#relish block tag:

[industrations]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO OUR BELOVED LEFT LAWN @imdamagecontrol <3

fic by the lovely @alarainai which you can read here

James thinks the man might be new, which would explain his attitude and lack of real grace as an attendant. James still grabs the drink with a thanks, taking a much-needed sip. “Anything else?” Regulus asks. Your number, your life story, your hand in marriage. “Nothing for now.”

or: Winning Over the Grumpy Flight Attendant: A Guide by James Fleamont Potter.

#art tag #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #relish block tag: #space jellyfish #the lawn chairs #fendi collab #fic recs:

[hitomisuzuya]

Stepcest. DNI if it makes you uncomfortable, please. Smut. Mentioned masturbation. Scara receiving. Collar and leash (😳). Degradation. Bondage.

Sorry I have been kind of quiet. This is me working through some writer's block😭 I'm alive I promise.

"You look so intoxicating like this," Scaramouche stroked his hand through your hair, a smug smirk of satisfied approval on his lips. You were on your knees, naked in front of him with the shyest blush he'd ever seen on the your cheeks.

He was already relishing in catching you in a very compromising position. You thought you were alone in the house. Your step brother had been on your mind all day, and practically all night. It became too much for you to take, so you fled to your bedroom and fingered yourself.

Heading your noises in the hallway, Scaramouche opened the door just in time to hear you moaning his name, rolling your hips up into your fingers.

Imagine his surprise when his delicate step sister agreed to make it more interesting in his bedroom. Where he told you he would get you off properly, but only after you got him off first.

He flicked the tag on the collar, laughing when the blush on your cheeks darkened. The look in your eyes was so utterly adoring. "Do you enjoy being on your knees, collared like a slut in front of your step brother?" He purred in an amused tone.

You nodded, shivering when he tugged on the leash attached to your collar. "I do. I really, really do," You replied, looking away shyly.

Scaramouche tugged on the leash again, making the collar jingle. "Look at me and open your mouth," He commanded, his voice just as dominne as his gaze.

You squeaked shyly, nodding as you looked up at him. He smeared your lips with the precum leaking from the head of his hard cock before pushing it against your lips.

You opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue for him to put his cock on. "What an obedient slut I have for a step sister," He groaned, his cock throbbing on your tongue as you lapped and curled your tongue around it.

He put a hand on the back of your head, bullying his cock all the way into your mouth. You could taste his precum in the back of your throat, coughing as his cock rested in it. He hissed in pleasure, his grip tightening in your hair.

Scaramouche kept his other hand wrapped around the leash. "Your sucks are so eager," His legs shook as he thrust unforgivingly into your mouth. "You've been waiting to take your step brother's cock deep into your throat, haven't you?"

Tears blurred your eyes, making yourself choke willingly on his cock to show how much you had thought about it. You were determined to make him cum in your mouth. You trapped his cock on your roof your mouth with your tongue and ground his cock between them while your sucked.

"Shit, I am gonna cum down your pretty throat," Scaramouche groaned, his thrusts turning sloppy. Your mouth looked even more perfect stuffed full of his cock. He let out a volley of curses in Japanese, his cock throbbing cum into your mouth.

You moaned around his cock as you swallowed. Scaramouche was more than happy to fuck his cum into your mouth until you swallowed it all. Panting, he pulled your hair, taking your mouth from off of his cock.

"On your knees on the bed," His commanded, his eyes flicking to the bed. He unhooked the leash from the collar as you stood up. You crawled onto the bed, hearing the bed shift behind you. "Arms behind you."

When you did as you were told, Scaramouche tied your wrists together with the leash. Putting his back up against his headboard, he hooked his fingers through the collar, yanking you into his lap. With his hands on your hips, he lowered you onto his cock, slowly making you take it all inside of you inch by inch.

Your back arched, your moans growing louder as his cock kissed up into your sweet spot. The fact that you had to rely on Scaramouche completely for balance and pleasure sent him reeling. He could fuck his cock into his step sister's cunt as hard he wanted, leaving him to guide your pace while you bounced on his cock.

"Ah, please, bounce me harder!" You pleaded, your walls clamping around his cock every time it kissed into your sweet spot.

"What a cock drunk slut," You moaned louder hearing his degradation. His grip tightened on your hips, his fingers bruising as a buldge poked up in your stomach.

"So big..so deep," You babbled, relaxing into his tight grip. You were more than happy to let your step brother use you as a tool to amuse himself. You would let him use you as he pleased all night if he would just cum inside of you.

It was taboo. Forbidden in a way, but you didn't care. And neither did he. You were in love with your step brother. And Scaramouche ate up every bit of it.

"Tell me who your whore cunt belongs to," He gripped the flesh of your ass, giving your clit a wet smack. You mewled in pleasure, your moans echoing shamelessly through out his bedroom, mingling with his as your orgasm built up.

"You, you, you! It belongs to you!" You cried out, digging your fingernails into the palms of your hand. Keeping an arm braced around you, he massaged his fingers against your swollen, throbbing clit. "Cum for me, pretty girl," He cooed.

His cock slammed into your sweet spot just right, making you cum screaming his name on his cock, blushing from his encouragement. Your release gushed around his cock, you yelped as his teeth sank into your neck. He didn't care if he left marks for everyone to see.

"Inside! Inside, please!" You pleaded, desperation welling in your pretty eyes. Scaramouche laughed, licking his lips.

A few of his moans turned into high pitched whimpers, his cock throbbing strongly as it stretched your walls apart to ribbon cum inside of you. "That's my good slut, take it all and be grateful for the privilege."

Once he was satisfied with fucking his cum back inside of you, he lifted you off his cock, dropping you unceremoniously onto your back. He was quick to pry your legs apart. He licked between your folds. "Let me spoil you for taking me so well," He purred.

Scaramouche proceeded to lick and suck on your abused cunt until you were crying and twitching from overstimulation, eager to lap up your cum with his tongue.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #tw stepcest #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader

[eilaafterhours]

Patience [Grim | Casper]

Content: AFAB Reader, Light Dom/Sub, Blindfolds, Restraints, Men Crying, Cowgirl Position, Pet Names, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert

Pronouns: None (AFAB)

Reblogs: Let me know that you enjoy my work and want to see more, so don’t forget to like and reblog (and comment in the tags. I love seeing people’s rambles in the tags)!

Remember: I’ll block you if I catch your ageless or under age (not 18+) ass in my activity :)

This work’s concepts, plot and original characters are my own which means I do not allow any sort of creative theft nor do I allow my work to be entered into any sort of A.I. bots. Thank you for respecting my space and boundaries.

"How...how much longer must I remain like...this?"

The two of you had gotten into an argument about patience. He made the proclamation that he was leagues more patient than you, and instead of refuting him, you instead offered a challenge.  

You turned your attention to your partner, smiling at his flushed features. 

He was on your bed, spread wide on his knees. His arms were bound behind his back, and a blindfold hid his gaze. His entire body was coated in a thin layer of sweat, certain parts of his body flushed beautifully red.

Especially the head of his weeping cock.

You swiped the creamy slick away with your thumb, relishing in the way his hips bucked. 

"Ah, so needy..." You rested your clean hand on his cheek, "Open."

He did as he was told. Tilting his head up a bit, tongue lolling out. You placed your thumb on his tongue, and he closed around it immediately, sucking it clean.

"You cleaned it so good." You ran a hand through his hair, removing the blindfold in the process. "Hi there, pretty boy."

"S-sunshine..." His eyelids fluttered close, a curtain of white standing out against the deep red on his checks. "Please."

"Has your patience run thin, Casper?" His teeth caught his bottom lip, "Do you want me to help you?"

You moved to straddle him, sighing through your nose as the weight of his heavy cock settled against your stomach. 

The contact made him squirm a bit, "Ah—un...!"

You wedged your hand between your bodies, wrapping it firmly around his shaft. "Should I let you fuck my hand like this?" 

"Mmm..." You were sure that he was getting caught up in the fantasy, not even realizing that he had begun fucking your hand. 

You let him go for a bit, letting his moans go from soft and airy to restrained and from his throat. 

He was so close. 

You gave him a firm squeeze. 

He stopped moving. 

"So you're the only one who can get off? Naughty boy."

"I'm—fuck—sorry!" Tears slipped down his cheeks. 

"Ah, I've gone too far." You kissed them away. "And you've done so good for me."

He finally opened his eyes to look at you, "Have I?"

You nodded, giving him a soft kiss. "And now it's time for your reward."

You lifted your hips, lining yourself up, then lowered yourself on his cock. Both of you threw your heads back at the sudden heat and fullness. 

Very quickly did the two of you lose yourselves in the chase for ecstasy. He didn't last very long, but that didn't matter because the look on his face and the feeling of his cum filling you, being pushed in and out of you from you bouncing on his dick had you barreling into your own release. 

Once you had caught your breath, you undid the binds from around his arms. You squeaked as they immediately found your waist, dragging you down with him as he let his body go to exhaustion. You let him, resting your head on his chest as his chin nestled on the top of your head.

"So...who's got more patience than whom?" You asked.

"...I'd say it's a tie."

You shot up. "How is it a tie?"

"I may have been tested, but as the proctor, you gave into your lust and came very shortly after me." He smirked.

"Well, I wasn't being tested, so it doesn't matter."

"It does."

"Does not!"

"It does."

And it went like that for a short while longer until the sticky feeling between your legs became too uncomfortable and a bath was more important than who was right. 

Oh well, you'd just have to test him again. 

:)

I don't have much to say, actually. This is my comeback, and it's in a new fandom, um….yeah.

Welp, enjoy!

Ko-Fi | Masterlist

#eila ficlets #rated [e]lia for explicit: a date with death #a date with death smut #a date with death grim x reader smut #a date with death casper x reader smut #grim x reader smut #casper x reader smut #a death with death vn

[pictureinme]

sweet dreams - jonathan crane

❧ who's the real deviant here?

jonathan crane x f!reader word count: ~900 tags: DUBIOUS CONSENT/CNC, somnophilia, bondage, medical kink, slight breeding kink, fucked up crane as per usual

(ao3)

Jonathan traces the curve of your thigh as you lie unconscious in his examination room. Your chest rises and falls with a calm rhythm, unknowing of the dilemma you’re currently in. He smiles to himself as he imagines what lovely dreams your feeble mind could be coming up with right now– an escape from what he was about to do to you.

Of course, the two of you had discussed this idea multiple times, with your various shared… interests. You know of Jonathan’s quirks and fascinations and felt nothing but pure curiosity when he would talk of them.

That’s how you ended up strapped to a cool examination table, unconscious and donning a hospital gown doing absolutely nothing to cover your most intimate parts.

“Look at that, you must be having a pleasant dream, (Y/N).”

Your legs were spread open further by Jonathan’s cold hands, revealing your idle wetness. A soft whimper is elicited when he does so, but you’re still fast asleep. He closes his eyes, taking in the delicate noise you just made– all for him, even if you didn’t know.

Not wanting to waste any time, he unzips his work slacks gently, afraid any noise might wake you from your deep stupor. Jonathan did use a much lower dose of sedative than he tends to, for fear of damaging your delicate psyche– but it never hurts to be careful, now does it?

He spreads your folds open softly with his fingers, relishing in the sticky feeling of your arousal. You could be dreaming about anything, but he was the one in control. Inching forward, he moves his tip up and down, collecting as much wetness as he can before entering you with a sigh.

“Perfect as always, my love,” Jonathan fully sheathes inside of you, “Gonna wake up sore and full, aren’t you?”

You try to turn over in your sleep but are blocked by the leather straps holding you down. He sees the tired confusion and struggle written all over your face and feigns pity as he starts to thrust in and out. The way you tighten around Jonathan’s length subconsciously has him struggling to stay focused, his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose in the midst of it.

His rhythm is steady and calculated, wanting to leave you sore was his main priority. You begin to whine quietly, a noise one might make when they’re too tired to get out of bed in the morning.

“Jonathan…”

The utterance of his name has him choke out a groan, stuttering in his previously steady movements. He slows down, hoping you were just dreaming of him, and not waking up.

Your eyes are lidded but open slightly to observe your predicament. Unable to truly stop himself, Jonathan starts his thrusts again, causing you to gasp loudly.

“Fuck, Jonny, what are you– oh!”

The sedative was wearing off slowly, and he grinned almost maniacally as you moaned in your questioning, “Don’t worry, just go back to your slumber, dear.”

You start to moan in earnest as he speeds up, sweat falling from his brow from the desperation of the situation. Even as you halfheartedly tug at the restraints, you try to meet his thrusts.

“Desperate little thing, even wants my cock like this…”

A dull thud sounds as your head falls back against the examination table as Jonathan rubs suddenly at your clit. His pace quickens, your sudden wakening has him even more eager to ruin you. He grips one of your thighs harshly as he pounds into your cervix, causing you to see white.

You quickly realize you’re orgasming, his treatment of you, coupled with the new situation, was too much for your body to handle. The warmth enveloped you, your tiredness only increasing the pleasure of it all. You had no choice but to fall deeply into it, a new daze coming over you.

Jonathan groans deeply as he feels your walls clench around him, and he quickly fills you up with his release. Continuing to thrust throughout both of your shared orgasms, he overstimulates the both of you. His hot breath is ragged above you, and your eyes finally fully open to see the mess of a man who just came inside of you. Sweat lined his forehead, hair sticking in all sorts of ways. Jonathan’s mouth hung open, you had never seen him like this before. Maybe that’s why he wanted you unconscious?

Your wrists ached from the straps, and he quickly undoes them for you. Catching your breath, you watch as he slips his fading arousal from your own, wincing at the change. The odd feeling of his seed dripping out of you onto the previously sterile floor has you shudder from embarrassment and lust.

“I can’t believe you actually did it, Jonny,” you bite your lip, pulling him close to you by his tie, “Sick son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

He grins, satisfied with your reaction, “You love it, don’t you?”

You kiss him with a newfound sense of passion, wrapping your tired legs around his hips, effectively trapping him in the embrace. Jonathan’s hands tentatively rake through your sweat-dampened hair, eager to please you now that you’re awake. 

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut

[the-kr8tor]

Heatwave

Feat: The cats 😺😻😾

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Synopsis: You and Hobie try to survive a record breaking heatwave.

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, some miscommunication, FLUFF, lovestruck Hobie.

A continuation of this fic

My Masterlist

*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

You groan loudly, as if it helps make the air cooler, but alas it doesn't work that way. It certainly doesn't help that the air-conditioning in your building completely fizzled out last night, resulting in you and Hobie waking up sweaty and grumpy.

You breathe heavily through the humidity, but the sweltering heat doesn't make it any easier.

The cats don't help too, especially that they're currently blocking the air flow from your single working fan. Crumpet,Teacup and Crowley lay sprawled across a cooling mat, Crowley looks back at you every minute or so, checking to see if you've melted into a puddle.

Teacup, the ever spoiled baby, mewls towards you, as if to say it's time for their hourly wipe of their paws with a cold damp cloth. She's lucky you love her. She's been relishing the attention lately, especially time spent with Hobie, you can't help but get jealous sometimes, this is what Hobie probably feels like with Crowley attached to your hip.

You reluctantly stand up, stretching to your full height, arms wide, you cringe at the sweat clinging to your back, arms, legs and clothes, it's safe to say you're covered in it. You grimace at how tacky your clothes feel on you, your tank top must look like an abstract painting from behind. You lick your lips in a futile attempt to keep them moist, feeling the cracks of skin underneath your tongue.

You grab the designated cloth to soak it in the sink, at the same time you open the fridge to grab another ice pack. Thank goodness you have a stock of them for whenever Hobie comes home bruised. You wish you don't have an abundance of it though, you hate it when Hobie gets hurt.

Teacup meows loudly, telling you to hurry up.

"Alright, alright! 'm coming, you big baby" not noticing your words slurring together. You lift up the cloth, wringing off the excess water.

You stride towards the cats, carefully patting the cloth on their paws, while checking their fur for any tangles. Making sure their water bowls aren't empty.

After rubbing their paws you move to pet Crumpet, moving your fingers on her head, and scratching behind her ear. She purrs under your touch.

You're concerned about Crumpet, she's a lot older than the other two, so you're taking more time to be more attentive towards her.

You rub her thick fur absentmindedly, the air from the fan blowing on your lashes. Your mind wanders back to Hobie, how is he faring in this temperature? Especially in his suit, you practically had to beg him to leave his leather vest at home.

"I always wear it, love, I don't feel complete without it"

"Yeah, I know for the aesthetic," you change your tone, you don't want to fight, "but damn it, just for today please, I don't want you getting heatstroke" you sigh at his stubbornness.

For added effect Crumpet meows at Hobie, backing you up.

Hobie sighs in defeat, "fine," he drops the vest haphazardly over your bed, you think he's mad.

He leans over kissing your cheek, it's too hot to give you a proper kiss, you curse at the temperature, depriving you of affection. "don't forget to drink water, yeah?"

"Mmhm, you too. Take breaks, okay?" you move to hug him, but you recoil your hands back, thinking the added heat might make him more agitated. Hobie thinks you're mad at him.

You wanted to convince him to leave his leather boots and wear his trainers instead, but it might've been all in vain, since he's already opening the window to swing away.

That was hours ago, you hope he's okay, and keeping hydrated. You wish he wasn't mad at you.

Putting the ice pack on your head, you lean against your sofa, watching the cats stay cool.

You zone out, not hearing the familiar thump of heavy boots.

Hobie thinks you're ignoring him, shit you look mad, your face scrunched up into a scowl, sweat dripping on your forehead.

He crosses the small distance, the cats lay sprawled on their mat, the only indication that they noticed him is their heads slightly following his movements, even Crowley refuses to scowl at him. It's hot even for the little hell spawn.

Hobie grabs the cool can inside his little plastic bag, it rustles, but you still haven't looked at him. Fuck he should've kissed you goodbye better.

You feel the cold can on your cheek, waking you up from your daze. You feel sluggish. Craning your neck towards Hobie, you give him a small smile.

"Hey, you're home, early" your eyes slightly glossy.

"Yeah, even villains are too hot to commit crime" he notices your eyes, "when did you last drink water?"

You grab the cold can of soda from his hands, your hands shake trying to open the lid. "Um, I'm about to drink now"

"Shit, sweetheart, that's not enough" he grabs the can from your hands, earning a small "hey" from you. "Let me get you some water, yeah?"

Hobie rushes towards the kitchen, shit how long have you last drank? You must've been too busy taking care of the cats that you forgot about yourself. He doesn't blame you though, those cats are your family. He should've checked in on you on one of his breaks.

Glass in hand, he webs himself towards the living room, so he can get to you faster. You hate it when Hobie leaves his webs inside, but he'll apologize and clean it up later.

Hobie brings the cold glass to your chapped lips, you empty it in a flash, water drips from your chin, he wipes it with his thumb.

"There, you're gonna feel better in a minute" he sighs when color comes back to your lips.

"Can I have the soda now?" You tilt your head prettily.

Hobie opens the can for you before giving it back, "lemme change and I'll get you another glass, yeah?" He rubs the sweat clinging on to your eyebrows, messing up the strands. He chuckles at your unruly brows.

"What's so funny?" You pout against the mouth of the can.

"Nothing" he pecks your forehead, ignoring the sweat. That kiss will have to do for now, he has to make up a lot of kisses for the lack of love he gave you that morning.

Hobie basically tears his suit off him, sweat clings inside, he should shower. He should also try and fix your aircon, but he doesn't want to leave your side, you were on the brink of heat stroke when he arrived, Hobie needs to watch over you till you're better, and the cats need attention too, he still hasn't won over Crowley yet. He's made it his personal mission since he met the rascal.

Crowley settles next to you, the fog clouding your mind slowly dissipating. You sigh with your eyes closed.

"Oi no sleeping" Hobie places another cold glass in your hands in exchange for the soda. He's now wearing an old band shirt that he's kept at your place. Hobie doesn't have shorts, so he just went for his boxers.

He sits next to you, with Crowley in between. Hobie stretched his legs in front of him, his toned legs in full display.

"Here," Hobie hands you a fresh cloth "nevermind c'mere" you happily lean towards him, "you need to take care of yourself too y'know" He dabs the cloth on your neck, drying it.

"I know," you sigh "I was just worried about the cats and you, it must've been hard being in that heat all day"

He hums too engrossed in wiping you dry. You take this as Hobie still being angry at you.

"Are you still mad at me?" You ask in a small voice. wringing your hands anxiously.

"What?" He stops his movements, "I thought you were the one who's angry" he grabs your hands, smoothing the skin with his thumbs, trying to calm your thoughts. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because of the vest thing" you look up at him through your lashes. "I thought, you might've looked at it like I'm trying to change you, I'm not, I like you just the way you are"

Crowley watches the scene with pensive eyes. Crumpet sneezes in her sleep, while teacup curls near Hobie's foot.

"I'm not mad about that, I understand you were looking out for me, and I was too bloody stubborn" he kisses each of your knuckles, his warm breath calms your nerves. You know he isn't good with his words, sometimes opting for showing what he means through his actions.

" 'm not mad either, I shouldn't have pushed you" you lay your head against the couch cushion.

"Nah, I want you to make me, you keep me in line, love. You're right I would've gotten heatstroke with it on" he softly lays your hands on Crowley, he returns to his previous action, wiping at the soft skin on your hip.

"Imagine, I fainted while swinging" he jokes but you glare at him.

"Not funny, Hobart"

"Now, you're mad" He chuckles as he moves the cloth over your nose.

"Augh!" You swat at the piece of wet cloth "that's disgusting!"

"It's your own sweat, lovey" Hobie smiles lopsidedly.

"Next time, wear your trainers instead of boots too?" You ask shyly.

"Alright, for you, yeah"

You nod, finally convincing him "you took care of yourself out there?" You cup his jaw, making circular patterns over his skin with your thumb.

"Yeah, took breaks, hydrated, can't say the same thing for you though"

"I know, I'll do better next time" you sigh, thumping your head on his shoulder.

"Oi" he shakes you with his shoulder "I still owe you that kiss"

You laugh, Crowley perks up at the sound "and I still owe you a hug"

"What are you waiting for? Come up here and get it" a smile creeping on the corner of his lips.

You lean up, head staying on his shoulder, Hobie does all the work, he cranes his neck down as he holds the back of your head, guiding you towards his lips. You sigh into his lips, ignoring the sweat forming on his upper lip.

You cling on to his shirt, slowly moving your arms around him, he kisses deeper.

By some sort of miracle the aircon comes to life, blowing much needed cold air into your flat. You both decide to ignore it, while you climb on his lap, so his neck wouldn't strain. He holds your back, anchoring you.

Crowley meows at the both of you trying to get your attention away from Hobie.

A/N: thanks for reading! Hope you liked it! Likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️❤️❤️

*picture above is from pinterest*

My requests are open! Check out my rules.

#hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider man across the spider verse #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown x gn!reader #spider punk x gn! reader #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #established relationship #fanfic

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Schism

Pairing: Ettore (High Life) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to dub con and non con, mentions of masturbation, humping, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Part of The Hand That Feeds universe, but can be read as a standalone too. Ettore can't sleep, and can't resist the urge to pay her a visit while on his way to The Box.

Author's note: A little birthday treat for @targaryenrealnessdarling. No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

It has been lights out for hours, or at least it feels as though it has. Ettore has been laying flat on his back in his bunk ever since the ship’s systems switched to sleep mode, with a dim blue illuminating the corridors. The glow of it seeps through into the cell, serving to amplify the irritation he feels that unconsciousness evades him. He could simply close his eyes to block out the light, but in the quiet, empty blackness is where his mind is loudest. The cacophony of intrusive thoughts are far more jarring than the faint cerulean gleam that casts faint shadows against the sterile white walls.

He cannot silence his thoughts tonight and he sighs restlessly, finally giving up on the idea of sleep as he throws the blanket back and pads quietly out into the hall, wearing only a loose fitting pair of boxers. There is no point in dressing, he only plans to use The Box; if he can quickly get himself off he hopes it will clear his mind and exhaust his body enough that he can slip back into bed and at least get a few hours of rest before the lights flicker back on to full brightness, signalling the start of a new day.

As he passes her room, he does his best to steel himself to not look in, to ignore the invisible thread that tugs him to her like a moth to a flame. Ettore has not yet made sense of the feelings she elicits from him. He is not yet comfortable to have her touch him, but relishes in the fact that she allows him to touch her, setting clear boundaries for him when he pushes too far. He still doesn’t fully trust her, doesn’t trust himself not to give in to the temptation to ignore her when she tells him no, to stop, or that that’s enough. Indulging his desires with her is like walking a razor’s edge, if he lets his guard down for even a moment it will all fall to ruin.

That is why he cannot afford to spare a glance into her room. If he looks in upon her sleeping form, he cannot guarantee that he will be able to control himself, that he won’t take what hasn’t been given freely. If he pushes too far, gives in to the voice at the back of his mind that whispers to him that he doesn’t need her permission, then she will take away that permission entirely. Without that, he does not know what he will do. He isn’t sure that life onboard this floating prison cell is survivable without the warmth of her gaze or the softness of her flesh beneath his own.

His body betrays his will, or perhaps his will is simply not strong enough to withstand his desperate need to look upon her, Ettore is unsure which. However, he finds his head turning, his eyes fixing upon her prone body, the outline of her visible beneath the blanket that’s draped over her. His breath hitches, his throat growing dry as his gaze darkens, lingering in the doorway as he stares at her. Would it really be so terrible if he went in just for a moment, felt the heat of her skin beneath his palm? Just the slightest of touches.

It would not be just a touch though. It never is.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Her quiet voice startles him from his thoughts, and Ettore blinks, swallowing thickly before shaking his head. “No, was on my way to The Box.”

“Something holding you up?” She asks playfully, moving to sit up.

Ettore says nothing, continuing to stare at her. Every breath he draws feels shallow, not enough.

She sighs, sensing his intent. “We can’t. Had my check up with Dibs earlier, she reckons I’m ovulating. Can’t risk anything.”

His hands clench into fists at his sides, her denial sending a sudden flash of anger sizzling through his veins.

She takes in the way his brow furrows and his jaw clenches. “I know you want to lash out because you’re disappointed, but if you behave yourself, we can compromise.”

Ettore lowers his gaze, nodding and stepping forward into the room.

“Come here,” she instructs, shuffling over in the bed and pulling the blanket back.

He climbs in beside her, a shiver rippling its way down his spine as his body occupies the warmth of the space she’d been laying in previously. Her sleepwear consists of a plain white tank top and matching briefs, a stark contrast to the blackness of the ink that decorates her arms and thighs.

“I wanna touch you,” he murmurs.

“Go on then,” she whispers, parting her legs to accommodate him as he moves to kneel between them.

She keeps her hands clenched upon the pillow above her head, a preventative measure to ensure she doesn’t touch him, just as he’s asked her not to countless times. He smirks at this silent mark of respect. 

His hand trails over the thin, white cotton of her knickers, moving downwards until he feels the outline of her through the material. He presses his fingers against her with more force, moving them up and down her clothed core, his gaze fixated on the way the gusset shapes to her folds as his fingertips repeat their motions. Her soft sighs encourage him, and he hooks a digit into the elastic, pulling it to the side, drawing in a sharp breath as he takes in the sight of how wet she is already.

Before meeting her, Ettore had never had the opportunity to properly study what lies between a woman’s legs. He is certain he’ll never tire of looking at it, the way she twitches when he touches upon just the right spot is almost hypnotic. The faint scent of her arousal when he’s this close makes his cock ache, and he pushes his boxers down, taking himself in his palm and stroking from root to tip and back again.

He wants to feel her, and before he can stop himself he’s pushing the head of himself through her wetness, his eyes screwing shut at the white holt jolt of pleasure that causes his balls to tighten.

“Not inside!” She hisses.

He nods, breathing shakily, opening his eyes to watch how his erection slides against her, glistening with their combined arousal as he rubs it from her opening to her pearl over and over. His grip on the base of his length is tight, a means to ground himself and resist the urge to simply thrust forward and sink inside of her, yet the sensation is maddening.

The hand holding her underwear to one side lets go, as he lowers it to the mattress, supporting his weight upon it as the movement of his hips grows quicker and less controlled. The material pings gently back across, covering the sight of him rutting against her, adding additional friction that makes him groan low in a quiet throaty rumble.

Despite no longer being able to see precisely what he is doing to her, the sight still borders on obscene. Their combined moisture creates a dampened patch upon the crotch, turning the cotton almost translucent. She moans softly, her own hips canting to meet the movements of his own each time he pushes against her delicate bundle of nerves.

Warmth licks at Ettore’s lower spine and he knows he won’t last long, especially with the feeling of her thighs trembling either side of him. She’s getting close too. Panting, he pulls her knickers back to the side once more as he feels himself begin to pulsate. She slaps a hand over her mouth, muffling the strangled cry that leaves her as she falls apart, bucking against him as he paints her with pearly ropes of his spend. His cock twitches as he strokes himself to completion, stomach muscles contracting as warmth envelopes him from head to toe, and his mind finally goes blank.

As he comes back down to earth, eyes raking over the parted lips and glossy eyes of her blissed out expression and down to the mess he’s made between her legs, he can’t help but wonder what might have happened if she had been asleep when he’d looked in on her. He almost wishes she had been.

#ettore x reader #ewan mitchell #ettore x you #ettore x y/n #ettore smut #ettore imagine #ettore high life #high life ettore #ettore fan fiction #ettore fanfiction #ettore fan fic #ettore fanfic #high life #high life fan fiction #high life fanfiction #high life fan fic #high life fanfic #ettore

[buryustogether]

the end of forever (god’s day)

aziraphale x reader x crowley

summary: the end of forever comes on god’s day.

word count: 2.6k

warnings/tags: angst, mentions of blood

author’s note: dedicated to @avocado-writing , with whom i did a fic trade and this was my piece!! this fic is part of their good omens original timeline, and i highly recommend reading it!!! <333

The end of forever started on a Saturday evening.

Granted, it was not the Saturday evening that dominates the beginning to every weekend, fitted with gentle rainfall pattering against the windows, and a book propped in your lap, and the comfortable ambiance of your lovers on either side as you let yourself be lulled into peace. Instead it was a dark, thrashing kind of Saturday, filled with panicked whispers over dances, and demons busting down the bookshop windows in hails of twinkling glass. It was blinding, seared into the forefront of your mind with traces of a halo detached from its angel and a pair of souls running away, bound for opposite sides of the universe and forever vanished into one corner together.

And, of course, it was snapped up in the jaws of the Metatron. He had taken Aziraphale for a stroll around the block once or twice, leaving you and Crowley to stare down the mess of what had become the bookshop and wonder if perhaps this had all been a dream.

“Fancy breakfast at the Ritz, love?” Crowley had said as the pair of you began to pluck cracked books from the floor and stack them to be restored and reshelved. With a wave of his slender fingers, he had sent the shards of glass cascading through the air like a silent breeze back to where they belonged in the window frames. “Reckon we deserve it, after a night like that.”

“Sure you’ll be able to handle the drive?” you had said and handed him the empty fire extinguisher, which had fallen down the winding iron staircase. “I’m sure you’re exhausted, Crowley. Spending all that time in Heaven? Must have been awfully straining on you.”

Though he would never admit it, Crowley rather enjoyed it when you fussed over him. He relished in the worry threading your voice together, craved the inevitable babying that accompanied your measures of protection. His chest had puffed slightly, and if you could have seen them, you were sure his wings had ruffled a bit.

“I’ll be alright,” he’d assured, then dropped into the chair he had long ago claimed as his beside Aziraphale’s desk. “Wouldn’t say no to a nap when we come back, though. Could sleep for a few decades, I think. Skip all the garish drama that’s sure to follow something like this. Care to join, nightingale?”

You had smiled at him, eyes full of exhaustion and yet at the same time, the restlessness that came with the knowledge part of your trio was still missing from the picture. “Afraid I can only keep you company a few hours,” you mused. “Immortal as I am, I don’t think I can lie still long enough until you decide to wake up.” Despite your teasing, you reached out your hand to caress his jaw, and he leaned into your warm touch. He knew it like he knew his own breath in his throat at this point, but he still nuzzled into your palm like an animal seeking warmth. Funny enough creature as he was, he was still, deep down, a demon searching your soul for any glimpse of love you might spare him. “I’m glad you’re okay, Crowley,” you said, letting your voice lower in volume so he understood you had dropped your jokes and cracks. “I don’t think I could bear losing you. Either of you.”

He had leaned up to kiss you then, lips and tongue seeking yours like, in spite of your words, one side or the other might tear you away from him. He tasted like cinnamon - an odd enough musk for him, but he had just returned from Heaven, after all. You were sure he hated it. But you had drank it in like it was the last thing you’d taste before you fell.

You found yourself some time later amongst the back shelves of the shop, knees and the heels of your hands aching as you painstakingly wiped away and polished the spots on the floor upon which unholy blood had been spilt and spattered. Aziraphale would not care to have those on his tile, thank you. A voice in the back of your head told you that one of your boys could simply miracle the mess away, but this seemed a bit more intimate - cleaning up the mess for your lover. This was your shop, too, in a way. And you wanted to rid it of any trace of what had happened here last night.

You only realized it was Sunday morning - God’s day - when you heard the bell above the front door jingle with its familiar chime, and the low rumble of your lover’s voices filled the empty space between the air. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, not over the sound of your brush against the floor and the dull ache in your lower back. After a long few minutes, you sat back and inspected your work.

Like the demon invasion of Fell and Co. had never even happened.

You were just about to call out to your boys when you heard a sharp hiss to Crowley’s voice that caused your heart to skip a beat. You twisted your head around to face the front of the store. Crowley only ever hissed when he let his disguise slip and his tongue split. And he only ever let his tongue split when he was so distraught not even a raging thunderstorm could comfort him.

Wiping your hands on your legs, you cautiously made your way through the organized maze of shelves toward the front entrance of the bookshop. There stood your lovers, the angel and the demon, staring one another down like they had never met, like their love had vaporized, like they had never met in that garden at the beginning.

“What’s happened?” you said and made your presence known as you stepped down into the threshold. “What’s wrong?”

Aziraphale turned to face you, obviously making an effort to brighten his features, but it was Crowley who faced away. Dropped his weight onto his arm against the desk. Reached up to tug off his shades, toss them aside hard enough that the lens cracked in its frame. The air crackled with a kind of tension that reared its head so rarely it was almost foreign to you. Or, perhaps, was that divine energy rippling the air, stirred and upset by the creatures standing before you?

“Darling,” said Aziraphale, then reached out to take your hands and placed kisses upon your knuckles. His lips were plump and soft, and when they made contact with the skin of your hand, a tiny sense of ease washed over your veins. “You needn’t worry about this. Just a… little dispute.”

“Oh, don’t lie to her like a child,” seethed Crowley from across the room, and whatever ease had settled your nerves disappeared in the blink of an eye. You felt your blood turn to ice beneath your skin when you heard a wobble, a shake, in his voice. Was your demon… holding back tears? He bared his teeth, which he’d allowed to sharpen like blades, and jutted out an accusatory finger toward his husband. “Tell them, or I bloody will,” he snapped, then lifted a deadly brow. “And you won’t like the way I phrase things, angel.”

Alarm blared like a siren in your head, flashed like lights that burned your eyes even through your lids. You knew at once this surely had something to do with last night, with the Metatron, and you were unable to stop yourself from snapping around to stare at Aziraphale expectantly. Where you searched for comfort and reassurance, you found only irritation and exasperation.

“Aziraphale,” you said, gripping his hands tighter as you gently shook your head with confusion. You only barely managed to keep your voice from shaking; something was very, very wrong. This was not like the time two hundred years ago when they had stopped talking to one another for a decade. This was far more serious, far more dangerous. “Aziraphale, what’s happening?”

Your angel stared into your eyes - or, perhaps, he was staring at his own reflection in your irises - and he let out a breath you had not heard him take in. “The Metatron,” he began slowly, softly, like you were a spooked animal who would run if he talked too loud, “has given me a generous, generous offer.”

From across the room, Crowley scoffed over his shoulder and gave another hiss from between his teeth.

“Based on a few of the…” Aziraphale seemed to struggle with the words. “Good deeds that have been performed the last six thousand years, Heaven has agreed to allow me back into its order - as the Supreme Archangel, now that Gab… Jim has vacated his position.” Despite the slow, sinking feeling growing like a black hole in your gut as he went on, the beginnings of an excited smile played upon the corners of his lips. “And they’ve even offered to redeem Crowley - as an angel again!”

The bookshop was a deadly kind of quiet, the kind that filled empty spaces with fear, and dread, and horror until there was nothing left but a rotting mess. Your mouth hung agape as you tried to process your angel’s words, tried to swallow down what he’s just said. Heaven wanted him back - would take Crowley back. That would be it. Their time on Earth would come to a close, a thunderous applause, a devastating end.

Yet there was a single question that hung tight in the air, one that waited like a dagger above each of your heads, waiting to see who would speak of it first.

Could you handle the sting when it planted itself in your back? “Aziraphale,” you heard yourself whisper as your brows knitted together and tears puddled in the corners of your eyes, “what about me?”

Though you could not see it, Crowley shut his eyes and pursed his lips, still attempting to stop the tears from falling down the gaunt planes of his cheeks. He knew the answer already, knew his angel far too well to pretend it could be anything different. He wanted to protect you from it, clasp his hands over your ears and snarl and snap at the world until he’d frightened everything that could hurt you far, far away. But you had to hear this.

Aziraphale swallows thick, holding your hands a bit tighter, like you might bolt from his grasp any moment. Even when you shift, he grips you in an iron grasp. “Well,” he drawls slowly, hesitation creeping into the corners of his voice, “of course, Heaven can’t grant holy status to… ah… humans. Immortal or not, I’m afraid, my love. But do you know angels hold the ability to possess human souls within themselves? Keep them safe and sound - isn’t that lovely? Why, I’m not the first angel in history to find a human they can’t let go of.” His hold tightens again, turning your skin pale where he grips you. “I - we could bring you with us. Your soul, darling.”

Every ounce of curiosity, of worry and fear, has morphed into a single sickening, dripping, venomous sensation that floods your systems, encases your body like a cocoon swallowing you whole; horror.

“You want to take my soul to Heaven,” you said quietly, so terribly softly that it was barely above a whisper. “Like a pet.” With this, you yanked your hands from Aziraphale’s and forced yourself to take three steps back. It stung like knives between your ribs to do so, to bear the expression painting itself across your husband’s face, but there was no other choice. “Aziraphale, you would trade us - trade this - to go back to them? After what they’ve done to you?” You took another step back, and you felt yourself bump into the chest of your demon. “After what they did to Crowley?”

You had always heard betrayal hurt worse from a lover than anyone else. Was this what betrayal felt like? Like stones in your pocket with a river pulling you under? Like venom slowly sucking your life from your very veins.

“No, of course not,” your angel tried, raising his hands. He opened his mouth to go on, then threw up a palm and sniffed out an exasperated huff. “If you both would just try and understand…”

“Oh, we understand plenty.” There came no term of endearment at the end of Crowley’s statement, no playful lilt or head nod. Only the cold, piercing gaze of those yellow eyes, and the slow wrapping of his hands around your arms, pulling you closer against him.

The movement caught Aziraphale’s eye, and hellfire flashed within them. “Oh, I should have known it would go this way,” he chided, pacing forward. “Here I thought you could, for once, Crowley, suppress your demonic ways of swaying her to your side. For once! Are you satisfied, you old serpent? Are you content with what’s happening?”

“How dare you!” The shout came from deep within your chest, an explosive rage nothing short of a scream that leaves the angel frozen where he stands. Those ocean eyes flicker to yours as you at last allow yourself to cry, to feel the sobs wrack your body like earthquakes and feel the tears gathering at the point of your chin. “How dare you let them come between us, Aziraphale! Between us!” You choked a bit and your angel visibly fought a battle within himself, wanting to pull away and surge forward all at once. “After everything… after everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve built, and you want to leave it to play God.”

“Of course I’m not leaving us,” your angel murmured, the crows feet against his eyes making themselves known as he knits his brows. Tears brim the edges of his vision. “I - I would be taking us with me. To somewhere safe… for all of us.”

“No,” you exhaled shakily, feeling Crowley’s fingers tighten around your upper arms. You shook your head at Aziraphale, your ears ringing and heart shattered. “Not safe for us. Better for you.” You peered into his eyes, into those watery blue eyes you could have drowned in, and saw your reflection staring back as he searched for something he could not find. “You miss Heaven, Aziraphale. You always have - and we know that. We all do.” There came a terrible, horrible, dreadful pause. “But we can’t go with you. We won’t.”

Your angel seemed at a loss for words. He simply stood there, staring you and his husband down. He gaped. Tried to form words. Took a step back.

Above you, his fingers now digging so tightly, so fiercely, so protectively, into your skin that his nails left marks, Crowley sneered and hissed in a voice filled with the desolation of a fallen angel, “You idiot.” You turned your face and tucked it into his shirt. “We could have been… us.”

Aziraphale said nothing for a very, very long time. Then he murmured, “I forgive you both.”

The bell over the door jingled, and he was gone, without leaving so much as a feather behind.

You sobbed loudly, awfully, horribly into Crowley’s chest, and you felt his own unholy, burning tears fall against your hairline as he stroked your tresses and kept you standing.

The end of forever started on a Saturday evening, and ended on a Sunday morning.

It was God’s day, after all.

#good omens #good omens crowley #good omens aziraphale #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #good omens x reader #the light the dark and the spaces in between fic

[industrations]

HELLO I AM HERE WITH A DOODLE PROMPT/REQUEST THINGY BECAUSE I FINALLY THOUGHT OF ONE

regulus being the Most Oblivious (idk maybe he's reading/studying) and he doesn't notice james there with this giant bouquet of roses held behind his back and he's in those tight quidditch shorts maybe idk he just looks like a meal but regulus is so fascinated with his book

ok i love you mwah have a great day <3

(aren't you so proud i didn't ask for spaghetti reggie?)

James potter ass and thighs for you my dearest block

#relish block tag: #and yes thank u for not asking for spaghetti reggie #doodle requests

[exhaslo]

This will be very niche, but it is something I’d like to see.

Miguel with a more masculine/tomboy-ish s/o.

Them being gym buddies and good-naturedly competitive with each other, or them being on a sorts team together, I’ll leave that up to you. 💚✌️

Of course! I do love a change of pace every now and then too! I can already imagine this playing in my head (despite me stepping into a gym like once)

----------------------------------------------------------

"Miguel, you're slowing down on me! Does this mean I'll take the record this time?" You said with a confident grin.

You and Miguel were currently racing to your local gym. The two of you were gym buddies who bonded within the last few months. It started off with a small, friendly competition on the steps machine, then eventually you wanted to know who kept beating your score.

When the two of you finally met, it was like a click. Both of you had been wanting to find a good reason to stay at the gym, and you found it. The two of you kept each other going.

"I was just giving you a head start. Gotta let you relish in a small victory every now and then," Miguel chuckled as he ran by you, ruffling your hair.

"Tch, laugh all you want! I'm going to out run you one of these days!" You said with a huff as Miguel was already a block ahead of you.

By the time you caught up, your face was bright red from exhaustion. Miguel handed you a bottle of water and recommended that the two of you rest a bit before entering the gym. You agreed, but immediately regretted it as many of the local gym girls kept their eyes on Miguel.

"Y'know, maybe you should be...less attractive. I'm sure most of these chicks are here just for you."

"Or they could be here to exercise like you."

"They drool every time you lift your sweat to wipe those godly beads of sweat." You teased, lowering your voice to mimic a man. Miguel just chuckled towards you, "I bet if you make a phone call to your girlfriend those girls will cry and leave the gym."

"I don't have one."

Miguel smiled as he watched you laugh as if he said a joke. He found you so amusing. You had no idea that Miguel was flirting with you. You had no idea that Miguel even liked a tomboy such as yourself. You wiped your tears away,

"That was funny. Ain't no way you're single."

"Why is that such a surprise? You're single too."

"Bruh, look at me. I just got called 'sir' the other day," You told him and stood, "I scare all the men away."

"You haven't scared me away,"

Miguel nudged your side before motioning towards the treadmill. You followed his lead, watching him in awe from behind. How could this man be single. You glanced towards him as the two of you slowly started to walk on the treadmill.

"So," You cleared your throat, "There is this marathon one of my friend's club is hosting. I was wondering if you wanted to join and you know, give me a reason to kick some ass without feeling bad."

"Haha, you want me to win?" Miguel asked as he raised his speed. You just smirked,

"Nah, I want everyone to watch me beat you."

Miguel smiled as he gently punched your arm. You stuck your tongue out towards him as the two of you continued to chat.

---------

It was the day of the marathon. You had prepped yourself and kept looking around for Miguel. Playing with your number tag, you let out a grumble. What fun was this going to be if Miguel wasn't here as your competition.

"Don't look so disappointed. I haven't won yet," Miguel threw his arm over your shoulders. You snorted, shoving him away,

"You mean when I win!"

Miguel chuckled as he lined up beside you. He kept his eye on you, knowing that sometimes you needed him to help you scale back. You would forget to relax and rest, straining yourself sometimes. Once the race began, Miguel made sure to stay behind you.

"So, how about a bet! When I win, I want you to tell all those girls that you're taken so they can stop hogging the machines!" You laughed. Miguel smirked as he sped up,

"And if I win?"

"Dunno, what do you want?" You asked him. Miguel thought about it,

"How about I tell you when I win."

You scoffed as Miguel sped up a bit. Hurrying, you wanted to make sure that you won this time.

As you grew closer to the end, you felt your vision blur. Your legs started to strain as a small pain shot up your leg. You wanted to stop, but you also wanted to win. You were currently in first place. Right when you went to look back, Miguel appeared and picked you up,

"M-Miguel! Put me down!"

"You need to rest. You never learn to stop." He said with a huff as he crossed the finish line, "Drink some water and don't move."

"Tch, no fair."

Miguel smiled as he ruffled your hair as you drank some water. He kept his eye on you, waiting for your leg to stop spasming. The head of the marathon walked over and congratulated Miguel for winning and for you reaching second place. Miguel bend down to your level, fist bumping your knee,

"I'll do what you wanted." He said. You panted softly,

"But I didn't win."

"But I am taken now," Miguel chuckled at your confused expression, "My prize for winning is a date with you."

You stared at Miguel for a moment before gasping.

"Holy shit you liked me this whole time?!?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed this short story!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

I Cherish You, Halcyon Days: v.

“You’re gonna die, kid. In the worst way possible.”

tags: afab!reader (she/her), angst, slow burn

pairing: gojou x reader + onesided!getou x reader

summary: You’re 15 years old when you’re told you’re going to die. You’re 17 years old when you realize who your killer will be. And you’re 17 years old when you make peace with the fact you wouldn’t want it any other way.

index | previous chapter | next chapter

"Sister School Exchange?"

"Yeah, it's this thing we do each year with the other of Jujutsu Tech in Kyoto," you lean back against Chinatsu's bed as your non-sorcerer friends look at your curiously.

It's a peaceful Sunday like any other.

Tooru is slouched awkwardly but comfortably at Chinatsu's desk playing Zelda, meanwhile Chinatsu has claimed her bed as her own while she braids her hair. Hard as these days are to come by now that you live in a school remote in some mountains on the countryside-esque outskirts of Tokyo, you relish when you have them. It's a touch of comfort and familiarity. "It's like a sports thing. Loser goes to the winner's school the following year. Last year we won so those suckers are coming to Tokyo."

"Who went where last year?" Chinatsu continues braiding her bright brown hair.

"We went to Kyoto," you expertly leave out the fact you didn't actually get to go. Nor the fact that you wouldn't be participating once again. Your friends don't need to know all that. Stupid special grade technicalities, you want to complain. There's no point, however, with the company you've surrounded yourself with. You're still more than a bit miffed at your inability to attend last year's Exchange.

"Is it an open event where anyone can go?" At your sympathetic grimace, Tooru scowls. "Damn rich people," he swears, rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sigh. His blue-black bangs are pulled back by a hairclip, fully displaying his newfound grumpiness. The idea of sports always kicks Tooru's competitive spirit into overdrive being a member of Tsubame High's rock climbing club. He tried getting you to join your middle school's team once. As it turns out, your grip strength was ass. And it still is if I'm being honest with myself. "Well kick their asses and send those losers back to Kyoto in shambles," Tooru demands as he returns to the visuals of Majora's Mask.

Oh if only. Well, you're certain that victory will be spelled out for your school once again if Gojou and Suguru have anything to say about it. You just know you won't actually play any role in it.

"I'll be sure to let you guys know how it goes."

ー

It's a toss up for you on which days you prefer at Jujutsu Tech. Some days it's Monday, Wednesday, Friday and other times you really appreciate a good Tuesday, Thursday Saturday schedule. It depends on how tired your are... and how much procrastinating you've done on your assignments.

After watching X-Men back in '01, maybe it shouldn't have been a surprise that Jujutsu Tech had regular classes but you still remember your surprise during your first week of first year. Apparently, you actually need to at least know the essential basics society deemed important. As such, Jujutsu Tech operated on a block schedule where certain days detailed which day you'd be learning standard course work or anything related to jujutsu.

Monday, Wednesday and Friday were dedicated to normalcy with classes like Math, Japanese, English and Japanese History. Those were handled by the assistants who actually had teaching licenses. Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday were all jujutsu-based. History of Jujutsu, Application of Cursed Techniques and Exorcism and Physical Education. (Physical Education being a Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday class was the most surprising for you. But once you found out PE included sparring and mock battles against curses, you understood the picture.) These classes were handled by the sorcerers that did the heavier curse-exorcising work in this field with four teachers assigned a specific grade of students to handle.

With Nanami Kento and Haibara Yuu joining as first years, Fujioka still had her hands full with preparing the first years for the rest of their jujutsu careers.

Being in charge of the second years, Yaga didn't have much to do in terms of teaching late last year after Okita died. So the muscle head seemed pretty excited to go from 0 students to 4.

Yamada's graduated but with Utahime and Mei Mei being the new fourth years, Koizumi still has work to do.

The only teacher doing nothing now until next year rolled around at the Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Tech is Matsuno. If none of you are dead by the time third year rolls around, she'll have 4 students bothering her then.

This particular Saturday, classes have been halved for the day. Thanks again, irregular scheduling. And thanks again, Kyoto Tech. It's not the first day of it, that won't be until Monday. Still, today is the day the Kyoto Tech students are arriving and that is important enough that you don't need a full day of schooling.

You recall the names of the people of interest Utahime mentioned during spring break and try imagining faces to the names while Gojou loudly groans at Shoko's newest terrible attempt at explaining how reversed curse technique works. It doesn't help that it looks like smoke is exiting Haibara's brain in his own confusion.

"I think Shoko's right, Gojou," you grin widely at the snow-haired boy's head swivel in your direction. Even with the sunglasses, you can tell he's irritated. "You just don't have the common sense for it."

"Oh like you're able to understand her gibberish," Gojou's tongue clicks.

You're absolutely not. "Hyoo hyoi, right, Shoko?"

"Hyoo hyoi!" Shoko chirps back deviously. "[First] is getting it."

"See?" You gesture at the girl. A crumpled, empty soda can gets tossed your way and your hands fly out immediately to create a peach-colored shield of energy. "Sore loser!"

"Walking copyright infringement," you hate how that comment actually gets a choked laugh of you while you tell him your technique is called Rejection based on the Phoenix Wright franchise. So what if your abilities are reminiscent of a certain manga character with burnt orange hair and a pair of blue flower pins, Gojou should leave you be. You don't control the way in which jujutsu techniques are passed out.

"Why do I have to be stuck with the generation of teachers that don't know how to do reversed curse technique," he grumbles. "Why does the one person I know who can do it have the explanation abilities of a 5 year old? Who the hell did I piss off in a past life for this?"

Shoko tries to pull out a cigarette but it's snatched out of her hands by Suguru in equal parts concern and his own frustration at her less-than-stellar explanations. "I'm sure the list is long so thanks for spreading your bad luck to me too, Satoru," Gojou sticks out his tongue and brandishes his middle finger brazenly, Suguru flips him the bird right back. Yours and Haibara's giggles fill the air while Nanami, arguably the most sane of the six of you, sighs in annoyance.

It really is unfortunate for everyone that Shoko's pure instincts surrounding her abilities can't be translated into comprehensible words.

You learned the year prior in Application of Cursed Techniques and Exorcism I that it was really only relatively recently the jujutsu schools were established and passing down general knowledge outside of family became a thing. Unfortunately, the time in which these schools were created, information on reversed cursed technique was unable to be secured. So until Shoko is able to explain in full how she does it ー or the rest of you are able to start using it on your own ー Jujutsu Tech won't be receiving any updates to the cursed technique application curriculum.

"Nanami," Gojou points at the blond who already looks like he regrets even stepping one foot out of his dorm today. "Learn how to use RCT and explain it to me like a good underclassman!"

"I'd prefer to have a responsible upperclassman who learns on his own and teaches me instead," came the instant rebuttal from the practical sorcerer-in-training.

"Where's the fun in tradition?"

One last sigh of amusement later, you look at your hands thoughtfully. Rejection. A tiny shield stands tall in front your palm. But if we're talking about missing a few puzzle pieces, I'm assed out too. You sigh as Rejection dissipates. Why can't you have six little faerie creatures to help you create a variety of shields too? When it comes to you second years, it's easy explaining the roles you have based on ability alone.

You're the tank, Shoko's the healer and Getou and Gojou are both different flavors of DPS. That's not necessarily a problem, you know. Even the basics of cursed energy usage can exorcise a curse, but when it comes down to it ー you are your partner are both supports and having a bit of an offensive kick would come in handy at some point in the future.

So you decided at the beginning of second year that if you already were teetering the line of coincidentally ripping off Inoue Orihime's technique, why not go for the full thing and try mimicking the rest too? Your first assignment, creating a shield that sends back the damage and finally start stepping in the direction of acquiring an offensive move set.

It's just been a bit of a work-in-progress developing the technique in secret mostly because you have no idea what you're doing beyond the general principle of what you want to do. Dissonance and Disconnect will be your masterpieces ー whenever you manage to them figure out.

There's a tap on your shoulder, "[First]," Shoko taps you once again. "Help me carry back drinks from the vending machine?"

"Yeah, I got you," you'll figure out your masterpieces later then.

Together the two of you made your way to the nearest vending machine to the training grounds. It's not terribly far but it isn't particularly close either. You grumbled over this fact more than enough during your first year. You understand the lack of students means a lack of vending machines, but it would still be nice if this particular vending machine was close enough you didn't have to walk twenty minutes to get to it. "Do you think we could move it ourselves, actually?"

"Do you really feel like carrying that thing down a flight of stairs?"

"Never mind," you groan.

It's part way through your quest to quench everyone else's thirst when you see him. A boy donned in navy blue and gray traditional clothes and dirty blond hair with dark tips. He's certainly no student of Tokyo Tech, you perk up in realization. The boy is cute, you think. "You're one of the Kyoto students, right?" You wave politely as he glances at you. "We can help you if you're lost."

Amber eyes look you up and down before the boy turns to Shoko alone, "When I heard you were enrolling I was surprised, Ieiri," you can't stop your head from tilting, wide eyes blinking in surprise. "Considering all you're good for is healing your peers, you'd think your family wouldn't invest in your education. Especially considering

"Hey," you glare, sticking a friend out in front of your friend. "The only ones who gets to mess with one of us, is us." It's a privilege, not a right. "And all things considered, since Shoko's able to do shit you clearly can't, you shouldn't be running your mouth."

Amber eyes point your way again as the boy actually addresses you, "you must be the foreigner, your accent is very apparent." You have an accent, what of it? You learned Japanese from the ground and you were proud of the progress. No one can take away from you, least of all this guy. "If anyone shouldn't be speaking here, it's the one from a country so backwater you had to come to a foreign land to learn anything about sorcery."

"Naoya," Shoko finally speaks, mouth pulled into a frown. So this is the face you can put with the name Zenin Naoya. "How horrible to see you too. If you're looking to talk to Gojou and Getou, they're in that direction." The brunette thumbs behind herself in the direction you both came from. "Otherwise, you're a long ways off from the rooms the Kyoto students are supposed to be staying in."

You aren't sure what the boy has to be smirking about and you wonder how much trouble you'd get in if you tried punching him. "I know where I'm heading," the first year states, crossing his arms. "I wanted to see the Six Eyes of the Gojou Clan myself. But it'll be something to see the other special-grade as well."

"Yeah well get a good look at the dudes who are going to kick your-"

"Naoya," a deep voice interjects growing tensions. For once, something akin to a scowl dons Naoya's face as his expression shifts to annoyance. "You said you wouldn't antagonize the Tokyo students if I let you off on your own."

"That wasn't antagonizing, that was small talk," his upperclassman's face tells you he doesn't believe that one bit.

He's tall, albeit not as tall as Gojou or Suguru, with black hair with a dyed streak of green in his bangs."Sorry about our first year," the Kyoto senior bows with an exasperated sigh. You don't envy what he has to deal with. If Naoya had been included in the batch of first years Tokyo Tech received, you're sure you would have transferred schools. Or maybe you would have stayed out of spite. "I'll deal with him."

"Please see that you do," your cheek muscles ache from how forcefully you are smiling. What the actual hell is wrong with that guy? You side-eye your partner as the Kyoto first year skulks off, likely ignoring the scolding his upperclassman is giving him. "Why doesn't he have a hate club?"

"Believe it or not, that's not even as bad as he gets. That was actually Naoya at his best," Shoko has to be joking. This is another one of her dry humor jokes. Unfortunately, there's not even a wink of playfulness in her eyes. If that's this guy's best, I don't want to see what his worst is. "The rest of us were in a secret Hope Naoya Gets Homeschooled Alliance. Sadly all our efforts have clearly been for naught."

"Yeah, you guys really should have tried harder," you aren't sure there is any word in any language that could best describe him besides 'worst' and 'brat. And you know what? He isn't even that cute! The culmination of terrible traits in asshole shoujosei love interests created a terrible creature. I'll never say Gojou's a waste of a pretty face ever again. 

Even at Gojou's absolute worse, he's never held a candle to the display of disrespect you bore witness to. "I really need us to win this year. I am so serious if we lose to that pompous asshole, I'll quit being a sorcerer because I refuse to accept defeat from him. Matter of fact," you cross your arms obstinately. "I know we're winning this year and I can't wait to see his walk of shame out of Tokyo. It isn't enough for him to lose, he has to be utterly humiliated."

"I hope he fights Getou," your rant certainly appeals to the brunette who nods in agreement. "It would have been better if Getou was a girl," despite the disappointment that is your reality, Shoko's eyes dance with mischief. "But either way, he'll hate losing to someone who comes from a non-sorcerer family the most." At your look, Shoko blinks in realization. "Right, you wouldn't know. The Zenin's have a saying that basically boils down to the only sorcerer's worth their salt are from the Zenin family, but a non-sorcerer is basically less than human."

Every time you learn something new about the Amazing Sexists, the less you like what you hear. "Geez that family sounds like a real piece of work," you stick out your tongue in annoyance. "I want him to fight Gojou," you nod to yourself in satisfaction. "Their families hate each other, right? So if he loses to him I just know his parents will be pissed. 'How dare you lose to the son of the Gojou family! You're no son of ours! Leave this house!' or something like that."

Shoko's bob dances as she shakes her head, "doubt it. When you're that strong, winning is guaranteed. They'd be disappointed but not surprised, if anything."

"Why 'cause Gojou's a special-grade?" You purse your lips in your prodding. "Because if that's what we're going off of Suguru's got the win in the bag too. Or is it the Gojou comes from sorcerer family thing?"

"Partly the latter," Shoko admits. "But I told you before already. Gojou's pretty much a legend to sorcerers," yes, it is hard to forget when everyone talked about it. "They'd expect a loss if Naoya had to fight him. Maybe if he had the Ten Shadows they'd think he had a fighting chance, but I doubt he does because it would be talked about all over if he inherited it."

Has Gojou always been so... Your mind struggles for the right word. It dawns on you then that Naoya had referred to him as the Six Eyes instead of Gojou's family or given name. Objectified? It's an unpleasant feeling to admit to yourself that he is. Even slightly more so as you try to recall if you've done so yourself and how much you may if you did. You're sure you have. You must have. What else were the bulk of your rants with Utahime were about if Gojou ever organically came up in conversation?

"He's still just some guy," you wonder if your words are more meant to self-soothe than a solid argument. "He thinks eating pancakes is substantial for dinner. I don't know how he's never had a cavity."

"A guy who'll be in the future Jujutsu Tech textbooks and we won't even be footnotes," Shoko sighs at her joke of self-deprecation. "But yeah, it's too bad they won't have anything in there about how he eats his weight in junk food." She pulls out a piece of paper where she has everyone else's desired drinks scrawled on. "Anyway, let's finish getting the drinks."

ー

This isn't the first time you've come out to the training grounds past curfew, but you would have head in by now.

Perhaps it's your irritation at Naoya that has you practicing longer than usual. Or perhaps it's your own inability to advance your technique and the frustration beginning to boil over. It's likely a mixture of both. It's well-past dinner and the sun has set for the evening, your only light source being a lantern you took out of the storage shed.

If there's another thing this school needs, it is stadium lights for the training grounds.

"Uwah," You look behind you, noticing the approaching footsteps and you spot a familiar head of messy white hair. "I would have thought you were sneaking off somewhere more exciting."

"How'd you know I was sneaking out?"

"Was up playing Momotetsu a few times and I saw your cursed energy moving around," Gojou shrugs. It truly is hard to hide anything from those eyes. You wondered in the past if his ocular abilities were passive or something that needed to be activated. When you saw his eyes glowing in the past, you came to the conclusion it's a mixture of both depending on what he needed to see. His sunglasses are on but in your dark surroundings, you don't see any signs of azure glow. Seeing cursed energy must be one of the passives. "Finally got curious to see where you heading off the past couple weeks. Didn't expect it to be here."

"Well now you know," you rest a hand on your hip. "Go back to playing Momotetsu."

Gojou dropped a hand above his hidden eyes as if blocking out the sun, "Nah, I'm looking for Orihime's faeries now, they're out here somewhere," haha very funny, Gojou hasn't said that one before. Ever. His grin widens as he takes in the unamused roll of your eyes. "What are you doing back out here? I could hear your big feet clunking around even with my walkman on."

"If you must know," you ignore his last jab petulantly as he comes closer. "I'm trying to evolve how Rejection works by ripping off Orihime's moves. Sadly these faeries aren't worth shit, they're stingy and only work for her." That earns a snicker from your new audience and that manages to make you perk up. "Jokes aside though, I'm pretty sure I can make Rejection be a return-to-sender and even get it to cut things in half if I try hard enough. So I've been trying it out."

"Must suck not having a users manual," Gojou whistles.

You huff in agreement, kicking a nearby pebble. "Who are you telling?" That's the trial-and-error of coming from non-sorcerer families. Everything you learn about your cursed technique is through figuring it out on your own. Weird glowing orb thing? It's was just Suguru doing as dumb kids do when he decided to swallow it and see what would happen. You didn't even start using Rejection until you were 10, well past the usual date of ability manifestation, all because of an accident. "But if I look at it from a different angle, this just means there's no pre-existing guide to tell me Rejection can't do this or that. I test out those limits myself and be the one who makes the guide."

And if you ever had kids, they'd be the beneficiaries. If you ever lived long enough to get to the point you'd start considering them. You shake head, physically tossing the thoughts out of your brain. "Anyways, like I said, I'm going all in on the copyright infringement. What Kubo doesn't know won't hurt him," you chuckle to yourself. "So I'm starting out with trying to get Rejection to return attack energy back at specific triggers."

Gojou looks between you and the noticeably empty space in front of you. You can already tell what your classmate is thinking ー must be pretty difficult when there's literally nothing to shoot anything at what you put up. "... and you're doing that how?"

You puff your cheeks sheepishly, glancing pointedly in a different direction, "Casper's been a great assistant to me lately."

"So all you've been doing is wasting cursed energy and hoping something happens?"

"On the bright side, I've gotten really good at putting my technique up with various poses over the past couple weeks," you offer weakly with a cough. So far you've mastered the Jotaro Kujo point, the Okuyasu The Hand swipe and the Kakyoin Emerald Splash.

That comment gets you a light swat to the back of your head and you move to elbow him back, but you only meet the infinity between you both. "Just get to posing out your shields and I'll blast cursed energy at it," Gojou flicks his fingers back in a shooing motion as he walks a couple meters away from you. Before you can even attempt to dissuade him, he's already in position. "Tell Casper to take a hike for a while. You don't pay him enough to do overtime."

"You'll help me?" You've never trained personally with Gojou. Likely because neither of you felt the need. You didn't like him and you likely weren't someone worth training with from his perspective. You'd sooner expect Hell to freeze over. It must have frozen over then.

"I don't know how you're planning on making a shield that shoots back attacks without actually having something shot at it," he shrugs in the dim light of the lantern. "And I'm already out here."

"You know what," you rest your hands on your hips. "Dinner's on me tonight, what do you want? This is gonna work up an appetite for me and you eat like a horse anyway."

"Seriously?"

"Just don't say pancakes. Or waffles," you rack your brain for different loopholes. "Actually, I'm putting in stipulations ー there needs to be a protein and a vegetable, bare minimum. I'm making sure you eat actual food tonight." You're pretty sure there's salmon leftover from the other night from when Nanami cooked. And I could sauté the spinach so he doesn't complain much. "Salmon, sauteed spinach and something else. I don't want this to take forever so I guess I'll just go with rice since it's already late." Rice it'll be then. "This is your reward for helping me!"

There's a decent-sized blast of energy that hurls in your direction. "Um, excuse me, I thought I was supposed to pick what we eat?"

"Rejection!" True to your word, you point as if you're the JoJo of Stardust Crusaders. There's no energy that shoots back in Gojou's direction, but you'll figure out a pattern before the night is over. Maybe I should try something where Rejection can pocket that energy and then it gets shot back? "I changed my mind," you snort. "You're eating what I make and you'll like it. I don't need you dying of a sugar coma before the Exchange Event properly begins."

"Oh come on, it's a treat for helping you out, shouldn't I call the shots here?" The pouting begins much to your lack of surprise. "What sort of reward dinner is this? If this is how you treat them, I can see why the faeries didn't want to help you out!"

"Do you want a free dinner?" When there's no slick comment shot your way, you consider this a victory. "Beat Zenin Naoya's ass to kingdom come and maybe I'll consider making something you want without any sort of fine print. Do we got ourselves a deal?"

There's a smile in Gojou's voice. A smug smile, but it is in his tone nonetheless while he speaks, "I'd do that even if there wasn't a free meal on the line, you know."

index | previous chapter | next chapter

Extra

And we're back to our usually scheduled programming. I update once per week for four weeks, two week hiatus, then back to consistent updates. At least, that's what I decided on other platforms to give myself a break here and there.

Admittedly the Orihime copyright infringement joke is one of the few jokes I've been waiting to make. Glad this moment is finally here.

You also finally get to meet your buddies from middle school, Tooru and Chinatsu. There's another buddy too but he's a special case who won't be showing up for some chapters. I honestly have an entire mini TV series worth of shenanigans concerning this friend group but y'all will just have the tip of the iceberg. Hopefully when that gets touched on in a future chapter, you guys will find it as amusing as I do. Like I made it a point to mention, the Reader really wants to hold onto what she can of her non-sorcerer life. She's "*Miles Morales voice* I can do both" about it

Anyways, you and Gojou are bonding some more and it doesn't relate to food. This is growth. Reblogs and Likes appreciated.

#look she's writing #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #getou x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #i cherish you halcyon days

[acourtofmenandthirst]

You Called

Azriel x Reader, based on that one sound on tiktok “You came…” “You called…” Short since it was just a quick idea I had, but I have so many long Eris fics (requests) lined up I just need to actually sit down and write them!

Word Count: 2.4K

Warnings: None, nightmare

You giggled as you twisted around in the Shadowsinger’s arms, moving to wrap your arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life. His laughter was quiet in your ear, so soft and low that you almost couldn’t make it out. A rare sound, so sharp and genuine, he was nearly drunk with happiness. Your hand brushed through his dark hair, tousled by the wind as he flew you above the other Solar Courts.

“You said you wanted to fly,” he protested, hand wrapping farther around your back, the other holding your knees up closer to his chest. His broad wings stretched behind him, blocking the setting sun. His tanned skin was cast in orange sunlight, shadows falling over his cheekbones and under his brow. His bright eyes glowed, rich flecks of brown swirling in a sea of gold. 

“We’re going so fast,” you replied in a shriek, as Azriel soared faster. You could barely breathe, the cool air at that altitude evaded your lungs. He smirked as you dared to peer down below you, the glare of the fluffy green trees and shining Day Court lake whirled beneath you. You were careful to mind his wings, avoiding the powerful extremities as you strengthened your grip around him.

Azriel smiled. Smiled through the pain that ached in his bones and the burning in his chest. He ached to hold you like this, his body cried out each time your hand brushed through his hair or arm curled around his neck. He noticed how you always avoided his wings, despite his near need for you to touch them. He wanted nothing more than for you to run your delicate fingers over those bones, through his hair, and over his neck. Azriel’s heart fluttered when he felt your breath against his ear, when you held him so close he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to let you go.

It was his excuse to offer to fly you home after each visit. 

Winnowing would be over too quickly. 

He needed to hold you in his arms, against him, soaring through the sky where he could be free to relish in your touch. 

The Winter Court was by no means close to the Night Court, but not far enough that Azriel could find the excuse to make a pit-stop. You frequented the Inner Circle often, as you had become quick friends with everyone as Feyre grew closer to Kallias and Viviane. You’d been quick to tag along, unable to stop your own curiosity about the Night Court, and you could not pass up the opportunity to gawk at the beautiful Illyrians, with their broad builds and large wings. 

You were immediately fond of Azriel, the quiet one lingering in the shadows. His shadows approached you before he did, winding over to you in observation, curious about the newcomer from the Winter Court. They enjoyed winding through your hair, the cold mist reminding you of your own freezing home. He tried to restrain his shadows, though, at times, they refused to listen to him. 

They knew you were mates before he did. 

Azriel caught on soon enough - the first time he spoke to you, he felt the string tied around his heart tighten like a blow to the chest. Ever the poker face though, he’d kept himself composed, barely able to comprehend what you were saying… something about his shadows. Your fingers twirled in the air, twisting the shadows around your fingers, laughing as they curled up your arm. “They’re cute” was all he managed to hear, which made him blush. Something that did not go unnoticed by Feyre, who later on called him an Illyrian baby. 

You’d spent the day with the Inner Circle, painting with Feyre and watching Cassian and Azriel spar. While the Shadowsinger usually had the upper hand with the warlord, often using his strategizing to distract the latter Illyrian, he was distracted by you watching, as if he felt your eyes watching his every step.

Soon enough you disappeared with Mor, leaving Cassian to relentlessly tease the male. “Afraid of a little audience?” Azriel felt no need to respond, other than with a quick punch to Cassian’s face. But his brother only laughed, flashing a bloody smile. 

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

Azriel blinked, glancing over to you gazing up at him. Your face was mere inches from his, sunset reflected in your eyes, beaming with wonder. “Tired of what?” 

“The view,” you replied, eyes flickering between his before falling over his shoulder, taking in the snowy mountaintops. 

He licked his dry lips, unable to break his stare. Your hair blew around your face, getting tangled behind your head and around your neck. He longed to brush it back, untangle the knots, and run his hands through the soft strands. He wanted to kiss your red cheeks, bitten by the wind, your lips pulled in tight in a small smile. “I’ll never tire of it.” 

You hummed in response, deciding to rest your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your nose into his warm neck. Azriel prayed to the Mother you didn’t feel how fast his heart was beating, how your touch truly affected him. 

No matter how much he slowed, or how long he tried to delay your arrival home, he eventually made it to your snowy cabin, circling around the sky before moving to land in the freshly fallen snow below. You looked as if you were ready to fall asleep in his arms, the smooth flight back nearly lulling you to sleep. You never doubted the male, afraid he would drop you or fall from the sky. You trusted him fully, secretly hoping he would offer to fly you home each time you’d visit, as an excuse to get close to the male. You felt safe in his arms, savoring the time you had alone with him without his brother teasing him or his High Lady watching you both closely. 

You wished you had the guts to invite him in for tea. 

“Thank you, Azriel,” you whispered as he set you on the ground, boots falling a few inches into the snow. 

His knees nearly bucked at his name on your lips, wishing it was under different circumstances, that you would call his name like a prayer. 

“You’re welcome,” came his respectful reply, with a small smile. 

You moved to pull him in your arms, offering him the normal hug goodbye, though that time, you rose to your tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. It was difficult, considering how you sank into the snow and how tall the male was. Clearly unexpected, he didn’t move, not to bend closer to you or wrap his arms around you. 

Which he would be cursing himself about the whole flight home. 

He took quickly to the sky, you groaned and fell against the door as soon as you shut it behind you. Gods, you cursed to yourself. Could you have made that any more awkward?

You pushed yourself fully to your feet, moving to take a bath to warm up. Despite your desire to keep the warm feeling and smell of the male wrapped around you, the cold bit into your skin just far enough that you needed the bath. 

You shed your clothes and fell into the bath, surrounded by the smell of peppermint and pine. You shut your eyes, ever so briefly, committing that sunset to memory, never wanting to forget how the trees faded from bright green to snowy white, how the late sun burnt orange in the Day Court, but fell pink in Dawn. Most of all, you didn’t want to forget the male who held you in his arms, steady and ever true, how he pressed you up against his chest and buried you so well in the crook of his arm. How your head fit just right against his shoulder, and his eyes nearly glowed with light. 

Nearly asleep, you forced yourself to evade the tub, instead deciding to seek solace in your bed. You quickly dried off with pruny fingers, opting to braid your wet hair and pull a short nightgown over your head. You tucked yourself into your warm blankets, hoping to fall asleep to the same view of those golden eyes. 

But it was darkness that surrounded you. 

Forty-nine years of darkness. 

You hadn’t seen the sun, hadn’t felt fresh air. 

You cried out for help. Nobody was there, nobody knew where you were, nor you them. Your cell was buried deep within the rock walls, caved in so low that you could barely stand. You were starved, nearly skin and bones with the little bread and stew Amarantha’s goons offered you. 

No fire to keep warm. Despite growing up in the Winter Court, your fondness of the cold had not translated into your present. The freezing air hung stagnant, burning your lungs. Your tattered blanket did little to keep you warm. Guards had come by to taunt you, the only thing separating you from them was the heavy iron bars keeping you caged in. 

You heard them drag their scaled tails against those bars, the deep sound reverberating through your bones. You cried out, gasping for air as the sound grew louder, mimicking the pounding in your chest. You pounded your fists against the hard stone, jagged rock cutting into the heels of your hand. 

Help me, help me, help me -

Your throat was raw, arms so tired. You hadn’t moved so much in so long. Years, perhaps. 

You were desperate for an escape, pleading for someone to save you. 

All you saw was the golden light, the auriferous sea surrounding you, the hypnotic bronze drowning you. Your salvation, perhaps. 

As the sound grew closer, your heart pounded so fast that you heard the blood swirling in your ears. That bright river grew farther and farther away from you, swallowed up in darkness as you felt the thundering of those bat wings leaving you. 

You screamed, pleaded, begged for him to stay. You begged the shadows for help, calling out for the Shadowsinger, crying until your throat was raw. The beast’s claws rattled against the iron, heavy tail dragged against the stone floor. Their hissing replaced your own blood curdling screams as they called to you -

You cried out with strangled breath, eyes snapping open to meet nothing but pure darkness. A cool breeze washed over you and burned your lungs as you gasped for air. You swallowed it like you were choking down a blade, slicing open your throat, eliciting a weak cry from you. 

The air moved around you and you felt a mist around your arms, coiling over your wrist and up to your shoulders. Before your eyes could adjust to the lack of light, you heard the shuffle of heavy boots in front of you. Had it not been for the cool shadows working around your neck and through your hair, you wouldn’t have recognized the Illyrian in your room. Too tired and disoriented from your nightmare, you weren’t sure what you would have done to defend yourself from the intruder. 

He dropped before you, falling to his knees at the side of your bed, rough hands reaching for yours. You caught the glint of his golden eyes, sparkling in the darkness, like they did so often against his shadows. It warmed your heart, that honey color, the flecks of dark whiskey, the gleam of the setting sun - the mixture of which you could only recognize as Azriel. 

His hands were hot, desperate to touch you, to calm you. He felt your racing heart, your panic, the sheer terror. It called to him, burned deep in his chest as he raced to get to you. Courts away, he was summoned - your soul crying out for help. 

You swallowed dryly, clutching his skin, desperate to ground yourself. You tried to steady your breathing, chest heaving under your nightgown. All you could think about was the male kneeling before you, wide eyes searching yours, peering straight into your soul - the nightmare, your erratic gasping, your clammy hands, all forgotten.

“You came,” you breathed, fighting the stinging in the back of your eyes as you made out the male in front of you. 

Azriel held your hands tighter, steadying you, promising himself in that moment that he’d never let you go. That he’d stay, that he’d fight off every one of your nightmares. It took an immense sense of self-control, for him to not pull you in his arms, fall to the ground with you, and hold you tighter than he ever had. 

His heart was pounding, so hard that his stomach knotted and his back ached. He fought against the lump in his throat, the screaming in his head and clawing in his chest mate mate mate. 

You returned the hold on his hands, grasping his fingers in an awkward position; yet it was your touch that tethered him back to reality. It was your nightmare that he felt that evening, your screams he heard echoing in his mind, your fear he felt burrowed in his chest. It was you that cried out for him, whether you knew it or not. Azriel would have tried to smile, offer you a gesture of comfort, had you been able to see it. He swallowed, tempted to confess it all. The tether in his chest that called out to you, that burned him each time he held you in his arms while flying, that pulled tight in his gut when your shoulder accidentally brushed his. 

Instead, Azriel lifted his hand to your face, cupping your jaw, slender fingers sliding over the side of your neck. He wiped away a tear, his fingers almost shaking at the touch. You tilted your head, allowing him to fully hold you, as you pressed a kiss to his palm. Azriel nearly shivered. He offered you that smile, the one he had so rarely shared with others, caused only by the genuine flooding of love in his heart. 

With a steady breath, he made the promise that he’d be by your side no matter what, whether you cared to offer him the time of day, bond or not, he promised he’d be there. With another brush of his thumb over your cheek, he whispered back to you. “You called.”

#acotar #azriel #shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #azriel / reader

[sleepy-gee]

🦋 desolation - avox!coryo au - snowjanus week day 2

🦋 day 2: canon divergence 🦋 “All snow melts under heat, dear boy. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now, hold still..”

🦋 trigger warnings/tags: gore, blood, dark fic, mutilation, starvation, dehumanization.. the whole nine. dunno what you'd call it but coryo is put into a market system and sold so warning for that too. vomiting.

🦋 a/n: this is for you, avox!coryo nation

“Tell me, Mr. Snow.” Dr. Gaul hummed, running a gloved finger along the edge of her blade. Coriolanus’ mouth went dry. Any second now, that blade would silence him for eternity. “Was it worth it? Your little plan to save your songbird?”

Coriolanus didn’t answer yet, dropping his gaze to the marble floor of her lab. Highbottom’s taunts echoed in his head on repeat like a scratched record– “You hear that, boy? It’s the sound of snow falling..” He couldn’t have failed. Snow’s don’t fall. They pull through. Always have and always will. He bit his tongue to hold back some of the tears that threatened to slip. Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“I urge you to speak now, young man.” Dr. Gaul took a step towards him. “I fear you won’t have the chance to again for a very, very long time.”

“.. What do you want me to say?” He croaked. “Do you want me to beg? To plead for your forgiveness and mercy?” Coriolanus glanced up at her, gaze as venomous as the snakes she loved to toy with.

“If you did, I fear you’d make a fool of yourself.” She grabbed his chin harshly. “You knew the consequences and yet you still cheated. All for some girl you barely knew.”

“She wouldn’t have stood a chance if I didn’t..” Coriolanus stuttered, trying to pull away from her grasp. “It’s not right.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart now. It’s much too late for that, Mr. Snow… You say you won’t beg for mercy, but in a way, you are. A convict on trial, saying whatever he can to get himself out of the death penalty.” Dr. Gaul laughed, a horrid sound. “Predator turned prey.. Isn’t that funny? You climbed your way to the top of the food chain, only to get forced back down to the bottom of it.”

The tears in his eyes finally gave away. The taste of iron filled his mouth, no doubt from the abuse of his poor tongue. Sick as it was, he relished in it. Relished in feeling the weight of it in his mouth, every little thing he could taste in there. Death would’ve been better than this, he thought. But weren’t they the same thing? He’d be reduced to nothing. A hollow shell unable to speak or express himself. Trapped in silence forever. The fear he felt made it nearly impossible to breathe, too.

“Aw..” She wiped one of his tears away. Coriolanus pulled back like he had burned her. “All snow melts under heat, dear boy. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Now, hold still..”

...

A cruel memory, one he tried to block out. Filled with panic and broken screams. Blood pouring out of his mouth onto his lap, a waterfall of consequence settling into a pool on the ground beneath him. He tried and tried to plead for help, begging for her to stop, but she never would. Sadism used to taste so sweet, Now it was cold and bitter. Served cold just like her revenge, she said. Revenge for what, he wanted to ask. For ruining her games? For giving her the show she wanted?

Was it all a mistake?

The Dean’s confrontation was playing on repeat in his head. If he had said something different, done something else..

“President Ravenstill has left your form of punishment up to me. I talked amongst my fellow colleagues and we believed that being sent to the districts as an anonymous, peacekeeping grunt might’ve been suitable.. But then an Avox walked in.. and I had another one of my brilliant ideas. I thought, if he’s anything like his father– Which he is– Then having him go to the districts would be just as bad as having him walk free.”

“Still..” He stammered. “Don’t you think that’s too far?”

“Like I said, anyone caught cheating will simply have no future at all. You made your bed, Coriolanus. Time to lie in it.. I think a good night's rest will do you some good. It’s the last you’ll be having for a while.”

Then, he was sent home to spread the news to his family. But the second he got home and saw the hopeful looks in his family’s eyes, the words got stuck in his throat, and all he could do was sob. They sent a van to take him to Dr. Gaul’s office before the sun was even up the next morning, leaving him with little to no time to say goodbye or get things in order. Somehow, he’d managed to fit in a little nap on the way there– It’s not like he could do anything.

His last (coherent) words, officially, were “Don’t fucking touch me-!”. At least that made him sound stronger than he actually words. He’d never live it down if he spent his last moments with the ability to speak sobbing and pleading.

After the ordeal, they left him for around ten minutes– Alone, bleeding out, but God did it feel like eternity. When they did return, they loosely patched him up and left him alone again. Coriolanus spent most of his ‘recovery’ period sleeping.. Because what else was there to do? When he wasn’t sleeping, he was staring at his mangled reflection in the little mirror one of Gaul’s assistants had left.

A week later, they tossed him out into the market. Coriolanus wasn't aware the Avox market could be so bustling, but it was.. And, God, was it miserable. Chained and pulled around like a circus animal, put on display.

The things people said made him sick.

"You sure are a pretty one.. But I'm afraid I'm out of room."

"Why is he marked up so high? I know he's a Snow, but geez.. 5k for an Avox is too much."

They talked about him like he was a fucking dog. A dog. He was a Snow, for fucks sake. A Snow! Scratch that, a real person. A person with emotions, thoughts, feelings..

He was sick to his stomach. This was the government he had advocated for?

...

Coriolanus stayed on the market for about a week or so (he couldn't tell. Time was a fucking blur) until someone finally decided to "buy" him. He was loaded into the back of another van and dumped into another basement.

This.. Is my new forever, I guess.

...

He'd fallen asleep again. What else was there to do? He was told he had two weeks to recover before they'd put him to work. At least they had a little humanity. He was the only Avox in the house too, apparently, so he knew he'd be overworked.

Oh well. Nothing I can do now.

Coriolanus was attempting to fall asleep for the millionth time when the door to his room opened, and a stream of light came pouring in..

Followed by a voice he thought he'd never hear again.

"Hey, Coryo. I brought you some soup.."

Sejanus fucking Plinth.

Coriolanus sits up quickly, blinking away the tears. The Plinths are the ones that bought him?!

"Take it easy.." Sejanus sat next to him, holding a glass bowl filled with delicious smelling soup in his hands. "I know you're probably confused.. And scared. I wouldn't blame you."

What the fuck am I supposed to do? Coriolanus wanted to say. He felt his mouth move out of habit. But there was no tongue to move.

"We, uh.. Caught word of what happened. So I begged my parents to buy you.. I think it made my Pa happy, letting him spend some of his money on me." Sejanus stirred the soup with a spoon. "I couldn't risk anything happening to you."

Coriolanus gave him a small hum of acknowledgement. Great. He's going to live out the rest of his days as a servant to the Plinth family? District scum? Ugh.

"Pa put me in charge of taking care of you, so.. We'll be spending a lot of time together, eh?" Sejanus tried to cheer him up with a smile. Stupid boy. The smile faded. "I.. Got you some soup? I dunno how well you can handle food right now, but I didn't want you to go hungry.. You look like you need it."

Sejanus held up the spoon to him like he was a toddler. This is what I've been reduced to. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth and let the soup pass. The vibrant taste he was expecting- Courtesy of Ma Plinth- was let down by the taste of nothing. That's odd. Ma's creations are normally delicious–

... Oh.

Another thing. He'd never taste again.

Coriolanus swallowed the soup awkwardly, grimacing. It hurt, but it was better than nothing.

"There you go.." Sejanus hummed, continuing to feed him. "I'll get you as good as new in no time.."

He finished the bowl rather quickly, finding himself disappointed when Sejanus set it to the side. Shouldn't there be more? He's barely had anything in weeks. Refeeding syndrome is a very real thing, but he's gone off of less for longer and eaten more right after.

Sejanus placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're safe now. You're troubles are over, Coryo. I'm gonna make sure of that."

Coriolanus glared at him. You're wrong. They've just begun.

taglist: @officialelioperlman @on-plvto @runningfrom2am @theirgayyourhonour

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosbas #thg #the hunger games #coriolanus snow #coryo snow #sejanus plinth #snowjanus #coriolanus x sejanus #sleepysnowjanusweek #avox au #avox!coryo #dark fic #whump #dead dove do not eat

[valkyrayn]

sleeping with the enemy - chapter three. posted on ao3

Pairing: Marius von Hagen x afab!reader

Words: 3.9k

Tags: angst and porn, jealousy, unprotected sex, dirty talk, rough sex, fingering, emotions are involved, emotions slow burn fast sexual burn, two idiots with extreme denial, possessive, this has some plot in it if you squint

A/N: lawd did this took so long to finish cus of a long writer’s block and everything else. but anyways enjoy the porn. also what do we think of the cliffhanger heehee

also posted on ao3 if you wanna leave comments! 💜

“Come home with me tonight.”

***

It’s a flurry of urgent, desperate touches. Mouth on skin, large hands sliding up your thighs, hips, neck—everywhere. Hot breaths, tinged with alcohol, mingling and intoxicating. 

Yet it’s the high, the yearning, that prolongs the state of inebriation.

Long fingers threading through your tresses, fisting and yanking, rough as he slants his mouth to meet yours in a searing kiss. He slips his tongue in, finding yours in a fight for dominance. And when he moans into your mouth, you swallow it reverently. 

Kissing him, to be kissed by him—it feels like freefalling. 

Teeth clashing and tongues dancing, forcing into one another’s, aching to taste, desperate to take and take and—

“Does he kiss you like this?” he rasps between the assault of his mouth on yours, biting and tugging on your lip, set on leaving indentations. A reminder of him. His possessiveness is bleeding through its crack and you relish in it. 

Apparently, your body has long refused to take orders from you. It takes a great feat to even form a word in response—and even then, you only manage to reply with a small noise and a shake of your head. 

"Mmm…does he touch you like this?" His fingers slide towards your bare cunt, spreading his fingers into a ‘v’ and exposing your clit to the dry air, wet and wanting—sensitive to touch. You buck against his fingers, moaning throatily when he pushes a middle finger in. His languid swipes and flicks make your knees buckle, driving you dangerously close to the edge. 

Sinful lips trail a path down to your cleavage, painting your skin with his marks, your body his canvas. At the corner of your eye, you glimpse at your reflection in the mirror behind him and see the bruises on your skin, littered across your collarbone and the top of your breasts. New pink marks joining darker ones—ones that he gave you at the balcony. 

Fueled with renewed arousal, you shove him back to grab onto his belt, making quick work to yank it off with practised ease. The clinking sound of his belt fills the otherwise quiet hallway of his penthouse and that’s when you realise he’s stopped moving.

He just stands there watching you. 

Half-lidded eyes, staring at you through the curtain of his hair, fallen messily over his forehead. With his back fully leaning against the wall, he breathes heavily through his open mouth, chest heaving. 

How does he make breathing look so fucking arousing? 

A loud exhale leaves his lips then, startling you—the look of frustration clear on his face. You feel the drop in your stomach, reality snapping back in place. Both feet on the brakes—lurching you forward, a head-on collision, crashing through the glass. 

He wants to stop this. 

This is the part where you—leave. Turn around and leave. 

Leave. 

You stagger back, fingers releasing the grip on his belt to leave them hanging by his sides. 

The voice of reason starts clawing its way up but just like that, it dies. It dies when his hands seize your arms, turning you around and slamming you against the hard surface of the wall. 

A faint sob slips from you but before the second could follow, his grip tightens. You clench your eyes shut, lips parting but words fail you because his lips are against yours, lingering, but not quite kissing. “No, don’t…” his voice is hoarse. 

“Don’t overthink this. Not again. Just—” And then his lips meet yours.

It’s a slew of hurried movements once again, clumsier and careless, as if you were rushing for something. But you have nothing but time now—time that you never had the luxury of having in secluded but public places and countryside inns.

But not this time, not here. 

There are no media hounds here, no familiar faces nor strangers or even rumoured fiances to hide from. Not here, not in the safety of his 50th-floor penthouse, not in the comfort of his home. 

Home. His home. 

“Come home with me tonight.”

It was a quiet ride in the car and elevator, only up until the 39th floor when he swiftly turned and pressed you against the wall, kissing you so rough it made your head spin. It didn’t even register to you when the elevator dinged, not even when the doors opened, or even when he pushed you out and into the hallway of his penthouse that you were—in his home.

The green-eyed monster rears its head. Unwelcomed. 

Home that he’s brought other girls over. 

“We—we never…” you mumble against his skin, desperate to shake off the thoughts. You pull onto the tail of his shirt, pushing it up his abdomen, feeling the heat radiating off his body. He buries his face against your neck, leaning forward and pressing you harder against the wall. 

“What?” he asks breathily, his lips on your throat, magnetised to your skin. The sounds he makes are erotic, hypnotising. You idly think that he can choose to kill you like this and you wouldn’t even realise it until it’s over.

His hand slides between the slit of your dress to grab your thigh. Your fingers curl against him, nails sinking into his skin, abs flexing underneath your touch. He repeats his question. 

You expected him to brush it off, to take it as nonsensical rambling in your otherwise preoccupied mind. But instead, he pulls away to search your eyes, awaiting a response. 

There’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart hammer violently against your chest. You chew onto your bottom lip as your mind scrambles to gather your thoughts.

“Never what?” he asks again, hooking your leg against his hip, fingertips digging into your flesh. 

With a sigh, you lean your head back against the wall, jutting your chin towards him in feigned confidence, a facade to maintain your bearings. 

“We never fuck on a bed.”

You didn’t miss the way his lips curled into a smirk.

His free hand travels up your back to slowly tug on the knot holding your dress together. The satin slides effortlessly down your body and pools around your hips, baring you fully to him. 

“I’ll fuck you on a bed…” The hand that was on your back now brushing against the swell of your breast. “I’ll fuck you into my mattress all night if that’s what you want,” he growls against your lips. 

“I’ll take my time with you tonight…” he jerks his belt off then tugs onto the placket of his pants to pull out his cock. He wraps a fist around it, hard and heavy in his hand. Eyes blown with lust, he grinds his body against yours, sliding his cock in between your folds and coating it with your slick. 

Then he lines himself at your entrance, dipping his tip in. 

“But I’m going to start by fucking you right…” he buries his cock to the hilt. “…here.”

Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp, nerve endings set ablaze, your walls stretching to welcome him the second time that night, filled so full of him. Marius hoists your leg higher and pins you back harder, the abrupt movement knocking the back of your head against the mirror. 

Like a wire cut loose, you’re suddenly frantic—reaching forward to grab onto him, onto anything. Your nails sink into the corded muscle of his arms, feeling them flex as he fully carries your weight by lifting both legs off the ground, letting one heel fall haphazardly onto the floor. 

When he pulls out to adjust your angle, you scramble to rid him of his shirt, halfway unbuttoning and halfway ripping it off from impatience. He’s grinning as he watches you, finding your frustration amusing—then he kisses the spot between your brows to ease your frown. 

The emptiness has you keening, hips arching to find him—and then he slams back in, knowing exactly what you need. His fingers sink into your flesh, pressing against your hipbone as he rocks into you. “Fuck…this pussy. Mine…only mine to fuck.” His cock pushes into your dripping cunt with ease, bullying its way in to fuck the deepest parts of you. 

Mine. 

But you’re not his. Not really.

Don’t. Overthink. This. 

You can’t remember ever feeling this good, with anyone else. You don’t think it will ever be this good with anyone else. 

Stuttered breaths mingle, sweet and intoxicating. Your fingertips rest against his skin, hot beneath your touch. The only noises in the room are the little gasps he draws out from you and the clinking sound of his belt swinging at each thrust, then knocking against the glass.

“Does he fuck you…” he snaps his hips harder, “…like this?”

Each thrust sends him deeper, sliding in and out of your swollen pussy at a bruising pace, unyielding as if determined to break you. Your arms slide beneath his shirt to sink your nails into his back, clinging onto him and leaving your marks.

“You’re getting tighter…” he says between ragged breaths, leaning back to look down at your joined bodies. One of his offensively large hands cups the swell of your ass while the other finds your clit. Your heart stops at the contact. 

He starts circling the nub with his thumb, drawing out loud moans from you. Your body arches against the wall, pushing yourself further into him. Your toes curl at every swipe of his thumb, smearing your slick over your folds and his cock—it makes your clit throb.

“So wet for me. So…fucking wet” God, the way he says it almost painfully through gritted teeth—it’s seared into your brain. 

He opens you up with his fingers to watch his cock slide in and out of you. The lewd sight of you creaming around his shaft at each pull drives him so close to the edge. 

“Oh…ohhh…Marius….”

“Tell me…did you let him fuck you?”

The squelching noise of your pussy makes the flush rise to your cheeks—positively embarrassed at how wet you are for him. You can feel your juices gushing out of you and sliding between your joined bodies. 

“N-no…only you.”

“Good girl.”

Marius stops thrusting to step out of his pants then pulls you off his cock to throw your body over his shoulder. He angles your body towards his face so he can grab onto one of your breasts, wrapping his tongue around your nipple as he carries you through the house. 

Cool satin sheets welcome your back when he throws you onto the bed. In quick, rushed movements he pulls the dress completely off of you and tosses it onto the floor. With those same strong hands, he grabs onto your ankles and drags you towards the edge of the bed. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” he asks, dragging his lips up your leg, resting against his shoulder. He slowly unfastens the straps of your stiletto before pulling it off your foot and then tossing it aside. 

“Do you want me to be gentle…” he trails, running his fingertips down your thigh, towards your cunt. 

“Or…” he slides two fingers into your hole, hot and clenching at the intrusion. “…you’ll let me do whatever I want?” 

He curls his fingers upwards, making you scream and arch your back off the bed. “Fuck….Wh—whatever. Do whatever you want just please…please. Want you inside…”

“Then spread your legs wider for me.”

With a satisfied smirk, he watches as your legs fall open for him, your body so pliant to his commands. 

Marius stands between your legs and starts fucking you with his fingers, working his wrist, thumb flicking roughly at your clit—while two fingers pump in and out. You can hear the wet sounds of your cunt as he fingerfucks you, your slick gushing out of you as you shatter around him, unprepared—screaming into the ceiling, cunt throbbing and clamping onto him, wishing it was his cock.

“Fuck oh my god…fuck…mmmph!” 

He slides his slick-coated digits into your mouth, swiping them against your lips and tongue. You suck onto them earnestly, cleaning them, the heady taste of your arousal on his fingers has drug-like qualities and you’re addicted. You moan around his fingers when he slaps his cock against your clit, sliding through your folds, coaxing more slick to gush out of you, drenching him. 

When he finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth, he cups your ass and tilts your hips higher then unceremoniously pushes in, impaling your cunt to the hilt with his cock. 

“I love how you’re always so tight…”

He presses onto the underside of your thighs until your knees rest against your tits. He leans forward, putting half his weight against you as he continues to pound into your sex. 

“...even though we fuck—so much.”

The pace he sets is aggressive, relentless—snapping his hips so hard against yours you know the pain would linger even hours after. And it’s a fever of sounds—laboured breaths, choked groans and pleading whimpers. Filthy praises continue to spill from his lips in between stuttered grunts. 

Your arms and hands scramble to find something to hold onto, moving from gripping the sheets to clawing his back, fisting his hair until finally he gathers your wrists with one hand and pins them above your head. 

“Fuck! Keep your hands to yourself and just feel me inside you.” He drives his cock even deeper to see your eyes roll to the back of your head. He grins and leans down to suck on your breasts—tongue and teeth, licking and biting onto the stiff peaks, drawing salacious moans from you. 

“God your moans…louder. Louder for me, baby. I want to hear you…” He glides his tongue in between the swell of your breasts, up your neck and finally your lips. “...there’s nobody here. Just us.”

Just us. 

You blink at the ceiling, refocusing your eyes to look at him, face hovering above you and lips lingering against yours. His eyes bore into yours, almost as if he’s reading your mind. And his next words have you thinking that it’s possible.

“What? Going to say you hate me again?”

“No…” you reply, leaning forward to lightly press your lips against his in a soft kiss. “I—I…” Your throat tightens. 

He doesn’t wait for you to finish and leans in to kiss you back, once, twice, then kisses the corner of your lips—gentle, and sweet, it makes your heart ache. 

He shoves you up onto the center of the bed and climbs up over you, then continues to fuck you before you can even begin to overanalyse. Gripping onto your ass with one hand, he starts rocking faster, slamming against you so hard that every thrust drives your body further up the bed. 

The smell of sex is thick, permeating the air and crowding your senses. At this very moment, nothing else exists but this—the sheer pleasure consuming you, body and psyche. And you let him. With no resistance, you let him. 

His brutal pounding sets your body on fire, and it drives you mad with lust to witness him lose all control. To take you so hard, so rough yet with care. 

Marius buries his face against the curve of your neck, breathing heavily and mumbling words you can’t quite catch. You turn your head towards him, peering down at him through your lashes, realising only now that they’re damp with tears. He looks up at you at the same time, eyes glazing, drunk on sex.

He pushes himself back up, caging your body with his arms on either side before dragging himself all the way out. You whine at the loss, whimpers immediately swallowed by him as he kisses you, slow and sweetly. He drives his cock back in, making you arch and roll your hips desperately against his. 

Sensing that you’re close, he gathers your legs and props them against his shoulders. You loudly gasp when you feel him push against your cervix, your hands shooting up to claw onto his back, making him hiss.

He slides out, grabs onto the headboard behind you and roughly rams back in. Your vision turns white, eyes rolling so far back, you fear they’d fall off their sockets. The noise that he tears from you does not sound human, unrecognisable to your own ears. He’s so fucking deep you can feel him in your throat. 

“Marius fuck! Fuck…deep. So deep…”

“Want you to feel me for days…”

 “…deep. So good…you fuck me so good. Oh my god—”

“Mine…all mine…”

“…y—yours.”

The loud sounds of pleasure leaving your mouth fills the room and you quietly appreciate the fact that the 50th floor is far enough from any human ears.  

The headboard slams repeatedly against the wall, loud and in tandem with his thrusts. You even hear the noise made by your slick bodies, skin slapping against eachother so obscenely. Your senses are overloaded—and you’re so close. 

“Cum for me, baby.”

The dam breaks. The earth shatters around you, coming so hard around him that it feels like an out-of-body experience. Your body twitches and jerks underneath him—cunt squeezing him so tight it triggers his own orgasm almost immediately.

You catch him just in time, snapping your eyes wide open as you watch him barrel towards his climax, stuttered grunts leaving his lips as he shoots his cum inside you in hot thick spurts. He exhales with a loud groan, hips still pressed against you, burying you into his mattress as promised.

You barely realise the loud sobs that escape you, and you can’t even tell what it’s for. Myriad of emotions crashing onto you simultaneously and you try to reach for one—needing to know why. 

When he gathers you in his arms, the sobs become even louder. But as quickly as it came, you shut it down almost immediately the moment he tilts your head up to look at him. 

He says nothing as his thumb brushes over your cheek to wipe away the tears, not even when he tucks your hair behind your ear. He tightens his arms around you, burying your face against his chest.

You can hear his rapid heartbeat, and you feel yourself slipping into slumber as you continue listening as it returns to its normal rhythm. 

The sound of him shuffling out of bed and moving around the room has you drifting between sleep and wakefulness. The warm sensation between your thighs startles you awake but you remain still—feigning sleep.

Marius is cleaning the fluids from your skin, wiping the inside of your thighs gently with a warm towel. You feel your chest tighten at the realisation, those familiar and unwelcomed emotions flooding in once again.

When he leaves, you feel cold and it takes all of you not to turn and find him, fearing that he’s left you for good. It’s when you’re enveloped by his arms that you let go a silent breath of relief. You curl against him, pressing your body close, greedy for his warmth. 

“I don’t hate you…” you whisper silently against his chest, having no intention for him to hear. A silent confession. “I think I l—like you…”

As you drift into slumber, you faintly hear him whisper it back to you. 

***

When you are woken up the next time, you find him lazily stroking the skin between your legs. It didn’t take long for your body to respond to him, finding yourself drenched that you’re soaking through his sheets.

The next few hours up till morning was spent with more rounds of fucking—alternating between hard and fast to sweet and gentle. You could’ve sworn that the wall behind his bed is left dented after all the force it endured. 

It always ends with him filling you up with his load and making sure it stays in by pushing it back inside you with his tongue and fingers. “Taste us…” he would say, sliding his fingers into your mouth. Watching you lick them clean only spurs him on and then he’s ramming his cock inside you again. 

He made good on his promise to fuck you all day in bed—set on leaving an indentation on his mattress in the shape of your body. 

Yet not once was it brought up. 

It being your stupid, fucking feelings for him. 

***

Your eyes linger on his bare back, decorated with red marks in the shape of your nails across his skin. Your thighs clench at the memories of last night. 

Marius is sitting on the edge of the bed, stretching and flexing his arms upward then turns his head around so suddenly you yelp, pulling the sheets up your face. 

“If you want to keep staring, I’m not going to stop you,” he says, you can hear the smirk in his words. 

You feel the sheets being pulled down slowly and as it rests below your naked breasts, he climbs on top of you and cages you with his arms. His eyes gaze hungrily over you and your cunt throbs as you watch him slide out his tongue to wet his lips. 

“Shower?” 

“O—okay. I’ll go after you’re done.”

He raises a brow and scoffs. Suddenly he’s off the bed and scoops you up before throwing you over his shoulder. “Marius!”

***

Nothing was said even a week later. And apparently, there’s not enough alcohol in the world that could give you the balls to do it either. Oh god, I’m going to become an alcoholic. 

Silence, all around the table. Turns out you had said that last part out loud. 

“Please, you only had a glass.”

Okay, so you’re a lightweight. Fuck off, Luke. 

Laughter and then the conversation continues, thankfully without you included. You stare down at your phone and contemplate, as you have been for the past few days. 

You haven’t seen him since that day because he’s off to fuck knows where doing fuck knows what, again—and honestly good for him. At least you don’t have to deal with bumping into him and his stupid handsome face as he tries to intercept your mission again. Fuck Marius, really. Figuratively and literally, unfortunately. God, fuck him.

Courage surges through you, fueled by alcohol and rage and other emotions but mostly rage—you unlock your phone and start typing your message when suddenly a message pops up at the top of your screen. You click on it without a thought.

‘What will your sweet friends think if they see this…’

Another message comes in—a video attached.

You sink deeper against the corner of the booth, putting a good distance away from the others before clicking play, your curiosity overriding your sense of logic. 

It’s the unmistakable figures of Marius’ and your own, clear even though taken from a far distance. It was one of the more reckless trysts, out in public, secluded, or so you thought. You remember it clearly because you had been the one to initiate it. 

Pulling him to the back alley where you proceeded to beg him to take you, right then and there. Marius did little to protest, wanting the same thing. It had been quick and desperate right against the brick wall, leaving you both feeling dirty afterwards. 

‘cute dress btw.’

You whip your head around and search the room, wondering if this person is in the bar and if this is just one sick joke. Your heart is pounding, loud in your ears like nails being hammered against your skull. Who. Who the fuck—

‘stay away and this will be our little secret’

‘he’s mine’

‘stay safe xo’

For the longest time you had contemplated on how to walk away. To end things. For so long you had contemplated, until you don’t.

And now, this is how it ends. This is how it should end. She made it so easy for you. 

But why does it still fucking hurt?

#brainrotdump #brainrot #marius von hagen smut #tears of themis smut #lu jinghe smut

[pythonees]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ PUNISHMENT — johnny slaughter

WARNINGS: 18+, Johnny being Johnny (mean), smacking/beatings, it's lightly abusive but with sparkles over the top

A/N: my incoherent rambling for this very evil no good man that I have been lusting over since this game came out. heavily inspired by the au/world building from @whatitshouldvebeen and their wonderful writing for johnny.

please please please don't slap a community rating on my post just don't read it and block my tags or me. it really effects who sees my work that I make for FREE for anyone to enjoy. thank you 🤗

Somehow some way you're out in public with Johnny at like a bar or something and you're playing footsie with his cock under the table. He was teasing you all day and had left you hanging on the edge of an orgasm before declaring you were going out for some “fun”, and you had foolishly thought that you could get him back for the teasing you had to endure.

Johnny doesn't even bother to hide the sadistic grin he's got on his face as he drinks his beer, forgetting all about the newest victims you two were out trying to get. The first chance he gets to pay he does, dropping the crumpled bills on the table, dragging you to the truck and breaking every speeding violation known to man to get back to the house.

His hand would basically be imprinted on your ass the second you get home and up to his room, bent over his lap as he delivers slap after slap to the supple flesh. He's almost kind with it, trailing his hand over the hot skin between beatings, cooing at you for being such a good girl, taking his punishment without complaint.

Johnny’d even rub at your desperate clit, giving you some reprieve before your ass distracts him, big hand palming at it roughly before another round starts up, smacks filling the room once more.

You can barely walk, let alone SIT after he's done with you and he takes great pride in his handy work every time you wince and whimper in the weeks following. It's weird though, each twinge of pain also brings a wave of pleasure, distracting you even further.

Day to day tasks are a struggle, and Johnny can't help but pat your ass whenever he passes you by, laughing when you whine that it still hurts. He's kinder to you in the days following, as kind as he can be, at least. Lifting anything he might think is too heavy for you even if you can handle it, things like that. Though he does it more to feed his ego knowing that you need his help than to really help you out.

Don't worry though, he made sure to give you the fucking you were so obviously craving once he was finished teaching you a lesson. He relishes in the desperate, keening moans you make as he pounds into you, your face smushed into the pillow, barely able to dampen your wailing.

The bed is damp with sweat and tears and the steady stream of your arousal that drips out of you, each smack oh your skin colliding jolts another gush out of you despite the pain that follows.

©︎ pythonees — do not, under any circumstance, repost, plagiarize, modify or translate my work.

#johnny slaughter #johnny slaughter smut #johnny slaughter x reader #tcm game #tcm #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw game #reader insert #reader interactive #x reader #ꮺ. my work #Ꮺ. caution #Ꮺ. smut warning

[astarionmademewriteit]

Ch. 2: My Forbidden Lover

MDNI. 18+ ONLY. Blank bios will be blocked.

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.4k

Tags: Pure smut; Oral (female receiving); Face fucking; Dom/sub dynamic; Bondage; PIV rough sex; Blood kink; Cum Play; Praise and degradation kink; Bodily harm (in a sexual context); Orgasm denial (kinda? But not exactly); Choking; Biting; Durgetash is switch-coded; Subby Gortash; Minor jealousy; Brief mention of Astarion's background with non-consentual sex; Really graphic depictions of sex.

Summary: After having come to an agreement with Astarion and plotting to kill Cazador, the dark urge goes home with her lover Gortash where they engage in filthy sex.

A/N: Please refer to the first chapter to set the scene. This is pre-tadpole days where the Dark Urge has an established relationship with Gortash and befriends Astarion while he is still in the clutches of Cazador. The story will follow her eventual amnesia and Illithid kidnapping where she will fall for Astarion, who doesn't reveal the fact that he knew her from before the Nautiloid crash.

I meant for this chapter to spill over into the next day when Durge meets up with Astarion, but I'm a simp for Durgetash and it just got away from me. Please enjoy!

Ch. 1 | AO3

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵

We walk through the brisk night air, the stars spatter the sky–holding their ancient secrets close. I hook my arm through Gortash’s as we stroll through the streets. We are sporadically approached by admirers of Enver, offering their gratitude for all he has done for the city.

“I assume our new friend was receptive to your requests?” Enver murmurs once we catch a moment alone.

“He’ll warm to the idea. He is understandably terrified of Cazador,” I stroke his broad arms, contemplating my conversation with Astarion, “I sweetened the deal. In return for information, I promised to provide him with blood and a victim for Cazador. I assume that won’t be a difficult request to fulfill.”

Enver nods, “We can supply him with a thrall. They should comply willingly,” He stops and moves to face me, “As for the blood, dear assassin?” His question does little to hide the concern underpinning his tone.

“Enver, you wound me,” I close the little distance between us, pressing my body flush against his, “I have access to plenty of blood. Why are you concerned?” I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to confess.

He chuckles darkly, recognizing my playful banter, “I do not relish the idea of sharing you. Especially your delectable blood,” he lines the column of my throat with gentle nips at my flesh, “I would hope that was just reserved for me,” he growls.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, pulling away to look into his eyes, “You have the exclusive privilege of spilling my blood, Enver,” I place a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, “In any case, Astarion and I are kindred spirits. I recognize myself in him,” I contemplated the thinly-veiled terror that he had tried hard to mask, but I recognized it for what it was immediately. His volatile environment wrangled him into submission, and he was forced to do things that I believe he was unwilling to do–completely severed from his own autonomy.

It was similar to my condition, although I still had the freedom to make choices–choices that Astarion was completely robbed of. It was my hope that our new agreement would help him regain some of his autonomy, no matter how little–even if it was to my advantage, at least for now. I felt a small pang of guilt, wondering if he felt used in other ways instead. I would have to ask him tomorrow.

“Indeed,” Enver agrees after a moment, “But, do not lose sight of the grand design, my love. We are no heroes”

A smile plays on my lips, “If I didn’t know better Enver, I would think you were jealous,” I hook my arm through his once again and we begin our tread back to his waiting palace.

Once we are safely inside the confines of his home I rest on the edge of Enver’s desk while he writes correspondence and runs through the list of powerful targets that threaten our plans. Next on our list was the beloved Duke Ravenguard–he could be a powerful asset should we enthrall him with an Illithid tadpole. I offer to send Orin, my bloodkin, to complete the task so that we may focus on other things.

“That’s enough work for tonight, my dear,” I caress his cheek with the back of my knuckles and he watches me with a darkened expression. I lift myself from his ornate mahogany desk and move towards Enver who still sits in his chair. I turn and sit on his lap, peering over my shoulder and watching him expectantly.

He sweeps my hair to one shoulder and slowly begins to pull the zipper down the back of the evening gown I wore to Cazador’s ball–taking great care to ensure the delicate fabric does not catch in the zipper.

I stand and let the soft fabric slip from my shoulders until the garment pools at my feet. His eyes rake over my exposed body, drinking in my frame with hungry eyes. I drive the heel of one of my shoes into his chest, waiting patiently as he nimbly unbuckles the straps around my ankle. He places small kisses up the calf of my leg, nipping at my flesh–hungry to taste me.

I kick off my heel and repeat the same gesture with my other foot. He glides his hand up my calf to my inner thigh, digging the claws of his gold filigree gloves into my flesh. His hard grasp dimples my flesh until he draws blood and a sigh escapes my lips. He places small kisses along my inner thigh as he works to unbuckle my shoe.

Once I have discarded my shoe, I watch him with eager eyes as he works his way towards my upper thigh, savoring the way his lips feel as they bite and suck at my flesh–tasting my blood. I intertwine my fingers through his dark hair, willing him to focus his attention at the apex of my thighs.

His agonizing slow pace up my inner thigh has me growing impatient, “Enver,” I growl in warning, tightening my grip on his hair until a satisfied groan falls from his lips.

“Far be it from me to keep my favorite assassin waiting,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue up the seam of my dripping cunt. I instinctively pull at his hair more aggressively as he tongues and sucks at my sensitive clit. My legs immediately begin to shake as pleasure undulates through my body.

Enver repositions my leg until it is resting on his shoulder, providing him with a new devastating angle that practically sends me into a frenzy. I hold his head against my aching cunt and throw my head back as I hear his stifled breathing. “Be a good boy for me, Enver,” I growl, “You may only draw breath once I’ve been satisfied, or you can suffocate. Whichever comes first.”

He moans as he slips his tongue into my slick entrance, nosing my clit in the process. His warm tongue fucking me expertly until I’m panting uncontrollably. He hums into my pussy, sending tantalizing vibrations straight to my core.

He hooks his arm around my thigh, pulling me closer as he hungrily services me–his golden filigree claws drawing more blood as they dig deliciously into my flesh. The pain brings me such pleasure that I can feel myself building to a dizzying crescendo.

Enver continues to drag his tongue in slow concentric circles around my clit, sucking and nipping at it until I’m losing myself–spiraling into an intense climax that has me writhing underneath his tongue. I grind myself against his face–his stubble adding another layer of overwhelming sensations that has me coming undone just for him. He growls against me as I drag my sensitive cunt against his face, relishing the way I use him for my pleasure.

Once I’ve come down from my orgasm, Enver pulls away–his face gleaming with my slick. I pull him up by the collar of his robe, and we collide into a feral kiss. The taste of my arousal and the coppery aftertaste of blood fills my mouth as our tongues slide against one another.

I finger at his robes, clumsily unlacing the clothes that separate me from his flesh. He assists me in removing his clothes, our lips crashing back together with a ferocity that could buckle my knees. I push him hard until he is falling on the bed behind him, my eyes scanning his exposed flesh, devouring him completely. I circle the bed before grabbing his wrist and binding them to the bedpost with barbed wire that cuts deeply into the exposed flesh beneath his golden lattice gloves. I repeat the gesture with his other wrist, and watch as blood flows freely from his wrists–dripping down his arms in crimson rivulets. I drag my tongue up his arm, drinking in the taste of his life-essence, and ecstasy thrums through my body at his flavor.

“You taste so good, my love,” I murmur before making my way to the foot of the bed and crawling up his body until I’m straddling his waist.

“It’s all for you, my assassin,” he croaks, his voice gravelly and thick with lust.

I drag my nose up his throat, sucking and kissing at his salty skin. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh where his neck meets his broad shoulders, and Enver cries out in pleasure as blood rushes to the surface. I can practically hear his heart beating against his ribcage as blood fills my mouth–his wrists pulled taut against his restraints, causing more blood to flow freely from his veins.

“I love when you bleed for me, Enver,” I growl into his ear. His heavy panting rings like music through the bedroom, and I savor the way his body writhes impatiently beneath me, “You’re doing so well,” I praise, which only spurs his need to be inside me.

“Please,” he whispers, begging to feel my cunt wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Oh, Enver,” I whisper seductively, cupping his face with my hand, “How I love to watch you squirm.” I line myself up with his throbbing cock, already leaking with pre-cum.

His swollen head immediately stretches me wide open, and I cannot stop the moan that falls from my lips as he fills me completely. Enver whimpers beneath me as my pussy slides down his length at an agonizingly slow pace until I am sitting flush against him. I clench around him instinctively, forcing another moan to escape his lips.

I lean over and crush my lips to his as I begin to rock my hips seductively against him. I bite hard into his lip, drawing more of his sensational blood–relishing the coppery taste as it fills my senses completely. My nails dig into his hairy chest and welts immediately begin to form, marking him as mine.

I lift myself up and begin riding him slowly, savoring the way his cock spears into me–threatening to split me in two. I clench my pussy around his length every time his cock withdraws from me, effectively massaging his swollen head.

“Gods below,” he moans underneath me, “You’re so perfect, my dear assassin.” He instinctively bucks his hips, brushing against my cervix and causing me to cry out in shock. He drags his cock slowly out of me before forcefully thrusting back inside, hitting my sweet spot with agonizing precision. The barbed wire confining his wrists continues to pull blood from his flesh, painting him like a beautiful masterpiece.

I lean back, propping myself on his thighs as I continue to ride him relentlessly–allowing him to watch as he pierces me with his throbbing member. My arousal rings like a symphony throughout the room, only spurring me to ride him harder. My nails dig into his thighs, bringing more blood to the surface. I watch as his body slowly trickles with blood and images of our own demise flit through my mind.

I knew I wanted to keep him until fate intervened and I was forced to kill him and myself in Bhaal’s name. It would be incredibly beautiful, slicing his flesh open until he had been drained of blood completely. I would die a beautiful death next to my lover–and I would be free of the carnage I was meant to exact on this world. And it would all be by his side.

As the images flit through my mind, my desperation becomes more prominent. I can feel myself nearing the edge of no return. My body begins to quiver as he continues to meet me thrust for thrust until I am exploding into a tantalizing climax–falling over the edge into a depth of pleasure that I could only ever experience with Enver.

His name falls from my lips and echoes throughout the room like a haunted hymn as he coaxes the pleasure from my body. Enver’s breathing becomes ragged and I can tell he is chasing his own release. I cannot help the sadistic tendencies that wash through my body in moments like these.

I wrap a shaky hand around his throat as I continue to ride him with newfound ferocity born from my own ecstasy. He watches me with a dark expression as he nears his own climax, biting at his bruised bottom lip as I apply pressure to his throat, cutting off his blood flow momentarily.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a dangerous smirk plays on my lips when I think about how desperate he sounds. Just when he is on the verge of climax, I pull myself off him completely and watch as thick ropes of cum spill from him and onto his stomach. He bucks his hips desperately searching for any kind of friction that will ride him through his climax–to no avail.

I release my grip from his neck and he eyes me with unfiltered frustration when he realizes the game I’m playing. His wrists are pulled taut against the barbed wire–the metal digging into his flesh as he struggles against them, desperate for some satisfaction as his hollow orgasm washes through him.

He lets out an animalistic growl as I remove myself from the bed, a dark grin gracing my features as I watch him struggle. “Oh, Enver,” I chuckle sadistically, “You never learn, do you?” I inch towards a bar cart and pick up an expensive decanter, leisurely pouring myself a glass of rich dark liquor. I seat myself in his chair, and watch as he grows more desperate by the minute.

“Please, my love,” he eyes me with wild anguish, pulling against his restraints harder than before–ignoring the stinging pain that travels through his arms. I cross my legs and lean back, taking another sip of the strong liquor. It burns my throat as it goes down, and the satisfaction I feel as I watch him squirm is delectable. My body welcomes the warmth of a roaring fire nearby and I sit and watch as he fights against his restraints–admiring the way his crimson blood paints his flesh.

“Gods, you look so pathetic, Enver,” I chuckle, “It’s utterly adorable.” I throw back the rest of the liquor–it’s rich burn soothing my throat and it’s warmth washing through my body completely.

Enver has settled down slightly, but I can tell he has found no satisfaction in his climax–just as I had hoped. “My beloved assassin, this hardly seems fair,” he grumbles–his voice perfectly diplomatic.

“When have you known me to play fair, my love,” I shoot back playfully, gripping the arms of the chair, “Besides, I’ve decided that you haven’t begged nearly enough for my liking.”

He glares at me from the bed, and a satisfied smile pulls at my lips as I wait patiently for him to convince me that he deserves his own fulfillment. Plea after plea begins to spill from his lips, his body continuing to fight against his restraints as he grows more and more desperate. I tap my foot impatiently as he continues to beg.

It isn’t until a tear of frustration falls from his eye do I stand, effectively quieting his supplications as he watches me closely. I move to the foot of the bed and crawl over him once again, and I can hear as his breath catches in the back of his throat. I drag my tongue across his stomach, licking up his spent–savoring its unique taste. I smack my lips when I’m done and note that Enver is hard once again as he watches me clean up the mess he made.

I pull away from the bed and move to release him from his restraints–kissing his wrists and sucking the blood that paints his skin in a rich crimson. I repeat the gesture once again with his other wrist. As soon as he is free from his constraints, he charges forward, pouncing on me like a wild, untamed animal.

“My turn,” Enver growls in my ear as he tangles his rough fingers into my hair and pulls back hard until I’m looking up at his looming form. He forces me across the room and throws me into the edge of his desk, the hard wood digging into my hips deliciously.

I whimper under his hardened touch as he bends me over his desk and presses my face into the desk with aggressive strength. He forces himself inside me without a moment to lose, desperate to feel my wet cunt wrap around his cock once again.

He begins a punishing pace, rutting his hips into me with unrelenting force that causes uncontrolled moans to fall from my lips. He places a large, rough hand on my waist and forces me down, causing me to arch my back until he is hitting my sensitive spot over and over again.

The force with which he fucks me into his desk causes papers to fall from the table top–teetering to the floor. Ink splatters across his desk as it tips over with every thrust. My cries rip through the air as he spears himself into me, allowing his frustrations to spill over into his movements.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls as he slams into me–the desk digging painfully into my flesh with every cant of his hips. I dig my nails into the desk, trying to steady myself, but it is useless as he continues to abuse my dripping pussy.

The force of his hips slamming into me sends me over the edge once again and I cry out with unfiltered ecstasy as I fall from grace–my orgasm rocking through my body causing my cunt to spasm wildly around his length.

“There you go, my dear assassin,” He growls, “Just like that, baby.” He talks me through my climax, and the rush of adrenaline courses through my body as his claws dig into my flesh, bringing blood to the surface.

I whine underneath him as he uses me for his own pleasure–our roles effectively reversed in a matter of minutes. His breath grows ragged as he watches his arousal spear into me over and over again with such force that I fear the desk will tip over.

Once I’ve recovered from my orgasm, I feel his thrusts becoming sloppier as he chases his own, deserved release. “Cum for me, Enver,” I beg as his breath grows heavy with ecstasy. He thrusts into me violently a few more times before he is spilling into me–his cock spasming wildly inside me as he cries out my name. He whimpers out a string of expletives as he is awarded with his own pleasure.

He leans over me, his body flush against mine as he continues to fuck through his orgasm–savoring the feeling he was so cruelly denied just minutes earlier. I moan loudly, his name falling from my lips like a prayer of devotion until he finally stills inside me.

We catch our breath, neither of us daring to move until we have regained our strength. Enver chuckles darkly above me before pulling out of me completely. I whine at his sudden absence but gather myself as much as possible. I will my shaky legs to move back to the bar cart and pour us both a drink while Enver rests in his chair, sweat dripping down his dark features.

I offer him a glass before curling into his lap and nuzzling into his shoulder, noting the dried blood streaks that mar his body. I bite back a satisfied smile as I replay the events of tonight in my mind.

After a moment, Enver sighs, “We have made a mess of things, my dear,” he ruffles my hair with a rough hand before chuckling under his breath. “I think a warm bath is in order.” I nod my head in agreement, suddenly too tired to speak. “We have a great many things to accomplish tomorrow, my lovely assassin.” He throws back his drink and polishes off his glass in a few large gulps.

I wrap an arm around his waist as I continue to nurse my drink–memorizing the way his body feels against mine. I laugh to myself, realizing that I could never forget how his body feels against mine. I turn my thoughts to what lies ahead, already calculating more plans for the grand design.

I couldn't imagine doing this without him–My forbidden lover.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #Durgetash #durgetash fanfic #durgetash fic #enver gortash fic #enver gortash x dark urge #enver gortash smut #enver gortash #gortash smut #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #Gortash x f!durge #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x f!tav #Gortash #bg3 gortash #lord gortash #Gortash x female durge #dark urge #bg3 fic

[nebulousbrainsoup]

this one didn't come from an ask, but @justhere4kpop did give me some delicious Thots about yunho's hands in DMs a couple weeks ago and, uh... i finally got around to finishing them up 😈

enjoy, babes 😘

masterlist | join my taglist | buy me a coffee? | divs from @cafekitsune

smut and warnings below the cut ; minors/ageless blogs dni lest ye be blocked

nsfw tags/warnings: pwp, pet names (baby, yuyu, sweetheart, ), dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, yunho's hands, choking, teeny bit of dacryphilia

yunho grinned, his usual bright, carefree smile tainted by raw lust, darkness swirling in his lidded eyes. he stilled within you and it filled you to the brim, his large hands dragging your hips flush with his own as a throaty moan left you. you gripped the sheets in fists, legs wrapping farther around his waist.

“tell me, baby,” he hummed, hands tracing up over your chest, tweaking at your nipples to pull another pretty noise from you, “tell me what you want.”

“y-you,” you whined, reaching up to grasp at the blonde’s shoulders and pull him closer, “yuyu, please.”

he huffed a breathy laugh, tilting his head. “you’ve got me, baby, in a lot of ways.” he grinned and punctuated his statement with a roll of his hips, pulling another delicious noise from you. “be more specific.”

“y-your… your hands, yunho, i want…” his grin spread and his head tilted further. you whined, swallowing thickly, your pride going with the action as you bared your neck to him. “gimme a new necklace, daddy, please?”

if you hadn't seen the shift in his expression, the twitching of his cock within you would have been enough to tell you just how yunho felt about your words. a breathy moan left him, and for a moment, his dominant façade slipped, his eyes pleading with you for mercy. but just as quickly, he settled back in, the fingers of one hand pinching at your nipple again while the other traced up over your shoulder to run his thumb over your neck.

“you’ve already got so many pretty hickeys, darling, i—”

“your hands, daddy, please,” you whined.

his grin turned wicked, and the hand under your jaw snapped down, shifting to rest over your throat. “like this?” he hummed, tilting his head in the other direction.

you nodded eagerly, arching up into his hold. “but harder, please,” you gasped, squirming against him.

“aww, does my baby want to be choked?” he teased, settling back into a slow rhythm as his grip tightened. you nodded eagerly, and his grin spread. “you want daddy’s hand around your throat while he fucks you stupid?”

again, you nodded frantically, your eyes beginning to roll back in your head as his fingers pressed into the sides of your neck. in an instant and much to your dismay, he released you entirely, hips settling against yours once more and his hand resting beside your head. your eyes shot open, flickering over his face in search of any sign as to what you did to deserve your bliss being taken away. he smirked.

“ask nicely.”

you whined, squirming under him in search of friction. “please, please, daddy, i want it so bad, please.”

“what do you what, sweetheart? you need to be specific. or are you too cock drunk to use your words?” the caring smile he had fixed on you was a stark contrast to his actions as he ground against you, relishing in the whimper you let out. tears were pooling at the corners of your eyes as you pouted up at him, and he shushed you, cupping your cheek and swiping them away before they could spill. “hush, baby, don’t cry. tell daddy what you want and i’ll give it to you, okay? can you do that for me?”

“ch-choke me, daddy, please,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. his smile morphed to a grin and his eyes darkened again. the hand at your cheek shifted lower, giving a brief squeeze to your jaw before it settled over your throat again, and the weight of it alone was enough to have you spiraling. “want you to… to choke me while you fuck me dumb, please daddy. want it more than anything,” you echoed his earlier words.

you saw the way his breath hitched as you begged, and in a split second, his lips were on yours. sensation rushed through you as his grip tightened and his hips snapped against your own, immediately settling into a brutal pace. the choked shout that left you was half swallowed by his lips, your kiss devolving into little more than you breathing into each others’ mouths. catching your lower lip between his teeth, he pulled back to drink in the sight of you below him, grinning at the blissed out smile on your face. 

you were floating on cloud nine, eyes fluttering shut as your head went pleasantly fuzzy. the thoughts that usually spun through your head were silent, your entire consciousness flooded with nothing but yunho and the pleasure he was sending rocketing through your body. his other hand was settled firmly on your hip, fingers digging into your flesh in a way you knew would ache pleasantly tomorrow. distantly, you were aware of the sounds of his grunts of exertion and your own heady moans, half-formed words spilling from your lips as you melted below him. 

when he released you, everything snapped back into crystal-clear focus and your pleasure spiked as blood rushed back to your head and you let out a choked cry. his newly freed hand shifted down your body, fingers skating over your sides and his thumb tracing over your peaked nipple, grinning as your voice pitched up. he could see your body tensing below him and feel your heat tightening around him with it, a sure sign of your fast-approaching climax, and his hand snapped back up to your jaw. his fingers squeezed at your cheeks as he held you steady, forcing your gaze to remain on him.

“watch me, baby. watch me ruin you,” he muttered and shifted between your legs, angling his cockhead for the place he knew would have you seeing stars. when you cried out and arched under him, he knew he had found it, and you knew you were helpless to do anything but obey, your body melting under him once again as you soared over the peak of your pleasure.

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© July 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my work.

#it thinks 😈 #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #yunho smut #ateez x reader #neb.atz #nebulous writes