#Let Me Sharpen My Cheek Bones

[sukunas-wife]

Sealed 2

1 3

“Year after year after year the hours pass and it never ends, I’ve been here for millennia is Ryomen even trying?” You sat down onto the pile of bones, skeletons supporting you the best they could. The Prison Realm had become your domain, you’d molded every bone and skeleton to do your work. Your elbow resting on the spine of skeleton your cheek pressing against your fist as you stared bored.

Looking down the pile of bones and skeletons holding up your throne that you had formed to match Sukuna’s you saw two Skeletons battling for your amusement. Sighing you slouched back in your throne, watching the two headed four armed skeleton using sharpened bones as spears, fighting a towering 6 armed Skelton. His arms like vices ready to grab and shove whatever into its gaping rib cage to crush it. “This needs more!” The two skeletons looked up at you, before the rumbling of the skeletal centaur could be heard, a centaur of bone, his torso with 4 arms, it held an extended spine as if it were a chain. Lower two arms ready to grab at anything, more specifically rip off the head and spine of its opponents.

“YES! THIS IS what we need!” You smacked the skeleton who stood near you on the back. His bones shaking as you leaned forward, you’d find out soon which of your creations was truly the strongest. “Let’s get this show started-“ it was quick blur of red and black before you were standing head tilted to the side as you stared irked at the man in front of you. “Do YOU KNOW WHAT YOU JUST DID.”

“PLEASE FORGIVE ME! I BEG FOR MERCY I SPENT MUCH OF MY LIFE LOOKING FOR THIS TREASURE THATS BEEN hidden away heating the tales of how the sourcerer’s of old time had wrongly imprisoned a Diety of Fertility separating her from her son. I just come to beg and ask you give my wife your blessing to have a child were old in age but she’s always prayed and begged. I’ve run out of hope until i heard you tale, i beg and hoped you’d have mercy- Sit up” was all you said. The man went from groveling to sitting back on his heels. Sighing the conflict inside of you was great. You looked around tucking your arms into the sleeves of your worn Kimono. “Bring me your wife,” you looked up through the canopy of the trees you see the sun at mid day, “you have two sunsets and then I leave.” The man quickly bowed again at your feet thanking you before running off. You kicked the prison realm box “Damnit who won!” You snatched it up, the air was familiar, you started to look around. The reason it was so familiar was because it wasn’t to far from where you had been sealed. The skeletal remains of the sourcerers made you seethe. You found the remains of the man who sealed you grabbing his skull with your free hand making it look at you, “my child my husband,” you crushed it without fail, “you took it all from me and now everyone will pay.” Th tears falling down were hot. Dropping the remains you started your first technique “Reanimate.” A wave of purple radiated from you, hitting every border of the palace. Skeletal remains shaking and coming together to stand, “Get this place back into shape.” They started moving, you made your way inside the palace the inside help had been reanimated also, your ladies in waiting now remains, standing beside you as you enter “Find fabric I need new robes.” They rushed off and you made it to your old room, the massive bed your son had fallen off many times when he would try to sleep with you and his dad. The wardrobe filled with your husband’s old robes. The room was dusty and smelt humid, shoving the window open you tried not to cry, on the window sill was a talisman Sukuna had created for Yuji. Sniffling you turned your head, finding a small blanket and stuffed Tiger doll Yuji carried around that morning. A gift for his 2nd birthday that he loved and it showed on the tigers rugged appearance.

“My Yuji..” your faint whisper sounding so loud in the silence as you ran your fingers of the stuffed doll holding it close to your chest as you made your way around the room planning your moves. Your plans had always been to follow in similar steps to Sukuna. Except that you’d be known for good to balance out the evil perspective they had of your husband. First, fix your palace. Second, create miracles in the closest town or village to make profit and move into a bigger city to improve profits. Find wherever Sukuna had been sealed away, and break him free. Find Yuji and take him back from this cruel world.

❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️

It’s been over 100 more years and you’d grown accustomed to the changing in technology and times, passing the crowds into your shrine you smiled ruffling the heads of kids who smiled up at you, rubbing the plump bellies of pregnant women you passed and “blessing” the sick with instant health with simply laying a hand on them and smiling kindly.

Entering your shrine for the last time your Gentlemen in waiting was packing up what was left. The last thing left was the main room where your wide throne sat, you’d be leaving it being to your followers, the cushions you provided for your followers during your sessions. “Morí.” You called out and he came from the room he was in bowing and holding his hands out in front of him. “Yes Lady Y/n?”

“Morinozuka, we’re leaving tonight to Sendai City. The mark of my binding vow is burning more, but are you sure that’s where we need to go?”

“Yes Lady Y/n.” He spoke not looking up from his bow. You nodded, “then it’s final.”

❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️🖤🖤❤️

“So this is the place?” You turned to Morí and he nodded. “It’s not as lavish but this is the closest we can get… Your excellency.. I strongly recommend you continue to hide your cursed energy until I suggest otherwise.” You nodded getting out of the car “Very well, I will.”

It was morning when you had arrived, standing in front of the door to the house you looked over an elder man was walking out of his house he looked over and you smiled at him and he had a very faint twitch of his lip. Until a man with pink hair came out, follows by a woman with black hair and you felt it. The pulse of cursed energy and instinctively you grabbed Mori by his robes and pulled him towards you, “That woman, she’s no woman that- is the carrier of your child.” You head snapped instantly to him, “The father of my child, that’s the sorcerer who knew Sukuna, and he is going to mother my child?” Your face showing your exact emotions Mori placing a hand over yours, “Lady Y/n, please recollect your thoughts. I can assure you he will NOT be mothering your child, and her husband will not be fathering him either.” Letting go of his robes you nodded. Looking over your shoulder you watched the couple get into a car the elder man scowling when they started to drive away.

Turning to look at you he tucked his arms behind his back walking over, “Good Morning I’m L/n Y/n.” You greeted bowing after you moved closer, he dismissed you with a wave of your hand. “Morning, Wasuke Itadori.” He cocked a brow and looked over at your house, “It’s been up for sale for a long time. Almost 3 years before someone has moved in.” You looked back at your house, “I moved in to get closer to work. I thought it was just a blessing for everything to line up so perfectly.”

He nodded, “Well, blessings only go so far here. My son’s wife is something I’d consider to be a curse.” You nodded, “oddly enough I wouldn’t disagree. I know a snake when I see one and from a brief glance I wouldn’t trust her at all.”

He nodded, “Have a good day moving in, if you need help my son and his wife will be returning soon. I’m sure either of them would be willing to help with any problems.”

“Have a good day Mr.Itadori.” You bowed your head slightly and you both went separate ways.

“Mori,” you sighed entering your house “count these days.”

#sukuna ryomen #jjk anime #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #daddy sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna thirst #sukuna x wife reader

[sabersandsnipers]

A Stray on the Road

Author’s Note: I work with a lot of the pediatric population as a nurse, so I thought about what Halsin and Astarion’s reactions would be to me having to protect and take care of every kid I find lol

The day was grueling. The sticky sensation of blood covers every inch of your skin. Aches and pains rattle your bones, and the road seems endless as your group searches for a good place to set up camp. The only thought keeping you going is that of curling up between Astarion and Halsin later. 

“Gods, this is hell,” Karlach complains. 

Wyll responds with some snide comment, but you’re only half listening, because you’re approaching a rather violent scene. Wagons are tipped over, and bodies litter the road. You slow as you approach, noticing a small figure sitting by a pair of bodies. 

Your gaze sharpens, and you see it’s a young girl. No older than 5. Tears stream down her cheeks as she sits by a pair of dead bodies. Your heart sinks as you realize it’s probably her parents. 

“Hang back, guys,” you say. You fear the approach of such a large group will frighten her. Attempting to wipe the blood off your face, you walk up to the girl. 

Her clothes are tattered, and you notice she has a few cuts lining her arms and legs. You crouch next to her.

“Hey,” you say softly. 

Big beautiful brown eyes meet yours. Something twists in your chest. 

“What’s your name?” you ask.

She sniffles. “Eowyn.”

“Eowyn, do you have family nearby?”

She shakes her head. “No. And I don’t know where I am.” 

Her voice trembles, and your heart breaks for her. You look back to your companions. Most won’t mind her staying with them, except for Astarion, who will be annoyed by the young presence.Your friends look back at you expectantly, wondering what your next move is. 

“Would you like to stay with me and my friends for the night?” you ask her.

She looks to the group behind you, and you half expect her to run away in fear with how harsh they look. 

But her expression doesn’t change, she simply nods her head. 

“Do you think you can walk?” you ask her.

She shakes her head. 

You smile at her. “That’s okay. Halsin?”

The elf approaches. Eowyn stares up at him, eyes wide. 

“Is it alright if my friend carries you?” you ask her. 

She nods. “He’s so tall.” Her eyes are filled with wonder.

“He is,” you say with a chuckle. You look to Halsin and he nods. He reaches down and picks up the child, placing her on his shoulder. 

“Hold on, child,” he says. There’s a slight smile on her face, but then darkness fills her eyes again. 

Your group ventures forth once more. The sun is beginning to set, casting shadows along the road. But you can’t help but admire the beautiful colors streaking across the sky. 

Astarion falls into step beside you. “Picked up another stray, I see.”

You nudge your shoulder against him. “You were a stray once too.” 

He gives a half smile. “I’m just worried you’re going to burden yourself with her safety.”

You let out a sigh, knowing he wouldn’t like her presence. “She has no one, Astarion.” 

He doesn’t say anymore, but you can feel the tenseness between you two. Your relationship is still being navigated. But even with your difference in values, you couldn’t stop yourselves from being drawn to each other. 

A giggle pulls you from your thoughts. You look back to see Eowyn playing with Halsin’s braids. He’s grinning back at her, thoroughly enjoying her laughs. The sight sparks a warmth within you, and you can’t stop the smile from growing on your lips.

“Ugh.” Astarion comments. “Does he always have to be so…Halsin?” 

You shoot him a half hearted glare. Despite him being agreeable to Halsin joining your relationship, he always seems taken aback by his general goodness and willingness to help others. 

Your trek continues, Astarion allowing your hands to brush ever so slightly as you walk the dusty road. 

The fire crackles as Karlach throws more wood onto the flames. A warm stew has been shared amongst your group, Eowyn getting a healthy portion. Conversations scatter around, commenting on the latest tavern you stopped at, or how a fight went along the way. 

You sit on a log between Eowyn and Halsin, but Astarion sits over by his tent. He’s reading one of his books, sipping on some wine. 

Every time you glance to Eowyn, you notice her watching Astarion. Her gaze is curious, and she seems completely enthralled with him. Not that you can blame her. You’re completely enthralled as well. 

“He’s so beautiful,” she suddenly comments. You smile at her and then look at your love.

“Isn’t he?” you respond. “He’s awfully nice too, to the people he likes.”

“I saw you kissing earlier. Are you married?” she asks. 

You laugh. “No, but I do love him very much.”

Confusion crosses her face, as if she can’t comprehend how you can be in love but not married. She takes another bite of her stew. Her eyes flicker back to Astarion. 

A few minutes later she taps you on the shoulder. You turn away from your conversation with Halsin as she leans over to you. 

“Do you think he would read me a bedtime story?” she asks in a whisper. 

You grin, and glance at Astarion. Although he would most definitely deny her request, he can’t deny you. 

“Yes. You should go over and ask. Tell him I sent you.” 

Her expression brightens. She gets right up and makes her way over to Astarion, who doesn’t acknowledge her until she’s standing right in front of him. He finally looks up, his expression mildly annoyed. Eowyn talks for a few moments and then he shoots a glare in your direction. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, daring him to say no. He bites the inside of his lip. The seconds pass as you wait for his response. 

Finally, his body relaxes and he nods his head. Eowyn sits down on the cushion next to him, snuggling up right close to him. Although Astarion tenses a bit, he doesn’t push her away. You watch them for a bit, admiring how adorable they look together. 

A pair of hands find their way to your shoulders. 

A familiar voice whispers in your ear. “I’m going to bathe in the river. Would you like to join me?” Halsin asks. He places a hot kiss against your neck. 

“Halsin, the day I say no to that question, I want you to push me off a cliff, because clearly I’ve gone mad,” you respond. 

A breathy laugh caresses your skin. You give him your hand and the two of you make your way to the water. 

When you return from your excursion with Halsin, skin still tingling, you’re astounded by the sight before you. Astarion and Eowyn still sit together, except Eowyn is sound asleep in his lap. Astarion looks down at her, his hand resting lightly on her hair. You can’t read his expression. 

When you approach Astarion, you crouch down and place a kiss to his temple. He smiles at you, and it makes your heart flutter just like the first time. 

“I can have Halsin take her to my tent,” you offer, brushing back a strand of his white curls. 

He hesitates, looking down at Eowyn. “I think we’ll be okay. She looks so comfortable.” 

She’s curled right up, her head resting on his chest. Her face looks so serene after all the horrors she’s experienced today. 

“Okay. I’ll go spend the night with Halsin then. Just come get me if you need me,” you tell him. 

“I think we’ll be okay, darling,” he replies. 

You smile and kiss him goodnight. As you make your way to Halsin’s tent, you take one last look over your shoulder, and allow yourself a moment to admire the two of them. And it brings you great joy to know Astarion is finding just as much comfort as she is. 

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #halsin #halsin x reader x astarion #astarion x reader x halsin #halsin x reader #astarion x reader #astarion imagine #halsin imagine

[ourautumn86]

ik ure taking a break from reqs, so respond to this whenever u feel like it! :3 ure rlly good at writing and i alw wait for ur upds ahaha

do u think u can write where abby takes it? ive never seen anyone write about it. it doesnt necessarily have to be sub!abby ehehe

make the strap purple and 7.5

a/n; thanks, it means a lot to me! i hope you really like it. thanks for the amazing request! <3

7.5

abby anderson x fem reader!

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, make out sessions, teasing, choking, fingering, oral sex (all abby receiving), strap on usage, multiple orgasms, piv? sex (abby and r receiving (only mention at the very very end)), hair pulling, cursing, tit and nip play, harsh and needy dirty sex…

“no.”

“but baby, please.”

“nuh-uh. you’re crazy if you think you’re really gonna fuck that thing in me.” she pointed at your new acquisition; a purple dildo that reached the 7,5 inches.

“come on. it’s not that big.” you tried, but she was not having it.

“that’s going to break me in half.” she shook her head. you smirked and she pointed at you with her eyebrows rose. “no. it’s final.”

you whined, clinging to her shoulders and pecking her cheek.

“please?” your doe eyes came into action. she stood impasible. you left a kiss on her jawline. “please abby.” another on her neck, and another, and another… you felt her slowly give into you and how good it felt, groaning. “it won’t hurt i promise. i’ll make you feel so good baby.” she gritted her teeth as you sucked a bruise on her neck and your fingers snuck onto the waistband of her pants. “will stretch you out with my tongue first, fuck my fingers into your pussy until you’re all loose and perfect for my cock.” you muttered on her skin, and she shivered. her hand found it’s way onto your hair to tug when you pushed your hand inside her sweats, teasing her over her boxers.

“princess…” she groaned, and you smirked. you were winning her over. you knew. and she knew. you cupped her cunt.

“do it for me. hm?” she grunted. and after a couple of seconds in silence her hands came down to the waist band of her sweats to start pushing them down. you smirked and slowly pushed her onto the bed. she fell on it, and you quickly pushed her shirt over her shoulders, leaving her on her sports bra. she hummed against your mouth when you kissed her, your tongue pushing inside her mouth as you hurriedly pulled her pants and boxers down.

her hand was now on your hair, sighing at the feeling of your fingers now making contact with her soaked cunt. it was almost embarrassing, how wet you made her even on situations like this. you bit on her lip and hummed when you felt the slick coating your fingertips, just how easily they slid around her clit. “so wet…” she moaned, her cheeks burning, you always caught her out of fucking ward. and you were so hot… “fuck abby. i can’t wait to have you on my cock.” she pulled your shirt over your head, groaning.

“fucking shut up and fuck me.” she ordered you, pulling from you with a hand around your throat to kiss you.

the kiss was messy and hard, your teeth clashed, and spit dribbled down her chin.

“shit…” she sighed when you pushed one finger inside, starting to pump it in and out of her drooling cunt.

“that’s it…” you praised her, and her cheeks flushed when she let out a whimper. you always knew how to fucking crack her. you pushed the second in, smirking as she gritted her teeth, her jawline sharpening. you kissed her neck and down her chest, wanting to hear more of those pretty sounds. she was extremely sensitive on her lower stomach, and you teased her, leaving wet kisses reaching almost her mound and sucking a bruise on her hip bone, underneath her v line.

her fingers pulled from your hair at the sting, also as a threat to stop teasing her. your pussy throbbed. you gave her what you both wanted, relishing on the groan that ripped her throat when you latched onto her sopping pussy. you hummed at the taste. you loved to eat abby out, she was always so sweet.

“fuck baby…” she grunted, her hips pushing against your face as your nose bumped against her clit. you watched her face contort when your tongue lapped at that little bundle of nerves, making her tug on your hair and make you moan.

you lapped at her with need, concentrating on her clit as two of your fingers found their way back inside of her cunt. she was so warm… it was driving you insane. you couldn’t wait to mold her to your cock.

you became eager. hungrier. you were eating her like a starved woman, adding a third finger inside that made her moan. fuck. abby was sure this was one of the best fucks you two had ever had.

“i’m gonna cum…” she groaned, her walls tightening around you as you sucked on her clit. it didn’t take long for her to cream all over your fingers, her salty slick coating your lips as you cleaned her up, drinking everything she gave you in between sighs and moans.

she pulled you away when it became too much, taking in the sight of you with half-lidded eyes, swollen lips, messy hair and wet chin. the two of you pulled from each other in a messy, needy and hot kiss.

“need to fuck you.” you muttered against her lips and she nodded, too high on the pleasure and in need of more.

she helped you get undressed, and you put on the strap as quickly as you could, the back of it bumping perfectly against your clit as you moved in between her legs. she was soaking as you slid the tip between her folds. even after stretching her out, it was a lot to take. her jaw fell slack when you pushed the tip inside. “fuck.”

you groaned, circling her neck with one of your hands. “that’s it. nice and deep.” she was gritting her teeth as you buried your cock inside her halfway. you sighed at the sight of her lips stretching around the silicone. your hips sputtered, too eager to fill her up, making her whimper when you pushed it all the way inside. you moaned when the back of the strap rubbed against your cunt. “oh shit.” abby was breathing heavy, her mind fuzzy at the feeling of the tip pushing non-stop and harshly against her g spot.

she was getting cock drunk and you haven’t even started fucking her.

“feeling good baby?” you inquired her when you saw her dazed expression. she couldn’t answer, since you were already thrusting once more inside. she could feel every fucking detail of the dildo. she had never felt this full on her entire life. it was you the one filling her up. the one fucking her dumb. and that was driving her insane. her moan was the perfect answer to your question.

you started to pick up the pace, your dick easily sliding in and out of her with a slick sound that was making you feel dizzy. your clit rubbed against the back of the strap with every deep thrust, making you moan; the room was filled of them, amongst grunts, groans and whimpers. she was a mess underneath you, and you pushed up her sports bra to latch your lips to her nipples, fumbling one of tits with one of your hands and rubbing her clit with the other.

“gonna cum, oh fuck.” she whimpered, feeling so fucking gone. you were fucking her brains out.

“that’s it. cum for me.” you grunted, keeping the pace, and she let out a dragged out and deep moan as she gushed on your cock. “fuuuck.” you groaned at the sight, fucking her harder and making her moan.

“too much. it’s too much.”

you groaned once again. “take it. stop being a cry baby and fucking take it.” you were so close and she looked so fucking good falling apart. “shit so good. you look so good taking my cock. shit. gonna cum.” she moaned, even whimpered as she blushed at your words. and before she knew it she was coming again, only this time it was so fucking hard her view went black as she squirted all over your dick and the sheets. “fuck.” you couldn’t help but cum at her reaction, so fucking turned on you swore this was the best orgasm of your fucking life. hers too.

you two slowly came down from it as you stilled inside of her sticky soaked cunt. her thighs shone with her arousal.

you two looked at each other, wordless.

“shit.” abby sighed, and you couldn’t even describe it better. you two had fucked like animals in heat, and fuck had it felt good…

she returned the favor and made you cum like crazy with the same strap you had broken her open just a few minutes after.

“that’s it baby. take my cum. good girl.”

-

switch reader x switch abby? 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

#abby x fem!reader #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x you #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x fem! reader #tlou abby #abby smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson fluff #abby tlou #abby anderson x fem!reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine #tlou fic #tlou smut #tlou fluff #tlou2 #tlou x reader

[0oolookitsme]

Feel Special Now?

Type - One-Shoty Blurb

Verse - Devil!Harry x (Vampire) Assassin!Y/n

Word Count - 1.5k

Warnings - Mentions of blood and knives.

A/n - The last Kinktober fic you guys! This one is giving less kinky and more halloween-y, but believe me they are being so horny lmao. Hope you enjoy <3

Kinks - Knife Play, Biting (as in drinking blood), Marking

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

The sun hadn't risen yet, but Y/n was up. Well, she was up all night, every night. But sometimes, she would just close her eyes and lay on Harry's side to pretend she was sleeping while he snored and sometimes mumbled things in his sleep.

But she hadn't laid beside Harry for as long as the darkness swallowed the sun that night. Instead, she got up the moment Harry's hand slipped from her waist and decided to clean and sharpen up her knives.

It was a bad habit she had, assassinating people and leaving her knives uncleaned. Harry often called her out for that, teasing that she wasn't someone whose hands were clean after all. Even when both of them knew that Harry's hands too, often seemed to be stained by blood.

Once she returned from washing all of her daggers, swords, and knives, she went straight to the room away from the one she shared with Harry in order to not wake him with the sound of her sharpening the blades.

Focusing on any change in Harry's heartbeat, Y/n sat down cross legged upon finding it beating in the same peaceful rhythm it does when he sleeps. She kept busy like that until an idea struck her mind out of the blue, causing her to leave her sharp objects out in the open out of excitement.

It was obvious that no one was going to dare and mess with them, but there were always exceptions.

Once she was inside the bedroom again, it struck her that she should check the time first – a smile creeping up on her mouth on noticing it was just about time for Harry to wake up.

So she crept closer and closer to his laying body, sitting beside his hips before lying down herself. She brought her hand that held the knife she'd just killed with two nights ago – and cleaned it just now – up in front of her.

She placed the cunning tip of the knife on Harry's temple, hovering it along the lows and highs of his cheek bone and cupid's bow. When she pressed the cool metal of the blade flat against his neck, Harry jerked awake – pining her on the mattress beside him in an instant.

He sighed a deep breath upon seeing her delighted face, kissing just above her upper lip in relief. "Could've killed y' right here," he spoke, removing his hold from her neck and laying flat on his back again.

Y/n laughed then, turning to face him with the knife still in her hand. "But you didn't," she grinned, tracing his jawline with the pointy-tip.

"Y' don't get to mess with the devil, pretty," Harry chuckled, letting her do her thing for a little longer.

Removing her knife, she herself got closer to whisper in his ear, "then who does?"

Harry opened his eyes to take her in for a second before he had her under him again. "No one," he also whispered in her ear, a smirk forming on his face when he felt her cheeks warm up under the graze of his lips.

"I should get that pass though, don't you think?" She said softly. "How else will I know I'm special?" Flaunting a faux pout on her lips, she pulled his leg.

Harry pressed a chaste kiss on her lips then, kissing her for a little longer than a peck. Then, he moved onto pressing his lips on the cold skin of her face – her temples, her forehead, her cheeks, nose, chin and finally a peck on her lips that had been stretched in a wide smile again.

"Well, i don't go around kissing every inch of just anyone's skin, do I now? Hm?" Harry asked her, lowering to nip the skin at the lock of her jaw.

"Don't hold anyone else close myself to keep them warm, don't let someone else draw my blood – does that not make it known that you are special to me, love?" Harry asked again, revelling at her silence and heavy breathing.

"Especially don't let anyone this close to me," he murmured, licking at the skin he had just bit.

Y/n laid there at a loss of words due to the close proximity between them, her breathing uneven as Harry continued marking her skin. Her back arched off of the bed when he undid the ties of her dress at the waist, letting the flimsy material slip down her skin and reveal her breasts to him.

"Don't touch anyone like this," Harry breathed, leaving open mouthed kisses across her chest before he took her hardened nipple in his mouth and sucked on it. He held her other breast, flicking its bud and twisting it gently.

"Never let anyone get away without burning into ashes by my touch," he whispered, shifting his attention on her other breast, snaking his arm around her waist.

She laid there, not listening to what he was saying, only focusing on his hot touch over her cold skin. She revelled at the feel of his lips kissing and biting her, leaving a mark on her skin everywhere his mouth went. Her hands slipped into his unruly hair, clutching the curls lightly.

A moan escaped her throat, making Harry chuckle. He shifted so he was face-to-face with her again, and tucked a fallen strand of her hair behind her ear. He softly asked her to open her eyes, brushing her cheekbone with his thumb.

Y/n's dazed gaze met with his, and saw a sight she swore wasn't real. He hovered above her – his skin glowing, pillowy lips plump and maroon, eyes so green and inviting that she almost jumped in.

"Feed," Harry told her as he tilted his head in a manner that gave her free access to his neck. He lowered his body on hers, moving closer to her mouth so that she couldn't resist herself.

Y/n had mastered the art of resisting blood, but it all came crashing down on her when it was Harry who was offering – especially after hightening her senses. It was a way in which he teased her, mocked her of her weakness that dawned on her when she even breathed the same sir as him.

She breathed in deeply, his skin almost brushing against nose as she resisted giving in. Her jaw hurt from how hard she was clenching her teeth, her nostrils flared and eyes shut. The scent of his blood was making her brain spiral – she was losing control over her own thoughts. Her hand pressed against the back of Harry's head, fisting his hair.

Opening her mouth, she inhaled deeply and almost lost her senses when the huge whiff of his scent entered her nose and hit her square in the chest, knocking her breath back out. Her jaw clicked as she bared her teeth out, tracing the soft skin of his neck until she found the vein that connected to one of the arteries leading straight out of his heart.

Veins grew prominent under the soft skin around her eyes, hints of redness leaking in the white of her eyes. She sunk her teeth slowly into his soft flesh, cutting through the layers of his skin until she grazed the artery.

Harry kept on brushing his thumb over the cold skin of her neck, breathing deeply as he felt the pleasurable sting of pain at the feeling of her sharp canines piercing his skin somberly. They were going to leave a mark, surely.

Once she finally grazed harshly enough, blood gushed into her mouth. The warmth of it quickly had her intoxicated as she sucked harder and harder. Her nose smushed against his skin as she tried tearing further, getting drunk on him – on his scent, his blood, the scent of his blood.

It all clogged her senses. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she tried to stop herself – yet, she was drawing up his blood so briskly that it had started trickling out of the corners of her mouth.

Feeling like she was going to drown in his blood, she hastened to pull out her teeth and detach her mouth from his skin. She heaved, out of breath and feeling as if she was smelling too much of him, drinking too much of him. He fogged her brain for a minute, before she blinked her eyes open again – her sight slowly focusing in on him.

Harry wasn't moving from atop of her, and anxiety immediately crawled up her back at the thought of having drunk too much of his blood.

She moved her hand to touch him, and sighed when she felt his skin was still warm. "H-harry?" She stuttered, moving her shoulder to stir him.

He started laughing then, his body shaking as his cackle only grew louder and more open-mouthed. He raised his head to look at her and pressed his open mouth against her cheek. "Sweet, sweet, Y/n," he breathed, a grin on his mouth.

"Did I frighten you, hm?" He cooed at her, grazing his teeth against her skin.

Sighing in great relief, Y/n hugged him closer to her. "You'll be the death of me."

"But I am, death; darling. And I am, verily yours," Harry smiled, pressing his lips against her cold lips. "Feel special now?"

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles ff #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #domrry #soft dom!harry #dom!harry #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles au #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fic rec #harry styles fic recommendation #harry styles mature #harry styles one shot #harry styles one shots #harey styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #demon!harry #devil!harry #kinktober

[ravengards-rogue]

✧ tags : gn reader, sparring, making out lol, ex-mercenary!reader, suggestive, 18+

Wyll barely manages to dodge the swing of your fist.

He can identify the movement at least, a right hook sharp enough that it brushes his cheek even without making the full mark. His skin pulses with nerves as your knuckles brush him, stumbling backwards to not get nicked.

He pulls away and tries to take inventory - predict your next movement before you can make it.

You return to a starting stance, giving him some room. He swings first this time. With your body spread apart shoulder width and turned to one side to make you angular, you duck and put up your arms to guard from his next punch.

He lands against the front of your forearm and the shock gives recoil in his shoulders. He's gotten faster if you didn't dodge him at least. He nearly bites through his cheek, gritting as he looks at you carefully. Tries to examine your moves with the same swiftness you've taught him. On a functional level he understands it, but his body hasn't sharpened enough to use it.

He shakes his head to work off the nerve and regain his focus.

Your expression is firm and calm. A brief feeling of inspiration fuels his next move. He tries again, to aim the punch a little cleaner, land it in a way you can't dodge but you snake out of it a third time putting significant distance behind you.

Unable to predict what you'll do next, Wyll stops. The split second between deciding his next move is enough of an opening for you to strike, a swift spin kick landing on his side and abdomen.

He knocks over with a thud, on his side then on his back so he can push himself up. You join him on the ground before he gets that chance, grappling with him. The mats underneath you are soft enough to make it comfortable, but hard enough for him to feel his loss.

You wrestle on the floor like that, but your obvious strength outclasses Wyll quickly. You lock his arms and legs with your own until he can't move, your forearm under his neck. His chest heaves up and down as your cold, expressionless face looks down at him. Silent and imposing, Wyll lets out a long breath.

"Shit," He takes a deep breath in through his nose, looking up at you. You're close to him. "Mercy,"

"Are you giving up?"

Wyll gives one attempt to wiggle away to no avail.

"Seems like you've bested me. Mercy,"

When Wyll affirms his loss, you let go of him and sit up on his lap. You wipe your brown bone of sweat as he regains control of his limbs, his abdomen still heavy with your weight.

There's a long pause of silence as you collect yourselves. Wyll looks up at the ceiling, bright overhead lights painting you both in stark shades of yellow-white.

After some time, your expression breaks. You smile softly. The contrast never fails to be novel. Laying a hand on Wyll's chest, you pat lightly like you might pat someone to sleep. The touch soothes the pounding of his heart from the physical activity.

"You've improved in the short time we've sparred today. You're quick by nature, huh?"

He laughs to himself. Both at your sudden change in your demeanor and the way you're completely comfortable when held up to his utter exhaustion.

"I'm glad to hear it. I don't know if I could handle going another round with you," Wyll says, then adds with a crinkled nose. "Ah, that's not what I intended."

You tilt your head, eyes glimmering with mischief.

"You can't really keep up with me in that instance either, can you? We're working on your stamina after all."

Your reply gets a chuckle out of him. He lets one hand go onto your waist, the other taking yours into his. His lips brush up against your knuckles, kissing them as he looks up at you. Affection bleeds through his touch, eyes lidded with adoration.

"You wound me, my love. Have I ever not pleased you?"

"Flirt. You please me plenty. I guess being married has made me greedy,"

Wyll grins at you. "That's entirely my fault, isn't it?"

"Don't look so happy about it,

"Sorry, sorry." Wyll apologizes without any sincerity, opening your palm up with his hand to kiss the inside, down to your wrist. "But...I've earned being a little happy about it, I think."

Your expression changes, from faux annoyance to something else.

Wyll can feel the subtle of the mood shift, the breathy quality to your laugh. He slides his hand down to your hip, squeezing firm as you start to lean forward - balancing on one hand to keep you upright.

He'd welcome you falling into his chest, in any case, though he doesn't ask that of you.

Little moments like these still make Wyll feel like he's sneaking around. He should be more used to it by now, he's a married man - and he's been around debauchery even longer than that.

Yet, the hand sneaking up underneath your loose blouse, feeling the skin against his palms seems like something forbidden. Wyll doesn't dislike acting on that feeling, that this is something he's sneaking around to do. Unknown energy courses through him, making his skin warm.

He puts his hand on top of yours, the one on his chest - the one with the ring on it, letting pointer smooth over it. The proximity between your closes, noses brushing. With an innocent blink, you press your lips against Wyll's.

The gesture is chaste at first, enough to feel lovey-dovey and innocent. He's the one to deepen it, his hands sliding lower. You make a pleasant sound as he squeezes your ass, firm. His tongue slips against yours as you kiss, subtle slides as your incisors press into the plush of his lower lip and pull.

Half-way through kissing, you grind down on his lap. It's only then that Wyll pulls away from you. Eyes half-lidded with a less than favorable feeling stirring in his pants. There's a little line of spit connecting you that he feels especially embarrassed by.

Gods you make him lose so much control of himself. He'd have fucked you so thoughtlessly if he took even a second longer to pull of.

You pout when he pulls away, batting your lashes at him. "It was just getting good you know?"

Wyll smiles apologetically.

"Other people use these mats for training." He reminds you.

"They can be cleaned," You retort just as quickly. He has to pause to take in how fast you've said. Wyll laughs at you.

He brushes the tip of your nose with his again.

"Do you know you're rather hard to negotiate with?"

You pretend to think on it.

"Oh, I'm well aware. Me being hard to refuse is half the reason we're married, I think."

Wyll laughs against your lips, "I suppose that makes me a luckier man than I thought."

"Does this count as you relenting to my wishes?"

He feels the stirring in his pants and nods his head against better judgement. You giggle.

Wyll sighs. "Are the doors locked?"

"Mm. I locked them when we came in."

He looks at you with suspicion.

"Was this premeditated?"

"Maybe," You say, challenging and enthusiastic. "Does that warrant punishment, Duke Ravengard?"

In a swift motion, he pulls you up and flips you onto your back. You squeal delighted by the gesture, arms wrapping around his neck with a grin. He presses his forehead to yours as your legs wrap around his waist. He locks eyes with you, eyes filled with both mirth and desire.

"I think it does my love. I hope you're ready to endure it."

#wyll x reader #wyll ravengard x reader #bg3 x reader #d.rogues love letters #first piece of writing on here ... it is so short im so sorry ehsdjkfsdj

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: Giving first aid to the M6 when it's MC's fault that they're slightly hurt

~ you already know I had to do the reverse scenario! Link to part 1 below. Bone apple teeth - brainrot ~

- to set the scene -

You had recently been struck with some inspiration regarding a new spell idea and were frantically scribbling it down in your trusty notebook. You weren't sure how you would implement it, but if you could somehow combine latent spell magic with a time piece you might be able to set specific delays for it to take place ...

As you sharpen your pencil between pages of half formed plans, you hear the sound of the door opening and closing as your beloved walks in. As soon as they ask you about what you're up to, you're animatedly spewing your thought process. Just as they come up behind you for a hello kiss, you fling your hands wide in exasperation and the pencil in your hand smacks them across the face. Now you're turning around to see them wide-eyed, a tiny bead of blood welling up on their cheekbone.

Julian

Barely a moment's hesitation. This is his chance. This is his time to shine. There is so much dramatic potential for this.

See the drama, feel the drama, BE THE DRAMA

"Alas! Home I have come to greet my beloved, and I am met with the sharpest of lead!"

"Julian, darling, it's just a scratch."

"Tis the smallest of wounds doth smart the most. I am stung with the might of a thousand papercuts!"

He's throwing his whole body into the part at this point, staggering around the living room with one hand clasped over his cheek and the other tearing open his shirt to clutch at his chest

He definitely bangs his knee on a side table as he collapses onto the sofa while you approach him with your handkerchief

"Hold still, I need to wipe it off."

Clutching at you dramatically, not so subtly trying to pull you down on top of him while you dab at his cheek

"Tell me good doctor, is this to be my end? The light ... it calls to me ... is that you, mother? Say it isn't so! For I am held by my beloved angel as they tend to my wounds with all tenderness."

"You should be fine now, it's not even bleeding anymore."

Refuses to let you leave the couch

"I dare not ask you to stay by my side with this disfigurement, but let me at least know the sweetness of your kiss one last time -"

"You really don't need to be this dramatic-"

"I AM THE DRAMA"

You won't even be able to see the scratch in the morning, but his knee will be stiff for the rest of the week

Asra

Sputtering slightly, they didn't expect to get smacked in the face while bringing you tea

Doesn't realize he's injured, you were just getting to a really good point about release mechanisms and there's this tie dye inspired glitter bomb he's been working on for a while now ...

Wait, you look upset. What's wrong, how can they help, here's your tea, what's bothering you?

He's bleeding? He'll chuckle slightly as a single wave of his fingers heals it entirely, he's touched at your concern but it's nothing to get that upset about

Now you're pouting slightly, and it's adorable, and oh they can tease you about this can't they

He knows how to bide his time though, you've all but forgotten about it until later that evening when you're working on your shop inventory and he puts his hands up and freezes when he walks by

"Asra? What's wrong?"

"Oh nO, noT tHe PenCiL!"

When you wake up the next morning and go to start breakfast every knife and fork in the drawer has been enchanted to jump out of your fingers as soon as you pick them up

"Asra? What is this?!"

A smug, half-asleep voice floats across to you from the bed:

"You can't be trusted with pointy objects, MC, I want to keep my eyeballs."

"How am I supposed to make toast?!"

"I don't know MC, probably without giving the stove salamander cause to believe that it is is about to get skewered as well."

Nadia

Looking at you with both eyebrows raised, one hand slowly moving to touch her cheek

You're immediately scrambling to heal it with magic, promising it won't leave a scar, you're so sorry, it was an accident

She'll allow you to heal her and let you spew your apologies, one eyebrow raised as she regards you with a quiet smirk

"Tell me, MC, exactly how much damage could you do with a pencil?"

You're not sure if she's teasing you or genuinely curious, but hey, since she's asking may as well tell her

It's not hard to come up with ideas, half of effective magic use is creativity

The longer you talk, the more she shifts from amusement to awe. She knew that you would make a formidable foe, but with the right prompt your skillset and creativity are downright terrifying

Truly, a worthy court magician and life partner

She will develop a new habit from this, of pointing at mundane objects and asking you how you would weaponize it

Every time you answer she falls in love with you a little more

One time during a meeting with a power hungry courtier she got tired of his manipulative attempts and pointed at the quill pen in his hand

"Tell me, court magician, how could you most effectively use that to damage someone?"

She took great delight in watching the courtier's face slowly drain of color as you answered in gleeful detail

Muriel

Didn't really feel it, he gets whacked in the face way harder by tree branches all the time

But now you're reaching up at him, so gently, brushing your fingertips across his cheek with traces of magic and the most vulnerable look in your eyes

Are you? Are you about to kiss him? Okay, here goes -

You are now very confused. You just slashed him across the face with your pencil, and then he kissed you out of nowhere while you were trying to heal the scratch???

You're not complaining but you don't exactly follow the thought process here either

Now the two of you are looking at each other in awkward silence, blushing heavily while Inanna whines from secondhand embarrassment

Cue one of the most painful conversations you've ever had with him, the two of you stumbling over half-sentences as you explain yourselves, slowly wishing you could sink into the floor

At one point he asks why you didn't move away if you weren't trying to initiate a kiss, he didn't want to do anything you weren't asking for

When you tell him that you like him asking for affection his face goes up in flames

He still isn't comfortable touching you out of nowhere though, so now he has a little ritual of putting a pencil in your hand before he leans in for a kiss, so you know what to expect and have time to move away if you don't want it

Portia

"... Did you just stab me?"

Mostly just laughing in disbelief, she didn't see it coming and the look on your face is priceless

Won't let you near the scratch at first

"No, it's my battle scar! I look so cool with it, stop trying to wipe it away!"

Once you mention healing magic her interest is piqued, so she'll allow it

Now she wants you to teach her. It's been obvious that she has an affinity for magic, and being able to smooth over a scratch or blister or burn from baking would be a real lifesaver

The tricky thing is that learning healing magic requires some kind of injury to heal

You spend the evening practicing on some of the fruits in her gardens that have gotten a bit banged up, and then the next afternoon you stop by the kitchen with her to offer your healing services to the chefs

When she runs out of practice volunteers there, the two of you take to wandering the halls of the palace, asking whoever passes you if they've been recently injured and are willing to be practiced on

Nadia finds you in the gardens, asking one of the poor botanists if they know of anyone who's recently run into the poison ivy

"Portia, MC. Good afternoon. Would either of you be willing to enlighten me as to why several maids have reported concerns of illegal medical experimentation?"

She's amused by your explanation but you're not allowed to do magic practice on strangers any more

Lucio

This time it's your turn to say "oopsie", with the smuggest grin on your face

"MC! How could you!"

Cupping his cheek with his hand and giving you the biggest kicked puppy expression he can handle

Is he actually hurt? No. Can he even feel it? No.

Is this a potential way to get extra attention and affection from you? Yes, and he fully intends to take advantage of that

Will let you heal it because he likes the way your hand feels on his face but will keep using the fact that it happened to milk the situation

"How about a kiss, MC? You're busy? Too bad, and my cheek was really feeling sore too ..."

Pretty soon you can't deny him anything without him sending you the biggest puppy eyes and raising a hand (or gauntlet) to his cheek

"Lucio, that's the wrong side. I scratched you on the other cheek."

He'll rapidly switch over, sputtering the whole time with a blush and pout

"It's still sore! So can I get that kiss now?"

Eventually you get a little fed up and threaten to undo your healing magic. That slows him down a bit

Is it actually possible to "undo" healing magic? Probably not. Are you going to take the lack of attempts at guilt tripping anyway? Absolutely

He does pick up a habit of threatening people with pencils though

#the arcana brainrot #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana shitpost #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #portia devorak #lucio morgasson #muriel of the kokhuri

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

You’ve successfully become an overnight hyperfixation for me with all your FL brainrot all bc of one of your SAGAU posts, thank you for hauling me into the FL fan base :3

I had a sudden thought about Childe’s shift into FL being like a werewolf kinda shape change. Like he may have expended a lotta energy from sparring and when he feels the change coming he tries to hold it back but it causes him more pain along with what’s happening. His fingers/nails just slowly start to sharpen and armor is starting to jut out of his skin, and don’t even get me started on the sounds you’d hear from him as things happen- him in pain and the sounds of his body changing making my sympathy pains fire like crazy :’3

we’re absolutely concerned and horrified when we see it happen for the first time and shrink away and we might reach out to help but he swipes at us unknowingly. once he sees us tucked into a corner and realizes it’s us and he might’ve hurt us his mood shifts instantly. sad mothman feels mega guilty with little whiny growls and chirps :’3

But then cuddles make everything better >:3

ehehehe yesss, join the moth cult >:)

Childe takes a while to learn that holding back his Foul Legacy transformation just makes it worse- it's much easier to let it happen and get it over with, but he's stubborn and terrified that you'll be disgusted by his Abyssal half. you know something's wrong the minute you hear an awful cracking sound and a muffled hiss of pain, armor breaking through and spreading across Childe's skin as he grips a chair to keep himself steady. when you rush over to see what's wrong he pushes you away, collapsing to his knees as his teeth begin to morph into fangs and horns start growing from his head. you watch, nausea rising in your throat from the breaking bone and flesh until Childe is gone and Foul Legacy is left on the floor, wheezing from exertion. you take a tentative step forward- this is still Childe, isn't it?- but immediately jerk back when he swipes his claws at you with a low growl, unable to see you properly

you stumble backwards, eyes wide and full of hurt, and dart away to your room. Foul Legacy shakes his head, the fog in his eye clearing, and a cold pit of dread forms in his stomach when he realizes what he's done, scrambling to his feet to follow after you

he finds you in the furthest corner of your room and you flinch when he enters, his footsteps heavily landing on the floor. oh, his heart breaks when he sees you jump- Childe's beloved partner, and Legacy's already gone and messed everything up! the Abyssal beast lets out his softest whine, slowly lowering himself to your height and approaching. at first he doesn't dare touch you, but when you don't run away he carefully brushes his claws against your arm, whimpering when you flinch again. but then your hand slowly extends towards his, your smaller fingers wrapping around his sharp talons, and Foul Legacy's fur ruffles in joy as he starts to lovingly croon. he lets you trace the ridges and dips in his crimson mask, your posture becoming more and more at ease by the second, and tentatively he reaches up to hold your cheeks in return

to his delight, you don't run or jump- instead you smile softly at him, the same way you do for Childe, because you love him, too

#genshin impact #childe #tartaglia #foul legacy #foul legacy childe #genshin tartagalia #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #chit chat #anon #i def went overboard with this but i'm feeling soft and mushy today #he snuggles up under your chin and curls around you #and you get to experience being surrounded by Moth #childe also finds the transformations are less painful because he doesn't resist as much #when he's at home he has no reason to because you adore foul legacy #and foul legacy always wants to make sure you're ok- he never forgot the look of fear you gave him #short scenario #other's stuff #good evening :) #FAVE

[aho-dapa]

Some elucien smut

for @kateduchessofdolittle

Edit: just some good ol’ cunnilingus in the garden

Light streams down through the trees and hits the angles of her face in such a way that Lucien has to pause to take it in. Strands of chestnut blond hair glows bright, almost like sunlight itself.

Elain is talking about roses and how she used to eat them when she would forage through the forest near their old cabin. She would dry some so she could put in her father’s tea.

A small bitter smile for her father before it melts into fondness.

He can only focus on her, on how long it took to get to this moment where she felt comfortable around him. It had taken a lot of walks in the garden. Of offering to listen to her thoughts without judgement.

She looks up at him then, her smile near blinding. Dazzlingly, her brow furrows in confusion and faint amusement.

“Here.”

Mind still addled from her visage, Lucien doesn’t think anything of it when she pushes a rose petal in his mouth.

He chews on it, curious.

Would Night Court roses taste different from Spring Court ones?

“It’s not that sweet. Since it’s darker.” Elain tells him, plucking a petal from the same rose and placing it in her mouth.

Lucien thinks something momentous has just happened. What, he can’t really tell.

She breathes suddenly and Lucien watches her body flush nearly as red as the roses around her.

“The roses here…” she begins, putting her hand over heart, as if to steady it, “they don’t have any… special effects?”

Fae roses. Prythian roses. Only as magical as the grass is.

But Lucien doesn’t say that.

“Elain.”

It must be the way he says it, the way his gaze falls along her collarbone to the hand on her chest. Her low-cut dress is typical in the human lands. The boning and structure of it. She had explained it to him once, not knowing all he wanted to do was find out for himself. To undo the laces in her hand.

He looks up, to her warm brown eyes, and she nearly jumps in surprise.

“Elain.” He whispers this time. A request.

Her breathing becomes unsteady. Her hand falls to her lap. The rose pricks her finger.

Elain hisses, breaking eye contact, and Lucien can smell the blood on the breeze.

“Here,” he repeats her earlier words, “Let me.”

Her extends his hand out for her and she places the back of her hand in his palm. His thumb curls over her wrist, over her pulse.

It’s simple magic. But he blows gentle on the wound before healing it. Her hand twitches. Her heart beats faster.

He looks over their joined hands. Again, a request.

“Lucien.” She breathes out his name, and he slowly slides his hand from her wrist to her forearm, kneeling before her where she sits on the stone bench.

The garden around them almost quiets over the pressure beating in this moment, in their bodies.

He looks up at her, and she leans forward, her hair brushing his cheek.

“What can I do?” His touch is tentative, from her arm to her thigh. Assuring that this was what he could ask for.

Elain pinches her lips, her expression even more flushed.

She doesn’t know how they got here, or why she spreads her legs open for him to fit between.

She is no stranger to these types of relations, but it’s been years and what grows between her and Lucien is a delicate thing. Or maybe all things beginning to her seem delicate.

Maybe it’s in the way he’s currently touching her, as if he doesn’t want keep her in a place she doesn’t want to be.

With his hands rubbing up her legs, over her under clothes, near her inner thighs, there is nowhere else she would rather be.

“My,” she begins, still nonetheless embarrassed, “my underclothes. You’ll have to undo my whole dress to… to get underneath them.”

Which meant other things. And they were currently in someone else’s garden.

Something in Lucien’s eyes sharpen at that and he takes a moment to consider her before he seemingly decides on something. She doesn’t have much time to wonder what he means by, “Winter Solstice, then,” until he’s under her dress and pressing his chest to her leg, his face on her thigh. His puffs of breath make her legs tremble.

Elain bites the inside of her cheek, looking up at the ceiling of the small stone veranda. She casts a glance through the windowless openings. Not enough to be caught, but enough for her to be seen.

She makes a small, muffled sound when his hands reach for the clothing between her thighs—and rips her under clothes apart at the seam. She almost falls back in surprise, and she holds onto the edge of the bench to keep her steady.

But then he’s there, his breath ghosting over her skin. And she’s gripping onto the bench even harder, her own breathing barely under control, when Lucien holds the under part of thighs and licks from bottom to top. His tongue slips in between her folds and he takes a moment to slowly glide his tongue flat against her clit.

She gasps at that, suddenly alarmed by the way her eyes water, when she instinctively rubs against his tongue more.

She keeps her mouth closed, her moans muffled, when he continues to tighten his hold on her thighs and lean her back a little so he can have more access to her.

Elain is so lost to the sensation of his tongue on her, that she wishes she could grab his hair instead, to pull him away by it so she can pull him up to kiss her. But most of those thoughts are gone the moment the tip of his tongue slips inside her. Gliding over the edge, in and out, deeper and deeper, until she’s lifting her hips to his rhythm, unable to even think about being caught in this situation.

Now seated at the edge of the bench, keeping her own legs apart, Lucien licks over her clit again while his fingers rub against her before slipping inside. It aches a little when his fingers curl into her, his knuckles stretching her even more.

But then Lucien sets a quick pace, one that forces her to divide her attention between her rising orgasm and making sure she doesn’t fall off the bench. One where she can’t hold back her moans as well as she should, where if anyone were to walk by, they would know what was happening under her dress by her face, by her sounds.

Her heel that she had dug into the grooves of the tile give way, pushing Lucien’s fingers deeper into her unexpectedly, and Elain cries out as her body trembles into her orgasm.

Lucien lifts his mouth from her and puts his arms under her legs and around her waist, keeping her steady. He buries his face in her leg, near her thigh, and Elain shivers, oversensitive.

They remain like that, trying to find their breath. Elain tries to hear over the beating of her own heart to listen to the sounds of birds around them. She eventually looks down at Lucien, still buried in her dress, with the tips of his shoes peeking out from the hem. The sight of it is ridiculous enough to her that she chuckles a breathy laugh and caresses his head over the layers of her dress.

“Come out of there so I can kiss you.” Elain states with a bright smile.

Lucien huffs, laughing, and the feel of it sends shivers down her spine. She taps his head pointedly in retaliation.

Lucien leans back on his heels but ends up getting caught in her dress. Muffled and almost annoyingly amused, Lucien pleas, “Help. I cannot find the exit.”

Elain laughs again and starts pulling her skirts up, finding modesty useless in this situation.

Lucien stretches backward and makes a disgruntled sound when he lands on his back, her skirts puffing up. Her dress still covers his waist and she finds herself trying not to burst out laughing at the knots in his hair. But it’s the bright softness in his eyes that makes her stifle them.

Lucien breathes deep, staring up at her.

Elain would have started squirming under the intensity of his gaze, if she were not so happy, “Didn’t I tell you to do something?”

She goes to poke his side gently with her heel, but he hisses suddenly, pushing her leg back, “Careful, careful! I have a situation down there.”

Well. That would be understandable.

Elain peers down at him, on the mossy stone floor, and she’s tempted to have him right here, in this veranda. She’s certainly well enough prepared for him after all.

“Well, we can’t have you walking back like that.”

Lucien’s answering smile is but nothing short of devious. And if not a little fond.

#forgive me if it’s a bit abrupt #I was nearing 1500 words and decided I couldn’t go over that #hope you like it!!! #elucien

[abarbaricyalp]

Written for the @samsseptember prompt: On The Run (kind of) // Rated E CW: shaving with a straight razor, no injury but continuous mention of the razor // 3.8k words // Read on AO3

The Closest Shave (Excerpt)

Sam held the straight razor gently, examining the blade and all the familiar knicks in the wood handle.

“That thing looks older than me,” Steve said with a playful trepidation as Sam continued to fiddle with it.

“It might be,” he humored because he knew this was all a diversion tactic. He pretended to sharpen the blade on a discarded piece of Steve’s suit before he handed it over. “It was my grandpa’s. First thing he ever bought. Gave it to my dad, and I got it when I turned sixteen. Other kids got cars but…” He shrugged like the razor didn’t mean the world to him, like he hadn’t brought it with him to the end of the world. He was pretty sure none of his classmates could say that about their early aughts cars.

“Your grandpa had good taste,” Steve said. When he caught sight of the shaving cream and brush again, he attempted to worm an arm around Sam’s waist and tug him into a kiss. When that didn’t work, he begrudgingly lifted his face up to give Sam room to work. Such a drama king.

Sam pushed Steve’s hair back from his face, thought about telling him a trim was next but shelved it for another day, and instead cupped Steve’s jaw to kiss him. “I inherited it. The good taste,” he said, just to see Steve smile, which he did.

“How did I ever get this lucky?” he asked.

“I’m at a total loss,” he answered with a grin. “By all accounts, it doesn’t add up.” He dabbed out some pre-shave oil–that was new to the kit, but that didn’t matter–and slowly worked it against Steve’s beard. Sam knew the texture of Steve’s hair in and out and all the way through. He knew how it felt when it was clean and when it was wet and when it was sweaty and when it was greasy. He knew how humid it had to be before it started to curl at the nape of his neck. He knew how his beard grew in slowly and then all at once and how coarse each day was.

Truly, Steve’s beard shouldn’t be less coarse than Sam’s, but Sam took care of his facial hair and Steve decidedly did not. Which was infuriating, especially to Sam’s thighs. The oil seemed more necessary for Steve than it did for Sam some days. It was odd to brush it through a long beard too. Sam hadn’t grown his beard out to any kind of length before. He didn’t need a lot of oil to soak into it and soothe his skin. Steve’s hair felt like wading through a jungle. Not that Sam was going to say as much because he’d just gloat about it for ages.

“You know,” Steve said, when Sam leaned around him to rinse his fingers off and let the oil sit, “if you keep this up, I’ll never shave myself again.”

“I’ll shave your eyebrows off if you don’t behave,” Sam threatened lightly. He stepped between Steve’s legs and took a second to just appreciate the man in front of him, with his twinkling eyes and easy smile. A bruise was already mostly faded from around his cheekbone, just a memory and a slight line from where the cowl dug into his cheek. “Actually, maybe I won’t see this through,” he said.

“Oh?” Steve asked, rubbing circles into Sam’s hip bones with his thumbs. The simple motion alone was better than any full massage Sam had ever gotten.

“Yeah, your mouth is really pink like this.”

“How pink?” Steve asked. Then slowly licked his lips like the teasing bastard he was.

Sam pitched forward a little unsteadily, aware of the oil in Steve’s beard but completely incapable of caring about it, and pressed his mouth against Steve’s gently until Steve opened up beneath him, hooked his legs over Sam’s hips and tugged him in closer. It made Sam’s body lit up and flush to life all over again, his heart tripping in his chest at the encompassing adoration he had for the other man. And the reciprocating devotion that was pouring out of Steve too and sinking into Sam’s bones down to his very soul. In another life… God, in another life, this could be every Sunday morning.

“That pink, huh?” Steve asked when Sam pulled back again.

“Behave,” Sam warned once more. The glint in Steve’s eyes said he was well aware that Sam was the one misbehaving, but he didn’t argue.

He unhooked his legs from Sam’s waist and sat up again, tilted his head back without being asked. He even held still as Sam painted on shaving cream. It had been a while since Sam had really used the brush and thicker cream. He couldn’t remember ever shaving someone else. Certainly never like this, with his grandpa’s razor and Steve’s knees bracketing his bare hips, hands warm and grounding against his skin. He was beginning to wonder just how he’d been so lucky too.

“This is really makin’ me feel like a dumb kid again, wasting money to get shaved at a barbershop instead’a just doin’ it myself.”

“Could you even grow facial hair before the serum?” Sam teased back. “Besides–” He finished spreading the cream on the brush over Steve’s cheek and then dragged it over his bare thigh slowly. “If you were getting this kind of treatment back then, the history books need a few revisions.”

Steve laughed, smile and eyes bright as he looked at Sam. “No, sir, you do know how to make it special for a guy.”

Sam gently wiped away shaving cream that was too close to his mouth. “Keep those pearls put away, soldier,” he teased gently. “Might drive a man to distraction.” He kept working, focused on covering Steve’s beard without excess.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve continued. “Have I told you recently?”

“Not recently enough.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeated. “How did I get this lucky?”

Sam brushed cream over the tip of Steve’s nose and rolled his eyes. “Eyes forward, you ain’t sweet-talkin’ your way out of this one.”

Steve obliged comically, schooling his expression forward for two/tenths of a second before he leaned over to kiss Sam’s shoulder, which got shaving cream everywhere.

#samsteve #sam wilson #steve rogers #captain america #the falcon #samtember2023 #writing

[dilf-din]

I Said I’d Never Let You Go (And I Never Did)

Pairing: Joel & Ellie, brief Tommy & Ellie

WC: 2300

Warnings: language, PTSD mention, dissociation mention, allusions to Silver Lake but no explicit details, hurt/comfort

A/N: thank you to my dear betas and friends for looking this one over for me :) @starchild0985 @sunflower-0180

The title is from Have Faith in Me by A Day to Remember which is Joel & Ellie coded if you squint

Ellie and Joel had arrived back in Jackson in the middle of the summer. Warmer days were instantly a welcome distraction as Ellie felt the chill start to uncling from her bones. She started to think that maybe she wouldn’t always feel like this, a prisoner in her own body, bound by skin tainted, stretching so hard to contain her inner turmoil she feared it might snap. She picked at her cuticles until they bled, bit her nails until she couldn’t. Sometimes, she snapped the extra hair tie around her wrist over and over, the sensation keeping her grounded, as if she might drift off and never come back, course charted for the moon, the sky a welcome safety net.

She spent a lot of time in the stables during the warmer months, finding horses easier to talk to than people. Ellie found a particular kinship with Shimmer, a chestnut filly sporting a white blaze down her face. She spent countless hours brushing out her coat, sneaking her apples, and telling her stories. The regular barn workers just smiled when they saw her approaching every day, noticing the way she brightened up when she was there. She had come to Jackson closed off and apprehensive. No one knew the full extent of her story, but anything that made the burdens easier to carry was encouraged for everyone who came through the gates. Besides, she wasn’t bothering anything by being there.

School starting back up in the fall was another routine welcome to both Joel and Ellie. At least he knew where she was most of the day. He tried to give her space. A lot of days, she would wander the woods for hours, perch in a tree and wait for animals to cross through. She was quickly filling the sketchbooks he had found for her front and back. Using pencils until they were barely nubs. She kept her knife on her and used it to sharpen them back into a point as needed. Joel usually found her by the accumulating piles of shavings at the wide base of a maple.

“Supper time,” he would say.

“Almost done,” she would squint, tongue pressed between her lips as she put the finishing touches on a sketch of a starling, pulling wide strokes down then erasing the tips to mimic its shiny feathers. She would then shut her sketch pad and shove it into her backpack, grabbing a low hanging branch to swing down to the ground. Joel always held his hand out to steady her, and she always grabbed it, whether she needed the extra balance or not.

A chill was making its way back into the air as summer wound down. Not having to face the sweltering heat meant she could spend more time outside and less time drenched in sweat. The red hoodie she always donned to cover her bite less likely to raise questions on cool afternoons than ones where the sun beat down, tinging the tips of her ears and the apples of her cheeks a soft shade of pink. She liked blending in, avoiding attention. Enough time had passed now that the two of them were no longer the topic of every conversation. Patrols over the summer had found a few straggling survivors and brought them in to recover and integrate into the community, so she was no longer the new kid.

Life there was slowly beginning to make sense for the two of them. They ate most of their dinners in the meal halls at night. Joel cooked them breakfast in the mornings and packed lunches for them both to take when they went their separate ways. Most evenings, they spent time on the porch reading, or Joel would teach her a few new chords on guitar. She could sight read music like a natural, just picking it up like she had done it her whole life. The library had a few music books on the shelves that she checked out regularly until she memorized every song on the worn pages.

When the moon settled high in the navy sky, and the stars spilled across the horizon finding their place in the mural, Ellie would perch on the front steps and point out constellations to Joel.

“Those three right there make Orion’s Belt. And that orangey looking one up there, that’s his shoulder. It’s called Betelgeuse. It’s 750 times bigger than the sun.”

“Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice,” Joel called over from his rocking chair.

Ellie shot him a confused look over her shoulder.

“It’s from a movie. Michael Keaton?”

She gave him the same look she had given him when he asked her if she knew who Linda Ronstadt was.

Joel sighed, “I’ll see if Tommy has a copy.”

Ellie pushed off the steps with a groan. “It’s getting late, old man. I’m gonna go shower and hit the hay,” she announced, pressing a kiss to his temple. His hand rose to his shoulder to give hers a quick squeeze before she retreated into the house.

“Night, kiddo,” he called after her.

As October faded into November, each morning brought grey clouds that hung thick in the sky blocking out any hope of golden light. Frost regularly crawled up the windows of their home without the sun’s rays to melt it away. Ellie would trace the patterns from the inside with her finger, feeling like a storm cloud was hanging over her, a shadow she couldn’t outrun. She didn’t quite know how to name the feeling. A sense of dread tinged with panic, a heaviness dropping over her shoulders like a thick winter coat.

Joel noticed the melancholy she walked hand in hand with. He would say things like, “I’m here if you want to talk about anything,” before the two of them turned in for the night. She always gave him a sad smile colored with gratitude before declining. She didn’t know how to open up, and he certainly wasn’t going to force her, send her running like a deer hearing a twig snap. She had felt like prey before; she knew what it was like to be hunted.

So, he loved her quietly and closely. Sometimes, he left a note scrawled in her lunch with a crudely drawn smiley face or heart. He brought her every comic he could find, made sure to always save her his dessert or slip her an extra slice of bread at dinner. At night, after she showered, she would always sit on the floor in front of him in their living room. His rough hands never smoother than when they were brushing through the tangles in her hair and separating them into even sections. He lovingly tucked each piece into matching French braids, securing the ends with two small elastics. When he finished, she would lean her head into the crook of his knee and close her eyes. His hand would reach forward and stroke her cheek or scratch the bit of her back between her shoulders.

His touch anchored her night after night. When she felt like she was drifting, out of body, out at sea, his voice was able to call her home. The bright light of his love cut through the clouds, calmed the waves. The two of them were linked together in a way most people would never understand from the outside. The months they spent together forged an unbreakable bond. Each knowing the other inside and out, their tells, their tics, always at the ready to jump in after their friend if the darkness started winning.

Seeing her like this scared the shit out of Joel. He recognized the vacancy in her eyes like it was a mirror of his younger self. He heard the screams for help in the silent moments, when she looked to him with tear-stained eyes and dark circles so deep he feared she’d never catch up on sleep.

The cold weather was starting to take a toll on him as well. He was opting to stay inside and woodwork when he could, passing off some of his patrol shifts to younger folks on particularly windy days. His hands ached with age and poorly healed breaks. He spent a lot more time than usual clutching hot mugs and stretching his tired fingers out in front of the fire he kept blazing in their living room.

Ellie rushed out to school that morning like she normally did. Losing track of time, pulling on her shoes haphazardly with her lunch bag hanging from her teeth.

“Take your hat, it’s mighty cold today,” Joel said as he refilled his coffee cup for the second time that morning.

She pulled it off the hook and over her ears, mumbling a, “Bye Joel!” through her full mouth.

He smiled and watched as she scrambled down the stairs and around the corner towards the town.

She had been looking forward to school lately. Her age group had been reading plays aloud for literature, each person playing their own part. Right now, they were doing The Importance of Being Earnest. She giggled at all the word play, asking Joel to keep an eye out for more books by Oscar Wilde while he was out on patrol.

Mrs. Jones had seen the way she really took to acting out the parts, so when she had to call her name several times to get her attention that afternoon, she started to worry.

“Ellie, honey, is everything okay?” she knelt down in front of her, concern coating her voice.

Ellie’s eyes were glued to the window, thousand yard stare and color drained from her face. She barely registered the figure there in front of her; her mind was somewhere else. Outside the window, snow had started to fall, the first of the season. Once her eyes registered the flurries, she was gone in an instant.

Mrs. Jones peeked out into the hallway and was relieved to find Tommy there, checking some of the heating vents.

“Tommy,” she whispered loudly, drawing his attention away from the ceiling tiles he was fidgeting with. He stepped down from the small ladder and walked towards her with his brows knit together.

“Is everything alright?”

“It’s Ellie, she’s, I don’t really know. I can’t get her to talk to me.”

He nodded and followed her back into the room. She did her best to divert the class’s attention back to her and the play while Tommy knelt in front of her.

“Ellie, darlin’, can ya hear me?”

Her glassy eyes were unresponsive as he gently grabbed the book from her hands to put in her backpack and sling it over his shoulder. He took her hands to help her up, and she followed blindly, stumbling obediently out the door after him. He draped her jacket over her shoulders and pulled her into his side as they exited the building. The wind was biting. He gritted his teeth and squinted for visibility keeping his arm tucked tightly around her. She was heavy and weightless at the same time.

“We’re just gonna get you home, honey, okay?” he said softly to her, trying to constantly whisper reassuring things into her ear, red from the wind. He wasn’t sure how much she could hear, but he wanted her to know that he was there. She wasn’t alone, no matter what prison her mind was holding her in.

The walk to their house was quick on a normal day, slowed slightly by her stumbling steps just now. Tommy got her up the stairs and rapped loudly on the door. Joel heard it faintly from his shop, setting aside the piece of maple he was fashioning into a bookshelf for one of the older ladies in town. He made his way to the front door with a slight annoyance at the repeated knocking, instantly sobering up at the sight of Tommy holding up a haunted looking Ellie.

“I don’t know what happened,” Tommy said, urgently shuffling her inside and helping Joel set her on the couch.

“Snow,” Joel said grimly. He lifted the jacket from her limp frame and tossed it to the side.

“Ellie baby, can you hear me?” he asked gently. Her gaze was locked somewhere behind him. He knelt down in front of the couch, steady hands rising to hold her cold cheeks. “Ellie, it’s me, it’s Joel,” he pleaded.

At the sound of his name, she shifted her gaze to lock eyes with his.

“That’s it, baby. It’s just me. I’m here,” he smiled softly.

She lifted her arms up towards him weakly, and he knowingly rose to sit down beside, her pulling her into his lap. She buried her face in his neck, cold nose sending a chill down his spine.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, pressing gentle kisses to the crown of her head.

Tommy clasped Joel’s shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze before retreating out the door.

Joel’s arms wrapped tightly around her, the smell of his old flannel and the feel of it against her cheek, the sound of his voice calling her name, the scratch of his beard against her forehead all working in tandem to pull her back into the light bit by bit.

He held her for hours like that, steady as an oak tree, arms like branches holding her against his strong heartbeat. He never stopped talking, murmuring against her hair that she wasn’t alone.

“Thank you,” she finally squeaked out, voice barely a whisper, but he heard it.

She felt his lips turn up into a smile, and he pressed another kiss to her head.

“I’ve got you, baby girl; I’m not going anywhere.”

#the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #the last of us #the last of us fic #hurt/comfort #joel and ellie #joel miller #tommy miller #ellie williams

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Unholy Flesh

SFW | AO3 | Baldur’s Gate 3 Word Count: 4,381

Excerpt: It was the killing fate written in the blood of the creatures that sprung from Mercy’s sculpted flesh. The sorcerer flattened their foot against the ground, stilling the rock of the chair. Mercy leaned over in the chair, the nails on their right hand growing unnaturally long and sharp. They ignored the weight of the silver chain wrapped tightly around their wrist as they held their hand out. The tips of two nails pressed against the soft skin of one the throat of one of the sleeping twins. It would have been a mercy to kill them.  It would be a mercy to kill them. A/N: This is the next part of Never Love an Anchor. This chapter just establishes more of what's going on and explores the relationship my Durge has with Astarion while otw to leave the hellspawn pups on someone's doorstep. This is a totally self-indulgent au where I wanted to explore nontraditional family structures bc these two idiots are not raising these kids. CW: Accidental Pregnancy, Cryptic Pregnancy, Traumatic Birth, Gore, Blood, General Durge Shit, and they talk about infanticide but,,,,clearly these babies are making it

The evening was calm. The night air provided a cool comfort against Mercy’s warm cheeks as they waited on the cottage porch. The sorcerer was wrapped in their cloak. Dark, loose tendrils of black fabric on the front draped across their shoulders and around their neck, its warm lining soft against their freckled skin. Mercy was perched in a rocking chair, its wood creaking with each push of their dark boot against the ground. Beside the sorcerer, the twins were swaddled in soft blankets, each in a different color to differentiate the little shits. The wrapping was still messy, the blanket tails tucking out where the vampire spawn and the sorcerer gave up trying to figure out the art of swaddling an infant.

It had been two days since the birth, and Mercy was still struggling to comprehend everything that happened. They had no idea they were even pregnant when Mercy had arrived at the cottage with Astarion. It was meant to be a small break to recuperate from the adventuring that occupied a majority of their time together.

What was meant to be a reprieve quickly turned to shit. 

The sorcerer hadn’t felt well the day they went into labor. They were exhausted, bone tired, and their stomach churned uncomfortably, but Mercy initially brushed it off as one of the many symptoms plaguing them since their addled mind and broken body were toys the Gods played with, then discarded like trash.

Mercy could never forget the fear of having their body taken from their control, but the years put enough distance for the memory to lose some of its edge. Dulled by time and new memories filling the cracks in their addled mind, the birth of the beasts sharpened the echo of their powerlessness to a point and stabbed them deeply in the gut with a goading twist. As their heart ached with the betrayal of their own body’s failure to warn them, they were reminded that they were always meant to be simply a vassal, never quite in control of their own body, let alone their own future. 

The last few years were a taste of true autonomy. Mercy and Astarion had traveled across Faerun, both hungry to see the world once denied to them. They went where they wanted when they wanted, traveling in the cover of darkness without a plan, and without the threat of Bhaal punishing them for straying off his intended path. The couple tried to be heroic, two beasts unleashed, stalking the other monsters of the night who harnessed their own power against the innocent. 

However, Astarion and Mercy were also the chaos in the night, causing brawls in the bustling taverns, robbing unsuspecting patriars stumbling drunk through the streets, and generally lying their way into a free room to hide from the sun in. It was a life lived freely, a life the sorcerer was growing used to, putting distance between themself and their past. 

Mercy was stupid to think their life would ever be fully free of Bhaal’s influence.

The sorcerer’s blood was quiet, free of the compulsion of their blood whispers, but the same intrusive thoughts accompanied their hard won freedom, a reminder that they were sculpted from divine flesh. Mercy could feel Bhaal’s essence taunting them where it lay dormant in the twins. The sorcerer may have escaped his leash, but not the curse of their unholy flesh. Bhaal rescinded his blood inheritance, but it would seem he still had use for Mercy’s body.

The sorcerer watched the infants slumbering in their makeshift crib. Mercy’s eyes narrowed as they lifted a hand to touch the scar marring the right side of their face. They traced the line from the corner of their eye, dipping beneath the blue iris and curving down across their cheek. They couldn’t remember much from before, but they could remember their own twin sister’s face the night their own Urges first stirred. 

Their sister’s necklace - a silver chain holding a ruby the shape of a teardrop - felt heavy where it was wrapped around their right wrist. It was a souvenir from their duel with their sister destined by blood. It was a destiny doomed to repeat, trapping the Bhaalspawn in a vicious cycle of violence and death that would never garner them Bhaal’s favor. 

It was the killing fate written in the blood of the creatures that sprung from Mercy’s sculpted flesh.

The sorcerer flattened their foot against the ground, stilling the rock of the chair. Mercy leaned over in the chair, the nails on their right hand growing unnaturally long and sharp. They ignored the weight of the silver chain wrapped tightly around their wrist as they held their hand out. The tips of two nails pressed against the soft skin of one the throat of one of the sleeping twins. It would have been a mercy to kill them. 

It would be a mercy to kill them. 

Mercy’s jaw clenched as they pulled their hand away, hand returning to normal. They pulled it against their chest, then leaned back in the chair, putting distance between them and the Bhaalspawn.

The memories of the birth were laced with the aroma of life and death, permeating with the heavy scent of blood. Mercy could smell it, as though they were still on the makeshift bed of sheets, bleeding out in front of the dying fire, their wretched brain struggling to stay connected to their suffering body. They were alone. 

They were scared.

As they delivered the first child, the sorcerer screamed and sobbed, a choice with their body once more taken from them. It was an anguish momentarily stifled when they had been sure the little girl, a tiefling with a tail just like Mercy’s, had arrived stillborn. The relief was quickly devoured by the pain and surprise of the twin ready to claw her way into the world. The second girl - more Elf than Tiefling - had the sorcerer’s talons, nails distended into hard, unnatural points. 

There was so much blood.

A firm hand on their shoulder shook Mercy from the grip of their disconnected memories, forcing them back into the body that had failed them, and back into the moment. The sorcerer tensed, electricity sparking in their hand defensively. Their lips turned down into a snarl as they turned their gaze toward the man now standing beside them.

Astarion’s thick brow arched, but he kept the hand on Mercy’s shoulder. He rubbed it with his thumb, soothing out the tension with the familiarity. The sorcerer slowly lowered their raised hackles, relaxing into the comforting touch. They averted their gaze, the blue electricity around their hand discharging with the flashes of three motes of light.

“What are you doing?” Astarion’s voice was level, lacking any of his usual theatrics and laced with exhaustion. Dark circles darkened his tired, sunken eyes. His eyes were dull, lacking the usual light reflecting from his piercing gaze. His angular face was gaunt, the hard lines etched with equal parts concern and frustration that followed him since he found Mercy half dead on the floor of their home.

Worry knitted Mercy’s brows together, chest tightening with shame. They pursed their lips into a tight line, searching his eyes for any sign of judgment, but all they saw was the reflection of themself. The sorcerer quickly averted their gaze.

Astarion sighed as he ran his hand across their shoulder and down their arm, drawing out the contact before he finally pulled away. “I’m not judging you,” he assured them. “I just know you wouldn't be proud of that choice.” 

“Maybe, but we don’t have many other options.” The sorcerer sounded small, their voice deflated to a lower octave. 

It was a conversation they had before, one the two found themselves stuck in whenever Mercy found themself spiraling in their self-doubt. Too much innocent blood stained their tainted hands for them to be useful for anything but spilling more blood. Giving life and raising it was not something suitable for hands skilled and trained in the art of murder. Their Urges were gone, but a part of them still found satisfaction in a good hunt, in feeling the life of someone who deserved it fading beneath their hand. 

However, there weren’t many options for the newborn Bhaalspawn. Leaving them in the care of another would just spell disaster. The thought was accompanied by the image of their own unsuspecting adoptive parents, the young couple’s blood spilled, bodies savaged by Mercy’s adolescent hand, laid out in offering to a God that would never love them.

“There are options, though,” Astarion cut in, the heel of his boot clicked against the wood of the porch flooring as he circled around the sorcerer, then crouched down in front of them. He took their left hand in his own, holding Mercy tightly when the sorcerer refused to meet his gaze.

For a moment, Mercy let him hold their hand, the two sitting in silence as the sorcerer mulled over his words. “I don’t think you realize how slim our options are,” they finally spoke up, pulling their hand away to rest their arms on the rocking chair’s armrests. They kept their gaze lowered for a moment, then finally lifted their bright irises to meet Astarion’s.

“Please,” Astarion dragged out the word, eyes narrowing as his tone sharpened. “Don’t act like I’m being naive. I was picking through slimmer options before you even graced this planet with your presence, my love,” his voice softened, as did his gaze, as the pet name fell from his lips. “I think you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be right now.” 

The sorcerer shrunk beneath the jab. They balled their hands into tight fists and glanced at the sleeping beasties disguised by the innocence of infancy. They remained silent, struggling to put their worries into words. Instead, they turned their wide, uncertain gaze toward Astarion, searching his own for anything to quell the tide of emotions storming inside.

Astarion seemed to understand whatever Mercy left unsaid. He inclined his head, lips pursing as he thought for a moment, then placed his hands on their thighs. He gave the sorcerer a comforting squeeze. “We have a plan. It’s not ideal, but it is a plan.” He paused, eyes glossing over, clearly still distancing himself from whatever fears were making a home in his husk. “Besides. If it doesn’t work out, we can always circle back.”

Mercy watched him closely, still tense, but weighing his words. It was a difficult circumstance he clearly understood, but the hope he had for their flimsy plan had the sorcerer leaning into the comfort he offered. They tugged the sleeves of their cloak down, covering the silver hanging dangerously from their right wrist, before reaching out to cup Astarion's cheeks. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his cheek cold against the palm of the sorcerer's hand. 

He turned his head to kiss the inside of their palm before pushing himself up onto his feet. "I was being honest when I said I think they deserve a chance. I'm not a monster." Astarion offered Mercy his hand. Once the sorcerer took it, he helped them up onto their feet. "I don't want the little beasts…but they're already here. It'd be different if we had some warning and could…nip it in the bud, so to speak." 

Mercy found reassurance in the admission. They gave his hand a grateful squeeze, communicating their gratitude silently as the sorcerer turned their gaze towards the infants. "Okay…" They nodded to themself, trying to find the resolve needed to move forward. "We should leave soon, then. I don't want to waste time finding you a place to stay before the sun rises."

Astarion twirled two fingers with a playful flourish over to where their bags were packed and waiting outside the entryway. "I'm ready when you are, my love."

Mercy smiled at that, though it faltered when they spoke. "Do you want to carry them?"

Astarion's own expression went cold. "Respectfully, my dear. No. For once, I would rather carry the bags." 

Mercy found themself snickering at him. They covered their mouth with their hand, hiding the smile behind their sleeve. Astarion's own expression seemed to relax as he watched them. The sorcerer found themself clearing their throat, suddenly self-conscious. "Fine. I’ll take…Tail and Talons."

"Tail and- Gods above. They're going to need names," Astarion groaned with annoyance. "Better names. Tail and Talons." He shook his head with faux haughty disapproval as he walked over to their bags and pulled out some fabric to make a wrap with.

"It works. I don't see you coming up with anything better." Mercy shrugged, brow arching with the exasperation seeping into their expression.

“Honestly, it's because I’d rather not,” Astarion cut in with an airy giggle meant to disguise his creeping discomfort. 

"Well, I'm not naming them." They crouched down by the basin the infants were in and collected both in their arms, not afraid to disturb the sleeping beasts. 

Astarion just chuckled, shaking his head as he held the fabric out and began to help the sorcerer secure the twins to their torso. They were a firm, cold weight against Mercy’s body. The sorcerer grimaced, shifting their weight around on their feet uncomfortably.

Astarion watched Mercy closely, focusing his keen perception on the wrap. Once he was satisfied with how secure the twins were, he folded his arms and turned his attention back to Mercy. A smug, half-smirk tugged at one corner of his lips when he met the sorcerer’s gaze. “Cute,” he quipped.

With a soft huff, Mercy rolled their eyes at him. A soft, rosy flush in their pale, blue cheeks betrayed the sorcerer’s feigned annoyance. Astarion snickered to himself as he moved to collect the two hastily packed bags. He slung one over his back before digging through one of the pouches of the other. He pulled out an amulet hanging from a gold chain. He shouldered the second bag, then offered the necklace to his partner.

The pendant was circular with a hinged cover plating the top. Mercy took the enchanted item and popped the top, revealing an interior mechanism shaped like the face of a clock. Instead of numbers, gems in different colors lined the edge of the exposed face of the mechanism. The sorcerer took a claw and gently nudged the hand at the center around, pointing it to the emerald.

“Ready?” Mercy flashed a small smile, flashing their sharp, predatory teeth. 

With a firm nod, Astarion moved closer, fitting himself to his partner’s side. An arm draped loosely around Mercy’s waist. The sorcerer leaned into the touch as they gently closed the cover on the necklace. Rays of a spectrum of green lights glistened playfully from within the mechanism. The light began to extend out in pulses. 

Mercy’s own magic manifested, blue electricity crackling around their body, static adding weight to the air, then discharged out in sparks that raced out and across the property, before eventually diving into the earth. Invisible lines etched beneath the property came to life, Mercy’s magic tracing the inscription until the magic circle was fully alive.

The transportation circle beneath them was bright, its blue light a beacon in the dead of the night. Astarion’s arm tightened around Mercy’s waist, pulling them tighter against him as the magic began to change the scenery around them. The dark forestline rippled, then faded away like water colors. The dark silhouette of the forest was replaced by dull brick buildings and stone walkways. The crisp, sharp scent of Autumn was replaced by the pungent aroma of city life. Baldur’s Gate sprawled out around them, filling the landscape where the forest had filled the endless expanse of the periphery of their world. 

Mercy slipped the necklace around their neck. Astarion moved in tandem, easily becoming an extension of the sorcerer’s body. He gently took Mercy’s braid and guided it over the chain, then let it hang loosely behind the sorcerer. Mercy glanced at him, appreciation apparent in the momentary softness of their expression. It was quick, a moment of comfort, before their eyes narrowed and they steeled themself once more.

The pendant - a gift from Gale shortly after the gathering at Withers’s request - had placed them in front of the Elfsong Tavern. The building stood in its familiarity, almost like it was frozen in time. Ivy still crept along the gutters and draped down the wood and stone. The lively noises of mortals relishing the joys of the night filled the night air.

“Ah. The smell of home,” Astarion commented with a displeased pout, nose wrinkled. His hand twisted in the fabric of Mercy’s cloak, betraying the way his body was tensing.

Mercy patted the hand awkwardly, then settled theirs on top of his own. Mercy interlocked their fingers with Astarion’s. The sorcerer's clawed digits curled, fingertips pressing into the palm of his hand. They gave him the grace of silence, allowing him to feel whatever was beginning to stir within him, and took the lead. With feigned confidence, the sorcerer guided Astarion towards the entrance of the tavern.

Mercy pulled their hand away as they pushed the door open, then slowly pried themself from the arm wrapped around them. When he released the robe, he followed at the sorcerer’s heel. Inside the tavern, the dirtier scents of the city were replaced with the fragrance of spilled mead and stewed meat. A fire roared in a nearby fireplace, chasing away the night air and blanketing the interior in a welcoming warmth. The two caught the stray glances of a few of the tavern patrons, their eyes never lingering long on the infant sleeping against Mercy’s chest once they caught the sorcerer’s expression: a cold glare and slight curl of their lip, baring dangerously sharp teeth.

The tip of Mercy’s tail flicked with frustration as they approached the bar near the back of the building. Behind the bar’s structure, the barkeep was filling a mug with mead from a large barrel behind them. He placed it down on the polished tabletop and slid it across to a large, hardy woman enjoying the evening in solitude. When his gaze met Mercy’s, his eyes lit with recognition and a little bit of fear despite the babies strapped to the sorcerer’s body.

A smirk played at the corner of Mercy’s lips at the thrill of being feared. They sauntered over to the bar, confidence in their gait. “Good. You remember me.” They placed one arm against the bartop and flashed a shark-like smile.

The barkeep stood straight, body tensing. His eyes narrowed until his fearful gaze became a defensive glare. “I thought we were rid of you two.”

Astarion laughed, full bodied and mocking, as he laid both forearms against the bartop and leaned over. “That’s on you for being so hopeful.” He smirked, his crimson eyes shining with vicious playfulness. 

Mercy glanced up at Astarion, locking their gaze with his to read whatever play it was he was about to make. They could see a playful confidence in his dangerous smile, like he was certain he knew what strings to play on the barkeep. They inclined their head, a subtle nod of understanding, before dragging their gaze, slow and deliberate, back to the barkeep. “We need a room,” they stated plainly. 

The barkeep glanced between the two, then down at the infant strapped to the front of Mercy’s torso. The sorcerer’s smile faltered, a scowl threatening to twist their features as they dared the barkeep to say anything. He clearly thought twice, eyes quickly rising to look at Astarion, too afraid to meet Mercy’s gaze. “Fine. T-Two-hundred a night,” he stammered.

Astarion was quick to cut in, ready to take over. Mercy happily obliged, content to sit back and watch as the rogue began to run his mouth. “Two hundred a night for your dear old friends?” 

The barkeep laughed at that, though his voice wavered, confidence only temporarily boosted before he caught sight of Mercy’s cutting glare. He cleared his throat. “Two-hundred a night or find another place to sleep.”

Astarion feigned a scandalized expression. His hand flew up to cover his heart. “You would kick the Hero of Baldur’s Gate to the street? With their newborns?” He was intentionally loud, drawing more attention than necessary, but he knew how to milk a situation for all it was worth. “Have you no heart?”

Mercy could feel Astarion’s smug satisfaction when the barkeep stammered, shrinking under stray glances from suddenly interested patrons. The barkeep glanced between the sorcerer and the rogue, then finally deflated entirely. “Fine. Gods, fine.” He turned to the keys hanging on the wall behind him. He grabbed one, then tossed it onto the counter, a little afraid to get too close to Mercy.

The sorcerer exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring with the force as they snatched up the key. “Next time, just give us the damn key,” they growled. They eyed him for a moment, delighting in the way the barkeep froze, breath caught in his throat. Mercy shook their head, snorting at the man’s pathetic display as they turned away from the bar.

Astarion waved a playful goodbye before turning on his heel and following after his partner. He reached out to grip onto the back of their cloak, keeping close as the two made their way up to the room. The weight of the beasts pressed on either side of Mercy’s being, holding them in the present when the familiar halls began to stir memories of longing, of memories of greatly missed friends and their ironclad bonds forged in the fires of circumstance.

Astarion took the key from Mercy’s hand. He glanced at the number engraved onto it, then moved ahead to guide the sorcerer. He paused outside the room with the matching number; the room that once belonged to Duke Stelmane. “Are you kidding me?” He frowned, glancing between the key and the door.

Mercy bumped his arm with their shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s a free room,” they reminded him. “A little death in the air will make us feel more at home. It’ll be fine.” 

A little laugh drifted past the smile parting his pretty lips. Astarion inclined his head as he unlocked the door. “You’re right. Silly me.” He pushed the door open, then moved to allow Mercy to enter first. “Just do me a favor and don’t drink anything you find in the room.” 

“Why? A little poison in my wine could be quite the treat.” The sorcerer passed the threshold quickly, then ventured further into the private room.

The room had been cleaned and mostly refurbished, but returned to what the sorcerer assumed was the room’s prior state. Before Stelmane’s untimely demise. The stench of death that once clung to the floorboards was gone. The bloodstained boards were ripped up, replaced with fresh wood to hide the horrors that happened within those four walls. Mercy stood in the center of the room, a little surprised by how little of Duke Stelmane’s death - and of the life she lived there - remained in the room. 

The click of the door’s lock sliding into place was an aberration in the silence that fell across the room. Mercy turned, attention honing in on Astarion. He was still in his own thoughts, his gaze cast down as he lifted a hand and carded his fingers through his loose curls. The strands straightened with the pull of his fingers, but immediately bounced back into their perfect coils, as though they had been untouched. 

The sorcerer watched in awe, momentarily stricken by his beauty. A moment that quickly faded when they felt Tail begin to stir. Mercy’s heart stopped, gaze falling down to the little girl resting against their chest. The twins had slept through the last two days, their bodies more like little corpses than newborns. Neither of the twins had opened their eyes once since they were born. It was creepy, but Mercy was appreciative of the peace that came with the beasts’ unnatural slumber.

The sorcerer exhaled their relief when Tail fell still. Mercy’s shoulders slumped under the weight of the children hanging from them. “Fuck…that was close.” They rolled their neck, then turned their attention back to Astarion.

Astarion was watching just as closely, only relaxing when Mercy caught his gaze. He dropped both bags to the ground. “Well, then…” He pursed his lips with a brief pause. “Would you like to get some rest before sunrise?”

“No. I can’t wait until sunrise.” Mercy’s brows furrowed, restlessness creeping under their skin as they looked down at the sleeping Tail. The sorcerer couldn’t wait any longer. Two days with their thoughts had been enough and they were ready to pounce into action.

Astarion blinked slowly, a little rattled by what he couldn’t decide was fearlessness or stupidity. “May I suggest not waking an owlbear while it's sleeping?”

“You may, but I’m not guaranteed to consider the input.” Mercy extended out a hand with their palm facing up. “The key.”

Stupidity, Astarion decided with a pause, then produced the key from his pocket. He curled his fingers around theiron, holding it against his palm as he set his closed knuckles against Mercy’s outstretched hand. 

“If you’re going to be impatient, I am coming along.” He released the key, then moved to press his palm flat against Mercy’s. He laced their fingers together. “Better odds for you if she has two targets of her ire.” 

“Fine.” Mercy sighed, but acquiesced. They leaned over, giving the back of his hand a quick, grateful kiss, then turned their hands over so the weight of the key fell into Astarion’s palm. The sorcerer withdrew their empty hand, arm falling to relax at their side. “If you’re joining me, make yourself useful and take Talons.”

“Ugh.” Astarion’s face scrunched dramatically with his visible discomfort. Despite the theatrics, he wasted no time circling around his partner. He carefully unwrapped the child anchored to Mercy’s back, lifting the small waist and cradling it awkwardly against his chest. He kept his mirthless gaze on the sorcerer. “Jaheira is not going to be happy about this.”

#astarion #astarion ancunin #the dark urge #durge #durgestarion #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #never love an anchor #bat writes #in which durge has to go home with their tail between their legs to tell their new mother what happened #AND TO PLEASE FIX THIS BECAUSE DURGE CANNOT

[neonponders]

We Men Are Wretched Things

Happy Harringrove Week everyone!

• read on ao3 •

The room held an atmosphere of smoke tendrils over their heads. Bluish-green eyes tracked the silver wisps from incense, lamps, candles, and human activity—

Only to land on large, brown eyes gazing back at him through the crowd. Like he had been waiting to be noticed. Doe eyes. Oxen eyes. Goddess eyes.

The Prince of Sparta was not the only one to be rumored with divine blood in their bones. The Prince of Troy did too, and he had certainly been given a feast of devotional attention tonight.

Billy sighed as their guest stood up, knowing he had every intention of approaching. Billy hid behind his goblet, tipping it all the way back—a balm on his senses at the cost of an empty cup.

A large hand took it from him, and slid it over the inky surface of the table’s krater. Billy refused the replenished cup when it was offered. “I don’t want the children’s wine.”

Troy’s prince blinked at him slowly, and smiled just as groggily. “It’s not for children just because it’s been diluted a bit.”

“I prefer strong wine.”

That made the prince wilt as he looked into the cup. Then he recovered with a shrug. “I like it. The water makes it fruitier and less bitter.”

Then he drank out of Billy’s cup. An intrusive, almost violent urge to snatch it from Steve’s hand flashed across Billy’s mind. His cup. The moist prints of his lips. A desperate need to keep every part of himself out of Steve’s hands, off his lips made Billy’s throat run dry, the wine’s bitterness making the room feel like a southern desert instead of a humid gathering of all his father’s foreign and domestic dignitaries.

Steve placed the cup on the table, his tone harder yet soft. “Why are you upset?”

Billy licked his lips and smiled without it touching his eyes. “Elaborate.”

So Steve did: “You asked me to be here.”

Billy’s smile dropped a measure. “That was months ago.”

“Did you not mean it?”

Billy exhaled for calm and looked elsewhere. Steve was…difficult to look at sometimes. Simply put, Billy had forgotten how handsome Ilion bred its princes. Steve had every feature which went into a statue of perfect, marble beauty. Handsomeness sharpened into austerity as he grew more and more annoyed, but Billy could tell he was trying to be patient. To understand.

Billy’s father’s people were supposed to be the philosophers and defenders of rationale. Ilion excelled over them in this too, it seemed.

Speaking of, Billy countered, “I remember asking you about your name. Stéfanos Aléxandros.”

“The first is the name my parents gave me. The second is the name your people call me.”

“What do your people call you?”

“Paris. You know this. Paris and Aléxandros mean the same thing. Why are we talking about this?”

“Because last time, we argued, and somehow you took that as an invitation.”

A smile returned to Steve’s face in a flash, like he had finally understood something, or perhaps they were finally in a direction he wanted to be. “You called me a son of Troy. I tried to correct you. We call our home Ilion, and I invited you to see it. I guess when you refused, I took that to mean I had come back.”

Billy knew his cheeks had begun to betray him with pink warmth, because Steve’s eyes went there, caressing his face and taking in every detail. Steve asked again, “Did you not mean it?”

Billy let his head tip to the side as if he were bored. “Nothing’s changed.”

Steve’s expressive brows furrowed. “You say that like a relationship between Sparta and Ilion is a bad thing.”

“I am an heir and you are a pawn. Don’t you have someone to marry?”

“My brother already did that,” Steve remarked as if he had beaten Billy to a joke. “I have a nephew and everything. My parents put so much work into him and their posterity that they didn’t have much energy to hold me to the same rules.”

“It shows,” Billy grumbled, finally succumbing to drink from the same infernal cup.

Steve’s gaze swept over the feast. The wooden tables and beams had absorbed centuries of wine and beer fumes to smell festively sour. Sweet perfumes contrasted it, making the space almost smell nice. Or overwhelming. Billy preferred the more subtle mixtures that nature provided outside. The salt of the ocean. The dull bite of stone and wet soil. The crisp freshness of green things and—

“She could come with us.”

Billy looked at him dumbly, and both too slowly and all at once realized who Steve had taken to looking at. “The gods gave you beauty instead of brains.”

“Thank you?” Steve puzzled. “Why not? You talk about pawns. Your sister would love Ilion—”

“She’s not my sister,” Billy blurted before murmuring, “If her feet leave Spartan soil, it would mean war.”

Steve stared at him, and Billy realized what kind of light had been behind his eyes this whole time. Hope, for it was hope that began to drain from Steve’s smile. “Why?”

“Because that’s all my father knows. That is all Sparta is. They fight, they fuck, and they do it all over again.”

Steve did not have a ready answer for that. The noise of the party eclipsed them. So much so, that Billy took the chance to leave it altogether. He had to give his father and his second wife the respect of approaching them before he left. The king was far enough in the festivities to not care; the queen sat tired and bored enough to smile at him and nothing more.

Outside, the night was graciously quiet, fragrant, and gentle. Billy pissed onto the roots of a bay leaf bush, and then set out on a familiar walking path toward the ocean. When running footfalls started to crescendo toward him, a part of Billy hoped it would be one of the guards. The part of him who hoped for Steve recoiled with too many feelings to sort through.

“What are you doing?”

“Going for a naked swim. How nice to pass you along the way.”

Billy frowned, only to bark, “HEY!”

Steve plucked the brass and gold pin from his raiment, making the expansive fabric fall like water over Billy’s arms. Far from bothered—merely inconvenienced—this was Greece. Nudity was the last thing for which Billy would feel shame.

After rolling up his himation into a ball under his arm, Billy took off over the hills and down over the dunes. Steve may have had the advantage, but Billy had the hardened feet and overtook him fast. They tumbled over the sand, grit and dry seaweed abrasive over their skin. Steve came up sputtering, and Billy crowed at his expense. “Your city has too many walls for you to learn how to run.”

“How would you know? You haven’t been there,” Steve reminded, smacking sand off his face before he admitted defeat and moved toward the water. His formal clothes were a little different than Billy’s, but fell into colorful piles all the same. Billy laid back on his elbows, watching the line of Steve’s beautiful back come into view. He allowed himself a long look at the two mounds of his ass, and the way the back of Steve’s thighs wiggled.

The sea was calm tonight, and Steve looked good with the froth around his thighs and hips. Billy huffed, feeling his own hot air ripple over his chest before his gaze flicked to his swollen but not yet erect phallus. Before Steve could turn around, Billy marched for the water, diving past him and coming up with a whip of his hair. Steve scrunched his face against the water hitting him, but Billy could barely appreciate it. The view from the front proved just as riveting as the back. And when Billy stared too long at the dark hair on Steve’s chest, the latter had the chance to splash him back.

Billy spit salt and warned, “What did I say? Don’t pick a fight with Spartans.”

“Is it true you were born out of an egg?”

Billy’s features flattened, once again dumbstruck by this man. His arms splayed around him, treading the ocean’s current as it swayed around them. “Excuse me?”

“There are different versions of the rumor,” Steve began, “but it is said that Sparta’s queen slept with Zeus. No other reason could explain your beauty.”

“Oh,” Billy’s lashes fell halfway. “I’m not impressed.”

“You’re a little impressed.”

Billy dodged that by accusing, “Where the hell does an egg fit into this?”

“You…probably don’t want to know that part,” Steve admitted, finally looking bashful and reluctant.

“Finish what you started, pretty boy.”

Steve sighed and relented, “The more colorful version is that Zeus turned into a swan and slept with the queen. So the queen laid an egg.”

“I’m sure that’s popular with your citizens who dislike Greeks.”

“So it’s not true?”

“Do you believe everything your Apollo priests tell you?”

Steve did not give an answer for that…which made Billy think the answer might be yes. Billy felt the need to elaborate, “Which queen? My father married twice.”

“Either one, I guess.”

“My stepsister and I aren’t twins. How many eggs were there?”

“I get your point.”

“Then why on earth would you ask me if I came from an egg?”

“Because you’re beautiful. And last time I was here, it was your birthday.”

Billy’s features began to relax as he listened. He realized that Steve was right. The whole reason a Prince of Troy had ever come here was for his birthday feast and competitive games. Steve finished, “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you.”

“Troy is not known for fighting,” Billy threw back, but as quickly as he snapped, he soothed, “I’ve never seen anyone ride like you.”

That brought a smile to Steve’s face. “We’re known for horses.”

Billy scoffed, “Yeah, you can’t win anything without one.”

“Just because it was your birthday, doesn’t mean you could win everything.”

“I’ll allow it, only because your city would never let you back in if you lost the horse race.”

Steve laughed, and a strained bubble seemed to finally pop. Billy let his body recline back, floating so he could gaze up at the sky…

“That better be a fish touching me.”

“You’re drifting,” Steve refuted, grasping his ankle and tugging him through the surf.

“Never bothered me before,” he grumbled, lowering his legs to touch the pebbled sand once more. “I usually try to get as far as I can before walking back.”

“That’s a weird thing to say to me.”

Billy looked at him through the darkness. The moon shined bright from above, and reflected off the water and beach just as strongly. Dark and bright at the same time. Like maybe truths as bright and dangerous as the sun might be safe in the moon’s darkness. “I can’t go with you.”

“Not even for a little while?”

Billy shook his head. “My father will send a thousand ships after me.”

“Only a thousand?”

Billy slanted mirthless eyes at him. “Don’t mistake your visits here as his true character. He isn’t one to slight. I should know. I’ve been slighting him my whole life.”

“I’m not impressed, nor afraid of someone easy to anger.”

“You should be.”

With some talent that infuriated and elated him, Steve found Billy’s hand under the water. “All I’m hearing is that you’re afraid to live in your own house.”

For some reason…Billy let himself be pulled through the water again. He could not stop the prickle behind his eyes that the touch and his involuntary tolerance brought on. He prayed that the moon did not reflect off his eyes the same as it did the water around them. “I am my father’s heir and my sister’s soldier. I’m the most expensive thing he has.”

“You would be loved like a god in Ilion,” Steve whispered.

Billy did not know when he had stopped breathing. Somehow, he barely felt the need to until he shook his head. “Gods are for fear. Love is for us.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve crumbled. His other hand found the side of Billy’s jaw, wet fingerprints on his skin like butterflies. “I’ll have to steal you if you say that.”

His hand committed to touching Billy, and cradled the junction of his nape as he captured Billy’s lips.

Billy let him. He let Steve take his cup, and Steve gave it back, full. Not even Zeus could refuse the poor soul who filled his cups. Billy let Steve take his lips, and Steve gave back his tongue, the taste of wine and honeyed figs. Is this how Ares felt, when Aphrodite took his helm in exchange for a place to rest? A place to exist without cost?

Steve came to Greece to celebrate Billy. He came back for Billy. And gods above, Billy was more afraid of what he’d give back to Steve for all of that.

#don't panic i did a thing for #harringroveweek #harringrove #ancient greek!au #paris of troy!steve #helen of sparta!billy #the boys are bad at feelings #fic rec #we men are wretched things

[iamvegorott]

Meeting A Magical Man Pt. 54

Part 1: Link Prev: Link Next: Link

“Would it be bad that I hope it’s a false alarm?” Chase asked as he and Marvin appeared in front of Henrik’s home. 

“That’d be-” Marvin didn’t get to finish before the window beside them shattered, a man flying through as if thrown. 

“Holy shit!” Chase shouted, and, after being sure the body wasn’t one he knew, Marvin rushed into the house. Chase cursed again and followed him into the kitchen. “How the-Robbie!” 

“Robbie.” Marvin echoed much softer. 

“You hurt him.” Robbie’s voice was deep and harsh, almost sounding like there was an artificial layering to it. His skin had a hue of purple to it, his eyes blackened, and his hands sharpened to points. Another man was in his hand, dangling in the air by his neck and gargling in an attempt to breathe. 

“What’s…oh my, God.” Mare took a step back, arm going out to block Mad from going in any further. Jackie nearly mirrored him with Phantom when they got in as well. 

“There are more bodies,” Mad said as he looked around the room. With the one outside and the one in Robbie’s hand, there were seven bodies in total, and only one was alive. 

“Robbie. Robbie, dear.” Marvin spoke gently as he slowly neared Robbie. “It’s me, darling, you need to listen, okay?” 

“I’m going to break his neck,” Robbie stated. 

“We need him alive. We need to know why they’re here.” Marvin placed a hand on Robbie’s arm. “Robbie, look at me, please.” There was too long of a pause before Robbie finally turned his head. “Put him down, and let’s go help Henrik. Where is he?” 

“Dad…” The reminder was enough to snap Robbie out of it, and he let the man go, having him drop to the ground. The man coughed and trembled as he started getting up. 

“No, you don’t.” Mare stepped in, grabbed the man, and slammed him down against the table. “You’ve got some questions to answer.” 

“Oh.” Mad breathed out and stiffened a little, and Phantom guided Jackie to stay with Mad before jumping on the table and sitting on it. The brothers seemed to have a routine as they questioned the barely conscious man. 

“Where’s Henrik,” Marvin asked Robbie again. 

“Room,” Robbie spoke and moved at the same time, leading Marvin and Chase to the bedroom. “Dad? Dad, are you still here?” Robbie went to the closet and opened the door, showing Henrik sitting there and holding his arm. The angle of it showed it was broken. 

“I’m going to kill that man,” Chase said as he bent down and helped Henrik to his feet. 

“I cannot tell if it is a clean break.” Henrik was shaking, fighting off shock, and his arm was numb, giving him more concern. “Edward is-is on the-on the way.” He was struggling to speak as his shaking got stronger. “We were-we were-we…” Henrik’s voice trailed off, and he blinked, tears rolling down his cheeks. The arm was the worst of it, but there were other injuries on his body as well. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, but nothing would come out anymore. 

“I can heal the surface injuries, but I’m not the best at it.” Marvin shoved down his emotions as far as they would go. He needed to focus on making sure Henrik was fine. He’ll have his feelings about this later. 

“Maybe Phantom could help? Doesn’t he do more healing stuff?” Chase was in the same boat. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Marvin nodded, and they walked Henrik back into the kitchen. 

“Fucking useless.” Mare threw the man out of the room. “Passed out before we could get anything useful.” He grumbled. 

“Hen!? Henrik, are you okay!?” Edward called out as he rushed into the house. “Oh, fuck, fuck-Hen!” He pushed Jackie aside and rushed over to Henrik. “The fuck happened?” 

“Some men came in. I was downstairs when it started, and when I came back up, they were hurting Dad.” Robbie hugged himself, voice shrinking into almost a younger-sounding tone. His body slowly started shifting back to normal. 

“Phan, you got anything in the chamber for that?” Mare asked as he looked at Henrik. 

“Is it broken? I’m still working on figuring out bone.” Phantom over for a closer look. 

“It’s okay, Hen, we got you.” Edward kissed the top of Henrik’s head. “We got you.” 

“Maybe if we work together, we can get it healed,” Phantom said to Marvin. 

“We can try.” Marvin agreed. 

“Wait, some dudes showed up and started attacking Henrik?” Jackie asked Robbie, getting a nod from him. “That sounds like they were trying to get something from him.” 

“Nothing’s missing or at least nothing obvious. They would have trashed the place looking for it,” Chase said. 

“They were probably trying to get information. You know…beat it out of him.” Jackie lowered his voice for the last part. 

“Information? What would they want from Henrik? He’s not involved in anything.” Chase said.

“He’s involved with us,” Mare stated. “Don’t know who exactly they’re using Henrik against, but it has to be one of us.” 

“You got nothing from the guy?” Chase asked.

“Nah. He just blubbered about wanting to live before he passed out.” 

“We haven’t pissed off that many people with enough power to send seven dudes. Dark wouldn’t go after Henrik.” 

“Actor would.” Mare said that, and he looked at Mad, seeing that he was watching everything happening with wide eyes. 

“But, why Hen?”

“He’d connect the dots that Henrik’s involved with me and Mad disappearing. To have his son show up right before we’re gone? That’s too much of a coincidence.” 

“What do we do, then?” Chase tapped his foot. He didn’t want to risk getting caught up in another standoff, especially now that he no longer had his gun. 

“I don’t know,” Mare admitted. 

“Ah!” Henrik’s scream bounced off the walls. 

“Sorry, sorry!” Marvin apologized as he and Phantom worked on healing him. 

“Hold him still, or it’ll be worse,” Phantom said to Edward. “It’s some strong pain now to save him a long time of more pain.” He had to shout over Henrik’s scream.

“Shit, Mad.” Mare slipped away when he saw Mad pressing his hands over his ears, having been caught off-guard. “Mad, breathe.” Now was not the time for a fireball as well. 

“Make it stop,” Mad whined. 

“You just gotta wait, starlight. They’re helping him.” Mare hugged Mad to himself, hoping using his body would prevent the flames as well. He tensed up as Henrik screamed more, and he prepared himself to get burned. 

“Stop!” Mad cried out.

The screaming stopped.

“I didn’t do that,” Phantom said. 

“Neither did I.” Marvin blinked at the now fully healed arm and saw how the rest of Henrik was also healed. 

“What?” Henrik looked at himself. “I’m…I’m fine?” 

“Mare, did you heal him?” Phantom asked.

“You know I’m terrible with that magic.” Mare said. 

“Then…holy shit, did Mad do that?” 

“Is it over with?” Mad asked, voice slightly muffled by Mare’s chest. 

“Does that count as an upgrade if his unintentional magic is healing?” Chase asked. 

----------

Tags: @brokentimewatch @bookwormscififan @d-structive @rainymae523 @ashtonisvibing

#meeting a magical man #trickshot #veggie writes

[lesbianwriter]

Hello patron saint of making me kick my legs and giggle. Can I request a continue of the yandere villian snippet? I offer you 3 cheeses!

🧀🧀🧀

PATRON SAINT???? OML YOURE MAKING ME KICK MY LEGS AND GIGGLE 🤭

Hero woke up groggily, her eyes heavy as she forced them open to the light that made her wince. She was hardly surprised to see Villain sitting at the edge of the bed, watching, observing as if she were some sort of wraith haunting the room—haunting Hero—and it made annoyance flicker inside of her, but not anger.

She was too tired for anger.

“If you love me as you claim, then you wouldn’t do this to me.” She said, breathing out heavily. Her bones were heavy as iron, her head pounding, her mind swirling as if it was a washing machine tossing around the contents of her mind.

Villain looked at her softly. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she stroked Hero’s cheek reverently, her fingertips lingering warmly on her captive’s skin, “but you wouldn’t listen to me any other way. Admit it. There’s no shame in it—I know finding out my identity must’ve been jarring and led to…rash…decisions—but we can work this out. Please. Take a chance on me. If you loved me once, can’t you find it in your heart to love again? I’ll do it right—I promise.”

Her voice was so wispy, so ghostly, so feathery as she continued that it was difficult to believe it belonged to a villain. “Please, Hero. Look at me.”

Clenching her jaw, Hero did look at Villain—she saw the same features, the face she had known so well, but she didn’t see the same person. Something fundamental was…off. It was an inkling nibbling at the back of Hero’s mind, and she squinted at Villain and those sharp silvery eyes to determine what it was. Was it insanity? Was the shy, demure woman who only wanted her girlfriend back just an act? It was hard to tell. Hero felt almost like mourning the Villain she had known before the tripwire had snapped.

To some degree, even if Villain was a freaky lunatic…she was right. Hero’s love hadn’t died.

It was rotting in a ditch, barely breathing, but there were dregs of her love swirling around at the bottom of her heart, and resurfacing when she thought about her old memories.

But it wasn’t love for the person the had kidnapped her, that had drugged her.

“You’ve changed.” Hero mentioned, laying still in the bed. The restraints were still soft, but noticeably tighter. She wanted to rip them off, to struggle, but her limbs were too heavy.

Villain’s expression sharpened and she stiffened. The only way to describe how she looked was like a silver knife shining in the dark. “Time changes people…but I’m not that different. I’m the same person.” She leaned in closer, breath warm on Hero’s skin. “You’ve changed too. But you’re still you. I knew you’d struggle, I expected it…maybe not a punch to the face,” she nearly smiled, the corners of her lips twitching up for a split second, “but I knew you’d resist. I know you. You know me.”

“I knew you’d give in if I pleaded with you, acted all cute and innocent.”

Villain’s breathing was shaky, but she oozed a strange confidence she hadn’t had before. “See? We know each other.”

She laid down next to Hero on the bed, her body warm and radiating into the small gap between them as they looked in each other’s eyes.

An odd understanding passed between them.

“I can play your game, I can try to make this work with you, but you are not going to keep me tied up on a bed.” Hero asserted, her expression firm and eyebrows furrowed as she looked Villain in the eyes. “We’re going to be normal people. You’re going to let me go, then, we’re going to meet in a coffee shop and catch up. We pretend this little kidnapping stunt didn’t happen. I won’t hold you being a freaky little creep again you…just this once.”

She joked a little at the end, but her expression hardened again as she waited for Villain’s response.

Did her captor deserve this chance at her love? No. Not at all. However, not only was it her best bet at getting out of this situation, and even if the Villain she looked at now wasn’t the same one she had remnants of love for, there still had to be something left of that woman that she’d fallen for…maybe there was a chance, but Hero would only do it if she was being treated with dignity as as more than a hostage.

“It’s late. Will you at least stay the night?” Her hand nervously fluttered the the cuffs, and her fingers hovered right above the lock. “If I undo them, swear you won’t punch me again?”

“No punching.”

“Or slapping, or hitting, or…y’know what I’m getting at.”

Hero sighed. “Yes, I get it. I’ll stay the night. We don’t talk about it in the morning; I leave whenever I wake up. You won’t stop me. Understood?”

“I left the door unlocked, you’ll be able to find your way out if you wake up first.” Villain sighed, undoing the cuffs and leaning back down, watching Hero carefully.

At that, Hero chuckled a little bit and rubbed her wrists, trying to get the weird pressure feeling to go away. “Y’know, you did that in our apartment, too. Never locked doors. Aren’t villains supposed to be better at locking doors?” It felt slightly strained to laugh with her ex-girlfriend and captor, but a little anger had subsided.

“I never said I was good at being a villain.”

Sighing, Hero leaned back on the bed next to Villain. “I said I’ll give it a try, I make no promises, understood? No villain antics if we don’t work out. We’re going to be responsible people about this—you’re going to treat me like a person, not property.”

“I understand.” Villain sighed. “I was…drastic. Hero, I’m sorry. What I did was wrong, how I went about this was wrong, but please still give me a chance to make this right. If we don’t work out this time…I’ll kidnap a civilian instead, how about that?” She smiled softly.

Hero nudged Villain. “For legal purposes, that’s not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m going to sleep now, so shut up.”

#hero x villain #my writing #sapphic #thank you for the ask!

[magnoliabutters]

• RETURN OF THE BOY •

pairing: kas!vamp eddie munson x (she/her) reader

summary: is he really there? was it really eddie all along?

warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; vampire related gore, blood, and violence (think true blood); canon divergence, complex feelings, possible second hand embarrassment; rough, kinky, and dirty sexy time, fingering, oral (m receiving), lots to do with one's throat & neck, p in v (rough), smut or porn - you choose, lack of proof reading, etc.

word count: ~4.7k

stories of eddie munson series •  season two • 

note: this one goes out to @bbyhargrove & @secretdryrose for loving this series' eddie as much as I do! i appreciate you both for encouraging me to keep going with this. so incredibly thankful you stumbled upon my stories. i hope you enjoy. ps, note to all - consider mental preparation before starting this rollercoaster.

Flashes. All you feel and all you see are flashes. Flashes of his fingers deeply entangled in your hair as he pulls your head back. Flashes of his lips pressed against your mouth, cheek, neck, collar bone … Flashes of his hands ripping off your sweats. Strings of cotton flying everywhere. His strength worried you, but also pulled you closer. You somehow feel sure that he would never use it against you, never to hurt you. His body in between your legs, stuck there. Your thighs glued around his.

“Oh god,” you moan as your chin raises. He presses himself fully against you. You can feel his rock hard cock against your inner thigh. His hands float to your back as they rip the fabric of your shirt. You gasp as you lean into the cusp of his neck. Your love bites barely even piercing his skin. He groans as he pulls back to admire his work. Your eyes stuck on his as he rakes over you. You feel the cold wind finally hitting the delicate skin of your stomach. Your naked breasts resting before him. Absolutely his. All of you, now his. Always his.

You swear you can see him salivate before you as he runs his tongue over his sharpened canines. His eyes meet yours while his hands land amongst the tops of your thighs. You know what he is asking. Where his eyes are leading him. And fuck, were you not going to deny him. You tilted your head to your right as you eyes stay upon his reddened auburn brown. His brow raises as his tongue is pressed firmly against the the roof of his mouth.

Without much notice, Kas’ palm presses against your hardened nipple. His mouth against the crook of your neck with sweet kisses that make you laugh breathlessly. His other fingers pressing lightly against your clothed clit. Gently brushing back and forth with ease. You gasp as you feel the tops of his fingers dancing against you. Your thighs tighten around him as your head rolls back with ease. “Oh god,” you moan as you rut your hips up towards him. With a laugh, he leans up to your ear. He kisses the lobe before whispering lightly, “God’s got nothing to do with this.”

As quickly as his fingers play with your clit, Kas’ teeth sink deeply into your skin. You initially let out a quick yell. Your hand tightens it’s grip around the bottom of the counter. He sucks against your skin, leaving you lightheaded. Pleasure courses through your veins as the pain mixes so well within it all. You let out a moan as you grind against his fingers and cock. Your hand grips tightly against the curls behind his head, pulling him in closer, forcing him to bite harder.

As your head falls back, you could feel blood trailing down your collar bones and breasts. You could feel the dizziness float against your transgressions as you willingly accept them. Your fingers tense as they gather more hair for a firmer pull. You push him harshly against your neck, feeling the pain once more. God, it feels so euphoric. Moans fall from your mouth rhythmically and loudly as you rub against his fingers. His grip onto you shakes as you feel him grind against his own fingers.

Kas lifts from your neck for a deep breath. Your nails begins to dig against his back. You pull at his shirt, desperate to pull it off. He groans, slightly in pain as he leans back to look at you. His mouth opened, filled with crimson red, yet he still looked absolutely beautiful, absolutely himself. A smile forming upon his face. The blood trickles down your chest as your hands pull him back onto you. His eyes now down, focused on his fingers. Watching the space where your skin and his meet. Catching his gaze, you quickly pull your panties down.

His breath shakes as you grab his fingers and guide them to your hole. Without much convincing, Kas thrusts his fingers in. His eyes open with innocent excitement as he watches you take him whole. Your mouth just as open as his as you place your forehead against his. “Fuck, y/n,” he whimpers. “You’re so tight around my fingers.” His breathing deepens as he watches his two middle fingers easily slide in and out of your wet, throbbing pussy.

You rut your hips up to him once more as your head hangs back. Your breathing shakes as you feel his fingers course in and out of you. Your body bounces along with the movement as you let sloppy moans fall from your mouth. His twitching cock rests powerfully within your thighs, desperate to come out. Your palm immediately falls to cup his firm dick along his pant side. A heavy breath falls from his lips as he looks down at your hand. "Dirty girl," he whispers with a smirk as he quickens his fingers within you. You gasp, enduring the thrusts as he fucks you silly on the kitchen's counter.

The harder each thrust became, the faster, you begin to lose your grip on reality. Your appendages weak as Kas' fingers curl within you. You manage to get your arms over and around his neck. He places his forehead against yours this time as he sinks deeper into you. His eyes observe you as he watches your every gasp for breath when he makes you feel good and good, over and over. His blood pools at his cock, desperate so very desperate for you. "Are you going to cum for me, darlin'?" he asks, mimicking your hardened breaths. You nod tirelessly as you lay weak before him. "Cum for daddy?" he whines.

"Cum for me, y/n," he says sternly. His hands suddenly at your neck. His finger and thumb pressing against your carotid. The placement of his thumb carefully above where he previously devoured you. Without warning, he quickens his movements once again. His fingers flying in and out of you, yet somehow curling against your g-spot. You feel the pit in your stomach screaming at you to snap. Your screaming moans fill his head like the most beautiful music he has ever heard.

Your body tenses, your brain devoid of oxygen. Your entire skin on fire, yet deliciously pleasure filled. "I'm cumming," you whine as your grip on that rubber band lessens and lessens with each of his movements. Kas feels you tighten around his fingers. An excited breath falls from his lips as he pulls you closer onto him. Without even a chance for a breath, the rubber hand snaps and your all your neurons fire up with absolute, undeniable pleasure. He holds you tight against his body as he feels your hips rut against his fingers. Your body instinctually moving his fingers just how it wants.

Kas about cums in his pants, but breathes deeply through it as you come down from your high. Your tired little eyes fall upon his. A sweet and simple smile spreads across both your lips. Not a word is release between you two, but all that needs to be said is already done. The love between you two is undeniable. It's untouchable. Not even death can keep you two a part. You are meant to be in this man's arms for all of eternity. Even if it scares you a little.

"Kas," you breath as your head slumps against his shoulder. Sweat presses the smallest hairs against your forehead. "What do we do now?" Kas' hand finds its way to your chin. His bloodied smile grows as you crumble into his hand. With a swift movement, one of his arms held you close. The other holding you up at the back of your knees as he cuddles you against him. Your head rests heavily against the spider tattooed into his peck. Your exhausted and euphoric naked self pressed firmly against his bare chest.

Kas walks out of Alberta's diner without any difficulty. His feet remain careful, navigating against the dark vines as he holds you effortlessly. You feel the cold air push against your cheeks as he makes his way back towards the house. You shudder at the cold, digging deeper into your safe place - his chest. Your hand instinctually brushes against his chest looking for his necklace, something you would usually stim with any time you were pinned against his chest. Yet, you could not find his peck. You take a better look to note the lack of chain. Your mind wonders where it has gone, but places it as an afterthought as you watch him kick down a door.

Your eyes open wider as he carries you through the threshold of a house. This house is surprisingly not as toxic. Almost as though Vecna's reach could only make it through the first floor. You must be on the outskirts of the town you once called home. But none of that matters now. Not when a bed lays before you and the devilishly strong man holding you. You slowly look up to him to see his eyes fixated on the bed before you. He looks stuck, as though he wants to move forward but something holds him back.

You watch him with an abundance of curiosity. With a pat to his shoulder, you slide your way out of his lowered hands. You gently entangle your fingers with his as you attempt to gain his eye line. You place another hand over his, pulling him closer towards you. When you pull him far enough to take a step, his eyes float down to your hands and back up to yours.

You give Kas a smile of reassurance as you lightly guide him towards the bed. His feet slow to follow. While your eyes remain on his, you sit down on the side of the bed. Kas stands before you. His body chest mostly bare, with a few curls here and there. Your eye line falls down to his sternum, his sweet stomach, and that happy trail you love so much. His jeans still tight against him.

Without much thought, your hands reach for his belt. His hand quickly reach your wrists as his brows pull in concern. "You don't have to," Kas whispers as he looks down onto your beautiful face. "I want to," you whisper back with a smile. His hands let go gently as he continues to stare at you. Biting your lip, you unbutton his jeans and unzip his jeans. Revealed beneath is black boxers that perfectly outline his engorged cock. "That must hurt," you say softly as you tug his jean's waistline down. "It does," he says emotionless. Your eyes flick back up to his as you pull his boxers down. His hardened cock flips back onto his stomach. You watch as his nostrils flare, his breath shakens, looking down at you so daringly close to his dick.

Your hand gently grasps around his staff. Kas lets out a soft gasp, never taking his eyes off of you. You have grown very fond of this part of Eddie's body. That doesn't change now that someone slapped the name Kas onto it. You press the head of his cock against your closed mouth. Your lips laying gentle kisses around his most sensitive area. Slowly, his eyes close and his head holds back. His body calm and collected, or desperately trying to appear that way. You rub your thumb against the base of his shaft as your tongue lightly licks at the precum forming at his tip. "Shit," he whines as your tongue becomes more of a powerful force against his bits.

Kas' hand slowly falls to the back of your head. His hands once again deep within your hair, but this time pulling you closer. Pulling you deeper onto him. He looks down on you, watching you take in more and more of his cock past the threshold of your lips. Your eyes remain on his despite the passionate grip against the base of your skull. "Y/n," he moans as you begin to suck at his head. Your lips now past the head of his cock. Your thumb and hand guide him further past your lips, encouraged by every single noise that falls from his mouth.

"I love those eyes," he mumbles between moans. He struggles to keep his own eyes open. "Keep them on me." Your hand movements flow up and down. The grip of his cock tighter against your palm each time you descend onto his shaft. His other hand reaches down to carelessly hold your breast. His appendages weaker than he imaged with his cock down your throat. He squeezes your nipple between two of his fingers. A sharp breath lets out against his head. You begin to rut your wet pussy against the sheets of the bed. Your hips dig deep, applying pressure against your aching groin.

"Take all of it, darlin'," Kas whispers. "I want to see how much you can take." Up for the challenge, you take a deep breath and slowly lower your mouth onto his vein, blood-filled cock. You keep your eyes on him as long as you possibly can, watching him whimper as you go deeper. A gag crumbles your throat as you take in more than you ever had before. You wanted all of him, all of it inside of you. He immediately presses against the back of your head again, encouraging you to take more. "That's my dirty girl," he mutters. You struggle to keep him all inside. Your eyes watering as you take more and more, way more than you are sure you can handle.

Suddenly, you feel his curls brush against your nose. His shaft fully twitching and pulsating deep within your throat. Right where you like it. Loud moans escape as he feels the warmth of your mouth. You are sure he will cum within your mouth. You want him to. You take in another breath from your nostrils, praying that you'll last with his throat in your mouth until he is done. You don't want to miss any of it. But he did something else.

Kas pulls his cock from your mouth, actively pulling your hair and head back. Strings of saliva connect you both together. You watch him, gasping for breath as he looks down at you. He lets go of your hair, just for his hands to fall at your waist. He proceeds to throw you against the bed, harshly. You welcome the pain. It presents as a welcomed alternative to the overwhelming waves of pleasure convulsing your body. Like a breath of fresh air. He lands his knees against the mattress.

Slowly, he climbs over your naked body. His tongue floats through your sternum and over your nipples. You whimper at his touch. He pulls his head up to see your fucked out face. His blood-stained tongue resting lightly against his bottom lip as he bites into your neck once more. You let out a gasp before welcoming his entire body upon you. Your hand harsh against his head as you pull him harder against your neck. His thick cock lightly poking against your clit.

Kas pulls from your neck with a gasping breath. Blood staining his chin, mouth, and up to the tip of his nose. Those sharp teeth draining everything from you. Everything that is his. Everything that you are. You willingly let him. A smile sprawls across his bloodied lips as he quickly grabs your hips once more. He flips you both, where he rests on his back and you hover lightly above his cock. His fingers now rest lightly against your hips. He gives you the autonomy to choose whether you would like him or not.

Your hands rest against his chest as you attempt to focus your eyes upon him. You begin to struggle in your battle with the lightheadedness, but quickly shake your head about to regain control. You peer down, grabbing his shaft and guiding him to your hole. With a slow movement, you sink onto his cock. Your mouth hangs as your gummy walls take all of him in. You let out a moan as you slowly grind against his hips.

Kas props his head over his arm as he watches you in absolute adoration. His breath heavy as his eyes fall to where you connect. The slapping of your bodies makes him harder within you as you begin to bounce on his cock. "Fuuuuccckkkk," he elongates as his grip tightens at your waist. "Oof, daddy like it when you ride his cock," he whimpers. Between deep breaths, you murmur, "Yes, daddy." Kas' eyes roll to back of his head as his eyelids flutter. He bites his lip, enough to make blood seep.

"Keep bouncing," he demands as both his hands grab hold of your tits. "Shit, you feel so good." You whine as your fingernails dig into his chest, desperately clinging on to something as the tip of his cock continues to hit an unholy spot. You collapse against his chest as you back your body onto his cock. His hands scramble to your ass as your tongues dance around each other. The copper taste now becoming familiar as you suck against his bottom lip.

You quicken your movements as you slide backwards onto Kas' cock. Your hands grip harshly against his skin as you pull away from his lips. Your breathing heavy against his ear as you feel the rubber band pulling in your stomach once again. Abruptly, his hands are tight at your sides. He lifts you both up and pile drives his dick deep within you, repeatedly. You scream in pleasure as the pit in your stomach feels as though its about to burst.

You feel his breath loud in your ear. He moans your name over and over. The name said with so much vulnerability you forgot exactly who rested under you. You remembered him. You remembered Eddie. You haven't been this close to him in what feels like weeks. The body beneath you never felt more like him. He whimpers your name once more. Eddie leans his head against yours as you hear and feel his breath harden against your cheek. Your entire body begins to convulse as you hear him cum inside of you. Your entire body concaves onto him, holding him and never letting him go.

Eddie, the sweet boy, who loves you more than anyone has ever been loved. He returns to you. He finally rests in your arms as your chin quivers against the nape of his neck. The overwhelming feeling rushing through your body, as he slows his thrusts within you. "Y/n," he whimpers lightly in your ear once more. He gradually pulls his head up. His eyes meeting your teary. A slight pull appears to the side of his beautiful mouth. His gentle fingers push strands of sweaty and dirty hair from your face. "I never knew love," he whispers. "Not until now."

You pull him into a deep and passionate kiss. The kiss you would imagine planting on him when you saw him again, truly saw him again. Eddie is finally in your arms. Your arms wrap around his neck. His tongue heavily pressed against yours. Your body resting fully against him. He supports you, he holds you without issue. His strong body beautifully against yours.

As you gasp for breath, Eddie holds your face before his. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," he whispers. He pulls you close for what you think is a kiss, but is actually a brush of the tips of your nose against each other. It is enough to bustle a giggle through your chest. He smiles at your face before him. "I am yours," he says softly. His eyes almost like a trance. They draw you in, filled with adoration and love. "And you are mine," he whispers. You nod, happily, as he lowers you for another passionate kiss...

After what feels like hours of passionate kissing, some how making up for lost time, you finally rest against his perfect chest. Eddie's heart beats loud in your ear as you curl tighter under his arm. His breath stable and comforting. "Promise you won't leave," you plead against his soft skin. Your finger lightly tracing hearts against his sternum. He pulls you close, planting a gentle kiss against your hair. "I promise I will never leave you, Y/n," he coos against your locks. You cuddle against his peck as your body finally succumbs to its exhaustion.

He laughs, his chest rising and falling, pulling you from your rest once more. "I think I left the oven on," he says softly. You laugh alongside him. "Those poor pancakes," you whisper against his skin. "I love you," Eddie whispers. You fall asleep with a smile to your face. He watches as your closed eyes transition into unconsciousness. He watches you rest peacefully as he runs his fingers through your hair.

Your eyes slightly open from your rest. The moon's glow flooding through the curtains that hang just above the strangers' bed. Comfort, desire, and trust flood your body as you feel his body beneath you. Your mind recollects the beauty of last night, remembering his last words before you fell asleep.

"I love you, Eddie," you say softly. The words fall carelessly from your mouth, naturally. As though these three words and his name are meant to be repeated for all of eternity. The sweet, ethereal words floating through the air as you raise your head up and your palm collapses against his cheekbone. The most beautiful eyes you have ever seen, peering back at you with sparkles within them. If you ever doubted your love for this man, you could always think back to this moment. This moment that you rake over his face, seeing every new line on his face, every new detail and to know, deep within you, that you will never let him go. That you love him with every thing that you can muster. You love him with every single minute atom within you. That no matter what situation, what world you find yourselves in - the two of you are meant to be. Perfect puzzle pieces that have finally found each other, once again.

What you will also remember is those same sparkles fading from his eyes. His pupils returning to a normal size despite his sights set on you. You won't forget how that beautiful smile falls from his face. How his brows pull together to make this cute, yet unnerving faint line upon his skin. As his hands, chest, and body no longer feel inviting, but tense at your touch. You can instantly recall the slow motion capture of his heart sinking into his gut as he repeats the words back out to you. How you could feel the exact moment when he started to pull away from under you.

"You love Eddie?" Kas asks sternly and slowly. He lays beside you, his eyes on anything but you. Your entire miracle future of a life with this man immediately snaps into reality. Your brows pull, just as his did. You start to stutter as your hand reaches for his, but he pulls away before your fingers could brush. "You told me you didn't know me," he starts but stops just as quickly. "Him," he states deadly as he pulls his chin to his chest, almost as though he was correcting himself. His head shaking as he pulls away even further. The space between you filling so quickly, so painfully. So incredibly painful, as though you both had strings attached to each other and he was ripping off each one by one. You are losing him again.

"I-I lied," you admit, despite your voice catching in your throat. You feel warmth against your cheeks, trailing down and off your jaw. "I needed to be with you," you say as you reach out for him. Kas stands up from the bed. His bare body glistening against the moonlight. He looks beautiful, as beautiful as you remember. "You lied to me, y/n," he says quietly, almost as though he was confirming the statement for himself. As though he was tasting how it feels in his mouth. Disgust. Painful. "You told me you didn't know him," he yells as he turns back towards you. You instinctually shutter at the sudden change of volume. Your hands pulling the covers over your chest as your bottom lip trembles.

Kas immediately notes your reaction. Tears well in his own eyes as he pulls his sight away from you. Almost as though this image is too much for him to bear. His hand raises to his mouth. He rubs his finger and thumb against the side of his mouth, ending with the rubbing of his jawline. His chin now wobbling as he hides his eyes from you. "Please," you plead tearfully. You raise from the bed, crawling closer to him. He quickly takes a step away from the mattress, far enough where you could not easily touch him. "Please look at me."

He turns to you. All of his pain written deep within his body language. He is gutted before you. Your entire body aches to comfort him, aches to hold him. But you calmly remind yourself that you caused this pain. You did this to him. To fully accept the punishment, you memorize every detail of the scene before you. To the top of his messy curls, to those pushed brows, to the eyes welled with tears, to those tears falling from the sides of his jaw and onto his chest, to his chest rising up and down as he struggles to hold a stable breath, to his bare and naked body, down to his sweet feet.

"You left me?" the man before you asks weakly through his tears. Sobs stifled in his throat as he struggles to breathe. In that moment, you knew this was no longer about your lie. That was not your greatest sin, not in his eyes. He thinks you left him. Left him like Dustin did. Left him to die. You quickly stand before him. Your hands to his shoulders as tears rush down your face. "No, no, no," you repeat. "No, I never did that. I would never do that to you! Baby, please!" You fall to your knees. Your hands tracing down his arms until they land loosely at his wrists. "Please, baby. Please remember," you push through sobs. You catch your eyes falling to his feet as you crumble before him. "Please, I wasn't there. I didn't know!"

The man before you pulls his wrists from your grasp gently. Your eyes rush back towards him as you begin to beg even harder. "Please, no!" you say as you watch him walk out the bedroom door. You stand, rushing behind him. You rush towards his jeans, keeping it tight against your chest, praying that he wouldn't leave without it. "Please, don't do this," you beg as his eyes trail from yours and down to the crumpled cloth against you.

Without any expression, he turns to the front door. You rush behind him once more, but were not quick enough to barricade yourself against its surface. With his palm around the nob, he twists it and takes a step outside into the rancid town. "Please!" you yell again, as you fall to your knees. He slowly steps down the porch's stairs. He looks out to the darkness before him. His eyes dead, void of any emotion now. The last emotion rests within the tear that slowly falls from his cheek.

"Please, Eddie, I can't lose you again!" you scream bloody murder as you sob against the wooden planks below your feet. The man before you turns around. The tear streaks against his cheeks now partly dry. You are struggling for breath beyond your sobs but you stare into the physical hardened truth before you. Slowly, his eyes fall upon yours. You cannot help the last sob that you attempt to stifle in your throat as you stare into his beautiful eyes.

"Eddie is dead," he says plainly before walking out into the darkness, leaving you in a pool of your own tears.

note: jesus h christ. idk if i'm way too high rn, but i feel like this is one of my best. lmk.

next part • i’ll make it quick •

taglist: @babeyglo, @dotslabyrinth, @wheaty-melon, @mattymurdocksbitch, @sammararaven, @onlyfengs22, @perle1990, @ms1oftheboys, @ghosttownwherenoonegoes, @tayhar811, @bbyhargrove, @hiscrimsonangel, @ali-r3n, @secretdryrose

comment to be added to the taglist! kas wants more of you for his army...

• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •

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[annhellsing]

The Killing Kind

notes: this is something of a spiritual successor / sequel to my original naraku fic, a hundred demons. it’s a been a minute but simpin ain’t easy rating: teen, we don’t cross the smut boundary but this is just gross in some areas so be warned. pairing: naraku / reader word count: 1,604

His tongue is as a worm, slithering over the bed of your lips as his nails find purchase in your hair. He’s taking back that kiss you asked for, trying to show with the pain of his mouth how wrong you are to desire him.

He is again in possession of a body, with arms that reach and claim. Naraku is a cold husk, home to a hundred parasites. You can taste damp and mildew as you kiss him, the sick rot in his soul tainting his insides.

Naraku holds himself against you, his eyes wide open. Your lashes brush your cheeks, eyes closed and face tilted up to receive whatever he means to poison you with. 

Anything. He could slit your throat, you're so close to him. He could drive his sharp fingers through the soft skin of your eyelid and blind you for his own fun. In his head there are voices chattering away, demanding your sweet life snuffed out. A thousand tortures spring to mind, gruesome ways he could twist your bones and take until your fluttering soul is torn to shreds.

And yet one voice is above the rest, the defeated sound of a reflective monster. It demands him to pull away, and it is powerful enough to take hold of his limbs. Naraku forces himself backward, making you gasp.

Your eyes fly open, finding him and stunning him to silence. In your eyes there is no confusion or hurt. You only blink as a cat does, slowly and before advancing.

Respect is in your cautious steps, as if his arms that have retreated from your waist displease you. You seek to change it with the careful way your hands find his shoulders, slipping around his neck and cradling where his skull and spine meet. You pull him back against you, more gentleness where the tips of your fingers touch him than a shadow cast over his face.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you say, pressing your chest to his. 

Naraku’s gaze does not waver, but for a moment you wonder if he expects your advances more keenly than he’d like to let on. Certainly he seems to desire them. But he has never been very good at hiding the way his heart is far from hardened. 

“When have you ever been able to control me?” he asks, the sneer in his voice is a knife sharpened too quickly. The blow does not land as he expects, it is the greatest lie he’s ever told.

“A fortnight ago you became very cross with me for teasing,” you smile at him.

And to your immortal shock, his breath catches in his throat when you very suddenly lean towards him. Stopping just short, sighing softly onto the cold lips you hold such adoration for. Such infuriating adoration, one he cannot puzzle out.

For you are content with the worm making a knot in your ribs, it seems. For the demons in his heart to move between your bodies with any connection. 

One of your arms falls to his side, your fingers curling between his. Naraku is terrified for a moment as you touch him, afraid for the first time that a piece of himself may be missing. The human shard in his ribs still cries out for the love of a woman, but the coal-black lump of flesh that was once a heart may very well now reside in you.

His flesh, your flesh. His tongue, your tongue. The rot inside him, the host has no new home to claim in you. There is no room for corruption when you have already stolen and consumed some small part of his immortal body.

Death is a choice that you will not catch him making, but he always imagined himself standing alone. You squeeze his hand tight, and claim a kiss from him even when he has the power to stop you. The soft brush of your lips is a heady contrast to his loving violence.

Naraku never stood a chance at conquering you, not when you’d kiss him both in pieces and whole so reverently. You bring him no pain, no more suffering than what he’s already suffered. His body has been eaten from the inside, holes torn in his soul as it was slowly consumed by moths. You hold what is left of him in your hands, he feels cold as ice.

“Why are you doing this?” he exhales, forcing his eyes open but powerless to do much else. He’s stiff and still as you lay your cheek to the baboon cloak draped around his shoulders.

“Because you’re not dead,” you tell him. 

“I cannot die,” he says, but there is an unsung question hidden in his voice. He makes no move to untangle himself again, having already been humiliated once with your ability to command.

“Then why are you so afraid of me?” you ask, your eyes are now open too. He wishes they would shut, perhaps forever. The intricate web of your eyelashes was more pleasant than the knowing way you stare now. “Why are you so afraid of a love you can’t feel?”

Because he does feel it. He feels it now in the way his misplaced heart careens towards yours, and gives him a hunger again for the long-forgotten peace of a cave with loving hands on him. He wishes for the first time since his devouring that he could be made of the same hope as you contain. The human heart he once kept behind his ribs, instead of a fist leaking poison.

It shouldn’t be allowed, the way you make him feel. The shaking of his devotion to hate and fury, the fire he starts burning twice as bright as that within no longer holds the same warmth. There is now a hole the exact shape of your mouth in his resolve, and you take advantage by kissing him again.

The singing hum of your breathing will not be cut short so easily. The urge in him to see maggots bloom in your corpse is forcefully pushed aside. His demon impulse is always present, but it is nonetheless impressed by your shrewd dulling of his anger.

You introduce an alternative. Not one that Naraku must act upon now, to which he attributes its success, but you feed the part inside of him he thought had died of starvation. Had he ever considered an end to the blood before? To a pocket of pride he could have for something other than destruction?

There is a reason he turned over Onigumo’s heart so many times, never finding the courage to discard it. For all his lust for power, it has never wanted to leave him. The hope that he could still have quiet, if not peace. Understanding, if not love.

“You think yourself clever,” he could spit, rage against the inevitability of that truth. But his accusation is a cold and decisive echo. “You think only of my weakest part, and how it might be swayed.”

His aching, fetid heart. That is what you advance upon, take without asking, borrow with no intention to return. And then you dare to kiss him like that gives you power. And he has to claw his fingers into you to try and bury that he likes it.

“Maybe so,” you relent. Your silly, little smile hovers before his lidded eyes again. Maybe you’ll touch his heart one day with your bare hands, even if it burns.

Your resolve is as strong as his, as bathed in blood and as consumed by evil. You could not purify him if you tried, decay colors your soul as keenly as it does his own. It’s why, he suspects, he feels so safe in your embrace.

For now it leans towards too tight, the strength of your arms crushing around him as you drag him closer. But his chest is to yours, there is a limit to your taking of him. And yet for a moment he wonders if you will succeed in taking more of him.

Your third kiss contains the bones of your teeth against his blushing lower lip. The shock of such sudden desire makes fine hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Your warm, little teeth worry over his flesh like you mean to eat him.

But never do they break skin, they remain consistent in their devouring pressure but offer no real pain. Only gooseflesh on the hands and arms that belong to a hellish collective. His heart in your hands does have power, the power to make demon skin crawl with frightening affection.

Goosebumps, you can’t help but smile as you put your hand to the back of his neck and squeeze. You’ve given him goosebumps.

You’ve made a mockery of his attempts to wound you, to cut a gash into your bleeding heart. Humans are a diamond mine of fragility, your weaknesses create a sick need inside them. A need to exploit that you simply will not allow. It humbles him how easily you can disprove his point.

Still, you touch him. You ghost your hands over the deep separation between human and demon, the scarring on his back with eight, cruel legs. There is a newness in your indifference for his evil that keeps his budding emotions from becoming a threat. Whatever you seek from him, it does not involve turning him from his course.

The world lies before him like your delicate life, easy enough to take. In one palm is a glittering jewel, and in the other are your warm fingers.

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