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celestialsister0918 · 2 years ago

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Fireside: A Sirius Black Christmas Oneshot

Happy holidays, loves! Here is a gift for my Sirius Black friends. Tumblr exclusive for now, probably cross-posted to my AO3 and Wattpad eventually.

A few warnings— it’s EXPLICIT smut. 18+ interaction only, please.

It’s a Sirius x You (fem-reader) fic, but you have a House. It was necessary for the plot. Hopefully you are House-flexible or can be for the next 6k+ words.

Get warm and cozy and enjoy… and please let me know what you think… reblogs are much appreciated, as are likes and comments. I love chatting with readers and fellow Sirius lovers.

You stood at the doorway to Number Twelve with your heart beating wildly against your chest. Harry and the other students had left for second term just a few short hours ago, with the Weasleys close behind. They were giving Arthur the chance to continue his recovery at the Burrow, hoping to speed his efforts with the comforts of home rather than the sullen, dreary darkness of Grimmauld Place. At least that’s what you’d overheard in their whispers after last night’s dinner, which had followed the last meeting of the Order for the year.

The whispers, of course, were for the benefit of the one inhabitant of the house who wasn’t granted the choice of leaving. No matter how dark and dreary, no matter how much his spirits needed lifting. And they certainly seemed to need lifting last night. As soon as the meeting had adjourned, Sirius Black retreated upstairs with nary a goodbye. Harry had seemed disappointed at this. It was only natural he’d want to soak up every minute possible with his godfather before returning to Hogwarts. But Black had fallen prey to another “fit of the sullens,” as Molly liked to label them with a disapproving shake of her head.

You understood those types of fits all too well, having suffered your own tragedies throughout the Wizarding Wars, as well as typical adolescent heartaches and disappointments that seemed to continue into your early adult years too. Maybe you simply took things too seriously. Life just seemed to come easy to more carefree witches and the wizards that worshiped them. You’d heard stories that Sirius Black himself used to fall into that lighthearted, devil-may-care category many years ago. But he’d experienced unimaginable darkness, and you knew the last thing he needed was to hide away alone, even if he fought you tooth and nail over it.

With a sharp intake of breath, you broke through the warded door with charms meant only for official gatherings of the Order. You prayed to the gods that there wasn’t some terrible punishment for doing so. You sighed with relief when you were greeted only by the eerie silence of cold, dark air— which was a sound unto itself, strange as that seemed. The familiar dank smell filled your nostrils, but it didn’t bother you. It simply set the ambience of a home filled with magic and mystery and stories, dreaded though some of them may be. The walls were alive with history, and there was something intriguingly romantic about the place, if you were honest. You knew the man you were about to encounter would adamantly disagree and would probably throw you out on your arse for thinking so. You’d be sure to keep your strange admiration for the place to yourself for a while, at least until he warmed up to you a bit.

That could take awhile indeed, you thought grimly. Rather than start on such a task right away, you chose to descend to the kitchen and make yourself a calming cup of tea. Perhaps a drop or two of schnapps for some liquid courage were in order also. As the kettle warmed, you made your way to the flocked tree in the rear of the kitchen and smiled as you studied the ornaments there. Sirius himself had conjured and crafted most of them just days earlier, when he’d been noticeably more joyful. The anticipation of Christmas had lifted him out of his funk, and he’d been determined to replace his family’s fancy heirloom ornaments with much more colorful, animated, and exciting ones. You enjoyed examining them while you waited for the kettle to whistle. They were a glimpse into his true self— the fun, whimsical side you always heard about in tales from the older Order members.

You’d seen that side a bit in your interactions with him so far. He had a certain glint in his eye as he teased you for your lack of coordination, which coincidentally had landed you in his lap one evening when you’d hooked the toe of your boot unceremoniously under the crossbar of the wooden kitchen bench.

“I- I’m so sorry,” you had stammered, your face painfully hot. He’d caught you with an arm scooped under your back.

“I’m not,” he’d quipped back with a glimmer in his blue gray eyes. And he’d given your thigh a couple quick pats with his large palm, just fatherly enough that you weren’t quite sure if he saw you as a cute, clumsy, overgrown kid— or something a bit sexier, as that glimmer in his eye along with his comment might have suggested.

Subsequent meetings were difficult after that fateful fall. You couldn’t stop your eyes from straying in his direction. In spite of his scraggly, unkept stubble and perhaps accelerated aging from Azkaban, he was undoubtedly a beautiful man. The Black family genetics were famous for a reason. Their symmetry and grace, smooth skin, full and shiny hair, and silky, aristocratic voices were mesmerizing. It was no wonder they drifted toward the Dark Arts; with gifts like that, they could clearly coerce lesser mortals into doing anything.

Sirius was made only more handsome by the tattoos that covered the previews of skin he revealed— a sexy “fuck you” to the house, the Black family line, and anyone who may chide him for daring to be different. You admired the confidence his swaths of ink portrayed, and each passing meeting made you yearn to study them up close. For academic purposes, of course. Continuing education in Ancient Runes. Field work.

“Do you not take sugar in your tea?”

The voice was quite light and innocent, but it startled you so much you spilled said tea straight through the holes of your wool sweater.

“Fuck!” you hissed. “You scared me, Black.”

He smiled and strode behind you, reaching around your front to grasp a kitchen rag that hung from the lower cupboard handle. He spun you around with hands on your upper arms and promptly began absorbing the spill. Of course he could have taken care of it with a mere wand wave. Interesting that he chose the more manual route.

“I scared you?” Sirius mused. “And to think you’re the one breaking and entering and stealing my tea. Which, strangely, you’re sipping black at the moment. Is this because you don’t know where to find the proper accompaniments, or are you simply that odd?”

“Simply that odd, I’m afraid,” you admitted, leaning back against the wooden counter with legs outstretched. “I like it black. Enjoy the flavor.”

This was met with a slightly arched eyebrow, but he recovered quickly and reached around you again to grab his own mug.

“I prefer it quite sweet, and loaded with cream, personally,” Sirius commented, voice still maddeningly silky and light. It tickled over your eardrums like a melody. His tongue snaked out as he tilted the mug to his lips and slurped.

“Don’t you Blacks have to attend some finishing school before you’re sent to Hogwarts?” you teased him. “Don’t they teach you not to slurp there?”

Sirius didn't miss a beat. “You’ll find I’m a bit of a dog, darling. I’m rather noisy and messy with my mouth.”

That rush of heat filled your cheeks again, and you found yourself trembling a little with adrenaline at how quickly things had escalated. Or did they? The conversation was quite innocent, on a service level. Perhaps your building desire for him had you reading things that weren’t there. You decided to change the subject and try to calm your racing blood.

“You seem quite a bit… happier… than the other day,” you offered as he continued to enjoy his tea. “Did you have a nice day today?”

Sirius seemed to snort. “I had a fucking awful day. How could I have anything but in a place like this?”

“I’m sure it’s not so bad, with the right company,” you pointed out nervously, suddenly scared you might piss him off enough that he’d order you to leave.

“I’ve had nothing but company for weeks,” he replied. “It can help, I suppose. But I’m still trapped.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say to this, so you busied yourself with your own mug, roving the kitchen slowly to avoid eye contact while you plotted where to go next.

“Is that why you’re here?” Sirius continued softly. “Do you believe you’re the ‘right company?’” His expression seemed skeptical.

You shrugged shakily. “I— I dunno. I guess I just thought… you shouldn’t be alone. I… I like being alone occasionally. But you… you don’t really seem like that type.”

“Not a bit,” he agreed. “But it’s not just about the company. It’s about experiences. And I’ve experienced everything there is to do here. Millions of miserable times over.”

You bit your lip, knowing you could never be so bold as to suggest novel experiences he might try. You were pretty sure he hadn’t had many of those— if any— within these walls. Not with multitudes of pureblood portraits staring him down. Of course he very well could have fooled around with pureblood girls here growing up, right? Just because he wasn’t a supremacist like his forebears didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy a dip in the pureblood pool from time to time.

“So,” he continued, addressing you by your name as he crept closer, step by step. “What experiences are you bringing with your company? How will you keep me from being bored?” His eyebrows arched and narrowed adorably with his words as he challenged you.

He stopped just short of invading your space, so you could still view him easily from head to toe. He wore a thick velvet robe in deep burgundy overtop a black and green pinstripe shirt that was honestly a bit… Slytherin-like, when taken in isolation. Perhaps he hadn’t invested in a new wardrobe upon his return and simply relied on the house’s contents. But it suited him nonetheless— this regal contrast of the two houses adorned with his double Albert chain and shiny brown dress shoes. Of course the colors were befitting the season as well, a reminder that Christmas joy still lingered in the air, if one looked for it. You imagined that the house once saw splendid Christmas feasts— glittering, elegant affairs filled with firelight and extravagance as the Wizarding World’s upper crust filled every floor. Personally you enjoyed picturing something more intimate, more cozy, within those old walls.

“Let’s light a fire,” you suggested, setting your teacup down and leading the way to the parlor.

Sirius scoffed behind you but followed nonetheless. “Why would we do that? The entirety of the house is under a warming charm, darling.”

“Hogwarts has fires in the common rooms, does it not? They were nice.”

“Nice, but obviously unnecessary,” he continued practically.

“You need some actual warmth in this place,” you insisted, setting to work lighting the floo. “The kind of warmth that feels good on the inside too. Comfort. A glow.”

“You’re a Hufflepuff, aren’t you?” Sirius asked with a snicker, reclining in a large, faded velvet armchair. He spread his legs in a wide slouch, and you couldn’t help but gaze downward at the movement. Thick, ribbed corduroy slacks hugged thin legs and tapered down to fine silk socks, above which you saw the faintest glimpse of pale skin and dark hair.

“What does my house matter?” you returned in a non-answer. The fire roared to life in the large black marble, and instead of joining him in the companion armchair, you chose to settle on the rug right in front of the flames. Your skin was already on fire, of course, from the turn-on of his earlier proximity and banter. But the added warmth felt nice, and you hugged your knees to your chest.

“Your house doesn’t matter,” he agreed. Just simply a guess. Now, what about that experience you’re going to offer me? Still waiting for an answer on that one.” Sirius rested an elbow on the chair arm, his fingers toying with the ends of his long mustache where it met the unruly stubble on his chin.

“Come down here with me. This is an experience,” you responded, patting the empty space next to you on the rug. It was thick and smooth, richly woven, and of course very expensive. You could feel thick loops of fine threads beneath your fingers as you traced its intricate pattern.

“Sitting by a fire?” Sirius asked incredulously. But he did make a move to join you, settling down in the spot you indicated and then shifting closer. His robe brushed the sleeve of your sweater, and he made no move to back away.

“Well, what kind of experience did you have in mind?” you shot back.

Sirius shrugged innocently, eyes twinkling in the dim light. “No idea, love. You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep, remember? Don’t you have a plan for these things? Or are they spontaneous? Maybe you’re a Gryffindor then?”

You gave a small smile, refusing to answer the question. Instead you studied the details of his face you’d never noticed from afar, features augmented by the dancing shadows of light. He had a very well defined facial muscle that gave an intermittent sexy twitch. And another defined crease on the underneath of his nose that made you curious if you had one; you had always just envisioned it to be smooth. But most magnificent was the way the firelight bounced off of every soft curl — a bountiful dark mahogany crown that would be the envy of any woman alive. You longed to run your hands through it, betting it was even more luxurious than the tapestry rug beneath your increasingly aroused bottom half.

“I’m beginning to feel rather exposed,” Sirius declared, amused. “I don’t think I’ve ever been examined in such detail before. Is this for ‘science,’ as the Muggles say?”

You cleared your throat nervously. “Uh, yes. Wizarding genetics, I guess. You’re just very… impressive.” You winced at the terrible recovery.

Sirius responded with a sweep of a tattooed hand over your cheek. “I’m flattered, coming from a witch as exquisite as yourself. Not to mention young. I believe I have quite a few years on you, yes?”

Your heartbeat was painfully audible as you tried to craft an answer. His fingers still explored your face, alternating with occasional twists of an adjacent lock of your hair. Each sweep of his skin over yours seemed to make your veins tremble.

You truly didn’t know how to respond. Your Muggle friend had once informed you that the term for your specific brand of fixation was “daddy kink,” but you weren’t sure admitting that would do you any favors. You liked how his touch was so self-assured, and the richness of his scent, and how he always knew what to say without hesitation. You liked how the hard lines of his face and hands denoted strength and experience. And you liked how he made you feel small and fragile and protected just by being near you. You wished you could tell him all that without sounding ridiculous. But you were fairly certain you were already communicating it with your parted lips, panting breath, and love-drunk eyes.

“You are going to make my night interesting after all, aren’t you, little one?” Sirius husked, and the bud between your legs danced frantically up and down in response. How did he know to call you that? Your eyes closed with the dizziness of your anticipation, and the hand that had drifted so gently over your cheek now rested fully on your throat. His scent became even more pronounced, alerting you to his closeness just before his mustache tickled your upper lip in the briefest of warnings.

The kiss he gave you was chaste and just enough for you to learn the shape of his lips before he pulled away.

“If you don’t want this, you need to tell me,” Sirius said, his voice low as it drifted directly across your ear. “I’ll stop if you ask me to— at any point. But this is the only asking I’ll be doing myself. Once I begin, you’ll find I’m far too busy to stop and check in.”

His forehead rested gently on yours, his deep blue eyes smoky in the dim light.

“Busy doing what?” you whispered— half teasingly, half desperate for the fire between your legs to be stoked by all the dirty things he would promise.

Sirius chuckled lowly. “You like dirty talk, little one?”

Your affirmative answer came as a whimper, which elicited another devilish chuckle from his lips.

“Very well,” he said silkily. He punctuated the words with another firm kiss on your lips, this time allowing the very tip of his tongue to trace the outline of the bottom one before planting light kisses along your jawline to your earlobe. He paused there, allowing a breath to tickle your ear before he spoke.

“I am going to make every part of your body come alive, as if I cast a spell. But there will be no wand— only my hands, my mouth, my voice. I will make your delicious cunt so wet it will be weeping for my cock. Then I will bury it in you so deep you scream… so loud you’ll wake every portrait in this house and make them curse your sweet, beautiful name. You will ride my cock for as many mind-numbing orgasms as your body can handle, then I will take my pleasure and fill you so full of my seed that it trickles down these soft, smooth thighs all day long tomorrow. You’ll feel it and remember me, and you’ll want it all over again.”

Sirius accompanied his filthy murmurings with firm strokes to your inner thigh, hand already buried inside your skirt. You let out an almost agonized groan in response— all intelligible communication now impossible. Your body literally shook just from his promises, and you knew the look you gave him as he came to a kneel on the rug was one of complete and utter submission.

His hands came beneath your head to cradle it, hands swept in the tangle of your hair as kisses became more insistent, open-mouthed, and allowed you taste the salt and firewhisky on his breath. His tongue explored in gentle licks followed by long sweeps of your mouth, as if it was truly a mission to discover inner parts of you and not just kissing.

You became eager for his hands to move elsewhere, but they still held your head still for his mouth to continue its wicked work. His kisses made your head spin, but the rest of your body felt in heat and neglected. You came to your knees yourself, hands introducing themselves to the sturdy velvet of his jacket, your legs making a move to straddle one of his trousered thighs. He let out a low laugh.

“So eager,” he chastised. “I’m the one who hasn’t shagged in fourteen years, yet I’m the one demonstrating all the patience.”

“I want you!” you defended yourself breathlessly, not even caring if you sounded desperate now. You just needed relief, and to have this wizard covering every inch of you.

“Ah, there it is. The answer I needed to my question,” he said with a wink. “You needed to give me permission, you know.”

“You have it,” you insisted, and as a visual aid to your words, you took the initiative to shrug out of your own sweater. Your breasts swelled over the cups of your lacy, favorite-colored bra. You noticed Sirius became strangely still at the sight, his mouth parting.

“Fucking beautiful,” he managed to mutter, and he cast his own robe aside to free his movement as he reclined you both onto the rug. His fingers gently slid one strap from your shoulder, replacing it with his mouth and soft whiskers. The detailed attention he paid to a spot as random as your shoulder reminded you of his promise to awaken every part of your body. Sirius planned to make every cell literally beg.

His kisses danced across your collarbone in a similar fashion, tended to the next shoulder, then came to center on your pulse point, where he began a gentle suction. You let out a cry at this and took the chance to enjoy his gorgeous, thick curls while he worked his mouth on your upper body’s most sensitive spot.

“I’m going to have wicked marks if you keep doing that,” you teased with a whisper. Sirius’s nose brushed your earlobe as he went for the other side, sucking the sensitive skin beneath like he was starving.

“Good,” he finally broke to whisper back. “And your neck’s not the only spot I plan to mark you.” He added teeth to the mix now, grazing lightly over your throbbing pulse. Would he bite? Would you even care if he did? But he only threatened such before moving lower, working your arms out of the dangling bra straps to reveal your breasts to him. His breath caught in his chest as he appreciated them with his eyes first before cupping them hard, one in each hand. His rough thumbs drove your nipples into peaks, watching each little bump emerge with fascination.

You observed him with a smile, arms leaned back behind you to prop you up for his amusement. You realized of course that it had been over a decade since he’d played with such toys, and though your body was humming for more, you granted him his boy-like fun. Sirius alternated between circling your nipples into painfully hard peaks and kneading your breasts like dough before finally suckling the left into his mouth. The action caused your eyes to roll back in your head. This wizard knew what he was doing. It was more than just taking the soft, pliable tissue into his mouth— he created a firm, merciless suction whose movements echoed between your thighs in violent waves. Your legs parted reflexively, and you grabbed his hand, encouraging it down to feel your burning heat.

“Please touch me,” you begged. “I’m so wet for you.”

Sirius responded to this with a hungry growl, releasing your breast to reveal brand new marks as promised. He gave the other another very rough squeeze before grabbing at your skirt, ripping it downward. He sent it hurling away, narrowly missing the fire. The rip of lace echoed through the air as your knickers followed.

“Am I supposed to walk home with no knickers tomorrow?” you mused above the noisy kisses he planted to the soft skin of your stomach.

“You’re not going home tomorrow,” he replied quickly. “And you’ll be naked all day. And you certainly won’t be walking by the time I’m finished with you.”

“Oh, so you— you like it rough then?” you asked between gasps, shuddering as his fingers traced the tops of your inner thighs, which opened to the hot breaths drifting over your sex.

“Not always,” he answered, grinning up at you from between your parted legs. “But the Black family genetics extend to other endowments as well. In both size and stamina. Even sweeter lovemaking can lend itself to the need for pain potions, love. Do you still consent?”

You licked your lips and lowered your eyes, feeling them burn with sultry want. “I thought you weren’t going to ask anymore?”

“Gryffindor chivalry,” he dismissed with an adorable pursing of his lips. “It’s a curse sometimes.”

“Yes, I consent,” you answered with a grin of your own. “But before you touch me like I asked, I want you out of those clothes. I need to see this endowment of which you speak.”

Sirius sat up and gave your thighs a swift tap before closing them. Your own wetness was dripping onto them at this point, and you could smell sex on the air already.

“You don’t believe me?” he inquired with raised brows.

“Well, you know, Gryffindors are fond of bragging…”

Sirius let out a deep laugh. “So I can assume you’re not a Gryffindor, then, with a comment like that.” He stood and began disrobing, his thumbs drifting over the buttons of the dark green shirt. Each tattoo he revealed made you salivate. He wore a thick, shiny belt buckle now displayed over a prominent bulge in his trousers, and you imagined he was growing quite uncomfortable in there.

“Still not telling you my house,” you replied, shifting your closed legs from one side to the other as you watched your strip show, offering him tantalizing glimpses of your cunt and arse but never separating your thighs for a full view. Sirius never took his eyes off of you, and when his trousers swiftly lowered, you were greeted by the surprise of no underwear— followed by the thick, glorious inches of a very hard, uncut, pureblood cock on display. Your jaw dropped open.

“Already opening up for me?” Sirius commented silkily. “Good girl.”

You nodded, ready to have your mouth fucked speechless if that’s what he wanted. But Sirius seemed to have other plans, pouncing back on you in under a second. He parted your legs almost violently, his face voracious as he plunged his nose into your soaking wetness to inhale before licking furiously.

“Oh, fucking gods!” you moaned, arching into his frenzied movements. He was truly very noisy and beast-like with his mouth, as he’d warned. His tongue alternated between flat, all-encompassing licks across your entire slit, and tiny, strong, targeted flicks around your bud. He approached your sensitive, nerve-filled opening with his tongue in a stiff point, swirling it around to beckon wetness from you in droves.

“I’m fucking drowning you down there,” you moaned, arching your back against the soft rug.

“I told you I like loads of sweet cream,” Sirius responded with a murmur. “Keep it coming, love. Soak my face.”

His tongue rammed your g-spot now, his whole stubbled face buried in your cunt. Your smell filled the hot air and was so sexy you wanted some yourself. Sirius seemed in tune with your needs because his fingers found your hole as his tongue drifted upward to concentrate on your swollen bud again.

“Let me taste your fingers,” you whispered.

“So you do like sugar and cream after all?” he chuckled before obliging with a rather rough shove of his soaked digits into your mouth. His wet stubble scratched your face as his words sought your ear. “Or maybe you’re just a very dirty girl.”

You sucked the delicious sweet-salty combo from Sirius’s fingers, offering kitten licks, strong suction, and previews of all the things he could expect once that glorious cock was in your mouth. His hand found its place within your slit again and began purposeful movements, the back of his palm massaging your clit as his fingers found the g-spot again, kneading the spongy, swollen tissue.

“Please fuck me,” you begged. “I need your cock.”

“Oh yeah?” he mused delicately, leveling his heady eyes to yours. “You don’t like what my fingers are doing to you, darling?”

“I love it,” you panted. “But I’m gonna come!”

“Then come, sweetheart. You can still come on my cock. Promise.” Sirius’s hand picked up its pace so any resistance was hopeless. His mouth returned to your neck to secure you in place as the waves took over your body, your whole frame convulsing in one giant shake after another with your beautiful release against his hand. Sirius’s wet mouth closed over yours, his tongue invading as he situated his warm, taut body between your legs. Your bud was still tingling with aftershocks when he touched the head of his cock to it, angling for pressure.

His girthy shaft sought its spot between your glistening lower lips, hips driving the thick tip up against the underside of your clit, and his hard, veiny surface sliding against your still swollen vulva. Sirius wasn’t going to let the pressure ease for even a minute, making sure to build another climax even stronger than the first for his cock to work you through.

“Inside me, please!” you breathed into his mouth.

“I think you can come just like this, darling,” he argued. “Don’t you?” The ridge of his cockhead massaged your clit furiously with his back and forth, and your body gushed messily all over his shaft. Your nails made deep half moons in his tattooed shoulders.

“Y— yes, I can come for you.” You arched up to grind into his impossibly hard length, seeking the rhythm and friction you needed to push over the edge. It required wild gyration and complete abandonment of any self consciousness. Your breasts bounced against his chest, and you clung so tightly to him to ground yourself that your nose was buried in his curls, smelling his animalic musk.

You screamed as you reached peak again, the tremors tinier this time but still exquisite. Exhausted, you fell limply to the rug and took him with you, giving grateful caresses to the smooth skin of his back. Of course you were still aware of his inches throbbing against your thigh, and you knew you had to summon more energy if you were going to give Sirius the satisfaction he needed. The man hadn’t lain with a woman in nearly a decade and a half, and you wanted his cock thoroughly and ecstatically drained. You’d be lying, though, if your twice-satisfied cunt wasn’t worried about such a massive invasion. Your gratitude for the blissful, explosive orgasms aside— you kind of wish he’d honored your request and fucked you when you were swollen, open, and on fire.

Sirius raised himself on his elbows, gazing down at you with a lazy smile.

“You’re really fucking beautiful, you know that, Slytherin girl?”

You blinked and jumped. “What?”

Sirius gnawed at his lip and continued to grin, deep blue eyes sparkling. “You heard me.”

“What makes you say that?” you demanded. “You haven’t even guessed Ravenclaw yet!”

“You let me fuck you way too dumb to be a ‘Claw, and I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pointed out. “I’ve had my fair share of Ravenclaw witches, and they never quite know when to shut up, Merlin love them.”

“Hey, Slytherins are smart too,” you said with a narrowed brow before you could stop yourself.

Sirius gave a hard smack to your arse before pulling you onto your side, his erection buried in your stomach. You laid breasts to chest, feet and legs entangled, faces flush.

“Tell me,” he said with a slight scowl. “How did they let another Slytherin into the Order? Do they not have standards anymore?”

“Oh, fuck you, Black,” you muttered.

“You’re still doing that, darling, don’t worry. No slithering your way out of that one. You know I’m just trying to rile you up and get you going again so you can handle my cock. Maybe a hate-fuck would be a nice game, now that our alliances are on the table? Would you like that?” His fingers tickled down your ribs and hips before finding the triangle he sought, just his fingertips easing lower to scissor your bud.

“Our ‘alliances’ are the same, you prick,” you laughed, accepting his fingers with an approving arch of your hips.

“Yes, but this new tidbit makes it so much more fun,” he insisted. “You’ve delivered on that new experience I wanted. A fine Christmas present indeed.”

“So this is your first time with a Slytherin?” you asked, doing nothing to hide your pride at that possibility.

“Virgin,” Sirius confirmed with a nod. “As if twelve years in Azkaban didn’t revirginize me enough, this makes it official. Now, show me what I’ve been missing.” He collapsed rather dramatically on the rug, hand behind his head, curls strewn about the intricate paisley pattern. His body was breathtaking— glowing in the firelight, each turn of muscle accentuated by shadow, each tattoo taking turns in the spotlight with the maneuver of flames. And at the center of the beauty was that cock, which hadn’t lost a bit of wind with this latest reveal of information. A generous leak of precum glistened at the tip, and you lowered your mouth to drink it in, your hair tickling his thighs. The first taste left you craving more, and your mouth slid over his huge shaft like a sleeve, locking him in your throat. You heard a grunt of shock escape his mouth.

“Fuck, that was fast,” Sirius groaned.

You eased off of him teasingly, lips forming an up and down suction which you accompanied with twists of your hand. He tasted positively feral yet clean and refined, just as you would have imagined. His tip leaked loads into your mouth, feeling like it would burst at any second if it weren’t for his exceptional control.

“Mmm… you taste good, Black,” you moaned approvingly. “Almost good enough that I’d settle for your load in my mouth if I didn’t want you to fuck my pussy so badly.”

“On your knees, fucking snake cunt,” he ordered with a wink, the fact that it was a game unmistakable. You gave one long, final suck up his shaft and gave a squeeze to his balls, drawing another deep groan from him.

In an instant Sirius’s hands were in your hips, holding you in place while his dripping head found your center. He was right— the banter had you on fire again, and your swollen walls took every inch of him as he pushed inside without hesitation.

“Ahhhh!” you cried out, unable to help yourself. His hips were a frenzy, abandoning every bit of his previous control now that he was within your tightness. Your breasts bounced in mad circles with the force of his pounding, and sure enough, you could hear the portraits stirring down the hall from the primal noises the two of you made.

“Oh, Sirius, yes,” you breathed, enjoying the repeated raking of his tip, ridge, and underside along your spongy, swollen front wall. He knew just how much to drag back and surge forward, never breaking the rhythm you needed to build to another crest in a matter of minutes. His chest was sweaty when it made contact with your back, and he occasionally dropped open-mouthed kisses to the skin of your shoulder blades with his forward surges. Every so often he broke his rigid support on the rug to squeeze your breasts, kneading them so tightly you knew you’d have bruises for weeks.

“Feel good, love?” he husked, and you knew he knew full well you were beyond good. His ego just wanted to hear it.

“Yes, Sirius. Fuck yes. Please come inside me.”

And it was truly your foremost want in that moment — to fill his hot cum paint your insides and have the satisfaction of giving him what he’d needed for so long. He renewed his lock tight grip on your hips and granted your request, resuming the pounding of your g-spot but faster now, the friction very much for his benefit— with yours as a mere pleasant side effect.

“Fuck, yes, I’m gonna fill you so full,” he promised breathily. “And you better come for me again. You better scream.”

You reached around to toy with your clit and make sure you obeyed his command, but he swatted your hand away and replaced it with his own, his fingers taking on a rhythm to match his snapping hips. All you could do was let out a long stream of moans and buck furiously in return, knowing that chasing your own pleasure would only increase his. His escalated moans confirmed he was approaching release, and you grinned as you picked up the pace even more feverishly, wanting to torture it out of him.

“Fucking GODS!!!” Sirius yelled, and he emptied into you with one hot jet after another, so much it ran right back out over his trembling cock. You kept your pace even after his cock stilled, the added lubricant from his release making easy work of your movements. The thought of being filled with him made your orgasm deliciously hot and dirty as your walls burned with pain and need. Sirius recovered enough to resume the pace of his fingers on your clit, and you spilled over the edge, lurching forward in a series of shakes that wracked your entire body.

You fell forward onto your belly, a mess dripping from your insides, your muscles and bones useless, your skin bruised. It was every way you should feel after a proper fuck. Your brain positively hummed with endorphins, and you breathed in the deliciousness of your combined sex on the air. You could hear Sirius struggling to regain his breath behind you, and you knew he looked sexy as fuck back there. But you were too exhausted to lift yourself up and look.

You weren’t even sure how much time had passed when you felt his arms encircle you, along with the cold rush of air as he lifted you from the warmth of the rug. He wasn’t a huge man, though you’d heard from other Order members that he was considerably stronger now than when he’d escaped the sea prison two years ago. He carried you easily up multiple twists of stairs until you reached a Gryffindor red room on the very top level. Then Sirius nestled you gingerly into a brightly colored duvet.

“Will you be able to sleep with this much red, or should I move you to the green room next door?” he asked dryly, shuffling his naked body next to yours and leaving you little choice in the matter.

“Well, it is Christmastime,” you reminded him sleepily. “The two play rather nicely together right now.”

Sirius responded by nuzzling into your shoulder, his whiskers scratching tiny red prickles into your skin.

#orderofthephoenix #older sirius black #post azkaban sirius #gary oldman #sirius black x you #sirius black one shot #sirius black x y/n #smut #christmas smut #sirius black smut #sirius black imagine #oneshot #grimmauld place

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impala-dreamer · 1 year ago

Text

Danger In The Mist

A Supernatural Story from The Kingdom of Moondoor

~ As the fair Princess Y/N races through the woods, running for her life from the evil monster, Margraw the Horrid, she fears that all is lost. Is there anyone who can save her? Will some brave knight come to her aide?!~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

2,400 Words

Warnings: Action, Fluff, Romance, Comedy.

A/N: Set in the world of Moondoor... A request from a patron and the "hey, you made need to bite on this" square for my @jacklesversebingo Bingo Card. Hope you all enjoy! I must say, I really enjoyed writing this and the voice I found is a lot of fun.

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

A light mist kissed her cheeks as she raced through the woods. Her slippered feet ached with every step as rocks rose up to meet the silken soles of her feet. Her arms were stinging, scrapped by the rough hands of wayward branches and brambles. Out of breath and filled with fear, she stumbled from tree to tree, clawing at the sturdy bark for a moment of support before taking off once more.

She ran until her lungs burned.

Thinking herself safe, Princess Y/N paused aside a large rock formation. Her wind-blown hair created a pillow against the mossy stone and she breathed deeply, slowly. Her heart was pounding and her ears rang, but she listened closely to the forest.

To her left, birds chirped, signaling to others a warning of the approaching storm. Wings flapped against the graying sky as they filled the canopy with urgent alarm. On her right, twigs snapped under the hooves of deer and delicate leaves crumbled in their mouths. All around, wind passed through the greenery and Y/N held her breath, searching blindly for the one sound she absolutely needed to hear. All was still. She was surrounded by quiet.

A few moments later, heavy footfalls broke through the mote of silence and entered her perception. She gasped as the thing approached, stalking at a quick pace that she knew she could no longer keep up with or out run.

It was over.

She would soon be captured, taken away and shoved back into the dank, cold tower at Dunshire Castle to await her terrible fate. She exhaled and a hot tear trekked down her flushed cheek, mixing with the cool drizzle as it settled upon her skin.

“Come out, Princess!” The monster yelled as he sniffed the air like a dog. “I know that you are near. I can smell your sweet scent!”

A howling roar erupted from its maw and Y/N shivered. In her mind’s eye she could see the terrible creature clearly - a giant, thick body covered in the harsh gray fur of a wolf, fangs like a venomous snake that curved beyond its jaw, digging into his chapped lip. His piercing eyes like glowing rubies, seething with dark magic. The stank of him struck her senses and Y/N tried not to wretch.

She wanted to run but her body was weak. She wanted to scream, but she could not allow her voice to betray her location. She needed but a little more time to feel the dying sun on her face, to inhale the fresh air, to feel the soft ground beneath her feet before she was snatched back to the hell of the towering prison. She would not be taken so soon!

Another roar made her jump. It was closer this time and Y/N’s skin crawled. She had to run. She had to try.

She took a breath and then a step, moving away from the safety of the overhanging rock.

The moment she was free, a giant hand wrapped around the nape of her neck, yanking her backwards with ghastly power.

She screamed and the winged flock above scrambled to fly away from the echoing noise.

“Please! Help me!”

Y/N steeled herself for a blow that never came. As she took one final look at the forest, saying goodbye to the deer and the yapping birds, a strapping figure appeared a few yards away. The man was tall and handsome, with cropped brown hair that stood up a bit at the crown. His lips were full and pink, and his eyes matched the surrounding forest. He wore tights and a simple shirt of russet orange with silver chainmail covering his broad shoulders and chest.

“Unhand her, you fiend!”

The man’s deep, booming voice shook the trees and wrapped around Y/N with all the comfort of a heavy woolen shawl. She was saved. She was safe. She’d soon be free.

The monster pushed Y/N aside and she fell into the grass, watching as the war for her freedom began.

“How dare you,” the thing spat. “Do you have any idea who I am!”

“No introduction is needed, Margraw the Horrid! Though, I would like you to say hello to my little friend.” The man smirked and drew his longsword from its sheath. The metal gleamed in the dimming light and the crest of the mighty House of Winchester shone brightly upon the hilt.

Margraw hissed. “Winchester!”

Dean smiled proudly and turned the sword in his hand. “The one and only.”

A cackle left the beast’s lips. “Indeed. E’er since I slaughtered your baby brother those many moons ago. He truly was a delicious feast.” Margraw licked his hairy chops and stared the knight down. “I wonder if you’ll taste the same or if I’ll have to boil you with mead to enhance the flavor.”

Dean’s upper lip curled into a sneer and he raised his sword high. “Sorry to break it to you, Margraw, but I am the tastiest snack you’ll never have!”

Y/N was taken by the handsomeness of the brave knight and the way he bit back with his words. It was as if he were cutting Margraw down before even swinging his blade. Her heart raced once again, but she knew from the building heat betwixt her thighs that it was no longer from fear.

“You’re cocky, Winchester,” Margraw hissed.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” Dean replied with a wink towards the Princess. “Now, just hand over the girl and we can all be on our way.”

Margraw laughed viciously. “The Princess is mine. Her father signed her life over to me before she was even born. I am her destiny.”

Y/N cringed, shuddering on the cold ground.

Dean looked at her, brows creased in curiosity. “Is this true, m’lady?”

When their eyes met, Y/N swooned and the forest grew light around him as if the world were highlighting his chiseled frame.

“Sadly, yes, sir, but-”

A fresh tear fell and the knight nodded in understanding.

“Fear not, Princess,” he said boldly. “You shall not be dinner for this monster tonight.” He took a step forward, sword ready for a fight. “But perhaps you can be my desert.”

He winked once again and Y/N’s stomach flipped. Her right hand reached for her heaving breast and she watched in awe as Dean, brave knight of the House of Winchester, defended her honor against the dreaded beast, Margraw the Horrid.

The fight was fast and fierce. Dean dodged blows from Margraw’s massive paws and jabbed with his trusted blade. The beast moved slower but with much force, continually blocking Dean’s attacks and sending the knight toppling over his own feet.

Y/N viewed the malay with a hand clutched over her heart, praying to the forest gods that all would be well. When Dean cried out in pain, she nearly lost all hope. He fell to one knee and held his leg as blood leaked from his thigh. He’d been struck by Margraw’s poisoned claws and fire seeped into his veins.

“Dean!” Y/N cried, her voice saturated with grim pain. “No!”

Green eyes swept lovingly over her face and Dean found the strength to carry on. With one swift motion, he stood and swung his arm, deftly delivering a final, deadly blow to Margraw. The monster fell with a sickening howl and the forest was still once more.

Finally free, Y/N scrambled to her feet and swept the dirt from her skirts. She took a deep breath and walked toward the corpse, looking down at the empty eyes of her captor.

She spat in his ugly face. “You shall never again haunt my nightmares, you beast!”

Satisfied and at peace, Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment and let the cool mist wash her past away.

Behind her, Dean collapsed. His longsword fell to the ground, coming to lay beside his bloodied body. He gasped as a rock dug into his broken rib and Y/N spun around, rushing to his side.

“Dean!”

Down to her knees she fell and Y/N looked him over, her eyes heavy with worry.

He looked up and managed a smile even as the monster’s poison worked its painful magic, pulsing through his bloodstream.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Her cheeks flushed but there was no time to attend to her blossoming need. “You’re hurt,” she said, hands hovering over the wound in his meaty thigh.

“No big deal,” he joked, holding back a harsh cough. “I’ve had worse.”

Carefully, she examined his leg and saw the purple streaks expand across his freckled skin as the poison moved about.

She shook her head. “No. Margraw’s claws are tainted with the Poison of Aragrog- enough to kill an army of thousands. We must draw it out before it takes your heart.”

Dean tried to sit up, but he faltered and landed on his elbows, his long legs stretched out before him. “I don’t think it can,” he teased.

“And why not?”

“Because, my heart has already been taken,” he whispered, “by you.”

Y/N’s bosom swelled and her mouth dried, demanding a drink from his lips. “You are quite smooth, Sir Knight, and I do owe you my life. Will you not allow me to attempt now to save yours?”

Dean sighed and then twitched as pain spread up his side. “Do what you must.”

Quickly, Y/N grabbed hold of her innermost skirt and ripped a long strip of the airy fabric free. She looped the frayed white hem around his upper thigh and then reached for a fallen branch. She twisted the thin bit of wood into the fabric and prepared to tighten the tourniquet.

Dean watched with wide, nervous eyes as she worked.

“That’s not gonna hurt, is it?” he asked timidly.

Y/N smiled as kindly as she could. “It will,” she answered truthfully. “But I need to stop the poison from spreading any further whilst I prepare a healing salve. I believe I spied a patch of yarrow over yonder.”

Dean’s expression was worrisome. Hesitation creased with suffering. She took pity and snapped the tip of the twisting branch off, handing it to him.

“Here,” she told him, “you may need something to bite on.”

As her hand lifted the bark to his lips, Dean snatched her wrist and tugged, yanking the Princess down into his arms. He kissed her sweet lips and nestled a hand against the small of her back. She meant to cry out, to protest his rash decision, but the pressure of his mouth upon hers, the feel of his fingers splaying across her back, the taste of his tongue all conspired to wipe the worry from her mind. She melted into him and kissed him back, hoping beyond hope that he would be saved from the poison so that she might be granted a thousand more kisses just like this one.

While she prayed, Dean wrapped his arms tight around her and rolled with her, claiming the top space and pressing her soft body into the earth. He dipped his tongue into her mouth as he bunched up the mass of skirts covering her sex. He pressed his knee into her heat and she moaned loudly into his mouth.

“Thou art quite the kisser, Sir Winchester…”

Dean grinned and flexed his thigh, pushing against her pussy again. “Ya know, I’m kinda loving you calling me Sir, Y/N/N.”

She grabbed at the rough collar of his shirt. “That’s Princess, to you, peasant.” She tugged and he fell back to kissing her, captivated by the pull of her mouth and the heat of her writhing body.

Sneaking a hand between them, Y/N reached for his cock and rubbed her palm over it. He shivered and bucked his hips, helping her along.

“Fuck, I wanna fuck you right here,” he growled, lips dragging over the shell of her ear.

Y/N closed her eyes and spread her legs wider, lifting them to wrap around his trim waist. “You should…”

He let out a sexy huff that made her nipples tingle and her pussy leak. She licked at his mouth and lightly squeezed his sack.

“Now you’re askin’ for it,” he laughed.

“Yeah, I literally just asked for it.”

He nibbled at her throat. “Well, I’m gonna give it to ya.”

“Are you? You’re taking forever.” She pulsed her hand over the tip of his cock.

“Oh, I am.” He pushed up on his hands, hovering over her.

“Good,” she beamed, “give it to me, big boy.”

“It’s coming-”

“Not before I do,” she warned.

“Never,” he smirked. “You know how I roll.”

“I sure d-”

“Hold!”

A voice cried out and Dean’s head snapped back to look over his shoulder.

Patrick, the IT tech draped in Margraw’s costume and covered in fake fur, stood with arms crossed and a sour expression.

“You two know I’m still here, right?” he asked, eyeing each in turn.

Y/N could feel her cheeks burn and she dropped her legs from Dean’s ass and less than gracefully rolled out from under him.

“Sorry…”

Dean, however, was tickled pink about the whole situation. He laughed and pushed himself up to his feet. He turned to his fellow LARPer and shrugged.

“Maybe if you switch sides and play the hero for once, you could get some too.”

Patrick tapped an annoyed boot and sighed. “There are rules, ya know.”

Dean turned up the charm and threw his arm around the costumed monster. “I know, bud. Why don’t we go back to camp, hit the tavern, and you can tell me all about them.”

Y/N stood back a bit, fixing her skirts and pushing her boobs back into her corset. She watched as her knight in cheap armor and her attacker set off into the misty sunset.

Sure, maybe it was cheesy to some, but fighting a monster that definitely was not going to actually kill you was rather fun. There was plenty to do in the Kingdom of Moondoor, lots of adventure and pageantry, feats of skill and laughter. It was a relaxing weekend away from the real world, and Y/N loved sneaking away to enjoy it. Especially because she always got to go home with the handsome knight when the day was through…

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lunaroserites @lyarr24 @nancymcl @nix-rose @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @rosecentury @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

#supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #fluff #comedy #action #jacklesversebingo23

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thescarletnargacuga · 9 months ago

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IT'S ME AGAIN! BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH ANOTHER KINGDOM AU REQUEST!

Could you do one where Pomni gets kidnapped by the gummi bandits and taken to the dark lands where the Ether dragon (sun and moon) is? And then have Caine come in to rescue her?

And have a romantic ending? 👀👀👀

ALSO BUBBLE TRANSFORMING INTO A HORSE BECAUSE CAINE NEEDS A NOBLE STEED HEHEHE

A/N: a classic fairytale setup, I like it!

MY HERO

A KINGDOM AU SHOWTIME ONESHOT

AU credit @allisonraeyt @tadk-ask-blog

WARNING: fantasy action

~~~

Pomni felt dizzy as she slowly came to consciousness. The world was still dark when she opened her eyes. She tried to move. Only to find that her hands and ankles were tied. She let out a gasp and her voice was muffled by the rag tied around her mouth. Her heart started to race and she struggled against her bonds.

Torch light blinded her against the night when the bag over her head was violently ripped away. "Knock it off!" A gruff voice barked in her face. Pomni flinched away and froze in place, breathing heavily against the gag. "Cooperate, and you won't get hurt. Understand?"

Pomni had no idea where she was other than some cave. It smelled dank and reeked of animal filth. Three anthropomorphic gators stood over her. The largest held a bright burning torch that lit the whole cavern.

"Boss," The smallest of the three gators spoke. "When is the dragon gonna be here? The longer she's with us, the more likely-"

"Shut it. They'll be here when they get here. The amount of gold from their hoard they're offering for her will be worth the wait." The largest gator pointed a jagged knife in Pomni's face. "And once you're no longer our problem, you can scream and struggle all you want. No one gets past the Ether Dragon."

Gangle knocked on Pomni's door not long after sun up. "Princess? Are you awake?" The bedroom was silent, so she opened the door carefully. "Princess Pomni? I'm terribly sorry to-" The room was completely upturned. "Skies above! Guards! GUARDS!! PRINCESS POMNI HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED!! GET PRINCE CAINE!!"

Not even a minute later, Prince Caine rushed into the bedroom. He was just as taken aback as Gangle was on first entering. "What...!? How did this happen!? Did none of the patrols hear anything!?" He roared at the guards that followed him.

"No, my liege. We had no reason to believe anything was amiss." One guard answered quickly.

Pink magic glowed along the edge of Caine's pupils. His mystic sight scanned the room. The room was a mess, but jewelry and expensive silks were still there. Pomni fought back. She had to have cried for help.

There was a strange aura to the room. He could feel it. He kicked aside a broken drawer to find the source. A piece of scroll parchment covered runic symbols was stuck to the floor. "A silencing seal. That explains why no one heard her, and tells me they don't have natural magic."

He went to the open window. It was a long drop from her bedroom. Claw marks scratch the strong stone wall. "Strong enough to climb several stories without rope." Caine commented to himself. At the bottom of the tower, something glistened.

Caine vaulted out the window, much to the shock of everyone else in the room. He let himself freefall most of the way down before teleporting short range to the ground. He knelt down to inspect the shining magic only he could see. A single drop of water, sparkling on a single blade of grass.

"A tear!" Caine elated. "Well done, Pomni!" He looked ahead and saw another shining tear in the distance. Caine whistled loudly and Bubble flew to him as quick as a lark. "I need you to be my wings! The princess is in danger!"

"Right away, your majesty!" The tiny voice of the bird shapeshifted into something much larger and more regal. A pegasus. His bright white coat shined in the morning sun as he pawed the ground, eager for take off.

Caine mounted bareback, no time to saddle up. "Ya!"

Bubble reared, flaring his wings and galloped into take off. His powerful wings putting distance between him and the ground quickly.

Caine watched for tears on the ground, steering Bubble to follow. "I'm coming, Pomni."

Pomni wiped her cheek on her shoulder. Her face was still wet with tears. She hoped the spell Caine taught her worked, even when they knocked her out. She and her three captors sat in silence for a long time before a booming echo came from the entrance. Something huge landed at the entrance to the cave.

With each rumbling footfall, Pomni lost more and more hope that it was Prince Caine. From the dark emerged a two headed, dark blue and bright gold dragon. Its colors split down the middle like the horizon at twilight. The golden head glared down at the group. The dark blue head gazed down with indifference.

"We got your prize. Hand over the gold and we'll be on our way." The leader of the three bandits boldly states to the Ether Dragon.

"Stifle your arrogant tone, mortal. Or I will burn it away." The eyes of the golden head flared like stoked flames.

The two meeker bandits backed up. The leader stood steadfast. "This mortal successfully stole from the High Prince himself. I have every right to be arrogant, but we're not here for me. You want to Princess? Hand over the reward."

The golden head huffed angrily, but remained silent when the dark blue head looked at her. The blue half clutched a large chest and set it down in front of the bandits. "As honored."

The lead bandit kicked open the chest. It was full of treasure from the dragon's horde. He gestures to his lackies to bring Pomni forward. "She's all yours. Pleasure doing business with you."

Pomni fought the grip of the bandits, doing everything in her power to stay out of the dragon's clutches. She screamed against the gag as the clawed hand of the golden dragon reached for her.

A pink bolt streaked through the air and exploded on impact against the scaled hide of the dragon's claw. The Ether Dragon roared in pain and turned to the entrance of the cave to see a winged horse and rider swooping into the cavern.

"UNHAND HER!!" Caine held up a shining silver sword, blazing magenta with magic.

With all attention on Caine, Pomni headbutted the bandit lacky next to her. He doubled over and dropped his knife. She awkwardly hopped over and managed to get a hold of it. She struggled to try to cut her wrist bindings as the cave shook with the movements of the huge dragon.

The golden head immediately shot a stream of bright orange fire that heated the whole cavern. The blue head tried reaching for Pomni again.

Bubble flew forward bravely headlong into the wall of fire. Caine pointed his sword straight ahead and a powerful beam of pink magic split the dragon's fire.

Pomni barely dove out the way in time to avoid the pearly white fangs of the blue dragon head snapping at her. Her ankle bindings held tight but she was making progress on freeing her wrists. She squirmed away as fast as she could out of reach of the reaching dragon head.

"Foul light bringer." The dark blue head bared its fangs, unable to reach further without the cooperation of its more temperamental half.

The bandits sheltered in place the best they could. The packed treasure chest was too heavy to move quickly and they were staying out of this fight.

The golden head roared and snapped its jaws at Caine as he flew into range. Caine lashed his sword and pink magic flared out in a wave, slicing into the dragon's face. Both heads felt the pain, and the dark blue head turned to fight Caine as well.

Caine was waiting for that. He has Bubble swoop down and he reached out for Pomni. Pomni had just got her wrists free and dropped the knife and rope as she reached out for Caine with both hands. Caine grabs her wrist and hoists her up in his lap on Bubble's back.

Bubble double timed it out of the cave. Both dragon heads roared as the dragon gave chase. Once outside, the massive wings folded to the dragon's sides unfurl and the Ether Dragon takes to the skies. Both heads release a breath attack, orange fire and light blue lightning merge to create an overpowered blast of elemental energy.

Caine held his sword out vertically behind him and shielded Pomni with his body as the energy hit the sword's defensive aura. Fire and lightning blazed around them with terrible force. Bubble's wings were singed but he kept flying as fast as he could.

Caine's eyes went completely pink as he whispered to his sword. The sword sang with a metallic ring and he threw it. The sword flew like a guided missile and sliced through one of the dragon's wings multiple times. The dragon rapidly lost altitude, despite its best efforts to stay in the air.

The sword boomeranged around to Caine's open hand. He blinked the light like from his eyes as he watched the Ether Dragon crash-land on a hillside, roaring furiously.

Caine tapped the rope around Pomni's ankles with his sword and the binds disintegrated. Things were finally calm enough for Pomni to pull off the gag in her mouth. "Blegh!" Her mouth felt horribly dry, so instead of speaking, she buried her face in his chest in a right hug.

Caine snapped away his sword and hugged Pomni back. "Thank the stars you're okay."

Pomni looked up, tears of overjoyed relief walked in her eyes. Caine gently caressed her cheek. "The tears shall lead you to the Kingdom. I'm proud of you for remembering."

"I had a good teacher." Pomni said quietly.

The three gators bandits. Slowly carrying their massive box of loot, the smallest makes conversation. "Why didn't the Ether Dragon steal Pni themselves? Aren't they super powerful?"

The other lacky answered. "The castle has special defences just for ol' two face. They can't get close, but even if they could, they're massive! Caine would see them coming miles away and he's quite powerful himself. He's High Prince for a reason."

"Oh."

They stop when the ground starts shaking out of nowhere. It's not until they look behind them, they see the massive enraged Ether Dragon sprinting right at them.

"No Princess. No deal." Stated the blue head.

"I'M GOING TO DESTROY YOU FOOLS!! YOU LED HIM RIGHT TO US!!" Screamed the gold.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc caine #tadc fanfiction #tadc pomni #tadc showtime #tadc gangle #tadc gummy gang #tadc sun #tadc moon #the amazing digital kingdom #kindom au #fantasy au #fantasy action

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captainmalewriter · 2 years ago

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Hello there Mr, crazy day it seems. You won't believe this, i was out lost in the woods from my buddies, one of them is getting married and just HAD to have his stag-do as a long no contact nature trip in the Romanian wilderness. Took a few steps off the path to take a leak and before i realize, they were all gone and i was lost. Saw a shiny thing in a clearning a while after, thinking they made camp, but turns out there was only this odd green prizeball someone left behind....wonder what's inside, might be fun to pass the time until i'm found..........

Congratulations, you found my missing green capsule! Here's what happened when you found it...

You zipped up your pants after taking a much needed piss and returned back to the trail you and your buddies had been hiking through. You looked around for your buddies but didn't see any of them. You were certain that you told them that you needed to take a leak before wandering off the main path. You scanned your surroundings once more but still saw no one. It was odd to say the least, but you decided to shake it off and just continue hiking up the path. You figured you'd run into them eventually if you just picked up the pace a bit.

Although you were initially annoyed that your friends left you behind, annoyance soon turned into worry as more time went on. You were getting deeper and deeper into the woods but without any sight of another person! Suddenly, the idea of a zero contact nature trip in the wilderness went from being just bad to outright terrible...

You sped up your walking pace again to a brisk jog. As you walked, a bright light flashed across your face for a brief second. You shielded your eyes from the sudden light as it nearly blinded you. You stopped momentarily but resumed when an idea hit you. You remembered that instead of sleeping in the cabin that night like usual, everyone had decided to pack camping gear for a night outside. You looked up ahead the hiking trail and noticed that there was a clearing not too far off.

With that in mind, you ran towards the clearing. You ran with the hope that you'd find your friends setting up camp, but unfortunately, you were met with nothing but an open field of grass. You looked around and surely enough, nobody was there except for you. You sighed, then continued walking along the trail. However, you stopped when a glint caught your eye. You looked down and spotted a green capsule resting on top of a flat boulder. You then pieced together that it must have been the capsule that caused that blinding light. The capsule was sitting directly in the sunlight. It had a metallic sheen to it, which made any sunlight reflect off of it.

You had planned to just ignore it and keep walking, but a little voice inside your head told you to open it first. You couldn't think of a reason why you shouldn't open it and decided to give into the impulse. You bent over, picked up the capsule, and popped it open. Resting inside was something you never expected to see inside a children's prize ball: a joint. The dank smell of weed quickly filled your nose, causing you to slightly recoil due to you not expecting it. You were off put by the idea of finding a ready to smoke blunt just sitting deep in the heart of the forest. You scanned your surroundings again. You thought some undercover police must've planted it here to catch someone red-handed, but nobody was around.

Your wristwatch chirped. The sun was due to set soon, which meant that it wouldn't be long until you were by yourself in a dark forest with no idea where anyone was. You shuddered at the thought. You then looked back at the blunt sitting inside the capsule. You were no stranger to smoking, but smoking a random joint did not seem like the best idea in the world. However, against your better judgment, you decided you needed some stress relief and said fuck it!

You took out the blunt. It was the most perfectly rolled blunt you had ever seen in your life! Then suddenly, the end of the blunt ignited by itself. You held it away from your face, but the potent smell of weed filled the air with its intoxicating aroma. You took a sniff; you knew from the smell alone that this was some grade A weed you were holding. Not able to hold back anymore, you helped yourself to a hit. You took a quick inhale and puffed out a breath of smoke. One hit alone was enough to start the high. You immediately felt better as your worries seemingly melted away with every hit of the magic blunt you took.

It was the best damn weed you’ve ever had in your life. Each hit took you further to the moon. You alternated between deep, slow hits and quick, rapid-fire hits. While you were getting high, the magic embedded within the blunt began taking effect on you. Your body began transforming with every exhale of smoke you let out. You felt your face begin to stretch and change. You felt pricks poking all around your face; your facial hair receded and grew in until the changes settled in, giving you a new goatee. The prick pains were stronger on your eyebrow, nose, nipples, and earlobes; almost as if holes were opening on your body. Despite the pain, the high you had going made the body transformation pleasurable, causing you to moan as it continued on.

In between hits, you ran your finger along your new jawline and played with the silver piercings you now possessed. The pricks then moved onto your body. As you continued smoking the magic blunt, ink began forming all around your body. Although you already had a couple of small tattoos, several larger tattoos appeared on your new body. You noticed the sudden changes in your appearance, but you were too high to really do anything about it. You took your new appearance in stride and continued smoking the magic blunt.

Your body continued transforming. Your body weight seemingly melted away until you were as slim as a twink. Some mass from your former body stayed intact despite you losing body weight overall; though it morphed into muscle, giving you a more of a twunk look to your new body.

Finally, the pièce de résistance— the dank smell of the weed began seeping into your skin. The magic blunt gave you a man’s musk. Your body odor had a mixture of pheromone filled sweat and the natural smell of trees. You took a whiff of your own scent and were immediately intoxicated by it. It was just as addicting as the magic weed but the potent smell now carried a man’s musk along with it too.

By the time you had finished smoking the blunt, you had completely transformed into a typical stoner complete with multiple body tattoos and various piercings. You sighed a heavy breath full of satisfaction; your eyes were red and your head was high in the clouds. Your body tingled with pleasure and relief after going through the transformation. You could feel precum leak into your underwear, your heavy balls hanging low due to how much cum they were carrying. You felt really relaxed thanks to the weed… but now you were in need of a good jerk off session too.

“What the fuck?”

“Huh…?” you heard a familiar voice coming from behind you. You turned around and saw your buddies walking up to you with confused looks on their faces. “Oh, heyyy guys! I’ve been looking all for you…!”

“Looking for us?” your recently engaged friend said. He looked you up and down, then his eyes widened. “Hey, aren’t you— Wait a second, is that weed? Were you smoking? …Yo… That shit smells goooood…”

You smirked. Then, as if on instinct, you reached into the pocket of your new clothes and pulled out several more magic blunts. You handed one to each of your friends and watched with delight as they started smoking them. The sweaty smell of several men began to fill the air, thus marking the beginning of their stoner transformations. You sniffed the air, their musk filling you with a rush of ecstasy. Soon enough, the real stag-do full of bro-ing out in the forest with good weed and mutual circle jerks was about to begin.

Hope you enjoy the new body prize you won from finding my lost capsule!

#male transformation #male body swap #male body switch #stoner tf #magic tf #reality change #tattoos #musk #infection #toy capsule stories

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myster-e-gurl · 3 months ago

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⭑: this awesome special starter goes out to @jillconstantinw

some liked to think; a little girl raised in a cult, how terribly and awfully evil!

and they'd be partially right. maybe with a little more biased notion, but they were mostly at the point. it was innately selfish and awful of e to raise danica in such an environment. how disgusting it was, and how she knew it was terrible, keeping such a secret from her own friend. but nobody would ever understand it, really. e was all she had. if looking past his wrongdoings was what she needed to do in order to have some semblence of normality, then.. well, she'd do it, as guilty as it made her.

“motion in the ocean— ooo waaaaah—”

nothing could make her so guilty, however, to not invite jill to dinner for.. maybe the sixth or seventh time (danica herself had lost count on how much she'd said no). only, this time her father delightfully insisted that she come over. it surprised her! only slightly. she had been talking about her over the past week, about her personality, about her funny accent. e had said something among the lines of, well why don't you invite her for dinner then? and danica nearly jumped over the table to give him a hug.

“his air hose broke! ooooo waaaaah!”

she'd never been to gotham. e had; e had been plenty of times. he'd brought danica back a couple of trinkets, like music boxes. one time he'd come home with a lovely one still in ripe condition, shaped like an egg. it opened to a delightful ballerina, who spun upon being wound and danced to the nutcracker's dance of the sugar plum fairy. other than that, danica wasn't so sure how.. impressed she was with the place.

it was dank. dark, and sad, and gloomy, and completely disgusting. she wrinkled her nose at the off smell of vinegar and salt.. must've been close, then. all the while, she wondered what she and jill would talk about. it was sort of like her first sleepover— maybe jill could sleep over! that'd be just wonderful. she was sure her father wouldn't mind as long as they didn't make too much noise. they could play parcheesi. they could talk about magic. they could.. well, danica hadn't quite thought that far.

hey! speaking of parcheesi, guess what she had tucked under her arm, ready to pop out and show to jill before they gracefully retired to her bedroom on a whim. danica squinted amidst fog— a boat! on land! just some boat. must've been jill's. danica couldn't exactly think of another person that would live like that. jill was.. a different sort of special. (homeless, for anyone wondering.)

“ji—i—i—ll!”

she was sing-songy in saying jill's name, just as she was with most people when the sort of excitement of new dinner guests happened. danica squinted a little harder.. so much fog, so much gloom. she could've very easily magicked something to make it lighter.. maybe could've even made the fog disappear! but she didn't. that would've been showing off. danica didn't do that.

“jill? it's dani! you'll never guess what've got with me!”

#danibobany #dc oc blog #constantine

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mysticum-draconis · 5 months ago

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The Petrichor

Original poem. Written in October 2024 for the Solstice Young Writers competition.

Petrichor - the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil.

When storm clouds roll over misty moors And rain pelts down on towering tors That scent of rain penetrates my core. Perhaps it is the Petrichor? A beast without corporeal form; Shifting shadows, raging storms, Glowing eyes and jagged claws - That defines the Petrichor. Down dank and dusty streets I stroll The air grows close and I feel its call. That musty scent of earthy spores As splashes appear on dirty floors - The doings of the Petrichor. Along the treacherous coastline walks, That dark and slinking shape will stalk, The waves will crash upon the shores, A cloud of swirling fog will soar And from its depths a terrible roar Will escape its enormous, gaping maw - The glory of the Petrichor! Most will smell that earthy scent, When the clouds turn dark and the sky is rent With the distant, rumbling, fearsome roar Of the advancing, mighty Petrichor, They scurry home and slam their doors, And do their best to try and ignore The calling of the Petrichor. Not I! I sit and lie in wait, For the beast to come and decide my fate. My eyes are filled with densest cloud, Fog around my head will shroud, Towering shadow beast will claw Swallow me down whole, I’m sure. Sweeping mist, still growing more Shimmering outline, rippling contour. I will be claimed forevermore, Anew from who I was before. No one can damage my rapport With the feisty, almighty Petrichor!

Please don’t use or repost here or on other websites without credit or permission, thanks 🙏

Story behind the poem:

When I first heard the word "Petrichor" a couple of years ago, I immediately thought of some sort of mythical creature, sort of like a manticore. I pictured a slinking, non-corporeal creature, made of dark storm clouds, with glowing eyes. I always intended to draw this image I had in graphite or charcoal, but the idea always seemed rather daunting, so I didn't. When it came time to write an entry for the Solstice Young Writers competition, I decided to write this creature as a poem. I could probably have kept going for longer with this poem, however, unfortunately, as this was a competition entry, I couldn't make it longer than 30 lines. Perhaps I'll write an extended version one day. I am sharing this poem now, because the competition winners have now been announced (they're strict about entries not having previously been shared online, so I didn't want to risk posting until the competition was over).

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cheapcheapfaker · 1 year ago

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-red wine in a nearly comically oversized glass, rounded, with a long stem. Buttery and dark and rich. Smells earthen, heady, dank, heats up your belly upon first sip. I still have not learned the name of my favorite type of red and some waiters get it right and some get it wrong, but it’s on me for never remembering.

-a vino verde very crisp and cold. The glass is sweating even without ice in it. Smells like summer, sharp, a little sour, but drinks smooth and dry w no burn.

-margarita on the rocks, not too sweet, not sour, made w a nice enough tequila that you can feel the burn but it doesn’t make your eyes water. The rim is salty and spicy. in an oversized rocks glass w a flat bottom, not one of those terrible flanged margarita ones. There’s a fat juicy lime wedge on the lip that i bite into and the bar is so nice i know they washed the limes. If it’s flavored, it’s coconut.

-a dark porter ale, mid-ABV. Made w lactose for that silky smooth mouth feel. Smells dark and rich and tastes like a stout w some sort of dessert undertone: chocolate, coffee, peanut butter, etc. Probably a left hand brewing nitro, because the cookies and cream cask-conditioned ale from the wharf rat is a beautiful, never again attainable memory. Just shy of room temp w a buttery white head in an ale glass w a slight lip.

-a blue moon with a big fat slice of orange, preferably while out eating outside on a warm but not humid summer’s night, or on our roof deck w a beautiful breeze

-a cuba libre. Mexican coke or a very carbonated syrupy fountain coke, spiced rum (sailor jaja preferred), fresh lime juice. Good crunchy ice.

-orange crush. Freshly squeezed orange from one of those hand presses. The bartender who squeezes my orange is an incredibly buff lady with gorgeous arms. There’s some pulp. good crunchy ice.

-a natty boh, heavily sweating, the rim tasting of old bay from picking crabs

-verde’s aperol shandy: orange duckpin, fresh orange juice, aperol, over a pizza that is delicious but too expensive for how little ricotta they give me, but i forgive them bc the shandy is so good

-a sip of my husbands old fashioned. He says it is either good, which means I’ll hate it, or that I’ll like it, and it’s passable. I never order them. I dont really like them. I just want to take a sip.

-an IPA, citra & mosaic hops, 8% abv, some sort of citrus fruit undertones that you only notice when you exhale

-the first pumpkin beer of fall. IPA or a non-sweet wheat. cinnamon, clove, not too heavily seasoned so it’s still crisp and refreshing, gorgeous autumn color with a nice throat burn

#god i want an alcohol

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eldridgecandell · 2 years ago

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😈 Summon a demon

Stone should never reflect light, but in the dank basement of Juniper Brant the candles did just trick in the damp room. The dirt floor mixed with the odd mildew scent from the walls to give an earthy aroma which could be enough unpleasant to cause one to know there was a leak somewhere. Of course the burning incense and myrrh splattered about did everything it could to aid in the smell.

The wax trickled slow and low among their wicks as the yellow flames danced only from the breath of the occupants within the cellar. A circle of chalk and animal fat had been draw in the center of the room, the occupants resting calmly within it as they did their best to hold still in the dark. Two figures sat naked and shivering in the homemade circle, bodies painted with lines to match the circle they had created earlier. The white lines of thick chalk paint traced shapes over their skin in odd patterns of proud, if not crude, symmetry. Each set of hands resting gently upon the other's knees as with heads bowed to sit in awkward silence with the odd box between them.

It didn't bear the same patterns as the drawings of their flesh or carry the glint of gold. It was just a small wooden box, perfectly square and made of the deepest red wood.

The box sat still.

"Tides this stuff stinks," Juniper muttered softly, her body shaking slightly from the cold.

"Shh," Robert, her companion, whispered back harshly though his eyes never left the box.

The woman wanted to apologize, but she bit her lip instead in fear of upsetting their fifth attempt any more. For the three months, Juniper Brant and her childhood beau Robert Salmin had been gathering in the basement of her family home in hopes of fixing the foul luck that had befallen their former fertile farmland. The summer's drought had come swift and terrible upon the weary pilgrims after a summer of unending sun with little to no rain to help what should be a thriving crop. Curses were not uncommon in this part of the world, but this was nothing of any witch's touch or warlock scorned. This was just simply nature punishing them.

And that had to change.

Robert had been the one to find the old book in the peddler's cart, a normal tome of sorts had only cost the young farmer a few silver pieces. The peddler none the wiser or caring for what was within it's pages. Salvation is what Robert called it upon combing through it's yellowed pages with hope and hunger in his heart as he read of the powers within. This could save them. Save the farms. Their families. Make him a hero. He just needed a partner.

Nostalgia is a hell of a drug and the old flames we hold in our hearts for first loves may dim but never fade. So when Juniper buried her husband among those dry fields, Robert had been at her side immediately. What likely should have been a coy and long courtship ended up with the pair finding sync in the dark not hours after the passing of the man Juniper thought would be her only one. She found herself to be quite lucky Robert felt the same.

A few weeks later and the book was revealed to Juniper who though skeptical felt entitled to help her new lover in his quest to save the farm. She listened to his teachings, read what passages he offered, and praised his process. He in turn gave her what her former husband could hardly ever give her when he was alive. It was a mutual and vibrant partnership.

But now was the time to act.

The first attempt had been a mess all around. The wrong chalk, too much blood, and far to much talking.

The second attempt had been nearly the same amount of mess, but they figured blood wasn't needed anymore after the last calf had stunk so bad.

The third attempt was half heart-ed for success and more about getting at each other, the book having been right about warning of 'carnal overload'.

Time had been the only thing that mixed up the fourth time as the window had closed with the dawning of the accursed sun.

Here was now the fifth. They had followed it to the letter. Beginning in earnest, keeping in rhythm, and reaching the point of no return as they sat among themselves painted the most base of mortal needs.

Now the box needed to merely open.

A soft sigh broke the silence.

"Robert?" Juni asked quietly as she brought her fingers to gently scratch at the skin upon his knees.

The man shook his head softly. "This isn't going to work."

"But we did everything right."

"I know, but I," Robert sighed again feeling the weight of his attempts drag down at his shoulders. "I don't think I'm strong enough to do this."

Juni's hand would lift gently from his knee now to touch his face, her touch warm to his cold skin as the cheek was stroked.

"You are so strong, my love," she spoke soothingly to him as she felt his skin beneath hers still as she smiled. "And brave. You have done so much for me and this community, no one can fault you."

"Or know to be honest," Juniper laughed as she continued to stroke his face, but he would not raise his eyes to hers. The laugh died as quickly as it came before she leaned forward from her spot, her face coming to nestle among his dark sweat damp hair. She breathed him and sighed, drought be damned she was in love with him. It was all she really needed.

He was all she wanted.

"Come on, Rob," Juni pressed her lips to his head again as she began to rise, her heart fluttering a bit as she did her best to coax him to his feet with the contours of her body. "We'll wash up and have a bit of fun before tomorrow. You'll feel better."

Rob's hand gently came to grab her hand, squeezing gently as he kept his face hidden.

Juni tilted her head softly as he grabbed her, his grip tight though not unnerving as she spoke again. "Rob?"

The grip grew tighter, as it moved up from her hand to her wrist. His thumb coming to press at the soft center space.

"Rob," Juni asked again, worry now growing her voice as she spoke quickly. "Rob you're hurting me."

The thumb pressed harder, his nail sharp and poking into the skin as he pressed harder. "Robert stop. Robert!"

Pain flashed through Juniper's arm as she reeled back from him, soft flecks of crimson floating through the air as she backed away from him. Her other hand flying to her wrist as she felt the warmth of her own blood coat the palm of her hand. "What the hell, Robert?!"

Robert's hand sat shaking in the air between them, his thumb dripping with the few droplets of Juni's blood as he slowly brought it down to the box.

The wooden box drank greedily.

"Robert?"

"I'm sorry," Robert whispered. "I love thee."

"Thee?" Juni asked softly as she held her wrist tight still. "What do you mean?"

It was then she found her feet past the circle and alone beyond him. Her skin growing colder. Her heart beating faster. "Robert?"

"I love thee," Robert repeated again. There was sorrow in the three words, but the power of them wasn't meant for her. His eyes were only for the box.

Again he said the three magic words. "I love thee."

The box began to twist, it's red wood glistening and writhing as it's shape expanded and stretched.

"I love thee," the words still filled with sorrow but triumph and pride hidden in plain sight. The crimson wood stretching more as protruding digits beckoned from the quickly thinning panels of the box, coaxing to him. Begging to him. Taunting to him. Applauding him.

Where once fingers had been now with the growing box, a jaw pushed forward among the creaking red. There was no sound yet, but the lips of stretched lumber could clearly be read.

Feed me.

Juniper never got to see what horrors her lover had planned, her body having already since slumped in the cold dark of her cellar. Mouth agape and drawn to match the empty sockets of her once soft brown eyes in frozen terror. The last words of Robert though would haunt the corpse of Juniper Brant for all eternity.

I love thee.

@nixalegos

#ask answered #summon a demon #beware the black rainbow #the box #order of embers #world of warcraft #wyrmrest accord #moon guard #roleplay

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ode-of-odr-archive · 2 years ago

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// @seluniite continued from here

There was a lot about the world Raserei would say he didn't understand or know. But the gods? He would shock people with his understanding. Perhaps it was his demonic blood and the tiniest of slivers in his heart that held out hope that he wasn't destined for an afterlife in a place where monsters dwell. But he was a monster himself, wasn't he?

"I do not think Selune would find you unworthy of her blessing because bloodshed bothers you. She is not Bhaal, she is not Tempus or Malar. I do believe she favors a gentle hand over the head of a hammer, yes?"

Besides there was a lot more to her current situation Raserei was certain made it worse. First and foremost, how brutal and visceral he was in battle. It made many uncomfortable, and the idea he could turn on you should he lose himself in that hungry pull. Also, there was no escaping the smell of battle, Raserei always smelt of blood, loose wet earth, and hints of a deep dark dank cave, and his body temperature also reflected this.

And in situations like now, where he was covered in the blood of their enemies and his own, the smell just amplified. He smelt terrible and always did.

The clawed hand that was clean continued to brush away stray hairs from her face, "It is not so bad that you do not like violence. Some might call it a strength in its own right."

#seluniite #did both Forgotten Realms verses as I am not sure if you want them interacting during the events of the game or not #◾ I sing with blood and sinew — ic #◾ Blood on the snow — Faerun general #◾ Unrest with the quiet — Baldur's Gate 3 timeline

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extravagantfool · 2 months ago

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It is so, so hard not to roll their eyes at him. You knock over one giant statue and stop a world ending ritual and suddenly you are the bad guy. "If I remember correctly the ritual wasn't meant to 'not disturb' the fade, since you were aiming to tear down the dam and let it drown everyone." That's a bit mean, especially after they just mentally tried to reel themself in, but still. The unsaid opinions are clearly spoken on an unimpressed arch of their right brow as they level back Solas' gaze. Unfortunately, if perhaps they hadn't wanted to fidget and pick at their wound, or generally just been more careful, they may have been able to steel themself for what was coming. A wolf's grin is not one that anyone can trust, much less a fox who has strayed too close.

The first shift from the abyss to the new place, wherever it is, makes them flinch. Their sleeping form twitches, so far away from the horrors circling around them. They're stunned by the suddenness, the lack of anything to ground onto as they stumble. They limp a step back and step into decaying flesh and quickly lose their footing as the flesh becomes whole again. The smell of rot and blood overwhelms them as they glance around, their bad eye overwhelmed with colors and-- and-- The Inquisitor shrieks in silence, her life running from her eyes. Hair wraps around her face, one moment curling tight and the next wavy from braids. They see a flicker of vallaslin, of bare skin, of heraldry, and a familiar Kirkwall pin at her nape. Then they only see agony, reaching out to the ghost of a hand, broken apart like the shard of an eluvian.

The next shift makes their body twitch again, curling tight against the back cushions of the couch. Val Royoux they know without a doubt, but this too was wrong. They want to summon their baton, hide their face and throw up a barrier from the-- guard? Demon? Possession? They don't know. The gold seems to bleed around them, the shriek reverberating in their ears in an unearthly silence they can't parse. The flaming weapon sings, but now it sings of a horrible resonance that makes their physical body gasp. Their body sweats as the the blighted beauty sings its terrible song, making them fight against the embrace of love, too young to turn deaf and stay asleep. They step back again, but now they're against a wall. They can smell blight and rot again, the song pounding against their ribs, and they taste the fear. Their fear? The fear of the elves who found them? The fear of a daughter, shoved into a dank, dark place; tasked to hush a crying infant not of her own blood? They don't know.

They're shoved, crumpling into the dark, too small to catch their footing. Their physical body twitches and rolls, thudding down against flagstone without rousing. The fire surrounds them, they watch one family be spared as another must suffer. The dragon speaks, but they can't hear. The silence is a song and they were as deaf as they were blind. The colors kaleidoscope behind their bad eye as old wounds rip open and knit anew, the agony of childhood forced upon them once again. Like a nightmare, it doesn't seem to end. Tumbling through blight, rot, hatred, fire, the first game, the chains, the freedom-- the cage.

They're on their knees when the abyss returns to their senses, the mere lack triggering what confusion had somehow held back. Their physical body sweats and retches, still stubbornly asleep, as their self here-- wherever here may be-- retches in turn. Their eye bleeds anew, throbbing just as bad as it had when the artifact had exploded on them, and they're trying not to cry. Trying not to sob as the pain and confusion clings and clashes; sword against sword, wisdom against pride. They heave, again and again, and their physical body sputters. They were too flat on their back, they were gasping, they were going to choke--

Familiar hands touch them, rounding over their shoulders. The grip pushes them, forcing their body to twist onto its side properly, and let the vomit escape. The hands stay there, dark and formless for just a moment, before they reach deeper. The hands touch the blood bond that tethers the opposing forces between the abyss and should Solas look, should his prison let him see, it's not just a self soothing farce Asha has summoned. The connection is overtaken, just for a moment, and filled with malice. Anger that can only exist in the eternal lashes out, drenched in the blood of countless lives. The formless hands may be like shadows, blurred, but shining with the veins of a spirit. Perhaps instead a demon, with eyes that glower red behind the twisting vines of secretive chains. The anger festers, rotten and twisted, the long forgotten sense of disruption twisted into chaos. Perhaps Solas could recognize that, maybe even the wretched malice of Dirthamen's Needle-- and the paternal anger that floods the connection.

As soon as it comes though, it ends. The formless hand is covered with a flesh hand, shaking and clammy, but nonetheless-- real. "Stop." Asha's voice is weak, watery, but firm. The hijack of the connection abates, the malice fading away into waves of concern, the tidal wave of blood that had been ready to drown the wolf receding back towards Asha. The formless consolidates, taking a blurry shape of an elf. "It's okay." Or better yet-- of a spirit never freed of its bondage. Asha stands slowly, knees knocking together like a halla fawn, and the spirit supports them to their feet. The red eyes shine like rubies now, anger still undoubtedly there, but no longer uncontrolled. Asha shares the same vallaslin as the spirit.

They move slowly, stepping away from the vomit, as they rub at their eye. They blink bloody tears down their face, wheezing softly as their physical body begins to shiver. Still, when they look up, their eyes do not hold hate; hate would be too easy. "Do you feel better now?" They rub their bloody cheek on their sleeve and dust the dirt and bile from their knees. They're still a bit shaky, but they're squaring up their stance, lips peeling into a lopsided grin. "You know, you're lucky-- I usually make men pay me a lot of gold to hurt me." The joke falls a bit flat, their voice wet and warbly, but it is still a joke. It's not like a Tethras to just give up, after all.

"We need to teach you some better dream ideas though; those were shite."

Solas raised his eyebrows at the macabre display. It was certainly a unique solution to the problem. As grotesque as it was whimsical.

“I do know of one way,” he allowed, watching as the red handkerchiefs cascaded onto the ground. “It is a complex ritual that allows for the safe transfer of prisoners into - or out of - the prison without disrupting the greater Fade. It requires a considerable amount magic, time in which to prepare it, and my dagger.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, but his eyes were hard and unblinking when he met theirs. “I believe you are familiar with this ritual,” he said, the levity of his tone belied by the venom within it, “as you dropped a statue on it. So unless you believe you can recreate the ritual which you were so determined to stop, we are back where we started.”

Solas sighed. He forgot they were not a trained mage. Not in the traditional sense, at least. Something was different about their magic, but he could glean very little additional insight beyond the impassable abyss. “When you dream - when anyone dreams - your mind enters the Fade. For those who are not mages, it is often no more than a night of sleep reflecting your thoughts and feelings. But a mage may wander the Fade, and if sufficiently powerful may even shape it around them. This connection,” he said, waving at the space between them, “draws you to this pocket of the Fade. But it is simply because you expect to be here when you sleep. You could, by your own will or with help, enter any part of the Fade available to mortals when they dream.”

A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth, distorting his face into a grin that looked very much like the cat that caught the canary. Or the wolf that caught the fox.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” said Solas. But he waited for no allowance or permission.

Abruptly, they stand not on the cold grey stone of the prison but on an unkempt cobblestone of the main street of some nameless town. Both demon and townspeople lie dead at their feet, their bodies rapidly decomposing and then recomposing in dizzying succession. The Inquisitor stands opposite them. Her blazing green hand is a suspended fracture of reflective fragments orbiting the empty space where her arm should be. Her mouth is open in a silent, unending scream, and her eyes bleed down her fact.

They stand now not before the Inquisitor, but in the glimmering streets of Val Royeaux. A shade wearing the armor of a city guard sees them, and her face swirls into an indiscernible snarl like paint caught in a whirling pool of water. She shouts, but her voice is a muted shriek. She draws her sword, and it lights with the sickly vibrancy of veil fire as she closes in on them.

They stand not on the glimmering streets of Val Royeaux, but the dusty, overgrown floor of an abandoned old home in Ferelden. An elven man pushes them into a cabinet, and his hand on their arm burns like a brand. A great winged beast descends upon them, the great roar of its breath melting the wooden walls of the house into the raw ether of the Fade.

They stand in a world that time has forgotten, with a song that none can hear pounding in their veins, but around them is only emptiness.

And then, they were in the prison. Solas stood now at the edge of the chasm, as near to them as he could get like a dog testing the length of its chain. The great stone hands grasping for a sky that did not exist cast long shadows on his face. His arms were laced behind his back with his head tilted slightly to the side. He was all but powerless in here, but in this, at least, he could take some small revenge.

“As for a system,” he said lightly, that grin still contorting his face, “you need only ask.”

#hoboblaidd #.verse: the tower #.act: two #emeto cw/#[ gdi solas ]#[ also catch me trying to mish mash dhavi and sid into some ma/r/vel multiverse bs in this ]#[ solas hope you like meeting the Needle ]#[ he is not your fan rn ]

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