#and I took in those fics like ambrosia from the gods

[instarsandcrime]

Ambrosia to Go

@here-for-the-sick-fics Hi hello! I broke rather early, so thanks for the request! I'm not sure if it's what you had in mind, but I liked the challenge and I like Huskerdust! So! Here! You go! Enjoy!

Part 1

--

As the local bartender, Husk was very aware of what made the Hazbin Hotel tick. And unfortunately, that did not stop with how they handled illness.

Charlie was not one to hide it, but she would play it down and throw endless hours into her work until she collapsed. A rumor had started around the hotel that their bartender had thrown a blanket around her shoulders when she passed out at the counter. And he'll keep saying 'no, that didn't happen' until he's blue in the face because well, no one was there to prove it, were they?

As far as he can tell, he knows Alastor can get sick. Sort of. Kind of. A sniff here, a cough there. Even if, by rare chance that an overlord gets sick, he can hide those little details-- and hide them well. It would take only God themself to even catch him sneezing more than once.

When Lucifer gets hit, he gets hit hard. Denying it is somehow his go-to strategy even when the slightest cold knocks him down. Last time he'd seen the king sick he'd been working on some pretty important documents and, by the end of one of his many fits, he'd sneezed so hard that he breathed fire through the entire stack.

Niffty doesn't get sick. She's never gotten sick once since they started working together. He knows this. She knows this. It's incredibly unsettling and he'd rather not talk about it.

And today, he’s unfortunately left with...

"Angel Dust." Husk raised a bushy brow, "I'm cuttin' you off. You look like you're gonna pass out any second now."

And there sat the demon of the hour, famous porn star beloved by millions, plastered out of his mind and clutching a glass of what he calls his 'medical ambrosia'.

"Lissen! Lissen. Iii..." Angel's nose scrunched, and quickly covered it with a tissue-- which Husk nudged slightly to the left for accuracy's sake. "Hep'shhh! HET'shhhiieww. Ugh, gross."

The owlcat winced, fighting back the guilt he'd stuffed down for hours now. "Ange, I--"

"Shaddup!" Four accusatory fingers pointed, "If I had a cold I'd have it! And if I had your previous cold I'd say shhhhhaddup! Because you're-- snffff! you're a real nice guy, y'know that?"

"But--"

"Shhhhhhh!" Angel squinted, "All...all four of ya shut yer traps. You were worth it and don't you forget it. 'Kay?"

That speech was way too sincere. Oh God above he has to care again, doesn't he? Rolling his eyes with a groan, Husk swept the half empty shooter from the swaying patron’s grip.

"Hey! What gives?!"

Wordlessly he tossed Angel’s ambrosia down the drain, jumpstarting the closing time routine.

"Don't be like that Whiskers! We were just...g-gettin'...g-gettin' intehh...hih!" Angel hitched, fanning himself desperately before--

"HEP'shhhh!" He pitched forward, caught by a tissue in helping paws. The bartender sighed– then repressed a shiver when the sickly spider blew messily into cheap paper.

"Yer lucky you're cute." Husk grumbled.

"Whassat?"

"Nothin'." Tossing the soaked through tissue in the wastebasket, he snaked an arm around Angel Dust's waist. "C'mon sickie, let's get you to bed."

As he pulled Angel off the stool, it took a few seconds for his mind to buffer before sobering up a little and– here we go. Right on cue.

"Y'know this’s just allergies, right?"

"Mmmhm." Husk nodded mechanically, inching up one velvet step at a time.

"An' really, when ya think about it-- snff! Niffty's been slackin', y'know?"

"Sure." Second floor.

"I mean, missin' an hour of cleanin' today and for whuhh- what? Fightin' more roaches?"

"A shame, really." Third floor, second door on the right.

"And I...I-I..." Angel wobbled, breath hitching. Without even glancing Husk held a claw up to the spider’s nose. "Snff! Ugh. Thags."

"Shut up." Husk swore as they stumbled into the room. Purple fluorescent lights rained down on a plush bed, vanity close by. Thankfully with tissues, because he knew what was coming next. 

"Id's cold id here, isn't it?"

"Yup." Husk grunted, leaning to grab a piece while balancing Angel with the other arm. "Pretty-- ugh-- chilly."

"I mbean geez! Sub-- snff! someone should really turn up the thermos-staahhh-hheh-hihhHIHH'ATSHHHHH!" Angel pitched forward again, and Husk spread his wings to keep balance, pressing a cloth to his face before he could get sprayed. "Guh..."

"Gesundheit." Husk deadpanned. The finger under the nose trick can only work so well when it literally and figuratively backfires a few seconds later. "Alright, let's lay you down before--..." 

He tugged, but his patient wasn't moving. He was busy staring into the mirror. 

"Angel?" A paw squeezed his bicep.

"...I can't wear the robe."

"What?"

"I can’t wear the robe. He's gonna kill me." Angel Dust repeated, turning pale. "I-I…we have this scene tomorrow with this sexy lingerie bathrobe lookin' thing and-- and I look like a wreck. I sound like a wreck. When I get sick I get messy and I'm gonna sneeze all over the stubid thi’g--"

"Angel--"

"And thed Val's gudda see how gross I mbade it--"

"Hey, hey, easy." Gently guiding Angel to the bed, he mourned at the way his fluffy frame shook. “Let’s sit you down before you fall down, okay? We'll take this one step at a time. And I won’t drop you, promise."

"...I-I kndow." The patient shot him a shaky smile. Shivering and unsteady, Husk tucked the tissue box beside him and draped the comforter over his shoulders.

"Okay." He took four gloved hands in one of his own, other reaching to help Angel Dust wipe his eyes. Then moved to his nose. "Blow."

"Wh-- I cad't let you do that! It's disgustig--!"

"Good to know, ‘cause we've done this all night."

"We have?! Oh, Husgk..."

"Trust me, I've cleaned up worse at the bar."

Pink cheeks glowing red, Angel rid himself of the muck as quickly as possible-- relieved sigh quickly replaced with panic.

"It's alright." Husk kneaded patterns on the other's thigh, glancing a knowing look. "Like I said, I'm not gonna drop ya."

Understanding, Angel scooped the tissue up and pressed it to his nose. "Et'SHHHH'iiew! ep'shhhh! Ghuhh..." With another honking blow he tossed the wadded ball on the desk, flopping face first into the pillowy mattress. Husk's eyes traveled everywhere but to his partner...in...crime? Ugh. Still not sure. Instead his attention lay on Fat Nuggets while he waited, little menace snoring softly in the corner.

"...I'm gross." Angel Dust rasped, muffled through satin and lace.

"I can see that." 

"Forget what just happened. I was actin’ stupid, freakin’ out over nothin’."

"Nah." Claws threaded through tangled hair, "Fuck your boss. You should sneeze in his face."

Angel Dust snorted. Husk smirked. "Yeah. Really make 'im squirm. He wants messy fluids right?"

Slowly moving to lean against the headboard, the spider brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he stared. Pupils shrunk to pinpricks like he was at the climax of a horror movie.

"...What? I'm right." A pointed ear flicked irritably.

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Shut up. Did you just make a sex pun?"

Husk blinked in surprise, forgetting himself. And only smirked wider.

Alright, new plan.

"Me? Do somethin' like that? C'mon Legs, you're grasping. All I'm sayin' is ya gotta take a few tissues and get real passionate with 'em."

"Hhhhholy shhhhit."

"Then stuff 'em in his chest fluff or something. He can use 'em as padding."

"Are you real?" Angel gasped teasingly.

"What? You said you were gross. If he's not lettin' you call in, you might as well snee--"

"Hp'shhhh! HT'SHHHH'hhoo! Unh..."

"Yeah. Like that."

Pausing to let his patient give a gurgling blow, the tail end of a miserable groan broke into a soft giggle. Giggle breaking into another hitching mess until--

"Hih'TSCHHH! HTCH'shhhiew! H-hih-hhhHHITSCHHHH!"

"Alright, alright, that's enough excitement for one night." Husk quickly got to work, grabbing the required fluffy sweater and pajama pants. Ignoring the disappointed pout between pulling the top over Angel's stomach with a satisfied tug.

"Aw Husk–snfff! Really? Pants? I don't wannaaaa."

"Yes, pants. I thought you said you were cold."

"But they're such a paiiinnnn."

"Do you wanna get more sick?"

"...No."

"Then I'll go back to my room so you can slip those on."

A single step and--

"Wait!" Angel blurted.

A pause filled the room, save for a few coughs dragged out by the sudden burst.

"...Need something?"

"I, uh. I'm not ready."

"Christ Ange, are you still drunk? Jus’ put on your pants one leg at a time–"

"No! What?! No! I don’t want you to leave!" An aching voice broke. Tired eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly feeling rather small, he forced his gaze down to his gloves, peeling them off one by one as he spoke. "I…I-I know it's late, so you can always say no. I just…I don't wanna be alone right now."

Another pause. “...Please.”

A sharp sigh immediately cut any creeping tension, listening to a winged back thump against the wall. "I get it. Bein’ sick is…a lot. You don't need to write me an essay. And I don't pick favorite customers, but I gotta admit. I'll keep the bar open all night if it means I get to talk to Anthony again. Just once, that’s all I need."

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel// #hu//sker//dust #hu/sk #an/gel/du/st

[babyrunsforfanfic]

From, Persephone | e.m.

summary: you, the current reincarnation of the goddess, persephone. him, the current reincarnation of the god, hades. a love story told countless times, one for the ages, a story of the old gods and the new. this, is you meeting; and of eating the seeds of a pomegranate grown in the depths of the under

inspired by the song ‘from persephone’ by kiki rockwell

eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: retelling of the hades x persephone myth where persephone chose to leave, fluff, light angst, prose, the reader is referred to as ‘persephone’, reincarnation meet-cute, but eddie is trying to scare you and you’re already down bad, eddie’s nickname for you is ‘goddess divine’ and i love it ok

wc: 1988ish

at the time of posting this fic i just hit 200 followers on here and just… thank you once again, seriously. it means the world.

eddie munson watched from the shadows as you danced through the darkness of the forest, feet barely brushing against the dew touched grass. you moved through the woods as if you belonged, as if you were not another nymph-like goddess who would turn your nose up at the slightest of inconveniences.

he had been able to sense you before he had seen you, lurking amongst the shadows on the edges of his domain. the scent of ambrosia and nectar tinged meadow had enticed him— and you were currently staring straight at him.

“if you are trying to be discreet, i must admit you are lacking.” your voice is soft as you stayed in the moonlight, the light glistening off of your dew covered skin. “you smell.”

“do you often greet others by saying they smell?” eddie asked curiously, his head slightly cocked as he mimicked your movements- keeping to the shadows as he made his way closer to you.

“only those who smell of brimstone,” you teased softly, eyes bright as you clasped your hands at your front. “you smell of it and of…”

“say it, c’mon.” eddie purred as his voice dropped, the brunette stepping from the shadows. “what do i smell of, little goddess? death? suffering? like the blood of the innocent?”

“like the sky right before lightning strikes,” you answered, nearing closer as you walked forward as well. eddie paused at the grin on your face, as you shifted closer to him. “of the way the sunlight feels after it has already burnt your skin.”

“you are not scared of me-” eddie glances down at you, eyes trailing over the way your jaw is set. your wide almost doe-like eyes that blink up at him, of the curl of your red painted lips. “why?”

“death is just a thing, god.” you hummed softly, nose scrunching as you rolled your shoulders into a small shrug. “am i supposed to be scared of something that all mortals will eventually befall?”

“hades,” eddie hummed, stepping closer to you as he extended a hand. he dragged the knuckle across the flesh of your jaw, feeling the soft skin under his callous-worn. “but i go by eddie now.”

“persephone,” your grin was wider now, teeth almost bared as you uttered the name you now went by instead. eddie repeated it slowly, rolling it over on his tongue as if it would be the last word he spoke. “i take it you like the new name i have picked for myself instead?”

“yes,” eddie admitted softly, and he watched as you bent down- fingers tugging softly to pluck a flower from the ground.

it was fast, the change.

the way the bloom immediately darkened, wilting between your fingers as you extended the flower to him. when hades took it, the very flower that had once been full of life- crumpled to just ash.

“oh,” eddie’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he blinked up at you, hand empty though it once held the remnants of a flower. “you…”

“me.” you agreed, and eddie couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh.

“what can i do for you, little goddess?” eddie kept his voice soft, though he caught the way you trembled under his words and touch. you paused for a moment as your brows furrowed, so eddie pressed on. “name it, and i will try my hardest to offer it to you.”

“company.” you murmured, voice almost broken as you forced the words through your lips. “i wish for nothing but your company.”

eddie nodded- once, then twice, before he finally spoke.

“that i believe i can offer you.”

•••

“have you ever known anything other than that of death?” you asked one day, and eddie looked to where you were sitting. a fawn sprawled across your lap, you with a bottle of milk in one of your hands. the other is curled along the fawn’s back, idly tapping along the fawn’s spots.

“i am the ruler of the underworld, of the upside down.” eddie huffed, shrugging as he leaned back on his palms.

the grass around him is dead, but so is the grass around you. the blades are wilted and ashen, as if they were never alive to begin with. it awakens something old and long forgotten in eddie. a thing that seemed to be from the old gods, from before eddie was who he was; before you were who you were. before anyone was anyone else.

“and yet that was not my question,” you hum as the fawn finishes it’s meal, and you allow it to curl further into you. “have you ever known anything other than death?”

“no,” eddie shook his head slowly, curiously watching as you hummed in acknowledgment to his answer. you leaned back onto your palms, your face tilted towards the sun. he paused for a moment, licking at his lips- before he asked you his own question. “have you ever known anything other than life?”

you look at him and giggle, shaking your head in replacement of answering with words.

he’ll take it, eddie thinks.

he’ll take anything you’re willing to give him.

•••

“i am so tired of this,” eddie listened to you admit, your sugar and ambrosia scent tinted with that of his. the brimstone, sulfur, the tinge of death that eddie knew clung to him like a second skin. you didn’t seem like it bothered you though.

“i am sorry.” eddie said softly, watching as you hiked your skirts up so they didn’t drag through the stream you both were walking through. “is there anything i can do for you?”

“i don’t believe so,” you hum out, and eddie can’t help but grin at you before he speaks next.

“you know… death is a very stable job.” eddie shrugs his shoulders slowly, shaking his curls around his shoulders as if what he just offered was something simple. “if it ever… intrigued you.”

you giggled, a soft sweet sound that caused the very center of eddie to twist and writhe. he tried to think of other things; of the elysian fields, of the very pits of tartarus, of the river of styx.

he tries to not think of the way you are as bright as the very constellations in the sky. he tries to not think of how you are like a galaxy bursting to life in front of him. he tries to not think about how he wishes to kneel at your very feet, to name you his queen.

he tries, and yet he fails.

•••

“take me to the under,” eddie heard you ask, your voice soft as you coax eddie’s hand into your own. your flesh is warm against his cool, and eddie watched as you twisted one of his rings around his finger. “take me to your kingdom.”

“goddesses of spring aren’t supposed to enter a land of death, y’know.” eddie teased, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. “what would your mother think of me corrupting you?”

“i would tell her it is i who has corrupted you.” you murmur as you press a soft kiss to eddie’s palm, eyes bright as you flash your teeth at him in a smile. “take me to the under, to the upside down.”

eddie can’t find it in him to brush your request away.

so he takes you. he takes you to the skull-shaped rock that marks the gate to the underworld. he helps you cross the river of styx with help from the boatman (who now went by the name argyle). he watches as you pick your way through his world, how you seem to bask in the very heat and darkness of the world you’re both in.

he introduces you to the fates; to the spinner, to the allotter, to the inflexible. they go by different names now, as everyone does. max, eleven, and erica. you greet them as if you were old friends.

in another life, maybe you were.

he introduces you to the furies; to robin, to nancy, to steve. you talk with them as the five of you walk through the asphodel meadows, and you walk amongst death as if it is engrained in your very being.

eddie starts to believe (to hope) that it is.

you meet the judges; mike, dustin, and lucas. you talk to them as if they are yours, as if you understand everything they spout and ramble on about. there are days that even eddie cannot pretend the words they speak of. when you leave the four, you flash eddie a knowing smile.

he pretends his heart does not skip a beat.

you meet thanatos and hypnos last; jonathan and will. you speak to them softly, noticing the longing looks they both send to nancy and mike respectively. you comment on love as if you have experienced it, mentioning that the world is too long, that immortality is this thing that is much easier to spend with those you care about.

when you say this, he can’t help but look at you.

he’s surprised to find your eyes already on him.

he takes you to his orchard last. he watches you walk amongst the trees, your dress long since stained with ash and soot. you’re grinning as you twirl amongst the trees, and when you turn back to him— eddie can’t help but kneel at your feet.

“stay,” eddie begged, his voice soft and less boisterous then he thinks it has ever been in the eternity he feels he has lived. “stay here, with me, with everyone you have met today.”

“my mother would never let me.” you admit, voice soft as you curl your palm against his cheek. eddie makes no move to stand- not with you looking upon him as you are. “she would rip me away from here, away from you and them.”

“please.” eddie begged once more, chocolate brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. “you are not happy up there, you know this as much as i.”

you’re silent as you brush your thumb against the swell of his cheekbone, and you turn- casting a glance to one of the larger trees in the orchard. it is a tree eddie knows, just as much as he knows the story of you and him.

it is engrained his soul, so tightly bound to his very being that eddie knows what he must do.

the pomegranate is heavy in his hand when he offers it to you, and you take the fruit as your eyes search for something in his own. he says nothing, even when you pull a small knife from a pocket in your dress. he says nothing, even when you carve the fruit as if it something you have done before.

somewhere inside of eddie, he knows you have.

“i don’t want to forcefully bind you to me,” eddie said as he pressed his lips to your forehead. he ignores the way the juice of the pomegranate stains your fingers as you clench the halved fruit in your palms. he tries to ignore the fire in your gaze when you pull back to look at him. “i don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“there are plenty of things i am scared of,” you say, and eddie practically feels his heart lurch in his chest. you continue though, words soft and gentle- as if you are coaxing him. “i do not believe i could ever be scared of you.”

“whatever you wish, i will follow suit.” eddie promised, his hand extending to curl against your cheek. his thumb rubbed softly against the swell of your cheekbone, other fingers fluttering against your skin. “whatever it is that you wish, my goddess divine.”

eddie watched as you swallowed six seeds whole.

when he gathers you in his arms to kiss you, your lips taste like pomegranates and like his salvation.

he can’t picture a better taste.

#babyrunsforfanfic #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson ff #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfic #stranger things angst #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things ff #stranger things imagine #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #persephone!reader

[bjy-on-ao3]

(1/2) Heyy, thanks for your reply, and sorry it took me a while to put my request together but here it is: Reader is a shy naiad/nymph who often attends Dionysus' parties, one day he throws a party for Ares, perhaps post-victory celebration. Ares is still in war mode (when is he not lol) and his mood is affecting the other party-goers, so much so that it starts disrupting the party (fights breaking out and what not). Dio wants people to start having fun again so he coaxes reader into helping ares uhhhh 'destress', maybe makes her drink a little ambrosia/wine to loosen up(two birds one stone y'know, he gets reader out of their shell as well). Of course *Dio* joins in the 'festivities' too bc can't be letting ares have all the fun dkkd.

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

I’ve wanted to attempt this request for a while now, but I needed some study into certain parts of it I wasn’t familiar with. I hope y’all enjoy the fic nonetheless and my bits of inexperience in certain portions don’t show overmuch!

(Note: There is no Ares/Dionysus in this fic & this is featuring the characters from the Hades game, if that weren't clear already.)

Summary

During a post-war celebration, the God of War gets a bit out of control, making tempers run hot. With Ares’ bloodlust infecting the party and threatening to ruin it by becoming a brawl, Dionysus enlists Reader’s aid to help his brother wind down. Though he isn’t one to be left out of the fun either.

Tags/Warnings

Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal S*x, Biting, Blood, Creampie, Double Penetration, Drunk S*x, Hand Jobs, Nymph Reader, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Rough S*x, Shameless Smut, Slight Breathplay, Stomach Bulge, Threesome, Vaginal S*x, Voyeurism

Party Foul (Ares/F! Reader/Dionysus)

The sound of raised voices and angry snarls sent you fleeing from the area most folks had gathered to celebrate. Though it was a fete held by a local town in honor of some glorious conquest of war, the atmosphere had been light and jovial to start. However, it hadn’t been long until several of the Olympian gods deigned to grace the celebration with their presence, many with small groups of followers of their own. Mostly, the gods only added to the cheerful mood, the victorious soldiers feeling even more invigorated and honored by their presence. Yet the presence of one god stoked a fire in the blood of many present, whether soldier or laborer or homemaker. Already high on the chaos and strife from previous battles laid to rest, Ares, god of war, brought with him a mood that was electric and infectious. His revel in the bloodshed had boosted his mood, working him into something close to a frenzy. A frenzy that seeped out among the crowd, even after he had left the immediate area. It made them quibble and quarrel amongst one another, escalating until those unaffected began to cautiously distance themselves, lest they be caught up in an impromptu fistfight or worse. Arriving in tow with one of the attending gods, as was common among your fellow nymphs, you had been reluctant, but still secretly excited to enjoy the celebration. You were more than willing to enjoy the captivating atmosphere of good humor and greater cheer, even if you weren’t quite so unphased as your brethren. But as the mood of the hour had grown sour and bitter, voices raised, several men had started physical fights. You had quickly balked and ran. Your flight had taken you to one of the small surrounding buildings, breathing a deep sigh of relief once the angry voices and shouts faded to something far more faint. Stopping, listening for a time, you willed your stammering heart to slow, at least until the sound of sandals drew your attention. You cast a wary glance over your shoulder, ready to run again before recognizing the broad figure behind you. Turning to face the god whom you had accompanied to the party, you opened your mouth to speak, only for him to cut you off. “Ah, perfect timing!” Dionysus’ smooth voice boomed. “C’mere, babe, I could use a little help.” “I-What is it, my Lord?” you asked, thrown off by how laid back he sounded, despite the faint ruckus not far off. You hadn’t spoken to him too much personally, his attention often taken by those more willing to vie for it. “You’re having a good time, yeah? I mean, before all… that,” he trailed off with a lazy gesture of his hand, showing his distaste for the brutish behaviour that had stirred up. “Oh, yes! Before that, absolutely,” you answered, nodding. “Fantastic! What do you say to livening things up a little then?” You couldn’t hold back the furrow of your brow. “Ah, it seems like the city folk have taken it upon themselves to do just that already… Not that I mean to say no, my Lord!” you added quickly. Dionysus grimaced at the reminder of the ongoing brawl growing nearby. “That’s.. Not quite the mood I’m looking for. That’s why I need a little help to cool things down,” he continued, the sour look quickly swept away. “Follow me babe; I promise it’ll be a good time.” “Alright,” you agreed with another acknowledging nod, thinking you would rather be further away from the fighting anyhow. “Great, this way then,” Dionysus gestured once more, this time the gesture more welcoming, an insistence for you to follow him. You followed quietly, giving a few idle glances around the building as he led you through it, down a long hall and to a secluded room. It seemed to be some kind of lavishly decorated bedroom or lounge, littered with chaises and sturdy chairs. Several sconces peppered the wall, giving it a warm, golden glow and leaving nary a corner of the room cast into darkness. On several tables sat platters of breads and cheese, eggs, fruit, and even one of various meats, flanked with several chalices and vessels of what you assumed wine and other spirits. Dionysus stopped at the

door, giving you a gentle push into the room while he waited before the doorway. “Wait here for a minute, babe, I’ll be right back,” he assured you with a grin. Uncertain exactly what it was Dionysus required of you - given who you were dealing with, you had ideas, of course, but one could never be completely sure - you did as you were told. You settled yourself on the edge of one chaise, eyeing one of the more impressive looking vessels on the tables. You decided against having a taste from it, deeming it better to just wait until Dionysus returned. After a few minutes that dragged on, the sound of footsteps drew near once more - this time more than just one set, the additional footsteps heavier than the first. Dionysus reappeared in the doorway, stepping into the room, followed by another man who could only be another god, judging by the broad breadth of his shoulders and chest and the fearsome, bloody red eyes that fell on you. You recognized him instantly - the god of chaos and war was hard to forget, after all - and most you knew gave him a wide berth. It wasn’t so much that he was unpredictable that concerned most people, rather that his fondness for war and violence was exceptionally predictable. You suppressed the urge to rise from your seat and make some hasty excuse to retreat, not fond of the wild-eyed excitement painted on the new god’s face that seemed barely held under control, or the nearly tangible aura around him that made your skin prickle. Despite being dressed in less warlike attire than the armor he often wore and was well known for, Ares was still large and imposing. The addition of several blades remaining strapped or tied here and there did little to dull that impression. You looked to Dionysus, seeking distraction from Ares’ entrance, wondering what business he had that involved you and also required Ares. “What was it you needed my help for again, Lord Dionysus?” you piped up as you watched him coax Ares into reposing on another chaise some distance away. Walking back to you, Dionysus eyed you for a second, and then his eyes flickered back to his brother, who seemed a bit more mild, though still impatient and worked up. “You saw the scuffle outside, yeah, babe?” he asked easily, seeming hardly put off by Ares’ frightening aura. You nodded silently, feeling as if he wasn’t quite done speaking. “Old Ares over there got a bit overexcited, and it’s really killing the mood,” Dionysus complained, tone dipping slightly in annoyance at the idea of a ruined mood, heaving a small sigh. “He could stand to… wind down, if you catch my meaning.” You weren’t dull, and catch his meaning you did quickly, looking to Ares. “Oh,” you said quietly, feeling more apprehension rise. Ares was appealing enough, you couldn’t deny that, but he was also nearly as frightful. “What do you say, babe? Think you can convince him to relax?” As carefree as Dionysus sounded, he still seemed aware of your worry, too. “If you’re feelin’ nervous, I’ve got a little something that might just help you out.” He reached for one of the more ornate vessels on the table before pouring some of the liquid into a goblet. The liquid was a rich, royal purple, some kind of wine that seemed to smoke faintly, though the scent that wafted from it was heady and sweet. “I promised it’d be a good time, right? Just drink this and trust me, babe.” Fickle though most gods were, from your experience Dionysus was trustworthy enough for his words to be reassuring. The wine in the cup would no doubt deal away with any lingering uncertainties as well. You considered the cup for a moment more, giving a second half-nod and reaching to take it from Dionysus’ hold. You drained it quickly, far quicker than you might have under normal circumstances. Now was not the time to sip and recline. You needed whatever aid that wine might offer. For several passing, heavy moments, your nerves remained. But a warm, gentle buzz crept up, drowning your concerns out until they were naught but an indistinct drone in the back of your head. A warmth starting in your

cheeks spread down your neck and chest, leaving you suddenly less stiff, less concerned by Ares’ menace. The prospect of helping him ‘relax’, as Dionysus had so casually suggested, became less frightening by the second. As if he could tell how quickly his special wine had taken effect - you guessed it was more likely he knew how potent it was - Dionysus grinned. He extended a hand to help you to your feet, and you took it without a second thought. In the past, you had heard alcohol referred to as ‘liquid courage’, though you imagined that was regarding mortal drink. You didn’t think any mortal wine could have so put you at ease quite so speedily as what you had just drank. Yet, despite the potency of the alcohol, you were easily able to remain steady on your feet, even without Dionysus’ help. “Well, go on, babe,” Dionysus urged you nonchalantly. “Don’t want this party to go downhill anymore, do we?” With a gentle shake of your head, you released Dionysus’ hand, and swept past him, towards Ares from where he watched with vague interest. The warmth and confidence granted to you spread further, growing strong, whisking away the last tatters of your nerves and leaving a need to please behind. You noted that even though Ares showed some interest, he seemed restless, as if he would much rather be out among the ruckus he had unintentionally - you assumed - incited. “I’ve been told you're in need of some relaxation, my Lord,” you said in a tone you hoped was alluring. Ares scrutinized you for a silent moment from his seat, sipping something from a goblet of his own. Though the scent that drifted from his was far more potent and acrid. “Is that so?” Ares’ speech was much more calm and composed than you had expected, a striking contrast to the roiling expression in his eyes. His sharp gaze flicked to Dionysus where you had left him. He had settled onto another of the many chaises, indulging in his own drink already and looking as if he wasn’t paying you any further mind. “Very well,” Cutting red eyes turned back to you, and a shiver of anxiety you had thought drowned in wine shot through you. But you pushed the feeling away, calling on the courage bestowed on you by that same drink. “But first, off with those,” Ares demanded, gesturing with a nod of his head to your clothing. Quick to obey, your fingers flashed to your belt, undoing it and tossing it aside. Your fingers shook a little, yet you didn’t feel as if fear or worry were the cause now. Next came your tunic, pulled over your head as gracefully as you could manage, left to join your belt. At last, only your breast band remained, and you doubted it was exempt from Ares’ command. So if came off, too, leaving you stark nude in front of him. Were it not for the potency of the draught Dionysus had given you, you were sure your stripping would have been a clumsy mess, but even with your trembling touch, it had felt easy. “Now, come here, then,” the tone of Ares’ voice hardly changed, remaining thunderous and even, as if you had little effect on him. You moved until you were within reach, and Ares closed the rest of the distance between you, grabbing you by the wrist and thigh and pulling you onto his lap. Even in your pleasant haze, the sudden, unsettled motion struck you, and you sat still for a few seconds, trying not to blink owlishly at him. A ghost of a grin curled Ares’ lips, and he waited expectantly. Large, hard hands lingered on your skin. They shifted, and you flinched reflexively, and Ares’ smile showed a slight flash of teeth, as if he was enjoying the tension, however brief. “Don’t keep the man waiting, babe,” drifted Dionysus’ voice from his chaise. Apparently, he was paying more attention it had initially appeared. Shaking yourself out of your surprised stupor, you licked your lips and tried to relax again. You bent forward, planting your hands firmly on the front of Ares’ tunic and crushing your lip to his. The taste of whatever sharp, potent liquid he had been drinking met you head on, mingling with something pleasantly earthy and overwhelming the

lingering sweetness from the wine Dionysus had plied you with. There was a soft clunk as he set down his drink somewhere nearby, and his reaction was swift, pushing roughly back into the kiss and nipping harshly at your lower lip. One hand tangled in your hair, his grip stinging, preventing you from retreating. The other wasn’t to be left idle, sweeping over your form, grabbing rough handfuls of your ass or thighs or chest as it wandered. A cruel, full bite to your lip made you hiss and gasp, opening the seal of your lips well wide enough for Ares to thrust his tongue between them. When it twined itself with yours, it was as fierce as his kiss, waging a battle rather than taking part in what was for many a sensual dance. The hand roaming your body shifted to the small of your back, pushing your hips down into his, ensuring you felt the fruits of your effort to entice him, already straining beneath his clothes, hard and hot even through them. Ares pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath and taste blood as it trickled from your savaged bottom lip. Your tongue slipped out once more, re-wetting your lips and gathering the stray beads of blood. Something like amusement had overtaken Ares’ wild-eyed gaze. “What an obedient little nymph you have brought, brother,” he said smoothly, clearly addressing Dionysus, though his attention remained fixed on you, taking a more thorough measure of your form spread across his lap. Something you couldn’t quite place flashed through the cutting red for an instant before he spoke again, and you couldn’t contain another shiver. “How much can such a fragile creature handle, I wonder,” he mused, the hand that had captured your head sliding down and lightly skimming over your neck briefly. Another shudder wracked you, less noticeable this time, and your breath caught in your chest. “Come now, nymph, let us see.” Quickly, Ares was on you again, leaning forward in his seat, pressing you more insistently into his lap before the same hand dug into your hair again, pulling and directing until you were bent back at his mercy. As before, Ares didn’t try to be soft or considerate, nipping at your lips again and wrestling your tongue into writhing submission. The warm, encouraging strength of the brew Dionysus had supplied made the lines between arousal and fear bubbling beneath the surface warp and twist, and you weren’t sure which was surging from the less than gentle treatment. Small moans and gasps previously smothered by Ares’ mouth and tongue broke free when he moved away again, licking his lips. He didn’t waste time, though, moving down your throat just as aggressively as he had kissed you. Sharp bites and soon-to-be bruises left a burning path across your jaw and throat. A deep, satisfied hum rolled through Ares when he was met with hisses and groans in response. Though his actions were careless and painful, there was pleasure in them, too, stoking a growing heat in you as if each touch of his lips and teeth and tongue infused you with the excited heat of bloodlust that filled the war god. You rolled your body toward his harsh attentions, bare core grinding against the eager hardness tucked beneath his clothes. A dark laugh tickled your skin, and you cracked your eyes open to spy an amused expression gracing Ares’ face. They snapped shut again to absorb the myriad mix of pain and pleasure as he assaulted your skin all over again. Somehow, his mouth on your skin felt so hot, even though you were sure your entire body was already aflame. So caught up in Ares’ attentions, you paid no mind to what had become of Dionysus. He lay eyeing the entire spectacle while he reclined languidly on his own chaise. Had you realized, it would have come as no surprise that the hedonistic god was fond of watching. And for a time, Dionysus was content to do just that - watch - his eyes glued to your reactions from his brother’s touch. But it wasn’t long before looking alone wasn’t enough, and his hand drifted to his lap, palming an erection of his own and stroking it through the fabric. Ares withdrew

again, allowing another short reprieve from his onslaught of mouth and hand. You followed him, moving your hands from his chest to his lap. A tiny part of you urged you to trace the outline of his erection beneath his clothes, to take your time. Yet another, far louder, more sensible part suggested that Ares wouldn’t likely take too kindly to a light and teasing touch. You abandoned the notion, ignoring the dull sting of the marks Ares had bit and sucked into your skin. You pushed his lappets away instead, and his cock stood free and stiff before you, almost as imposing as its owner. Rather than taking the time to admire him, you wrapped a hand around his thick cock, rewarded with a deep, primal sound. Ares’ head tilted back for a moment, basking in your hand slipping up and down his length. You squeezed a little harder as you stroked him, and Ares groaned; a husky, growling noise that went straight to your cunt. You didn’t hear the footsteps approaching closer and closer behind you, nor did you catch the motion sweeping toward you. You only realized Dionysus’ suddenly much closer present when Ares tipped his head forward and cast his eyes past you. A brief glimpse of annoyance flitted across his face, quickly erased as you continued to fondle his cock. “Inviting yourself to join in, brother?” Ares asked, and part of you was almost disappointed to hear how collected and smooth his tone sounded, as if you weren’t touching him at all, nor as if he had set upon you like a wild beast before that. Your pace slowed, but didn’t stop as you twisted as far as you could to look back over your shoulder. You found Dionysus standing in front of Ares’ chaise, his own excitement easily noticeable beneath his flowing tunic. “Can’t very well resist a show like this,” Dionysus excused shamelessly with a shrug. Something told you this was hardly the first time he had intruded on someone else’s carnal moments. Or perhaps his eternally relaxed attitude only gave off that sense. “You’ll just have to learn to share.” Your glance flicked from one to the other, expecting Ares to look more irritated at Dionysus’ casual decree, but he seemed to brush it off with a short, dismissive hum. His focus returned to you, deciding you more worthy of his time. He swiped your hand away from his cock, shifting you in his lap with both hands. You barely registered the sound of rustling of cloth behind you, completely distracted as Ares positioned you properly over him. He didn’t bother taking his time easing himself inside, jerking your hips down and bucking his upward. You stiffened immediately, biting your abused lip at the sudden stretching, aching sting as he filled you completely. You clawed at the fabric of the chaise, taking a deep, quivering breath. Fortunately, the wine and, somehow, Ares’ rough handling had left you limber and wet enough that the stretch of Ares’ cock wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. Yet still, you couldn’t restrain a pained whimper and a shorter, gasping breath when he shifted, lifting you up and forcing you back down. “Aah, Lord Ares, it- I-I can’t--” Your words were cut short by a whine, and your eyes shot down, avoiding Ares’ cruel crimson ones, again attempting to relax, focusing on the pleasure beneath the pain. You swallowed hard, and your cunt constricted, despite the burning ache, at the sight of the bulge in your lower belly. You hadn’t missed Ares’ considerable endowment when you had been touching him beforehand, but the sight of him so noticeably buried in you was a little frightening, and somehow even more arousing. “What troubles you so, nymph?” you tore your gaze away from the lewd sight it was fixed on to meet Ares’ eyes when he spoke. The cut of his voice was derisive, almost cruel, and a leer adorned his lips. “Surely you can handle this,” he added. He lifted and lowered you again, harder, and his smirk grew just a little when you winced and a gasping ‘ah’ burst from your lips. Somehow it was no shock a god entangled in violence and war would enjoy some pain, even in play. Dionysus’ familiar voice

floated to you before you could answer, smooth as honey, and almost soothing. “Easy, babe, you’re doing great.” His words were an intimate whisper, and if Ares could hear, he didn’t care to acknowledge them, only spearing you on his cock all over again, settling into a slow, rough pace. “Gotta relax, let it all go,” Dionysus urged you, and the tickle of his breath sent a pleasant chill down your spine, making your cunt squeeze down on Ares’ length again. Dionysus’ hands splayed across the bare skin of your back, feeling almost cold on your overheated skin. He smoothed around your torso until a breast filled each large palm, his thumbs rubbing lightly over your nipples. The sensation was a welcome contrast to the sting of Ares’ brutal fucking. Though the pain didn’t seem as bad as it had been - whether you were becoming used to it, or the pleasure Dionysus added muted it, you weren’t sure. Ares’ hands, meanwhile, remained steadfast on your hips, content to hold them in a grip tight enough to surely bruise. Each new time you sank down on his dick, your breath escaped in a gasp or breathless groan. The sounds you made morphed into something steadily more erotic, breathier and wanton. Ares’ voice drifted out, too, though in rumbling grunt when he buried himself completely inside you. Coming down on his length again, another hardness met you, from your backside this time, your ass sliding against it as Ares continued to fuck you. A fleeting glance back told you was Dionysus, proudly nude having decided completely discarding his long tunic was the best course of action. Your lapse in attention earned you more punishment from Ares, though, and he took the chance to lean forward and bite down on your neck sharply. Your hands flexed again, digging into whatever it was they had settled on now - you weren’t concerned with what, be it cloth or flesh or anything else. Your head snapped around, meeting entertained, self-satisfied red. Dionysus’ erection drew back and one hand lifted away. After several more thrusts, something hard, but smaller and more pliant prodded at your ass. Coated in something tacky and slick, what you assumed was one of Dionysus’ fingers searched briefly before finding your asshole and rubbing against it in small, gentle circles. An extra hard thrust from Ares made you tense and whimper, though your body clenched around him again. Still near your throat, Ares’ mouth closed over your skin again, biting and sucking greedily. Dionysus’ finger abandoned the lazy circles, pressing lightly against your puckered hole, steadily forward, careful despite Ares’ jarring pace. When the digit finally slipped through the ring of muscle, you hissed, a new discomfort striking you for an instant, in combination with Ares’ harshness. But whatever coated Dionysus’ finger had made the penetration only uncomfortable for a brief moment, and when he eased his finger in and out, the discomfort shifted to the back of your mind, replaced by the increased sense of fullness. Alongside it, a bubbling tension was awakening in your core, spurred on by the treatment of both gods, boiling low and tightening further ever-so-slowly. A second thick finger joined the first, and you became more used to the newest intrusion, taking in the swell of sensations enveloping you. Dionysus’ pace shifted to match Ares’ in speed, but it remained careful and otherwise languid. The hand he had left on your tits though became notably rougher, though, from excitement, rather than pleasure in pain. Ares’ grip on your hips wavered, no longer needing to so forcefully direct you. The ministrations from both had worked you into a wild heat that encouraged you to rock and grind against him and back onto Dionysus’ fingers. You couldn’t decide which your body craved more. All you knew was you needed both. Any remaining tension had been completely sapped away, along with all coherency you had possessed. An unbidden whine broke free when Dionysus withdrew his fingers, turning halfway into a gasp and then a moan when Ares paired a hard thrust with an even harder

bite on the junction of your neck and shoulder. You had little time to protest or miss any of the sensations before the hotter, harder touch of Dionysus’ cock returned, coated in the same thick, slick substance as his fingers. He aligned himself with your ass, as smooth and relaxed as before. “Better take a deep breath, babe,” Dionysus purred in your ear, both of his hands shifting to cut your rear. He pushed forward as you impaled yourself on Ares once more, his entrance mindful and slow; the opposite of his brother’s entirely. You drew a sharp breath, not from Dionysus’ warning, but simply from the way each inch added more and more to what you had already believed to be a fullness that threatened to split you wide. By the time Dionysus, too, was sheathed inside of you, the fullness bordered on overwhelming, and your breathing faltered again, your mind so completely scrambled. Your head fell back and your lips opened in an ‘oh’ of pleasure, dull pain, and a plethora of other intense, mixed feelings. You tried to rock into them both, to meet each thrust, though when their paces aligned, you could do little but writhe and moan, as if all sense had been wrung from you. Dionysus mouthed at your ear playfully, tongue curling across the shell. “Mm, you’re doing great, babe,” he praised in a husky whisper you almost didn’t catch, so caught up in everything. But catch them you did, and they sent another shudder coursing through you, your body squeezing both gods desperately and drawing more erotic sounds from them both. Another growling, low moan from Ares. A breathy, hedonistic groan from Dionysus. They only added to the mounting maelstrom of arousal and heat. Your heart quickened when one of Ares’ hands abandoned your hips and splayed around your throat loosely. His lips brushed your ear, and as he spoke, he squeezed, just enough to make your heart beat even faster and your breath come a bit more shallow. “Enjoying yourself, are you, nymph?” he growled cheekily. “I might have expected as much from one of my dear brother’s little harlots.” Had you been more sober, clear minded, Ares’ words, sounding nearly a slight, might have made you flush hot with humiliation. Instead, they worked only to heighten your desire, flowing into everything else. You had no mind left for embarrassment. All that remained were the mind-numbing sensations surrounding you and filling you. Ares’ voice dropped away, his pace picking up, his hips bucking harder into yours. Even Dionysus behind you thrust a little faster, harder, his own peaking arousal just as plain as Ares’. You weren’t immune to the welling up of pleasure, either, your belly churning and tight with a winding heat that was nigh unbearable. It grew and grew each time you were filled, and you wanted to scream instead of moan, cry instead of gasp. The thick intrusions, the wandering and groping and squeezing hands, and the greedy, hot tongues and teeth. It all came together in the perfect storm of mindless, primal passion. You came before either of them, giving into whatever wanton shout or cry wanted to escape, your muscles clenching frantically. When first the tense coil of heat burst, you were set awash with that heat, searing and intense, as if lightning struck. Your orgasm rose and fell, only to be dragged out by Ares’ and Dionysus’ unceasing pace, thrusting into your heat unrelentingly. The end of one orgasm blended into the beginning of another, and hot, overwhelmed tears brimmed in your eyes before breaking away. On either side of your face, each god lingered. Dionysus whispered more sultry words of praise and encouragement, placing sloppy kisses on your temple and cheek. Ares nipped your jaw and licked at the salty trail of your tears, as it was an exquisite taste that delighted him. Ares’ hips rolled into you harder than ever before, pace becoming wild and erratic. With a final sharp thrust, Ares’ release filled your cunt, hot and thick, accompanied by a savage bite to your neck that left the warm, sticky feeling of blood in its wake. When he pulled back, a bit of

blood smeared on his lips and teeth, he looked even more warlike and intimidating than to start. But something in his expression seemed sated, calm almost - or at least as calm as a god of such chaos could be. Dionysus, despite joining in later, took little longer to reach his own climax, and with a grinding thrust, he, too, coated your insides with his cum. A drawn-out, erotic moan followed in the wake of his orgasm, and he lay his head on your shoulder, his hair sticking to your overheated, sweat-slicked skin. After a moment of silence, Ares reclined back more comfortably, though didn’t bother to lift you off his length. Dionysus pulled away, withdrawing leisurely with a sound of contentment. Feeling exhausted and sore, you chanced collapsing against Ares’ chest, and to your surprise, the war god allowed it. You ignored the warm, wet feeling seeping down your thighs, too tired to truly care. “There. Don’t we all feel better now?” asked Dionysus cheerily, hardly sounded tired or winded at all. He paused to listen in silence, searching for the previous ruckus. “Certainly sounds a bit quieter out there now.” “Perhaps,” Ares drawled, and he didn’t sound very taxed either. It seemed you were the only one so tired. “I may yet have more use for your nymph before the night is done,” Ares decided, and you jumped reflexively when his fingers curled in your hair and massaged absently, in a gesture that could almost be confused for affectionate. Dionysus hummed acknowledgement. “Well, I’ll be back in a bit then. Try not to have too much more fun while I’m gone.” You heard rather than saw Dionysus redress and depart, too tired to bother looking. Your mind wandered to what other uses Ares might have for you, as he had stated. Did Dionysus have similar intentions in mind for the evening, too? Whatever the case, this wouldn’t be a night you would soon forget.

#ares #dionysus #hades game #ao3 #writing #fanfiction #nsft #n/s/f/w #fic friday #finally another fic upload #tw: alcohol #tw: blood

[cherryonigiri]

Moment I: Crash Landing (NOT) On You

Son of Zeus!Bokuto x Child of Demeter!Reader || PJO x Haikyuu AU

Summary: Bokuto swears it’s all Akaashi’s turtledove’s fault. If it didn’t decide to fly over Cabin Four, he wouldn’t be in this mess, fearing death (or at least serious injury) by celestial bronze gardening tool. (Featuring Kuroo, Son of Hermes, still the provocation master).

wc: 2.1k || genre(s): humor, fluff || masterlist: turtledoves & daisies

A/N: this is the first fic I’ve written in a while, so I’d appreciate any feedback/comments. Also can i just say that I’m absolutely infatuated with Son of Zeus!Bokuto 🥺

“Bokuto-san, be carefu!l” Akaashi worriedly watches as his white-haired friend streaks through the sky. Bokuto has his hands outstretched, golden eyes wholeheartedly focused on the turtledove fluttering in the air in front of him. Zipping closer, he swipes at it again, trying in vain to capture the bird as it darts away from his grasp.

His fingertips brush the feathers, only for it once again dodge his hand. “Dammit.” Bokuto scowls as he continues to loop around the dove. As much as he loves flying, the sun is starting to hurt his eyes as he struggles to capture Akaashi’s turtledove. He knows Akaashi loves the bird, but by the gods, did it have a “free spirit” and then some. To be fair, Akaashi had befriended it during a quest, so it’s probably all magicked up or something. Which would explain why it was impossible for him to catch the stupid thing despite being a literal son of the skies.

Apparently the turtledove just wants to make his day harder because suddenly it dives downwards towards Camp Half-Blood, darting past the lava-belching climbing wall as it makes it’s way towards the fields. Bokuto gives chase, plunging after the damn bird, pouring on the speed as he tries to catch up to the (he’s now 95% sure it’s) magic avian. He can see his outstretched hand getting closer and closer towards the bird and he is finally able to just get his arms around it when suddenly he hears someone shouting his name.

“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi cries out from a distance, watching in horror as his friend continues to speed towards the ground

“LOOK OUT!” a foreign voice shouts as several other campers scream. Twisting midair, Bokuto does his best to shield the bird from the impact as he plows through the soil, uprooting the rows of wheat, and—

Oh shit. He can see the golden stalks slowly floating down from the air. Please, please, please tell me I didn’t land where I think I landed. There’s a giant divot in the soil where he must have skidded to a stop. His head is aching, and he’s definitely scraped up, but otherwise he’s fine. Bokuto has never gotten seriously hurt from a fall before (courtesy of being a son of Zeus, he guesses). He’s a little banged up, and he’ll definitely be sporting a few bruises, but nothing a bit of ambrosia can’t fix. Groaning, he sits up, and gets a better look around him. There are several campers staring at him in shock, and an increasing number are beginning to look pretty pissed. In the distance, he can see emerald vines agitatedly waving in the air. There’s only one place within the entire camp where you could find moving plants, and oh my gods he is so screwed— Yup, he definitely landed smack dab in the middle of Cabin Four’s fields.

Gods he is in so much trouble- Demeter’s children are fiercely protective of the magical plants in their gardens, fields of wheat included. Grown from mysterious seeds gifted to them by their mother, the crops behind their cabin always seem to yield fruit regardless of the season and can regrow harvests overnight. (Bokuto can confirm this because he once spent an entire evening staring at a watermelon as it developed from bud to full fruit before the sun rose.) Cold dread settles in his stomach once he remembers that the plants only retain their regenerative abilities so long as they remain rooted in the soil of Camp Half-Blood. And he can tell with a glance that the piles of wheat surrounding him are most definitely not rooted in anything. Ah, that’s probably why more than half of Cabin Four looks like they wouldn’t mind tying him up and throwing him into the sacrificial flame before dinner.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he gulps as he stands, turning around to face a pissed off Cabin Four camper. “What the hell did you do to my plants Bokuto?” you scream at him. Bokuto is well known—his shockingly bright hair is recognizable anywhere, and he’s also a son of one of the Big Three, so it’s no surprise you know his name. Tilting his head, he tries to match your face to a name. Maybe you’re a new camper? A glance at the cord around your neck, filled with more than a few beads, assures him you’ve been at camp for a while. Damn, it seems like you’re one of the few campers he’d never crossed paths with up until now. Akaashi appears behind you, chest heaving from sprinting towards Bokuto. He makes concerned eye contact with Bokuto, and the owl-haired man nods reassuringly before revealing the turtledove safely tucked behind his arms.

“Um...I was trying to get this back to ‘Kaashi,” he blurts out, shoving the turtledove in your face. You raise an eyebrow before turning towards the bird. You coo at it, whistling and nodding as the bird chirps back at you. They’re one of the campers Konoha’s mentioned before - the ones who can talk to animals he recalls, watching in awe as you converse with the turtledove. You seem to nod before gesturing for Bokuto to release the dove, which he does hesitantly. Surprisingly, it calmly hops from his hand to your arm, chirruping and nuzzling your cheek with its head as you turn around.

Walking towards another section of the garden, you finally stop in front of a cluster of vines. Moving the dove to your shoulder, squat down, coaxing the vines to slowly grow outwards and around your hands. Your gaze becomes focused, and the spring breeze seems to dance around you as the vines intertwine, spiraling to form a beautiful cage. With a snap of your fingers it’s complete, vines retreating from your hands and moving back towards the soil, leaving you with a sphere of intertwining branches that somehow still look alive despite not being attached to a living plant.

With a small shrug, you nudge the bird towards the entrance of the cage, smiling when it happily chirps it’s satisfaction. Turning around, you hand the spherical container to Akaashi. “She didn’t like the metal cage, but as long as you leave the door open she promises to come back by sunset and not cause any trouble, right?” you pause to look at the turtledove out of the corner of your eye, but she quickly coos at you, assuring you that you shouldn’t be seeing any stray turtledoves for the time being. Akaashi quietly nods and thanks you, clutching the cage firmly to his chest.

For a moment, Bokuto breathes a sigh of relief - it seems like his days of turtledove chasing are over. That quickly changes as you whip around and stomp back towards him, seemingly with the wrath of Hades in your eyes. With one flick of your wrist he finds himself quite literally rooted in place with the surviving wheat stalks and surrounding grass tightening around his limbs. You pull something out of your pocket and oh gods is that a celestial bronze shovel?!

“You!” You’re glaring at him, pointing your shovel at his chest. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get those magical wheat seedlings growing right?”

Bokuto swallows nervously before shaking his head. Your scowl deepens, and now the shovel is definitely pressing into his collarbone and he’s just the slightest bit worried that he might actually meet an untimely demise (via. a highly enhanced gardening tool).

“You’re so lucky we just harvested this field yesterday, otherwise I would have personally gone to Chiron and requested that you be banned from participating in all combat-related activities for a couple of weeks!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Isn’t that a little much? It’s not like I destroyed the whole field or anything,” Bokuto protests. Sue him for being a little competitive, but he enjoys the chance to butt heads with other campers (all in good fun of course).

“It’s not like I destroyed the whole field or anything,” you parrot back at him in a sing-songy voice. “Yeah, and thank the gods for that, otherwise I’d actually whack you with this shovel right now.” On second thought maybe he shouldn’t talk back. Wounds caused by celestial bronze- even tiny scrapes and bruises - sting like a bitch and aren’t as responsive to ambrosia and nectar. He’d rather not deal with a stinging injury for the next couple of days on top of recovering from his untimely crash-landing into your field.

“Woah, woah, woah, y/n.” Bokuto sighs in relief when he hears Kuroo’s voice. The dark haired son of Hermes approaches you, waving his hands placatingly in front of his chest. “I’m sure we all realize that Bokuto probably shouldn’t have dive bombed your field—”

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault bro!” Bokuto hisses at Kuroo.

“Shut up Bo, I’m trying to save your ass right now,” Kuroo whispers back, before going back to smiling sheepishly at you.

“--but I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t knock my best friend out with a celestial bronze object.”

Chuckling, you tuck the shovel back into your pocket. “I wasn’t gonna even touch him,” you retorted, “just wanted to scare him a bit since this is gonna be a pain in the ass to fix-up.” You sigh, looking at the carnage around you. Any plant grown from your mother’s magical seeds was temperamental at first— the first time you’d tried to grow this field of wheat the plants had almost overtaken all the land surrounding the cabins. It took a careful combination of soil preparation, plant magic, plus many hours of watering, shoveling and weeding, to coax them to grow without overrunning the rest of Camp Half-Blood.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and now that Akaashi’s bird isn’t trying to Shawshank Redemption its way out of a cage every ten minutes, I’m sure you won’t be getting any sudden sons of Zeus falling from the sky anytime soon,” Kuroo jokes.

“Doesn’t mean it’s going to be a walk in the park to get this back together,” you complain. Your eyebrows are pinched together, lips sticking out in a small pout, and for some reason, despite the fact you’re probably still pissed at him, Bokuto can’t help but find your expression slightly endearing.

Noticing the small pink spots that appear on Bokuto’s cheeks, Kuroo follows his friend's gaze. His smirk deepens when he realizes what’s caught the silver-haired man’s attention. Golden eyes glimmering at the opportunity to provoke you just the tiniest bit, Kuroo replies “Would you mind untying Bo? I mean I know you’re into some kinky stuff y/n but I didn’t realize that—”

“Oh my gods, shut up Kuroo!” you growl, cheeks burning with embarrassment. A rushed wave of your hand causes the vines to drop Bokuto unceremoniously onto the ground. Within a second you’re less than an arms’ length away from Kuroo, celestial bronze shovel pinned against his throat. “I will not hesitate to hit you with this if another word about that so much as leaves your mouth Kuroo,” you hiss.

Kuroo gingerly eases the deadly gardening implement away from his neck, backing away with Bokuto in tow. “Don’t worry about it y/n, after all, we did agree it was only a one-time thing,” he responds, laughing when he sees your back stiffen.

“I hope you go rot in Hades, Kuroo Tetsurou!” you huff, as you roll your eyes. “Go drown in the Acheron or something!” you add before stomping back towards your cabin.

“I’ll let you know when Nico or someone else from Cabin Thirteen has an opening in their calendar to take me down for a visit!” Kuroo barks out a laugh when he catches you flipping him off as you walk towards the cabins.

Stretching your hands above your head, the tension seeps out of your shoulders as the sun sets. You can see the lights of the mess hall glowing in the distance, but you’re too exhausted to bother with a big dinner or company from the other cabins tonight. Instead, you stroll back to your bunk in Cabin Four for a well deserved nap. (If you get hungry, you can always raid the cabin pantry later.)

In the distance, a pair of golden, owl-like eyes keep drifting towards your retreating figure, wondering, why, of all things, you have a celestial bronze gardening shovel.

Bonus Facts:

Y/n owns an entire set of garden tools made with celestial bronze. Bokuto discovers this later and is genuinely scared + concerned™

“That” refers to a secret game of truth and dare that happened one night when all the counselors got bored during their weekly meeting. Both Kuroo and y/n have sworn on the River Styx to never reveal any specific details from said truth and dare. To this day y/n wonders how Kuroo has gotten away with using it to tease them despite their oath.

Bokuto has actually met y/n before, but just in passing. They were responsible for setting plant traps before a particular game of capture the flag that allowed y/n’s team to waltz over the flag and win the game within a half hour, all while Bokuto’s team could do nothing but dangle from where they were tangled in plant stems and watch.

#bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #bokuto koutarou #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu #fukurodani x reader #fukurodani #akaashi keiji #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu scenarios #pjo au #pjo x haikyuu

[cryptidsandcatacombs]

listen sleep is irrelevant when there are vampires around a corporeal form what is that my needs of the flesh lol what are those

Ship: Noe Archiviste/S/I Rating: very adult anyone under the age of 18 skidaddle no srsly it's all nsfw smut from here no minors are allowed to read. All nsfw under the cut srsly do not read if you're a minor

Summary: Listen I'm not saying I'm horny for Noe Archiviste and I decided to make a self insert fic powered by that horny and make it everyone's problem BUT IDK you guys can decide for yourself whether i'm lying or not yall graduated high school, so yall have an adult level of reading comprehension. You guys got this. I'm rooting for you and so are my 10000 horny thoughts. This fic is brought to you by the sound of your past mistake chasing you. Remember. Ever day is leg day when you're running from your problems.

Also very highly self indulgent. Don't read if you don't like self inserts who are incredibly horny for certain people....or am I? Who knows.

Note: my s/i is a trans guy with all the feminine parts still attached. just needed to clear that up Copper. That's all Noe could smell. Being this close to Oz had an effect on him. One that drew him into a haze of nearly drug induced ambrosia. Gods how it made him dizzy in the most pleasant ways.

Oz unbuttoned the top of his shirt and gave him a slight smile. "Well, what you staring at," Oz said in a flirty tone.

Noe gulped going between Oz's purple eyes, chest and finally his neck. Fuck he was avoiding the neck. He felt like a Victorian virgin whose never seen a bit of skin before. Noe just felt Oz was so...exposed. It drove him crazy.

"Listen," Oz said interrupting Noe's haze, "I know what you're thinking. Well, what you waiting for. It's not like I'm saying no."

Noe was taken aback. Was Oz offering himself to him. No, it can't be. It can't be that easy. Who would offer themselves to a vampire?

"Oh or is the big bad vampire scared? I promise Noe, I've been wanting this for so long," Oz said through labored breath. Oz pulled down his shirt exposing his chest. "Please Noe, will you deny what we both clearly have been longing for. Partake onto me my love."

Noe's body moved closer to Oz than he already was. His lips grazed close to Oz's pulse. He can practically feel it throbbing with excitement.

Oz craned his neck to help Noe find a spot. Noe grazed his teeth experimentally to find the one spot that made Oz moan.

"There... no not there....wait where....," Noe thought to himself as he prodded around Oz's neck.

Suddenly, he heard that moan he had been looking for. Perfect.

He bit a little further. He looked up to see Oz's reaction.

Oz was panting wildly, face several shades dark with a violent, lustful blush. God, it was bliss to look upon.

"Please...." Oz said in a tone that Noe could have sworn was begging. If there was any doubts before, they were gone with his reserves.

Noe plunged his fangs further into Oz's tender, soft flesh. Noe shuddered at the feeling of Oz running his fingers through Noe's hair. God, it was heaven.(edited)

"Please, don't stop..." Oz said panting and moaning.

Noe tasted the blood that pooled onto his tongue. He grabbed Oz closer pulling him onto his lap. The effect Oz had on him was beyond addiction, beyond lust. It was an obsession he couldn't quit.

He had waited for this day for so long. It's what kept him up at night in a cold sweat and it invaded his dreams. However, all those dreams ended in a nightmare. Oz lying cold and deceased in his arms from not being able to simply stop. Blood run dry by his own hands. Tears streaming down his face by what he's done. He couldn't bare to act on his need to suck Oz's blood out of fear he may not be able to stop himself.

But dear god, how he wanted this so bad. So bad he's so happy he's tasting it now.

Noe suddenly push Oz down onto the couch they were sitting on. Oz's back fell to the couch, Noe pressed against him.

Noe dug himself deeper into Oz. Oz spread his legs to further accommodate him. This only encouraged Noe. His fangs dug further into Oz's pulsating flesh as he ground his ever swelling boner against Oz's crotch. Noe partook in Oz's blood like a dying man who hasn't seen food in days.

Oz began to grind back, moaning and whimpering gripping Noe's clothes for dear life.

Noe released his fangs from Oz's neck causing Oz to stare back curiously wondering why Noe stopped. The answer came in the form and Noe unbuttoning his shirt.

"So hot..," Noe managed to pant out, "Can't breathe."

Noe quickly, with deft precision, unbuttoned and took off his shirt revealing a sight Oz couldn't help but stare at disrespectfully and objectify to filth as he's done so many times in his sexual fantasies.

"Hey you ok," Noe asked noticing staring as Oz was not subtle and also thirstier than the most dehydrated man lost in the desert.

"Oh, yes I am. I just always thought you were very sexy. God, you're beautiful," Oz said blushing head to toe.

Noe's cool broke and he started blushing too. "T-thanks," he managed to squeak out.

Oz giggled at Noe's flustered reaction. Oz lifted his hand to Noe's face to calm him.

Noe stared down at Oz's face. It was almost magical seeing Oz's disheveled stated. Blood dripping down Oz's neck, shirt wrinkled cascading down his nearly exposed breasts, eyes and face filled with wanting. Noe touched Oz's hand that was still on his face. This wasn't a dream. God, this was better than one.

Noe couldn't help what he did next.

Noe lowered himself on top of Oz. Noe and Oz's noses practically met they were so close. A mix of being so close and Noe's hot breath against Oz's skin made Oz turn away flustered.

Noe placed his fingers under Oz's chin to keep his face where he needed it to be. Noe slowly and sensually placed his lips upon Oz's. Oz returned the kiss just as slow and soft.

Noe ran his fingers through Oz's hair as he pressed his lips harder against Oz's. Oz returned the favor running his fingers down Noe's exposed back. The sensation made Noe shiver and moan as he ran his tongue against Oz's lips. The kisses became laced with moans as Noe pulled on Oz's shirt.

Noe parted from the kiss with panting. "Take your clothes off," said pulling on Oz's shirt.

Oz did what he was told. Noe stared in fascination as his eyes partook in every length of the increasing exposure of Oz's skin. Noe suddenly became aware of the grating ache of his own erection. He would have taken his own pants if he wasn't so afraid it'd embarrass Oz at this moment.

With the last article of Oz's clothing gone, Oz turned away embarrassed by Noe's stare. Oz had trouble finding himself attractive, but Noe would beg to differ.

As if reading his mind, Noe turned Oz's face towards him. Noe gave Oz a kind smile. One that Oz always fell in love with over and over again.

Noe leaned into Oz's face. He gently put his hand on Oz's cheek, rubbing his thumb across it. "You're beautiful," he whispered.

"Thank you," Oz said blushing. "You're amazing Noe. I love you so much."

Noe smiled hearing those words. He had longed to hear them for so long even though he had heard them in many ways in his imagination and dreams. Nothing compared to how he heard it coming from Oz's own lips.

"I love you too Oz. More than I could ever explain," Noe said barely above a whisper.

Noe once again took Oz's lips onto his own as he pressed Oz back onto the couch again.

Noe once again placed himself between Oz's legs once again becoming aware of his aching erection.

"I-I'm sorry, mind if I..." Noe said lifting himself off Oz. Noe place his hands around the button his pants to gesture what he wanted to do.

"Mind if you what," Oz asked.

Noe was taken aback with that question. "God Oz, you better be glad you're cute at times like these," Noe thought to himself.

"My pants," Noe stuttered out, "Mind if I take them off."

"Oh yeah sure," Oz said immediately, "Why wouldn't I want you to?"

"I don't know. Anxiety told me I shouldn't because you might not like it," Noe said now fully embarrassed.

Oz bit his lip and ran his fingers through his own hair. "Listen, I want this I promise you. More than I have ever admitted to you."

Noe whipped his head back to Oz now fully intrigued. "Really," he asked without hesitation.

Oz nodded covering his face.

Suddenly, Noe placed his fingers on Oz's pussy to find it wet beyond what he thought it would be. The sensation of Noe's fingers down there made him gasp and moan as he curled his toes inwardly.

Noe kissed Oz's neck around the same spot he bit to tease him further. "How long have you been thinking of me like this," Noe asked as he rubbed Oz's wetness a little harder. Noe's thumb reached for the clit to tease him further.

Electric pleasure surged through Oz's body in such an overwhelming way that he couldn't talk. All that came out were squeaks and moans. The stimulation was killing him.

"Now now, that's not what I asked," Noe whispered in Oz's ear. "Be a good boy and tell me exactly what you've been thinking of me." Noe breath hitched as he managed to shudder out his next words,"and please don't' skimp on the details."

Oz wriggled under Noe's touched as he to rub the same way. Noe's brow furrowed realizing Oz wasn't going to talk unless Noe made him. Noe took his thumb away from Oz's clit. An action that made Oz whimper from its absence.

"Now now, I'll give you what you want once you give daddy what he wants," Noe growled out, his voice dropping to such an octave it seemed like it came from somewhere deep in his chest.

Oz's lip quivered as he struggled to tell him. God where to begin.

"Well, I had a fantasy similar to this. I'm alone with you in your place. You get so close to me and bite me sucking my blood because you can't take it anymore. The need making you so feral it hurts. Then you fuck me so hard I can't walk straight for a few days," Oz said blushing turning away so flustered by describing his sexual fantasies.

Noe blushed harder than he thought he would hearing someone think of him that way. He never thought he'd find anyone who thought of him that way. Confidence suddenly rising within him, he teasingly placed his hand upon Oz's thigh, hovering just above the spot he needed Noe's hand to be.

"Really and how often do you think of me in such a....sinful manner," he said voice heavy with lust straining against taking Oz right then and there.

"More than you can imagine," Oz admitted daring not to look Noe in the eye.

Noe's breath came out ragged hearing that. Noe's fingers grazed harder into Oz's thighs. He suddenly remembered he never took his pants off. They were officially killing him from how hard his cock was straining against them now.

Noe furiously tore them away revealing all of himself to Oz. Oz's eyes took Noe in fully, trying not to stare at his dick too long. Oz stared back up at Noe's. Noe leaned in close to Oz.

"What," Oz squeaked out.

"Were you staring," Noe asked.

Oz nodded blushing 500 shades darker than he thought he would.

Noe blushed along with Oz. "I-uh I hope I look ok," Noe said rubbing the back of his neck eyes darting to uncertain places. Places he will never admit but fortunately the writer is tattle tale and those places were Oz's tits. You're welcome.

Oz smiled and kissed Noe's cheek. "You look amazing. You're so beautiful," Oz said whispering against Noe's cheek.

Noe turned back to Oz's eyes. God, Noe considered himself the luckiest bastard on Earth right now and so did Oz. They felt so lucky to be in each other's presence right now, wanting each other in mutual lust.

Noe and Oz pressed their lips against each other for another kiss as Noe slid his hands down Oz's thigh and onto his clit once more.

Oz moaned wildly into the kiss as Noe pressed rubbed it harder and faster.

"S-stop..t-t--too mUCH,"Oz managed to squeak out.

"Ssshh sshh it's ok. You're so close. I just want to feel you cum once. Or tell me where you want it by precious boy," Noe whispered reading the vibes.

Oz, with much hesitance, pushed Noe's fingers towards Oz's dripping vaginal hole.

"P-please," Oz moaned.

Noe nodded as he dipped two fingers in. Oz dug his fingers into the couch cushion as Noe thrust his fingers in and out.

"Better," Noe asked checking in on Oz to see if he was doing ok.

"Yes oh gods yes," Oz said through his moans and pants.

Noe took this as a sign to go harder and deeper. Noe dug deeper trying to find the spot that would make Oz scream. Noe managed to find it with the sound of Oz's gasp.

"There," Oz said barely audible.

"There," Noe asked as he thrust his fingers harder onto that same spot.

Oz's toes curled and dug into the couch. His nail dug and scraped against Noe's back, driving him insane. Gods, Noe wasn't sure how much of this he could take before he took Oz like an animal in heat.

Noe, wanting to speed up the process before his own orgasm denial drove him to madness, kissed and teased around Oz's tits and nipple. Oz ran his fingers through Noe's hair encouraging him. Noe moaned at the sensation of Oz doing this. Curse the fact he was so tender headed.

Noe sucked on one of Oz's tits as his fingers thrust into Oz's spot harder feeling Oz on the edge of cumming.

With a final moan and gasp, Noe finally felt Oz cum around his fingers. Noe suddenly became self aware how hot and sweaty he felt at this moment.

He needed Oz now.

Noe took in Oz's blissed out, post orgasm face. Noe bathed in the sight. He couldn't believe Oz came for him of all people. Fantasized about him doing this to him. The thought of it made Noe's dick twitch with need.

Noe turned Oz's face towards him once more as he took him into another kiss. Sliding both hands down to Oz's hips, he pulled Oz forward so Noe's dick was at Oz's entrance.

Noe lifted Oz's legs higher onto his back so he can get a good angle.

"Ready," Noe asked looking for Oz's consent.

Oz nodded. "Please....fuck me please...."

That was the last thread that was cut for Noe. He ceased to be a man with reserves or gentleness at that point.

Noe dug his fingers into Oz's hips as he pulled Oz's body forward and thrust his throbbing cock in roughly. More roughly than he thought he would.

Oz moaned feeling himself squeeze around the sudden intrusion. God it felt amazing to him.

Noe panted, heart pounding at the new sensation he had never felt before. Oz was so tight around him. He could get drunk off this feeling for the rest of eternity.

"You ok," Noe asked checking to see if Oz was hurting or if it was too overstimulating.

"Yes. It feels amazing. I need you please please please," Oz said running his fingers through his own hair becoming overwhelmed with pleasure.

Noe nodded taking this as a sign he's allowed to move. Noe steadied himself, hand hooking around the back of Oz's head, other hand on Oz's hip. He began to thrust slowly and deeply trying to find a pace they both liked.

Oz's moans became progressively loud reaching in harmony with Noe's own moans. Both Oz and Noe's nails dug into each other with each motion.

Noe reached down and began to scrape his fangs against Oz's neck. Oz tilted his head back to expose himself more. Noe found another good spot and plunged his fangs into Oz's flesh once more.

As Oz's blood pooled onto Noe's tongue, he began to thrust harder. Oz moaned louder gripping Noe's hair. Noe moaned from the feeling of Oz tugging on his hair. He lifted Oz's lower body higher and began to thrust deeper and harder.

Noe ran his fingers through Oz's hair, pulling Oz's hair roughly. Noe released his fangs from Oz's neck. His teeth scraped and traveled other places on Oz's neck leaving deep, dark love bites all over.

Oz's legs began to buckle and shake from all of this happening at once. Nails dug further into Noe's skin.

"Oh gods don't stop fuck don't stop," Oz moaned and panted out.

Noe picked up the pace, thrusting harder until Oz screamed.

Oz became barely audible at this point feeling himself on the edge of cumming.

"Oz, you're so close. I can feel it," Noe panted out feeling himself getting close too.

"Don't stop. I'm gonna cum," Oz said just before biting down on Noe's shoulder.

Noe gasped and bit harder into Oz's neck. Noe had no idea being the one getting bit would turn him on too. Well noted.

With a few hard thrusts, Noe felt Oz cumming around him with Noe cumming with him.

Noe took a few moment to compose himself and then collapsed on top of Oz. The room was only filled with exhausted pants coming from both parties.

"So, how was that for you," Noe asked.

"Amazing. What about you," Oz asked in return.

"That was incredible," Noe said kissing the nearest parts his lips could reach before giving him a soft peck on the lips.

Noe pulled himself out of Oz, watching the stream of cum drip from Oz's hole. The sight made him shiver with arousal. Little did he know, Oz loved the sensation of it too.

In both their minds, they decided one round wasn't enough.

But it was Noe who made the first advance. Noe picked Oz up off the couch.

"How about we do this again, but this time on the bed where we can cuddle and have more room," Noe said holding her close.

"Ok," Oz said leaning his ear into Noe's chest feeling his heart pounding from excitement.

Noe settled Oz down onto the bed, moonlight beaming down into the room. "Thank you Oz my little moonbeam. I love you so much," Noe said pulling Oz towards him.

"I love you too little starlight," Oz said as Noe pulled Oz in for another kiss.

This was going to be a long night.

#self indulgent fics

[a-dorin]

feral | darth maul

word count: 1.760k

warnings: nsfw, sex pollen(and its effects), oral (receiving), smut, filthy language, cursing, nudity, pet names, mentions of ovulation, horn kink

a/n: i incorporated a request, along with sex pollen for this one! i hope you guys like it, as i am really proud of it! if you wanted to be added to my taglist, let me know. enjoy our favorite zabrak, consumed with lust from copious amounts of sex pollen! 

prompt:  “Please, I need a fic of Savage, or Maul, just dying slowly in his rut, just smelling the reader ovulating and internally going nuts from all the hormones”

(not my gif)

it was almost as if he was suffocating. 

as if someone had their hands around his throat, choking him. maker, was this feeling unmatched. it was overwhelming, flooding his body with one, primal, desire. the zabrak shook his head, a low growl erupting him from his lips. his insides burned, his body temperature elevated. he was panting, his breaths coming out ragged, shortened. 

he had to quench this fire consuming him whole. 

and he had to do it now. 

“m-master?” your sweet, innocent voice filled his ears, “are you all right?”

the zabrak eyes blazed, an intense, smoldering amber as they fell on you, “i’m fine.”

wrinkling your nose, you arched a brow, “are you sure? you smell so.. sweet. did you roll around in wildflowers on your way back?”

his hearts thudded as a whiff of your scent flooded his nostrils. your scent was heavenly, an alluring mix of sandalwood, starflower, white agarwood, and amber. a trace of starflower lingered as well. he could sense your pheromones, ears pricking up on the dull beating of your heart as you gazed at him, depths glimmering with concern. 

maker, was he ready to pounce. 

but, not yet. 

time was not of the essence in this case. the effects of the pollen would last the entirety of the night. and maul was patient. he was calculating your every response in his mind. although he could sense your unease through the force, he didn’t want to extract the thoughts swimming in that little brain of yours.

hearing the words tumble from those pretty little lips of yours would be far more satisfying. 

in the moonlight, your exposed skin glowed, a bright, softened, greyish-blue glow. a loose tunic hung from your frame, your nipples hardened, peaking out through the thin fabric. your thighs were full, the skin so tantalizing. if only he could feel it against his tongue. maul blinked, unsure if his eyes were deceiving him. 

if this was a mere mirage, an illusion. 

or, if this was reality, and you were standing before him, aching and desperate for him. 

“you’re ovulating,” his eyes narrowed, “i can practically smell your arousal, little one.”

satisfaction rushed through him as pink dusted your cheeks, “w-what are you talking about?”

the zabrak cleared his throat, “i can sense the desire consuming you. it’s gnawing away at you, and the way your cheeks flushed tell me everything i need to know. there is no need to lie, (y/n).”

“okay, okay,” you muttered, cheeks burning crimson now, “perhaps you’re right. but what are you going to do about it? besides, i think i recognize that sickening scent.”

“please, tell your master what you believe it is.”

“somehow, you encountered sex pollen. did you walk in a field of wildflowers?” your tone was smooth, the words confident. 

the purr intensified, “i may have stumbled across some. yet, there is nothing more i would like to do right now than take care of your problem, little one. would you let your master help you? it would be a fair trade.”

“i don’t think you have the-” you began, but maul practically lunged forward, his lips merely centimeters away from yours. 

“just because i don’t have the same anatomy as my other males of my species does not mean that i cannot feel or give pleasure,” his words pierced right through you, directly to your core, “do not underestimate me, little one.”

“i never said i-”

the words formed, yet didn’t come out as his lips collided with yours, the kiss hungry and open-mouthed, desperate to establish dominance. you couldn’t help but submit, nearly collapsing as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue exploring your mouth. deepening the kiss, a guttural growl rumbled in his throat as your hand, so soft and delicate, rested on his chest, tracing the tattoos woven on his skin. your lips were plump, a trace of strawberries lingering. 

the lust that threatened the zabrak intruded his mind completely, any coherent thought slipping from his mind. 

he was bordering the line, his inhibitions crumbling away by the second. 

maul was about to go feral. 

a yelp bounced off the walls as maul scooped you into his arms, grasping you by your thighs. your arms looped around his neck as he clambered towards the lower deck, in the direction of his personal quarters. he took no time, reaching the destination within minutes. 

as soon as he stepped foot in the space, he threw you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress. the zabrak looming over you was on longer maul, your master. the aura hanging over him was nothing but pure lust, his instincts shrouding his logic. yet, you couldn’t help but feel the wetness between your thighs. how you were just as desperate as he was. how you yearned for a touch. his touch. 

his body was on top of yours now, the heat radiating off of him in thick, intense waves. lips connected with yours once more, the kisses needy, craving more. his hands tugged at your tunic, the fabric crinkling between his fingers. 

“you can take it off,” your lips brushed against his.

“so eager,” maul panted, “do you really want me to take it off, little one?”

you nodded, earning a hum of approval, “as you wish.”

a horrid, tearing noise rang through the room as your tunic fell of your frame, crumpling to the mattress. your breath hitched in your throat as maul’s eyes raked over your exposed body, the amber hue darkening to a deep, murky honey. 

“you didn’t wear anything underneath.”

“i didn’t say rip it off,” you muttered, a flash of irritation ringing through your mind. 

a hand covered your mouth, “hush. i will replace it.”

warm, callused hands roamed all over your flesh. maul licked his lips, savoring how your skin felt under his touch. how it was so smooth. so soft. so human. 

his hands cupped your breasts, the zabrak rolling your nipples between his fingers. a breathy, broken moan dripped from your lips. his mouth met with your neck, gently nipping as he placed a trail of wet, sloppy kisses down, ensuring that he plastered you with love bites. you were his, and he wanted to ensure that you knew.

every single move was electrifying, the air crackling with tension as maul had his way with you, peppering kisses all over your collarbone and chest. a shiver ran down your spine the moment his tongue flicked over your nipple, a whimper flooding the zabrak’s ears. 

“you’re so beautiful,” maul murmured against the underside of your breast as he painted another mark, “i could ravish you all night.”

your hands wrapped around his horns, desperately clinging on as his mouth drifted lower, not leaving a single inch of skin untouched. the sensation was blissful, pleasure rippling through your body, pressure building in your abdomen.

“now what do we have here?” a purr rumbled from the zabrak as he parted your thighs, “my gods are you soaking. is this all for me?” 

blush spread through your cheeks, “it is, master.”

maul slipped a finger between your folds, his eyes hardening as you squirmed, bucking your hips, “i see that my apprentice needs a lesson on patience.” 

“i am patient,” the words were a groan as his thumb circled your clit. 

“i don’t believe that,” maul chuckled darkly, “you’re practically riding my finger as i touch you. little one, you’re eager for me. i promise i will take care of you.” 

the zabrak drank in the sight of you. although he was beyond the point of thinking coherently, drunk with lust, he knew the image would be permanently ingrained in his mind. he would remember the way you core glistened in the light, the way love bites, from his mouth no less, were plastered all over your skin. 

the way your eyes shone. 

ablaze with longing. yearning for to fulfill the fantasies hazing your mind. 

craving for him. 

your taste coated his taste buds as he buried his head between your thighs, his nose brushing against your folds as he delved deeper, aching to feel it all drip onto his tongue. 

maker, was the taste divine. 

it was pure ambrosia, ecstasy washing over maul as he consumed you. 

your moans were melodic, his arms wrapped around your thighs, clutching onto your hips, pinning you down. pleasure racked your body, your head thudding against the pillow, jaw slack as he lapped away at your core, the juices dribbling down his chin, onto the sheets. 

the heat of his tongue was blissful as it flicked over your clit, the zabrak purring as he inserted a finger into you. the action was effortless, his finger pumping in and out, curling as it entered you. pressure was building in your abdomen, coaxing you closer and closer to orgasm. 

you were a mess underneath him, bucking your hips, riding his tongue as he fucked you with not only one finger, but two. he was pushing so deeply inside you, almost to the knuckle. the way you gripped his horns sent euphoria crashing over the zabrak, his hearts thudding. 

and maker was the sight of you oh so gratifying. 

“i can feel your walls tightening around my fingers,” his breath was hot, amber eyes glossed over with satisfaction, “are you getting close?” 

nodding meekly, the words were strained through gritted teeth, “i’m so close.”

maul’s pace of his fingers intensified, “that’s a good girl. you’re my good girl, (y/n). you’ve been so behaved for me, taking my tongue so well. you can cum.”

the moment he was finished, his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the bud. 

you unfolded, collapsing onto the mattress. 

stars burst in your vision, dancing as your thighs trembled. maul lapped away, ensuring that he savored the taste of you on his tongue as you came, orgasm racking your body. your breathing was shortened, ragged as he pulled away, his lips glazed with your juices. 

“here,” maul murmured, his voice delicate, “taste yourself.”

parting your lips, you licked his fingertips, earning a praise, “good girl.”

maintaining eye contact, you sucked on the digits, watching as his eyes squeezed shut, a noise you had never heard before tumbling from his lips. 

the sound was sweet, flowing so beautifully from his lips, like honey. 

maul nearly melted.

“h-how can i please you master?” you inquired, keeping his hand close to your mouth. 

narrowing his eyes, a smirk crept onto his features, eyes glowing amber in the night. 

“come here.”

*****

tagged:  @sapphicstars @bonniewinchester  @pameladoesthings , @maulieber  @bonesaldente  @arsonistvoyager @fallenrepublick @princessayveke @queenlagerthaa @starflyer-104 @catsnkooks @tinalbion @brilliantbutbatty  @gczanetti1  @spaghetti-666 @moonsingers  @theclonewarsbrokeme  @amberkay284 @nik-barinova  @amvabril @charbokbok @obiorbenkenobi @theonethatdoesnthavedisneyplus @witchy-goth-unicorn @alwayshappysith @mother-0f-monsters @lastoneoutturnoutthelights @splittothebone @vei-saretti @isabewwwa @latran5k @bvnsolo @sithmando​ 

#darth maul #maul #darth maul x reader #maul x reader #star wars #the clone wars #star wars x reader #darth maul smut #sith

[shiftytracts]

Stop Wanting More, part 1 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part two here.

…For almost ten thousand words (~5.1k in this half, ~4.3 in the other), beeeecause of course I did.

Content warnings:

Disordered eating (mainly of the statement variety, but mentions also the literal kind)

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Brief but not-ungraphic description of Jon’s (canon) Boneturning incident—so, injury, very mild body horror

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality (in part two)

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport (in part two)

—

Jon paused the tape recorder, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe. A statement’s second-to-last page was the hardest to get down. The dull ache that had begun under his ribs twenty minutes before now stretched down far enough to converge with the one in his stiff hips. His pulse throbbed in his stomach; he could feel it swell and recede beneath his hand with every beat. Nausea boomeranged up from somewhere under his navel. He reminded himself he could stop for now, finish this later—and, as always, that thought made him feel even colder than the sludge of other people’s fear pooling in his stomach. With his free hand Jon pressed Record again, and turned to 0101702’s final page. Oh, god, there was barely anything on it. Just the rest of this paragraph and then one more. He kept his eyes on the page, didn’t stop speaking its words, but fumbled blindly for another statement with his fingers.

“Knock knock,” Daisy said as she entered. “Christ—you’re still recording?”

In a flash Jon folded his hands on the table, sat up a little straighter, tried to suck in his gut. “Er—”

“Thought you said you were gonna do one more.”

“I’m almost done.”

“You’ve got another one right there.”

“I…” he considered I’m sorry, but then she’d say For what. “I don’t know what to tell you. It is my office.”

“Yeah, and your home,” Daisy scoffed—“and mine. Sort of.”

“D—did you want…? You’re welcome, to. Sit down, or….”

She did, on the arm of his couch. “I know, Jon. That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” To show he’d meant his welcome, Jon pushed his chair back from his desk and turned in it to face Daisy. Hopefully she’d remember he couldn’t ask What did you mean.

“I mean, don’t pretend this is work. How many statements have you had today? You don’t think that one can wait til tomorrow?”

Seven? Or would this one be eight. Jon forced himself to exhale out the portion of gut he’d been holding back since she arrived; it hurt too much to keep sucking in anyway. “A lot. I’m just.”

“Hungry, yeah.”

“Even when I’m stuffed I’m hungry.” He snarled a laugh, and set a rueful hand over his stomach like a fig leaf.

At first he’d tried sating the hunger with garden-variety food. That didn’t help much. Way back when he’d first transferred to the Archives Jon had fallen back into the old habit of forgetting to eat—which, yeah, not great, but, it did mean he remembered well how amazing it used to feel to cram down even a stale biscuit after too many hours’ inanition. All the hidden notes he’d found in yogurt and dry toast. He even remembered tearing up once at the taste of a banana, early in 2016. Before that he’d been sure he didn’t like bananas; afterward, for a short while he’d eaten one nearly every day, hoping vainly to recapture the ecstasy of banana after 14-hour fast. No luck, of course. After a few weeks he’d concluded he still didn’t much like banana as final course of healthy lunch. He’d especially disliked peeling them: how sometimes the stems bent without breaking, and the more times you tried the warmer, softer, more flexible they got. How little strings of peel still clung to the banana after you peeled off its main body, like static when you pull off a jumper. Or like the lint it leaves behind on your shirt. And the way bananas bruise, like people do. All these vestiges of its previous life—reminders it had lived to feed itself rather than him.

Since the coma, all people food—er. That was, all food intended for human consumption—tasted like that chase after a faded spark. Cloying and mushy and… organic, reminding him too much of the garden it came from. And the way it landed in his stomach was far worse. The original banana, the one Martin had pressed on him in the Archives in April 2016, had gone down like nectar, ambrosia, manna from heaven, &c.; the ones afterward, like an unwanted dessert always does. (Cloying. Mushy. A biology lesson mildly tapping its watch.) These days, though, eating regular dinner on a stomach empty of other people’s trauma felt like trying to fill up on cake. Not like cake after fourteen hours of nothing; Jon was pretty sure his 2016 stomach would have welcomed that. But like cake at dinner time. When you’re expecting, you know. Dinner. It gave him the brief, fake-seeming energy of a sugar high, and made him sick before it made him full.

Especially when he was otherwise ailing, for some reason? After Hopworth he’d treated himself to a lie down and a sandwich. The rest had helped, but he’d squandered most of the energy it gave him on the effort to keep the sandwich down. At that moment nothing, not even the coffin, had scared him so much as the thought of what it would feel like to throw up when you had only ten ribs on one side. He hadn’t expected losing them to hurt, at least not for long—had expected the rib to flow out of his skin into Jared Hopworth’s hand like an ice cube through water, which in retrospect was stupid given the testimony of Mr. Pryor in statement 0081103, but he hadn’t had time to reread that one beforehand and at the time Jon remembered only that Hopworth didn’t break his victims’ skin when he pulled out their bones. Turned out that wasn’t much comfort: he’d still had to break the ligaments attaching Jon’s ribs to his spine and chest. It had felt like a bad dislocation (four of them, technically), only instead of the feeling of bone pressing on things it shouldn’t there was an equally violating sense of tissue wallowing in holes that shouldn’t be there. He’d had this horror that if he were sick the flesh would crumple and pop where his ribs used to be, like when you try to suck the remaining water out of a near-empty bottle.

A few months after that he’d caught cold. (A point in the still-human column, Daisy had called it.) You know the first day or two of a cold, before the encroaching mucus takes out your ability to smell or taste properly, how innocuous olfactory phenomena like cheddar and laundry soap suddenly become Bad Smells, on par with the olive bar at a posh supermarket? Well, in a similar way, this one seemed to sharpen the dichotomy in his body’s opinions of people food and monster food. His lack-of-ribs had mostly healed by then though, so either vomiting with only ten ribs on one side did not cause the anomaly he’d feared, or, if it did, it hadn’t hurt enough for him to notice it in the cacophony (pucophony?) of other sensations.

(Daisy liked to play on words, so he’d been doing it more lately. This project the Eye seemed happy to help with, though in this case the suggestion arrived in his mind at the exact same moment as a reminder that, technically, the word cacophony can apply to sensations other than sound only by synecdoche.)

And then, a few weeks ago, when the whole Archives went down with norovirus… well, it wasn’t a fun time. He’d at first mistook the lethargy, weakness, trouble concentrating for signs of hunger—the new kind of hunger. Ms. Mullen-Jones’ statement about the Divine Chains cult hadn’t seemed all that bad, when he’d first recorded it. Scarier than if he’d read its events in a novel, of course; that was just how statements worked. He experienced them more vividly than stories, though less so than the events of his own life. (Because the people they happened to thought they were real! he’d told himself when he first took this job. It’s empathy, that’s all. Nope, sorry—evil magic.) When he read a paper statement these days, though, the knowledge it wouldn’t give him nightmares never quite left him. And he’d thought he was growing desensitized to the kinds of horror most people came to the Institute to report. Coming back up, though—maybe it was the fever, but god, the visions he got on that statement’s way out, of Agape and the soft, sticky hivecorpse of Claude Vilakazi’s followers—the way it made the donut he’d shoved down that morning (in a show of team spirit, god help him) come back up tasting like rotten rice wine—it was worse than the dreams. Worse, he could have sworn, than even the first time he ever dreamt Naomi Herne’s empty graveyard.

While hanging over the bowl of the Archives’ toilet waiting to see if he’d got it all up or if there was still more to come, Jon remembered thinking again of the banana Martin had given him. A few days earlier Daisy had made him watch the video of the I don’t understand this meme and at this point I’m too afraid to ask man vore-ing a banana; Jon had confessed to her, in a conspiratorial whisper-laugh, that for him vore itself had been one such meme until that very second, when the Eye had seen fit to inform him. But when applied to a banana, the term apparently just meant eating it peel and all. In 2016 Martin had broken the banana’s stem and pulled back a section of peel before handing it to Jon, so as to brook no argument. Was it really the banana itself he’d cried over? Not the gesture of friendship, when Jon deserved it so little? The thought of someone caring for him enough that when he got hangry at them they handed him a snack. Martin had been living in the Archives then, like Jon did now. Sleeping in Document Storage—a guest in a room owned by pieces of paper. Those bananas may have been the only thing that felt like his.

A Guest for Mr. Spider was about vore, technically. Not an uncommon topic in children’s literature. Some surmised that was where the fetish came from, though others maintained kinks like that were inborn, and the stories merely alerted their hosts to them for the first time. Red riding hood, three little pigs, little old lady who swallowed a fly. The Leitner touch was only the part where he drew you to his real-life lair and real-life ate you.

Looking back, that was probably the first thing he’d ever admired about Martin—how easy he’d made it look to skin a fruit. Not at the time admired, of course, but in those weeks afterward, when every banana Jon ate made him claw at the peel til his finger joints throbbed.

That stomach bug had struck the Archives with serendipitous timing, though. If he’d not found out how thin abstinence from the Hunt had made Daisy on the same day he’d barfed up a statement, Jon might not have pieced together what their combined evidence meant. Until then he’d put down his own post-coma weight loss to the fact he rarely ate more people food than a donut in twenty-four hours. Lots of avatars were scrawny, after all. Jane Prentiss, Mike Crew, Justin Gough, Annabelle Cane, John Amherst, Simon Fairchild. Jude Perry and Jared Hopworth could mold their respective fleshes however they wanted, so he didn’t count them as exceptions. True, Trevor Herbert’s bulk had struck him as odd; surely a homeless man wouldn’t waste cash on food his body no longer wanted. And what about Breekon and Hope? Did butterflies and a quartermaster’s pen and tongue sustain them? But maybe, Jon had told himself, it was like with alcohol. Maybe the avatars with more flesh on their bones had worked to develop a tolerance for (air quotes, heavy sarcasm) people food, for the sake of their physiques, or. So they could, he didn't know, eat socially? Without feeling sick, like Jon did whenever one of the others brought donuts.

Preposterously stupid, this theory seemed in retrospect. The truth was much simpler. It was like Jude Perry’d told him. She was strong and he was weak, because she fed her god with her actions, while Jon’s had had to resort to eating his flesh.

He wasn’t going back to live statements! That wasn’t an option; he knew that. He couldn’t feed his god with his actions. But he could have more paper ones. Maybe they were like the candles poor Eugene Vanderstock used to bring Agnes—the ones she’d sat over for hours. Hours and hours, inhaling the suffering that made them. They’d kept her strong enough, right? At least in body. All those people in charge of her care, all so much in her thrall—if she’d looked hungry one of them would’ve mentioned it in a statement.

During Jon’s school days, back when he was still trying to learn how to be a girl, this brief window had opened up right around age thirteen where the girls around him had enough self-consciousness to start developing eating disorders? But not enough to keep them secret. Thirteen had been this phase of, like, I’m a teenager now, see? I’ve got the teen angst now—SEE?! Where after they’d finished the day’s maths assignment, or while setting up microscope slides, one could overhear girls swapping self-harm anecdotes and tips for how best not to eat. Anne, whom he’d been almost friends with, went through two packs of chewing gum a day for a while. She would shove three or four sticks at a time in her mouth, then spit them back out into their wrappers as soon as they lost their flavor. Eventually they made her sick, and she switched to chain-sucking butterscotch discs. (Most artificial sweeteners, as the Eye now informed him, had mild laxative properties—including those used in gum.) Other acquaintances had brought comically large thermoses of coffee to school every day, and scurried to the toilet between classes. But it was another polyurious crowd that Jon kept thinking of, these days—the kids who would chug water every time they felt hungry. Trying to fill up on paper statements felt just like that.

He’d never understood that urge until now. Hunger was already a bad sensation; why would it help to add the further bad sensations of nausea and stomachache and cold? But now it made sense: feeling better was not the point. The point was to stop wanting more. He couldn’t get rid of the hunger, exactly—not in a way that mattered. Not the shards of glass in his belly, not the itch in his esophagus like a finger tapping behind his gag reflex, not the way simple motions like soaping his hands made his whole body ache. Not the sharpening of his senses to such a fine point that he jumped whenever Thérèse in the office above him shut her desk’s sticky drawer. (He hadn’t known that was what made the squeaky noise until a few weeks ago when the Eye decided he might like some office gossip. Even now he didn’t know which of the faces he sometimes passed up there belonged to Thérèse. She had no statements to make.) Nor the fog in his mind, though he tried sometimes to blame that on the Lonely. He couldn’t sate his hunger with paper statements—couldn’t make himself full, in the rosy way we usually connote that word. All warm and carefree and pleasantly sleepy. But he could cram the hole inside him with enough stale horrors that the temptation to chase down a fresh one momentarily left him.

And that was the new plan—to stuff himself with paper statements.

Tomorrow would mark two weeks since the day he’d first tried it. Brian from Artefact Storage had a statement to give him, Jon could feel—either Stranger or Spiral, it was hard to tell quite which. Something that caused paranoia. Not a great fit for that department. Good fit for a temple of the Eye, Jon supposed, remembering Tim and Michael Shelley. But Artefact Storage? God help him. He wondered if Elias had done it on purpose, hiring a paranoid man to work in a room full of objects that wanted him hurt. If so it must’ve been this one—this purpose. And on Wednesday mornings Brian manned the place all alone. Poor soul was already clinging to this job by a thread, though (so, Web…? That could cause paranoia too, as Jon well knew). Surely if Jon made him relive his trauma that would break it. Though perhaps that’d be a mercy. And but besides, two weeks ago Melanie had still lived here, and sat all morning between Jon’s office and Artefact Storage. Until she went to lunch. But by that time the woman whose laugh Jon could sometimes hear through the walls (Pooja, the Eye had since told him her name was) would have joined Brian. And it’d just be too weird, too risky, to go in and ask him about it with a third person in the room. Even if it wasn’t also evil.

So he’d read 0132210—the statement of Sierra Talbot, regarding a swimming pool whose depth changed every time she entered it—in hopes that’d make him quit thinking about the paranoid man down the hall. It didn’t, not really; paper statements didn’t take up as much of his attention as they used to. But he couldn’t get up and walk to Artefact Storage in the middle of one. When he finished and still couldn’t think of anything but Brian, he dug out another statement (this one from 1938, regarding a bad penny). Just to keep himself chained to his desk til lunch. And then a third (Liza Ho, attack of the killer seagulls). And by the end of that one he felt too heavy and cold inside to want to go anywhere but the couch. It made his stomach swell until it hurt to sit up straight, and the thought of shoving anything more inside made him feel sick—exactly like chugging water every time he felt hungry.

Basira had said maybe the Web just wanted to keep them so afraid of their own impulses they sat and did nothing so they couldn’t be puppeted. Maybe she was right. He’d never felt more like a spider, with his weak, skinny limbs and bloated stomach. Lying on the couch massaging other people’s horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him. Thank god he’d already given up tucking in his shirts, when he came back after the coma. Jon had worn the same trousers for three days in a row, now—shucked them off at the end of the day, hoping if he left them on the floor that’d convince him they were too dirty to wear again, and then slipped them back on over clean boxers in the morning. They were the only trousers he had that stayed up with the button left unfastened.

(Technically, the noun bloat refers to the feeling of weight or tightness in the abdomen. To describe a belly which has expanded beyond its typical size, one should use the word distended. Though these phenomena can occur separately, most people conflate them under the single word bloated. This trivia had seemed worthless when Beholding told him of it. But now he knew better. Every morning he woke up feeling like he’d had his whole torso replaced with the aching void of space, empty but for silver glints of pain that were the stars. And then he’d look down and find his belly still distended.)

Melanie and Basira didn’t know—at least not officially. They both seemed to have noticed how much more often lately they’d walked in on him recording, but Jon was pretty sure they suspected him less of bingeing on statements, more of pretending to record so as to avoid talking to them. He welcomed this misapprehension.

It was also possible they knew but declined to comment, since. Well, it was kind of a pathetic habit? Physically, a bit pathetic. Morally, though, such a big improvement over compelling statements by force that maybe they figured they ought to let him have it. If so he should be grateful, he reminded himself. Their pity, after all, was humiliating only in principle; Daisy’s teasing and concerned questions embarrassed him in practice.

“Enough navelgazing,” Daisy scoffed, but when Jon looked over at her he could see a smile creeping its way onto her face. “Look—finish the one you’re on, then come over here and I’ll. Tell you a story.”

“I—what?”

“Don’t know if it’ll count as a ‘statement,’” she said, with air quotes; “not much fear in it, more just.” She looked at the floor, then shrugged. “But it seems worth a try, yeah? Might make you feel better.”

“I-I, er. I really shouldn’t?” He meant in case it had a taste of human blood effect, but set his hand on his stomach again in hopes she’d think he meant he was too full.

“Yeah, you should. I want you to hear it.” Daisy shrugged again. “Think it might do you good to know.”

Jon turned back to his desk, unpaused the recording and wrapped up the statement. He’d quit bothering to record end notes on most of these—told himself he could add them in later, like he used to when he’d first taken this job. How proud 2016 Jon would have been to see how many statements the 2018 Archivist got through in a week.

He paused for a moment before standing up, to take as deep a breath as he could manage when stuffed full of paper. The end of that statement had gone down easier, since he’d had that few minutes’ break talking to Daisy, but he still didn’t love the idea of standing and walking. Especially since he knew once he got to the couch he’d be glued there by fatigue. If he didn’t pee now, he’d spend most of the night far enough into sleep to be paralyzed, but not far enough to numb his bladder. He excused himself to Daisy, promising to come right back. Then hauled himself up, with help from his cane and one arm of his chair.

Six limbs it took to maneuver this body now. Two more and he’d’ve gone full spider.

Three quarters of the way to the bathroom—that’s how long it took before the ache in his legs outpaced that in his stomach. He arrived on the toilet seat shaky and out of breath, as always. Months ago he’d given up standing to pee. When you sat you could rock back and forth, and cross your arms tight over waves of quease.

Not much came out, as was also usual lately. As far as Jon could tell, his body now required only enough water to keep his mouth from drying out while recording. Dehydration no longer made his head hurt, so, why bother. Good thing, too, he supposed—the last two weeks he hadn’t needed much non-metaphorical water inside for his body to parse that as needing to pee.

He let his trousers stay pooled around his ankles until after he’d washed and dried his hands. Then pulled up his shirt, to judge from his reflection whether they’d stay up with the fly undone. If he kept his hands in his pockets, yeah. Could you tell the difference, visually, once he put his shirt tails back down? Not for such a short distance. They wouldn’t have time to get disarranged.

It didn’t matter; Basira didn’t even glance at him on his way back, and all Institute staff who didn’t live here had gone home.

Jon opened the door to his office, said hello to Daisy but didn’t manage to look at her, and sat himself down on the other side of the couch. From the corner of his eye (or someone’s anyway) he saw her rise to her feet. “I’m gonna pee too,” she told him, picking her way toward the door; “get yourself comfortable, like you’re going to bed.”

“Where will you sit.”

“I’ll squeeze in.”

“I don’t mind leaving room for—?” Finally he made himself look up at her, in time to see her shake her head. Daisy hadn’t been strong on her feet either, since the Buried; she held herself up now with a hand on the doorjamb, elbow bent so her shoulder leant against that wrist. He regretted quibbling. “Never mind; I’ll just.”

“Really? You’re comfortable like that? You look like a sheep in clover.”

The knowledge came to him before he could ask her what that meant—complete with a nasty visual of what happens in cases acute enough to require rumenotomy. Jon swore he could feel himself swelling to accommodate this tidbit. His eye twitched in discomfort.

“Think I prefer ‘windbag,’ if it’s all the same to you.”

She made a face like that was grosser than what she had said. “You ruined my joke. I was gonna say I won’t let you have any more leaves til you look less like you might explode.”

“Sheep in clover suffocate,” Jon frowned; “they don’t explode. You must be thinking of how they cure them when—”

“Leaves. In. A. Book, Jon. That joke.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” He made himself chuckle.

Daisy sighed and shifted on her feet. “I’ll be right back. Just lie down, alright? Like you’re going to bed.”

Jon agreed to lie down, but couldn’t decide whether to face the wall (as he would to sleep), leaving her to slide in between him and the back of the couch the way she had a few times before when she’d walked in on him catnapping, or whether he should lie on his back, where he could see her as soon as she opened the door. It was important to make sure she knew he appreciated her offer to give him a statement. Or, no—to tell him her story, he meant.

Ultimately he picked the latter course.

“You sleep like that?”

“Sometimes."

“I’ve never seen you sleep like that. You always face the wall.” Daisy crossed her arms, blew hair out of her face. “That for the tummy ache, or for me?”

“Uh….”

“Would it hurt you to face the wall.”

“No, I just.”

“Turn around, then. I’ll squeeze in,” she said again.

“I-if you’re sure.”

He rolled onto his side, gritting his teeth as the cramps in his stomach swirled in new directions. What made it slosh like that, he wondered. While he fought to regain his breath Jon watched Daisy climb up onto the back of the couch on shaking elbows and knees, then avalanche down hands- and feet-first so she fit between him and its cushions. He’d never watched her do this before—always either startled out of a doze at the sound of her thumping down next to him, or simply woken up to find her there.

“You’re just like the Admiral,” he informed her.

“True words spoken in jest,” muttered Daisy. Too quietly for him to hear what she said over the couch’s tortured creaks, but half a second after she finished speaking the words appeared before his mind, in white, all-capital letters with a black background like closed captions on the news. “That’s Georgie’s cat, right?” she said aloud.

“Yes.”

Her knee jostled the cap of his; when it made him gasp she snarled under her breath. “Sorry. Can you move your leg?”

“Yes, it’s fine, just—”

“I mean would you move your leg.”

“Oh.” He did so.

“Thanks. Ugh—you’re cold,” Daisy accused him; “where’s that blanket.” He pointed behind her to the arm of the couch where it lay folded. She shook it out, and draped it over both of them. Reached around behind him to make sure it covered his whole back. Jon tried to ignore the way his stomach lurched every time Daisy’s weight shifted against the cushions. Finally she settled next to him to catch her breath. Their foreheads touched; her stomach pressed into his, though not as tightly as the last time they’d lain like this. “Can you breathe or am I crushing you?”

“Not at all, you’re fine—in fact, if the couch cushions are chafing you too much you can—”

Daisy huffed, and scooted herself in closer to him. “That better?” She set her warm hand down right where his belly diverged from pelvis. Jon tried to keep both voice and tremor out of his exhale. Since the coffin, Daisy’s hands and feet suffered at night and after any exertion from the same excess of heat his sometimes did. So the cold inside him probably felt nice on her hand, if not to the rest of her.

(Like snuggling up to a hotel mattress, she’d described it, after the first time she joined him for a nap when he’d just had a statement. Cold, hard, covered in lumps and dents, and creaks when you roll over on it. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he’d replied, while praying her elbow wouldn’t come any closer to the crevasse where his ribs used to be.)

“Christ you’re stuffed,” commented Daisy. For emphasis she lifted her fingers, then set them back down on his gut.

“I don’t know what you expected.”

“You won’t pop if I tell you a story?”

“Not literally,” Jon said, blinking.

“Of course not literally,” she scoffed; “you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Will it make you sick. Don’t want you throwing up on me; this is Melanie’s shirt. If you ruin it she’ll hit us with her cane, and I don’t trust you to hit as hard back with yours.”

“Mine’s shorter and thicker,” he mused. “I don’t have to hit as hard.”

“Stop. Avoiding. The question.”

Jon sighed to show her he capitulated. Then thought about it. He felt cold and sick, but the idea of saying no to a statement made those feelings worse, not better. And the sharp clusters of pain in his belly were harder to sleep through than quease.

“I’ll be fine,” he decided. “It’ll help.”

“Alright. When you’re ready, ask me what I used to do when I got shaky between hunts.”

--

Read part two here.

#stuffing #nausea #stomachache #hunger kink #a shifty tract #nonsearchable tma tag #other titles i. jocoseriously considered include 'divine chains' (like the cult from 153 get it?); #'too much information' and 'a movable-type feast'. #also for a long time the file on my computer was called 'statement eating: the moive' because alas i was a teenage h/omes/tuck

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Can I ask for some badass jason moment like maybe he does something badass and people realize wow Jason's powerful and idk maybe percy just drools after his badass himbo boyfriend

Idk I'm not feeling great and just need some badass jason love all mixed in with percy being the one who drools not the other way (I dont mind the other way but I really want jason to be admired)

Hello sweet Anon. I'm so sorry you aren't feeling all good🥺sending you warm hugs and light☀️

Here's some dark!jercy featuring badass!Jason and some badass!Percy too. I hope you enjoy.

And if you're in need of anymore badass!Jase here's some other fics of mine: Dark!Jason trying to save kidnapped Percy; Dark!Jason forcing the gods to save Percy

If anyone else has badass!Jason fics please link them for Anon💖

Masterlist

But onto this one!

TW: dark, murder, blood. This is not for the faint of heart, please proceed with caution.

"On your right!" Someone screams. It's not for his benefit. He is a weapon of mass destruction. The warning is for his opponent.

Percy Jackson slides under a gleaming sword and vaults back up with a wicked smile on his face. “Missed me."

The demigod shrieks, turning back around to face him.

"I will kill you Percy Jackson."

"You know I get tired of hearing that after ten years of this."

"Stop talking and fight me like the hero you're supposed to be."

He bares his teeth, green eyes flashing with anger, "I'm nobody's hero."

"Now that's a lie if I've ever heard one." A deep, clear voice from behind them drawls.

"Now is not the time you hopeless romantic." He laughs, turning to see his godly boyfriend landing on the ground with a soft thud.

"There's always time to appreciate you." Blue eyes twinkle, love and amusement glittering like stars.

"Can you two just shut up for like five seconds?" The demigod he had forgotten about growls, "I have shit to do and I'd prefer if we could get this over with."

"Better things to do than killing us?" Percy raises a brow, "Gee so sorry we're keeping you from your busy schedule."

"What's the problem anyway?"

"Your worthless trash of a boyfriend refuses to die."

"Oh," He winces, "You probably shouldn't have said that."

Jason's eyes flash with something otherworldly, dark, sinister, beautiful, "Why are you trying to kill him?"

The demigod' s expression flashes with disgust, like this simple task is beneath them, "Orders from the boss."

"And who is the boss?" His boyfriend asks quietly.

Percy can feel the air turning electric around them, can see the lightning slowly crackle in Jason's veins. After all these years, he knows better than anyone when his love is going to explode, can read the signs faster than even the blonde himself.

"We're under oath to keep the secrecy of the boss' identity."

"Cowards!" The Son of Jupiter growls, "Tell us and we can make this easy."

The sky above them goes a sickly shade of grey, and there are bolts flashing behind those blue eyes.

The demigod looks between them, fear finally seeping in. But they see Percy's smirk and something becomes visibly stone in their expression.

"Fuck you. I'll kill both of you."

The world detonates and green eyes dance with laughter as the demigod claws at their throat, eating lightning like candy.

"Tell us." The blonde's voice is deathly quiet. Soft with malice.

"Chiron." They gasp. Their body stiffens, hazel eyes freezing in an expression of horror. And with a single flick of his wrist Jason effaced the air from the demigod's lungs, carrying it in his golden fingers, and blew a kiss to the sky with that stolen oxygen.

"Gods you're hot," Percy sighs, looking at him with dark eyes and seduction.

"Later," His boyfriend laughs, "First we got a centaur to kill."

He grabs onto those broad shoulders, nuzzling his nose into his neck. Jason wraps his arms around him and kisses his forehead.

"You ready?"

"Fly me away Superman." He giggles.

And so they take to the skies, Percy clinging onto him with all his might and Jason laughing into the world.

"Why do I let you convince me this is a good idea?" He groans, "I hate this."

"The excuse to hold me outweighs your fear," The blonde whispers in his ear.

"It's your fault for being so godsdamn attractive."

His answer is met with laughter, and happiness, and never-ending love.

"Do we have to kill Chiron?"

Jason's body goes taut with anger, not at him. Never at him. "He tried to hurt you. He will not get away with that."

"I know," Percy winces, "But he raised me in this world. It seems... wrong?"

"What do you want to do instead?" The blonde finally gets out. Compromise. Collaboration. He knew it took a lot to get to this stage.

"Maybe we could—"

The Son of Jupiter gasps, his whole body shuddering.

In an instant Percy knows something is wrong, very, very wrong. A growing pool of blood is growing on the blonde's shirt, and a pretty wooden arrow is sticking out of his back.

"What the fuck?" He yells, looking around for the shooter.

"Perc," His boyfriend whispers, "I can't hold us up for much longer.

And then they're plummeting to the ground, wind screaming in their ears, twin hearts beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings.

But Percy is not afraid. For below them is the ocean and in his many years of living that great blue expanse has always been a safe place, a comfort, a protector. So they hurtle to their watery end and when they hit the sea Percy feels himself come alive.

He snaps the arrow at his boyfriend's back and puts a bubble of air around him.

"Here," He offers the ambrosia with a stern look, "Eat."

"We have to go out there and kill them."

His smile is vengeance incarnate, "Oh we will.” It was fine when it was just him they were attacking but to target Jason. To target his love. There are no lines he wouldn’t cross, no place too dark to venture to. He is a hypocrite for it. But he doesn’t care. “First you're going to heal. Because this isn't going to be quick. They will suffer for drawing even a drop of your blood."

Jason's eyes widen, darken, fill with desire, "I love it when you get like this."

"Destructive?" He grins.

"Powerful."

And then his boyfriend is pulling him close and kissing him like the world ends today. He can taste the ambrosia still dissolving on his tongue, more than that he can taste lightning and potent love. The kiss is rough and stinging and full of teeth. But it's raw with hunger and relief too.

"Let's go have some fun." Jason breathes.

And he can't help but giggle with anticipation as they rise through the ocean and walk across it.

The destroyer and his healer.

An arrow flies towards them. With a single swipe of his hand Percy shatters the cool metal. Jason gathers the shards in the air and watches as they group to form a broken spear pointing back at their attackers.

With a whispered hum the broken pieces fly across the sea and pierce six hearts perfectly.

Finally the two reach land, grainy sand sinking under their weight as they take in the scene in front of them. Twenty centaurs, four demigods, and an array of bodies convulsing on the ground as their own arrows slice their organs.

"Why?" Percy tilts his head, staring directly at the centaur he had known for so much of his life.

"You are too powerful. We cannot risk letting you roam free. We must keep the balance." Chiron's voice is almost robotic, as if he had rehearsed the words so many times they've lost all meaning.

"Roam?" He laughs, "I do not roam. I'm not a fucking animal. I live." He glances at the crowd, "And you are afraid because you do not know how to."

"Shoot him." Chiron bellows.

They all pull their bows taut, eyes gleaming with misplaced hate. The arrows let loose. Soar towards them.

"I don't think so." Jason smirks. And suddenly those deadly shafts are frozen midair, hanging like gleaming charms.

Someone gasps, another faints, dies from fear.

"Leave us alone Chiron." The Son of Jupiter says softly. It is not a request. It is a command.

"Stand your ground," The old centaur mutters grimly.

"You know you will not walk away from this." Jason's voice is music, and melodies, and opulent demolition.

Percy can't hold in a beam as he stares at the blonde. Now is probably not the time to be drooling over himself with attraction but there's just something about Jason Grace like this that makes him feral with excitement, temptation.

"Stand your ground!" The centaur screams.

And it works because everyone, cowering or not, straightens their backs and sets hard gazes on the two demigods.

They release twin sighs, knowing they tried their best.

"Why does no-one ever listen?" He rolls his eyes.

"You think at some stage they'd learn." His boyfriend snorts. And the arrows still suspended in the air quake, as if trying to break from their hold.

"Shall we then?" He turns to meet that electric gaze.

Jason let's the arrows go and Percy whips his arm in a circular motion, lifting the ocean from behind them and slamming it into the crowd of killers.

Bloodied and choking the diminishing group sprint towards them, arrows bouncing out of their skin.

They don't get more than ten steps before lightning rains down, stabbing their every orifice. And just to make it special Percy feeds each of them ocean water and laughs as their insides fry, electrocuted by the sea and the sky.

It is over in a matter of seconds, not a body moving, twitching, breathing. Except one. A demigod with bright hair, drunk on fear.

"Please," She begs, "Please don't kill me.

"You tried to kill us even when we asked you not to. Why should we give you the courtesy?" He spits.

"Please," She cries, and that's all she says, all she mutters over and over again.

"Lucky for you," Jason shrugs, "We like to have one survivor to pass the warnings on. The stories."

She whimpers, clawing at the sand in an attempt to get away.

Percy laughs, wraps the earth around her ankles. "Not so fast. Tell them. Tell all of them what happened today. And make sure they know that it was not us who started it. But we gladly finished it."

"Nobody ever wants the villains to win," The blonde looks at her sympathetically, "But I ask you this: if we are the villains of your story, who do you think are the villains of ours?"

Her eyes widen, and then she turns on her side and heaves.

"Take care darling," He waves, "And here's some ambrosia for that wound on your side." He tosses her the little bag of golden squares with a wink.

And then Percy Jackson and Jason Grace link hands, glance at the decimation they caused and share twin smiles.

Villains or heroes?

No, that had never applied to them. They had always be something else, something more.

They are gods.

#Jercy #Percy Jackson #Dark jercy #Dark Jason #Dark percy #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series #PJSSG fanfic #PJSSG asks #Anon asks #Fanfic requests #Ciara's Convos #She speaks #not edited #Jason grace

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 21

Read on AO3. Part 20 here. Part 22 here.

Summary: You might not be the best spy on the planet, but you're trying, and that counts for something--right?

Words: 3200

Warnings: Handmaid AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Does this count as a cliffhanger? Am I, as the kids say, back on my bullshit? Big big thanks to @pnw-escapism for this chapter's primary mechanic. I swear to god, y'all, she and @faestae are basically out here writing my fics for me.

Love all of y'all so much! ❤

“Blessed be the fruit.”

Ofarmitage stumbled, blinking at you in disbelief--only a moment of hesitation, but enough for you to glean that your face was unexpected. She recovered and moved forward, head straight, shoulders squared. “May the Lord open.”

Head down, you trailed her.

Following your lesson--if it could be called such, as the only marks you’d received were purple and along your collar--you’d plopped into bed, mind mesmerized with memories of Ren’s mouth, his words, his eyes. Your chest had seized in want for him to lie there with you, to curl around you as he’d done before, a want you’d liked have to suffocated with your pillow. You wondered now if he’d had the same feelings about you after fucking you so goddamn thoroughly, if he’d laid next to Johana, imagining your body instead, if his brain had swum with regrets and hopes and dreams. It didn’t feel foolish now, to wonder such things. 

After all--he was you.

A light, airy breath entered your lungs--and you recognized a distinct lack of anvils on your chest, a burden you’d been carrying since you’d stepped in the van with Rey. It was only now, in the relief of Ofarmitage’s company, that you realized she was the one person--perhaps on the entire planet, at this moment--whose presence didn’t inspire guilt when it came to your feelings about Kylo Ren. It was an unintentional bond, forged in the fires of shame, recast now in desperation--a need for someone, anyone to know the sick, frustrated desires of your heart. 

Her words--I’m scared I’d miss him--seemed more tangible to you now than ever. 

“How do you do it?” Your voice seemed strange to you in its softness. 

“Uh.” She cleared her throat. “Do what?”

“Live with yourself.”

“Uh, excuse me?”

You shook your head. “No, sorry,” you said. “Not like that. I just…” You snuck a glance beyond your wings, trying to meet her eyes--but she refused to look in your direction. “I want him. I can’t stop wanting him.”

Silence--she inhaled slowly through her nose. “Yeah,” she said. “It sucks.”

The acknowledgement alone sent your heart soaring. God, it did suck, didn’t it, to exist for your womb, to be teased with trailers of affection but never provided the feature film, to be starved of love and humanity and have only a single man you wanted to receive it from--the very same man who’d determined you weren’t worthy of it. Ofarmitage had known the other Ofkylos, had been with her Commander at least a year. A year of suffering in the hell you’d made home. You hoped for some guidance, some pardon from a person who wasn’t in your own head.  

“How do I forgive myself for it?” 

“Just accept it,” she said. “Take whatever he’s willing to give. Be grateful for it.”

The words fell like deflated balloons on your brain. “Oh.” 

A long moment of silence hung between you as you approached the Guardian checkpoint, produced your passes, and moved forward. Even if you hadn’t decided to help the Resistance, you weren’t sure how long you could pretend your feelings were anywhere in the realm of acceptability. 

You imagined telling Rey and Finn you’d begged for Ren to fuck you after he’d stuffed you full of the barrel of his gun--and that you’d meant it, too. You imagined telling them that, even with the knowledge that you were his Handmaid, you’d pined for his arms, willed a world to exist where you hadn’t ever known the word Gilead. You imagined telling them the doubt that wiggled in the back of your bestial brain, causing you to question whether you should even try to fight for your freedom.  

You weren’t sure if you were capable of being grateful for that.

Ofarmitage shrugged. “That’s what I do, anyway.” 

“You like the way this is set up?” you asked. “A version of life where you’re his slave?”

Her brow furrowed, lips twisting as she tried to avoid a scowl. “I don’t know,” she said. “I try not to think about it.”

You balked. “How can you not?” It was an effort to temper the steel in your tone. “Don’t you want…” You searched for the words--you remembered what you’d told Johana. “Didn’t you imagine yourself being loved?”

“How do you know he doesn’t love me?” she snapped. “You’ve never met Armitage.” Her voice fell, softened. “I’m waiting for him.”

“What, exactly, are you waiting for?” The words leaving your mouth were harsher, drier than you’d expected, like familiar knives on your tongue, knives you’d already dug into your own flesh.  “You know that you can’t ever be with--”

“You know what,” she said through clenched teeth, “I thought the Resistance got rid of you!” 

You swallowed--and she was silent. Boots scuffed the ground in a moment of empty, wordless  apology. Neither of you needed to speak into life the reasons you’d weaponized your own misery.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, I thought the Resistance had picked you up two days ago.”

“They did.”

“Then why are you back?”

Sighing, you glanced at your feet. “Things got complicated.”

“What happened?”

“So…” 

Unwanted recollections--the women in tears at the base, Poe’s murder, your own damnation in Ren’s hands. And those same hands, gentle as they’d stroked your hair, and his arms securing you to his broad chest, and his gaze, a vortex of wanton and vulnerable need. And you were conspiring to bring him to retribution. And he deserved it. And… and... You bit your lip, unsure if you should reveal your mission. Yet, the only person who could understand the reality of your hesitation to complete it was right next to you.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re asking me to spy on him. To turn him over.”

Ofarmitage gasped, a noise she silenced in her throat. “You can’t do that.”

“What?” You hadn’t expected outright discouragement. “Why not?”

She glanced between you and the upcoming market, a herd of white-capped red funnels swarming the entrance, like a barrel of shuttlecocks had been spilled in front of the store. Guardians would be there, too. She spoke between tight lips, spitting the words like curses.

“Ren’s second-in-command,” she said. “If you bring him down, Armitage might go with him.” Her chest heaved with anxious breath. “You can’t do that yet. I’m not ready. Give me more time with him. Just a few more days, at least let me--”

“Hey!” you hissed. “Relax. I haven’t done anything yet--”

“But you’re going to--”

“Just…” You both were close, now. “I’ll let you know before anything happens. Okay?”

She sucked in a sigh. “Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

You shook your head. Were your only two choices between pitiable submission and condemnation? You’d been foolish in your wish that Ofarmitage, tangled in the knots of her own self-hatred, could deliver you from yours.

In the market, you broke from her and slipped into the cold, lifeless aisles of food, aching to escape your Ghost of Gilead Yet to Come. There was something comforting about being surrounded by bottled, jarred produce in comparison--a simple existence, a simple purpose. Ren’s words echoed: Liberation is found in the realization of your purpose. You snorted. He was right. It was just unfortunate you were having to make decisions about yours.

Another body sidled up beside you. “It’s me,” they whispered.

Despite the re-assurance, you still flinched, meeting your stranger’s eyes in fear. It was Rey, in her Handmaid uniform again. You sighed, the dread of addressing your assignment sinking onto your shoulders. It would’ve been nice if you’d gotten a second to prepare to meet her. Doubt was a busted record, blaring in the gramophone of your mind.

“We won’t always meet like this,” she said, “but I needed to make sure you were okay.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “I’m fine.” A memory: Pop. “But Poe--”

“Don’t.” Her voice was a whisper. “Don’t apologize.” She reached over you, grabbing a canister of sugar from the shelves, taking the opportunity to meet your gaze. “Any of us can die at any time. Including me. Including you. We’re dealing with…” She took a breath, and plopped the sugar in her bag. “We’re dealing with Poe’s death. And we can make sure it wasn’t in vain.” Pulling away, she walked with you. “What have you found out?”

You nearly choked, blood rushing your face. Found out? You hadn’t realized you’d needed to be doing work already. You weren’t even sure what you needed to be looking for. Unless the Resistance was interested in a report about the feeling of Ren’s beautiful mouth eating your pussy like it dripped ambrosia. You could compose an entire presentation on that, actually. And the addendum, too, which would consist of a detailed run-down of getting reamed out on his desk.

“Hey.” It was Rey, jerking you back to the market. “Anything yet?”

You cleared your throat. You could tell her about these things--could mention the nature of your relationship with Ren, how highly illegal and hypocritical it was, how his prescribed duty of re-education seemed intent on educating you about little else outside of his cock. A verifiable source reporting this--that would be enough to prompt an investigation. An investigation that almost assuredly would not end in his favor.

But for some reason, all you could do was shake your head and respond, “No. Nothing.”

A slight grimace twisted her lips. “Damn.” She spun to the left, looking through the selection of spices before turning back to you. “That’s okay. Here’s what you can do.” A pair of Handmaids passed you, and she dipped into another aisle. You followed. “Commanders usually have records around the formation of Gilead. See if you can find anything about his role under Commander Snoke. That’ll be a good start.” 

“Okay,” you said, feeling distinctly not okay with any of that. “Got it.” Just find some records that may exist somewhere in the annals of Ren’s massive home and identify anything pertinent enough to steal or copy or hand over. So simple. 

“Good luck,” Rey said. “We’ll see you soon.” She washed into the sea of red, a crimson ghost.

“See you soon,” you mumbled to yourself, a promise you weren’t ready to fulfill.

The walk back to your home was silent. Ofarmitage’s hands wrung the life from her bag--but she refused to say anything more than what you both had already discussed. Not as if there was much else to say, regardless. As you turned into the garden, you searched for Ren’s Audi--but no sign of it in the driveway.

You entered the house to the sounds of bustle in the kitchen--Emma and Rose, preparing dinner, you supposed, but it was barely past noon. Carrying your load of groceries, you peered into the kitchen, observing the two Marthas tearing through cabinets and slamming ingredients into containers, measuring out spices and counting out vegetables. You swallowed, holding up your contribution.

“Um. Did you need this?”

“Oh, thank God,” Emma said, darting to grab it from you. 

Rose was on her heels, ripping the bag from her grip and scrutinizing its contents. “Did you--” She paused, lifting some of the produce to the side. “Yes. Okay. Yes.” She eyed you with hesitation. “Good. Thank you.”

“You’re… welcome?” You swallowed. “What’s going on?”

“Johana left the house trying to meet with the other Wives to get them and their husbands over for a dinner party tonight,” she said. “She’s trying to end the Commander’s suspension.”

You blinked. “Oh.” 

Rose grimaced. “Yep. Whatever you did sure pissed her off--”

“Rose.” Emma’s cheeks were pinker than usual. “Just try and stay out of the way, tonight.” She paused. “But also be prepared to be questioned by the other Commanders. Just in case.”

An iron fist seized your chest. “Questioned?”

“You, well, ran,” said Emma. “They’ll want to make sure you aren’t. Y’know. Conspiring, or anything.”

You swallowed. “Right.” You. Conspiring. What a thought. “Um. Anyway. Thanks for the heads up. I’ll… leave you guys alone?”

Emma nodded. Rose glanced at you, offered a shrug--probably one of the warmer things you’d seen her do. You bowed out, leaning into the wall as you attempted to still the orchestral percussion set that had become your heart. Not only were there going to be a bevy of Commanders and Wives in the home tonight, they might even ask to see you, to speak with you, to watch you perform your loyalty to a script you’d burned months ago.

You needed to do that reconnaissance. And with both Ren and Johana out of the house for the foreseeable future, you needed to do it now.

Sighing, you wracked your brain, trying to make yourself into someone who was capable of priding herself on her cunning intuition. If you were valuable information, where would you be? The den being the--to you--obvious answer, you snuck there first, and sifted through the organizers and drawers of Ren’s desk. You rifled through folders and pulled out loose paper, seeking out clues that might point you in the direction of anything interesting, but it was full of religious babble, copies of prepared speeches by other Commanders, lists of shopping notations. Nothing worth rustling through. 

You groaned--this seemed hopeless. The 6 bedrooms (yours included), 5 bathrooms, parlour, kitchen, formal dining room, drawing room, piano room, and laundry room all seemed equally as unlikely to harbour anything of importance. As you stood to leave, you caught sight of a pen tossed against the wall, a fatality of your furious fuck. Face red, you shuffled over to it, picking it up to replace it, and realized it wasn’t against the wall--it was lodged underneath the wall.

Swallowing, you remembered the hidden rooms in the Resistance home, and examined the wallpaper, gliding your fingers over it--edges of one sheet dipped into a divot. A seam. Up until this point in your life, you’d thought secret chambers in homes were myths. But Gilead seemed to inspire this sort of deception. Heart in your throat, you wiggled your digits into the junction, tugged--and the wall depressed forward, a wheel and pulley system built into the ceiling whirring while you eased the panel to the side.

In front of you was what you could only describe as a modified closet--built-in shelves housed stacks of folders, binders, and books, metal cabinets underneath all meticulously labeled in familiar handwriting. You glanced to the opposite wall, heart skipping--a computer sat on a small wooden desk next to a silver shoebox cassette player and an organizer of tapes--those too notated in sweeping cursive. Like a parched straggler in the desert, you scrambled forward, eyes leaping over the tags, pleading internally that your dumb luck had managed to score you something big.

The tapes were labeled only in dates: April 23, 1985--only a few weeks before you’d arrived. You considered plucking it from the slot, but remembered Rey had mentioned something about around the time of the formation of Gilead. You chewed your lip, eyes following as your fingers tapped each tape, as if to figuratively absolve them of responsibility. The earliest tape caught your eye--November 18, 1979--that was only a couple months before the first attacks. Hands trembling, you extracted the tape from the casing and popped it into the player. You glanced behind you twice, twirling the volume wheel to low before hitting play.

Click. 

Ambient chatter, a myriad of male voices, indistinguishable. The sound of a door closing, rustling. Silence, for a brief moment.

“You’re recording?” 

Your throat dried, closed up--that voice belonged to Kylo Ren, but far more anxious than you’d ever known him to sound. Another male spoke, much older sounding, his voice creaking in his throat like a rusty spoon.

“Of course. You’ll receive a copy, too. We’ll always have the exact same information.” A pause, papers shuffling. “It’s important to document conversations like this, Ben. When we write the history books, we want it to be accurate.”

Face screwing in confusion, you hit rewind. What had he called him?

“--document conversations like this, Ben.”

Pause. He’d definitely said Ben, not Ren. What the hell? Palms sweating, you pressed play again.

“When we write the history books, we want it to be accurate.”

“Yes.” More silence, more shuffling. “The revolution is coming soon.”

“You’re right. It’s not long, now. Weeks. Maybe months,” said the other man. “I couldn’t be happier that we have our most skilled soldier preparing our militia.”

“Thank you, sir, but it’s only due to your--”

“Nonsense. Your skill, your aptitude is inherent to you. You are a true warrior.” Pages flipped and rustled. “This is your formal offer. You will play an important role in the formation of our new order.”

Ren audibly cleared his throat. “It would be an honor.”

“You feel you’re ready?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure about that.” Silence--the sound of scribbling, paper flickering. “You’ve expressed doubt before, criticism, even. About our mission. Our creed…”

“I understand, sir. I’ve resolved those doubts.” A sniffle--and then more scrapes of a pen. “I’m prepared. Nothing will stand in our way.”

Your head spun. Ren had doubts about Gilead. Doubts he apparently still had failed to resolve. You wondered how much of his life he’d spent lying to himself. 

“Excellent,” said the other man. “You won’t be disappointed. Under my guidance, you will have everything you ever wanted. We both will.” More papers rustling. Scribbling. “That’s all that needs signing today.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is your formal acceptance into the future endeavours of the Sons of Jacob.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent,” the other man said again. “I’m proud of you.”

Ren cleared his throat again. “I’ll take my leave.”

Silence, then rustling. A chair groaned, then steps, moving further from the receiver. Squeaking of a door--

“You’ve truly grown from the young, uncertain boy I met all those years ago, Ben Solo.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Fumbling with the recorder, you hit rewind again, turning the volume up. There was no way you’d heard what you thought you’d heard.

“--those years ago, Ben Solo.”

Rewind. Volume louder.

“--those years ago, Ben Solo.”

Rewind, sound screaming.

“--Ben Solo.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Your heart slammed into your sternum. Who the fucking shit was Ben Solo?

If other recordings held the answer, you’d never get to find out--behind you, the den door opened. You whirled, pointlessly hitting pause on the player, as if that would prevent the discovery of what you’d been doing, praying that Emma or Rose would be on the other side of the room.

But your prayers went unanswered.

Kylo Ren locked with your eyes, huge frame filling the room as he eased the door shut behind him. Breath bailed from your lungs, muscles locking as if he’d paralyzed you with his mind. Sweat sopped in every crevice of your body, and you swallowed, forcing a smile.

“Um. Good… afternoon, Commander.”

He stood, staring. He was silent.

#kylo ren smut #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo trash #little bird #handmaid au #fanfiction problem #will we have another lesson #we shall see

[cognitivefunk]

A Delicate Play

Anon~~~ I have your smutty Shakespeare fic(๑・ω-)～♥”

I used several archaic English guides, so I hope I got the feel right. It was really fun writing this!!

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire Characters: William Shakespeare x MC Rating: Explicit 18+ (NSFW) Warnings: Light bondage (shibari), blood drinking, knife play (consensual), smut Word Count: 2,242

A breathy sigh escaped the man’s supple lips as he eyed his prize with his heterochromatic gaze, a dreamy look crossing his handsome features. “If death should chance upon me, striking me down this very instant, I shall have perished in bliss…” He draped the red silken ropes over your body gently, looping skillful knots in a crisscross, geometric pattern that framed your breasts, and bound your arms behind your back. “To dine on thy presence alone shouldst be enough to satiate the hunger which drives me mad…”

Hands brushed your hair to the side, to be replaced with his lips as he left a trail of heat on your bare skin. You let out a gasp as you feel him tighten the ropes that bound you not only in place, but bound you to him on a nearly transcendental level. “Will..” you breathed his name, breathing life into his chest which bloomed, igniting the flame in his heart.

“I desire to drown in this beauty, to drift endlessly in the oceanic essence that is surely and entirely thine own,” he let out a shaky breath, steadying his hands to focus on the task of carefully binding your limbs. His touch was so gentle at times you questioned whether he was really there, or an illusion you had conjured up on a lonely night. But he was real, and he was dressing you in sensuality, a feeling you had not anticipated to feel so intimate. He was in control, however, it gave you permission to let go entirely and give in to the sensation of the silk on your skin. Of the hands that trailed over your body, possessing every inch of you.

He took a step back, admiring his handiwork and drinking in your image. It made his chest ache, as though he were a man parched in the desert, and no water on earth could quench the thirst that threatened to drag him into the eternal abyss. “___” he whispered your name on his lips, lost in his admiration, almost afraid to move, lest the moment disappear. The both of you were wrapped in this delicate play, neither wanting the moment to end. It was slow, but entirely intimate and rapturous.

William reached for the blindfold he had set on the nightstand beside his bed. He had lain out his most luxurious sheets for this special occasion, and as he lay you back against the soft pillows you relished in the silky sensation it elicited against your skin, along with the mild pain that came from your body weight sinking onto your bound arms. “As much as I could endlessly become lost in thine eyes,” he soothed, placing the blindfold carefully over your eyes, adjusting it so that your hair did not tangle in the cord, “Allowest me to bring thee to heightened sensations of delectation.”

“I trust you, Will,” you answered, giving him the verbal validation that you wanted him to continue. You felt your cheeks flush in excitement, unsure what sensation you would feel next, but giving into Will completely made you feel giddy. You were aware that he would not intentionally hurt you, and there was safety in that knowledge. You were drawn out of your reverie at the sound of metal scraping against something nearby. Your sex tightened in anticipation as you felt the bed beside you sink in once more as Will returned to your side with something in hand.

The chill of the blade sent shivers throughout your entire body as you pieced together that he was holding a blade to your heated skin. He trailed the tip along your abdomen, barely scraping the surface, mesmerized by the dichotomy of the gentleness of such a deadly weapon against your willing form. He groaned quietly, trailing after the blade with his other hand, warming the skin where it had been chilled, the blade becoming warmer with your increasing body heat. The slight sense of danger was exciting, and he knew that you were enjoying it as much as he.

“May I?” he breathed, pausing the blade at your waist, just above where your frame dips in above your hips. You bit your lip, hesitant for a moment while you thought of your decision. “You may,” you whispered back, just as breathless. A short cry awoke from your lips as the blade stung shallow into your flesh, bringing fresh blood to the surface. The blindfold heightened your senses and the combination of the pain from the fresh cut and the moan that Will released when he drank in the sight of you sent a wave of pleasure down south, and you rubbed your thighs together for some sort of friction.

Will leaned in toward the wound he had inflicted, setting the knife to the side and smearing the blood with his fingers, his eyes darkening with lust. “Sweet ruby decorates thee beautifully,” his voice was dripping in arousal, low as he brought his blood tinged fingers to his lips, inhaling the sweet aroma of your blood before licking his fingers clean. A shame your eyes were deprived of such an erotic sight, however the sounds still reached your ears, and you lay in wait for his next move. You moaned quietly when his tongue slid across the cut above your hip, his mouth lapping your life essence and sending a pleasant sensation through your body.

He sank his fangs in right above the cut, making your toes curl and sending shocks of electric pleasure coursing through you, causing you to pant to catch your breath. “Aahn, that feels wonderful,” you admitted to him, knowing your words would ignite that fire within him and allowing yourself to moan openly, with your inhibition cast to the wind. William pulled away, lidded eyes devouring the sight beneath him, trailing his hand down to your soft mound, delicately tracing his fingers up and down your slit, becoming slick with your arousal.

“Truly I hath already perished and ascended to heaven,” he murmured, enchanted and sighing once more as he circled his finger around your swollen bud. “But is this mine heaven or hell…” Lips were upon your center, ravishing your loins with the intensity of a starving man. He wanted to devour every inch of you, melding to become one perfect being. You were absolutely perfect. It was nearly painful for him, desire threatening to consume his very mind as he pushed his tongue inside your quivering honeypot. He used his fingers to massage your clit and you cursed the binds that held you in place, wanting nothing more than to bury your fingers in his hair as he brought you near to climax.

“Aah, aah, Will…Please, don’t stop…” you whined, unable to find the words to describe your desires to him. He answered by ghosting his fangs over your sensitive flesh and you shivered, he wouldn’t pierce the skin in such a sensitive area but the sensation drove you wild. “My dearest lady, wouldst thou do me the honor of succumbing to this sweet pleasure. Let me drink from you so that I might know what paradise tastes like,” he breathed against you, whispering sweet nothings before continuing his delicious ministrations. It was too much, you wanted to hold on for longer but his skillful tongue and fingers were relentless in their search for your release. He had slipped his fingers inside of you to curl up at that spot he knew would drive you over the edge and your cry was music to his ears as he lapped at your release, moaning against you, his hips twitching of their own accord.

“Mmmn, sweet ambrosia, nectar of the gods that graces mine tongue…” he groaned, reaching up to remove the blindfold from your face. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the candles creating intimate ambiance. His wild expression of lust caused a moan to catch in your throat, and you felt yourself tighten at the promise of another sensual session with the love of your life. He smiled and gently lay you on your side, the blood rushing back to your arms at the relief of pressure and he stood beside the bed, locking eyes with you as he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, fingers dancing along his broad chest as he removed the fabric at a snail’s pace.

You bit your lip and groaned, enraptured by his sensual display but wanting him to hurry up. You were already so sensitive and you wanted him badly. “You are the most breathtaking man I have ever laid eyes on,” you admired, and a light blush spread over his cheeks before that dreamy look replaced his expression once more.

“Dost thou wish to spoil me so completely tonight?” he hummed, a smile gracing his handsome features. He knew he didn’t deserve your praise, but it made his heart soar.  You smiled in return, a lighthearted chuckle escaping you as you said, “I will spoil you night and night again if you let me, for it is you who overindulges in my own pleasure..”

His eyes swirled with emotion, both of love and lust as he continued to undress himself, much quicker than before. Those heterochromatic eyes never once left you, and he climbed behind you, keeping you on your side as he cradled his body against you, rubbing his length along your entrance sensually as he peppered the back of your neck and the crook of your shoulder with kisses. “Then allow me to pamper thee, my pet.”

His words sent your belly aflutter and you leaned back into his touch, your hands grazing against his lower abdomen where they lay, still bound in vibrant red. One hand reached around to cup your breast as the other reached down to caress your heat. He continued to rub his manhood between your thighs, brushing up against your wetness, the friction not nearly enough and yet maddening with its teasing eroticism. “Will, I don’t think I can take it much longer. Please, I want nothing more than for you to come inside me,” your words caused him pause, and he shuddered against you before reaching to guide himself into you.

“As you wish,” he murmured hotly against your neck, running his tongue along your shoulder as he slowly filled you, stretching you to take him in completely where he stilled, and leaving love bites to distract him from the delightful pleasure of you, which clamped down around him. He waited for his cue, when you rocked back against him, desperate for increased friction. He arched himself into you, his hand leaving your breast to replace the other which had been caressing your sensitive nub while he used his now free hand to lift your leg gingerly, allowing him to press deeper into you. His pace was slow, but firm, and he rolled his hips rhythmically into you, moaning and panting as he watched you come undone again. Your cry rang out once more and he dared not look away, continuing his slow motions while you rode out your second orgasm, your sensitive body drunk on the pleasure he was drawing from you.

“The most saccharine symphony pales in comparison to thine angelic voice,” he moaned, turning you on your back once more, but propping your shoulders on pillows to keep your hands from falling asleep. “Look into mine eyes, look only at me,” he whispered desperately, his pace picking up in both speed and intensity, making you shudder at the overstimulation. “Let us meld and become one, take me, all of me.” He was lost in your pleasure, and did not wish to be found. He wanted to stay lost in you forever, your sweet moans serenading him. Your eyes glossed over in lust and affection. Affection for him. He never wanted to let you go, he would never let you go. His pace was becoming erratic and you could tell he was nearing his own undoing.

“Then let’s become one,” you gasped, unable to look away from his eyes for even a moment. You arched into him, your mouth open and panting, he took the chance to lean close and slide his tongue over your lips before delving into your mouth to explore your hidden cavern. You kissed him back in earnest and he let himself release into you, spilling his essence into you, filling you with a warm and ecstatic sensation. He continued to grind against you for a moment, riding out his orgasm before he leaned back on his thighs, still sheathed inside you as he gazed at you lovingly. His chest rose and fell with his harsh breaths, whilst he came down from his euphoria. His hands began quick work at releasing the rope that bound your arms to your chest and you rubbed at your arms once they were free, getting used to the stiff sensation and trying to stretch them back out. His hands replaced your own, and he massaged gentle circles into your stiff shoulders, lifting you into his lap as he sat flush against the bed, keeping you surrounding him. It made you blush, and you could feel him twitch inside you, his member slowly losing its stiffness.

“You are mine forever,” he whispered, placing another set of kisses against your jaw, working his way up to your ear, “Just as I am yours. Thou hast all of me.”

#anon request #short fic #fanfic #oneshot #usagiwrites #ikemen vampire #ikemen shakespeare #william shakespeare #smut #smutty smut #gawd I am thirsty for Shakespeare #is it evident?? #lolol #I tried to get into character with my limited knowledge of him #please picture Daisuke Hirakawa's voice... #hnnnng

[thecursedhellblazer]

At the Edge of Nowhere

(( So, guess who went ahead and scratched that crazy itch I got yesterday? Yep, Scotty did. It turned in a small fic instead of a drabble, since apparently I had more to play out than I initially thought, but...here it is. I took the chance to experiment a bit with the writing style too, while I was at it, ‘cause...why not? ))

(( I’m not really sure of where the idea came from, I just really wanted them to have interact, somehow, without inventing something too complicated. And this was the result. Also, it doesn’t mean that I won’t try to shove Five into John’s universe or vice versa at some point, but for now I’m good with this xD ))

(( Sharing just in case anyone is in the mood for some random oddity! ))

(( I even posted in on Ao3 if anyone wants to have a look at it there! ^^” ))

They sit side by side, watching the eternal sunset of Eternity stretching before them, swinging their feet past the edge of the Abyss, unfazed by the danger of its depths. The darkness seems to be threatening to suck them down, condemning them to an endless fall, and yet they pay it no mind, each of them far too interested in sipping and enjoying his drink.

The silence floods past them, over them, through them, carrying the whispers of their lives. However, for this ephemeral moment, they are given the almost unique chance to ignore them. It’s a rare gift, one that deserved to be savoured, like a fine well-aged vintage. Like the ambrosia that the ancient gods, legit and false, so much have lauded.

And so they sit, the Boy and the Fool, side by side, on the edge of the Abyss.

The atmosphere is almost companionable, as much as it can be when shared by two strangers who carry with them too much baggage. A past and a present that are too dark, too painful. There’s as much kinship and understanding between them as there’s mistrust.

They let the quietness linger for a while, listening only to the taste of the alcohol that coats their tongues, knowing that the stasis won’t last. Neither of them is good at keeping his mouth shut when something is making their skin itch.

“Th’ ‘ell ‘s a lad like yeh doin’ in such a place?” The Fool finally asks, turning his eyes away from the magnetic horizon and landing them on his unlikely companion.

The Boy scoffs. Why is it always the same old story with everyone he meets? “I’d watch my fucking tongue if I were you, young man,” he shoots back, with a withering look. “I’m far older than I look. And I’m older than you for sure.”

A half laugh rises with a small cloud of smoke, but it dies in the matter of seconds as the seriousness of those declarations settles in.

“Blimey. Yeh ain’t pullin’ me leg, are yeh? ‘Ow old are yeh s’posed to be den, mate?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Trust me, mate, I’m not. I’m fifty-eight. And I’m stuck in the body of a thirteen-years-old. There’s nothing funny about it.”

“Bloody ‘Ell. Fifty-eight n’ still a lad? Tha’s...insane. I dun envy yeh. Nay.”

The Fool shakes his head, but, despite the lingering astonishment, there is a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Tell us, tho. Woh’s yeh secret? I gots me diabolical trick to slow down agin’ n’ all, but it obviously ain’t workin’ as well as yehs.”

“I got stuck in the future for forty-five years and, when I finally figured out the equation to go back to my time, I missed a typo and...this is the result.”

“Soddin’ math. ‘S one o’ th’ bloody reasons why I ne’er managed to get alchemy rite. T’in’s keep blowin’ up in me face.”

“Sodding math indeed. Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

They clink their glasses together and go back staring at the frozen skyline. Two sets of blue eyes. Different shades of the iris, similar heaviness burdening them.

The Boy steers his drink with his straw, lips pursing pensively. “Speaking of things that suck, what is this place exactly? Am I dreaming? Or did I accidentally take some of my brother’s drugs and this is like the most boring trip in history?”

The Fool scoffs. “Gonna pretend tha’ yeh didn’t jus’ insult me too, together wit’ dis soddin’ place.”

His gaze wanders for a split moment, touching their motionless surroundings. “Ah, I dunno, mate. Could be yeh dream, aye. Could be mine. Or maybe we bot’ stepped inside another real wit’out noticin’ n’ ‘ere we are. Wouldn’t be th’ first time for me. Won’t be th’ last either.”

“I’ve never been in another world. I’ve travelled through time, maybe a bit too much, and I’ve rushed through the fabric of space but this…” The Boy waves his free hand. “This is new. It’s easier to think of it as a dream, so I’d go with that, if you don’t mind. The last thing I need is another headache.”

“Wohe’er works wit’ yeh, mate. I get it. At times, ‘s be’er pretendin’ life ain’t real. ‘S good for yeh mental sanity. Even if yeh got none left.”

The Fool takes yet another drag from his cigarette. Curiously enough, it doesn’t seem to be shortening, even if the ash falls down on his trench coat.

“One t’in’ I can tell yeh ‘bout dis place, tho. It ain’t somewhere e’eryone can visit. Yeh gotta carry some serious shite wit’ yeh to ‘ave stumbled in ‘ere. Do yeh?”

The Boy shrugs. “Maybe? I kept pushing and pushing, even after my father had told me not to and I ended up after the End of the world. I heard the bastard’s voice echoing in my head for the past forty-five years.” He makes his voice thicker for a moment. “I told you so, boy. I told you so. Asshole.”

A long sip from his drink, as if he is trying to wash away that intrusive voice from his ears, before he continues.

“I worked for this organisation that monitors the timeline for a while as a trained assassin. They made me into the perfect killer, a tool for their plans. I had my goals, though, since the start. I took their deal just so that I could go back to try to stop the Apocalypse and save my family. We ended up breakin the world anyway, so I dragged them all back in time to try again. Of course, all that shit followed us. Because it’s never that easy, is it?”

The Fool nods and the Boy can tell that his companion knows that sort of feeling far too well. It’s nice to be fully understood, for once. Even if the understanding comes from a nameless stranger he’ll probably never see again. Assuming that their meeting is truly happening in the first place.

“So...We saved the world this time but broke the timeline. And now my childhood home is gone and me and my siblings are stuck in a timeline that holds no place for us anymore. I’m still trying to figure out how that’s supposed to work. Oh, and that bastard of my adoptive father is hunting us down using the kids he adopted in our place. It’s a real mess.”

There’s bitterness colouring his voice, the embers of a fight that’s too stubborn to die just yet, but the exhaustion is stronger.

“Though, between you and me...All I really want is a decent nap and a dozen more drinks. Maybe get a dog too. Not necessarily in that order.”

The straw produces a light slurping sound as he takes the next sip. “What’s your story? You must have one too, since you’re here...wherever here is.”

The Fool tips his head, in a sign of acknowledgement. No comments follow the tale, and there’s no real need for them there, out of time and space.

“Grew up in me own particular version o’ ‘Ell. Me oul man was th’ fuckin’ opposite o’ ‘father o’ th’ year’...So, I ran in my teen years, still thinkin’ I coulda owned th’ world. Stuck me nose in e’ery bloody t’in’ tha’ was magic n’ occult. One nite I got too cocky and damned an innocent girl to Hell. Earned a bloody place wit’ me name down there too in the process.”

The voice that spells out the words is casual, but there’s something haunted in his expression, darkening his eyes.

“Spent all me life tryin' to make up for tha’ bloody mistake. Ended up messin up meself and most o’ me mates n’ th’ people who ‘ad th’ ‘orrible o’ puttin’ their faith in me as a result. Girl’s still in ‘Ell, th’ bloody Devil ‘imself gots an eternal grudge against me, I gots demon blood in me veins n’ me soz arse ‘s still damned. I might not be a professional like yeh, but I bet I gots jus’ as much blood on me ‘ands. N’ even more souls on me conscience.”

The ice clinks against the transparent walls as the glass is lifted. More sourness to wipe away the one that the words have left on his tongue.

“Nowadays, ‘s mostly me, meself n’ I. Me best mate, too, from time to time. No clue o’ ‘ow he survived bein’ by me side for so long. ‘M still tryin’ to make t’in’s rite, but...for th’ most I jus’ try to be there to do th’ bloody dirty job no self-appointed ‘ero gots th’ time to do. I might be lost, past th’ point o’ no return, but there are lots o’ people out there who aren’t yet. Th’ fuckin’ least I can do ‘s tryin’ to ‘elp ‘em, aye? Make dis soz existence o’ mine wort’ more than misery n’ destruction.”

A drag from his cigarette and there’s a small hand landing on his shoulder, in a brief pat, before he has finished sucking the smoke in. The light pressure says more than a thousand words could.

“Between you and me, tho...I could use a dozen drinks too. Maybe more. N’ a bloody vacation. To sod off somewhere, even for jus’ a day. Maybe take me best mate n’ dis other lad I know. Oh, he could use a break too, th’ poor sod.”

The Boy makes a sound of agreement and he is back stirring his drink. “What a pair we make, you and I. And I don’t even know you.”

“I ‘ear tha’ loud n’ clear, mate. Bloody loud n’ bloody clear. Woh’s tha’ yeh drinkin’ anyway?”

“What? You ne’er seen a margarita? Where the hell are you from? England or Mars? Come on, try it.”

“Oi, I know woh a fuckin’ margarita is, oul man. Yehs jus’ a bit...flashier than woh ‘m used to.”

“Special recipe. I perfected it myself.”

“Now, tha’s more like it. I like a bloke who can make ‘is own drinks. There. Yeh like g n’ t?”

The glasses pass from one hand to another and then they both turn to look back at the unchanged horizon, holding each other’s drink.

A moment to sniff the liquors, in unison, and then the Boy dips his lips in the clear spirit while the Fool wraps his mouth around the straw. The tastes mix in the silence and it’s a symphony of citrus and sourness, with just the right amount of sweetness coming at the end.

“So, what happens now?” The Boy asks, after a moment.

The Fool shrugs. “Ah, I guess we wait till all dis fades. Or till we do. ‘S always ‘ard to tell when it comes to dis sort o’ shite.”

A huffs, with the faintest hint of irritation. “For someone who’s supposed to know a lot about this stuff, you give the worst cryptic answers. I can’t tell if you’re that ignorant or if you’re just fucking with me.”

A nudge in a smaller, slender side and a sharp smirk. “Who knows, mate. Yeh guess ‘s as good as mine. Keep th’ drink. I gots more back where I come from. Consider it a safe trip back home present. I’ll keep yehs as a reminder.”

“A present from a guy I never truly met? And a reminder of something we didn’t even speak about?”

“Nay. Jus’ th’ memory o’ some peace n’ quiet in decent company.”

“Fair enough. I can drink to that.”

#hellblazer #the umbrella academy #john constantine #five hargreeves #number five #tua #crossover #(( scotty writes ))

[dreams-of-the-arcana]

⚠️Warning: Heavy angst⚠️

Andi and Asra have two angsty fics in a row but at least Magni is in between to break it up a bit. I’m serious when I say this is heavy angst. This is when Asra performs the ritual and finds Andi again.

Pairing: Asra Alnazar x OC! Andi

Don’t Worry, I’ll Fix It

In the dark night of a new moon, Vesuvia was ablaze. It was meant to be a celebration. The people came out in hopes they’d hear their Count had found a cure. Their revelry had filled the castle which knew only sickness and pain those days. It was meant to be a celebration...

The sound of shoes smacking the cobblestones and labored breathing was almost drowned out by the screams of the citizens. All their hopes had been broken and thrown into the fire that currently consumed their Count. Chaos made people irrational and panic led them to the streets as they heard the news.

But Asra, he ran.

The events of the night flashed before his eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks. The ritual, Lucio’s haggard appearance, red pomegranate juice that still stained his fingers. His brain raced to catch up but Asra kept running. Running away from Lucio’s burnt corpse, Julian’s declaration of guilt, and away from the deal he’d just signed in his own blood.

Had he done the right thing? Had it even worked? Should he have stayed? Tried harder to help? Questions formed and flew from his mind so fast he barely registered them. Only one thing was important.

He had to see her again.

Asra reached the darkened shop and almost ran straight into the door. It was magically sealed. He tried to call his magic, to move his hands, to find the right words but nothing came.

A horrible crushing weight squeezed his chest and he slammed his fist against the door in frustration. The stream of tears turned into loud sobs of pain and anger. The magic door seemed to mock him.

How could he believe he’d be powerful enough to bring her back when he couldn’t even manage the stupid door?

The racking sobs brought him down to his knees and Asra buried his head into his hands.

It was too much.

It was all too much.

He’d buried himself in anything to hide from the pain. The research at the palace, imaging new ways to see her again, even his angry violent trysts with Ilya.

All he could see was blood and ash.

Ever since that day at the Lazaret, all he could smell, feel, taste, or see was blood and ash. It wasn’t right. She’d been so full of life. Despite her condition, she’d always wanted to live as much as she could. She smelled like lemons or apples or coconut. She felt soft and warm, except for when her hands and feet got so cold she stuck them up his shirt. She tasted like ambrosia, often with the lingering of whatever delicious treat she’d baked. Asra clung to these memories but they were fading. It wasn’t fair.

Asra gripped his hair painfully and wanted to scream but all that came out was a whisper.

“Where are you, Andraste?”

The world began to seep through again as the block around the shop finally heard the news.

“The Count is dead?!”

“Was it the plague??”

“No! A fire in his bedchamber!”

“I heard a Doctor pushed him down the stairs!”

“I heard it was the executioner! He’s vanished!”

“It was definitely the wife! He was sickly and she wanted him out of the way!”

“You’re all idiots! It was the crabmen! I warned you!”

“...”

“...”

“Well we know it wasn’t that at least... good gods! Who is that woman!?”

“Hide your eyes, kids”

“Ma’am, you can’t walk around naked!”

Asra lifted his head after hearing the sharp voice of the guard so close. Sure enough, a starkly pale woman stood staring up at his own shop very naked. She turned her head towards Asra.

Bright blue eyes stared into his. He’d know those eyes anywhere. Suddenly all the pain and anger melted away. The entire night seemed unimportant, almost too easily forgotten. But Asra could only focus on one thing.

“Andi...”

The guard reached them and took hold of Andi’s upper arm. Asra jumped up and ran over.

“Oh no, please excuse my, uh, my apprentice! A spell backfired. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.” He shot off anything he could think of and pulled Andi to him to cover her from the crowds gaze. The guard raised a brow then looked up at the sign above the door.

“Ah, magicians. Well don’t let it happen again. We have enough to deal with tonight without naked dazed magicians wandering around.” The guard said gruffly then turned to leave. The crowd started to disperse once Asra ushered Andi in the shop.

Quickly he pulled his scarves off and covered her as best he could, afraid she might catch a cold. But once he had nothing left to do with his hands the reality set in.

“It worked... Andi it worked! I don’t know what I did but it worked! You’re here. My love, you’re really here! You would not believe how this past year has gone,” Asra babbled. As he recounted the events though he began to notice Andi’s vacant stare at him. Then mid-sentence she walked away and started examining the items in the shop, reaching out to touch everything like she’d never seen it before.

“Andi?”

Nothing, she didn’t even turn around.

“Andraste!”

Still she kept running her hands over surfaces.

Asra practically leapt at her and held her shoulders so she’d face him. Andi recoiled and fear flashed through her eyes. Asra softened his grip.

“... oh no... it... you...,” Asra took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, my love. I’ll fix this...”

#the arcana #the arcana game #arcana apprentice #arcana oc #fan apprentice #get to know the apprentice #arcana fanfic #andi the apprentice #asra alnazar #asra arcana #asra the arcana #angst #tw angst #tw mentions of blood

[allie-and-her-fandoms]

Waiting For A Storm

Author's Notes: Hey guys, it is time I posted another Fairy Tail fanfiction, starring my other FT OTP, Gruvia. I wrote this fic as a gift for my Internet wife and best friend, @ship-ambrosia, whose birthday is today. Thank you for everything you've done for me, Bree. You're the Juvia to my Gray and let me say that the day I met you was the best day of my life. We became friends thanks to this ship, which also happens to be your OTP, and once again, thank you for everything. Also, I am sorry if you don't like it. Enjoy (or endure)!

Tags: angst, fluff, family

Disclaimer: the events of this fic happen between the timeline of "Four Degrees" and "The Droplet", written by Bree herself. Go check them out on her AO3, shipambrosia_bree.

-----

The end of March was coming close for the people of Fiore, bringing the joy that Spring always made sure to gift the people with. However, in a rather small city called Magnolia, there was something rather peculiar going on. There was a violent snowstorm raging and slicing through the pathways and abandoned houses of the settlement, the wind whistling and inviting his snowflake comrades to join the tempest. As she sat down and watched the frozen fractals dancing in the air, Juvia’s eyes were glued to the window, waiting for her beloved to return to the place that called their home. She remembered the times they spent together in his apartment, and she was still stunned by Gray’s decision to move with him and not leave the house, under any circumstances; a decision he took a few months ago, due to a certain reason. Soon, the Water Mage’s thoughts were somewhere else.

---

After a dire battle with the Dragon Gods, the White Mage and the Dragon Eaters, Gray had finally decided to do what he had told Juvina; he went and got the woman that loved him unconditionally for years (a manly action, according to Elfman). The moment he finally gave her the answer he had promised that day on the bridge, her heart was beating in a frenzy, as her stomach flipped and her mind flopped. As she finally found out the meaning of her beloved’s words, the bluenette’s eyes were invaded by tears that shortly left to flood the Guild’s backyard, earning a strong reaction from those present, Gray included. The days that followed were blissful for her. She had never expected his touches to feel so… warm.

His caresses, his kisses, his words were warming her from inside out, and it didn’t take them too long to get to the next step of their relationship. Mouth to mouth and chest to chest, they poured all their feelings in their touches and whispered calls, and would always end up falling asleep in each other’s arms, Juvia’s head always finding rest against Gray’s heart. However, one certain night ended up in a different way than expected.

A few weeks later, they found themselves reminiscing the event that had brought them together and strengthened their bond: the day Invel forced them to fight each other, a day that left both emotional and physical scars. Shortly after, Gray found himself getting drowned in Juvia’s affection once more, as she also shared the thought that had been travelling through her mind. An unexpected visit to the ill-tempered Porlyusica had ultimately confirmed her suspicion: under Juvia’s heart, a new life had already begun to bloom.

---

The news of a new member joining them soon had the Guild go on a state of pure joy. All their guildmates were screaming “Congratulations!” from the top of their lungs; even the Master was elated to find out that he would have another great-grandchild. Soon after, a party was thrown to celebrate the joyful event, as the Water Mage found herself bombarded with advice from Levy and Bisca, and the Ice Mage got his own tips from Alzack and Gajeel, with some bonus threats from the Iron Dragon Slayer.

As her pregnancy advanced, Juvia found herself incapable of performing magic the way she used to – she had gotten slower, and her focus wasn’t on the world around her as often – all that mattered was the development of her unborn child. However, little did she know that this might’ve been the nail in the coffin for her.

---

“I’m home!” Gray’s voice interrupted Juvia’s train of thoughts, as she watched her boyfriend take off his shoes. He then went her way, gave her a smile and brushed his lips against hers.

“Welcome home, Gray. How was the job?”

“It went well. It was exhausting, and someone whose name I won’t give,” he muttered “Flame Brain” between his coughs, “almost got the town we were supposed to protect, destroyed. Luckily, we managed to stop him and finish the job. How about you?” Gray asked, pressing his palm on his girlfriend’s growing belly, being rewarded with a small push against his hand.

“The same things that Juvia has done for months; eat, sleep, gestate and repeat,” she chuckled. “Oh, and Levy and the twins paid Juvia a visit.” she beamed; she always loved spending time with the two azure-haired children, and the feeling was mutual. However, the smile on her lips didn’t last long, as a frown adorned on her face, her brows furrowing and her fingers intertwining. “Gray…” she hesitated. She really didn’t want to anger him, but the growing frustration was eating her at the core. “Can Juvia leave our home, even for a few moments, please? She really misses everyone else in the Guild.”

The moment those words came out of Juvia’s mouth, Gray stood up straight in front of her, his fists clenching, a dark gaze sent Juvia’s way. “You know very well what my answer’s gonna be, don’t you?” the words left his mouth on a harsher tone than he intended.

“Juvia knows, but she can’t stay anymore in our home, doing nothing but stay in bed and eat. Juvia wants to see the streets of Magnolia again, and not from a window. She misses the Guild–”

“Juvia, my answer is still no. Please understand that.” Gray muttered, gritting his teeth, and the temperature dropping a few degrees lower. Why couldn’t she see he was doing all of this for their sake, for her and their child’s sake?!

“Gray, please. Juvia knows you just want to keep Juvia and our child safe,” she replied, a hand on her belly “but she doesn’t believe that the way you intend to do this is the best. Juvia is not a little girl, she will be more careful this time around; just trust her – “

“JUVIA!” Gray snapped, pieces of ice appearing and shattering around him just as soon as they were created. The Water Mage’s eyes widened and her breath froze inside her lungs, as she found herself wrapping her arms around her belly. She knew Gray would never hurt her, but her maternal instincts kicked in faster than imagined. When he saw his girlfriend’s scared expression, Gray took deep breaths and tried to compose himself. “You know why you cannot leave. It’s not like I don’t want you to, but… If something like that happened again…” His gaze lowered, his nails digging deeper into the palms of his hands, his teeth biting his tongue, suppresing a sob.

---

He still remembered seeing an injured Juvia being attacked and knocked unconscious by someone sent to kill him, just like other Devil Slayers and their families. As soon as he encased the masked man in ice, he brought her to the infirmary, where Wendy managed to heal her injuries, as she assured that their child was safe, much to their relief. And that was all that mattered in that moment. After the man got interrogated, Gray could hear that man’s wicked laugh, as he told the Ice Mage that he wasn’t working on his own.

That phrase alone made his blood freeze in his veins, as he replayed the moment his beloved fell to the ground, cuts and bruises glaring on her skin. He couldn’t afford losing another loved one, not now that he was going to have his own family. He promised he would become a man who could protect Juvia, and yet, he had broken the promise he made. Then, it hit him. Those people couldn’t harm her, if Juvia were to stay from that moment on at home, where no one could lay a single finger on her, not with all the protection enchantments around their home. He would keep his oath. He would protect Juvia and their child, no matter what.

---

Juvia didn’t want to see him like this, so she stood up the couch as fast as she could and embraced the Ice Mage who washed her rain away, as tight as she could, pools of tears forming in her eyes. She was supposed to ease his pain, not be its main cause; and this made her heart ache for him.

“Juvia is sorry. So, so sorry.” Her arms drew him as close to her as they could, while her aquamarine eyes were searching for his midnight ones. “Juvia will never be as stupid as she was that day, I promise.”

“I can’t go through this again. Not again.” his voice cracked, as he leaned into her embrace. The moment he felt her welcoming warmth, he found himself sobbing in her chest once again.

“You won’t. Juvia promises that she – no, we won’t leave you, no matter what.” Juvia murmured as she raised her hands, so she could caress his hair. Her soothing voice and warm touches always made Gray feel safe, loved, home. “Juvia promises you that she and our little one won’t leave you. We’ll always be by your side.”

As he registered her words, Gray’s sobs slowly subsided and quickly wiped the tears he had just shed, as he straightened his back. “Juvia, no matter what happens, I will always be by your side, just like how you’ve always been by mine. And I promise that I will do my best to be the father he or she deserves.” Gray still didn’t know his child’s gender, as he wanted to keep it as a surprise. He decided that if they had a boy, they would name him Storm, and if they had a girl, they would name her Iris. At the end of the day, the only thing he cares about is his baby’s safety; but he would be lying if he didn’t say he wanted a girl.

“You already are, Gray. You love this child already, even if he or she isn’t born yet.” She then took Gray’s hand and placed it once again on her belly, as their child moved again. “And it looks the little one agrees. Now please, go get some sleep. You just came from a job and you need all the rest you need. Soon, you’ll look for those moments,” she giggled.

Gray couldn’t help but chuckle. This woman… “Okay. Wake me up when dinner is ready.” he waved Juvia’s way, as he headed towards their bedroom, not hearing the Water Mage’s next words.

“Your daddy already loves you so much, and so does momma, Storm.”

BONUS – April 13th

The moment Gray held his son for the first time, he remembered the words Ur once told him about her daughter; how her tears wouldn’t stop and how she truly felt alive the day Ultear was born. At that time, he didn’t understand those words, but now he did. He felt tears making their way on his cheeks and a brand-new feeling: love for his newborn. As tears hit the little boy’s face, he started to whimper, and looked his way with his big midnight eyes. While holding the young Storm in his arms for the unkempt time, the Ice Mage made himself another oath. “Storm, I will do my best to keep you away from darkness. And if you ever encounter it, I’ll seal it away for you.”

---

“Juvia still cannot believe he is here!” she whispered, her eyes gleaming and full of love for the new life that stood between her and Gray in their bed. She then placed her hand on Storm’s tiny chest, feeling it rise and fall with every breath he took.

“Yeah… Me neither.” he admitted, as he failed to keep his eyes from his cobalt-haired son, his right hand underneath his raven locks. “Thank you, Juvia.”

“What are you thanking Juvia for, Gray?” she asked, her gaze away from her son and fixed on her boyfriend.

“For everything.” The Ice Mage smiled her way, cupping her cheek with his other hand.

“No; thank you, Gray. For giving Juvia the best life she could have.” She smiled back, leaning into Gray’s touch. Their waiting for a storm was finally over, and they couldn’t be happier, as their son brought the sunshine into their lives after that fateful day.

-----

Thank you once again for reading. Hope you enjoyed😊

#gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #fairy tail #my writing #allie loves bree #otp: ice water

[oathofmaestro]

morningstar -- a thor fic;; [1/?]

(( style/rating: blasphemic, filthy, allconsuming ))

suggested song: closer - nine inch nails

word count: 2,175

tw: noncon/dubcon - mentions of demons - blood - gore - stockholm syndrome - bodily fluids // dark!slightlydemonic!Thor x fem!reader // this is filthy smut with a bit of plot, so there may be a chance for this to become a story in the future or at least a two parter before the challenge ends as this is for @waiting4inspiration ‘s writing challenge. thanks for hosting, i had way too much fun with this one! ****please remember to read  the trigger warnings!!! they are there for your protection!!!****

m/n: i’m only here to make you feel good. conducting symphonies is my speciality; for this piece, i have chosen to go dark!, so please keep that in mind when (listening) to this particular symphony. should you read this and have a request, feel free to inbox me, I would love to turn your thoughts into a masterpiece. from me to you, i wish you many happy days, and please enjoy the concerto below.

until next time,

( MAESTRO )

—–

Eyes snapping open, chest heaving; a dream interrupted as Thor breathed in and he could smell it; 

Copper pennies, the strongest of metals – it did not matter because the scent all but walked up and slapped him before settling like the thickest fog, a fog he was getting lost in.

Your blood was calling to Thor, and it had arisen the nasty demon that slumbered within him. Thor could feel it pulling at his senses as he lay next to you, watching you writhe uncomfortably, the beginnings of three days of pure hell for you –

The stairway to heaven for him.

Wordlessly, he nosed his way along your neck as you slept, a soft moan falling from your lips as your body responded to him, despite being unconscious. Your veins were thick and pumping and he could feel himself getting hotter as he did so, his own pupils slowly going lust blown and darker as he pressed a kiss to your jugular.

The God of Thunder.

He knew his title and he knew it well, for it was what had initially attracted you after all, as someone who worked for Stark Industries and had managed to stick around way longer than the others. You somehow made your way onto the team at the Avengers compound, and Thor had taken an interest in you, for you were brainy, as well as being beautiful and a touch too pure. 

He wanted to break you, he did. Had decided that for himself when he’d seen your smiling face and watched your actions with the team, how you were natural with them, but very shy with him – o’ did he know then that he would take you for his own.

The God of Lightning. 

Another role he played, but one that he coveted, just as he did you. There were days where you would be with him and would feel his hum, his static, and would be almost adrift in your arousal, which is how he preferred you – his cat in heat. Thor relished in taking you apart and he did so meticulously, wearing you down until you went from the confident woman you had been, to the mewling mess he had made you into. He would never let you know that he had methodically groomed you to want only him, but it had worked in his favour so deliciously.

The God of Strength. 

It took three months, but he had finally decided to bed you after seeing you grow close to Steve and not being able to bear the thought. So, he had taken you in the dead of night from your home, though this had been planned from the start. Thor displayed his strength as he knew who had the upper hand in this arrangement and knew keeping you close was the only way to control a being that could not say no anymore. 

You fought him for the first few days, avoiding his advances and attempting to escape his loft; until he took you by force, his cock twitching along your warm walls as he fucked you slow and deep, eyes searching yours and resonating within the confines of your soul – like he knew y o u , despite the pain and the hurt, and everything else – and you wondered why you felt the heat in your stomach bloom so exquisitely, so completely, that your shame fell upon your cheeks like rain. 

Your complacency was what he needed, and he delighted in knowing he had conquered you, that you had completely submitted to his will. He fucked you until you cried out for him, until your legs quaked and you were unable to move, throat raw as you thanked him for giving his cock to you – why did you thank him? – and the job was done. 

You stayed, and you questioned why every time he lathed his tongue along your folds, or tongued circles in to your heat, tasting the tart and youth that you brought to his life, and you panted, lusted for it, even. With every sparred glance he gave you after that, you craved him, and that didn’t make sense to you, but you knew it felt right, even though it was wrong; but, you were jumbled now, up was now down, morality had left you… and, Thor knew. Boy, did he know.

The God of Fertility.

You smelled like ambrosia, an elixir that could cure him, and he could feel the demon in him rising up to taste just how pure you really were. His cock strained in his boxers as he withdrew from your sleeping form to gaze over you, feral now as he licked his lips. The idea of tasting your blood made his own boil quite hotly, and he leaned in to trail kisses down your chest, hands coming up and fingers poised to twist your nipples through your cotton sleeping shirt. 

Silently, he lifted the shirt as delicately as he could muster, and rounded his tongue along a pert nub before swallowing it softly between his lips. By now you had woken up with a gasp and had begun feeling the slight twinge of your cramps, as he too, could feel them radiating from your core. You would surely need to change and made a move to get up to do so before it stained the sheets, only to be pushed down and held in place.

“Thor? My stomach hurts, I have to get up –,” you began, only to be shushed, and you noted that his eyes looked like voids, pools of the blackest obsidian, and you were falling upwards into them.

“I’m going to make you feel better, minn dýrr,” he began and you widen your eyes at this, just as a crack of lightning sounded overhead. It had begun to rain, and you tore your gaze away from Thor’s to see the streaks hit the French windows that lead outside. Another pang hit you then and before you could speak, he was on you as if you were wounded prey – a gazelle on display to a hungry lion.

He pressed deeply into your stomach and you found yourself moaning at the sensation and became confused, though the pressure should have hurt, but instead you felt kept by it, raising you  immediately. The static hum of being near him, mixed with the fluttering of your heart at the close proximity had you nearly sobbing for any touch he permitted you, and he obliged as his hand trailed low and shifted into the soft material of the boyshorts that encases you from him. 

An audible groan left him as he swiped a finger through your growing slick and ichor and Thor circled your clit before slowly pulling down the panties with the other. Once in view, he latched onto your hooded pith and gathered enough of your sopping wet on his fingers to plunge deep into your gore, reaching your gspot easily. You gasped then, still slightly mortified that this was happening, that you could smell your own blood – but enjoying the feel of Thor’s fingers stretching you, the bloom inside of you opening up to him, all the same.

“I need you…” he trailed off, looking up to you with those blown out pupils, fingers working into you harder now. You had no words. His face was a mess, that beautiful golden beard of his tinged red, lips crusted slightly with your filth, and you knew that you should be appalled… that you should tell him to stop… but, when he licked his lips and brushed against that one spot you liked, you couldn’t stop your hands from crashing his face back into your soaking cunt.

“Fuck, Thor!” You breathed helplessly into the atmosphere as thunder boomed with lightning not far behind, guttural moans taking you as he lapped viciously at your impurity and it was seconds before the fingers inside you hit that spot again and you were bucking underneath him, grinding out your high on his face. Your body went limp and you sighed happily, your hands stilling in the gods hair. 

“Your taste is divine, minn dýrr…” he trailed off, and he began to rise a bit so that he could shrug out of the boxers he had on, not bothering to wipe his face of you. His cock fell free and it leaked copious amounts of precum onto your leg where Thor hovered over you, and you cursed softly about not being able to catch it, to which he heard you and smiled. He fisted himself and positioned right at your quivering pussy, using the head of his cock to smear your slick along, earning a sharp moan from you once he pressed the head slowly into you. 

…"Can you be a good girl and make me feel better ? I really do need you,“ he began and you nodded vigorously and relished at the name he called you, exalted, hungry and now completely enthralled with the idea of Thor fucking you through the pain, through this taboo you shared together. You ground your hips into his, blood staining along his flesh and be growled at your display, his own snapping forward to collide with you, now sunk deeply into the hilt.

You exploded. 

The very fiber of your being built too quickly and you cried softly as he bottomed out – the sensation of the vibrations from his groans that were too much and enough all at once, becoming the only feeling you could readily identify. 

You came hard, and as he slid out of you just so before slamming himself back in, the action sent you subtle bouts of electricity through your veins. You were on fire, even more so as you looked up at Thor, this mess of a dark angel that looked over you, blood around his mouth, eyes squeezed tight; was disheveled and beautiful simultaneously and you prayed to him silently that this was would never end; milking his cock within you, wanting every last piece of Thor for yourself. 

At last, you were his.

Every tug of him inside your wet heat felt like paradise unleashed, and when Thor pulled a hand up to put pressure on your stomach again, you hollered loudly at the feeling, the sounds of your overly went cunt and skin slapping enough to build those feelings of contentment within you once more. Thor was coaxing you, cooing gently in contrast to his hips cracking into yours forcefully. 

He was close and so were you as you reached up to run your hands along his body and up to his face, swiping at the gore around his mouth to press it to your own lips. Thor gasped then and suddenly he was on you, frantically capturing your lips with his, for you had broken the seal; he felt the dam break within as you clench around him and you tasted yourself and the ichor for the first time; a new world, indeed.

The God of Hallowing.  

You came together, blood and sweat mixed with thick ropes of seed that painted your walls and shot against your cervix, and you took him for all that he was worth, just the way Thor liked it. 

You fell back to sleep immediately, the sound of the rain lulling you, cum still leaking out of you and down your thighs, which Thor watched with renewed interest. It was filthy to the point where he wondered if he had ever been someone who consecrated places as holy, when he had done his worst to make sure that you were anything but. 

He reminded himself that you were his to destroy, his to devour, his to consume -- tonight being evidence of how you always would be. 

As far as Thor was concerned, he was the only god who could give you any type of mercy, and it could only be in his own way; by desecrating the very essence of you until you became undone, untethered, and as corrupt as he. 

Awake, arise and be forever fall’n.

Hallelujah.

#waiting4inspiration #writing challenge #writing symphonies for the slept on #if you read this and like it #i would love to turn your dreams into beautiful masterpieces #thor x reader #thor x y/n #thor x you #thor odison x reader #thor imagine #dark!thor #dark!thor x reader #dark!thorxreader #the land of dark! #tw: non con #tw: rape #tw: mental abuse #tw: stockholm syndrome #tw: demons #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel x you #steve rogers x you #bucky x you #tony stark x reader #inbox is always open #i am going to sleep hoes #maybe someone will read this ha #thor odinson #thor ragnarok

[saibug1022]

Demigod AU Part Two

After very popular demand (almost 200 notes in less than a day, multiple asks and a TON of reviews. I would go into battle for every single one of you) I am continuing this AU! Here we have Deceit/Dennis, Remus, and the man himself, Thomas! At some point I'll throw Remy and Emile onto the pile (I'm such a sucker for Remile) but I might do some fics and stuff first.

Also! I've gotten quite a few asks on this same topic, so I'll just answer it here. YES IT IS OKAY TO MAKE FANART AND SUCH OF THIS. Fics in this universe, art, asking about it, sharing your headcanons, I will actually cry if you make it. Please tag me in it or send it to me!

Also, here's the link to the Core Four if you haven't read them yet: X

DENNIS HAILEY (14)

Son of Apate, goddess of fraud, deceit, trickery, and lies.

Children of Apate aren't known as being powerful in a flashy way. They can't raise the dead, or summon hurricanes, or call lightning from the sky. Their powers are incredibly subtle.

Obviously they can lie their way out of almost any situation, they can blend into crowds easily, they can sense weakness, motivation, and lies. They can twist people's words around.

But just as some children have Aphrodite have charmspeak and some children of Hephaestus can control fire, certain children of Apate have another ability I'm calling Mimicry.

They can take on the form of another person to a level somewhere between an illusion and shapeshifting (meaning they can get stuff wrong), and mimic some speech patterns, quirks, and mannerisms. But not memories.

Dennis uses a rapier. The handle is black, but the area around the handle is gold (if you look up a rapier you'll know what I mean). The blade itself is the usual celestial bronze. That's his signature weapon but he's also good with various knives and daggers, including throwing knives.

He has black hair like Logan, but his eyes are grey, and he has a nasty scar on the side of his face from when him and Patton were fighting a monster before Talyn found them.

He's even shorter than Patton, but he's also not done growing yet, so cut him some slack.

Okay now the good stuff. You already read the gist of his back story with Patton, but once Patton got claimed their stories kind of separated.

See after Patton got claimed Dennis was still stuck in the Hermes cabin for a while. But while Patton was getting to know his other siblings, Dee was kinda left behind.

He took care of the rest of the distance when he was claimed by Apate.

It's a mostly one sided hate, because despite what Dennis has done, Patton just can't bring himself to hate his brother. And, no matter what he tells people Dennis really just misses his big brother but feels betrayed and can't risk that.

So instead he befriended a son of Eris, a boy also scorned by his brother (more on him soon). Although honestly, it's more like Dennis is the one keeping the older boy even semi under control.

Other than that, Dennis is still the manipulative, lying, GOOD INTENTIONED snek we all know and love.

He still causes chaos, but he's kind of true Neutral.

He's like this because that's how he came to believe was necessary for survival.

He was a child of the god of lies.

They wanted a snake?

He'd give them a snake.

But Patton won't give up on Dee. So maybe, just maybe, Dennis won't give up on himself either

Random fact: One night (after Dennis was out of the infirmary for his injury) while the Hailey boys were still in the Hermes cabin, Patton and Dennis managed to sneak into the kitchen and Patton made chocolate chip cookies. Much to his annoyance, even to this day Dennis's ambrosia and nectar tend to taste like those cookies.

REMUS DUX (15)

Son of Eris, goddess of strife and discord

Remus is stronger in chaotic times, can create a golden apple that can cause people to fight over it, and cause fights between weaker-willed people.

His most powerful ability is a Strife Storm which causes things within it to break, change, or warp.

Remus uses a mace. Plot twist, right? He uses a sword more often than his signature weapon though.

The Mace is black with green designs on the handle. The head is celestial bronze, but Remus painted it black.

By the way, the following actually happened:

Thomas: What do you have?

Remus running wildly: A MACE!

Thomas: NO!

Roman: Oh my gods, why does he have a mace.

Remus has Auburn hair like Roman, but has black eyes and dyed lime green streaks into it.

He and Roman are the exact same height, and this annoys the shit out of both of them.

So now the family stuff. It seems complicated but it's really not, I swear.

So remember Roman's mom? So she met Apollo and had Roman.

But on the exact same day as Roman, Remus appeared on the doorstep of Mr. Dux. He knew it was his child, based on the note from Eris. So yes, the two have the exact same birthday.

But THEN, like not even a year later, Ms. Prince and Mr. Dux met and soon, they got married.

Roman and Remus got along like real brothers, and were the best of friends. Until, they were six years old.

You may remember that six years old was the first summer the boys arrived at Camp Half-Blood.

Roman was claimed practically as soon as they crossed the border. Remus was claimed in a few weeks, but during those weeks something...something happened to him.

He began to...change.

He began to become more chaotic, cruel, just plain old mean.

Roman was trying so hard to excuse this. Maybe his brother just missed their parents? Maybe if he spent more time with Remus than his cabin mates?

But then Remus was claimed, and Roman finally snapped, turning his back on his brother for good.

This was the last straw for Remus too.

The two finally decided, subconsciously and unanimously, that despite their parents love for both of them, despite their marriage, despite their childhood, they were no longer brothers.

Both boys cried that night.

But now Remus channels his energy into destruction, pranks, and honestly horrible things.

Dennis is quite honestly the only thing keeping him from actually killing someone.

That orthux that attacked Logan? That was Remus.

The forest incident? Roman definitely suspects Remus, and Remus certainly isn't denying it. But no one knows for sure.

Random fact: Remus loves bananas, and of his favorite things to do is eat a banana and leave it on the floor of the dining pavilion right before the dinner rush and watch an unsuspecting demigod slip and fall.

THOMAS SANDERS (20)

Son of Iris, goddess of the rainbow

Okay I know what you're thinking, but I SWEAR this isn't a gay joke. Honestly it started that way but I did actual research and I decided to actually keep it.

Okay so children of Iris have good communication skills, are often nice and good at making friends, are creative, have good color coordination, and are good with animals. Sounding familiar yet? YUP IT SOUNDS LIKE THOMAS FUCKING SANDERS.

Sorry I'm just so excited this worked out so perfectly.

Anyway onto the next part: powers.

Thomathy over here has the power to generate and manipulate light and color, he can change the color of things with just a touch (people suspect he's behind Virgil's black Camp t-shirts), he can see the whole spectrum of light (thankfully he can turn this on and off), and because he's special, he can summon rainbow wings that he can use to fly.

Thomas uses a bow and arrow. There isn't much special about them. It's a recurve bow that's a magenta color, the feathers on his arrows are all different colors, the arrowheads are celestial bronze but there are celestial bronze bits on the ends of his bow just in case a monster decides to get up close and personal.

He has a short sword as well, but he prefers to use the bow.

Thomas looks the same as our Thomas: brown hair, brown eyes, 5’10” (177 cm), etc.

Thomas honestly has a pretty good family life, and actually has been known to bring campers home with him for a week or so if needed? His family is welcome at camp, people call Mama Sanders “mom” even more often than they do Logan, it's pretty amazing.

As for demigod stuff, well Thomas was on watch for a while.

He was special for a child of Iris already (the wings ain't normal), but his best friend and his protector (Joan obviously) could tell he had potential to be a leader and a role model for all the kids at camp.

So at twelve, Thomas arrived at Camp Half Blood for his first day at camp.

He wasn't the best when it came to the physical attributes. He could fight, otherwise he'd be dead by now, but he wasn't exactly gifted at it.

Yet somehow he was counselor of the Iris cabin by the time he was 15?

He is just great at making friends. Even the Ares cabin likes him! He can actually talk them down!

No one understands it!

Literally the only one he can't control is Remus.

Soon, Dionysus was able to somehow cut a deal that got him out of camp director. That title went to Chiron and Thomas, at age 18, became the activities counselor, taking over Chiron's now vacant spot.

Literally the entire camp cheered when this happened.

There wasn't a single un happy camper in sight.

Random Fact: Thomas's eyes actually change color sometimes, like a holographic image. They're usually brown, but campers swear they've seen them multiple other colors, even colors that shouldn't be possible like red and purple.

Tag list: @coconut-cluster @stop-it-anxiety @wizzo-the-motherfucking-wizard @planetkookie @winterrs-child @thgjclw @dragonsaphirareads @jessadamsdraws

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #deceit #deceit sanders #deceit mention #sympathetic deceit #sort of #mostly #remus #remus sanders #the duke #ts remus #ts deceit #sanders sides deceit #sanders sides remus #character thomas #demigod au #sanders sides au #someone teach me how to tag

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

His Blood Runs Gold IV

Percy is a God: Part IV

Here’s my masterlist for the next part and my other stuff

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

we are products of war

and enemies of peace

we are universes finally standing still

ready, ready, ready

to destroy us all

this time

there is only power baby boy

and i will be brutal.

“Hey,” Jason said faintly, tapping the bubble.

Percy stood from his perch on the rock and waved goodbye to the school of fish he had been talking to. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like I haven’t slept that well in months.”

Percy produced an immortal grin at that, “You hungry?”

“Starved, you got any of those cookies?”

“You sure you don’t want a proper meal first?”

“Where are we gonna get a proper meal from? My backpack has some lonely granola bars and possibly a fast over-ripening banana.” His eyes furrowed in confusion.

The God simply smiled, “What do you feel like?”

Jason gave him a look but said, “Breakfast burrito?”

He laughed, flicking his wrist and before the demigod could blink a foil-wrapped cylinder appeared in the bubble.

Mouth hanging open, Jason grabbed the burrito and unwrapped it before staring between the God and his breakfast like his head might explode.

“I promise it’s safe to eat.”

“You can just- you just?” The blonde was at a loss for words.

“Believe it or not, it isn’t really handy now. When I was a demigod, I would have loved to have that neat little trick but these days I don’t need to eat much.”

“Well if nothing else I’m keeping you around for that alone.” Jason mumbled around a mouthful of food.

“So you’re just gonna use me for your own selfish needs?”

“Mhmm it may be nice to use the gods for once, instead of the other way around.”

“Fair enough,” He shrugged, and wondered when he’d stop feeling the blow of that statement, uttered so many times by his friends and former camp-buddies alike.

He knew how they felt, hell he had felt like that once; but since becoming one of those gods it was hard not to feel hollowed out. He knew the half-bloods wouldn’t outright curse them, but Percy still heard all their bitter thoughts, He wasn’t sure if it was because he was the god for demigods that the whispers followed him around like a ringing in his head.

Jason’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“Anyway, thank you for the breakfast,”

“Uh yea no problem. So, I was thinking about the prophecy and the direction of the north star,”

“Yea what about it?”

“We’ve been heading south and if my coordinates are correct, we should reach the equator in a day or two”

“Are you saying we’re headed in the wrong direction?” Blue eyes widened.

“No, I think your direction is good, I do think, however, that the arrow isn’t on land. I think it’s in the ocean just before the equator.”

“Why there?”

“You can only see the north star in the northern hemisphere, after the equator it disappears. The further south you go the lower on the horizon it is, which means at some point it looks like it’s on the horizon or close enough.”

“So, you’re saying the arrow sits underneath the star at its lowest point?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Okay that’s good news.” Jason took a deep breath, raking a hand over his face. “I guess we just wait for night and keep following the star.”

‘Actually…” Percy grinned,

“You have a plan?”

“If we just have to get to the equator, I can take us there now.”

“How would you know when we’re there?”

“I know the coordinates at any time when I’m at sea. Son of Poseidon and all that.”

“Well I’m convinced.” Jason nodded, thoughts fluttering behind his eyes. “How are we doing this?”

“I think it’s time to call in a friend.”

With a low whistle, that defied the laws of nature, because how on earth do you whistle underwater, the God whipped a dazzling smile over his shoulder.

“Do I want to know what you’ve invited to the party?”

“You’ll see.”

Just then the water rushed around them. When the clouds of sand and swirling water disappeared a beautiful, iris-coloured beast revealed itself, along with a cyclops already barreling towards them.

“Brother!”

They slammed into each other and Percy was grateful for his godly bones, because he’s sure his mortal ones wouldn’t have survived that collision.

“Hello Tyson, how are you?” He laughed in relief, in comfort.

“I knew I’d see you. A school of firemouth-killfish passed by and said you were around.”

“Thank you for coming. I’m helping Jason and I need Rainbow’s speed.”

“Of course, brother. What are you doing?”

“Jason has a quest to find Eros’ arrows.”

Finally Tyson looked over Percy’s shoulder to see the demigod still wrapped in a bubble, bobbing behind them.

“Jason. I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Hello Tyson, how are you?”

“I am good. And you are good?”

“Yes thank you. How’s Ella?”

His brother flushed a red as bright as Corallium.

“She is nice, fine.”

Percy decided to put the poor cyclops out of his misery and focus their attention on the mission at hand.

“Rainbow, can you take us where we need to go?”

The hippocampus gave a noise of agreement and brushed its head along Percy’s arm.

“We must be off,” He said, turning to Tyson.

“When will you be back?” A brown eye blinked in question.

“As soon as Love finds us, I guess,” Percy winked.

It was Jason’s turn to blush the colour of coral, but the god was already looking away, turning to hug his brother.

“I will see you soon Tyson.”

“Goodbye Percy,” and with a wave to Jason the cyclops was gone.

“Alright Jas–“

Percy had felt the deepest senses of fear and love and sadness many times, but never in his twenty years of life had he felt such raging, storm-filled anger. For standing behind an oblivious Son of Jupiter, ready to pounce was a sea creature that probably spawned from the depths of Tartarus itself.

It hadn’t noticed the God, or it wouldn’t even have dared come close to this space.

With a light brush against Rainbow’s side, the hippocampus disappeared. He turned fully, focusing on the beast, hiding himself within the folds of the current. He watched as it slithered out it’s tongue in sickening excitement.

“Jackson you were in the middle of saying something?”

He didn’t bother replying as the creature looked up, finally taking notice of everything other than his prey.

“Hello, found something to enjoy?”

“What?” Jason said

“This fight it not with you Percy Jackson,” It gurgled

Before they could take their next breath, the monster swiped its tail through the bubble and slammed Jason to the ocean floor. Something cracked, the demigod did not rise again.

Percy’s smile was sharp and terrifying.

“That,” He laughed, “Was not very smart.”

With a single movement of his fingers he wrenched the water from the monster’s body.

It seized and gasped, flopping about in the air pocket it found itself in.

“The fight is always with me if it involves my friends,” Malice dripped from the God’s lips.

The monster tried to respond, try to splutter and roar but there was no water in its gills. It gasped and writhed, attempting to escape the air.

Percy simply smiled, darkness gleaming in his green eyes, and watched as the Ketos Troias suffocated.

“Jason slayed you when he was fourteen, just a young demigod, but you decided to come back and oh what a horrible mistake that was,” He wondered briefly if he sounded as manic as he felt, and then decided he didn’t care. “Because now, now you have to deal with me, and I will not make it pretty.”

“I will kill you Percy Jackson,” It rasped.

“You can try.” He laughed, and then spat, “And it’s Lord to you.”

Its eyes widened as Percy revealed his godly form, golden light basking him. With a final roar, the monster turned to dust.

He heard a gasp from below and saw Jason finally coming to it, pushing on the walls of the new bubble Percy had formed around him.

“Are you okay?”

“Feel like I’ve been smacked with a ten-ton sledgehammer and I may have a broken rib but otherwise dandy.”

“Oh good, here’s some ambrosia.” He handed a small square to the demigod who nodded in thanks and gobbled it down.

“Was that the Trojan Sea Monster?”

“Yes, seems it was feeling revengeful.”

“Did you send it back to whatever hole it came from?”

The grin that graced his face could kill mortals, “It’s scattered in the deepest depths of Tartarus. It shouldn’t bother you in this lifetime again.”

“Shall we go then?”

Jason stared at him, and grinned back.

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One of the strangest things I’ve ever googled was “type of fish off the Liberian coast” because i needed Tyson to be accurate when he told Percy fish had been talking to him. So yes firemouth-killfish do in fact exist and they do reside in the North Atlantic Ocean. Liberia is around where i pictured the two would be at this point. Anyway just some fun fic A/N’s for ya.

How are you guys finding it? Tell me your thoughts because i am inexplicably in love with Dark!Percy and i need to know if others are too????

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@thepersonyourparentswishyouwere @lesbian-peanuts @thegirlwiththegoldenarm @thatis-americas-ass @whatevertakesmyfancy @lucyisblue @lrelikohll @tmifangirl24 @queenkivi @nishlicious-01 @whitelacepants @leydiangelo @urbanpineapplefarmer @queen-of-demons-and-hell

#percy jackson is a god #percy jackson #percy #jackson #his blood runs gold #part IV #PJO #HOO #dark percy #jercy #jercy fanfic #percy jackson fanfic #PJO fanfic #baby fanfic #baby fanfic series #mini fanfic #mini fanfiction #jason grace #jason #grace #baby fanfiction #PJSSG fanfic #PJSSG series #Tyson