#slides over a sword in these trying times

[artharakka]

🩸 XII King 🐆

[indygotcha]

No, Kirito is not a cunt, or a Reagan of modern anime, or even like, the decade-built bile of a bad writing tropes in a character. You guys just don't want to engage with him as a character in fair or sincere terms, or keep missing the point of his actions, personality traits, and deeper conflicts within him in the anime throughout. It's been more than a decade. Go try again.

[nezuscribe]

being married to gojo is probably such a weird limbo to be in. he doesn’t talk much, but he watches you a lot. the way you move, the way your head tilts back as you laugh unapologetically, the little way your nose scrunches up when you’re confused.

he’s aware of your past, the way you were raised. he knows how much of a black sheep you are, and the more he spends time with you the more he realizes how much you try to hide that.

the way you joke through awkward moments, or the way you tried to hide your expression when somebody doesn’t laugh at something you hoped to be funny are all things gojo has noticed about you.

he knows how you sometimes come down to the training yard, hiding behind a pillar as if a group of men who are trained to be aware of their surroundings wouldn’t spot you from a mile away.

but a part of him likes having you there, puffs his chest out a little more when he disarms someone, his grin a little cheekier when the men praise him of his talent.

though you never really seem to be there for him, despite gojo being your husband. it almost seems like you don’t even want him to know you’re there, making sure to duck your head if he sees you.

until one night, when the men file out and into their quarters, gojo stays behind, in one of the rooms that lead out into the yard, still cleaning up.

his ears prick up when he hears the sound of footsteps, leaving the sword room, expecting to see on of his men, when instead he sees you, looking at the bows littered on the ground.

gojo watches as you pick one up, looking around to see if anybody were there, missing the way gojo was hidden in the shadows, and sees you look around for an arrow.

he wonders what that feeling in his chest it, the one that contracts and loosens whenever you’re near.

he goes back into the shed, picking out some arrows for you and walks to where you were.

“here,” he calls out, and you whip your head around, a look of surprise and embarrassment on your face.

your lips slightly part, shocked that it’s your husband who caught you, and you duck your head a little bit as you quickly go to set the bow back down on the ground.

“sorry,” you quickly say, your eyes trialing at the arrows in his hand in a curious sort of way, “i just wanted to, um, hold one.”

gojo snorts, rolling his eyes at your lie as he picks the bow back up from the ground, wiping some of the dirt from earlier from his hands on his pants as you slowly accept it.

“do you know how to shoot?” he asks, his sturdy figure towering over yours as you stare at him, squinting your eyes a little, and finally shake your head no.

he nods, expecting this as he picks up a bow that was resting on the wall, cocking one of the arrows in the as he shows you what he’s doing.

you’ve spoken to him a bit more as of recently, but never enough for you to think he’d be willing to show you how to use a bow.

“line up your arrow with the bowstring,” he demonstrates, “use your non dominant hand to hold it,” you watch silently as he grips it with his left hand.

you do the same thing, the arrow clumsily sliding around until your able to cock it, holding it loosely with your non dominant hand like he said.

“your dominant hand should hold the string between three fingers,” his slender fingers take it in between and he stretches it, “but make sure your wrist is aligned with your fingers.”

you do the same thing, feeling the resistance from the bowstring as you pull it back.

gojo looks over at your legs and clicks his tongue, clearly not liking what he’s seeing. he sets his own bow on the ground as he comes up from behind you.

“your legs should be like this,” his voice is deep, breath hiting the back of your neck as he nudges your legs apart, separating them until one is in front of the other.

your heart is pounding so loudly against your chest your sure the bow is about to vibrate along with it.

his hand cups your elbow, carefully pulling it back as the string groans under the pressure. you feel like you’re sweating your entire body weight in water off right now.

his eyes are focused on your wrist, holding it gently as he lowers it slightly, and you feel his nose slightly brush against the side of your head.

“don’t focus on the tip of your arrow but the target,” his voice comes out barely audible, but you swallow thickly, nodding.

you try your best to focus on the target that’s in front of you, trying to center the bow with the middle.

“let go when you’re ready,” gojo says, his lips near your ears.

you give it a couple seconds, trying to aim as best as you can, before your hand lets go of the string.

you both straighten your backs up, watching as it flies into the target.

the arrow nearly hits the wood around it, so far away from the target itself that it’s almost comical, and you laugh, tilting your head back as shake your head in embarrassment.

“it’s your first time,” he says, trying to help but you shake it off, missing his warmth from behind you as you set the bow back on the wall.

“and my last,” you promise, missing the way he seemed to deflate.

you turn back to gojo, only to see his eyes it filled with the mirth they had only moments ago, this time focused on your left hand.

you look down, trying to figure out what was wrong.

suddenly, you remember that you had taken off you ring a couple days ago, not finding any use in wearing it.

gojo swallows thickly, a strange lump in his chest as he stares at the arrow you had shot and then back to your face.

“i just figured…” you trailed off, biting your lips as you tried to find the words, “you know…” you motioned to his own left hand, void of any ring.

his eyes are a different hue, as if a storm was brewing inside them.

you watched as he dug his hand inside his tunic, tugging something out. your eyes fall to a delicate gold chain, his wedding ring hanging off of it.

“i don’t want it to fall off during training,” he bites out and suddenly your mouth feels dry.

you nod once, eyes fleeting away from his as you nod again, at nothing and everything, and silently leave.

[kingkatsuki]

— my protector

Tengen needs your help in trying to locate his wives on a mission, and Sanemi is furious.

Get me a man who’s only soft for us, stat😫😭

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, reader is a fellow hashira, jealous Sanemi (for literally no reason), possessiveness, rough sex, slight degradation, fingering, multiple orgasms, breeding, creampie.

Word Count: 4.2k.

All Sanemi could see was red, fiery red as he roamed the halls of the Butterfly Mansion, ignoring the pain in his right arm from the wound Aoi had just patched up moments earlier.

“Shinobu will kill you if she finds you drawing your sword in here!” Aoi called after him, but Sanemi could care less as his eyes sought out the Sound Pillar.

He had just returned from a three-week-long mission to find out that Uzui had enlisted you for help on one of his missions. Practically offering you up as bait to try and find his wives who had gone missing, like that was even your problem. And Sanemi knew you were always so eager and willing to help, it was something he loved and loathed about you at the same time.

The rage continued building inside him as he pulled open another sliding door aggressively, the wood gliding back from the force as he skimmed another empty room before continuing further through the mansion.

“Listen to me, Shinazugawa.” Aoi huffed, followed after him as one of the only people inside the mansion who weren’t scared of the white-haired man, “I told you Shinobu won’t be pleased to find out you’re breaking all her doors.”

“Fuck her,” Sanemi rolled his eyes, “Where’s Uzui?”

“If you would’ve actually stopped for five minutes to let me explain, instead of being such a jerk,” Aoi crossed her arms over her chest with a huff, “He left with her a few hours ago. Said it couldn’t wait much longer, that his wives may be in danger—”

“How the fuck is that her problem?” Sanemi growled, “So he isn't here?”

“No, but I would advise you don't follow him. Your wounds—” Sanemi ignored Aoi, already halfway down the hall as he marched towards the entrance, determined to find you on his own. It was when he stepped into the courtyard that he saw Uzui coming in by the front gate with a wide smile on his face.

“Ah, my crow told me you were back!” Uzui made to step towards him to finish the conversation, but Sanemi’s sword was already drawn as he stepped towards the larger man, “Perfect timing, my friend!”

“You fucking left her there?” Sanemi barked, “Why are you back here?”

“I came to get you at the request of your lady love,” Uzui grinned as Sanemi curled his lip in irritation at the pet name, “She made me promise to tell you as soon as you got back from your mission because she wouldn’t be around. And I thought you'd prefer a personal greeting.”

“Why the fuck are you sending her on your missions anyway,” Sanemi continued, ignoring Uzui's grin, “And leaving her there!”

“It hasn’t even been twelve hours,” Uzui shrugged, standing in place even as Sanemi stepped towards him.

“That’s already twelve hours too damn long, you prick.” Sanemi drew his sword as he made to lunge towards his fellow hashira.

“She’s probably safer there than she’d ever be out in the field,” Uzui dodged a blow with the hilt of his sword, the guard barely protecting his hands as he used his body weight to push the Wind Pillar back.

“Probably?” Sanemi roared, “She’s probably got sick fucks like you all over her right now.”

“Oh,” Uzui’s lips curled into a cocky smirk at the admission, standing upright as he pushed some fallen hair away from his eyes, “So that’s it— you’re jealous.”

“I ain’t jealous, you fuckwad.” Sanemi grunted as he attempted another slash towards Uzui, knowing it was serious when the wind user hadn’t even bothered to use his power.

“Sure seems like it,” Uzui scoffed, taking another step back to avoid his attack, “Nothing is stopping you from visiting her, you know. She’s only a few towns across and I'm here to take you right to her.”

“Oh, you’re taking me to her,” Sanemi spat, “Right fucking now.”

“Someone is asking for me?” You raised a brow suspiciously at the implication. Wondering if this meant the demons had realised that you were in fact a slayer intent on taking their head. Your stomach swirled in trepidation as you tried not to show any fear, smiling at the young girl by the door as you bowed your head.

“Yeah, and frankly I’m glad,” She clung to the belt of her kimono, “He looks scary!”

“I definitely don’t want to spend the night with him,” Another girl grimaced, “I don’t think I’d make it out alive.”

You frowned, worried that you wouldn’t have time to access your katana to holster it beneath your kimono. Instead, all you had was the small dagger strapped against your thigh, which you were certain wouldn’t be enough to protect you from the attack of a demon. But at least it was better than nothing, knowing he wouldn’t attack until you were at least secure back inside this room as you bowed your head. Following her down the stairs to the entrance of the establishment, feeling a cool breeze tickle your ankles from the open door and curtain flowing in the wind.

Your heart stilled when you noticed the familiar man standing by the entrance, glaring at anyone who dared look his way as you felt your chest swell with familiarity. You hadn’t expected to see him here this night, and you certainly hadn’t expected him to be asking after you.

“Is this the girl you were asking after, my Lord?”

“Yes,” He grunted as the Madame motioned him to step forward and follow you back to your room.

You had to stop yourself jumping him in the foyer, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and cling to his broad shoulders.

Feeling the heat practically radiating from his body as you slid open the sliding door to your room, stepping to the side to allow Sanemi to follow before sliding it shut. And in an instant, his rough hands were grabbing hold of the fat at your hips to pull your body against his, your lips meeting in a bruising kiss.

Your hands reached up to thread through his messy hair as the scent of the woods mixed with his natural sweat invaded your senses. He clearly hadn’t bothered to bathe when he returned from his mission, far more concerned with finding you.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He spoke against your lips when you finally pulled away for air, still holding onto you as your nails dragged against his scalp, “I had to come home to find out you’re helping Uzui?”

“Tengen needed my help,” You murmured, and Sanemi’s nose scrunched in irritation at the use of the Sound Pillars' first name.

“Tengen,” He mocked the pitch of your voice, “Has three fucking wives that can help him, I only have one.”

“Technically,” You parroted his tone, giving him a cocky smirk as you felt his fingers press into the skin at your hips, “I’m not even your wife.”

“You’re as good as,” Sanemi scoffed as he stole another kiss, “And Uzui would do well to remember it.”

“His wives are missing,” You mumbled sadly.

“So does that mean he’s looking for a fourth?” Sanemi frowned at you as you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at his jealousy.

“No,” You lowered your voice to a whisper, “He hasn’t heard from them for a few days, the letters have stopped coming— and he thinks something bad may have happened to them.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sanemi couldn’t lie that it had hurt to find out from someone else that you wouldn’t be there upon his return, whether it was jealousy or the fear of losing you he was unsure. But either way, it left him with that familiar sense of dread that pooled in the pit of his stomach and threatened to boil over.

“I’m sorry, but there wasn’t much time,” You did wish you’d sent your crow to warn him, but Uzui had promised you that he would let Sanemi know. Especially since you were doing this for the sake of his wives, “He needed my help, so I offered.”

“You’re far too nice.” Sanemi shook his head, using his grip on your hips to pull you into another sultry kiss.

“I thought that’s why you loved me.” You teased.

“No,” Sanemi scoffed, “I love you for your perfect ass,” He spanked your cheek for emphasis, “Everything else is either a bonus or a crux on my life.”

“You pig.” You scrunched your nose as Sanemi couldn’t stop himself from stealing another kiss.

“I’m kidding, sweetheart,” Sanemi’s eyes softened as he reached up to cup your face in a calloused palm. His thumb stroking gentle circles against your cheek as you leaned into his touch, “But you really should stop putting yourself in harm's way.”

“I’m a hashira,” You replied simply, “It’s what we do to protect others.”

“Protecting others doesn’t mean becoming a whore.” He spat, although you knew there was no malice there. The harsh tone covered up the fear and dread he felt in your gut at the prospect of something happening to you.

“And yet here you are, at the whorehouse requesting me by name.” You smiled back, relishing in the pink hue that dusted his pale cheeks.

“I just don’t want to lose you,” His tone sobered, resting his forehead against your own as he stared down into your eyes, “What a pitiful existence it would be.”

“You won’t lose me, Sanemi.” You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull his body against you, feeling his semi-hard cock press against your hip. The time without you made even more conspicuous when he's now surrounded by the comforting scent of you again.

“Did anyone touch you?” He immediately pulled back, concern evident in his features as he looked you over.

“No, I’ve been fine,” You shook your head, “They’ve mainly had me sitting down for tea with travellers passing through.”

“Good,” He pressed a kiss against your forehead in relief as he exhaled softly, “You have no idea how much I missed you, sweet girl.”

He peppered kisses along the curve of your jaw as you tilted your head back to give him more room. Your hands smoothed along his collarbones before dipping lower to trace patterns against the marred skin that scarred his chest, pressing your fingers into the ridges as you felt the tacky sweat clinging to his skin.

“I missed you too,” You whimpered gently as his teeth found your pulse point, biting down on the sensitive skin as his tongue lashed against it.

Sanemi bullied his muscular thigh between your parted legs to keep you steady against the wall as he shamelessly fiddled with the belt of your kimono. Letting the fabric fall open as he drank in the sight of your bare skin beneath, his firm hands immediately paw at your bare sides. Noticing the small dagger that you had holstered against one of your thighs as he ran his fingers over the handle of it in satisfaction.

“That’s my girl.” He murmurs, “Not planning to use that on me are you?”

He teased, pushing it back into the holster as he moved his hands back up the curve of your hips towards your chest. Truth be told, he was relieved that you had some form of protection in here. Especially when there was the chance that a demon was responsible for the spate of missing persons in the area.

“It depends if you’re nice to me or not,” You mused.

“I’m always nice.” The words coming from Sanemi’s lips alone were enough to have a melodic laugh rumbling in your chest, as for most, Sanemi and nice were complete contradictions.

“Liar,” Throwing your head back in a pretty laugh that had Sanemi’s heart rattling against his rib cage.

“I mean, I’m always nice to you, aren’t I?” Sanemi’s thumbs stroked the underside of your breasts as he delighted in the way your body responded to him, curving your back towards him as your bare cunt pressed against the flat of his thigh.

“We shouldn’t,” You murmured, “Not here—”

“Let me have this, sweetheart,” He hummed, leaning down to capture one of your pebbled nipples between his lips as he sucked hard, “I am a paying customer, after all.”

In fact, he was going to get that money from Uzui for his pure subordination.

“Why pay for something you can get for free at home?” You teased as he afforded your other breast the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as you let out another airy moan.

“My girl wasn’t there when I arrived home, and I had heard the girls here were beautiful,” He played along, “Apparently there’s one with the best fuckin’ pussy.”

“Oh yeah?” You gasped as you felt his fingers press against the indents of your thighs, dangerously close to your labia as you bucked against his leg. Giving your clit some slight relief as Sanemi continued forward, his thumb brushing through the wet slick that coated your folds as it drooled out of your neglected hole.

“Yeah,” He repeated, pulling away from your breast with a pop as he found your clit. Pressing sloppy circles against it with the calloused pad of his thumb as he watched you shamelessly grind yourself into his touch, “Apparently she’s already fucked into the shape of another guy though.”

“Must be a lucky guy,” Your eyes rolled back, knocking your head against the wall when you felt two of his thick digits slip inside your tight hole with ease. Scissoring them to loosen you up as he pulled back to watch you inquisitively through half-lidded eyes.

“The fuckin’ luckiest.” Sanemi grinned as he felt your walls throb around his fingers. He deliberately curled them towards the spongy spot inside you that he knew would have you seeing stars as he began to focus each roll of his wrist against it.

His name continued to spill from your lips as he kept his movements poised and focused, his rough thumb kneading circles against your clit as he worked you towards your release. No one knew your body better than he did, and he knew after being pent up for so long how little effort it would take to have you dangling on the edge of your release.

“Fuck, Sanemi.” You moaned, already feeling yourself dangerously close to falling, “I’m gonna cum.”

“Then cum.” He spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, and his blase tone immediately had your cunt clenching around him as you swan dived directly into your bliss. The pleasure surged through your body hard and fast as you came undone, his darkened eyes focused on your movements a he kept his fingers pressed against that same velvety spot. Following the wave of your hips as you rode out your release, unrelenting against the sensitive area as he already had you hurtling towards a second.

It was too much, and not enough at the same time. Your pliant walls throbbed around his slick digits as you wished for something more, something bigger.

“‘Nemi, fuck me please.” You whined pitifully.

“Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty girl,” He teased, but he pulled his fingers away from your sopping heat, lifting them up to the light to spread them as you noticed the silvery webs of your release clinging to them as he pushed them between your lips to taste yourself.

You tried to speak, but the pads of his fingers against your tongue muffled the words as you cleaned them off. His lips curled into a satisfied smile as he pulled them out of your mouth, dragging your glossy bottom lip down in the process as both hands immediately reached for his belt.

“When we get home I am fucking you like you deserve.” Sanemi spoke coolly, “Not some quick fuck in a whorehouse.”

“I deserve everything you give me, 'Nemi.” You smile up at him lazily before watching him tug his pants down, revealing his fat cock to your prying gaze.

You immediately reached for it, and he let you. Hissing when your smaller palm wrapped around the girth of him, giving him a teasing jerk that had his nostrils flaring and his jaw locking. Your thumb swipes over the swollen tip to gather the pearl of pre before smoothing it down his length, delighting in the choked grunt that rumbled at the back of his throat.

“Is that so?” He continued, “So bending you over the moment I get you home will be deserved,” His voice darkened, his own palm joining yours against his length as he tightened your grip on his cock, holding your hand steady as he fucked himself into your fist, “You tease.”

“Fuck,” Your cunt throbbed around nothing at his suggestion, as you instinctively spread your legs further apart, “Please, 'Nemi.”

Sanemi curled a palm beneath your thigh to hoist it up against his hip, spreading you open for him as you guided the leaky tip of his cock between you. Stroking it against your drenched folds as you coated him with your essence, moaning when the swollen tip nudged your puffy clit. Feeling yourself growing more impatient as Sanemi pulled his hips back to tease you, pushing your hand away from his cock as he wrapped himself in a fist. Pressing the head against your tight entrance as he felt your hole tremble against him, trying desperately to coax him in as he indulged himself with your reaction.

“‘Nemi, don’t be an asshole,” You pouted as you tried to can’t your hips forward, feeling the tip breach your entrance before he was quick to move his hips back. More than content with teasing you, despite being in such an open, compromising place.

“If I were an asshole I’d leave you unsatisfied like this to search for the demon myself,” He goaded, pressing his hips forward once more.

“Sanemi,” You whined in irritation, “Don’t tease me, please, it’s been too long.”

He didn’t give you a moment to think before he was bullying his cock inside your tight cunt. Your inner walls stretched to accommodate his girth as he moulded you to the shape of him once more, reminding you of exactly who you belonged to. The sensation stole the air from your lungs as you could do little but cling to his broad shoulders as he afforded you a moment to adjust to his size, dragging himself from your velvety walls before canting his hips forward again. Setting a languid motion as he slowly rolled his hips against you.

“Sanemi,” You sighed in satisfaction as you felt whole once more. Too many lonely nights were spent dreaming of this as you felt him finally bottom out, the coarse hairs at the base tickling your clit as you bit down on your bottom lip.

“We’re in a whorehouse,” He mused, still sluggishly rolling his hips into you, “It only seems right that I treat you like one.”

Your cunt clenched around his cock hard at the notion, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sanemi who grinned in satisfaction. His fingers tighten their grip around your thigh as he takes this as his answer.

Sanemi is brutal as he fucks into you, not sparing you a moment's peace as he uses you for his own gratification. The sound of skin against skin echos the small room as his balls slap against the curve of your ass with each forward cant of his hips. The ferocity of his thrusts has your breasts bouncing and your thighs crying out for some relief as you struggle to stand upright, thankful that Sanemi’s strong body has you pinned against the wall as he fucks into you.

“Oh my god,” You cry out, nails digging into his skin as he maintains his pace. His other hand squeezes at the fat of your ass as he angles his hips, the curve of his cock drags against the spot inside you that he knows will have you seeing stars as the blunt tip kneads your cervix.

“Look at me.” Sanemi growls, his warm breath fanning your face as he keeps a consistent pace.

Your eyes meet his and you’re certain you’ll cum under the intensity of his gaze alone, your cunt clenches in retaliation as he continues to thrust into your sopping hole. Each sultry moan he pulls from deep in your chest has him rolling his hips with more vigour, eager to have you repeat them as he works you towards your climax.

It’s pitiful really, how easily he has you submitting to him as you already feel the telltale signs of your climax ebbing in your pelvis. The pressure builds up as it nears breaking point as Sanemi pushes into you with more ferocity, using your body for his own means as he works himself to his own release.

“I’m going to leave you pumped full of my seed,” He growls against your cheek, his chest heaving as he feels his balls begin to tighten, “Leave it drooling down your thighs when I’m finished with you. So that everyone knows who you belong to—”

You knew this was a direct attack on Uzui, and the fact that he’d handpicked you for his assistance on this mission. Even though there was nothing in it beyond securing the safety of his wives, it had Sanemi oozing with jealousy and he was intent on reminding the Sound Pillar that you were not his plaything.

“Do you also need a reminder of who you belong to, sweetheart?” Sanemi spoke lowly as he fucked into your pliant walls, slipping a hand between your connected bodies to press sloppy circles to your clit.

“No, ‘Nemi—” That familiar sensation throbbed between your thighs as you teetered on the cusp of your climax.

“No? Then who do you belong to?”

“You, ‘Nemi. You—” You choked out, leaving messy red lines against his chest now as he pressed harder against your clit.

“Louder.”

“You, ‘Nemi! It’s always been you!” You cry out, certain that the rest of the floor could hear you as you began to gush around his cock. Your hips bucked wildly as he pinned you in place, keeping his thumb firm against your clit as he watched you ride out your climax. Indulging in the debauched noises that escaped from between your pretty, bruised lips.

“Good girl,” He snarled before moving his hand from your clit to resume a damn near savage pace. Rutting hips against your own messily, working himself towards his own end as he felt the way your walls continued clenching around him in the aftershocks of your climax, “Such a good girl for me.”

He arched his back so he could look down at where your bodies were connected, watching the way his thick cock disappeared inside your velvety walls. And the creamy ring of slick that you’d left around the base of him, the silvery lines matting into his pubes as he felt his balls begin to seize. Certain he wouldn’t be able to last much longer before giving a few more sloppy thrusts and emptying his balls into your warm, wet cunt.

Sanemi stayed buried inside you, feeling the last spurts of his orgasm surge through him as he coated your walls in thick, white spunk. Cherishing the final few flutters of your walls around him as you both came down from your highs, peppering kisses against your face as you placed a palm against his chest to feel his racing heart, the dull thump of it soothing you as you felt your thick lashes begin to flutter.

“Don’t fall asleep, sweetheart.” Sanemi rasped, starting to pull himself out of your spent cunt as you whined in objection. Trying to tighten your thigh around him to keep his hips in position as he grinned down at you; pressing an apologetic kiss to the side of your lips before looking down to see the mess of your combined release stringing against his length as the silvery lines split apart, “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta.”

You knew he had to go, Uzui was probably still waiting for him on a rooftop somewhere. Hopeful that you’d have some news to share with Sanemi about the whereabouts of his wives, but you felt the regret begin to pool in the pit of your stomach as reality settled back in.

“If you want to leave with me, I’ll take you right now,” He said as though it was the most simple thing in the world, “But if you want to stay in I’ll be watching.”

You didn’t have to tell him your answer, he already knew. Placing a final, lingering kiss on your lips as he held you in his arms, “Nothing will ever happen to you as long as I’m around.”

[rosemaryhoney27]

“Danny vs. Gotham: Rogues, Riddles, and Regret”

aka: Gotham's Villains Realize They've Made a Terrible, Terrible Mistake

Vlad wanted to leave. He wanted to scoop Danny up, fly far away, and pretend the Gotham trip never happened. But Bruce had insisted Danny stay another week for “family bonding.” And Vlad—against his better judgment and his rapidly thinning sanity—had agreed.

What he hadn’t agreed to was sending Danny out on a “light patrol run” with Red Robin and Spoiler.

“He’s a child!” Vlad hissed. Bruce shrugged. “He suplexed a gang leader and sword-fought Damian with a smile.” Tim sipped his fourth espresso and muttered, “Kid’s got better reaction time than half of us. Might as well let him stretch his legs.” Vlad: internal screaming intensifies

Later That Night – Gotham Financial District, 10:22 PM

It should’ve been a routine patrol.

SHOULD’VE.

But this was Gotham. So naturally, they ran into Riddler. And not just Riddler. Riddler with a microphone, a speaker setup, and a slideshow.

“Riddle me this, Batbrats!” he declared, laser pointer in hand. “What flies forever, rests never, has no lungs but can still scream?!”

Danny blinked. “That’s wind.”

Riddler paused. “…I—I wasn’t done.”

“You said it in the wrong order. Classic misdirection. Also, you did this one in Amity Park two years ago. You posted it online.”

“…What?”

“Yeah, it was part of your ‘multi-state riddle tour.’ You rhymed ‘obfuscate’ with ‘paperweight.’ My friend Tucker roasted you for a week.”

Spoiler wheezed. “OH MY GOD.”

Tim was filming. “This is gold.”

Danny smiled like a polite little demon. “If you want new material, I can send you Tucker’s podcast link. He does villain reviews.”

Riddler stared, brain lagging. “I—I have—graphics—”

“You spelled ‘cerebral’ wrong on slide 4.”

“…I hate it here.”

Five Minutes Later

Riddler’s henchmen surrendered unprompted. Riddler ran face-first into a recycling bin while trying to flee. Danny phased him through the lid and said, “Please stay in there until Gotham has better riddles. Thank you.”

Tim couldn’t breathe. Spoiler was crying laughing. Danny handed Riddler a sticker that said “I Tried My Best (And Failed)” before floating away.

But It Got Worse

Because then, Scarecrow showed up.

And naturally, he released his newest fear gas on the group.

“Let’s see what horrors hide in your soul, little ghost,” Crane sneered.

Danny blinked as the gas swirled around him.

Then sneezed.

Then sniffed it.

Crane: “What—what are you doing—?!”

Danny: sniff sniff “Ooh. Cinnamon and despair. Very vintage.”

Crane: “THAT’S NOT HOW FEAR GAS WORKS—”

Danny exhaled, glowing green, and the gas dissipated.

“I’ve been inside the Ghost King’s mind, dude. This is like spa day fog machine levels. You want real terror? I have a VHS of Tucker’s high school poetry.”

Crane dropped his canister and backed away. Spoiler whispered, “He’s ungasable.” Tim, still filming: “That’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve seen this week.”

Danny offered Scarecrow a cough drop and a tissue.

“Bless your heart,” he said.

Crane ran.

Later – Back at the Cave

Danny was handing out debrief cookies. Again.

Bruce was watching the security cam footage with the face of a man who was trying to process “he sniffed the fear gas.”

Dick leaned over. “This kid’s either going to save Gotham or traumatize it into behaving.”

Jason nodded solemnly. “He gave Riddler a sticker. That’s psychological warfare.”

Damian looked up from sharpening his sword. “He told me he once bit a cursed toaster.”

Vlad, in the background, was staring at the Batcomputer like it had personally betrayed him. “I—he—he ate fear gas. He corrected Riddler’s grammar. He is not normal.”

Bruce looked at Danny, who was humming while reorganizing the med supplies.

“…He’s a Wayne.”

Vlad: “NOOOOOOOOOO—”

[lynxgriffin]

Eldritchrune - Chaos, Chaos

1 | 2

Story Setup Eldritchrune Masterpost

The Fun Gang arrives just in the nick of time for Kris, and with that added strength, Kris is able to overcome Jevil and get their reward. But there's still some questions left unanswered...

Aaaand here's the final part for the Jevil boss battle! Feels good to finally get this comic done, considering how long it took to get out! Work on others is still continuing in the meanwhile, but thanks so much for checking out this crazy secret boss battle scene!!

Alt text for this comic is under the read more:

Page 1

Panel 1 - Back outside the gyre, Kris rematerializes with a quick POP just below where Ralsei is standing. They land hard on their back, but they’re alive and whole again. 

Panel 2 - Wider shot of Kris, Ralsei and Susie, now together again. Kris trembles and breathes heavily, curled up on a ball, while Ralsei hovers over them, and says “Thank goodness, I got here in time!” Susie looks on, snarling at the danger before them.

Panel 3 - Wide panel as the Fun Gang face down the enormous Jevil, who is continuing to spin around and around the bottomless pit. “The hell is THAT thing?!” Susie asks, her long hair blowing towards the gyre. 

“A bound god! This must have been what Seam mentioned to you…” Ralsei says to Kris, who is still curled up beneath him.

Panel 4 - “But I’m not familiar with how to subdue this god!” Ralsei finishes, still hovering over Kris. Kris keeps staring back at Jevil, taking quick and shallow breaths as they try to grasp being alive again. 

Panel 5 - Jevil continues to spin around wildly, and responds to Ralsei, “DEMON PRINCE, SEE, SEE? HOW THINGS TRULY BE OUTSIDE YOUR BOOKS, YOUR RULES!”

Page 2

Panel 1 - Kris manages to get back onto their feet, although they’re still trembling, and gripping at their shoulder where they just recently lost the arm. “I-if I can just reach the c-center…” they say, trying to get their strength back.

Ralsei works to steady Kris as they stand. “Courage, Kris! We’re here with you now!”

Panel 2 - Kris again faces down the spinning god, which grins back at them in anticipation.

Panel 3 - Closeup on Kris as determination sets into their face. They have an idea of what to do.

Panel 4 - Susie leans down, and Kris climbs up onto her back using her hair.

Panel 5 - Once situated on Susie, they raise their sword towards Jevil and give her the ACT command. Susie looks on, snarling and ready.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Susie begins to carefully slide in closer to the spinning Jevil. The whirlwind is pulling them both in closer again. Ralsei stands by, watching cautiously.

Page 3

Panel 1 - The panels of the page curl around into a whirlwind movement as Susie and Kris slide in closer to Jevil.

Panel 2 - As Susie is almost up against Jevil’s orbit, she opens her jaws wide, revealing sharp teeth–

Panel 3 - And then snaps them down hard onto one of the large bone fingers as it spins by. She doesn’t bite through, but hangs on to the bone by her teeth.

Panel 4 - An overhead view as Susie and Kris are pulled along the edge of the whirlwind, with Susie hanging on by her teeth. However, they are now matching the speed that Jevil is spinning at.

Panel 5 - From Susie’s back, Kris now has a clear view of Jevil’s head at the center of the gyre. They ready their sword…

Panel 6 - Kris rears back, gripping the sword tight, clearly worried that something bad will happen again–

Panel 7 - A closeup on Kris’s armored feet as they make the leap from Susie’s back.

Page 4

Panel 1 - Very wide shot as Susie continues to hold on to Jevil’s scythe finger, dragged along his orbit. Jevil himself faces down Kris, who has jumped straight into the gyre, their sword raised to strike–

Panel 2 - Abstract black and white panel as the strike of something sharp hits its mark.

Panel 3 - A wide shot reveals that it is Kris who has struck home this time. They finish the leap across the bottomless pit with sword still in hand. Behind them, Jevil’s head has been severed from his body, and falls into the pit.

Panel 4 - Closeup on Jevil’s severed head as it falls. He doesn’t seem upset at all, but continues to grin wildly, letting out a laugh: “UUHHEE HEE HEEEEE!”

Panel 5 - Wide shot as Jevil’s spinning tent body begins to lose its balance. The spinning slows down, and the enormous hands begin to lose their standing and topple over. Ralsei watches the scene as Kris grips onto part of the tent body, hanging on during the collapse. Strange viscera begins to pour out of the severed neck, filling the pit below.

Panel 6 - Closer on Kris as they continue to hold on tight to the tent skin with one hand, and keep their sword gripped in the other. They watch the scene below them–

Page 5

Panel 1 - Reverse shot as Kris watches from above. Strange viscera pours out of the open wound and fills the pit below them: bones, skulls and entrails, animal heads and limbs, all mixed in with feathers, toys, cards, cake and candy. 

Panel 2 - Closeup as the viscera finishes spilling out, one item comes to land on top of the pile: a strange, dark shard of what looks like black glass.

Panel 3 - Above the mess, Susie continues to grip onto the large bone as the spinning slowly comes to a stop. “Whuzzat fing?!” she asks, her mouth mostly busy holding onto Jevil.

Panel 4 - Closeup as Kris leans down and picks the shard of black glass off the top of the pile.

Panel 5 - Wider shot as Kris stands on top of the junk pile. They examine the glass in their hand carefully. “I’m not sure…”

Panel 6 - Kris looks up from the pile in shock and surprise as Jevil’s voice echoes around them: “WHAT FUN, FUN! SUCH A WONDROUS ROMP, I LOST MY HEAD!”

Panel 7 - Kris turns their head to see Jevil’s severed neck spring to life, and turn towards them. Inside the wound there is only blackness…and a face looking back at them. Just a simple face of pinpoint eyes and many wicked teeth, grinning in the black. “SUCH STRENGTH, LITTLE LOST HUMAN!” Jevil praises them.

Page 6

Panel 1 - Closeup on the new, prickly Jevil face peering at Kris from the black. “PERHAPS ONE DAY, HIS BLACK HAND WILL STRETCH FROM THE PIT AND TOUCH YOUR MIND, TOO!” Jevil says. The many teeth stretch into a grin. “THEN…THEN!...”

Panel 2 - Kris takes a cautious step back, and puts a hand back on their sword. “I’m not interested in any more of your freedoms.”

Panel 3 - Wide shot as Kris moves down the viscera pile, away from the face grinning at them still. They pocket the shard as watch Jevil warily. The face in the black replies, “PITY, PITY! BUT ALL THE BETTER FOR ME, ME! TAKE MY TREASURE, BRING CHAOS TO YOUR LITTLE TOWN, AND I’LL BE FREE!”

Panel 4 - Far outside the circle, Ralsei raises his hands to his mouth and calls out to Kris. “Kris Come on!”

Panel 5 - Kris begins a steady climb out of the pit, with Susie waiting for them above. 

Panel 6 - Wider shot as Kris finishes climbing out of the sand trap, and grips onto Susie’s long hair for support. She grimaces and they climb back onto her shoulders. 

Page 7

Panel 1 - Wider shot as Kris and Susie step away from where Jevil now lays collapsed in the sand pit, completely subdued. “What was THAT all about?” Susie asks. Kris continues to examine the black shard, and says, “I found this strange object. It came out of its body…”

Panel 2 - Downshot on Ralsei as he answers: “Oh Kris, wonderful! This battle wasn’t in vain…you got a shadow crystal!” In the foreground, Kris holds the shadow crystal carefully between their fingers.

Panel 3 - Shot of Kris on Susie’s back as they look warily at the crystal. They ask, “This is what Seam spoke of?” 

Offscreen, Ralsei replies: “Yes! The bound gods of the Dark World carry shadow crystals!”

Panel 4 - Wide shot of the entire Fun Gang as Ralsei continues to explain: “We need as many as you can find…once you combine enough together, you can channel your soul through the crystal to open the Dark Fountain.” Kris continues to study the crystal, while Susie just looks up warily at the open space they’re in.

Page 8

Panel 1 - Kris looks down at Ralsei, and narrows their eyes in slight suspicion. “If I need these, why did you not mention this particular bound god to me?”

Panel 2 - Ralsei holds out his hands to Kris, and gives his explanation: “Well…some of them are more of a mystery to me. Especially when they spring from smaller creatures that have obtained godhood…they are hard to find, and even hard to defeat.”

Panel 3 - “I worry about what effect these gods may have on the state of your mind!” Ralsei finishes, looks up with concern at Kris. Kris watches him from the foreground. 

Panel 4 - Focus on Kris as they flash back to not long ago, when their body was unraveling in Jevil’s gyre. They have a haunted look on their face.

Panel 5 - Closeup on Kris as they finally respond: “I am fine.” However, they hide much of their face, and they do not seem to actually be fine.

Panel 6 - Wider shot as the Fun Gang begins to slowly move away from Jevil. Susie continues to look towards the ceiling, and says, “Ugh, let’s just get out of here! Now we’re probably gonna need a rest before we face King, anyway.” Kris continues to hide their expression. Ralsei says, “Right! Kris, let’s get you out of this gloomy basement!”

Page 9

Panel 1 - Wide shot as the Fun Gang begin to slowly trek back up the sandy hill that Kris slid down in the first place. It’s going to be a long way back up. For a moment, they are silent, with Susie just kicking up sand behind her as she steadily treads uphill.

Panel 2 - Focus on Kris as they glance back at Ralsei, asking something else that has been on their mind. “Ralsei…who is this ‘he’ that the god kept talking about? With black hands?”

Panel 3 - Below Kris, Ralsei waves the question off, looking dismissive. “Oh, it’s clear that that god wasn’t in a sound state of mind…it could have been anyone.”

Panel 4 - Extremely wide panel as the Fun Gang makes their way back up the hill towards the single shaft of light where Kris first fell. All around them is just a thick, empty darkness. However, from the panel borders themselves, something like black fingers stretch out just at the edge of their perception.

“Nothing for you to worry about, Kris,” Ralsei says. 

[grotesquevi]

‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ GONNA TAKE MY TIME. I HAVE ALL THE TIME ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎‎‎‎‎ IN THE WORLD, ‎‎‎‎‎TO MAKE YOU MINE. ‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ ‎

cw  # 18+ minors and cis-men do not interact, filth based on two nonnie requests that had me combusting, dom!camgirl-reader + sub!ellie, mutual masturbation, spit, fucking machine, reader is kinda rough and mean, mocking, degradation, slight spanks, finger fucking, use of toys (duh) tons of dirty talk, i may be forgetting things but nothing extremely weird. mutuals look away.

side note  # first of all, i'm sorry. depeche mode's ultra cd makes me do stuff. crazy nonnies you have done it- i don't know if you guys are the same person, but you both fought this war with a sword and no shield, so this 3.3k word-nasty-piece of work? all yours. i must say i changed a few things like, there's no stream in the end but home-made porn? i've fallen for the sub!ellie propaganda and i'm rotting in the pits of hell with your ideas, do i care? no, i'm living for it, hope you enjoy too x // check out the fic directory!!

"i think you're doing it wrong," cocky bitch. you're mocking at her, teasing her choices while looking at her comfortably seated on the other side of the kitchen island — "there's also sugar and lemon in a mojito, baby. not just rum, mint and sparkling water."

baby.

the word sticks with ellie for a while as her cheeks gain a subtle shade of pink in response and she has to look at the drink she's re-making for the fourth time already trying to somehow make a half-decent mojito for you: it's never too late to know about her awful bartending skills.

"that's why it's not working out, love" you say again, holding the laugh in—. "you're missing the main ingredients."

"oh that makes sense," man. it's adorable. you find it adorable when you're invading her space as you stand behind her: are you drunk? is that it? ellie's been making you try drink after drink even when you scrunch your nose in disgust and laugh it out trying to be nice about the bad taste: it's neither too strong, too sweet or too minty "should i do it again?"

"yeah, you should" you breathe out making her feel your warm breath against her naked shoulder, and for a moment, ellie struggles to concentrate when your hand finds her waist, cold-silver rings that makes her shiver for a moment, "i'll be here to help you out with your poor sense of proportions."

"so you're a professional now huh?" she's been standing down the barrel of a gun for a while. playing this game she's sure is going to get her burnt without any control of it. "okay then. help me out."

it's almost an invitation. a dare cause you've been acting up like nothing happened already a week ago, like she didn't saw you on a live stream, like you didn't asked her to come over after being friends online for like a month or two cause you live in the same city she does.

friends is an understatement surely — but how do you call the girl ellie's been masturbating to the last six months? how do you explain the insane amount of tokens she had to spend because she needed to get your attention to herself at least for a breach of seconds? that's not how you treat a friend.

things got messy when you begged her for a video call. and now that she's looking back at it while her hands work on auto-pilot, ellie should've know that the thin line of just talking was going to be fuzzy as ever.

what was she thinking about when she talked to you for the first time? that she would have it under control? it seems inevitable when ellie's sliding in your dm's like she already belonged in your life from the beginning. flirty texts, some deep conversations and all suddenly? you're giving her your personal number, video-chatting almost every day until last week when your face's popping up on her phone after a rough session of exercise, and it's all the combination to be a massive disaster.

the adrenaline rush hits hard, cause you got ellie staring at the sweat that comes down your neck, clearing her throat like she just smoked the whole pack of cigs still guarded on her black jacket — she's saying something about your hair looking good, you're blatantly flirting back, showing her your cute attire for working out before a comment about your tits fucking slips from her mouth and that's all it fucking takes. all. it. fucking. takes.

"masturbate with me on a live stream," you're the first one to surrender when things got heated, pouting for her delight as you stare at your phone screen — "don't show your face if it makes you uncomfortable, it's just- god. such a good fucking view everybody needs to see what i'm claiming f'me, ells."

so her words stumble upon each other in search of an answer, twisted fantasies since she's damn weak at this point, begging to get all of you as she's changing her video-call to her laptop, making sure you're watching when she's unbuckling the belt around her blue jeans, letting it hang between her legs as own hand slides under the white tank top — "c'mon quick before i regret it, don't be greedy. let your horny fans know who you're touching yourself to."

no. ellie's not used to it. maybe that's why she's face red when you're live streaming the whole thing, when you're putting up a show for her and suddenly she's feeling no damn shame in touching herself from over her already wet underwear, rough voice as she encourages you to masturbate too, she don't care if she's being seen by what? 12k? 15k people? let the fucking tips keep coming.

"the lemon, ellie" you're biting on her shoulder as she lets out a moan in response, dragged again back to reality. fuck — did she just got hit by a sex memory? "what was that huh? you zoomed out."

"just thinking," she replies already embarrassed. being this close to you, having your teeth biting on her skin and leaving a damn mark: she brought this upon herself.

"what are you thinking of?" you curiously ask, chin resting against her shoulder before your hand find hers, directing her to take the lemon from the fruit basket "something nice?"

"yeah" something she forgets about it seems when her ass is pressing against your front and now she gets why ghost was such a big deal in the 90's "yeah it was nice."

now, to say the truth, ellie's been out in the blue for a while cause no, she never met you in real life before. yes, you live in her city, yes, you video-chat every day or so, but when you disappear after that until damn saturday night she doesn't really know what to do exactly.

"i miss you" you texted hours before the encounter — "you live too far from my place?"

it does not matter that in reality, it's a 45-minute-drive. ellie's there anyway. the sound of the vinyl constantly spinning on the turntable spiraling like she does when you're dictating her movements, and fuck's sake it's so damn hot it should be a crime cause there's nothing sexual about it, but your hand covers her when you're using the knife to cut the lemon in a half, and your fingers blend with hers as they squeeze the lemon right over the mojito, making the juice coat your fingers, go down ellie's arm and before she can think about it, she's looking at you from over her shoulder with glassy eyes, half-lidded and that smile that just screams fucking-shatter-me.

"i'm gonna kiss you now" you reply like a fair warning, falling for the erotic sight of her needy state "can i kiss you?"

so it's an sloppy kiss when ellie's able to nod, saliva blends on itself, teeth, desperation and need, makes the girl want it all to herself. you hold her jaw tightly, making her stay in the same spot, contorted and kissing you back like it's a religious experience that gets her closer to a divine force.

your fingers smell like lemon and the mojito seems long forgotten when your hand slide down the tank top she's wearing and ellie's letting you take control — shit. she fucking wants you to take control. she knew you would do her no good when she first talked to you already, know that you're dangerous and a hazard to her well-being when you're pushing the door of your bedroom among an explosion of words that make her blood boil.

"do you have any idea of much i've been thinking about you?" you ask, but ellie's already chaotic when her top's already falling to the floor "how much i missed you the last days i've been without you? fucking hell, i tried so hard to avoid it, ellie. it's simply not fair."

"no it isn't" she agrees with you, cause it's not. cause she cannot possibly be silent about it when you're touching her, impossible to have a little self-respect when she's letting you have it, a need that goes beyond from what your hands are able to grab and feel, "god- it fucking isn't."

it's better than any fantasy ellie had before, and the greater power in the universe knows how much she's been craving this, how long she's been acting up like a damn freak: avoiding her friends cause she wants to hear your voice, entire days with the damn sounds of your moans etched on her skin, marked like a tattoo among the moth in her arm — it's better than whatever dream she's been having lately when your mouth closes on the valley of her chest, making her skin shiver cause she can physically see the traces of saliva in her skin like a trophy, the tug on her underwear when you're biting on the fabric since it only getting in the damn way. annoying you.

it goes through her soul much like the devastating shred of the guitar who's capable of trespassing her entirely. you're so in control. so damn aware of yourself when ellie's already lost in this hazy cloud of lust, always in control and pulling her back to reality.

"shit you're so needy," you breathe out as she's blushing, the speckled freckles coming in contrast with the red that pops on her face — "i'm gonna take my time with you until you have no idea on where you end, and i begin to exist."

how does simple words can turn her on to this point of no return? the tone you use to admit, out loud, how willing you are to devastate her? must have know it when the most slutty moans escape from her parted lips: fucking tease. that's what you are when your fingers slide from under her classic jeans, when you notice how her underwear sticks sinfully to the outlines of her pussy just by touching, drenched, sticky, it already covers your hand by the slightest stroke.

"can i record this?" she can tell you're wrecked too, impatient by the unevenness of your voice. "for us. don't care about the site-"

"yes-" she's gonna turn fucking purple at some point when she's repeating it multiple times, already shaking her head in approval "yes please, record it- send me a copy- just fucking do it."

"you're such a whore" you pant, and before ellie can say anything, you're taking her phone to open up the camera icon and point the lenses back to her face "what was that? say it again."

"please" it makes ellie's cunt clench in response while your lips curve in a smile, pleased as you're using just a slight amount of force to push her right over the edge of your mattress — "please record it, send me a copy m'am. please."

"begging so quick already huh?" placing yourself between her parted legs, ellie's hand roam against your sides before you're making her look up, pulling on her hair to oblige her to stare at your eyes "beg so beautiful i might have to make you do it again."

your thumb trace the confines of her lips, cold skin before ellie's biting on the finger playfully — "please- i can't deal with any more teasing."

"okay then greedy. all fours then. i want you in all fours" you reply as the camera points at her, giving you the perfect look of ellie's face, how she seemed, for the first time, pleased to follow orders without putting up a fight. "leave the panties on."

and in the camera it looks so fucking hot you forget to keep her in the frame for a second, distracted cause your eyes scan the exposed skin; cause her body's like a halo that holds some sort of holiness when she's doing what you demanded: her cheek rests against your wrinkled duvet as her backside is up like a present ready to let you take whatever you want from her.

so you're grabbing her ass, squeezing the flesh in one hand as the other seemed to remember it's job while recording, giving a good image of your viewer's body as the lenses catch every detail you're missing out as a victim of the adrenaline.

"you're always this good at submitting? or is it me who's having the pleasure of seeing this?" you question, but at this point ellie cannot find the words to say something about how she's not submitting, even when in reality the spank you gave her makes her body go stiff for a moment, an involuntary gasp leaving her parted mouth in response. she has no face to lie to you. "talk to me, dummy. or have you forgotten how to speak properly?"

"uh please," she whines "don't do this to me."

"poor baby," you pout for a moment before a smirk pulls the corners of your lips back up — "can't handle a little teasing? really are an impatient little slut."

ellie's hand grip the covers beneath her when you're finally taking care of the ache she's so bad to control in between her legs, when you mumble something about her underwear sticking to her folds like glue, the white cotton already dampened as it reveals the pink color you're quick to stare at as your fingers slide right in the middle: sticky, coats your hand like its meant to land on it, makes you follow like the moth is drawn to the fire.

"breathe," you instruct when the camera points to ellie's cunt. grimy and so good as the video catches on the transparent strands of her arousal connected to your palm, how ellie's hips move ever so slightly in search for more friction, anything at all when your fingers perpetuate the torture in keeping her hanging on a thread "you'll thank me for this. i need you loose for the fucking machine."

she would like to investigate further, ask what-the-fuck you're talking about, but the only thing that comes out of her mouth when your fingers slide filling her drenched cunt, is a loud whine that puts her damn right under your control. roughly biting on her lips to somehow stiffen the sounds of how pathetic she already is under your hands, how her hips unbuckle on her own to follow the length of your digits splitting her open.

"oh fuck-" you moan slowly falling to pieces, sounds so damn inviting at this point—. "fuck you're so tight- so warm."

"more," there's a lewd sound that your fingers make when there're sinking in deeper inside her pussy and withdrawal almost entirely before slamming back in, in her moans and incoherent words to make you go faster, take more from what ellie's already presenting to you. "more, more- more."

it makes you laugh, and ellie's face already too red to keep on blushing as you mock her words — "more, more more. is it the only word you fucking know?"

she asked for it now that she's seeing the video back in your phone with you already invading her space. soft, lazy kisses against the crook of her neck. takes it like a champ when ellie can hear the mechanic sounds filling the air, irrupting the silence and her needy moans as you position the machine right next your waist, roughly moving her where you needed her to be.

"you look so fucking hot," ellie hears as she stares at the screen, blushing again like she's not already embarrassed from her previous behavior recorded on camera "do me a favor and spread yourself out, need to see your pretty hole."

she's quick to spread her ass-cheeks for you without a second thought, making you gather a good quantity of spit on your mouth to toss against her already abused opening, lubricating the entrance.

her moans drive you crazy, how could they not? ellie tries to muffle them but failing miserably before the tip of the silicone dildo kisses her entrance, using your free hand to guide her movements and push her against the fucking machine as the toy's already moving at a constant pace.

"make room for my cock," your hand slides down her spine, following the bones of ellie's column. the phone still points to her cunt greedily swallowing the blue color until it disappears inside. makes you dizzy at the sight—. "such a good girl taking my cock."

"s'too big, ah-too much" ellie whines, pressing her cheek against the mattress as you keep the pace of the machine in the slower level, making her gasp when you're the one with enough force to move her hips against the machine for her. "mff-good fuck."

"yeah baby, that's right keep talking to me" you encourage her as your fingers slowly make the machine go faster than before — "keep telling me how good my cock's making you feel. i'm all ears."

"stretching me out s'good" she's able to say as her brain's already combusting by itself. the mechanic sounds mixing already with her drenched cunt as the phone keeps recording right against ellie's entrance, giving you a hella good view when you're able to see the white-creamy-traces of her cunt already coating the dildo "ah-you're making me feel so full."

so as she rewatches the video recorded on her own phone, she's aware of the debased stated you reduced her. how saliva's coming down her parted lips to coat the bed you sleep in every day, glassy eyes already in the verge of tears cause the pleasure's so intense ellie could cry from the stimulation she has never felt before.

it's a bomb ticking her way back to zero. your fingers play with all the levels of the machine and ellie can see that you're enjoying it too, the red imprint of your hand on her ass, the way you're pushing her face against the mattress to have her arching her back in a better angle, to allow the dildo in reaching deeper levels even when her legs shake struggling to hold her own weight.

"shh, don't whine" you say on top of her when your fingers thread against ellie's hair, pulling it roughly. "don't whine, you asked for more remember? be a good fucking slut and take it good. you're there already."

damn right she is. she wants to be good for you. please you even when the machine's so fucking loud she cannot hear her own thoughts, when her brain's malfunctioning and its fucking leaking through her ear into your sheets — you're pushing her against the dildo, impaling her balls-deep in the silicone you keep calling your cock, and suddenly her vision's fading to black, blinded momentarily since she dissolves into lust and becomes one with the pleasure, you fucking win.

it's not a competition, it's not a game anymore. not when you're switching your attitude so fast got her confused for a second when all the roughness dissipates and you're pressing soft kisses against her back as she's coming down from her high — "you okay there, beautiful? was i too rough on you?"

"fuck- i think i need a moment to breathe- hold up a second."

the video comes to an end seconds after, but its there on ellie's memory like a poor movie with bad camera anglings. you're helping to lay in bed after, praising how she's basking under the glimmer of sex, placing soft kisses in the red marks you leave on her skin like a permanent reminder.

so ellie stays that night, cause you were right when you said it before.

you took your time with her until she has no damn idea anymore. until you make her torn cause even when she's looking at the video with you sleeping on her side all over again, she still have no idea on where you ended, and she begins to exist.

man. ellie knew it was no good.

[scraps-n-starters]

Trapped in a book this and sentient marble shenanigans that

Give me sentient 'cursed' sword Danny. Give me a tragedy broken Danny who had to choose whether to allow the observants to use him or trap him or end him and Clockwork give him another option. To hide and grieve and rest.

The Cursed Sword left in the League vaults that slides uselessly through any innocent and if you push? If you keep trying to raise it's blade against an undeserving opponent? Will bite back on it's wielder with frost and reflected fear

Gifted or found, give me Damian carefully cleaning a neglected old blade. Give me Danny waking once more to the gentle grind of a whetstone, a sliver of electric green shining in the space that shouldn't be. A magic blade that has never resonated with anyone that sings in Robin's hand, freezing over those with cruelty in their hearts

(Dealer's choice what reverts Danny back to his humanoid form. True love's kiss? Legitimately wanting to be a person again? A tricky situation where the Bats are stuck and he's left lying useless on the floor, unable to save anyone, this time of his own volition?)

(Bonus for if the first time he's wielded against the Joker Danny just. Mimick style eats him. Blade splits down the center, cavernous maw, swallows whole. Nobody realized that could happen.)

[venomnyx]

THE FOOL CARD - Josh Washington x F!Reader AO3 // Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT - 3.1k SUMMARY - You've been sneaking around with your best friend's older brother since summer. If it's supposed to be easy and casual, why does it feel so foolish? TAGS/WARNINGS - friends with benefits to lovers, female anatomy reader, teasing, alcohol/drinking, cursing, unprotected p in v sex, brief mentions of asphyxiation, creampie, josh has feelings first, dialogue heavy? NOTES - this is a self-indulgent fantasy smutty dialogue pracitce that isn't edited bc who has time for that these days. ignore overuse/repeat words if u love me. fan of josh since '15 only now i have the ability to do something about it

“You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?” Josh asks, leaning against the doorway, casually sipping a beer.

You glance up from the cards spread out in front of you. Ashley sits opposite you, deer-eyes round with awe from when she held off of your every word, hinting at her friendship with Chris potentially becoming something more. A small smile grows on your face as you gather the silky cards together and slot them back into place.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re scared, are you, Joshy boy?”

With another sip, the corner of his mouth ticks up with intrigue. He shoulders off the doorway and saunters over, eyes never leaving you.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he says cooly, sliding onto the stool that Ashley scoots out of. She shoots you a knowing look, a glimmer in the ring of her green eyes, a flush to her cheeks as she scurries back into the chatter-filled living room.

“Tell me,” he begins, lounging back in the wooden chair with a low, shadowed look on his face. A long sip of beer, a generous amount of lash-lidded eye contact. “What does my future hold?”

“Your future?” You smirk, skillfully shuffling the cards in your hand, cheeks warm when you lose the competition of holding his confident stare. The tarot cards are glossy and thick, a high-quality deck gilded with gold that you’d nabbed from a crystal shop that stunk of coconut incense and white sage.

A card flies from the deck, landing face-down. You reach and flip it over, revealing The Tower—a crumbling structure, lit with a devastating fire.

“Sudden, eruptive change.”

He leans closer, interest piqued. “What kind of change?”

“Well… let’s ask the cards to clarify,” you continue, reshuffling until another card leaps out. You pick it up, revealing a heart, daggered with three, long swords. “The Three of Swords. Heartache, and pain.”

He scoffs humorously. “The only heartbreaking and painful thing about this week was Chris eating my leftover pizza.”

You hum, unconvinced. Another card.

Ten of Cups reversed. Familial despair.

“It feels like a warning,” you say, trying not to look at the blatant picture. Familial grieving, pain, loss. Clearing your throat, you glance back up at him. “Almost like everything you know is about to change.”

“Hm. Seems ominous,” he replies, entirely not convinced. “What about my near future?” He perks a suggestive brow, licks the dry of his lips. “What are the cards saying about tonight?”

You roll your eyes, feigning indifference, but your hands tremble when you pull two cards. The Moon, and The Lovers.

“Hmm… looks like the cards are saying…” you faux scan the cards, then glance over your shoulder to ensure there aren’t any eavesdroppers. When you’re satisfied they’re distracted, you return with your chin propped on two folded hands and a small, mischievous smile.

“Your room. Midnight?”

His lips stretch into a grin. “Y’know, if the cards keep saying things like this, I might just become a believer.”

You mirror his smile, tucking yourself in tight as you lean closer to the counter.

Hannah walks in, playing with her fingers nervously, and you instinctively lean back. She glances between you, Josh, the cards, and twists her feet against the tile seams.

“You want a go, Han?” You ask. She nods, but appears apprehensive.

“Come on, Josh, client confidentiality. Get outta here. Scram.”

Josh laughs, once. “Alright. I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

Your eyes flicker to him for a moment. He nods with a poker face like steel, raises his beer in acknowledgement of his sister, and leaves the room without a second look.

It’s cruel, how he walks away. Cruel like it’ll never mean more to him.

Ashley, face pink from cocktails, corners you when you return from the readings, hand pawing at your arm.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Ash. What’s up?”

She leans closer, voice lowering. “Do you have a crush on Josh?”

You’re mid-sip of wine when she asks, and you sputter a cough.

“Excuse me?”

She grins. “You know. Do you like like him?”

Ever the butt of the joke, your defensiveness flares like the prickle of young flames. Is she teasing you? Your fingers tighten around the glass stem.

“No, I know what you meant,” you reply, face warming. “Um, no, Ash. I don’t have a crush on Josh.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I could totally set you guys up. I mean, I told you about my crush on…” she glances around, tactically lowering her voice. “…Chris. So, you can trust me!”

“Ash, I think everybody knows about your crush on Chris.”

She blinks like a doe in headlights. “No, they don’t,” her gaze slips away. “Do they?”

You sip from your glass. “Everybody except Chris, apparently.”

She whacks your arm gently. “Shut up! He might hear you!” She scolds, embarrassed. You chuckle to yourself, eyes drawn to your cup as you mindlessly swirl the drink.

“But, seriously, it’s probably good that you don’t have a crush on Josh. Hannah and Beth would kill you!” She laughs.

Your blood turns icy as your mind is suddenly overwhelmed by a flurry of hook-up flashbacks, and you take a healthy, guilt-numbing swig of your drink before replying.

“Haha. Yeah. You’re probably right about that.”

Two glasses of wine later, you excuse yourself for the bathroom and veer off path when the coast is clear to Josh’s room. His door is ajar, feeding through a slim slice of warm lamp lighting onto the dark hallway.

A familiar routine— a scratch for the itch, a hit for the craving. Can’t keep your hands off him, not since the first time. You’d be in so much trouble if the twins knew you were hooking up with their older brother, but the scandal of it all gives you hot flashes between the thighs.

Hands tickle up your sides when you sneak in. A flat palm over your shoulder to click the door shut.

“You’re late,” he teases.

You stifle your giggles. “Yeah, well, unless you want everybody finding out about whatever we’re doing, then you’ll have to be patient for me to find my moment to sneak off.”

He closes the space between you, pressing against your chest to tilt you against the dresser, feeling small beneath his frame. Knees locked around his hips when you hop up.

“Would it be so bad?” He murmurs, immediately kissing along your neck, hands greedy on your waist. “You know… if they knew? About us?”

Us. A word like hot coals, fingers instinctively recoiling from the topic. Excited butterflies turned to anxious wasps in your belly. Casual moments bleeding into lingering stares, “we’re just friends” to eye contact and hand-holding when he makes you cum.

You think Emily knows. She’s quick-witted and perceptive whenever you leave the room, eyes sharp like a bristled cat ready to pounce.

“What’s there to know? We’re just friends,” you say, and he hums sceptically in response. You clutch his shoulders, warm beneath wine-numb fingers. “Besides, Hannah and Beth would kill me—”

“So, that’s it?” He grins, pulling away just enough that you can feel his breath fanning across your clavicle. You smell alcohol and peppermint gum and your head spins from the proximity.

“I’m just your dirty little secret?”

He’s making fun of you.

“Shut up,” you whine, breath laboured from the tingly feeling he produces against your skin with his mouth. Arousal so severe you feel like you’re sixteen again, a hormonal ball of teenage puppy fat and insecurity.

“Fine. How’d Hannah’s reading go? What’d she wanna know?”

You sigh with frustration, trying to nudge your hips closer to his. “Josh, please don’t talk about your sister when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Oh, just like that, huh? Like I’m a piece of meat?”

“Isn’t that what you signed up for, pretty boy?”

He nips harder. “You think I’m pretty?”

A severe eye roll. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Well, I can be pretty convincing,” he mutters, pushing the hemline of your skirt up your thigh. “Your dress is cute. You wear it for me?”

You had— all butterflies and anticipation at the thought of easy access. A short, black milk-maid thing, as well as enduring an everything shower the night before, sore from vanilla-sugar exfoliation. Soft for him.

The words escape you in a stuttered breath when he thumbs up to your panty line, tipping it to the side.

“You wish.”

He noses against the column of your throat when he slips a finger against you, shuddery breaths when the slick gathers on his palm.

“Always so wet,” he strains, tipsy touches circling your clit, pressing into the honeyed entrance. “You’re insatiable, you know that? Can’t get enough of me?”

No.

“Mm… don’t flatter yourself. Consider it convenient.”

He tilts his head. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“Stop— stop being such a dick,” you pant, muscles seizing against the sudden onslaught of building pleasure.

“Thought you liked me a little mean.”

He slides a singular finger into you, all molten and tingly as he knuckle-fucks you.

“Oh God, shut up.”

He sucks pressure onto your neck, affectionate with a hand on the small of your back. Your insides clench, aching with the urge to be filled, a desire his fingers would never be fully be able to satisfy.

You palm the growing mound behind his denim. “Need to feel you.”

He leans back, looking at you boyishly, pausing the work of his wrist.

“Right now?” His voice peaks. “But you’re hardly ready—”

“Gotta be quick.” You tug on his belt buckle and challenge his eye contact with lowered eyelids. “I can take it.”

You’ve rendered him stun-locked, shy.

He blinks. “Fuck— shit, okay,” he reaches for the zipper on his jeans, already steel-hard when he releases himself. He nudges closer, but you’ve never done it like this before. Not without a condom.

“This okay?” He asks hurriedly, the strain to his voice a sobering splash.

The wine blurs the line you promised not to cross. You glance down to where he fists himself, hastily spreading your slick across his length, and your lower belly flips.

You nod, bottom lip captured between your teeth. “Fuck. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Josh—”

“Alright, alright, needy.”

He slips a hand over the curve of your ass, propping you firmly on the dresser and nestling further between your thighs, notching his tip against your wet heat before pushing in. A sharp inhale accompanied by a hand on his chest, urging him to go slower.

It’s a tight stretch as you adjust to the weight of him pressing inside you, nails digging reflexively into the meat of his shoulders.

“Easy, I got you,” he murmurs, hand sliding up from guiding himself inside of you to the wall beside your head. His mouth captures yours as he sinks deeper, a balm to soothe the sting.

You don’t normally kiss. Not often, usually only when you’re drunk. It felt too intimate at first, too weird— because two “just friends” fucking each other’s brains out certainly wasn’t, but you sigh-melt when his tongue slips past the parting of your lips.

He rolls his hips shallowly once, twice— until the burn turns honey-silk, sheathed heavily in your velvet. He’s panting when he leans back, reaching up for purchase, something to ground himself. He instinctively goes for your waist, second-guesses himself, and leans a hand against the wall.

Dark eyes search for yours in the haze. “You alright?”

You slide your hands underneath his plaid shirt. “You trying to be romantic or something?”

He rolls his eyes. “Quit it.”

You bite down on your lower lip, suppressing a grin, and dig the ball of your foot into his ass to pull him closer.

“Get on with it, then.”

He obliges with a groan, pistoning slowly at first. A gentle back-and-forth, slickening himself up all sweet for you, precarious where he tries not to make the dresser rock too much. Helplessly his fingers cling to you, digging into the plush of your thigh, thumbing along the crease where the skin meets your hip.

He reaches to cradle your face and parts your kiss-wet lips with a thumb. You suck him into the cup of your mouth, tongue curling around his skin. You’ve never blowed him before but you’re sure he pictures you pretty on your knees with the way his eyes darken.

His thumb releases with a pop and he presses it against your clit, puffy with need.

The rhythm catches up, and soon you’re panting as you rock against one another. Arms clinging to the broad spread of his shoulders, legs squeezing around his waist. You could stay here forever, you think— drunk on the way he fucks you like he cares what you feel, what you think. Attentive, giving. Better than any exes and you’re sure he knows it— why else would you stick around?

Your best friend’s older brother.

“We should stop doing this,” you concede, words strung high across a moan. “Ashley thinks I’ve got a crush on you.”

A tilt of his head. Something flickers on his face, sparkles in his eye when his lip quirks up. Amusement.

“That right?” He breathes, teeth flashing. “Cute.”

“Jesus, right there—”

Panting breaths melt together between a symphony of curses. A roll of your eyes as your head tilts forward, nails digging into his tense biceps, bracing yourself against the pulse at your centre as his spit-silky thumb circles your clit.

He swallows thickly, throat bobbing against your temple. “Well… do you?”

You pull back from the crook of his neck you’d buried yourself into. “What?”

“Have a crush on me?”

You sock his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird.”

He grins, followed by a roll of his hips. “Oh, right, because that’ll make things weird.”

“Just— just keep doing that, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Footsteps and laughter.

Your eyes widen, nerves doused with adrenaline. “Someone’s coming—”

Josh’s hand snaps up and clamps across your mouth, his hips shifting to continue their pace but careful to mind knocking against the dresser. Eyes low and dark as he leans closer, cheeks flushed as he squeezes your face.

From outside the door, “Yo, where’s Josh?”

“He said he was going to get more beer!”

It’s Chris and Mike.

“He’s been gone for a while. Do you think he’s passed out in his room?”

Your brows scrunch, torn between the thrill of fear and pleasure. A moan squeaks behind his palm, every thrust a countdown. Josh mime-shushes you, licking his lips and glancing over at the door as footsteps pass by. Nothing but a piece of wood between you and a secret spilt.

You whimper, pussy turning to liquid heat between your thighs, fizzy with ecstasy, clamping down hard around his hips. Cobra tight around the lava sink and drag of his cock.

“Nah, man. Let’s check the wine cellar.”

The footsteps continue down the hallway, easing your adrenaline with each step as you turn gelatinous in his arms. He releases you at once and the oxygen runs to your head with a dizzying force, eyes wild as they address you.

“Did you…?”

“Mhm.” It pitches high, and his eyes widen with the realisation.

“You liked that. Do you want us to get caught?”

You tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Maybe I just liked you choking me.”

His brows raise. “Wait. Really?”

You smile wickedly in response, leaving the question unanswered— you aren’t trying to give him any ideas, but you feel that bubbly-wistfulness in your belly at the thought of his hand around your throat the next time he takes you.

You’re not meant to daydream or hope for the next time; this was only supposed to be a one-time thing— just shy of your nineteenth birthdays, fucking yourselves through a dry spell, but you’ve been jumping his bones since the Washington’s invited you to stay with them last summer and he showed you how to smoke your first joint.

You’re a sweet girl, their parents said. Hannah and Beth couldn’t have been more excited that their best friend was coming to stay for six weeks. They hadn’t suspected a thing.

That was last August. Now you’re here with the others for the annual winter getaway— the lodge all to yourselves, and you’d not even lasted a night before you’d tip-toed into his room at 1 AM.

Josh grunts into your neck, cock twitching within you, sliding in and out of your slickened pussy like water.

“Where should I…”

A vulnerable split-second of eye contact. Shivery energy zips between you and something atmospherically shifts, like a moon falling into orbital alignment. The space behind your rib cage becomes soft and malleable, gravity tugging on your heartstrings.

The Fool Card.

A dangerous cliff edge that you’re too wrapped up in the moment to take mind of. You’re already in this deep— might as well fling yourself over it.

You dig your fingers into him. “Inside.”

His eyes flash wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah— fuck, Josh, let me feel you.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. So fuckin’ hot.”

He thrusts with more urgency now, brows knit, teeth bared. Sharp when they slide along the skin of your shoulder.

He releases a cute grunt when he comes, nose buried in your neck, cock pulsing strongly inside of you. A sharp little rut of his hips, pushing himself deep, milking dry what remains.

Panting breaths mingle together, misty with post-sex sweat. You stroke the back of his exertion-damp head, cradled gently against your shoulder, his knuckles white as they brace against the dresser.

This is usually the time when you clear your throats and tug your clothes back on, but when he lifts his head to look at you, there’s something soft and sticky-sweet in the post-clarity lax of his features, the seraphic upturn of his brows.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blink at him. “Josh…”

Something visibly deflates on his face. “Sorry, sorry, I overstepped, I forgot the 'rules'—”

You grab him by the neck, thumb affectionately along the line of his jaw, and capture his mouth against yours. When you kiss he’s still sheathed to the hilt, chests pressing together, and you suddenly don’t feel so drunk anymore.

Everything narrows down, vision tunnelling. You’re suddenly not in a lodge with all of your friends, not propped up on his dresser, not just friends with benefits. You can pretend in the safety of his bedroom, making out like lovers, because when it’s this dark it’s just him, him, him, an utter mind-reeling consumption, so warm and soft and tender you feel shame trickle down your spine.

It’s not supposed to feel this good.

Spit strings between your mouths when you pull back.

“We should… go back to the others. Probably wondering where we are.”

He pants, gazing down at your lips. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We should do that.”

It’s cruel, the way he looks at you. Cruel like this means more to him, too.

dividers credit @saradika-graphics // mdni graphics credit @arcielee

[deepspace-scenarios]

[Scenario/Drabble] Falling into you

How the LADS men would first show obvious interest in you, but make it happen in an ancient chinese historical!AU. AKA them looking gorgeous in silken robes (Part 1)

Genre: fluff, historical!AU; TW: mild suggestiveness

SYLUS - a powerful lord in secluded mountains, both feared and envied for his rule over mountain passes between countries.

The mountain fortress’s halls are lined with treasures from distant lands- jade carvings, swords with serpentine hilts. Yet Sylus’s attention lingers on you, the emissary sent to negotiate with him.

On your third visit, a servant delivers a lacquered box to your quarters.

Twice, he had turned you away after negotiations reached an impasse.

In those visits, you saw contrast. To the world, he is fearsome and ruthless, but to you- he has always been cordial, intelligent- an enigmatic character that has you lying awake for more reasons than political negotiations.

Twice, you have failed. But this time- you're going to try harder.

You inspect the delivered box. Within it lies a hairpin of black and gold, its feather motif unmistakable. There's nothing else accompanying it- only the silent implication that accepting it meant acknowledging his scrutiny, trusting his integrity, and accepting him.

For you to be sent on a mission alone to this infamous Lord's fortress, is to avoid raising attention within the tumultuous court of your ruling state. And what the court wants is a treaty to gain access along the least treacherous mountain pass- part of his ruling territory.

That evening, you wear it.

His smirk when he notices is nothing short of dangerous.

“Careful,” he murmurs, refilling your tea cup himself- a breach of etiquette. “My generosity isn’t just political.”

You lower your head in a bow- to thank him for pouring your drink, and to acknowledge what he said- but nothing would prepare you for what he says next.

“I hope you are aware that this province it signifies… commitment to another,”

Your head snaps up as you look at him with wide eyes, and he chuckles.

“Relax, little bird. I'm the one offering you such commitment. I will serve you, and you alone… in all ways you wish.”

It is the first of many nights where you learn yet a new facade of him- tender, and dangerously addictive.

_____

ZAYNE - a healer who had mastered the use of traditional herbal medicine

The apothecary smells of bitter roots and dried chrysanthemums. Zayne barely ever spoke as you delivered letters and scrolls from the court to him- until the day you cough into your sleeve.

His brows furrow. "You're unwell," he observes.

You look away quickly. If only etiquette allowed you to appreciate his angular features- you could spend hours appreciating the curve of his hazel eyes, and the slope of his nose.

"It's just a mild cough."

"Your face is flushed. Come here, let me check for you-"

You shuffle forward, unsure of how to explain that you're not running a temperature, and simply blushing under his scrutiny.

“Hold still.” His fingers press on your wrist, his grip firm. “Your pulse is erratic.”

You expect a diagnosis.

Instead, he slides a packet wrapped with twine across the table. “Boil these with nectar. Twice daily. Avoid drinking any cold liquid until your cough subsides.”

On the packet, you see the label for dried pear slices and loquat leaves- a remedy both stress and illness.

You fiddle with the twine. “I- I don't have any coins on me, Zayne. I'll collect it next time I'm here.”

You hear him let out a short sigh.

“Consider it a gift. The weather is harsh, and your health is precious.”

When you glance up, he is already turning away. But the tips of his ears are tinged red.

____

XAVIER - an astrologer who observes the stars for the imperial kingdom, also an archer due to his keen eyesight

Xavier spends his nights in the library tower, mapping constellations on parchment. You often find him there, sorting star maps for the imperial astronomers and looking for auspicious days for ceremonies.

One dawn, a silk-bound scroll appears at your desk. Unfurling it reveals a star chart of the night you first met, dotted with gold ink.

Beneath the chart, in elegant characters, reads “The stars aligned twice- once in the heavens, once when you appeared.”

You find him later, with him at his table and blinking rapidly to ward off sleep.

“Xavier,” you greet softly.

The sleepiness in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a faint sparkle of delight as he places his brush down.

“Oh no,” he says with a hint of a pout, “You caught me falling asleep,”

You don't try to hide your smile- you never have to, around him. "Bad time? I could come back later,"

He shakes his head. "Stay with me, I could use some company. And what brings you here?"

You approach his desk, sitting on the stool he offers you. “I just wanted to let the hardworking astrologer know that his map has been received- and it is absolutely lovely,”

He pauses, blinking. Then a slow, gentle smile touches his lips.

“Just like you,” he replies.

_____

RAFAYEL - an artist for the emperor, with paintings sought after by nobles across the country.

You hurry along the corridor, squinting from the bright morning sun when you step into his airy room.

You have been sent to collect a commissioned landscape- but when you unroll it to confirm its contents, the scene is wrong.

Instead of mountains, the silk depicts you: sitting by a lotus pond, your robes rendered in vivid blues.

“Oops,” Rafayel sighs, leaning over your shoulder. “My brush must have slipped.”

“Rafayel… They need it by sunset today,” you say weakly.

As he waltzes around you into view once more, his grin is anything but repentant.

“Guess you’ll have to stay here a few hours now. Be my motivation.”

Half the time Rafayel is meant to paint, he spends on chatting away and looking at you.

When you ask, he dips his brush into water and twirls it around.

“I was done aaages ago, lovely. All the work I have left is to stamp my name in the corner,” he says smugly, “Anything is easy when my muse is here,”

_____

CALEB as a military strategist, bound by duty and responsibility, yet his true loyalty lies not with the kingdom, but with a person close to his heart.

When you stumble during a courtyard drill, hands steady you- and don't let go.

You whip around, gripping your hood to stop it from falling off- nobody is supposed to see you train.

And yet, when you see who it is, the fear and tension dissipates instantly.

“Your stance is off, don't hold it like a sword,” Caleb explains, adjusting your grip on the wooden dagger. His calloused hand lingers. “Meet me at dawn. I’ll train you.”

The next morning, a new dagger waits on a stone slab at the edge of the clearing. Its hilt is wrapped in red silk- the color of luck, and of brides.

When you turn, Caleb is looking resolutely into the distance.

“For defense during your travels,” he explains. “Not just decoration.”

“Caleb, you didn't have to-”

“But I want to,” he says, finally locking eyes with you, his expression earnest and open with a vulnerability you haven't seen since your childhood days. “Especially because I can't be by your side to protect you,”

So you accept the gift, and all the unspoken promises that come along with it.

_

Note:

for a canon scifi universe set in the future, the LADS men are sO historical AU coded i cant stop yELLING about how gorgeous they are in traditional robes please thank Sylus and Zayne for making this drabble happen they have me in a chokehold

Also picture credit is a XHS edit but i couldnt find OP so pls lmk if there is a link!!

Thanks for reading <333

[mw00nie]

extra credit

you first see him on a tuesday.

10 a.m. political science. long, cold, fluorescent-lit misery. you only took it because the professor was rumored to be easy. except, twist, he now isn’t, and your attendance is locked in for the semester. brutal.

you always sit in the back. fake typing on your laptop, tabs full of shit you’ll never afford, pretending you’re gonna relisten to the lectures on your phone. spoiler: you won’t.

so, naturally, you start people-watching. it becomes your sport.

guy in front of you sexting someone at 10 a.m. on a tuesday? disturbing. girl next to you writing color-coded notes on an ipad that costs more than your rent? pretentious. two girls giggling over tinder and ranking guys like they’re judging cattle at a state fair? iconic.

then you see him.

front row. every single class. white hair, slightly too long, messy like he cut it himself or forgot to. hoodie with a bleach stain on the sleeve. glasses he keeps pushing up with his middle finger. backpack covered in pins that look suspiciously like anime.

the kind of guy who probably owns a sword. the kind of guy who turns in essays early and apologizes for formatting mistakes. the kind of guy who definitely gets hard when girls yell at him.

you watch him answer a question once, voice so quiet, you can barely hear it from your seat, and it hits you like a truck:

this guy is such a loser. i want him in my bed immediately.

you don’t do anything about it at first. just move closer, row by row, like a predator slowly circling.

he doesn’t notice. he’s too busy actually doing the readings.

every class, he types with those long fingers, hunched over his laptop like he’s coding the next great american novel. he frowns when the professor gets something wrong. he wears wired headphones. wired, for god’s sake.

you can feel it building in you every time he pushes his glasses up. every time he mutters a “yeah, i think that’s actually covered in the assigned paper by—” before trailing off, embarrassed.

you want to climb into his lap and ruin his academic career. you want to know if he’s as nervous with his hands as he is with his voice. you want to see how red his ears can get.

three weeks in, you finally snap.

you catch him right after lecture, halfway to the vending machines, headphones still hanging around his neck. his fingers are tangled in his hoodie strings, backpack slung over one shoulder, like he barely remembered to exist outside of class.

he stops in his tracks when you say his name.

“satoru gojo, right?”

he blinks. once. twice. like you’ve just pulled the fire alarm in his brain.

“…yeah?”

he’s taller than you expected. awkwardly so. broad shoulders slouched like he’s trying to make himself smaller. glasses sliding down his nose. messy white hair that looks like he towel-dried it and called it a day. he smells faintly like clean laundry and caffeine. you hate how much that does to you.

you lean in a little. tilt your head. smile like you know something he doesn’t.

“you’re smart,” you say. “painfully. the kind of smart that corrects the professor mid-lecture and then apologizes for it.”

he flushes, stammers. “i– only if they’re, like, wrong? sometimes?”

adorable.

you step closer. just enough to watch his pupils blow out a little. he’s blinking at you like he’s buffering.

“i need help studying,” you say sweetly. “and you seem.. helpful.”

his mouth opens. closes. “uh– sure?”

“great.” you tilt your head. “library at seven?”

he nods, slow and stunned.

you smile wider. “and if you’re good,” you say, voice low enough to make him swallow, “i might let you kiss me.”

you don’t wait for a response. just turn and walk off, backpack slung lazily over your shoulder.

when you glance back, he’s still standing there. frozen, mouth slightly open, entire brain fried like a cheap motherboard.

you laugh to yourself.

this is going to be so much fun.

he shows up to the library that night. you weren’t sure he would. he seemed like the type to overthink it until he got hives. but there he is 6:57, laptop in hand, adorned in what looked like a bunch of different stickers. the etsy type.

“hey,” you say, flashing a smile as he slides into the seat next to you.

he nearly fumbles his bag off the table. “hey,” he replies, voice quiet. “so… what’re you stuck on?”

you don’t even bother pretending to know. just hand him your notes with a shrug and start watching him instead.

he’s so earnest. brows furrowed. lips pressed together. squinting at your writing like it personally offended him.

you’re supposed to be learning about political theory, but all you can think about is what his mouth would feel like on your neck. how red his ears would get if you sat in his lap right now and pulled on his hoodie strings.

by the end of the night, he’s explained two chapters, drawn a chart, and unconsciously flexed his hands at least a dozen times.

you lean back, stretch, and smile at him sweetly. “you’re a really good teacher.”

he turns a little pink. scratches the back of his neck.

“…thanks?”

“don’t thank me yet,” you murmur. “you’ve got office hours again tomorrow.”

he swallows.

you don’t kiss him. not yet. you let him walk home in a daze, probably questioning whether he imagined the whole thing.

you make him wait.

over the next two weeks, you meet him three more times.

once in the library, once at a coffee shop, and once after class in an empty study room.

every time, he gets a little bolder. not much. just enough for you to notice.

his knees brush yours under the table and he doesn’t pull back. he teases you when you mess up a definition. he looks you in the eye a little longer than he did before, until you’re the one who has to look away.

“you’re learning,” you hum one night.

he just shrugs, smirking softly.

“you said if i was good, i’d get to kiss you.”

his voice is low. deeper now. like he’s starting to realize he has some kind of effect on you.

you smile, sweet and lethal.

“maybe next time.”

you invite him over on a thursday night.

you claim it’s for a “final review session” before the quiz. you text him your address, and tell him to wear something comfortable.

he shows up in another hoodie and sweatpants. his glasses are clean for once. his hair still a mess, but in a way that almost looks intentional.

you pretend to study for fifteen minutes.

fifteen.

after that, you crawl into his lap, straddle his legs, and tilt his chin up.

“still wanna kiss me?”

he doesn’t answer. just leans in and kisses you like he’s been thinking about it for weeks.

and god, he’s so warm. so eager. he kisses like he means it, messy and deep, hands hovering just shy of your waist like he’s scared to hold on too tightly.

you grind down once and he chokes on a moan.

“shit– wait–”

you pull back and grin.

“don’t tell me this is your first time.”

he goes red, but his eyes are sharp now, glinting under the low light of your room.

“…why would you think that?”

you laugh, breathless. “because you’re a loser. you raise your hand in lectures. you wear anime pins. you fumble your phone when i look at you.”

“so?” he murmurs, licking into your mouth, voice rough. “i can still make you cum.”

you blink. stunned.

he grins, slow and devastating. glasses slipping again, hands sliding up your thighs.

“wanna bet?”

you don’t even make it five minutes into the “study” session before he’s got you pinned to the couch.

your laptop’s open on some political science quizlet. long forgotten.

your panties are shoved halfway down your thighs, hoodie thrown on the floor somewhere, one of his hands gripping your jaw while the other is buried deep inside you.

“what happened to all that attitude?” he mutters against your mouth, voice low, breath warm. “thought you said i was a loser.”

you gasp, try to buck your hips, but he holds you still. his fingers curl just right and your entire spine arches.

“fuck– satoru–”

“say it again,” he growls, licking into your mouth like he’s starving. “say i’m a loser.”

you whimper. “you’re– fuck, you’re not–”

“hmm?” his thumb circles your clit, lazy and cruel. “what was that?”

you choke on a moan. it’s disgusting how wet you are. slick dripping down his knuckles, pooling under your ass on the cushions.

he’s still got his glasses on. slightly fogged. his hair’s messier than usual, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. he looks deranged. brilliant. completely in control.

and all you want is more.

“please,” you breathe. “just– fuck me– please–”

he pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth like he’s tasting you.

“you ask so nicely,” he hums, grinning like the devil. “but i think you need a little warm-up first.”

you expect him to drop to his knees.

you don’t expect him to pull you by the hips and throw you over his face.

he lays back on the couch, one arm hooked under your thigh, and drags you down onto his mouth.

“oh– fuck–”

his tongue is obscene. messy. insistent. his nose brushes your clit every time he moves, and he groans like he’s the one getting off.

you’re gasping, grinding against his face, grabbing fistfuls of his hair like a girl possessed.

he pulls back once to breathe and licks his lips, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked.

“sweetest i’ve ever had in my life,” he mutters. “could stay here all night.”

you cum on his tongue twice.

by the time he lets you down, your legs are jelly. your voice is half-gone. and he’s hard. painfully hard. under his sweatpants.

“c’mere,” he mutters, voice rough. “you owe me something.”

you drop to your knees without hesitation.

he’s thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, and way too big for the loser nerd image he gives off in class.

“god,” you whisper, wrapping a hand around it. “you’ve been hiding this from me?”

“was waiting for you to find out,” he says, pushing his glasses up, totally smug.

you stroke him slow, spit-slick and teasing, then lean in and drag your tongue up the underside.

his breath stutters. “f-fuck–”

you take him in deep, hollow your cheeks. he groans and grabs the back of your head.

“god, you’re good,” he mutters, hips twitching. “knew you’d suck cock like a slut.”

you whimper around him, moan at the taste, the weight, the way his thigh tenses under your hand.

he fucks your mouth slowly. not too deep, not yet.  just enough to make your eyes water.

when he pulls you off, you’re panting, spit dripping down your chin.

“get on the couch,” he says, voice dark. “hands and knees.”

you scramble up, bend over, and he groans.

“fuck– look at that.”

he presses himself up behind you, drags the head of his dick through your folds, and leans forward to whisper against your ear.

“you’re gonna let the virgin loser fuck you like this?” he murmurs, kissing your neck.

“yes,” you whine. “please– satoru, i need it–”

he thrusts in all at once.

you gasp, your eyes rolling back.

he’s so deep it makes your stomach flip, one hand digging into your hip while the other presses between your shoulder blades, pushing you down.

he starts fucking you like he’s been waiting years. filthy, relentless, fast and hard and deep enough you can barely think.

“not such a brat now, huh?” he pants. “still think i’m just some nerd?”

you’re moaning, crying out, face smushed into a pillow as he hits your g-spot with every thrust like a bullseye

he leans down, wraps a hand around your throat, and groans when you clench around him.

“tight little pussy,” he mutters. “knew you’d be like this. couldn’t stop thinking about it. mmph– gonna ruin you–”

he pulls out and flips you over ignoring your whine of protest. pushes your legs up to your chest, and drills into you.

you cum again, shaking, sobbing into his mouth as he kisses you through it.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, sweat on his brow, pupils blown.

“you want it inside?” he grunts, hips stuttering. “want me to fill you up?”

“yesyes– fuck, please–”

“god, you’re filthy,” he groans. 

he cums hard. deep, slow thrusts, hips grinding into yours, breath hot against your throat as he empties inside you.

you’re both panting. ruined. bodies tangled on your shitty dorm couch.

he pulls out slow, watches his cum leak out of you, and smirks.

“extra credit,” he says, breathless. “you definitely passed.”

[paddockletters]

baby face

paring: lando norris x reader summary: When you jokingly tell Lando to shave off his beard, you never expected him to turn the tables on you. request: yes / thank youuuu so much

I was sitting on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through my phone when Lando walked in, scratching at his chin. He had this tiny bit of scruff growing in—barely there, but enough for him to make a big deal out of it. He was clearly proud, but I couldn't help but tease him.

“Lando,” I called out, trying to suppress a grin. “When are you gonna get rid of that?”

He looked at me with mock offense, his fingers still grazing his chin. “What, this? You don’t like it?” He waggled his eyebrows, leaning against the doorframe.

I raised an eyebrow, biting back a laugh. “Babe, you barely have anything there. It’s like... baby beard.”

He gasped dramatically, walking over to me. “That’s rude. I’ve been working on this masterpiece for days!”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him, chuckling. “If you’re gonna grow a beard, at least commit. This is... well, it’s cute, but not really doing much.”

He stood there, hands on his hips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, you want it gone?”

“Yup,” I said, popping the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Smooth baby face Lando is the one I like.”

Without warning, he swooped down, grabbing me by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder. I let out a squeal, half laughing and half surprised.

“Lando! Put me down!” I managed through my laughter, swatting at his back.

“Oi, where are we going?” I asked, giggling as he dragged me toward the bathroom.

“You want it gone, you’re gonna have to do it yourself,” he said, his tone low and teasing. Before I could protest, Lando had scooped me up effortlessly, setting me down on the bathroom counter. I gasped, caught between laughing and trying to keep my balance.

“Lando!” I swatted his arm, but he just grinned, stepping between my legs as I sat perched on the counter. His hands landed firmly on my thighs, holding me there as he tilted his head toward me.

“There’s the razor,” he said, nodding to the corner of the sink, his face far too smug. “Go on then. Shave it off if it’s bothering you that much.”

I raised an eyebrow, staring at him in disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he said, still smirking. His hands squeezed my thighs gently, leaning in just enough to make me flustered. “You wanted it gone, yeah? So, have at it.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” I muttered, but I couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corners of my lips. Reaching over, I grabbed the razor and pointed it at him like a sword. “You sure about this? I might just leave you with one eyebrow.”

His laugh was low, eyes locked on mine. “I trust you. Kinda.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on the tap, running the razor under the warm water. He watched me, his face inches from mine, and for a second, I wondered if this was his plan all along—some excuse to get me this close, to make me flustered.

“Hold still,” I said, trying to sound serious but failing miserably. Lando’s grin didn’t fade as I carefully pressed the razor to his jaw, starting with the faintest patch of stubble near his chin.

“Not bad,” he said, watching me intently as I worked. His hands never left my thighs, keeping me in place as I concentrated on not nicking his skin.

“Oh, shush. You’re lucky I haven’t drawn blood yet,” I quipped, carefully moving the razor along his jawline.

His eyes stayed fixed on mine the entire time, and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Lando smirked, one hand sliding up to rest on my waist, his thumb brushing against my hip. “Maybe a little. But you’re doing a pretty good job.”

“Of course I am,” I said, trying to sound confident despite how my heart was racing. “Better than you would’ve done, probably.”

As I finished up the last bit of stubble, I stepped back slightly, giving him a final once-over. “There. Smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

He ran a hand over his now-shaven face, his eyes sparkling as he looked up at me. “Not bad, y/n. You’ve got a future in this.”

I tossed the razor back on the sink and playfully swatted his arm. “Yeah, well, don’t make a habit of it. You still owe me for doing your job.”

Lando laughed, his hands sliding back to my hips, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter. “What, you think this was about the beard?” he asked, voice low and teasing as he leaned in closer. “I just wanted an excuse to get you up here.”

I blinked, feeling my breath hitch as his lips brushed against my ear. “You sneaky—”

Before I could finish, he kissed me, soft and lingering, cutting off whatever sarcastic comeback I had in mind. His hands tightened their grip on my waist, pulling me even closer, and for a moment, I forgot all about the razor, the teasing, everything.

When he finally pulled away, his grin was smug as ever. “Told you it wasn’t about the beard.”

I rolled my eyes, though my heart was still racing. “Next time, just say you want a snog instead of dragging me into your grooming routine, alright?”

He chuckled, his forehead resting against mine. “Where’s the fun in that?”

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

ꪆৎ SWORD PLAY , ft. Phainon.

tws : nsfw, power play, mild degrading, soft!dom phainon, knife play / kink, mild dubcon vibes, creampie, unprotected sēx and weapon kink / sword play (non-penetrative).

Phainon presses the flat of his sword between your thighs, right against your soaked pussy.

“Gods… look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and amused, eyes flicking down to where the metal kisses your slick folds through your ruined panties. “Dripping like this for a blade? Not even my cock yet, and you’re already making a mess.” The sword’s not cutting—just resting there, heavy and deliberate, cool against flushed heat. He watches every twitch of your thighs like it’s entertainment.

He tilts the blade slightly, dragging the flat edge up, slow and steady. Your body jerks, breath catching when it bumps your clit. “Sensitive,” Phainon hums, leaning in, hair brushing your cheek. “Bet if I pushed this just a little more, you’d start grinding on it without even thinking.”

His free hand settles on your waist, holding you in place. “You want my cock, don’t you?” he asks, all gentle mockery. “But here you are, squirming like the sword’s enough.” He rubs it down again, the edge never dangerous, just a wicked substitute that keeps you teetering.

By the time he finally pulls it away, your cunt’s aching, desperate. And all he does is smile, like he’s got all the time in the world. “If you can act this desperate for a blade,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your ear, “you’d better be ready for what I’ll do once I’m actually inside you.”

He tosses the sword aside like it’s nothing—like you weren’t just grinding yourself on it like a bitch in heat—and suddenly his hand is between your legs instead. Fingers sliding through the mess you made. “Fucking soaked,” he breathes, more to himself than to you, baby blue eyes glowing as he watches his fingers glisten. “All that from teasing? You’re so easy.”

He pushes you down onto the bed, his heavy armor falling away piece by piece. You barely notice it hitting the floor—all you can see is him, cock already hard and flushed as it presses against his stomach. “Spread your legs,” he says, but you’re already doing it before he finishes the sentence.

“Needy thing,” Phainon chuckles, climbing between your thighs. His cock drags over your folds, thick and hot and real this time, not cold metal. He doesn’t thrust in—not yet. Just rubs it there, back and forth, watching the way your body twitches every time the tip bumps your clit. “What’s better?” he murmurs. “The blade or this?”

You whine, trying to buck your hips, but he pins them down with one hand, firm and unrelenting. “That’s what I thought,” he says, finally lining himself up and sliding the head in, slow, deliberate. The stretch is everything—your back arches, your fingers curl into the sheets, and he just groans above you, deep and satisfied. “Fuck… warm little pussy feels so much better than cold steel.”

“You gonna cum for me this time?” he teases, sinking in deeper, inch by inch. “Or should I grab the sword again?”

Phainon groans softly as he bottoms out, hips pressing flush against yours, his cock buried deep and warm inside your soaked cunt. He leans over you, bracing himself with one hand beside your head, the other still cradling your waist like you’re something delicate—something treasured. His breath fans across your cheek as he murmurs, “There we go… finally where I belong.”

He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, letting you feel him—how full you are, how slow and careful he’s being. “You’re so tight,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your face. “Like you were made for this. For me.” His lips ghost over your temple as he starts to move, slow, deep rolls of his hips that have your toes curling and your breath catching in your throat.

Every stroke drags along your walls just right, each movement smooth and unhurried, like he’s savoring it. “So good, just like that,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “You take me so well… so fucking perfect.” His voice is low and tender, no teasing now—just soft praise, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your hands find his shoulders, fingers curling into the muscle there, and he lets out a soft sound when you clench around him. “That’s it,” he breathes, fucking you just a little deeper, just a little slower. “Let me have you like this… don’t think about anything else. Just this. Just us.”

He’s so warm inside you, so close, his body pressed to yours, with every breath, every slow thrust, every sweet word, he’s pulling you closer to the edge—holding you like he never wants to let go.

He stays inside you, still warm, still hardening again despite the soft tremble in his breath. One of his hands runs up and down your side, soothing, like he’s making sure you’re still here with him—still grounded. “Did I go too far?” he asks quietly, voice low and thick with concern.

You shake your head, fingers dragging slowly down his back. “Mm-mm,” you mumble, boneless, completely wrapped up in him. “Wanna stay like this.”

That earns a soft chuckle. He pulls back just enough to look at you, still close, his hand sliding to your thigh to squeeze gently. “I was serious earlier,” he says, voice dipping again. “About being mine. Not just for tonight.”

His hips shift slightly, just enough for you to feel the slow drag of him inside you again, already starting to move even before you're fully recovered. “Still so wet for me,” he whispers, more to himself than you. “Think you can take more?” His tone is tender, never pushing—he’d stop in a heartbeat if you said no. But you don’t.

Instead, you wrap your legs around him again, tugging him closer, and whisper, “Want it.”

His smile is soft as he begins to move again—gentle, unhurried, like you’ve got all the time in the world.

He groans when you wrap your legs around him again, your cunt still hot and dripping, clenching just from the feel of him shifting inside. “Fuck… you’re still so tight,” he mutters, dragging his hips back, just enough for the thick tip to stretch your entrance again before pushing back in, rougher now. “You really can’t get enough, can you?”

His hands grip your thighs and spread them wider, pulling you open as he begins to thrust harder—still careful, but no longer holding back. Each stroke fills you deep, sharp little slaps of skin on skin echoing in the space around you. “You take me so fucking well,” he growls, watching your body bounce slightly with every roll of his hips. “This pussy was made for me.”

Your moans slip out freely now, messy and desperate, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounds into you. Not cruel—just relentless, focused, fucking you like he knows exactly where you’re most sensitive. “Right there?” he pants, dragging his cock along that perfect spot that makes your legs shake. “Feels good, huh? All stuffed and dripping.”

His thumb finds your clit again, circling it with slick, practiced motions while his cock drives in over and over, hitting that perfect rhythm that leaves you speechless. “You gonna cum again?” he murmurs, voice strained now. “Want to feel it. Want to feel this pretty pussy milk my cock.”

You can’t answer—not with your mind fogged, your body trembling under the pace he's set. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time, your orgasm building again like a fire in your gut. He can tell. He feels it—every clench, every cry—and he fucks you through it, his thrusts going rougher, deeper, until you're cumming again, hard, soaking his cock with a sweet cry of his name.

He groans, hips snapping into you with more force now, chasing his own release. “Shit—fuck—you feel too good,” he gasps, grinding deep as he cums inside you again, cock twitching, spilling warmth deep inside. He keeps moving through it, hips rocking lazily as he lets the waves of it fade.

And then he stills, pressed deep, his breath hot against your throat as he stays wrapped around you, buried in your body like he belongs there. “Not letting you go,” he murmurs, one hand stroking your thigh while the other holds you close. “Not after this. Not ever.”

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[venusbyline]

Continuing on that competence kink I was mentioning on my blog, it's my personal headcanon that Aemond would get so hot watching his partner be physically violent. Hurting someone, or torturing someone, committing war crimes... (I mean, the way he looks at Daemon after he's murdered Vaemond- HELLO THAT MAN GETS OFF ON VIOLENCE AND BLOOD)

tbh I never knew about competence kink until that post of yours, but when I saw it... everything makes sense 🤭🤭 I wanna join him in his freakiness

btw, I wrote this two days ago but I forgot to post it 😭😭

⚠️: SMUT & DARK CONTENT. female!reader, dom!Aemond Targaryen, Targcest (twin brother/twin sister), competence kink, blood kink, blood licking, missionary position, non-graphic violence, implied Alys Rivers.

— high valyrian words used: Idaña (twin), Issa (yes).

There had always been something wrong with both of you.

Aemond noticed this when you were still children. He knew how angry you got when his bastard nephews teased him along with Aegon, he saw how you glared at Lucerys when the little boy gouged out one of your twin brother's eyes, just as he heard you mutter something about Rhaenyra deserving that scar on her arm after all that fight at Driftmark.

Your violent thoughts were just thoughts back then, but Aemond was not stupid. Despite trying to be a kind loving child, over time Aemond came to understand a little better what you felt.

He always liked your way of being, though. Sometimes he had lectured you if you expressed it around someone you should not, especially someone as prude as your mother. However, deep down Aemond liked to hear everything you had to say.

Alicent was furious when Aemond was younger and he went to talk to her about letting you start training with him and Ser Criston, after Aegon stopped being interested about swords. For the Queen, it was absurd for a girl to want to practice something like that, you were born to marry some lord and carry children, making more necessary alliances for the Greens when the right time came. After so much insistence from Aemond and even Ser Criston, who promised to your mother that no one but them would know that you were doing such a masculine activity, Alicent finally gave up on putting some sense into your mind.

Now, a few years later, you had proven a great worth to Aemond when you marched with him and Criston Cole to Harrenhal. Your dragon might be smaller than Vhagar, but you were willing to do anything he ordered during that war. After all, the two of you were twins and freak like each other.

Aemond felt horny watching you slit the throats of the men of the castle, your frustration at Simon Strong’s loyalty to the Blacks matching your twin's anger at the situation. The two of you were covered in blood as he sipped some wine with Ser Criston, because of Aemond's refusal to order the random woman with long black hair — the one whose life he spared, so he could keep as a servant — to draw you a bath yet...

Aemond wanted to see you like this for a little longer… Your silver hair was drenched in red drops, both a scarlet shade and a darker shade. You had killed so many people that the stains were a mess caused by other people's arterial and venous blood.

Ever since the entire family witnessed Daemon kill Vaemond Velaryon in front of everyone, the Prince Regent had been jerking off picturing what it would be like to see you committing all sorts of atrocities possible.

"Cole, leave me and my sister alone now." He ordered the knight, who nodded and left, taking the brunette servant with him.

"Feeling good, idaña?" Aemond teased, staring at you moaned with each deep thrust, the sounds of slapping skins echoing through the dark room.

You nodded, biting your lower lip at the feeling of your brother's cock sliding in and out of your warm cunt. He had already deflowered you many years ago, but nothing like that night. Aemond had never been so aroused and you had never been so tight before. "Mmm, issa..."

"Issa?" A low, husky chuckle rumbled from his chest, mocking your whining tone before he leaned down to nibble your neck, licking at the blood that dried there, the metallic, bitter taste making him growl and speed up the thrusts pace further. "Fuck... Your little cunt feels so fucking tight right now, sister. Such a freak thing, are not you? Just like me."

There was no need for a verbal response, though. Aemond had always known the truth. You were the only girl who matched the freak inside him.

[deadsetobsessions]

“Did you know that shrimps…”

Tim leaned in, poorly hidden eagerness splayed across his face. A clue that Danny and Phantom were dating?

“Are super delicious?” Danny mumbled, ducking his head to hide his impish grin. Tim exhaled, disappointed, and leaned back to observe. Danny currently had his arm elbow deep in Jason’s chest, the older man grimacing at the weird feeling of being phased through.

“You done?”

“Almost. This is a multiple session kind of thing though, since the corrupted ectoplasm's not only in your body, it's actively trying to fuse with your DNA. Like, a really fucked up virus with virtually no cure."

"No cure?!" Dick's panic was only barely suppressed. "But I thought you said you could help with that?"

"Yeah, I mean, how do you cure death? Everything has to end eventually." Danny said practically, before drawing a bit more tainted ectoplasm out. He stealthily replaced it with a cleaner source, a shot of ecto-dejecto he had absorbed as Phantom but didn't assimilate. "But don't worry, you're not dying again yet. You'll just become even more liminal."

"More?"

"Yeah. You were, by definition, a liminal. Now you'll just have more access to the traits- more in tune with your emotions, night vision, and a minor ability to manipulate ecto."

"I'm sorry, can we circle back on the fact that pit water is trying to fuse with my DNA?" Jason stressed. Danny took his hand out, treatment complete, and dusted them off.

"You don't have to worry about that either, since you've got a magic immune system in the form of... swords?" Danny’s brows furrowed, his senses making sense of the shape of magic.

"The All-Blades are cutting off pit water access." Jason sounded done. Exasperated at where he was in life... but really not all too surprised.

"...Sure?" Danny shrugged. The halfa has seen weirder shit than magic swords.

"Wait, you have magic?!" Dick reached over to grasp Jason's shoulder to shake him. Jason knocked his hands off, scowl becoming more prominent.

"Yeah, picked it up a while ago."

"And you didn't tell us?!"

In lieu of an answer, Jason summoned the All Blades and stabbed Dick, who yelped before realizing they just phased through him.

"Oh, you should use those more. They're purifying the ecto at a smaller quantity, but some is still better than none, right?" Danny said, pleasantly surprised. He ignored Dick’s outraged spluttering. “How interesting.”

Tim gathered his open jaw just to cheekily ask, "So, Jason's a magical girl? Usagi?"

Jason raised the one of the blades threateningly at Tim, who remained unfazed after watching them slide through Dick’s shoulder without leaving a trace of damage.

Danny laughed, "Hah! Nah, more like Madoka? If those are All-Blades, he’s supposed to kill evil with them…”

"Fuck off." Jason grumbled. Dick poked at the sword going through his shoulder in fascination. "Stop that."

"My baby brother is magical and he didn't tell meeeeeee!" Wailed Dick, flopping over Jason’s back like dead weight, hand clutched to his imaginary pearls as he swooned. Jason groaned, dismissing the blades to shove Dick off of him.

"Oh my god, this is why."

“Wait, have you tried stabbing Joker with them? If anyone’s pure evil, it’ll be that guy, right? No, but you’re a civilian… so you might get hurt,” Danny mumbled, huffing a grin as Jason gained a thoughtful look. Guess Danny knows what Red Hood’s gonna try next.

Tim ignored his dumbass brothers, finally done with the subtle tactics. Plus, he has to cut Danny off before he gives Jason any more bright ideas.

“You know, there’s been a rumor going around,” he started, only to get cut off by team Phantom’s impeccable timing. Danny’s open laptop rang with the blaring tones of a group call. The two idiots in the back stopped squabbling with each other, quieting down with interest.

“Oops, gimme a second.” Danny hurried to click the join call button, connecting to the video call. “Hello?”

“Hey, babe!” Tucker said brightly. In the background, Tucker could see Jason mouthing “babe?” to Tim, who shrugged. Dick’s face flashed into something intense before slipping back to its normal harmless facade.

“Sup, loverboy?” Sam chimed in, looking smug. “How’s my favorite boyfriend doing?”

Danny, leader of the gaslight gatekeep girlboss brainwave, naturally slipped into the banter. “Are you saying that ‘cause Tucker ate beef jerky in front of you?”

“Worse. He snuck a tourist t-shirt into my closet. My parents had a fit when they came to visit.”

“I said I was sorry, babe!” Tucker continued, looking actually regretful. Ah, this was something he actually did, as a prank.

“Whatever. Who’s the peanut gallery behind you, loverboy?” Sam buffed her nails, clearly in the middle of reapplying her signature nail polish.

Danny grinned. “Aweeee, is that the color shifting polish I got you? So you do love me!”

“We’re dating.”

If they hadn’t gotten the hint now, Danny would have to rescind their whole world’s best detectives titles.

“That’s our Sam, Danny. Prickly like a hedgehog but allll squishy on the inside.” Tucker snickered. “Seriously though, introduce us.”

Danny backed away from the camera. “This is Jason, Tim, and Dick. Guys, meet my wonderful boyfriend and girlfriend, Tucker and Sam.”

“Hi,” the three vigilantes chorused, looking awkward. Dick broke out of the atmosphere pretty quickly, used to controlling the mood.

“I’m Dick!”

“I’m sure,” drawled Sam. “Nice to meet you, even if we’ve met before.”

“You have?” Tucker and Danny asked.

“Yeah, at the galas. I doubt you’ll remember me.” Sam grimaced. “I was the miserable one in the pink frills.”

“Sam Mason?” Tim asked.

“Yep.”

The boys winced. “Rough.” Jason sympathized.

“Oh, yeah. Danny, how goes wooing Phantom?” Sam asked loudly, looking like she'd rather be discussing anything but the frilled monstrosity that haunted her nightmares.

“Oh, good! I think he’s warming up to me!”

“Ugh, babe, you fabulous fuck, why are you so charming? Why Phantom?” Tucker complained. Danny grinned.

“Come on, nerd, even you have to admit he’s hot.” Sam drawled, looking entertained.

“And majorly cool,” Danny chimed in, with a grin. Wow, Sam must really want Dr. Isley’s number. That, or she’s having a blast fucking with the peanut gallery. Their eyes were bouncing back and forth between Danny and the screen like they were at a tennis match. Or both. It's probably both.

“It’s so not cool to date one of my exes.” Tucker whined. “Plus, you know what he’s like.”

“What’s he like?” Dick asked, leaning in.

“Yeah, Danny won’t tell us anything,” Tim followed up seamlessly.

“Phantom? Hot. So. Hot. Super romantic too.”

"And an emotional mess. You'd never believe what-"

"Okay, seriously, it was one time!" He broke Tucker's system once, and he never let it go. Danny never got a break around here.

"Wait, if you liked him so much, why'd you break up with him?" Jason asked Sam. In Danny's peripherals, he could see Dick updating a group chat. It was going, as they say, swimmingly.

"Obviously I liked Danny more. But having all of them isn't too bad of an idea." Sam leaned back, looking as powerful as she normally does.

"But did it have to be Phantom?" Tucker sulked impressively. Then his eyes finally wandered to Tim. "Oh my god, Tim Drake. Danny, why don't you woo him?! Hey, Mr. Drake, are you interested in dating Danny? He brings terrible puns, smoking looks, and makes killer dinners. All you have to do in exchange is let me pick your brains."

Damn it, Danny knew Tucker was going to pull something like this.

"Uh-huh?" Tim flushed as his brothers cackled at his expense. "Sure..? Wait, what- I mean-"

"Sorry, Timsy. You're gonna have to fight Phantom for my hand. Considering you have no combat experience and Phantom's undead... rough, man."

"Danny, if you don't date him, I will," Tucker solemnly swore.

"Hey, get your grubby paws away from my little brother!" Dick tried to sternly warn them, effect broken by his own intermittent giggles.

"Yeah, you want to date him, you gotta go through the gauntlet." Jason said, muffling Tim's flustered protests with an arm.

"Challenge accepted." Danny paused. "Wait, did I just sign up to be Tim's boyfriend? Shit, Phantom's gonna kill me."

——

Danny texted a series of numbers to Sam. She left him on read.

Ah, maybe he shouldn't have introduced a budding ecoterrorist to a veteran one, but too late now!

——

If you notice any inconsistencies, no u don’t.

It’s been a while since I’ve written for this series though so… yk. Danny, verbally sealing himself into the trap while being chaotic. In character, me thinks.

[heliosunny]

Hi, can i request for a Yan Mydei with a vampire readerr?? Like how you do with Phainon, but instead the reader is th one who willingly tried to drain all the blood from him not knowing his noble (?) identity

i hav an idea about him, a human, being half dead in near the vampire's house, so they took him in and tend his wounds only for him to find out that theyre keeping him as a food(?) but soon his men will lookout for him and rescue him only for him to come back to reader?? pleasee, i'm craving more mydei x reader from u

Yandere!Prince Mydei x Vampire!Reader

You hadn't fed in days. The moment the aroma reached you, you moved instinctively, the forest around your manor blurring as you followed the trail.

A man lay slumped against a mossy boulder, his cloak soaked crimson. A sword wound tore through his side, and arrows pierced his thigh and shoulder. Yet even on death’s edge, he clutched a bloodied dagger.

He didn’t even flinch when you knelt beside him.

“…Are you Death?”

You didn’t answer.

His blood smelled divine, so you brought him home.

You licked the blood from his skin to close his wounds, fed sparingly to preserve his strength. But you didn’t know who he was.

If you know anything about the royal family, you’ve heard of Prince Mydei—the second-born son, abandoned and cast aside by his own kin. His elder brother, consumed by envy, could not bear the way the nobles whispered of Mydei’s talents, his striking looks, or the loyalty he inspired. So, in the shadows, the crown prince sent assassins to silence him forever. And you—you wouldn’t be foolish enough to save him.

He survived.

Now, he’s recovering in your manor, watched over by you, his mysterious savior. You think he’s a lost traveler.

But every time you bring him food, every time you touch his skin to check his healing wounds, his eyes follow you with such intensity.

“You saved me... Why?”

“Didn’t want the blood to go to waste.” you said flatly. “You’re a walking feast.”

You started walking toward him, your steps silent on the wooden floor. “I figured I’d patch you up. Let you ripen a little.”

“…Meal?” His brows knit faintly.

You reached the edge of the bed and tilted your head.

His eyes widened. He tensed as your legs straddled his hips, your body sliding over his. “I’m a vampire” you whispered, your breath brushing his throat. “You didn’t figure it out from the whole ‘blood licking’ thing?”

“You—” His voice faltered as your fingers brushed back his hair.

“Don’t worry” you said, “I won’t take too much.”

Then your lips pressed to his neck, and your fangs sank in.

His body jolted beneath you, fingers clutching the sheets. A hundred years of hunger wouldn’t have prepared you for the taste of him.

He tried to speak—maybe to resist, maybe to beg—but his strength was fading fast.

Moments later, he slumped beneath you.

You pulled back, licking the blood from your lips. “Tch… You’re weak” you muttered, brushing his hair away from his dazed face. “That’s no fun.”

You slid off him and leaned back lazily against the pillows, watching his chest rise and fall.

When he woke up, the room was quiet.

He looked around—but you weren’t there.

Only a neatly folded note sat on the table nearby, beside a tray of food.

"Eat. Don’t bleed out again."

That was all.

The days passed in fragments.

You were never home when he awoke. Just more notes. More food. Sometimes an extra bandage, a cloth soaked in herbs. Sometimes silence.

By night, he’d wait for the sound of the door—only to find you passing through like a shadow. You’d glance at him, then head to another room as if he didn’t exist.

He started trying to stay awake longer. He sat on the bed, waiting. But every time, you’d return late, and sleep always claimed him before you came close.

And so, it continued.

Until one evening.

You opened the door to his room just before sunset. He was pretending to be asleep again.

But this time… you stayed to check.

He was healing well. The color had returned to his face.

You turned to leave, but his eyes fluttered open. He didn’t say anything—but there was something burning in them.

The next day, for once, you didn’t disappear.

You stood by the wall, arms folded, watching as he quietly ate the food you left him.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth slowly, then looked up.

“…You’re leaving again?”

“I have things to do.”

His fingers brushed your sleeve, “Wait.”

You stopped.

Glanced back over your shoulder.

“Don’t be too kind” you warned, stepping back toward him with a gleam in your eyes. “People might take advantage of that.”

But he didn’t move when you leaned in.

Didn’t flinch when your hand brushed his neck.

Didn’t even blink when you straddled him again, your fingers tilting his chin up.

“Like me.”

Your fangs sank in without hesitation.

He gasped, but… there was no struggle. His hands gripped your arms. He held you closer.

-----

You smelled the fever before you even stepped into his room. His blood was boiling in his veins, you cursed under your breath.

“That’s what happens when you feed a vampire and let them treat you like a wineskin.”

You soaked a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, fingers brushing his cheek.

“…You better not die on me now.”

Still, even in his fevered sleep, he leaned into your hand.

You left before sunrise, locking the door behind you.

He wouldn’t wake for hours anyway.

You needed medicine, food… and answers.

Because last night, in town, you overheard the whispers.

A prince gone missing. Not just any prince—the second one. The one the crown prince had always seen as a threat. Rumors swirled that it was a staged accident… or an ambush.

That night, under the veil of darkness, you paid the palace a visit.

Not through the front gate, of course.

The crown prince slept alone, golden rings on his fingers, a goblet still full on the bedside table.

He woke to the press of cold fingers on his throat.

And before he could scream—

Later, you pulled back with a disgusted snarl and spat into his sheets.

“Yuck.”

He was unconscious before he even realized what you were.

By the time you returned, it was nearly dawn again.

You opened the door silently, the faint light of your lantern casting golden warmth across the room. Mydei was still resting—sweating less, breathing evenly, his fever finally passed.

You sat beside him and rested the basket of supplies on the floor.

That prince’s blood left a foul taste in your mouth. You needed something real to wash it out.

You climbed back on top of Mydei, easing your weight onto him like you had before.

“…You came back…”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Had to rinse the taste of garbage from my mouth.”

He didn’t understand what that meant.

But he let you drink.

Even now, just barely recovered—he offered himself to you willingly.

And you took it.

--------

You swore humans were something else.

Even after all the times you'd sunk your fangs into him, draining his strength and leaving him dizzy with fever, he still flinched and blushed like some sheltered maiden every time you barged in.

Like this morning.

You pushed open the door without a word—just to check on him—and there he was, mid-change, shirt halfway over his head.

You stared.

He turned crimson.

You rolled your eyes.

“Relax,” you muttered. “Not like I haven’t seen more than that while drinking you dry.”

He didn’t respond. Just yanked his shirt down and sat at the edge of the bed, trying to hide the fact he couldn’t meet your eyes.

That should’ve made your appetite wane, but—if anything—it deepened the hunger.

You tilted your head, watching him. His heartbeat was steady again. But your instincts warned you: he was still recovering. Your “walking blood supply” wasn’t ready for another feast just yet.

Ugh.

But you couldn’t have him dropping dead. Not yet. Not when he’d just started tasting good again.

So you spent the afternoon rummaging through your old tomes—dusty, brittle, half-forgotten until now.

And finally, you found one.

A rare herb. Said to regenerate blood thrice as fast. Strengthen the body. Even make the blood sweeter over time.

Perfect

Without delay, you threw on your cloak and grabbed your satchel.

But just as you stepped toward the door, Mydei called out behind you, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re leaving?”

You paused.

“…Yeah.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere far. I’ll be back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You smirked, tugging your cloak tighter. “You’ll slow me down. Besides, I’ve got others to feed on if needed.”

That shut him up.

As the door shut behind you, the air in the house turned heavy.

And Mydei sat back on the bed, “…Others, huh…”

He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

But still… Why did it hurt so much to hear?

The journey was brutal.

The herb grew deep within a cursed forest, guarded by illusions and creatures that hated anything living—or undead. You battled through fog that whispered in your ears, creatures that clawed at your cloak, mud that swallowed your boots, and shadows that tried to rip your senses apart.

But you made it.

You clutched the herb in your hand like a trophy.

It was worth it.

You knew what this herb meant: he would recover faster, grow stronger, become yours for longer. And maybe, just maybe… you wouldn’t have to hold back next time you fed.

The thought made your blood stir.

The second you stepped inside your house, the door slammed behind you with a loud click.

Mydei stood there.

You noticed the fine magic thread strung across the floor. The faint shimmer of runes etched on the walls. The scent of crushed herbs—some of yours—burned into a faint ward.

Your brows rose.

“…You little snake.”

“You were gone for three days”

You raised the herb lazily. “Brought you a gift, didn’t I?”

He didn’t even glance at it.

“You lied,” he muttered, “You said you had others to feed on.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“I’m not,” he said. “I just thought I owed you a proper welcome.”

Your grin grew sharp.

“Well,” you said, shrugging off your cloak. “You’ve got my attention now.”

You took a single step forward—

And the trap flared beneath your feet.

Your knees buckled slightly as the energy locked your limbs.

“Sit”

You had to obey.

He stood tall in front of you, finally holding the upper hand—or so he thought.

“I’ll give you what you want” Mydei said, “My blood. But from now on, only under my conditions.”

You watched him. His pride warring with the way his pulse sped up just standing this close to you. You could smell the heat in his blood.

It made your mouth water.

“And what conditions,” you drawled, “does my little hostage offer?”

“No biting unless I allow it,” he said firmly. “No sneaking into my room.”

You snorted. “You think you get to own me now?”

He stepped closer. “I want to. If you’ll let me.”

So you waited until he was close enough.

You leaned in.

He thought you were accepting his terms.

You smirked faintly, the crushed herb still between your cheek and tongue. You whispered against his lips:

“Too slow.”

And kissed him. He gasped.

And you took that moment to shove the bitter herb down his throat with your tongue.

His eyes widened as he instinctively swallowed, choking slightly at the sharp, earthy taste.

You grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm upward—mouth pressing into the soft skin just above his inner elbow. The vein there thrummed like music beneath your lips.

You bit.

Harder than usual.

“You—cheated—” he managed to whisper.

You sucked deep, your hand gripping his waist to keep him from falling.

Then finally, when his legs wobbled and his breathing hitched—you pulled away.

“You’ll thank me,” you said coolly. “That herb’s going to make you stronger than ever. You’ll be able to handle so much more of me.”

“...You're insane” he whispered, half in awe, half in breathless disbelief.

You smiled.

“Maybe.”

Then you pushed him onto the floor.

“I hope you recover fast. Because next time, I’m not going to stop until I’ve had all of you.”

----

You expected that herb to make him recover quicker—he should’ve been bouncing back, your little blood bag practically glowing with vitality by now.

But the bite on his arm was still healing.

The skin was bruised. No signs of the usual quick regeneration. It had been days.

You squinted at it when he wasn’t looking.

Something wasn’t adding up.

“…Can you reach the top shelf?” you asked lazily.

Mydei, ever eager to be helpful, nodded and moved to stand on his toes—stretching upward, fingers brushing the jars of dried herbs.

His back was to you.

A perfect moment.

Quietly, you slipped behind him, eyes locking on the side of his neck.

No.

Too obvious.

Your gaze dropped lower—to the soft skin between his shoulder blades. Covered just barely by the loose hem of his shirt. An untouched spot.

Your lips parted.

And you bit.

“Ah—!” he jolted, hands smacking into the shelf as jars clinked loudly. “W-What the hell?!”

You hummed around the flesh, holding him in place with your grip on his hips. It was a small bite, shallow. You drank just a little. Enough to taste the faint herbal sweetness still lingering in his blood.

“Y-You can’t just bite me out of nowhere—!”

“Shh”. You pressed two fingers to the bite, watching intently.

The skin was already sealing.

Interesting.

“So it’s not the herb…”

“H-Huh?”

You leaned back against the wall, licking your thumb as your mind turned.

“It’s the spot,” you said aloud, more to yourself than to him. “Or maybe the duration.”

He blinked at you, shirt half-fallen down his shoulder, flustered and confused. “What are you—?”

“The longer I suck from the same place…” You stepped forward again, “The more damage it takes. The slower it heals.”

He backed up against the shelf.

“That’s why your arm still looks like a bruised peach.”

“You could’ve just asked me to—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured, dragging your finger across the newly bitten spot. “But this… this opens up options.”

You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear.

“I’ll just have to find fresh spots each time.”

-----

It wasn’t just you who changed.

At first, Mydei had flinched. Shied away. Hid the marks under layers of cloth and half-hearted glares.

But lately…

You noticed the shift.

He no longer yelped when you leaned in. He stopped trying to cover the bites. And sometimes—just sometimes—when your teeth sank into his skin, he’d lean in ever so slightly.

He wanted more of that.

So when you were away one night, he found the old alchemy book tucked behind your things. Inside were potions, ingredients, little scrawled notes in the margins.

And one page caught his eye.

Bloodlust Enhancer.

A simple potion. Nothing too suspicious—just enough to heighten a vampire’s thirst.

He read it again.

And again.

You’d scribbled “dangerous if used frequently” beside it.

He smiled.

And started brewing.

The next evening, you returned to your cozy hideaway.

He greeted you with a smile, already in the kitchen. “You look like hell” he said gently, offering you a mug of warm tea.

You took it with a scoff. “I am hell.”

You sipped.

Bitter.

Spiced.

Sweet.

Your brows twitched, but you brushed it off. A taste like honey and heat hit your tongue, warming your throat as it slid down.

He watched you closely.

And, deliberately, he adjusted his shirt.

It slid lower across his collarbone.

And when he reached for a book, the hem of it rose, revealing the pale skin of his side.

You didn’t even notice you’d stepped closer.

Didn’t realize how badly your body wanted it until your fingers curled in his shirt and you pressed your lips to his skin, just above his ribs.

He gasped, already bracing for the bite.

You didn’t even warn him.

Your eyes rolled shut as a growl built in your throat.

His knees buckled.

He gripped the shelf behind him. His own breath stuttered from the pleasure of it.

He trembled beneath you, fingers twitching against your back.

“…What the hell was that?” You said after regaining your consciousness.

You didn’t see the empty vial hidden beneath the shelf behind him.

-----

It happened one night, after a particularly long feed.

“Make me a vampire.”

You blinked at him, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. “What?”

“I want to be like you.”

You sat back, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re delirious.” You stood, brushing your hair out of your face. “You wouldn’t survive the transition. And even if you did, I’m not interested in making a mini-me.”

He sat up, “Then what am I to you?”

You glanced back at him with a flat stare. “My walking blood supply. You’re cute when you blush, and I like the taste of your blood. That’s all.”

You didn’t stay to see how his expression cracked.

He waited until you left again. For herbs, or ingredients—some errand that gave him just enough time to sneak away.

He didn’t take much. Just his coat and a hidden pendant he’d stuffed away in a drawer weeks ago.

It didn’t take long to find his men. They were still searching the outskirts.

“Your Highness!” one of them gasped, “You’re alive—! The crown prince said—”

“Don’t mention him” Mydei said coolly. “I have no intention of returning to that snake’s court.”

“But—”

“I found someone.” He looked off into the woods, where the path to your hideout lay shrouded in shadows. “Someone I’m staying for.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

“I need you to… hurt them.”

“Not kill, of course. And they’ll come to me.”

Silence followed.

------

The world spun.

Branches clawed at your clothes as you stumbled through the forest, your vision blurring.

Blood seeped down your side.

They came out of nowhere. You didn’t have the strength to fight all of them, not in your current state. You barely escaped with your life.

By the time you reached your door, your knees buckled. You nearly collapsed against the frame—but you dragged yourself inside.

“Mydei—”

He was already running out from the back room.

You didn’t even speak.

You just grabbed him.

Pushed him back, pinning him to the nearest surface. Your hands shook as you shoved his shirt up.

And your fangs sank into the skin just above his hip.

Your nails dug into his sides as your lips sealed over the bite, drawing blood like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

And he felt it.

Something was different this time.

Your fangs hit deeper, and something in him responded.

By the time you finally pulled away, he was pale and shaking, his hands gripping onto your shoulders to stay upright.

“You…” you panted, still leaning into him. “Your blood… feels different.”

“So do you.”

You stared at each other for a moment.

----

You were resting for once—deep in sleep, finally letting your body heal.

Mydei sat nearby, a book open on his lap though his eyes never moved along the lines. His senses were buzzing.

Every crackle of the fire. Every heartbeat from the forest outside.

He could still feel the echo of your fangs in his body, the lingering euphoria bleeding into something else.

He heard it then.

Crunch.

A twig snapped outside.

His head snapped up.

Footsteps—three, maybe four.

He was on his feet before he realized it.

The knock came a second later.

“Your highness?” a voice called. “We heard word from the village—someone saw you. We’re here to bring you back.”

They were here to take him.

He opened the door slowly. The men looked relieved at first, two stepping forward.

“Your highness, we feared the worst—”

He grabbed the first one by the throat.

The second man barely had time to draw his blade before Mydei was on him, sucked his blood dry.

Their blood filled his mouth— but it tastes like nothing.

The third man turned to run. Mydei caught him before he made it ten feet from the door.

It was over within minutes.

He stood alone outside your home, blood staining his hands, the corpses of loyal men crumpled around him.

He wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, and when he stepped back inside, closing the door quietly, he looked toward your sleeping form.

No one could ever take him from you—not when he’d rather die than leave your side.