#or like... was ever given the opportunity to grow as a person... find himself... in the years he was a spawn

[raintides]

halsin's cozy bear hugs

[retiredteabag]

*slips into view and drops scene*

Lol me just imagining reader who doesnt say when shes cold, only to have Sukuna reluctant to leave her until shes warmed up.

oh yeah...I like how you think

masterlist

While it is true that he is able to create and manipulate fire in 'divine flame' attacks, Sukuna's natural body temperature lies far outside the realm of what is considered normal for a human.

Beyond that truth, The King of Curses had an unparalleled stature, his anatomy was unlike that of anyone you had met. His body generated more heat from the moving that unavoidable mass then most portable gas heaters back home.

You, however, were not blessed with the warm nature that he carried with him. On winter nights, you could find him sitting quietly on the estate's engawa, a loose kimono covering little of his form. Comfortable as ever.

To him, you were that of a bird, bound to the weak nature you were born into, a meek, trembling human. And though true, he favored you more than any other servant, you would not dare image yourself worthy of requesting more than what had been given you.

You were a grateful person, truly; it was simply difficult to recall this fact about yourself when you are currently unable to control the wracking jitters that seem to permeate even through to your bones.

The estate was always far too cold for your taste, but your taste is not the kind that need be accommodated. So all that time ago when you replaced the bathhouse maid, you knew you would die before you messed up the job.

Namely because you did actually know your life was on the line, and inversely because the sudatorium nature of the room was more comforting than hardly anything else offered in the whole of the grounds.

You shook, not from the cold all those nights ago, but from the fear of the man before you in the scalding water.

But as time bled away and Sukuna took notice of you more, your needless fear eased. Still, even now, it was strange to speak so informally to your King.

"Your fragility is a curious thing to observe."

You steeled yourself as Sukuna rose from his position before you. You were wrapped in layered robes but the chill would not leave you be. Ashamed suddenly, as you were at how repulsed he must find himself, watching you, unable to withstand such temperatures.

You shift on your feet, "I...have a larger surface area for cooling." You clear your throat, knowing he is observing you, feeling those eyes, ceaseless eyes, “This provides more opportunities for my body heat to dissipate into the environment." You make a show of your hands, explaining why perhaps your inferior nature was so different from his own.

He rolled those very eyes and grinned. No, smirked. The King of Curses smirked. This near smile almost caused the chill in your being to fade. Almost.

"You must be careful to not be caught outside in such conditions." He came close, one large hand, all-encompassing, came to lay on your head.

Heat seemed to spread from this fraction of his body. You had the sudden and completely inappropriate desire to fall to the floor and lay upon him as a feline might wrap itself in pockets of sunshine.

Blood pumped in your ears and your hands came to touch your cheeks.

Another of his own came and curled behind your neck, before you even felt the touch, you noticed the air surrender to his intensity. "Careful indeed." He whispered.

Little things such as this were the events you would tell yourself to ignore. Your heart, or pride might grow too large, and that is no position for a servant to themselves in.

"I must be off, Lord Sukuna." You did not wrap your palm around his wrist, although it took great fortitude not to.

You made no effort to move from him, and he made no effort to free you from himself.

"Tell me of your discomfort before I become displeased with you." One very large finger slides down the path of your spine and the heat that emits from the single digit is undeniable. You shake from the sensation, but it seems the King misunderstands.

You hold all of his attention, and he holds all of you. His stare is intense, and something else. He looks so confused at the creature that is you. Determined to end the suffering of such an inferior being. The critter in his palm.

He had never felt this way before.

And for the second time, due to this very man, you had never been so warm.

[lucyrose191]

OBSESSED|| J.F POTTER

Pairing; James Potter x Fem!Girlfriend!reader

Summary; It’s no secret that James Potter is absolutely obsessed with his girlfriend and he couldn’t be more in love.

Warnings; None. (Fluff.)

HP/Marauders Master List

The entirety of Hogwarts were not ignorant of the knowledge that when James Potter loved, he loved hard and he did it with everything he had in him.

They had seen it in the way he treated his closest friends and they had most definitely seen it when they had seen him pine after Lily Evans, trying with everything in him to gain her affections.

However, after at least a hundred hairline cracks to his heart it was important to make the decision to move on from the red head before his heart broke in two.

It was hard to believe that the Potter boy had truly decided to put the red head behind him, even his friends weren’t really sure they believed him but it just so happened that the boy was telling the truth.

He no longer put on grand performances professing his love, no longer sent gifts via owl flying through the Great Hall and no longer tried to ask out Lily on a date.

Instead he took time to focus on himself, his studies and his friends.

It turns out that when your entire focus is simply on the girl you thought was the love of your life and pranking others it could really affect a person’s grades and so when Minnie had suggested the idea of a tutor he happily agreed with her, he wanted to prove that he really was serious about his studies and his future, not just to his professors but to his parents too.

He wanted to be more than a spoilt, rich boy that got handed everything he could ever need.

He wanted to earn the opportunities he was being given.

Lucky for him, he got a lot more than he was bargaining for when he walked into McGonagall’s classroom that day to find you sitting at one of the desks with your head stuck in a book, waiting for him.

Not only did his grades start skyrocketing but he found that with each tutoring session he spent with you a weight began to grow in his chest, only growing heavier with each moment you spent together.

He’d begin to look forward to seeing you there waiting for him, hair messily pulled back away from your face, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read whatever book you had with you that week, he thought you were adorable.

Slowly, he had accepted the fact that he did indeed, have a crush on you.

He approached it differently than he had with Lily though, instead of grand gestures and eccentric performances, he instead settled for subtle acts of service and innocent touches.

An entire two months he had spent sending subtle glances your way, asking innocent questions to get to know you better, strategically taking notice in the way you’d react to his minor compliments or soothing touches to try and find out if you in some way felt the same.

He thought you did, you had to, right?

He wasn’t imagining the way your cheeks would turn pink when he brushed his hand against you or the way you’d shyly refuse eye contact with him when he looked at you a certain way.

He couldn’t have been imagining it.

He wasn’t. When he eventually bit the bullet and asked you out on a date he couldn’t believe it when you had agreed.

A night spent in the Astronomy Tower with your favourite snacks as you talks for hours and watched the stars had been the start of it all.

There was no doubt about it that James Potter loved you, Hogwarts had never seen him happier.

"He’s doing it again," Sirius groaned, seeing the way James was sitting with his head rested against his palm, seemingly in a daydream as he stared across the hall at you.

It would’ve been deemed creepy if they didn’t know he was staring at his girlfriend, you.

"Leave him alone, Padfoot, he’s in love," Remus teased, briefly glancing up from the novel he was reading, it amazed him every time at just how easy it was to read the emotions swimming in his friend’s hazel eyes.

"He was never like this with Lily," Peter piped up through a mouth of pastry.

Sirius gave him a look of disgust before commenting "He doesn’t even know who Lily is anymore, there’s only two women that exist to our Prongs here and those are his mother and the girl he’s currently staring holes into."

There was no indication that James had heard Sirius’ words but he suddenly jumped up from his seat, startling his three friends. "I need to go give Y/N a hug before she forgets about me." He briefly explained before hurrying towards his girl.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Sirius mutters in disbelief, all three of them turning to stare at where you were now in James’ arms, looking up at him with a loving smile.

There was no lie in the saying that Potter’s only fall in life once, they just first need to learn the difference between love and infatuation.

He had been infatuated with Lily, but he was beyond in love with you.

[mistywaves98]

Stalker! Scara and his unsuspecting classmate/friend, you

Just something I had in my head for a while that I just poured out into a post. These lil headcanons don't really flow properly either 😭

¡Warnings!: Suggestive (?), Reader is painfully oblivious, Can be read as yandere scara, Stalking, Taking nonconsensual photos, General creepy behavior!

Stalker! Scara who's had his eyes on you for a long time, longer than you could've imagined all while you're completely oblivious to it. Or maybe he's just that stealthy?

Stalker! Scara whose room is so untidy. Dirty laundry, empty noodle cups and snack wrappers line the floor of his messy man cave. But he still keeps his mini shrine dedicated to you completely clean and flawless.

Stalker! Scara who has an entire wall dedicated to you. The left side is the gallery of pictures he's meticulously cumulated over multiple months while the other is shelves of stuff you've either touched or he sneakily 'borrowed'.

Stalker! Scara who has a collection of the most random things because it has some sort of connection to you. Be it a pen you used to chew the end of or a piece gum you've chewed, or even a tissue you blew your nose in.

Stalker! Scara who works his ass of at a measly part time job in a convenience store near campus just to have money he can spend on you. Coincidentally, it happens to be the same one you frequent a lot.

Stalker! Scara who has most definitely stolen some bills from the register, particularly the ones you had given him to pay for your items one day. Just another addition to his ever-growing collection.

Stalker! Scara who somehow happens to wherever you are on campus, seemingly doing his own thing on his phone. But in reality he's just trying to get perfect angle of your ass as you bend over to pick up something you dropped.

Stalker! Scara who initially joined the photography club out of school obligations but now uses it as an opportunity to enhance his photo-taking skills to get better pictures of you instead of the blurry, barely visible ones he had clumsily taken in the beginning of his little obsession.

Stalker! Scara who's got his hands on every piece of personal information about you that he can find. Be it your birthday, your relationship with your family, your favourite song, a place that you frequent, or maybe even a particular brand of clothes that you buy.

Stalker! Scara who always makes sure to send some sort of gift for you on any remotely special occasion. Sometimes it's a bouquet of your favourite flowers, an item you had been eyeing in the shops for a while or perhaps something more daring like a pair of lacey panties he would die to see you in. Those risky gifts are always sent anonymously, leaving you quite puzzled.

Stalker! Scara who always keeps track of your schedule, having all your planned events on his calendar so he can keep an eye on your every move.

Stalker! Scara who somehow finds himself on every bus that you're taking whenever you're going into town, gaze fixated on you from afar. He can't help but wipe the drool off his chin as his eyes notice the way your breasts and thighs jiggle with every bump in the road.

Should I make pt 2?

[muletia]

continuing the tradition of me writing normal stuff and then flashbanging you guys with the most unhinged smut...

here's more bimbo!Optimus and bimbo!Ratchet

I blame @jinuaei for this (this is a joke btw, you are a very epic person and I love your content. thank you for interacting with me hehe <3)

optimus x human!reader x ratchet valveplug

cw: bimbo!optimus, bimbo!ratchet, reader using a strap, breeding kink

word count: 1000

You don't even have time to settle comfortably on the bed before Optimus casts his shadow over you, climbing onto the softest berth he has ever had the pleasure of touching. He places his knees on either side of your thighs, trapping you between himself and the bed, lowering his helm so close that your foreheads touch and giving you a glimpse into optics shining with a pastel pink hue, in which you could swear the pupils had been replaced by little hearts.

"Opti, what are you doing?" you ask, with quiet terror, watching as his hips lower further and further, his valve aiming perfectly at your always-ready plastic spike. "Optimus, stop. Optimus!" you yell, seeing that your gentle tone isn't getting through to him.

Only now does he finally stop, though you see him hesitate for a moment, lowering his hips another millimeter, until at last he gives you the saddest puppy look you've ever seen in your life; tears already shimmering in the corners of his optics, even though you hadn't given him any reason to cry. Yet.

"Whyyyy?" he asks, a pout making him even more adorable.

"Because you’ll break both my legs," you explain, although it’s completely pointless, because the slight tilt of his helm and the completely dim expression on his face make it clear to you that Optimus isn’t processing any concepts not directly related to fragging.

"H-huh?"

In this situation, all you can do is sigh.

"You're too heavy to sit on my lap, sweetheart" you try, hoping that maybe this concept will spark some flicker of thought in the liquid remains of his processor.

"But whyyy?" he continues digging, looking so crestfallen that you almost want to comfort him.

"I-I won't be too, uh, heavy," Ratchet cuts in, now kneeling right beside you, a giant pout decorating his faceplate.

He's already positioning his hips toward your lap, just like Optimus, his modesty panel already slid aside, preparing to devour your spike.

"No, Ratty, I'm sure both of you would crush my—"

"Hey, that's my spike! I was here first!" Optimus interrupts you.

"But you're too, uh, heavy!"

Feeling the atmosphere grow more and more tense by the second, and seeing them pressing their chassis against each other, glaring, but far too stupid for logical arguments, you take the opportunity to slip out from beneath Optimus’s knees, retreating deeper into the bed. Only then do they seem to tear their attention away from comparing whose chest is bigger and redirect it toward you, now sitting cross-legged with your elbow resting on your knee and your head on your clenched fist.

Surprised as to why their beautiful, sweet [Name] has decided to pull away from them, they finally stop squabbling and crawl towards you, their faceplates almost touching, twisted in sadness at the lack of attention, mere inches away from your face. The concept of personal space now completely unfathomable and nonexistent. Far too complicated for such silly mechs.

"[Name]?" asks Optimus, worried. "You don't like us anymore?"

"Y-you don't want to frag us?" Ratchet hiccups.

"I like you and I dream of nothing else" you confess, but meeting their tilted helms and the repeated, confused "Huh?" you only have the strength to roll your eyes. "But since you can’t behave, we're going to try something different today."

Before they can flood you with another barrage of dumb huhs, you reach out to find their valves with your hands, teasing their lips. You pretend to slide a finger deeper, but in reality, you glide only shallowly between their lips, wet with transfluid, just enough to swap their confusion for goofy smiles of pleasure.

"Neither of you will get my spike for now" you inform them. Slowly, you add more fingers, now pushing deeper and deeper, but still with only the intent to tease.

Of course, nothing you're saying is actually reaching them. Their thoughts are entirely consumed by your fingers working inside them and your warm breath so close to their audials, as you decided to use their joined arms as a rest for your torso. Nothing else matters to them. Only you and the constant need to be full of your thick spike, demolishing their valves, and to be fragged, fragged, and fragged until they can't move a single digit. Until they're convinced you've sparked them up, filled with transfluid and your love, now synonymous in their minds with rough, far from intimate breeding.

Your fists, sunk to the wrists inside their valves, might as well be two thick spikes. Both belonging to you. Both working solely with the intent of making them your beautiful, dumb carriers.

There’s nothing else they dream of in this moment.

"S-sparklings!" Ratchet begs, now smeared with drool and tears. "Sparked up, pleaseee!"

"Make us, ah, carriers, p-please," Optimus echoes him.

"Pfff, but you realize I’m fisting you, right? Even if I wanted to, I can't get you pregnant with just my hands."

"[Name], hah please!" Ratchet begs again. "Pretty, ah! [Name] please spark us up!"

You can't hold back a loud burst of laughter. Oh, how exquisite it is, how hilarious and arousing at the same time.

Your two adorable, brainless little toys.

You sincerely hoped that their supply of synthetic energon would never run out. At least not until you figured out a way to truly spark them up if that's what they so desperately wanted. Even if they didn’t exactly understand what they were actually begging you for.

And when you hear giggling behind you, interrupted every now and then by pleas for sparklings and mewls and moans, you crack again, letting out another laugh, because those two idiots surely heard you laughing and decided to join in — completely oblivious to the fact that you were laughing at them, not with them.

And god, if that doesn’t make you want to torment them even more.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Jealousy, Jealousy - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer and reader are both BAU agents in a secret relationship and a charity gala has reader tired of hiding.

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Trying something different with the first person perspective here! bc of that I did have to use y/n twice so sorry for that lol. This is later seasons but pre-prison Spencer, so he’s a little more sure of himself and in return more dominant without being fully there. I promise I’m working on a few sub!spencer fics right now but I stumbled across this old fic of mine while going through my past works and I was dying to rework it because I wasn’t happy with what it was before lol.

TW: jealousy, angst, kissing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, afab reader, use of “girl” in reference to reader.

Rating: R, 18+ only please!

——

We’d already been here for three hours and I was growing weary watching Spencer make awkward conversation with every person at this charity gala. There were hundreds of people neither of us knew in this room, but bureaucratic duty required the both of us to make small talk with everyone no matter the department. Heaven knows Spencer didn’t have any intention beyond professional with these people, and I certainly didn’t either as it came with the territory of being BAU agents, but somehow I couldn’t help but find the jealous side of me rearing its ugly head with every attractive colleague that looked his way.

I’d kept my distance, allowing him the space he needed to not seem too attached. I knew how important it was that everyone assumed we were both single, interpersonal relationships between agents aren’t exactly looked highly upon here. Still, watching him talk the ear off of another woman had that familiar blossom of insecurity blooming in my chest. No matter how clueless he was, I knew just how many women and men in our professional vicinity would risk a lot to be with Spencer, and they figured that maybe given the right set of circumstances, perhaps they’d have the opportunity. He never gave them that privilege of course, even though we weren’t public with our relationship, we knew what we were, and he never betrayed that trust.

Still, as he was approached by a particularly tall, gorgeous redhead I found myself growing more and more jealous. He said something and she laughed a little too hard, laying her right hand on his bicep and tossing her hair over her shoulder with the other, and the green eyed monster returned, fiercer than ever. A tear slipped down my cheek as I watched, but I quickly wiped it away, fighting to keep my composure.

When he finally broke away from her, I made my way through the sea of elegantly dressed attendees, whispering his name to catch his attention. He turned to me, features softening as he registered my features.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, concern lacing his tone.

“I’m not feeling well, I’m going to head home.” I told him, forcing a reassuring smile so as not to worry him.

“Would you like me to come with?” He whispered, brushing his hand against my arm, just as the redhead had done to him. Such a simple, loving gesture, and the thought of someone who was not me doing it to him made my blood boil. I shook my head, giving him one last look of reassurance before gathering the top of the skirt of my overly detailed gown in my hands and making my way out of the ballroom and ordering an uber.

When I got back to his apartment, I kicked my heels off haphazardly the second the door locked behind me before stumbling to his bedroom. I don’t know why I’d come back to his apartment, I should’ve gone to mine, but I didn’t want to. I was sick of the hiding, the secrecy. I wanted him. I wanted to live with him. I wanted to be with him.

I reached around to the zipper on the back of my dress, roughly pulling it down halfway before it got caught, the expensive fabric bunching under the hardware. I pulled as hard as I could, desperate to get out of the increasingly suffocating garment, but my attempts seemed in vain as the zipper stayed put.

All the emotions I’d been holding in throughout the night boiled to the surface, showing themselves in the form of hot, frustrated tears. I collapsed face first onto the bed, letting the plush bedding consume me as I folded my arms beneath my cheek, feeling the wetness gather against my skin. I let it all out, quiet sobs wracking my body as I groveled in my jealousy, the physical pain of the restrictive fabric only doubling my emotions.

I didn’t know how long I’d been laying there, but his hand on my shoulder broke me out of the jealousy fueled haze I’d been locked in.

“Y/n? Why didn’t you go home? What’s wrong?” His voice sounded fuzzy as I quickly stood to face him, wiping away my tears.

“I don’t want to go back there Spencer, I want here to be home. I’m not home if I’m not with you. I’m so sick of hiding. I want to be yours.” I blurted, too overwhelmed to think about what I was confessing.

“You are mine.” He whispered.

“I don’t believe you.” I responded.

“There’s no one else y/n, you know that.” He continued, but it did little to calm me.

“All those women at the gala, touching you, flirting with you. I don’t want to have to sit back and watch it anymore. I die a little every time I see it.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t-“

“I know! You don’t enjoy any of it, I get that, but they do! They want you, Spencer, and I can’t bare the thought of losing you to one of them.” I confessed, tears welling in my eyes again.

“That won’t happen.” He said, a kind of sureness in his tone.

“How do I know that?” I asked.

“Because you’re the only one I want. You’re the only one that understands me for who I really am. I don’t care about them, not the way I care about you. I’ve never cared about anyone as much as I care about you.”

“I love you, y/n.” It rolled off his tongue as if they were the truest words he’d ever spoken, and as he placed his hands on my hips I practically melted under his touch.

“I love you too.” I breathed, looking up at him doe-eyed, lip quivering as I held back the tears of contentment fighting to escape my waterline.

“I’m yours.” He whispered, pulling me into him before crashing his lips to mine. I turned to putty in his hands, hanging on his every touch as he pulled away and spun me around, large hand resting on my exposed shoulder as the other worked carefully to untangle my zipper, finally allowing the fabric of the gown to fall from my frame.

His lips met my neck, sucking hungrily against my blushed skin and I brought my hand to rest in his brunette curls, holding him steadily against me. He pressed his hips flush against my lower back, his member growing hard as he marked my neck, drawing his swollen lips over the purple patches forming across the sensitive skin of my neck.

I whimpered as he nipped at my pulse point, nimble fingers undoing my bra before letting it join my gown on the floor, immediately cradling my breasts in his soft grip. I rolled my hips back against him, earning a deep groan as my free hand moved to palm him through his fitted slacks.

“Let me prove how devoted I am to you.” He breathed, spinning me back around before laying me slowly onto the bed. I propped myself up on my elbows, watching as he removed his suit jacket, then undid the buttons of his dress shirt one by one, maintaining eye contact as he undid his belt and dropped his pants and underwear, leaving him bare for me to take in.

He knelt at the edge of the bed, taking my ankles in his grip before parting my legs, placing a soft kiss to the small dip on the inside of my ankle. He looked up at me, his gaze never leaving my face as I watched him plant wet kiss after wet kiss up the expanse of my leg before repeating the action on the other, the intimate act arousing me more and more by the second.

When he finally reached my left upper thigh, he lingered, drawing his tongue over the apex of my thigh to my panties, licking a flat stripe over the soaked panel of fabric, drawing a panting moan from my throat. He locked eyes with me, placing a kiss over my clit before taking the waistband between his teeth and letting it slap back against my hip, earning a whimper from me.

He gripped either side of my hips, taking my underwear in hand before pulling them slowly down my legs and discarding them across the room.

I watched transfixed as he kissed his way up my body, leaving soft magenta marks blooming like peonies over my damp skin, paying special attention to my breasts.

“You’re perfect.” He mumbled, tongue tracing around my nipple as I blushed at his words.

“I want to devour every inch of you.” He continued, taking the stiff peak gently between his teeth and tugging, sending a delicious mix of pain and pleasure to every nerve ending in my chest.

“Then do it.” I gasped, relaxing back into the bed. He hummed against me, flicking his tongue over my breast as his other hand slid between my thighs, cupping my cunt. He dipped his index finger to part my folds, already swollen and sticky and dripping with need. I wanted him, and although this certainly was not the first time we’d had sex, I was finally going to have him, all of him.

“So wet…” He trailed off, dragging his mouth up the expanse of my neck before drawing me into a kiss, deep and warm and full of a fire I’d never felt from him before. It’s like his confession had set something free in him, torn down a wall or two, uncaged the animal of desire within him.

“All for you.” I whimpered, pulling him down into another kiss.

He pressed two fingers in slow, pressured circles against my swollen clit, his full lips swallowing every last one of my needy moans and whimpers. Any other night I would’ve reveled in it, secretly loved the slow burn of his teasing, but I was far too emotional for that tonight, and I couldn’t put up with not having him inside of me anymore.

“I need you.” I whined, rutting my hips up into him.

“What do you want me to do, my love?” He asked. I huffed, knowing the game he was playing.

“Please Spence, I need you inside of me. Fuck me, show me what I mean to you.” I practically moaned as he continued rubbing harsh circles against my clit.

“That’s my girl, always so eager.” He praised, snaking his hands around the back of my thighs and lifting to wrap my legs around his hips.

He rubbed himself slowly through my folds, properly coating his cock with my slick before aligning the head at my slit, ready and inviting him in. He pushed slowly into me, a low groan slipping from his clenched jaw as he savored every inch of my wet heat and I met him with a tight embrace, gasping at the way he filled me.

I’d never felt so connected before, like I could feel him in every fiber of my being and as he was seated fully inside of me I felt whole, like we were made for each other.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss before he pulled almost completely out, pausing before pushing back in, my wetness making it almost embarrassingly easy. He angled his hips upward, knowing how quickly I’d crumble beneath him with the repeated brush of his cock against that soft spot inside of me.

He looked down at me, a certain warmth spreading over his dilated pupils as he halted his hips and opened his kiss-swollen lips to speak.

“It’s only you. Forever.” He purred, pushing the stray hair from my face before kissing my temple and pistoning his hips forward, punctuating his words with a deep thrust.

Each roll of his hips against mine had my muscles contracting, pulling him closer in every way, never wanting this to end. His rhythm remained steady as he picked up his pace, driving the pressure building inside of me ever closer to bursting.

I snaked one of my hands into his hair, gripping tight as the other found his bicep, matching my grip. I needed to hold him, to feel him, to know that having him here like this wasn’t all a dream. His groans and pants filled the thickening air, like a melody in my ear, mingling with my own and the almost feral “mine” that ripped from his throat on a particularly hard thrust had me crying out for him, clawing at his arm as he repeated the intensity.

I was close, so close and as I felt his cock twitch inside of me I knew he was too. I locked my ankles around his hips, holding him inside of me as he rolled his hips quickly, head dropping onto my shoulder. The continued stimulation of that spot, the sweet spot inside of me only he could hit became too much, bringing stars to my eyes as I cried out his name, euphoria so strong I couldn’t feel my legs as I dug my nails so hard into his arm that I had surely drawn blood.

“I’m yours.” He groaned, hips faltering as he filled me, my cunt still pulsing around him with every spurt of warm cum.

Everything after that was a blur of being held in his arms, whispered I love you’s, and gentle caresses.

“We’ll go to HR as soon as possible, I don’t care what paperwork they want us to fill out or how much shit we’ll get from Morgan, I want everyone at that gala tonight to know that I love you.” He broke the silence, his words a final cementing comfort.

No more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more secrets. Only the two of us.

——

Tag List: @pleasantwitchgarden

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[obliviouscxnt]

His Shadow pt.2 Azriel x Reader

a/n: all the feedback from the last fic is insane! I can’t even express the joy all of the comments bring me, the kind words mean so much!!! I'm so happy this concept is liked, I definitely want to explore more with it:)) I hope you enjoy!! <333

1.8k words

synopsis: azriel makes a deal with himself to get his shadows back

Warnings: angst, fluff

pt.1

He’d gotten so used to you being there, so comfortable with the shadows that always surrounded him. 

Now that they were gone—now that you were gone—he was left with an inescapable feeling. Loss. 

It felt like lead in his body. It twisted, and turned, weighing itself down on his ribs. Aching at every little thing he began to notice, the little things you did for him. The things he’d taken for granted. 

He missed the way your darkness covered him like a protective blanket. Missed the ease it brought him. Without it, he felt bare. 

He missed your voice, your whispers. If he closed his eyes and thought hard enough he could almost hear it. Almost. He’d never taken the time to memorize it. Never took the time to see beyond what was on the surface. Why hadn’t he? 

How did he disregard you?

You, the first to show him compassion, apart from his own mother. You, who suffered with him in that cold keep, locked away. Unable to grow, to learn, to live. 

You were there for him, with him. 

How could he have overlooked you?

He holds on to your words, the idea that you would answer if he called brought him only a fraction of the comfort you gave him daily. 

You weren’t really gone, he kept telling himself. He’d see you again. 

When it was necessary. 

No longer would you whisper a good morning to him when he woke, or a goodnight when he slept. No longer would you be there, just to be with him. Just to rest on his shoulders, or weave between his fingers. 

He’d used you, like a tool. Like you were just another weapon in his arsenal. 

The pain in his chest swelled, twinging as the image of misery on your breathtaking face invaded his mind. The awful things he’d said, the hateful accusation he’d made. 

You cared so greatly for him, for so long, only to receive cruelty in return. 

How had he ever thought your absence poetic? 

Being away from him was a physical struggle. The need to be there for him, to comfort him, to apologize, and to express your faith in him was undying. You were surprised you’d lasted a full day. 

No matter how he treated you, no matter how much it hurt, he’d always be everything. 

Yet you kept hearing his words. ��Are you jealous? Is that it?’ Kept seeing that angry glare he’d aimed at you, and how it melted away when you’d taken form. ‘Because I don’t give you enough attention?’

You kept remembering the change in his eyes, in the way he looked at you. Like he’d just then realized you had a mind of your own, that he didn’t have to think for you. 

You’d thought it would make you happy. To have him really see you. 

It didn’t. 

You felt anger and sorrow. Angry you practically had to spell it out for him. Angry the most observant person in the Night Court, if not all of Prythian, had never spared you a second glance. Sad that you had to look like him to get his attention. 

You'd given him every opportunity, you'd shown him your capacity for emotions countless times. He ignored it every single time. No, ignore wasn't right.

Ignorant.

Ignorant was the better word.

Perhaps it was your fault for expecting more of him. 

In the beginning, his neglect hadn’t even mattered. You didn't realize he treated you any differently. That is until you saw him interact with Rhys and Cassian, and then eventually Mor and Amren. 

With them, he was… still distant, closed off in a way. But he smiled, he laughed, he joked. He empathized with them, got angry for them, or sad, or happy. He loved them.

With you, it was just, find me this… bring me here…  go listen to them… keep me hidden… 

He never smiled at you. 

It was your own fault for expecting him to think of you as anything other than a servant. 

That’s what you are, right?

The need to grovel at his feet came back. You felt ridiculous. You lived to serve him. Without him you wouldn’t even have a life. 

You were such a fool, living darkness throwing a fit over some hurt feelings.

He was the only reason you were able to feel anything at all. He gave you meaning. He was your purpose in life, not the other way around. He had no obligation to you, he didn't even have to call on you. The fact that he did was a gift in itself. Just like the pain you felt was a gift.

Without him, you’d just be a regular shadow. 

That should be enough for you. 

So when you heard his call, when you felt that irresistible tug on your soul, you answered. 

You answered though you knew he had no reason for it. He wasn’t in danger, he didn’t want to go anywhere, didn’t need you to spy on anyone or find anything, he was just calling you. 

You answered because no matter what you said, no matter how you felt, he would always be everything. 

Azriel waits for you. Standing in the center of his room, shifting his balance from his right leg to his left. 

He couldn’t keep his hands still, they ran through his hair, adjusted his shirt, got stuffed in his pockets only to leave them a moment later and rub at his neck. His arms cross in an effort to keep them still. 

He was anxious, and restless, and nervous about messing up, but most of all he was angry at himself. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if you ignored his call, even though you said you couldn’t. You’d probably found a way, after all he’s done he wouldn’t blame you. 

It would hurt like hell, but he’d understand. Why would you bother giving him a second chance? 

He’d never even asked you for a name. 

Did you even have one? Do shadows need names? They obviously have a language, one he was able to speak and understand. Did you have a family? A people? Were you born or did you just appear one day? 

These were all things he should’ve known already. Things he should’ve had the mind to be curious about. 

He was too focused on himself and everyone else.

The lights dim, announcing your presence. 

His arms uncross, falling at his sides. You really came. 

Swirls of darkness slip into his room, slowly inching toward him. The way they move is lethargic. It makes him sick.

He speaks when you make it within a foot of him. Pushing past the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry.” 

The shadows stop. Gone was the mighty spymaster. All that remained was the boy who cried out to you on that cold night several centuries ago.

“I’m so sorry.” He repeats. “You don’t have to accept my apology. I don't want you to. I know I haven’t earned it. I just want you to know that If I could go back and change everything I would.” The words were nothing but the truth. He wished more than anything to go back and treat you right. To erase all the hurt he put you through.

His heart jumps when you continue toward him, slithering up his body, encasing him in your energy. 

He feels you curl around his ear, and then he hears your voice. That airy tone reverberating through his head. A sound only he could hear. Only he could appreciate. One he hadn't until he knew what it was like to lose it. 

“I forgive you.”  

Azriel wanted to weep at those words. For you. For him. For what he’d done to the two of you. For what the two of you could’ve been if he’d just sacrificed a little of his time to be with you. Like you always had for him.

“No, you don’t,” He began, “I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” 

The lights flicker, once, twice, then he feels it. Your hand.

His gaze trails down to watch your smokey fingers lace with his. The feeling of your skin touching his had his heart racing for other reasons. Very different from the chill of your shadows.

He lets his hand curl around your own. Squeezing as he went on, hoping you could hear and feel every last drop of his sincerity. “I could apologize to you every day for the rest of our eternal lives and I still wouldn’t deserve it.” 

You step in front of him, meeting his stare. The emotion it held stitched something back together inside of you, something that'd gotten torn apart years ago.

“I will do everything in my power to change that. I promise.” His thumb rubs circles on your hand. “I will spend the rest of my life proving that I am worthy of you. That you chose right.”  He felt his body tingle with each word, the sensation traveling down his arms, his chest, and his back. Ink undoubtedly marking his skin with a visual reminder of the deal he’d just made with himself.

To strive to one day earn your forgiveness. Your loyalty. 

You reach out a hand resting it on his face, so faintly it barely even touched him. Afraid you were overstepping.

He leans into it, covering it with his own, holding it there.

Your mind drifts back to when you met him.

His small voice, crying out for anyone. 

The strength of the Gods couldn’t have kept you from him.  

You didn’t choose wrong. You knew that. It didn't matter if he believed it or not.

“I swear it.” He vows, bringing you back to the present. His hazel eyes so intense, so sure, burning into your own. You couldn't help yourself.  

You kissed him. 

His lips connect with yours and everything stops. Everything fades away until it’s just you and him.  

He knew he’d never stop chasing the feeling it gave him. Something so simple, so easy, like breathing or gravity. Something he couldn’t live without. Not now that he’d had a taste. 

One of his hands land on your waist, pulling you closer. The other leaves your hand to find purchase on the back of your neck, angling your head to deepen the kiss. 

It was euphoric, he wanted to get lost in it, in you. 

You pull away when his tongue brushes over your bottom lip, needing a moment to breathe.

Your eyes remain shut for a moment, stuck in that feeling. When you finally pry them open you study his face, taking in every detail, committing every single bit to memory. 

He's breathing heavily, scanning you with a hunger you’ve never seen before. Eyes darting all over your face, repeatedly drifting back to your lips as if he too was struggling with restraint. 

Then he smiles. Pure elation on his beautiful face. 

The sight was divine. 

You copied the action, smiling wide. You didn’t care if it looked or felt unnatural. You were just happy. 

Happy to be his shadow. 

taglist <33: @sidthedollface2 @mischiefmanagers @theravenphoenix26 @leeknows-wife @fxckmiup

[buckybarnes82]

Faking Injuries & Pure Dedication:

Warnings: Maybe slight spoilers about the living situation.

Summary: You move into the avengers tower and become close with Bucky who doesn’t miss an opportunity to confess his feelings. (Fluff!!)

It was the middle of the night when you moved into the Avengers’ tower with Yelena, Bucky, John, Ava, Alexei, and Bob. Yelena was the only person you knew to call when your relationship ended, and you knew she wouldn’t ask too many questions.

It was only supposed to be temporary until you could find somewhere affordable to live. But none of them minded you living there it was just in your nature to feel like a burden. You pulled your weight as best as possible, making sure to be the primary cook at the house. It only took John one time to burn the food for you to take that initiative.

Bob was helpful around the tower too, you bonded quickly over the fact that you felt like the two who “didn’t belong.” Bob was usually the one who bandaged everyone up and you proceeded to make sure everyone ate, you worked well as a team and the dynamic was more like siblings than anything else.

You did, however, have your sights set on Bucky. Bucky made you feel comfortable, and content and he never pushed too hard. Truthfully, he rarely spoke to you first, and given his history you didn’t blame him for keeping to himself.

You had zero shame following him around the tower like a lost puppy dog knowing he’d never harshly confront it because he found peace within you too. You had spent many nights watching movies together, always in the company of someone else but neither one of you paid them any mind. You had tons of inside jokes, and Bucky knew he could always count on you to stay up late when he couldn’t sleep. He just wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about him just yet.

It was a Thursday night when Bucky got carried into the house by Ava and Alexei, his ankle was swollen two times its normal size and you wanted to rush to his side immediately but hesitated as Bob and Yelena sprung into action.

••••

The next morning Bucky was sprawled out on the couch, two pillows under his ankle, and reading through a book he had no interest in. He sighed out loud more times than you could count and honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Everyone else was out completing their missions and he was stuck in this tower with you.

“Hey Bucky, good morning.” You shuffled over to him, still wearing your wrinkled pajamas and fuzzy slippers.

“Hi. Morning.” He winced as he attempted to scoot over to make room for you to sit.

“No, no! Don’t move!” You sat down by his feet, making sure not to bump into him. “How’re you feeling?” You eyed him up and down, he also had on comfortable clothes which was something you’d rarely ever seen him in. A navy t-shirt and gray sweatpants had never looked so good.

“Useless” he frowned, he hadn’t noticed the loving way you were looking at him just yet. “This has never really happened to me before. Normally the serum just kind of…” he paused for a second to look at you, noticing now how you had been looking him up and down.

When he stopped speaking you made eye contact, smiling back at him. Both of you felt your cheeks grow warm.

“Umm—well, Yelena said in a few hours you’d probably be completely fine right?”

Bucky nodded, wondering to himself why you were outright concerned. He had hoped he was reading this situation correctly, but wasn’t sure how to get it to progress. He didn’t say anything more and you awkwardly sat there beside him for a moment picking at your nails.

“Are you hungry? I can make us breakfast” You were ecstatic at the chance to spend time alone with him without the noise of the group.

“Wait, where’s Bob?” He looked around, wondering why he hadn’t heard him in the room just yet.

Your face dropped, wondering why it was such an issue that it was just the two of you.

“He’s still asleep, and probably will be for a while” Your tone shifted into disappointment and Bucky felt it immediately.

“I just wanted to make sure we were alone is all” he spoke softly, letting you know he wanted the same thing. “Can I help? I feel like you do all the cooking.”

“That’s probably because I actually do all the cooking” you giggled before standing up from the couch. “You really don’t have to help me though, you’re out of commission right now.”

“That’s actually really ableist of you to say” he teased earning a shocked wide-eyed look from you. A chuckle erupted from the both of you, the mood lightening at his joke.

“At least let me sit with you at the kitchen island. I’ve been told I stare but I like to say I observe.” He teased as he stood up from the couch.

“Do you need to lean on me? I can help you walk over there Bucky.”

Bucky shook his head, he stood up from the couch and walked with you to the kitchen.

“What if I told you that I’m completely fine and that I definitely didn’t need to stay home today?” He sat down on the bar stool in the kitchen as you started to take ingredients out of the fridge.

You turned to him and he had a giant smirk on his face, his blue eyes nearly taking your breath from your lungs.

“James Barnes— what are you saying?” You giggled as you stood across the island with your arms tightly crossed against your chest.

“Real answer?” He walked over to your side of the island, nervously shuffling around the ingredients you set down on the granite kitchen island.

“Of course.”

Bucky was never good at being vulnerable, but you had always provided a safe space for him so he thought it was now or never.

“I just really wanted to spend time with you alone today.”

You felt like the world stopped and Bucky couldn’t read your reaction, he started growing nervous at the thought of you rejecting him but he couldn’t find any more words to say so he sat there in silence.

“With me?” Your eyes softened and he realized then that you might just feel the same way about him as he did you.

“I mean yeah, you’re pretty much my favorite person” his voice came out soft and mumbled but you knew by now to pay close attention to the things he said or you’d miss them.

“Bucky, You’re my favorite person too” You took a step toward him and he wrapped his arms around you, wasting no time picking you up and placing you on the counter.

He placed his left hand under your chin to kiss you, the metal was cool against your skin making you shudder slightly. Your legs wrapped around his torso instinctively.

You had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and it was better than anything you imagined.

When the two of you came up for air, you saw a genuine smile on his face. It was rare, and it felt nice knowing you were the reason for it.

“Let me make you breakfast for a change” he patted your thighs with his hands, squeezing them softly before he helped you off the kitchen island.

“Only if you promise not to ruin my new pans” you giggled as you sat down across from him.

“I’m offended you’d think I’d even dream of doing that” he laughed knowing you were referring to the one whole time John Walker made food.

You watched Bucky as he made the two of you an omelet, he seemed so at peace which was abnormal for you to see and him to feel.

“Can I ask you something?” You spoke softly as you tried not to startle him. He turned to you with a hand on his hip and spatula in hand, “yes?”

“How long have you… well….” You were trying and failing to try to word this question correctly.

“Wanted to be with you?” He chuckled, plating your omelet and handing it over to you before sliding some hot sauce your way.

“You want to be with me?” You teased knowing how surprisingly easy it was to make him blush.

“I faked an injury so we could spend time together, isn’t it obvious?” his face deadpanned.

“Does everyone else know you were faking?” You cocked an eyebrow at him before taking a bite of your omelet.

“Yeah, they all knew what I was up to.” he let out a loud laugh as he sat down beside you, there was no use in lying now.

“I love the dedication” you smirked, moving your chair closer to his as you kissed his cheek.

He had only hoped that in no time you’d also love him too.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Make you happy." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

Daryl reminisces about the day you two got married, when you found out you were pregnant, and when Marley was born.

A/N: If you want to read another story about dad!daryl you can check out: "My everything" "A whole new world" "For life". Hope you like this. Sorry if it's a little bit long :c But thank you!

For the first time in his life, Daryl could feel his hands shaking, but he had never felt so alive.

Daryl Dixon had always considered himself a lonely person.

It was like that since he was a child and had to survive the adversities of life, instead of living his childhood and adolescence like any other kid. Daryl had fought his way through life, literally, getting into so many fights that it was normal for his mother to see him come home with bruises while he was growing up, although nothing compared to the beatings his father used to give him while his mother watched as a silent spectator, doing nothing to protect her own child, until finally one day, the supposed paternal figures left his life for good.

He was alone, yes, but Daryl could feel he could finally rest, taking a moment to breathe without his body aching from the remnants his father's fists left on his body.

By the time Daryl grew up, he had convinced himself that he would be better off alone, that his past was too dark to ever truly be seen by anyone, or any woman in particular. For that same reason, he believed, in an almost sacred way, that the very idea of getting married or ​​having children one day was a crazy one, if not fatal given his temper, which was like a volcano, too dangerous to play near.

But the moment he met you, he never felt alone again: he knew you were the peace, the silent, the color the world lost even before the apocalypse. And in that instant, when your hand held his, his body recognized your warm, and his trembling heart finally calmed down.

Father Gabriel kept talking, making the wedding official, and Daryl took the opportunity to look to his right side. There you were, as beautiful as always: your hair was loose, and the left side was behind your ear. You were wearing a white dress and it was a simple one, with long sleeves and a skirt that fell a little below your thighs, but it was as overwhelming as the memory of you and the life before the end of the world.

Now, he was completely happy, as never before.

When father Gabriel asked to say your vows, you two turned towards each other, sharing an amused expression.

“Do we have to?” You said, with a worried but playful tone that made Daryl smile.

“Yes.” Maggie answered next to you, giving you a serious look as she gave you the ring.

“Better say somethin’ that makes me cry, peach.” Daryl chuckled, but he was so nervous that his hand continued to hold on to yours.

“And I wanted to start saying you are hot as hell... but that feels wrong in God’s house.” You chuckled, making the few presents laugh: your future husband, the family you made in the apocalypse, and even Gabriel. But in the next second, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your anxious heart. “There is so much in yourself I would like you to be able to see, Daryl. Like the way you protect our people, even if that puts you in danger. You don’t talk much, but your silence says it all, and it's comforting. When I met you, I realized that I had always lived in a house, but it never felt like a home until you and I started our own. And yes, you do have some anger issues, but I find that strangely attractive…” You teased him, earning you a scoff from him. “But I wouldn’t change this for anything, ever. And I promise you couldn’t make me any happier than I am now. I’m happy just because you’re with me, because while you’re here, I don’t need anything else.”

You slipped the ring on his finger, smiling so cutely that Daryl had to stop himself from pulling you towards him. But when Father Gabriel asked him to answer back while Rick gave him the ring, Daryl couldn't help but feel so shy.

“Fuck… shit, sorry, father…” Daryl looked at Gabriel, who smiled to say silently that it was okay. And when Daryl looked back at you, a new wave of feelings washed over him when he realized he was your husband. “Peach, ya know I ain’t good with words, so I guess I'll just tell ya what I thought when I met ya...” He looked at you so deeply, that for a second, you felt like you could swim in the depths of his blue eyes. “In ma world full of chaos, ya’re the silence, peach: ya were, and ya always will be.”

Then, Daryl put the ring in your finger, pulling you towards him before father Gabriel could say he could kiss the bride. You smiled softly against his lips, one hand caressing his cheek as he kept you in his arms, the place where he knew you belonged.

There was a time when Daryl thought his heart couldn’t keep beating, but it was you who made it beat again. There was a time when he thought he was giving his last breath, but you made him breathe again. Over a year and a half and even living in that new world, what a wonderful life you two lived. Alexandria gave you a house, but you two turned it into a real home. Daryl never knew how to be the man who gave flowers or chocolates: but it was sweet how he always came back from the runs with a book, some old cassettes, even a few movies he found in a store.

However, when Daryl brought in a pink stuffed octopus, claiming it was too cute to leave behind, perhaps that should have given you a clue as to what would happen shortly after.

You two never really talked about the idea of ​​having children, not in that world or the previous one actually, but one evening when the wind began to bring the first whispers of spring, you found yourself at a crossroad.

PREGNANT.

For you, the world was suddenly spinning out of control and it felt unstable, as if it was going to split open and swallow you alive. And it was then that the lust of weeks ago turned into guilt inside you, hitting you with a hard force right in the place where a life was beginning to grow.

Your body was the home of a future person, to an embryo that was the result of some nights of alcohol and fun sex, because even when you two had always been careful, let's be honest: sometimes alcohol was a good conduit for fun and unexpected results. But as you held that pregnancy test in your shaking hands, hundreds, thousands of ideas came to your mind, a projection of the future that awaited a baby in that apocalyptic world.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, hands clasped in prayer for mercy, guidance, or divine intervention, you thought it was funny how one screaming mind could silence the entire world around you. It took two people to make a baby, but, would the roots of Daryl's love be deep enough to handle the change in the future? And most of all, would it be the right thing to do to bring a baby into the world under those circumstances?

“Peach, ya okay?”

His deep voice pulled you out of your trance, but the surprise made you drop the test as you turned around.

“Fuck…” You whispered as you rushed to pick it up, but Daryl was closer than you thought, and yours and his hand brushed together as he was the one who picked the pregnancy test up.

He looked at it for a seconds that seemed longer than that first night when the end of the world began.

“I don’–” Daryl raised his head, his long hair covering part of his eyes, his brow furrowed in a thoughtful expression. “Don’ know what this means. Never seen one in real life.”

Your mouth was dry, and the words you still didn’t say aloud were like fire on gunpowder about to explode, or at least that was how dangerous the situation felt, but, armed with nothing but the truth, you ventured to say it.

“It means positive.” You answered softly, your heart beating faster.

Daryl’s mind ran as fast as possible, registering your words, processing who he was and who he will be: a future father?

“Are we…” Daryl finally said, but he had to clear his throat first. “Happy ‘bout it?”

He looked confused, not angry.

“I don’t know. Are we?”

Then, he did the last thing you thought he would do: Daryl started smiling, just a little bit.

“Yeah, I mean, m’ fuckin’ scared, but…” He paused, looking at you with a worried expression, and his voice became even lower. “But if ya don’ want to have her I would get that, ‘cause for yer face ya ain’t lookin’ so sure ‘bout it.”

In that moment your face relaxed, too immersed in fear to notice that you were holding an unpromising expression.

“No, sorry, it’s not that. It’s just that…” You chuckled, a nervous little laugh. “I’m fucking scared, too.”

His smile faltered, but it was still encouraging in those moments of turbulent thoughts for you. Then, he extended his hand towards you.

“Come, let’s sit on the bed.”

You took his hand, and it was so warm that it seemed it could reach every part of your heart, filling it a little bit with hope while fighting fear. Daryl took you towards the bed on the middle of the bedroom, to help you sit down on the edge, one leg under you, with him still close to you. He let go of your hand for a moment, only to hold the evidence that seemed to be weighed down with the possibility of having a baby, for real.

“Can you please say something?” You said. “Because I don’t know what to say.”

Daryl chuckled, looking back at you, and somehow, he was looking at you the way he always did. Like the first time you two met, the time you got together, when he proposed to you, always with so much love despite his constant fear of not being enough for you.

“Ya know all ‘bout ma childhood, peach, ‘bout ma mom, dad, ma asshole brother. Didn’t have love, like, not a lil’ shit ‘bout it, until ya came along. Everythin’ was better since I met ya n’ hell, I pictured us havin’ a kid a few times. A lil’ girl or a lil’ boy walkin’ around our home, gettin’ all excited to see me like I was a real father, nothin’ like the asshole one I had.”

You chuckled, even if you knew well how bad and sad his story was.

“Are you gonna teach it to swear too?”

“Fuck no.” He answered instantly, and when he cursed under his breath again for his mistake, it made you laugh a little more. “Listen, peach, I know exactly where we are right now. This life is jus’ fucked up, but… only if ya wanna do this ‘cause I ain’t pressurin’ ya to do somethin’ ya don’ want to, ya got to know I wanna do this with ya.”

Daryl said it so sweetly that you felt like your heart was about to burst. You knew he was also very scared, but when you looked at him, you could see clearly how serious he was, too.

“You said she.”

He blinked, confused.

“What?”

“You said: if you don’t want to have her.”

“Oh, that?” Daryl chuckled, kind of relieved. “Every time I pictured us with a kid, always thought ‘bout havin’ a girl first. I had a big brother n’ that bastard was the worst brother ever.”

You laughed softly.

“I met him so I can say that was kind of true. But I know he loved you, in his own special way…”

“Yeah, guess he did after all.” Daryl said, in a soft but deep voice, and his hand caught yours. “Ya have to tell me if this is what ya want, peach…” His next words trembled, and you could hear his fear. “But If ya want to get an abortion we can talk to Denise. S’ yer body and yer decision.”

You looked to the open window for a moment, and for Daryl, the wait was almost defeating and so suffocating. For him, escaping was not an option, but he wanted to give you the freedom to choose, to think about what was best for you, but when you looked back at him, Daryl could see a sparkle of hope between the shadows of fear.

“Can you at least promise me that you won't be leaving on supply runs so often from now on? Because if this child gets your personality, he or she won't be easy to take care of, you know?”

And there it was, the way you teased him, but at the same time, telling him that you and him were going to be parents. Then, Daryl smiled, thinking that he never imagined that he could be even happier than he already was.

He hugged you tightly, trying to banish all fear in your body, even when he had some fears, too. And it was kind of overwhelming, as if suddenly the baby was his whole world and his reason for living, but because that was a beautiful thought, you hugged him back.

From there, his life was even better. The promise of being a father scared him to death, but it was so liberating too that he silently counted the days and weeks until he could meet his baby. Daryl knew he could never be like his own father; he knew he could give his child all the love he never got. Over the next months, he kept his promise and stopped going on all the supply runs: but when he did, Daryl always came back with some toy or a piece of clothes, even with a book about parenting that he started reading in a sacred way because he wanted to be as ready as possible, to learn how to hold a baby, how to change a diaper and more.

The night of his last run and when Daryl reached the gates, Maggie was there to meet him.

As he got off the motorcycle, he just knew.

“But we still had a few weeks ahead.” He said, even when he knew anything was possible.

However, the moment Daryl walked into the bedroom, nothing could prepare him for that. The doctor and Carol were there, next to you as you were lying sideways on the bed, almost in a fetal position, eyes tightly closed, holding yourself against the sheet, too immersed in the pain to notice he was there.

“Peach, hey, m’ here…” Daryl knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. There, you opened your eyes, but you looked so scared like never before. “M’ here, okay? M’ here with ya.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this…” You said breathlessly closing your eyes, eyebrows furrowed in an expression of pain as a new contraction pressed against your belly.

But you and him knew well you couldn’t turn back now.

“Ya can do this, sweetheart, jus’ hold on a lil’ more, okay?” Daryl kissed your hand before getting up, helping you to sit when the doctor said it was time to push.

He climbed onto the bed, sitting behind you to hold your body against his, to let you know that he was there with you. And the entire time it took you to give birth, he did nothing but encourage you, assuring you that you were doing an incredible job, that you were strong, that you just had to hold on a little longer because soon you were going to hold your baby.

But when Daryl heard the baby crying for the first time, that was the most beautiful sound ever.

Neither of you knew if the baby was going to be a girl or a boy, but when Carol said it was girl, making Daryl's wish come true, it felt like the world got back its color. Like breathing for the first time, like waking up from the sweetest dream, everything just made sense.

The doctor wrapped her in a blanket, laying her on your chest. But the moment she felt your touch, the baby looked into your eyes and it was as if she could see deep into your soul, to see all the love you had for her, giving you a new feeling of peace.

And in that moment, she stopped crying.

“She has your eyes.” You said softly, exhausted and in pain, but happy in a new way.

Daryl was smiling since he heard her, but seeing her there, so little and healthy and even more beautiful than in the dreams he had about her, it was like taking the first step into a whole new world, one that promised nothing but happiness. His hand caressed her cheek, feeling a tickle on the tips of his fingers at the contact of his daughter's soft skin.

His daughter, his princess, his little angel.

“She’s so lil’.” Daryl said softly, afraid that if he talked louder she would be scared.

“Ya can hold her. Do you want to?” You asked in a small voice, thinking that he would be the one who would end up scared.

Daryl pulled away from you slightly to sit on the edge of the bed, taking the little life he helped create into his arms. For a single second, he feared that he might hurt her, a small thought in his frightened head, but when she locked her eyes with her daddy, Daryl knew well he would always make his daughter happy.

“Did you two choose a name?” Carol asked.

Daryl chuckled, looking at you.

“Remember when Merle joked ‘bout namin’ our child after him?”

“Yeah. You told him to fuck off.” You chuckled, too. But you could see clearly the idea in his eyes, asking you the permission first. “Marley is a good name; don’t you think? Marley Rose Dixon. I think it sounds sweet, and your last name will make her look intimidating too after the people meet her daddy.”

"That's what we need. Another Dixon." Carol chuckled.

But the idea was more than a delight for him. And right there, Daryl promised Marley he would always make her smile, he would always make her happy, showing her nothing but love.

And he kept his word.

Now, they are lying on the bed, his head on the pillow and with her in his arms as he caresses her back, one arm under her head. As the night falls in Alexandria and Daryl finishes telling his daughter that story (omitting some thoughts, words and curses) Marley is still awake.

“Are ya sleepy now, angel?” Daryl asks softly, looking into her eyes, but when she shakes her head, giggling, he sighs. “How ‘bout ya lay down and daddy rubs yer back? Ya loved that when ya were a baby.”

“Really, daddy?”

“Yeah, ya spent most of yer day on daddy’s chest.” Daryl nudges his nose against his daughter's, earning another laugh. “It was much better than sleepin’ with mommy.”

“Hey…” You complain, entering the room. Marley chuckles, sticking her body even closer to her daddy. “I don’t like you, any of you.”

Daryl chuckles.

“Told ya she was a Dixon.”

You sigh dramatically, joking, laying on your side of the bed.

“Nine months in my belly but she loves daddy more.”

Marley giggles, but before you can say anything, she pulls away from her daddy, turning until she is next to you.

“I love ya too, mommy.”

“I know, baby...” You hold her in your arms, kissing her head as you hear her accent. “Mommy loves you too, my love.”

She looks at you, her blue eyes as deep as her father.

“And daddy too?”

“Well…” You tease him, earning a scoff from your husband. “Yeah. I love daddy too.”

“But s’time to sleep, angel.” Daryl says softly when he knows the late night has begun, one hand rubbing her back. “Close yer eyes, okay?”

“Okay, daddy…” Marley does it, snuggling into your chest. “I love ya both.”

@fluffy-dixon

[scaramouche-bully]

— ☆ Rematch

— Eager to have another opportunity to see Jing Yuan and Igor face off, you easily agree to play as referee for what you believe will be another fight of fists.

Includes: Igor + Jing Yuan

[ Sub ] Gender-neutral reader Contains: Poly relationships, sweat, voyeurism, rough sex, stomach bulge, crying, begging, unprotected sex, kissing, coming untouched, cumming in pants + alluded Igor x Jing Yuan.

[ masterlist ]

I finally finished the Wardance event and immediately fell in love with Igor to the point I wrote this in one sitting. It is unfortunate that we may not see him in future events but I hope we can. I'd like to see more Igor and Jing Yuan interactions.

Rumors travel fast on a ship filled with long-life species, what else is there to do when you've had so many years to explore every possible hobby you could find? Naturally, the ever-changing gossip of new developments that can change with a flip of a coin makes everyone a little excited. Whispers behind painted nails, lingering eyes that gaze up and down, and even shy giggles that are poorly hidden behind paper fans. The rumor mill is fast and latches onto anything that could be exploited for entertainment, you would know since it's been your main source of income for a few hundred years. Initially, being a journalist wasn't what you had in mind when you first arrived on the Luofu, but many things in your life suddenly crashed into you and expected you to figure it out. Your boss suddenly decided to cover an entirely different person of interest when the deadline was only a few hours away. The near-death experiences of wandering too deep into places known for its mara-struck monsters roaming about, all for a better picture. Even now, being suddenly asked to play as a referee for the most hyped contestants of the Wardance. An exclusive rematch between the Luofu's ringmaster and the outworlder from Belobog.

Distantly, in the far recesses of your mind which titters on the edge of rationality, are amused that you can finally answer the fan-made question that's been buzzing all over the Luofu.

Igor does fuck like he fights. Hard, fast, and he doesn't pull any punches.

"M-Mister Igor- ah! Slow...down!" you cry out, nails sinking into metal and flesh. You're starting to grow a little crazy, as if the mara decided to strike now even though you're far too young for the disease to form through old age. It's far too hot, Igor runs warmer than anyone given the coldness of his planet, but you're starting to believe that the air is turning fuzzy from the sheer heat radiating off him. It doesn't help that he wants to press himself as close to you as he physically can, the sweat on his body smearing against your skin that you think should feel disgusting, but only makes you burn hotter. You feel like you're melting inside and out, from the tip of your toes up to your brain that's turning dumber and dumber with each passing second.

"Sorry, where I'm from, there's no time for gentle loving. Besides-" Igor punctuates his word with a harsh thrust against your battered hole that sends you squealing, "I don't lose to the same opponent twice."

The declaration awakens another layer into Igor's "fighting spirit", he pulls out until only the tip of his cock is still being clung to by your hole, before burying his cock so deeply you swear you can feel it in the back of your throat. He fucks with all his strength, the loud slapping noises of his skin hitting yours fill the room, almost loud enough that your spectator can't hear any more of your near-hysterical moans. Jing Yuan has the best seat in the house, hovering just above you as he watches Igor bully his cock inside you, a tiny bump in your stomach appearing and disappearing with each thrust. Droplets of sweat trail down Igor's chin until they fall on your fucked-out face. He wonders what it tastes like? His own cock strains against the fabric of his pants at the thought, twitching and weeping pitiful drops of precum but he keeps his hands obediently at his side. It's not his turn yet.

"Ah!! No! I-Igor! Ah- my...you're gonna break me!!" your cries are ignored when Igor leans down to smother your words of mercy. It's almost cute that Igor kisses sweetly, as if he's trying to soothe the tears streaming down your cheeks despite being the cause of them. The coolness of his metal arm sends tiny shivers up your spine as it settles on the arch of your spine, pressing you even closer until you're molded against him. His other hand hitches your thigh onto the curve of his waist, a new angle for him to drive himself deeper. Small little grinds of his cock against your most sensitive spots send shocks through your body before you finally snap, a muffled moan swallowed by Igor as you cum. It doesn't stop the man, only fueling his actions as he pounds into you with utmost desperation, strings of slick being dragged in and out of your hole. Jing Yuan's eyes dim at the sight, his tongue unconsciously running over his lips. His fingers twitch slightly, his resolve and discipline wavering in the face of such temptation. The only reason he doesn't move is the near primal look in Igor's eyes that snap to his, a silent command to wait his goddamn turn.

"Don't cry. You'll like—you'll love this, just toughen it out a bit more," Igor mutters against your ear. His hand has wandered to caress the bulge in your belly, pressing his fingers down against the bump every time it pops up. Igor's hips stutter at the feeling, muscles tensing and twitching as he struggles with his strength to not cause any unwanted pain. It's been a while since he's had the time to indulge in a warm body. Between the matches and his ambition to fight for his home, he hasn't had the time or intention to accept any of the more personal proposals he's been given. There were more important things to be doing, if he needed to vent any frustration, he could be training. So to say he's a bit pent-up is an understatement.

"Fuck- Fuck! Can I come inside?" Igor groans, hands moving to dig into your waist as he physically pushes and pulls you up and down his cock like a ragdoll. You can only give a jumbled slurry of noises that vaguely sounds like a yes before Igor tenses, a low groan as he pumps his cum deeper inside you. The room finally calms down, allowing for a brief respite as Igor gathers his bearings to finally let you go, the sound of your body dropping onto the bed lifeless has him looking up worried.

"Had this been an official match, you would have been disqualified for knocking out the referee," Jing Yuan muses, his head tilting to the side until his white hair covers one of his golden eyes. He's rewarded by Igor's punched-out chuckles, his body still panting as he comes down from his high. Igor slowly maneuvers you more comfortably on the bed, easing your legs down so you don't wake up with a cramp. With great difficulty, because you're so warm, he pulls out with a groan, globs of his cum pooling onto the bedsheets. With one deep inhale, Igor tilts his head up to escape the haze, and with his exhale, golden eyes meet gold.

"You need help with that?" Igor asks as he stares Jing Yuan in the eye. He doesn't need to look down to see the mess in the lieutenant's pants. He knows that despite not being touched and the calm facade, if he were to pull Jing Yuan's pants down he would see the same white cum that's still leaking from your hole.

[darkbluekies]

I feel like Edmund wants a mother... But also a partner? He wants the motherly care he never got but also wants to be the one with all the power (cuz he is the one with all the power)

yes, kind of, i'd say. I'm not sure HE is aware of that, though. He wants to be able to lay his head in darling's lap and have his hair played with — demands it even — and at the same time hates to be treated like a child because of his position. Who are you to tell the king what to do? I think it has a lot to do with his upbringing, his relation to his parents and their murder that led him to become a king around 16 years old, far too early for him to ever be ready for the role.

He was never treated as a child, and forced to grow up even quicker because of his new position as a king. He has never had someone by his side that he can feel like he can be himself with. Partly because he doesn't know who he is, he has never gotten the time or opportunity to explore what he likes to do or what he dislikes — his tutors have given him a carbon copy personality of the kings before him — but also because he can't trust anyone.

It's actually quite sad when you think about it. He's just nineteen and lost. He has you and doesn't know how to treat you. He just knows that he wants you by his side forever so that he never has to be lonely again. He has managed to find a bit of his real self thanks to you and that means more to him than anything else in this world. You're so extremely important to him because you are everything that he should have had but never got.

[daphlandia]

essay about helena eagan 1

First of all, you need to know that nothing in this world could ever stop me from loving her.

Let’s go back to the very beginning, what kind of person decides to have severance procedure? If we look at the examples: Mark chose it bc he didn’t want to deal with grief, Irving bc he was lonely (and for reasons still a little unclear) and Dylan bc he couldn’t find a place for himself in the outside world.

But what about Helena? The future CEO of the company that invented this procedure. She says she did it to help her father and bc it sounded freaking awesome. Everything is a game, lie. It’s all about appearances, about making things look better from the outside. But what’s actually going on inside this woman’s mind?

You’re born, you grow up and you stay locked in the same environment your whole life. You never have real friends. You grow up under strict rules, subjected to years of emotional abuse. You’re 30 years old and still living with your father who happens to be an absolutely terrifying man. She’s a woman with nowhere else to go except Lumon or that creepy house.

When someone offers her this idea the chance to escape for 8 hours a day ofc she’s going to think it’s freaking awesome. For 8 hours, she could be someone else. Maybe she could make friends. Maybe she could be happy. She’s someone who holds to maybes.

Helena was so excited before getting that chip implanted in her brain. When you’re miserable and trapped, you’d do anything take any risk just to feel a little happiness. I honestly don’t think Lumon’s advertisement even mattered to her at that point. I believe Helena always dreamed of being someone else. Of being born into another family. And now even if it was just for 8 hours she had that chance. It’s no wonder that a woman with such a miserable life would jump at this idea.

And so, she became Helly. Suddenly she had two friends and a father figure. And then one of those friends turned into the love of her life.

Helena had given herself a way out an opportunity but Helly didn’t want to stay there. Why? Bc she felt trapped too. This in itself is proof that big feelings love, loneliness, hope can transcend severance.

The escape route Helena created for herself became a prison for Helly (at least for now). Helly tried to escape over and over. She even threatened to cut off her own fingers. Helena said some brutal lines to Helly lines that cut like a knife:

"I understand that you’re unhappy with the life you’ve been given, but you know what? Eventually we all have to accept reality."

You’re unhappy just like me. Accept reality just like me. Try to be happy with the life you’ve been given bc Helena didn’t believe she could find another way out. For her, being someone else for 8 hours was the best thing she could do for herself. And she wanted Helly to do the same. Helena is someone who just wants to be happy, to exist, to live. Someone who’s never been loved, never experienced real affection.

Then one day Innies rebelled. And Helena who knew nothing about the life her Innie had started watching it on the screen. The look on her face shock, admiration it’s mesmerizing.

She smiles when she sees Helly joking with Mark. She can’t believe it. Is that really me? Honestly seeing Helly happy made her happy.

And then she sees Helly (herself) kiss Mark. Maybe Helena had never even experienced that in her own life. She freezes, can’t believe it. Who knows how many times she watched it.

At that moment -her hunger for love, for touch, for connection- overwhelmed her.

What did it feel like to be loved when she had never experienced it? And now this person she created for herself for just 8 hours was experiencing it. Helena had even told Helly: “I am a person. You are not.” And yet Helly had a better life than she did. Helly had love. That shook her to the core.

Let’s be honest (Britt’s voice :d) if you were Helena, you would do anything to be Helly.

And then she found herself on severed floor. The man she had seen on the camera was there and he hugged her tightly. Probably no one had ever hugged her like that before. She was welcomed with such warmth. He was saying, “I was so worried about you.” worried, for her? While her own father didn’t even care, Mark cared.

She needed to experience that kind of love it wasn’t a want it was a need. Deep down, maybe she already knew this would eventually come to an end but sometimes, you just want to enjoy the journey. That’s exactly what Helena did.

She was going to live through love, affection, friendship, and a sense of family all the things she wasn’t allowed to experience outside. No matter what.

Then came that moment their first time alone in the hallway. When she asked i-Mark, after learning that Ms. Casey was his wife, if they were happy in their wedding photo. His answer upset Helena. Bc his wife is alive and o-Mark wouldn’t want to stay here with her (at least not at that moment). And that felt like losing i-Mark the one from the screen, the man Helly and herself were in love with. What if he didn’t stay? Losing the only love you might ever have...

And when i-Mark realized Hellyna was upset, he said: “I never liked Ms. Casey, and I never felt that way.” Never felt that way? He never felt what he felt with Helly with anyone else.

And this came from a man who couldn’t even understand the difference between Helly and Helena. Do you see? He loved her sm that i-Mark couldn’t see the difference bc what his feelings transcend severance. The plan was simple he would save Ms. Casey and reunite her with o-Mark. And he would continue his love story with Hellyna. Helena was going to help him bc that’s what Helly would do. And contrary to what some people think I don’t think Helena is cruel. Despite her feelings for Mark, she was okay with the idea of reuniting o-Mark with Gemma.

She was happy spending time with him, walking through those labyrinthine hallways, discovering new places, feeling that tension in the corner of a corridor is he going to kiss me now?

Helly had experienced her first kiss but Helena?

And then they found themselves in a snowy forest. Everything was so natural and wild. Helena was happy by Mark’s side, making fun of the Kier family nonsense, laughing so hard her dimples showed... And Mark was responding, laughing at her jokes, even bursting into laughter.

Maybe Helena wasn’t so different from Helly anymore… Or maybe Helena was thinking “If I had grown up in a normal environment, I would have been just like Helly.”

And she was so happy and in love by the campfire. Until her happiness started to be overshadowed. She began facing the possibility of losing the only thing she had. She lashed out hurt Irving and immediately regretted it. Irving was a lonely soul, too and that’s why he was the only one who noticed Helena.

The fun was over. In her tent, she was genuinely upset, regretful, and a little angry. Who knows how many times she had been in this state alone in her room and no one ever knocked on her door asking if she was okay.

But Mark was there. He came to her tent asking if she was alright, even comforting her saying like forget it “He kind of deserved it.” All of this was new for Helena. And I’m not surprised some people don’t understand how much that means to her. And she was about to have her first kiss. Their eyes were shining both of them.

Helena, just like Helly, had fallen in love with i-Mark.

Some might think this was deception bc i-Mark was in love with Helly but his love was so big that he couldn’t tell the difference between Helly and Helena two sides of the same coin. He loved every single thing Helena hated about herself just the way she was. Helena was tasting for the first time, touch, gaze, kiss, embrace of a genuinely loving person.

And she wanted to engrave every moment into her memory rarely closing her eyes as if closing them would mean never seeing him again. Her love for Mark was so big it brings tears to my eyes even thinking about it.

For the first time this was Helena; vulnerable, transparent, open.

She was so happy but at the same time, the thought of him being in love with Helly was constantly in her head. And on top of that, she was the future CEO of Lumon scarred and impossible from many directions. And she didn’t even like being Helena.

While looking at Mark with loving eyes and seeing him look back at her the same way she wanted to let go of all her burdens, tell him everything but all she could say was that she didn’t like who she was outside. Her whole body was trembling she didn’t want to lose Mark. And Mark said one of the most beautiful things she could ever hear:

"I don’t care who you are out there. I care who you are with me. That’s all."

It was so simple. Helly or Helena it didn’t matter. They were the same person and everything was okay when she was with Mark. And maybe, for the first time, Helena who didn’t see herself as worthy of love became sure that i-Mark loved her just like this just as she was.

About the parts where Helena pretends like Helly.

[neigepomme]

okay i need to yap about this rn and i feel like you'll understand miss pomme. it actually hurts me how pure caleb's love is and how selfless he can be. he started loving and protecting mc when he didn't even know what those words meant. he was just a little kid and he asked for nothing in return. he spent years looking out for her, searching for her in every crowd and not once did he put himself first. it's almost as if it's an instinct for him. i love him so much :( i want him to be happy in every lifetime he gets to experience with mc. ok bai

anon i am holding your hands GOD i have never understood something harder in my entire life.. yapping a lot because it genuinely makes me so upset too

i think about this a lot!! i enjoy yandere caleb stuff, and i think the darker content is enjoyable to read — but personally? i think if you genuinely did not want him in your life, he'd disappear, as long as he knew you were safe. he never really allowed himself to feel selfish or to require your love, always satisfied with being by your side without you necessarily reciprocating it.

sometimes, i wonder if he ever resented the life he was condemned to. i don't think anyone would blame him if he did. it always breaks my heart just how much love he holds in his heart, and whenever i see his freckles and how bright his eyes shine, it makes me super emotional. caleb had to grow so fast, and he never had a moment's respite — always on edge and constantly fighting to stay alive. his relationship with josephine wasn't a good one too. he remembers all of the experimentations, yet lives with one of the perpetrators, just so he can stay and care for mc.

what drives me even more nuts? the way he always looked up to the sky and dreamed of freedom, and how mc was always included in his vision of freedom. he went to the DAA hoping to learn how to fly, how to be able to feel free and his motivation was always mc. his worth is always associated with mc, and even in his weakest moments, where he should care for himself, where he should feel hurt, his mind never allows him to.

in the new world underneath story, you find out that he limited the radius of the explosion with his evol in order to shield mc — which is why he was significantly more injured than he should have been. he would much rather die than encounter the possibility of mc getting hurt. in such a stressful moment, where he surely could only feel pain from the flames and the debris, where he should have cared for himself, his mind was only on mc. and when he lost his arm? the only thing he mourned was the ability to feel mc's warmth.

you know what gets me about this too? if he was offered the chance to do it all over again, he would. in a heartbeat, without even hesitating for a bit. in every scenario, in every dream of his, mc is there. his love is too big for his body, and he would much rather be miserable and know that mc is okay, than be okay without knowing if mc is. every single time he is given the opportunity to be selfish, he decides to be selfless.

i really hope we get a card where he's genuinely happy, and we see him act a bit more selfish. i want caleb to be greedier, to demand love, demand affection, demand care. i want him to put his desires first, and most of all, i want him to smile without worry. he deserves so much and i really hope that we get to see him live his childhood freedom dreams without a care in the world. need the world to give caleb his wings back!!

edit: ok this got real emo i feel bad so have what i think caleb's love would feel like <3333

caleb's love is a hope that gives you wings. shades of orange and purple, sweaty hands tightly held as you chase sunsets, past, present, and yet to come. summer breeze carrying the weight of unspoken childhood memories. freckled cheeks painted with melted apple flavored ice cream. shared headphones and loud guitar, representing the intensity of your beating hearts. adrenaline rushes and familiar laughter into the early morning hours.

[comfortyart]

I'm really curious how Fen, Solas, and Dorian first got together. Did two of them come first and a third joined later? How did they approach the conversation?

Ok I’m sorry this will probably be long winded, rambly, also just messily written - and, despite the fact that this moment is my planned next one shot about them - there are just so many moving parts that actually lead to them getting together.

Throwing this under a break because it's so long

When they were at Haven, there was some tension between Solas and Fen. Despite Fen’s best and continued efforts, Solas is very short with him at the beginning, a lot of it relating to Fen being a grey warden. On the other hand, from the moment Fen and Dorian lock eyes, it's flirting. They make easy friends, Dorian very taken by Fen’s happy-to-help golden retriever like personality, trauma bonded by the happenings of In Hushed Whispers and easily spending a lot of time together. Leading up to Skyhold, Solas starts taking to Fen’s late night “questionings”. If Solas considers Fen uneducated, he was going to ask and learn as much as he could. It’s true he didn’t have many opportunities to get “book smart” (he is precious), but he loves to learn, and we all know how much Solas loves to embark wisdom. So there they are, every evening - and to Solas’ surprise, Fen is very responsive to his teachings. He clearly considers everything he’s told, utilizes it in making decisions moving forward, and comes back with new questions. And before long he finds himself drawn to the way Fen navigates day-to-day. Perhaps he judged too soon, I mean, Fen can be and is foolish at times, but he sees how Fen uses the knowledge he’s given, and suddenly he’s hooked.  This turns into late evenings with the three of them as they all grow closer throughout the timeline of the game. Fen enjoys watching Solas and Dorian debate, likes watching Solas paint while Dorian reads beside him on the couch. Sometimes they’re both just listening to Fen yap about darkspawn or a weird looking tree he saw earlier that day while they sit around the fire. Its not really anything particularly even intimate, though it is to them to some extent because they don’t spend much time alone with anyone else - and they all sort of become inseparable- EVEN after Fen and Solas get together.

Dorian isn’t surprised. Even in their flirting he knew Fen was taken with Solas from before they’d met. And Dorian, who had spent a lot of time alone without really anyone close to him, was content to just have two people he held dearly, even if his heart was unfortunately growing more attached by the day. He sort of feels bad about it too, they’re a couple, but he’s always there.

And then, Fen starts hearing the false calling. And by and then, I mean, he’s been hearing it for a while - but its getting worse. He is all but inconsolable one evening, and Solas and Dorian are looking at each other not sure what to do. I mean what CAN they do right? They're just as horrified. And...We can ignore the added layer of Solas and his fuck this is all in a round about way my fault situation for now LOL

Following Here lies the Abyss, Solas and Dorian are sort of high alert, a bit more attentive, not that Fen needs it, but more in a way they were woken up to how important this idiot had become to them. They felt like they could lose him to this, selfishly, ignoring what the loss of Fen could do to the world, but now horrified at the idea of losing him - generally.

And It’s not long after this, a close encounter leads Fen to a near death experience by an ambush. Dorian and Solas are so panicked they can’t leave his side, and without ever verbally asking, they’re both with each other like a crutch - now both seemingly living through the fear they were really going to lose Fen.

It was traumatic, and Solas refuses to let Dorian leave his side, like he truly believes it may break him to deal with this crushing fear alone. When Fen finally wakes, Dorian’s relief is suddenly hit with the realization that he is not to them what they are to each other. Suddenly like the world is being crushed amongst the happiness Fen isn’t dead, he is quick to say he’s sorry for always being in their space and that he’d try to give them more alone time since he didn’t want to ever take the precious time they have together away from them.

Solas shuts it down, fast. A few glances between him and Fen and it’s a confession. Fen and Solas had been falling for Dorian, and were convinced he’d want no part, and so settled to always having him in their space. It was emotional, for so many reasons, and a lot of tears, and it became impossible to tear them apart for the next fortnight. 

[beegomess]

T.N. || Profane girl

Summary: You and Theodore have such a deep connection that there's no way you can't always be drawn to each other. Warmings: Smut; +18; betrayal on Y/N's part, but not against Theo. Requests are open!

He hated every scene of that, every touch you received from your boyfriend was like swallowing shards of glass.

Not even Theodore knew when exactly this feeling started. You two were friends from any job during a Spells class, since then, you have done work together, shared readings and cigarettes in the Astronomy Tower. And well, with the proximity, there were also more feelings, which made everything more physical.

The issue that bothered him, however, was his gradual departure, especially when he engaged in a relationship with a student from Corvinal. His boyfriend, the golden boy of his house, was completely envealous by Theodore's proximity to you, and asked him to move away from him for a while. He was not wrong to ask for this, Nott never made a point of hiding the brazen looks from his body, which in turn felt warm every time his eyes met his.

At a party at the Slytherina communal, you were alone, and a moment of weakness changed everything. Next to a stone column, where they talked, you and Theodore kissed. The climate intensified rapidly as the alcohol took effect, making the moment intense and full of emotions. It was just a kiss, abruptly interrupted by you when you became aware of the situation, moving away immediately.

- Damn... - The song still in a loud roar that was starting to bother her. - Sorry... I...

You tried to say something, but you left quickly, without giving Theodore the opportunity to say something. His worried mind began to bubble, afraid of being seen by someone, afraid of what he really wanted.

This was not uncommon, she had already done that before, which made her feel horrible as a person. Every time he kissed Theodore on the Astronomy Tower, or when he sneaked up to his bed at night, it was a weight of guilt that fell on his shoulders.

Simon, his boyfriend, was always having attacks of jealousy of his proximity to Nott, and thanks to the persuasion techniques of the raven, the discussions always ended up with you apologizing him for exaggerating, always taking away from himself a little of the guilt he carried for betraying him.

These discussions usually ended up with you going to bed with Simon, who was average in quality, leading your mind to always try to imagine that it was Theodore unconsciously. However, your boyfriend didn't use to give you time to even imagine something.

In other words, even if he still tried and didn't do that a lot, his mind always traveled to him. Remembering every detail of the boy's body and face that had already given him so much pleasure, and he seemed more willing than ever to do it as soon as you called, but you wouldn't do it. Not again.

After the kiss, you ran to your dorm, still memorizing his hands on your body, using it as gasoline to light the fire that insisted on growing inside you in the intimacy of your room.

[...]

In class that morning, Theodore watched carefully from the last table in the room Simon affectionately caress his back over his shirt. A sweet and serene smile illuminated his face, when the boy leaned over to give a quick kiss on his lips, moments before the teacher entered.

Theodore's impassive eyes met Simon's during class, when he stealthily looked back, capturing Nott's penetrating look on you, who seemed to try to reach her with his gaze. The fury accumulated in Simon when he saw the intensity of that look.

- You should wear longer skirts. - Simon whispered angry in his ear, which stared at him confused.

- What? - You questioned, trying to understand the sudden change in his mood.

Before he could get an answer, Simon got up like a hurricane and left the room, moments before the end of the class. His eyes followed his boyfriend, only to find Theodore's gaze fixed, who leaned his elbows on the table, as if calling you close. And then, you gathered your things quickly, leaving as hurried as Simon. The rapid movement of the short skirt wore, however, caught the attention of Theodore, who longed to see what the fabric was hiding.

During lunch, Simon decided to do drama and did not show up in the big hall. You sat at Slytherin's table accompanied only by Pansy. On the other side, an empty space seemed to wait for Theodore, who didn't take long to take it as his own.

- Mr. Perfection always leaving you alone, doesn't it? - Theodore murmured almost in a whisper, a provocative smile stamped on his perfectly outlined face. You decided to ignore his provocations, just as you ignored the sensations he caused you, which only encouraged his provocation even more. - Oh, are you going to ignore me? Why? Did he ask you for that?

- What do you want? - His eyes have finally turned to him, now very close. The irritation in his words was evident.

- Just talk, love - Nott's way hasn't changed, which made you even more curious. - I miss you, Y/N.

The last sentence made you swallow dry because it had a more serious tone. This could be interpreted in many ways, but it was clear what he meant. His beautiful green eyes seemed to have never lied to you, always crossing your soul with a disturbing clarity.

Her breathing was deep, trying to stay calm as she looked into Theodore's eyes, who seemed to hypnotize her.

- Tell me what you want to talk about, Theodore. I don't have all day. - An attempt to hide the mixture of curiosity and nervousness in your voice.

Theodore leaned slightly closer, the intensity of his gaze making his heart beat faster.

- Why did you run away the last time we kissed? - He asked, his soft voice, but loaded with a painful insecurity. - I thought you had stopped avoiding me.

His eyes blinked in surprise at the direct question. There was a moment of hesitation, the words stuck in his throat, but he knew he needed to be honest.

- That was wrong, Theodore. - He admitted, looking down for a moment before finding his eyes again. - I have a boyfriend now, and kissing you is a betrayal. That should be obvious to you.

Theodore watched you in silence for a moment, absorbing his words, before responding with a malicious and challenging tone.

- Oh, so that's it? - A smile from the corner of your mouth forming. - Curious that you didn't care so much about Simon when you were in my room a few weeks ago.

Theodore's words were a direct blow, and she knew he was right. The internal conflict he felt was stamped on his face. His face flushing immediately when he remembers the things he refreshed in his memory.

- That... That was also a mistake. - Your voice was more trembling now. - I was confused and vulnerable. It shouldn't have happened.

Theodore leaned even closer to you, his gaze fixed on yours, challenging you to deviate from it.

- Maybe, but you didn't seem so confused that night, Y/N. And, honestly, it doesn't seem so confused right now. - Theodore whispered, the soft and engaging voice, you could almost feel him touch you only with the living memory in your mind. - I admit I want you, and I think, deep down, you know what you really want.

A knot formed in his throat. Theodore's words were honest and, in a way, true. Theodore nodded slowly, a small smile forming on his lips.

- I understand, love. You just need some time. - Nott still had a softness in his voice that contrasted with the intensity of his feelings. - I'm willing to wait as long as it takes.

He concluded, his unwavering conviction reflected in his determined eyes. With one last meaningful look, Nott slowly walked away, each step echoing in his racing heart. You stood there, paralyzed, a mixture of conflicting emotions involving you. The whirlwind of thoughts making her even more confused, while trying to process the meaning of Nott's words and the impact they had on her own feelings.

[...]

You could barely move between the full stands of your house. The quidditch game between Slytherin and Corvinal was in full swing, as people shouted and encouraged their players with fervor. The sounds of screams and applause echoed, creating an electrifying atmosphere.

Simon, one of the most skilled players at Corvinal, threw stealthy glances at you whenever possible. His face remained serious, never sketching a smile, as if he was watching you incessantly. The tension in his gaze was palpable, and there was a clear reason for this: Theodore Nott was sitting quite close to you, a proximity that bothered Simon deeply.

- Nervous about the score? - Nott asked, with a casual smile, leaning slightly towards him.

- Of course, it's an important game. - You tried to keep the tone light, despite the tension you felt. - And you, who are you rooting for?

- Ah, always for Slytherin. - Nott said, as if it were obvious, and it was. The eyes shining with a veiled interest. - But I confess that my attention is more focused on something else now.

You felt Simon's gaze fixed as he flew through the heights, increasingly angry. Your attempt to ignore, pretending to be completely immersed in the game did not work, the feeling of Nott's looks on you caused a certain heat that was impossible to dissipate.

- Simon is playing brilliantly today, don't you think? - You tried to change the focus of the conversation. Nott gave an enigmatic smile before answering.

- Simon always plays well, but I think he's more worried about something else now. Maybe with me sitting here. - His eyes turned quickly to Simon, who at the top of the broom, seemed more tense every second. His presence there, next to Nott, was a provocation that was not in his plans, but that was clearly happening. Theodore, however, had a provocative and convinced smile, as if he wanted the raven to see him. - He should be more careful, he can end up being hit if he doesn't look where he should.

- You should focus on the game, Theodore. - Your tone was firm, but it didn't seem to work.

- Maybe, but I prefer to focus on something more interesting. - Theodore's voice was low, but full of intentions, which left everything worse for his body.

You looked away, trying to ignore the growing restlessness within you. The stands continued to vibrate with the energy of the game, but for you, the match was turning into a much more personal battle.

The final minutes of the game were a real roller coaster of emotions. Corvinal's fans exploded in screams every time Simon made an impressive move, while Slytherin fans tried to keep hope alive. Finally, in a quick and precise move, Simon caught the golden knobe, securing victory for Corvinal. The blue and bronze stands erupted with joy, while the Corvinal players hugged and celebrated on the field.

Later that night, the Corvinal Tower was illuminated and full of students celebrating the victory. The music echoed through the walls, and laughter and lively conversations filled the air. And even though it was a Slytherin, you had been invited to the party, of course, but you were apprehensive. You knew that Simon would be there, and after the looks he had cast during the game, you imagined that the night could become tense.

Simon was in the crowd, surrounded by friends, all celebrating and laughing. When he saw her, her smile disappeared and was replaced by a serious expression.

- Can we talk? - He asked, his voice tense despite the noise around.

You nodded, following him to a more isolated corner of the room, already feeling your stomach wrapped up.

- Congratulations on the victory. - His voice had a sweet tone and a slight smile stamped his face, but Simon didn't look the same.

- Thank you. - He responds dryly. - But I think you're more interested in celebrating with Nott, aren't you? - Your frustration grew, making a tired sigh come out of your lips when you heard him.

- Simon, I was just watching the game. He was there, there was no way I could avoid it.

- You could have tried to do something. - He replied, his eyes shining with jealousy. - I saw how he looked at you, and you just leave it.

- I can't control how people look at me! - You exclaimed, trying to stay calm. A few glances already on you in the corner of the room. - And, besides, we are here to celebrate your victory, not to discuss, please.

Simon crossed his arms, visibly unhappy.

- There's always an excuse, doesn't there? I see how he acts close to you, and I don't like it. He wants you, and it seems like you don't care.

- Simon, stop! Of course I care! - You already felt the anger bubble inside you. - But you can't blame me for something I can't control. Theodore is just a colleague, nothing more.

- It didn't look like just that today - He murmured, looking away. - I think you'd better go out, Y/N.

Your forehead frowned and you looked at him, surprised by your decision.

- What? You're not serious... - Your disbelief was clear, but he soon cuts you off once again.

- I am, Y/N. - With a lump in your throat, you turned around and left, ignoring the curious looks of the other students of the party as you hit your shoulders.

His feet walked quickly through the corridors, his heart squeezed in frustration. The party was still far away, but you didn't want to be part of that anymore.

Arriving at the Slytherin commune, his body entered with quick and determined steps, heading towards the dormitory that he knew Theodore would be. You were ready to explode with him, put him against the wall and tell him to permanently move away from you.

When he found him, he was there, leaning against the head of the bed while reading a book. The room had only the presence of the two at that moment, still dark and cold. And then, when he hears the door open and knock, with a provocative smile on his face, he looks up at you. No shame at any time staring at your body.

- Y/N, what a pleasant surprise. - Theodore had an almost convinced smile and a more provocative tone than usual.

You stared at him firmly, his expression making it clear that he was not for games at that moment.

- I'm not here for that, Theodore. - Nott arched his eyebrows, his expression becoming more serious when he noticed the tension on his face.

- Did something happen? - He asked, now genuinely worried as he sat on the end of the bed.

- I need you to get away from me immediately. - Your voice more trembling than you should. - No more looks or suggestive phrases!

Theodore feels the tension of the situation and gets up, going to you.

- Very well, bella, calm down. - His body was close, which made you retreat a step back for fear of betraying yourself and falling into his known temptations.

- Don't call me that.

- Don't be silly, Y/N. You just argued, didn't you? - It was as if he knew everything about what was around his mind. Theodore's voice became lower as he approached her body. - Come on, you know you can trust me.

It was possible to feel the intonation of his words. Simon was right, only an idiot wouldn't see the way he looks at her, everything was clear like the day. Theodore's soft touches on your face, trying to calm you down, but only contributing to your growing electricity.

His body moved away from him little by little until he felt his back slamming against the door, trying to dodge the feelings and sensations that insisted on invading his body.

Until finally the space between the two of you was tiny, enough for Theodore to feel his breath going up and down on his chest.

- I know you miss me too. - Theodore's voice didn't go very far from a whisper as he caressed his face once again, staring at his lips shamelessly. - Let me help you, love, you know I can.

- Theo, stop... - You were completely immersed in the sensations that Theodore's little touches gave to your body, trying to get rid of it. - I can't...

Until finally Theodore leans a little to reach his exposed neck, depositing kisses there, taking his hands to his hips, which in turn, let sighs come out of his lips.

- You can, dear. You just have to let me help you with that. - He still whispers against your skin between kisses and light bites.

Until for a moment, his body let lust take over, taking his hands to Theodore's hair, pulling him for a burning and deep kiss. Nott smiled against his lips as soon as he realized that you were giving yourself to him once again. The bodies even more pressed showed each other how much they wanted each other, and the cold of the room dispersed as soon as the heat of the two flooded the place.

Warm hands spread under the tight dress you were wearing, gathering as much body as he could take in an attempt to kill the longing of every day away from you. A brief and loud laugh came out of his mouth in surprise of being lifted, curling up on Theodore's lap, who gently laid you on the bed while depositing kisses all over his chest as he went down the straps of his dress.

- You are so beautiful. - Theodore purrs and a low moan escapes you when you feel the warmth of your mouth on your lips again. - I missed you so much, love.

His chest felt the same, but it was more difficult than he seemed to admit out loud. Even more so when he had already completely exposed her on his bed, going down her mouth with kisses all over her body, going towards the wet and pulsating place between her legs.

- Damn, all this for me, bella? - A sliding of your fingers over your folds made you arch and a smile open on his face.

- Theo, please... - Theodore, who was quick to introduce the same two fingers into you, causing even more chills and moans.

- What is it, love? Doesn't your boyfriend usually touch you? - The movement that satisfied you before began to stop, and his mouth, which crawled through his nerve point, moved away when his answer did not come. Theodore's voice became more incisive and his movements extremely slow. - Use your words, bella, I asked you a question.

- N-No. - The word came out between one whining and another, making him smile again.

That helped make Theodore even more hungry for what he would cause next. Your mouth returned even more intense to you, making you moan louder.

- Please don't stop. - Head thrown back, arched back, bent legs and fingers between the light brown hair that you loved so much. - I'm so close, please.

That sounded like music to his ears, which, when he felt you squeeze his fingers as he came down from his height, promptly left his clothes, standing above his body, attentive to all the twist of pleasure on his face, while he finally sank into his body, standing still for a few seconds, just enjoying the feeling of her around him.

Louder moans came out of his lips when he began to move, opening his eyes a few times, seeing how perfect Theodore looked above you. He was proud of the mess you were, exasperated and dripping on the sheets as he went in and out in quick and perfectly fitted movements.

The feeling of a new orgasm grew at the bottom of his body, which again squirmed slightly again.

- Theo... - His voice was like a supplication, almost as if asking for more. The malicious and superior look he gave you sent you even more chills. When one of the hands squeezed his neck with a pleasurable force.

- Yes, love, say my name. - A dangerous smile covered Theodore's lips as you poured over him once again. - That imbecile never saw that, did he? He has no idea how to get you to this.

- No, no, no, ... - Hypersensitivity began to take over his body while he continued his movements at the same pace, it was as if he didn't get tired of it.

- Only I can, dear. - It wasn't a question, it was more like a marking of your territory while staring at the place where both bodies connected. - I could give it to you always, bella. I could give everything to you. - The greenish eyes seemed to shine when I said that while staring at her. You felt a different shiver. Was he being romantic while fucking you completely? That wasn't common, but you just loved it.

- I love you. - That came out completely without thinking, completely unconscious and inconsistent with the situation, it came out so low and whispered that you thought he wouldn't listen.

However, his eyes shone even more when he heard that when he captured, even more encouraged to finally reach its end. In some more time in the relentless movements, Theodore took himself out of you seconds before pouring himself over your body.

Tired faces, accelerated breaths like their hearts beating in unison, and bodies completely exhausted. After a quick cleaning session, you leaned back at the headboard, naked bodies under the sheets, a sinuous smoke hovering in the air while sharing a cigarette. Among you, the oppressive weight of silence pressed, waiting for those who would break the void first. _________________________________

masterlist here

A/N: Guys, in the last post I received something about how the genders were being switched throughout the text. I apologize, as my native language is not English and I believe this switch is occurring at the time of translation, but I am trying to write in a way that this problem is resolved. Kisses. xoxo, bee✨🫶🏼

[cinnamonest]

Lena thank you for the spanking bit, has to be one of fav kinks ever because it just... fits every single yan regardless of who they are??? Kinda like a "universal" thing, just top notch. Do you think we could ever get headcanons for it?

Thank you for this anon, you're absolutely correct it is a top-tier kink

Also I've been wanting to write more about god-era Morax so thank you for the opportunity to do so, I rambled way more about him than the others here sorry lol

As for those who fit the kink best imo I’m going with Childe, Diluc, Ayato and Morax

//major spanking kink material (obviously) but gets kinda bad in severity/intensity, also mentions of hair-pulling, biting, throat fucking, anal, two cocks for Morax again (as always 👌)

--------

Childe is probably the best one here to end up at the mercy of here for once, for the sake of your poor ass at least.

Not that it isn't still awful and painful — he’s a sadist at heart and just adores making you squeal and cry. What at least makes it comparatively at least bearable is that he tends to use his hand — although that does make it more personable, more humiliating.

He tells you, though, exactly what he intends to do. You're being such a little brat today… come over here…

He doesn't even seem angry, but rather excited. He's all smiley and cooing in a way that feels so utterly humiliating and degrading.

Oh, but please do run. Please, please make it so much more fun for him, run away and try to hide. There's virtually nothing in the world that turns him on as much as either a game of chasing you or hunting you down wherever you're hiding. The fact that you're that scared of getting your ass beaten is kind of cute, actually. Are you that sensitive to pain, or is it more protecting your pride that gives you so much resistance? Not that he's complaining or anything.

He'll even give you a very wide opportunity to run, make sure you have plenty of avenues to do so. His heart rate begins to go up seeing the look of realization in your eyes when you spot an opening to run off, and he'll give you a minute or two of a head start. It doesn't take him long to find you nonetheless, hauling you up over his shoulders and carrying you back to your room with obvious excitement, like a predator dragging squealing, still-living prey back to its den for its inevitable fate.

That being said, doing that will make it worse for you — at that point you probably do deserve a belt at least, you know? Regardless of the instrument of choice though, he keeps you bent over his knee — he can feel your squirming more that way, and he can grind his hard-on into your stomach as you thrash around and squeal. Each strike still lands on bare skin, but rather than having your lower half naked, he likes to sometimes move the hold on your back and grasp at the waistband of your panties instead, jerking them up to wedge between your cheeks, effectively holding you in place and baring your skin at the same time.

He's so mean about it, taunts you that same voice you hate so much—

Aw, are you actually crying? Maybe I'll stop if you beg for something else…

There's no set number or standard of how much you'll be punished for any particular offense, which can be more torturous than anything. At least if you were given a number, you'd know how much more you had to endure. Instead, you just lurch and squeal each time his hand or the leather comes down... you kick your legs and thrash about, to no avail. In fact, you're pretty sure it just makes him hornier, you feel his cock twitch and his breathing grow more ragged the louder you cry out, and his hand on your back forces you down harder.

He’s actually totally shameless about getting off to it, too, so you can’t use that against him.

God, you're so cute when you cry like that... squeal louder for me...

The only real upside is that it's usually abruptly cut off at some point once he's too aroused by it to continue, and needs to just bury himself into your holes. You get slid off his lap onto the couch or bed, barely getting any time to recover — still sniffling and whimpering— before being contorted to whatever position he wants and rammed into without warning… thus for once, him being perpetually horny and having virtually no self-control actually becomes a positive. It still doesn't help, though, that the sex makes his hips smack against your sore ass with each thrust, but crying out about that only makes him go harder.

You know it could be much much worse — he makes sure to remind you that he could easily keep going until you completely break down, but he's so nice and you should be grateful for that — but you're still sore, and it leaves a pinkish-reddish tint under your natural flesh tone — something he likes to point out to you later, groping at your ass and laughing when you jolt at the sting. Your nose wrinkled with your expression of disgust as you jerk your head away from him, and you mutter under your breath.

Bastard...

And then, you squeal and lurch forward as one more harsh smack lands on your backside. You try to ignore the chuckling that follows as your eyes well up with embarrassed tears, and you bury your face beneath the covers of the bed.

-------

Diluc’s punishments are awful in terms of pain, but thankfully they're over fairly quickly because it's largely an act of momentary fury and irritation, and once he gets that anger out of his system, the punishment will be over, too.

He's still very intimidating about it, and it doesn't help that it's always a sort of spontaneous thing he decides on in the heat of the moment — thus you see the exact moment you know you've crossed a line, but also know (or at least, quickly learn) that there's nothing you can say or do at that point that will get you out of being punished. His eyes narrow and his voice lowers and he tells you to get over here in a voice that makes you feel like your heart just stopped, and your stomach feels as if it twists into a knot when you see the confirmation of your dread when he takes his belt off.

Running is not advisable — it's not like you'll succeed, and you'll just make him more mad. He's rough with how he handles you, dragging you by your clothes and hair over to bed, counter, or the back of a couch, forcing your head down.

How bad any one particular spanking is varies a lot depending on how mad you've succeeded in making him. He's not merciful at all, so he hits with force based on the level of his frustration. Thus, your attitude is important — you can technically commit a lesser offense, but if you keep backtalking and being bratty and fighting it, you'll likely get a worse punishment than you would for a worse offense for which you were apologetic and submitted to punishment easily.

What does change with the severity of your offense is that if what you didn't isn't so bad, you can keep your clothes on, but for particularly egregious transgressions, even in spite of the heat of the moment, unfortunately, he doesn't forget to pull your clothes up or down and off to make sure you're bared first.

He virtually always uses a belt, much to your dismay, and prefers to bend you over various surfaces since he can strike harder that way. It’s painful, you always end up in tears quickly, begging and pleading and spilling apologies for whatever you did, but he never has any mercy on you.

Much like you can’t get out of it to begin with, there’s also nothing you can do that will make it end any sooner than he feels like it. Over and over, grumbling with each strike about how you’re such a brat, how you can’t just behave, how it’s your own fault, until your flesh is reddened and burning badly enough that even when it’s over, all you can do is slump forward and cry.

If he went really hard on you, he might feel a little bad afterwards, getting you a wet cloth to soothe the burn… but he’ll still remind you that you wouldn’t be lying there all shivering and sobbing if you just learned to behave yourself properly.

For him, it’s more of an actual punishment first and foremost and not really an intentionally erotic thing, at first he’s too mad to think much about the eroticism of it… but seeing you lying there sniffling with your butt so heavily marked and welting, admittedly he does quickly get hard… and he’ll get incredibly flustered and embarrassed if you accuse him of getting off to it.

But be careful — push him too much on that matter, and such antagonism might be grounds for a round two on your already-stinging ass.

-------

Ayato’s punishments are particularly unpleasant, but the thing is that if you're in that situation, you deliberately chose it. Because he's gracious enough that you get a lot of warnings before reaching that point.

If you're being bratty, temperamental, rude, or whatever other behavior he doesn't like, you get a certain look first. The standard half-lidded eyes, unpleased expression, the universal ‘stop that right now’ glare. Maybe a passive aggressive comment if he can slide one into conversation.

If that fails — in other words, if you keep being a brat regardless, deliberately ignoring his warnings — you then get a verbal warning. He'll address you directly if it's just the two of you, but gods forbid you’re digging your own grave by misbehaving in front of others, he waits for a moment where everyone else's attention is on something else before pulling you close in a faux gesture of affection (with a grip harsh enough to ensure you get the message but not enough to alert anyone else in the room to his quiet fury), lowering his voice, whispering directly into your ear.

We’re going to have a talk about your behavior when this is over. Do you understand?

You know by now what a "talk" actually means, and hearing the words makes you stiffen and swallow. Granted, by the time it reaches the point that you've been that bad, you won't escape without at least a few swats, but if you persist, you'll just make it much worse. All you can do is nod your head and wait in dreadful anticipation.

As soon as the company you had leaves, you try to slowly back away, looking for an opening to run, but he has you grabbed by your clothes or hair and is dragging you off before you can even try. The total silence on his end as he drags you over to your room only serves to amplify your dread, and thereby your little whimpering protests.

The primary thing that will make it that much worse is what he uses to punish you, because from the day he brought you home, he anticipated a need for discipline at some point, and thus had a whipping cane custom-made just for you. One of those thin wooden canes designed for no other purpose than infliction of pain and punishment, which he leaves sitting out in your bedroom at all times, making sure it's always within sight as a subtle threat, a reminder of his power over you and that your behaviors have consequences.

He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t get heated, yet somehow that makes it so much worse. He’s perfectly calm as he holds you down on his lap, a hand wrapped into and grasping your clothes on your back to ensure you’re not going anywhere with each sharp pain on your bare skin. He’s very disciplinarian about it, ensuring to emphasize the reason and intention of the punishment itself—

Remember that you had every option of avoiding this. This is only the consequence you deserve. Do you realize that?

You nod and whimper and try to apologize, but it doesn’t make each swat any lighter. He’s rather harsh about the severity too, the degree of pain, duration, number of swats and outright humiliation often feel disproportionate to what is in your opinion a mild offense, although you know better than to voice that thought.

You beg, sure, you cry and whimper and say you'll take any other punishment, but it goes in one ear and out the other, your words have no effect, and while his voice has that characteristic gentleness to it, he's still cold and firm in his reply, if he even gives you one.

You're not getting out of this. Hold still.

He does take care of you afterwards, so lovingly and gently it makes you angry. He reminds you again that it wouldn't have to happen if you behaved, that you have no one but yourself to blame, all while kissing your crying face, holding you close and gently massaging the newly formed welts.

He also likes to make you gauge how many lashes you deserve beforehand, often making the total number a certain multiple of how many times you mouthed off or did something against your rules. And of course, whenever there's a fixed number, he makes you count.

Listening to your voice grow more and more shaky and begin to crack, your speech becoming slurred with sobs and oh, how precious is the sudden panic in your voice when you realize you've lost count. The way you tense and start begging and whimpering when he replies—

I suppose we'll have to start over...

-------

Morax’s punishments are always by far the worst.

That's largely because there's a maddening element of psychological torment involved. It's slow, drawn out, the dread and anticipation are almost worse than the punishment itself. He actually employs a variety of corporeal punishments, each of which make your stomach churn just to think about, but unfortunately, putting you over his knee and beating your ass until there's a deep red hue to your skin is a personal favorite of his.

What makes his style of discipline so unbearable is that you’ll be punished for literally anything. There is no possible offense, no rule to be broken, that won’t earn corporeal punishment of some kind, most usually on your poor ass. You get a very clear set of rules, rules you’re expected to know and obey from day one. Countless little rules, so many of them meticulous and pointless. Things you must do, things you must not do, and rigid standards for your attitudes and behaviors.

Each and every violation is its own offense — not to mention, things like lying when asked about what you did, objecting to punishments, even talking back or trying to defend yourself when accused count as individual offenses too. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’ve broken a rule until he tells you you’re going to be punished for it, and any protest or whining counts as another offense.

Really, you’re lucky if you can go a few days in a row fully able to sit without any stinging pain, and it’s not uncommon for you to earn back-to-back punishments one day after another. You know for a fact that your record of days in a row without ending up laying in bed, whimpering and crying and clutching your backside in pain is a single digit number.

Sometimes, if it’s severe enough, you’ll get put over his knee right then and there, but he’ll also tally up the small offenses and, at the end of the day, punish you cumulatively for every small offense you’ve made, because he can’t allow even the slightest offense to go unpunished.

It’s not limited to things you do in his presence either, because he has ways of finding out everything you do.

Every day that you can't accompany him, he has an established routine for when he returns. Firstly, of course, you're supposed to greet him when he comes in (any attempts to be petulant by giving him silent treatment or hiding away will result in further punishments), but then, as he sits you down, holds you close, he asks you the same question.

Have you done anything you should not have today?

It's a torturous question.

On one hand, you could have very well been very well-behaved, in which case you can answer honestly with at least some confidence (although even then, part of you hesitates thinking maybe you committed some offense unintentionally).

But when you haven't been well-behaved and you know it — that's what's torturous.

It's a gamble. He asks every single day, so him asking itself is not a dead giveaway that he knows what you did. If he doesn't know �� well, you might be able to lie and get away with it. Inversely, how unfortunate would it be if you told him, and it turned out he didn't know, and then you had to suffer when you could have gotten away with it?

On the flip side, if he does know — well, you'll soon be squealing like a stuck pig regardless, but things are much, much worse if you try to lie. You would know — you've taken that gamble a few times now and lost.

He seems to have ways of finding out everything — you only lied when you were absolutely confident, thinking there was no way anyone saw the thing you did, only for your stomach to lurch when you feel the soft stroking against your thigh stop, and are met with a low voice—

…Is that so?

And the tone, the way he says it, you immediately know you've messed up.

Of course, you could hypothetically keep denying it, but entrenching yourself further in a lie is, by that point, the worst decision you could make — you would know, you tried that once and you couldn't sit down normally for over a week. The best thing to do now is to confess… you won’t get any mercy or a lighter punishment, but you’ll avoid the additional punishment you’d get for doing anything else.

But even then, he can’t even give you the decency of forcing your body to bend and getting it over with. It has to be drawn out, torturing you to the greatest degree possible — sometimes, he does this by delaying it, telling you he has something else to do first, leaving you to sit around and wait in anticipation for an hour or more. If an offense is bad enough, one session might not even be enough, and you're told that you'll get another one tomorrow, adding to your dread.

But most of the time, the torment comes from forcing your own participation. He keeps you firmly in his lap, reaching down to grope at the flesh where your butt meets your thighs.

What do you think you deserve to have happen to you?

Another test, a question for which you’ll only receive something worse in addition to whatever will happen already if answered incorrectly. There’s only one right answer—

…Y-you should... punish me...

On the bright side, he’s genuinely pleased once you start learning well enough to know what the right answer is.

You’re stood up, guided over to the drawers, hands firmly on your shoulders to ensure you don’t get any ideas about running. You hate that one drawer, it makes your stomach churn just to look at. He has a damn collection for you— leather straps, whipping canes, paddles with holes in them just to hurt that much more. He tells you to pick one.

That, too, is a test— you know which ones hurt more. You're supposed to gauge what you deserve based on the severity of your offense, and he'll be that much more displeased if you go too lightly on yourself, and will consequently be more forceful, which you do not want. Eventually, you manage to make your choice, biting your lip, pointing with a shaky hand, tensing as his hand runs motions that would be soothing in any other context up and down your thigh, pausing to grasp at the fleshy part of your backside.

Then you're led back— sometimes to face the wall or bend over a counter, but most often he prefers to keep you over his lap. Not that you'll be forced down either— not unless you make that necessary, which of course, you do not want. Unless you want it to be that much worse, you follow the commands— pull your robes up, the waistband of any underwear down, bare your skin (always, no matter how mild the offense), lay down on your stomach, put your hands behind your back so he can grasp your wrists.

And even then, even then you have to be tormented further.

Now, what did you do to deserve this?

You recall to the best of your ability, hoping you didn't forget anything, lest you be accused of trying to be deceitful in hopes of escaping consequences, which will add another tally to the list.

It’s painful. It always is. You've reached a point where your resolve to not cry and squeal is defeated pretty early. You used to try your best not to for the sake of your pride, but you know by now that it will go on long enough that your tears and crying out are inevitable.

He manages to somehow be so stoic and calm and yet somehow so, so cruel about it.

Does it hurt?

Your shoulders quiver with little sobs, you go tense as he gropes and kneads at the raw flesh.

Y-yes, it hurts, it hurts so bad, please no more, please—

You cut off with a high-pitched cry as the stinging pain strikes again. And again. And again. It's always so much, so unfair compared to the weight of whatever you did. That slight pinkish undertone isn't quite satisfying enough either, he never stops until there's a deep, deep red tone to your flesh.

If you've been especially bad, you may have to count… but he actually tends to prefer not giving you a set number. You're more fearful that way, uncertain of how much more you have to endure.

You're certain he gets off on the pain for one thing, the sound of your cries and the way you jolt and squirm, but the humiliation is worse than the pain itself, for you. He knows that, revels in it. He's told you before—

You're such a prideful little thing… that will certainly need to be fixed.

Repetitive subjection to something so inherently humiliating and vulnerable, and being made to break down, any semblance of toughness and dignity being torn away at his hands, is a way of slowly breaking down your pride. You know that, it makes you so angry, but you can't help but let that vulnerability be exposed every time, to act in such a way that ensures he knows how badly it humiliates you.

Your go limp with exhaustion when it finally stops.

What have you learned?

You can barely speak, voice hoarse from the strain of your cries and speech muffled by sniffles and sobs.

I'm sorry… I won't do it again…

And then, he has the audacity to be so, so sweet to you. Looking down at your tear-streaked face, smiling— no, smirking, a belittling, amused expression— leaning down to kiss your forehead.

Poor thing.

Kneading at the sore flesh in spite of how the touch makes you wince. As if it isn't his fault, as if he had any mercy on you the whole time you were begging for it to stop.

It only makes you angrier. More than once now, you've earned a second round for how you reacted to his undeserved kindness. So ungrateful.

It's never a solitary punishment either, always coupled with something else, always something equally humiliating and discomforting, if not painful. You know he gets off to it, because the second punishment is almost always a direct sex act of some kind.

You'll take his cocks down your throat, grabbing your skull and fucking your face without any restraint, forcing you to swallow every last drop of seed, even forcing your head down to lick up whatever you spill off the floor. Your saliva just provides the lube to force you to bed and fuck you until you can't even stand, and all the while his hips bounce off your poor ass, each movement stinging against the sensitive flesh. He'll bite your flesh, unnaturally sharp teeth even piercing you skin, leaving you covered in marks. If he's feeling really, really mean, you don't even get the semblance of pleasure of it ramming into your poor sore, raw pussy— you'll take both cocks into your tight little ass instead, a stretch that makes you squeal and thrash and cry. Your legs kick and you lurch forward, desperate to pull yourself off, but you're jerked back with a growl as he slams into you, completely bottoming out. Eventually, you give in as the stretching pain ebbs away and trying to take whatever pleasure you can from the faint stimulation to spots of pleasure through the walls of flesh. But the act is utterly humiliating nonetheless, your hole left twitching and gaping for hours as cum leaks out and onto your skin. You can't even sit for days, both your poor asshole and backside sore and tender.

Your embarrassment and resentment builds. You loathe him for it, feel so humiliated and angry at yourself and how deeply you dread the punishments that it makes you nauseous.

And thus, in one particular incident, fed up and filled with spite, you made the greatest mistake of your entire time trapped with him— you decided to run, seeing that for once you had an opening to do so.

A stupid choice, really. You don't get far. Not even a full ten steps.

You know immediately that you have severely, sincerely fucked up. The sheer harshness with which you're grabbed, the back of your clothes grasped and twisted with unprecedented force, the draconic growl to his voice that makes your blood run cold.

Oh, dearest, you have no idea how badly you've just stepped out of line.

His other hand latches onto your throat.

You're going to be sleeping on your stomach for quite some time, won't you?

The statement alone makes tears well in your eyes, any bitter pride quickly crushed. You shake your head profusely, start begging for forgiveness, but you know in your heart that it's far too late for that… it still doesn't stop you from whimpering and apologizing as you're dragged back down the hall, no doubt to one of the worst punishments you've endured yet.