#Flesh faith!moon

[hetian0410]

Sun &moon AU —Flesh faith

Moon was a human priest until he pass a town where exploded disease and dead many people.As he is a kind and willing to give help to those people suffering from disease, he chosen to stay at the town.However,the death and disease and massive bodys give birth to a demon and the newly born demon’s uncontrollable power made all the creatures of the town turned into monsters.Moon overcame the transform pain and was the only monsters who has humanity.but during the transformation,the pain of cutting flesh and breaking bones,pray to god and got no answer finally broken his faith down.After killing the monsters without humanity of the town ,he chosen to kill himself.The demon came to him and stopped him.moon seen the young creature and had an idea.He made a contract with the devil with one of his eyeballs .Then Moon put on mask to cover his deformed face, he carries an aromatherapy stove with him to cover his odor, and he writes the Flesh Bible by adapting the original Bible by himself (he writes it perfectly due to his profession).Moon preach for sun and gather believers.

Sun is the devil born in the the town.he was just an innocent baby when he born in dead body hill ,he didn’t mean to turn the beings of the town into monsters .As he awakened, he found nothing but Moon.Moon wanted to make a deal with him and sun agreed.Then took a ten years long trip with Moon.Due to his age,sun’s behavior more like a child.And under the guidance of Moon,he isn’t atrocious or eat someone alive but willing to listen to Moon to help people in need by his magic.Sun grows stronger because people believe in him.

YN——you’re the only child of a cemetery owner.After your parents passed, you take on the cemetery alone.Dispose of the body and clean the church in the cemetery are your daily work.The simple life was broken when a weird and high priest bought the church and lived in the church at your 16. Everything was changed…

[swordgrace]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!targtower!reader.

SYNOPSIS: a blissful marriage to an honorable man — it is more than you could’ve asked for. with the heir on the way, you make a request of your husband.

anonymous request. unofficial sequel to wolfsblood, dragonsblood.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 6.1K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), overprotective cregan, reader is pretty horny for cregan (valid), pregnancy, reader is pregnant, sexual activities while pregnant, cregan is a father in his mind, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, cregan loves munching, vaginal fingering, teasing, biting, hair-pulling kink, obvious size difference + size kink, slight face-riding, lots of cregan admiring in this one-shot, very soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: I love writing for Cregan so much, y’all don’t understand the depths of my adoration for him. I churned this out pretty quickly, but I loved writing it, Father Cregan is the best! I hope that you all enjoy, & thank you for your support! ❤️

𝐂𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬.

It was easier to breathe, you’d realized — King’s Landing had always been so stifling and pungent, the population too thick, the air acrid. Here, in the North, it was sprawling with open spaces, regions of untouched forest and unsettled countryside.

The bite of the harsh, Northern chill was not an easy adjustment to make after a lengthy life spent in Southern regions — the gnawing wind often seared your extremities, and it was not any easier on Silverwing. Fire ran through your veins, tempered by your tender heart and kindly disposition.

Your beloved husband would not have it any other way.

What had started as an unsteady, tumultuous betrothal marked by obvious bitterness from your family and wariness from his own House, had blossomed into a fruitful union. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and it made you realize how fortunate you were.

Snow was uncommon in most of the South, yet it remained constant in the North, mountains blanketed in endless horizons of white. It was a particularly icy day, winter winds stinging your cheeks, prickling your flesh with its pinpricks.

Mounds of pale, grayish fur swaddled your form, lined in the finest fleece, downy and plush against your skin. The trodden path to the Godswood was marked by frozen dirt, dusted over with a fresh layer of snowfall. Sprinkles of crystalline drops fell from the cloudy skies, and your breath emerged in hot wisps of air.

Lilac hues drifted toward the mountainous form of your husband, whose back was turned to you, swathed in the dappled pelt of a direwolf. Ice hung from his shoulder, a massive longsword of Valyrian Steel, an heirloom passed down through generations of House Stark.

Someday soon, it will pass to your firstborn son.

You recalled the night that you were wed, beneath the crimson leaves of the Weirwood Tree. It was serene, a moonlit dusk that struck the snow with an ethereal glow, your hands bound as you recanted your vows. It had been some moons now since that day, and you had only felt joy since then.

Cregan listened to the light crunch of snow beneath your footfalls as they reverberated throughout the Godswood, the pond frozen-over with a layer of ice. Pale bark marked with a foreign face peered back at him — this was a place that he and Rickon visited many times.

Before his little brother had passed, they pretended to fight wars here, forge their weapons, sticks found from the forest floor, and envision themselves as Knights. He could still feel his brother sometimes, his presence a whisper in the blood-red leaves, somewhere within the forest’s song.

Religion was a complicated thing for you. Your mother wielded the Faith of the Seven like a crudely-worn shortsword, letting it strike to her advantage even when it was rusty, at best. You had little interest in it, and Cregan seemed to respect your growing distance from your old roots. The Old Gods were his — you had nothing.

Inklings of snow drifted from the pale skies, growing darker as evening approached. The North became unyieldingly harsh after the sun began to wane, the sting of biting wind swirling around you, seeping into your bones. You were rather cold, but persisted for Cregan.

“Ser Rodrick said that I might find you here,” Silence dissipated, filled with the sound of your voice, as soft as feathers, a soothing balm. You stepped closer, beneath the boughs of the great tree, the canopy thick with vermillion leaves. “How are you faring?”

With Winter approaching, spreading its cold, brittle tendrils across the North, Cregan’s duties had increased tenfold. Preparing his people for winter, ensuring that food was plentiful, that they were safe — it was the burden of leadership, but there was no one better suited for it in your eyes.

“Well enough,” Cregan murmured, storm-colored hues drifting over the Weirwood tree before they turned to you, completely and utterly transfixed. You stole every wisp of air from his lungs with your beauty, clad in the trappings of his people. “I apologize for running off.”

An amiable smile crossed your features as you reached for your husband, slipping a gloved palm against the crook of his arm. “You needn’t apologize, husband. You are owed your solitude, and I wouldn’t dare tell you otherwise.” You have his bicep a gentle squeeze.

Cregan’s gaze softened, sparkling with a warmth reserved only for you, his beloved. Your presence always seemed to melt away his hardened exterior, but he much preferred it that way. He stepped closer, towering above you in all of his indomitable glory, craning down to press a kiss against your brow.

The gloved leather of his hand moved to cup your abdomen, and the growing life within. The joyous news of your pregnancy had been the talk of the North, the new Lady Stark, preparing to birth an heir of Winterfell. Those thick furs you wore obscured your belly quite well.

“I should be asking you how you fare, carrying our child,” Cregan insisted, gingerly caressing around your stomach with the pride of a doting husband. “Here you are, walking all this way to the Godswood, when it is I who should be by your side.” If there was one word to describe Cregan, it was overprotective.

Gods, he was attentive — if he did leave your side, he ensured that you were well looked-after, under the watchful protection of his guardsmen. You couldn’t fault your husband for his safeguarding nature, given that it was to be your firstborn.

Sometimes he forgot that you were a dragon-rider.

“Being beneath the open sky has done me a world of good, husband,” You mused, canting your head to one side. You were not completely round and waddling just yet — halfway through, as the Maester stated. “I cannot stand to look at that dreadful cobblestone for days on-end.”

Cregan did not protest, nor invalidate your claims. He was not the one carrying a child — he did not have a right to speak on behalf of you. A shiver rolled down your spine, due to the bitter chill of the wind, coupled with the encroaching snowfall.

Instead, he reached for your jaw, cupping your face within the roughened texture of his leather-clad palm, presenting you with a kiss. It was kept brief, yet the ardor lingered, as strong as a burning flame. “You are shivering, beloved. Let us return to the Keep.” He rumbled, shielding you beneath his cloak.

A respite from the cold would be welcome. Even if you possessed the blood of the Dragon, you did not fare well in such blisteringly glacial conditions. The thick cover of your husband’s cloak brought a sense of comfort, coupled with the natural heat that radiated from him.

Snow crunched beneath his heavy footfalls, your own masked by his boots. Cregan made sure to guide you every step of the way, hovering with his impressive shadow. “I have been contemplating a name for our child.” You spoke softly, a smile toying upon your lips.

“Have you?” Cregan appeared appeased, a stoic smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You don’t know if we are to have a son or a daughter.” He remarked, letting your hand wrap around the bulk of his forearm, guiding you through the Godswood.

“Perhaps not, but I wanted you to hear,” Such ideas had been stirring around within your mind for weeks, and with Cregan so preoccupied, you hadn’t broached the topic of conversation. “Gilliane, after your mother, should we have a daughter, and … Rickon.” You hesitated. “Should we have a son.”

Cregan’s steps began to slow, and he looked upon you with such love and devotion that it was nearly overwhelming. He couldn’t have loved you anymore if he tried — and he had tried. Towering over you, he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, one that blossomed with fondness.

You gave him the greatest honor of all — that of fatherhood, and now, you had bestowed upon him sentimental names, those of his family. Love flourished within his storm-colored hues, and he seemed to soften at your words. “You would honor me beyond words, wife. Do you not wish to pay tribute to your own family?”

Placing a hand over the growing swell of your stomach, you seemed somewhat indifferent to talk of your family. Helaena and Daeron were the exceptions in this, but it did not pain you any less. “I pay tribute by carrying our child,” You replied, your smile threadbare. “That is enough.”

Solemn, Cregan simply nodded, understanding your strained relationship with the family you had left behind in King’s Landing. From what you told him and from what he discerned, you seemed much happier here, liberated and free of such poisonous clutches. “Of course.” A soft rumble reverberated throughout his chest.

Winterfell’s snow-laden gates were now within reach, as guards in Stark tabards harkened the return of its Lord and Lady. He thoroughly enjoyed watching you interact with the denizens underneath his protection — you often greeted them with smiles and laughter.

He watched you grow into your station as Lady Stark, a growth that showed such promise. You had been shy around Northerners at first, but you now walked as if you had been in Winterfell your whole life. Cregan kept you close, his stance that of a protective husband, hovering above you with his hulking stature.

The Keep was close, and you could feel the crackling warmth of the hearth lick across your skin in the forefront of your mind. Cregan was characteristically stalwart, keeping you wedged against his side, swaddled in the thick furs of the direwolf.

Once inside, you welcomed the gust of warmer air. The Keep burned many fires and braziers when winter became sharp and bitter, your cheeks stinging from the cold. “Shall we retire this evening, or are you lacking in nourishment?” Cregan inquired, knowing that your penchant for foodstuffs had increased while pregnant.

“Could something be brought to our chambers? Perhaps a stew or a broth, that sounds rather warming.” As if on-queue, your stomach lurched with inklings of famish, as if your child also demanded something to eat.

“It will be done,” With his stoic assurance, your husband bent down to press a kiss against your temple, smoothing a palm across your back. “I will join you shortly, wife.” Cregan had a tendency to walk the Keep before retiring — spare a word to the guards, those in the kitchens, and anyone underneath his care.

“Do not keep me waiting for too long.” You mused, lips curving into a warm smile that could melt even the hardiest of ice — including that of your husband. The vulnerability that seemed to come to him in your presence was a comforting thing.

With a soft huff, Cregan cupped your chin, looking upon you with tempestuous hues, as gray as a winter’s storm. “I wouldn’t dare.” He assured, presenting you with a tender kiss. Gods, you had sorely missed his mouth in many ways, and you were swift to reciprocate.

After you had become with-child, fuller and round with the heir to Winterfell, you had not engaged Cregan as much in terms of intimacy. He wanted you to relax, to not have to lift a finger. You missed your husband in more ways than one, giving way to your own basic desires and carnal instincts.

The kiss possessed a charged edge, tension looming above, the fringes of it seeping into your lips. You held onto his forearm, an audible sigh slipping past your mouth when Cregan withdrew. He could detect your yearning — the sentiment was a mutual one, but he feared hurting you, as any man would.

With a gentle hum, you allowed your husband to leave you, watching as his impressive form encapsulated all space within the corridor he walked in. You let him tend to his duties, and you made for the spiraling stairwell, making your way to your chambers without a hitch.

Thick, wooden doors gave way to the sanctuary within, the hearth being stoked and tended-to by one of the servants. “I thought you might want it warm, m’lady.” She mused, having laid out a series of new wardrobes for you across the foot of your bed.

“Thank you, Tanea.” The new gowns and dresses seemed to be made with your new specifications in-mind, accommodating for your growing belly. Part of you felt self-conscious when it came to your pregnancy — you no longer seemed to fit into your own skin.

“You must be excited, with the babe on the way,” Tanea was easy to speak with, an exuberant young woman with cherubic features. “Your Lord-Husband certainly is.” She chimed, finishing with the hearth as she moved about.

“Is he?” Cregan was sometimes difficult to read, countenance permanently etched with that stoic Northern scowl of his, but you knew how happy he was. Knowing that your servants could see it filled you with delight. “I may need your assistance, Tanea.”

“Very much so, m’lady. He speaks as if he is a father already,” She fluttered to your side, assisting you in relinquishing the weight of your fur cloak and overcoat you wore. Tanea arranged the garments back into the large, wooden wardrobe. “Do you need anything else?”

“I do not,” You smiled, moving to sit atop the fur-laden footlocker at the end of your shared bed. “You have my gratitude, Tanea.” The girl curtsied, a proper gesture, before making her way from your chambers.

Intrigued, you happened to admire the new gowns strewn across your bed, many of them styled in the Northern way of dress, save for your evening shifts. One in particular caught your eye, made of sage-hued silk, translucent and frilly, the sleeves billowing.

Pinching the fabric between your fingers, you decided on wearing it to bed, pushing yourself up right as you organized the rest elsewhere, into the space of your wardrobe. Heavy footfalls resonated outside of your door, with it creaking open to give way to Cregan.

Your mountain of a husband carried two bowls of steaming stew, placing them down along the small, rounded table. The intricate carving of a wolf rested along the table’s edge, made of wood from the Wolfswood. “Are you tired?” He inquired, removing Ice from his shoulders, scabbard and all, placing it near his bedside.

After you had become with-child, he kept it close, in case of any unsightly, dire circumstances. He would not ever allow himself to be defenseless in your presence. You had thought it to be somewhat overly cautious, but you did not dissuade him otherwise.

“Not really,” You hummed, reaching for the many pins keeping your braids in-place. You removed them one by one, placing the ruby-studded needles upon your vanity. It felt better to let your hair down, pale tresses cascading across your shoulders in soft waves. “I am perfectly awake.”

Cregan’s visage was one of clear appreciation and adoration as he stepped closer, admiring the way you looked. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.” He insisted, hands moving to assist you in unlacing your dress. This was a common practice with each passing night — you enjoyed it.

Warmth crept along your features as you stood still, allowing him to untie your bodice with his calloused fingers, until the garment loosened. “You are much too kind, husband.” Stepping from your gown, you were left in a white slip, one that had grown somewhat uncomfortable with its tightness.

“It is not a kindness, but the plain truth.” Cregan replied, pressing a kiss against the pale crown of your head, inhaling a gust of your saccharine scent. “You are my beautiful wife.” He affirmed with a grunt, and moved away to change into his own smallclothes. Abandoning his leather and armor always felt unusual for him.

There was no debating your husband, whose stubbornness was sometimes renowned. Instead, you smiled, abandoning the snug, ivory fabric for your field of sage, hastily pulling it on over the swell of your stomach.

It gave you ample time to observe Cregan, whose musculature ensnared you time and time again. He was impressively thick, broad-shouldered and built like the Wall itself. Seeing him standing there in just his trousers made something hot stir between your legs.

You crept forward, shamelessly wrapping your arms around him from behind, and you could feel a tremor throughout his body when he huffed. “I have a handsome husband, a perfect husband — and that is the plain truth.” You hummed, cold cheek burying itself against the warmth of his skin.

Wordlessly, you peppered soft kisses against his spine, and to any scars and bruises that you could see. You listened to the sharp exhale from your husband, who did not protest your actions. Your lips felt like the kiss of snow, still cold from the chilly outdoors.

Cregan let you stay that way, and in-truth, he enjoyed it thoroughly. Those large, calloused hands placed themselves atop yours, lifting both to his lips as he kissed your knuckles. He let them drop, and you caressed him wherever you could. The gesture was soft, but he couldn’t deny the growing sensuality present between you both.

“For the blood of the dragon, your hands run cold, wife.” Cregan rumbled, soothingly tracing his fingers across your wrist, feeling your physique against his back, including the swell of your belly. You pressed your palms against his abdomen, able to feel the taut, subtle muscle there.

“It is a good thing that I have you to warm them,” The silky, soft resonance of your voice brought him comfort. You sounded so relaxed and blissful, feeling him sluggishly turn around within your hold. Cregan cupped your cheek, rough pad of his thumb tracing across your lips. You kissed his thumb. “Kiss me.”

Cregan’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, and he instead gestured to the meal he’d brought with him. “Once you eat and have proper sustenance, I might indulge you then, beloved.” He mused, noticing the twinge of disappointment on your face.

“Might?” There was an upward inflection within your tone, as if the mere suggestion of might had offended you to some degree. Your burly husband then caged you within his embrace, palms soothingly caressing along your hips. “Must you insist on tormenting me?” You teased.

With a low grunt, Cregan reached for his tunic, eyes twinkling with mirth. “For now.” Tugging on the dark blue linen of his nightshirt, he gestured for you to eat, sitting beside you at the table. His own chair groaned in protest, and before he knew it, you were devouring your stew.

A mouthful of warm, seasoned broth filled your maw, accompanied with hearty chunks of venison and stewed vegetables. The cuisine in the North differed greatly from the South, not that you minded. You often felt more fulfilled after meals than you used to.

“Gods, that was wonderful,” You groaned, the stew satisfying your cravings. It warmed you to the bone, causing a shudder to roll down your spine as you finished, nudging the bowl aside. “I could eat several servings of that.” Your confession prompted Cregan to smirk.

“Famished, were you?” Cregan mused, watching as you moved out of your chair, cradling your stomach with one hand. He very nearly rushed to assist you, but he knew you would’ve swatted him aside.

“Quite, but I am eating for two. Your child needs it as much as I do,” You remarked, wandering toward the hearth as you extended one palm toward the fire. The comforting heat licked across your flesh, the orange light dancing over your features. “Much better.”

Cregan joined you not long after, guiding you to sit atop the large footlocker at the end of your marital bed, closest to the open flames. His rough fingertips glided over the plane of sage-hued silks, as he admired your womanly form through the fabric. “This suits you.” He rumbled, gently tugging on the silk to accentuate his point.

“Tanea had the seamstress craft me new clothing, given that I’ve grown quite a bit,” Admittedly, you felt some insecurity in your current state, afraid that your husband may not enjoy you as he once had. “I am glad that you like it, husband. I was worried that you wouldn’t.”

Perplexed, chestnut brows furrowed together, his countenance one of clear concern. Slipping an arm behind you, he calmly stroked your side, silently beseeching you to tell him of your worries. He knew what it pertained to, even if it was left unspoken. “Your worries are misplaced. I love you.” He assured.

“It isn’t just that, I — I suppose I feared that you wouldn’t still enjoy me this way. Most husbands in the capital seemed so disinterested when their wives began to show.” This wasn’t the South, and Cregan was as far from a disinterested husband as one could get. He kissed your jaw, letting you rest against him.

“You are carrying our child, the heir to Winterfell — I would continue to love you regardless of what your body might look like. Damn the Southerners,” Cregan murmured, planting a hand atop your belly. “I look at you and I see my wife — I see perfection. My heart calls your name.” For a man so rugged and rough, his words made your blood surge with exhilaration.

Joining his hand, you placed your palm atop his, the one firmly perched against your belly. If Cregan were being truthful with himself, he found you to be painfully beautiful like this, swollen with his child, knowing that he put a pup in you. Those lascivious fantasies had now become reality.

“Ñuha dōna zokla,” My sweet wolf — your High Valyrian often brought him to heel, bringing out the siren’s lull within your voice. Cregan had made a valiant effort to learn some of the language for you, but it never sounded as pleasant on his Northern tongue. “I am yours.” You beamed, lilac hues glistening with ardor.

Bringing a calloused palm to your face, he traced the fine plane of your cheekbone, reveling in the velveteen texture of your flesh. A wolf, brought to heel at his dragon’s side. Cregan studied your Valyrian features, basking in your beauty, coaxing you in for a kiss.

Your mouth was disarmingly soft, catching him off-guard, stealing away all of his coherency. He felt you turn inward, palm planting itself against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh, gripping him tightly as he deepened your kiss.

Something warm stirred within him, a longing to feel your body against his, able to detect the hitch within your breath as he drew you closer. Your wanton need radiated from you in thick, permeating waves, enough to bring him into the intricate web of your desire.

“Easy, wife.” Cregan rumbled, wanting to temper your carnality before it raged into that of a dragon’s flame. Your pleading gaze suggested otherwise, prompting him to caress along the length of your spine. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

A begrudging sigh escaped your lips as you incessantly tugged at his tunic, staring at your husband with furrowed brows. “You wouldn’t,” You uttered, tracing your fingers over his heart. “We do not have to commit the entire act. I simply want to enjoy you in other ways — I miss it.”

Subtlety wasn’t your strongest suit, and Cregan knew this. Arousal stirred within him, cock twitching at your lascivious insinuations. “Hm,” A soft growl left him, one that seemed to share your sentiments. “Is that what my lady commands of me?” He murmured, holding you close.

“She does,” You hummed, treating him to a playful smile as you reached for his chestnut tresses. One of your hands slithered beneath his tunic, feeling along the solid, thick muscle of his abdomen. He stroked at your belly, a stern hum reverberating within his throat. “Gods, I need you.” You exhaled.

With your need laid bare, Cregan heeded you with a fire swirling within his gut. His hand dipped down to the apex of your thighs, pushing beneath your silken shift until he found your cunt. Gods, you were wet already, a tantalizing thing, one that he found delight in.

“You are warm already, beloved.” Cregan’s thunderous timbre raked down your spine, effortlessly gaining your subservience with ease. You shivered, feeling his thick fingers deftly caress across your slit, teasing and toying with you, gathering your slick.

Feather-light touches would have to suffice as Cregan lazily pressed one digit against your clit. His mouth found the slender expanse of your neck, delivering hot, passionate kisses against your throat.

A simpering whine tore past your parted lips, one filled with such urgency as you shifted closer, writhing against the sensation of his hand. Any lick of friction would do, consuming your body with its amatory heat. He grunted into the hollow of your throat, kissing you wherever you could.

Your own mouth found the impressive bulk of his shoulder, seeking to bring your teeth into his flesh. A sonorous, rumbling grunt left your husband when you bit him, leaving behind the crescent marks of your teeth. If it weren’t for your pregnancy, he would’ve marked you in this way, too.

Seeking the softness of your mouth, Cregan’s mouth twitched into a threadbare smirk as he kissed you hard, letting it linger as his hand withdrew from your skirts. A groan of disappointment left you, but he intended on making up for it fully.

He moved off of the footlocker, planting a lasting kiss against your brow. Towering over you, Cregan’s shadow eclipsed most flickers of firelight, gray hues swirling with warmth as he bent the knee to you, his beloved. It was a mesmerizing sight, one that you reveled in.

His massive musculature bullied its way between your thighs, warm palms shifting to caress along your legs, from ankle to calf. He had never seen someone as resplendent as you, breathtakingly beautiful, the blood of the dragon, his wife.

Gathering your skirts within your hands, you fisted the silks, dragging them up until they pooled around your hips. Warm lips embraced the crook of your knee, peppering kisses across your leg, until he reached the velvet flesh of your inner thighs.

Your hips began to tilt forward, seeking the pleasant heat of his mouth, a heat that he gladly granted you time and time again. Cregan kissed his way to the slick warmth between your legs, a thunderous exhale escaping him, chest vibrating with a grunt.

Cregan gingerly adjusted your position, letting your legs rest against his broad shoulders, your back sloped against the furs and footboard of your bed. He pressed a kiss against your mound, nose buried near your pelvis before he made his descent.

A warm lap of his tongue dragged itself over your core, like hot embers raking across your cunt. You sighed, blissfully succumbing to wanton desire, reaching for his crown of chestnut tresses, gripping at the back of his skull. “Cregan.” You whined, head rolling forward just a bit.

Pale waves framed your face, countenance contorted into an expression of sheer and utter bliss, brows furrowing together. Your husband happily found his solace between your legs, mouth pressing hot kisses across your cunt. His hand gripped at your haunch, the other trailing against your leg.

It was ambrosial, your taste; a finest stout, sweetest of nectars that stained his lips with your perfection. Cregan lapped at your cunt, dutiful and attentive, ensuring to find every spot that made you gasp for air.

Nimble digits fisted into the furs at your side, mouth agape as a myriad of throaty moans escaped you. Your hand roamed through his tresses, tugging and pulling whenever his tongue graced the pearl of your cunt.

Splitting past your folds, Cregan tasted every inch of you, tongue seeking your cunt with a fervor. He was vigorous in his ministrations, not shying away from consuming every drop of your arousal. His nose brushed against your mound, hands kneading into your thighs to reassure you, let you know that he had you.

Any inkling of roughness had dissipated from him in the wake of your pregnancy, replaced with a passionate devotion, a rapture reserved only for you. His strong hands held you close, caressing you wherever he could.

You tasted sweet upon his tongue, honey-thick and a feast to sate his appetite. If he would choose his fate, it would be in between your legs, listening to the myriad of moans and throaty whimpers leave you. It was satisfying to know how much you enjoyed this; derived pleasure from it.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. Cregan’s mouth forged a blazing path from the hood of your cunt to your entrance, tongue greedy and hot, before he went back up again, seeking your sensitive pearl.

“Cregan!” Gods, he brought you such pleasure, a pleasure that seemed to seep into your very bones, sate your endless yearning, for now. Your legs curled inward, tight atop his shoulders as you rocked yourself into his mouth, doing little to suppress the volume of your moans.

He pressed closer with a wolf’s appetite, throat burning with carnal hunger as he continued to lap at your slick cunt. Your arousal felt honey-thick upon his tongue, something reserved only for him, chin glistening with your nectar. Your legs squeezed at his head, and he knew that he pleasured you well.

Molten heat churned within the pit of your stomach, a sensation that you had been longing to feel again. Cregan did not relent, yet he happened to slow just enough to savor you, dragging his tongue toward that clutch of nerves at the hood of your cunt.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly forgot your own name, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Your back arched slightly, collarbone glittering with perspiration through the thick, warm haze of your chambers. The hearth had brought about a feverish heat, coupled with the throes of your intimate entanglement. Cregan derived satisfaction from your pleasure, delighted to please his wife.

Pliant flesh filled his palm as he cupped your derrière, bringing you closer, letting you grind yourself against his mouth, use him and take whatever you needed. A grunt stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about seeking your clit, suckling on the pearl of your cunt.

“Oh Gods,” You moaned, nearly clasping a hand over your mouth to hide the salaciousness of your voice. Surely, the servants had heard you by now — you would be fortunate if all of Winterfell didn’t hear you. “I — I’m close!” Rocking forward again, you let out a whimper.

With a strangled whine, you desperately chased after your release, one that you had sorely needed. Cregan’s cock twitched at the sound of your delicious moans, a shudder rolling down his spine whenever you whimpered his name. “That’s it,” He rumbled, hot breath fanning over your core. “Go on.” His encouragement was softly spoken through his Northern timbre.

He wanted to stay there, rooted between your legs, mouth consuming your cunt as if it were his last meal; a man wrought with starvation.

Cregan favored it, thoroughly reveling in the way your body reacted to him, visceral and ecstatic. He gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his chestnut locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Without relenting, Cregan continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

A comfortable silence filled the gap between you, intermingled with the sounds of your pleasured cries and Cregan’s sonorous grunts. That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. With a strangled gasp, your legs tightened on either side of his head, followed by a blissful rush of liquid heat. Your grip began to slack upon his tresses, chest heaving from exertion.

Cregan lingered there for a few moments more, tongue caressing your cunt, cleaning up any last drop of your nectar. His mouth glistened with it when he did inevitably withdraw, lashing across his lips before he kissed your thighs, showering you in affection.

“Do you feel better?” He mused, kissing the crook of your knee before standing to his feet. You were positively hot, feeling a feverish warmth crawl across your skin, thighs shaking in the aftermath. You hastily adjusted your slip, regarding him with a gracious expression.

“Very much,” Your confession made him smirk as he helped you into bed, abandoning his tunic at the iron-wrought foot. As he settled down, you joined him, curled within the space at his side. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

Cregan never expected you to do anything that you didn’t want to — never feel obligated, either. He would survive without a night of release. “Tomorrow, perhaps.” He murmured, moving to rest a hand against the swell of your stomach, caressing your growing bump.

“Thank you, husband — for everything.” A gentle hum left you as you placed your hand over his, allowing him to protectively cradle your stomach. You let your head rest against his shoulder, his arm holding you at his side.

A bemused huff escaped him as he peered at you with mirthful hues, gray eyes that resembled a thunderstorm. “You needn’t thank me,” He assured, briefly pressing a kiss to your temple. “You needn’t ask for it, either.” Cregan enjoyed the taste of your cunt more than anything else.

You couldn’t help but smile, sheepishly moving to press a kiss against his jaw. “I love you,” You sighed, letting your ardor for him be known as you felt your eyes grow heavy. “Tomorrow, I would like for us to see Silverwing. She grows lonely in my absence.”

Cregan knew how much the creature meant to you. He had met Silverwing before, but he dared not climb upon her back — you’d asked it of him several times before. “Of course, beloved.” He murmured, basking in the heat of the firelight.

A sharp, fluttering sensation blossomed throughout your abdomen, prompting you to gasp. It was sudden and unexpected, but not painful. It was foreign, and had been happening on rare occasions.

“What is it?” Cregan questioned, visibly concerned before you dismissed it with a bright, delighted smile. You gently guided his hand elsewhere atop your stomach, pale brows furrowing together as you searched for the source.

“There,” You mused, joyous laughter escaping you as another kick fluttered against your joined hands. “Do you feel it?” It was heartwarming to watch the happiness glisten within his eyes, the way in which he adjusted his position to truly feel. Cregan’s true smiles were a rarity, and you saw it now.

The blood of the wolf and the dragon stirred within, prompting you to smile appreciatively at your husband. This was something the both of you had made with your love, the heir to Winterfell. “They seem strong,” Cregan remarked, leaning over to plant a kiss against your brow. “Perfect, just like their mother.”

His hand never left your belly, even as he maneuvered the furs over the both of you, letting you move to lay against the warm expanse of his chest. Cregan exhaled, staring into the dying embers of the heart, tracing his digits along the swell of your stomach.

“Strong, just like their father.” You whispered, pressing a kiss against his jaw before you settled down for slumber, shielded by the protective grasp of your Lord-husband.

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon, virgin reader, corruption kink, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Thinking about Demon King Sukuna and how he receives a virgin for his harem every new moon. Most are unfortunate townspeople who’ve come of age—but you’re something he can savor even more, something truly special.

The silk kimono you’d been dressed in is easily ripped from your body, leaving you bare. You’d been warned not to fight or run, that he’d only sooner kill and eat you—but you keep your faith and try and escape anyway. 

All your life, the temple has taught you of Ryomen Sukuna—that he’s a harbinger of carnage and death. You’d feel better offering your life to the Gods than allowing it to remain captive by the likes of evil.

He only grabs and manhandles you with nothing more but a sadistic laugh, catching your hair in a fist as he pulls you up until only the tips of your toes are left grazing the floors—and even then, he has to bow nearly half his length before he’s leveling your eyes with his.

“My patience is a fickle thing, turtledove. Run again, and I’ll treat it like a real hunt. Which would be a real shame… I so hate spilling holy blood before I’ve made it filthy with sin.”

You're thrown onto a large round bed next. It catches you with a bounce while he crawls after you, taking hold of both your ankles and swiftly pulling you beneath him. 

His chest is marked with demonic seals, and so is his face, where he looms above you with a deranged smile. Raking his claws up your legs and thighs, he spreads and pushes them flat against the bed while his other two hold your crying face, cupping your cheeks with both thumbs hooking into the wet of your mouth, playing with your tongue as you sob. When he shows you his and its black markings, you scream, feeling as though he’s pouring poison down your throat as he feeds you its length and knots it with yours.

You choke and sob while you share each other’s spit, feeling tarnished and forsaken by all that you held sacred—wondering why the heavens would allow this to happen as the weight of his manhood finds rest between your thighs, upon your mound and tummy, where it grows fat and warm.

His hands leave your face and switch places with the other two, freeing them for what he plans on doing next. Wrapping one around himself, he gives it languid tugs while soaking in the sight of your poor little cunt trembling in fear of something it only barely knows what is. His other hand pets it soothingly in mockery, tickling the slit, making you shake.

His stomach then splits open like a cut, baring teeth and a tongue that only earns your horrified expression—crying as it drools over you, jutting out to lick the tender place you so wished had remained untouched. You whine in shudders as he squeezes your throat and bares down over you, staring at you with keen bromine eyes, amused with your fall from grace as you come undone.

“You taste sweet,” he moans against your lips while his other mouth slurps at your core, also groaning.

You’re naïve for thinking it’s over where you blink away tears, but he doesn’t blame you. They never teach you the truth in temples, only childish lies that leave you ever vulnerable to the outside world and ever sweeter for him to ruin.

“I apologize for clipping your wings, angel. But I must say… depravity suits you better.”

Nothing. Not a prayer or plea leaves your lips as he tears through and fills you up. Only a choked gasp that dies midway. You bite into your lip, squeezing your eyes shut—ready to accept a death that never comes. Instead, there’s a living hell, and you can only scream as it consumes you.

Your whimpering is delicious, caught beneath him, panting every time his hips snap forth and storm your clingy insides, gushing for him like he knew you would be—sweetly surrendering all your worship to him and honoring him as your new god.

Perhaps he won’t feast on your flesh once he’s done as cute as you are. He wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a bit. Teach you how to serve him properly. Paint you with his seals. Make you his favorite pet.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[livelaughlovesubs]

Incubus fyodor 1

Dom!priest!reader x sub!incubus!fyodor

Warning: pegging, CNC, against a wall, in a church lol, also taking virginity??

Sometimes I use strap, most of the time dick or whatever. Then anyone can feel included? Idk?

This was requested by 🍮 anon, like a loooong time ago. Gonna repost it now :> (was too lazy to do so but now that you are back-)

Fyodor was just wandering around, looking for his next victim. It was boring to keep staying at one place, he always craved something grandiose and better. One day he ended up at a church after going around town, he detested those places due to his nature. But then he saw you through the windows, a diligent priest working for god. Proud, hard working and kind. What a sight, you must have never known the pleasures of the flesh. Oh how he pitied you, guess he will just ‘enlighten’ you then~

The incubus was wandering inside the building, looking everywhere for you. Until he found you in the chancel, the sacred place. Perfect, let's see how sacred it will be after he defies god’s little helper. Protecting one’s innocence? How laughable.

Fyodor walked inside, wrapping his hands around you and holding you from behind. Hands running all over your torso, grinning in delight as he said, “come on, let's have a little fun~ I can fulfil all your fantasies...” before he could even react to it, you took hold of his hands, turning around and twisting them in the process. “aAHH-”he yelped, falling backwards and taking a few steps back, his body hitting the wall. Your hand pinning his wrists over his head, knee pressed against the wall in between his legs. He felt you apply pressure to his crotch.

The boy gritted his teeth, showing his fangs. "Are you a demon?" You asked nonchalantly, while he struggled against your strength. Fuck, why were you so strong? “Yea and? What, gonna exorcise me? Haha.” “An incubi probably, by the way you were touching me.” You came to that conclusion, not an ounce of emotion present in your voice.

Continuing on as if you didn't hear him, thinking for a second. “I suppose you wanted to feast on me?” He stared at you with a skeptical look, why did you seem so interested? Before he got the chance to ask you, you commented, “I'm sorry that you were born this way, having to rely on such sinful acts to survive.. what a pitiful being.” “What, oh no you are the pitiful thing here, I bet you don't know what pleasure is, all because of some prideful faith. Want me to teach you?” Fyodor said cheekily, grinning as he looked up at you, his knees bend slightly due to the position.

“Don't get me wrong, I don't detest your kind. God has taught us to accept anyone. In fact, i’d be willing to help you, so that you don't need to bother other innocent souls. It's the duty of a priest.” He didn't understand what you were hinting at, for him you were talking garbage. “You aren’t going to seal me or anything?” The demon was genuinely confused, you want to help him? Why? “No need to fear anything, I'm sure you have experience in this field after all.” Next thing he knew you turned him around, his back arching like a crescent moon. “What are you…” suddenly you pulled his pants down, exposing his plum butt. “Huh?! wha-" poor him, that incubus was super confused now, this can't be what he thinks it is right?

Seems like his worries came true, it was what he feared, he knew when he felt your tip press against him. “Hu-huh? Wait a second..! I-I thought you were...” “I've learned many ways to deal with succubus or incubus, don't worry I'm quite experienced too.” Then you entered him, yearning a surprised moan from the male. “Ahh..!” Fingers desperately gripping the wall, looking for anything he can clench onto, eyes looking back and trying to understand the situation. He was getting… topped? By a priest nonetheless??

Him? Up until now he has only ever been on top. What experience, this is his first! Fyodor felt another push from you, the strap slowly driving into him. “You are so tight... ah, what's your name?” “Why do you care, pull it out!” “I'm sorry, I can't do that.” “Why?!” “Because I have to subdue you first, to make you submit.” Your voice was serious as you said that, pushing more of your dick inside him. “UgHh! Slo-slow down...gentle, gentle! Ah, hu-hurts..” the boy whined now, crying softly as his dick twitched in excitement. “Oh? It is your first? Maybe you aren’t as dirty as I thought.” Still using the same emotionless voice as before, you kept unintentionally leave snarky remarks behind. All while your free hand collected the slick around his rim, covering the toy with it.

“So wet already, more than many others of your kind.” Were you mocking him? He wanted to insult you, if only the dick wasn't making his mind go blank. “Ahh...you, I won't-mhm! Fo-forgive you.” “I don't need your forgiveness, only gods.” You said, before starting to move and trust into him. Then you explained, “in order to excuse this sin I had to commit due to your existence, we will have to work hard to beg for forgiveness.” “AhHh! Ah-aHh.ah. Oh-uhh..uhm! Nghh..!” Each trust was paired with whimpers or a moan. Cute squeaking sounds escaped him, face and shoulders flushed red and figure covered in sweat now. His filthy fluids were running down those slim and shaky legs, eyes rolling into the back of his head. What was he doing, didn't he plan on fucking you at first? So how was he getting dicked down now. It was still too hard to comprehend. Yet it felt so good.. it was melting his brain, he has never felt anything this amazing before.

“Such inappropriate noises you are letting out, i guess you are enjoying yourself?” The hand which you used to collect his slick was now on his hips, holding him in place since he kept trying to wriggle his way out, trying to escape those blissful sensations. “Ah..wait..ah-Uhm! This is..no-no good..stop aHh!” He whispered, shortly after tears started rolling down his blushing face. You only picked up your pace, going faster and rutting into him roughly, sometimes you'd brush against his prostate which made him cry out even more. “Ah-aAhhH! OOHh! I'm c-close.. m’gonna cu-cum.” Fyodor breathed out, his entire being quivering in pleasure. This was heaven. Don’t get him wrong, he knew nothing of heaven but this is how he'd imagine paradise to be like. He was filled with pure ecstasy, it was damn addicting and he doesn't think he will ever get over it.

“You have to beg for forgiveness, and to excuse your pathetic self.” You whispered into his ear. Like a spell he couldn’t disobey, he immediately began pleading with.. whom? God? You? Ugh.. to think he had come this low. “AhhHhAA!! ohHh! For-forgive meHHnghh~..!!” His release came in torrents, coursing through his veins and making his legs go weak. He felt so helpless, so exposed and vulnerable with you. And it was the best feeling he has ever experienced, never in his life did he knew something like this was possible. Those noises were filled with desire and longing, loud and clear as he painted the wall white, “aAhHahhhH~!” A shudder ran down his spine, hole clenching down onto you.

The slick was all the way down to his knees now, and he was still lost in subspace. Guess the climax was pretty intense, rendering him to such a whiny mess. You weren't sure if he could understand you, but you tried it anyway. “So, may I inquire the name of you pitiful thing?” There were no answers, only breathy whines and pants. Eventually he gasped out his name meekly, mumbling, “fyo-fyodor…” After blinking a few times, you leaned down to his ear and uttered in a seductive, as well as sadistic voice. This was the first time he heard your tone change. “I'm going to keep you here, so that you wont cause troubles for others. You don’t mind being my pet fyodor, isn’t that right?” And you let go of him after finishing your sentence. Hands leaving his body. Ahh..another shiver travelled down to his core, how could he ever refuse such an enticing offer? Without your help, his legs finally betrayed his body as he crashed down onto the ground. Sitting there looking all ravaged while a sticky white puddle formed beneath him. Fyodor looked at you over his shoulder while panting heavily, tongue hanging out from his blushing face like a dumb little pet.

Part two

[zoe-oneesama]

Now that it’s been brought back to the forefront of my mind in regards to yesterday’s SL asks, it really is genuinely kinda nuts how the potions were revealed in Season 2 and have only physically appeared (i.e. not just been mentioned or shown in a one-off picture or alternate timeline) in 13 out of what’s now 92 episodes (not counting specials) since their closest-to-chronological debut. Even more wild is the fact that, like you pointed out, only 3 out of 7 potion powers are canonically known to date. Apparently That Guy tweeted a few years back that one of the remaining ones is supposed to be a Fire potion (which, if true, may be the one Marinette was trying to figure out the “spicy little rock” ingredient for in Mr. Pigeon 72?) that gives the user the ability to walk on lava and/or a resistance to scorching heat, but they haven’t been able to use it since “Fire is something very difficult to use in shows watched by kids, because we have to pay extra-care that they won't see fire as a cool thing and play with it afterwards. Broadcasters tend to prefer not showing it at all.” To which I’m like?? A) You guys STAY hopping between whether you want your target demographic to be little kids or early teens in actual practice. B) There have to be a million ways that you can blatantly write the idea that fire is dangerous which is why the Fire potion would be NEEDED (or, y’know, have more faith in your audience’s ability to intuitively understand that from the get-go). C) If you already understood that a fire power up was genuinely likely to be a hard no-go with your broadcasters, maybe change your plans to only conceptualizing 6 instead of 7 potions before putting them in the actual show???

Right? And like, he said Lava as well. So do something WITH LAVA if you can't use fire! (I bet it would be easier to animate too!) Or, or! Invent a kind of goo or acid that burns LIKE Lava so they have to use the suit! That could be the debut episode, where it's impossible to get close because of the heat and burn of it until BAM! Fire Suit.

It's not like you have to use the suits OFTEN, they've only used the Ice one like two times I think, just do a debut episode and then use it for Ordinary Heroing, like actually running into a burning building and saving people. Pretty sure even kids don't think house fires are cool, so you don't HAVE to associate fire with a "cool" akuma.

A long time ago when I was ranting about this I was informed by a Anon that the others were "revealed" at some convention or expo and they were things like Air and Space (space hadn't been shown at the time), Sun and Moon, and like...Soul? So, what's the difference between Air and Space? Are Sun and Moon supposed to be Light and Dark, how is that following the Environmental Costume Change of the three we know? Wtf is Soul? Maybe it's a lack of cohesion that's making this difficult for them.

The more I hear about them, the more I think this idea was never fully fleshed out and will never BE fleshed out.

[groversimp]

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

hnmnhgn I love women

warnings: clarisse has scars (from battle or s/h, pick your choose idc), lesbianism 👎, fluff, SOFT CLARISSE SOFT CLARISSE SOFT CLARISSE

Clarisse La Rue was rough; her edges burned and torn, a forgotten dear-john letter. She had fought countless battles, beaten countless people. She was rude, mean, a bully.

But, your love for her was soft. Inviting. You loved her deeply, as if the gods handcrafted your warmth for her. You had shown her a love she’d never seen from anyone else- not from her mother, not from her father. You thought she was perfect, and sweet, and pretty.

Pretty like the scars that marked her body.

So, here you were doodling on the markers of her battles— both mental and physical— with a sharpie. You left small stars behind, framing each scar. She breathed deeply with each soft touch to the damaged flesh, and your eyes would flicker up to hers.

I love you, I think. Clarisse almost said the words, but she didn’t. Too afraid that was too much. You’ve seen the darkest parts of her, grown flowers in her dead wastelands, but would you hold it if you knew she wanted you to?

Clarisse was never one to be soft or insecure about her scars. But, the domesticity causes her to blink back tears that threaten to slip from her eyes. She swallows, almost as if her throat is closing. This is nice. This is okay, Clarisse.

You looked up at her once again, your grin softening into a sweet smile. You lean in closer, dropping your sharpie carelessly as your hands grip her- one coming to rest on her thigh, the other one her waist. Without needing a sign, Clarisse closes the gap between you two.

“Sweet girl.” You mutter against her lips, before melting into the kiss. Clarisse hums in response, eyes burning as she closes them, her heart full. This is what love feels like. She pushes deeper, tilting her head and deepening the kiss. Her hands come up to cup your cheeks and she cradles you, so unlike what the other campers expect from her- but you know Clarisse. And, to you, she’s the moon to your sun. She’s the stars that make up your constellations.

And she’d be damned if she didn’t kiss you like you were the air she breathed.

Your hand moved, raking over the marks that mask her arm and your drawings. You sigh softly into the kiss, body molding to fit Clarisse’s perfectly- like you two were one in the same.

With a leap of faith, Clarisse pulls away for a breath. “I love you,” she says breathlessly.

You smile at her, a quiet giggle escaping your lips, “I know.” You say back. “I think I might love you more though.”

[moonstruckme]

Hii!! I had an idea for soft!eddie x reader… I hope you like it!

So what about soft!eddie x reader that watch a horror movie before bed because Eddie wanted to and reader said yes… but then reader wakes up from a nightmare and gets a little bit paranoid? Like she wants to go get a glass of water, but she’s so scared that she’ll see a creepy face appear out of no where? Or she doesn’t want to look at the windows and that kind of stuff? (When I wake up in the middle of the night, I get so paranoid/scared, I wish Eddie was there 😭) and she finally gets up to get a glass of water and then (in between all of that Eddie woke up) Eddie says something like ‘why are you awake at 2am’ and she has a jump scare, and drops her glass, and basically the adrenaline kicks in and she starts to cry because it’s too much and she was so scared? And Eddie just hugs her and comforts her and he helps her falls back asleep?

I hope all of that made sense… if not… I’m so sorry😭😭

I’m sending lots of love!! Have a good day/night!! 💗💗🫶

- ☀️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

Eddie Munson x fem!reader ♡ 750 words

It’s a while before you can convince yourself to set one foot on the floor, but the inside of your mouth feels like it’s made of wool and something needs to be done about this. When no clawed hand reaches out to yank you underneath the bed, you take it as a sign of good faith. 

Your footsteps are featherlight and cautious, every dark corner and unshuttered window a threat. An empty threat, you remind yourself, but even the voice in your head is shaky. 

The Munsons don’t have glasses, but they do have an array of things picked up from here and there, plastic cups from restaurants and old containers and one plain mug for Wayne’s coffee. You grab a cleaned-out jam jar from the top shelf, filling it with cold water from the tap. It does the trick, sweet and refreshing on your tongue. You feel instantly better. 

You pad back towards Eddie’s room with a clearer head. It was just a movie. There’s no creeping shadows here, no cloud so thick it blots out the moon. There’s fluorescent light from the street coming in through Eddie’s windows, and families sleeping in the trailers on either side of you. Nothing bad could happen to you here. 

You slow as you get to Eddie’s room, trying to be quiet. 

“Hey.” 

Your gasp is so sharp it hurts a little in your chest. Your body stiffens, the condensation on the glass making it slip from your hand. It shatters on the floor. 

“Shit, what the hell?” 

You turn, and it’s Eddie—of course it’s Eddie, who else would it be?—standing behind you in the dark hallway, a pillow crease imprinted on his cheek. 

“Oh my god.” Your voice comes out breathless, and you press your hands over your eyes. 

“Babe, what—shit, are you crying? Are you hurt?” You shake your head, and Eddie’s hands come around your arms, pulling you towards him. “Careful, don’t step on the glass. I scared you, huh?” 

You nod as he folds you into his chest, scrubbing up and down between your shoulder blades. 

“Yeah? Well fuck, don’t to cry about that,” he says, panic melding back into sleepiness as his voice takes on a fond bent. “I wouldn’t’a hurt ya.” 

“I thought you were the ghost,” you mumble sheepishly into his chest. 

Eddie pauses for a moment. Your face feels ten degrees hotter. 

“Me?” He sounds like he’s smiling. Then he lets go of you, taking your face between his hands, and you know he is. It’s giant and goofy, its own sort of light to combat the dark corners. “Shit, sweetheart, I’m flattered. But no dice.” Eddie shrugs like this is something he can’t help. “All flesh and blood in here, baby. The gross stuff.” 

“Yeah,” you say quietly, embarrassed. Those couple of quick tears have already mostly dried, but Eddie swipes at them with his thumbs anyway, grinning like you’re silly. “I’m sorry I broke your glass.” 

“It happens all the time,” he reassures you. “Don’t sweat it, I’ll clean it up in the morning.” He takes a big step over the glass shards, offering you a hand to help you do the same. Doesn’t let go of it even when you’re on the other side. “Should I be worried that you’re up at 2 in the morning looking for ghosts?” 

“I was getting water,” you mumble, letting him sit you down on the edge of the bed. Eddie gives you a look. “I also don’t really do well with scary movies.” 

“Yeah. I figured that one out when you wouldn’t go to sleep until I closed the blinds.” He grins. You smile back bashfully, and he makes a dramatic groaning sound, hauling you into a hug. “You should’a told me you didn’t want to watch it. I wouldn’t have picked it if I’d known you’d get all freaked.” 

“I didn’t want to be a wuss,” you say. You can practically feel Eddie rolling his eyes over the top of your head. 

“You can’t fight your true nature, babe. But it’s cool.” He flops the both of you over so you’re laying down between him and the wall. “This way, anything that wants to get you will have to go through me.” 

You turn in his arms, pouting. “I don’t want anything to have to go through you.” 

“Then let's go back to there are no ghosts, ‘kay?” He plants a kiss between your brows, snuggling you close. “Sleep tight, scaredy cat.” 

[dangermousie]

2023 Kdramas I am excited for

We have only a bit over two months in the year left, but it looks like kdramas saved the best for last. Here is the list of kdramas I am excited for...

Boyhood/Once Upon a Boyhood (November 24) - Siwan hasn't done a bad drama and I am in the mood for a nostalgic 80s piece. I am a little amused that a 35 year old is gonna be playing a high schooler, but in a fond way.

Castaway Diva (October 28) - I am very fond of Park Eun Bin and if anyone can sell the whimsy of a tale about a woman who was a castaway and then becomes a pop star, she will. Not fond of the new trend for 12 eps but it is what it is.

Goryeo-Khitan War (November 11) - my most anticipated for the rest of the year. Every casting and crew choice, every promo makes it look like an old school politics and war heavy sageuk that does not cater in the least to youth or even fusion sageuk subgenres and I am here for it so so so MUCH!

Gyeongseong Creature (December) - not a big fan of netflix originals but I am there for the cast and the setting.

The Matchmakers (October 30) - looks like a wacky period romp with Rowoon and Cho Yi Hyun. I don't have high hopes for it because I like my period stuff angsty, but whatever else, it's gonna be pretty pretty pretty!

Moon In the Day (November 1) - except for GK War, my most anticipated for the rest of the year. Reincarnation/time travel story that flashes back between modern day and Silla - GOD YES!

My Demon (November 24) - sounds like shoujo crack about a demon who loses his powers and enters into a contract marriage (of course) with a human. Done many many times before but I am always a sucker for the trope.

Perfect Marriage Revenge (October 28) - first of all, I have a huge weak spot for Sung Hoon. He's a limited actor but between New Tales of the Gisaeng and his role in Faith, he won my heart forever. But also, this plot is so old school melo the way they don't make it nowadays. Our FL is betrayed by her sister and her husband and dies. But she wakes up before her marriage and decides to do things differently and get revenge. She gets married in a contract marriage to our ML, a chaebol (of course) played by sexy Sung Hoon and...doesn't it all sound like those delicious transmigration novels made flesh?

The Story of Park's Marriage Contract (November 24) - I love time travel/time slip stories and the fact that this is a woman who ends up in the modern day where she comes across the dead ringer of her deceased husband makes it high class Durian, plus Lee Se Young is a wonderful actress who rarely picks wrong.

Tell Me That You Love Me (November) - a remake of my favorite jdrama of all time, Aishteiru to Ittekure, this story about the relationship between a deaf painter and an aspiring younger actress is going to give me the adult love story I crave. The fact that the legend that is Jung Woo Sung is back in dramas, and is playing the ML, is just the perfect thing. (His last proper drama was Padam Padam in 2011!!! He is mainly a movie star.)

Vigilante (November 8) - I am just here to see Nam Joo Hyuk kick people in the face.

Welcome to Samdalri (December 2) - Shin Hye Sun and Ji Chang Wook in a romcom mmmmm. I don't have any pics so have:

[mrsshabana]

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮”

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟏𝟖: 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary You are one of Douma's most loyal followers, and he decides that some affection from you is exactly what Gyutaro needs. But Gyutaro is worried because he has no experience in this department, so Douma steps in to guide him. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x Douma x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, threesome, oral sex, vaginal sex, creampie, manipulation. ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 2.5k words

✧:･ﾟ→ Kinktober Masterlist

“Oh Gyutaro, you are going to love this,” Douma chimes excitedly as he leads upper moon six through the elaborately decorated halls. 

Gyutaro curiously follows Douma, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“But I did! This is a special occasion!” he squeals, “It’s not every day that we get a new upper moon!”

With Douma’s guidance, Gyutaro and Daki were able to quickly rise through the ranks. But of course, only Gyutaro was the true upper moon six. While he worked hard to become stronger, Daki was too busy terrorizing weak humans. And when a real challenge came along, she went crying to Gyutaro for help. 

Gyutaro takes his new rank very seriously, so he doesn’t want to waste time with meaningless gifts and celebrations. But he respects Douma, so he puts up with his shenanigans. 

When the upper moons arrive at a door at the end of the hall, Douma puts his hand on the handle and smirks deviously before twisting the knob and pulling the door open.

Gyutaro’s eyes widen at the sight before him. A beautiful young woman wearing elegant robes with seemingly nothing beneath them. 

“A human?” he murmurs, “But why?”

The smirk on Douma’s face widens, “But for pleasure of course.”

Gyutaro shakes his head and holds his hands up defensively, “N-no, I don’t need things like that. I-”

“Shhhh,” Douma shushes him before he can finish his sentence, “I know what your weakness is, Gyutaro. You’re lonely,” his gaze softens as he looks into Gyutaro’s eyes, “Painfully, painfully lonely. And I’ve given you the solution right here.”

Gyutaro clenches his teeth and shouts, “I’m not lonely! I have my sister! She’s all I need!”

“Oh really? Are you sure?” He leans in closer to Gyutaro and whispers, “I think we both know that there are needs that siblings cannot fulfill.”

Gyutaro frowns and looks down at the ground, letting Douma’s words sink in. He hates to admit it, but it’s true. The connection he shares with his sister is immeasurable, but there are times when he wishes he had more. Wishes he could be loved in ways that he thought weren’t meant for men like him. He was always too ugly, too cruel, too repulsive. Even before turning into a demon, he never would have imagined having something akin to romance in his life. 

“Fine,” his voice cracks as he gives in, “But… I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t worry, Gyutaro,” Douma grins and puts a hand on his shoulder, “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

You curiously watch as the two demons approach you. Scared but also excited for what is to come next.

Ever since you accidentally walked in on Douma devouring a human corpse, he’s been trying to figure out what to do with you. Lucky for him, you are a devout member of the Eternal Paradise Cult. So even something as shocking as seeing your leader eating human flesh couldn’t sway you from your faith. Your loyalty was to Douma and the cult, first and foremost. 

At first Douma was going to dispose of you himself, but you were too beautiful to just kill like that. He had to come up with some way he could use you. And what better use for a cute human woman than to give some much needed affection to the demon that needs it most? And not just any demon, a demon that he takes great pride in teaching and guiding. 

He knew you would be perfect for Gyutaro. Hoping that having a beautiful woman by his side could boost his confidence. So much so that perhaps he wouldn’t let his insecurities hinder him in combat anymore. That was the hope at least.

Douma had already made you aware of what was supposed to take place tonight. He told you that you would be introduced to a dear friend of his, and that it would be your duty from now on to serve him.

Keeping his words in mind, you smile and bow politely as the demons approach you. 

Both men take a seat in front of you, surrounded by fine silks and embroidered pillows. 

“This is Y/N,” Douma says with a smile. “Pretty isn’t she?”

Gyutaro nods shyly, “Y-yeah… she is.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gyutaro,” your soft voice is like a melody to him. He almost chokes hearing such kind words directed towards him.

“See? She’s incredibly obedient!” Upper moon two says with glee, “Why don’t you try touching her?”

Gyutaro’s eyes go wide and a blush creeps onto his cheeks, “Touch her?” He gulps and looks at your sitting form. With a shaky hand he gently slides his hand under your robe and touches your thigh, “She’s so soft…”

“Try touching her here,” Douma suggests as he takes Gyutaro’s other hands and guides him to your chest. Softly cupping Gyutaro’s hand over your breast, “See? She likes it.” 

A soft whimper escapes your lips and your face heats up as Gyutaro touches you. 

“C-can you show me what else she likes?” Gyutaro says shyly, looking at Douma for guidance. 

Douma’s lips curl into a deceitful grin, “Oh but of course Gyutaro! It is my job to guide you after all.” He wastes no time slipping his clawed finger under your robe and slipping it off of your body. Leaving yourself bare, the lustful gaze of the upper moons fixated on your body. 

Gyutaro’s eyes are filled with nervousness and excitement, while Douma’s eyes are much more calm and calculating, though he looks just as eager. 

The rainbow eyed demon gently pushes you down to lay on your back and carefully parts your legs. Exposing your most sensitive area to their hungry eyes. Gyutaro stares in awe, his cock already rock hard and jutting out under his baggy pants.

“Right here,” Douma glides his finger down your slit, “she likes to be touched here.” He uses his fingers to part your slick lips, “Try touching her with your mouth.” 

“My mouth?” Gyutaro says in confusion.

“Yes! Go ahead and taste her, I assure you she’ll taste delicious.”

Gyutaro doesn’t quite know what he’s doing, but he’s so eager to play with his new toy that he acts without thinking. Moving to lay on his stomach, and position his head between your legs. He gets right into it and begins to sloppily lap at your pussy. 

“ Ah! ” you gasp at the suddenness of his actions. Your instincts tell you to close your legs but you fight off the urge, knowing that you must obey the orders from Douma no matter what.

But luckily for you he intervenes, “Slow down Gyutaro,” he chuckles, “try softly licking her here.” He gently tilts Gyutaro’s head upwards until his tongue hits your clit.

Gyutaro holds onto your thighs as he slowly licks your clit and rubs circles into it with his tongue. Looking up for your approval, he’s pleased to hear your soft moans and to feel your body relax under him. 

While Gyutaro is getting acquainted with your pussy, Douma figures he might as well have some fun too. Moving to lay beside you, he takes off his shirt and leans towards you. 

“Don’t worry Y/N,” he coos, “I’m going to teach Gyutaro how to take care of you.” 

“Thank you, Lord Douma,” you moan.

Douma hums to show he’s pleased with your obedience, then he moves closer to your chest and begins sucking on your pert nipples. Kissing and circling his tongue around one, while his hand plays with the other - gently pinching and tugging.

Gyutaro gains more confidence as he hears the sweet sounds you’re making for him, “She’s so wet,” he says between kisses and licks. 

Douma momentarily takes his attention away from your breasts to take a look at your wet cunt. “Wow Gyutaro! Look how wet you made her,” he cheers, “You’re learning so quickly!” 

“Does this mean…” he trails off, looking away - too embarrassed to say it out loud. 

“That she wants you to fuck her?” Douma verbalizes exactly what he had been thinking, “That’s exactly right!” 

Gyutaro moves his face away from your core and wipes his mouth with his hand, “B-but… I’ve never done anything like that before. What if I mess up? Or…” he trails off again but takes a deep breath to recompose himself, “Or break her?”

“There’s no reason to worry, Gyutaro, I am here with you,” Douma coos, “And I will guide you the entire time.” 

Gyutaro is a panting mess, staring at you with a lustful gaze as you can see his cock throbbing under his pants. While Douma gives you a look of reassurance, one that gives you a sense of tranquility. 

“Go on and get on top of her,” Douma instructs, holding Gyutaro by the shoulder and guiding him to position himself on top of you. Which he promptly does, crawling on top of you and caging you beneath him. He’s seen humans having sex in the district before, so he thinks he knows what to do next. 

He pulls down his pants and grabs the base of his cock, gliding his tip along your slick folds. “C-can I put it in, Y/N?”

You’re so surprised that he even bothered to ask that it takes you a moment to respond, “Of course you can.” You smile sweetly at him, cupping his cheek with your hand. 

Your gentle touch makes his head feel fuzzy and he’s unable to think about anything other than being inside of you. So he pushes his hips forward and tries to slide into you, but he can’t seem to find your entrance. Aimlessly pushing into you, resulting in whines of discomfort to leave your lips. 

“Be careful with her, she’s fragile. Let me show you.” Douma grabs Gyutaro by the hips and tilts his body until he is properly angled towards your entrance. Then he slowly pushes Gyutaro’s hips forward - his aching length finally sliding into your tight entrance. 

Gyutaro’s eyes almost roll to the back of his head as he lets out a moan of satisfaction, “ F-fuuuck! She-she feels so warm.” 

“The intimate embrace of a woman is truly unmatched, I knew you’d like her,” Douma grins, seemingly pleased to see Gyutaro enjoying his gift. “Start off slow, you don’t want to hurt her.” He keeps a hand on Gyutaro’s hip, guiding his thrusts to a slow pace. You can feel that Gyutaro is aching to just fuck you as hard as he can, but Douma is keeping him in line. Guiding his movements to ensure not only your comfort, but a better result in the end. 

“Pay attention to her, Gyutaro. Listen to her moans and look closely at her body, you can speed up once she’s ready.”

Gyutaro nods and continues at the steady pace Douma had set for him. Groans of pleasure escaping him as he plunges his cock into your velvety walls.

Watching you get fucked by his apprentice makes his cock twitch. He thought he would be able to ignore it, but the temptation is too much to bear. There’s no harm in indulging right? He might as well use you while he can. So, Douma pulls down the front of his pants and languidly strokes his length as the sound of your moans fills his ears. 

You’re so busy being pounded by Gyutaro that you don’t notice it at first. But when Douma’s cock suddenly appears hovering over your face, there’s no missing it. The size is similar to Gyutaro, long and girthy with large veins decorating the shaft. Though Douma’s looks more human than Gyutaro’s. 

“Hey!” Gyutaro growls, “She’s my present.”

“Come on Gyutaro, I’m just trying to show you how it’s done,” he lies through his teeth, “Don't you want to know how to receive oral sex? I’m doing this for you after all.”

Gyutaro scowls and looks up at him, momentarily putting his thrusts to a halt, “Fine.”

Douma smiles innocently before looking down at you - placing his cock against your lips, “Open wide, dear.” 

With a nod, you open your mouth wide and tilt your head back. Douma slides his thick length down your throat as Gyutaro goes back to abusing your pussy. 

“ Ahh that’s it, good girl,” Upper moon two moans as you take him into your mouth. He begins slowly thrusting into you, you now having to take double the abuse. 

Gyutaro picks up the pace as jealousy begins to rise within him. He wishes that was his cock inside of your mouth right now. But he’d never admit that watching you take a dick down your throat actually turns him on. He grabs your hips tightly, and thrusts into you more aggressively. The sound of skin slapping and the groans of pleasure from the two upper moons fill the room. 

Tears roll down your cheeks as you’re filled with an overwhelming pleasure. Gyutaro is ramming into your sweet spot while Douma is ramming into the back of your throat, only giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before he forces you to take him again. 

“You’ll be a good little pet for Gyutaro won’t you?” Douma teases.

“Mm mm hm,” you hum. The vibrations from your throat bring another wave of pleasure through Douma.

“ Ahh , you’ll pleasure him as good as you are to me right now, won’t you?”

“Mm hm!” you nod eagerly. At this point your legs are trembling and you fervently suck on him. One of your hands is holding onto Douma’s thigh, while the other is wrapped around Gyutaro’s wrist. Both men picking up their pace. But you are the first one to reach your peak.

Your gummy walls tighten around Gyutaro as you gush all over his pelvis. Moaning and gasping around Douma’s throbbing cock, that threatens to spill at any moment. 

The sensations of your orgasm quite literally milk Gyutaro dry. He’s quick to follow you, moaning and tilting his head back as he fills you full of hot sticky cum. His black nails digging into your flesh as he shoots rope after rope into you.

And finally, Douma cums down your throat. Moaning and grinning as he’s filled with a sense of satisfaction. His dick twitches as he empties his load into you, staying so deep down your throat that you have no other choice but to swallow. 

“Great job to both of you,” Douma says with an affirming smile as he slides his length out of your mouth. 

You’re barely able to process anything that he’s saying. All you can do is pant and tremble beneath the two demons. Drool rolling down your chin, and cum seeping out of your cunt. 

Gyutaro finally slides out of you and gently places you back down on the pillows. He tenderly runs his thumb along your hip.

“Still think you don’t need her?” Douma asks with a cocky grin.

“Fine… I guess I could find some use for her,” Gyutaro blushes, “Thanks for the present.”

[milksuu]

❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞ ─── ☾⏺☽

pairing: yandere!aphelios x solari!priestess!reader (LoL)

warning: non/con, fem!reader, possessive/obsessive behavior, mentions of blood/violence, religious/fanatical behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, minor drug use, implied kidnapping, implied forced relationship, semi-public sex, unbalanced power dynamic, runeterra au

notes: sorry besties, he's a 10 but he's bat shit insane. (so an 11) also any mention of 'her' is the moon goddess, not alune. (we're leaving that sweet summer child out of this.) and for those who aren't aware, phel can speak when not under the influence of noctum, but unable to communicate with alune, which is uh...great in this case. (also not me wanting to write a second part like how why help?)

You never thought you’d stare into the pale visage of the Lunari man the village whispered about.

The one with a vacant face but deadly occupation. Your naïve belief in your own safe keeping was nothing more than an illusion. The sun always faded below the misted cliffs, only for the moon to take its place above the mountain’s highest peak. An endless cycle of hierarchical dominance that rinsed itself in blood and repeated in constant turmoil. Tonight would be no different.

“Don’t come any closer.”

A failed attempt to embolden your voice beyond a meek plea. You stiffened at the thunderous closing of the temple door. A clambering echo vibrated through the marble floor and pillars, past the rows of worship, up to where you stood at the crest of the ceremonial altar. The remaining resonance rattled and sang up your spine, shaking the candle light pinched between your fingertips. 

The figure sauntered forward, stepping into the drapes of moonshine filtering from the glass atrium above. Before you stood a deadly beauty; a handsome face rapt with enticing secrets. With a painted crescent that mocked your own solar marking of gold. His lips were a perfect horizontal line, and it was difficult to imagine the ability they possessed beyond lethal silence. His hallowed expression screamed danger—but there was no running away—not when the black abyss of his eyes invited you to stay.

 Not as a guest, but as his permanent resident.

“I’m warning you. Take one more step, and I’ll scream. The guards will come and they won’t hesitate to kill you—”

Your voice went taut inside your throat. Your breath sewn shut against your lungs. The weapon he carried listless at his side drenched itself in various hues of red. Fresh enough to steam in wisps around the sharpest point of the blade.

He stalked forward. The clack of his predetermined steps quickening the pace of your heart. When he stood at arms length, you felt the coldest touch of night. The veins layered beneath your skin pounded, flooding every inch of you with mortal dread. It was sickening to think the flush of your flesh would only make the spill of it all the better. The ‘Weapon of The Faithful’—titled by his own blasphemous people—spoke true. His name…you wished you could cleanse it from existence.

“Aphelios.” You damned the name like a plague upon all of Mount Targon. “Murderer. Blight. Heretic!” 

You jabbed and swung your candlelight in a pitiful attempt to create distance. His free hand quipped against it, sending it clambering to the ground, banishing the flame to the surrounding night. Creating a hazier veil of darkness where there was only one true light—his moon.

Out of sheer disdain, you attempted to slap his face in recoil. His unarmed hand caught you by the wrist, remaining still as you struggled to free yourself from his trained grasp. With force, he pried your hand open, palm exposed. He brought the skin of it to his stiff lips. Unmoving, he lingered there. His lashes fluttered closed; taking a moment of peace, a moment of prayer. 

A moment for sanctum. 

His eyes then winged opened, boring into you, through you. Body, bone and soul. And all you could do was tremble within them. Sinking without escape into those black depths of…nothing. 

In one swift motion, he brought the blade upwards, slicing through the thin linen of your garments. In a precise vertical line, your gown split into two equal halves. The insignificant barrier between you and him slipped to the ground, splaying like rags at your feet. Your head pounded for you to scream, but your own voice felt lost to you. Knowing it was all meaningless. 

No one would hear you. 

No one would save you.

Weakened by the surmounting despair of it all, if he hadn’t already had a hold on you, your legs would have given to the earth.

“No—“ you choked out, eyes brimming with tears. It must’ve looked pathetic; the way you placed your only free arm across your exposed breasts. As if any decorum of modesty would spare you. “Please—just kill me. Do nothing else but that. I beg of you.”

Your final sob for mercy reached ears that may as well have been carved of stone. He stalked closer, forcing your lower back to meet the mantled altar behind you. He’d sheathed his weapon, and took both of your hands within one tight grasp, in case you had half a mind to oppose him. You dipped your chin, heaving through a prayer with mournful hics and sniffled utterances. His advancing weight forced your trembling legs to part, and slotting himself between, created a space where your faith could never exist. 

You didn’t want to look at him, or rather, you couldn’t. Tears scorched your vision and seared down the round of your cheeks. You flinched when he took your chin, raising your blurry gaze to meet his. In those darkest of pools, something gave. An insignificant speck of light gleaming into a faint existence. His lips moved, but there was no sound. Instead, you traced the words from the bow of his mouth.

‘Forgive me.’

Your heart clenched. Diluted blood spiked with fear drowned your consciousness. It left no room for thoughts to linger; whether or not you imagined even an ounce of sympathy reflected in those sedated eyes. Whether or not you imagined he said anything at all. 

The entire world scattered away when he brought your face closer, and kissed away the tears staining the corners of your eyes. You fought to pull away, but he held firm, both your chin and hands locked in the cage of his fingers. From your cheeks, he skimmed his ghostly lips to your mouth. He muffled your protestive moans by filling up your mouth with all of his tongue. 

He gave you the salt taste of your own tears. That, and the taste of something else. A saccharine flavor with notes of floral and bitter earth. 

A reaction flourished; a slight tingle of your lips at first. It made his tongue feel hotter against yours, as parts of your upper mouth went numb. A stream of lukewarm paralysis seeped past your soft palate, filling every nook and cranny of your mindscape. Yet, the secondary symptoms didn’t stop there. An opposite wave traversed down your throat to your stomach, spilling fire throughout every layer of nerves. You clenched your lashes tight, shuddering a gasp into his open mouth.

When the pain settled into a dull simmer, you wondered briefly, had he felt it too? Had he consumed such a substance by choice? If that was a taste, what pain did he endure if he drank it like an offering of wine?

You didn’t want to imagine the terrible effects it might’ve had on his person. Not if it gave you even a single drop of sympathy. It was revolting enough his saliva was poisoning your pure sense of self. The fog of it sullying your inhibitions, stripping away your layers of moral preservation. To the absolute vitriolic parts of yourself, it made you consider…

What would it be like to be touched?

It was too sick and cruel of a thing to do to you. Since birth, you’d devoted your body and soul to your divine Goddess; The Golden Sister. You wanted to be disgusted by allowing the gift of yourself to become tainted by some awful man. No—he was worse than that. Or any word you could craft and cut the corners of your mouth with. He was, by biblical history, a Lunari man born from the cataclysmic eclipse of two moons. A day that marked the day of reckoning of the Solari faith and your people.

Your clouded senses and busied mouth made you unaware that his hand left your face to trail the mounds and curves of your body. A light touch drifting to your inner thighs. You jolted when a finger graced the sensitive hood of your exposed clit. Your thighs squirmed at his side as you attempted to jerk your knees. It did nothing and stirred nothing from him. Except bolster his conviction, tempting a finger lower, teasing your folds already glistening.

Although light-headed, you ripped your mouth away and nipped at his lip. It sprang forth droplets of blood, enough to taste his iron on your tongue. A trivial satisfaction. 

“May you burn at dawn,” you condemned and spat at his lips.

Unflinching, he withdrew his hand and brushed over the blood mark you left. Sweeping it across his bottom lip, along with your saliva, he rolled the consistency between his fingers in private contemplation. Before he looked you dead in the eyes and stuck his fingers inside his mouth. Sucking and licking till his fingers dripped. Watching sent a lightning strike coiling down your spine.

He loomed his weight forward until your back met the altar mantle. With your palms pinned above your head, and legs coaxed wider. His coated hand repositioned down to your entrance, and you writhed with any strength your body could lend. His hold wrapped around your wrists squeezed, gentle in its reprimand. He leaned down to brush his face at the side of your cheek.

“Please…for your own sake.” 

Your eyes widened at his frayed whispers stringing together. Breathing life into what seemed like an empty shell of a person. The frigid space between his mouth and your ear kindling with the slightest bit of warmth. It was what you feared the most. Forced to accept he was every bit human, with a horrid courtesy to use polite words and a pleasant, sickening tone. More insult to your injury. You wished he hadn’t spoken at all. Letting you believe in your mind that he was more aberration or phantom. Or anything else that carried not a single hint of a beating heart.

“I don’t want to hurt you…not anyone, really.” Again, comforting yet noxious. And it made whatever was inside you throb so terribly. As if he could sense it, he reached for it. His salivated finger split through your folds, sliding into the heat of your cunt. It elicited a drawn out whimper as you felt the sensual brush of it against a bed of tingling nerves. Gradually revealing a hidden desire you hadn’t wanted to gratify him with.

“But you…and your people…need to accept what can’t be denied any longer.” He punctuated his words with each thrust of his finger as it curved into that crescent shape you despised so much. Yet, you couldn’t deny the way it made your most feminine parts unravel at the seams. ”No matter how high your sun rises, my heavenly moon will always eclipse it. And fill the sun with Her beauty for all to see.“

A hitched whine fluttered past your lips as he easily slipped a second finger. While the heel of his palm pressed in circles, spreading your arousal and stimulating your plumping clit. Your cunt unashamedly sucked on his long fingers, encouraging him to mold and form you into what he needed you to be—a conduit for the undying affections of his faith.

“You might not see it, but the divine path has been shown to me. The one that’s led me to you. You can feel it at least, can’t you?” He flexed his digits and plunged a third finger. Deeper than the last, fuller than before. Your hips rolled forward on their own accord, craving every bit of attention from his touch.

With deliverance, you answered the question with a wail and arch of your back. Your whole body washed its nerves in a blinding heat. His fingers curled and flexed at your hungry walls clenching around him. It pushed a gush of sticky fluid from your twitching hole into his circling palm. Coming down from the spasms, you sobbed at the humiliating response of your body. 

“So you do feel it.” There was a hidden sentiment of relief in his otherwise placid delivery. As if he’d purged the last blot of doubt that restrained him. You swallowed a mouthful of whines as his probing fingers continued undulating inside you. “Your body…it’s begging to devour me in all its warmth. And mine, yearning to take all your bright stars and bathe you by moon glow alone. Wanting us—and only us—to become one.” 

Without warning, he emptied you of his fingers, a filthy squelch following with it. You sucked in a gasp at the crippling cold he left you with. But he wouldn’t abandon you for long. Shifting in the dark haze above you, he unsheathed his length from his garments and pressed himself against your sopping cunt. He dragged his fullness against your swollen and slicked folds. He wasn’t even inside you, yet you felt an agonizing cramp fisting in your stomach. 

“By Her orders, by Her design…” he spoke through tight whispers, strained by his own anticipation. Pressing his full weight down, he hovered mere inches above you, panting bouts of aroused breaths against your lips. “Let us Converge.”

You squirmed and bucked underneath him. “Nn…not with you…anyone but—!”

You broke off into a high-pitched cry as he stretched you open, filling you up till he bottomed out, and pressed up to the hilt of his hips. He silenced both of your newly coupled hymns with his mouth, and each lap of his tongue matched the tempo of his generous thrusts. The sharp, intrusive pinch died as quickly as it came—the insignificant remnants of toxin dulling bits and pieces of certain pain receptive nerves. A gift, perhaps, in this instance. He had also prepped you well enough to accept all of his adoration, as intended. Another gift, as someone of his ‘giving’ nature may phrase it.

Pulling away slowly, the tip of his head rubbed graciously against every ridge of your swelling walls, before languidly pushing back, going past where you seemed to end. Beyond your farthest points you hadn’t thought existed. Pressing and rubbing all your soft spots and cervix with careful deliberation.

Then again, and again, and again.

“Can you feel it…my devotion…” he groaned into your open-mouthed kisses, continuing to work himself inside you. You weren’t even sure if he was speaking to you, or through you to his false Goddess. 

His free hand found the round flesh of your breast, rolling your budded nipple delicately between the pad of his thumb and index. The other hand, squeezing at your captured wrists, but never tight enough to bruise. He had you lulling in a spellbinding rhythm underneath him, your hands fastened above your head, and hair spilling over the opposite side of the altar. When his mouth left your full lips, he possessed the nape of your neck, sucking the delicate skin above your life line. Your mewls, laced with the chasteless sounds of his base squelching at your entrance, leapt your pulse to an unreturnable pace.

“So warm,” he moaned low, staving off a growing need to revel in his own whines of ecstasy. “This pure sunlight of yours…I’m blessed to be the one who takes it. And you should be too. What an honor it is to be of service to my moon.”

You wanted to hate everything about it. The way he kissed you, the way he moved inside you—but you couldn’t. Every stiff and engorged part of him pressed almost lovingly against your most vulnerable parts; but that wasn’t the proper word for it. His affectionate caresses were zealous in origin. Not even for you. And boderlined a hedonistic doctrine you couldn’t describe. It would’ve been better if he were a man of barbaric qualities; rough and brutal. Not purposeful and diligent and—dared you admit it—tender. If he were the former, then your disgust could be justified, and your body would refuse him in its own rightful way. But it defied you, the lecherous thing. Insisting you melted beneath him and reduce to nothing but a drenched mess. Completely at the mercy of this Lunari man’s act of worship.

“Are you finally realizing it now? How generous my Goddess is compared to yours.” He abandoned the curve of your throat. Within the flush of his face, his eyes were suppled in absolute vindication at your shameless image. “How willing you are to accept me—to accept Her.”   

“N-No…I’m…not…I won’t,” you pried your tongue for words.

He drawled out a quivering whine from your mouth. His body picking up to an impassioned pace, rutting into your sweltering heat. Tethering on his own abandoned pleasure. Your legs pushed themselves wider, opening yourself up more for him, drawing him deeper to pound against the tender knot growing in your belly. 

Choked moans tightened in his throat. Your radiance gripped him with conviction, burning him so divinely from tip to base. Dragging him closer to your complete consummation. His fingers caught the contour of your face, tilting your head back. Your already swimming eyes rolled to follow, and watered at the sight of your Solari Goddess. Carved out from the temple wall, her sacred marbled gaze met your disgraceful expressions. 

“That’s…hn…alright. You can lie to me. I’ll—we’ll always forgive you. But can you say the same for your deity? As she watches her little sunlight being pleasured by the moon’s devoted weapon. I—ha…doubt it very much.” An airy laugh cut through his thick moans intertwined with yours. He continued, inhaling and exhaling his words, raspy and down right broken. “It’s—almost our time…as reverence…your insides…with all of my…”

You couldn’t refuse the vile implication of his words. Not when his thickened, throbbing cock lapped achingly against your muddled core. Your blood boiled, draining out from your collapsing bodily veins to well up inside your stomach. Applying a pressure that made you want to burst into unmendable fractals of yourself. And you did—that tight knot broke in an instant, dilating your insides in a blaze of heat. Flooding you so wholly, you almost forgot to breathe through your delirious sobs of release. 

When the smooth ridges of your walls clamped down, you heard it first as a moan of afflicted surrender on his part. Then, the cock buried inside you pulsed. A stream of white-hot fluid poured into you, shooting well past your cervix, bathing your womb with his warmth. But he didn’t stop there, continuing to indulge. He pumped and pushed the concoction of unified fluids till it poured past his base, and dripped in milky heaps from your hole. His pelvic and abdominal muscles shuddered as his hips rolled slowly but needingly, nursing himself through his over-stimulating climax.

From your tearful, half-lidded gaze, you witnessed a wet glisten in his own eyes. Whether induced by overwhelming pleasure or pained remorse, you would never know. You didn’t want to know.

It didn't matter.

They evaporated the moment he blinked again.

When the heaves and pants subsided, only the echoes of your whimpers remained. Unfastening his grasp from your wrists, his icy hands cupped your sulking face, idly running his thumbs across your soaked cheeks.

“I understand your pain. Believe me, I do. But no amount of tears will keep the celestial cycle from shifting in the moon’s favor. Like any phase, there will be a moment when you won’t hate me as you do now. You might even come to...love me.”

The way he paused made it seem he had no sense for the word. Or what the difference was between what was love and obsession. The look he possessed didn’t instill solace, either; his eyes mere slits of black against his porcelain face. Promising the moment you dared turn away from him, the back of your neck would bleed.

”I swear to you. From this night on, you’ll burn brightest by my reflection. And only my reflection. So long as there's breath and blood in this body, I’ll protect your sunlight from ever fading in the hands of anyone less deserving than mine. By cosmic fate, you’re my entire purpose, my entire existence...” he bent and kissed the solar marking painted on your forehead. “My orbit.” 

[ophelian-darling]

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬.

𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Jonathan Joestar, Joseph Joestar, Jotaro Kujo, Josuke Higashikata, Giorno Giovanna and Jolyne Cujoh - gn reader.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : There's more than a way to say I love you, yet there are many too ways to say I hate you.

TW : Obsession, delusional thoughts, verbal abuse.

enjoy ♡

𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫:

♡ : Thank you for everything you do for me, JoJo.

It fills him with blessing to know how much his words and actions are something with great meaning in your eyes. Faithful servant when in love- except that everything he does sources from the warmest atoms of his soul and from the deepest corners of his heart. Jonathan fights the world to see you happy, and rests with a smile when he earns the slightest curve of your lips; to him, it's the ultimate gift he can ever receive- your Love.

- You mean nothing to me.

Tears- everything that would wash him with agony strikes at once. the sensation of tearing the flesh of a heart open accompanies your words; deeply cutting and painful, causing all of his insecurities to float : Am I being useless again darling? Am I being a burden? Have you grown tired of me? He can't help it when he sheds these tears: He had lost all of your affection and care. the only source of warmth he had, now doused in the cruelest way possible. 

𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 :

♡ : I like you , you're awesome!

Just imagine it, that ghost of a blush coffined beneath a confident smirk and a glinting wink! Joseph catches a love fever once you state that his presence around you is enjoyable. He feels that he already aimed at the moon by gaining your trust and company- it meant that you were besotted with him in return, regardless of whatever you said about considering him as a mere brother or a dear friend. JoJo sees the colors of your eyes soften as you say so, it is surely, undoubtedly love!

- We're done.

a swift of a cut that it doesn't elicit any pain at first, then it's repeated again, slightly stinging, then it rolls down your tongue, fully sinking in his soul. How could you?! Was the thing in the middle of your chest a hard stone to not see or feel a fraction of his love towards you?! a heavy realization of being used falls on his head like a heavy anvil: the blood in his veins floats just right under his skin, painting anger as red, yet the pale dread underneath can't be helped. Why? He would scream at you, but the reasons were nothing of an importance, you just toyed harshly with his feelings. 

𝐉𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐊𝐮𝐣𝐨 :

♡ : I'm always by your side. 

It ignites a pleasant warmth within his heart and shines through his eyes; it confesses his undying love and loyalty for you, regardless of whatever mean words he utter. No force on earth can banish him from you: From the depths of Inferno to the ends of earth and above in the heavens, He would remain with you forever, his lineaments engraved under your eyelids and in the darkest curtains of your vision. JoJo doesn't show it, but he's on cloud nine to know that you're staying as well- that he finally earned your love. 

- Nobody loves you, not even me.

He's already aware. Half of people fear him, the other hates him, and there were you, probably feeling something negative swirl inside you towards him, now confirming it with each spiteful letter you let out. Couldn't you just shut the fuck up and swallow it instead of saying it out loud? He spits, the words of you reiterating louder and louder in his mind that now he can't unhear. You've just ruined everything for him, he had peacefully thought that everything went well, that your protests and complaints were just a childish fit- but now, it's all so grotesquely real: you truly hated him, and for the first time ever, he has no idea what he should do. 

𝐉𝐨𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐚 :

♡ : You're cute! I like your hair!

Nobody can stop him, the boy with a heart of diamond and eyes of warm seas! Everything in his eyes glints with beauty; especially you: everything about you is a well crafted detail, say your eyes, your smile or the contours of your face. The subject of his daydreams- they were made of spring rain drops and cotton candy, the enchanting human whom he had a silly intense crush on called him cute! Was there even a better time to be alive? to be praised by someone you adored was the epitome of being coddled beyond any wishes of a young man madly in love!

- Look at you, pathetic and ugly.

Huh?! 

It's all that he can think of as a response. Your words take a slow effect on him; as if he was trying to process it in another different light, in a gentle way that didn't convey the clear in them. At first, He's at sixes and sevens for a few minutes: people who are in love together were supposed to have each other's back, to boost each other's confidence and accept them whatever and whoever they were- so why were you saying this to him now? obviously it wasn't a joke, your voice was too cold to warm the words into a playful comment, he would have accepted them if you were just a tad above expressful, not a doll that just stares back eerily. He should be angry, but it just melts in tears, all of his hidden insecurities emerge into existence, and not even Crazy Diamond is able to fix the shatters of his heart. 

𝐆���𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐨 𝐆𝐢𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 :

♡ : You mean the world to me.

Galatea to Pygmalion, Juliet to Romeo, Layla to Qays- You to Giorno. Romanticism wasn't something he was versed in, but in a blink of an eye, the world fell into a pink blur, filling everything with such amour a human never had in a little heart. GioGio ponders to himself that you were an Angel, a poor pure plumed creature that tripped and fell into the land of the stained; worth to be kept in a vitrine till the sun burns away. The smile that dances on his lips when he hears your gratitude, the joy he feels when his efforts of shielding you are finally noticed by you equate the flow of sweetness he tasted for the first time he saw you: Love.

- You're a monster. 

The gray flicker in his eyes blends with the greens of his irises; it doesn't reflect on your face that you just hurt him, while having the audacity to brand him as a monster. His patience contained all of your attitudes, he bottled up every evil word you threw at him and continued to offer more than he should for the sake of winning back some or little of your affection, but to no avail. The mayhem under his skin is concealed by force, consuming whatever left of his patience as he makes you toe the line. You're selfish- you always were, yet he can't help his love for you. 

𝐉𝐨𝐥𝐲𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐮𝐣𝐨𝐡 :

♡ : Good Girl! 

Valentine, Friends and dates- High school sweethearts and kisses! Her world is a ridiculously colored picture of a sunny day; her imagination paints a world where she is with you and nothing could ever go wrong. How much would she offer to just touch the tips of your fingers with her hands? nothing less than what she is able to count! JoJo wanders around you in the excitement of a puppy around its master, waiting for a treat or a word of praise for pleasing them. She wants you to say it again, over and over again, to no end! A Good girl was a girl in Love! 

- How annoying you are. 

She had heard someone she loved before say this, but who were they? 

Remorse falls heavily on her like a dark curtain- She'd just ruined the best thing she ever had in life. She blames herself for being too clingy, too needy and too desperate- she carries the shame and burden like weights on her shoulders, staggering as the remains of her confidence seep through the fractures. Your sweet words and praises were brightening her existence; was she to be something if you didn't adore her? The talkative, open and daring Jolyne is now nothing but a silent, gloomy and wounded little girl, asking for a little of love and receiving none no matter how much she gave. 

[hetian0410]

Priest moon still has to get used to YN’s intimate contact ~~~😆

[atomicradiogirl]

here are my favorite quotes from dune messiah cause frank herbert cooked so hard

“save your praise for those who can be swayed by it”

“beloved,” she whispered. “have i troubled you?” her arms enclosed his future as they enclosed him. “not you,” he said. “oh… not you.”

“paul saw the moon become an elongated sphere. it rolled and twisted, hissing — the terrible hissing of a star being quenched in an infinite sea. it was gone. no moon. the earth quaked like an animal shaking its skin.”

“the flesh surrenders itself. eternity takes back its own.”

“they’ve blinded my body, but not my vision”

“awakening, she’d found paul sitting beside her, his eyeless sockets aimed at some formless place beyond. chani stilled a fit of trembling when he aimed those eyeless sockets at her.”

“i was baptized in sand and it cost me the knack of believing. who trades in faiths anymore? who’ll buy? who’ll sell?”

“we have eternity, beloved.” “you may have eternity. i only have now.” “but this is eternity.”

“he felt his body through her touch: dead flesh carried by time eddies. he reeked of memories that had glimpsed eternity. Past and Future became simultaneous.”

“you cannot see!” “i don’t need eyes to see you.”

“if you need something to worship, then worship life—all life, every last crawling bit of it! we’re all in this beauty together!”

“this myth he’d made out of intricate movements and imagination, out of moonlight and love, out of prayers older than Adam, and gray cliffs and crimson shadows, laments and rivers of martyrs—what had it come to at last? when the waves receded, the shores of Time would spread out there clean, empty, shining with infinite grains of memory and little else. was this the golden genesis of man?”

“there are problems in this universe for which there are no answers.”

“people are subordinate to government, but the ruled influence the rulers.”

“he is the fool saint, the golden stranger living forever on the edge of reason.”

[themotherofblood]

Hey love! Can i request a rough sex with Daemon and reader .. like he had an argument with Rhaenyra so he takes it out on ms blood bag👀

absolutely, yes!!

masterlist | Bloody Baby Series | Vampire AU

warnings: major smut warning, dubcon headed to noncon, rough, blood drinking, broken bones, aftercare(if you ever consider it in a dubcon situation) mean!daemon eventual softie! daemon. this is also dark? I suck at tagging so I’m sorry

“hobres ao,” Rhaenyra exclaims at Daemon as she shucks as vase at his head, seething red hot anger from every pore. Over a millennia gone and yet the irrationality of hers never once dwindled. Fuck you

Daemon glared at her, teeth bared and ready to stop her from leaving this room. He was older than her, stronger than her. She would risk all that their identity was built upon for this. “We have been looking for over a century Daemon!” Her eyes watered with the thought their blood, her bloodline still living on, breathing fire into the mother that she once was.

“Rhaenyra— my love, knowing us will only endanger them more.” Daemon reasoned, hoping to sway her to leave them alone. Daemon had known all along, having found Baela’s bloodline in 432 AC, the Faith, all too knowing of their kind burned the one family he found.” The world ever changed and growing still, the knowledge of their existence a mere myth, a history watered down over generations. Such power was a farce, and the lived content knowing so.

“The Faith will burn them if you do not eat them first,” he barked. This time Rhaenyra was pissed, she took a deep breath— masking her surrender before whooshing towards Daemon and twisting his neck. He fell to the floor with a thud, Rhaenyra knew he was right, she was too proud to admit it. Years spent chasing the hidden Guild of the Faith, and watching just one Hightower spawn grow their family for decades. Only to slaughter them like pigs, leaving just one alive every time.

Daemon’s bones soon healed, he groaned. Shaking his head, willing away the pain as anger filled him this time. Rhaenyra long gone as he angrily stood to his feet, ready to go after her as he reached for his phone on the table. A text from his wife already docked on his screen. “I won’t visit them.”

Though the text should have soothed his bubbling ire, it didn’t. She fucking broke his neck and left him here on the floor. He needed blood, his head still pounding from his healing injury, not quick enough he groaned. He would have headed for the long fridges in the kitchen, stacked with bags and bags of blood from people of all ilks but he, no he craved something warmer. His teeth craved to sink into soft flesh, feel his prey thrash underneath him.

The stroke of midnight, a distant clock singing away the time as he climbed the steps to your bedroom. Prepared throughly for their little capture from the party, they hadn’t broken you yet, which was surprising. It had been a month. Something about the glint in your eyes just bubbled soften into bodies when they weren’t collectively violating you or having their dessert.

You lay asleep in your giant poster bed, cuddled and warm under the heavy duvet, a book laying idly by the other pillow as your chest rose and fell. He could hear the calm thudding of your heart, the blood under your skin and small gasp like breaths from your parted lips.

He shuffled onto the side of your bed, lifting the book away from your pillow. You stir, whimpering into the sheet as his heavy hands stroke at your hip. You flutter your eyes open as you sense his presence, you know it is him. Rhaenyra never wakes you so, it is always her lips you feel upon your temple, every morning.

When you open your eyes the room is still dark, bed curtains pulled and the moon high in the air, you frown, bottom lip jutting out “Daemon? Are you hungry?” you whisper, cuddling further into the sheets. He nods, his ominous figure still a shadowy silhouette sat next to you. You lift out your wrist from under the covers, offering him your hand as your eyes closed once more. You had gotten used to sting from when they fed from your wrist. The pain in your jugular and inner thighs still unbearable but for whatever reason you let them.

He grunts, flicking the bed side lamp on. You silently gasped the second you saw his face, eyes darkened as the veins around them popped out. He wasn’t here to leisurely drink from you, that was sure. “Daemon?” You asked once more and then squealed as he tore the blankets away from your body. The cool air of the room prickling your skin to goosebumps.

“I am hungry for something far more than blood,” he hissed as he pries you legs apart, your bare cunt just greeting him, ready to be fucked raw.

His nose wantonly took a waft from your cunny, before growling at the back of his throat and devouring the taste of you. His nose nudging at the hood of your clit as your back arched. More than he loved feasting on your sweet coppery blood, he loved this cunt. How it always swelled to his attention, the adorable bud peaking through it hood, begging him to graze his fangs upon it. The shudders and squeals it can elicit from you, though any other day he could spend hours, kissing and licking you away.

Today he was in no mood, he knew it pained you so, he wanted hear that pretty cry of his name. “Daemon!” you cried, the harsh sting radiating from your thigh as he sung his teeth deep into the supple flesh of your inner thigh, groaning as his craving graced the actual taste of you.

He unlatched, flipping you over as the open wound dripped onto the sheets. His hand immediately laying sharp slaps on your ass as he pulls you up by the hair. There— there it was, the hammering of your heart inside your chest, the arc of your back giving him a good view of your neck and that pulsing spot, calling to him, seducing him.

He undid his pants, sliding away his leather belt and wrapping it around your neck. He tightened the buckle, uncomfortably wrapped onto your slender neck. You gasped for air as the pressure of the blood started to make your ears ring. Daemon plunged his cock into you without a warning, hammering away his frustrations with his cock. One hand held firmly at your pelvis and the other holding your jaw. The harsh slaps of your hips meeting echoed through the room.

“D-daddy,” you gasped, Daemon smirked still pounding away, obident little pet of his, just as he commanded you weeks before, you keep his name— he would rather hear the “your grace” or “my prince” yelp from your mouth but that part of Daemon has laid dormant for over five hundred years. Plus it’s all the rage within the youth these day, he likes the sound of it, daddy, kepa—he would teach you soon.

“My little fuck pet aren’t you? Even when I do such horrible things to you,” his hold on your jaw loosened to lay a sharp slap on your cheek “huh? Just a broken slut, begging to be used.” he growled against your ear “my whore.”

The words modern to his tongue but his whore, he thought of Rhaenyra. Just as he fucked his ire into you, his body brought him back to the brothel’s of King’s Landing, his family, his children— gone. Cursed to out live everyone, even a pretty poppet like you. His hand ventured lower, laying three sharp smack onto your unsheathed clit. You wail, cry pretty girl. He was an ugly, violent man then and he is far worse now—breaking away yet another cunt, moulding it to his liking.

He was a predator and you his prized prey.

You nodded to his words, you were his. His whore, you were. Broken you were. Finding joy in something so violent, so ever-consuming you felt your pussy flutter, sobbing as you felt the bitter pinch of his finger upon your nipples as he tore the silk down from your torso. You babbled some nonsense to stir the bed play but you were too lost, fucked too small under his heavy hold.

Daemon still in another world, sweaty head rested upon your shoulder as he rutted into your hips, his eyes flickered upon. The sheets under you stained in the blood dripping from your thighs, your blood— his blood. His grip tightened, finding his bearing once more, he felt the flutter of your cunt as his finger worked swiftly against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“I better hear you beg, bunny. Cry louder,” he growled, knowing full well your orgasm pushed against its dams.

“Please,” you wheezed “please let me come daddy.”

“Louder!” He barked, a sharp, bruising smack against your ass

“Let me come please!” You screamed, praying he gives you his permission. Daemon slapped at your cunt.

“Go on, come from me slut,” he hissed, making your cry out as the pain of his stinging slaps mixed with the tingle of your orgasm. Your face covered in tears as you sobbed, your peak pushing through in waves.

Daemon once more sunk his teeth under his belt, that throbbing thud around your neck as you came undone. He wanted to feel it on his tongue, blood once more dripped down your torso as you screamed at the sting, reaching up to push away his head. Daemon caught a glimpse of the blood once more, not seductive, gore, the images flashing before his eyes as he drank from you.

His hold upon you had been so crushing, your yelps and hisses came to a sudden halt as a crunch echoed in his ears, and then your scream.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Daemon pulled away, his cock long spurted his cum into your cunt and creaming around the base of his cock. What he heard was worse as you fell forward crying out.

You cries of salacious agony turned fearful, he realized what he had done. He shook his head, looking over your body to see what exactly he broken with his crushing grip. You leaned to the left, hands trying to graze over your right. He broke your pelvic bone. He sighed, eyebrows scrunched, the violence long faded from his blood and replaced with guilt.

You cried harder as he turned you, he bit into his palm, letting his own blood trickle to the surface before pressing it against your lip, you groaned in distaste, getting fed on was one thing, feeding was another. Your teary eyes looked up at him as he coaxed the blood into your system.

The blood would do work its way to the injury as he had a servant draw a bath for you and prepare fresh pink sheets for your bed. You groaned as he readjusted your body and pressed his fingers against your pelvis, leading your hand to do the same as your yelped. You felt the bone realign with time within you. Your whimpers and mewls subsiding.

“I’m sorry, pet.” He pressed kisses to the side of your head before scooping you up effortlessly to deposit you in the blue bath waters, a fizzing bath bomb colouring the water as he sunk in along with you.

You couldn’t understand it, the fear, for there was none. You felt them countless times, Daemon nearly choking the light away from your eyes or Rhaenyra sucking your blood dry. You pouted “Daddy?”

Daemon let out a soft sigh, seeing as though you were still in your fucked daze, Daemon, I’m Daemon pet he wanted to say, you however needed your time. Instead he hummed as a reply.

“D- did you and mommy compel me?” you whispered, fingers dancing against the rim of the tub.

“For what?” He whispered against your ear.

“I’m not scared, so either you compelled me or I’m stupid.” you hummed, finding an idle entertainment in twisting the signet ring on Daemon’s left small finger.

“I’m afraid it might me the latter darling,” he hummed apologetically.

They did compel you, thinking they’d enjoy the hunt of breaking you into a perfect pet and here you were willing curled against him. The compelled you, to never leave the palace. Watching your torn face as you stood on the grass with the main gates open wide, you couldn’t walk out no matter how much you might ever want to.

Daemon kissed your shoulder, coaxing the life back into you as the last of your pain subsided. He rubbed your dry before helping you dress in another night gown before tucking you under the fresh sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder, you knew they never slept, they sat there all night with one another as you dozed in between them.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled sleepily.

Daemon was about to ask why.

“For what they did to you, to Rhaenyra.”

Ahh I typed this in one go at 4am, this is not proof read, I hate proof reading (I’m sorry not sorry) hope you enjoyed. Again I’m taking requests for this au, this au will be a weird mix of dark and lovely. Idk how to describe it. Anyways.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Rev. 22:20 - Chapter Five: Eat You Alive

Warnings: Mentions of death, male masturbation, canon typical violence, smut. Word count: ~3.9k

Summary: Aemond runs away from his problems, only to find they're right where he left them when he returns.

Main series masterlist.

Author's note: I do not have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications to be updated when I post a fic. Community labels are for cops.

Aemond strides through the winding streets of King’s Landing, hood pulled firmly over his head, back towards the Red Keep. Despite the chill that lingers in the night air, his blood runs hotly through his veins, making his skin feel flushed.

He can still feel the press of her lips against his, his skin tingles with the memory of it. He is certain he can see the rumpling of the material of his cloak where she’d clutched desperately at the front of it, but it is likely no more than his imagination, clinging to the feeling in the same way he convinces himself the softness of her face is still beneath his fingers. He rubs his fingertips together, his pulse racing at the fact he’d caressed her jaw with those same digits just moments ago.

Shaking his head in an attempt to erase the thought, he shuts himself in his chambers. It is no use fantasising any more. She is no better than a common harlot, given over to the Faith because she is no longer worth anything to her family. Worse still, she wishes to use her vantage point as Septa of his sister’s children to torment him for his lustful indiscretions.

Silently, he curses his treacherous heart and mind. Despite all of this, he still yearns for her. He has been painfully hard from the moment he saw her undressing for bed. He hopes relieving the tension will bring him peace.

The maidservant he summons to his bedchamber is a slight, pretty little thing. He has made use of her before. She is always discrete, and diligent in ensuring she drinks moon tea afterwards. However, this time as he thrusts inside of her, her tight wetness provides little comfort. Where he seeks the novice’s scent of camphor and cloves, he is met with the faint scent of ash - likely from her having swept his fireplace earlier. Her breathy moans do not match the cadence of the way the novice had sighed softly into his mouth as her tongue had moved against his own.

It’s unsatisfying. Even when he reaches his peak, spilling himself across the maidservant’s thighs, the relief he feels is miniscule, as though he has half heartedly scratched an itch. Nothing will compare now.

He groans in frustration, climbing off of the bed and throwing her dress back towards her.

“Get out,” he hisses, not bothering to turn and look as she hurriedly dresses and rushes from the room.

He ought to have strangled that pretty little novice when he had the chance. Instead, she will reside beneath the same roof as him, making a mockery of him, forcing him to remember the humiliating swiftness with which he had allowed himself to be enamoured by her - to still be enamoured by her.

Aemond cannot bear it. He decides he won’t ask his grandfather for permission to go to Oldtown to be with his younger brother, he will simply tell him. If putting distance between himself and the object of his obsession is what he needs to do in order to snuff out the flames she ignites within him then nothing will stand in his way.

He sends a raven to Daeron, informing him of his imminent arrival, before turning in for the night.

His sleep is restless, plagued by dreams of his lips against hers, but when he pulls away he is greeted by a mirror and it is only himself he sees, the marred flesh of his scarred left eye socket reflected back at him, ruined and empty.

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

Awakening early, Aemond dresses swiftly, instructing his chambermaids to pack his belongings and have them sent on to Oldtown. He packs lightly himself for what he will need in the meantime and what he can manage to carry on Vhagar’s back, before donning his riding coat. He has no intention of coming back once he has sought out his grandfather.

Also an early riser, he finds Otto already in his study, quill in hand as he scribbles across a length of parchment.

The older man looks up as Aemond enters, raising his eyebrows slightly in question at his grandson’s appearance.

Before he has a chance to query it, Aemond speaks. “I am going to Oldtown to be with Daeron. I do not know when I will return.”

Otto draws in a breath, placing his quill down upon the parchment before leaning back in his chair. “Do you think that is wise?”

“I am not needed here,” Aemond says cooly. “I wish to see my younger brother.”

“Your father’s health worsens by the day. Your mother needs you.”

Aemond quirks his lips, huffing through his nose. “I am well aware of who you and Mother intend to crown once Viserys is dead,” he snaps, “I do not need to be here for that.”

He notices his grandfather bristle. Without giving him time to say anything further, he walks quickly towards the door, but a sudden pang of guilt squeezes tightly at his heart, causing him to look back once more. “Look after them both, please,” he says softly, referring to Alicent and Helaena.

Otto simply nods, lifting his quill and dipping it into the ink pot, beginning to write again.

On dragonback is the only place where Aemond’s mind ever feels truly clear. It is a full day’s flight on Vhagar from King’s Landing to Oldtown, and the meditative peace is blissful for Aemond, focusing only on the whip of the wind around him, and directing his dragon’s movements with slight tugs of her reins.

It is nightfall by the time Aemond finds somewhere suitable to leave Vhagar and makes his way to where Daeron currently resides.

He receives a warm welcome, despite the short notice of his arrival and the brothers settle down to share roasted venison and fine red wine from Arbor.

The conversation is kept light, the two exchanging pleasantries, as Daeron enquires about the wellbeing of their mother and siblings, and Aemond tells him about how quickly Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are growing up, as well as the rapidity with which their father is deteriorating.

“So, how are your studies going?” Aemond asks, fingers plucking absentmindedly at the stem of his wine goblet.

“I think we have exhausted the farcical pleasantries, brother,” Daeron says with a wry smile, placing his fork upon his plate. “Tell me why you are really here.”

Aemond scoffs derisively. “To see you, of course. Why would I have an ulterior motive?”

“Because you are running away from something,” he replies with a raise of his eyebrow, “tell me I am wrong.”

“I do not run away from anything,” Aemond mutters darkly, his grip tightening around his goblet as he feels himself growing hot with anger. “I claimed the largest dragon in the world when I was a child. I am not a coward.”

“And yet here you are,” Daeron quips with a light shrug.

“You came here to study, did you not?” Aemond asks defensively. “Why can I not do the same? I have exhausted the Red Keep’s library.”

“I could send you books,” his younger brother muses, narrowing his eyes. “You are not here because you have run out of things to read. So tell me. Is it a woman?”

“Stop it,” Aemond glowers.

Daeron simply sits back, sipping his wine, lips turned upwards in a smug smile.

His brother is right and he hates him for it. He is running away from her, but he sees no other option.

They retire for the evening, and Aemond is grateful that Daeron does not pry further into the matter.

Life in Oldtown is peaceful. Daeron makes for a more interesting conversationalist than either Aegon or Helaena, and he feels spoiled for choice with the selection of reading material that the Citadel boasts.

The days he does not spend poring over books and scrolls, he flies on dragonback. The great, elderly bulk of Vhagar moves at a glacial pace through the skies, while Daeron speeds ahead, propelled by the sprightly wings of Tessarion.

It would be idyllic were it not for the fact that he cannot seem to stop thinking of his novice. A month slips by and he can still remember the slope of her delicate neck, the way the sunlight shone upon her hair, the curve of her hips and legs as she’d undressed, how warm her breath had been against his skin, the softness of her lips against his own.

He is frustrated that even hundreds of miles away he cannot seem to escape her. Hard as he resists it, he still finds himself fucking his fist to the thought of her each night, thinking about what could have happened if he had not have fled from her.

Would she moan wantonly as his flesh slaps hotly against hers, or whimper quietly into the crook of his as she tightens around him, his fingertips pressing bruises into the soft flesh of her thighs?

Repeatedly he has to remind himself that she is just toying with him, bored with her own forced servitude she is preying upon his lust for her, using it for her own advantage. To return home would be his ruin. He is certain she must reside within the Keep now, caring for Aegon and Helaena’s twins. If he goes back she will only seek to make his life miserable, and when he eventually crumbles and gives into her, she will humiliate him. He will not allow it.

Each week two ravens arrive, carrying letters for Daeron and Aemond from their mother, sending news of Helaena and the twins, and asking after their own wellbeing. Each week they diligently reply. As much as Aemond loathes to admit it, he misses King’s Landing, he misses his mother and sister. It is a sentiment that is apparently unshared by his younger brother. He is suited to life in Oldtown, he seems settled and happy here, far more relaxed than he ever was in the capital.

It is three days before they are due to receive their weekly letters when a singular raven arrives, carrying a small roll of parchment addressed to Aemond.

He sits at the dining hall table, breaking his fast with Daeron when the maester deposits the message on the table next to him, before bowing his head and taking his leave.

Aemond picks it up and unfurls it between his thumbs, his breath catching in his throat and his eye widening slightly as a cold wave of dread washes over him.

Where his mother’s handwriting is usually careful, neat, precise, it appears rushed, the two words scrawled in a state of anxiety.

Come home.

“What is it?” Daeron asks, pushing his plate away and eyeing Aemond with concern.

“Our father is dead,” Aemond says in a hushed tone, sliding the parchment across the table for his brother to look at it.

Daeron swallows thickly, nodding as he reads the message before hastily screwing it up and hiding it within his sleeve. “You need to leave today.”

“Will you come with me?” Aemond asks, anxiously rubbing his index fingers against his thumbs.

He shakes his head. “It would look too suspicious if I were to disappear suddenly. You know why mother wrote only to you. You know what she means to do.”

“Yes,” Aemond sighs, “and it is not me she means to crown.”

“I know, Aemond,” Daeron says sympathetically, leaning forward across the table. “Believe me, there is no one that understands your frustration better than I. But mother needs you. You know he will not make it easy for her.”

He has the right of it. He always has the right of it. It would anger Aemond if he did not admire Daeron’s wisdom so much.

“Then I suppose this is farewell.”

“Until we meet again, brother.”

It is nightfall when Aemond returns reluctantly to the Red Keep. The entirety of the castle has been locked down, with no one allowed in or out, and the corridors of Maegor’s Holdfast are eerily quiet as he passes through them, his boots echoing loudly upon the flagstones with every step.

He can see light shining through the crack in the doors to Helaena’s apartments, and hushed voices inside. He pushes the doors open, met by the sight of Alicent and Helaena sat upon a settee, both of them turn to look at him with wide, grief stricken eyes.

Yet it is not them that hold his attention, it is her.

Every bit as beautiful as he’d remembered, only now she wears the seven colour corded belt around her waist, and a crystal pendant. She has become a septa, no longer his little novice, but still every bit the temptress he’d left behind months ago. Looking at her makes his pulse race. In the rush to get back in the wake of the news of Viserys’ passing, he had quite forgotten she would be here.

She kneels upon the floor, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera sit either side of her, babbling and playing with toys. They had gotten so big; they look like real, tiny, little people now.

His throat runs dry when he sees the familiar look in her eye as she gazes at him, it holds the same heat and intensity he recognises from the night they had kissed. He has to force himself to look away.

He is met by the soft, sad eyes of his mother, surging forward to tenderly cradle his forearms. “I am so glad to see you,” she says gently.

“And I you,” he responds tenderly, eye narrowing affectionately as his own fingers return the gesture, squeezing softly. “But I am tired from the journey, can plans wait until the morning?”

“Of course,” Alicent nods, stepping away. “Rest. We have locked Aegon in his chambers to prevent him from drowning any further in his cups, so there is nothing that can be done until tomorrow.”

Aemond bows his head solemnly in understanding, before backing away. “Goodnight, mother.”

He gives a nod towards Helaena, purposely avoiding looking in the direction of the twins, not wanting to see her, before walking back towards his own quarters.

From the moment he saw her he has been painfully hard, and he loathes himself for it. Tossing and turning in the sheets, he will not allow her the satisfaction of him pleasuring himself to the thought of her. Not that she would know, but he refuses to do it with her beneath the same roof as him.

He wishes he had ignored his mother’s letter and stayed in Oldtown with Daeron. Not only does he have to navigate the coronation of his wastrel of an older brother, he now has to cope with living alongside the septa he has spent the last half a year lusting after.

Realising sleep will not find him, he throws the covers back, getting out of bed and putting his eyepatch, undershirt and trousers back on before leaving his chambers, intending to go to the library. It has always been a source of comfort to him when his mind is troubled.

Immediately he spots her, padding barefoot along the corridor, dressed in only a cotton shift, her hair loose. Even in darkness she takes his breath away and he hesitates a moment, gathering himself, before allowing his anger to guide his actions.

He lurches after her, gripping her arm and pulling her to him. “What are you doing skulking about the Keep at this hour?” He whispers furiously.

She regards him impassively, surprising him when she does not try to wrench free of his grasp. “I was attending to my duties, checking on the children.”

Her voice causes his stones to tighten. It has been so long since he has heard her speak. Aemond releases her, as though her skin has scalded him and turns to walk away. He cannot be this close to her.

“Why do you shun me?” She asks, causing him to pause. “We both have had things taken from us.”

“We share nothing in common,” Aemond says irritably. “I lost my eye because I dared to claim the largest dragon in the world. You lost your freedom because of your own depravity.”

“I dared to pursue what made me happy, just as you did,” she replies defiantly.

“You are a whore,” he spits, rounding on her.

“And you are a craven,” she juts out her chin with a smirk. “Running away because you–”

She gasps, her words cut off, as Aemond lunges towards her, gripping her throat forcefully, using the leverage to back her into his chambers, before kicking the door closed. Fury guides his movements, he wants to hurt her, make her realise she must never disrespect a Targaryen Prince so brazenly.

“How dare you speak to me like that, you insolent little bitch,” he snarls, shaking her slightly, “I have half a mind to strangle the life from you.”

Her gaze is unflinching as she stares up at him, there is no fear in her eyes. He sees desire dancing within their depths.

His eye softens, his grip on her throat loosening as he feels his resolve crumble, and then his mouth is upon hers, lips moving with greedy haste.

He groans appreciatively as he feels her hands tighten on the front of his shirt, much like they had on his cloak all those months ago. The hand not around her neck moves into her hair, gripping it tightly, directing her movements as their tongues writhe together.

Her hair is every bit as soft as he had imagined it would be, though she smells different. Long gone is the scent of the incense burned in the Sept. Now her aroma is laced faintly with lavender oil, though it clings to her flesh in a way that is unmistakably her. Aemond feels as though he is finally slaking his thirst after months without water.

Pushing her backwards, she falls softly onto the mattress, and he climbs over her, caging her in with his body. Her heavy breaths against his neck cause him to shudder, and he wastes no time in pushing her shift above her hips and freeing his cock.

This isn’t how he imagined their first time would be. He wanted to take his time with her, to drink in the sight of her naked flesh, savour each feeling. Yet when he imagined his first time with her, his father was not dead, it was not the eve of his brother’s coronation and he had not just throttled her.

In this moment he is driven purely by animalistic need, and to his delight she does not seem to mind.

Aemond spits into his palm, smearing the moisture through her folds, his cock aching as it twitches when he feels how wet with arousal she already is. He strokes the combined fluids over the length of himself, before driving forwards forcefully into her.

He is met with resistance, and the squeeze of her around him causes him to screw his eye shut, his jaw going slack at the feel of her tight, wet heat. She moans with unrestrained lewdness as he bottoms out inside of her, and he takes a moment to look at her, spread out beneath him, hair in disarray around her head, lips glossy and slightly parted, eyes darkened by lust.

Snarling, losing all semblance of control, he snaps his hips against hers, setting an unforgiving pace.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you fucking wanted?” He grits out, one hand grabbing her hip, the other gripping her chin to keep her focus on him. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes!” She cries out, legs wrapping around his waist, drawing him in deeper, making him feel light headed.

In all of his wildest fantasies she has never felt this good. It is not possible to imagine a sensation that is such exquisite torture. He would have willingly crawled back from Oldtown if only to experience this.

His skin is damp with perspiration, his brow furrowed with exertion as the bed creaks with the intensity of his movements. A lick of white hot heat tickles at his lower spine as he feels her hips bucking in time with his, chasing her own pleasure.

“Whore,” he murmurs hatefully, his hand from her chin back to her throat, squeezing the sides.

Her inner walls flutter around him, her moans and whimpers increasing in both pitch and frequency until he feels her tense up suddenly before tightening around him with a cry, her back arching with the force of it.

His own thrusts become sloppy, the ache inside him intensifying until the world goes black and he pushes hard inside of her one final time, spilling himself with a strangled grunt.

Collapsing beside her, he lays there for a moment in silence, the only sounds in the room are their combined heavy breathing.

A heaviness settles in Aemond’s chest, sullen regret weighing upon him. “So, who will you tell about this?”

“What do you mean?” She asks, propping herself up on her elbow to look down at him.

“You have had this planned all along, to settle yourself as my sister’s children’s septa and make a mockery of me for your own amusement, and I have given in to you,” he says quietly, fingers rubbing together anxiously.

“Aemond, I did not know I was to be placed here,” she tells him with sincerity.

His expression softens, eye widening slightly as he turns to look at her. “You did not?”

“No. Novices are not told of their placement until their training is finished. It is to prevent us from being distracted away from our studies by thoughts of where we will end up. By the time I found out you had already left King’s Landing.”

Aemond furrows his brow in confusion. “Then why? Why did you do this?”

She huffs a soft laugh. “Because I wanted to. Do you not think it is exciting? Perhaps one day I will be the septa for your own children when you are married for political gain, and you can seek me out away from prying eyes and continue to have your way with me.”

His heart begins to race again, despite the fact it had only just begun to slow from having rutted mercilessly into her. The thought does excite him, depraved as it is. He has spent months lusting after her, to finally be able to have her whenever he wants her is enormously gratifying.

“You will be my ruin,” he says, voice filled with a playful, affectionate warmth.

“And your salvation,” she purrs with a mischievous smile. “I mean it, Aemond, you and I are alike. The only difference is I do not have the opportunity for revenge, but you do.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, rolling to face her.

Her fingers trace lightly over the scar on his left cheek and the leather of his eyepatch. “You are a Targaryen Prince,” she tells him, “you have the means to seek atonement for what you have lost, and I shall ensure that you do.”

It is then that he sees her fully for the first time. A reflection of his own darkest thoughts and desires. It both excites and terrifies him. His salvation and his damnation.

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

[pursuitseternal]

“𝓛𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓷:” Chapter 4 to “Love Me, Hate Me”

Astarion x Tav (Katja) | E | 4.2K

🎨 by @marimosalad 🌶️ version on twt

Summary: A reward awaits Katja’s defensiveness against Gandrel, one that erodes away at her surefooted faith as a Gur.

CW: Enemies to Lovers, Cunnilingus, corruption kink, body worship, feelings catching is in the air, references to Astarion’s abuse, Astarbation

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

It was time, Katja decided, but not without some… fortification. No weapon, but a few swigs of some mermaid whiskey to steel her nerves would do the trick. Just enough to dull the race of her heart so he couldn’t gloat about it.

About how he affected her body.

Katja glowered as she scuttled in the shadows around camp back towards that pile of rose and crimson canvas. Immaculate on the outside, with its verdant plants and luxurious pillows, its gilded mirror reflecting candlelight light the lounge in an upscale bordello. She rolled her eyes. That whiskey in her gut was helping move her feet forward one at a time; good thing too. She wasn’t one to back down ever. Stubborn as a mule, more thick headed than a Minotaur, her tribe elders used to say. No. No sultry summons to his tent would make her back away. She wasn’t scared of monsters, least of all him.

At least she could think those words, even as her heart beat faster with every stride that ate the distance between her and the glow of light inside his tent.

A shadow, long and almost gangly crossed in front of the candlelight within his canvas lair. He moved back and forth, restlessly almost stalking from within.

Like an animal at the circus pacing his cage.

Tightly wound. Hostile.

As their Gith companion said, ‘Eager for battle.’

Tossing her long, neat braid over her shoulder, she took a whiskey-laden sigh, a prayer for strength in her heart, she clutched one hand around the only nice thing she kept—a Selûnite medal. The only remaining thing she had left of her parents, now her tribe. The metal warmed in her fingers, just a subtle dusting of Selûnite magic, so faint, not even the Sharran had sensed it. But then again, Katja rarely took it out from under her shirt or the wrappings that bound her pert breasts.

A deep breath, a shuffle of the wrap around her hips, and she strode into his tent. Into his glimmering darkness.

He turned slowly, the light kissing the bumps and rises of his scars casting teeny shadows on his back’s pale skin. His face quirked into that leering smirk, wicked and arrogant. His voice was that purr she began to dread… and crave. “Well, here’s my little treat with her cheeks all flushed. Happy to see me, or is it the whiskey in your blood?”

Katja huffed a laugh, swaying to rest her weight on one hip. “Huh, I only had a taste, I swear,” she smirked, repeating a line she knew he had whispered to Shadowheart when they used to feed by the campfire.

A scowl tweaked the corner of his lip for the briefest moment. “Well, you came, even if you are stinking drunk…”

Katja opened her mouth to protest, far from inebriated. But he just closed the distance, reaching to cover her gaping lips with a single finger.

“And here I was half convinced you would… pussy out. Now here you are in the flesh. Shows me.”

The gleam in his eye was downright wicked, maybe even devilish, although Katja had yet to meet a devil. Still, it made her breath catch in her chest, made her press her hand to her sternum to feel the cool tickle of Moon magic against her skin.

“I’m not one to back down,” she fired her retort.

And it only made that rakish smirk twist all the more. “Then please down on your back,” he gestured to the pile of blankets and pillows in the long center of his tent. Her eyes widened in shock at his boldness, making him give another of those looks of false innocence. “Just make yourself comfortable, won’t you?” he purred, settling down. He lounged, long legs splayed before him. As he twisted to reach for the wine bottle, the deep cut of his cream silk shirt slid open.

Katja knew she was staring, she knew she was salivating as her eyes darted from the pale skin of his chest to the supple, full lips smirking up at her. She knew their taste, just as well as she knew the way they spewed his velvet-wrapped heresies.

He took a loud, gulping swig straight from the green glass bottleneck. Those eyes glinted as he looked up at her, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, using that pink tongue to lap up the bright red drops that covered his hand.

She couldn’t look away from it, from the way he licked, that sinuous movement of his mouth as it cleaned his own skin. Fuck. His mouth smiled so wide as the tip of his tongue trailed over the vein-lined back of his hand. She could see fangs as he grinned. “Come on darling, have a seat, and let me thank you properly for today,” he purred, his voice finally cracking her reverie and making her eyes roam up to his.

“There’s no room for me,” she huffed, scanning the small empty spaces around him.

He gave a toss of his sumptuous silver curls and a cold laugh. “You’re a Gur,” he scoffed with a look of deep seated disgust, “aren’t you used to squeezing up to your victims, ready to cut their throat or their purse strings.”

He glared up at her, indulging in another loud, languid swallow of wine. Something flickered in his eyes.

Katja spread her legs and folded her arms over her chest, irritated as she fought to keep her rage at a simmer.

“Oh come now, darling,” he swirled the wine noisily in the bottle, sloshing it around. “Don’t tell me you’re not brave enough to share a bottle with me? After all,” he reached a hand to gently grab hers, “you did save my life.”

There, that look. Temptation incarnate. The angles of his eyebrows, the flexing cut of his jaw—he leered up at her with his dangerous smile and desirous hint in his crimson eyes. It made her heart skip a beat, leaping to slam right under her medal. But even as her pulse thrummed in her ears, she sat in the biggest space of his bedroll, her thigh still having to press against his as she criss-crossed her legs.

Astarion chuckled, perhaps a little mischievously, or a little wickedly. “You act like you’ve never been alone with a man in his private quarters before, my little treat.”

“My experience is not widely ranged, I’ll give you that,” she replied, snagging the bottle from his outstretched hand. Her nose crinkled in distaste, and she ignored the intense and pointed way he watched her lips wrap around the wine bottle.

Then, he smirked.

Gods, as if his shit-eating grin couldn’t twist any more rakishly. “Well, you’ll be thanking the gods mine is by the time I’m done with you…” he purred, one arm unmistakably snaking around her back. His shirt brushed her ass, nothing more, and yet it set off a torrent of heat in her veins. Her hand nearly dropped the bottle as she lowered it from her mouth. “Easy there, clumsy girl, or you’ll make the wrong kind of mess in my bed…”

Katja groaned, unable to hide the effect he was having on her. “Are you having fun tormenting me like this?” she chuffed, flustered and too aroused to be unamused.

There it was again, that smoldering look that had her damning her soul for him. Fuck.

“Why shouldn’t I?” he crooned. “It’s not like your kind is prone to amusements or pleasures of the flesh. Perhaps you’ll enjoy a little debauchery, darling.”

The way Katja visibly shivered only made him salivate more. “It’s a party, a celebration, a… reward. You did take my side against your own people. That must have taken a toll on your self righteous perfection…”

Katja stiffened as his hand brushed her back. “I just didn’t want to lose the chance to… to kill your master and claim my own right as a hunter. Besides, you’re good in battle.” She nodded vigorously, clearly having thought through every last justification.

And he knew it. He leaned in, taking the bottle and licking his tongue around that little glass hole. “Wouldn’t you miss me… just a little bit? My charm, my wit? Or maybe you’d miss staring at my mouth in that way you do.”

Shit, she cursed, her gaze snapping up from his pink tongue to his devilish smiling stare.

He set the bottle down on the wood of his pallet with a thunk. “Hmmm, now, about my show of gratitude,” he rasps, his voice suddenly somehow more silken as it purrs in his chest. “Not afraid of me, are you?”

Her hand wandered to her chest, pressing at something beneath her shirt, and only then did he notice that thin, silver chain around her neck. A single finger stole under that chain, fishing out her little, round medal. “Well, well,” he chided, honey and singsong as he leaned in to crowd her, “a Selûnite medal, if I’m any judge… which I.. am…”

“Was,” Katja corrected. “Now you’re a vampire and a rogue.”

Astarion’s smirking jaw snapped shut. “Be glad, my little Gur, that I’m no longer a magistrate. I’d have you and all your kind groveling at my feet, repenting your lawless ways…” he dropped the necklace from his fingers for it to land in the center of her chest. “And no Moodmaiden would be able to save you from me…” he tilted his head, gaze wandering over the parts of her body that were exposed to the moonlight.

Katja’s breath stuck in her chest, her words dying on her tongue in stilted, little syllables. “I… I… ah…”

“Yes, my treat?” He smirked, pressing his body against hers. “Offering me your supplication? I would be most magnanimous to accept your prayers of submission, of devotion.” His hand captured hers, twisting it softly to bring those white bite marks into view. Those cool, soft lips pressed a kiss over them, smiling as even this far from her beating heart, he could hear its thunder. “Would you allow me a drink? After the trials of the day, it’s a treat to taste you, Katja…”

Her spine tingled, arching as he purred her name, short and sharp as it was, it sounded sweeter than honeycomb on his tongue… on that wicked tongue that lapped its way up and down her vein. “Yes,” she managed to choke out.

He overwhelmed her, his presence, his scent, the way his body slid with undead grace to crowd her. Every instinct in her mortal frame screamed to run, but her body defied it, craving the rush of adrenaline and flood of arousal it was to be this close to a vampire.

Reason… sense… faith… all her defenses were so easily stripped by the way his skin smelled of citrus and his tongue bathed her vein, teasing it to the surface right up until his fangs sang into her tender flesh.

She meant to gasp, meant to hiss in pain and jolt away from him… not press closer against his good-smelling chest and moan.

Fuck.

At the noise, his eyes flashed open as he suckled her wrist again. So lazy and languid. As if he had nothing better to do and no enemies to kill and no tadpole in his brain to remove.

Crawling ever closer, Katja realized the full extent of his strength. His body was lean, composed of all muscle, not one inch of his frame was weak. It was the body of a survivor, a fighter… a predator.

A delicious crush of muscle and sinew, he slowly slunk over her, wrist still pressed insistently to his blood-slick lips. Drops of crimson fell on her own chest as he crept closer. And before fear could take a breath, his body pressed her into the haphazard pile of pillows and blankets, his knee pressing her own, hooking it to spread her wide.

Wide enough for his pelvis to shove into her own, to grind that burgeoning erection against her belly. The more he fed, the hotter and thicker he grew, and despite her limited experience with such things, Katja’s heart thundered in her ears and rapt inside her chest.

But maybe it was the blood loss again.

Nope, no it wasn’t. The moment he pulled from her wrist, her scarlet essence dripping down his chin, every single one of her belly muscles clenched. Nostrils flaring, he gave her that conceited smirk, scenting her arousal as if he didn’t feel it seeping into his trousers when he slowly began to thrust.

“Why, you little heathen, getting turned on as monster feeds from your very life force?” he hissed, dangerously wicked in tone. His crimson eyes went wide, a fake show of shock. “What would you precious Moonmaiden say? Or your elders?”

“I… I…” she stammered, unable to stop her body from rolling her own hips to match the timing of his undulations.

His laugh was low in his chest, she could feel it rumbling against her bound breasts as his blood-stained lips brushed hers. Copper brushed her tongue as he spoke. “A question for another time. Right now, as delicious as you are, I’ve a notion to taste something… sweeter.”

Those cool fingers, that icy tongue and lips caressed their way down her body, a trail of smeared blood his marking on her pale skin.

“What’s happening, what is this?” She whispered, wriggling uncomfortably. That silver around her neck seemed to burn, or was it just her imagination…

Astarion chuckled. “Consider this your reward for aligning yourself with me, for accepting my needs as greater than those hollow legends the Gur taught you about vampires.” His lips whispered against the curves of her belly, the lines of her muscle that rose and fell with increasing speed. He kissed his way lower, his shoulders now pushed her thighs wider… higher. The pads of his fingers lifted the red fabric of her wrap towards her waist dangerously high, a patch of blonde curls covering her mound. “You’ll be crying my name, praying for me to keep going, to show you no mercy…”

That silver on her neck burned for certain, the pendant at her chest weighing heavily. Katja just had to pick it up and get it off her skin. Those crimson orbs caught the moonlight that fell across them, the stripe of light slicing starkly through the gathered shadow.

His nose, his lips pressed at her mound, cool air rushing as he inhaled deeply. “Sweeter than incense, my little heathen. A fine offering for me to taste.” Long, skilled digits slide effortlessly into her slick, drawing it out, pump after pump. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move more than the unbidden rolls of her hips on his fingers as those red eyes stared at her, as his pink tongue lolled out from his lips. He flicked it once over those folds, sending her back arching—the only warning she got before he dove in deep. Lips and tongue coaxed out more arousal, she could feel it dripping, soaking the bedding beneath them. His throat made little hums. Like a predator feasting, he growled and purred as he lapped every inch of her cunt.

That flap of the tent fluttered slightly in the night breeze, the faint beam of starlight and moon glow cut through the dimness of his tent.

Unforgiving, that ray cleaved her in two, a war of light and dark. Her fingers closed around that smooth silver medal, the pendant growing heavier with every sigh that escaped her lips, every moment she didn’t fight against the vampire between her thighs. “Moonmaiden, help me,” she whispered, just loud enough for those pointed ears to twitch as he heard.

A deep, wicked laugh rumbled against her folds. “Forget your goddess, Katja, I’ll have you praying to me,” he crooned. Hands gripped her thigh, speeding her wider, fingers parting those nether lips to expose her slit for proper worship.

Gravity pulled her twitching muscles down to the bedding, her body winding tighter than she gripped her ax, more tense than ever she had felt before. Legs shook, breath caught tight in her chest. That creep wave of warmth and pleasure swirled again. It was happening more and more often each time she allowed him near her… in her.

“Fuck,” she cursed, panting as her vision blurred from blood loss and bliss.

“Fuck, who?” the Vampire sniggered, tongue out and swirling her clit even as he spoke.

“Gods… fuck me, Astarion,” she spat through her gritted teeth as something inside her snapped. That wave of heat tension burst, overflowing and racing down her veins. She mewled like a cat, thighs shaking and squeezing his head, back arching off the messy pile of pillows… and all Astarion had to do was hum and lick and suck the wet from her cunt.

Her high overwhelmed her, enthralled her—a feeling like she had never known. Better than her first kill on the hunt, better than her first stolen kiss, and far better than the first messy time she gave her innocence hurriedly in a tavern once.

This was… she struggled to think, to comprehend what happened. As she gazed down her body to see his glistening chin and smirking lips, she knew then. This was extacy. Rapture. Morning short of a slice of heaven in the middle of their hell of a trial.

And gods, did she want more. Sitting up, she pulled his face to her lips for a taste. Her tang sustained her, but it was quickly overridden by the taste of him, that slight copper of her blood and that sharp scent of citrus from his cologne covering her taste buds. It was a kiss of unbridled need, all those inhibitions and restrictions were long forgotten, left in the mess she had made in his bed. “Astarion,” she growled, half-needy and half-feral.

“Yes, darling?” he replied, tongue withdrawing from between her lips just enough to speak. “What is it?” he purred, as if he didn’t know, couldn’t smell the burning in her blood and couldn’t feel the grind of her hip on his thigh that pushed so conveniently right where she ached. “Needy thing, haven’t all your prayers been answered?” he gloated, pulling back to break their kiss to savor that wanton glow on her scarred face.

“C‘mon,” Katja pleaded, trying to force that gruff edge back down to cover her whine of desire. “You can’t be finished yet…”

Astarion’s brow quirked, those eyes roaming lazily over her bare skin as he gently pulled her skirt back over her cunt. “I’m not finished, but I’m finished with you, for tonight at least.”

“Wh-what?” Katja’s jaw dropped, her scar twisting deliciously as her face screwed in confusion.

A smug grin on his face, and Astarion sat back, grabbing for that bottle of wine once more and taking a long, deep drink. “That’s the thing about divine powers, they can choose when they intervene… and when.. they… don’t.”

Something dark flickered in those red eyes, a shadow he kept inside him, and even though those eyes gaze at her beside him, his mind is a million leagues away… somewhere long gone and yet present in the memories that haunt him.

Katja knew that look, that feeling. And she swallowed, shifting her legs beneath her as she slid her Selûnite medal back under her bindings around her chest. She let him sit there, festering for a moment as she looked him up and down, taking in the sight of his body for truly the first time. For once he was less on his guard, those scars on his back etched across the entire expanse. A gift from his Master, and already she craved the moment she would help Astarion make the bastard pay for such torture.

Tilting her head, she opened her mouth and broke the silence as only she could. “Why are you so thin?”

The question jolted Astarion out of his dark reverie. “Excuse me?” he hissed, the picture of offense. “Has that orgasm stolen your reason, or are you just insanely rude?”

Katja’s blonde brows furrowed in confusion. “Vampires aren’t usually so… lean. All the blood from their victims should make them powerful, it gives them abilities to move with supernatural speed and spider climb up walls and grow claws and…”

“Yes alright,” he snapped, pressing a finger over her irritating lips. His teeth ground together. Eyes flickering with a light, a hint of annoyance as he pursed his lips shut, as if he tried so hard not to let his answer free. Then he gave a huff of a laugh. “Perhaps I am a bit lean, as you say, but that’s because… I’ve had this condition for nearly two centuries and, truth be told, I’ve barely had the blood of thinking creatures. Not until you, little treat. Well you and that Cleric…”

Katja’s body instantly tensed at the mention of Shadowheart… that Sharran that first let him get close enough to bite.

Astarion took note with a lecherous smirk. “Don’t worry, your blood and your cunt give me an extra powerful rush. Nothing like the taste of corrupting a Gur to go from hunting monsters to fucking them.”

Bristling, Katja’s mind still raced, looking over those lean lines of his chest and stomach. So taut but also so small compared to… well at least the stories her tribe would tell. “If you couldn’t drink from thinking creatures then…”

“You really are unflappable, aren’t you?” Astarion snapped, beyond irritated. Vexation scratched at his honeyed tone and made his voice shrill. Almost whiny. How could she not bite at those jealous barbs, those sweet little insults meant to tear her down so he could remake her with sadistic delight… No, instead she wanted to know why he was lean. Astarion laughed bitterly at it all. “Don’t get me wrong, I was sent out to seduce hundreds, maybe thousands for Cazador. Every night I’d bring him a victim, and every night, he’d invite me to dine on a nice putrid rat. That or have us tortured if we refused….”

She uttered some curse under her breath, undoubtedly calling his old master an unsavory Gur name. Katja scowled, her fists gripping into the blanket beneath her. “How dare he,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Hard to say what is worse, starving you or torturing you.”

In that moment, Astarion was speechless. His mouth hung slack, fangs catching in that exacting beam of light. “Yes…. Well…” he struggled to recover some of that suave seduction from moments ago. “Don’t let it ruin your beauty rest, darling,” he tossed the comment off as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But as Katja stood, fixing her skirt and ignoring the wet squelch her thighs made as she waked, she gave him one last glance.

He looked tired, those shadows under his eyes were a little deeper, those crimson irises dilated too wide as he stared into the ground. His hand absentmindedly grabbing for the wine bottle for another drink, she left him to it.

Astarion waited until her footsteps were gone. He didn’t really care where. Not really. Then, he unlaced his leathers to free the aching, dripping hard erection he had been ignoring. Gods, it tingled and twitched from the pressure and the memory of her taste on his tongue. As he gave his cock a teasing stroke, he laughed. It was so easy to push her and deny her; so easy to make the little Gur pay in little ways for what her kind did to him centuries ago.

What he didn’t account for, as he started beating on his length, up and down, was the memory of her sounds in his mind. So undiluted and innocent. And yet… Fuck, the memory of her concern, that flash of… was it protectiveness… when she asked about his starvation. The memory of that look on her rounded, scowling face brought a smile to his lips as he closed his eyes and fucked his hand.

She was going to be a real treat when they found Cazador, he decided. That will be fun… he thought, his hand working more deliberately, his precum leaking to wet his cock as he beat just a bit slower, just a bit tighter in his grip. By then, she would be a force to reckon with, his force… his worshiper… Thoughts drifted to the way she looked beneath him, frightened and aroused, clinging to her faith and her medal as if anything more divine than him would save her. He could taste the memory of her slick and he could feel the warmth of her cunt… Fuck, did it make this arrangement more desirable or more devious that she was a Gur?

He didn’t have long to ponder that wisp of a thought, not as his muscles ached and tensed and pulsed as he came. That rush of release, making him nearly groan out loud as he erupted onto the bedding.

Now it was a proper mess, he grinned, eyes still shut as he savored those afterwaves of his climax. A smile on his lips that still faintly tasted of her, he held his wet cock as he sighed.

A/N: Mmmmm such spice!

I’m going totally manipulative Act 1 Astarion—cruel and calculating and yet learning.

If Katja seems a bit on the spectrum, that’s intentional. And it totally disarms Astarion’s suave charm at times (which is good for him 😂).

Next chapter, The Risen Road and more spice 🌶️