#and realising that it's Not outside the realm of possibility

[itsthechocopuff]

yes things are not always great and the economy is crumbling and i have to work to afford basic necessities, but i just found a little apartment in the mountains with panelling on the walls and a little green kitchen and a big terrace and a price that i could afford* and honestly? that’s enough to be a comfort.

[fingertipsmp3]

I love when things go wrong with my sims 2 game because I universally never know what’s happened. My game kept crashing and I was like “maybe it’s this simple mod I’ve had before that’s never crashed my game” no girl maybe it’s the ✨faulty camera replacement✨ you just downloaded

[satoruhour]

i need jealous racer geto hes js so whudurieiw and the way u write about himm🤭🤭

LUVRGIRL

a/n: eeuuughh idk whether to like this or not but enjoy nonetheless !!! not so much of racing but the sentiment is there lol. previous part (lloromannic) here / @screampied @kizoken @t4kio @redskyvenus @mysugu @suguruplsr @slttygeto ✶

wc: 6.3k

warnings: racer!geto, soft dom!geto, fem!reader, sprinkle of fluff, pet names, praise, ldr, phone sex, masturbation (both f and m), fantasising, daisuke is being annoying again!!!!, sorta jealousy plot point, brief dry humping, oral (f! receiving) / cunnilingus, clit stimulation, fingering, unprotected p -> v sex, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

the next six months were torture, indefinitely. it was an endless heap of assignments, of deadlines, of long-distance calls with your love that you both were so close to booking flights of your own. university was brutal, too. on top of tuition fees and getting the materials for your classes, it was heart-wrenching to even look at the prices of the flights from your country to japan, so you bit down your pride and subjected yourself to settling for the long-distance arrangement.

“hey, baby,” geto mumbles sleepily and your frown deepens upon forgetting that tuesdays was where he slept early. you still had to call, though, but you realise it too late when he answers with that groggy, raspy voice of his. there’s some ruffling behind the call, no doubt the sounds of his bedsheets as he gets himself comfortable while you huddle at the small nook of your room that’s next to the window.

from here you can see the sun setting, a totally different story in japan where you can hear geto yawn and down a glass of water next to his bed.

“shit . . sorry su, i forgot—”

he scrambles to reassure you, awake and sat up, “no! no— no, it’s okay . .” you wince when you hear him yawn yet again, but this time he sounds a little more in the realm of consciousness. you’re unaware of the smile forming on his face just from hearing your voice, fidgety fingers squeezing and releasing the duvet over him, “what are you up to, my love?”

you hum into the phone and you’ve never wanted to backpack across the seven seas to see someone so bad before. now on month nine, your excitement’s become even more prominent at wanting to end the semester as soon as possible, willing your lips not to mutter out the arrangement you’ve been planning with his group of friends.

“just needed a break from studying for finals. i’m dying,” you lament over the line and your heart flutters at his chuckle, something you miss against your ears and skin immensely, “just wish you were here . .”

“yeah?” and you have to squeeze your eyes shut and rub your thighs together at the soft, rough yeah he mumbles out. you can imagine it too: sitting against his headboard half-naked while the duvet pools around his waist area. he’s sitting there like plaster sculpted by Monti while his hair flows around him. you almost squeal and your boyfriend only catches just the start of it.

“what? what was that?” he asks and your hand is clasped so hard over your mouth like a captor’s got your hostage, but you only let out a breath.

“n-nothing,” you laugh, picking yourself up from the nook and getting yourself comfortable in bed. it’s been a long day of studying, anyway, and your next exam isn’t until five days later. you could afford some downtime, right?

“but,” you sigh, turning on your side and sneakily slipping a hand into your pants, “my day’s boring. it’s all studyin’. why don’t you tell me what you did today, instead?” you can hear your parents already preparing dinner outside, but you press on and try to drain out the intrusive noises of cutlery and porcelain and the incessant calls of your mom to your dad for some help on the stove. 

“alright,” he drags the word out and laughs again, getting comfortable in his bed just like you do, but your end goals are entirely different, “but it is pretty boring as well. it was maintenance day today.”

“oh!” you remember him briefly mentioning that the other day — since halloween was approaching, there was bound to be more patrolling policemen around the streets and underground, so races had to be put on hold for the meantime. there was still other more secluded areas to race, but geto didn’t want to risk his Mazda being taken away nor for a stain to appear on his clean academic record.

“changing the crankshaft? i know the old one was giving you loads of trouble,” you mumble, feeling your cunt pulse and throb from the breathing you can hear over the line, “among . . other things.”

“yeah, my baby’s so smart for remembering, huh?” he praises, continuing to go on about his day. while it was merely taking-care-of-his-car day, it was still way more eventful than yours. he had went on a solo day out to your beloved café to relish in the good times, he had hung out with gojo for a while and drank some beer atop the mountain they frequented, even went out for some arcade fun.

“unfortunately—” geto’s low voice spurs you on. you’ve been lazily rubbing at your pussy, just humming into the phone while you only descend more and more into pleasure, “it’s taken a hole out of my allowance, i guess. my dad’s more generous with the parts that he gives me but at the same time i feel like he knows what i’m doing underground.”

he laughs and you fake a giggle, but your breaths are starting to get heavier with each sentence he utters, mind filling with flashbacks of how many ways he’s bent you over to fuck you, drunk on the phantom-like winds upon your ear that sound like he’s whispering all those filthy things to you. “and . . just missin’ my girl.”

“how’ve you been, baby?” he asks with a low voice, like he knows what you’re doing and the term of possession only has you sucking in a breath, fingers slip inside you after possibly a decade of teasing and you find it hard to answer. “darling?”

“y-yeah, ’m still here,” you pant out, afraid of being caught, but your voice quivers enough just for geto to catch on to what you were up to. he didn’t fault you, though (he never blames his girl), but there is a small smirk that forms on his face. he purposely lowers his voice even more, if it was possible, mirroring and mimicking your breathy tone when talking to him.

but with one hand that goes down to his pelvis, he doesn’t have to mimic you at all, hand palming languidly at his bulge. in the dead of the night, there wasn’t much need to keep his voice down in order to hear the pretty moans falling from your mouth; he does anyway.

it’s too shitty of a reception especially with your nokia’s, so he hears the artificial, metallic-like voice coming from his phone, but your sounds are just too lovely, transcending the robotic-ness of a phone call. and it’s like you’re actually there, smiling mischievously at him while stroking his cock and teasing him the way he liked to be teased.

“s-sugu?” you mumble, mind heading into the extremes and confident now that he’s just weirded out and silent, but it’s anything but that.

“yes, baby?” he hums, smiling to himself when he hears rustling over the phone and he can imagine you lifting your hips to remove your panties, tossing it somewhere across the room. “wanna tell me what you’re doin’?” 

you suck in a breath — so he knows — but suguru always knows everything so you’re whining into the receiver, pleasantly surprised when he replies with a deep groan that only makes you clench around nothing.

“that’s right . .” he drawls and you hear a soft thud over the line, and now you’re the one quieting your movements just to hear your boyfriend, the faint shlick shlick sounds of his hand along his cock. geto gasps when he squeezes his tip just like how you do it, pre-cum starting to leak. “need you h-here, doll . .”

you mewl softly and start the hand on your clit again, abandoning the tight hold around your phone just so you can use the other to slip your fingers into your warm cunt. it doesn’t even compare to the thickness and length of geto’s dick, but you have to work with what you have. with head turned toward the speaker, your boyfriend has gone non-verbal, too, moaning like a slut into the receiver.

“suguru, i’m— please . .” you whine softly, hips bucking into your hands, “doesn’t feel as g— good.”

geto coos inwardly at your needy voice, mouth falling open at his rock hard cock. it’s so hard that it hurts, left to merely fuck his fleshlight whenever he could and use his hand on other days. he missed your sweet fucking pussy so, so much, just picturing your beautiful arched back that lifts off the sheets and your shaking thighs. he imagines your perfect pout on your face as you finger yourself, unsatisfied, obviously, begging him with tugs to his hands and his eyes flutter close.

“i know, baby, and ’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking the nokia from his ear to put it right up to his relentless pumping and you swallow, the slick, wet sounds more clear now. “but you hear what ya do t’me, don’t you?”

“mhm . .” you trail off, thinking of his fat cock impaling you instead, and you follow his actions to a T, bringing it right to your sopping cunt and geto has to scrunch his already shut eyes just to wish that his hand was your pussy. your hand is getting tired, he’s sure, but you finger yourself so prettily his hand easily speeds up, giving his shaft periodic squeezes.

“so wet, suguu . .” you drag out his name, already feeling your high approach soon, but you want the both of you to cum together. “i miss you stretchin’ me out . .” a hiss from suguru, “i miss your cum spilling out of me.”

that has geto choking out a whine, ���f—fuck, sweetheart, don’t say that. i do miss g-giving you all of my cum—”

the filthiness of everything contributes to all your senses, parents omitted from memory, your finals at the back of your mind and only focusing on the envelope that resides on your bedside table containing a plane ticket. in one week you’d be able to see him again — a sweet treat given to you by gojo and nanami with their combined expenses.

you didn’t even know how you could thank them and while nanami waves you off for any payback, gojo did say you could treat him to anything in that café. it was difficult not to be excited, a louder whine drawn from your throat again and he laughs breathlessly, voice down low and distraught.

“any particular reason w-why my girl’s so needy lately—?”

geto basically chokes out his question while you shake your head until you remember that he can’t see you, answering with a broken “no”.

you resist the urge to spill on the exact reason — your mind spiralling from the anticipation of meeting him, the many, many lewd memories you’ve made over six months, his just-woken-up voice — because he’d never let you live it down.

“c-close, suguru—” your thighs are squeezed tight around your tired hand, sensitive from the immense overstimulation, “’m g’nna cum soon—!”

“me too, my love,” geto’s eyes are back open, trained on his cock and watching the sheer neediness shown in his weeping tip and bucking hips. he needs this, he needs you, and once you’re submitting your final paper, he’s sure to look at flights right to your doorstep.

“i’m c—” you’re whining out, body totally turned over and lying on your stomach as you chase your high, fuelled by the deep guttural groans of your boyfriend. your lips and mind are only filled with suguru, suguru, suguru, not even caring that your sheets are soaked and your fingers are cramping.

“baby, baby, baaaby . . s—shit—” geto reaches his release first, mind filled with replenished memories of your tight pussy hugging his cock, spurts of white spilling all over himself with a loud groan and you’re left to listen out for the desperate sounds of your boyfriend miles away, lengthening his climax as he continues to pump himself. “cum all over your fingers, doll . .”

suguru coaxes in that sweet voice of his, mumbling deep into the phone only for you. “doing so, so good, aren’t ya?” the quietness on his end, the slow lazy stroking of his hand again, and you’re cumming all over your fingers, eyes blown wide from the orgasm that he talks you through while you ride it out on your mediocre fingers. your mouth is stained with endless profanities and moans mixed with geto’s name, muffled by the bedsheets you’re so harshly biting into to prevent any loud, unbecoming sounds.

“that good?” he asks with a laugh, yawning yet again and you feel guilty again—

“i’m sorry, s—”

“no. don’t, doll, don’t apologise,” suguru brushes his thumb over his thigh, partially wiping off the cum and partially hoping he can relax the furrow of your brow like he always does. “you’re frowning and your shoulders are up, probably, relax . .”

you sigh, another thing that geto values a lot and has taught to you; deep breaths and untensing all parts of your body.

“good girl, was that good?”

“the phone sex or the deep breaths?”

geto grins. god, he missed you so fucking much — “both.”

“both was very good, thank you very much,” you giggle, not paying much mind to the way you remove your fingers from your cunt, turning over to the bedside table to take some tissues, “although the sex was a little better.”

“aw, no wins for the intense, groundbreaking, spirit-calming deep breaths?”

you shake your head (you’ve got to stop doing that), “ehh . . it was alright.”

geto’s reluctant sleepiness grants you a few more minutes together, his words starting to slur more and more the longer you were on the line, but you can’t say you don’t enjoy it. with fatigue came the words laced with unhindered affection, murmuring softly about hoping to see you soon, to feel you, to kiss you, and you expressed the same sentiment back to him.

the other switches the output to speaker, wanting to take in the messily taken profile pic he set your contact with. a blurred, blinding smile with his face squished against yours; a little below the two of you, berry and cherry clutched within your palms, doing the same. “can my girl do her best for her finals?”

“i can’t promise the best, but i’ll try . . okay?”

geto hums, a soft smile on his face. he’s cleaned up by now, new sweatpants on and duvet pulled right to his neck while he stares at your face, the pixels of the nokia never diluting your beauty.

“attagirl. have a good dinner, lovergirl.”

that knocks some breath out of you, and you grin like a schoolgirl.

“have a goodnight’s sleep, loverboy.”

you bounce on your heels impatiently when the plane finally lands, waiting for the throngs of people on the flight to leave through the bridge, but it’s taking ages, speed walking once you’re out. you wanted to be the first at the luggage conveyor belt, you needed to be the first passenger of your flight to be out of the arrival doors.

without the rush of the people and the striking colours of your boyfriend’s friends’ hair colours, it wasn’t too difficult to run up to them for a big hug.

“(y/n)~!” gojo drags out your name, waving you over excitedly and bringing the both of you into a group hug. nanami is adamant on being the ever broody racer, but you catch the ghost of a smile when he wraps a careful arm around your shoulders.

“how was the flight, (y/n)?” the blonde’s firm but concerned voice cuts through the chaos of the white-haired man.

“don’t ask lame questions like thaaaat, nanami! you’ll just bore me—” and a resounding smack! is then heard, and gojo’s clutching the back of his head in pain, the other taking the opportunity to lead you away from gojo’s antics and offering to help with your luggages. without words, nanami already feels your nervousness, patting your back in solidarity.

“hey— hey! oi!”

gojo slams the door to his car. “okay, we’ve painstakingly tried to hold suguru back whenever he was about to book flights—” gojo mentions in the car on the ride there, taking way too quick turns for your liking with your luggage going to town in the trunk. its thumps against the roof and sides always seem to interrupt the conversation with the white-haired man, but he seemed too much in a hurry to care. “think it was almost eight separate times!”

“thank you— ah!” you almost lurch forward at the amber light, but gojo decided at the last minute that he was just going to run it — braking then speeding it up all over again.

“you know, for a racer, you’re a terrible civilian driver . .” you groan once you reach the mouth of the familiar car park that you frequented in your six months in japan, but now that gojo’s easily manoeuvres the car to a slow, the adrenaline of the fast drive changes into something of dread, of a dizzying feeling.

what if suguru didn’t want to see you anymore? what if he already booked himself a flight and was nowhere to be found? what if he’s cheat—

your hands are clammy, not even present to how gojo calls out from you from the driver’s seat. cautiously, he’s putting a hand on your shoulder (because god forbid gojo touched anything of suguru’s, both Mazda and girlfriend), and shaking you out of your daze.

you catch glimpses of his sentences: “all  . . talks about . . trust . . no girl has . .” but you stop his rambling with frantic slaps to his shoulder. you know you shouldn’t be jumping to conclusions but it’s hard not to when the scene is clear as day. suguru is never one to cheat — from the six months you’ve known him, from the many calls and check-ins the two of you do over the line.

defying time zones, fighting fatigue . . for this?

but you know better to list your lover as the instigator, especially from how this other girl was just hovering all over his Mazda, sticking her ass out and trailing her hand all over his finishing. that was one thing — but geto isn’t making any move to shove her off, only looking at her through hooded lids that could definitely drive anyone off. she wasn’t affected, though.

you’re not listening to gojo even when you step out of the car, already used to the curious eyes that rake over you and your figure — curiosity turns into recognition and then shock when they see how your boyfriend acts, but before you can actually make your way toward them, another man sidles up to you.

oh my god, it’s daisuke. you sigh loudly, knowing how gojo had dealt with him before and how much of an asshole he is, but all he does is look you up and down, not giving one fuck to how the subject of his embarrassment was sitting right in the driver’s seat.

“hey, babygirl.” you want to vomit from that one greeting alone, but you try not to pay him much mind. “what’s a pretty lady like you doin’ out here?”

“don’t your sorry ass have a girlfriend?” daisuke doesn’t even begin to digest the insult, and you think that he’s a masochist with how much he sets himself up for getting insulted, but then the girl’s eyes meet yours — she’s in his pictures, she’s in his wallet, you’ve seen her when this loser beside you blatantly brags about his girl. you’d feel sorry for her but it seems she’s as stupid as him.

they’re exactly that — realising you just walked yourself into one big jealousy scheme planned by the biggest jokers of the underground racing scene, your suspicions are confirmed when his eyes are also locked on his girlfriend with your boyfriend of all people, making sure she sees that he’s all up in your space. she’s doing the same, but when she actually tries to touch him is when geto finally does something, and the jealous burn in your heart quells a bit.

geto’s too smart to be mingling around with her, you hope, when you hear him mutter something to her and you smile to yourself when she cowers under his stare and words.

“you touch my fuckin’ car one more time and i’m sure to drive both you and your loser boyfriend, out of here forever. you can take your clown asses to another parking lot and race there and then i won’t have to see your faces any more,” his hold around his wrist isn’t harsh, but it is firm, and he prevents her from leaving until she gets his message, “plus i have a girl i’m obsessed with. take your lame jealous charade somewhere else and maybe go to couples’ therapy. you two clearly need it.”

and when she looks at you again — you think it’s how your identity settles in her mind — she yelps and finally runs away at the daggers you give, not even sparing a glance to daisuke who’s carefully scooching closer to you. but just as he tries to wrap his arm around your waist, your eyes catch suguru’s.

his eyes soften for just a moment; it was just like the café. his palms turn sweaty and he feels like he could collapse — but now you’re looking just a little different. he wasn’t sure if it was because of your hair or the tiredness from exams, but you’re still as stunning as the day he led you out of the parking lot.

geto cannot resist giving you a big grin, but it quickly fades when his gaze falls on daisuke beside you and a scowl appears. and while your body’s already distancing yourself from the man’s crusty ass lips, you feel a throb go right down to your core when the same annoyed glower forms across his features: eyebrows pulled taut, long strides, muscles bulging in the wifebeater he’s got on.

six months away from your man has clearly done things to you.

with one smooth swoop, geto has you pulled flush against him, not even looking as he uses his free hand to grab at daisuke’s neckline before he leans in to kiss you. it’s admittedly a little embarrassing, cause your body reacts so readily to him, tits pressed against his chest while your fingers tangle themselves in his long hair. he tastes like cigarettes and cherries like always and you moan softly into his mouth when his hands wander right down to your ass to give it a squeeze.

“satoru’s not very good at hiding secrets, unfortunately,” geto spills and you pout, surprise ruined by the loud mouth of his friend, but before he gives you his undivided attention, he tugs daisuke closer, roughly. “but that don’t mean i ain’t happy to see ya, baby.”

geto laughs at your flustered state, until his expression darkens again — “you have a lot of nerve touching my girl.”

“I—i didn’t! she was basically begging for me to touch her.”

“don’t you—”

“p-plus! my girl was all up over you too, so i thought i’d give her a little lovin’—”

geto almost smashes his jaw in. either way, he lands a clean punch to his face that has daisuke writhing on the floor, clutching his mouth in pain but that doesn’t deter daisuke one bit who sits up . . and then is immediately beaten down again with a boot to his chest. your boyfriend leans down and looks him straight in the eye.

“i’m cancelling my race just so i can make my girl scream my name loud enough for you, because you could never fuck her or anyone that good with your shit dick game,” geto scoffs, “and forget girls, you can’t even win enough races to rise up the ranks. you’ve embarrassed yourself enough, don’t you think?”

suguru doesn’t bother waiting for an answer, only ushering you toward his Mazda parked in the familiar corner, easily shooting a text to gojo to cancel the race as he mentioned just so he could . .

with windows down, you relish again in the tokyo night air, the hand that you miss so much on your thigh, the alluring voice he’s speaking to you in, the beauty of geto suguru. everything looked the same since you left, from the photos he’s put up on the dashboard, the berry keychain hanging from the rear view mirror, the outer orange coating of his car.

“i—”

“i’m sorry, my love,” suguru leaps forward to apologise, stopping the car abruptly. you’ve already reached your destination but, it seems he wants to say something first.

“why are you apologising?”

he frowns, bringing his hand to cradle your cheek. easily, you’re leaning into the touch, closing your eyes. “for ruining the surprise, for that stupid fight with daisuke, for letting my emotions take over.”

you mirror him, features also deepening in somberness. “you didn’t do anything — if anything, you were a victim of his girlfriend too. but . . seeing her be all over you, made me think the worst after not seeing you for six months.”

geto’s eyes soften yet again (he simply can’t help it around you), using both hands to hold you, now, and you float into his arms like a feather, like he’s in command. you let him guide you into the driver’s seat, faces so close and just hoping to touch after so many months apart.

“i . . i love you,” he swallows, brushing the hair from your face. you find that he’s shaking and breathing so heavily you’d think he was hyperventilating, but he gathers courage on a deep breath and continues, “i have since you left. right after, i went home to cry.”

“oh . .” your lip juts out, eyebrows downturned and eyes filling just a little, “oh, sugu . .”

“i just have always wanted to say it, i guess,” he chuckles, sniffling to hide his true emotions, “i just didn’t know whether i should say it over the phone where it would sound cheap; b-but, you don’t have to say it back, of course—”

you smile through tears, pressing a peck to his forehead in gratitude, “it wouldn’t sound like it to me, but i appreciate you waiting until i returned,” geto relishes in your lips upon his skin again, and he doesn’t think he could survive another day, another minute, another second without you, “i have, too, but i’m not sure when. it definitely includes the time you set alarms to wake me up for exams, though.”

he laughs freely at the memory now, of alarms interrupting his dinners and his parents asking “another call?”, but they let him do whatever, happy to hear their boy joking and laughing over the call with his mystery partner. you giggle, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears that did fall, letting the interior fluorescent light of the Mazda illuminate the features you love so much, all belonging to the man you pined over from many miles away.

“i love you too, suguru — stumbling into that random car park was the best thing i’ve ever done.”

“well, it might’ve not turned out as well if some other group had gotten to you first,” his thumb plays with your bottom lip and brings you to him, “’m just glad i got to ya in time . .”

“yeah? what if you didn’t at all?”

“then i would’ve made sure i’d find you in any way that i can, even if i had to beat up a thousand daisukes.”

that makes you giggle at little, a sliver of eye contact shared with your lover before he engulfs you in a rough kiss and your moan reaches the heavens, body so sensitive from being away from his touch that you jolt when he wraps an arm around your waist. 

“relax, baby,” geto chuckles, speaking against your lips, “take it slow.”

“but i don’t wanna . .” you whine softly, clinging to him in surprise when he pulls a lever next to his seat and the backrest falls all the way down.

“ah!” you grin, “new mod?”

suguru barks out in laughter, “ya caught me. i got it modified yesterday.”

“so you could do dirty things like this?”

he rolls his eyes with a blinding smile, just so, so happy he’s got you back in his arms again, “exactly that.”

the other willingly shows you just what the modification can take, both hands spread out on your ass and pulling you onto his crotch. your core already feels the half-hard bulge under him, using your hips to grind down even more along him. everything feels like too much, after so long away from him that you already feel your high approaching from simply grinding your clit against him and he teases.

“you g’nna cum, already?” he grins slyly, suddenly moving his hips to meet yours that has a broken mewl leaving your throat.

“b—been too long away from you . .” you admit a little sheepishly, using his shirt as an anchor while you continue to grind your cunt into his front, only your panties and his trousers separating the contact of skin. but with how your body jerks in pleasure, you’d think there was nothing between the both of you. “i need you, quick.”

geto says nothing but help you with small pants, the backlighting from the headlines accentuating your figure so nicely that he grunts out your name in between swears, soon stuttering your syllables once he feels you still on his lap with arched back and throbbing cunt. he can feel you, feel you squeezing around him even when he wasn’t in you.

“guess your fingers were pretty crap, h-huh?” massaging your sides, you hum in disapproval at his cheeky smirk, hoping to change that when he lets you do whatever: you pull him up by his shirt and open the door to his car, pushing at him to get out. you don’t day anything and he already knows what you want when you spread your legs, biting his lip at the wet patch on the pretty set you decided to don.

and even with witnessing this sight over and over, you’re never used to the way geto worships you, reveres you, when he kneels down on straight gravel. he doesn’t care if his pants are littered with small specks of dust and dirt, whether he knees start to hurt, but he only has his eyes set on your alluring cunt, finger delicate when he pulls your panties to the side but just brutal when his mouth meets your clit.

“su— s-shit—!” is all you can manage, hearing the other breathe through his nose once his mouth latches on your pussy. it’s something that he hasn’t tasted since long ago, and he’d be damned to let you go again, so he takes the opportunity to savour your arousal, switching between flicking and sucking on your clit like a starved man.

“she tastes so fuckin’ good hmmff—” his eyes meet yours and he feels you squeeze around nothing, making a show of letting you watch how his tongue circles your bud, down to your hole and up again, slurping up your juices sloppily. “i hope this pussy’s missed me as much as i missed her, yeah?”

“y-yeah . .” you moan out softly, legs moving apart more to get more of him, pelvis humping against his face so much that he has to hold it down with a hand. your pre is dripping all over his leather seats and onto the floor, but he makes sure not to spill any more from the way he scoops it up and prods at your entrance. 

“let your pussy do the talkin’, baby,” he mumbles drunkenly, pushing in a finger past your walls and the stretch is already so much better than your own. your jaw hangs open in ecstasy, body already bucking and craving for more when he pushes his thicker finger all the way in and it’s no problem for geto to slip the other in, “she’s sucking me in so well, can she do this to my cock too? hm?”

wordlessly, you’re nodding, catching a whisper of good girl before he’s back on your sopping pussy, sucking up and swallowing all of your arousal that it’s downright filthy, the noises echoing throughout the space. geto doesn’t waste any time pumping his digits, moving them in tandem with his tongue.

“s—suguru . .” you whine, struggling to keep your eyes open from the sheer pleasure, and you’re met with the vision that you can never get enough of — your racer boyfriend’s tongue out, hooded lids and soaked chin — and he grants you a little more of euphoria, groaning loudly into your pussy. with each minute, he’s only getting harder, unbelievably so, so your fantasy cut short when he removes his fingers and mouth with a pop! and laughs at your needy whine.

“you’ve been away too long, come,” geto stands to give you a kiss first, letting you taste yourself, “i need to be in you, darlin’.” 

and so when he first slips in, it feels like heaven on earth, his leaking tip nudging past your folds and right into your warm cunt that he whines so loudly, long hair falling all about his face and body. you’re not different, nails digging in his skin at the stretch that you’ve missed, cock so much longer and thicker than your fingers.

“t-this is better than any fleshlight, fuuckk . .” he mutters to himself, one hand holding your ankle up and the other holding your bent knee. he’s hoping the modification he made to his car wouldn’t give up on him, because he knows he won’t be able to hold back once you’ve adjusted. but when you start moving earlier than he expects, he doesn’t give you the chance, slamming right up to the hilt until you’re shivering and clenching around him.

“g—god, r-right there, sugu—” you preen, nothing but incoherent and repeated sentences mumbled by you over and over, “feels s’full . .”

“y-yeah? tha’ it?” you don’t need the shitty light of the abandoned parking lot to make you look beautiful, you’re doing it all on your own when your body arches towards him and your legs shiver in his hold, catching glimpses of just how wet you were — juices smeared along your inner thighs, a clear sheen of it along his length, all thanks to the lighting. “so sloppy, huh . . listen to ’er.”

geto emphasises his thrust, in, out, and in, out, just for you to hear your dripping pussy dragging along his shaft, one of the things of yours that makes him go insane. 

“all because of you,” you babble mindlessly, fingers expressing your need for him and he listens like he always does, body hovering over yours just to kiss you and because of that he’s thrusting all the more deeper into you as you break the kiss with a loud moan. geto laughs against your lips, hips making quick work to make sure he stays in his new angle, and he’s rewarded with your lewd pleas for him.

he’s ramming into you so perfectly, mushroom tip just barely brushing against your cervix each time that it has your mouth permanently open in pure pleasure.

“well . . you’re the only doll to get me hard and needy like this . .” he chuckles again, kissing down your neck to make sure you get blue and black into your skin, “and i fuckin’ love her for it.”

with a shaky hand you pull on his ruined ponytail, “s-say it again.”

“i love you,” suguru almost whispers, afraid of breaking the silence.

“again . .”

“i love you, sweetheart,” that makes you bend into his hold, undoubtedly.

“again, suguru—”

his hips are relentless, still moving even through his pussydrunk confessions, “i love you— i-i love you, i love you. so, goddamn, much— s-shiiit . .”

“m-me too, su . . i love you— i—” your arms trap him, circling around his neck and making sure he stays close to you and he pushes on your knees more, fat cock fucking into you in a more open mating press, knowing you’re close by how your toes curl and your stomach contracts, by how your pussy flutters around his mouth and soft needy sighs turn into wanton moans. he’s got you mapped out, memorised, all from his devotion to you.

“i know, baby, you’re close, y—yeah?”

he feels you nod, thighs starting to burn from the position but while your pussy keeps sucking him in, he’s sure to continue to slam into you, making sure all four walls of the parking lot hear the obscene sounds of his balls slapping against your ass.

“c’mon, cum with me, princess,” he murmurs, lightheaded with the tightness and warmth of your pussy. it’s a wonder he hasn’t cummed already, sneaking one hand in between your bodies to rub at your clit. your moans are rendered inaudible, only managing pathetic squeaks before you’re tipped over the edge and you’re whimpering so loudly into his car, cum dripping down and out your cunt and right to your ass.

your pussy flutters with geto’s continued thrusts, prompting him to reach his release right after with a deep groan, hips stuttering in your sensitive pussy until he’s spilling his load, white and hot. it’s just so, so goddamn much, stuffing your hole full of his cum that it has no choice to spill and dribble out when he removes his cock, the sight just so mesmerising to him.

“p—please,” your energy is far from used up, turning your body over just so you can present your ass to him. face squished into the driver’s seat, you use both hands to spread your cum-filled pussy, just asking for more and geto only smiles with a certain lilt in his voice. “need more, suguru . .”

“that’s my lovergirl.”

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Blood of My Blood

Summary: Stuck between duty and passion, she is given no choice but to yield to the game Aemond wishes to play | Words: 4.1k~ | Warnings: a lot of talk of illegitimacy, hatefucking, dubcon, incest (character is implied to have strong features), p in v sex, baby trapping, forced marriage

Can be read as a stand-alone or as a part two for The Blood is Rare!

His fingers tightened around her arm, the pressure a mix of anger and possessiveness. He forcefully ushered her across the threshold of the chambers she once called home, back when she resided there alongside the Hightower children. The worn flagstones caused her feet to stumble, while her forearm throbbed with bruises from his grip. She shot him a glance filled with both hurt and fury.

“You cannot treat me like this,” she spat viciously. 

Aemond merely stepped back, his expression unyielding. "You are to be my wife. I'll treat you as I please."

Before she could reach the double doors, they slammed shut, brass fixtures rattling as Aemond hastened to secure her inside. Despite her feeble attempts to push back against the doors, her fists bruised from the effort, he locked her in without hesitation.

“They will come for me!” she screamed in protest, “unlock this, at once!”

Locked within the confines of the chamber, her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and defiance. She paced the room, her mind racing with thoughts of escape and retribution. Outside, the distant echoes of footsteps and murmured voices hinted at the presence of guards or servants, but she knew she couldn't rely on them for help.

King Viserys was dead. And Alicent Hightower planted her son on her mother’s throne.

As the hours dragged on, her frustration grew with each passing moment. She tried every possible means of escape, but the sturdy oak doors remained firmly shut, sealing her fate within the chamber. Her mind raced with thoughts of her family, of the kingdom thrown into turmoil by the sudden death of King Viserys. And now, with Aemond's revelation of his family's plan to anoint Aegon on the morrow, she realised the true extent of the danger she faced.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing outside her prison. The door creaked open, and Aemond stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. She studied his face, and saw he looked slightly withered and tired, covered with a mask of coldness.

"We have much to discuss," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But first, you must understand the gravity of the situation."

She eyed him warily, her heart pounding in her chest. "What do you mean?"

"Aegon will be crowned tomorrow," he explained, his tone solemn. "And my family has plans for us as well."

Her stomach churned with dread as she listened to his words. "What plans?"

"A marriage," he said simply, his gaze unwavering. "In the traditions of our ancestors, to solidify our alliance and secure our place in the new realm."

Her mind reeled at the thought of marrying the man who had imprisoned her against her will. But she knew that in the game of thrones, alliances were forged with marriages as much as with swords.

A tension-laden silence filled the chamber, thick with unspoken words and unyielding resolve. her heart pounded in her chest as she weighed her options, acutely aware of the consequences of her decision. The memory of their clandestine tryst, a moment of forbidden passion she dared not admit she had enjoyed, lingered in the recesses of her mind, adding an unexpected layer of complexity to the situation.

"I will not be your pawn," she said, her voice trembling with defiance. 

A flicker of anger flashed across Aemond's face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold mask of indifference.

"You have no choice," he said icily. "You will marry me, for the good of our families and the realm. Just as Daeron will wed a Baratheon girl, to secure-"

She shook her head stubbornly, her resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I will not be forced into a marriage I do not want."

Aemond's gaze narrowed, his patience wearing thin. "Do not be foolish, mandianna. You have a duty to your family, to the legacy of House Targaryen. You will marry me, and you will bear me heirs to secure our place in history."

But she refused to be swayed by his empty words. "I will not be your broodmare, and I will not be shackled to you for the rest of my days," she declared, her voice trembling with righteous indignation. "Not when you have already taken so much from me."

Aemond's expression darkened, his features contorted with anger. "Do not speak to me of what I have taken," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You gave yourself to me willingly, and now you will suffer the consequences."

She swallowed thickly, her pride blurring the edges of what she knew was the truth.

“He is no King of mine.”

A heavy silence settled over the chamber, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a shroud of defiance. Aemond's eye blazed with fury, his jaw clenched so tightly it seemed as if he might shatter his teeth with the force of his anger. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them palpable. The threat of declaring treason hung heavy.

Finally, Aemond broke the silence, his voice cold and menacing. "You dare to defy me," he hissed, his words dripping with contempt. "You would betray your own blood, your own family, for the sake of your misguided principles?"

She met his gaze head-on, her chin lifted defiantly despite the tremble in her limbs. "I will not betray my mother," she declared, her voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at her insides. "You speak of blood after years of declaring me and my brothers alike your sole distaste.”

Aemond's nostrils flared with barely contained rage at her words, his eye narrowing into a slit as he took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over her. "Do not presume to lecture me on matters of blood," he seethed, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the chamber. "You may share the blood of House Targaryen, but you lack the fire that defines our lineage."

“Careful, Uncle,” she whispered, her voice tinged with fury, “I am as much Targaryen as you.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Aemond's features, his gaze faltering for a moment before hardening once more into a mask of disdain. "You may share the name, but you lack the strength and resolve to wield it," he sneered, his words like a lash that cut through the air between them. "You are nothing but a weak, insignificant girl who fancies herself a dragon."

Her jaw tightened at Aemond's cutting words, her resolve hardening as she refused to let his insults diminish her spirit. "Strength is not defined by the size of one's flames, Uncle," she retorted, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her.

Aemond's lip curled in a mixture of anger and begrudging admiration. Despite himself, he couldn't deny the fire that burned within her, the same fire that had characterised the Targaryen bloodline for generations. "You have spirit, I'll give you that," he conceded, his voice low and grudgingly impressed. "But spirit alone will not save you from the realities of this world."

She held his gaze, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts as she felt the tension between them crackle like lightning in the air. Despite their antagonistic exchange, there was an undeniable chemistry that simmered just beneath the surface, a primal attraction that neither of them could ignore.

As if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Aemond took another step closer, his eye darkening with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine. "You may defy me, niece," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "But deep down, you know that we are bound together by more than just blood and duty."

She felt her throat close up, her body betraying what she wanted him to believe about her. That she recoiled at the mere sight of him. That she could not bear to be within the same quarters. That she hated him.

And all of it was a lie.

She would not have given herself so freely to him in that darkened alcove if she truly loathed him. And yet her pride marred the truth.

“You will be my wife,” Aemond stated, his voice devoid of negotiation. It was a command, wrapped in the certainty of his position, a reflection of the harsh realities of their lineage and the role they played in the ongoing struggle for power.

Her reaction was a mix of defiance and disbelief. This was not the offer of a partner, but the demand of a prince used to being obeyed. Yet, even as the words hung in the air between them, she could not ignore the complex web of emotions that tied her to this man. There was no love in this arrangement, but there was something else—something harder to define.

“You speak of marriage as though it were another battle to be won. I am not spoils of war to be claimed.”

Aemond’s eye, ever so piercing, momentarily hardened, hinting at the turmoil beneath his princely facade. His hand flew out, gripping her jaw as he had done that steamy evening, clutching her skin in his long fingers - a warning.

“Come with me, willingly or not. It is your choice, niece.”

Her eyes locked onto his with a fierceness that could rival any dragon's gaze, attempting to sear his very soul with her stare. Yet, in defiance of the forceful hand upon her jaw, she wrenched herself free, her breathing heavy with indignation. The so-called choice he presented felt like a cruel jest, highlighting the absence of any real agency she possessed.

The machinations of the Greens had cornered her into this union with Aemond, rendering any thought of escape futile from the outset.

Their wedding was a somber affair, marked more by the exchange of solemn vows and cold, resentful looks than any semblance of joy or union. Throughout the ceremony, her thoughts wandered, detached from the grim proceedings. And when the final blessings were about to be pronounced, she turned abruptly, her last vestiges of defiance carrying her away to the solitude of her quarters.

The sense of betrayal that churned within her was overwhelming, a treachery not only to her mother's cause but to herself. The disappointment her family would feel loomed over her, a burden more oppressive than the iron crown could ever be.

Moreover, the realisation that this marriage was orchestrated merely to secure an heir, to bind her bloodline to Aemond's as a political safeguard against total war, was revolting.

Standing alone, she tried to steady her trembling hands by focusing on the wine cup she held, just as Aemond's footsteps halted behind her. She braced herself for an encounter she dreaded, yet his next words took her by surprise.

“I shall bid you goodnight,” he said simply.

She spun around, half-expecting to confront a man prepared to enforce his will regardless of her consent. Instead, she met his gaze and found something unexpected—a reflection of restraint and perhaps a hint of understanding.

In that moment, a complex array of emotions coursed through her, challenging her perceptions and forcing her to acknowledge the intricate layers of their predicament.

“I will not lay with you tonight. You do not wish it.”

Her guard, so meticulously maintained, began to falter at the honesty in his words. "And what of tomorrow?" she asked, a tinge of cynicism threading her question. "When the sun rises, will your sense of duty not dictate our interactions?”

"It likely will," he conceded, the corners of his mouth turning down in a grimace. "But tonight, you've had enough battles to face. I won't add to them."

The silence that fell between them was filled with a tentative understanding, a fragile thread connecting two individuals caught in the crossfire of political machinations and familial obligations.

Yet, she was acutely aware that Aemond was not a mere bystander in the unfolding of these events. And it would be a mistake for him to assume she would quietly acquiesce to their circumstances.

Throughout the following day, Aemond's absence hung over her like a shadow, his presence felt more in his lack than in actuality. The dread of uncertainty twisted in her stomach, her mind conjuring scenarios that left her restless and wide-eyed, staring at the chamber doors until the early hours. The knowledge of her new status as his wife did nothing to ease her apprehension. It only highlighted her vulnerability, the potential for him to assert his marital rights in a way that robbed her of any semblance of control.

Yet, despite her fears, Aemond remained absent, his intentions opaque, leaving her to grapple with the anxiety of anticipation alone. The silence of the night was broken only by the distant, powerful beats of Vhagar's wings, a sound that resonated with ominous foreboding. She watched from her window as the great dragon, with Aemond upon her back, vanished into the stormy clouds that brooded overhead.

When Aemond returned to their chambers, it was not the composed prince who entered but a man storming in, soaked to the bone, his demeanor radiating tight, barely controlled anger. The storm outside mirrored his internal tempest, the rain that clung to him a testament to the chaos that seemed to follow in his wake.

His sudden appearance in the dead of night, the way he moved with a predatory grace, charged the air with a palpable tension. She could see in his expression the fracture of a man who had lost control, his ego bruised by the events that had transpired, a dangerous edge to his anger that made her heart race.

In that moment, the dynamics of their relationship stood on a knife's edge, the events of the night poised to define the course of their future interactions. It was a test of wills, a confrontation between power and vulnerability, where the choices they made could either bridge the gap between them or widen it into an insurmountable chasm.

"Aemond," she began, her voice steady despite the fear that threatened to choke her words. "What has happened?"

He halted mid-pace, turning towards her. The flicker of the candles reflected off his wet face, casting shadows that made his expression all the more inscrutable. "The game has changed," he said through gritted teeth, his voice a low growl.

Her eyes traced his movements, every nerve alight.

“What game?” She dared to ask.

Aemond's gaze was steel, the kind that cut deeper than swords. "The game we're all pawns in—the game for the Iron Throne." His words were heavy, laden with a darkness that seemed to suck the warmth from the room. 

“Aemond, tell me plainly. What have you done.”

Her voice was terse, but it trembled.

There was a hardness in his gaze, a glint of something fierce and unyielding.

"Luke," he finally uttered, his tone laden with a severity that chilled her to the bone.

In that instant, clarity and horror crashed over her like a wave. Luke was gone, his life extinguished in the brutal game of thrones that spared no one, not even the innocent. A gnawing question arose within her: Had her mother been informed, or was she, too, left in the dark until now?

The realisation that Aemond, now her husband, had been responsible for her brother's death sent a shiver of fear down her spine. The man standing before her, cloaked in shadows and rain, was no longer just the prince she had been bound to in a marriage of convenience. He was a killer, capable of extinguishing a life—a life she had cherished. Luke's laughter, his teasing smile, the memories they shared, all extinguished in a moment's violence. And if Luke, then why not her? 

Aemond's demeanour shifted, perhaps sensing the change in her perception. "You fear me now," he stated, not a question but a flat acknowledgement.

She took a cautious step back, her mind racing. The man before her, powerful enough to command dragons and armies, had shown he did not shy away from kinslaying. "I believe I ought to" she countered, her voice a whisper of defiance.

He paused, and in that silence, the harsh reality of their situation seemed to settle around them like a cloak. As Aemond moved closer, intending to assert himself, she couldn't suppress the instinctual urge to retreat. The space between them, filled with the unsaid and the undone, seemed insurmountable.

She could not help the stark whimper that escaped her when his fingers formed a fist in her hair at the back of her head, pulling her unyielding face up to meet his, his angered breath spilling over her face.

“You believe I would harm you.”

How could she not? She thought. He had so often shown a calm, quiet anger. And unleashed it all within a short afternoon, with Luke's body somewhere at the bottom of the sea surrounding Storm’s End.

“You dare to question this when you have murdered my brother,” she spat back at him.

Jaw clenched, Aemond raised his other hand to his eye patch, quickly ripping it off to reveal to her what was beneath it. The angry red scar extended from his forehead to his cheek, jagged, clumsy. And where his eye would have been was raw, a bright sapphire sitting firmly within the socket, forboding.

Of course, she knew what Luke had done, but she had never seen him like this. Fear gripped at her skin, and a strange throbbing between her thighs at the way he looked over her like this. Thought she attempted to now show that on her face.

Her expression must have mirrored poor Luke's mere hours before, as her new husband gazed down at her, his demeanour terrifyingly calm.

“You defend your little bastard brother after how he has maimed me?”

“Aemond, please-” she pleaded, only moving away an inch before her husband tugged her back, tighter.

“Your brother was of no use to this realm. But you,” he spat, one hand tucking up her skirts and then meanly digging at her hips, “I need your sweet little cunt for my heirs, mandianna.”

She felt her mouth go dry, unable to say a thing. She whimpered again when he used his grip on her hair to turn her body around, keeping her back towards his chest, his fingers slipped along her jaw, as if to communicate that he could wrap them around her throat at any moment.

Aemond was sitting on a knife’s edge. And she dare not tilt him in any particular direction. Equally though, she dare not admit to herself that it was exciting in a most forbidden way.

“You are my wife,” he murmured quietly, sliding her small clothes down her thigh, flourishing with gooseflesh, “and who am I to deny her her duty?”

She suppressed a yelp when her hands lay flat on the table, her breasts pressed hard against the oak as she felt Aemond's rapidly growing harness at her backside where he was rucking up her skirts. 

Though she tried to wriggle free of him, one hand at the nape of her neck with undeniable strength was all it took to remind her how much smaller she was than him. How difficult it would be to resist. Does she just go through with it? Let her Uncle, her brother's murderer, take her like a common whore whenever he wishes?

She could envisage no escape, and as ashamed as she was to admit it to herself, she could do nothing but submit. At least there would be some pleasure.

She jolted as his slender fingers parted her folds with a click of her essence coated his digits, dragging his touch from her opening to her overly-sensitive bud.

“See how wet you become for me still,” he murmured, pressing his chest against her back, broad body caging her in, “though I am the greatest sinner in the realm, your body still begs for it, sweet niece. What does that make you?”

“Kepus, please-” 

“A traitor to your own kin?” He whispered, exhaling shakily when he nudged her legs apart an inch and slipped the fat head of his cock between her arousal-glistened folds, disappearing into her without effort.

Her lips parted, a quiet moan slipping past at being split onto his length. And though little time had passed since their first tryst, she still felt the sting and girth of him as if it were.

Aemond groaned deeply, at the feeling of her sucking him in so willingly, her walls greedily tightening around his length.

“Or loyal to your kinslaying husband?” He added huskily.

How was she to respond when the air was incessantly pushed right from her lungs at every snap of his hips? The table legs creaked against the floor and her breasts ached from being pressed down to the oak by the tight grip of his fingers around her nape.

She wanted to say that he was brutalising her, taking what he wanted with no care for her pleasure, but even that wouldn't be true. Aemond's rhythmic grunts came hot against her ear as he rutted into her, his hand kneading the flesh of her buttock in one hand, grasping tightly to allow himself deeper access to her.

She felt as if she was betraying herself, moaning the way she was. And Aemond certainly did not miss a thing.

“Stubborn little cunt - saying you don't want it but I can feel you begging for my seed -”

The mocking tone of his voice had her clench around him, humiliation clawing at her skin the more Aemond speared her onto his length in quick rhythmic movements. Her moisture coated his shaft, his pelvis painting the inside of her thighs with it in the heat of their passion. 

Aemond looked down between them, his fingers leaving red marks on her buttock the more he gripped. Both hands drifted either side, pulling at her supple flesh to watch the way her cunt took him, his lips parted in appreciation of how he disappeared into her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling so boneless that she did not attempt to wiggle away when he was no longer holding her down. Instead her fingers curled over the table for stability in a desperate plea to ground herself from the hot, tight feeling building every time his cock hit her fleshy, wet end.

And just when she was getting used to the feeling, Aemond pulled her hips back to him, elevating her hips and slamming into her at an angle which brushed against that deep, sweet place inside her. 

A tingly, warm sensation fluttered up her spine, “kepus-”

“-fucking say you want it-” he murmured between breaths, pulling her onto him quicker the close the became to completion.

She bit her lip, if anything, using the last bit of her power to not give him the satisfaction of thinking she did in fact want it. So she remained silent, which only made his thrusts more aggressive and assertive.

“-I’ll give you my seed, watch you grow fat with child - and just when you think it's over, I'll fuck another one into you-”

Her nails dug into the oak, scraping painfully, lips parted in a soundless scream as she felt that wave of warmth and bliss crest, unable to control the way she fluttered around him.

Aemond strained, words caught tightly in his throat as he spilled inside of her, pulling her hips flush to him as if to mold himself to her irreparably. She shamefully felt herself tremble, her release still sending dull shockwaves through her blood as Aemond remained seated firmly within her.

She thought of her family. And how they would come to hate her for what she had become, allowing the man who had killed her brother to take her like this. She surely thought they would no longer see her the same with Aemond's child in her belly and tied to him by marriage. 

Tears threatened at her eyes, two feelings at war with one another, shame and pleasure.

She whimpered when Aemond pulled his softening cock from her, a rush of warm spend spilling down her thigh in a way that only exacerbated her humiliation.

“You will write to your mother and tell her of your loyalties.”

Aemond spoke so coldly in between soft pants, it was as if he was hardly the man she had known a few moments ago. It has always been like this. But in a way, it is what made him exciting. Unpredictability was as much exhilarating as it was terrifying.

A notion she held to as she glanced at him, his good eye hooded and blown wide and black with lust and the sapphire glinting in the orange glow of the room as if bloodthirsty.

The game had to be played. And if this was the way Aemond wanted to do it, then so be it.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Thinking about Astarion having to deal with his reclaimed mortality once the initial euphoria of it is wearing off: 

When he’s startled from sleep, woken by his own racing heartbeat. 

Him jumping at the movement in the corner of his eye, only to find it’s just his own reflection staring right back at him, puzzled, before he watches his cheeks redden with embarrassment. 

The sun slowly losing its appeal as time goes on because Astarion keeps getting nasty sunburns after days spent outside, trying to make up for centuries confined to darkness. Whenever he comes home with itching skin and drenched in sweat, he finds himself almost missing hiding in the shadows. 

The odd sensation of feeling more and less at the same time: while some of his senses are now dulled to better suit mortality, others feel heightened to the point of sensory overload—a gust of wind feels like fire licking at his skin and he gets so very anxious whenever he loses Tav in the crowd, unable to distinguish them by the once divine scent of their blood any longer. 

Since he has a reliant supply of his own blood pumping through his veins now, he’s feeling aroused so much easier and more often than not at quite inconvenient times. He enjoyed having sex with Tav before, but now that he’s mortal again, he finds that he’s having to overthink intimacy once again—where his desires used to be driven by burning hunger, lust now feels like a pleasant, more natural bodily reaction. Having to seriously consider contraceptive measures, should his partner be able to get pregnant, is also a rather novel experience for him.  

Bathing still feels as good as before, at least. But where he spent hours in the bathroom out of pointless vanity then, Astarion now has to wash himself because his body would stink of sweat and, well, life otherwise. It will be years before he openly excuses himself for having to use the bathroom whenever nature calls.

And food—food would be the hardest to adjust to. It takes a lot of trial and error to find something that pleases his virgin taste buds (although he swears there’re some odd pieces of memories flashing in front of his eyes whenever he's snacking on wild strawberries or awfully sweet citron tarts). He ends up acquiring a taste for raw cookie dough, shredded cheese and sardines, eating little else for the next two years or so. To everyone's astonishment, he's gotten food poisoning only once or twice.

Astarion is no stranger to pain or injury, but he’s appalled by how long it takes to recover from the most minor cuts and bruises. It’s a well-kept secret between him and Tav that his first common cold had him convinced he was dying for a fortnight straight. 

Crying is much easier now, too.

Ironically, it’s mortality that forces Astarion to strive for more permanent, detail-oriented plans for the future. Now that life is finite, he wants to use the time he has wisely. He might keep travelling the realms until he breathes his last, or settle down, eventually. He might learn a new profession or accumulate some wealth in less honest ways. Maybe, one day, he wants to have a family, heirs to whatever he decides to make his own. 

Once Astarion has come to terms with being a mortal elf again, he realises living is not just about a beating heart. Living is about having endless possibilities but limited time. Choices and decisions that lead to only one thing: death. 

Now that Astarion is living again, he finally understands that death is just another part of the journey.

[astro-royale]

「How to know you are spiritually protected ☥

My own insights into spiritual protection- Amaryllis

1. This is going to sound weird but… feeling invisible when you go outside in large crowds. Sometimes it will literally feel like you’re gliding..and some people can’t see you at all. Some people seem to look straight ahead completely unaware of your presence..and the people who look, turn their heads to look again to make sure they’ve seen you correctly. Because your auric field stands out so much…

2. You are safe in situations most people wouldn’t be. This is not by any means an invitation to try this out because if you F* around you will find out! - Spirit. But maybe you end up being in certain circumstances where you have to walk alone at night on certain streets that may have a certain negative reputation and you always end up being safe. Like having to take a certain particular way home everytime you come home from school or work and other people have horror stories about that road/street yet you don’t and you’ve always been fine.

3. Learn to see the hidden blessing behind rejection. You get rejected by many people, jobs, “opportunities”…this one sounds strange again but it goes back to what I said in point number 1 with somehow being invisible to certain people with negative energies that could possibly harm you. Sometimes when it comes to romantic relationships especially…we have short term contracts with people..but staying within that connection any longer would be harmful so spirit encourages us to sever that tie or to let go because it served its spiritual purpose. Maybe that person suddenly decides they want to break up or don’t like you anymore. Rejection is Gods protection. I’ll say that again. Rejection is Gods protection. Whatever is meant for you, will find you and be with you.

4. You have some sort of extra sensory gift. With power comes responsibility. If god gave you some sort of intuitive power; one half of the reason as to why you have it is to protect you and warn you about certain dangers.. to help a seasoned soul like yours navigate this life.

5. You are able to sense when something isn’t right with people.. this goes back point number 4. But sometimes you will get chills or feel like something isn’t right with certain people and you don’t know why. Even when others seem to gravitate towards that thing/person. You can see behind the veil very well.

6. An obvious one but getting warnings in dreams, having a strong connection with the dream realm and understanding the spiritual significance behind it.

7. Your friends/family let you know they’ve had dreams about you and you often know what they mean/what they’re referring to, and know to take it as a sign.

8. Another strange one.. not being able to sleep…not knowing why you can’t sleep sometimes for several days in a row and then you’re fine and able to sleep normally again. Sometimes the astral realm is murky. Spiritual warfare is real. And sometimes not entering different realms and dimensions full of energy harvesting, demons, malicious entities, means not being able to sleep that night. That’s your higher self and guides protecting you.

9. Getting chills/realisations reading this post ;)

That’s all folks

[windcarvedlyre]

Thinking about Venti's role as an archon and how he might be doing his job- as Celestia intended- better than we think.

Archons, in Gnosticism, rule over the material realm and prevent souls from leaving it. Barbatos, in the Ars Goetia, "reconciles disputes between friends and those who hold power".

Everything we know about Venti implies that he hates Celestia and opposes all forms of tyranny, but if their goal is to keep humanity from advancing, realising the truth of the world and taking actions that could threaten the status quo...

...isn't the best way to prevent rebellions and slow progress to make the people you rule content with what they have?

Venti is all about making his people's lives leisurely and seemingly free (I'll get to that in a second). It's in his gemstone quote, the thing which summarises his approach as an archon:

"Still, the winds change direction. "Someday, they will blow towards a brighter future… "Take my blessings and live leisurely from this day onward."

We see this reflected in Mondstadt's culture and economy. There are still hardworking individuals in the Knights of Favonius, the Church of Favonius and the Adventurer's Guild, but this attitude isn't universal even within those organisations and the rest of Mondstadt's people generally have a slow, relaxed approach to life relative to other nations. They haven't produced any internationally notable industries outside of alcohol, and why would they? They have everything they need, graciously provided by the anemo archon himself*, so why strive for more?

This has already left them vulnerable to the whims of more powerful nations, incapable of meaningfully opposing the Fatui without inviting consequences they can't handle.

*Also see Jean's story quest for a scaled-down version of this. Mondstadt's general population relies on her hard work a bit too much and she enables them.

We also see Mondstadt have a softening effect on outsiders multiple times in-game. There are at least three cases of people questioning their life choices because its people and/or scenery are that nice. Two are branches of hangout events, one is a soon-to-be-ex treasure hoarder chilling on Cider Lake's coast. I've joked that Mond is a lotus eater hotel scaled up to a nation based on this, but what if that's somewhat intentional?

But why would he do this?

It could be an unintended side effect of efforts to improve people's quality of life. He was allegedly naive enough not to forsee the aristocracy situation, after all. But at the same time... he's a god of freedom and hope in a world where his people have no hope of freedom.

-Harmost's Notes (II), Remuria.

He knows what happens to human civilisations that advance too far and attempt to rebel against this world. He likely knows a god much like him, themed around music and desperate to free his people from fate, tried and failed horribly. He lives in the shadow of a celestial needle. The Cataclysm would only reinforce this perceived futility of resistance. He still hopes for a brighter future, but he may be pinning all of his hopes on a descender taking pity on Teyvat's people and choosing to help them. To quote the description of Mondstadt Statues of the Seven:

A monumental stone statue that watches over Mondstadt. Legends say that it was sculpted in the image of the Anemo Archon. "Seeds brought by the wind will grow over time." The statue silently anticipates the arrival of a noble soul to arrive, while thousand winds of time will soon unfold a new story...

Apart from that, what else can he do besides be passive and complacent? Besides make his people comfortable and hope they don't rock the boat too much before liberation is actually possible?

And the thing about resolving disputes with those in power worries me. It could just translate into his pacifism, but it could also mean he's less willing to act against Celestia than we'd hope. Why did the Tsaritsa, the only archon named after a saint and willing to take a stand against Celestia, fall out with him? He has reasons to be pissed at her methods but I suspect that won't be the only factor.

All we can do is wait and see.

[nayziiz]

Team Dynamics | LN4

Summary: To celebrate the launch of their 2024 car for the upcoming F1 season, McLaren hosts a masquerade gala event that sees two souls connect and lead to a whirlwind romance. Unfortunately, the pair realise soon after that they are to work together quite closely after they agreed it would only be a one-night thing.

Warnings: Smut, alcohol, one night stand, unprotected sex

Pairing: Gemma (I don't like writing with Y/N or reader) x Lando Norris

Series Masterlist

PART 3

In the weeks leading up to the first race of the season, Lando finds himself grappling with the persistent presence of Gemma in his thoughts. Her green eyes linger in his dreams, and the echo of her laughter plays in his mind when he's out with friends. Despite their agreement to keep things casual and without strings, Lando can't help but entertain fleeting fantasies about what it would be like if Gemma were more than just a one-night stand.

The memory of their night together lingers, the allure of her company and the connection they shared leaving an indelible mark on his psyche. He wonders about the possibility of Gemma being more than just a passing moment in his life. The prospect of having her around as a girlfriend begins to stir a longing within him, a desire for something more profound than their initial agreement.

For Gemma, the morning after their night together was marked by a quiet departure from Lando's penthouse. She slips back into the dress from the previous night, leaving his clothes neatly folded on the coffee table. In a subtle yet deliberate gesture, she folds her panties and places them on top of his clothes—a silent reminder of their shared intimacy. They part ways without exchanging numbers, and Lando realises that he didn't even catch her last name.

As Lando wakes up to an empty room, the disappointment is palpable, tempered only by the acknowledgment of the agreement they made. The absence of contact details and the mystery surrounding Gemma's identity create a void, a lingering question mark that tugs at his curiosity. Yet, he respects the unspoken terms of their encounter, acknowledging that some connections are meant to be fleeting, existing in the realm of memories rather than in the unfolding chapters of his life.

“Mate, you’re so distracted.” Max, Lando’s best friend, comments as they sit in Lando’s Monaco apartment playing video games.

“I think I’ve met the girl of my dreams.” Lando responds.

“Just because she slept with you?” Max chuckles.

“No, not because of that. You didn’t see her. She was stunning, mate. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. And, she’s funny, like genuinely funny without even trying. You should have seen how unimpressed she was with the penthouse, like it didn’t bother her.” Lando explains to his friend who pauses their game.

“Why don’t you just ask her out on a date?” Max suggests.

“We agreed for it to be just a one night thing.” Lando sighs as he throws his head back into the couch. “I don’t even have her number.”

“You’re so stupid.” Max comments as he pulls out his phone and opens his Instagram app. “What did you say her name was?”

“Gemma.” Lando replies.

As Max opens the McLaren Instagram feed and navigates to the following list, Lando's curiosity is piqued. The search for Gemma's name yields only two results. Max clicks on the first profile, and after a quick glance, Lando shakes his head, indicating that it's not the Gemma he's looking for.

They move on to the second profile, and as Lando inspects the screen, a subtle flicker of recognition crosses his face. Max hands over his phone, and Lando takes it in his hand, scrolling through the girl's feed. Intrigued, he clicks on a post, hoping to find more clues about the enigmatic Gemma and perhaps uncover a connection that goes beyond the one unforgettable night they shared. The screen illuminates with snippets of her life, offering a glimpse into the world that Gemma inhabits outside the confines of that memorable evening.

“This is her.” Lando breathes and keeps scrolling.

As Lando scrolls through Gemma's social media feed, he's met with a mosaic of her life. The racing gear and karting photos stand out prominently, depicting a passionate and skilled side of Gemma that resonates with his own racing world. The adrenaline-filled snapshots capture her in her element, surrounded by the machinery and thrill that defines the racing lifestyle.

Interwoven with the racing theme are numerous stand-up paddling photos, showcasing Gemma's versatility and love for outdoor activities. The images paint a picture of a dynamic and adventurous spirit, someone who embraces challenges and finds joy in the simplicity of nature.

Beyond the racetrack and the paddleboard adventures, there are glimpses of Gemma's social life. Posts with friends at bars and restaurants capture the moments of camaraderie and shared laughter. Family also holds a special place in her life, evident in the photos celebrating birthdays of loved ones. The snapshots offer a multifaceted view of Gemma—a racer, an adventurer, a socialite, and a family-oriented individual.

As Lando delves into Gemma's digital world, the distance between them seems to shrink, unveiling layers of her personality that go beyond their brief encounter. Each post becomes a fragment of a larger narrative, and Lando finds himself drawn deeper into the mystery and allure of Gemma's life, contemplating the possibility of reconnecting with her beyond the confines of a single night.

“She is quite pretty.” Max concludes as he tries to sneak a glance at the screen.

“Gemma Mayfield.” Lando adds. “I didn’t even get her last name, if I’m being honest.”

“Why don’t you follow her and see what happens?” Max suggests.

Lando nods and pulls up Gemma’s Instagram account on his own phone and clicks on the follow button.

As Gemma enjoys brunch with her girlfriends, the animated chatter and laughter fill the air. Amidst the delightful ambiance, her phone emits a soft notification sound, capturing her attention. She unlocks her phone, curious about the interruption, and opens Instagram to find a new follower notification.

To her surprise, she sees Lando's name on the screen, signalling that he has just started following her. The realisation brings a spark of intrigue to Gemma's eyes, a subtle but undeniable acknowledgment of the connection forged during that unforgettable night. The familiar features of Lando's profile picture and the digital confirmation of his interest draw her into a moment of contemplation, wondering what this unexpected digital connection might signify and where it could lead.

Her friends, oblivious to the Instagram notification, continue their lively brunch conversation as Gemma, with a hint of a smile playing on her lips, delves into the exploration of this newfound connection that bridges the gap between their worlds, even if only in the virtual realm.

“Why is Lando Norris following you?” Ashley, Gemma’s friend, asks as she peers at Gemma’s phone.

“We met last week at the gala.” Gemma explains and locks her screen again.

“A week ago and he still remembers your name?” Ashley retorts.

“Don’t be silly.” Gemma chuckles.

“Clearly you made an impression.” Her friend comments as they sip their mimosas.

“It’s probably just my panties on his dresser reminding him about me, nothing else.”

“Excuse me?” Ashley gasps. “Your panties?”

“We hooked up. Nothing special.” Gemma shrugs.

“You slept with Lando Norris, the Lando Norris.” Ashley states in disbelief.

“It’s not a big deal. We were drunk and fooling around. We said it would be a one night thing.” Gemma explains.

“Yeah, one night thing, but now he’s all up on your Instagram and probably looking at all your posts so he can see you again.” Ashley counters.

“Is that weird? For like a hook-up to follow you on Instagram?” Gemma wonders.

“It's a little weird, but maybe he likes you and is trying to get your attention.” Ashley responds. “Follow him back and see what happens.”

“Did you forget about the fact that I’ve just come out of a relationship? I can’t open myself up to someone only to get hurt again.” Gemma counters.

“Babe, Lucas never loved you the way you deserved. Maybe it’s time to acknowledge the signs that are very much there and take a leap of faith.” Ashley suggests.

Their conversation is interrupted by Gemma's phone ringing from an unknown number. Excusing herself from the table, Gemma heads to a quieter spot to answer the call, leaving Ashley with a lingering sense of curiosity about the unfolding dynamics between Gemma and the famous Formula 1 driver.

“Gemma speaking, hello.” She speaks into the phone.

“Hi, Gemma. This is Zak Brown.” Zak replies. “I hope you’re well.”

“Mr Brown. I’m doing well, thank you. I hope you are too.”

“Oh, I could be better. That’s why I’m calling.” Zak states.

“How can I assist, sir?” Gemma asks, confused and still surprised by the caller.

“One of Oscar’s trackside data analysts has unfortunately fallen ill and won’t be able to work for the foreseeable future. We’ve heard some great reviews on your work back at the factory and were wondering if you’d be up to join us in the paddock starting in Bahrain?” Zak proposes. “With all travel and accommodation costs covered. And, a salary increase, of course.”

“That’s very unexpected.” Gemma breathes.

“I thought it would be. I’ll have my assistant email you the contract and you can let us know what your decision is, but we’ll need to know by tomorrow morning so we can make the necessary arrangements.” Zak explains.

“Thank you, I’ll keep an eye out for that.” Gemma agrees.

They end the phone call and Gemma returns to her friends. Ashley shoots her a questioning look.

“They want me to work trackside.” Gemma tells Ashley.

“See, signs. Everywhere. Just signs. This is your time to shine, Gem-bug.” Ashley responds, her excitement evident.

When Gemma returns to her apartment, she grabs her laptop and easily finds the email with the contract in her inbox. She prints it out and reads through it. After pacing around her living room for a few hours reading and rereading the contract, she digitally signs the contract and emails it back to Zak’s assistant.

The following morning, she receives her plane tickets and itinerary for the Bahrain Grand Prix just a week away. She sits on the couch in her small apartment and realises that she’ll have to face Lando at some point and decides to follow him back on Instagram. She knows it was her idea for their exchange to be a one night thing only, but not even her ex-boyfriend was so kind and gentle with her like Lando was. She could still feel his fingers and his kisses on her skin when doing simple things around her apartment like washing up the dishes or doing the laundry. For the first time that night, she was looked after as opposed to being the one looking after those around her.

[yourlocalcorviddad]

Saw a post about Danny calling Dani his little Comet, this one, and then I had an idea to and mix it with a favourite Hozier song, Work Song. Feel free to add or whatever if it strikes you!

-

"Ah, shh, shh little Comet, it's ok, I've got you."

The attempt at keeping his voice steady didn't really work, but he was sure he was keeping a good hold on his emotions at least, since Ellie was calming down in his hold. It didn't mean he wasn't panicking inside at the situation but he was managing. He only had to make it a few more weeks before the others could come, then everything would be safe.

He got her settled in his bed, sleeping and calm now. He had a crib for her, and Jordan too eventually, but he couldn't really stand the thought of them to far. So bed it was.

Both clone and future self had been deaged due to the damage taken, done at Frostbite's direction to heal and better stabilise both. Jordan's injuries had come in defence of both him and Ellie, and, like a weird mirror, Ellie's from defending him and the injured Jordan when he was to weakened from injuries to fight. Ellie had just been deaged from it Dan, who he decided was going to be called Jordan too give himself some separateness, was reverted to his core. In an effort to protect and give him time to heal, he has him inside himself, next to his own core. He'd been warned it meant that Dan would likely take on more of being like his child than his future self, but he just wanted him alive, not like he didn't have the risk of it anyway, at least this time it was under his control.

There was no hope of returning to his dimension, it had been clear at that point, but they had been trying to free all the ghosts they could and get all liminal people and their family rounded up to safety before the GIW got to them. Danny, as the heir prince-until he was of age for the throne at 100-was sent ahead to bridge trust with another dimension, this one in fact, to see it they could bring their people, his people, there.

Clockwork and the Ancients and Observants worked with his parents and the others from town, and other liminality touched people, to get everyone into the ghost zone, which he had leaned also got called the Infinite Realms, safely and cut off that dimension from it.

Apparently that's what most magical creatures had done to that one anyway, long ago. He'd even met the descendents of the witches that had been hunted by, and thus placed the curse on, his family back when Amity was a village.

They'd lifted the, severely weakened by then but still present, curse after apologies were made and explanations done. It was a relief, even though it is likely what had even held him tethered to life enough to become a halfa at all, but he felt more at ease now without it.

All in all, it led him to where he was now though. A new world, a new set of rules, similar but still so different, and two kids that were essentially his.

The sudden crash outside his window on the alley side had him rushing over, ready to defend as best he could, still healing from the injuries in the last fight with the GIW, in case it was a villain attacking.

Only to pause at the sight of the, now likely unconscious, blue and black clad vigilante in the dumpster below.

"Fuck... Well can't leave him, who knows who'd find him there."

It took a bit of work, and mild use of his weak but still present powers, but he got him up stairs and into his apartment onto the, comfortable if he said so himself, couch.

Once there, he checked him over for injuries, careful not to take the domino off and keeping him as clothed as possible, but tending to his wounds as best possible. Doing so, he realised the other was probably only about 20-21, close to his age at least. It made him wonder how long the other had been a hero, and made a thought to ask later.

For now he settled in to make some food -that hopefully wouldn't accidentally come alive again-and keep an eye on his daughter and the hero.

[kylobith]

LotR Week - Day 5 (20th Sep)

Here with me — @lotrweek

All of Rohan stood at the ready in and around Edoras, eager to behold their new king. Everything was prepared and cautiously measured. Banners, flags, food, drink. Hardly any flowers or garlands, but that did not matter to them. The Rohirrim wore their shiniest armour or most fancy dress, their blond heads plaited and adorned with the most intriguing hairstyles for whomever was foreign to Rohirric customs. And there were many who attended from outside the kingdom too.

As Éomer insisted, he would first pay tribute to the funeral mounds of his predecessors, then climb the capital while mounted on his horse, solemnly making his way through his people up to the Golden Hall and his throne, where the crown would be placed upon his brow by his sister. A simple ceremony, despite the symbolism behind it. He was a man of simple taste, like most of his kin. There was no wish for any luxurious display typical of Gondorian events, even though Aragorn’s coronation did impress him greatly.

Éowyn was waiting outside Meduseld by Faramir’s side, dressed in her most formal gown. She nervously fidgeted with the trimming of her sleeve, casting several glances towards the city. She could merely catch a tiny glimpse of the Barrowfield, so crowded were the steps to the Hall. But there was nobody to be seen by the graves. No silhouette, no cloak, nothing.

She let out yet another sigh and flattened her cuff again, realising that she messed it up by tweaking it. Her nerves were getting the best of her.

‘He is late,’ she murmured. ‘I saw that he was clothed on time, so why is he late?’

A hand cupped her shoulder, alleviating some of the weight that she placed upon them.

‘My lady, do not fret so much,’ Faramir whispered to her in his honeyed voice she had learnt to cherish. ‘It is not unusual for ceremonies to run late, either in Rohan or Gondor, I am sure. Whatever is keeping him from the ceremony must be justified.’

Éowyn nibbled on her lower lip, absent-mindedly covering his hand with her own. The warmth of his skin temporarily soothed her, but she could not prevent the whirlwind of possibilities to take over her mind. What if her brother was ill? What if something crucial was missing? What if the blade of his sword had not been polished well enough for his taste? What if he was injured? What if the preparations for the ceremony now seemed too dull to him, and he preferred a Gondorian celebration? What if somebody snuck inside and attacked him?

Another look thrown towards the mounds. Another answerless inquiry.

She shook her head and tugged at her skirt.

‘I must check on him. I just want to make sure that he is alright.’

Before Faramir could seize her hand and hold her back to comfort her, she stormed towards the doors and nodded at the guards to open them. Inside the hall, there were only servants and maids arranging the last details for the coronation, bringing in benches and setting up pelts upon them, as well as on the throne itself. Banners were hung from the lofty arches, bearing the colours of the realm and Éomer’s arms. The mere sight brought some balm to her heart. She could already tell that her brother would be loved by all, as he deserved to be.

But that relied on his presence at the coronation, which was still uncertain. Where could he be? Éowyn searched the kitchens first, wondering whether her brother would feel peckish if he felt anything as nervous as she did. None of the kitchen staff had seen him.

Then, she moved her quest to the King’s Quarters, inspecting the office, the archives, but he kept eluding her. So, as her last resort, she gathered up her skirts and ran towards the royal quarters. As beads of sweat manifested on her forehead and trapped the few flyaway hairs detaching from her hairdo, she nearly sprinted down the corridor to reach Éomer’s door.

When she stood there, she softly knocked but earned no response. Frustrated and stressed from the delay, her fist slammed harder against the wood. Nothing. Yet she would not accept it. She instantly forced the door open and scanned the room. A sniffle from behind the bed caught her attention. She snapped her head towards the source of the noise and followed it.

Huddled up on the floor with his back pressed to the bedframe, Éomer was painfully pressing his knees up to his chest, despite the stiffness of his ceremonial armour. Tears stained his reddened cheek and drowned his unfocused eyes. He looked an utter mess, right when he should not.

Éowyn sank to the floor by his side and held him by the shoulders, trying to bring him to look into her eyes as they bore into him.

‘Éomer, what is happening?’ she whimpered helplessly, taken aback by the alarming sight. ‘Everybody is awaiting your arrival.’

He roughly wiped his cheek, not bothering to look at his sister — or perhaps he felt too ashamed to do it — and sniffed again.

‘I cannot do it, Wyn.’

Her brow furrowed. She could not imagine how her brother, renowned for his bravery and strength of will, would yield to the promise of the throne. Now that their family had been robbed from them, she was most likely the living person who knew him best, and she never had seen him in such a state since the passing of their parents.

She sat down beside him and nudged him with her shoulder.

‘Why is that, Mer?’

He gathered himself up, regaining enough strength to explain his anguish when words so fleeted him. Despite his state, he sensed the urge to spare her from the harshness of what tormented him, in the same way that he had sought to protect her ever since she was born. But there was not much that he could hide from her now. She had eyes, and it was about time that he stopped infantilising her. She had proven herself worthy of the greatest honours; he could no longer confine her to the image of a helpless child.

As if she had ever been that.

‘I never meant for any of this to happen,’ he sighed. ‘Théodred’s passing, the war, our uncle’s passing… I was never educated to become king. I was never taught state affairs. I am a soldier. That is all I have ever been. What legitimacy do I have as a king? I deserve none of it.’

‘Mer…’

Éowyn wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. Oh, how it pained her to see him in such a state. Her thumb traced soft lines on his arm at a soothing pace, helping him relax by the minute.

‘You are underestimating yourself,’ she murmured. ‘You have much to learn, as does every king accessing the throne, but that does not mean that you do not know anything. You were a prince once, before our uncle became king. You received the education of a prince by your old tutor. Surely Théodred spoke to you about some things he learnt. You two were close.’

‘He did, but what legitimacy does it give me?’

‘The blood of the royal house of Rohan flows through your veins as it does through mine. You have spent your youth, your whole life defending the realm. You are a war hero. How would you not be the ruler that our kingdom needs?’

Éomer scoffed and planted a brief kiss on her forearm, clinging to it.

‘We have hardly had any time to mourn Théoden and Théodred. Everything happened so fast… My heart is still aching.’

‘War brought much torment to our family and continues to do so even now that it is over. Do not keep the pain at bay. Embrace it, but acknowledge your duty as well, Éomer. Today is yours to seize as our new king. You can grieve for as long as you need to once the crown has been placed on your head.’

‘Will it not alter my capacities to carry on my responsibilities?’

She shook her head and shifted closer to him. This time, their eyes met, and for the first time since everything went dark for them both, they saw the child within themselves and the other. Two children, almost left to their own devices, alone against a hostile world that threatened to annihilate everything they knew and held dear.

For a long time, they only had each other. Théoden and Théodred, as much as they cherished them, hardly understood the extent of their loss. For years they hid their pain to keep up with their uncle and cousin and accommodate themselves into the new roles bestowed upon them. And when Gríma planted his rotten fangs under the king’s skin and poisoned him, the siblings were alone against the world again.

And they would always find each other in the end. Despite Éomer’s banishment, despite Éowyn’s narrow escape from death.

Éowyn tightened her grip around her older brother. She had too often overlooked the simplicity of a fraternal embrace, words of encouragement towards each other. They mattered now. More than ever.

‘You will be a just king, Éomer. I just know it. And I believe in you.’

‘But…’

Tears flooded his eyes anew and spilled onto his beard as he let out a gasped and trembled.

‘But you will not see any of it. You will not be around. I am about to lose you too,’ he wept.

‘Lose me?’

He shrugged and clutched her arm.

‘You are leaving for Gondor. You will settle down there, build a family and a life there. Will I even see you again?’

Éowyn’s eyes widened at his words. Never had she imagined that she had caused part of his strife. She had been elated about her engagement, which was to be announced later on during the celebrations, but she had no clue that Éomer would resent it in any way.

Her thumb wiped away his tears.

‘You are not losing me, Mer, nor will you ever. My marriage will never come in the way of our bond, I promise you that. I will visit as often as I am able, and you will know your nieces or nephews. They will know your name and your face, and their eyes will light up with joy whenever your name is mentioned. I will make sure of that. Besides, you will always be welcome in our home.’

‘Do you really mean that?’

She laughed and ran a hand through his hair to tame the knots that he had created by clutching tresses of it when nobody was looking.

‘Of course I do! You are my brother, Mer, and I do not want a life where you are estranged.’

‘Mh.’

At last, he allowed himself to smile, despite the brevity of the display. She grinned and kissed his cheek.

‘I will always be with you,’ she intoned. ‘Today especially. I am here with you, and I have no desire to turn away.’

Éomer sighed and held her against his heart.

‘Here. With me. Alright. Perhaps I can do this.’

They parted and stared at each other for a few seconds, before chuckling together. She stood up and held out her hand.

‘Come on. Your people are waiting.’

He took it without thinking and allowed her to straighten up his appearance. Before they walked out the door, he halted her with a hand on her back.

‘Before we go…’

She looked up at him expectantly, wondering what he had to say. He was never one for emotional or affectionate displays. Éomer inhaled deeply and smiled at his little sister.

‘You look beautiful today. And you will be the most gorgeous bride in history. And I love you.’

[thesiltverses]

any clues on whats next after tsv ends ? :)

No concrete confirmation, but we did put out a Patreon post back in spring with a few draft pitches, to gauge initial interest and see what kind of genre storytelling folks were most excited to see from us.

I'll paste them below, so you can see the kinds of things we've had in mind (#2 and #3 were the most popular, but it was a fairly even spread outside of that). We've had a few more really fun ideas since then that I'll keep schtum about for now.

General feedback was that people were most enthusiastic about seeing ongoing, multi-season projects from us, which makes perfect sense and is much more sensible for us anyway in terms of sustaining a livelihood / retaining audience members along the way.

That said, TSV has been a three-year endeavour which is a big commitment, and personally I think the best horror is often self-contained, short and sweet.

So I'd really love to have the time to work on a few miniseries-type shows as well, but also need to recognise that we likely don't have the bandwidth to juggle two projects simultaneously.

With all that in mind, I think the direction we're hoping to be able to pursue is:

1+ shorter horror miniseries or one-offs with production or network partners (if they want to work with us) where we're largely on writing duties or with a lighter load.

1 longer, ongoing weird-fiction show which is all ours, baby, all ours.

Draft pitches

#1: Manes

Genre: Historical horror, cosmic horror, family drama with murderous stakes

Influences: The Terror Season 1, pretty much.

Summary: In 208 AD, the ailing Roman emperor Septimius Severus travels north across Hadrian's Wall into Caledonia, with the aim of finally uniting Britain under imperial rule.

For Severus, there's more at stake - his two sons are openly at odds over the succession, and it's openly said that civil war will follow the emperor's death.

Severus himself rose to supreme power through violence and the elimination of his rivals. Now, haunted by the possibility of revenge by the shades of the divine dead and dwelling unhappily on his legacy, the emperor hopes to share his final triumph with his sons and demonstrate a different lesson to them - that an equitable peace is a lasting possibility.

But as the Roman column makes its way north into apparently endless woods, surrounded by cronies, schemers, Britons, soothsayers, priestesses of Cybele, and more, the emperor and his family find that their enemy is nowhere to be seen - but they are being pursued by a force that is both strange and terrible.

And soon enough, the Romans realise that they have perhaps strayed not into Caledonia at all - but into a hostile realm of their own imagining...

Why make this show? We adore period horror, and there's far too little of it out there.

Severus and his family are a fascinating set of characters who we'd love to spend some time with - as ethically-compromised participants in a very Shakespearean tragedy, and as individuals whose heritage, religious beliefs and psychologies allow us to explore aspects of ancient Rome that haven't been done to death in fiction already.

#2: I'll Dance In The Deep Shadow

Genre: Weird-fiction noir, paranoid espionage fiction, cosmic horror

Influences: Cold War spy classics, Roadside Picnic

Summary: Across the water from the mainland UK, a vast walled city has come unexpectedly into existence.

The city’s walls are composed of purest shadow; its leaders have not revealed themselves to us, nor have they made demands of us.

Upon its streets, our own dead and forlorn doubles wander; grinning doppelgangers who seem to know something terrible from the future that’s to come.

We call the city Umbra.

Umbra is a bottomless well of shadow and secrets; its darkened landscapes are home to suppressed memories turned savage and monstrous.

Its citizens and its guards are twisted echoes, repetitions, and whispering relics of the world's buried past - and they will not reveal Umbra's purpose to us.

Around Umbra's great walls, representatives from the world's governments gather and plot against one another - mercenaries, guides, spies, black-market traders, scientists and killers - to infiltrate the city, map its streets, and navigate its dangers for themselves.

Why make this show? Less of an Eskew sequel than it probably sounds at first glance, this one. 

We'd love to do a paranoid, twist-filled, pessimistic John Le Carre-style spy thriller, with multiple characters who can neither trust themselves nor each other - and we feel like we've got some really interesting horror themes around memory and forgetting here to explore with this concept.

#3: Our Wars Have Ended

Genre: Dark fantasy, New Weird fantasy

Influences: The Black Company, the Bas-Lag series, Gormenghast.

Summary: It’s a strange time to be alive.

Thirty years ago, countless legions of the ancient dead rose from their graves to conquer the living lands; lands which now rest in an uneasy - but peaceful - state of occupation.

Withered corpses sit upon the thrones of the living and play silent courtier in the shadowed halls, acting out the rituals and habits of their past lives while dead men and women keep watch from the ruined towers. 

Mortal historians and linguists frantically mediate between our returned masters, trying to keep the peace - which estate belongs to whom? Who shall rule eternal? Which traditions deserve to live on?

But this is a time of wondrous change, too - new technologies, empowered by the revelations of the Dead Reclamation and the will of the Ancestors. Strange machines rumble through the hills and necronautical vessels delve into the unexplored territories of the afterlife itself.

And it has been announced that the Hollowbrow Queen will unite the nation with a powerful gesture, taking on a living consort in a marriage of the fleeting and the eternal.

On one side of the conquered country, an old veteran leads his mercenary company on a reluctant expedition towards the capital, in the employ of a long-dead king on a mission of revenge.

On the other, a young dead-diver and essayer into the realms of the dead is hired to investigate a peculiar mystery, and a conspiracy that may involve both the living and the returned…

Why make this show? Because Game of Thrones had no interest in the (to us) enjoyable questions of 'well, why do the ancient dead want to conquer the living, exactly? What happens once they've done it?' and we'd love to deconstruct that and play with the idea of loathsome undead aristocrats from every period of history squabbling with one another over what their conquered nation actually means.

Because we think we've built up the confidence and the skills to take a big swing at an epic adventure story and a semi-traditional fantasy - it feels like an idea that could potentially appeal to a wider audience while remaining true to our own core values of Weirdness, Horrible Things and More Weirdness.

#4: To Those Who Wait

Genre: Cosmic horror, dark comedy, mockumentary

Influences: Dead Set, Ghostwatch, Savageland, Evil Dead

Summary: Eskew Productions has gone in a surprising direction with its latest production - a new reality experiment and dating-show podcast.

Eight lovelorn singletons have been given rooms in the exclusive Gregory Hotel. Over the course of six weeks, these contestants will go on dates, carry out team challenges, and ultimately try and find themselves a life partner - all without seeing each other's faces.

The aim of the experiment? To prove that good things really do come to those who wait.

As they pore through a mixture of recorded and behind-the-scenes footage, however, it may become very apparent to listeners that something else is waiting in the Gregory.

And one by one, our contestants find themselves at risk of far more than being voted off...

Why make this show? As a great big act of play more than anything else.

We adore horror mockumentaries, but in audio-drama they tend to be faux-journalistic. 

Doing a show that instead mimics hokey reality shows to the point of being mistakable for the real thing, but turns out to be a ghost story instead...that's a lot of fun to us.

#5: In The Devil's Counties

Genre: Historical horror, cosmic horror

Influences: Nathan Ballingrud's Wounds, Seven Samurai, Between Two Fires, Dog Soldiers, Aliens…

Summary: As the Magna Carta states: “All evil customs relating to forests and warrens, foresters, warreners, sheriffs and their servants, or river-banks and their wardens, are at once to be investigated by twelve sworn knights of the county, and within forty days of their enquiry the evil customs are to be abolished completely and irrevocably.”

In early-medieval Sussex, a motley group of knights rides out to investigate tales of ungodly horror and acts of forbidden worship from deep in the English countryside - including Ralph Dagworth, 'hell's mapmaker'.

What the party of knights discovers out in the warrens and the forests of the county, however, is far stranger and more terrible than any Christian conception of hell…

Why make this show? Again, because we're itching to have a go at some period horror, and that weirdly specific Magna Carta quote is just too fun to pass up as a springboard for some 'isolated squaddies in enemy territory' storytelling. (Sadly, it does have a more grounded explanation.)

#6: Strangling Knot

Genre: Anthology horror

Influences: Junji Ito, experimental 8-bit horror, Black Mirror's Bandersnatch

Summary: 

“The rules of the game are simple. This is a place of endless forking paths and one exit. 

There’s something terrible in here with you. Get ready."

A Choose Your Own Adventure-style horror audio anthology; each episode is a distinct story with branching paths that may lead to failure (most of the time) or escape (more rarely).

Why make this show? This is likely the only show that we could reasonably produce as a side-project (and we've been chatting to a couple of other talented horror creators about it already, sssh).

We'd like to be able to play with single-narrator horror storytelling again that's relatively quick and easy to produce - but we do want to at least try and ensure it doesn't feel like we're repeating I Am In Eskew.

There's some really fun stuff happening out there already with CYOA-style audiodrama, and that seems like an opportunity that's ripe for playing about with.

[satoruzlove]

modern au.not proofread. mentions of death. crying. fluff overall. satoru is fine guys!

the rain hits the windows of satoru’s car more violently with each passing second. the lights outside the car stretched by the glass, the dim illumination lent to you by the surrounding stores of the parking lot you’re in, satoru in the drivers seat. it’s all so perfect and you can’t help the gentle thrum of contentment in your blood stream as he angles himself to face you in his seat. his thigh comes even closer into your reach, white hair splayed all around the leather of the headrest. that goofy, lovestruck expression on his face is enough to make you melt. even though you’ve been staring at him for all 3 hours you’ve been in the car- it never gets old.

you were talking about everything. nothing, the ins and outs of your life as you did every month. despite satoru seeming off the entire night the conversation was light, sweet. giggles and vanilla-frosty flavoured kisses shared between hickeys under his shirt and secrets whispered into eachother’s skin. for a while, there’s silence. but not for long:

“hey, baby,” he greets you in a soft voice. his temple is snugly against the headrest as his hands reach out to yours. you indulge him, fingers curling into his palms as he smiles widely. “hi, toru.” you mumble back, one hand coming up to his cheek. satoru grins, kissing your palm before heaving a dreamy sigh.

“sometimes i wonder,” he starts, “how you feel when we do this. like, do you ever think about what would happen if.. it didn’t happen again?” your boyfriend asks keenly. your posture straightens instinctively. “that’s a lame ass way of trying to break up with me,” you huff playfully, and he barks a laugh. pretty pinks lips pout at your faux dismay, meeting your own rather sloppily as you’re sure you felt his tongue against yours for a moment. “i’m not breaking up with you, i’d cry,” he reassures you. “ i mean.. what if one of us wasn’t- around, anymore. what would happen then?”it seems he was referring to himself. the hesitance in his voice made your heart ache. satoru always had a problem with voicing his emotions fully, especially with the losses he’s taken- his best friends- he’s far too sensitive to the idea of losing you, too.

“not possible,” you hum. his brow scrunches cutely and you smile, running a finger over it. instinctively, his cheeks pool heat and he reminds himself to take a breath. “if we’re not here physically,” you pause, intertwining your fingers and bringing them to your mouth, “ then in spirit. i’ll still get you your special frosty,” mwah- one kiss to his knuckle-“ and sit in the car. i’ll still talk to you, still have my hand on the car seat, still do this every month and catch you up on all my drama.” with every word, your heart aches further.

“you’ll just be.. quiet. but it’s nothing i can’t get used to.” you finish, swallowing the lump in your throat at the thought of it. it’s unrealistic, you know: you both do. but just pondering over not being with eachother- in the physical or spiritual realm- hurts you in ways you never thought hurt could be inflicted.

a watery, “i love you,” tumbles from his lips as they wobble against yours. “ my sweet baby; my angel ,” he’s rambling now, but it doesn’t matter when he’s so breathless and so grateful for you. that you chose him. he sniffles harshly, almost dramatically- “ fuck- now i’m gonna be all snotty and gross-“ he laughs, and you can’t tell if you wanna laugh or cry. as you pull him closer to you to hug him, hands around his neck and lips peppering the crown of his head- satoru feels himself grow weak. he slumps against you, tears stalling eventually and as he soaks you in he realises that this- is love.

not the love that abandons him without much compromise, or the love that wants him for what he can do. not the love that wants him because he’s strong. the love that endures his silly scenarios, the love that wants satoru gojo-

for he is not satoru gojo because he is strong, rather he is strong because he is satoru gojo. and all his strength comes from you.

[whumpshaped]

Concept: beck becoming anemic after being fed on for a while and helle being thrown because huh, that had never happened before? Saw it as a side effect in your guide and was like OOH

not terribly long after this

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, sickfic i guess, blood transfusion, hospital setting, needles

Tired, tired, tired, always so fucking tired. Beck thought he was going to go mad with this constant, mind-numbing exhaustion. At first, he really assumed it was just the monotonity of his dire situation. He'd heard of people getting used to bad situations, then eventually their bodies shutting down 'out of nowhere'. It was never out of nowhere, of course. Prolonged abuse like that would've taken a toll on anyone's body.

But he tried to push through it, given he had no solution or end in sight. More sleep, as much as he could get away with while working during the day and entertaining a vampire during the night. More coffee, as much as he could drink without his anxiety skyrocketing and sabotaging his work. More fresh air even, something he had been stubbornly disregarding for the first 25 years of his life.

It didn't work. His skin continued to get paler, if that was even possible, his heart continued to act up, which he'd chalked up to the coffee, and he kept getting winded from the three flights of stairs leading up to his apartment. Even Helle's mild annoyance was slowly turning into proper concern.

"You will go to the doctor tomorrow," they announced one night. Beck groaned, but didn't argue.

"Okay."

"And I am not feeding from you tonight."

Well... that was good news, at least. "Do I really look that bad?" Helle sighed, almost exasperated, as though Beck should've known how heavy this had been weighing on their unbeating heart or whatever. Maybe he did look that bad, from the outside. "S-sorry. Thank you for, um... caring," he finished quietly, unsure of the wording.

They scoffed. "I am not condemning myself to drinking from some sick human." They grabbed his phone from the table and shoved it into his hands. "You should actually look up your symptoms. Now."

"Helle, I don't know how to explain this... online medical stuff is not the best source of–"

"That is why you are going to the doctor tomorrow. But until then–" They nodded towards the phone, still looking at him expectantly. "I want to know, too. What I can potentially expect. Is it deadly? Do I need to be looking for a new human? These are important things, you know."

Beck unlocked his phone and started typing in the name of the most trustworthy page in this realm of the internet that he could think of. He wondered whether Helle had ever had to deal with a long-term bloodbag getting a little too sick. Or had they always been a one-off kinda vampire? Surely, they should've been aware that this sort of thing could have severe health complications.

"So?" God, they sounded so impatient.

"Whatever it is, I'm not gonna die from it tonight. I swear."

Helle rolled their eyes and continued pacing. Why were they anxious about this? He should've been the one pacing and fearing for his life! And if he had been able to muster up the energy for it, he would've been.

"Anaemia," he said after a few more minutes. "That's the most likely, and um... it... it would make sense, I suppose. I probably should've thought about that..."

"Anaemia," Helle repeated, lost in thought. They didn't say anything for a long moment, and Beck didn't know whether that was a good or a bad sign. "I am not waiting until tomorrow. Get dressed."

"Wh– what?"

"I said get dressed."

It wasn't often that Helle sounded so serious. Whenever they did, Beck always got this sense of impending doom, like something utterly terrible was going to happen. What else could make an immortal, aloof vampire act so... weird?

He silently got up from the sofa and went to his bedroom, putting on some random clothes and a mask as quickly as he could. Was this thing deadlier than he realised? Had Helle lost many bloodbags to severe anaemia before? He didn't know, he was too afraid to ask, and he chose to believe it was simply an out of touch vampire's buyer's remorse.

"Are we going to a hospital?" he asked timidly as he stepped out of the bedroom, and Helle nodded. "In the middle of the night?"

"Are there no emergency care facilities in the whole of the city?" they snapped, and Beck decided to just let them do whatever they wanted. The worst that could happen to him in an ER was a bit of a scolding for wasting time. The worst Helle could do? Well. He knew which one he was going to choose.

He just hoped Helle wasn't about to threaten any nurses in the name of his... health.

-

Severe anaemia. Blood transfusion.

Beck stared at the nurse as they brought out the needle to take a sample of his blood, still in a daze when it pierced his skin. If Helle hadn't trained him better, he might've jerked his arm away.

What was going on?

The charmed employees gave no reaction to Helle's little joke about his blood being 'A plus, I mean, positive', just as they gave none to their presence in general. They moved through protocol as though everything was normal, giving Beck a rundown on what was about to take place and how.

"It could take up to four hours, but we might help it along a little. It's a wonder you were walking around like this without... well, dropping dead."

Beck gave a nervous chuckle. "Um, yeah, I guess... I don't know, I thought I was just not getting enough sleep."

The nurse gave him a look. "Of course. I assume the vampire bite scars on your wrist have nothing to do with the anaemia."

Right. He forgot that she could just... see that. "Uh..."

"I'm not here to judge, you're neither the first nor the last victim I treat. But it's good to be honest with healthcare professionals, yeah? I know there's a bit of a stigma around it in certain places, but the emergency room is not one of them."

Beck nodded mutely. He didn't dare look at Helle. Despite them causing the anaemia in the first place, he had to admit that he was grateful to them for forcing him to come in. Who knew how long he would've continued walking around like that? Maybe he would've dropped dead.

Once he was left alone in the room, Helle cleared their throat. "Well..."

"Thank you," he said without much prompting, knowing perfectly well that was what the vampire wanted to hear. It was easier to say now, when he actually felt grateful, as opposed to all the times when they wrung the words from him through sheer terror. "I wouldn't have come in without you. Definitely not to the emergency room, but... not even to my GP."

Helle leaned against the wall with a smile on their face. They seemed pleased. "Oh, do continue. I love praise like that."

"Will you stay? For the... the entirety of the four hours?" He nodded towards the needle, shifting uncomfortably. "I, um... I could use the distraction. Please."

"Are you afraid of needles?"

"Could you sound a little less excited about it?"

Helle shook their head, the amusement never leaving their face. "You do know you will get transfusions a lot, yes? I mean, most likely. Bloodbags and thralls get them a lot."

"Could you not remind me?" he asked, even whinier.

They laughed, then walked over and sat in the other comfortable chair next to his. "Would you still like me to stay?"

"If you're just gonna make it worse, then, then maybe not," he muttered. "No, wait– I changed my mind, I don't care. You can make it worse. I just don't– I don't wanna be alone."

"Oh, I have full permission?" They leaned over and poked the tube a little, and Beck almost yanked his arm away. Again.

"D-don't mess with the needle!" God, he was so trapped. He couldn't just run away with an IV in his arm. "I meant– I don't care what you say, but don't– don't do that! Please!"

"But it looks so tasty. I could rip it out and use it as a straw."

"Okay, maybe I do want you to leave."

Helle grinned, very satisfied with their own performance. "I am quite good at making others uncomfortable, am I not? It is a skill I have perfected over three hundred years."

Beck could only nod, miserable and exhausted. "Can you... not put all that experience to use for just two minutes? Respectfully."

"Two minutes? My darling, darling Beck. You want me to sit here and chat away for four hours." They sighed dramatically. "But yes, I suppose I could dial it back a little. Just for you."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump

[soulshards]

FFXIVWRITE 2024, PROMPT #10: STABLE tw: none • words: 714

not likely to change or fail; firmly established

Ears twitched, tail flicking to the side in an almost irritable manner. The many portals around the ‘room’, more an area of…nothingness between realms, spilled out. Their points on the Sourch set far and wide, giving the creature easy access to nearly every corner of the world.

Except, today, the access was not so easy. It hadn't been for a while now.

An irritable growl spilled out as his hand pushed against the portal, clawed hands trembling as he saw the cracks beginning to split skin.

“Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.” Teeth snapped, a hand slamming against an unseen barrier, not allowing the creator of this space to even pass through. They warped under the pressure before springing back against his attempt to get out.

“Not now, not fucking now… c’mon!” 

He had spent many years alone. He had watched the world rise and fall and rise and fall, a passive observer who sometimes toed the line of mischief, flitting out into the world to sate desires and pester the mortals that wandered around. Today he wished to roam free, slip through the world and cause a little mayhem.

Instead, his less than stable form was stuck. He was trapped in this point of nothingness, just him, the portals, and a slick leather couch that he often lazed upon when he wanted to stay out of the mortal realm.

Bushy tail flicked erratically, balled fists slamming against the portal wall with another snarl. It wobbled out like a stone impacting water, as the cracks began to slip up his arms. He blinked, a hiccup, a sneeze, before his body twitched and he was suddenly standing in the other end of the room, grimacing at the sensation of it all. Fangs parted in a grumble.

“…where the fuck is Hajime when you need him, piece of shit - why isn’t he… the one day I actually want him around and he’s not even here! Just one day I would like to actually go outside and you WON'T EVEN LET ME!” His words would rise from spoke irritability to a shout - though, there was no one here to shout at. It was nobody's fault, not really, that he was like this. Many, many years ago, the exact details were lost to the fog of time, he’d found himself in a predicament and found his form a little… torn. Unstable. Restless. Acting without want. Most days he had enough control over it, save for a little twitch of his ears or tail. A blip of magic slipping out here and there. He used it to his advantage, when he could.

But today he would have no advantage, as his body refused to coalesse into the flow of aether to allow him to pass through his portal, so he could feel the sun on his skin, and bask idly by the sea. He just wanted to be outside.

His mismatched gaze searched frantically across the mostly empty room, as if it might hold a secret to his release. His foot tapped erratically upon the ground, before he set off into a pace. Back and forth, back and forth, his temper growing. Then subsiding. Then growing again. Every minute that passed he seemed to talk himself down, only to raise his annoyance back up again.

Finally, with an annoyed sigh, his pacing led him to the sofa in which he would all but faceplant. “I hate this place,” words were muttered into the leather as he buried his face into the soft sofa.

One leg and one arm spilled off the side onto the floor, his tail giving a flurry before it came to settle over the back of the chair, draping rolanberry coloured fur over the black leather.

He inhaled, slowly, deeply, before letting it out through flared nostrils and eyes closed.

He could wait here. Possibly. For as long as it took for his body to stop failing him and he could pass through back into the mortal world - or until an acquaintance realised he had been gone for… moons. Moons? Had it really been moons?

He rolled onto his back with a loud groan, hand coming to rub over his face before falling back to his side. He stared blankly upon the ceiling.

“I really fucking hate this place.”

[strawberry-cowmilk]

closing doors

-> lucifer x mc

-> lucifer realises he's trapped in a cycle

mc's gender is not mentioned, not proofread

a/n: to those who get the reference: I love you, also lucifer baby sorry for making you suffer I love you ♡♡

content warnings: angst, alcohol

-----

The clock ticked 4am. There was still a small pile of paperwork left, great progress for such a busy day. Lucifer inhaled deeply as he poured himself another coffee with the last drops in the can. The bitter beverage had long gone cold, but the avatar of pride didn't care. He chugged it all in one sip and continued scratching the pen on the paper.

The whole house was asleep, the whole house didn't know Lucifer was still up. Nobody knows Lucifer has been busy working and fixing other's problems. Some witch sent Mammon another threatening letter again, demanding her money back, so Lucifer put the cash in the envelope and returned it to the sender. Beel almost made a whole restaurant go bankrupt again, Lucifer sent them some money. He never told his brothers or anyone he's doing this stuff, and he never will.

The demon spends many nights at his desk signing paperwork. To an average person, it might seem impossible, but Lucifer isn't an average person. He's the personification of pride. He is used to it, he does all this work with little effort. Often Simeon stopped by with homemade food and tea, it just annoyed Lucifer. Does Simeon really think he's miserable? Or does the angel think he needs help? It's not like Lucifer is doomed to a life of eternal work. He manages his scedule very well

It was 5:30am when all the paperwork of the day was finished. By now, Beel is probably waking up for his early breakfast and morning run. Satan's alarm should go off by now. The rest of his brothers will sleep longer. Lucifer knows every little detail about his family, he remembers because he loves them so much. His brothers might describe him as cold, but he thinks he's rather affectionate. Anyways, it's probably too late to sleep now, no problem. Lucifer got up from his creaking chair and opened a bottle of fine demonus for himself. The glass clacked as he put the bottle to it, pouring the drink into it. Eventually, as he was sipping demonus, Lucifer realised he never truly showed love to his brothers to their faces. Only through the tiniest of acts they wouldn't notice. Did he ever thank Simeon for checking on him during those long days? Well, that's enough demonus for now.

-----

The day had gone by, it was just your average day: brothers fighting at breakfast, rad, and work. Lucifer sat at his desk signing paperwork again until he got a text. It was from you.

'where are you? I'm at ristorante six'

Oh no. Lucifer quickly flipped open his agenda. To his horror he realised he had a date planned with you. He was supposed to be at ristorante six, an hour ago. This isn't the first time he forgot date night either, he has to get to the restaurant as soon as possible. He can't stand you up again. He can just pull another all-nighter to finish work.

Dinner was awkward though, Lucifer was clearly acting off. The average outsider wouldn't be able to tell, since this man is so good at masking his emotions. He's not like this usually. You gripped your fork tighter before speaking. 'Is everything okay?' Lucifer's crimson gaze met yours for a brief moment. 'Yes, are you enjoying your food?' Of course he wouldn't admit what was wrong. You decided to drop the topic for now.

Back home, Lucifer immediately locked himself in his office again. You knew better than to immediately go after him. He would send you away. Honestly at this point you don't know if you should try talking to him, maybe it would be wise not to. But your gut was telling you something else. You waited a while before gently knocking on the office door.

Truth is Lucifer realised something during dinner: he IS drowning in work. It's always been like this, even back in the celestial realm. He has no time to show proper affection to those he loves. Pride made him think all is well, pride poisoned him. It turned him cold. It was like every gram of warmth that was once inside of him slowly leaked out since his birth. His gaze immediately shot to the door when he heard the knock. 'Come in.'

He knew what you were going to ask the second he saw you. 'Mc, I am fine, you may leave now.' you played with the hem of your shirt. 'Really?' Lucifer dipped his pen in the ink a little more aggressively than usual and nodded. 'Mc, leave now. I have tons of work to do.' The truth is, Lucifer craves nothing more than your comfort and affection right now. He wants to tell you about the thing he realised so badly, but he can't. Not with a reputation to keep up. Not with Diavolo he basically handed his soul to after Michael.

You felt like you couldn't just leave, there has to be something. 'Can I at least stay in your office? I can't sleep.' Of course Lucifer didn't buy it, but he allowed you to stay regardless. After you've been awkwardly lounging in one of Lucifer's chairs, he invited you to sit on his lap. Immediately you noticed his grip on you was tighter than usual, but he kept focussing on work regardless. You know, even if he'll never be free, at least Lucifer has his family, friends and of course you to make him smile. Eventually you fell asleep in his embrace, Lucifer carried you to your room, kissed your forehead goodnight and went back to work.

[justjams2003]

Thundering return

Cha~ idfk hello:) I want more dark Thor >:( Please somebody, I need it. Or mob boss Thor, anything where he is doing something criminal >:(

Pairing: Dark!Thor x slave!wife!reader

Warnings: Mentions of previous rape, manipulation, stockholm syndrome type situation, violent sex, degrading, praising.

Summary: Thor comes home lustful after a heavy battle in need for a release. (Basically just smut)

Word count: 1.6k, not edited also it’s 1:30 am

When you first got hear, the sound of a storm made yours body quiver with fear. Fear of Thor, of his return. A clear sign that his mood is unstable and most likely you will be forced into the cross fires of that anger. You will be used to relieve that frustration, in any way he possibly sees fit.

After all, your marriage was forced. Your father and the all father coming to agreement. You were seen as one of the most beautiful maidens, creatures to have lived, right under the gods of course. And so you were married off and Thor was in complete defiance.

Yet still, he was over protective of you. Not allowed out without him by your side or a select view guards. Not allowed to make eye contact with any man nearby. Not to speak without his before-decided permission. All outfits had to be seen by him before any other could see.

It confused you at first, his quick mood changes. One moment he’d be cherishing your whole being with such devouring eyes. Protecting you at all costs and making sure not another would even think of upsetting you. You were happy about the marriage, having heard many good things about him.

But at nights when thunderstorms were booming loud and he took you without question, you put up a fight. As any other would. That would only upset him more. But soon he convinced you and made you realise this is how he shows his love. He’s tired and angry and then he turns to you to comfort him.

To you, he goes to you for relief. You can’t go on without him. He is the reason you have all these lavish gowns and feasts upon feasts. People protecting you from the horrors outside of the castle walls. You have the most handsome prince in all nine realms relishing your body. And so you realised how much you need him. Giving yourself to him fully and allowing yourself to be happy here.

So when thunderclouds began to form late in the afternoon, your heart raced wildly. Finally he is to return from his battle. He’s been gone at least two weeks now and it has been hell for you. Beyond lonely as you are usually to accompany Thor everywhere.

And so when you awoke just slightly past midnight with a huge boom and clap of thunder you immediately grew wet with anticipation. Urgently your closest maiden rushes in, slamming the doors open. “His Majesty has returned and demands your greeting at once,” she says, already helping her exit.

Thor is first in the greeting hall. His blonde hair is dripping wet, similar to how you are feeling. His eyes are filled with a dark cyclone. Just then as those tempestuous blue eyes land on your figure, a massive lightning bolt hits the ground. Illuminating the everything behind Thor, making him seem like only a dark shadow.

“Wife...” His voice is dripping with lust and yet his eyes filled with anger, jealousy and an emotion indescribable to you. Then you realise. Thor’s fighting company is right behind him. The Warriors Three, Sif and even Loki. They all respect you and fear you far too much to even look at your form.

He had called to you and you came without even thinking. Leaving in only a night gown, one made of satin and silk. Perfectly falling over your curves like a waterfall smooths over rocks. Thor grabs you, right by the waist. Pressing your body as close to him as you can.

You follow his lead, wrapping your arms around his neck and shoulders. Bringing him in even closer. “We will discuss this in the bedroom.” He states, with a low growl into your ear. “For now you will stand behind me as I greet my friends for the night.” He commands to you, his voice low and trilling.

And so you listened and followed his every word. Waiting as he allows your maid to leave, commanding her to start with feast plans. He greets his friends with joyous laughter and an adrenaline filled hug. And finally when they were all gone, he turned to you.

His eyes switching from fire to lightning. He does not speak a single word but simply grabs you closer by the neck once more. His lips grapple around yours, his hands dropping mjolnir with a thud. Causing you to jump slightly and he easily takes that as an opportunity to do both pull you up to wrap your legs around his waist and devour his tongue into your mouth.

His hands squeezes onto your waist and the other holding onto your ass for dear life. Bruises will most definitely be left there within the next hour. Soon, not even sure how it was that soon, you reach the bedroom. He throws you down on the bed without much care.

“You whore!” Is his very first words, watching your every move and every curve in his body. Again a bolt strikes, he also begins removing his clothes. His cape falling, chain-mail clattering to the floor. “I spend two weeks away, surrounded by women throwing themselves at me.” His voice gruffs out as he continues.

Each time he wants to put extra care to a word thunder would boom or lightning would strike. “And I had to keep myself away from them. For your sake! To keep you happy, keep our image clean.” He explained, as if it is such a big thing to do.

But to you, it does. To you it is the most obvious thing in the world. You weren’t allowed around a select few men, not allowing you to be seduced. Thor doesn’t have that same privilege. Having to keep his mind pure without someone there to help him. Sure to others it makes no sense, but you’re so in love it only makes sense to you.

“Then the first thing you do, is show up in that! In front of Loki even!” Thor is sacred of losing you, to anybody. Especially to Loki, not that he had done much to deserve such treatment. “That...” he mumbles out, finally dropping his pants. Allowing his massive girth to show fully.

He purrs, crawling onto the bed and fiddling with the night slip. “This is not much to cover yourself with,” he seems to chuckle. Then, just to show how much stronger he is than you, he rips the garment right from your skin. Another bolt hits when he sees your body in full.

The blue light creating shadows on your perfect curve. The colour just sending thrills down Thor’s spine, his colour lighting up your body. He lets out a corrupt chuckle. “By Gods, you my dear are so perfectly crafted,” he mutters, taking in to see each part of you.

“I quite like seeing blue on you,” he announces, his cock right on your clit. Both of you slippery and so ready for each other. “Oh fuck,” you moan out feeling him rub himself on you. Feeling just how big he gets from seeing you. Then his mouth is all over your body.

Kissing and sucking on each part of flesh that will be seen when wearing any garment. Leaving hickeys that will turn blue by the morning. So that everyone can see who exactly you belong to. The whole time rubbing his girth up and down your clit and vulva.

At that point you were coming close, he knew how to get you there even if it is with just his cock. Meaning that he knows damn well just how close your are becoming. He removes himself from you. His dark eyes lit with joy at the whines that leave your mouth.

“You dark get to whine, you pretty little slut.” He warns you, flaring his nostrils with annoyance. “This is for me and me alone. You are to take my cock like the good scant pet you are.” He commands, lifting your legs around his waist, lining himself up with your hole.

“Yes, my prince,” you’ve been trained well. Knowing exactly how to respond to him. He smirks at this and thrusts himself deep inside you. He moans out, burrowing his face in your neck. “So tight for your husband,” he mutters out. You can’t help but wince and also moan from the sheer size of him.

Even after each time it is still so hard to take him all in. Your legs wrapping around him to bring him in even deeper. Have himself close to you just to ground yourself. Your head lolling back as he pounds into you. Your mind going numb from the pure pleasure.

In between he leaves praises and then calling you exactly the opposite. And finally when Thor feels himself coming closer, he lifts you up higher. To get himself deeper in you. Perfectly hitting your pelvic bone, hitting your clit just right.

“Tomorrow you will have my cum leaking out of you.” He commands, knowing full well this will go on for most of the night. Cumming deep into you over and over again. Just like now, hot liquid spewing deep inside of you, allowing you to do the same with him deep inside you.

Thor used you in every way he could that night. Leaving marks all over you, leaving your body a hot, gushing mess. And finally when he decided rest is needed, to have you looking for the feast. “You’re sleeping naked from now on.” Is the last thing he says to you.

A/N : So I missed the birthday post...because I kept coming up with new ideas. But I promise I am like,,,,, 5000 words away from being finished? It’s worth the hype, to me at least, I have bee planning it for like 3 years now. Anyways, I am a whore for dark!Thor. Which, doesn’t really fit in my story so here we are. (Thank you for all the followers btw and to everyone still supporting even though I am so inconsistent.)