________

“I think that’s the last one,” you sigh, setting down a cardboard box labeled Living Room on the stack in the middle of the floor. It’s not heavy—filled with decorative pillows for the cheap futon couch shoved haphazardly against the wall—but the tower of boxes sways precariously and your roommate, Feyre, darts forward to reorganize them from before they all go tumbling down.

You and your roommate had been very organized at the start of your move, putting boxes into piles for which rooms they belonged to, but as the hot sun beamed down and the temperature outside rose, so did your tempers. The process ended with trying to get everything into your new fourth floor apartment as quickly as possible, which was a nearly impossible feat, due to the slow moving elevator.

Feyre sighs, hands on her hips as she surveys the mess of boxes. Neither of you packed lightly—a mistake you’d made the year previous too, and promised not to make again—the both of you refused to hire a moving service, intent on the fact that you could do all the heavy lifting yourselves.

That definitely had been a mistake.

Panting a little, Feyre shoves the strands of gold-brown hairs clinging to her forehead away, sticky with sweat. The hairs at her nape curl away from her neck, and you’re so glad that she grew out those awful bangs over the summer. Now you don’t have to listen to her complain about how they’d be plastered to her head with sweat. The loose collar of her cropped shirt is damp, and she uses the hem to wipe at the perspiration beading at her hairline. “Fucking finally,” she moans, “I need a drink.”

“Alcoholic or energy?” you tease, but it’s not funny. You’re drained, and all you want to do is collapse on the navy futon that barely fits two, no matter how uncomfortable it is. But you’re hot, clothes irritating your skin from where they’re glued with sweat and your arms and legs burn with effort. A cold shower, tall glass of something icy, and a few hours napping will do you well. A grimace works its way onto your red face, “Tell me there’s air conditioning in this place.”

“Already on,” Feyre sighs, stalking into the kitchen. You follow after her, dodging boxes, and watch as she rips open the refrigerator door and shoves her head inside. It’s completely empty and you wince, knowing that it’s going to be a long weekend while you go shopping and unpack everything before the fall semester starts in a week.

You want to stop by the local art supply too, to gather the last of the material you need for your classes this year. It’s probably why you and Feyre have so many boxes; half of the ones adorning your apartment are stuffed with art supplies: brushes and paints of all varieties from oils to acrylics, graphite pencils and kneaded erasers, canvases both blank and filled. You swear there’s even an entire box dedicated to sketchbooks filled with random doodles and scribbled ideas for assignments that never turned into anything great. Feyre hadn’t been happy when she’d seen you’d left that box for her to carry up.

When Feyre’s had her fill of the crisp air, she hands you a bottle of water from the freezer. It’s nowhere near as cold as you’d like it yet. You’d run into the gas station to get a few bottles and candy bars while she filled up the tank of the U-Haul for your last stretch or the drive. It hadn’t occurred to either of you to grab something with more sustenance until this very moment.

“Ugh,” you groan, choking down the room-temperature water. It helps a little to soothe your parched throat, but nowhere near enough. “Do you have any money left in your account? We should Door Dash something for dinner, and call it an early night.”

“An early night?” Feyre retorts, making a face as she takes a sip of her own water. “We have a lot of unpacking to do. And our beds aren’t even set up yet.”

“Fuck us,” you sigh, leaning against the marble. The stone is cool where it seeps through your thin shirt, and you ache to rip off your clothing and press your burning skin to it in an attempt to cool yourself off. “Let’s just find the boxes with the pillows and blankets and sleep in the living room, Fey. C’mon, it’ll be like when we were young again! Except now we’re old enough to buy alcohol.” You waggle your eyebrows at your roommate and she cracks a wry grin. “Well, almost old enough, but those fake ID’s Tarquin got us work like a charm anyway.”

“Fine,” Feyre relents, “Dibs on first shower, though.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

While Feyre uses all of the hot water, despite it being nearly ninety degrees outside—blasphemous for the end of August in the middle of Southern California—you take the chance to move the U-Haul from where you’d double-parked it outside of your new apartment building. Thankfully, you and Feyre had saved up enough money from working at an Art Camp for children this summer to have both of your cars shipped to school. It was cheaper to rent a truck and move all of your belongings yourselves than to drive down and let a moving company do it, plus, you and Feyre had wanted to road trip this summer but didn’t have the funds. You both had decided there was no better time for it—until you could properly afford one—than this.

You scroll aimlessly through your social media on the way down, the elevator so slow and creaky that you and Feyre opted to take the stairs for most of your journey. Bigger things like your beds, the futon, and the tv had been squashed into the tiny elevator and taken up with prayers it wouldn’t break down. You can’t help but glance up at the certificate that says the elevator is in running order until its next inspection in two years.

“Is that forged, George Brown?” you mutter, squinting at the paper displayed in the corner. It’s frayed at the edges and yellowing, so you’re not all that sure this elevator has been inspected when it says it has.

It comes to a jerky halt that makes you sway when it hits the lobby. It’s as nice a building as you can afford on your budget, but the both of you will have to find part-time jobs as soon as school starts up, so that you have money to buy alcohol and food and supplies. Feyre’s older sister, Nesta, had lived here with her friends Gwyn and Emerie during their undergrad years, but they’ve moved on from shitty apartment buildings riddled with horny college students to renting a quaint house in town while working on their masters degrees.

When the doors to the elevator slide open you slip out as fast as possible, a shudder working its way up your spine. You wonder how many times it’s broken down, and you’d hate to be in there alone if something like that happened. Maybe you’ll take the stairs from now on unless you’re with someone.

The lobby of the building is small. There’s a front desk in which no one ever sits, as if the building used to be sophisticated once upon a time and a doorman used to occupy the space. Mailboxes pinned to the wall line the area behind the counter, and there sits a garbage can stuffed full with envelopes and more likely than not empty bottles of alcohol and take-away, maybe even a used condom or two.

It’s muggy down here, more so than your apartment that the landlord hadn’t turned on the air conditioning when he knew you’d be showing up today. Whatever, you hadn’t had to see the greasy man, he’d left the keys on the counter for you and Feyre to find when you’d arrived, and you were more than thankful for that.

You brush away some of the hairs that have come loose from your ponytail as you cross the lobby. The hazards of the U-Haul are blinking at a steady rate, the skies turning darker with the looming night. It had taken you and Feyre all day to unpack the truck, and you’re returning it tomorrow when your cars come in, so you need to move it to a normal spot for the night.

Pushing open the door, your steps falter as someone brushes past you like a shadow, nearly hitting your shoulder with theirs. Your brows furrow and you turn to toss a comment about how rude they are but the words dry up in your throat.

He’s tugging off a motorcycle helmet and you can’t help but watch the way his biceps bulge against his skin tight black t-shirt. The muscles of his broad back glide like butter beneath the fabric as he moves and you can’t help but let your gaze travel down his spine to his tight waist, dipping into dark jeans.

His thick soled boots thump loudly as he stalks through the door, stopping at the mailboxes to check if he has any letters. The tiny door opens with a squeak that has you snapping back into your body, stunned by his musculature. This man is a god of his own league. A masterpiece of perfectly crafted body parts and tones. He has an angular nose and long, dark lashes matching his disheveled hair. He runs his fingers through it and shoves the helmet under his armpit as he digs through his mailbox. Your fingers twitch to dig out your sketchbook and pencils from the box upstairs.

You force your gaze outside again, cheeks red hot with embarrassment. You were straight up ogling the man, and thankfully you’re not drooling, as you take notice while you wet your suddenly dry lips.

You click the keys, unlocking the U-Haul, but stop short when you see that the truck is caged in, a big vintage Bronco parked behind, and a shiny motorcycle that looks like it moves faster than the speed of light wedged between the moving truck and the vehicle in front.

“Hey,” you call, ripping the door back open to the lobby. You have no doubt that the motorcycle is his, and the car behind had been there when you and Feyre had arrived this afternoon, so you don’t know whom it belongs to. “Is this your motorcycle?”

The man is already on his way to the elevator, phone stable in his leather riding gloves as he swipes, envelopes tucked into his helmet. The elevator door screeches open and he doesn’t even bother to turn around and meet your gaze as he punches the button to his floor. “Nope.”

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #art school au #acowar #azsazz #acotar #acomaf #azriel #midnight muse #acotar series

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nctsplug02 · 8 months

Note

Soft dom husband!mark , coming tired from practice and just needs his wife, fluff and smut pls add whatever u think will be fine, your mind works better than mine lol

Love your writings♡♡

Shower Sex M.Lee

GENRE: fluff, smut, married couple.

WARNINGS: shower sex

it was eleven-thirty at night and mark still wasn’t home.

the door unlocking has your ears perked up and has you pushing off the couch. you pause your show and walk towards the front door of the penthouse.

your husband walks in with his duffle bag hanging from his shoulder and his beanie nearly falling off.

“hey, markie. welcome home.” mark looks up and instantly smile. “oh, baby.” mark stumbles forward and drops his bag, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your neck.

“didn’t wanna use the elevator tonight?” your hands softly pat marks back and head. “it’s been such a long day and.. i really.. really needed to see you.” mark sighs heavily.

you pinch his red ears and smooth the shell. “i’ll reheat dinner and we can talk about how today was while we eat, yeah?”

mark pulls away from you and rubs his eyes. “i know— i’m sorry, baby. i wasn’t home for dinner.” you shake your head and kick the door shut with your foot, the top lock locks instantly.

“that’s alright, baby.” you cup marks face and you kiss his lips. “wanna take a shower instead? you’re kind of stinky.” you say with a giggle.

mark follows your giggle and groans. “i’d love to and i really don’t want to be a pain in the ass but.. i’m really sore and..” mark sighs and rubs his face.

“yes, mark. i can help wash you, that’s fine. you’ve been at practice for over twelve hours, you deserve a break and some caretaking.” you take his hand and drag him to the bathroom.

you don’t bother closing the door since it was just you and mark who lived in the small penthouse.

you undress mark who vents to you about his day, telling you how he barely took breaks because he didn’t want to mess up for their performances.

“okay, go in the shower first. i’m gonna grab some to towels and i’ll join you in a second.” you push mark towards the running shower but the butt naked man watches as you leave and come back with a stack of towels.

“mark,” you whine when seeing him just standing there . “you were supposed to go in the shower and soak up first.” you set the stack of towels on the toilet lid.

“i know,” mark bites his lip and places a hand on the door handle. “just wanted to wait for you.” he whispers and enters the shower.

you shake your head and undress yourself before joining mark in the hot, steaming shower.

“mm, the water feels amazing.” you shut your eyes and sigh. “you mind if i turn the water a bit colder?” you open your eyes to see mark already holding the faucet. “whatever helps you relax, baby.”

you let out a little gasp when the water turns icy cold. “geez,” you mumble, looking down when feeling your nipples grow crazy hard.

“sorry, babe.” mark holds your waist and rubs little circles on your soft skin.

you grab your navy blue loofa and squirt some watermelon body wash onto it, fluffing it up and turning to mark.

“you’ve been working so hard, markie.” you turn him around and scrub the loofa on his back. “i’m so proud of you, markie.” you then scrub his shoulders, a moan exhales from marks throat. “you’re a bit tight there, mark. i’ll give you a massage when we get out.” mark rolls his neck and sighs.

you turn him around and begin to rub the loofa on his chest. “you’re smelling a lot better than before.” you giggle and watch as he inhales the watermelon scent with a giggle.

you move down to his abs, lubing his body with the scented bubbles. “oh,” you stop when seeing how hard mark was.

you look up at mark who bites his lip and flexes his abs making his cock twitch and nudge your arm.

“should i wash this too?” you move the loofa down to his cock. “oh, fuck.” mark gasps and jerks, quickly grabbing your hand and looking down at you.

you bite your lip and grin. “may i?” mark takes in your puppy eyes and nods. you drop the loofa and grab mark by the base.

“you’re so hard.” you whisper, jerking him off and washing away the bubbles. “geez, y/n.” mark groans as you take him in your mouth.

you circle your tongue around his tip and tease his tiny slit. you moan around him as the tip of your tongue massages right under his head.

“ooh, fuck.” mark pants, placing a hand on your head and forcing himself to stop himself before he gets out of hand.

you drop your hands and look up at mark, softly nodding and allowing him to fuck your face. you shut your eyes while mark forces his cock down your throat.

your throat tightens around mark and he moans loudly. his noises bouncing off the tight shower walls. “fuck, y/n. f—fuck!” mark pants and groans, hugging your head and keeping his stuttering hips in place.

marks cum shooting down your throat while you choke and slap his thigh. “just a little bit more, baby.” mark mutters, bucking his hips as if your nose wasn’t already touching his abdomen.

marks tip tickling the back of your throat causing you to gag. your eyes water and tears slip past your cheeks.

you gasp and fall on your ass when mark releases you. you wipe the drool from your chin and attempt to catch your breath. globs of tears slip down your cheeks and the shower quickly washes them away.

“i’m sorry, baby.” mark helps you up and hugs your body against his. “i got a bit outta control.” mark presses a few kisses on your shoulder and jaw.

“that’s okay,” you pinch his ears and rub his jaw. “you feelin’ better?” mark looks up at you. “a little bit. but,” you raise an eyebrow. “but?” you question.

instead of answering, mark pins you against the wall and lifts your leg. he pins your thigh to his hips and slips his fingers into you.

“oh, fuck.” you gasp, dropping your head and letting your knees buckle. mark catches you and rests his forehead against yours, droplets fall from his nose and strands of hair.

“try and stay up for me, gorgeous.” mark mutters with a smirk.

it was torture, mark fingering you while telling you to not cum yet. his thumb rubbing your clit while he fingers push past your gummy walls. his fingers curling and brushing your g-spot.

“hold on, baby.” mark grunts as he grabs his dick and holds it against your entrance. “mark, please hurry!” you whine desperately.

“you’re so eager,” mark chuckles. “it’s pathetic.” he scoffs and pushes himself into you.

you dig your nails into his shoulders as mark brings you to your tip-toes. mark squeezes your thigh and moans as you tighten around him.

mark fucks you quickly.

his hips smacking against yours roughly, his vocals kicking in and mixing with yours. the sounds of skin smacking against skin echos in the small shower.

“oh, mark.” you moan, pulling him closer so that his chest is pressed against yours. “i’m gonna cum, mark.” you gasp as mark rolls his hips and pushes himself deeper inside you.

you hug mark tightly as you cream all over mark. “s—shit, y/n!” mark shudders and thrusts one last time before shooting his load into you.

uncontrollably, marks hips stutter into yours.

mark drops your leg and backs his hips up, just a bit so his cock falls out of you.

mark drops to his knees and lifts your other leg, giving the first leg a rest. “mark, what are you—?” mark gives you one look and buries his face between your thighs.

“oohh, wow.” you gasp and grab a fistful of his hair. marks tongue enters you before leaving and licking a long stripe on your clit.

“shit.” you hold your breath.

you run your fingers through his wet tangled hair while his tongue circles your clit. “fuck,” you groan and watch as mark eats you out like a hungry man. “oh, my god.”

mark turns his head and laps your juice from a different position.

“i’m gonna cum, m—markie!” you jerk forward as mark sucks your clit. his mouth fully attached to your clit, his only focus.

marks tongue suckles and brings your orgasm closer… and closer… and—

you shudder and let out a cry when your orgasm hits you. it stings you like a bee and doesn’t go away until mark is pulling away, heavily breathing.

his chest falls as fast as it rises.

“you taste,” mark wipes the back of his mouth with his backhand. “so fucking sweet.” he chuckles with a taunting smirk.

mark stands up with his hands on your hips.

“i do, huh?” your legs buzz and slowly turn numb. “you taste very sweet, baby.” mark pulls you by the waist and hugs you to his chest.

“i wonder how sweet you’re gonna taste.” mark inhales to say something but doesn’t say a word, instead he watches as you lower yourself onto your knees.

you bite your lip and grab him by the base, “mwah.” you press a soft kiss on his tip. “fuck, baby. this is gonna be a long night, huh?”

you swirl your tongue around his tip and hum. “uh-huh.” you giggle before swallowing him whole.

AN| this was so shit but it’ll have to do for now! i love you all, i’m sorry for being inactive. i’m so busy! <3

#ash talks #nctsplug02 #anon #nct scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop smut #nct smut #nct 127 #nct imagines #kpop fluff #superm mark #mark fluff #mark lee smut #nct mark #mark smut #mark lee

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navybrat817 · 5 months

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Navy. We got to cuddle with our florist. Are we also going to cuddle with our tattoo artist? 🥺

Of course, nonnie.

Traditions and Innovation

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to kiss you under the mistletoe, but it doesn't happen in the traditional sense.

Word Count: Over 1.7k

Warnings: Kissing, humor, tension, teasing, inner monologue, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

Previous Part of AU: Rules and Chaos

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I'm only capable of ficlets lately, but enjoy some Hottie and Sugar. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics and Bucky edit by the amazing @nixakimbo .Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“My poor, shivering Sugar. Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up in no time,” Bucky said as he curled a hand around your hip, feeling him smile when he brushed a kiss against your temple. “It’s a tough job, but I’ll do it.”

An icy breeze crept into your bones through your coat when you rushed over to the tattoo parlor minutes ago, earning a sympathetic gaze from Jake when you walked through the door. It was one of the coldest days you could remember and you couldn’t get rid of the chill until Bucky offered to cuddle with you on the couch in the break room. You weren’t about to turn down his generous offer.

Especially since the guys made the room bright and cozy for the holidays with twinkling lights.

“Yeah, I really had to twist your arm to snuggle with me,” you teased, your heart thudding as you tilted your head back and let his lips skim along the column of your neck. It was almost criminal how soft his kisses were. “And I have no doubt in your abilities, Hottie.”

The man was built like a furnace, his firm body seeping warmth into yours as he held you in his embrace. Heat continued to pulse through your veins as he chuckled low and deep. “If you ever doubt my abilities in anything, I won’t hesitate to tie you to my bed and prove you wrong,” he promised, his voice even lower as it slipped into something more intimate.

You shivered for an entirely different reason now, threading your fingers through his hair and gripping them before his mouth could reach your chest. It earned you a throaty groan in response, one that nearly had you crawling in his lap. Somehow you managed to stop yourself.

“We can’t get too carried away,” you said, as much as you wanted to. You had to get back to your shop and he had a client coming in for a touch-up shortly. “Don’t give me that look,” you half begged, trying to ignore how your insides clenched when he lifted his head and gave you a glimpse of his darkened eyes.

How could you ever feel cold under that heated stare?

“But I want some sugar, Sugar,” he purred, one hand coming up to gently grasp your chin. Warm breath ghosted across your lips as he leaned in. “Just a little taste.”

Oh, how I want him to properly taste me. Make me see stars. Make me cry his name.

It was almost chaste in the beginning, his lips gently brushing against yours before he pulled back and leaned back in. Your lips parted first, silently begging for him to deepen the kiss. He still had his hand on your chin as he took his time, as if he truly wanted to taste what your mouth had to offer.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he murmured when he pulled back, his gaze dropping to your lips as you caught your breath. That look alone made your toes curl. “I should put mistletoe everywhere just to find more excuses to kiss you.”

“That would be a first for me,” you said before you could stop yourself.

“What would be a first?”

“Being kissed under mistletoe. I’ve never done that,” you admitted with heated cheeks though there was no need to feel embarrassed.

Bucky pulled back a bit further as his eyebrows shot up, taking some of the warmth with him. “No one has kissed you under mistletoe? How is that possible?”

“I guess I haven’t had the opportunity,” you answered carefully.

A lump formed in your throat when he continued to stare and you weren’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because he treated you as if the sun, moon, and stars hung in the sky because of you. Not everyone saw you as anything special the way he did.

No one ever loved or cared enough about you before to try.

He slowly shook his head as if he refused to believe you. “Well, I’m fixing that right now,” he said more to himself than you before he gently put his hands over your ears. “Jensen!”

You smiled at his muffled shout before he put his arms back around you. His voice carried when he wanted it to. “Yeah?” Jake yelled back before he rushed to the break room and stuck his head in through the doorway. “What’s up?”

“Do we have any mistletoe around here?” Bucky asked.

“Bucky, what are you doing?” You whispered.

“Finding mistletoe before you go back to the shop. And, no, I’m not letting you leave until we find some,” he whispered back, waiting for Jake to give him an answer.

“I don’t think we do. Steve mentioned buying some,” he said, fiddling with his glasses before his eyes widened. “Wait! I think Hal has something that should work.”

“Of fucking course, he does,” your boyfriend mumbled affectionately as Jake went to get him.

“You really don’t have to do anything, Bucky,” you told him, turning his face back toward you. It shouldn’t have surprised you that he wanted to. He was a romantic at heart and you secretly enjoyed that he wanted to find some. “I appreciate it, but we don’t need something hanging over our heads for us to kiss.”

“I know we don’t, but maybe I want to give you that opportunity to have that kind of kiss,” he said. Your mouth went dry at his heart stopping smile. “If you’ll indulge me.”

You felt the weight of his tender gaze as you smiled, your eyes burning slightly from unshed tears. Thinking back on dating jerks like Richard, you were thankful for the experience because it showed you how guys should treat you and that you wouldn’t settle for less than what you deserved. It began with loving yourself.

“There’s no one else I’d rather kiss,” you said, resting your hand on his chest before Hal strolled into the room.

“Well, well, well,” he smiled, bringing attention to his hair as he ran a hand through it. As if he didn't turn enough heads on a normal day, he decided to dye his hair red and half green for the holiday season. “I heard you were looking for some mistletoe.”

“Yeah, you have any?” Bucky asked impatiently.

Hal chuckled and lifted his shirt slightly, giving you both a quick flash of his abs. “As a matter of fact…”

“Oh, my god,” you giggled, covering your mouth as Hal gestured to his belt. The hand painted buckle had mistletoe painted on it with “KISS ME” written underneath. “That’s…”

You stole a glance at Bucky and you swore you saw his left eye twitch. He likely had a sweet plan in his mind and got this instead. “What the fuck is that?”

“It’s mistletoe. Just like you asked for. I mean, it’s a form of mistletoe. I have a date tonight with Angel,” Hal explained, pointing at it again. You wanted to wish him good luck with his date, but you couldn’t stop giggling. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get over here, get on your knees, and start kissing. Or should I go over there?”

There was no mistaking your boyfriend’s eye twitch this time as your laughter died down. “I’m not kissing my girlfriend by your crotch. I’d sooner choke you with that belt.”

Hal seemed to consider it before he quickly shook his head. “Nah. I tried the choking thing once. Not really for me,” he said, smirking mischievously as he looked between the two of you. “But if she’s into that-”

Well...

You grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could launch himself at his employee and friend, who held his hands up in surrender. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you take the belt off and hold it over our heads,” You suggested, hoping to appease your boyfriend as Hal unbuckled his belt with a shrug and removed it from the loops. “It still counts.”

“Not exactly traditional,” Bucky muttered under his breath before you brushed a finger along his chiseled jaw.

“We’ll call this innovative,” you said with a sweet and sincere smile. One you knew he couldn't resist.

“Innovative, huh?” Bucky asked, pulling you close as Hal waltzed over with an amused smile and dangled the belt above your heads.

“Yes,” you smiled as he framed your face. “So kiss me, please.”

Bucky held your cheeks with such care that it sent your heart soaring. This kiss was softer than before, yet full of promise and hunger, deep and thorough. He stole the breath from your lungs until you were left dizzy and wanting more.

It was the kind of kiss that warmed you up all over, like a flame no one could ever put out.

He pulled away first, slowly, but he seemed just as affected as you felt since he let out a shuddering breath and didn't let you go. “Fuck,” he whispered, bringing a smile to your face.

You had to close your eyes again to center yourself, still smiling. “Yeah. Fuck,” you whispered back before Hal cleared his throat.

“I really do adore you two lovebirds,” he began, stepping back to put his belt back on as you opened your eyes. Bucky didn't bother to look his way, only gazing at you. “But before you round the next base, Andy’s still talking about replacing the couch from the last time.”

He'll change his tune if he ever fools around in here with Sunny.

“Thank you, Hal,” you said, bringing a hand to Bucky’s cheek before he could grumble. Your touch was enough to soften his demeanor. “And thank you for my mistletoe kiss. I'll never forget it.”

Just like your first date that didn't go as planned, it made it all the more special.

Bucky smiled before he helped you both get to your feet. You had to get back to work. “I'm glad you liked it, but I’m getting us some actual mistletoe later and putting it all over our apartments. Bedrooms included.”

“Is that innovative?”

“Yeah, it is,” he smiled, sneaking in one more tender kiss before you had to go.

As long as Bucky would be the one to kiss you, he could put up mistletoe wherever he wanted.

These two. 🥰 Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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historiaxvanserra · 2 months

Text

These Violent Delights | Chapter Three

Summary: The day has come for you to forsake the safety of Velaris and make your solemn oaths to Beron Vanserra; the cruel and tyrannical High Lord of the Autumn Court and his son Eris Vanserra. Your mate. Cruel and beautiful and yours.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 8k

Main Masterlist

Waking from the ether feels like being torn from your old life again. You need a few moments to shed the fleeting remnants of your mortal life; the winter cold as it permeates the thin walls of the cabin, the warmths of the sister nestled at your side, that feeling of hunger like a devouring cavity that lives within you even now and that dresser-- adorned in painted flame, flowers, eternal night and the murky depths of the sea. That dresser haunts your memories almost as often as that infernal Cauldron.

In these moments when sleep still shrouds your conscious mind, you give leave to your anger; it runs like water into old wounds and it festers there. The saltwater purifies in ways that fire cannot. In a few moments, when the visions abate you, then you will be able to face the fire. To watch as the hues of your bedroom move from murky green and chalk blue into pearl and burning gold. For now, let the morning come in with the subtleness of the tide.

You're still cocooned between silken sheets, allowing the sunlight to thaw out the morning chill from your bones, when you notice the wraiths as they work. Nuala and Cerridrwen are the personification of shadow and smoke as they glide through your rooms, drawing the curtains with a flourish as golden light seems to pour into the room. Nuala tends to your laundry while her sister begins to draw your bath. The smell of steam and wildflowers from the meadow fill the air; juniper berries and chamomile soap that seems to cling to you.

The sound of the water lulls you into a misty wakefulness which is sullied by the opening of the apartment doors again. This time three sisters spill into the room, each dressed in varying shades of night; black, navy and indigo, accented with jewels strung tight against the hollows of their throats and the morning light catches in the crystals and casts the room in speckled light.

With as much grace as she can muster this early in the morning, Elain unceremoniously slumps down on your unmade bed and crawls to sit beside you as you once had when you were girls.

“Get up!” Nesta commands briskly leaning against your vanity.

“Morning, love,” Elain says, her voice airy on the morning breeze. She looks particularly wraith-like this morning, her eyes are ringed purple and her rich sienna irises are glazed over, glassy and veiled with a milky film that speaks to an oncoming vision.

Your bed shifts under the weight of movement again as Feyre places Nyx, swaddled in his favorite blanket, into the space beside you. He moves against the confines of his wrappings, coiling and loosening and he is half-free before you pull him into your embrace. His smile and quiet babbling tugs on your emotions in a way that almost feels like a carefully crafted ruse.

“Using the baby against me is cruel.” You chastise, pulling yourself to sit against the headboard as you take Nyx in your arms so that he is resting on your knees.

“I know but you really do need to get up.” Feyre says, still half-wrapped in the arms of sleep herself. Feyre is the night; dark, and vast, strangely comforting.

“The High Lord has asked to see you before the ceremony,” Nesta says. Her voice is filled with something sharp and wicked. They’re all looking at you now; each saturated in her own shade of sympathy as you resign yourself to action. Rising from the bed in feigned indifference, you wordlessly hand Nyx off to his mother, before walking over to the copper tub in front of the dying fire. The cold copper draws the heat from your skin and in its wake leaves an icy metallic sting that cuts bone deep.

“Very well then,” You say with a heavy sigh, “I best not keep him waiting.”

You look to your sisters then, once they had been three girls; mortal and each afraid and now they stand before you half-divine and formidable. And where did you stand amongst them? You don’t feel particularly formidable.

You feel fractured, all adrift in a violent sea.

So today you will wear your sisters virtues like armor. Until you have sworn yourself to him.

“We’ll not keep you,” Nesta says, cutting through the poignant silence as you rise on uncertain feet towards the tub nodding curtly at them as they disperse.

The swathes of your ivory nightgown pool like water at your feet as you wade into the tub before sinking low into its comforting warmth. The water is white-hot, burns in the most sadistic way, and when the burning subsides it gives way to a misty wakefulness saturated by the aromatic smell of juniper and jasmine. You recline your head against the lip of the tub and cast your gaze to your sisters again. .

In this light Nesta looks like a vision; draped in black and silver, her hair braided like a crown atop her head and her face has an austere beauty that could bring a King to his knees. Nesta is a silver flame; wrathful and vengeful, and should she let it, her fire would ravage worlds until all that stood between her and total destruction was herself.

Eris is flame too; terrible and red. Slow-burning, all-consuming and utterly devastating.

Like calls to Like.

Once your sisters have left you let yourself sink into the scalding waters, sinking lower and lower until you are submerged entirely; the water becomes you and you it. Nesta always said that you were water; calm and clear with a dangerous anger that swells like a storm under the skin's surface, violent like the sea. And should you let it, the tempest will tear you apart, and perhaps the world with it. Looking up from underneath the fractured rays of sunlight spill into the room and pierce through the dark waters– there is something sacred in that sinking feeling. Then visions come to you in flashes of black, red and–

“I dreamt of you last night,” It’s Elain’s voice that lingers on the edges of your room. It’s airy and haunting and her eyes are wide and glassy as she exhales. Elain is flowers; painted in the pastels of Springs early blooms and her hair shines like shadowed sunlight in the pale morning.

“I dreamt of you and him.”

“A dream or a vision?” You ask, your voice wavering and curious.

Elain takes a tentative step into the room, her fingers buried into the skirts of her dress and she broaches the subject again, “I hadn’t had a vision in months”.

“But last night I saw you.”

Elain’s soft hands brush over your own, the tips of your fingers tangling together and your draw in a sharp breath as something in you calls to her and all the breath is taken from you when she reaches out a pale hand to your cheek.

It burns through you like fire and Elain begins to speak.

'These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and water,

Which as they kiss consume.’

Elain falls through the ether with a deep inhale as the trance falls away from her and she scrambles to find something to ground herself in those moments.You brace yourself against the lip of the tub as Elain falls to the floor in tears, hands desperately grasping for anything to hold onto. Soaked to the bone and bare to the world you take your trembling sister in your arms and hold her there until the ragged breaths soothe and settle to a steady inhale-exhale. You run a confronting hand through Elain’s unbound hair, pressing a chaste kiss against her hairline repeating the words to her. It’s okay. I’m here. Elain looks up at you through dark lashes, wet with unshed tears when she whispers hoarsely.

“Please don’t marry Eris Vanserra.”

---

The cloister in the royal temple on the outskirts of Verona is steeped in near darkness save for the jade light from the stained glass windows that pierces the veil of the dark, like sunlight as it cascades down into the murky green depths of the river that flanks the Autumn’s capital city. There is a solemn silence that hangs in the air and for a moment this room feels more like a watery grave than a quiet reprieve from the ceremony below. The orchestral music plays and you pick out the sounds of lyres and harps as their music washes over you. You suck in a sharp breath and all at once you feel panic hit you like a raging tempest, wild and raging as it drags you into its merciless depths--

The sharp knock on the screen door reverberates through the silence of the cloister.

“Come in.” You say, your voice hoarse and shaky as clutch at the tight lacing of your corset, trying to catch your breath again. Light spills into the room like the tide and you turn, half-expecting to see one of your sisters standing there, her face painted in sympathy as she takes you in her arms and whispers a few comforting words to you.

The man that stands before you is a much more volatile prospect indeed.

“My Lord.” You greet him coldly.

“High Lord now, isn’t it?” Beron Vanserra offers you a saccharine smile as he crosses the threshold of the makeshift bridal apartments. He’s dressed in a deep crimson tunic, embroidered with threads of gold; It is wholly perverse for a man so cruel to look so poised and striking. You notice the way his shoulder length hair looks like polished bronze and his eyes shine like onyx in the morning light as he regards you.

“Don’t you make a beautiful bride,” Beron’s voice is laden with false flattery, undercut with an air of threat, “you’re going to make my son a very happy male.”

Beron all but leers at you. His eyes trail lazily over the curves and divots of your body in the obscenely intricate dress he had chosen for you. It is adorned in rubies and pearls that catch in the light like drops of blood. You feel your skin begin to crawl when he presses a chaste kiss to your outstretched hand.

“It is a shame about Eris though.” Beron says dangerously low, as if daring you to ask what it is he means.

“The flowers look very beautiful” you muse absently, it is all you can offer him-- some small, non-committal response to placate him.

Beron pays you no heed.

“I’m assured no expense has been spared with the ceremony.” Beron continues, picking at some stray threads on the sleeve of his tunic. His lips are set in a straight line and you notice the grimace that graces his features as he takes in the decor from your spot in the cloister overlooking the antechamber of the temple.

The walls are carved into ivory marble and sandstone, and the high, Gothic archways are adorned with carvings of mythological heroes and Princes from songs. The large circular window behind the altar is decorated with stained glass that casts a myriad of dappled light onto the marble tiles. You swallow thickly thinking of the obscenely large sum of money being spent on your mating ceremony to the Autumn heir.

“So I’ve heard, High Lord.” Beron nods at that, the use of his title softening him to you again and you dip your head in a show of false deference.

“Yes, well,” Beron says, his lips twitching lightly as he traces the swell of your breasts and the slope of your neck, “I have reason to believe you will be worth every penny.”

Beron takes a step towards you and you loose a breath as he draws nearer still. His frail, aged hand reaches out to touch you. From your position in the cloister Beron Vanserra towers over you. His presence is a looming reminder of your position in this world. His slender fingers feel warm and smooth against the skin of your throat as he tilts your chin so that you are looking in his eyes. You wonder if Eris’ touch feels as perverse.

It wasn't that night in Hewn City, you remember. That night he had touched you with such careful reverence.

Like you were a Goddess worth kneeling too.

“You should be warned,” Beron says to you, his eyes bore into yours and in them you see something akin to devilment cross them. Beron’s voice is soft and pensive in a way that seems rehearsed “The Autumn Court is an inhospitable place for outsiders.”

“Rhysand might be content for you to play at war and politics but you will find that in Autumn it is not becoming of a Lady of your position.”

“Yes, My Lord” you say, your voice equally as soft, with an almost breathless quality to it as the realization of his words takes root in your chest. Your heart is thunderous in your chest-- it beats so loud you’re sure The High Lord of Autumn is privy to it.

Beron hums thoughtfully as he lets go of your chin once more.

“Eris has a dangerous temper -- the fire runs hot in his veins” Beron’s words are chosen carefully, crafted to intimidate. “I can assure you he will not abide these foolish notions any more than I will.”

You nod meekly, recalling the words of Elain’s vision. These violent delights will have violent ends.

“He might be blinded by the thought of a pretty face and a tight cunt for now but it won’t last.” He muses to himself and again you see that light fade from his eyes and morph into a sadistic joy as his words spark outrage on your face.

You don’t dare look at him again lest he see the tears that have gathered at your waterline. Beron considers you for a moment, sweeping you up in his hold so that your arm is wrapped around his bicep loosely and he begins to lead you from the darkness of the cloister and into the light.

“And what will my position be at court?” You ask carefully, observing the harsh set of Beron’s jaw as you talk.

“As Eris’ mate you will be a Lady of the Autumn court -- you’ll take tea and play cards, attend balls -- bear him sons.” Beron laughs, casting a glance to you as you continue your descent down the temple stairs before he takes his leave. Then he is gone with the wave of a hand and he leaves the charred scent of wyrmwood and valerian root in his wake. You lose a shaky breath and try ceaselessly to wipe the unshed tears from your eyes before continuing your descent into the heart of the temple.

Your storm rages violent and cold then; You were born from the depths of the sea. To be cruel and beautiful. You are not some docile little girl or a brood mare destined to bear sons and obey.

You are a storm incarnate and by the time you are done, the whole world will know it.

The temple in Verona is carved deep into the natural sandstone of a cliff face, its sharp peak cleaving it from the valley and river beyond. The grand temple overlooks the river and on days such as this, the smell of seafoam and salt, stains the air. The stained glass windows line the junction between the walls and ceilings, and illustrated in them, is the story of birth, creation and rebirth. It breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. As the sun filters through the windows in beams of shadowed light, the aisle is dappled in a technicolor glow. The air is thick and heady with the smell of wine and smoke and from your spot at the end of the aisle, you can see The High Priestess intoning her mass. The Priestess is obscured by plumes of incense smoke and the flicker of candle flame illuminates her face. She is a vision in the lonine orange light; she is heavily veiled, runes adorn her arms and face, and her eyes shine with a cerulean clarity as she chants her blessings to the Fae in attendance. Her altar is littered with offerings to the mated pair, amphora’s of fae-wine, bouquets of lilac and patchouli, small trinkets and garlands of laurel and pomegranate. The temple is alive with ceremony; a possession of veiled priestesses, anointed with incense, leave a trail of petals in their wake, as they kneel at the foot of the altar before filing into the pews.

“Last chance to run!” It’s Cassian’s voice that jolts you from thought.

He laughs as you clutch at your chest as you reel from his intrusion. He’s dressed in his ceremonial uniform; it’s much prettier than the frayed training leathers you’re used to seeing him in. His broad shoulders seem to strain against the navy fabric that is decorated with embroidered silver brocade. His hair is pushed back behind his ears neatly, a few errant strands catch on the breeze and he looks more like the Cassian you had grown to care for.

“I think it’s a little late for that now.” Rhysand says pointedly to Cassian as he retreats into the aisle to find his seat at the front of the temple with the rest of your family and friends.

On the opposite side of the aisle Beron Vanserra stands near the altar along with Eris and his favorite courtiers and trusted soldiers that gather behind him to bear witness to the hastily brokered mating ceremony his father had managed to coerce you into. And there’s a woman. She’s tall and beautiful with hair the color of sand and a face that is bright and warm. She looks out into the aisle with contempt and then back again to Eris and from here, on the outside looking in, you can see it. Not quite love but fire; consuming and searing through her and the heat seems to seep into his bones as he turns around to meet her eyes and you can swear you see the ghost of regret grace his face.

You will make him kneel to you, you think. As you had done that night in Hewn City. He had called you Goddess then.

A storm incarnate, you remind yourself as you approach the aisle hesitantly. Violent, merciless, and beautiful. With all the force of a raging tempest.

As the orchestral music begins to sweep through the temple you feel Rhysand clear his throat and come to stand at your side, his eyes burning holes into the side of your face. Rhysand is dressed all in black. In his High Lord robes he cuts an intimidating figure. In this holy light he looks quite beautiful, in a boyish sort of way, never really having shed that youthful magnetism that seemed to enamour everyone so. On any other day, you wouldn’t have looked twice at Rhysand but as your freedom hangs precariously in the balance you want to cling to something you know-- something warm and familiar and safe. So you take his arm as he guides you out into the aisle.

Your vision is partially obscured by the light mesh veil that adorns your face. It’s honey coloured and decorated with tiny ruby crystals that fall like tears. The dress itself looks like wine red; satin and chiffon that clings to you like water as it marks the contours and caverns of your body in a way that makes you feel laid bare. The fabric is gathered about your bust delicately and accentuates the slope of your shoulders. Rhysand’s cool fingers rub comforting circles into the flesh of your arm where he holds it tight. He feels your tense involuntarily as the harps swell to a stop when you step up to the heart of the temple.

Then you see him; it’s hypnotic and slightly aggravating as he examines you, his eyes trailing over your body and coming to land on your face. He looks at you and you feel as though light goes all through you. He’s steeped in jewel tones that saturate him in autumnal light as he stands against the cool marble and stone of the temple. His hair is tousled and rust coloured in the half-extinguished candle flame and his eyes shine like amber, incandescent and devastating. His tunic is jade coloured and embellished with gold thread along the cuffs and collar.

“Come forward, child,” the Priestess gestures to you as you take a step towards the altar, bowing your head in a show of devotion. She takes your hand in hers and kisses it chastely, murmuring a blessing against your skin. She repeats the action for Eris before gesturing to you to face him. When you turn to face him he takes a step forward on certain feet and takes hold of the sheer fabric that veils you, briefly admiring the feel of it between his fingers before bringing it over your head in one fluid movement so that your face is entirely unobstructed from view. Eris burns bright; a slow-burning flame. It’s warm and all-consuming but no less volatile, no less devastating. As the priestess continues to intone her blessings, you and Eris stand, looking at each other in the light searching for something to cling to in each other’s eyes in those sinking moments. In a flurry of movement the priestess takes your hand again before pressing the ceremonial blade to your palm, the metal glints in the dappled light and a slicing burn gives way to blood that pools like rubies at Eris’s feet.

Stepping to the altar he grasps your hand in his as a pained hiss escapes you. His hands are broad and warm and his fingers are long and graceful as they ghost over your cold skin. Your fist clenches in his unrelenting grip and when he feels it, he yields to you, his hand going slack as your fingers curl around his. He had the strange tenderness of someone who has never been loved, it seems almost rehearsed. His palms and the pads of his fingers are rough and mottled with fire and the way he holds your hand in his is possessive.

Sacred and perverse.

His hand pulls away from you now and in turn he offers it up to the priestess, she turns it over in her grasp and slices into his palm as she had done to you. He places his hand in yours again. Palm to bloody palm as he sinks to his knees before you. He kneels to you in his own show of reverence; you, the visage of some ancient deity and he, the last devotee.

Eris Vanserra works diligently, threading the ribbon through your joined hands, binding your bloody hand to his. The crimson ribbon that joins you, a representation of the oaths by which you are bound together.

Your shared sin.

The words come next; spoke in unison and recited like a prayer:

Ode to my love;

Blood of my blood, bone of my bone;

Here, I surrender myself unto you;

In sight of The Mother;

I give that which is only mine to give;

My word, my bond, my fealty,

I pledge to shield your back, and keep your counsel,

I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,

And yours the arms in which i wake

I pledge to you my living and dying;

I am yours and you are mine,

From this day until our last day.

The next few hours seem to pass in a perpetual state of anxiety induced haze and you bear witness to it all from somewhere outside of yourself; a ghost or spectator to the tragedy that had become your union to The Autumn Prince.

Your beautiful mate.

This should have been a happy occasion; the union of two souls, bound together by the Gods themselves. Born from the same star. But Beron Vanserra had robbed you of any romantic notions that today is anything but a warning fire.

You are a vulnerability. His mate. And whether Eris Vanserra loves you or not Beron intends to exploit that vulnerability; a pretty ornament to bring Eris to heel.

The ballroom is a show of opulence; soaked in the amethyst fae-light and chandeliers glitter like moonglow on open water. The paintings hang on the wall, rich oil on canvas, framed in gilded gold and the high table is decorated with fine ivory place settings and delicate china adorned with painted autumn leaves. The retinue of Beron’s courtiers look like a jewel-toned fire; flames of amber, topaz, and ruby that burn through the cool light of the ballroom as they take to their seats. It’s a great farce. The way that the colours of night and autumn come together in a crude harmony. You wonder if Eris sees it too.

The music is soft and loud and mixed with the laughter and idle chatter the hall is a cacophony of sound, no longer ceremonial and orchestral but rather, jovial and light-hearted with an undercurrent of anticipation. From your position at the heart of the high table, you can see the courtiers of Night and Autumn mingling on the lower tables, and as the fourth course is served, it seems inebriation is beginning to set in. Their faces in the crowd are exaggerated and expressive, the distinct wine-blush staining the room a specific shade of hedonism. The air is thick with it, wine and body heat. It’s almost tangible.

The sound of Cassian’s voice echoes along the high table as he and Nesta seem to be in the midst of a heated debate. Feyre and Mor are quietly discussing court gossip with animated gasps and hand gestures that you only catch from the corner of your eye. All of that is drowned out by the conversation between Rhysand, Beron and Eris.

You only stare on, watching and waiting as the evening begins to unfold before you.

You cast your eyes along the table to see that it is laden with food; roasted meats, and seasonal vegetables, garnished with fragrant spices and herbs that taint the air with their aroma. It’s pure gluttony. More food than you have ever seen, piled high and largely untouched. It seems cruel to you. To be confronted with such abundance now, when once, hunger was all you knew. It should feel like heaven to live in the knowledge that you will never know poverty again but sometimes it feels like condemnation. To live knowing that your life, meagre as it was, had been stolen from you and in its place, this.

The stiffening of the body next to you brings you back from the precipice. Eris is a vision in the sapphire light; his face is beautiful in the most conflicting ways. He’s all delicate and angular; soft slopes and harsh lines that come together in opposing harmony. His face is a perfect juxtaposition. He’s a slow-burning fire tangled in the amethyst moonglow.

“You should eat something,” His voice is tense and low and he doesn’t deign to look at you when he speaks. Even his presence is contradictory in nature; the way his face is set in a neutral expression that arches on contemptuous, and yet, his hand, still bound to yours, is warm and tender, as the calloused pad of his thumb strokes slow tortuous circles into the skin of your hand.

“I’m not hungry,” it is a lie, an obvious one at that, as at that moment your stomach seems to betray you. He laughs then. Much to the ire of Beron who sends one measured glance to his heir, never quite looking away from Rhysand as he talks about some foreign policy or the other.

The laugh itself is not wholly cruel but teasing, meant to make you feel small as he finally turns his gaze on you. It’s fierce and piercing, warm and you think that when he is looking at you the whole world melts away for a few moments. Eris is handsome; of that there had never been any doubt. Especially in this light he almost takes your breath away.

“Please eat something, little fox.” is all he says finally, cutting through the tension that had settled over the two of you.

You laugh back at him now as he watches you carefully, his stare is unyielding and burns into the side of your face. Yet you refuse him the satisfaction of looking back at him. It is Beron’s stare that has you shrinking in place, searing and critical as it bores into the side of your face. It is then you notice the woman he had brought with him looks at you both with a peculiar mixture of envy and scorn that makes heat coil in your stomach, it creeps up on you, kissing its way up your throat and ghosting over your cheeks, leaving blush stains in its wake.

You look at him once more, forlorn and dejected when he won’t meet your gaze. You look down to the space between you to the place where your hands are bound to his. Your hands are clasped together and come to rest on your thigh innocently as his thumb continues to rub small circles into the skin of your hand. It’s absent-minded and self-soothing on his part. You doubt he realizes or cares about the comfort it has been bringing you in these moments when you feel like you are drowning. So you surrender yourself to the tide.

You are the sea; wild and untamed, sacred like salt. A force to be reckoned with. And try as he might, he will not burn you.

When your stomach elicits another growl you relent to him and decide to eat something after all even if the satisfaction on his face is enough to awaken the storm brewing inside of you. It’s not quite anger but either way, it washes over you and awakens you with a jolt.

With your free hand you grab the first thing in front of you; pomegranate, ripe and sweet-smelling and red. Red like the thread that binds you to him. You spend a few moments contemplating it before letting your free hand fall to your thigh, to the place where his body joins with yours. You begin tugging at the binding in an attempt to free yourself from his tender grip.

“No!” His voice is louder and sterner than he meant for it to sound as he pushes you away with his unbound hand.

“Why not?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the harsh tone in his voice, “it’s just a stupid ribbon.”

You attempt to free yourself again, only this time his grip is rough and unrelenting.

“That stupid ribbon is thousands of years of tradition, girl.” It is Beron’s voice, cruel and malignant that chastises you.

“My apologies.” you say dumbly in response, looking down to where your hands are joined in shame, “forgive me High Lord.” You’re not sure if it's Beron of Eris you are apologizing to. But it is Beron’s words that play on your mind.

Eris bids you to look at him when his father is once again taken into conversation with Rhysand and you notice then how Eris’ amber gaze softens with his grip as he lets go of your free hand and he waves you off as you look on apologetically. These are the traditions of his people. And foreign as they are to you, they are his; yours now too you suppose.

“The ribbon signifies the sacred vows we have made to each other.” Eris explains carefully and those amber eyes never once leave yours. Even as he brings his free hand to cradle your face in one hand, or as he runs a tender thumb over the the smooth flesh of your cheek.

“I’m sor-” you move to apologize again though the words are cut short when Eris squeezes your hand comfortingly beneath the table and offers you a secret smile. A secret courtesy to be kept between you and him.

“Think nothing of it, wife.” There’s a little bite to the words that speak to his jest and you feel once again that you are talking to the man that had enamored you so that night in Hewn City.

He clears his throat again to speak.

His voice is measured and calm this time as he says “It can’t be removed until the wedding night.”

“The wedding night?” you ask, looking up at him as he turns away again.

“Until the marriage has been consummated.” Eris clarifies, not daring to look at you he shifts a little in his seat, crossing his boot-clad leg over his knee.

“Ahah! The bedding!” Beron leers at you and you notice the twitch in Eris’ jaw but his face remains set in a perfectly neutral expression before morphing into his own rehearsed smirk. He mutters something to his father that you can’t quite catch but whatever it is, it is enough that Beron hums in satisfaction and turns back to The Night Lord of Night with a dangerous smile on his lips.

You swallow hard.

Your throat goes dry and makes it harder to swallow your dread. Silence settles over you both again, you’re not sure that he notices or pays much mind to you in those moments but drowning in the silence, you feel his hand squeeze yours with a fond pressure that makes your heart swell with something close to affection.

After a few more moments of that awkward silence and his hand squeezing yours, you dare to look along the table again. Beside you Rhys is sat in a grand chair that marks him as a High Lord, next is Feyre who cradles Nyx in her arms as he sleeps soundly despite the music and chatter of the courtiers. Nesta and Cassian seem wholly immersed in each other, each drinking deeply from their cups as their conversation becomes louder. At some point, she catches your eye and quirks a brow at you in question. You can’t think of what to do so you only shake your head a little in response, hardly enough for anyone else to notice.

Moving on you find Azriel in the crowd, he’s pressed against the wall, drink in hand, spectating from the sidelines as he does, lying in wait for something to catch his attention. Something does catch his attention though; it’s you. He sees the way you watch him carefully. There was something dark and reassuring in his eyes, a wordless conversation contained between you and him in that moment. He’s been a friend to you this whole time, and his distrust of Eris meant he was the only one openly vocal about his reservations regarding your marriage to the Autumn prince. Apart from you of course. Azriel slinks off into the shadows and not long after you notice that Elain has also managed to escape. There is some amusement in how obvious they are in their affections for each other and yet, not one person is observant enough to take notice of it.

“Your sister, Elain,” he starts, there is a menace in his voice and a thread of amusement as he cocks a brow to Lucien who is dancing with Feyre now, “She’s my brother's mate, yes?”

“She is, My Lord.” You nod, your eyes fixed on Lucien, who had been begrudgingly invited and you find yourself enamored by his graceful movements as he sweeps Feyre up in one fluid motion, turning with her in his arms before placing her on the ground again. Lucien is beautiful you think; not in the same way as Eris perhaps, Lucien is sunlight where Eris is fire-- but beautiful still.

“Have you noticed the way she always seems to disappear in a room full of people and no one seems to notice,” It’s not meant to be a jape or a taunt just simple observation on his part as his eyes scan the room and Elain is nowhere to be found amongst the masses of bodies.

“The spymaster, too.” he adds, his tone is careful and bereft of emotion.

“How strange,” you say, offering him a weak smile in response. Any smart retort lives and dies on the tip of your tongue at that moment and you’re left trying to scrape some dismissal together but no matter how hard you try, nothing will come forth.

“Perhaps they have retired to their beds for the night.” he offers, a sly smile on his beautiful lips.

Clearly, someone else is taking note.

He turns to you then and you can see the wicked smile that takes over his features but it is gone just as quickly as he looks down at you clumsily holding your knife in hand in an attempt to tear open the fruit in front of you so that you may finally eat.

“Here,” he says softly, reaching over you with his free hand to take the pomegranate from your hands, “give me the knife”.

“Don’t trouble yourself, My Lord,” you say quickly, your hand covering his to stop him in his tracks.

“No you don’t” he says simply waving your hand away again. Eris holds out his large hand to you, his palm open and expectant as his eyes find yours. Gods, he is devastating, you think. And intimidating. You see a flash of fire cross his eyes and Beron’s words play in your mind once more.

You twirl the cheese knife in your hand once more before handing it to Eris with a trembling touch. Eris is skilled with a knife. His fingers are elegant and deft with a blade like he knows it innately. It is malleable under his touch and glides through the air as he carves into the pomegranate. Fruit flesh relents to the sting of his blade; sweet liquid spills onto his fingers like blood and the seeds shine like rubies in the candlelight. Eris takes a seed between his thumb and forefinger, holding it to the light before holding it to the sulk on your lips. Fruit flesh is cool and wet against your lips, the juice is tart and sweet and red.

Almost metallic.

Almost like blood.

It takes you a few moments to relent to him but when you do, you obediently open your mouth to him; all pretty pink lips and canines. It’s feral the way he watches you. The way you watch him. Like two predators circling their prey. There’s the ghost of a dare glinting in his eyes when you lean into him and wrap your lips around his fingers. It’s metallic and sweet, a heady mixture of skin and seed. You moan gospel around his deft fingers and when you are done he looks as though he is ready to devour you.

The little peace that you had found in those moments seems to subside with the abrupt ending to the music as Rhysand stands beside you raising a glass to the room, with others following one by one to also raise their glasses.

“As the night draws to its close, let me be the first to wish you both well; my greatest wish is to see your bond grow strong, and with it the pledges we have borne witness to today. Your union is tangible proof of the alliance between our two courts and with your love, let those allegiances too grow strong so that we may all know peace and abundance in equal measure.”

As Rhysand’s speech draws to its close you feel Eris’s hand again squeezing at yours as if in warning for what will come next. Rhysand’s words didn’t surprise you as you thought they might, they lacked any brotherly sincerity and in its place was the proof that you had been sold to Eris so that Rhysand may profit off your sacrifice.

“As is tradition, the bride and groom will now retire to their bed.” As those words leave Beron’s lips you feel yourself pale in a mixture of embarrassment and dread. It’s Cassian who draws your attention as in his drunken stupor he hollers at the mere mention of the bedding. Nesta is quick to silence him with a jab to the ribs and she sends you an apologetic half-smile. Not that it appeases you any. This is the fate they have designed for you. It is easier to resign yourself to it, and relinquish control instead of having it taken from you. Breaking is easier than being broken.

As the music begins again Eris seems to don a mask; his smile is saccharine as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion and you follow shortly after. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom and looks again at where your bodies are joined together. He places his free hand on the small of your back and in turn, you wrap your arm around his shoulder. He leads you effortlessly into a slow, sultry walk as you and he slink from the opulent ballroom and into the long, narrow corridors of The Forest House.

“Are you afraid?” Eris asks gently as he examines you carefully and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger at the swell of your breasts or the way his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip as he leads you up the grand staircase.

“Should I be afraid, My Lord?” you ask incredulously, offering him a sweet, amenable smile. That is what they want you to be, isn’t it? Agreeable, obedient, docile. A pretty thing to warm his bed and keep his counsel until his father is dead and buried.

He looks down at where your hands are bound together and you swallow hard.

You have already been bought and sold and with every passing second you can’t help but think your fate is to be a broodmare to birth sons and live in quiet isolation.

As Eris’s own mother has.

That behind Eris’s scheming and his initial hesitancy to claim you, there is still a lingering sense of ownership. That he felt entitled to you, to your body and your life should it come to that. All because The Mother deemed him worthy of you. For all his solemn promises he still bought you for a price.

“I won’t touch you,” there is sincerity in his voice that warms you, nerves set alight as his broad hand ghosts your uncovered shoulder.

“Not until you ask me to, anyway,” he adds, there is an air of playfulness in his voice but there is something else. At that moment you are assured that if you would have him, Eris would ravage you. He might be a cruel prince with a wicked temper, but there is an irresistible and undeniable tension between you. Something that calls your body to his. Perhaps it is the wine, or the gravity of the vows you have sworn to one another but either way, this man before you is lust incarnate.

“What if I never want you to touch me?” you retort, there is something unserious about the way you say it. Both of you know that it is only a matter of time before you permit him into your bed.

“I can’t say I’ve ever dreamed of the priesthood.” He laughs a little. It is sweet and careless as his hand dips a little lower on your hips.

“I’m sure you’ll find some pretty little nymph to devote yourself to,” you say, thinking of the sandy-haired woman who had been watching you all night. Eris’ face twists into a fox-like grin. Like he has finally got you right where he wants you.

“Who was the woman here today, the one with the golden hair?” you ask, your gaze wavering under the heat of Eris’ stare.

“Her name is Chryseis, but you needn’t pay her any mind” he reassures you, forcing you to look at him. And only him. He’s right. She isn’t important, not truly. What’s more pressing is the way her eyes trailed you contemptuously and the feeling of volatile jealousy that toot root in your body. It is unnatural and selfish. Whatever Eris and that woman share predates you, and any vows he made to you.

“She is very beautiful” You don’t quite know where the words come from but it tastes like saltwater on your tongue, “Is she what you gave up to have me?”

“She is nothing to me,” he says honestly. You think it is nice to see him like that, in those small moments where he is unencumbered by all that plagues him.

In that moment, you stand there, your hand still bound to Eris and again you allow the world to dissolve like sugar on your tongue when he is looking at you like that. His fire is gentle and slow-burning now, it comes off him in hot plumes of smoke.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he quips as he tries to catch his breath, painfully aware of how your hearts beat in tandem, “Or only when you’re jealous?”

He’s toying with you now and humiliation coils tight in your chest.

“Why would I be jealous of your lover?” you say, all bared teeth and venom as the tension between you cools to anger. It’s unnerving, and your hairs stand on end in morbid anticipation. As he closes the gap between you so that you are chest to chest. So close that his lips ghost over your own as he comes to whisper in your ear.

“I never said she was my lover” Eris jibes, only half-amused as he takes in the way you shrink before him as his fathers words ring in your ears once again each time you bring yourself to fan the flames of his anger.

“If you want me to forsake all other women, all you have to do is ask.” his breath is hot on your neck and he stares down at you, hypnotized by the rise and fall of your chest. “I offered as much that first night in Hewn City, don’t you remember?”

“Let it be my first act as your husband.” The way he says it is full of ardour and taunt. You’ve no doubt that he would too. But you are the sea; violent and willful and you will not surrender to him yet.

You don’t say anything then only press your bound palm to his before leaning into him. His eyes pierce your soul and warmth pools in the pit of your stomach as his hot breath fans your face, lips coming to meet yours in a tender kiss. Only before you can heed the call of your soul to his, you pull away from him.

Eris hisses at the sudden loss of touch and he drops his free hand and begins to untether your hand from his. He turns his back to you, readjusting his posture to a cool, calculated slouch that exudes an aura of arrogance that he wears so well. The sounds of his riding boots against the tile cut through you like a knife. He tosses his head to the side, long russet strands framing his profile as he speaks again.

“You called me a Goddess once, do you remember?” Your eyes search his and in that strange amber gaze you see the man you saw that night is Hewn City. Wicked and vulnerable and good, despite it all. Eris nods and you watch the long column of his throat as he swallows thickly.

“Tonight I will let you kneel at my altar.” Eris Vanserra moves like a man starved; all teeth and tongue and ardent hands as he pushes you up against the wall outside of him apartments. His kiss is all consuming and devouring as he claims you with reckless abandon. His hands are warm and sure against you; one that holds your jaw gently and the other holds your hip in a bruising grip.

“You are going to be my ruin, wife.” His echoing whisper answers as his figure retreats into the darkness with the promise of what is to come.

#eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x you #eris acotar #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction

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icyminghao · 11 months

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REQUEST GUIDELINES

╰┈➤ seoksoon are NOT OPEN to talk :(

i take requests for seventeen!

i only write sfw

my reader inserts are usually gender neutral unless stated otherwise, but if you’d like them to be female just lmk!

some stuff i don’t write (not exhaustive): smut, member x member

please don’t rush me to write what you requested for!

that’s all for now! have a great day if you read till here 😋

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#ICY NAVI #boynextdoor #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines

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the-californicationist · 5 months

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he trims his beard

Pirate!Price/Reader

God, I want to write thirty damn chapters about Pirate!Price so badly. Someone tell me not to, please? Lol. Otherwise, y'all might be getting thirty chapters of Pirate!Price...

MDNI/18+ TW: virginity reference

Summary:

Captain John Price is king of the Seven Seas, and after he saves your life, you owe him a debt. His fee? To take you as his wife.

The Mediterranean Sea, 1708

“I just can’t…ARGH!” Price slammed his hand down on the porcelain basin as he tried to shave his chin, unable to use his right hand after the accident.

You pitied him, but you were still terribly afraid of him. When he rescued you, you thought he had been Death riding in on his ghostly white ship. But, now that he had been with you going on a fortnight, you realized the hardened, gruff exterior was but a hard shell encasing the soft, warm center of Captain Price, leader of the Queen’s special unit of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.

You’d been marooned on Cassadaga Island for two days, stripped of your jewelry and purse, beaten within an inch of your life, and left for dead. Your would-be husband had planned the whole attack, hoping to cash in on the dowry money. The joke was on him. Your father had a gambling problem and had not two coins to rub together. The musket he kept above the mantle didn’t even have any gunpowder in it, you were so destitute. As soon as your fiancé found out about your lack of adequate funding, he tossed you overboard on his father’s ship. When Captain Price found you there, you were barely hanging on.

The captain had nursed you back to health, promising to chase down the vagabond and kill him for his dishonor. He’d been true to his word, slaughtering the lot of them, but during his vengeful assault, he’d been shot through the hand with a musket. You’d cleaned the wound, and he had yelled at you for the pain. Now, you were cowering in the corner of your shared room, back to being a prisoner.

He eyed you from his shining mirror above the basin,

“C’mere, girl.”

You edged closer. It wasn’t quick enough for him, so he crossed the room, his black leather boots banging on the ash wood of his quarters.

“I said come here,” he growled, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you over to the wash bowl, razor in his uninjured hand.

He let go of you, straightened himself, and sighed, fixing his harshness into a more genteel tone,

“My apologies,” the words came out of his mouth oily and practiced, not at all his natural verbiage, “Would you be so kind as to trim my beard? With my injury, and my left hand being more useless than a fuckin’ hook, I am at your mercy.”

He handed you the razor and you took it from him,

“Yes, sir - I mean, Captain. Yes, Captain.”

You were stuttering, full of abject fear at his possible retaliation.

As you approached his face with the razor, your hand was trembling and he noticed it. Something in him softened, his icy blue eyes melted just enough for him to hold you around your waist and gaze down at your face,

“It’s okay, pretty girl. My bark and my bite are both nasty, but I won’t harm you.”

His warm body was so close to yours, and with him leaning over you, breathing into your space, you could smell the tobacco scent that lingered in his clothes and beard. His long, braided hair was adorned with gold coins, bent and twisted into it to make little beads, and he had been caramelized by the sun. At the top of his sternum, you could see thick tufts of curly hair poking from his shirt. You tried not to stare.

“Captain,” you asked as sweetly as you could, “Can you sit, sir, so that I may reach your cheek?”

He smiled,

“Alright, love.”

He sat on his down mattress. The bed creaked at the addition of his familiar weight.

At this more convenient angle, you were able to reach his face and neck, so you began your task. You applied the foam in thin layers, working gently as you went, mindful that the captain kept his blades sharp enough to cut steel twine. What you hadn’t realized was that, by requesting that he sit, he was in full, direct eye sight of your heavy breasts. They were corseted up, as was the fashion, but without your normal over-dress to cover you, your nipples ghosted through the thin chemise, hinting at little pebbles beneath the surface. He had not stopped staring at them since you began to shave him.

You looked down while you were cleaning the blade, trying to discreetly glimpse at his growing passion, curious and fearful all at the same time. His breeches could barely contain him, and his thick phallus pressed into the join of his pants. He caught you staring, and he laughed at your rosy complexion, rolling his eyes,

“Ha! Embarrassed at your thirst, pretty girl? Surely those vagabonds did not leave you a virgin during your ordeal.”

“They did, sir,” you admitted, returning to your work, sad at having been discovered sinning with your abject perversion.

He made a small noise, unable to talk while you were shaving his prominent chin, careful around the curve of the bone. He liked to keep the sides long, trimming them with shears, but he always shaved his chin. You followed the razor’s line down his neck, careful not to knick his protruding Adam’s Apple.

“Is that so?” The captain purred.

“Yes, sir. At my fiance’s order.”

“Ah, I see.”

He was silent again, his eyes growing hungrier at the sight of you. His hands returned to your hips as the waves tossed the large vessel on the high seas. You stilled, feeling your belly flutter, wondering if it was seasickness or excitement from his newly focused touch.

“You alright, love? Bit choppy tonight. Storm’s brewin’.”

“Oh,” you nodded, finishing with his neck, “There. All finished, Captain.”

He moaned, holding your hips tighter, situating you between his open knees,

“Shame, that. I was enjoying your skillful hand, pretty girl.”

You blushed, setting the razor cleaned back in its case,

“Thank you, Captain Price. And thank you again for your rescue. I would be dead if not for your mercy. I am in your debt.”

“Aye,” the Captain eyed you slyly, “a steep debt at that. Your dowry should solve that for us. Then, you’ll be on your way. When we land in Málaga, your father can pay me.”

“Sir,” you gasped, “I don’t have one. My father took it to the game house and lost it on his cards.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you looked down at him in shame, hoping his mercy was deeper than his greed.

“Hmm, I see. Then, perhaps you would consider a captain as your betrothed?”

You looked up at him in shock, and he was amused by your fear. He used one hand to hold you by the hip, and his other, uninjured hand delicately pulled at the silk ribbon of your bodice, aiming to free you from your painful restraints.

“Y-y-yes…sir,” you could feel the heat on your cheeks, “My family would be most pleased with such a match.”

“Bugger your family, girl. They left you for dead. If you’re mine, you’ll be only mine. Once I have a bounty in my grasp, there’s not a man on God’s green earth who could take it from me. Does that scare you, girl? Do you want to run off home, turn to the cloth, become a nun instead?”

“No,” you shook your head, “No, sir. I owe you my life, and if it is my hand that you wish, I must oblige you.”

“I wish not your hand, love…” His tone was darkly suggestive, “Well, maybe at first.” He laughed warmly.

It was a joke that you had missed, but you knew it was your innocence that kept you from divining its meaning. In your core, your body yearned for him. Seeing him command his men, the fiercest swords on the Seven Seas, watching him take down pirates and vagabonds like it made his heart beat in his breast, it was mystifying. His huge muscles and broad bones made his tall figure all the more imposing, and every port you landed in, women swooned over him while the men cowered in fear. Yes, you’d enjoy him as a husband. No one would ever dare lay a hand on you again.

“What are your terms, Captain, should I accept your proposal?”

He ran a finger into the hole he had created in your leather bodice, letting you feel his warm touch through the thin fabric of your chemise. It electrified you.

“You’ll be mine, and only mine. I’ll be yours, and only yours. When I fill you with my seed, you’ll carry my children, and you’ll love them in earnest. You’ll sail with me, and learn the trade. There’s no comfortable manor house awaiting you, girl. What say you?”

“I agree to your terms, sir. But, I have one of my own.”

“Name it.”

“You’ll not lay a hand to me or our children, no matter the height of your rage.”

“Never. You have my word.”

Looking into his eyes, softened and vulnerable now, he meant it. You felt relief for the first time in weeks. Safe, protected, cared for, and welcomed into his adventures. It was everything you’d dreamed of. All of your childhood friends had dreams of servants and painting rooms and buying linens, while you had wanted to see the world. Here he was, offering it to you.

“I accept.”

“As do I, love. Now,” he finished removing your corset and bodice top, letting it fall to the floor, “as your husband, I’ll have what I’m owed.”

“Yes, Captain. But, please,” you felt a tear roll away from your wet lashes, “be gentle with me.”

“I promised no such thing,” he said, lowering his mouth to your nipple, sucking it and wetting the silk of your chemise, using his hand to pull down the fabric on your other breast, exposing it to the sea air.

You gasped, feeling his hot mouth explore your skin, your nipples tightening in the heat of his attentions. He was using his tongue to flick back and forth across the tip of your breast, not caring that you were trembling at every swipe of his tongue or thumb. You moaned, involuntarily, as you felt the sparkle of pleasure rush into your belly, making you wet under your skirts. While you had explored yourself plenty of times to discover the hidden secrets of your body, to have a man - especially such an aggressor like Captain Price - do it, it was so much more exciting. His forbidden fruit made you clench your legs together, upset and tingling within your core.

“Mmm,” he praised you, “Like that, love?”

“Yes, Captain,” you whispered softly, placing your hands on the back of his neck, rubbing the firm musculature you discovered there.

“Good girl,” he told you, pinching your nipple cruelly to make you moan again.

He kissed you then, full and with his long, ravenous tongue, forcing it into your mouth to feel your tongue and throat, the silky skin of your cheek. As he kissed you, he was busy rucking up your skirts, searching for your dripping heat. He found it, and he stilled. Barely moving, he stopped kissing you and looked up into your eyes with his stark blue ones, a look of pure delight on his face.

“Oh, my stars. There it is. You’ve been hiding it from me. So willing? Tell me the truth. Have you been hungering for me as I have been for you?”

It would not be proper to confess such a thing, even to a man who would be your husband. You shook your head in denial, pressing your lips together to keep from telling the truth.

“Say it! Tell your naughty thoughts to me, love. This is not the cunt of a frightened girl.”

You blushed, red as a rose, unable to meet his gaze.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he moved his finger inside of you then, gently sinking into his drooling sheath, ready to send home his sword to it.

“Y-yes,” your voice was barely audible.

“Yes? What have you been thinking of?” He returned to your nipple, pressing his finger deeper into you, massaging your walls as he explored.

“You…when you fight pirates, sir. You look…”

He chuckled, biting your firm nipple softly, teasing you,

“You like seeing me murdering those devils, do you? In all my days, I never thought I’d find a lass who had a taste for war.”

“Not the war, sir. Just the warrior. You seem to be in command of the chaos, and my body…well, I guess…I am unsure how to describe it.”

He pulled you down to the bed and tossed you on your back, rutting against you with his length, letting his hardness press into your core through his breeches.

“You like seeing me in charge, hm? Your captain, barking his orders, tossing those traitorous rats into the drink, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you confessed, rolling in the broiling pleasure he was building inside of you, his hand knuckle-deep inside of your core.

“Good,” he said smugly, “Then, I have a command for you.”

You looked up at him, watching him roll your skirt up above your knees, his eyes never leaving your dripping folds. He smiled when he saw it gleam for him.

“What do you ask of me, my love?”

“Open your legs, girl. Feed yourself to your Captain.”

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #john price #cod #captain price x you #pirate price

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pseudowho · 4 months

Text

Infiltration, Chapter Eight: Unchained

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

*SMUT/NSFW/18+*

THE FINAL CHAPTER!!

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

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Kento broke into a jagged run, as an almighty roar burst from the writhing mass above him, the many faces within it screaming in shrill tandem. Kento stumbled, slipping in the rot, cutting his palms open on shards of bone and gristle on his way to you, still hanging, chained, against the wall.

Kento's hands clamped instantly to your face, crying out in disgust and panic as he smeared it with blood and rancid muck. His hands roamed you desperately, from chains, to face, to sliced belly, to waist, to chains, uttering frantic breaking moans-- "no no no, darling please, wake up, I can't do this, I can't do this, please, please". Your pale, lax face shot through him like shards of ice and he sobbed, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your mouth, trying to push life from his own body to yours.

His shredded palms settled on your chains, and Kento roared in frustration as he felt his Cursed-energy output dwindle to nothing the moment he touched them. Kento spun, dropping to his knees and scouring the floor for anything he could use. His hands were scattered, stinging, and landed on a discarded, gouged long-bone; a femur, mostly intact. The biblical darkness crept closer above him, hungry, eager, tentacles and limbs slapping down the walls of this vast deep well towards you.

Brandishing the femur as a weapon, imbuing it with every shred of power he had, Kento stepped into the hit and slashed the wall above your chains in a devastating blow. A spray of damp brick and rubble had the wall buckling, and as the chain's tethers were released, your body slumped downwards. Kento caught you, shielding you from the falling debris, cradling you in his arms as he, you and the chains slapped to the slick icy floor.

Clutching your body to his, Kento begged you to live, begged the empty chamber around him for help-- "I can't-- I can't help you-- don't go yet please don't go yet, we can make it, you can make it...fuck, please!" His trembling hand crept to your belly, glugging blood in lazy, weakening pulses, and Kento's eyes drifted closed.

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"I can get her to Shoko, Nanami-san. It won't be a problem...I know you hate working late. I'm sorry."

"This isn't work. This is...something more. I needed to be here. She needed--" Kento's voice cut off as Ijichi continued to bow his head in apology before him. Kento felt the first heavy splatters of warm summer rain, the sky pregnant with humid downpour. Kento looked to you-- bloody, eyes fixed in mute horror, wrapped in his suit jacket in the passenger seat of his car.

Kento tipped his face back towards the sky, eyes closed, Ijichi unable to see how his face twisted in helpless agony, rage, disgust. He felt the heavy spatters of raindrops on his cheeks, his glasses. He did not know for how long he stood, still. His beige suit had turned tan, his navy shirt sodden, stuck to him, black and warm in this tropical storm.

He wished to be wiped clean. He wished you could sleep and forget. He wished to be baptised and ordained in the arms of someone more powerful than him. He wished, he wished, he wished.

Kento blew it all away, smooth and restrained as he felt trickles run down him, from his shoulders to his belly. He looked back down to Ijichi, his glasses removed and pocketed now, his gaze passive, authoritative.

"She's uninjured. No need to make any more work for Shoko. I'll get her home and...and safe." Ijichi's face contorted in apology again-- not vague apology; sincere apology, grief for the unlived life he had to administrate.

Ducking under the un-trickling veil once more, Kento reached his car, hesitating for just a moment on the door handle before stepping in, sodden against his leather seats. With barely a sideways glance to you, he reached over, the backs of his fingers ghosting over your bare arm. With a grunt, Kento rumbled the engine to life, setting the heaters to maximum.

Kento twisted in his seat, unbelted, and gently grasped your hands. As if dead, in rigor mortis, your limbs refused movement, tight against yourself as Kento tried to urge your hands towards the air vents. He huffed lightly as you trembled, trying to draw your hands back.

"I can't bring her back," Kento strained, his voice tight with regret, "but I can keep you warm. Please. Darling."

Your arms relaxed, melting under Kento's warmth and urgency, and you allowed him to press your hands to the leather-sweet whoosh of warm air. You trembled, nauseous and numb. You stayed this way as Kento reached around you, threading the belt and buckling you in before fixing his own. The car rolled to a start. You had little to no memory of the journey home.

Kento had carried you to your door, seeming so small in his arms, in his suit jacket. Placing you down with utmost delicacy, Kento gripped your upper arms as if afraid you'd fall, before cautiously letting go. He eyed your lock, and surveyed you; no keys, he surmised. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an army knife, multi-functional, well-used, Scandinavian branded. Within seconds, the lock of your door was jimmied open and you were ushered inside.

You had vague memories of being lovingly cleaned with a bowl of warm water, a gentle soft cloth meticulously cleaning blood from your fingernails. Of being verbally dressed, Kento's voice smooth and encouraging outside your bedroom door as your shaking hands pulled pyjamas on. Of being fed, hot soup brought in steady mouthfuls to your lips. Of being tucked into bed, hair stroked out of your free-flowing tears. Of his steadfast presence in the armchair beside your bed as you drifted into an uneasy sleep.

You awoke, your home empty, the apologies for which seemingly drifting like dust-motes in the air around you. Kento had cooked, cleaned, left fresh clothes out for you.

In your shame, and your grief, you saw yourself as a burden. Kento gave you space, always wondering if it was too much or too little.

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There was a pause between heartbeats as panic ebbed away. Kento felt a wave of warmth sweep through him, ushering him, as soft as a wave, to a state above his own body, outside himself, as weightless as a breath. The wave swept back out to sea, taking Kento's warmth with it; he gave it, its strength amplified through his willingness, trickling out through fingertips.

With a gasp and a thump, Kento's heart started again, and you twisted, coughing in his arms, gripping his biceps with cold fingers. Kento choked, gasping and coughing, and you climbed up his lap, your eyes feverish with pain and confusion. Kento swayed, drained.

"You're back-- you're...you're back," he stuttered in disbelief, shaky hands lifting your top and stroking reverently across your intact belly, before rising up to cup your face, his eyes brimming with relief, adoration, joy. You shook, wet cold seeping into your bones, still feeling the handle of death's door in your grasp.

"Kento...what did-- what did you--" Your voice trailed off, disbelieving as you knelt, wet-steel-chafing chains clanking on your wrists. With matching soft smiles, you leaned towards each other, foreheads pressed, clinging in the dark.

As you opened your mouth to speak again, you felt an instinctual sting run down your spine as something powerful, something old stabbed out of the gloom behind you. You grasped Kento, rolling him sideways with you, and felt the air split beside your cheek as a foul black tendril shot like a lance, missing you by a hair's breadth and piercing, instead, into the brickwork on the opposite side of the well.

Kento lay on his side, stunned-- he hadn't felt anything approach. He and you had almost been impaled. His near-fatal exhaustion left him reeling, scraping the barrel, his Cursed-energy depleted by the first and only successful Reverse-cursed technique of his life. He couldn't feel the toes on his broken leg now, and, concerningly, the burning pain had reduced to dull, hot throbs.

As blood whooshed through his ears, sound crept back in and he heard you-- "...up! Kento, get up, we've got to go, we've got to get ou--" Kento felt you stand and draw his arm over your shoulders, and you lifted him with the vigour he had sacrificed to bring you to life.

You roared with exertion as you half-dragged, half-carried Kento partway across the chamber, until he seemed to find his own again, and stumbled with you, his pale face clenched with determination. Ugly crunches shook the ground behind you. Diamond-tipped black tendrils stabbed through the dark, missing you both, rending the ground as the eldritch horror above you roared, hungry, hungry, hungry.

Reaching the rungs of the ladder clinging to the well, you gazed up, stomach sinking as you realised the corrupted goddess blocked your ascension to safety, even if you did both make it up the ladder unscathed. In mute devastation, you gaped. Kento pressed his palms to the wall, pressing his ear flat to it, knocking experimentally with grazed knuckles.

As Kento stepped backwards, drawing back a fist to bring the wall down, seeking a break in the foundations, the fast approaching black tendrils retreated upwards with a snap and a screech-- you both heard shouts above, and the Goddess bellowed, jagged and shrieking, in pain, under attack.

"Nanami! Nanami?" Kento stepped forward, eyes skyward at the sound of Ino's voice. The Goddess reeled backwards, uncovering the surface of the well, and a rumble sounded above, debris falling as she slammed into the walls of the Shrine. Hope sprang up in both of your throats, wordlessly clutching hands as the sounds of battle sprang down the well.

"Nue!" A great masked owl swooped down towards you, landing with a skid, bones crunching beneath its great talons. Upon its back, Megumi leaned forwards, reaching a hand out to you. You faltered as Kento pushed you forwards, and you dug your heels in.

"No, Megumi. Kento first. He's injured." Kento spun to you, clench-jawed and fuming before you pushed him to Megumi. Before Kento could argue, Megumi pulled him towards Nue, and Kento stumbled, clambering upon great red feathers before urging you up into his lap, his thick forearms bound around your waist. With a gut-lurching jolt, the ground leapt away beneath you, and you and Kento felt the frigid slap of snow against your cheeks above the rim of the well.

Landing upon the ground, stepping off, your vision filled with the dreadful horror of the corrupted Goddess. You gasped, recognising the naked human form at its core, buckling under the weight of the twisting bodies and tendrils bursting from its back, vast, almost filling the huge hollow chamber. The woman who had spat venom at you, beaten you to within an inch of your life, on only your second night in the village--

"Emi," you breathed. The pale form of the woman was as a corpse, animated and possessed, as the poisoned Goddess poured out of her, the vessel too small for her containment. Kento was momentarily paralyzed beside you, stunned and reliving his final fight with Haibara Yuu, against a Cursed local deity; boyish terror stripped him bare, no longer a man, no longer a young adult, just a child, a boy, left to fight alone in the dark--

"I'll go," Kento forced, desperate to make amends, bile churning in his belly. You spun to him, to argue, and he interrupted, "I'll go. This needs to end, we need to finish her--"

You stared at Kento in disbelief. You stared into the chaos around you, at brutal short battles being waged between the sorcerers of Tokyo and the remaining few cult members. You stared at Ino, Megumi, Yuuji, Maki, Nobara...all fighting desperately, to keep the eldritch Goddess at bay, fighting a losing battle. You ran your hands in anguish through puzzle pieces, desperate, desperate--

"...but they're dead," you spat, as Kento gripped your shoulders, breathing heavily in his agony, frowning, questioning.

"I...what?" Kento was drowsy, drunk with threatened collapse. His eyes blurred as you nodded frantically to him, cupping his face in your palms.

"The people...the people they fed to the Goddess, they're dead, but that Cursed-energy...is too much to be her own. If they're dead, their Cursed-energy should have died with them."

You watched as the information trickled into Kento, his slim brown eyes flickering as his mathematical brain whirred, remembering Father Tatsu, remembering the brothers' techniques...

"...well no, he...the Father he...stole the peoples' Cursed-energy first and imbued the Goddess with it, to...to make her strong."

With a dull thud of realisation, Kento understood. Ino hit the floor with a sickening crash beside him, scrabbling upright again, his bloody nose oozing out through his balaclava. The Goddess shrieked, black arms flailing, now some eerie creature of the deep, and wildly overpowering the team sent to destroy it.

"Fuck," Ino spat, lurching sideways, staggered, "how is it so fucking strong?"

"The Father who originally transferred all the Cursed energy is still alive," Kento barked, "Father Shinzu. It's the only way, if the original Cursed energy owners are dead." With a hopeful pang, Kento realised the same applied to Father Tatsu, who would be rendered all but harmless with the death of his brother.

"So, kill the transfer-guy, Goddess goes back to being a pussycat, yeah?" Ino nodded, joining the ranks of sorcerers now backing away from the writhing Goddess, "Oh! Almost forgot..."

Reaching behind his back, Ino pulled something harnessed from under his sweatshirt. Kento could have cried to see his spotted blunt-blade, heavy and trustworthy in his hands again. Kento felt he had nothing left to give, but was suddenly safer with his beloved weapon to fight alongside. Kento squeezed Ino's shoulder, and Ino almost melted at the strength of silent thanks passed through him by his mentor.

Reaching out for your hand, Kento impeached you with eyes and words; "come with me," he pressed, leaning down, nose to nose, "we finish this together, or not at all." Hands grazing his jaw, pressing your lips and forehead slowly to his, you nodded.

"Together," you whispered. Kento gripped you by the waist, bound together, as much for him as for you.

"Ino," Kento rumbled, "you hold her off. We'll kill the Father. This will all be over." Ino grinned, saluting, and turned to take charge of the motley crew of sorcerers.

Looking keenly at Kento, you saw the slow blink of his eyes, the slight slump of his shoulders, how his grip wasn't as true on his blade as usual.

"Yuuji," you called, and the boy turned to you with wide eager eyes, "Nanamin's hurt. Come with us." Kento frowned at you again, cross at having been identified as weakened. Yuuji looked at his father-figure, concerned, afraid. With a pause and brief hesitation in the swirling snow, Kento nodded once. Yuuji bounced to attention, the three of you hushing out through the snowstorm, beginning to make your way down the hill back to the Fathers' quarters in search of Father Shinzu.

Visibility was next to nil in this sea of white. The scarlet torii gate split through the storm, but it looked...warped, irregular, as if shattered by something, or someone--

Kento lifted you by the waist, throwing you into a snowdrift with a roar as an almighty crunch split the ground between you, a devastating seam running up the path towards the Shrine. Kento's ears rang, and when the sound faded, all he could hear was his own agonal gasping, so desperately exhausted.

Dust settled over the black crack in the earth; Father Tatsu stood, snarling in pain, twisted over, wrenching his fist from the earth.

"Enough of your interfering, Tsuda," he bellowed, convulsing like a wounded bear, "you and your slut can go hang." Kento snarled back, seeing red as gut-churning rage filled his belly at Father Tatsu's slur. Yuuji circled to the side, head low and ready to pounce. You were gone, lost somewhere in the snow drift.

Kento twizzled his blade once in his grip, before rocking forward, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he panned for scraps of Cursed energy, and found gold. He brought his blade down on the junction of Father Tatsu's neck and shoulder, and the old man crumpled to one knee, crying out in pain, his body woefully unable to contain his stolen power.

"You're dying," Kento hissed, teeth bared in fire and fury, "and you're taking us all down with you." Father Tatsu laughed, one hand on the blade, shaking, his teeth gory with the blood of his bitten tongue. He spat a thick glob of blood and phlegm into Kento's eyes, and Kento's head snapped involuntarily back. Father Tatsu took his chance, kicking Kento's injured leg out from beneath him.

Yuuji bullrushed Father Tatsu, all vigour and inexperience, and was hit with a gut-bursting blow to his belly. As Yuuji fell to his knees, retching and vomiting, Father Tatsu stood over him hands clasped together in one great fist, Cursed-energy belching out of him, to strike a deadly blow to the back of Yuuji's head.

A warning jangle rang behind Father Tatsu, and his head turned imperceptibly, too slow to stop you wrapping your arms round his neck, throttling him with the restraining chains still clamped to your wrists. The thin old skin of Father Tatsu's throat tore beneath the icy chains, their power dulling his Cursed-energy for a few crucial seconds.

"Now, Kento-- NOW!" you screamed, clinging to Father Tatsu as he bucked, strangled. Kento forced himself upwards, and the downy flakes seemed to slow around him, as he entered a state somewhere between rage and serenity. With a crack and flash of black and red, Kento brought his blade down on his own forced gradient.

Father Tatsu died instantly, split from neck to groin in an attack which sent you flying back in the snow. Skidding to a halt, you would remember Kento this way for the rest of your life; black long coat flapping in the wind, snowflakes melting into his bloodsoaked hair, heaving with white-knuckled rage against the monochromatic landscape.

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You would not allow Yuuji to kill the comatose old man, surrounded by his own weeping wife and begging nurses.

Shackled to life with cruel intention, brain dead after his efforts to combine Emi with the Goddess, Father Shinzu's bedroom was incongruously crowded by medical equipment. Sounds of life were replaced by regular, irritating bleeps, the mechanical hiss-whirr of a ventilator, the steady march of his own enforced heartbeat.

"I'm sorry," you choked, sincere and nauseous, walking forward with conviction, your fingers settling over pumps, and machines, and devices, the pretence of life, "it has to be this way. He has to die."

Father Shinzu's wife darted forwards as you began to turn off equipment. Her tearstained, twisted face broke your heart as you ended Father Shinzu's life support. Yuuji flung out an arm, holding her back, pale as he watched you work.

Father Shinzu's heart beat for only a few moments after the beeps of the equipment ceased...and the room soon rang with the reedy bleep of his heart flat lining, as his wife screamed at you to stop, furious helplessness in her eyes. Yuuji let go of her, turning with his face in his hands as Kento entered the room.

You stood, eyes closed and silently weeping. The overwhelming pulses of Cursed energy from the Shrine died with Father Shinzu. A few ear-splitting screeches from the top of the snowy hill...and, the unmistakeable silence of the grave.

"You bitch," Father Shinzu's wife screeched, lurching to her feet, rushing at you, and you had the barest moment to see a metallic glint in her hand, "you ungrateful bitch!"

A field of black in your vision- a dull thud, a gasp of air leaving lungs.

"Nanamin-- NANAMIN!"

Your hands shook, head shaking in silent disbelief as Kento dropped to his knees in front of you, and he stared, stunned, at the knife in his chest. He turned to look up at you, apologetic, questioning, confused.

You caught him before he slumped sideways to the floor, struggling to heave his bulk into your lap, sobbing and crying out for him as his breaths grew wet. Sound closed in on you as you begged Kento, hearing Yuuji beg the medical staff in the room for help, corralling them, grabbing them.

As you stared around for help, wild-eyed and sobbing, you felt a large, warm hand come up to cup your cheek. Kento coughed, lips stained with blood, as he gazed up at you with such a tender smile that you wracked with tears, clutching him to you.

"...love you...always knew-- I always knew--" You shook your head as Kento nodded, smoothing his thumb down your nose, across your cheeks, committing you to memory.

"You owe me a date," you wept, pressing your lips to his forehead, "you can't-- you owe me a date--" Kento chuckled, wet and weak...and silenced. You shook him. His body was loose on your lap, a soft smile fixed on his lips, his eyes drifting closed, the run of his blood over your lap stopping.

"Kento-- no-- KENTO!"

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It was a crisp, bright day. Ijichi grieved its passing as he grieved the passing of friends, colleagues, strangers-- administrating, administrating, administrating.

Yaga Masamichi sat opposite Ijichi, a swirl of steam rising from the coffee pot between them. He flipped slowly through folders, an uninterpretable grunt voiced after each one.

"Too many dead," he stated, blunt and low. Ijichi hummed, solemn.

"Imbuing a fertility goddess with Cursed energy..." Ijichi sighed, "...and for what? A dead cult. Dead sorcerers. A dead goddess." Ijichi sighed again, deeper this time, "And so much paperwork."

"So much overtime," Yaga hummed. He stopped, reminded, "speaking of overtime, Ijichi...how is Nanami?"

Ijichi looked up, smiling.

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"...stab wound penetrating the left lung, one very broken leg, some cracked ribs from the CPR, abrasions...you're lucky the medical staff there helped you, Nanami."

Nanami grumbled, still aching and scarred, despite Shoko's efforts to heal him after Father Shinzu's doctors and nurses had intervened.

Shoko almost giggled, taking a long, slow draw on her cigarette, "I wouldn't have helped you if you'd just murdered my patient in front of me."

"The murder was all mine, actually," you piped up, batting away Kento's sore hands, buttoning up his shirt for him as he pressed his nose and lips to your hair, "but this guy, just can't stop himself from being a hero--"

"--darling, I was just doing my job--"

"-- swooping in at the last minute to save me--"

"--really now, you think I'd just let you--"

"--and he still owes me a date."

Kento laughed despite himself, fixing you with a stern look; "Darling...read the room."

You pursed your lips in mirth, cupping Kento's face in your hands, staring into each others' eyes, seeing only each other and the promise of a better life. Shoko smiled fondly at you both, tapping at her cigarette thoughtfully.

"I'd say you two deserve a holiday. A real one."

Kento leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, basking in your warmth; "Where should we go, my love?"

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Infiltration is finiiiiiiiished! 🎇 ❤️ 🍾

Thank you so much to all my readers; those who have been, those who are, and those yet to come.

You've all made this so much fun.

Yours, faithfully,

Haitch xxx

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bobgasm · 8 months

Text

oh, admiral | b.f

pairing: robert “bob” floyd x f!reader word count: 1555 warnings: smut, nsfw [18+ only], role play, slight dub con, an homage to fleabag s2 [2019], superior/subordinate, admiral robert “bob” floyd, shoe riding, office sex, degradation/humiliation, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, breeding kink, excessive use of the word ‘cunt’,

summary: in which you would do anything for admiral floyd…

author’s note: based off this post by @lewmagoo about the new lew pics 🤤 tysm again for letting me write this!

oneshot | masterlist | ao3

You stand before Admiral Floyd with your head held high, despite your metaphorical tail tucked between your legs. You listen to him rant and rave about your recklessness, that two of your team are now in the med bay seriously injured.

You knew the maneuver was stupid. You knew better than to use them as a decoy so you could get behind the enemy. They’d agreed to it – they knew the risks, but you were the superior. You shouldn’t have even humoured the idea, let alone voiced it.

Admiral Floyd paced the room in front of you. You hated that he looked so good, with his hair pushed back and his stupid Navy regulated glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The way the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up his arms haphazardly to reveal his forearms – tanned and muscular. How the fuck were his forearms so sexy?

He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose with two thick fingers. You felt your pussy clench at the sight of his hands – his forearms. The way the muscles flexed with the slight exertion.

“I can’t let you walk out of here without some kind of punishment on your record, Captain.”

You hated how crisp his white shirt was, tucked into the waistband of his dark trousers. How his medals gleamed in the light of his office over his left breast.

“I’ll take whatever punishment you deem necessary, Sir, but I implore you not to take my wings.”

“What makes you think I give a single fuck about what you implore me to do?” He snapped. “This isn’t the first time you’ve broken protocol, Captain. I have to make an example out of you. This shit doesn’t fucking fly around here, and neither do you. You’re suspended for three months, pending further investigation.”

“Sir,” you pleaded, stepping closer to him, aware of the desperation in your voice.

Bob’s head snaps towards you, his icy gaze freezing you in place.

“Sir, I’ll do anything.” You continued, watching him slip his glasses back onto his face. “I know it was a stupid call. It should be me in the med bay, not Mayhem and Puff. I’ll do anything to make it right, just please. Please don’t suspend me.”

Admiral Floyd chuckled humourlessly and walked towards one of the armchairs in his office. You watched him walk. The way his shirt hugged his muscular back. The way his long legs made short work of closing the distance between himself and the chair.

“Come here, Captain,” he instructed, eyes trained on your own as you swallowed thickly. He caught the almost imperceptible gulp and the way your gaze dropped to his lips, then lower. And even lower.

“Sir?” You asked, cocking your head slightly once you were stood in front of him.

“On your knees, Captain. I want you to beg me not to take your wings,” he said, voice rough. He was barely able to stop himself from adjusting his throbbing cock, hands white-knuckling the arms of the chair as you slowly sunk to your knees.

“Please, Sir,” you began, aware that it was a weak effort. Seeing him before you like this, legs spread, eyes dark and lips parted as he quickly gulped in each breath. You hadn’t even started. “Admiral Floyd.”

“What?!” He hissed, voice thick and gravelly as he took in your appearance. Your hooded eyes, laboured breathing. On your knees between his legs. God, you were a sight.

“Sir, I–,” you let out an involuntary sob. “–I need this job more than anything. Flying is my life. Being a pilot is all I’ve ever dreamed of. You can’t, Sir.” You were laying it on thick with tears and trembling voice. “Please, I, the investigation will ruin me, Sir.”

“Fuck you for calling me ‘Sir’ like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it,” he growled, pressing the toe of his impeccably shiny shoe snug against the apex of your thighs. Just a little more and the point would be pressed against your clothed clit.

You gasped at the sudden feeling, clamping your legs around his shoe and staring up at him through wide eyes and wet lashes and splotchy cheeks. “I–Sir?”

“You said you’d do anything,” he continued. “Prove it, Captain.”

“I don’t–what?”

“Ride my shoe, Captain. Get yourself off. Prove to me just how desperately you don’t want the investigation to happen. If I like what I see…” He shifted slightly and your eyes dropped to his crotch where his erection strained against his trousers. “How desperate are you, Captain?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you rocked your hips against the point of his shoe, a low groan rumbling in your chest as you grazed your clothed clit against the leather. “Sir,” you whimpered, adding more pressure. Feeling your arousal dampening your underwear as you continued your ministrations. The slow rocking of your hips, your hands gripping his leg for stability.

“That’s a good girl,” he purred, watching your head fall back as you succumbed to the pleasure. “Fuck, look at you. So pretty, so desperate.”

“Sir, I–”

A moan tore through you, cutting off whatever you were about to say. Admiral Floyd reached forward to cup your cheek, tenderly at first, before roughly gripping your face and forcing your mouth open.

“Look at me when you cum all over my shoe, Captain,” he growled, earning a whimper in response. “You’re a fucking mess. Pathetic. You could’ve got your wingmen killed, Captain.”

A strangled sob sounded around the room. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears rolled down your cheeks. When you opened them again it was a struggle. A struggle to see your superior have such control over you. A struggle to hear him tell you that you’d fucked up. A struggle to cum while he goaded you with your mistakes.

But you were so close. You cried out as you came, legs clamping tighter around his shoe, body shaking with the intensity. Feeling both euphoria and disappointment was overwhelming. You’d fucked up and he’d made a spectacle out of you.

And fuck if that look in his eyes hadn’t branded it’s place in your soul for the rest of eternity.

Admiral Floyd chuckled as he dropped his hand from your face and settled back into the chair. “Look at what you’ve done, Captain.” He gestured to his crotch as he lowered his foot back to the ground. You whimpered at the loss of contact. “You’ve ruined my shoe, too.”

“I–I’m sorry, Sir.”

He clicked his tongue. You at least had the nerve to hold his gaze even as his hand brushed over his crotch.

“I should take you over my desk,” he pondered. “Make you walk out of here crying while my seed drips out of your cunt, hm?”

“Anything, Sir,” you repeated. “I’ll do anything.”

If that didn’t set him off, you didn’t know what would. He growled as he hauled you to your feet, undoing his pants just enough to get his cock out. Roughly pulling your own trousers down to your knees as he bent you over his desk and sank his cock deep into your sopping cunt.

You cried out as he roughly spanked your ass. Once, twice, three times. Each cheek stinging under the impact, tears freely flowing down your cheeks. He gripped your hips roughly, cock stretching you to the point it hurt. Giving you no time to warm to the intrusion before he pulled out and his hips snapped against your ass, bottoming out almost entirely.

“Sir!” You wailed, forearms braced on his desk. The solid mahogany roughly scraping against the floor with each relentless thrust.

“Shit, squeezing my cock so fucking good,” he praised. “Knew you’d like it rough. Reckless. It’s how you fly.”

You moaned as the tip of his cock brushed the spongy wall inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Fucking hell, gonna cum deep inside your cunt, Captain,” he cursed. “Beg me for it. Beg for me to finish inside you.”

“P-please,” you sobbed. “Please cum inside me, Sir. I need it. Need to feel you filling me up. Need to learn my lesson.”

“That’s fucking right.” He growled lowly. “Gonna flood your womb. Fuck, Captain. Taking my cock exactly how I always imagined.”

His grunts and moans drowned out your own whimpers and sobs. He was so close, you could feel the way his thrusts got more frantic. The way his breathing hitched and you flexed your pelvic muscles around him. He came hard, grunting out your name and praising your cunt for squeezing him so good.

No praise for you, just your cunt.

He stilled his movements, planting one more solid smack to your left cheek before pulling out.

“How was that, baby?”

“My legs feel like jelly,” you confessed with a laugh, pushing yourself up as he helped redress you. “You really got into it.”

“The tears drove me fucking wild,” he admitted, tucking himself back into his trousers before cupping your face. “Such a good girl for me.”

“Thank you, Sir,” you mewled, melting into his touch as he sweetly kissed you. Hands cupping your face, thumbs brushing away your tears. “I love you. Congratulations again on the promotion.”

“Thank you, darlin’. I love you, too.”

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