#snif and snuf

[zebrasonice]

"Snif and Snuf" is an independent short animation. Its simplistic character designs, phenomenal animated creativity paired with an incredible musical score puts it on the same level as Disney.

#snif and snuf #video #youtube #animation #2d animation #independent animation #independent animated short #highly recommend #must watch #Youtube

[aadrawings]

Fun short. Go watch it.

#snif & snuf #michael ruocco #animated short

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse/hybrid au, size difference, pet-play, predator x prey, collaring, drugging

fem reader

Thinking about a human collector who decides he wants a new pet to add to his collection...

The air of the animal shelter is polluted by whimpers, howls, and growling as he parades past all sorts of rareties locked up in their cages – all for him to pick and choose from. 

The warden is telling him about the new swan hybrid they wrangled a week ago, wings like an angel with the grace of royalty, a true prize jewel of any collection. 

He thinks it sounds promising before strolling past you.

Placed in one of the smaller cages on the floor, seemingly tucked away so as not to catch anyone’s attention. 

You’re a sorry sight to behold – all starved and shaking – the collar around your throat too heavy for you to lift your head, having to look up at him through your lashes as he crouches down in front of you.

Your eyes are wide like two moons as he sticks a finger in through the bars.

It’s thick like a carrot, and for a moment, you seem like you’re about to scurry away into the very back of your cage – but instead, you inch closer, sniffing at the digit before suddenly snapping at him.

He backs away with a hiss, drawing the warden's attention – who rushes back and knocks his cain against the cage with a growl in his throat, “Stupid critter.” 

You’ve narrowed your eyes, nose wrinkled in anger – something akin to a snarl forming your lips. It’s a funny expression to see on such a normally docile breed.

“I’m really sorry, sir. Bunnies aren't usually aggressive, but we’ve had issues disciplining this one for weeks.” The warden rushes out the apologetic excuse, expecting to be sued.

But the collector only chuckles – a deep sound that makes your soft fur stiffen. “That’s fine.” 

He pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket, all movements calm and collected as he wipes the spill of blood trickling from the small bite mark you’d left on his finger.

“It’s only a nibble, after all.” 

You spit the bitter taste left in your tongue out on his shoes with another sneer.

If it angers him, it still doesn’t show through the lofty smile he wears. His leer is just as poised and heavy as he looks down at you.

“Does she talk?”

The warden had turned to lead him towards the more desirable and tamed section but halted at the question.

He had a puzzled look on his face before he answered, almost in a question himself, “We don’t know.”

The collector scoffed out another small laugh, then pulled out his phone. “How much?”

The warden seemed appalled then. “Sir, we have exotic pets more up to your standard in the back. Are you sure-”

“I want this one.”

The warden looked snuffed at his firm tone. But straightened himself out after a moment. All business as usual. “We can’t guarantee she’ll behave. It could be dangerous-”

But he’s cut off yet again, this time with another rumbling chuckle.

“That won’t be an issue.”

And those dark eyes with that deeply dominating look within them were the last thing you remember seeing before becoming a sleepy heap on the floor of your cage – drooling with a blank stare as you’re carried to the trunk and driven off with.

The tranquilizer makes you fall asleep, waking to heat swallowing you as you’re lowered into a bathtub.

“Let’s get you groomed first.” The same man murmurs in a coo. Petting your head with a heavy hand when seeing your weary eyes try blinking off the sleep – but still left too drowsy to thrash.

Instead, you can just moan as he washes you with a tender smile on his face – his big hands coarse against your creamy skin, rubbing your plush limbs with soap and oil.

“My pets have been an awful handful lately…”

He’s talking about something, but you only catch bits and pieces of the words being said. Something about ruts and scratched furniture – someone’s been pissing in the sofa, and all the pillows are ruined.

He messages the lops of your ears, then rinses them gently.

“But it’s my fault. I’ve been neglectful.”

He cups your tits next, lathering them with the warm milky water, circling your nipples with the gritty pads of his thumbs until they perk.  

Then he delves under the water to find your puffy cunt, letting the hot water rush the sensitivity, making it swell with heat as he splits the lips and pets your clit. 

You buck your hips, and he awes with a light chuckle, crooning down at you. “It's okay, little bunny.”

His carrot-sized finger teases your hole before sinking inside you, filling you in slow and tentative pumps. Sitting next to the tub, just as composed as before, while your cunt squeezes his knuckles.

He hums, watching your body fight the tranquilizer as you seize up and ripple with release.

He retracts his hand, patting them both on the fluffy towel placed next to him. A content smile on his face. “You’re gonna do perfect.”

After he’s finished drying you, he fixes a collar around your throat and carries you out to the others.

“Gather ‘round, pets.” He announces, placing you down on the soft carpeted floors beneath.

Your limbs are still heavy, too weak to stand just yet. But that all changes with the adrenaline kick.

“Come say hi to your new rut-puppet.”

The stench in the air coats your skin with sweat.

“She’s a fragile thing, though, so make sure to play nice.”

Your big eyes skitter around. 

On your left, there’s a wolf, fox, and hyena who all lick their teeth at the sight of you.

Next to them lies a bear that wakens from his slumber. He licks his snout with a huff.

Drool drips from the hang in their lips as they start panting. 

And they aren't the only ones.

On your right, there’s a panther and leopard whose eyes all blackout into nothing but a deep pool of darkness.

Their tails slowly meander behind them as they arise from their beds to stalk you.

You whimper, backing up until your back hits the legs of your new owner.

You lift your head to look up at him, only to see him smiling down at you.

“Don’t be shy now. The smell of fear only makes them wilder.”

part 2

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut

[klausinamarink]

The Only Sounds Are His Heart and Music

rating: T | cw: mentions of Vecna nightmares and near-death experience | wc: 893 | tags: established relationship, canon divergence, hurt/comfort | prompt: Love is the perfect mixtape/Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him

written for @steddielovemonth

-

Heavy silence filled the trailer, not even the barking of the neighbours' dogs or the rattling winds dared to break inside. It was as if all sounds from the outside world had been snuffed out, putting the residents into a solitary confinement room. It would've been unnerving if the Steve wasn't pressing his ear against Eddie's chest where his heart thudded loudly.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Eddie was still alive.

Steve swallowed another lump down his throat, wincing slightly as he did. When Eddie had gone white-eyed and later floated in the air, Steve screamed so loud out he nearly shredded his throat. He had no idea how much it hurt to speak until after the music worked and Wayne Munson demanded an explanation for his nephew's apparent possession that when Steve had tried to explain, barely a wheezing sob came out. Dustin and the other kids had taken over as storytellers of the Upside Down while Steve held a heaving Eddie in his hold.

Eddie was breathing normally now as if he was sleeping. But Steve knew from his tense body that Eddie was still wide awake. His fingers kept twitching from squeezing Steve's biceps to twisting the wires of his headphones where Dio's Hungry For Heaven blared out to gripping the blankets around them. It was close to his usual manic energy but more subdued. Terrified as if everything he touched was even real.

Whoever the hell this Vecna guy was, Steve was ready bash his brains out with his nail bat.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-babump.

Eddie's heartbeat stayed the same but Steve caught the moment it started to quicken. Steve squeezed his arms around Eddie's torso and nuzzled his face against the chest. He wanted to kiss his boyfriend so badly but Steve couldn't bare to let go and let the sound of his heart vanish from his functional ear.

He felt Eddie shuddering out a breath before his arms began to wrap around Steve's shoulders. Eddie sniffed and pressed his face on the top of Steve's head.

Nestled between them, Hungry For Heaven faded away but the Walkman kept whirring. And then, very clearly, Eddie My Love by The Chordettes started playing.

Steve blinked down at the Walkman with a mix of confusion and bubbling fear. He knew that Lucas was the one who managed to snagged the right tape to save Eddie during the panic, but for a terrifying moment, he wondered if Lucas made a mistake. "What the-"

He looked up when he heard Eddie snorting. For the first time since he had safely fell back to the ground, Eddie was cracking a smile. "I thought Vecna was going to snatch me again when that played after Dio. Turns out that it's my second favourite song." He lifted the Walkman up to the streams of the moonlight so Steve could peer closely at the cassette's label. His heart leapt up to his throat when he recognized the tiny heart doodles over his own handwriting.

Eddie's VERY METAL Mixtape

The whoosh of air escaping Steve's lips might've been a sigh or some poor attempt of a laugh. Either way, relief flowed from him, top to bottom. He dropped his head onto Eddie's chest again, almost headbutting the chin. "Jesus" he murmurs soft enough that it doesn't agitate his throat, "we should give Sinclair a fruit basket."

"A truck full of them. Freshly produced from sweet Alabama." Eddie adds cheekily.

They chuckle together before falling back to silence, barely accompanied by the faint vocals.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Steve waits for another minute before he breaks it with a quiet question, "Are you okay, Eds?"

It's a stupid question, but Steve just wanted to hear his honesty. No person can handle the massive guilt of letting Chrissy Cunningham go home after a little freakout over the drug she wanted, only for her body to be broken beyond recognition by an unseen force in front of her parents, or be tormented alone by painful headaches and nightmares before nearly dying, or the sudden revelation that your secret boyfriend and his little gaggle of kids have been fighting monsters of an alternate dimension for years.

Eddie gave out a drawn-out sigh before he answers, "Not really. Feeling like shit but I can't sleep."

The Chordettes come to a sweet end before being inappropriately followed up by Black Sabbath's Die Young. It made Steve shrivel on the inside. He wished he could pummel his past self for including that song in the tape. But if Eddie was bothered, he didn't show it. Still-

"You're going to fine." Steve whispers harshly. His face is close up to Eddie now, his hand pressing against the other man's heart. "As long as you keep listening to our tape, we're gonna figure out to kick Vecna's ass. You will live."

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Eddie's eyes glistened. Steve flipped the both of them over, careful not to crush the Walkman, allowing Eddie much more room to crawl further up and bury himself into Steve's tight embrace. Eddie's face pressed into Steve's neck, already soaking his skin with tears. It doesn't bother Steve at all. His hands rubbed his boyfriend's back in smoothing circles. Steve brought his mouth to Eddie's temple first before moving to his ear, quietly repeating "you will live" over and over.

Steve prayed for it to be true.

Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

#klaus writes #steddie #stranger things #steddielovemonth

[cherubispunk]

CHERUB (PART II) - Dealer!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: you will forever be his fallen angel. his cherub. 

a note from Lucy: IT IS TIME! Now, I KNOWWWW i said that there woud be dp with tommy in part two...but that can wait until part three because this is just as disgusting as the last one hehehehe! Enjoy sinners, i'm off to bed. This is also unedited to just ignore any typos. I promise I’ll get round to reading it through later today. X

playlist | alternate banner by THE cherub @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

wc: 4088 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! Unedited for now, no outbreak, no use of y/n but joel calls the reader ‘Cherub’, porn with little plot, bombastic age gap (reader is in her early 20's and Joel is in his late 50s), Smut, car sex, very dubcon in theory but both parties want it, smut, P in V sex (unprotected — pleaseee don’t do tis irl), oral - m reeiving, handjobs, Creampie, choking, orgasm denial, slapping, dom!Joel:/sub!reader dynamic, gagging , mentions of gagging with panties, panty sniffing, nipple play, biting, Smoking, use of pet names (baby, cherub, angel, good girl...etc), Joel being foul mouthed, cursing, dirty talk. Again, some of the most animalistic, disgustingly wretched and vile porn I have written thus far...with so little plot that this earned me my place in hell, a circle lower than the last. Big Dick Joel Miller comes as his own warning.

series m.list | m.list

Lace. Pretty. Delicate and intricate. 

Torn and tossed to grimy carpet. His trailer, his bed. Laying in his large warm arms for no more than a brief moment of afterglow. Then observed by his hawk eye while you were strewn naked about his sheets in a divine headrush of oxytocin, endorphins. And numb to all but the ghostly ache of pleasure within your belly.  

Truth can be ugly. It can beat and maim even the strongest of heart and half of soul. It can dampen spirits, bash, batter and bruise a hope so bright to such a degree it is nothing but a mere flickering flame, awaiting its snuffing out from a final exhale of a familiar broken heart. It can go pummeling, plundering and pillaging a love you held so tightly to your chest, that once was so dear to one’s self, the mere idea of letting it slip through your fingers would bring on an agonising loneliness even death's pain could not compete or match with. 

One night later was your time to face truth, the world fell dark again. The rain had subsided back to choking heat, summer’s final scorch before biting winter rolled in, icy and frostbitten on its heels. You were catatonic in bed from that day forward. Contemplated the end of it all. Then got up for work again when the sun peeked over aluminium trailer rooftops. All of this…just come back to your own bed again. 

You belong to the ground now. Your purple knees might as well be caked in dirt. Each of your hairs stood on end in protest to your shivers, vexatious and unforgiving. And choked sobs suffocated you, face red, raw, puffy and salty. Everything seemed to hurt. The sound of humanity seemed so far away from you now. Even the crackling of TV static in the next room over. Nothing felt quite real. It was just…dull. Exhaustion ached in your bones, sinking in deeper - bone marrow level deeper - after twenty-four hours of little to no rest. You bit down on your bottom lip and scrunched your eyes closed as your fingers and toes curled in and you writhed in emotional pain inside yourself. Physically you were still. A weight had pressed itself into your chest, digging at you and carving a hole through your sternum. Your teeth were now gritted as you let out strained whimpers muffled by the pillow. Desperate for some form of relief, you were clasping at your upper arms, clawing your flesh until red lines rose

No one knew. No one could know. they did not have to carry the idea that someone, who roamed the halls of your mind peacefully, passively, vacantly, now rampaged through those same corridors with an iron fist and a burning torch, setting you alight, leaving breadcrumb trails for ravens to pick at and fragments such as that of sharp, cutting mirror glass for you to piece together with no map or original picture but your own memory. You tumbled, spiralling into a world of ‘was it this?’ or ‘was it that?’. And the line between each question soon grew thinner, smearing together like streaks of sunlight smudging in tears. 

—

It was a slow roll of a shift. No one but the regulars on a quiet Monday morning. The bikers who stop for coffee. The business man here for the Bessy's Diner ‘premium’ breakfast before his day starts. Greasy and warm but with the crispy potatoes. Eggs sunny side up on two slices of golden brown white bloomer bread. The smell stuck in your hair. 

You watched through the window as the world turned dark under bruising night sky. His name on your tongue at the back of your teeth. His handprint on your thigh under your yellow polyester skirt. It was the branding of him on you in the most achingly beautiful way you could imagine. You might not be bent in half any more but in your mind you are replaying each thrust that edged you over the side of harrowing oblivion. You were in his bed. Right there. You could almost feel him.

The ding of the pass bell made you blink once, twice, thrice, with a sharp inhale through your nose while you tuned in a daze to collect a cheeseburger and curly fries. You weren't much to look at by your standards – grease stains on your uniform, scuffed shoes and bruised knees; But the man you delivered the meal too had you for his appetiser. Eyeing you like a juicy cut of rump steak, plump and tender to sink one's teeth into. Your nostrils flared and you couldn't help but wonder what Joel would think of his roaming eyes as you gave the trucker a curt but saccharine ‘Enjoy!’ through gritted teeth. 

Then it was back to staring out the window while more coffee brewed and the sky sunk deep blue, a rim of purple at the horizon. Like it had been beaten and left by the sun. Clouds murking the sky above like dried blots of ink. A heavy downpour to come and you hadn't bought your coat or umbrella. Headlights beamed through the window in the blue, sailing over your eyes and the wall behind you, making you strain and squint at the familiar number plate. 

That very truck had been parked in the middle of your trailer and his. Taunted you now whenever you saw it. Reminded you that he had not come calling since a few nights ago. How long was it now? A week of no contact that made you claw at your skin and the marrow of your very bones ache with the pain as they hollowed out. Waiting for him to fill that place in you again with a sense of being needed. The place only he knew how to reach. It was pathetic and you knew it. But, oh, how you'd fall to your knees in the dirt each time to just see him. To have him call you Cherub. It felt like a dream no one would get to see or feel but you and him. A secret whisper of delight that had a pending knot of tension tighten and twist in your gut. Then a flutter when his truck door opened to reveal him in his usual wife beater tank and dirty denim combo. This time a leather jacket straining over his broad shoulders. Your mouth watered at the sight of his bulge. How, when he stood with the devils own smirk at the sight of you through the window, arm slung over the top of the drivers door, the tank rode up to give a tease of happy trail on his softer tummy. He was a man who could ruin you with a look; Have you pleading to be his anything. 

He licked his lips at the promise of his meal. You. All you could do was stand with feet planted firmly to the floor in your frilly hemmed socks and patent mary janes. His picture of innocence dressed in a ditsy diner uniform. His eyes were dark and lit only by the inside glow. They snared you in ways you often found hard to elucidate to yourself. But you'd be a liar if you refused to admit the excitement your gaze held his with. The beaming toothy grin you shone at him as he walked through the entrance. A chilly gust of wind hot on his chunky book clad heels. 

“Be right with ya!” You called to him as you took the coffee from its hotplate, unable to keep yourself from smiling. He was here. You would once again be his. Whole. 

A girl could dream. Oh she can dream up to the clouds and pass the very sun. But, lord above, how calamity hits like a stone to a dove’s wing. Causing the fall to earth and the fire to consume. This time, Icarus waited for the night. Who knew Selene would give the same backhand as Apollo.

“No need.” He cleared his throat, ambling over in his swagger to slump over the counter against the bar stool. “Lookin’ awful happy, Cherub.” There it was. It had your eyes glazing over in a haze. The first man who gave you a reason. An ability to serve and care and be wanted. “Just happy ‘cause I'm seein’ you.” You sighed. His arms crossed over themselves on the counter and there was Lucifers smile to lull you closer.

“That so?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yeah.” It was ineffable to explain, really. The temptation. But it was so damn perfect you couldn't get enough of it.

“What time you get off then, Cherub?”

“Ten.” You replied instantly. A heat warmed your core. A fizzle of something, a cramping of a dull pleasure spasm in your belly. From there he leaned over, breath tickling your ear as his scuff scratched the shell of it. Made your pulse thrum under your skin. He could feel your supple warmth, noticed how your pretty round chest hitched at the feel of his words in your ear. He ogled you like a hunter would his prey. His next feast.

“Y’think you can help me get off?” 

If you had it your way you’d trace each scar, pale of almost rare silver, raised upon his skin. Gnarled. But so unmistakably beautiful it takes your breath away for a moment. Born again, the first breath you take. Learning how to inhale, familiarise yourself with how his chest rises, to then fall with tumble of the exhale. But this was on his terms. It would do. Ideally you'd do it your way. However, he wanted what he wanted. He took. You had so much more to give him if you were just gifted the miracle of opportunity. Jeopardising this love now would be a foolish idea. 

“Yes, Joel.” You whispered, though it caught in your throat a little. Joel pulled back to eye you. Chuckling at the sight of your open wide doe eyes. A pretty helpless fawn for him to scrape off the road after being crushed by a truck. Or a bird whose wings needed patching. Little did you know he wasn't mending your wings. Merely plucking feathers from them until you could no longer glide through skies. Only be dragged by him across the ground on a leash. Rubbing flesh raw to the point of bleeding.

“Then i’ll be waitin’ here for ya, Cherub.” 

—

He had his eyes on you the whole time. In his stare you saw each scene of what could be play out. What position he'd fix you in before the descent of his hips into yours. The slap of heavy balls against your ass. The ripple of your skin while a hand clapped down on one cheek, then the other. Rendering you useless for the rest of the night. Unable to walk without legs trembling. Poor pretty Bambi. Poor precious Cherub. 

You could feel the heat of his eyes lick up the back of your neck. Flushing bright colour into the apples of your cheeks. Each time you passed him, a silent glance from you. A primal, phallic stare from him. Cogs in his mind turning to see what scenario would take his fancy. The look from other customers didn't fall short on his attention. He noticed the way that trucker had eyed you upon giving him the bill. Jealousy curled in his gut because how dare another man so much as think about touching what is rightfully his. What you were so eager to please with. The plush of your breasts, the encompassing warmth of your slick wet cunt. Joel would remember that when you stumble home, his come dribbling down your leg in a thick, gluttonous rivulet. You, so ready to flay yourself open at his word and present all to him. Your broken ribs and beating heart. The blood that bled in vain for him. 

At the end of your shift he waited while you got you things from out back, taking out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Thick fingers plucking one ready to light. 

“Can't smoke in here, Joel.” You pointed out as his lighter hissed under the roll of his thumb.

“Then hurry up ‘n let me get you outta here, Cherub.” He mumbled, eyes trained on the cigarette between his lips. You admired how the yellow hue of the lighter washed him a glow in brief flashes. The scruff on his jaw lighter. Greyer. Handsomer. 

“Okay.” 

He led you out with a hand to your back. Hoisted your bike into the bed of his truck and you had to hold your breath at the swell of his muscles under his leather jacket. Its dark shine scuffed and worn down. 

He drove you back downtown with the cigarette lit in his mouth to puff on, a hand on your clenching thigh, inching closer up to dangerous territory. He felt how you squirmed inside yourself. As if your bones were begging to be rattled by him. Until the highway bled off into smaller roads towards the trailer park where he opened the window to flick his smoke out and then shut it. You weren’t expecting him to pull over in a lay-by. The trees skeletal as leaves had started to fall here. 

The engine sputtered before shutting off with the twist of the key. You found yourself staring at your skirt, picking a loose thread from the hem of it before his finger hooked under your chin. Just like the first time. Still smelling of tobacco and something mustier. Something human. It was hard to see in the dark, but his shadow said it all. It was carved out by the backdrop of trees outside the window. It made a rattling burst of desire dart down your spine and fill the hollow slowburn in your womb. 

“Look at me.” So you did. And his finger grasped your chin, almost embedding his touch into your with trembling tingle were he to ever let go. Like a solder’s phantom limb.

“What are we doing here, Joel?” You asked, eyes innocent. Begging to be corrupted and crying. 

“Gettin’ me off, Cherub.”

His lips crushed yours like seeds of pomegranate. Chapped and split. The metallic taste of his blood on your tongue. Your lungs breathed him, absorbed him. What noise he gave you, nonsensical as it was, it was a relief there was something. Something you could do. Part your thighs.

While one hand stayed fastened to your chin in its vice grip, his other palmed himself through his jeans. Hips rolling into the heel of his hand and a groan departed from his chest heavily. One you happily consumed with a needy inhale. Desperate to feel something of him inside you. 

“Gonna make me feel good, ain’t you, Cherub? My pretty little thing.” 

It was hard to nod in his grip. But you managed with the aiding of a whimpering “Mhm!”

“‘M gonna let you feel it.”

The bulge in his jeans was straining at denim and suffocating him. You felt blindly for his erection, fumbling with the belt, button and zipper. Joel smirked into your mouth while his tongue trialled sloppily over your bottom lip, enclosing it between the prison of his gnashers. Biting down hard. The friction of his beard was coarse against the dichotomy of your soft, supple skin. 

“Yeah.” He sighed, leaning back in the passenger seat, detaching his lips from you. “Jus’ like that.” You swallowed. Aching to feel him. To have him as a part of you again. But for now you'd settle with the steady dragging stroke of his thick heavy cock in your hand. 

You watched him with curiosity, the way his eyes fluttered closed. It was more the way a child would observe a butterfly trapped in a jar. Even though he was anything but delicate. 

“Fuckin’ angel aint ya, Cherub?” He swallowed, hips twitching and bucking up into your hand while your thumb rolled over the sensitive head of his dick, smearing a bead of precum over the delicate flushed skin. You salivated like a rabid dog at the sight. The smell of his sex thick on your nose. 

You felt the curl of this large hand at the crown of your skull before he pushed you down. Pulling you with him to hell’s heat once more. 

“Suck it.” 

And you did willingly; Took him into the warm cavern of your mouth, swirling your tongue over the flushed red tip to have the heady taste of him thick on your tastebuds. His hips stuttered, meaning you had to hollow out your mouth and relax your throat to take him as far as he wanted. The ache in your oesophagus burned, bruising deliciously. Tears stung the backs of your eyes, heavy and wet and dripping over the threshold of your eyes, streaking clumpy mascara down your face like an abstract painting for him to smirk at later. His fingers twisted in your hair like brambles through hedgerows. His hands were being laid on you. More like beckoning you closer to being laid to rest in the dirt. Ready for that little death his anatomy promised. The lust between you heated the car, fogging windows slightly. 

As you went a little further, and little faster, nails digging into his jeans to ground yourself, you realised you’d never rather be anywhere than with him. Saliva running from your mouth down his shaft, collecting in a shine around the base and rolling over his tightening balls. He chuckled when you gagged, spluttering and heaving on him. Begging for more, you dared to ghost a single finger over your dripping slit. Cunt twitching at the attention. An action that was far from lost on him. 

“Did I tell ya you could touch yerself?” He hissed, ripping you from his cock as the heat of an orgasm started to bubble in his lower belly. You spluttered a no, holding your hands up in surrender to him. “Little minx.” He sneered.

You yelped at the grip on your thighs as he kicked your legs out from under you, tugging your underwear from your heat in one swift yank. He held the cotton up to his nose, taking a deep inhale. “Fuckin’ filthy. Just imagine what your uncle would think ‘bout this?  Ruining your fucking panties for me.” Shame flooded your gut, but the clench of your tight, drooling hole told you otherwise about disliking the thought. A heat warming your cheeks once more. “Oh, you like that dont you, Cherub?”

“Yeah.” You owned up to the fact. There was no point in lying. He’d fuck the truth out of you one way or another. 

With your hands still raised, you watched in fucked out awe of his tonge that darted out to taste your slick on your underwear. His eyes closed as he savoured the tang on his tongue. There was no need to commit it to memory. If he wanted it again all he need do was ask. Your legs would part open, panties in his hand again. 

“Taste like fuckin’ honey, Cherub. All sweet and sticky.” His voice verberated in your chest and his and had your eyes blurring in a split of a second. Crawling back once again to the memory in his trailer. “What do you think? Should I shove these in your mouth instead of my cock? Huh, Cherub?” You swallowed at the thought. “Nah…” He cast the thought aside, tossing them in the backseat. “I might just go easy on ya tonight.” 

That was a short lived promise, for he was sliding back his seat as far as it would go, dragging you into his lap, thick head prodding the weeping entrance of your cunt. Waiting deliciously for the stretch of him. Whole again. Make me whole again. You begged to the ears of your own mind. Please!

“Sit down.” He demanded. And you obeyed; Notching him between the slick lips of your pussy. He hands found grounding purchase on your hips, grinding you along the underside of his thick length. Smearing your juices over himself. Each time the tip so much as grazed your clit it had you whimpering his name. Had your brain scrambling to form a coherent sentence. It was sinful Disgusting. But the way it felt was enough to cast a shadow on those doubts. Turn out the light, and set them to temporary sleep in your head. 

The roll of your hips worked in tandem with the taboo buck of his thrusts. His neck strained and veins bulged under tight tension knotted, gnarled skin.

“This pussy’s made for this, ain't it, Cherub? Made for makin’ me feel good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled while two thick fingers slipped into your mouth. The rough pads of them pressing into your tongue. You pressed your lips around them, taking his digits down to the last knuckle. His taste was rich in your mouth. One you'd never even dream of forgetting. 

Your humping got faster, more erratic and less careful. Big. Mistake. 

“Don’t go getting sloppy on me now, Cherub.”

You whined. It was all you were good for. All you could do. There was only so much finesse you could master with the steering wheel at your back, digging into your arching, aching spine. You waxed and waned over him in more careful movements now. Made sure to press down with each roll back over his shaft. All while he had an open mouthed trained gaze on the way his fingers slipped in and out of your mouth. Slow. Setting the pace for you to mimic. Lips puffy, saliva slick. 

From there, it was your dress. Greedy and heavy hands popping the buttons of it open and stripping you down to nothing but flesh. It crumpled around your waist. His lips pursed while suckling your nipples into his mouth until they were pert and erect on his tongue. Teeth sinking into tender flesh, jaw unhinged as he took a bite of their swell and mimicked it on the other side.

It was so bad. So, so, so bad. If there truly was a god you’d be signed over to hell. But you didn't care, how could you when you felt the burn in your belly of your orgasm. The stars sputtering over the backs of your closed lids in a hypnotic kaleidoscope image. Either way, you were damned. Icarus to Apollo’s heat. His heat was burning. Scalding. Making a sheen of thick, damp sweat accumulate over your skin. Chest heaving into his mouth while your back arched and held tight like the string of a bow ready to release.

“Fuck– please, Joel. Wanna– fuck– come. Wanna come!” You whined around his fingers. To which he replied by ripping them from your mouth and striking a heavy hand over your cheek. The sting was thrilling. It made the apples of your cheeks tingle, begging him to do it again. Abuse you in any way he saw fit because the pleasure burning, building in your core had your cunt clenching. Ready to let go at his given word. He bared his teats at you while he smeared his tongue and spit over your tits.

“No. You come when I say and only when I say.” 

And with those as his damning words, he lifted your hips off his, using a hand to line himself up with precision, spearing into you in one fowl swoop. You bit back a scream on your bottom lip from the intrusion. But before you could let the pain sink in it melted into brain fogging pleasure. You had to clench your walls around his thick length, his cock hot and pulsing within your cunt that spasmed with the promise to unwind. Had you a babbling crying mess in his lap while he jackhammered up into you. Balls slapping your spread cheeks. 

His palm closed around your pulse, the other in your hair as you held yourself just above him on trembling legs so he could have the room to thirst upwards, swollen cockhead nipping your cervix vigorously like the last time. Whatever broken thing inside you that made you yearn for this could rattle around within of you. It was nothing unless it got you here to the sheer pleasure you felt when in his unforgiving arms. You’d go easily like this. Tear stained cheeks as you babbled his name nonsensically. All for him to keep up the relentless pace of his hips. The coarse hairs at the base of his cock adding a friction to your twitching clit that wasn't needed. You were already on edge. God, how you lived for the little death.

“Please, sir!” If anything else you did didn't set him off, that did. The words sweetened by the whine that curled from the back of your throat and dripped into his ears like fine wine. High pitched needy for him to finish you off. Deliver the killing blow. 

The hand tangled in your hair jerked your head back, leaving your jaw to hang open and your eyes to roll back in your skull. Your toes curled in their frilly socks and shoes, the tingle turning to numbness and then to an overstimulated pain that you couldn't stave off any longer. 

“Gonna come ain ya, Cherub? After I’ve been so fuckin’ nice to ya. Let ya touch me. Feel me inside of ya.” He pressed a hand over your womb, feeling the bulge of himself each time he fucked up to meet that perfect spot inside you. “Feel me fuckin’ wrecking this cunt for anyone else?” And you nodded stupidly, finding it hard to breathe with his other hand still at your neck. He could feel the quickening of your pulse under your flesh. “Words, Cherub.” He growled with heat into your pulse. “Or have I fucked you dumb, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Yes, Joel, I'm yours! Yours yours yours!”

“The fucking come. Show me.” 

And finally, the closing scene to this act of sin. The little death you had been waiting for swelled within you, sending you falling from the stars in your eyes and back down to earth – crashing into the wall of his chest. A string of curses from his sneering lips and he released inside of you, balls tightening and dick twitching sheathed within you. His thick, hot come dribbled gluttonously from your quivering cunt. And you were twitching uncontrollably against him. 

Your chests heaved out of sync with each other. Him out, you in. You accommodated the invading rise of his chest with the crushing and concaving of your own. His cock softened inside of you and in the mess he had made of you cunt. You were well and truly wrecked for anyone but him. Your body, no matter how much you may come to hate this fact in future, belongs to his pleasure. 

You will forever be his fallen angel. His Cherub.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #lu’s little bookshelf #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #dealer!joel #joel x reader #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader smut #joel miller tlou

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

I noticed that you don't get many reqs for Sally face sooooo... getting high w/ sal?

always feel free to ignore if you're uncomfortable with writing it!

-🦇anon

Omg i love this prompt....

Credits to divider go to saradika-graphics! Go follow them and support their work

Thank you so much for requesting!!

Getting high with Sal

Because you were coming over tonight, Sal wanted to try something extra special

It would just be the two of you, no dad, no Larry, no Lisa, no Gizmo

....well, maybe Gizmo

And he wants to see if you two share the same connection subconsciously that you do consciously

So he begs Larry for a joint, and Larry only gives it to him on the promise Sal tells him everything that happens

You were informed of the plan, of course

So as you take the ride up the elevator to Sal's apartment, you can't contain your excitement

Everyone else is spending the night at Lisa's apartment, so when you knock on the door, it is Sal who answers, sharing the same excitement you do

You see his eyes crinkle up in excitement as he hurriedly invites you in

The two of you sit on the couch, sharing a moment of awkward silence

"So...." You mutter

"Sooo..." He copies

"Do you think we should do it in here or in your room?" You ask, worried that you might get caught

Sal thinks for a moment, before looking over to his bedroom door "In there. Dad might come back for something and we'll at least have a chance to look innocent there"

You nod and take his hand, heading over to his bedroom together

Once you get in, he begins setting up a movie for you two to watch

You flop onto his bed, breathing in the scent left on his blankets

"What'chu sniffing my bed for? Weirdo." He teases

You flip him off in response, before sitting up and grabbing the joint off his nightstand and lighting it

You take an experimental hit, coughing at the burning in your throat

Sal laughs and takes it from you, taking a hit under his prosthetic

The smoke comes out through the eye holes, making his eyes water

It is now your turn to laugh, you lean back and tilt your head "Do you wanna take it off?"

He goes quiet for a second, then shakes his head "It's fine, I'll manage"

The rest of the night is spent taking turns with the joint, and eventually it is snuffed out and tossed to the side

You are both thoroughly zonked now, Sal is laying on your chest and you have an arm around him, drawing shapes onto his back

If you are the talkative type, Sal will listen to all you have to say quietly

And if you get quiet like him, you will sit in comfortable silence, occasionally getting up to go get snacks

Well, most of the time he's quiet

Sometimes he'll shoot up, making you look at him worriedly before mumbling something about how gravity almost took him

And you will be there to drag him back down to your chest and kiss his head, telling him that you'll protect him from gravity <3

#🦇anon #sally face x y/n #sally face x you #sally face x reader #sally face #sal fisher #sal fisher x reader #sal fisher x y/n #sal fisher x you

[ultra-violet-heart]

7th Time Loop Volume 6: A Story About When It's Sweeter to Sleep Together

This is a canon short story written by Touko Amekawa as a Bookwalker bonus for Volume 6 of 7th Time Loop!

Based on how they have been adding bonuses sometimes, it might be added when Volume 6 gets translated by Seven Seas someday, but for now, I've translated it in English!

PLEASE DON'T REPOST OR RE-UPLOAD THIS TRANSLATION ANYWHERE.

Contains spoilers for Volume 6.

Bonus Side Story for 7th Time Loop Volume 6

A Story About When It's Sweeter to Sleep Together

Around a day has passed since the fire onboard the ship, and it was now bedtime. After taking a bath and helping with disinfecting Arnold's bedroom, Rishe planned to sleep with him again today. Arnold had this blank look on his face and seemingly planned to say something, but in the end he just went with Rishe's wishes.

Once again, Rishe would become his body pillow.

(Although...)

"What's the matter...?"

Sitting on the middle of the bed, Rishe's face showed a mysterious expression.

Arnold, who also sat on the middle of the bed, sensed her being troubled and asked her that question.

Raising her face, Rishe stared intently at Arnold, who just finished taking a bath just like Rishe.

Arnold, who usually wore tight collars to hide his scars, apparently wore comfortable clothes for bedtime. His neck, chest and collarbone could be seen from his shirt. Hugging one of the many pillows around them, Rishe then tugged on Arnold's sleeve and asked.

"Your Highness, you always use soaps with less scents, right?"

"It's less of a nuisance, you see."

Arnold made it clear he hated excessive fragrances.

Rishe raised the back of her hand to the tip of her nose and sniffed.

"Hmm."

"Rishe."

He stopped asking further questions and instead called her name, while Rishe timidly replied.

"Actually, um. Master Joel pointed it out to me this morning."

"Pointed what out?"

"..."

She looked so embarrassed, she looked down while continuing.

"He told me I have the same scent as yours, Prince Arnold..."

"..."

Arnold could probably guess how red Rishe's face was with embarrassment right now.

Thinking about it made her more embarrassed, so Rishe tried to excuse herself while clutching her nightgown hem.

"So, tonight, after my bath, I reduced the amount of lotion I put on my body, but the scent still overpowered yours, so..."

"..."

"So before I sleep here with you, I'll just wipe myself. I'll remove that scent away as much as possible, so feel free to sleep first, Your Highness... BWAAAAAAAAAH?!"

Rishe screamed as Arnold's arms reached out to her. He placed a large hand on her back, bringing her closer. Arnold then nuzzled Rishe's nape closely.

"Mmm..."

His black hair tickled Rishe's skin.

Arnold went still in that position while muttering to himself.

"...You smell sweet."

"I-is that so? I apologize, I can wipe off that scent away..."

"But."

Arnold finally pulled away, speaking composedly as if nothing happened.

"I think of it as nothing but your scent."

Before she could ponder the meaning of his words, Rishe's eyes went spinning.

"It's not uncomfortable. You don't need to do anything unnecessary like wiping anything, go to bed soon."

"B-but."

"Here. I'll snuff out the lamp soon."

Being prompted like that, Rishe hurried under the covers.

Arnold didn't seem to mind and didn't say anything as Rishe laid down next to him.

(The meaning of those words... there shouldn't be any deeper meaning on those words...)

Her body now turning warmer wasn't due to her just finishing her bath moments ago. Realizing this, Rishe turned her back away from Arnold.

(As the body temperature rises, the sweet scent on the skin from the lotion turns stronger...!)

"....?"

Of course, tonight, she planned to still be a body pillow to him, but things needed to cool down a bit.

When she asked him to not snuff out the lamp yet, Arnold respected her wish and put off from snuffing it out for some moments.

#7th time loop: the villainess enjoys a carefree life married to her worst enemy! #7th time loop #rishe irmgard weitzner #arnold hein #rishe x arnold #arnold #ArRishe #ルプなな #loop 7 kaime no akuyaku reijou wa #ループ7回目の悪役令嬢は、元敵国で自由気ままな花嫁生活を満喫する

[healpimp]

If i could figure out how sfm or gmod worked id animate pyro sniffing smth like that one aardvark video where they let it sniff a pumpkin and its schnoz is all like snuf snuf snufffff you get me

#tf2

[viterbofangirllovestheuntamed]

why just say the jiang have an unnatural tolerance for spice? why not all flavor? Poisonously bitter, super sour, ultra sweet, the burn of the strongest alcohol, the jiang adore the extremes of flavor and still have very discerning palates and people with iron stomachs are WIMPS compared to the stomach resilience of the jiang, it wasn't on purpose but a true jiang is next to impossible to poison (which definitely helped Jin Ling when he's in Koi Tower)

Despite knowing that they were in the deepest, most isolated safe room in Koi tower, Jin Guangtong couldn't help keeping his voice low. "Thank you for meeting us here. Your... services are greatly appreciated, we assure you."

His fellow conspirators ducked and bowed their heads in agreeing acknowledgements, which went ignored by their guest who sprawled on his cushion like a drunken commoner. "Glad to be here," he grinned, vaguely sarcastic. "What services did you have in mind, exactly?"

"The new Jin-zongzhu." Jin Guangtong didn't think beating around the bush would get them anywhere.

Their guest---blast the man for refusing to give his real name---blinked. "Wow, I didn't think you Jin were capable of being that direct. You want the brat snuffed, eh? Not gonna just use him as your figurehead? Seems like that'd be more your type of thing. What, did his spirit dog shit in your shoes or something?"

The handful of other nobles around the table started blurting out their complaints, heedless of order or dignity. "He's punishing bribery!" "Had my nephew executed for a harmless bit of fun with a servant girl!" "He's auditing the tax collection!"

Jin Guangtong cleared his throat. "The brat is, unfortunately, intractable. Comes from being raised by that asshole of an uncle in Yunmeng. I'm afraid the boy is... idealistic and unwilling to adapt to the realities of ruling such a large and complex network such as Lanling Jin."

Their guest nodded pensively, scratching at his jaw. "I can see your problem. I've got one more question, though. Not to be ungrateful for your admittedly generous payment offer, but why not do it yourself?"

"His lineage is extremely strong," Jin Guangtong sniffed. "The highest pedigree, which means that his golden core is exceptionally strong."

"Plus he's been trained by that paranoid maniac since he was toddling around that backwater swamp," someone to his left muttered.

Jin Guangshan threw a quelling glare over his shoulder, though of course, they had a point. Jiang Wanyin's training had been rigorous to the extreme due to both his and his nephew's insistence that the latter be able to wield the formidable Jin Zixuan's sword when he came of age. And since Rulan would be unlikely to match the sword's strength at first, those Yunmeng bastards had taught him to be deadly with a bow. Because apparently there was no kill like overkill at Lotus Pier.

And speaking of overkill. "We in Lanling Jin are certainly not... unfamiliar with poisons. However, between the strength of the boy's core and the inevitable wrath of Sandu Shengshou, it is imperative that the poison be untraceable as well as effective. Preferably something innocuous that can be chalked up as a tragic accident. A food he is allergic to, perhaps."

Their guest barked out in laughter. "Wait! Wait a minute... you said the kid was raised in Yunmeng, right? And you think he has a food allergy?!"

Jin Guangtong drew himself up in irritation, unnoticed by the cackling man in front of him. "I don't see why not! In fact, noble though our lineage is, our blood has always had a weakness to-"

"Look, look, I understand where you're coming from, I do!" the mysterious man wheezed. "It's just... well, I've spent some time in Yunmeng. In fact, I've even known some Jiang disciples. Frankly, I'm not sure anyone from Lotus Pier can be poisoned!"

"Ridiculous!" another voice scoffed.

"Look," their guest continued, still trying to contain giggles. "The only region that can even compare to Yunmeng for spice is Meishan, and the ruling family of Lotus Pier is half Yu. The whole sect is used to a flavor profile that could kill a Lan at fifty paces, and that's not even taking into account the dares."

Jin Guangtong blinked. "Dares?"

"Oh yeah," their guest drawled, somehow managing to lounge even more. "Those Rangers are insane. The butcher sect might run their people through a crazy level of training, but nothing and no one can survive crazy like a Jiang. They don't even train for it- it's just how they live. Those bastards challenge each other to lick poisoned toads for fun! They will eat anything that comes from the river, no matter how disgusting! And don't even get me started on the so-called 'twelve-day rule'..."

Jin Guangtong decided he didn't want to know. "But surely, as the Jin heir, Sandu Shengshou wouldn't have allowed-"

"Sandu Shengshou?" their guest scoffed. "The man who cobbled together then had to feed an army of massacre survivors and rogue cultivators? The man who spent the first decade of his rule rebuilding his home from a few burnt sticks poking out of---how'd you describe it?---a backwater swamp? The man with the bottomless stomach? Seriously-" he added, abandoning his slouch to stab an emphatic finger into the table. "That man can pack it away like nobody's business. I think his fucking legs are hollow or something...

"Anyway," he continued, lounging once more. "The point is that Sandu Shengshou's perception of what is and isn't edible is... flexible. Especially knowing his shixiong's penchant for supposedly intolerable amounts of chilies."

"Then how do you plan on killing Jin Rulan?" Jin Guangtong spat, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Oh, I'm not planning on killing Jin Rulan," their guest grinned, still scratching at his jaw. "I'm planning on killing you!"

Then his scratching fingers began pulling his own face off.

Jin Guangtong and his conspirators all recoiled in horror, a horror that increased one hundred-fold when their guest's discarded face revealed the damnable visage of Yiling Laozu himself!

The reborn master of demonic cultivation twirled the grotesque false face around on his finger. "Neat trick, isn't it? Picked it up from Xue Yang, of all people. Ah well; genius comes in all forms. Now!" He leveled a sinister smile at the gathered men as he raised a black flute to his lips. "Raise your hand if you wanted my beloved nephew dead!"

_____________________

Eventually, the screams faded away into gurgling, then silence. Jiang Cheng nursed a bottle of wine as he leaned against the secret meeting room's door, still glowing purple from his sealing spell. Some of those fuckers had really made a go at it, but none of these lazy Jin were a match for his own spiritual power.

After the silence reigned for a few moments, the wood against his back rattled with a brief knock as his brother's cheerful voice echoed out. "It's done, Jiang Cheng! You can let me out now!"

Jiang Cheng took another lazy swig. "What's the password?"

"Jiang-zongzhu is a little crybaby bitch who can't put his shoes on correctly," Wei Wuxian's voice snarked back, sounding decidedly annoyed.

"Nope, that's not it," Jiang Cheng answered, wiggling the bottle so that the sloshing liquid was audible. "Damn, this really is good wine."

"Jiang Cheeeeennnnnnggggg," Wei Wuxian whined from the other side. "You're so meeeeeaaaaaan! Making me do all the hard work-"

"You wouldn't let me kill them, you bastard! Said I had to keep my own hands clean even though they where plotting against my-"

"-while you lounge around drinking Lotus Pier's finest wine like a mean meanie who's mean!"

Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes so hard he was pretty sure he got a good look at his own brain. "Gods, you really are three years old, aren't you..."

"Let me out, you asshole! You know my core isn't strong enough just yet!"

He considered the wine bottle in his hand. "Say that Yunmeng wine is better than Emperor's Smile."

A scandalized gasp sounded from behind the door. "You wouldn't!"

"What's the problem? It's true," Jiang Cheng shrugged.

"But Emperor's Smile is so delicate!" Wei Wuxian protested. "It's the perfect balance of-"

"Well I guess I'll just go and find someone who does appreciate Yunmeng wine..."

"Okay, fine! Bastard. Fine, Yunmeng wine is better than Emperor's Smile!"

Smirking, Jiang Cheng released the seal on the door. Wei Wuxian stumbled out of the room that now stank of blood and excrement. Jiang Cheng amiably held out an untouched bottle, which his brother grabbed eagerly.

The deviant spilled half the fucking bottle down his chin as the other half went down his gullet, but smacked his lips like a satisfied toddler. "Hits the spot," he crooned. Mischievous eyes locked with his. "Emperor's Smile is still better, though."

Jiang Cheng snorted. "Traitor."

"Barbarian," Wei Wuxian retorted loftily.

The two bothers clinked their bottles together and took simultaneous sips.

#lanling jin #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #jin ling #MOD'S STUFF #asks #prompts #ASK THE MOD #reconciliation fic #post canon #I'M BAAAAAAAACK! Real life has been nuts and a half but things are finally settling down so I'm trying to get back to my beloved hellsite! #UNHINGED YUNMENG DISASTER BOIS

[tflaw]

— IT’S A RICH MAN’S WORLD.

The wealthiest man in Snezhnaya wants you. Is it a blessing or tragedy just waiting to unfold?

꒰ა ❤︎ ໒꒱ . . . f!reader. yandere!pantalone. dubious consent. coercion. blackmail. power play. unprotected. pee & uh cum. fingering. finger sucking. reader is smaller than pantalone. he’s a very nasty man and downright crazy.

++ anyways! it has been… weeks? months? since i’ve last written a one shot. this is my first yandere content that i’m actually a little proud of. a breakthrough. it cracked the writer’s block out of me fr. i’ve had so much fun writing this and i hope you’ll feel the same while reading! if ever i’ve forgotten to include a warning, please tell me! it’s 12 am where i’m at rn and my mind’s a biiit foggy. tell me what u think! <33

The air is sharp with perfume, rivaled by the redolence of wine placed in the hands of nobles completing the hierarchy in Snezhnaya. Bejeweled to the teeth and garbed with the finest silk, they filled the main hall of Zapolyarny Palace like scattered gemstones against the crystal blue shades of pillars and gothic windows. Buzzing noises of business talks, gossip of who wed who, which lord cheated on his wife, and the anticipation of whatever such lavish revelry might offer has taken over the place. 

“We’re up in a few minutes,” a girl whispered before muttering the same to the other person standing beside you. 

A feast is dedicated to the Harbingers’ return to Snezhnaya after months of diplomatic work. All over the country, everyone who possesses an invitation bolted to their favorite seamstresses and lapidaries. Even markets, shops, and stalls have all been occupied by the preparation. While you, on the other hand, have spent most of your days in the theatre to perfect the dance for the festivities. 

You palm your stomach, blowing out the anxiety poking your belly with a few deep breaths. It’s not always that chances to wander around the Palace’s halls are bestowed upon someone like you. Hailing from one of the poorest villages in Snezhnaya, the elders would consider it the highest of honors to walk on the very halls as the Tsaritsa. However, your mirth has been lost to the acid in your throat, ignited by your need to flee.

If this night hasn’t been a turning point in your rather mundane life, you would’ve done just that. But the stakes are high and you couldn’t risk a misstep.

Even with knowledge of what is to come, you start as the drums begin to roll. Heads turn expectantly towards the huge frescoed doors. All face luminous except yours, as one by one, the Harbingers march into the hall clad in their regalia. 

The throng immediately parts to make way for the Harbingers and Her Majesty, the Tsaritsa. They say she is as cold as the snowflakes blanketing Snezhnayan soil and just as pretty. Seeing her in all her glory, the songs and poems proved to be true: she is the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. 

Forgetting for a moment the current plight you are situated in, your lips part in awe as your eyes trail her walking towards the crystallized throne. Heartbeat wild and frenzied, you’ve made a mental reminder to savor each moment. But your thoughts have been snuffed out like embers embraced by snow when your eyes moved a little further to her right. 

In blatant recognition, Pantalone tilts his head at you. There he is, eyeing you like a predator. He walks into the place knowing exactly where you are. Watching and looming over like a storm gathering in the middle of the sea. Afraid of its familiar intensity, you are, but a small part of you seeks refuge in sniffing out its whereabouts to better equip yourself on how to escape its havoc. An endeavor you were yet to accomplish. Despite your swift effort to sever the connection, his eyes have lingered. They always do.

“It’s time,” the same girl says, bobbing her head before proceeding towards the made-up stage in the corner of the hall.

At the first beat, you attempt to steer your mind away from thoughts of Pantalone. He makes you unsteady. His very presence is hard to bear most especially when he looks at you like he owns you. Which, in more ways than one, is true. 

You twirl and sway to the music, plastering a toothed smile whenever you spin to the center. If all goes well tonight, the theatre could attain favors from the Harbingers and the Tsaritsa. You could be a performer in Zapolyarny Palace and your future, as well as your family’s, will be secured. Perhaps, then, you won’t need to lean in on anyone for help. Such small hope but hope nonetheless. 

Years of performing and blending your very soul with the stage have not prepared you for the attention that followed after the dance. For some reasons unknown, men and women alike flocked in your direction, congratulating a job well done. Alien you might be to the nobles’ way of conversation, you have treated the courtesy as your liberty from Pantalone’s presence. 

If you can entertain these nobles long enough, perhaps you wouldn’t need to cross paths with the Harbinger tonight. 

That has been the bane of your existence, has it not? Thinking that you can undermine, even for a little while, Pantalone’s eyes.

Your heart sinks as a hand slips around your waist, pulling your body close to a solid chest. 

“I see that you have been enjoying the night without me, darling,” he whispers, shooing away the men attempting to approach with stares alone. 

“Your Grace,” you breathe, hand tightening around your glass. Stomach coiling at the endearment, you shake out of his grip but he proves yet again how it’s futile to do so. He’s bigger than you. Stronger. 

“It seems to be a challenge getting a hold of you tonight. What with all the men circling you around like vultures.” He looks down at you with a glint of mischief. His hand makes fast around your waist. “Worry not. They will not bother you any longer.” 

You nervously sip from your glass, wondering when will you ever have the tongue to tell him that you’d rather conjure up fake smiles with the nobles than be in his company. 

“I’m quite alright, Your Grace,” is all that you’ve managed to say. “And… and I wouldn’t want to deter your reunion with your fellow Harbingers,” you follow, hoping that he’d remember the comrades he has abandoned. 

“Nonsense,” Pantalone scoffs. “In truth, I’m growing tedious of conversing about work and I’d assume you are, too. We shall retire to a quiet room.” 

He leads you through the body of the crowd, as though parading the both of you together. Noticing the curious eyes thrown upon you by guests, your confidence evaporated. With his hand on your waist, claiming more than protecting, you know exactly the source of the next gossip in town. 

Such a straightforward display of affection by a Harbinger, no less, is not to be taken lightly. You grow uneasy ruminating about what might be the impression of people around you by now.

The discomfort settles deep in your bones when Pantalone opens a door to a secluded room. Far from the crowd, no doubt, the distance muffles the music from the hall. Standing on the threshold, you hesitate for a moment, debating whether to run and make for the exit. 

“Come on in,” he encourages, tone honey-laced. If he sensed your hesitation, he’s hidden it quite well with oblivion. But only when you’ve stepped inside the chamber does he finally look away. 

Pantalone shuffles out of his fur coat, revealing his turtleneck sleeveless shirt embedded with jewels near the collar. “You may leave us now,” he commands the servant poking the hearth with a metal rod, whom you failed to acknowledge because of your nerves. 

He politely bows to you both before departing the room.

“Come sit near the fire,” he says with a mirthful twitch of his brow on your unmoving frame. “One might think you’re afraid to come close. Come here.” 

Mustering up all courage, you ask, “Why did you bring me here, Your Grace?” 

There is nothing but the sound of wood crackling and liquor pouring down into two glasses after your question. Warmth might have enveloped the space, but you remain cold against his penetrative stare. 

“Why, you ask? I know you’re not one for social gatherings. Therefore, I took it upon myself to save you from such dull conversations. Political matters aren’t your thing, I surmised. And they ken nothing else but politics,” he explains before walking towards you, offering the other glass with a smile.  

Stop the charade. You know nothing about me. 

“It matters not,” you insist, voice feeble as you reach for the glass. Frustrated are you by his theatrics, you have not forgotten that he is a Harbinger. Through and through, he gives away no sliver of doubt about his capabilities regardless of his laidback demeanor. “I have to be there with the others. This night is important to the theatre. We have to be there for when the Tsaritsa—”

“When the Tsaritsa, what?” He caresses your cheek, invading your personal space once again. “When Her Majesty bestows the theatre a favor of being permanent performers in the Palace?” he narrates as if he’s reading your mind. 

“Is it a far-fetched dream, Your Grace?” You blankly stare at him, heart thudding. 

“Oh, no. Not at all,” he says before turning away, taking your hand to sit you down on the sofa before the fireplace. “The dance was impeccable. But it failed in comparison to you.” 

To that, you refuse to say anything. 

Pantalone leans over your shoulder, tracing the side of your neck with his finger. “Although I have to remind you that for it to happen, the Harbingers need to be unanimous.” 

Your breath hitches at the skinship. Reminding yourself that you need only get through the night, you close your eyes. “Are they, Your Grace? Unanimous?” 

“Nothing has been decided yet,” he whispers against your skin. “But they’ve been quite enthralled by the performance— and by you, no doubt. I’ve seen it in every man’s eyes tonight.” 

“Surely, you’re mistaken, Your Grace,” you reply nervously, sensitive to the direction of the conversation. 

“They want you,” he insists. “And I’m not one to share.” 

There it is— the words. His adamant claim to mark you. To claim you. To make you his territory. 

“I’m not certain I understand, Your Grace.” Your throat bobs deeply, eyes fixated on the dancing flames as you await his response. 

Pantalone sighs and takes a step back before circling around to crouch in front of you, blocking the flames from your sight. It has taken everything in you not to flinch when he took your cold hands in his warm ones.

“The Harbingers need to be unanimous,” he repeats while brushing your knuckles with his thumbs, as if consoling. And yet there is nothing in those eyes but unadulterated determination and yearning. So flagrant that his pupils dilate because of it. 

“And you…” You release a shaky breath, realizing what he truly means by being unanimous. “You do not plan to agree, do you?” 

He sighs in relief, as if grateful that you’ve finally understood his dilemma. “It is far beyond my patience to watch these men ogle at you—”

“Why are you doing this?” you croak suddenly, throat burning with anger and the need to lash out. “Why are you doing this to me?!” 

It’s not only your life that’d crumble. The others… the whole theatre… and he cares not even the slightest bit. 

Pantalone squints a little, confused at your unforeseen rage. He stands up, towering over your frame. “You look at me as if I’m wicked.” 

Your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, restraining the rancid words you wish to throw at him behind clenched teeth. How powerless you are under his mercy. It’s pathetic. It eats at your bones from within, leaving only a rotten mess behind. 

Receiving silence, Pantalone tilts your chin up with a mere lift of his finger. “Am I truly that terrible?” 

“It is… it is a terrible thing to be desired by you.”

At the look he’s given you, cowardice snakes into your ire and poisons what little bravery it has offered. 

“Why? Because I want all of you and I have not a mind to share with anyone?” An odd sense of curiosity tints his voice. It sounds as though your disapproval over the matter downright confuses him. 

“Pardon me, Your Grace. I am in dire need of fresh air.” You stand up but he catches your wrist swiftly, crashing your body onto his forcefully enough to have elicited a wince from you. 

“Look me in the eyes. Say that you’re willing to face the consequences of leaving this room and I’ll let you go.” The threat echoes as a whisper. Sharp and baleful.

“Consequences?” Seized by terror, your lips went ajar and pallid. You face him completely, wrist hot under his fingertips. 

He brushes the skin below your eye, as if plucking an invisible thread. “This is hardly the time to bring out the list, is it?”

The list. The list of everything your parents owe him: loans, mortgages, and debts. Who in Snezhnaya doesn’t owe him something? He’s the bloodline in which mora flows freely. A man of great wealth and influence, no one would dare displease him on purpose. 

“One day, I swear, I’ll pay everything we owe you. To the last penny. After that, you won’t hear from me ever again,” you hiss, clueless as to where you’ve gained the courage. Perhaps it’s rooted in your hopelessness and exhaustion towards having to bend on his will. 

“And I’ll do everything in my power to prevent such a horrible day,” he says, unaffected by your attitude. If anything, the determined set of your brows only deepened the flush on his cheeks. “Now, be a good girl and I might just change my mind…” he extends the last word, taking off his glasses before closing his mouth on yours. 

Everything, up to this moment, is weighing on a scale. Perhaps ever since your family has been indebted to him. The other side of the scale fattens and grows heavier with each mora beside your parents’ name. 

One day, Pantalone’s list will become as blank as your mind tonight. 

One day. 

Despite the frantic need that is evident in his eyes, Pantalone’s kisses are patient. He’s like an ocean on nights like this: dark, blood-curdling, and yet tempting. You couldn’t deny, no matter how you fight the admittance burning on your tongue, that he knows exactly where to touch and kiss you. How to coax lecherous sound after lecherous sound from your lips whenever his fingers would reach inside your cunt, curling and pumping until your stomach tightens. 

“Don’t be shy,” he sighs a breadth away from your lips, breathing in your heavy pleas. “Let me hear you.” 

You want to refuse him the pleasure of watching you melt under his playful ministrations. Want to extinguish the carnal lust painted in his eyes as he sucks and bites on your tit. Silence would wound his pride and crush his ego underfoot. And yet silence is the weapon missing from your arsenal. 

“I do appreciate your efforts in trying to keep your moans.” The corner of his lips tips up. “But your cunt is so wet. Nobody will believe your displeasure.”

Panting, your mouth opens for a rebuttal but he quickly shoves his fingers on your tongue. Overwhelmed with a whiff of something vinegary, you gag. 

“Taste yourself,” he commands. “Suck.” 

At the first swirl of your tongue, Pantalone grabs your throat with his free hand to steady your head. He hisses on your cheek, “I’ll fuck you so hard tonight you won’t think of anything else.” 

And he did fuck you. Hard. In many positions that have kept you exposed and embarrassed. He moves with his back flexing as he pounds your cunt. 

Your eyes blurred with tears when he flipped you on your stomach, ramming his length completely inside from the back. You have been stretched open, reduced to a whining mess. And he, grunting and groaning, drives himself in and out while securing your waist with big hands. 

Pantalone feels his cock growing harder, balls plumped and full of unreleased cum. His stomach clenches down to his cocktip. But before his release, he pops his cock out of your wet cunt. It bobs eagerly under its weight, shaft glossed with your arousal and ringed with white around the base. 

The interruption has given you but a few seconds to breathe before he pulls your leg and guides himself completely inside once again. You both gasped at the continued connection. You shriek when he hooks your other leg over his shoulder and starts to fuck you sideways. 

It’s embarrassing. The position is far too crude yet feels so good. It lasted for a minute before Pantalone shifted to face you. Both of your bodies are bouncing to his movements. 

“I’m close,” he declares in the crook of your neck followed by a gutted moan. 

Along with your head being fuzzy, the need to pee arises. “W… wait—” you rasp, palming his chest away. “I need to pee. Stop— stop!”

He stiffens and slows down, rising above you just enough to press a hand on your lower abdomen, before picking up his pace again. 

The knot in your chest slides to your abdomen, to where his hand is pressed down your flesh. You look up at him, a harsh cry escaping your lips. Utterly devastated with pleasure, you haven’t the strength to stop yourself from gushing around his girth. The warm liquid secretion from your cunt squirts everywhere— on the sheets, your thighs, and his thighs. 

“Archons,” you hear him sigh before an interval of unrestrained moans and grunts leave him. He gathers you in his arms, cock throbbing sporadically inside your walls. 

You know, by then, that he had come hot and needy straight to your womb. The last you’ve seen are his eyes, stricken with nothing but satisfaction and desire before sleep tugged you in its embrace. 

It’s the slip of the sun’s rays through the curtains that woke you up the next day. Sitting up on the bed, you’ve found yourself alone in the spacious room. No signs of Pantalone, and yet you still feel him in every corner of your body as if he’s stuck himself in your skin. Shivers thunder down your spine at the remnants of last night. The flashes of memory you’d rather forget have rendered you hankering for a good, long bath. And yet you have been faced with a dilemma right after stepping out of bed: your clothes are gone.

Panic rising, you clasp the sheets around your body before checking under the bed. The floor is spotless. 

How are you supposed to leave now? You might’ve already sold your soul to the devil named Pantalone, but you hold a sliver of self-respect to even consider marching naked out of Zapolyarny Palace. 

“You’re awake.” 

You jolt at the sound of his voice. 

He might’ve noticed your alarm, for he chuckles and raises his hands in defense. 

“Where are my clothes?” you rasp, putting as much distance between you as physically possible. 

“Oh, that?” He pumps his shoulders up in realization before snapping his fingers, then a servant carrying a huge box enters while looking at the floor. “I could not let you in those rags so I had someone burn them while you sleep.” 

Stupefied beyond recognition, words have unfortunately failed you when you needed them most. You feel faint just sorting through his revelation. Rags? And burned them without your permission? 

He motions to the servant, who placed the box on the bed beside you. “Go ahead and try the dress, my love. I’m certain the color will suit you.” 

There is no doubt about it. The dress has been bought from the most expensive shop in the city. You know this because of the name written on the box. Once, you’ve dreamt of possessing a dress made in that shop. Yet now, all you can feel is dread.

“I can’t,” you counter, “I can’t take this. I have not the mora to pay for this.” 

“Leave us,” he commands and the servant ran off without a backward glance. 

Pantalone closes the distance between you, breaching your personal space and claiming it as his own. He takes your chin and says, “It’s a gift. And it’d please me so if I see you wearing it.” 

“I do not want to please you.” You wag your head to take his hands off you. “I’d rather dress in rags or go home naked than… than wear that.”

From your peripheral, you’ve witnessed him wipe the sides of his mouth. He’s turning impatient, that you are certain. However, he reaches for your hand and holds it tightly despite your struggle. 

“Although the latter entices my imagination, do you want me plucking out the eyes of each person that’d look your way? I suppose not.” He grips your chin and made you look at him this time. An eerie smile, one that would’ve appeared lovely to a stranger’s eyes, shapes his lips. “However, you do have a choice, my love. You always have.” Then he kisses your forehead and leaves the room. 

Choice. You want to spit at the word. Trample on it until it’s reduced to pieces. He talks of choices but in truth, you have been left with none. 

It’s either you wear the stupid dress or remain in this stupid chamber with your stupid pride. Nothing matters. Whatever it is you decide to do, it will end up pleasing no one but Pantalone. 

do not repost, plagiarize, copy, or edit anything published by wtfkuni. check masterlist.

#tw dubcon #pantalone x reader #pantalone smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #yandere pantalone x reader #yandere genshin x reader

[videogamelover99]

The results of the poll are in we're doing ADA!soukoku:

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

"Chuuya, wait."

Chuuya felt the hold on his sleeve before he really registered why he'd stopped. Why everything had stopped. Why his vision felt surreal, like he was watching himself from five feet away, Dazai's grip on his shirt. He could hear his own breaths mixed with Dazai's, ragged and unnervingly panicked.

Dazai didn't- Dazai didn't panic. He bitched and moaned and threw on one callous glance over another instead of actually feeling any damn emotion.

Except that was a fucking lie.

Dazai, standing over a corpse with a gun in his hand, grin manic as he shot round after round at a dead man. Dazai, hair and clothes caught by the harsh winds as he told Chuuya they'd never know if Chuuya was human or not. Dazai staring at him from a hospital bed, expression so stupid that Chuuya wanted to strangle him. Telling Chuuya he didn't realize the bomb had not been an ability. Osamu Dazai, screwing up for once, and not knowing what to do with himself.

Chuuya didn't want to turn around. Didn't want to know what he'd see in a face that was always so reliably apathetic. Not when that voice, one full of desperation and anguish, had come out of Dazai's mouth.

He turned around anyway.

Dazai had found Chuuya's sleeve to be the most fascinating thing in the room, fiddling with the threads of his sweater, trying to pull them out one by one. Chuuya refrained from tugging it away. "What."

"Ah," Dazai's smile was small and pained, still directed at the sweater. "I didn't actually come here just to rearrange Chuuya's kitchen."

"Uh huh."

"I also came here to mess up your books!"

"..."

"And draw on your paperwork, of course."

"..."

"And replace your shampoo with ketchup."

"Dazai."

"Of course, then Chuuya had to show up early and ruin everything. Typical of him."

"Dazai-"

"Well, I guess I should be leaving. I'm taking all your toothpaste of course, as a generous donation. You have no idea where I've-"

"Dazai!"

Dazai blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Chuuya should have punched the bandaged bastard just for that look, but instead of the usual infinite well of anger Chuuya could tap into when dealing with his used-to-be-partner, all he felt was exhaustion, and a distant tug of pity he snuffed out instantly. "Why are you here."

Dazai shrugged. Sniffed. "Would you believe me if I said I have nowhere else to go?"

Chuuya snorted at that. "What, none of your hidey-holes working out for you?"

"None of them have Chuuya."

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #nakahara chuuya #soukoku #dazai osamu #skk #ada!skk #fanfic #wip #vee's writing

[jack-the-nibbler]

Voretober Day 3: Insomnia

If there's nothing in the darkness, why do you lie awake? Something in the shadows is keeping you from sleep.

This was looking to be another sleepless night. You laid there in bed, flinching at every noise outside, eyes darting toward every shadow. It just couldn’t be helped. Ever since you found those claw marks on your bed frame and started hearing soft growls and rumbles within your bedroom, it’s been getting harder to sleep. 

To be fair, you always did have trouble sleeping. It was too easy to just stay up into the late hours, scrolling through your phone, trying not to listen to the howl of the wind outside. You often fell asleep without turning it off. That probably wasn’t great, but it was hard to bring yourself to care. You just didn't want to sit there in silence, thinking about the dark coming alive with unsavory things.

You froze upon hearing a creak right underneath you. A low growl drifted up from underneath your bed. Shuddering, you hid underneath your covers, daring to peek out at your bedroom. Nothing. Your eyes darted around, lingering on each shadow. Was your tired mind just imagining things?

Just as you were about to relax, a claw reached up from under your bed, talons digging into your sheets. Your eyes widened; all you could do was watch as a massive beast dragged itself into view, leering down at you with four bright yellow eyes. It was hard to make out in the dark, but the monster appeared to be a mix of reptilian and mammalian. It tilted its huge, horned head, a slimy tongue rolling out of its mouth.

Your hopes that the covers would be enough to hide you were snuffed out as the monster stuck its snout under your covers, sniffing you. You tried to shuffle away, but its long tail wrapped around your form, pulling you out from your blanket refuge.

The monster leered at you, sniffing you. Your heart was pounding as it studied you; its eyes traveled over your form before it opened its mouth wide, revealing a purple maw lined with gleaming teeth. You gasped and screamed, but ended up being muffled as the beast clamped down on your upper body.

You struggled desperately within the monster’s jaws, legs kicking wildly outside. You tried to press up against either side of its mouth, but it was simply too strong. The monster squished its tongue around you, tilting its head back to slurp you up. You cried out and pleaded, but the monster simply ignored you, its tongue pushing you towards its throat. All you could do was whimper as you were engulfed by the creature’s squishy throat, pulled down into the dark, soft depths.

Your legs were easily slurped up, sealing you inside of the monster’s digestive tract. You were sent sliding down its throat, wriggling in a fruitless attempt to make your devourer choke. It only seemed to enjoy your struggles, pressing a claw against the wriggling bulge you made in its throat. It surprisingly wasn’t slimy at all, and you would have probably enjoyed the all-over massage if it wasn’t for your fear.

You slipped into the monster’s stomach, filling it up almost perfectly. You laid there in shock for a few moments, letting everything that had just happened sink in. There was a monster living under your bed, and it had just swallowed you whole and alive. A whimper left you as you pushed around, wondering if you could somehow escape. This didn’t last long as you were jostled around and squashed. The monster had flopped onto your bed, squishing you inside as it laid down.

You struggled as much as you could, but your lack of sleep was taking a toll on you. You were scared, but your energy was waning fast. It didn’t help that the stomach was surprisingly soft and cozy, arguably more so than your bed. It wasn’t long before you were lying still, your eyes slowly closing. The last thing you felt was nuzzling from outside and a purr vibrating around you.

The monster gave a yawn, curling up and resting its head on its belly. You would be safe, but you wouldn’t learn that until morning. Yes, it was mostly responsible for your lack of sleep, but that would change. It wouldn’t just sit by and watch you lie awake for hours at a time anymore. From now on, staying up too late would end up getting you tucked into the belly of the beast. If that didn’t help your insomnia, then it wasn’t sure what would…

#soft vore #safe vore #nonfatal vore #vore writing #monster pred #nonhuman pred #fearplay #unwilling prey #voretober #voreville voretober #prey pov #pov vore #yes I had to throw in that lil c/reature f/eature reference #if you know you know #spooky vore

[rowaelinsdaughter]

KEEP MY HEART CHAPTER VI

WARNINGS;; long chapter, violence, spoilers for heir of fire, blood, whip

“eat it”

“come on abraxos, eat it. it’s your reward” manon said through her teeth “you earned it” but abraxos was still sniffing the flowers. ayla tried to suppress a smile… but failed.

“it’s good for you” manon said, but he went right back to sniffing the violets. a laugh escaped ayla’s mouth.

“stop that” manon said through her teeth, but ayla only laughed harder until she was lying on the floor. 

manon tossed the leg right in front of his massive mouth and tucked her hands into the folds of her red cloak. he snuffed at it, his new iron teeth glinting in the radiant light, then stretched out one massive, claw-tipped wing and— 

shoved it aside.

“is it not fresh enough?” and abraxos moved to sniff some white and yellow flowers. 

“you can’t really like flowers.”

“you know? they really smell good, maybe i should visit this place more” ayla shifted her eyes from manon to abraxos. bring me with you. he seemed to say.

manon rolled her eyes “you too are going to be the death to me” she picked the leg “if you won’t eat it, then i will.”

she bit into the raw meal… and spat it everywhere.

“what in the mother’s dark shadow-”

“now i’m thankful i can’t eat meat raw.” she looked as manon tossed the leg away. 

“fine. you want fresh meat… then we’re going to have to hunt”

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“i hate you” ayla looked at manon, panting through her teeth at abraxos. 

“did the meeting with your grandmother go so badly?”

“yes. and all because he is a willful, lazy worm”

“manon-” but she wasn’t listening. manon checked her tight braid and flicked her clear inner lid into place. “let’s go” she said. 

“manon, i don’t think this is a good idea.”

“yes it is. the humans had said that her wings are functional, so he can fly, and he is going to fly because i say so.” she hissed to herself, eyeing the saddle on his back. abraxos continued to lie in the sun. “warrior heart indeed.”

ayla bit her lip. she didn’t like this. she watched as manon landed on his haunch and she was into the saddle. she shoved her booted feet into the stirrups and gripped the reins. “we’re flying now.” she dug her heels into his sides.

“manon-”

“enough” she barked, hauling with one arm to guide him over the eastern edge. ayla was getting nervous. abraxos was panicked, and her voice was no more than a crackling leaf on the wind. “abraxos…” she whispered. “ABRAXOS NO!”

his leg slid off the cliff and they plummeted into open air.

not again. not again. not again. not again. she was all she could think. she hated her fae form. she hated not having her powers, because all she couldn’t do anything to help. she was feeling useless.

she heard manon shout. “open your wings”

open your wings abraxos.

manon could see the pine cones on the trees. “open them!” a war cry that was answered with a piercing shriek as abraxos flung open his wings, caught the updraft, and sent them soaring away from the ground. 

and manon was flying. ayla watched them fly and wish she could be flying with them. she heard abraxos unleashed a roar of joy and manon echoed it. 

ayla felt her the tears ran down her cheeks.

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

two weeks passed until manon and her thirteen mastered her training as a unit. they woke up before the sun was up, and every night ayla healed manon’s scratches and helped her relax. slowly, each one of them developed her own fighting instincts individually and as a group, and then they were outpacing every coven. 

i’m not surprised, your coven is the best there has been in centuries. ayla had said one night.

but… abraxos couldn’t take the crossing. his wings weren’t strong enough. manon had used her downtime to see abraxos, to train with him. ayla didn’t care manon didn’t have time with her. she knew manon needed as much time with abraxos as possible. 

ayla watched as the overseer grafted the spidersilk manon had got from the spiders. “you’re crazy.” manon gave her a grin. “isn’t that why you love me?” she giggled and kissed her cheek. once abraxos was healed, manon brought her to the northern fang where they would try the crossing. 

asterin, sorrel and ayla waited behind them. and unfortunately for them, iskra was also there. the first two ones on their mounts and ayla was seated in front of sorrel. manon had promised them to jump away from him if things went wrong, but she knew manon wasn’t keen on the plan. 

manon nodded to her second and third, and ayla gave her a reassuring smile. 

she checked the stirrups, the saddle and the reins one more time, abraxos tense and snarling. “let’s go” she said to him, pulling the reins to lead him further “now” she napped. she tried and tried and tried, but abraxos didn’t move. she finally snapped. “fine. have him locked up wherever he’ll be the most miserable, he’s not coming out until he’s willing to make the crossing”

manon snapped her fingers at them, and sorrel helped ayla dismount from her wyvern. once she was on the floor, she rushed to manon and took her hand. “let’s go manon.” she dragged her to the entrance as iskra make her way to them. 

“why don’t you stay, manon?” iskra called. “i could show your wyvern how it’s done”

“keep walking,” sorrel murmured to manon and ayla squeezed her hand. forget about her. she tried to say and manon squeeze back. 

“they say it’s not the beast who are the problem, but the riders,” iskra went on. they kept walking. 

“though, perhaps your mount needs a bit of discipline”

“let’s go” sorrel coaxed as she pressed to manon’s side, ayla on the other and asterin walking behind, guarding manon’s and ayla’s back.

iskra shouted something to someone. a whip snapped and a roar of pain and fear filled the place. manon stopped dead, and ayla looked behind them. “oh gods…” she muttered. the scene… abraxos was huddling against the wall and iskra stood before him, whip bloody from the line she’d sliced down his face, narrowly missing his eye. 

none of them were fast enough as manon tackled iskra. 

“manon no!” ayla shouted, but sorrel grabbed her by the waist, stopping her from running to manon. 

they were a storm of teeth and nails, flipping and shredding and biting. manon thought she might be roaring, roaring so loud the hall shook.

“manon please stop!” her voice cracked as she exclaimed again. she watched as manon hit the earth, spat out a mouthful of blue blood and ducked past iskra’s guard and threw her onto the unforgiving stone. the last one groaned as manon brought her fist down onto her face. 

her knuckles howled in pain, but she wasn’t thinking. iskra swiped at her face and manon reeled back, the blow cutting down her neck, but manon was onto her again, digging harder into iskra’s chest and struck, again. again. again. “manon!” ayla exclaimed again. manon lifted her hand again but sorrel hauled her off. manon trashed against them, still screaming. 

ayla grabbed her by the shoulder, her own nails cutting into her to make her pause, realize. her other hand grabbed her wounded cheek and lowered her down to look at her into her eyes. “he is fine, manon” ayla said, her voice softer this time. “ abraxos is fine. look at him. look at him please and see that he’s fine” 

manon obeyed and found him looking at her, eyes wide. asterin was between them and iskra, both of them growling, ready for another fight. she looked at ayla again at noticed her face stained with tears. blackeaks didn’t cry. but she wasn’t a blackbeak. she sighed and ayla lowered her hands to her chest and pressed her forehead there, listening to her heartbeat. 

looking at iskra manon hissed. “you touch him again, and i’ll drink the marrow from your bones”

✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮✮

ayla was waiting for manon in their room, preparing everything to clean her wounds. the door opened and manon entered and closed the door behind her. she took off her cape and sat on the bed, resting her head in her hands. ayla approached her quietly, and when she was standing in front of her, manon rested her head on her stomach, her arms circled ayla’s waist and ayla caressed her head. 

she whispered softly. “let me take care of you… please.” manon moved and watched as her mate took the supplies she needed, then she sat on her lap and started taking care of her. when she finished, manon walked to the bathroom to wash herself. ayla was on the bed when she went out. laying down on the bed next to ayla, she moved to her side, so she was looking at her. manon’s eyes were cold. 

“i want to kill her”

“i know manon, i know.” she sighed, brushing a hand on her cheek “but not now manon”

manon closed her eyes. when she opened them again, they were warmer. for her. just for her. “you were going to get into the fight”

“of course i was.”

manon smiled at last and grabbing the back of her neck, she pressed her mouth with her’s.

tagging;; @thehighladywrites @hellwantfuckme @shadowdaddies @fightmedraco

#sjm books #sarah j maas #fanfic #throne of glass #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass fanfiction #manon blackbeak #manon imagine #manon x reader #manon fanfic #manon fanfiction #manon x ayla #manon x f!reader #manon x oc #tog x reader #tog series #tog spoilers #tog #my ocs <3 #oc imagine #my oc stuff #oc fanfiction #ocs

[gothic-daydreamer]

-Gifts-

Larissa Weems x Fem!Wife!Reader

*oneshot*

Summary: Your wife is irritated by an overly-affectionate friend.

Warnings: Jealousy, angst, dark Larissa if you squint.

_______________________________________

"Jenny- I can't possibly accept that!" Jenny giggled at my outburst from her place across from me on the sofa, waving a hand dismissively "oh please, I couldn't wear that. Doesn't suit me. You on the other hand, that would look a million dollars on you"

Jenny was always dressed to the nines, resplendent in silver and the finest clothes money could buy. I admired her for how well she held herself, anyone would mistake her for a rich woman when in fact she was just a secretary to some businessman. It was obvious that most of her pitiful salary went towards her appearance which, sadly, often left her without essentials. That was the main reason I didn't want to take such an extravagant gift from her, knowing it would leave her out of pocket.

"Jenny I can't. That must have cost a whole month's wages!" Jenny sniffed, a little smirk on her face "I like to spoil my friends, especially you. Anyway, I missed your birthday last week so I owed you one" she took a drag on the cigarette she held in her hand, pinching it between her fingers as it neared snuffing out. I tried my best not to show my distaste openly, the smoke smelled awful.

I didn't like cigarettes, ever since I was little I hated the smell. That was one of Jenny's features that I didn't like, it clung to her fancy clothes and her hugs enveloped me with the tobacco smell. I still wouldn't trade a friend like Jenny for the world.

"Jen, no" I gave her the hardest, sternest look I could whilst trying not to appear ungrateful. Jenny's smirk widened, holding the stare and raising an eyebrow at me "You can't win, sweet. Now move your hair so I can put this on for you" I glared, huffing defeatedly as I turned away and swept aside my hair to expose my neck.

Jenny's warm hands brushed my skin as she set the cool silver necklace and it's small, intricate pendant against my sternum as the chain sat around my neck. I heard the quiet click as she clipped it shut and pulled away her hands. Jenny let her fingers linger for a moment too long, and a slightly uncomfortable shiver ran through me. She was always physically affectionate to a somewhat extreme degree, Larissa wasn't very fond of it.

"there... Beautiful" Jenny smiled as I turned back to her, smoothing down the front of my shirt. I returned her smile and cleared my throat, trying to think of how to carry on the conversation. Thankfully Jenny spoke up, a dramatic gasp upon checking her Swarovski watch "oh dear, I've overbooked myself. Got to run" she gave an apologetic smile as she returned to look at the necklace "very nice. Pretty, even"

Without another word Jenny stubbed out her cigarette, slung her red blaser over her black Vivienne Westwood dress, and stood up with an elegance I envied. I stood up to walk her to the door, but we both stopped at the sound of heels in the hallway outside.

"is that Larissa?" Jenny sounded a little excited and seemed to glow when I nodded, I wasn't sure why. Larissa was always apathetic and cold towards Jenny, and in private she was borderline hateful. Jenny looked at her watch again, and frowned "ugh, I really have to go"

I was pulled into a hug and instantly overwhelmed by the smell of smoke and traces of an expensive perfume, it took a moment to relax into her touch as she rubbed her hands across my back affectionately. I heard the hinges squeak as the door opened, and Larissa's heels stopped in the doorway. I could imagine her scowl, her scrunched up nose at the smell of tobacco.

Jenny pulled away, not sparing Larissa a single glance. I saw her sweet smile as she leaned in to kiss my cheek, I did the same to her as quickly as I could so that I could turn to Larissa. The Headmistress had a smiling expression, but her eyes didn't have their regular shine "Jennifer, how nice to see you again" she tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace.

Jenny grinned at the taller woman, her arm around my waist still from our hug. Larissa's gaze lingered on it for a moment, and her eyes hardened a little, but she quickly regained her composure and put a fake smile on once again "have I missed much, darling?" Larissa looked at me, her hands clasped in front of her. I couldn't help but notice the tired lines under her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders. Poor Larissa had clearly overworked herself again.

Thankful for the chance to free myself from the awkward hold Jenny had on me, I tried to make it look casual as I practically raced across to Larissa. I relaxed into her side instantly, breathing in the relaxing scent of lavender and freshly pressed paper that always surrounded her.

"not much, but look at the necklace Jenny gave me!" Larissa took the pendant between her fingers, raising it a little to see in more detail. Her frown was less concentrated and more of irritation, and when she met my eyes I saw a flash of a scowl cross her face. When I pulled away from a direct hug, Larissa kept a hand on my shoulder and steered me to her side "lovely"

Her lips were pursed, Larissa obviously didn't find the gift 'lovely'. Her hand gripped my shoulder a little tighter "That was most kind of you, Jennifer" Larissa's imposing stature loomed over Jennifer, making the statement sound more threatening than her tone originally did. She didn't scare me, but god Larissa could be intimidating when she wanted to be.

Jenny cleared her throat, awkwardly "I suppose I'd best get going" she muttered, smoothing down the front of her dress. She lifted her handbag, settling it on her forearm. Larissa gave her a polite smile, more sincere than the others.

"a shame I couldn't have spent more time with you, Jennifer. You seem like a lovely girl" the way she says girl makes Jenny visibly irritated, as if Larissa is cementing her place as her superior. Jenny gives a tight smile and nod to Larissa, who I noticed looked a little smug. Jenny didn't meet my eyes when she mumbled her goodbye.

Jenny shut the door after herself, leaving me with my eyes to the carpeted floor beneath us. I took note of Larissa's black 3 inch block heels, elevating her to an even greater height. Cool cream gloves came into my eyeline as Larissa tilted my head up, she looked down at me with loosely veiled satisfaction.

"don't look so timid, little love" her thumb stroked over my lips, and Larissa smirked a little as my breath hitched. Through her gaze she saw doe eyes. A perfect, innocent angel looking up at her as if she was a god. Larissa had never felt so appreciated, so adored as when she was with me. It was refreshing for someone to, finally, see the beauty Larissa often missed in herself. That was her justification for how she spoiled me, she wanted to give back the adoration.

I couldn't look away from her, blushing fiercely as Larissa assessed my face for thoughts. She looked to my right cheek and her lips pursed in annoyance "you have some of Jennifer's lipstick on your cheek" Larissa nearly spat her name, a quiet fire behind her eyes. I raised a hand to touch my cheek, but Larissa took my wrist in a gentle hold "let me"

With a liquid flourish Larissa hastily took her handkerchief from her blaser pocket, it was flower-pattern embroidered specially for her with L.W in the bottom corner of the fabric. It was soft on my face as Larissa wiped the beige pink traces of lipstick from my cheek, so gently it reminded me of my grandmother's tender hand. I looked up to her eyes, but she was focussed on removing the stain from my skin.

With a satisfied smile, Larissa pulled her soft handkerchief away from my face. I smiled like a giddy schoolgirl, I felt almost like one of her students. I wondered how many of them must admire her like this and felt the green monster of jealousy simmer beneath the surface, but it was quickly quelled when Larissa set a lingering kiss upon my cheek. The same one she had just cleared.

She waited a second, maybe two before pulling away and a self-satisfied smirk filled her red lips. I knew she was intentionally replacing Jenny's lipstick mark with her own. Larissa leaned down a little, and I found myself standing closer to her to hear her whispered words "you suit red better, doll"

With that she walked off, leaving the room through the same door Jenny had left through a few minutes earlier. A little swagger to her step, a sauntering sway to her hips. She was proud of herself for leaving me a blushing mess in her wake.

...

It was a few days later after Jenny's visit and I was in the library of Nevermore, my workplace. In that moment I was seated behind my desk with my assistant Silvie, a springing 20 year old who had freshly joined the staff, dealing with students looking for specific books. She was a sweet, young girl. Between the two of us, I like to think we do a good job of maintaining the functionality of this book-mansion.

I clicked on an email from Miss Thornhill, requesting fresh 'botanicum' work-books for her senior students. As always, the email ended with a little smiley face. I laughed at that, Marilyn was such a sweetheart.

There were no fresh emails, so I scrolled down a little to check for any missed requests from other staff members. A notification dinged at the top of my screen, and my stomach fluttered when I saw 'Mrs Weems' as the messenger.

I flew to click on it, it was short but still I was delighted.

To: Cecile Weems

From: Larissa Weems

I want you to wear it when I see you tonight x

I felt my eyebrows furrowed and my lips downturn in confusion, what the hell did she mean? I was answered by Silvie calling over from the reception desk "Cecile! There's a delivery for you!"

I stood up from my desk, feeling the ache in my thighs from sitting so long. I made my way over to the desk and waved Silvie off to deal with the growing queue of students. On the desk in front of me was a large, beautiful bouquet of Gardenias and Anemones. My favourite flowers. Tied with a bow to the surface of the square vase was a nearly flat rectangular box, which rattled a little as I untied the silk bow.

I took a moment to read the label.

Swarovski

I vaguely remembered mentioning that Swarovski was my favourite Jeweler in an idle conversation Larissa and I had years ago. I didn't think she was listening, since she was busy typing away at her computer, but turns out she was. My heart melted.

Sliding the lid from the box, I gasped. A beautiful choker necklace with rectangular cut crystals sat upon a white velvet pillow, i ran a finger across the surface of the silver and nearly shivered at the cold. It was gorgeous.

I saw a label printed on the inside of the box, which made my eyes widen.

£900

I nearly jumped away from the box with the shock I got. I was going to kill that bloody woman for spending so much.

A few stares were being sent my way, so I quickly calmed myself down. I took a deep breath and leaned against the desk, rubbing my temples in irritation. Larissa was going to get the silent treatment for sure... Right after thank you sex.

Silvie was beside me now, baring me an awkward smile "uh... A note came with it, sorry I didn't see it earlier" I nodded reassuringly, taking the little note card from her outstretched hand.

"no worries, Silvie. This was an... Unexpected delivery" we shared an awkward laugh before Silvie wandered off to help Bianca Barclay with something, likely aquatic plants for Miss Thornhill's class. I sighed, looking around at the students. I was glad they were taking such interest in their studies.

With that thought I turned back to the note in my hand, it was short and sweet. I smiled, Larissa was such a romantic.

My darling,

I hope you liked my gift, sweetheart. Who knows? Maybe you'll get another tonight...

Larissa hadn't signed the note. Well, not traditionally. Someone had kissed the bottom of the note, someone with bright red lipstick that left a mark, just like the one I'd let sit on my cheek as a proud display of Larissa Weems' love for me.

God, i thought as my face flustered red, I love my wife.

#gwendoline christie #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems fluff #larissa weems #larissa weems x oc #gwendoline christie x reader

[marketfreshfics]

The Stratagem Strain - Part III

Plot summary: Arriving at Hogwarts for an advanced graduate program on the direct appointment of the Minister for Magic himself, Paisley Gallos anticipates a successful sixth year of classes. Unbeknownst to her, she is a pawn in a sinister ploy orchestrated long before the start of the school year.

Tags: violence | angst | blood | vampires | tragedy | forced proximity | regret | denial of feelings | NDEs | eventual smut | dark magic | accidental death | read on AO3

WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of graphic violence, blood and gore.

Theophilus Harlow was never fond of taking orders, despite his immaculate delivery on the follow-through. Were it anything else besides this momentous occasion, he’d employ one of the handlers at Horntail Hall to check this mess off the to-do list. His compliance was bound to Rookwood's authority and reinforced by the occasional galleon payment. Thus, albeit warily, he resolved with a trademark determination to see this task through to its conclusion.

No stranger to the grittier aspects of his line of work, this assignment would undoubtedly earn him a prominent mention on his professional dossier. The honour was not lost on Harlow; he understood the weight of the curse that churned within his gut—a responsibility he considered both a gift and a source of potent authority. Every detail of the forthcoming endeavour had been meticulously planned, and he stood poised to initiate the chain of events with unwavering resolve.

Naturally, there was a sense of accomplishment. Pride and prestige for being entrusted with setting the components in motion, toppling the first domino, privy to watch as the rest of them fell on the next in line, the forward momentum of disaster and death brought on by his move. He could watch from his vantage point at the start of everything and see the fruits of his labour sprout, bud, flower, and decay in that kingdom of the beginning of the end. The prospect made his mouth swim.

Still, the idea of whetting his whistle with swill this evening fouled his insides.

“Mudblood little bitch.”

“What was that, boss?” The Ashwinder recruit piped up, tugging his snake-emblem bandana over his mouth and nose.

Harlow let out a curt groan. “Keep an eye out. They’ll be along any moment now, and I want to get the jump on ‘em.”

The recruit fidgeted with his wand, tossing it between his palms. "And, the plan?"

“She’ll be travelling with another student,” Harlow interjected with a steely edge. “Make quick work of them, y’hear? Can't leave any witnesses.”

The Ashwinder shifted his weight uneasily, swaying back and forth like a jittery pendulum in an attempt to quash his nerves.

Harlow sighed wearily, the weight of impatience palpable. “Oh come now, don’t bloody well tell me you’re one of those soft ones. You let an Ironbelly singe your arse hairs off, but the idea of snuffing out a mopey teenager is too much?” 

“They’re just kids, boss.” 

Harlow threw him a loaded cannon of glare.

The Ashwinder relented, throwing his hands up. “Alright, alright! I’ll get it done.”

Harlow sniffed the air, catching a faint lick of life on the barely-there breeze. Even through the slight mist, he could discern the subtle aroma of two heartbeats, synchronized in rhythm, growing more tantalizing with each step forward that carried them closer. It was a slow build to savour, a crescendo of anticipation, waiting for the wren to perch so the fox could snap it up. The sensation thrilled Harlow to the core, matched only by his unrelenting thirst.

As footsteps scattered pebbles on the path, marring the scent of blood with upturned dirt, an involuntary growl bubbled within Harlow's throat.

“Which one are you taking, again?” The Ashwinder wielded his wand, his gaze darting toward Harlow for guidance.

Harlow pinched the brim of his bowler hat, his gaze filled with predatory intent.

“The girl. Dispose of the boy, whatever means possible.”

It wasn’t every day that Paisley found herself comparing ratios of Bertie Botts bean flavours based on package size, but Sebastian seemed intent on making it a topic of debate, no doubt to help distract her ping-ponging fears. His freckle-dusted grin broadened before he popped another unsuspecting bean in his mouth, and his complacent expression deemed it savoury. “Honestly, I think the amount of bad versus good beans depends on how the candymaker was feeling that day.”

Paisley couldn't help but emit a derisive snort. “You cannot be serious.”

“There’s a kernel of truth to it,” Sebastian argued. “I’ve been a loyal customer to Honeydukes since my first year, even had the odd treat of stopping in before that when my parents were still around.”

A twinge of discomfort knotted her insides at the underlying tension there. Instead of addressing it, plenty dredged in the difficult anxiety of the present, she deftly changed tack. “Do they change flavour varieties often?”

“Nah.” His response was a chew of sound, of gelatin lodged between teeth. “They’ve been pretty consistent since I was a child, I’m guessing far beyond that as well. But I often wonder how they decide which boxes receive more good beans than bad." A sudden spark of animation lit up his features. "I swear, there was one week when I indulged excessively, and every box I opened contained nothing but delightful flavours! It felt like striking gold. Must have been a stroke of luck from the sweets-maker himself..." “Perhaps someone warmed his bedroll.”

Sebastian nearly choked on his candy. “That’d do it-”

The paradigm shifted so abruptly, so entirely, as Paisley was snatched up before her brain could detect the threat, a blur of broad, striped waistcoat dragging her into the dense cover of the Forbidden Forest. A silencing charm swiftly cut off her shrill scream, planned and executed with chilling precision.

And before Sebastian could even react, dropping the box of sweets to retrieve his wand, he was already dodging a blasting curse from an Ashwinder. 

“Paisley?” The underlying silence behind the zips and thrums of spell barrages heading his way caused Sebastian's voice to become tense mid-battle. He prioritized shield charms, suspecting, correctly, that the dark wizard would employ some more unsanctioned forms of magic. A hex narrowly skimmed his shoulderblade, passing over the arc of his shield spell, and the Slytherin countered with Confringo.

The Ashwinder was fast on his feet, tucking and rolling in the nick of time, and as he took a moment to right himself Sebastian bolted off the main path, diverting towards the Forbidden Forest, sprinting along the dirt path and past the countless signs foreboding the danger within. 

Caught in Harlow's overpowering grasp, Paisley found herself ensnared, her resistance futile against the immense force. She made twisted attempts to break away, but she was entangled in his sinister hold, her flailing movements a tragicomic dance of rebellion against an unchangeable force.

As Harlow's eerie laughter echoed through the air, Paisley's heart sank as she realized how far they had travelled in what seemed like an instant. A chilling sensation enveloped her as she struggled to make sense of their inexplicable journey, of the distance traversed in moments. Her logical mind desperately sought answers, even in the face of danger.

“Your little friend is trying to find you,” He looked at her with disdain, his breath fanning heat and horror on her face. She sensed the spell that had silenced her starting to weaken, her audible grunts of resistance serving as proof, while Harlow continued chiding her. “But I doubt he’ll be so friendly once he does. Perhaps he can be your first meal…”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Still confused by his uncontrollable power over her, Paisley mumbled under her breath as she writhed in fruitless attempts to break free. It terrified her, for more reasons than one.

Harlow grinned darkly at her, then leaned in, mouth open wide, targeting her throat.

“Diffindo!”

Paisley's spell struck Harlow point-blank, the abrupt impact freeing her. She took advantage of the moment to scuttle backwards, creating distance, but the outcome of her quick wandwork was nightmare fuel in itself. The spell shredded through his shoulder cap, flaying his skin, altering his silhouette. The sight of his exposed bone, with its pale pink and white hues, was disturbing enough, let alone the flesh torn asunder to reveal the pulsating agony beneath. The dark wizard howled more in shock than pain, exhaling forcefully through his flared nostrils as he glared knives into her. 

“You bitch…”

It would have been an ideal opportunity for escape then, but as Harlow composed himself, Paisley observed in startled fascination as his shoulder miraculously started to heal right before her eyes. A network of muscle fibres wove around his humerus, connecting with the sinew of bone and nerves, while a fresh layer of skin and visceral enveloped it all, similar to wrapping meat in butcher paper. The bizarre nature caught Paisley off guard, and as Harlow approached, he smirked with irritation. “Well, that pissed me off.” He lunged toward her, but she managed to evade the forward motion, relying on her agility to navigate through the thick bramble around her. She winced as the thorny branches snagged on her forearms, leaving angry, red, weeping scratches on her skin. Her sole focus was to escape from his line of sight, so she could stun or maim him further.

Harlow's head twitched, the scant scent of blood piercing the veil of focus, and a snarl-turned roar ripped from his throat. In an instant, her attention shifted behind her, fully aware that his threat dug beyond the mere barrier of simple harm. With determination, she raised her wand and unleashed another spell, this time shooting Glacius with intent.

The freezing charm struck Harlow's dominant arm, fusing his wand to his palm. With determination, he clenched his jaw as he shook off the layer of frost, raising the conduit of his dark magic to hurl a stun toward Paisley, which she promptly dodged.

Engrossed in an intense exchange of magic, the two ventured further into the Forbidden Forest, the canopy of trees growing denser, the daylight diminishing rapidly. And despite how steadfast she was in her resolve, Paisley couldn’t help but sense that fate had already predetermined the predicament. She glowered at Harlow, before dodging a disarming spell, countering with---

“Bombarda!” Sebastian nearly swung a full rotation around a tree trunk, narrowly evading the Ashwinder's attack. With wide eyes, he observed the enemy preparing to cast another spell his way. Ducking each of his limbs behind the sprawling white oak, he anticipated the impact of the spell on the tree. As the fractured bark shattered and splinters flew outwards, he seized the opportunity to unleash a torrent of Incendio toward his attacker.

“Ah!” The Ashwinder yipped, evidence that Sebastian’s spell hit paydirt. The wizard shook off the stray flames, caught on his pant leg, but it wasn't enough to hinder. “You’ll get raked for that!” He hollered, but Sebastian was already on the move, rolling down an embankment to transition to an entirely different path, intent on confusing his pursuer as he ambled upright into a full sprint again. He refrained from looking back, as the audible crunch of gravel beneath his feet served as a constant reminder of the Ashwinder's near pursuit. Projectiles of red swiftly passed by in close proximity, his erratic running pattern seemingly far from foolish for how effective it proved, and at one point he observed that he managed to dodge a stray tail of green light from a spell he had never seen before--

“Petrificus Totalis!”

Sebastian's body went stiff, his arms rigid at his sides, and he collapsed to the ground, letting out a pained groan as he felt the sting of broken skin along his forehead. The shit-eating grin of the Ashwinder evolved to a guffaw, much to Sebastian's chagrin. He approached Sebastian, panting with self-assured swagger, as if he had just proven himself by outsmarting a student. “About time you stopped trying to scurry off, little rat.”

The dark wizard nudged Sebastian’s petrified form and rolled him over, rendering him face-up. He sneered down with disdain in a sordid, pathetic demonstration of authority. “I’ve got you now…” Sebastian sensed the wane of the petrification charm, though he remained motionless, not letting a single breath escape. Drawing upon his duelling experience, he awaited the moment when the unsuspecting Ashwinder would raise his wand, providing patience over power. There would be one opportunity, no more; with the incoming Expulso spell at such proximity, the sheer force of impact alone would likely stop his heart.

Once the spell manifested, Sebastian immediately flicked his wand upwards, uttering, “Protego!”

As expected, the shield deflected the spell. It ricocheted and returned to the caster, sending the dark wizard flying backwards in a somersault through the air. His cry came to an abrupt halt as he collided with the nearby cliff face, a sickening crunch sealing his fate. 

Wholly unprepared to investigate after the Ashwinder remained still for several heart-wrenching seconds, Sebastian pivoted on his heel in the direction where his newfound companion had been taken away. He hoped above all else that the last of his luck had not run up just then.

Luck was not generous to Paisley. Her competencies in magic combat were remarkable, with spellwork finessed from dedication to her craft, Still, she was not prepared to take on Harlow, deftly avoiding her spells and leaving her in frustrated awe of his dexterity. He appeared to defy the laws of physics with every blurred sidestep, and Paisley couldn't help but wonder whether he had enhancement beyond what mere mortals could achieve.

“Accio!”

Paisley was abruptly pulled airborne towards her kidnapper, who yanked her wand from her dominant hand with a grin before she hit the ground. Her struggle only amused her impromptu captor, his smirk a testament to dominance. 

Harlow caught Paisley’s leg, and despite her kicks and thrashes, his inhuman strength managed to keep a hold of her, dragging her through the underbrush without cause or care for the scrapes and bruises she acquired along the way. “Let, me, go!” She grit through a clenched jaw, curling her torso upright to claw his arm, anything to get him to release her or loosen his grip, but her attempts were met with cruel indifference.

“Ah, a fighter are ye?” Harlow’s snide remark sunk in, wholly entertained as he pinned her to the dirt with an elbow pushing between her ribs, forcing the air from her lungs faster than she could welcome it in. “ That’s good, you'll need it… but for now, you’re just makin’ this more difficult than it needs to be, kid.”

His mouth opened wide, angled at her neck, his intentions clear. When the realization hit, panic surged through Paisley, her cries of terror rending the air as she pleaded for salvation, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, of rescue. Had Sebastian managed to escape from that other wizard? 

In the depths of her terror, Paisley clung to a desperate hope, a fervent wish that she alone would bear the weight of the impending tragedy. It was a selfish plea amidst the chaos of her ordeal. She prayed, with every fibre of her being, that she would be the sole victim of Harlow's depravity this fateful evening. For in that moment of anguish, the alternative was too monstrous to contemplate — the thought of another soul enduring the same fate, the same agony, was a burden far too heavy at this moment. And so, amidst the turmoil that harassed her hopeless soul, she clung to that solitary hope, a fragile thread of solace in the darkness that threatened to consume her whole.

His razor-sharp incisors lacerated her jaw as he missed his mark once, twice, then thrice, still a novice to feeding on something so alive and virile.

Paisley was determined to thwart his progress, writhing and coughing through the pinch point of his arm to her chest. Harlow muttered an expletive, withdrew his wand, and prodded her chin.

“Arresto Momentum!”

Paisley was rendered immobile, and her fate was sealed.

Harlow gave no pause or reprieve, finally biting into Paisley’s throat.

Suction pulled her jugular into his mouth, and he consumed her blood, her accelerated pulse practically flushing it to him willingly, as each heartbeat became a morbid offering. Paisley's final scream rent the air as the stopping charm faded, its fruitless attempt at intervention fading into obscurity, and the darkness swallowed her gargled pleas.

At that moment, Sebastian let the echo of her howl guide the way, his heart clenched with a mixture of dread and despair. The flicker of hope that sustained him faltered, its fragile flame threatened by the relentless onslaught of despair, like the first unsuccessful attempt to blow out a candle, bending the flame to near extinguishment.

“No…” A cold dread settled over him in a suffocating shroud. Sickening certainty assured him that his intervention would come too little, too late, a bitter realization. The burden of self-doubt bore down upon him with crushing force, doubling his center of gravity until he felt liable to collapse under its oppressive weight. He couldn’t manage to keep a classmate safe on a routine trip to Hogsmeade; what good was he for even attempting to cure his sister? Paisley’s already sapped strength was being let out entirely, her heartbeats slowing, her lungs rendered dormant. But for all the pain of holding on, therein lay a tranquil acceptance of the inevitable. As her life came to a close, she felt a strange sense of peace wash over her, as if the forest itself conspired to cradle her in its embrace. In the stillness of that fateful moment, the spectre of death loomed ever closer, its gentle whispers beckoning Paisley forth with a solemn invitation, and it was an all too familiar friend in the end. 

And yet, amidst the darkness, a yearning stirred within her.

Oh, how she wished she could see the stars one last time…

Before she lost consciousness, she witnessed Harlow slash his finger, inserting it into her mouth, and then spreading his blood across her tongue. Fortunately, at that point, she lost the ability to taste.

And then Paisley slipped into the very last sleep she would ever experience.

#the stratagem strain #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy oc #sebastian sallow #paisley gallos #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt #amit thakkar #garreth weasley #natsai onai #hl fanfic #hl fanfiction #hogwarts au #hogwarts fanfiction

[apomaro-mellow]

Part 5

Steve felt cold as they went down the tunnel and it had nothing to do with the frigid chill of the coming winter. Dr. Brenner had given him a thin shawl to stave off most of it but it didn't help the lack of warmth within himself.

'Eddie'. It felt like the sudden spark of love had shined and then just as quickly burnt out.

"I think you and Henry will get along", Brenner said. "He's a bit eccentric, like that prince of yours."

"There is no one like Eddie", Steve replied. Was, there was no one like him. It hurt his heart to think of Eddie as in the past. But if he was truly dead....

No, there was no if. Steve had barely survived himself. Eddie was just as small and it was only getting colder. They came to quite a large door, at least compared to their size. It was still much too small for a human.

"How deep underground are we?", Steve asked.

"Several feet."

Brenner opened the door no problem and they entered. Steve was carrying the basket of baked goods on his arm. The door shut with a thud and it was very dark in this hold. Steve heard the sound of movement and then little torches began to light, giving a very dim brightness.

With the last one lit, Steve was able to see their host. A very well dressed naked mole rat sniffed at the air. Then pointed his nose at Steve, then began to move towards him, snuffing at the basket of goodies.

"Who have you brought for me, Dr. Brenner?"

"This is Steve. He's from above ground", Brenner pointed upward.

Henry gave a slight shudder and took a step back from Steve but not far enough in his opinion.

"What a dreadful place. Why anyone would want to make a life there, I've no idea."

"To each their own", Brenner replied noncommittally.

Steve felt extremely out of his depth. He'd been feeling that way since he'd been stolen from his home.

"We didn't come empty handed", Brenner gestured for Steve to hand over the goods and he did. Henry took one and ate as he led them deeper into his home.

"Well, Steve, tell me about yourself. What can you do?", Henry asked.

"What can I do? Um, I can swim and sew a little." He wasn't sure what to say. Did Brenner bring him down here to work for this guy? Was this a job interview.

"He's quite the performer too", the doctor added. "Even got on stage for a while."

Steve frowned. This weasel really did know everything about him. Maybe if he met him first, he could've reunited him with Eddie before he....before he...

"The stage?", Henry's head tilted in what might be interest.

"Why don't you show him Steve?"

Brenner made himself comfortable on a couch and Steve realized he was basically in the center of a sitting room. It was hard to see unless you really focused. Henry was waiting expectantly. Steve didn't feel much like singing. But then came a threshold of emotion where he crossed over. He couldn't stop thinking of Eddie. In this moment, instead of feeling like an unbearable weight on his chest, he felt like he couldn't hold it in anymore and needed to get it out however he could.

Obviously he wasn't going to perform the same thing as what happened in Billy's club. Instead, when he thought of his lost love, he sang a different song.

"Once there was the sun, bright and warm and wonderful. Shining like the love within my heart...."

Eddie had said that night that he was like the sun, a ball of light. Steve thought it was the other way around. Eddie was too dazzling to be anything but the brightest star.

"I don't care much for music", Henry said, stopping his train of thought and ending the song before it could continue.

Steve's shoulders slumped a little. "Winter has taken the sun anyway", he said. And even if spring returned, the warmth never would.

Brenner stood and lit a small lantern. "Henry has quite the taxonomy collection, Steve. Why don't you take a look?" He handed off the lantern and Steve turned to see several insects pinned and framed. While he perused, Brenner stayed back to have a more private conversation.

"What do you think of him?", he asked softly.

"...I could have fun with someone like him", Henry answered.

"It'd take some convincing. He's still thinking of home."

Henry sniffed out what Brenner was here for. "And what would you like in return for this favor?"

"Just a little assistance with my practice. Good help is so hard to find these days."

Henry gazed at Steve, who was finding his collection quite grotesque. "We have a deal."

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

Brenner waited until he had Steve back in his burrow and had locked up for the night to break the news to him.

"MARRIAGE?! What kind of sick brain do you have that makes you think I'd marry that rat?!"

"That rat, is one of the most powerful rodents in the forest. Not to mention a gentleman, well educated-"

"He also pins bugs to the wall!"

"Beetles haven't been entirely friendly with you, have they now?", Brenner pointed out.

"None of those bugs were Billy. I checked." Steve went over to the small vanity in the room and sat on the pin cushion in front of it to sulk. Him, married to a rat he had just met. Unbelievable.

"I think it's a good match", Brenner said. "You've both got something to offer one another."

Steve rolled his eyes. "What's he got? Wrinkles and bad eyes?"

"His bad eyes will keep him from seeing your wrinkles as you get older", Brenner poked him between the eyes where his brow was furrowed. "And besides that, he can offer you protection."

Steve was about to protest when Brenner started to speak again.

"Haven't you been pulled this way and that enough already? First the toads, then that beetle. And it'll only continue to happen if you don't have someone looking out for you."

"I need to go home. That's where I'm safe."

"Henry has many connections. I'm sure there's nothing he wouldn't do for his beloved husband."

Steve felt the room spin at the word 'husband'. Brenner was right about one thing. He had spent way too long being jerked in every direction. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop.

"I loved Eddie", he said in a soft voice before burying his face in his arms, silent sobs shaking through him.

Brenner put a hand on his shoulder. It was in no way comforting and just reminded him that he had no one but strangers around him.

"Look at where chasing love has gotten you, Steve. It's time to be practical."

If he married Henry, he would probably never go above ground again. Never see his mother, or the sun again. Or Dustin. If he refused, he could be spending his entire life searching for home. What would be next? A lusty snake? An amorous squirrel?

"We'll start the preparations immediately", Brenner said as he moved away, taking Steve's lack of response as a positive.

Steve didn't argue this time. What did it matter? Who was he saving himself for if Eddie was gone? He had loved and lost. Now there was nothing for him. So if some rat wanted to marry him, why resist?

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

Word of Henry Creel's betrothal traveled quick and that set Billy and Tommy alight.

"Sounds like we've got a wedding to crash", Billy smirked.

"What do we do with him?", Tommy jerked a thumb at Eddie, still frozen in a block of ice.

"Leave him. He ain't goin' nowhere."

The two of them walked off, on a mission it seemed, leaving the fairy prince alone by a tree stump.

It just so happened that a small bird had been watching from atop a branch.

"I knew I'd find him. Steve owes me for this one." He flew down and only slipped a little bit as he landed on the ice cube. He pecked at it, finding the ice very solid.

"You're gonna owe me too it looks like." Dustin began to gather some small twigs. He had a fire to make and a prince-sicle to melt, then a wedding to stop.

Part 7 (FINAL)

A/N: no disrespect to naked mole rats this is a Rufus stan account that's just the best animal i could think of. also Marry the Mole is a good song! there i said it!

Tag Team

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