#scarlet and lave.

[buryustogether]

alastor, who comes back to hotel from an overlord meeting with a twitch in his eye and a white-knuckled grasp around his mic, pouring off waves of irritation that leaves the others scrambling.

alastor, who says nothing but a sharp crackle of your name, a silent command for you to come with him as he makes his way to the room he claimed as his own.

alastor, who is deathly silent in the elevator, only tapping his claws against his mic as he watches the floors pass, his other hand resting heavy on the small of your back.

alastor, who bolts the bedroom door shut and commands you with a single word. “strip.”

alastor, whose eyes grow hungrier and whose smile grows wider and bigger the more you undress for him.

alastor, who fucks you so roughly against the wall first that you swear you see stars as he ruts up into your heat like his life depends on it.

alastor, whose claws dig into the delicate flesh of your skin as he rams into you, and the smell and taste of your blood only pulls him deeper into his daze of lust-fueled fury.

alastor, who rasps and crackles absolute filth into your ear as he maneuvers your knees up to your chest on his bed so he can fuck into you deeper. “such an obedient pet for me, aren’t you, darling? always so good and willing. i think that deserves a reward, don’t you?”

alastor, who allows you to cum first (and licks it up with that long, silver tongue of his) before using you to chase after his own pleasure.

alastor, whose antlers grow and eyes redden further as he approaches his climax, baring his teeth to leave a bite mark in the juncture of your shoulder and laving his tongue over the blood that trickles from the wound.

alastor, who buries himself as deep as he can possibly go inside you before reaching his end and collapsing on top of you as you feel his antlers shrink back and his chest heave with breath.

alastor, who relaxes slowly and even hums a soft, barely-there purr as you gently rub at his pointed ears and caress his scarlet tresses.

alastor, who allows himself just a few minutes of silence before getting himself up and dressed to run a bath for you.

alastor, who forces you to eat the stew he made for you after, even if you’re not hungry. “eat up, my dear. i can’t have my darling doll too weak to take me next time, hmm?”

alastor, who smiles to himself for days when he sees the bruise from his bite mark poking from the edge of your collar.

#hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor smut #hazbin hotel smut

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Captured.

A Continuation of This Piece.

Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader x Yandere!Gojo (JJK).

Word Count: 3.3k.

TW: AFAB!Reader, Dub/Con -> Non/Con, Implied Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Threesomes, The Pervasive Aire of Homoerotica, Slight Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Violence, Intimidation, and Biting. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

He let you wait outside while he booked a room. It was a test, obviously – to see if you’d try and run as soon as he let you out of his sight. You didn’t. You kept your back pressed against the peeling cement wall and your hands in your pockets as the man at the front desk screamed, as you listened to the slick sounds of carnage and Geto’s muffled laughter. By the time he came out, his clothes dotted with dark stains and his hands lathered in the same dripping scarlet, you thought you might’ve been too sick for whatever he wanted to do with you.

He held up a hand, two keys and their accompanying plastic tags hanging from each finger. “Pick a number, one through ten.”

You just wanted to get this over with. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about monsters or mysterious men or any of this ever again. “Eight.”

“Oh, the honeymoon suite.” Your eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side. “Kidding, kidding. That’ll have to wait, for now.”

The room was nicer than you’d expected. Not quite the oppressively beige monstrosity you’d feared, but not as far from the eye-bleedingly pink love hotel that’d be the permanent backdrop in your worst nightmares as you would’ve liked. Currently, you were sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed with faux-velvet sheets, staring at your feet as Geto washed his hands in the in-suite bathroom. So lost in your own spiraling thoughts, you didn’t notice the water shutting off, didn’t hear him approaching you until the mattress dipped at your side and a pair of hands came to rest on either side of your waist. In one smooth, effortless motion, you were hauled into his lap, left to balance on his thigh as his eyes raked over you unabashedly. “You should try to relax. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me.” His hand fell to the hem of your sweater. You’d gotten dressed in a blind panic after waking up to an apartment crawling with those awful things, but now, you regretted not throwing on as many layers as you could, not putting as many barriers as you could between yourself and the feeling of his calloused fingers skirting over your skin. “I can help take the edge off, if you’d like.”

For the first time that day, you felt a spark of relief. “Do you have anything? I’m alright with pills.”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of…” His hand splayed over your stomach, his tone laced with a dark edge. “Choking you until you black-out, then having my way with your helpless body?”

“Oh.” Just as quickly, that spark was extinguished – crushed under an unforgiving heel and stamped into total nonexistence. “I… I think I’d rather be awake, thank you.”

He hummed, tapping two fingers against your hip. “Have it your way, little one.”

Without warning, you were thrown onto the center of the bed. Before you could haul yourself up, before you could fully realize what was going on, Geto was between your open legs, mouth latched onto the inside of your thigh and his hands tearing at your shorts. The flimsy material gave away easily, and your panties didn’t last much longer. You took back what you’d said about wearing less revealing clothes; making this take any longer than it already did would’ve been torture. As deftly as he worked, the knot of dread forming in your chest was faster, quickly overshadowing every rational thought you might’ve had in favor of telling you that you weren’t supposed to be here, that this was dangerous, that you didn’t know what was going on, that you—

His broad tongue laved over your now-exposed slit, and your panicked mind went completely blank. His mouth was hot, and he didn’t waste time, latching onto your clit and sucking before you could think to push him away. Your body, nerves fried by adrenaline and senses dialed up to the point of hypersensitivity, responded immediately, your back arching as you struggled to swallow back a fractured moan. He encouraged your reactions, laving over your clit as two of his fingers found their way to your now-dripping entrance.

His digits slipped into you without resistance, scissoring apart and splitting you open as your own hands balled around the sheets, as you locked your jaw into place and did what little you could swallow back any sounds that’d make you seem more pathetic than you already were. Your pitiful attempts at resistance earned a throaty chuckle that reverberated against your clit and made your thighs clench together. Vaguely, in the distance, you felt his hand curl around your ankle, then you were being bent in half, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he ate you out like a man starved. It was all you could do to keep your eyes shut, the tears that would’ve escaped otherwise safely locked away, to make sure you didn’t kick or thrash or do anything that’d make him decide you’d be more entertaining after you’d been half-mauled by one of his monsters. It was all you could do to keep your mind blank, to block out the terrible, wet noises rising up from between your thighs, to—

The door creaked as it swung open, and you scrambled to pull away from Geto, to cover yourself before someone saw you being brought to the brink of climax by a murderer. He held you in place, though, his grip turning vice-like as he kept you splayed-open and on-display for the familiar, white-haired stranger now standing in the doorway. “Satoru,” Geto started, still idly pumping his fingers into you. “How kind of you to join—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, Gojo had him pinned to the far wall, a small crater blown into the cement where the point of collision would’ve been. You could see an orb of blinding, blue light forming in his other hand, but Geto only clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Keep your dick in your pants, pervert,” he purred, eyes flitting to you. “There are innocents nearby.”

The orb of light disappeared, but Gojo didn’t move. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

You watched a first form at Geto’s side, watched in a daze as his knuckles collided with Gojo’s cheek with enough force to send him flying across the room and into the side of the bed, fracturing the steel frame. “Me neither, ‘toru.”

Letting out a ragged exhale, Gojo pushed himself to his feet and their conversation devolved into a rush of blows and kicks and insults half-finished before Gojo’s fist collided with Geto’s chin or Geto caught Gojo’s throat in his teeth. Clothes were torn, blood spilled across cheap carpeting, and you blinked once, twice, before shaking your head and hauling yourself up and taking stock of the situation.

They were fighting. Eventually, one of them would probably win, and that winner would probably want to fuck you. Maybe, after that, one of them would also help you. Maybe.

Gojo caught Geto’s hair in his fist and pulled. You could’ve sworn you heard Geto moan.

Okay. Alright. Yeah. No. Fuck this, actually.

Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you stood up and pulled your sweater down to cover your still dripping cunt before inching towards the door which was, surprisingly, still in one piece (it would dawn on you later that Geto must’ve left it unlatched, if not open, much to your delayed mortification). You could figure something else out. There were two other people who knew about your monsters, which meant there must’ve been at least one more. Gojo had been wearing a uniform, when you first met him, running for your life from the mangled mess of teeth and claws that’d managed to sink its talons into you, and you thought you’d heard him mention a school. You could find someone else, someone who wouldn’t ask for sex, someone who wouldn’t know your name before you introduced yourself, someone who’d give you a protective charm or a talisman and then demand for money or unpaid labor in return. You could—

It felt like vertigo, like the surface of the Earth had shifted underneath you. Your body tilted, collapsed, and then Gojo’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his chest pressed into your back and his fingers burrowed into the flesh of your side. “Trying to get away?” His voice was raspy. Geto must’ve gotten his throat. “That’s not very nice.”

“You were the one who burst in uninvited and distracted me,” Geto muttered. His lip was busted, and he cracked his nose back into place as he hauled himself up from the floor. “If you hadn’t interrupted us, they’d still be cumming on my tongue so adorably.”

Gojo didn’t seem to pay him any mind. His attention remained fixed on you, his free hand drifting to your vulnerable pussy. Using his thumb, he gathered some of the slick staining your inner thighs, toying with it as he spoke. “I thought the first time I touched you like this would be more romantic.” He paused, his ears ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Or, the first time I touched you while you were awake, at least. It… it got harder to control myself, toward the end.”

You snapped to Geto, teeth bared. “This wasn’t what we agreed to. I don’t want to—”

“Don’t talk to him.” His fingers slipped into you, curling against the walls of your cunt. Your breath hitched in your chest, and Gojo pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “Don’t look at him. He’s not supposed to be here.”

“I could say the same thing about you, Satoru.” Stretching his back, he made his way back to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting out a strained groan. “If I hadn’t been so kind as to donate all of those very valuable, very hard-to-come-by curses to your pitiful cause, you would’ve waited… how long? Another year before so much as breathing the same air as your little crush?” His half-lidded stare met yours, and he smirked. “You should have a taste. The poor thing is heavenly when they’re scared.”

“He’s always been this bossy. I’m sorry you had to deal with him on your own.” Gojo drew back, but didn’t let you go. Rather, he looped an arm under your knees and pulled you off your feet, carrying you back to that fucking bed. He laid you out with more care than Geto had, but his expression remained uncannily blank. He’d been blindfolded the first time you’d met, and whatever eyewear he’d come with had been either removed or torn away, revealing eyes that were almost painfully blue. The only mercy was his hair – long enough to fall over his face and obscure his empty gaze, his parted lips. His hand drifted to your injured leg, still bandaged from the knee down, and his lips quirked downward. “I’m sorry you had to get hurt, too. But…” He smiled, leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. “It’s good that we’ll get to be together, right?”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell him to stop touching you, to let you go home, but you couldn’t go home, so you said nothing.

Geto let out an exaggerated yawn. “I didn’t put this little reunion together because I wanted to hear you talk, ‘toru.”

“See what I mean? So fucking bossy.” And yet, one of his hands fell away from you. You heard fabric rustle, metal clink, and then his cock was free, prodding against the inside of your thigh. You could feel your heart drop into your stomach as your eyes broke away from his and raked over his pale shaft, his flushed head, already leaking beads of ivory precum. He was tall. They were both massive, but nothing attached to a human being should’ve been that big. “You’re lucky I’m letting you watch.”

“Who said I’d be watching?” So preoccupied by your own terror, you didn’t notice Geto shifting until you felt his hands on your sides, then at the hem of your sweater, pulling your only remaining protection over your head. You scrambled to stop him, but there wouldn’t have been much you could to do fend him off at your best, let alone in the state you’d been reduced to tonight. With a breathy chuckle, he finished stripping you down, his attention immediately falling to your chest. “You wouldn’t want me leaving you alone with him, would you, little one?” He bowed his head, catching your nipple with his teeth and pulling harshly. A pained whine slipped past your lips before you could choke it back, and he turned towards Gojo, grinning. “See? They like me.”

Whatever rage Gojo felt, he managed to bury it beneath a soft smile, a pulse of pure electricity in his eyes as he took his cock in his hand, dragging the tip over your entrance. You thrashed, kicked, fought, but he only cooed as he thrust into you, like he was trying to comfort you. Like you would need to be comforted if he just stopped.

He bottomed out, his hips pressing into yours with a blissful sigh, and you lurched forward, moving to claw at his eyes, to wrap your hands around his throat, to do something. Geto caught your wrists before you could so much as touch him, though – laughing as he forced your arms flush against the mattress. As Gojo started to move in earnest, Geto slotted his lips against yours, taking advantage of your distress to force his tongue into your mouth while Gojo fucked you open, whatever gentleness he’d been attempting to show you falling away in favor of burying himself that much deeper in your tight heat. As soon as Geto pulled away, Gojo took his place, his kiss not quite as aggressive but no less invasive, no less unwelcome. You should’ve never left your apartment. You should’ve never run from your monsters. At least they might’ve been kind enough to kill you quickly.

By the time he broke away from you, your vision was spotted with black, your lungs aching from a lack of oxygen. Jerkily, he straightened his back and raised a hand, his fingers soon tangled in Geto’s hair. You watched in a daze as teeth clashed against teeth and lips collided with a bruising force, and considered the terrifying possibility that you might’ve been the first person either of them had ever kissed.

Gojo’s pace turned erratic, his hold on your hip crushing. His pelvic bone caught on your clit every time he thrust into you. You’d been able to control yourself when faced with Geto’s teasing, but now, every little cracked moan and pained whimper slid past your lips, barely audible above the sound of slick squelching and skin slapping against skin. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Gojo doubled over with a throaty groan, burying his face in the side of your neck. You felt his mouth on your throat, then his teeth, sinking into your skin deep enough to draw blood. You clenched your eyes shut, willing your body to go numb to the pain, to ignore the coil of pure agony winding tighter in your core, but Geto caught your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back and stare up at him. “Trying to run away again so soon?”

“S-stop,” you half-sobbed, trying to pry his hand away from your face. “Don’t touch me—”

“We’ll have to bring a gag along, next time. That is, unless you learn to be more appreciative.” He shrugged his sweatpants below his waist, wrapping his fist around his cock and guiding it to your lips. “Open up, little one.”

You grit your teeth, keeping your mouth shut as tightly as you could, but Gojo bit down on your collarbone and you screamed, jerking against him. Geto took advantage of your misery, slipping a thumb into your mouth and prying your teeth apart, forcing his cock down your throat. “Bite down,” he muttered, voice low and tone sharpened, “and I’ll make sure he knocks you up.”

A wave of cold dread washed over you, but you didn’t have time to linger on your newly realized fear. Geto was already fucking your skull, already leaving you struggling not to choke as you tried to remember how to breathe around him. Where Gojo was uncontrolled, Geto almost seemed… unaffected, holding your head in place while he rolled his hips with the idle pace of a man determined to milk every second he could out of you. It was unbearable; the burning in your throat, the heat in your core, the feeling of Gojo battering into your cunt until you couldn’t stop your legs from twitching, your back from arching, your pussy from clenching around Gojo’s length and drawing a sinful noise from somewhere deep in his chest. You let out a ragged moan half-suffocated by Geto’s cock, and then you were coming undone around him, your body convulsing underneath his. Gojo wasn’t far behind. With a hitched groan, he pressed his hips into yours and pushed another open-mouthed kiss into your neck, making no attempt to pull out before flooding your pussy with something thick and awful.

Geto wasn’t far behind, his eyes falling shut as he came down your throat. For the longest time, neither of them moved, Geto forcing you to choke down every last drop of his cum while Gojo stare down at you, eyes blank and lips parted, his expression caught somewhere between tender and awe-struck.

Finally, he glanced away from you, looking to Geto instead. “Let’s switch. I want to feel their mouth.”

Geto let out a breath of a chuckle. With your body limp, your jaw slack, he pulled away from you, leaning just close enough to let his lips brush against your temple before straightening his back and moving to take Gojo’s place between your legs. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”

~

Hours later, when your skin was little more than a patchwork of hickeys and bruises and you couldn’t feel anything save for a constant, excruciating ache in your cunt, Geto had fallen asleep with his arm around your waist and Gojo laid next to you, head propped on his fist and a soft smile painted across his lips. You could see the sun starting to rise from behind the thin motel curtains, feel the dread that accompanied being in a strange place with strange men at a strange time, but it all seemed secondary, pushed to a distance by your exhaustion, your devastation. When Gojo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you out of Geto’s hold, all you could summon was a whine of protest, and even that was quickly glazed over with an airy laugh, a quiet hush.

Geto’s shirt (discarded three hours in, when he stepped aside for a shower while Gojo made you cum on his tongue for the fourth time) was pulled over your head, Gojo’s glasses (lost in the initial fight, found briefly while Geto was bouncing you on his cock with one hand and jerking Gojo off with the other, then lost again) snagged off the floor and pocketed. As he slipped out of the beaten motel door, you shut your eyes against the dim light, burying your face in his chest, and he encouraged you to, cupping the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss into your forehead. With his lips still lingering against your skin, he spoke, his voice muffled by his proximity. “It’s alright. You can sleep, if you need to.”

It might’ve been sweeter, if you hadn’t been able to feel every inch of his smile cutting into your skin.

“I promised I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #yandere jjk #jjk imagines #yandere geto suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #yandere gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #yanderecore #yancore

[anantaru]

DAY 20 — DACRYPHILIA

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

kink. dacryphilia — enjoyment or arousal from tears and crying

𖧡 — including — blade, argenti

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, dacryphilia, argenti nation rise i'm horny, fingering, rough syx & messy

𖧡 — BLADE

your body was operating on impulse, your eyes induced with ardor as you amass an assemblage of hiccupy snivels and wailings when blade repeatedly crushes two digits through your ribbed walls.

the man evidently likes what he sees and was thoroughly impressed by his own skills when your continued writhing was aimlessly causing your body to feverishly rub up against his long, slender fingers piercing through your skin, your breath hitching as your body begins to shake underneath his larger one, the control blade had on you was gradually growing, with a silent promise of new sensations following suit.

your thrusts into his fingers matched the movements of his hand as you whine out at the pleasure, and for blade personally— it was almost painful to see you like this, tear stricken cheeks covering the flustered perception of your skin yet all he could do was embrace you further, the torrent of your tears soaking through the skin on his neck as you hide your sniffling face against it.

"you're fine," blade tells you, "you can take it all for me, right?" and occasionally he lets his teeth scrape over your quivering skin as you tremble at the feeling of his sharp canines grazing on top, along with a little wince and a barely audible "yes," to swiftly affirm him— knowing full on well that blade had a habit of stilling his movements if you're simply ignoring him.

his fingers pump in steady motions and you're so slick and wet inside, he's touching all over your thudding bundle of nerves, fucking his two digits knuckles deep with his eager tongue searching for your lips, pulling his head a little back to meet your clouded face as blade greedily laves into your mouth, groaning into your lips with his fingers posing electric zaps just under your skin.

𖧡 — ARGENTI

you spasm underneath argenti trashing your body into a tottery verge of euphoria, with your arms and hands flailing all over his muscular back— scratching your nails along his flexing physique as he draws his shaft inside, a glimmering hue of pink flushing the coloring on top of his cheeks as you welcome him eagerly.

by the time you adjust to his size, his cock was already so hard that it was gradually becoming painful to keep him in without argenti moving an inch, almost as if it poked against your lower abdomen and your body starts to shake as he moves himself in and out at last, crying out his darling name as you feel hot tears well up against your eyes due to one particular blow scratching at your g-spot.

"you're adorable when you cry," argenti blatantly admits to you, "and— ah, the beauty you show, so magnificent," as his heart was beating a mile a minute, the knight was seemingly beginning to struggle when you clasp around him like that, your warm pussy gushing over his girth— holding him in, constricting, fluttering your hole around his shaft before letting go again, and it's evident when he began to blurt out the most unique torrent of dirty talk, which was bundled within a bunch of over the top praises that were almost as embarrassing as they were sweet.

a feeling of utter bliss crosses his bewitching facial expressions when you suddenly stitch your lips on top of his— ugh, argenti was so astonishingly handsome that it was almost unfair in your very eyes, such a rare, almost ethereally crafted, individual, long thick lashes and his scarlet hair aflame. observing his allure, you reckoned that you'd never ever see such attractiveness from any other male species again in your lifetime.

in need, in wanting, you lap around his mouth for a taste of him as his hips increase their strength and pace, his heavy cock pushing you into the mattress and being the result of your legs jolting up in the air, almost brushing over his muscular shoulders as he ravishes your insides.

your screams, your cries, so wonderful and intimate that the growing stimulation crowding your velvety walls and shoving his erection roughly against that godly sweet spot were amplified by a ten fold, holding his girthy length in so tightly and warm whilst kissing his soft lips, feeling overwhelmingly full with both passion and lust.

©2023 anantaru's kinktober do not repost, copy, translate, modify

#hsr x reader #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #blade x reader #blade smut #argenti x reader #argenti smut #kinktober #hsr argenti x reader #hsr argenti smut #hsr blade x reader #hsr blade smut #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail drabbles #blade x you #argenti x you

[thebadgerclan]

Appetizer

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: He needs to taste you...

Smut!

Aleksander was tense at your side.  His knuckles were white as he gripped his fork, and his hand shook as he brought his wine glass to his lips.  “Darling?” you asked coyly, resting a hand on his bicep.  “Are you alright?”  Your husband slowly inhaled, his gaze remaining fixed on the wall before him.  You were attending a state dinner for the Kerch, which meant the Grisha were effectively on display.

For you, this meant wearing your black silk kefta and entering proudly on your husband’s arm, the full force and power of the Morozovas and the Grisha as a whole on display.  You had chosen to wear your hair down, your lips painted a scarlet red, and it was driving Aleksander crazy.  It hadn’t helped that you’d pinned him against a wall and kissed him senseless just before you had to leave for the dinner, which left Aleksander achingly hard and needing you.

“I think you know the answer to that, my love,” he replied, taking your hand and squeezing it.  You looked at him with innocent eyes, and your husband’s cock throbbed with need.  He leaned towards you, looking to everyone else like he was a man besotted with his wife, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.  Which wasn’t entirely false, but his words were anything but innocent.

“If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have my head between your legs.”  You nearly choked on your wine, and Aleksander let a hand rest on your thigh, squeezing softly.  “I can barely smell my dinner, sweetling, all I can smell is your dripping cunt.”  You covered a moan with a cough, and your husband smirked.  “Sasha,” you whispered, and he pressed a deceptively gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Can you keep quiet, my love?  Be a good girl for me?”  Eagerly, you nodded, and Aleksander stood, slipping from the room.  For a moment, you were confused, until you felt something warm brush against your leg.  Your husband had bent the shadows around him, allowing him to crawl beneath the table unseen.  He slid your kefta the dress up, his palms warm against your skin, slowly tugging your undergarments down.

Then, his lips, soft and gentle against your thighs, creeping upwards towards your wet pussy.  Your breathing became ragged as your husband’s kisses moved upwards.  One of his hands splayed across your lower abdomen, the other rested on your hip.  Aleksander breathed deeply, the scent of your arousal headier than any liquor, and he dipped his head, licking at your cunt.

You had your napkin crumpled in your fist, squeezing it so hard it was a wonder your fingers didn’t break.  Aleksander lapped at your slit, his tongue laving and flicking at your clit, all of which would normally have you moaning and crying his name.  But here, in a crowded ballroom, the Kerch ambassador and the King and Queen of Ravka mere feet away, you were forced to dig your nails into your palm and bite your lip to keep from moaning.

Aleksander, for one, was in heaven.  There were very few things he enjoyed more than eating you out; very few places he enjoyed being more than with his face between your thighs.  It barely mattered that it was sweltering beneath the table, it barely mattered that the hardwood floor was biting into his knees.  Your husband was drunk on the taste of your cunt, and he pressed his tongue deeper into you, his nose bumping against your sensitive clit.

When he drew your clit into his mouth and sucked, you couldn’t hold back a moan.  You were barely able to cover it with a cough, and the Kerch ambassador turned to you, concern on his face.  “My lady,” he said in heavily accented Ravkan.  “Are you well?  You look rather flushed.”  You coughed once more, lifting your water glass to your lips.  “Fine, fine,” you replied, your voice breathy.  “Just a bit warm in here, is all.”

Beneath the table, Aleksander grinned wickedly, once more licking a stripe across your pussy, the hand on your belly pressing down slightly.  You fought the urge to buck your hips,  your toes curling in your boots, teeth digging into your lip.  Your husband had shifted his focus once again to your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it and suckling gently on it, which had you hurtling towards an orgasm.

Aleksander sensed it, as he always did, and he felt you reach down for him.  He took your hand and squeezed it, and when he sucked a bit harder on your clit, you came, letting out a strained sigh that ended with a slight moan.  Your husband pressed a few soft kisses to your thighs before righting your undergarments and skirt and extricating himself from beneath the table.

“My love,” he said, returning to your side, not at all looking like he’d spent the past 10 minutes under a table licking your cunt.  “Are you feeling alright?  You don’t look too well.”  Aleksander made a show of feeling your forehead and shaking his head.  “Sweetling, you’re burning up.  Come, let’s get you to bed.”  Your husband made his apologies to the Kerch ambassador and to the King and Queen before escorting you from the ballroom.

The moment you were in the hall, you had Aleksander pressed against the wall, kissing him hungrily.  “Sasha,” you breathed, tugging at his hair.  “If you don’t take me to bed right now, I swear to the Saints, I’ll-”  You were cut off by your husband lifting you into his arms and kissing you.  “Don’t worry, my sweet,” he cooed, already carrying you down the hall.  “That was just an appetizer.”

#aleksander morozova x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #the darkling x reader #general kirigan x reader #shadow and bone reader insert

[beansidhebumbling]

Once again begging for a bit of bitter rhysta bonding over feyssian being a bit too obvious

Liar, Liar

Idk pals. Blame @ae-neon for this. Warning for blood play I guess. Jesus.

They were dancing.

Again.

Familiar tattooed hands moved over her sister's lithe frame. Cassian seemed to forget she knew his tricks, the gentle tracing of the lower back, the hidden kisses to clasped hands. He'd used them on her too. In a time long gone now. Before Nyx, before the dissolution of the Night.

His hands dipped lower, skirting the bare skin of Feyre's lower back. Nesta looked away, focused now on the thin stem of her cocktail glass.

Lovers deserved privacy after all.

Even her husband.

Even her sister.

***

In this nook she liked to pretend he danced for her. That this was merely one of the games they'd played as newleyweds.

Foreplay.

A small part of her, not her heart, maybe her ring finger, the closest to the shackle held out hope he still loved her.

Hope that died with each secret letter she found, with each charged stare she bore witness to, with each dance she observed.

Hope was for heros and children.

***

The seductive beat moved through her pulse as the smooth vodka barely bit at her throat. This was the top shelf stuff. A rarer find after the treaty. He was clearly in a mood tonight. Sat in the corner as usual, the two regular voyeurs to the budding romance and erosion of two marriages.

She glanced at the slumped form of the former Lord of Night and new monarch of the Velarien Territories. The broken lands of a broken male.

'You can sit up, you know. She can't sense you.'

He glared purple-eyed venom at her. She nearly missed the time when that might have scared her. At least things seemed simple then.

'I don't understand what she sees in him. Three months we've been following them to their dancing'

His voice caught on the shards of jealousy that lined his throat.

'And I have to watch her love him. Him. He took everything.'

'You lose what you don't mind, your Highness.'

She relished in hurting him. Something about how his too-perfect face shuttered and stars sparked from his fingertips. Joy was a scarce commodity and his suffering a deep well of it.

'Don't sound too smug, love. It's your mate she's fucking.'

'I cannot lose what I've never had. You fae and your Cauldron. I have never heeded the divine ruling of crockery.'

His laugh, piercing and chilling, cracked her glass splintering it in her grasp. The smell of honey and iron tickled her nose as blood seeped from her clenched fist.

'Liar, liar Lady Death. I still remember you on the battlefields. You've always been quick to save the bastard.'

With agility she thought him too drunk for he moved closer and cradled her stained hand within his own, droplets of scarlet staining his indigo silk shirt.

'Not brother anymore then?'

Nesta smiled sweetly, words coated in honey and arsenic.

'Not sister anymore then?'

He mimicked, raising an eyebrow as she flinched sharply, his eyes glittering, the Ptsym constellation visible in his pupil.

'Don't talk about Feyre like that.'

She muttered.

Rhysand slowly prised open her palm, magicking away the shards until all that remained of his mirth was a deep oozing cut.

His lips, plush and sharp, dipped to kiss her wrist, licking the blood as he went, laving his tongue over pale skin and working slowly towards the wound.

Tingling electricity erupted, shooting from her head to her core. To swap blood was an act reserved for mates not whatever they were.

Enemies.

Less.

More.

Her head flung back hitting hard on the mahogany lined wall as he reached the cut and sucked deeply, silver flames catching on the seams of his mouth.

Rhysand raised his head, hair tossed and eyes wild. He grinned a feral bloody creation, his canines fully elongated before murmuring,

'I'm not very interested in talking at all. Sister."

#this is rough #open to continuing #let me know #acotar #nesta #rhysta #rhysand #feyssian

[thesightstoshowyou]

🩸BLOODFEST🩸

Week 3

Prompts: Trap(s). Ritual. Threesome. Rage

Keywords: Twisted. Fixation

Collective

- Part Three -

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Vincent Sinclair x F Reader x Asa Emory (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon/dubcon, rope play, blood, knife play, fingering, threesome, degradation, humiliation, orgasm denial, overstimulation, the boys are meanies.

~~

The voice startles you both, makes you gasp and move to cover yourself, but—no, no—your arms are securely fastened behind your back. Your head whips around, gaze falling on Asa. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, black eyes reflecting the dancing candlelight.

Vincent jumps to his feet and places himself in front of you, blocking you from Asa’s sight. At least he seems appropriately upset by the intrusion. Your cheeks burn, mortified Asa has seen you like this. How long has he been standing there?

Asa holds out his hand in a placating gesture. “I asked to see your process, did I not? The entire process.” A moment of silence passes. You watch Vincent’s back carefully, your eyes growing wide when his tense shoulders relax a little, his posture losing its vexation. Asa continues, “I had hoped you would be open to constructive criticism.”

More quiet, more careful weighing of words. Fire snaps, the boiler hisses, wax bubbles in its pot. Christ, he can’t be considering—

With measured steps, Vincent moves to the side, revealing you to Asa’s scrutinizing gaze once again. “Vincent!” you beg, but he holds up a finger, silencing you.

Asa pushes away from the door and strolls over to where you sit, defenseless, on the mattress. Your chest rises and falls in rapid, anxious breaths, your heart slamming itself against your ribs. Is he going to touch you? Will he hurt you?

“The piece,” he’s talking about you, “Shows vulnerability. Fragility. But, I feel it’s missing….” His hand slips from his pocket as he produces the knife, thumb easing the blade free until steel glints under flickering candlelight, “Color.”

“Vince, please…” you beg, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Shhh,” Asa coos as he crouches down before you. He reaches out, calloused, scarred fingers tracing your cheek and snaking into your hair to grip the side of your face, holding you in place. Vincent watches intently and leans forward slightly to get a better view.

“Red,” Asa murmurs, “Gives much needed emotion to a piece.” The knife tip presses just under your collar bone, drags through your flesh until you shriek and sob. Asa’s thumb digs roughly into your cheek when you attempt to twist away from the pain. Crimson wells up under the blade and spills down your chest, staining the wax in violent scarlet, like some kind of twisted ritual.

Beside you, Vincent’s breaths shudder behind the mask. You struggle to reign in your own frantic breathing lest to succumb to pure panic. Asa’s eyes leave your face to admire the trickling of blood. Gently, he dips his fingers in red and traces them across your belly, your hip, painting you.

Next, he wets his whole palm with blood and wraps it around your throat. A perfect, scarlet handprint stains your neck when Asa lifts his hand away and Vincent nods excitedly in agreement. Asa ignores him, not yet finished.

“Open,” he instructs, smearing your lips with tangy iron. Tears spill down your cheeks as you hesitantly part your lips to accept the metallic fingers. They stroke your tongue and push into your throat until you gag. Blood-tinged spit dribbles down your chin and splatters onto your chest to join the mess coating your skin.

“Good girl,” Asa whispers, fingers finally vacating your mouth. You suck in a startled gasp when he leans forward and crushes his lips to yours. His tongue replaces bloody digits and laves against your own, overwhelming you with the taste of cigarettes and mint and blood, always blood. His teeth tug on your lip and the moan that bubbles up from your throat brings more burning heat to your cheeks.

This is the kiss you wanted from Vincent….

Asa pulls back and holds you in place with the hand in your hair when you try to follow. The corner of his bloody mouth curls up in a grin as he surveys your half-lidded eyes and swollen lips, parted and painted with scarlet.

“I think you were meant to beg for something, correct?” he murmurs, deep voice huskier now. You blink and attempt to come back to yourself. You’d almost forgotten about Vincent hovering next to the bed.

“P-please,” your voice breaks. You try again, “Please Vince. Touch me?” You look up at him, needy tears clinging to your lashes. He’s nearly trembling on the spot, so enraptured by the display, wholly fixated on the ardent painting Asa has made of your skin. Hastily he kneels, grips your hips, pulls you to the edge of the bed.

The knife slips under the band of your underwear and saws through the fabric. You’re completely bare now and both men can see how you glisten in the flickering light. Vincent wastes no time, dexterous fingers sliding over your folds and brushing your clit before sinking in deep to ease the ache.

Asa grips your face when you keen. He twists your head so you’re looking directly at him as he seats himself next to you on the mattress. His nose brushes yours, lips hovering just inches away, teasing, your panting breaths and desperate moans—are they for him or Vincent—washing over his face.

Your hips buck, Vincent curling his digits until your eyes clench shut. Shamelessly, you hump his hand, dizzy with heat, desire, confusion. You shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want his hands on you, but you think you’ll die if he stopped touching you now.

Your thighs tense, your hands balling into fists, toes curling in anticipation. “Vince, I’m gonna—

“Manners,” Asa chides, his grip on your face tightening. Your eyes widen, breath stuttering in your chest. Oh no, you’re so close, burning tightness deep in your belly about to implode, can you stop it in time?

“P-Please! Please, I need-can I please—

“Please, Sir,” he corrects causally, like you’re not about to cream all over Vincent’s fingers any second. If he would just slow down a little….

“Please SIR, god I can’t hold it, pleasecanIcum—

“Please, Sir, may I cum?” he instructs and you cry out in frustration.

“I CAN’T—

It’s too late. You bow forward as much the rope and Asa’s grip on your face will allow, walls clenching on Vincent’s pistoning fingers, euphoria roiling in your gut. The knowledge that you fucked up is almost a distant memory in the wake of such pleasure.

But not for long.

Fingers dig into your hair and tug you upright, a frail whimper falling from your panting mouth. Cracking open your teary eyes, you timidly peer up at Asa. His mask of indifference hasn’t shifted, but there’s something glinting there in his dark gaze. Something eager.

“Untrained,” he comments, then looks to Vincent. “There’s a simple enough fix if you’re willing to put in the time.”

The knife returns, slips past your parted lips, blade tapping against your teeth as the flat edge settles on your tongue. You freeze, wide eyes flicking from Vincent to Asa and back again. What if he slips, what if he pushes deeper? Not there, please not there….

“Proper incentive is key. Let’s try that again.” Asa nods to Vincent. A delighted snicker slips from behind the wax mask. Your mouth goes dry. There will be no mercy from either of them, you realize, when Vincent scoots closer to you, his shoulders hunched with barely contained exhilaration.

It reminds you of how he looks when he’s working on a new project.

Vincent curls his skilled fingers once again and the whine that leaves you is distorted by the steel seated in your mouth. Your back is ramrod straight, every muscle focused on keeping you still to prevent the knife from slipping. You’re almost thankful for Asa’s hold on your jaw.

Still, past trepidation and dismay, pleasure blooms in your belly. Your eyelids flutter, displacing tears until they’re streaking familiar paths down your face. Unable to swallow, the saliva pooling in your cheeks spills down your chin. Damn those fingers, damn him, damn them both….

Close, fuck, you’re getting close, you need to ask for permission, but you’re terrified to speak. You look to Asa, pleading with your eyes, but he merely smirks in response. Minutely, his head tips to the side like he’s waiting for you to risk speaking.

Are sliced gums preferable to more of Asa’s discipline?

You decide they are.

You try to ask properly—please Sir, may I cum—but your speech is slow and garbled as you attempt to keep your tongue from touching the blade. Hurry, hurry up, you’re climbing the precipice too quickly, please Vincent just slow down for one fucking second!

“I didn’t catch that,” Asa taunts, leaning in to hear you better. You sob and turn your pleading gaze to Vincent. He doesn’t stop his assault on your cunt, choosing instead to circle your oversensitive clit with his thumb until you choke on a shout.

Desperation takes hold and you force yourself to speak clearer, heedless of the knife, “Pleashh Shhir, mnay I cuh!” Your face burns in humiliation and ire, messy chest heaving, spit dribbling onto your belly, twitching muscles pulled taut to keep you from careening over the edge.

Asa chuckles and releases your jaw to condescendingly pat your cheek. “That’s a good girl. You may.”

Instantly, your vision whites out, eyes rolling back, a scream ripping from your throat when your walls ripples around Vincent’s fingers. Thankfully, you have the presence of mind not to tip forward lest you impale the back of your throat.

A trembling gasp brings you back to reality. You ache, the intensity of the last climax still prickling across your flesh. Finally, you feel the knife slip from your mouth. Asa tilts your head up again and you crack open damp eyes to peer up at him.

“You’re a quick learner,” he purrs and some annoying part of you relishes in the praise. Gently, Asa wipes the blood and tears and drool from your face with his sleeve. He orders you to stick out your tongue so he can assess for injury. You’re too exhausted to do anything but comply.

Vincent withdraws his dripping fingers and you whimper, slumping against Asa’s solid frame. You flex your tingling hands, only now realizing you’ve lost feeling in all your limbs.

“Vince…my arms…” you mumble. Vincent stands to pet your hair, but doesn’t move to untie you. You frown and glance up at him. The room is too dark to see the good eye behind the mask.

Asa hums in understanding, a breathy laugh leaving him. You lift your head, looking questioningly from Asa to Vincent.

They can’t be serious….

Realization hits like a punch in the gut and you shake your head in protest, but Vincent is already digging his fingers into your hips and flipping you onto your front. Your babbled pleas fall on deaf ears, Vincent’s eager cock already lining up with your slippery entrance. The scream you loose when he buries every inch in your cunt is deafening, even to you.

“It seems the lesson is not quite finished, pet.”

#asa emory #asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #asa emory x reader x vincent sinclair #the collector 2009 #house of wax (2005) #thesightstoshowyou #sfbf23 #bloodfest #flashing gif #WaxCollector #the collection

[redxriiot]

@heromuses​ said :  [ TAKEN ]  (with my villain Shouto, perhaps?)          『 Meme || Accepting 』

[ TAKEN ] receiver has a small injury and sender wipes away some of the blood then licks it off their hand.

       ・⊱ So he'd been careless--letting his guard down right where it counted, taking a hit that would otherwise have been lethal with whatever defense he could before it'd crumple back down. He'd exhausted himself this time, for sure, it was damn near a miracle he'd made it out unscathed and hide away here to get it treated. Still--

       His skin rippled with faint traces of Hardening as he felt the other's touch so close to the still-stinging injury, body tensing a slight as a shiver ran down his spine. Teeth bared instinctively to snap at him...only to stop entirely as his widening eyes zeroed right in on the other's hand. Watching the villain's tongue flick out to lave across the scarlet staining no doubt soft porcelain skin...maybe he was still high off the thrill of a good fight, maybe it was the narrow escape and his brain gone haywire as a result, but...but-

       "Wh..." He swallowed hard. "Wh-what're you-?" Ugh, shit, now was really not the time to get so distracted...!

#heromuses #ic #answered

[lieutenantwilliamrusso]

spooky you say? what about Vampire!Billy?!

Hehehehehe

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, Sex, Dark! Billy, death, blood drinking

Dark Vampire! Billy x Fem! Reader

Hunger

"Is it gonna hurt?" You slur, already blissed out from the pleasure Billy has given you, your body trembling with the want for more.

"No, baby. Lay back for me and I'll make it so good." Billy purrs, dark eyes flashing red in the dim light from outside of his bedroom window.

The city glimmers below you, the two of you stories above the ground in Billy's penthouse. You've been dating Billy for a few weeks now, but you'd never let him drink from you before. But tonight he'd taken you nice and slow on the silk sheets of his bed and you'd made a choice, the need to let him take from you in a different way growing into a steady ache until you'd asked him.

Billy had obliged with ravenous eyes trained on you and now you're here, spread under him, chest heaving as he licks a line up your throat. You tilt your head to the side as Billy growls softly, landing the first prick on your skin with his canines. You gasp, and Billy shushes you softly before digging in harder.

You moan as the venom seeps into your body, breath catching as Billy drains your blood little by little. You moan fully now, hands reaching for his hair as your body arches. You're hitting your peak before you even realize what's happening. Billy laughs into your skin, a deep, gravely sound that has you clenching in response. When he pulls away, his eyes are wide and scarlet, and you can feel his hard length pressed into the space between your legs. When you roll your hips into his, already wanting just a little more from him tonight, he pulls away roughly, licking his lips.

"You're gonna give me one more." He commands, and you nod as quickly as you can in your state.

The venom still runs through you, heightening the sensations of she cool air of the room, the sheets, Billy's skin on yours. It all builds until you're letting out soft little whines and Billy shushes you again, planting a soft kiss on your pliant mouth.

"Come back." You whine, reaching for him weakly.

"I'm here. Spread 'em, angel." Billy orders softly, taking a thigh in each hand.

You let him guide your legs apart, gasping at the cool air that brushes your exposed pussy. Billy settle between your legs and dives right in, making out with your pussy like he won't get the chance to again. He laves at your folds and sucks your clit between his lips until you're on the verge of screaming, and then he lets up, mouth moving to your inner thigh, fangs exposed to take another bite.

You try to say his name, try to tell him how good it feels to be his, to have this but all you can manage is a few broken cries as Billy's teeth sink into your soft flesh and his venom overtakes you again. This time his fingers circle your clit as he sucks, and you cum almost instantly, bursting at the seams and letting out a feral growl that would rival Billy's own.

When he's done with you all words are lost, the only thought in your mind his name. When you can finally open your eyes again he's there, smiling down at you, a smear of your blood across his bottom lip.

"Hey." He says.

You moan quietly. His grin widens, sharp teeth on display as the skin around his eyes crinkles. Billy leans close, speaking to you.

"See how happy you are here? How good I can make you feel?"

"Yes..." you breathe out.

"Yeah. So you're not going anywhere, angel."

"Hmm?" You mumble, not following.

"You're staying with me forever."

"'Kay." You smile, liking the idea of being Billy's girlfriend for a long time.

Maybe you'll marry him someday, move in to the penthouse suite you love so much.

"Good girl." Billy praises, before he sinks his teeth into your throat once more.

It's too much, too much pleasure, a little painful, and you squeak out a small sound, not sure what to ask for. He's drinking your blood so fast, and you're so tired, but the hit of venom you take is pulsing in your veins, warm and blissful. What if you just stay here? Let the pleasure overtake you? It's harder to see now, harder to hear, but you know Billy's there, close, taking care of you.

Soon enough something is pressing to your lips, something thick and metallic seeps onto your tongue and you try to cough, to choke but it's no use. You swallow what you're given, too far gone to realize you're dying. The last thing you hear is Billy, his gentle voice reaching out for you in the stretch of darkness covering your senses.

"...Over soon. So good baby, so good."

When you wake up you're hungrier than you've ever been.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #vampire! billy russo #my fics #request

[thedreamsmith]

Forged in Dragonfire (Part 6)

Apologies for the time between updates! Between starting a new job and the upcoming HEMA tournament season I’ve been flat out. 

As always, feedback and comments are greatly appreaciated and let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

@deadbranch @mswintersoldier

~~~~

Edeline had given serious thought to not attending her next session with Aemond, fearful that the prince would somehow know she had acted upon her most base desires. That his sapphire gaze would spear her very soul; lustful thoughts and actions laid bare for his perusal and judgement.

As the Father would have it, she need not have worried. Upon entering the training yard two days later, there was no sign of Prince Aemond - only a lone steward, wearing the black and scarlet livery of House Targaryen.

The steward handed her a folded note as she approached before dipping into a sharp bow.

‘His Highness, Prince Aemond, sends his sincere apologies.’

She nodded in acknowledgement, sliding a gloved finger beneath the crimson wax to break the seal. The cardstock felt heavy and expensive – something her father might use to correspond with his bannermen rather than for a scrawled note.

I have been summoned to Dragonstone by my lady mother and will not return in time for this morn’s lesson. Meet me in the library at twelve bells - I find discussing theory and strategy much more comfortable with wine and warmth.

My deepest apologies,

Aemond

The handwriting was sharp and precise, with none of the extra flourishes that had become popular among the younger gentry in recent years. Her traitorous heart gave a queer little flutter as she came to the end of the note, where the prince had signed his name. And only his name.

A quick glance told her that the steward had not taken his leave, his face an impassive mask that she hoped meant he had not read the note himself. Had not noted the familiarity that was evident even when one party was absent.

With what she hoped was suitable nonchalance, she dismissed the steward and tucked the note into a pocket in her breeches, where it seemed to burn a hole through the fabric, impossible to ignore. Faced with a sudden expanse of free time, Edeline glanced around at the soldiers already training. It was easy to tell those who had spent the evening deep in their cups - that is if they had bothered to arrive so early at all.

*

Choosing an unused section of the courtyard, she began her usual drills, concentrating on keeping her cold-numbed feet from tripping over the uneven ground. A chorus of laughter went up from a nearby knot of soldiers and a muscle in her jaw jumped, acutely, painfully aware that she was the only woman in the immediate vicinity.

Despite her assurances to the prince, despite that she had never experienced a man’s cruelty - only her father’s reprimanding strikes - it was impossible for a women to exist within King’s Landing, within Westeros, without developing that vital sixth sense needed to avoid the particular danger that men posed.

So when she head the shuffle of footsteps behind her, she flinched away, drawing her sword close, a barrier between her and the rest of the training yard. However when she whipped around, her gaze landed on the startled face of a young soldier, cheeks still round with youth and flushed from the cold.

‘Easy, m’lady.’ The soldier kept his voice low, as if soothing a spooked animal, Flea Bottom accent roughening the ends of his words like a blacksmith’s lave. ‘We jus’ thought you might wanna train with us today, seein’ as the prince isn’t here an’ all.’

He jerked his chin, the gesture drawing her attention to a pair of soldiers near the arming rack, neither of them a summer older than her, if the wispy facial hair and abundance of spots were anything to go by.

‘The name’s Kevan. Ethon and Crann were just about to ‘ave a go wi’ sword and buckler but you can join in wi’ your longsword after.’

‘Just Edeline, no need for formalities.’  Stranger take her – she was acutely aware of the way her own aristocratic pronunciation sounded in comparison, enforced by her mother and her threats of a mouthful of lye.

Kevan must have noticed as well, for his brows rose into his hairline, a smirk ghosting across his boyish features.

‘As yeh wish, yer ladyship.’ Edeline scowled. ‘Everyone saw the way y’ knocked Warrik on his arse – haughty as a Targaryen you were.’

‘Not that it’s a bad thing, mind you. Warrik is a right cocksucker – pardon my language, m’lady.’

‘Edeline.’ She could sense that this would become a theme.

‘Truthfully, the bastard – pardon – needed a good thumpin’.’ Kevan continued, seemingly having not heard her interjection, as he led her over to where his companions were bickering over possession of a truly mediocre broadsword.

Eventually Crann – the taller of the two, also from Flea Bottom, Kevan informed her – won by virtue of his height, after he snatched the weapon and held it above Ethon’s head. With a sour expression she suspected was partly due to his loss, and partly due to his Northern heritage, the pasty soldier snatched up a sabre that had also seen better days and trudged into the makeshift ring.

Prince Aemond had not taught her any sword and buckler, so she had to rely on Kevan’s enthusiastic commentary on the friendly match.

‘Keep your weapons together, yeh useless oaf!’ The soldier beside her sucked in a pained breath as Ethon cut between Crann’s hilt and buckler yet again, snapping upright and out of range before the taller man could recover.

Despite his earlier loss, Ethon proved victorious in his bout; leaving his companion with arms striped with welts and a truly impressive bruise on his right cheek, courtesy of his steel buckler. However, the injured face and ego was swiftly smoothed over by promises of the night’s ale to be paid for by the victor.

And then it was her turn. Apprehension coursed through her as she stepped into the ring opposite Kevan. Her flaxen-haired opponent bounced on the balls of his feet, worn leather boots sending frozen pebbles clattering across the ground. Friendly bout or no, she was at a significant disadvantage; he had watched her train and fight, whereas his style was a mystery to her.

When Ethon called to begin, Kevan exploded into motion – a soldier’s brutal efficiency, lacking any of the elaborate feints or flourishes she was used to seeing employed by knights at tourneys.

The match was over embarrassingly quickly, her scant months of tuition with the prince paling in comparison to the gruelling training demanded of even the lowest-ranking among the King’s army.

Instead of gloating, Kevan offered her a half-serious bow, before launching into an enthusiastic explanation of her faults, with the occasional input from the others. His insight was leagues away from that of Aemond’s; a soldier’s perspective compared to that of a prince, although invaluable nonetheless.

To sweeten the prospect of a rematch, he graciously promised to stop calling her ‘m’lady’ if she could land a clean hit on any of them before eleven bells. Edeline did not believe him for a second, but readied her weapon nevertheless.

*

By the time Edeline had managed to extract herself from her new acquaintances’ raucous company, there was barely enough time for her to wash and change into an outfit more suited to being in the company of a prince.

Prince Aemond was already in the library when she arrived, a heavy book in his lap, dancing firelight gilding his features, a goblet of wine so dark it was almost purple held steadily in one hand.

He did not seem to notice her approach as she drew level with his chair, too deeply engrossed in a world of ink and parchment. The lines of script she could see over his shoulder were decidedly not those belonging to a treatise on martial strategy. A smile ghosted over her lips as she announced her presence with a shallow curtsey, before sinking into the upholstered armchair adjacent to his.

With a motion much like a startled cat, the prince snapped the book shut, a blush colouring the high ridges of his usually-pale cheeks. So, the youngest prince liked to read romance novels? How very interesting.

Aemond recovered quickly, hastily shoving the book out of sight and hefting a significantly larger volume from the table between them.

‘I must apologise again for my absence this morn, my lady.’ Blueish shadows darkened the space under his eye. Exactly what sort of errands did the queen consort have him undertaking? Tensions had been running high among the Great Houses for moons, everyone knew that. With the matter of succession to the Iron Throne at stake, she supposed it was only natural that Queen Allicent would use every tool at her disposal to ensure that her eldest son ascended to the throne, despite the rumours that the king had named Rhaenyra his heir.

The prince did not pry into how she had spent her morning, although she had no doubt that there were already fresh gossip of her unchaperoned antics in the training yard flying around the Keep. Without preamble, he launched into a detailed lecture on the very basics of martial strategy and the principles of how an army was comprised.

The wine was rich and warm in her belly, and the timbre of the prince’s voice alluringly soothing as she followed along with the occasional nod or interjected question. If only her tutors had been this lovely, she thought idly, rather than dusty old relics. She might have been more inclined to spend her time studying rather than covered in soot and iron filings.

*

Despite his obvious interest in the subject, and her desire to prove a diligent student, their conversation gradually strayed to other subjects. She found herself divulging details of her girlhood, seemingly innocuous stories that she had forgotten until precisely that moment; playing in the Godswood of her family’s country estate with her brother and sisters, the sweet buns that their cook made, the handsome duke’s son who had taken her maidenhead in the dusty sunlight of the stables when she was sixteen summers.

The latter was not met with distain, but with a murmured comment that he was glad that her first time had been her own decision. He did not offer up information about his own first tumble, and so she did not pry. Better to let him divulge the meaning behind his bittersweet smile and the thinly veiled pain beneath in his own time.

The prince’s tone grew sombre as he recounted the torment he had endured through into adulthood from his younger nephews, protected as they were from retribution by their mother’s status and power.

‘I can imagine that it must be…vexing to have to tolerate your nephews’ blatant disrespect in silence.’

‘Vexing?’ Despite the subject at hand, there was a note of amusement in the prince’s voice. ‘Come now, my lady, surely the Street of Steel has taught you more colourful phrases than that?’

‘Be as it may, may I remind you, your highness, that it is also imperative that I keep the two halves of my life separate.’

‘But you are not two people, are you?’ Aemond shifted forward in his seat, the pose and intensity of his gaze uncannily reminiscent of his uncle. ‘You are much yourself working in the forge as you are-‘ He waved his hand for a moment as his jaw worked. ‘Dancing with a sweaty lordling.’

She shot him an unamused glance. 

‘And yet there are precious few who would take me as both.’ She turned towards the crackling hearth. ‘A highborn Lord would not tolerate his lady wife spending her days covered in soot and stinking of the forges. Just as a butcher’s son would not be able to understand the intricacies that come with navigating court life.’

‘I am well aware that I am rapidly approaching the time where I must choose which part of my life I am to keep, and which I must discard.’

‘Hmm.’ The soft noise was her only warning as Aemond suddenly rose from his seat, one pale hand extended towards her. ‘Come with me.’

The young prince did not elaborate further as he led her through the sun-soaked halls of the Red Keep then belowground into a web of tunnels that she had never entered. The minutes passed in silence and darkness, the gentle pressure of his hand in hers the only thing she could focus on as they travelled under what seemed like half of King’s Landing. It wasn’t until the air began to warm that she realised where they were headed.  

The walls of the Dragonpit radiated heat as the tunnels deposited them into the great circular hall, topped by the enormous dome that was visible from almost every vantage point in the city.

The Dragonpit was the greatest building in the city, but even so, the enormous bulk of the largest living dragon barely fit within its sandstone walls. Vhagar opened one amber eye as her rider approached, the only sign that she was aware of their presence.

How Aemond had claimed this beast, had gained her loyalty at only thirteen summers…

Panic blossomed in her throat, setting her whole body shaking as she watched the great beast press her enormous muzzle into the prince’s chest. The scent that Aemond always carried with him was tenfold stronger here, a heavy mix of brimstone and smoke, a scent that she had not explicitly linked to his dragon until this very moment.

‘Do you trust me?’ His gaze was piercing, yet there was a vulnerability beneath that stole her breath. With a painful twist of her heart, she realised just how thoroughly this man was baring his soul to her. His very essence, a heart-bond like no other.

Even as her hands shook, she nodded, unable to speak for the unnameable emotion in her throat, in her lungs. She was made of kindling; a single spark would set her ablaze.

His hand covered hers, pressing her trembling fingers against the she-dragon’s warm scales. The great beast gave a low rumble that reverberated through her feet, settling deep within her and stoking the fire that Aemond’s unwavering gaze had lit.

‘I want you to see all of me, as I see all of you. There is nothing about you that I do not accept.’

Afterwards, she would not be able to recall which of them had moved first, only that his hands were in her hair, pulling her to him as their lips met. He held her like she was precious, like she was unbreakable. His mouth was hot against hers, like she had always imagined it would be, fire licking in her veins as his tongue traced her jaw, her throat.

The rumble this time was not Vhagar’s, but Aemond’s, building in his chest and into her own as she pulled him closer. Silver tangled in her fingers, night-dark leather under her hands as she sought purchase, a vessel adrift in a storm. She bit down on the soft skin beneath his ear, his answering groan its own reward as she soothed the sting with her tongue.

Aemond responded in kind, gripping her waist tight enough to bruise as he ground his hips into her stomach. She could feel his desire, the hard length of his cock a maddening presence with their clothes between them, only serving to fuel the desire that was building low in her belly.

Their breath came in heaving gasps, the need to draw air secondary to the need to explore, to press mouths to every plane and curve of the other’s burning skin. The dragon blood in his veins was infectious, filling her with his desire, his need to claim her in every sense of the word.

Edeline watched with fierce satisfaction the prince’s reaction to the undulations of her hips; rocking relentlessly against the straining line of his cock, and as she sucked another mark onto the pale column of his throat, she thought that the Targaryens were not the only ones to have claimed a dragon.

*

By the time they stumbled back to the Red Keep, both thoroughly debauched, the afternoon had grown late, and thin winter sunlight gilded the city sprawling beneath Aegon’s High Hill.

Aemond, ever the gentleman, had insisted that he would not take her for the first time in the dusty warmth of the Dragonpit. Although the suggestions that he had whispered into her ear as they made their way back through the tunnels, of how he did plan to take her, were anything but virtuous.

Edeline, thoroughly sick of propriety, had endeavoured to break his vow, sneaking her hand down the front of his breeches until he had been forced to crowd her against the chalky tunnel wall, wrists pinned above her head in a deliciously strong grip.  

Unsurprisingly, the walk back from the Pit had taken a good deal longer than it had taken to get there.

It wasn’t until they were back within the quiet of his chambers that the heat between them cooled slightly, crystalising into something far more precious. With a shuddering breath, Aemond slowly closed his eye, dipping his head. Wordlessly, she understood what he was asking of her.

Her fingers were steady as she eased them gently, so gently, beneath his ever-present eyepatch, tracing the shallow divot of the scar upwards until it bisected his silver brow. The leather thong fell away, forgotten on the floor as she cupped his face with both hands.

The faceted sapphire was without flaw, glimmering dully where an eye should have been. The flutter of his lashes beneath her fingers, the almost imperceptible tremor of his mouth as she breathed the word that had lived in her mind since she had first laid eyes upon the second son; least loved, forgotten by almost all.

‘Beautiful.’

Edeline stretched as far as she could, pressed her mouth to the corner of his gemstone eye. A beauty kept hidden from the world, a frightened boy’s heart laid bare for only her to see.

A single tear traced a path down his face, dampening her lips as she kissed him, far more gently than the ones they had shared in the heat of the dragon’s lair.

‘Marry me.’ It was not a question. He still had not opened his eye.

‘Yes.’ The single word rode a sigh, barely audible, but it was enough. His answering kiss was a silent roar, a challenge issued to no one but her. She kissed him back like a victory.

Like the shattering of a dream, a knock came at the door, and the wrath in the prince’s eye could have ignited the whole of King’s Landing.

‘Do not disturb me again, unless you wish to feel my dragon’s fire.’ His arms were braced around her, a dragon defending his mate. The thought aroused her far more than she expected.

The voice that answered was timorous, an adolescent squeak in comparison to her lover’s ire. ‘Your mother, the queen, has requested your presence in the throne room at once.’

‘Then tell her I shall be delayed.’ Aemond turned back to her, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he lapped at the tender skin.

‘She insisted rather forcefully, your highness.’ The squire was clearly pissing his breeches at the thought of angering the young prince. But she did feel a flicker of respect that he had not yet turned tail and fled.

‘We will continue this afterwards, I swear it.’ She gently pushed him away, a flash of satisfaction in her breast that she had been the undoing of this beautiful, dangerous man. Sensing that he was still leaning towards locking them in his rooms and not emerging for many long, long hours, she pressed again. ‘I will join you, my love.’

The gentle endearment seemed to finally sway him - with a wordless grunt, he swept his eyepatch from the floor, affixing it in place as he strode to the door, flinging it open to reveal the indeed terrified face of a young palace squire. Confronted with a glowering Targaryen prince, the squire wisely chose to flee, his pounding footsteps receding down the corridor, presumably to alert the queen that her errant son was on his way.

‘We are not finished here.’ Aemond pressed a tender kiss to her forehead as they began their way to the heart of the Keep. Warmth bloomed in her chest as her took her arm in his. She believed him without doubt.

*

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 7

Part 8

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond x oc #aemond x ofc #oc #ofc #smut #slowburn #slow burn

[lunarheslwt]

Monday snippet

This is a snippet from my upcoming service kink au that I just wanted to share.

“Behave,” Louis warned playfully, as he alternated between feeding himself and feeding Harry. Harry flushed scarlet.

“Sorry,” he shrugged, playing with the edge of the covers. Louis tutted, albeit fondly.

“It’s okay, you’re just eager, aren’t you, pet? But you will be good for me all day, won’t you?”

Louis’ tone was low, just on the right side of demanding. Harry was helpless to do anything to nod.

Louis pressed a chocolate drizzled strawberry to Harry’s lips, eyes boring into his. Harry parted his lips slowly, maintaining the intense eye contact as he wrapped his lips around the strawberry, biting down indulgently. As the rich flavour coated his tongue, he moaned, just a little, delighting in the way Louis’ eyes were fixed on his lips.

Finishing off the strawberry, he leant forward to capture Louis’ still outreached finger tips, tasting the leftover chocolate on them. Diligently, he sucked the fingers in a little, laving over them and licking the chocolate off them, all while meeting his heavy gaze.

“Good boy,” Louis praised, a little belatedly. A low curl of arousal wrapped around Harry. He nipped Louis’ fingers gently once, before letting it slip from between his lips.

I wasn't tagged by anyone, but I'm tagging a couple people in case they're interested in sharing! If you see this and want to share a snippet, just say I tagged you!

@hellolovers13 @larry-hiatus @thebreadvansstuff @onlythebravest and anyone else!

#snippet #fic snippet #my snippet #louis tomlinson #harry styles #larry #tag games #service kink au

[tears-and-smiles-ao3]

That ass

Five (5) times Loki was caught looking at Mobius' ass and one (1) time Mobius did something about it

They were in an orchard. The leaves were beginning to turn into a myriad of spectacular colours. Loki could see the tinge of orange that would creep across the green.

He was standing up a ladder, one arm holding on tight to a branch while the other reached for an apple. Most of the easier to reach ones had now been plucked, but moving the ladder around had grown tedious and the trickster would rather lean precariously than climb back down again.

Loki reached, his fingers brushing the apple briefly before it fell, slipping from his grasp and landing with a soft thud on the green grass below. He heard Mobius scowl before he even looked down to see him bending over by the waist to pick up the runaway apple.

The sight made Loki’s mouth run dry. He was transfixed. Yes, he had seen Mobius’ rather lovely behind many times before, had always taken the opportunity to look whenever a moment arised, but right now, he just stared full on. The beautiful curve of the agent’s ass was something else.

Loki just wanted to grab it with both hands and pull those cheeks apart, let his tongue lave at what he would find hidden in between.

He was so caught up in his fantasies that he didn’t register that Mobius had turned his head, his eyes locking with his.

“You did this on purpose,” Mobius declared. Loki’s eyes darted back to look firmly at the tree branches. He felt warm all over, his face must surely be a scarlet by now. His hands gripped into the bark as he realised he would need to move the damned ladder after all. Fuck.

*

They stepped out of the timedoor into the chilly morning on a suburban street. It was October on the timeline and the pavements and cars were lined with a thin layer of frost. It twinkled in the morning light.

It was cold enough for their breaths to come out opaque, like breathing out smoke. It ghosted across the air briefly before disappearing.

Loki was staring at the grey light of the sky. A couple of stars were visible in the west.

“Come on, let’s head into that house,” said Mobius pointing to one nearby. The grass was overrun, having not been cared for in some time. 

Loki followed Mobius leisurely, letting his eyes roam over every surface. He swiped two of his fingers across one of the car windows, watching as the tips turned a faint blue. Interesting. He’d never spent much time in his Jotun form, always worried how people would react, but now he wasn’t with his family. He wasn’t on Asgard and maybe people wouldn’t care quite as much.

Letting his green magic flow over himself, Loki’s skin turned blue. Deep ridges appeared on his skin, Jotun marks that marked his heritage, not that Loki had figured out exactly what they meant yet. Maybe if he could spend more time in this form then he would. Perhaps the TVA archives would hold some useful information.

The air around him felt warm as he followed Mobius. His footsteps also sounded a little louder than normal, but he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t losing his mind, too giddy about doing this for the first time willinging.

He had almost caught up with Mobius when the agent twisted his neck to peer over his shoulder and then promptly slipped and fell, giving Loki the second amazing view of his ass in days.

Once again, Loki found himself transfixed while he took in Mobius lying on the floor with his bottom in the air. Loki felt his heart rate spike and maybe it was his Jotun form, but he began to sweat. He did nothing while he watched Mobius push himself up by his forearms onto his hands and knees, his ass still pushed out invitingly.

“A little help maybe,” Mobius grumbled. Loki shook his head, bringing him back to reality. He rushed over, holding onto Mobius’ upper arm and letting the agent lean against him as he stood up.

Once he was righted, Mobius huffed again. 

“Are you hurt?” Loki asked, but Mobius shook his head, a small laugh escaping his lips.

“No, just give me some warning before you go changing. Maybe next time I won’t fall over, unless that was your plan.”

Loki’s eyes flicked away once again, staring at the bricks of the house they were standing beside. “I didn’t,” Loki began, but Mobius grabbed his chin and turned his face towards him.

“Its’ fine,” Mobius smiled warmly. “Come on, we’ve got to find this variant.”

*

Loki always adored the full moon on Midgard. There was something nice about it being the one round object in the sky reflecting the light of the sun down onto the ground below. He stood watching it, trying to memorise the craters that scarred the surface.

Mobius edged closer, joining him in looking up. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. Both of their voices were almost a whisper, as if speaking louder would break the magic spell the moon had cast upon them.

They stood for a minute longer before Mobius turned. “I think it’s over here,” he said, pointing at a farm in the distance, further down the hill. It was a bit of a walk, but since it was just the two of them, it felt different.

Loki followed Mobius each step of the way. The path was littered with stones making it uneven and they wobbled often until finally Mobius tripped. He lurched forward, a hand automatically coming out to brace himself against the stone wall beside them. It wasn’t the same glorious presentation of his ass to Loki as it had been last time, but it was still bewitching, even if it only lasted for a moment.

Mobius hissed, looking at his hand when he stood up. Loki lifted his eyes from looking at the agent’s rump to see the agent was sucking at his palm. 

“You’re hurt,” Loki observed, moving quickly to get a look at the damage. Mobius’ palms had grit dig into the grazed skin and Loki knew they needed to get this sorted before they could continue.

“We need to go back to the TVA,” he said grimly. 

“Yeah,” Mobius agreed. “Fuck, I had thought we would get a hold of him tonight.”

“Next time,” Loki reassured. He gazed up one last time at the full moon before heading into the timedoor.

*

The midgardians liked dressing up, Loki mused as they walked through the crowds of children in costume. Each child also had a small bucket or bag to hold sweets that they got from going round doors and shouting ‘trick or treat’ in shrill voices.

The street was lit up in flashing orange, green, blue and red lights. One house had a large spider crawling down a web, another was lit up by illuminations of ghouls. Tombstones littered the manicured grass of front lawns. It was all very amusing.

They were walking towards one particular house, the only home not lit up, when three children ran up to them.

“Who are you meant to be?” the youngest child asked. She was dressed as a t-rex, her small face appearing out of the mass of dark green. Mobius chuckled, looking at Loki.

“We’re time agents,” Mobius said, as if that answered anything.

“Cool,” said one of the older children. He was dressed up as a skeleton, his eyes black like a panda’s and a huge toothy smile painted on his face. “But you don’t have any candy yet.”

“We’ve just started our trick or treating. Best get going before we steal it all,” Mobius laughed, shooing the kids away. They screamed halfheartedly, running down the street to the next house.

“If you want candy, I could conjure some,” Loki suggested. Mobius turned his head to look at him, a gleam in his eye.

“Another time. Let’s go.”

They made their way to the empty house, walking round to the back to head in that way. Suddenly, someone shoved Mobius, making him fall over. As he lay on the ground, the figure of a man attempted to vault over the fence but his foot was caught and left him stranded. He thrashed, trying to free himself but he was stuck fast.

“Fuck,” Mobius grunted, on his hands and knees on the ground. Loki’s eyes landed squarely on the fine piece of ass once more. He didn’t even move them away when Mobius half turned his body back towards him. “Are you gonna arrest him?”

Right, yes. Loki took the handcuffs from Mobius’ outstretched hands and headed over to the variant. He cuffed one wrist, then the other, then loosened the guy’s foot and they both crashed down to the ground.

“Nice to see someone else on the floor this time,” Mobis laughed. He had got himself up, dusted off as much mud as he could, and now stood towering over them both.

“Shut up,” Loki grumbled, but there was no heat in it. He knew he had been caught looking. The only thing he hadn’t worked out was why Mobius hadn’t told him off or swapped him with someone else as his partner.

*

There was a sea of people on the hill in Edinburgh. They all stood together in the dark watching people with painted skin, their costumes surely not warm enough for the cold temperatures but they didn’t seem to mind. There was a large bonfire and many lanterns that helped illuminate the space.

Mobius stood beside Loki, a smile on his face as they watched the performers process across the hill. A summer king was introduced, then a winter king. Loki mused how simple the midgardians made the whole thing sound, but really a realm ruled half a year by one king and half a year by another would be absolute chaos. Perhaps that explained a lot about this realm.

The kings duelled, overseen by a blue goddess, the Cailleach, and Loki felt a thrill run down him. Slowly, he shifted into his Jotun form, almost matching the goddess.

A hand brushed against his and Loki realised that Mobius had clasped his hand. He was smiling.

“It’s nice to see you feeling so comfortable,” he said. Loki’s head dipped slightly, then he smiled and lifted his head again. It was a nice feeling, to feel free, to be who he was.

They watched in silence, their hands joined, before Loki felt a prod on his other side. He turned to see a woman grinning at him.

“Please, can I get a photo with you?”

Oh. Loki hadn’t expected this. He nodded, letting go of Mobius’ hand to turn around. The red-haired woman pushed herself up against Loki and snapped a selfie. The flash blinded him momentarily, then she said thanks and went back to her friends, who screamed.

He was about to turn back around when another person approached, then another. He was so overwhelmed with all the photos being taken that he didn’t see Mobius being shoved back and then, inevitably, falling over. When he did, he saw Mobius bent over by the waist, his ass prominently on display.

“Mobius,” Loki gasped, fearing that the agent would fall to the ground and get trampled on, but he needn’t have worried. A man with a rainbow scarf was helping Mobius stand up.

Still, it had ruined the experience and Loki just wanted to get away from this place.

“I think we should leave,” he said firmly. He pushed his way through the crowds, Mobius following him closely. When they had emerged into the blessed open space, Loki changed back into his Asgardian skin. Then, they disappeared into a timedoor at the bottom of the hill.

*

Back in Mobius’ apartment, Loki sat down on the sofa with a huff. He’d never felt so relieved to be sitting in this drab and dull beige washed room in his life. He loosened his tie, trying to breathe deeply and calm down.

He watched Mobius make some coffee. Why the man insisted on drinking coffee at this time of night, if this was indeed night at the TVA, Loki would never understand. Mobius seemed to find the whole thing rather methodical, soothing in its routine.

It did give Loki a good view of that rather delicious behind Mobius sported. He was daydreaming again, his mind focusing on that one thing he always liked to look at.

“You’re still starting,” Mobius said when he walked back to the sofa and handed Loki a hot chocolate. He had sat down right beside Loki, their legs touching. It felt strangely more intimate than all the ogling Loki had been doing these last few days.

“I was really worried about you,” Loki admitted. Mobius let out a soft sigh and placed his hand on Loki’s thigh.

“That wasn’t your fault, you know,” Mobius reassured. Loki nodded, unable to say anything. His mind whirled, his inner voice screaming at him that he shouldn’t have shifted, should have stayed in the body Odin gave him.

“Hey,” Mobius said, grabbing Loki’s chin. He turned Loki to look into his eyes, and he gasped at what he saw. Mobius’ eyes were shining bright, filled with tenderness and gentleness. He put down his cup, then did the same with Loki’s, then he raised his left leg and slid into the trickster’s lap.

“Wha-” Loki began, but his question was muffled by Mobius’ lips on his.

The kiss was soft, softer than Loki had expected. Mobius’ hands were in his hair, gently gripping onto him and pulling him close. Loki let his mouth fall open, his tongue darting out to coax Mobius’ inside. He groaned at the feeling, surrendering to it.

He was so lost he only vaguely realised that Mobius had guided his hands down to grip around his ass. “I know you want to,” he smirked, pulling back briefly to look Loki in the eyes. Loki gave a tentative squeeze, then a firmer one.

“Kiss me,” he panted, and Mobius did. Over and over again.

*

They ended up in bed. Of course they did. Mobius’ hands were wrapped across his chest, his head buried into the crook of Loki’s neck. The trickster’s inky black hair was sprawled across his pillow.

Loki’s right hand lay picking at bobbles on the cotton sheets, his brain still whirring. His chest moved up and down faster than it would have if he had been sleeping.

“I can hear you thinking,” Mobius said into his neck, his voice muffled. When Loki didn’t reply, Mobius turned around. “Penny for your thoughts.”

Loki gave a weak chuckle, staring off at the wall. “I’m fine.”

“Like hell you are.” Mobius’ face came into view, forcing the trickster to look at him. “I want to know: are you okay?”

Loki took a deep breath, Mobius’ arm moving up with the rising of his chest. Then, he took another one. He could see Mobius’ eyes track his own, watching his face.

“Well,” Loki began, before swallowing hard. He blinked back the unshed tears that quickly formed. “Is this just because I was always looking at your, well, you know,” he trailed off.

Mobius laughed loudly, enough to wake everyone in the vicinity if they were asleep. In the TVA, who knew. He moved to lay back, continuing to laugh.

“No,” Mobius finally admitted when he could form words. “It wasn’t just because of that. But maybe you’ll be more focused on missions from now on. Or not. It doesn’t really matter. I want this because I want you.”

Oh. oh. Loki crawled over Mobius, looking him directly in the eyes. He needed to know this was the truth. "Really?" he asked.

"Really," Mobius confirmed, pulling Loki down into another kiss.

For the All About Lokius team bingo: autumn challenge. Prompts include: apple picking, full moon, Halloween candy and first frost of the season.

#lokius #loki #mobius #wowki #loki x mobius #time husbands #time frost #loki laufeyson #mobius m mobius #tva loki #agent mobius #tears-and-smiles-ao3 #my fanfiction

[muselexum]

@akagamiko​ sent:

  [ WALL ] ― your muse pins my muse against the closest wall. /for akataka c:

dirty teasing -> [meme]

Their duel lasted for several days this time around. It had once again ended in a tie, but Mihawk was not as upset by this as some would think. He was thrilled to finally have found an equal in swordsmanship, and it certainly helped that their relationship outside their duels was amiable as well. Akagami could be a lot, but Mihawk didn’t mind his company in small doses.

The two had returned from the mountains a few hours earlier. They had spent the evening in a tavern, Shanks talking and Mihawk listening over food and drink. Mihawk found himself focusing on the other’s bright smile, and the lips that formed it. He snapped himself out of it several times, downing another drink as awkwardness flooded his system. The warm summer night didn’t help to maker matters any better as he found his cheeks flushed from both alcohol and heat.

As the night came to an end and Mihawk began making his way to an inn, he found Shanks to be tagging along at his side. It was a little... different. For as positive as their relationship was, Mihawk certainly hadn’t considered them close to that extent. They were not friends. Well... He wouldn’t mind sharing a room with Shanks as long as he wasn’t a nuisance. It was just for one night.

Shanks was more than just a nuisance.

Mihawk found himself pressed against the nearest wall, a hungry mouth and tongue laving at his neck. His head tipped back, pressing against wooden paneling as he groaned. There was a frenzy of hands, Mihawk’s belt coming loose and pants getting pulled down. His coat had been shirked off at some point, exposing his toned chest fully.

It was all a haze from there. All mouths and moans and sweat. Mihawk threw his head back once more, slamming it against the wall when Shanks’ mouth took him in to the hilt, nose brushing against curly hairs. Mihawk’s hand shot out, gripping onto locks of scarlet to keep him in place. Mihawk’s eyes rolled behind closed lids, mouth agape as he relished in the pleasure. Finally, he guided Shanks’ mouth away, pulling him up to the tip of his cock then back to the hilt once more.

He looked down, heavy-lidded eyes piercing into Shanks’ as he began to slide him up and down his cock slowly. “You look good like this.” He grunted, a smirk plastered across his face. His expression betrayed him, his levels of ecstasy obvious. His grip on Shanks’ hair tightened while his other hand moved towards his worked jaw. Mihawk’s thumb brushed away a trail of drool that had reached Shanks’ chin. His thumb lingered, petting the younger man’s cheek before he began to pick up the pace.

#//placed this in the past for funsies.......... #is this the first... maybe c: #confident until he gets put on all fours............. OOP #akagamiko #MIHAWK ( general tag. ) #MIHAWK ( rp. ) #MIHAWK ( VERSE: ambition over all ) #SHIP ( akataka. )

[jo526]

The Convent Threshold

Christina Rossetti

There’s blood between us, love, my love, There’s father’s blood, there’s brother’s blood; And blood’s a bar I cannot pass: I choose the stairs that mount above, Stair after golden skyward stair, To city and to sea of glass. My lily feet are soiled with mud, With scarlet mud which tells a tale Of hope that was, of guilt that was, Of love that shall not yet avail; Alas, my heart, if I could bare My heart, this selfsame stain is there: I seek the sea of glass and fire To wash the spot, to burn the snare; Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher: Mount with me, mount the kindled stair.Your eyes look earthward, mine look up.

I see the far-off city grand, Beyond the hills a watered land, Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand Of mansions where the righteous sup; Who sleep at ease among their trees, Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn With Cherubim and Seraphim; They bore the Cross, they drained the cup, Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb, They the offscouring of the world: The heaven of starry heavens unfurled, The sun before their face is dim. You looking earthward what see you? Milk-white wine-flushed among the vines, Up and down leaping, to and fro, Most glad, most full, made strong with wines, Blooming as peaches pearled with dew, Their golden windy hair afloat, Love-music warbling in their throat, Young men and women come and go.

You linger, yet the time is short: Flee for your life, gird up your strength To flee; the shadows stretched at length Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh; Flee to the mountain, tarry not. Is this a time for smile and sigh, For songs among the secret trees Where sudden blue birds nest and sport? The time is short and yet you stay: Today while it is called today Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray; Today is short, tomorrow nigh: Why will you die? why will you die?

You sinned with me a pleasant sin: Repent with me, for I repent. Woe's me the lore I must unlearn! Woe's me that easy way we went, So rugged when I would return! How long until my sleep begin, How long shall stretch these nights and days? Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays; She laves her soul with tedious tears: How long must stretch these years and years?

I turn from you my cheeks and eyes, My hair which you shall see no more— Alas for joy that went before, For joy that dies, for love that dies. Only my lips still turn to you, My livid lips that cry, Repent. Oh weary life, oh weary Lent, Oh weary time whose stars are fewHow should I rest in Paradise,

Or sit on steps of heaven alone? If Saints and Angels spoke of love Should I not answer from my throne: Have pity upon me, ye my friends, For I have heard the sound thereof: Should I not turn with yearning eyes, Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang? Oh save me from a pang in heaven. By all the gifts we took and gave, Repent, repent, and be forgiven: This life is long, but yet it ends; Repent and purge your soul and save: No gladder song the morning stars Upon their birthday morning sang Than Angels sing when one repents.I tell you what I dreamed last night:

A spirit with transfigured face Fire-footed clomb an infinite space. I heard his hundred pinions clang, Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang, Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents, Worlds spun upon their rushing cars: He mounted shrieking: 'Give me light.' Still light was poured on him, more light; Angels, Archangels he outstripped Exultant in exceeding might, And trod the skirts of Cherubim. Still 'Give me light,' he shrieked; and dipped His thirsty face, and drank a sea, Athirst with thirst it could not slake. I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take From aching brows the aureole crown— His locks writhed like a cloven snake— He left his throne to grovel down And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet: For what is knowledge duly weighed? Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet; Yea all the progress he had made Was but to learn that all is small Save love, for love is all in all.

I tell you what I dreamed last night: It was not dark, it was not light, Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair Through clay; you came to seek me there. And 'Do you dream of me?' you said. My heart was dust that used to leap To you; I answered half asleep: 'My pillow is damp, my sheets are red, There's a leaden tester to my bed: Find you a warmer playfellow, A warmer pillow for your head, A kinder love to love than mine.' You wrung your hands; while I like lead Crushed downwards through the sodden earth: You smote your hands but not in mirth, And reeled but were not drunk with wine.For all night long I dreamed of you:

I woke and prayed against my will, Then slept to dream of you again. At length I rose and knelt and prayed: I cannot write the words I said, My words were slow, my tears were few; But through the dark my silence spoke Like thunder. When this morning broke, My face was pinched, my hair was grey, And frozen blood was on the sill Where stifling in my struggle I lay.

If now you saw me you would say: Where is the face I used to love? And I would answer: Gone before; It tarries veiled in paradise. When once the morning star shall rise, When earth with shadow flees away And we stand safe within the door, Then you shall lift the veil thereof. Look up, rise up: for far above Our palms are grown, our place is set; There we shall meet as once we met And love with old familiar love.

[xogevahohite]

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[uniquelyfierce]

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[abbatoirablaze]

All It Takes Is A Shot

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: sexual tension, sexual situation due to a couples game, friends catching feelings, teasing, no smut, but it might as well be, Chris definitely has blue balls by the end of the round.

“You two are not going to win, Evans,” I smiled, looking at my best friend. Chris nodded and picked up the next card as I pointed at Scott and Steve, continuing to trash talk the couple. Chris gave me a smirk and grabbed two of the plastic shot glasses, shooting me a wink. I felt my heart begin to race, and I looked away from him, “what’s the card say, anyways?”

He playfully flicked the card at me, it’s glossy surface glinting off the lighting. My breath hitched in my throat as I read it.

‘Take a sexy tequila shot off your partner. If playing in couples, both you and your partner take the challenge. Use the eliminated competitors to judge. If they say it’s not sexy enough, you are eliminated. If no one has been eliminated, all competitors will judge.’

Scott and his boyfriend looked at me and began giggling as they too, read the card. I shook my head, “no way. No. Chris!”

“Are you really gonna let Scott and Steve beat us?” he asked, grabbing two slices of lime. He set them on the counter beside me, and reached for the saltshaker, “over a shot?”

“Damn,” I growled, my competitiveness getting the best of me. With a sigh, I made my way over to his side of the island. Scarlet and her husband had already tapped out, as well as Chris and Robert and their spouses. We were the only two pairs left. Chris looked at me, and I rolled my eyes, “you want to go first?”

“Take your shirt off.”

My eyes nearly bulged at the request, “excuse me?”

“It’s a sexy shot, right?” he asked. I blushed as the other couples were laughing at the response I had to his request, “come on. I’ll put the shot between your boobs, and the lime beneath it. And the salt on your neck.”

“Oh, that’s sexy!” Scarlet laughed tipsily. Her husband Colin agreed, and Chris smiled.

“See!”

I sighed, and unbuttoned my blouse, sliding it down off my shoulders, “you’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

He smirked, and one hand wrapped around my waist as the other slid up my shoulder, rubbing it reassuringly, before I felt his hand slide around the back of my neck. He gently pulled at the hairs at the back of my neck, tilting my head to the side, as I held back a moan.

My thighs clenched together and my eyes glared into his momentarily before they hooded as he pulled my hair a little more. Stifling the second moan was harder as I felt his thick, wet tongue lick a stripe up my neck. I shivered as the cool air hit it and when he backed away, I kept my neck bared, feeling the salt shaker release some grains onto my throat.

When I turned to look at him once again, he slipped the lime wedge right along the bottom ridge of my bra, between my breasts, and sat the shot glass on top of it, my breasts holding it in place.

“Don’t forget,” Hemsworth cheered, “no hands, Chris!”

I blushed, looking back to my best friend, suddenly regretting my decision to play in the sexy couple’s game that he’d set up for the night. But he just laughed, linking both of his hands on the small of my back so that everyone could see he wasn’t using them. I leaned back slightly, feeling the edge of the counter behind me, and he closed me in, pressing his taut form against mine.

“You okay?” he asked quietly. I nodded and he kissed the tip of my nose, “good girl.”

I squirmed, feeling myself getting worked up from the two simple words.

Good girl.

I wanted to jump up and latch onto him. But I closed my eyes and held back, waiting for it to be over.

You can’t have feelings for your best friend.

You CAN NOT have feelings for Christopher Robert Evans.

HE IS OFF LIMITS!

He is o-oh god!

My mind ceased to function as I felt his tongue slowly lave over the swell of my breasts before trailing up the column of my throat, catching the line of salt. I felt his cock twitch against my hip as he continued his trail all the way to the edge of my jaw, and then dipped his head, his lips ghosting back over the swell of my breasts as he picked up the shot glass with his mouth and slowly tilted his head back.

His eyes never left mine as he deposited the plastic shot glass away from the two of us by simply spitting it to the side. And then his face dipped back down, getting lost between my breasts. My thighs clenched again, and my breath caught in my throat as my aching core fluttering around nothing. As his beard scratched my chest, his teeth began nipping lightly and his mouth started sucking on the swell of my d-cups.

He came back up a second later, empty handed, and I could tell from the look in his eyes that he had no intention of ever getting the lime. He just wanted the excuse to touch me. I bit my lip as the couples around us joked that he couldn’t get the lime.

“It was sexy until you couldn’t get it,” Robert laughed, putting a thumbs down to the two of you. Scarlet and Colin gave the two of you a thumbs up, and Hemsworth and his wife gave the two of you a thumbs down, agreeing with Downey and his spouse. To which he looked at me, “looks like you gotta save yourself and Evans, kiddo.”

I groaned, frustrated and turned on by the experience, yet knowing that there was nothing I could really do. But that damned devious glint in his eye made me want to get back at him.

“Take off your shirt and sit down on the chair.”

This time his eyes widened, “what?”

“You heard me,” I said swiftly, acting as though I had my game face on for the card game, and not to torture the ever-loving hell out of him for what he’d just done by leaving me turned on with no relief. I felt his cock twitch against me again, and a blush rose to his cheeks, “go sit down, Chris, and take your shirt off.”

The other couples cat called him as he followed my instructions, but instead of going to grab a dining room chair he went to the living room and sat on the couch. I rolled my eyes and followed him out with the shot glass, the salt shaker, and the lime.

“Okay, what now?”

“Part your thighs a little and open your mouth!”

He swallowed, looking a little nervous now, “w-what?”

“Come on, Evans, don’t be a baby,” Scarlet encouraged, “do what the woman says.”

“You trust me, right?”

The glint in his eye disappeared, and I knew that while he was nervous about what he knew I was going to do, he thought that it was just about the game, “o-of course I do.”

“Then do it.” He nodded, and parted his thighs and opened his mouth. I put the shot glass between his thick thighs, and closed them, making sure the top of it just peaked over them. Then I put the lime wedge in his mouth, his teeth holding onto the rind. A blush rose to his cheeks as I dropped to my knees in front of him.

A few of the guys chuckled, and Scarlet and Chris’ wife whistled and cat-called. He blushed as I put a hand on his outer thigh, and dipped my finger into the tequila, dragging a line down his happy trail. His eyes widened as he watched me.

“Don’t forget,” Scott laughed, a giggle coming from him and his boyfriend, “no hands!”

I rolled my eyes, and then dropped the salt to the side after creating a line on him. Leaning forward, I pushed him back against the cushions, and tilted my head to the side, licking the line of his jeans, before sliding my tongue slowly up his happy trail, collecting the salt, and then flicking my tongue over his belly button.

I felt his abs tighten beneath my tongue, and I watched as his eyes closed, a heavy exhale escaping his nostrils. I smirked, giving the side of his thigh a little squeeze as I dipped my own head back between his thighs, and grabbed the shot glass between my lips. I threw my head back, the bitter harsh liquor stinging my throat as it went down.

His eyes had opened again, and I could see the noticeable bulge in his pants. I slowly climbed on top of his lap, resting my core against the bulge straining against his jeans, and I dipped my head, dropping the plastic shot glass between my breasts. He watched me, the lime still in his mouth, and he swallowed.

I watched his adam’s apple bob for a second, and the look of realization crossed his features. His eyes broke away from mine and glanced down, as though he could look at the lime between his lips. I let my arms snake around his neck as I ground myself against him. He groaned, and I grabbed his hair, pulling it back so that I had access to the lime.

“Good boy!” I whispered softly, leaning in. I plucked the lime from his mouth and bit into it, the juices flowing between my lips and his as I pulled away, letting the tangy citrus into my mouth. Letting go of his hair, I leaned back, rolling my hips. I felt his hands slide to my hips and hold me on his lap as I dropped the lime into the plastic shot glass.

The room was quiet for a few moments, before it was Downey that spoke, “okay…that was hot. Thumbs up, kid. Thumbs. Up.”

Robert’s wife agreed with him, as did everyone else. Scott and Steve pouted at me as I got off Chris’ lap, and pulled the shot glass from between my bra. I shot Scott and his boyfriend a wink, “I think its your turn, boys. Go grab your card.”

“Holy shit!” I heard Chris mutter as I walked back into the kitchen.

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