#but the post would have been so long because I have so many hcs ;;

[yuri-is-online]

Jade desperately googling and reading threads about mer x human pregnancies before he even dates yuu.

It differs from species to species, usually fem mer x male human results in viable pregnancies, there are a two articles about eels and humans, but none about morays.

His hope is dwindling, and the general consensus about deep sea folk relationships with humans isn't very good.

I HC that male mer x female human pregnancies don't last very long. After the sperm makes contact with an egg, it'll need a few months of growth before it's expelled from the body and put into the sea. Those kinds of couples usually have one child at a time, it depends on the number of available eggs.

Modern day people in twst have aquariums that are made to hold the clutches in a safe environment away from predators. The aquariums can be used both underwater and on land. After 'hatching' the babies are translucent, they are kept in the aquariums until they gain colour. Once they have enough colour they are let out.

The smallest aquariums need to hold at least one human adult, so that a parent can interact and communicate with their clutch during the growing process.

I think I read a post/fic with a similar headcannon to this? Long long ago, perhaps even before I even downloaded Twisted Wonderland. I don't fully remember... but it is something I have been thinking about a decent bit ever since you sent this ask because it raises so many questions.

I think it makes the most sense in human x mer relationships for one or the other to take a transformation potion and move onto the land/into the sea. In these cases pregnancy/egg laying would go as it would "normally" but what you're suggesting made me think about what would happen if a couple got it on raw in their normal forms and not transformed. Would that result in a viable pregnancy? If it did would it produce the sorts of offspring you are suggesting or would it result in some sort of hybrid child, barely held together by their own magic?

The aquariums are a good idea, the story seems to suggest that Jade and Floyd had other siblings once but they didn't make it. Their mother's obsession with checking up on them and teaching self defense makes a lot of sense if you think of that... she lost most of her babies, she wants the two she has to remain safe (i bet she's going feral rn, let Mama Leech into the enclosure S.T.Y.X. she'll put Malleus in his place ٩(๑`^´๑)۶) My question is whether or not that would interfere with the development of the eggs, especially on land. The deep ocean is very cold, recreating that on land could be problematic. With how few merfolk seem to bother with land (Azul mentions not many people bother with the free program in Book 6) there likely wouldn't be much of anyone thinking up a solution to this problem so few people have.

But Jade has that problem. Or will, he's sure of it but that's a minor detail- point is this is a problem he's actively thinking about. It keeps him awake at night, Jade strikes me as someone who would do a lot of research about this. It's part of how he loves, pouring through a pile of scientific articles that was slim to begin with but feel irrelevant now. None of these help him understand his chances because he is from the deep sea, Jade might be hardened towards the death of his siblings but he thinks of his own children and a rage unlike any he's ever known begins to stir in the pit of his stomach. Later, much later when he is explaining this all to you he will brush it off as him considering your human sensibilities, but the truth is written plain on his face. This little aquarium he has made was a solution painstakingly crafted with help from his own obsessions. It's the most important terrarium he has ever made because it will contain the most precious of all life forms, ones he watches grow in awe as he coos softly. These children were wanted long before they were ever born, their parents loved them to the point of invention and every second up until they hatch and forever after.

[manikas-whims]

hello i love your headcanons and was wondering if you could add sylus in some of your older ones? i was reading the "LADS men react to you dating a toxic partner" (it wasnt the title i forgot sorry) and was wondering how sylus would react. i would love it so much if you could add sylus headcanons to some of your previous ones. thankyou so much, your posts make my day🎀💓

i got you dear ♡ i’ll add Sylus to all my older HCs slowly in various posts I'll try to make throughout the coming week :)

thanks for reading my silly lil HCs ♡ hope you like this!

Sylus’s reaction to you dating someone who later on mistreats you

🐦‍⬛ He's actually quite surprised when he finds out you're dating because he genuinely believed whatever him and you had going on was far more than just being close associates. So the idea of you seeing someone else kinda shakes him off his game for a while. Luke and Keiran can see it in the way he acts— slightly distracted during serious business meetings and even when a gang war breaks out.

🐦‍⬛ He isn't the type to get jealous but he will openly express his dislike for this person. Now he may not be a saint but it feels insulting to him that you'd rather date someone else when he can give you the world if you so much as ask.

🐦‍⬛ And he will be displeased every time you come up to him for a favor with your work or anything else, saying things like, “Oh, so now you need me? I thought you'd completely cut ties with my kind.”

🐦‍⬛ If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then they better start counting their breaths cause they won't be spared many.

Sylus may not like this person you're dating but he's decent enough to respect your boundaries. And it would've stayed that way. He wouldn't have involved himself in your personal matters at all until Mephisto, (whom he had still left to watch over you) catches this person yelling at you one evening.

The sight is enough to make Sylus drop whatever work he's been swarmed with.

It doesn't take him long to arrive at the residential area you reside in. He stops his bike and teleports right over to your apartment. In an instant, he's standing between you and this person, the smoky red wisps of his evol holding this person by their neck.

“Is this your type?” Sylus asks, his crimson eyes glowering at this person. “I’m truly disappointed in your taste, Miss Hunter.”

You watch with dread as the fingers of his right hand curl into a fist, his arm poised to throw a punch. And though you appreciate the gesture, you can't let him proceed with this. You have seen him in action enough times to know how strong those fists are. You know that using said fists to hurt someone would only get him in more trouble. And you definitely wouldn't want that because even if you stubbornly refuse to say it out loud, you've grown quite attached to him.

“Sylus stop!” You yell.

As expected, he does not.

But right before his fist can collide with the person's face, Sylus blinks. He can feel the amount of strength you're exerting as you hold onto his arm to keep him in place. To keep him from hurting this person who broke not just your heart but also your trust.

He doesn't glance at you but scoffs. “Even now you defend them. Why?”

“I’m not defending them.” You say. “I just think it's beneath the leader of Onichynus to be wasting time on such people.”

He scoffs again. “You’re not wrong about that, Sweetheart.”

His evol lets go of this person's neck, and he gestures with his chin towards the door. “Get lost.”

They immediately run off.

Seeing that, your own fingers slowly loosen their grip on Sylus’s arm but he grabs hold of your hand before you can completely let go.

“Let’s go for a ride.” He suggests.

And you find yourself smiling for the first time in a while. “Where are we going?”

“Guess.”

XAVIER, RAFAYEL AND ZAYNE’s VERSIONS [HERE]

» MASTERLIST «

[lubrumalis]

ghost headcanons! (realistic)

tw: nsfw, spoilers, dead dove do not eat

a lot of these are based off of my personal understanding of him

part 2 —> character analysis of ghost

general:

didn’t go back to manchester after his family died, too many foul memories—a lot of friends will probably know him as a murderer (comic reference, ghost was accused of killing his family in the newspaper)

has a fit body. a lot of people like to hc him as big and bulky, i think otherwise! its actually a huge disadvantage to be bulky in size as a soldier (logistics while fighting yk). most SAS soldiers are trained for endurance and fitness, i think he has a moreso lean body

hes not cold and ruthless, wouldn’t say hes a big softie either.

VERYYYY punctual. always on time

will not abuse or rape anyone. this guys been through atrocities, he would never do it to someone else

won’t hire a prostitute, ever.

honestly, hes just another dude in the military. he loves dad jokes and bourbon😭

ghost doesn’t think hes mean or tries to be, he simply is intimidating because of his size and way of talking

he likes watching soccer in his free time

gets internally offended if someone thinks hes from london (anywhere but Manchester)

very dark humoured. tell him any dark joke and he wouldn’t care

loves tea

listens to older british bands, like the smiths

cannot understand modern slang at all. what does ‘iykyk’ and ‘rizzler’ mean???

texts like a typical millennial. uses ‘😂’ and ‘😜’ unironically. types with proper grammar and spelling with punctuation too, maybe an occasional LOL

also unironically likes posts about trust issues and being a sigma male. he doesn’t actually think hes one, he just relates to those quotes that are like: “being alone is better than with fakes” 😭😭😭😭

ghost probably hates other men more than misandrists 😕 i think its bc hes always fighting other men and dealing with the cruel things theyve done, so ghost subconsciously feels more on guard with men he doesnt know

has insomnia

doesn’t cry. ghost doesn’t remember the last time he cried.

isn’t rich rich, but has a ton of savings. he doesn’t have a family or spend a lot. so the money piles up.

relationship hcs:

first off, i dont think he’d realistically get into one anyway LMAO

s/o would have to the chasing, i dont think ghost is the kind to actively pursue someone

he has charisma, doesn’t feel like using it

hes very against the idea at first—his family got murdered because he was in the military, you think hes gonna let it happen again?

probably will not like someone working with him as a soldier

i think itd go two ways: a) you are a civilian who aggressively pursues the poor guy and he gives in, b) you work as a military nurse and gradually get to know him, c) you are a longtime close friend of his before he was in the military

i cant see him being fwb with anyone, only one night stands

hes not a toxic partner or super lovey dovey

ghost doesn’t entertain multiple women at once

itd most likely end up in a breakup where he fears for your safety:(((

BUT lets ignore that

tbh, i think he would probably be with someone very empathetic and kind to others. he doesn’t like people overly energetic, too soft, or someone that annoys him

persons gotta be independent and good with long distance

simon doesn’t care about age gaps, but probably wants someone at least in their late twenties

had a hard time opening up, eventually told you everything once he trusts you

another reason why i think he wants someone empathetic is because he has severe trust issues😃😃

last thing he’d care about is looks for long term relationships

the type of guy to disappear for 6 months and reappear to be like “remember im your husband???”🫡

doesn’t let you tell your friends about him—No hes not being uncommitted or toxic, but hes simply being cautious after what happened to his family

you can’t show anyone photos of him, his name, his occupation, NOTHHINGGG

so you fake a name for your bf who your friends think you’re lying about

definitely does not let you post on social media about him either.

installs security in your home, teaches you self defense, and gives you weapons. this guy can be paranoid

will never hit you or lay a hand on you

ghost genuinely thinks you saved him—his life was bleak and empty before you came in. subconsciously thinks of you as a savior

he buys you gifts, does chores for you, he really likes you :(

ghost actively tries to make his voice sound softer and friendlier when hes talking to you

doesnt understand playing mind games, things like the silent treatment or “im ok” when ur not ok thing. just tell him how you feel

doesn’t tell his team about your existence. you and his job are always going to be separate.

avoids talking about what he does in the military. ghost has killed and injured many and he doesn’t want you to see that side of him.

scary dog privileges for SURE

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

Hello, Happy Holy Ramadan. I know your request box is closed, but when your request box is opened, can you make this request? if it doesn't bother you, could you do Long Ramadan headcanons for Damian Wayne and the reader? I saw your Damian wayne x muslim reader post before. And I thought it was appropriate to ask you this. If this request bothers you, feel free to ignore it. Have a nice day 🩷🩷🩷🤚

Ramadan HCs

Muslim!Damian Wayne x Muslim!Reader

hey there sweetheart and Ramadan Mubarak <3! firstly i'm so sorry that it took me so long to respond to the ask! im ashamed it took me a year honestly. requests are closed but i still wanted to be able to write for this because we obviously need more muslim representation and also the last time i posted the muslim hc for damian there were just so many of the readers who texted me or sent asks or commented saying that they really appreciated the representation

anyways i wasn't sure if i was going to respond or not because it has been a year but since it is currently Ramadan and it's going to end very soon I figured why not

Thank you for being so respectful in your ask, I really appreciate it and I hope you like it. Hope you have a very blessed Ramadan and wishing everyone a lot of health and happiness during this time. Even to my non-muslim readers, I hope you all are doing well and you're all healthy <3333

also i know that there is a very slim chance of this happening because all of you are amazing but i will not tolerate any hate of any kind. if you

your first Ramadan after being married to Damian was certainly a new experience

before being married, you were just used to your parents handling everything for you

by the time you wake up for suhoor, the table would be set

by the time you'd be home from university, your mother would be waiting by the door with a date and a glass of water

so now that you were married and you had to handle everything on your own, it took a little bit of getting used to

luckily for you, Damian is a very hands on type of man

he's the kind of person who'd just drink a cup of water or a glass of milk, maybe a couple of dates or a fruit and he'd be ok for the remainder of the day

but god forbid you even think of doing the same thing

he'd just about have a heart attack

absolutely not

initially, he'd request Alfred to make meals for you so he could bring them home for the both of you to have suhoor together

just until the both of you got the hang of it

after that damian would either help you cook before patrol so there would be food ready for the both of you

or he'd swing by some restaurant that was open and grab some takeout for the both of you

he'd heat up the food and set the table and making sure everything was absolutely ready before finally waking you up

practically carrying your sleepyass to the table and handfeeding you so he can make sure you're eating properly

since he handles suhoor, you handle iftar and keep the table set so you can eat together

you could always just stay at the manor so you wouldn't have to worry about the meals, like bruce or dick have suggested so many times

but you prefer living alone with your husband

no offense to them at all

but it's just easier for you to maintain your modesty at your own home

anyways

your marriage gets really tested during Ramadan

the two of you are barely getting any sleep and it's difficult for you both to get used to

the only time that you both spend together and are completely present is when he should be patrolling

the lack of sleep makes you both kind of cranky

and it's difficult to not snap at each other

eventually you both get pretty tired and exhausted and just slip into routine

but of course it's nothing some sleep and some time spent together can't solve

and since you've been trying to reduce watching movies and listening to music during the holy month, you end up playing board games together or going for long drives together where you just talk and talk and talk

you thought you were extremely secure in your marriage

that was until you saw damian pout and give you the silent treatment after losing a game of gin rummy

then claiming you shouldn't be playing a game called 'jinn' in the first place

not swearing or talking shit during ramadan was especially hard for him

especially with tim and steph yelling 'fi ramadan?' at him everytime he makes even the slightest snide comment

you find it hilarious but i digress

whenever you go to the masjid for nightly prayers, damian and you will go and find a new ice cream place to try out late at night

you mention in passing how the women's side of the mosque is so bland compared to the men's and damian immediately looks into getting the mosque refurbished so that you and other women can enjoy it

damian's shoes get stolen once and the great detective actually couldn't find out who it was

you hear him complain about it constantly

CONSTANTLY

this time is when you both really lean into the adorable muslim couple aesthetic

matching prayer mats with each of your names embroidered on it

matching tasbih

and other things you get the picture

you both go all out for ramadan and decorate your home from top to bottom

since you both don't really celebrate many of the western holidays, he really wants to make this a memorable time for the both of you

and so do you

you hold an iftar party at your place many times with all your friends and family

it started out with you just inviting everyone but eventually it became a weekly potluck, which you really appreciated

bro damian is more excited about Eid than you are

he literally has to keep reminding you to get your dress ready for Eid al fitr

because he wants to get a jubbah in a matching color and surprise you

you know how you have those cute texts of girlies asking their bfs for their opinions on their nails?

the exact same thing

except with HENNA

you send him like 100 different pictures a week, planning which design you want to wear for Eid

he responds to all of them with utmost seriousness

obviously, he's an artist

he knows whats the difference between arabic and indian designs for henna

but secretly he's wondering why you're sending him so many when you only have 2 hands

but um hello he's never going to tell you that

because it's ramadan and obv ramadan related stuff is going to be appearing on everyones fyp he has to deal with both you and dick sending him videos of the scholars being funny (iykyk)

hey guys let's start ramadan w a bang

also has to deal with jason asking him CONSTANTLY how he's still able to walk around when all the demons are supposed to be locked up for the month

plus he has to now deal with you watching mukbangs and restaurant reviews and crying to him about how you're starving

why on earth did silent asmr mukbangs of wingstop get so popular only during ramadan?

believe me every single prayer damian makes during this month, he is thanking god for bringing you to him and praying for your health and your happiness

when you found out, you cried in his arms for a good solid 5 minutes

he also secretly kind of prayed for kids on laylat ul qadr but you didn't hear it from me

not only is this month really special for the both of you, you take it as an opportunity to give back

damian has wayne enterprises run soup kitchens for the entire month and they serve all people meals as well as suhoor and iftar

you both volunteer there personally

you donate money of course and damian will tell you that everytime he does it, he feels fulfilled in a way he never has before

you honestly feel so proud of the man you feel blessed to call your husband

also, like the perfect husband he is, he sends gifts and food to your parents

who quickly begin to regard him as better than your own siblings

much to his secret pleasure

uk i wish i could keep going

honestly ramadan is such a magical and rewarding time of the year

and you are so happy to spend it along with damian

P.S.

while damian completely understood the point of sacrificing a goat for Eid al adha

he still cried about it to you the night before out of guilt

you definitely donated the meat that came out of that

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@emmacata

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

[i-only-ever-asked-questions]

Map of Soho Good Omens Season 2 - Part 1 (Location and general map)

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Update: Map now identifies Lucky Snake and the coffee shop listed in Aziraphale's clipboard may indeed be Give Me Coffee I think we all have wondered how the GO Soho looks like and where it would be in real London. So using all the screenshots, BTS pictures and videos I could find I did my best to map out where things are. It is not to scale but everything I could see is there. I originally had all the pictures and explanations in this post but soon it became obvious it was going to be too long and impractical so I had to split it in different posts and I hope I got it right. The map has five reference points (circle with two diverging lines); imagine the circle is you, standing in the set, and the lines are your viewpoint if you were taking a picture from there. The left side of Whickber Street (#1 and #2) is in Part 2, the intersecting street (#3 and #4) is in Part 3 and the right half of Whickber Street (#5) is in Part 4.

As to where the bookshop would be in real London. We know that Whickber Street is supposed to be Berwick Street so let's start there. The intersecting street is not obvious from the show. In this post Neil said he imagines the bookshop to be where Gosh! Comics is (Peter Street) while Michael Ralph and Douglas McKinnon probably put it at The Week (on Broadwick Street). Because it is ambiguous and really you can do whatever you want, I just left it as "intersecting street". We know from the book that Crowley takes Wardour Street after the bookshop fire. Wardour is behind Berwick so in our map it would be where the Chinese Buffet Restaurant is, considering they run more or less parallel. On the other side, we have the Windmill Theatre located on Great Windmill Street. From Berwick St. and Peter St. it takes three minutes to walk to the theatre, it is that close! (yes, I know, Crowley was conducting business two blocks from the bookshop while not talking to Aziraphale for 80 years). I have never been in that part of London so I used Google Maps streetview and based only on that, I like the corner of Berwick St. and Broadwick St. better. It has the crooked intersection but the proximity of the theatre matches Peter St. better, so whatever works better for you!

There is one place missing from the set map though: Brown's World of Carpets! It is nowhere to be found, we simply don't know where it is My very personal headcanon is that it is nothing but a desk inside the furniture store. I find that idea of the guy most worried about storefront looks being the one without a storefront very amusing, but don't mind me, it is just my very silly hc XD Now, we know Aziraphale has a list for the shops he needs to visit. And we know he wrote it in alphabetical order which begs the question: Where is the Dirty Donkey?! Are they not invited? And what about the fabric shop? And Bilton Scaggs? Battye and Palm? The News Agency? Is "Mo Coffee? No Coffee?" supposed to be Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death? Or is there another coffee shop somewhere? @crow-bee23 suggested it could be "Me Coffee" which it is entirely possible, the full name is kind of long. So many questions to ask Mr. Brown.

Anyway, I put pictures and details on the shops in parts 2, 3 and 4. Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[cinnamonest]

Malebolge

Yandere/Dark Morax x Reader

WORDS: 18.2k

-----

And thus, here it is.

Important note that I'm largely basing this on [[this post]] I made ages ago about a conquered and captive goddess!darling during the war era because 1) it has never left the back of my mind since making that post, 2) I have watched way too many of those Chinese historical palace dramas where they're essentially confined to the palace and I find that very hot and 3) utterly brutal war era Morax >>>>>>>

Warnings/Notes: DARK CONTENT, fem reader, noncon/rape, captivity, rough sex/pain/more or less physical abuse, moderate but not full-on asphyxiation, draconic features (namely claw-like nails, horns, and most importantly dual reptile dick because I am both incredibly degenerate and greatly appreciate that this seems to be a not uncommon HC so I know I'm not alone), double penetration (vaginal/anal), degradation, forced cultural assimilation, brief mentions of death scare/past death scare, Xiao is there for like .008 seconds with no dialogue

Also I have learned more about lizard mating in the past week than any human should ever have any business knowing so if you want lizard seggs info I now know way too much of it

-------------------------------

Malebolge (n.) ( /mælˈboʊldʒ/):

The Dantean 8th Circle of Hell. An inescapable cavern.

-------------------------------

You winced at the slightest of shifting, the unconscious action creating a sting that stirred you from a deep slumber.

In the half-awake state, you grunted as you shifted again, this time rolling more onto your side, but the soreness merely shifted with you.

There was no position in which you could be comfortable. No matter what way you lay down, there was pain. Stinging pain, aching pain, throbbing pain, a multitude of acute points of pain dotted all over your body. As it always did, the painful sensation began to pull your mind into the waking world.

Your back and hips were scratched. That was the stinging pain. Marks where claws had gripped into your flesh, leaving inflamed, reddish lines over your flesh.

Your thighs and sides where bruised from crushing grip. If you lay on your stomach, your chafed and swollen nipples would sting even at the lightest contact with the sheets, and the position would only intensify the perpetual dull, throbbing ache inside of your body, internal bruises and the muscles of your orifices pulled and stretched and rubbed raw to the point they never ceased to ache.

It was nothing compared to moving, to the deep ache in each limb with the slightest of exertion, but even at rest, with no movement at all, a dull, throbbing ache pulsated across your body.

It wasn't the physical pain itself, though, that was unbearable. Pain was part of life. Pain was something every entity that lived long enough was all too familiar with — for deities like yourself that lived often longer than they could even recall, life was full of quite a great deal of pain.

What you hated about the pain, rather, was the way it always triggered a deep swell of bitterness and anger in your chest and stomach. What it meant. That it brought on a surge of emotions and thoughts far more unbearable than the soreness itself.

"Mm—?!"

You inhaled a sharp breath as pressure pushed against your stomach, a force that pulled you backwards across the sheets. Your back pressed into a soft warmth — not without sending a shooting pain across the surface along your spine, where the muscles had been pulled to the point of soreness from strain, a sore internal ache of your sphincter from stretch and wear, and a sharper sting against the irritated, raw flesh of your backside and the backs of your thighs.

The arm locked tightly onto your body, upper arm crossing over your stomach, forearm turned and pressed against your chest, all keeping you in your place. You could feel a gentle, slow rise and fall of the chest pressed to your back, bare skin on bare skin, without any layers of clothing separating your bodies.

Your eyelids just barely parted, only to squeeze shut once more at the morning light shining directly into your eyes. A small ray of light, given how small the tiny, high-up, barred window was, but it managed to be ever so inconveniently placed right at your frame of vision. You grunted at the burn, but it served to pull your consciousness out of the haze of drowsiness and into full alertness. There was no telling exactly what time it was, but the sun was up enough that you would likely be getting up very soon anyway. Those attendants — some of them devout human servants, some subjugated higher beings — always came by at a consistent time each morning to bring food and water, which often was your wake-up call each day.

You closed your eyes once more, trying to ignore the stinging and throbbing that ran all across your body, hoping to maybe get a few more minutes of sleep.

You shifted slightly to alleviate awkward positioning, rolling further onto your side, only to grimace as the shifting of your pelvis reignited a soreness, a dull ache not on the outside flesh, but a deep internal bruising. Your body jolted and stiffened, toes curling and face contorting with the pain.

But as you began to relax your muscles again, as the pain ebbed away, your brief jolting seemed to have awakened your bedmate, feeling a stirring and shifting behind you, the arm around you shifting in its position. The movement caused you to roll onto your back. Your eyes slowly opened again, and a soft noise escaped your throat.

You went still, thinking that it was a momentary unconscious reaction, but after a moment, the bedsheets shifted again as Morax moved, slightly propping himself up on one elbow, high enough of a point to look over to your face from above. Perhaps you could have closed your eyes and feigned sleep, had you thought to do so, but your instinctive reaction was to turn your head and raise your gaze up to that which looked down at you.

You were given a soft smile.

"Did you sleep well?"

The question, although you sensed genuine well-intent in it, was biting, almost mocking. You felt your jaw clench and irritation rise in your chest, fighting back the urge to become immediately spiteful.

As always, you had had trouble falling asleep, waking up multiple times in the night. The throbbing kept you from drifting off, and you hadn't been allowed to get up and wipe yourself clean of the slime sensation of fluids leaking out between your legs, thus forcing you to deal with the unpleasant, icky feeling all night — which now persisted as an equally unpleasant dried substance tacked on your inner thighs. Even after you'd fallen asleep, the slightest of movements in your sleep would jolt you awake with soreness. The same routine you underwent each and every night.

And yet—

"Yes..."

—was the word you forced out of your mouth, equally forcing the corners of your mouth upward, albeit weakly.

"Mm." He lowered himself back down, gently extending the arm that had been around you once more, turning you to face him and pulling you closer. A soft sound came out of your throat, but you made no effort to pull away. Your face came to rest against the god's chest, forehead brushing up against his collarbones.

"There's no need to rise just yet," he continued, stroking a hand up and down your back  — not without running over sore spots, but only lightly. "You should rest a while longer. You're undoubtedly worn out."

Once more, you had to bite your tongue to prevent saying something you shouldn't in response to the implication of the words and the vague feeling of degradation it carried.

The touch of bare flesh to bare flesh was an electrifying sort of feeling. Whether or not it was so in a positive or negative sense was, of course, dependent on the circumstances, but even if you could forget or disregard all of the circumstances you yourself were under, just the mere sensation consumed your sense of feeling. Touches from another person lingered in a way that touching objects or the feeling of one's clothes on their body did not. The brushing of another person's skin up against vulnerable areas usually kept covered would maintain a lasting feeling of awareness of that touch, lingering for a while thereafter.

And, of course, that touch of bare skin carried with it a sense of shame. A sort of subtle reminder. Of course, that was not even really the intention, seeing as you naturally fell asleep this way, but you were certain he knew the feeling it invoked in you, and even more certain that he found your embarrassment satisfying. Even now, you swore you heard a sort of heavy exhale in amusement as you stiffened when your bare abdomen pressed against his. You suppressed a shiver as your sore, inflamed nipples brushed against his skin, but couldn't help the grimace of your face. You tried to close your eyes, thinking perhaps you could sleep again.

But then, you stiffened further as he ran his hand down your back once more. Your shoulders bunched up, your breath hitched.

The motion was so gentle. Fingers barely brushing over your skin.

Nonetheless, those same soft, gentle touches of his fingers running down your back ignited a residual, burning pain. After a moment, he transitioned to using a finger to trace over scabbed scratches running down your back, as if it were a pattern. The hand trailed lower, softly meeting your hip, causing you to jolt as it bumped onto a bruise.

It then came down further still, to grasp at the fleshy, soft curve of your ass. Just the mere contact to the spot stung. The flesh was raw and sensitive to every little touch. Even the sheets brushing against the flesh sparked pain. You inhaled a sharp breath through your nostrils, one you were certain could not have gone unheard, but was not acknowledged nonetheless.

But it was so gentle. The touches were so light and so careful, as if handling something of great fragility. It was almost impossible to believe they were the same hands from which the pain originated.

He exhaled, breath warm against your face, and tilted his head down, grabbing your own chin to tilt yours up. His hand rested on your hip. Your heart began to beat faster.

And then, just as your lips were so close to meeting that you could feel their warmth, there was a knock on the door. You both turned your heads over to the sound, but you lay still as he stood, threw on the robe beside the bed, and walked over to the door, opening for a mere moment and exchanging a brief murmur of acknowledgement before taking something into his hands.

Right. This would be around the correct time, when you were brought food each and every morning. You weren't certain if it was merely customary for the harbor people to eat their meals in their bedrooms, or if it was just done to keep you confined to one room as much as possible... but if you had to guess, it was very likely the latter.

You let your eyes close again, only vaguely processing the distinct sound of a tray being set on the table at the end of the room, and the footsteps coming back over to you. His hand slid underneath your form and lightly pressed upward, prompting you to sit upright, which you obediently followed.

The shifting caused the sheets to fall down from your body, exposing your bare chest. It wasn't as if it really mattered, all things considered, but you nonetheless raised your arm up across your breasts to cover them to the best of your ability.

Your own robe was right there, well within reach, having been carelessly slung over the bedpost to your side. It would be a simple extension of the arm to grab it and pull it onto your body, to cover your nakedness.

But you didn't dare do so yourself. That was, you knew from experience, one of many possible missteps that risked upsetting your master. It was doing something on your own, determining something for yourself. Such a simple act was a transgression, because it was an assertion, a nonverbal declaration that you would and even could take an action, transition from one state of condition to another, not only without explicit permission to do so. Likewise, it not only made an assumption that you would be permitted to do so, but it was also an assertion that you could do anything at all for yourself, a notion that you were supposed to leave no possible implications of being the truth. Such a simple, brief action would be an act of both defiance, arrogance, and independence alike.

Thus, you stayed perfectly still. After a moment, thankfully, it was retrieved for you, and you held your arms out weakly at it was secured around your body. After another moment of hesitation, knowing not to leave the bed of your own volition as well, you waited until you were gently held at the waist and pulled to the edge, a non-verbal command to stand. You stood and waited for the hand on your back with the lightest of a push, a motion permitting you to walk over and sit. You murmured your thanks as you were handed food, and bit your tongue when you were given an affectionate — and that much more belittling — pat on the head.

You swallowed your food without really tasting it, a mechanical process you went through each day to keep yourself alive (and, of course, because the prospect of a hunger strike would certainly not be well-met). The atmosphere as you ate was quiet, outside of the light sounds of utensils hitting the ceramic and the faint sound of your chewing. It was an awkward, heavy sort of silence, but silence was, in a way, good. Silence, boredom, they were neutral. Not particularly good on their own, but they were also an absence of anything negative. All far superior to less pleasant alternatives.

But you couldn't distract yourself from the sense of shame this morning ritual always carried with it. It was so domestic, so compliant on your end, perfectly trained to a set routine.

It was not only your own demeanor, though, in which the calmness and gentleness of it bothered you. Just as you did not create conflict or instigate any unpleasant interaction, neither were you presented with any hostility, cruelty, or aggression, so long as you performed your role without any mistakes or resistance.

But you almost wished you were.

Your long life had by no means been sheltered from witnessing the brutality of the world, even if you had thankfully not been subjected to it prior. You'd seen various gods and deities of different kinds, many of whom would savagely beat and maim subjects and underlings, even kill them, without a second thought. Inflicting the most unfathomable suffering on the lesser creatures for no purpose other than amusement.

That had not been the case with you at all.

The draconic Lord was not needlessly ill-natured, but perhaps that would almost be preferable. Any interaction always ended up with a burning feeling in your chest of humiliation, always spoken to like a stupid child or animal ➖not in a cruel sort of degradation and condescension, but an endeared, affectionate sort, that made it all that much more unbearable.

At least with an outwardly cruel master, you would be able to find solace in spite, feel a sense of dignity that came with hatred for an oppressive figure. The form of degradation you were forced to endure, however, was not like that of a tormentor or oppressor that would maim and brutalize their subjects within an inch of their life at random for amusement, nor do irreparable harm to their bodies by starvation or mutilation. Likewise, there would be a sort of pride you could maintain if you were kept in horrid conditions; if you were imprisoned in some filthy dungeon, starved and beaten and barely kept alive, enduring that would be a mark of pride. It would validate you as an opposing force, you could look your tormentor in the eye knowing you did not succumb, you could still hold your head high.

Yet, you were kept healthy and well-fed. Everything you were given to wear was of utmost quality, and most often pure silk, gliding smoothly against your skin with every movement. Your conditions were those of a life many mortals and immortals alike would dream of having. And you were never treated with severe, true violence — nothing that would break your bones, nothing that would injure you to the point of needing medical attention or threaten your life.

And yet, in its own way, that in and of itself felt like its own form of degradation, in part because it was all forced upon you, unable to be denied even if you wished. To be cared for in such a way, but given no agency of your own. Treated like a prized possession, and yet almost nothing that happened in your day, almost nothing you yourself even did, was of your own volition, all forced upon you.

It was, you knew deep down, the life of a pet. Perhaps better analogized to a child or a toy, but nonetheless looked down upon as a fragile, helpless, stupid creature; inferior, yet simultaneously treasured and treated with a sense of affection.

And yet, all the same, your body was sore, scratched and bruised, pinpointed spots of throbbing and aching and burning pains littered across your flesh, and deeper aches still from the insides of your bodily orifices.

In many ways, it was one of the worst parts of each day, to come out of the dreaming world and be confronted with the multitude of little indicators and reminders of your subjugation. Every aspect of your life had been moulded into matching the culture of your ruler deity, stripped of your own, which had had, as you'd learned, a great deal of differences, despite not being geographically too far apart. Nonetheless, you were eating their food, wearing their clothing, sleeping in a bed and a home of their architectural style, speaking their tongue. And above all—

"____, today will be a bit different from your usual routine."

Your jaw clenched.

Yes, that was what you hated the most. That name. It felt offensive, insulting, to have been robbed of the name you had used for centuries, only to have another forced upon you. You didn't get any say in what it was, it was merely assigned to you from the moment you had come. The phonology itself was very obviously derived from their linguistic culture, replacing your own, taking from you the last and most basic, fundamental part of your individuality.

But you said nothing. You looked up, raising your eyebrows in an inquisitive expression.

He placed his palm on top of your head, in what you supposed was intended to be another affectionate gesture.

"I have important matters to attend to today." His voice was of his usual, neutral tone, gentle but deep.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment before giving a single, soft nod. That was one of many common phrases that each carried their own implicative, secondary message, left unsaid but understood nonetheless. If a given day contained a great deal of matters deemed important, that would often mean you would spend a great deal of your day sitting in place, listening to a bunch of people talk about subjects of no relevance or significance to yourself, quiet and still like a lifeless doll. Only present to be seen. The 'important' descriptor meant nothing to you in and or itself, as no matters that were dealt with here ever meant anything to you, it was merely attached as a means of getting a message of its own across: that the tolerance threshold for any ill-intended behavior, outbursts, or any other form of acting out was temporarily far lower, and that consequently, any such behaviors would hold significantly higher penalties than they usually held.

"Alright."

Your voice still came out hoarse. It wasn't as if there was much else to say. You couldn't bring yourself to care enough to inquire further, and there was no sense in raising some sort of objection to the matter.

Rather, perhaps there was reason for it in spite alone, but it was a scene that had played itself out so many times in the past that at this point, it would merely be like rereading the same book for the hundredth time, the same words and actions and events played out again and again. Even if the resentment in your heart urged you to be defiant out of sheer emotion, at this point there was almost a sort of boredom to the idea, one that your emotions were, at least for the moment, not strong enough to override.

Sometimes you would act out just to alleviate boredom with the usual routine, so it was merely a matter of, upon any given day, which option sounded more appealing. After a long streak of good behavior, the days would become boring enough that creating chaos and conflict was entertaining... then the consequences of that would put you into another streak of compliance, and the cycle continued. Right now, you decided against it. You merely raised a cup of water up to your mouth, savoring the coolness to your throat as you drank what remained of it.

That was, however, not the full extent of information you were to be given. He set the cup in his hand down on the table before adding more explanation.

"I'll be meeting with... adversaries, and I would prefer to keep your existence unknown to them." He straightened his posture where he sat. "You are to stay in here for the day. I will be back by nightfall. Understood?"

You merely gave a soft nod, not taking your gaze off the floor until you saw movement. He leaned forward over the table, coming down to grab at your jaw, tilting your head upward to force eye contact. You felt a sudden jolt to your gut as your eyes met. While clearly not actively upset, his expression still communicated displeasure, eyes narrowed and face otherwise unexpressive and flat, lacking the faint smile of contentment he so often wore. His voice was firm as he spoke again, repeating the question with greater emphasis.

"Do you understand?"

You nodded frantically. Were it not for the tension of the moment, it might have been a touch comical how his fingers squished at your cheeks, distorting your speech.

"Y-yesh, Mash-ter..."

He exhaled a slow, deep breath, momentarily closing his eyes. His grip grew soft, coming to gently cup your cheek instead.

"Very well, then."

He leaned further forward, ever so softly pressing his lips to the top of your forehead for a brief moment before standing up and turning around, making his way over to the door. "Should you grow bored, there's a good deal of reading material on the shelves behind you." He turned around to shut the door behind him. This time, as your eyes met, he gave you a soft expression, corners of his mouth upturning just slightly. "I'll send for someone to bring you food and water in a few hours. I'll try to return as soon as possible."

You nodded. You tried to put on a similar expression in return, but your mouth twitched with the attempt. "I understand."

You had to force the words out of your mouth. What you truly felt went unspoken aloud, but the spite remained in your head nonetheless.

Please don't.

And once the door shut, you were left in what felt like a suffocating quiet. A tense, uneasy atmosphere, despite the stillness and silence of the room.

For a moment, you merely sat perfectly still, staring forward with dull eyes and an absence of mind, no thoughts of any kind beyond a sort of static buzz in the back of your head. With your life as it was, it was all too easy to slip into that foggy state, lulled into a waking sleep by the mundaneness and emptiness of everything you did, to the point that your brain was easily able to achieve a state of nothingness.

But after a moment, your eyes began to dart around the room. Your gaze fixated on your own shadow for a moment before you turned your head to the side, as if expecting to see something different from the same layout as always, as if something would change. Of course, it hadn't; the only windows remained high enough that you'd need to stand on your toes just for your fingers to brush against the bottom edge, and were covered by metallic bars at that.

And while the light just so happened to shine perfectly into your eyes from where you rested each day in bed, the small size of the windows and high placement left the room very dim even in the middle of the day. You supposed this room had been intentionally built for the purpose of keeping someone in. It certainly performed that function adequately.

Your heart rate was increasing. The subtle awareness of your situation began to slowly trail to the forefront of your mind, still largely held back by a profound fogginess that went beyond sleepiness.

Your eyes did graze over the books at the other end of the room, but you had no desire to even pick them up. Such things had ceased to hold any interest. These days, the mere notion of most activities seemed dull, uninteresting. You doubted the subjects of the material would be of any particular interest to you, anyway. You merely sat still, turned your gaze back to the door.

There was an unspoken understanding about the situation; you had seen in his eyes before he left that he knew you understood. It was a trial of sorts, a test. You had not been left entirely alone before. On normal days, you were dragged around from place to place, often meeting with all sorts of people whose names and faces you made no effort to register in your memory. Kept in your master's lap to be looked at, to be seen and displayed. You usually sat perpendicular to him, so that you could lean onto his chest and close your eyes and block it all out.

And when you could not be with him, when it was time to go to combat in the chaos and war of the world outside, or otherwise doing something you could not partake in, you were left with an attendant outside your door. And yet, when he had opened the door to leave, you could see there was no one outside. That, and telling you outright that an attendant would come along in a few hours was in and of itself a subtle double-message, intended to inform you that that meant, logically following, that there was no attendant watching over you at that moment, that you were going without supervision.

This was, thus, you immediately concluded, a test to see if you would stay in place, if you would still be in the room when he returned. A test of obedience, loyalty, and perhaps, how much you feared him.

It was only natural, thus, as that realization settled in, that your mind began to race with uncertainty. The mere thought, naturally, triggered an immediate impulse. Your innate instinct was to launch yourself out the door that very second and go bounding away down the hall.

Yet, of course, the more rational part of your consciousness halted that impulse with a sense of wariness and caution. If it was indeed a test, which you were more or less certain it was, that also meant there was almost guaranteed to be a sort of insurance measure for the possibility of your failure. There could very well have been guards posted by the door, intentionally placed so you wouldn't have seen them when it was opened. Hell, for all you knew, he could have very well been lying about any obligations, and merely be waiting right outside the door, ready to catch you in any act of disloyalty. It was likely that any doors to the outside would be locked or barred. There could be a physical trap of some kind, too. That was perhaps that being the most humiliating possibility, invoking the thought of being forced to sit in an obvious display of your actions and wait to be found and freed.

You gave your head a quick shake to clear your mind, halting the train of thought in its place.

The safe thing to do was nothing. With action, with hope, came risk, and with risk came rightful fear. Doing anything other than staying put was sure to end poorly. To even think to intentionally violate the standard of behavior you were being blatantly tested for was incredibly foolish and naive. You imagined that such an attempt would be the absolute worst of transgressions you could possibly commit, and the mere thought of irreparably crossing some sort of line made you shiver.

Drop it. Forget it. Leave it be.

You repeated the words to yourself, over and over, trying to quell the impulse. It was for your own good.

...But there was nothing wrong with just poking your head out the door, was there? Even if you were immediately met with someone, you could easily say you thought you heard something and were just checking to see the source of the sound. That was as good an excuse as any.

That alone couldn't hurt. It would just be for a second. Just to look.

Slowly, without much active thought, you found yourself rising to your feet. You swallowed, and took a deep breath.

In a way, you almost hoped you would open the door and see someone standing there. At least then, that could be the end of it. Any faint hope could be extinguished, you could return to the comfort that came with helplessness, knowing you could not do anything. When that window of opportunity didn't exist, there were no what-ifs, no fear of missing out on an opportunity, no conflict of what to do.

But as your hand slowly pushed the door open, you were only met with a dark hall.

The halls were, by contrast to the room, far more dark and unsettling. Windowless spaces only illuminated by a few lamps along the walls.

You turned your head left, then right, analyzing both halls. The left one ended very shortly with an opening to another two options to turn down subsequent halls, while the right one carried on for some distance before doing the same.

But what you did not see, was any presence other than your own. There was no one. Only emptiness.

You felt something, though. Something beyond your primary senses. A subconscious, skin-crawling feeling, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, that made you feel cold all over. As if being watched, even surrounded by emptiness.

A nauseous feeling crept up in your gut. You shut the door in haste, shakily stumbling backwards as if having been shoved. You lowered yourself down to sit on the ground once more, legs feeling too uneasy to keep standing. The door seemed to loom intimidatingly before you. It was so close, and yet, the thought of stepping outside of it on your own felt foreign, somehow wrong, as if some extreme action that no one in their right mind would do.

No. There was nothing, you had seen so yourself. It was merely the feeling of dread becoming too much, holding you back. You were letting paranoia go to your head.

And that brought back the self-directed frustration, anger. You were letting fear get the better of you. You had literally seen with your own two eyes that there was nothing outside. You could walk out, and no one would know.

There was a burning sensation in your chest. A long-forgotten, supressed feeling. Your dignity and pride... how pathetic was it to not even take this opportunity to do something? Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least look around, familiarize yourself with what was around you. Yes, you likely wouldn't be able to find a way out today, but at the very least, scouting it out would be incredibly useful for the future.

To stay here and cower in submission and obedience... would that just go on forever/ In the back of your mind, you had always made some sort of automatic assumption that you would, one day, get out. You had always thought about the future in those terms, wondered what you'd do or where you'd go when that happened. The sudden, intrusive thought, even merely a passing one for just a brief moment, that this would be permanent...

Just as the thought crossed your mind, your eyes trailed over to a mirror on the other side of the room, the vertical sort that extended to the floor.

You sat in place for some time. Unmoving, staring at your own reflection, letting the minutes pass by in quiet, transfixed, unable to look away.

Your eyes looked dull and tired. Your body was slouched over, like a limp doll left to sit on the ground. You scanned every inch of your body. The way your hands rested limply in your lap. The scratches on your back that you could see the ends of where the loose robes had fallen down to expose your shoulders. Taking it all in. It felt like nothing more than a husk, soul long since departed.

Every little detail was a mark of ownership over you, a claim to your life, body and soul, a statement that they all were no longer your own. As if stripping you of personhood, redesigning your exterior and your habits to serve as a perpetual reminder that you were defeated, broken into submission.

And in that new, reconstructed person, there was no place to have any pride. Any dignity or self-respect was out of place, it did not belong, it was not supposed to exist anywhere within the new object that had been created. It was a smudge on a fine painting, dust on a shelf, dirt on a toy -- it would be unhesitatingly wiped away, ensuring that the respective possession of value was free of such undesired impurities. Leaving behind only a flawless object that would perfectly serve its purpose, to be used as it was designed to be.

A painting's was to be looked at, a shelf's was to store, and a toy... it was to be played with, used for the enjoyment of its owner.

Some time passed. Many thoughts came and went, miserable, bitter, and shameful. You sat there and stared. At some point, your eyes began to slowly close, your head felt heavy and cloudy, and your body relaxed...

But it was then that you seemed to snap out of your transfixation, shaking your head. You'd nearly gone to sleep sitting up, and would have wasted the day away. Such falling asleep during the day had become something of a habit at this point, often sleeping for far longer periods of time than necessary or even healthy, just to escape from the waking world.

Your chest felt tight with shame. No. You wouldn't allow that. To just sit there and be a good, obedient pet. Your sense of pride, whatever remained of it, couldn't allow that. The you from before wouldn't have allowed you to become like this, would be ashamed of you for inaction.

You rose to your feet once more and, with a deep breath to steady your nerves, made your way back to the door, opening it once more. After turning your head once again, checking to ensure it was still empty, you looked down at the ground, where the pattern of the floor transitioned over a straight line dividing the room and the hall.

You hesitated for another moment. The fear was still present, even if you did your best to go on in spite of it. It felt daunting, like some tremendous act.

But you stepped over it nonetheless, tiles cool on the soles of your feet. And then, you were left standing.

You left the door open, just in case someone came along and you needed to rush back into the room. You turned your head in each direction.

You had been down the left hall plenty of times, you were fairly familiar with the layout of the estate, having intentionally made sure to commit it to memory, should there be any possibility of finding an exit.

The right hall, however, you'd never been down. But not only was it so expansive it was difficult to take it all in, there was also the fact that as far as you knew, it only led to more and more rooms, you could see doors in a line down the walls as far as your vision extended.

It was still morning. If he said he would be back before nightfall, that meant you had a great deal of time. Although you were told there would be an attendant to bring you a midday meal, but even that would be at least a few hours away, even with you having wasted... you estimated around maybe two hours idly sitting in the room.

Even if you couldn't get out, you could at least pace yourself to go explore a bit and memorize what you found, trying to mentally keep track of time and return before someone came. If someone found you outside, then, you could claim you were searching for an attendant to request water or food. That was perfectly realistic, wasn't it?

As you took the first steps, a shiver ran down your spine. There it was again, that intense feeling of unease, something beyond the fear of being seen. Some sensation, some sense that made you twitch, eyes darting all around. There was still nothing. And yet, your heart rate increased even further than the nervousness already paced it, your breathing grew heavier and faster. You took a few more cautious steps. The feeling persisted, and in a way, seemed to direct you, a subconscious way of feeling the direction it was coming from, controlling your gaze to follow the sensation. Following what seemed like the silent command of that sense, your head tilted upwards to the rafters of the ceiling.

For just a moment, the slightest of seconds, you caught a glimpse of something.

A dark, humanoid silhouette, a smaller frame than that of your master's, barely distinguishable from the surrounding shadow, crouched down on the rafter beam and leaning forward. Bright yellow eyes that shone out in the darkness, wide open and staring at you with eerily intense focus.

A spike of panic lurched through your chest. You inhaled a sharp gasp and took an instinctive step back, your frame of sight disoriented and blurred with the movement.

And then, as your vision refocused, it was gone.

You blinked a few times, rubbed at your eyes, and looked again. Yes, there was nothing there.

You exhaled the air you'd been holding in, a shuddering breath.  You reached a trembling hand up to the spot where your neck met your jaw, pressing two fingers down into the flesh to feel just how hard and fast your heart pounded.

It was merely your own paranoia getting to your head, imagining things. You had to shake it off and keep going. Your footsteps hastened.

You still slowed yourself down as you reached a dark corner, slowly poking your head over the bend. Nothing down the next hall, either, nor could you hear any footsteps or faint chatter or anything that would indicate another presence. It gave you at least some boost in assurance, steadying your walking.

And the next corner, and the next corner. It was as if there wasn't a soul in the whole, massive building, despite there usually being servants to the god that moved around performing various tasks, and guards as well. The Geo god spared no effort in maintaining subjects to keep everything in this place in line, whatever said place was. You knew it was not the real world — that was how the realm had been, by whatever means, indued with some sort of ward that had left you unable to use your own divine power from the moment you were brought in. Many gods had similar dwellings... but they could all be entered and exited, and this would be no exception.

Still, it almost felt too easy. Following the widest hall and keeping to the right side seemed to lead you exactly the way you wanted to go, into areas silent but still dimly lit enough to see. After what seemed like a torturously suspended wait, you halted in place as you rounded the next bend.

Your heart began to pound not merely in fear, but excitement, an exhilarating buzz in your chest that elated your spirit. This hall did not end with another curve, but instead, a door.

A set of large double doors, to be exact. It was a deep red, the wood intricately carved, the frame equally designed with obvious devotion and craftsmanship. Larger and more eye-catchingly ornate than any of the doors lining the hallway, and set at the very end of the hall, looming before you in an almost unnerving perfection, picturesque in a near perfect symbol of the end of your short journey.

That was, of course, indicative of a front door.

A door leading outside.

You could feel your heartbeat throughout your body, each pulse a pounding in your chest, a rush through your throat and extremities. The tile was cold to your bare feet as they slowly, cautiously stepped forward, each footstep just the lightest and faintest of sounds.

Your hand turned the knob and pulled. It was quite heavy, as could be expected from the quality and authenticity of the wood used for such a large entryway. Still, with a tug, the door slid on its hinges towards you. Your shoulders tensed up at the low groaning sound of the aged wood.

The sunlight was nearly blinding, just the mere sliver that came through the gap to which you'd opened it, no more than the width of your hand. The sudden burn caught you off-guard, and you stiffened as your eyes reflexively shut, taking a moment to adjust before slowly, barely parting your eyelids once more.

As your eyes quickly adjusted to the light, you could make out the myriad of colors that composed the natural part of the realm, green all around of grass and plants, the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds.

The sun not only brought its light, but also a pleasant warmth that swept over the narrow vertical line of your body that the light shone upon. As you inhaled, your nostrils were filled with the invigorating fresh scent of dirt and sky and life, the air itself warm in your lungs.

For the briefest of moments, you stood perfectly still, taking just a single second to bask in the euphoria gracing your senses even in spite of your nerves.

But you couldn't just go running out, no, that would be foolish... right? You had no idea how to get out of this realm from here, and would certainly be seen by some guard or attendant or another if you recklessly walked out in broad daylight. If you were caught, it would be ages before this sort of opportunity would come again.

But it couldn't hurt, surely, to just peek around the door, to poke your head out and get a better look at your surroundings. You pulled the door a bit wider, just enough to fit your head through, holding the edge of the door propped open with your forearm.

There were no visible persons outside, either. No guards, no humans nor beasts. Just sun and grass and decoratively assembled stone and masonry that carried on for a ways into the distance.

And more importantly, you could see in the distance, at the end of a winding trail, a glowing pillar of light. The devices that led in and out of these ethereal realms. You had seen plenty in your time in godhood.

In that case... even if there were guards beyond your frame of sight, if you made a run for it, you could probably reach the end. And once you were out into the real world, surely even with your limited combative capacity, you could still utilize the abilities you possessed to get far away and ward off any pursuers. You could run far, far away, find a new land to live in. You could feign being a regular mortal and live life alongside them to conceal yourself. You were not the sort of overly-prideful deity that would consider such a thing to be an insult; in fact, such a prospect didn't sound bad at all.

It was all far too perfect. You found the corners of your mouth turning upward on their own, unable to conceal your excitement even if you had tried. Perhaps the higher beings in Celestia had taken favor on you, or decided to compensate you for your unjust persecution. Your breathing was so heavy that your shoulders and chest rose and fell with each respiration. Your eyes watered. It didn't even feel real, it was all so sudden, your mind felt frozen in shock. Your whole body was filled with a tingling sensation, your head felt lighter than air. You pulled your head back through the door, reaching back for the handle and pulling it wide enough to slip your body through, watching as more light poured into the dark hall.

A startled grunt came out of your throat as your body was jerked forward by the door slamming shut, pulled by your hand still gripping the handle.

The harsh sound of the door forcefully hitting its frame echoed across the vastness of the hall, bouncing off the walls, ringing in your ears.

You stood frozen stiff, still slightly leaning forward from the motion. Unmoving as a statue, paralysis seizing your body. It felt as if even your heart stopped, every organ and vein in your body completely gone still. There was a tightness in your chest, a heavy feeling in your gut, as if your stomach weighed your body down. Your hand was still latched onto the door handle, grip having gone limp, but arm still stiffly extended, unable to move if you tried.

A distinct, straight strip of shadow darkened the area just before you, blocking the light from above. As the echo of the door crashing back into the frame faded, only silence remained.

Your eyes slowly trailed upward. With hesitancy, a slowness out of the cold, heavy feeling in your gut. Delaying the inevitable, torn between frantic urge to know and yet desperately wanting not to. Suspending the few precious seconds of intentional ignorance.

A hand was pressed against the door, having shut it with force. The flesh of the arm outstretched above you from behind gradually darkened in color downwards to the hand that was pressed flat to the surface of the door, the end of each finger tipped with curved, thick claws, rather than fingernails. The fingers curled just a bit, with the slightest sound of a scrape against the wood.

An arm extended out directly above your head, trailing back to something behind you. You could feel a radiating warmth against your back, just shy of brushing against you, so close that you could even detect it without the primary senses, some sort of innate ability to sense presence.

Your jaw was slack, lips parted just in the slightest. Your mouth opened wider, as if to say something, but nothing came out, throat choked and tight.

Until, that is, you felt something brush against the top of your shoulder. The other arm extended forward, crossing over the shoulder to reach for your face.

Muscles across your body twitched and tightened, your eyes blew wider open still, body stiffening even further as a series of sharp pinpoints slowly, lightly came to rest on the flesh of your face, fingers gripping your jaw. Not too harshly, nor lightly. A perfect balance; not enough to cause real pain, but just heavily enough that you could acutely feel the sharpness of the ends pressing into the soft flesh of your face.

And with that, your stillness ceased. Albeit still stiff, every inch of your body began to tremble.

Your lip trembled. Your eyes began to water.

The silence felt like it would crush you, a heavy nothingness for several seconds.

"...And just what are you doing out here?"

As involuntary as your shaking, a high-pitched, fearful little sound came out of the back of your throat. Pathetic and shameful. The sound of your own voice in your ears made a hot, bitter feeling of shame course through your body, amidst the fear that seized your entire being. Your mouth opened, twitching as you tried to speak.

"A-ah... I..."

Any words you could have summoned felt caught in your throat. You went silent, unable to finish. A few more moments of tense silence passed. You stood in place, unable to bring yourself to turn around.

The hand on the door retracted, slowly moving downward. The arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you so that your bodies now touched. The body behind you leaned forward and downward, just enough to speak directly into your ear, face brushing against the side of your own.

"You're quite a ways away from where you were told to stay." He slowly drummed his fingers against the narrowest part of your waist. "You must have wandered out by mistake and gotten disoriented."

In a quieter, lower voice, so close to your ear you could feel his breath as he spoke, he finished,

"...Is that right?"

It was, of course, blatantly facetious. Pretending as if that were even a reasonable explanation, a sort of mutually understood, mock disingenuousness. Transparently so, no actual effort to make you think he was truly ignorant, mutually understood to be a slow torment.

There might have been a right answer and a wrong answer. Perhaps both were right or wrong, or perhaps neither was either. It was a question to test your reaction, see if you would be spiteful or obediently meek. Even so, the submissive option was also a wrongdoing of dishonesty.

But in your panicked impulse, that was the option you rushed for nonetheless.

"I..." You swallowed. "Y-yes, I... I was just..." You looked down, only to see with your own eyes how badly your body trembled. Another matter came to mind. "I... I thought you were with...?"

He waited a moment to respond. "...I was." The cold ominousness and implication of discontentment of his tone made you wince, but he spoke again before you could stammer out some insistence of your innocence, or try to apologize. "However, the guardian I had set for you came to inform me you were wandering around the halls, so it's adjourned for the day."

You grinded your teeth. You had seen something after all, it wasn't just imagination.

Why had you thought otherwise? Of course, of course he wouldn't have left you completely unsupervised. Thinking so for even a moment had been an act of supreme foolishness. You chastised yourself in your head for such stupidity. It was even placed up towards the ceiling with, no doubt, the exact intention of making you believe you weren't being supervised. It felt almost malicious.

Even aside from that matter, hearing those words made your heart sink further, knowing that having to deal with you had interrupted something of utmost significance. For one, that implied that, considering the risk of being interrupted, that he actually, genuinely had believed you would be obedient. Secondly, having disrupted something of importance made your transgression that much greater of an offense, and no doubt, thereby deserving a retribution that much more severe. You could feel your heartbeat across your body, in your throat, in your head, in your limbs, a harsh, intense pounding, pumping adrenaline-laced blood through your system.

But you remained silent. It felt as if something was stuck in your throat, blocking your breath and speech.

A few moments passed. No doubt intentional, dragging out the moment, not granting you the mercy of being spared the torturous dread.  And then, the hands detached from your jaw and waist respectively.

"Alright, now. Come."

His arm reached around your back, hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you forward in manner both gently slow and lacking in force, yet the touch itself firm. His voice was calm, but cold, commanding. It was not aggressive nor harsh, nor loud, nor rough. His facial expression was not only equally calm, but even pleasant, the sort of expression that was just the slightest upturn of the mouth, but more of a smile in the eyes, almost amused. No contortion in anger or disgust.

Morax did not need harshness. Perhaps other gods and rulers and masters might. To require a booming voice and a snarl to one's tone, a forceful aggression and volume and threat of intense violence to instill submission. For others, fear had to be enforced on the subjects, they had to be made to cower.

But not him. He could speak in such a calm voice, and still expect to be followed. It was not an indicator of a lack of power, but the opposite — knowing that you knew that power without having to have it repeatedly demonstrated. Knowing full well you were terrified regardless, perhaps more so with the eerie aura of the calmness. Knowing you had no choice but to follow, that submission was already won, and that there was thus no need to do anything but simply command it. That the possibility of such a direct command being disobeyed did not even cross his mind. A quiet form of dominance only knowable by those at such an apex of power and supremacy that obedience came as naturally to their subjects as breathing.

And that was the thought that infuriated you so, so deeply.

Your heart felt as if it had stopped, a wave of cold that ran through your blood. Pure and unadulterated fear amalgamated with a deep, swelling bitterness, coursing side by side through your veins. Your jaw clenched harder and harder, your hands curled up into fists.

There was something else, though, beyond that. A heavy, burning feeling in your chest. Pressure that had built up, near the point of bursting. All the humiliation and subjugation you had compliantly endured, a foul taste of embittered fury and brutalized pride. You recalled your hollow, tired appearance in the mirror.

You'd been so controlled by fear from the moment you were captured by the other — admittedly far superior — deity, meekly complying most of the time, outside of a few outbursts and moments of defiance that were so infuriatingly written off as immaturity or merely being a brat, treated with indignation and a sort of condescension that yes, once more you thought to yourself that you wished was crueler, that would have been less humiliating and hurtful if you were treated like an enemy or a slave rather than a disobedient child, an unruly pet.

What would the 'you' from before had thought of your willingness to simply bow your head and follow...?

You took a step backwards, pulling yourself out of the grasp of the arm around you.

Perhaps, in part, it was mere reflexive instinct. But there was also force to the action. Intent. Driven by that same swell of resentment, so strong it overrode your dread. You took an uneasy stance, one foot behind you and the other forward, prepared to take another step back.

You both came to a halt. Your eyes met.

You still trembled, but you stood your ground.

The pleasant expression fell from his face. His eyes became half-lidded and narrowed, shoulders shifting downward as the arm that was around you came to rest at his side. There was an ominous edge to his tone as he spoke.

"...Surely you do not want to make this more difficult than need be?"

His gaze felt piercing. Your eyes darted downward.

"I..." You swallowed. "I just..."

It wasn't as if there was a point. Even if you were to turn around and bolt, you wouldn't even be able to get the door open before you'd be caught. There was no practical, logical point to resistance. There was nothing to be gained, and there was certainly a great increase in your imminent suffering if you did not.

And above all, you were consumed by dread, a fearful anticipation. Perhaps that, in part, was what kept your legs locked still, a desire to delay the inevitable. But above all, your pride demanded your resistance.

"...I don't..."

You tried to speak. You could summon the words in your head, at least. Words you had thought before, when you would lay in bed at night, playing out pathetic revenge fantasies in your head where you told him exactly what you thought and felt, like you were some kid imagining yourself standing up to a schoolroom bully you knew you'd never have the gall to face in reality. You'd say that you were sick and tired of being debased and degraded, that you weren't a toy, that you wouldn't tolerate being talked down to any longer, that you weren't an object to be owned. The fantasies always ended there, as you were unable to even imagine a scenario in which the aftermath of such an outburst ended well for you.

You couldn't get the words out. Perhaps in large part due to intimidation, but even still, because you knew that to some extent, many of those statements were wrong. In the most realistic sense, you were owned. That was how the brutality of the real world functioned. The superior ones exerted their strength, and in turn, the weaker ones submitted... or else, were eliminated. If one could successfully imprison and force the other to their will, they essentially did have claim to ownership.

Thus, you merely stood your ground. It was all you could do to look up at him with anger, however obvious the fear alongside it may be, on your face.

He merely huffed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Be reasonable." He turned his gaze back up to you. His eyes narrowed further. "...You will follow, willingly or not. I am extending you the opportunity to demonstrate remorse, and you would be wise to take it."

You remained still, and stayed silent. The quiet weighed down on your chest, as if to crush you. Part of you wanted to give in, a survival instinct to submit and obey, an urge to run forward and fall to your knees in a display of repentance. But you suppressed it, and remained in place.

He paused a moment, waiting for a response, but upon receiving none, he gave a deep sigh, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Three."

Your jaw clenched. The bitter fury rose up like a punch to the stomach.

Of all the things he could have said, to do that, to instigate this degrading routine you'd become so familiar with, was probably the worst.

Your heart beat harder. The very nature of the act strengthened your impulse to rush forward, the setup itself being to intimidate you with gradual increase of threat. Perhaps it was because you knew that, and how degrading it felt, that you managed to stay still.

"Two."

His voice grew a firmer edge with the single word, audibly colder and deeper than the first.

Your fingers curled, clenching your hands into fists. You grinded your teeth. You could feel your eyes water, but with all the willpower you could muster, you refrained from breaking down, from giving in.

But you did give in, at least in a way, to the fear. You couldn't keep looking him in the eye. You turned your gaze to the floor... but it didn't stop you from being able to see his face in the edge of your vision. Given the look on his face, you wished you had turned your head entirely.

He was silent as seconds came and went, having well surpassed the implied time limit. Staring at you with narrowed eyes and a displeased expression.

"...How childish."

When he took a step forward, your panic surged back anew, and you stumbled backwards, but to no avail. His hand locked around your wrist, and the pretense of gentleness momentarily disappeared as you were jerked forward with immense force. You didn't even get the chance to stumble, the force with which you were slung was enough that your feet left the ground and you crashed down to the floor with a frightened yelp, catching yourself on your forearms. As soon as you hit the ground, your shaking hands scrambled to push you back up, but just as you began to shuffle onto your hands and knees, you gagged as your weight was pulled off the ground by a hand grabbing the back of your robe, causing the front to choke you by the throat. Your feet stumbled to find purchase on the ground, but they were pulled off the ground once more, leaving your legs flailing in the air. You went airborne again for a moment as you were thrown upward, retching as your body was slung over his shoulder so that the bone slammed against your stomach.

The journey back seemed so much faster than your initial one, given your shorter legs and how cautious you'd been. You hadn't realized just how short the distance you'd traveled really was until that moment, as the return passed so quickly you became aware of just how pathetically short of a distance you'd truly gotten. You cried out and writhed, less out of a conscious decision, and more pure panic triggering some innate instinct. You were fairly certain you got out a few strained, stuttered words — wait and stop and no — but you received nothing in reply.

It was over in a matter of minutes. The door was still hanging open as you'd left it, but was shut with a harsh sound behind you. You cried out as you were unceremoniously tossed down, body weight slamming into the mattress so that it bounced back for a moment from the impact as you lay stunned on your back.

Your elbows pressed down to prop yourself up. You barely lifted your torso upwards before you were slammed back down again by a crushing force to your chest, claw-like nails digging into the flesh around your collarbones. He came to loom over your form from above, leaning with one foot on the ground, the other calf bent at the knee and resting weight onto the mattress.

“Your ingratitude is boundless, isn't it?” He remained perfectly still, looming over you even as you began to writhe. “To think, I could have killed you. There is no reason you shouldn't have met the same fate as every other—" his grip tightened, enunciating the next word in a sudden increase in irritation to his voice, betraying the faux pleasantness up until that moment, "foolish little pest that thought to challenge something so far greater than yourself."

Your eyes nearly squeezed shut with the strain of your struggling. The words made your lip tremble, your eyes burn. Every time the memory was invoked, you felt so utterly stupid, shameful over your own naivete.

You grabbed at the hand on your chest, and pulled with every ounce of strength you could summon, the full and utmost entirety of your strength.

It didn't even seem to be noticed, much less affect him in any way. The hand did not budge, nor did his face show any sign of strain, no indication that your full strength took even a modicum of effort to restrain.

"But I had favor on you," he continued, voice returning to a quiet coldness, "and took you to be my own." His other hand reached back up to your face, gripping your jaw with force and acute pressure as each nail dug into the soft flesh. “I chose…” his voice lowered to a murmur, “…to allow you to live…” he pushed your head back, “…under very, very simple conditions.”

Your body trembled beyond your control. He watched you struggle, golden eyes half-lidded and cold, lacking any sign of empathy. You felt a surge of dread spike in your chest as the nails dug into your flesh, just shy of piercing the skin. After a moment, he finished,

“...Do you recall what those conditions were?”

Your lip trembled. The last remnants of pride you possessed fought against breaking down.

Yes, you recalled perfectly. You had so quickly rushed to agree to comply, out of pure, pathetic cowardice at the terror of the moment, in a desperate attempt to have your life spared.

The way it was brought up felt so, so shameful. Yes, you really would prefer outright cruelty to this. It was, at least, more transparent, more direct.

The way of speech he possessed was somehow far more soul-crushing. Such a calm, low voice, and yet tinged with an unmistakeable condescension. But the tension in it had slowly increased with each word, like an ominous, vague shadow growing closer and closer.

Each beat of your heart sent a heavy pulse through your head, you could feel the blood as it circulated around your temple and back into your throat, over and over. Your body felt so cold.

You forced the words out, voice hoarse.

“To… to remain here in this... this realm…”

He didn't hesitate to press further. “And?”

“And… and…” you swallowed. Your voice began to tremble, audibly on the verge of tears. “To… to obey your... every word."

"...That's correct." His voice was still so calm, low and rumbling. As if it were a regular conversation, as if he wasn't holding you down. Nonetheless ever laced with that sense of condescension, belittlement in the pretense of the feigned pleasantness. "Now... I could be remembering incorrectly," his thumb rubbed in a back-and-forth motion against your chin, "but I believe that I very specifically instructed you to wait in this room."

You felt sick. You bit down on your lip, inhaling as deeply as you could to fight a sense of nausea.

"...Am I mistaken?"

You shook your head back and forth rapidly. Your eyes squeezed shut, tears collecting and pooling around your eyelashes. Your voice came out strained and cracking. "No..."

It was the best reply you could give. A lose-lose situation, where any answer you could muster was a bad one, yet the honest answer was, at least, hopefully the lesser of the possible offenses.

And with that answer, finally, that slowly-increasing tension, the underlying malice, reached its peak. As if that shadow caught up to you, the pretense of calmness and faux-gentleness dissipated. You saw his eyes narrow further. The hand on your chest moved upward. Your heart skipped a beat, a chill pulsated through your blood, but you had no time to react.

"Enlighten me, then. Why, exactly..."

His palm slammed down onto your throat. Your eyes went wide with panic, your hands reached to grasp at his arm.

He spoke the next words with gritted teeth, voice still low in volume, but now with an unmistakeable rumbling harshness to his voice.

"...Did I find you where you were?"

Your initial instinct, without conscious thought, was to struggle, back arching as your body lurched against the hold. It only caused you greater pain, pressure digging into your throat. You took a gasp to the best of your ability.

If you had thought it through, perhaps it would have been evident that what you said next was a poor choice, but much like your writhing, in your panic, your first instinct was to placate and defend yourself.

"I wasn't doing anything bad, I just—"

You cut off with hitched breath as his fingers curled into your neck, sharpness nearly piercing your flesh.

"Do not lie to me."

Your lip trembled. You swallowed to the best of your ability.

"I'm sorry..."

The grip tightened, cutting off your airways nearly entirely.

"It was a question. Answer."

Of course, he already knew. You knew that, and he knew that you knew. It didn't need to be said. It was not so much a question as it was a command -- not merely to "answer," but to admit, to confess. And that was, realistically, the only valid option you had.

"Because I... I wanted to..." You took as deep of a breath as you could, swallowing, shuddering on the exhale. "I..."

You went quiet for a moment. You took rapid, shallow breaths, mouth opening and closing as you struggled to speak.

"You...?"

It was mocking, but frustrated tone in his voice, clearly growing impatient. He seemed to, at least, realize you were struggling to speak, and thus the crushing force to your throat loosened.

Your fingers curled against the sheets as bitterness swelled in your chest once more at the insult inherent to how he spoke to you, the audacity to express impatience when he was the very reason you struggled to speak. The push and pull of fear and anger often wavered back and forth, one overtaking the other for a moment. Each was reactionary, the emotion that won over at a given moment for a given response each dependent on what was said or done to you. The anger had been building, pressurizing, but finally burst as it did — anger was always the emotion that would come out in one sudden, explosive moment, only to retreat as soon as the fear always won back over. You knew that, and could have predicted the cyclic movement of the two, but in the moment, it won out nonetheless. You had intended to finish with saying you wanted to run, or perhaps a more dishonest answer, but a more spiteful sentiment overcame you.

"Because I wanted to!"

Taking advantage of the sudden absence of pressure, you lurched upward to the best of your ability. His hand still caught your movement halfway, forcefully grasping your shoulder, but you curled yourself upward to come closer to his level, almost halfway sitting up, propping your weight on one of your hands outstretched behind you, the other you reached out and, to draw him closer as well as keep you from being pushed downward, actually lashed out and tightly locked your grip around one of the horns at the base of his skull. Your body trembled, this time in a deep, furious rage, as you took more heaving breaths. Your nose scrunched up with your expression of fury.

"I can do what I want! You don't own me, and I don't have to do a goddamn thing you say, you—!"

You cut off.

Rather, you couldn't speak another word. It felt as if you were choking, even with the absence of a weight on your throat.

Once more, a reactionary compulsion. Those spiteful outbursts were always so brief, so easily shut down, any prideful spirit crushed without effort by the factor of sheer intimidation.

In that moment, it was the look on his face. The eyes went half-lidded, expression blank, not outwardly, visually angry, but displeased, unamused. Much like with everything else, it was far more terrifying to you than any outward anger you'd expect from anyone else.

Silence fell over the room, only the faintest sound as he drummed his fingers on the other hands against the sheets, a sedentary stimulus.

"...Go on."

The simple phrase was ominous, foreboding in its cold, low tone.

You clamped your jaw down, shoulders bunching up as you released your grip and shrunk back, back hitting the headrest of the bed. Your throat felt tight, as if blocked, obstructed. Your toes and fingers curled in a fearful instinct.

"...N-no, I didn't..."

"No." He reached out and took your face in his hand, thumb digging into one side, fingers into the other. "You were going to say something else?"

You tried to shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut. "No, I wasn't — I didn't mean that, I didn't—mm!"

You whimpered as your midriff was pulled forward, and head downward, effectively pushing you back down onto your back. There was a sharp pain as one of the claw-like nails just barely pierced a layer of flesh from the force, not enough to bleed, but enough to feel the distinct sting, the sort of cut that would leave a raised-up, reddened line down your skin for some time to come.

Your chest rapidly heaved up and down with panicked breaths. Your eyes blew wide, staring upwards into those that looked down at you with an intimidating darkness. Your hands lifted upward, as if to push him back, but merely rested in front of you, fingers curled and trembling, uncertain and hesitantly refraining.

"In that case," he rested one hand on your shoulder to hold you down, "I will extend you significant grace," the grip tightened on the enunciated word, just enough for you to feel it, "and allow you to start over. Try once more."

His other hand reached for your throat once more and pressed down. A sharp inhale of surprise proved you could still breathe, albeit greatly restricted, as if sucking in air through a straw.

It was at that moment, though, that the worst possible thought came to you. It hadn't occurred to you until that moment, but at the reminder he gave about how your situation came to be to begin with, the thought did flash through your mind, the worst possible consequence. That created an entirely new degree of fear. Your whole body seemed to sink into the mattress.

Your mouth opened, but you had to squeeze your eyes shut to manage to get the words out.

"I was... trying to..." Your voice lowered to a quiet whimper, a natural desire for avoidance. "Run away..."

Your chest convulsed, but you could only inhale a small amount of air with each breath. You began to feel lightheaded. Only pure fear and uncertainty kept you conscious.

But with that increased fear, any room for dignity was long since gone. Tears pooled in your eyes and streamed down your face. Your voice came out in a pathetic, miserable, pitiful whimper.

"Don't... don't kill me... please..."

It was not the first time those words had left your mouth. Perhaps there was even a comedic, ironic factor to the similarity, the repetition of the words parallel to the repetition of the scenario you found yourself in.

Yes, it was very much like this. His hand had been on your throat then, too. You recalled it perfectly. Defeated and battered, literally crawling on your knees before you were lifted up by the neck and slammed into the wall. You recalled the way your body tensed as the cold tip of the spear pressed to your chest right below the breast where your heart rested, just enough pressure to break the skin, the way a slow trickle of blood had trailed down your side. Tears and snot had run down your face, your breathing was rapid, heaving gasps, your legs had pathetically kicked and flailed, your hands had clawed at the grip.

You were not told outright that you would live, no. In hindsight, that had probably already been determined, but you weren't told so. There had been the same suspense, making you wait, enjoying putting you in abject terror as your life flashed before your eyes.

Perhaps it was because you had been cocky, overly confident in your capacities, that that torment was extended. For someone who took such gleeful thrill in conquering, it made sense to relish in the way you begged and struggled. It was the same words. Very basic ones, of course, standard, probably what any conqueror of such prowess had heard a hundred times.

Don't kill me, please don't kill me...

Likewise, you could still hear the mocking tone to his voice, see the gleam in his eyes.

You're right. It would be such a waste to kill you when you can be put to good use, don't you think?

And he had given you that same smile. The same one you received whenever you cried, whenever you were blubbering out apologies for some misdeed. Whenever you begged for anything, whenever you shivered and cowered and curled up into him for warmth or comfort. Whenever you succumbed to pleasure forced upon you, melted into a drooling, twitching, barely-responsive mess. Seemingly soft and mild, but the longer you looked, the more and more apparent became the undertone of sadistic pleasure.

The same one you recognized now, as you dared open your eyes, even through the blur of your tears.

It was always the same. Even in the softest and most gentle of moments, there was still that same gleam to his eyes.

"You want to be forgiven, then?"

You sniffled. "Yes..."

Another pause. Drawing the moment out. Making you feel every second of anticipation.

"Mm."

His hand detached from your throat. You took a deep, gasping breath.

But just as you began to recover, he took a fistful of the robe around you, pulling you up from the bed, setting you down — not letting you fall, but taking care to actually set you on the ground — onto your knees. He sat back down on the bed, sideways so that he faced your crumpled form, feet on the ground.

"I'm sure you know, forgiveness is not automatically granted... it is earned." He grabbed your jaw once more, forcing you to look up at him. "Do you understand?"

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut, sniffling. The soft "mhm" that came out of your throat sounded utterly pitiful.

"Good." He reached down to cup your face, tilting your head to face him, causing your eyes to open on reflex. Just enough to see the amused smirk on his face as he spoke. "Then show me how you intend to earn forgiveness from your God."

It hurt. It hurt in your stomach, your chest. A type of pain so different from the scratches and bruises, an unphysical, deeper pain, an emotion so strong you could feel it in your skin and bones.

But you crawled forward on your knees nonetheless.

"Yes... Master..."

A routine you could move through almost mechanically, although this was the first time you'd performed it so desperately, not to mention the added difficulty of your shaking hands. Leaning your body forward, grasping at buttons to unfasten. You inhaled sharply when one of the cocks hit the side of your face as it sprung from the restraint of clothing.

Your breathing was still heavy and rapid from the adrenaline. You took just a moment to take a few shallow breaths, but otherwise didn't hesitate to shove it into your mouth, desperate to placate and do what you could to lessen your Master's fury.

It was like some sort of divine torment from Celestia itself that you had to deal with something... you supposed the best word would be reptilian, in the anatomical realm. Your body was fully humanoid, mating organs designed to align to an equally fully humanoid body of the opposing sex. You didn't even know draconic creatures possessed two cocks, and each of nonhuman size at that, until you were firsthand forced to become aware of that information, via being doubly impaled unexpectedly. There was some control over the degree of form such beings as him took, varying transformative levels that could be achieved at will, and you were sure it was entirely possible to maintain the fortunate human trait of having only one -- but that was a luxury you were not granted.

You took a gasp for breath as your mouth detached with a popping sound, turning your head and immediately taking the other into your mouth, reaching to work the first with your hand, aided by the residual lubrication of your own saliva, and the existing layer of... whatever it was, some sort of mucin-like lubrication that coated them already. Your hand couldn't fully wrap around it, couldn't close so that your fingers would have touched, instead trying to twist your wrist as you moved your hand up and down.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to force it further into your mouth, but your body stiffened as it triggered your gag reflex when it hit the back of your throat, not even half of it in your mouth. You tried to inhale as much air as you could through your nostrils, summoning the mental willpower to try and force it past the barrier of your throat.

You must have hesitated too long, though, or perhaps your effort was merely too poor to be sufficient. Your eyes snapped open when you felt a hand on the back of your head, but you could only let out a soft sound before your head was shoved downward.

Your stomach retched in involuntary reflex, abdominal muscles spasming as you tried to adjust. Your eyes watered once more, blurring your vision. Another hand latched to the back of your head, and pulled your head back before shoving it back down again. Over and over. It took all your focus and willpower to prevent yourself from getting sick, although you still managed to make some sort of sucking motion with your mouth, more out of mechanical instinct than active effort.

And it was painful, it was sore, from having had the same thing done shortly before. Like a wound being reopened over and over, there was never enough time between occurrences for you to heal from the bruises and scratches and stretched muscles of the former occurrence before it repeated.

After a moment, your head was pulled back all the way, a popping sound as your mouth detached. You took heaving, ragged breaths, desperately trying to suck in air before your head was guided to the side and the action repeated on the other, jerking your head up and down again, filling your throat to the point of a burning pain as it stretched. You could physically feel it stretching the walls of your throat, in and out, over and over. You began to feel lightheaded as you failed to sufficiently inhale through your nostrils.

"...Now—"

Your head was pulled off with harsh force. You took a long, heaving gasp for air, but within the same moment, you were jerked back upwards.

The movement was so fast and forceful that you were too disoriented to even process it. Your balance teetered, your stumbled as your arms were each held, fabric pulled off, stripping you down, before slamming your body back down onto the bed face-down. Prodding your legs with a gentle kick forced them wide apart to balance yourself, his hand pressed down on your back just below the neck, so that the soft whimpering sounds you made were muffled by the sheets. You grimaced as the nails dragged a short ways down your spine.

You grimaced, face contorting with the sting as you felt something prodding against the already raw flesh of the entrance of each orifice. "Wait, wait, I'm not—AH!"

Despite everything else being so prolonged and dragged out, this time, you were not granted a single second of hesitation or anticipation, no doubt intentional, so that you had no opportunity to mentally prepare yourself, so that the disorientation made the feeling of impalement come as a sudden shock.

You were unable to suppress a squeal as they both slid into your body at once, one into your cunt, the other into your ass, stretching already sore and spent muscles and pressing against bruised flesh, albeit the latter more innately discomforting and foreign, the stretching sensation far more intense. The sheer stretch of the size would have been painful even if your insides weren't already hypersensitive and rubbed raw. Your legs spasmed, kicking as a reflexive instinct, leaning your full weight forward.

You took rapid heaving, gasping breaths, trying to turn your head to the side so that your breathing wasn't inhibited and suffocated by your face pressed downward into the mattress. The noise that came out of your throat was strained and miserable, a long, high-pitched cry.

As another natural reflex, your body's first instinct was to get away, to remove the intrusion penetrating your insides. Your back arched downward in an attempt to pull yourself off, desperately clawing at the sheets, but you were grabbed at the hip and pulled back with force, sheathing fully inside you.

It felt full. Like your body was stuffed beyond its capacity, that there was too much within it. Intrusive, setting off some innate sense of alarm triggered by forcing something into your body of a size that it wasn't designed for; even for just the cock stuffed into your quim, the object itself registered as something foreign rather than a natural process of all living beings. The muscles reflexively clenched down and spasmed. Your breathing had just barely begun to slow as your body adjusted, before you stiffened at the friction against your insides as the intrusion pulled back, sliding out of your body.

You struggled to form words coherently. "Wait, wait—"

And squealed, a high-pitched cry, when his hips slammed forward again, driving back into your body once more. The movement felt as if it sent a shockwave running up your spine, from the point of collision to your insides.

His fingernails dug into your hips. The sharp ends broke the skin.

Again, and again. The friction burned, but the most intense sensation was the fullness and the impact — pain and soreness, but also unmistakable, unavoidable, natural pleasure that sparked with each movement as it rubbed against some specific spot inside. Your legs trembled from the intensity of the sensation, your mouth hung open, both drawing in gasping breaths, and spilling saliva out of your mouth, dribbling off your chin onto the sheets.

You had almost begun to melt into the pleasure when a harsh smack made you jolt. The sound bounced off the walls, the pain was a harsh sting where the palm of his hand had met the soft flesh where your backside and hip met. Your body lurched forward again, but was once more harshly pulled back to impale you again.

You made a pained sound, teeth grinding. "Ah, mmn— I'm sorry, I'm so—"

Another jolt of pain, leaving a hot sting against the flesh. You whimpered.

A third. A fourth. A fifth. It hurt. You squealed and cried out, struggling to form borderline incoherent begging. It did not help that the flesh of your ass was already so raw from similar previous corporeal punishments, for a range of offenses so broad and the offenses themselves so numerous you couldn't recall them all. Each inhale you took in had a coarse, ragged sound to it, as if choking on air. You sputtered out pleas and apologies, before your shoulder was grasped and pulled you upward, so that your knees rested on the mattress, and your torso was almost upright, slightly leaning forward. The thrusts to your insides slowed, more so grinding into your body, but did not cease.

"I still have difficulty believing you understand the severity of your offense."

"I do!" Your voice cracked as you spoke. You could hear how pathetic your own pleading voice sounded. "I really do, I promise, I'm sorry!"

There was a sigh, you could feel the fall of his chest against your back.

"You are so very fortunate," he continued. "You're taken care of to the utmost, you're given the highest standard of life one can have..."

"I know! I know, I, I am, I-I'm grateful—"

You cut off in a squeal with a harsher thrust, nails scraping down your hip so forcefully your face contorted with pain.

"You expect me to believe that, when you were preparing to throw aside everything I've given you?"

"I..."

You didn't have an excuse, and in your current state of mind, overwhelmed by pain and pleasure and fear and anger, there was no way you could summon such complex thought as to come up with one. Your brain could only come up with the automated, mechanical responses, the rehearsed phrases and words you were supposed to give, that you were trained and conditioned to give over the course of time -- I'm sorry, please forgive me, I won't do it again, so on and so on.

Thus, unable to come up with anything better, you merely hung your head, shoulders shaking with sobs as you gave the only answer you could think of.

"I'm sorry..."

He sighed again. "That's the best answer you can give, then?"

But after a pause, he added, with a smirk you could hear in his voice even if you couldn't see it,

"Or are you just too overwhelmed to think straight?"

You only whimpered. It was too much. The fullness, the soreness, the sparks of pleasure, it all was too much put together, overloading your brain. You shook your head, not so much in a negatory response to the question as it was just an expression of your desperation and clouded mind.

You grunted in surprise as you were lifted by an arm around your waist, coming to be set down so the balls of your feet touched the ground — although they shook so badly they were virtually useless, the vast majority of your weight supported by his arms. Your body was bent forward at the waist, one arm around it to support you, the other coming to grasp at your throat, essentially holding you up. Another thrust made you squeal again, feet stumbling against the ground.

Even in your overwhelmed state, the realization felt like a punch to the stomach.

It was no coincidence, no mistake, that you were positioned this way. Bitter, helpless fury swelled in your chest.

The exact same position you'd been held in that first time, squealing and crying and cursing as you were relentlessly fucked out in the open, before a multitude of your own subjects and other deities caught up in the combat.

It was true, as he'd said, that you had made a mistake that cost you. The other gods that you'd faced were, by comparison, so utterly weak, even non-combative deity a like yourself had managed to fend them off. You had known stronger gods existed, but the degree was such that it was beyond your ability to fathom, a level of strength far beyond what you ever would have imagined until you came to know it firsthand.

Thus, when the draconic god had approached you, you didn't feel threatened. In fact, you had felt insulted when he had given you a choice. That you could be spared from death by agreeing to relinquish your rule, and submitting to subjugation without resistance. And that otherwise, you could die fighting.

That was the first time you recalled that smile. You didn't even remember exactly what you said, but you hadn't even hesitated. Something to the effect that you would kill him, take him down, something of that nature.

That same grin, a soft chuckle. But lacking in excitement. Not the way one would laugh and grin before facing an opponent that would still be a thrill to fight. Instead, amused, as if finding it cute.

Is that so?

Even back then, the tone, the notion that you weren't even being treated as a worthy opponent, that he wasn't even worried, had enraged you, and in foolishness, you had rushed right into conflict.

It had lasted less than a single minute. To even call it a fight was not entirely reasonable; it was more you being slung around like a ragdoll across the near vicinity, over and over until you were beaten down to the point of immobility. A matter of seconds, before you were caught crawling, pressed up against that wall. And after your begging, after your pleading, you'd found yourself just like this.

The balls of your feet barely touching the ground, weight held up almost entirely by the hand on your jaw and the arm latched around your waist, desperately clawing at the former out of pure instinct with one hand, the other helplessly reaching behind you and pawing at the hips that slammed into yours, pushing back as if it would do any good, as if your weak pressing would actually stop the movement. Body weight tilted forward, knowing that you'd fall flat if he were to let go, only serving to further the feeling of panic.

At least now, there wasn't an audience gawking at the sight, but the degradation burned in your chest all the same.

It must look so miserable, so pathetic. If you had maintained your resilience and pride — then, and now — you would have stayed still. If you could endure it with a straight face, without making a sound, without struggling, that would have been a powerful move to play, would have wounded your tormentor's own pride, a metaphorical spitting back in his face. That should have been what you had done.

But you were weak.  You squealed and flailed. Obscene sounds came out of your mouth, lewd and pained at the same time. Tears streamed down your face.

You did struggle, but to no avail. Writhing, kicking, flailing with every ounce of strength you could muster did nothing, the movements continued as if you were perfectly still.

The absolute utmost of your strength was nothing.

It was a feeling of complete and utter helplessness, futility, weakness, unlike anything else you'd ever known in the span of your lengthy existence.

And you knew you would never be able to exact revenge, would never be able to satisfy the anger. You could never exert it, release it, feel the relief of catharsis that came with finding a way to exert the negative emotion.

Beings such as yourself lived indefinitely. If you had been human, you might have been able to longingly wait for the day that death could relieve you of your humiliation and bitter anger.

But with power came responsibility, and with allowances came restrictions. That escape was a mercy you were not allowed, nor would he ever allow any circumstances under which you could do so yourself. A bedroom ceiling far too high to even reach, a mirror unbreakable — you had tried — and never given anything you could turn on yourself.

The hopelessness was crushing.

You stumbled over your loose footing, a few rapid steps to rebalance what little of your weight rested on the ground. Perhaps having had the thought to do so from that, the hand around your waist reached downward, hooking an arm under your knee and lifting up, so that your thigh nearly touched your chest, only a small portion of your weight left on the ball of the other foot on the ground. With that, each thrust went deeper into your body, you gasped and cried out at the impact.

As you adjusted, you let your head fall, hanging down limply. It was all too much, too overwhelming. The pleasure and pain receptors of your mind were overloaded, your thoughts began to grow hazy and dull, a sort of blankness that consumed any coherent or complex thought. The pleasure and pain was all there was, the only thing you could process besides the high-pitched cries from your mouth and the distinct sound of wet skin slapping on skin each time his hips met your backside.

His arm tightened onto your waist, and for a brief moment, you were lifted up into the air, whimpering as you were shifted over just a single step or so, not removing himself from you in doing so. The movements started up once more within a second, albeit slower, drawn out, and your body held more upright. You caught an object out of the corner of your eye, and automatically squeezed your eyes shut, turned your head away in a desperate attempt to avoid it.

You could feel his breath against your ear.

"Look at you."

You squeezed your eyes shut harder, rapidly shaking your head. You didn't want to.

But as his hand gripped your jaw once more, this time directly digging the sharp claws into your skin, your eyes opened on reflex at the pain, and you were met face-to-face with your own reflection once more. And once your gaze locked on, despite initial avoidance, you felt as if you couldn't look away.

You were disheveled, limp-looking, as if an inanimate object, dead weight barely kept in balance.

You could physically see his cock inside your body, a bulging shape in your abdomen that looked unnatural, almost grotesque. The flesh around your eyes was swollen and darkened. The scratches visible on your side and hip were irritated, reddened and swelling, but the cuts were shallow, and only in one particular scratch, just a bit deeper than the others, did the tiniest trickle of blood slowly ooze out.

Looking at your face, though, was the worst of it, made that same burning, all too familiar of a feeling, begin to swell. Saliva trailed out of both sides of your mouth, tears and snot ran down your face. Your eyes themselves were irritated and reddened, more tears accumulating, giving your eyes a glassy appearance that reflected what little light poured in.

You stared directly into the reflection. The hand on your jaw, the dullness to your eyes. The way your hands weakly clawed at the arm on your waist. The way even now, albeit merely grinding, the bulge in your stomach shifted, and you could just see, from your angle, where the smallest sliver of the base of his cock was the only remaining length not buried deep inside.

It all seemed to culminate. A knot in your stomach, a weight on your chest. Your lower lip trembled. You felt your body shiver, limbs trembling, as more, heavier tears ran down your face.

His voice was low and quiet, but so unnervingly deep as it was, a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

"Do you understand?"

It was not preceded with a statement of what, exactly, was to be understood. Yet, you did understand nonetheless.

There were many ways to have put into words what that which you understood was. A few different details of things he may have meant. Maybe telling you something about you, something about him, something about the past or the future or the nature of things itself.

Perhaps that was, rather, exactly why he didn't say anything more — because there was no singular, exact statement to be understood. Many, many things that could be said, many aspects and demonstrations of the same concept, merely worded in different ways, but all ultimately the very same.

Any of those things that could be said, all amounted to the same, basic thing: a statement of order. A superior and an inferior, a better and a lesser. Each one true to its place in a million demonstrable ways.

And that, you did, in fact, understand. Even if you wished you didn't have to, wished you could be ignorant to it, and live without the unending, crushing weight of what you knew your place was.

You squeezed your eyes shut and nodded your head, sniffling. "Mm-hnn..."

There was a moment of pause before you heard a response.

"...Very good."

You inhaled a sharp gasp and let out a soft cry as sharper, faster, rougher thrusts resumed, reigniting both the burn and pleasure sensations deep inside your body as it was bent forward once more. You bit your lips between your teeth in an effort to muffle the sounds you made, but this was quickly noticed, and the way his nails dug into your jaw was a command in and of itself, even if you didn't automatically gasp from the pain. With that moment of opportunity, his thumb slid into your mouth, pressing onto your tongue and effectively holding your mouth open.

"Ahh, ah— hah—"

The wanton noises, thus, came without much restraint, albeit muffled and distorted as you tried to form syllables over the protrusion in your mouth, holding down your tongue. You had no resistance left in your body. You merely clung to his arms, one hand planted on each, weak and barely even noticed, not in any way inhibiting him from moving them.

The noises increased in pitch as his other hand reached up from its place on your waist, pinching and rubbing at one nipple, then another, keeping the forearm itself firmly pressed to your abdomen to support your weight.

"Don't take your eyes off yourself."

You had shut your eyes out of the pure intense sensation, but forced them open again. Forced yourself to look into your own eyes, to see your body bent and fucked and claimed. Even the blur of tears didn't mask the miserable shame of your expression — nor the lustful dilation of your pupils, eyes half-lidded and filled with an empty haze of pleasure.

You felt warmer and warmer, a distinct pressure, tingling sensation inside. Your breaths became heavier, louder, faster, your body began to shiver intensely, and your legs squirmed and twitched.

"Not yet."

You let out a long whimper in response, desperate and needy, only to cut off in a gasp as he grabbed your jaw again, forcing your eyes directly forward. This time, your gaze focused on his own reflection — your stomach twisted at that same damned, loathsome grin.

"What do you say?"

But your fury was weakened and exhausted, your spirit beaten and broken. You put up no resistance.

"I'm sorry, M-Master..."

It was bitter on your tongue, like poison in your throat. You hesitated, not wanting to finish the plea out of pure shame, but the physical sensation was quickly becoming overwhelming. The wet, squelching, smacking sound of skin on skin reverberated in your ears, a lewd sound that only triggered further innate senses of pleasure.

"P-please let me... let me cum..." Your head hung downward, your expression contorted with strain. "Please..."

"Don't look away. Look at yourself when you beg."

The command was firm and cold. You bit your lip, but slowly rose your head, forcing yourself to endure the humiliation of the act demanded of you, watching your mouth move with your words.

"Please... let me cum..."

Your lower lip trembled, your eyes stung. The shame of the words felt like a knot in your stomach. You watched as your body moved back and forth with the force of the thrusts, taking in the pleasure-hazed stupor evident on your own face. The warm pressure was unbearable, taking all your willpower to prevent climax.

"Mm." He pulled your torso back from your position where you'd been bent forward at the waist, leaning forward to meet in the middle, so that he could speak directly into your ear. In that moment, you felt him smile, felt his mouth against the side of your face.

"Cum for your God."

The high was an intense one, a euphoria surging through your body from the inside. You gasped for breath. Your insides clenched hard, a reflex that, had you been able to control it, you would have prevented, given the sheer size you clamped down on was such that the muscles strained painfully with the act.

The sound from your mouth was not quite suiting of the word 'erotic' — it was obscene, uncontrolled and unrestrained, high in pitch and accompanied by such trembling and strong involuntary spasming that your feet completely gave way, unable to even stand, held up entirely by an arm that caught what would have been your fall. Your eyes rolled back, and saliva practically poured out of your mouth as your head tilted forward, riding out the high until it was over.

There was not anything to take in with your senses, or any thoughts to be had, mind gone blank, a sort of fog of nothingness. The room seemed to spin. Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, head limply hanging downward. Your eyelids felt heavy, slowly closing. Even if something had been said to you, you wouldn't have even heard it. Weight suspended, it felt as if you were floating in the air.

After a duration of time you could not be quite certain of, the high began to dissipate, the adrenaline and dopamine slowly ebbing away.

In their absence, pain began to bloom across your body. The sting from the friction at the entrances of your holes, already so sore beforehand, now burned like fire. Your insides radiated a throbbing, dull pain, battered as if having endured a beating from the inside.

You gasped as the fullness suddenly disappeared, sliding out of your body with a wet, squelching sound. That feeling was always one of the most unpleasant parts of the experience — a hollowed-out feeling, insides clamping down on nothing, spasming and twitching as the muscles began to readjust. A mix of viscous fluids oozed out of each orifice and began to trail down your thighs. Both discomforting, grotesque sensations that made your muscles tense, that made you shudder as you exhaled, only to inhale another sharp breath as a finger trailed up your inner thigh, collecting the semen that ran down your skin before stuffing it back inside of you.

Your feet touched the ground once more, but your legs trembled in exhaustion and aftershock, a violent shivering far more noticeable than that induced by emotion. As the support around you disappeared, you stumbled forward, legs giving out beneath you and folding as you crumpled to the floor, catching yourself on your hands.

"Ah, you poor thing..."

Spoken as if he was not the one to inflict the state upon you, spoken with affectionate, endeared pity. A hand rested atop your head. You were nothing more than a pitiful little creature, in tears over a bit of pain.

You didn't make any move to swat it away, though. Your arms felt as if they were made of stone, heavily weighing down from your shoulders. Your shoulders heaved with each heavy, deep breath you took. All you could manage was to let out a low, quiet whimper.

There was a moment of pause before he stooped down, wrapping arms around your body, lifting you up and setting you down on your bed, sitting upright, albeit slouching forward as soon as you were let go of.

He gave a heavy sigh.

"So fragile... you can't handle anything further. It will have to wait."

Even in your stupor, the statement registered with a vague, distant sense of alarm. You tilted your head back up to him, making a soft little sound, inquisitive and confused.

He titled his head, eyebrows raising with a look of vague surprise.

"...Surely you did not think that was a punishment?"

You didn't respond for several moments. You stared straight forward at him, blinking, slack-jawed and limp. Your eye twitched. Your voice came out small and soft.

"...Wh... What...?"

"...That was..." his hand grasped at your chin and tilted your head upwards. "Merely reconciliation." He smiled, speaking every so casually, but not without that detectable tinge of mirth. "I've done nothing to punish you yet."

Your body twitched all over as you began to curl into yourself, shrinking back with wide eyes. You felt cold all over. You couldn't determine if it was from the sweat on your body, or going into a dreadful shock.

"But that being said," he added, "as I just said, you may lose consciousness if carried out now, and that is obviously unideal. It will have to wait."

Your lip trembled as you tried to speak.

"But I..."

You grimaced at the dry soreness of your throat, that much more noticeable now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It did not go unnoticed.

"...Ah. Don't worry, there's water nearby." He stood back upright. "It's close enough, there's no need to bother some servant with something so trivial. I'll get it for you myself, just one moment."

He spared no hesitation to walk over to the door once more. But then, he stopped.

"...I'd like to imagine it doesn't need to be said, but..."

He turned his head back towards you. A pleasant facial expression and voice, but a clear, subtle threat to his words.

"...you will not leave this room in the meantime."

You stared blankly forward for a moment, only hesitating over the near-comedic value of the statement, almost laughable in the most bitter of ways. You slowly nodded.

"Y-yes..."

He merely gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and stepped through the door.

The door closed. You were left sitting still, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Your limbs, eyes, and body still gave the occasional twitch. A bead of residual sweat trailed down your temple, making the faintest of sounds as it hit the sheets. The whole area between your legs gave you a discomforting, gross wet sensation, fluids drooling out of your holes. But in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to so much as lift a hand to do anything about it, merely sat still and wallowed in the sensation.

You turned your head to the side, only to catch the image of yourself in the mirror once again. Your dull eyes, their emptiness visible even to themselves as they stared back and forth at each other in the reflection.

But after a few moments, you let yourself fall flat on your back onto the mattress, limp and numb, and closed your eyes. You laid still and silent in a half-conscious state, exhaustion and the deep ache across your body pulling you in and out of the brink of sleep.

------------

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

Hello! I was wondering if you could write hcs for how everyone would be at a carnival?? Thank you<3

The Best of All Amenities (All x MC/Reader - Carnival/Amusement Park HCs)

I'M BACK MOTHERFUCKERS >:D

Hello my beloved Anon, I hope you have an awesome day/night! <33 Thanks for letting me write this for you, and I'm sorry for the extreme lateness of this. I'm on my knees right now forgive me Anon raaaa.

Btw I'm getting back into the habit of writing so cut me some slack for this one. I'm also not experienced with carnivals at all so I apologise for potential inaccuracies my dear. </33

Post-Completion A/N: I just realised this said carnival instead of fucking amusement park I'm so done. I tried to make it work for both I'm sorry Anonnie. i'm sorry but have this anywayy because i've never been to a carnival and don't know what the hell goes on there and also I am kinda silly and if this is inaccurate I apologise

T.W.: Mentions of vomiting.

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Amenities: something that helps to provide comfort, convenience, or enjoyment. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Brittney is a walking carnival let's be real.

Like her hair screams classic circus-tent except the white and red is pink and blue.

Would get cotton candy and judgmentally eat it while surveying the rides.

Y'all would be going around looking at everything.

She's probably gonna try to not get on anything because she's shitting herself at the thought of getting on a coaster frfr "not bothered".

Will carry iced coffee around, she somehow has an endless surplus of coffee. It's genuinely terrifying.

You both will wander around and gossip, along with judging the outfits of everyone else like it's a fashion strip.

Will get angry af if the line takes too long.

Will get on at least 1 ride out of spite, ends up almost vomiting. "Never again."

Y'all are paparazzi tho like shit's crazy with how many photos you both take of each other. shame it ain't the kinky kind

Deryl would go berserk. Like this boy will literally lose his marbles from joy.

If you invite him to any gathering, amusement park, carnival (hell any park at all), this boy will be dragging you everywhere.

Indecisive about where to go.

Very indecisive about what to eat. he'll harass you for food teehee

Is the type to get really excited about rollercoasters, until it's your turns to go on one.

In that case he'll start panicking.

You'll have to convince him he's not gonna die.

Will be quaking in his boots from fear.

Don't worry he gets on the ride anyway. Especially if he gets one from you after.

Will just be having a blast despite the terror tbh.

Will not go into any haunted house tho.

Like he will sprint out of there.

You'll have to run after him so he won't get lost lmfao.

Will expect emotional support from you after.

You both have a massive ton of fun tho prepare for more bedroom edition fun later.

Jess will be sceptical.

Don't get her wrong, she'd love to go.

But she's shy and a massive homebody.

and can't socialise to save her life

When you both get there, she'll be overwhelmed by the amount of people.

Sorry broski you're gonna have to do the talking.

Will be scared af of the rides, will clutch onto you for dear life.

May be the type to silently vanish and reappear because she's a midget often caught up in staring at venues and looking at things.

Will be the type to just cling to you tbh

She's either glued to you or unstick so hard and fast she'll teleport to the other side of the planet.

You'll probs take photos tbh, she does have an internet influence.

Y'all will be discussing each others' fav idols and celebs over desserts.

And of course loving each other's company and hopefully bodies.

Crowe will be happy to go wherever with you.

So he'll def be willing to do anything at this entertainment complex.

Yáll are probs gonna grab some snacks and take more mellow rides tbh.

He doesn't seem the type to like really violent ones.

Will probably be the type to just observe you go on a ride.

Will also take photos. He wants to admire you remember this day. <33

Will hold your drinks as well.

Will just serve as your porter and server let's be real.

He'll def go on the more chill rides tho.

Will even let his hair down to feel the wind. >:]

and also so you can pull it ngh

10/10 hair pulling sesh would do again yeehaw

You both have an epic day together. Time for an even sexier night

Hyugo would have already been dragging you places.

So when he stumbles upon the existence of this place, you bet he's taking you there.

Y'all are gonna be fucking parading around.

He's gonna just *point* somewhere and you're going.

Like it's not even a question or a debate.

He'll have a maniacal grin on his face while doing it too.

i'm scared send help

shawty getting a tad cray cray here

You're going on a ride hehe and he's gonna stare ahead very intently, grip the steel bar and have a very spoopy grin on his face.

Has a blast.

Y'all go everywhere, you make time for everything.

He'll shoot people in the line to make sure you have time teehee

y'all wont get arrested cause his daddy's got money

Oh. And candy.

You both eat all the candy.

You both also spend like 2 hours vomiting because of how much candy you had.

10/10 would puke guts out again.

But you both genuinely just have a blast. Shame it ain't a blast of smth white and sticky.

Geo will spawn at the venue with the most monotone expression ever. he's still shocked you invited him teehee

Will recoil at the sight of the massive crowds, will probably drag you off somewhere quieter.

Alas there aren't that many 'quiet' places to go to, so he'll grow to tolerate it (because of you and only you).

Will be the type to order food that he knows you like felt like getting, gives it to you anyway.

Will not be caught dead going on a ride, the screaming irritates him too much.

Unless you beg enough, then he'll do one of his choosing. (it's the most violent one because he wants you to stop calling him a scaredy-cat).

Will be dead silent the whole time, gets off unfazed AF (he'll be hiding his nausea dwdw).

Will also probably hide his face because...his influence, his reputation, (his beautiful sexy face), the fucking paparazzi.

Will probably try to make you go somewhere else with him after, like a cafe or smth, somewhere 'peaceful'.

Does enjoy himself though, will probably not admit it due to...pride.

Only thing is; nowhere's more peaceful than your bed teehee

Sol literally will be squealing with joy if you ask him to go anywhere with you.

This man is too down bad to live.

May or may not buy ice cream so he can watch you sensually lick it.

This bastard will 110% enter any form of haunted house just to see if you'd (hopefully) cling to him.

Will end up clutching your hand either way. <333

Everything is on him, like. E v e r y t h i n g. even you!!

You can't pay for anything, 'tis illegal.

Will be the type to just sit on a ride and hold back a smile because he's not bothered to scream like everyone else (he hates it when people do that, will probs wear headphones for the noise), so he'll just sit there and quietly rejoice.

Will bring his own food beforehand, in case you both don't wanna spend money on the stupidly expensive food there.

Is genuinely happy af tho, this guy will do whatever you want, win whatever you want.

Also will threaten people to move out of the line if they're holding it up or something.

Has no shame.

And that's okay.

Because the shameful things he does in the bedroom is more than enough to balance it out. ;)

You both have a banger time tho. *claps approvingly*

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

The Red Tieflings Bachelors (Rolan and Zevlor) Reacting to You (Tav) Thanking Them

Featuring: Rolan/Tav; Zevlor/Tav

A/N: Just a little something that popped into my mind while working to clear the writer's block. I was feeling very low the last week or two, so I apologize for my inactivity here. And then I was on vacation with my family. Thankfully, I’m feeling better now. (Currently working on Yandere! Alucard Part 4 and the next ask. Yan! Part 4 will probably take a while because it's long-form (not hc), so expect the ask after that to be posted first.) 

Rolan

🔮 It was just another bustling day in Sorcerous Sundries when you decided to stop by,  a newfound magical item in hand. To no one’s surprise, it appeared your favorite tiefling wizard was too busy sorting through the inventory of Ramazith's Tower to man his shop, seeing it was his programmed illusion who greeted you with a relatively uncharacteristic amiable tone.  

“Welcome to the Sorcerous Sundries. Is there something in particular you’re looking for today?” 

Knowing Rolan, in reality, his body was pacing around Razamith’s Tower, nearly tearing his hair out, as he obsessively mumbled, sorting through the piles and piles of books and scrolls Lorroakan had gathered in his time. The compelling image in your mind was such a stark contrast to the one before you, that you bit your lip to prevent your signature mischievous smile from dawning across your face. 

“I believe Rolan left something upstairs for me.” 

The illusion looked at you, eyes narrowed, presumably scanning its programming for an appropriate response. Yet, just as Rolan’s Projection opened his mouth to speak (in all probability to deny you entry) your conversation was interrupted by a boisterous halfling patron, hoisting an item that he declared comprised of defective magic. 

Never one to waste a distraction, you took the opportunity to make your way up the stairs of Sorcerous Sundries to its second floor and into the correct portal leading to Razamith Towers. 

Upon entering the portal, you were met with the familiar sound of Lia and Cal bickering with none other than the new proprietor of Sorcerous Sundries himself. 

“If you simply spoke to them instead of pining inside this tower all day and night…” Lia went straight to the point as usual. 

“I am not pining!” You could hear Rolan answer, in his usual defensive tone. 

“I think what Lia means to say is, it would be easier for all involved if you were to simply ask them-” Always the mediator, Cal must have jumped in. It did not surprise you, seeing as how he was rather skilled when it came to talking his siblings down. 

“Ask who what?” You interrupted, the concrete visage of Razamith’s Towers finally greeting you. Despite having known the tiefling family for months now, you were always amused by their antics. “Does Rolan have his heart set on an apprenticeship with yet another asinine wizarding master?” You had a feeling Cal and Lia were referring to something else entirely, but you’d prefer to speak to Rolan alone about that. 

Rolan rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by both your sudden presence and your insistence on teasing him. “I no longer require a master, nor a teacher. Lorroakan gathered enough magical books and knowledge within these walls for me to teach myself all I could ever wish to know.” Behind him, his pointed tail lashed sideways, always ending with an upward flick of the point. To a fellow tiefling, his irritation would have been quite obvious. Then again, you were not a fellow tiefling. 

You nodded, ignoring Rolan’s wilful tone. You had become accustomed to his many displays of false irritation and indignation. More often than not, your headstrong ally was more bark than bite. “That may be,” you continued. “But in case it isn’t, I’ve brought you one more tome for your collection.”

Rolan’s entire posture, tail included, stiffened upon hearing your words. The tiefling wizard was in disbelief. A gift? For him? But, why?

Lia smirked, before elbowing Cal, whose own knowing expression soon followed suit, spreading across his face. Nodding to each other, two brother-sister duo walked off, leaving you and Rolan alone, standing in a near deafening silence. 

“It’s a tome on the origins of The Weave, or, at least I think it is. That’s what Gale told me anyway.” 

Rolan's previously erect shoulders slumped at the mention of your former traveling companion’s name. “Ah yes, Gale, The Great Wizard of Waterdeep. How is he faring these days?” 

“Better,” you answered honestly. “It seems not living with a ticking time bomb just inside your chest does a man some good.” 

Rolan brushed off your attempt at lightening the mood, pushing past you to a stack of unsorted books piled on an end table to your left. “I assume the two of you have kept in touch then?” 

“Rolan!” You mock gasped. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.” 

“Pfft, you’ve clearly let the title of Hero go to your head. Why would I be jealous of a mere professor at Blackstaff Academy when I possess an entire library of magical writings, a shop full of magical items, and several arcane cannons to defend all of the former?” 

“He’s a very respected professor, and there’s something to be said for enjoying the simpler things in life.” 

Rolan scoffed once again. “He had the power to be a God and turned it down. After enduring all your group did, taking on the shadow curse, fighting the goblins, destroying the Absolute, a job instructing ungrateful, know-it-all brats hardly seems like a reward.” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Well, it’s what Gale wanted. But I do have to wonder,” you slowly stalked towards the red tiefling, “If a very coveted and respected position of authority isn’t something you'd consider a reward, what exactly qualifies as recompense to the mighty Wizard of Razamith’s Tower?” 

Slowly, you trailed a finger up along Rolan’s robed arm, delighting in the little gasp that slipped from his lips. 

He both hated and loved how you could make him feel like this. How just one word, one look from you could leave him a needy, wanton mess, how he longed for you to step even closer, for his body to press up entirely against yours. In the back of his mind, he imagined what it would feel like for your strong weathered hands to run down his red infernal skin, but that time, with no gloves or thick robes in the way. 

Rolan was certain you knew the degree of power you held over him. He was sure you delighted in pushing and prodding at his buttons, drawing out each one of your visits with flirtation and playful verbal sparring.

“What… about…a…?” you enunciated each word with another swipe of your finger across his robe’s velvety material, your face moving ever so slowly closer to his. 

Finding his composure, Rolan shrugged off your advances with a shaky sigh. “Spit it out already. I don’t have all day.” Defiantly, he turned to face you, calling your bluff. His lips were mere inches from yours: red, plump, and just begging to be kissed. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, you continued to press forward, pressing your lips to his. 

With a breathy sigh, Rolan’s tension melted away as he melded his mouth back onto yours. 

Reaching up with one hand, you cupped the back of his head, ever so gently pulling him even closer to you. 

Rolan moaned into the kiss and moved to grab your waist, but before his hands could secure you in his grasp, you stepped away just as smoothly and silently as you had stepped forward. 

Embarrassed and flustered, Rolan flashed you his pointy teeth in a frustrated groan. “Why must you tease me so? Have you not grown tired, frequently coming here just to pester me?” 

You beamed, proud to see your previous suspicions confirmed. “No,” you stated, matter-of-factly. “It’s too much fun! Besides,” you held the book out for him to take. “You didn’t seem all that excited about my earlier thanks, and that simply wouldn’t do.” 

Rolan rolled his eyes, accepting the tome with a huff, his tail back to swishing violently behind him. “Was that what that was? And here I thought you were trying to come up with new ways to annoy me.” 

“Annoy you?!” You mock gasped. “Surely my kiss was not that bad.” 

“For a ‘thank you’, that kiss was highly inappropriate, it! Well…” he trailed off, his cheeks somehow blushing an even warmer shade of red. 

You tilted your head, encouraging the tiefling to go on. 

Rolan avoided your gaze, pretending to find interest in the book you had just gifted him. His voice was quiet, but also self-assured. “It was entirely too short of a kiss to count as a ‘thank you’. You might as well just have given me a peck on the cheek.” 

Rolan continued flipping pages of the tome, doing his best to act uninterested in your kiss and your presence, even though the both of you knew all too well it was a lie. 

“Don’t worry,” you started to take your leave, giving Rolan a playful pat on the shoulder. You paused for a moment, leaning into his ear to whisper, “I’ll make sure the next time I pester you goes more in your favor.”    

Watching your form retreat into the portal, Rolan brought a finger to lips, just ghosting along the surface you had latched onto not seconds before. 

Emerging from their eavesdropping positions, Cal and Lia could not help but give Rolan a pair of mischievous smiles. 

Watching as the whirls of the portal spun around you, you overheard one last bit of conversation just before your body was transported back to the upper floor of Sorcerous Sundries.

“Not one word,” Rolan warned, his stern body language failing to conceal the pleased sound within his voice. 

“Told you to just ask them out.” 

“Lia!” 

Zevlor

⚔️ It had been some time since you defeated The Absolute. Of course, despite the changing season, much of Baldur’s Gate was in need of repair and renovation. While Halsin had taken many refugees to his new settlement in Reithwin, a part of the former Shadow-Cursed Lands, many chose to remain in the city and restart their lives there. Being a frequent flyer of the city yourself, you found it easy to visit those who chose to stay behind. One such individual, a former Hellrider called Zevlor, was someone you found yourself visiting more than the others. 

You shifted the rather large rectangle basket within your grasp, moving it so it rested within the crook of your left arm as you freed your right hand, before raising it to knock upon the unmarked door before you. Faintly, you could make out whispered gossip floating up from the stairs behind you, but you paid the hushed voices no mind. Sure, to outsiders it may have seemed odd that the savior of Badlur’s Gate was so keen on visiting the same acquaintance, one who resided in such simple dwellings, but to you the luxury afforded as a hero and adventurer paled in comparison to a good conversation between friends. 

‘Friends’. The word echoed in your head, like a schoolmarm repeating the dishonest words of a misbehaved child. 

In truth, you found yourself more drawn to the older paladin than perhaps you’d like to admit. You found your admiration and respect for the former Hellrider only grew with each passing visit, and now, there was hardly a day the tiefling did not fondly cross your mind. 

Then again, those silly girlish feelings would no doubt ruin the peaceful nature of your current relationship with Zevlor, so you pushed them aside in favor of maintaining a friendship while pining rather than speaking your truth and risking having no relationship at all. 

Hearing a shuffle of objects on the other side of the door, you smiled and released a breath you didn't know you were holding. It was just like any other day, there was no reason to get nervous now. 

“Ah, Tav,” Zevlor opened the door with a soft smile, “Right on time, as usual.” Always the gentleman, Zevlor stepped back, holding the door open for you. 

“My parents always said punctuality is a virtue,” you smiled, remembering their words fondly. “As much as I try to embody their lessons, this life doesn’t present many opportunities to do so, so I like to fit them in where I can.” 

Zevlor hummed, closing the door behind you. “They must be proud of you. Not every parent can claim their daughter is one of the great heroes of Baldur’s Gate.” 

Walking over to the settee just beyond the door, you took your usual spot seated on the right-hand side of the rather cramped sitting area. Despite being inside Zevlor’s home many times, you still found yourself amazed at how the tiefling managed to move around without knocking his tail into everything. 

The furnished room Zevlor currently resided in was a single-room loft, settled above a rather quaint little cafe spot in the lower part of the city. It wasn’t much, and it had very little privacy, especially for visitors, but that was little concern of yours. And despite Zevlor’s constant apologies for the small space, you felt more at home seated inside his little apartment than you did your camp at times. 

In the corner opposite the door, a cast-iron stove and a washing basin with a faucet were secluded just beyond a shutter-style room divider. You knew from previous visits that was where Zevlor always warmed the kettle for your meeting tea. Next to the settee you were seated on was a single dresser, about waist high. Upon it sat the few various plates and utensils Zevlor used daily as well as the collection of mismatched tea cups and teapots. And despite never seeing the inside of them, you assumed the drawers of the dresser housed his clothing and armor. Although, you must admit you were rather curious as to how he got his chainmail and breastplate to fit. 

Directly across from the settee, on the opposite wall was a twin-sized bed, undoubtedly too small for the tiefling paladin, even if he was never one to complain. Zevlor always kept it neatly made, the sheets all tucked in evenly, almost as if no one had slept in it the night prior. You supposed he had no choice, if he wished to entertain guests, as there was no way for their eyes to avoid it. Then again, a part of you had a feeling that order and precision were just key elements of who Zevlor was. Despite no longer being a Hellrider, and having long broken his oath as a paladin, several of his attributes like discipline and respect went far beyond any former occupation or title. 

Setting your surprise gift onto the wooden coffee/dining table before you, you answered Zevlor’s observation with a much more melancholy smile. “I’d like to think that, if they were still here, that yes, they’d be proud.” 

Taken aback by your revelation, Zevlor’s face fell before he recanted. “Tav, forgive me. I did not know your parents had passed. But I do still believe that regardless of where their souls may be now, they are looking upon you with pride.” 

Careful not to accidentally knock you with his tail, Zevlor retrieved the teapot, ready with tea already steeping, and two of the mismatched cups, before he returned to be seated next to you. 

Due to the tight nature of the room’s layout, and the small stature of the settee, every visit between the two of you resulted in your knees touching. In the beginning, Zevlor was overly apologetic, insisting he could instead sit on the bed, and allow you to have the sofa all to yourself, but you insisted the proximity was more than fine. You knew many people still saw tieflings as devils, monsters, or hellspawns, but you were not among them. The tieflings were just like any other race you had encountered on your journey: they were simply doing their best to survive. 

If anything, the hardships Zevlor and the tiefling refugees endured before arriving in Emerald Grove only made you respect them more. You were no stranger to hardship. You knew how difficult it was to have to get back up after you’ve been beaten; particularly how hard it was to accomplish the sixth or seventh time around, but it was something Zevlor managed to do with dignity when leading his people. 

You knew he did not see it similarly, his mind having been temporarily corrupted by The Absolute, but you would have fared no better if it was not for The Emperor’s intrusion. Truth be told, few minds ever could have resisted such a powerful psychic force. And even though several of Zevlor’s former tiefling friends and allies held him in contempt to this day, you could not bring yourself to agree with them. 

After the tea had been poured and sipped, your comfortable silence gave way to conversation. 

“How long will you be in the city this time? Any adventures planned for the future?” Zevlor asked. 

“I do have some news,” you admitted, placing your teacup down. “I’ve been thinking of this for a while now, but I needed some time to come to terms with it.” 

Zevlor motioned for you to go on. 

“Well, it’s been nearly seven months since our victory against The Absolute, against Gortash, Orin, and Ketheric Thorm. The former Shadow-Cursed Lands have blossomed into a new hope for so many people. I’ve thought about hanging up my adventurer’s hat. At least for now.” 

“I see. And what will you do with all your spare time? Travel? The Sword Coast has much to see, or so I’m told.” 

You shook your head. “I’ve been thinking of settling down.” You fiddled with your fingers, hands resting in your lap. “Maybe starting a family.” 

“Oh,” came Zevlor’s deflated response. “I see.”  

You placed a reassuring hand on Zevlor’s shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, I love helping people. And I want to continue to do it. But I think I can do it differently, in a way where I can have both, ya know?” 

Zevlor nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes, certainly. It makes sense. You’re young, you want to live life to the fullest but you also don’t want to live it alone. I understand perfectly.” 

Seeing Zevlor’s downtrodden posture, you brought your hand down from his shoulder and placed it on top of his. “The reason I wanted to tell you was because, well, I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to come with me?” 

Zevlor’s eyes snapped up. “I’m- I’m sorry?” 

“I found a house, a cottage in east of Reithwin. It’s nothing fancy, and it’s most certainly in need of some major repairs but there are two rooms. It’d be away from the chaos of the city, in a town itself that is starting anew. I thought, there’d be a chance, you’d prefer those circumstances as opposed to living here.” 

Zevlor swallowed harshly. “I’m not certain what to say. You’ve already been such a help to me and my people. You’ve forgiven me even after… I do not know if such an old tiefling like myself is worthy of such kindness.” 

“Oh Zevlor,” you sighed, pulling the older man in for a reassuring hug. “You deserve this kindness and more. You’ve survived so much, and you’re the reason so many others have survived. You stood up and fought The Absolute’s Army when it descended upon the city. You could have hidden. You knew what kind of power it had, you knew all too well the way it could destroy your mind. But you chose to do the right thing. You’re incredibly brave, and I wish you could hear me say that and believe it.” 

Letting Zevlor go, you could see the faintest bit of water welling up within his eyes. But to further spare the former Hellrider any embarrassment, you thought it best if you took this time to go. 

Standing up, you carefully slid over the rectangle box towards Zevlor before making your way toward the door. 

“What’s this?” Zevlor asked, taking a good look at the box. 

“Oh, I saw them at the market the other day, and I wanted you to have them.” 

“Tav, please,” Zevlor started, his hands held up in protest. “You’ve already given me so much. I couldn’t possibly-” 

You cut him off before he could start his whole self-deprecating spiel up again. “It’s nothing big, just a token. I wanted you to have your own set. That way, even if you don’t wish to come along with me, we’ll be able to use and enjoy them when I come and visit you here.” 

You opened the door, letting yourself out. But before you descended the stairs, you turned to face Zevlor one more time. “I’ll be at the Elfsong Tavern for a few more days, I have some things to get in order, some other people to see. I want you to know we’ll still be… friends if you don’t change your mind. Although,” you spoke, a relaxed smile upon your face. “I truly hope you will.” 

You reached for the doorknob, pulling it closed behind you. 

Zevlor waited, listening to your footsteps as your boots descended the stairs. When he was sure you were not going to return, his clawed fingers moved to carefully remove the top of the box, being mindful not to scratch the contents inside. Once the lid was off, the softest of gasps escaped his red lips. 

Nestled in the box was a matching tea set: one teapot, three teacups, three saucers, one sugar bowl, and one cream pitcher. The rims of everything were painted to look gold, and the main design itself was a collection of watercolor flowers, each very dainty yet boldly elegant. 

Gently, one of Zevlor’s hands grazed over his knee on the part where yours rested against his just moments ago. 

“Friends,” Zevlor spoke aloud. The word repeated inside the Hellriders mind. But unlike the commanding voice of The Absolute, it was soft and sweet and entirely in your tone. And in its echo a second word emerged, although similar in sound and nature, the weight of it felt differently settled upon his heart. 

‘Family,’ Zevlor thought looking down at the tea set you gifted him. ‘Yes, I do think I would like that.’ 

A/N 2.0: Can you tell how much of a soft spot I have for Zevlor? Related Fun fact I took a BG3 personality quiz once, and it said that I’m him due to my longtime suffering and constant masochist desire to keep doing the right thing even though life punishes me for it…

(个_个)

As always, please Like and most importantly, REBLOG!

Also if you enjoyed it, consider Tipping Me Via Kofi! <3 

[crystcrm]

i share ur struggle.. i ACHE for gepard or welt content so hopefully i could request for something like that? im js gonna throw a bunch of ideas and you can choose whichever

relationship hcs (what he’d be like, how does he show his love etc)

sleeping together (take this whichever way you want)

cooking together in the kitchen (im a whore for this stuff idk why😭)

bedroom hcs (kinks, fav positions, literally anything i need it so bad)

KISSING IN THE SNOW W GEPARD😞

anon i hope you know this ask gave me like 5000 braincells. like suddenly i am THINKING. it's so insane how one little ask full of random blurbs gave me so much life to write even just the smallest things.

literally welt and gepard are my two faves rn, i'm fr just waiting for jing yuan to come out. jing yuan my beloved <3<3

but anyway, as for this little ask, i think we'll ease into the hsr content with some fluff ( i am all due for it anyway, i have Not been writing and i also need the fluff because my god does life hit hard ) so sit tight >:)

love and cherishing you ♡ ;; various x gn!reader headcanons

content;- sfw , fluff , headcanons list , how some hsr boys show their love for you ♡♡ , overall just really fluffy because i need toothrotting stomach ache inducing head swirling sweet fluff sometimes... , nothing about getting together but just general hcs on what they'd be like in a relationship , reader is nooooot...? the trailblazer but could possibly be interpreted as such if you squint

characters inc:- welt yang , gepard landau ( includes post-belobog arc content, not extremely spoilery but take note that i chose after the jarillo-vi conclusion to open up more opportunities >:3 )

together with welt yang . . .

welt has lived life longer than perhaps anyone on the express, being from another world and used to living as the first ( second generation ) herrscher of reason, a herrscher that sided with humanity. he didn't expect to get sucked into another adventure, one where he'll meet many companions, see unbelievable sights or even... fall in love.

he's an old soul, yet his heart still has a grand passion for what he does. the fire within him burns, and perhaps, you stoke the flames. a motivation unlike any other to show you the wonders of the galaxy— of every world.

his love is not the most openly shown, an old man can be embarrassed sometimes. especially in the face of his family of the astral express. his affections for you are for you two only. his touches, his words, the little things that make sparks fly are all special and meant for your ears and eyes only. be it in the privacy of his room, or late nights when everyone else is fast asleep, he'll always find a way to make his love for you known when nobody else is looking.

time together with you is always time well spent. he enjoys it perhaps just a little more than going on adventures with everyone. you could be doing anything, and he wouldn't mind simply sitting in silence together with you. it's comforting, relaxing. it's moments like these where he gets to unwind with you. it's essentially a recharge— he doesn't even have to hold you ( but if you'd like that, he'd be more than happy to ).

he used to be an artist— an animation storyboard artist. his skills on paper would definitely outmatch the rest of the crew. he already likes to have his experiences captured in little drawings in his notebook. well, you happen to be one big, long lasting experience. one that he can't wait to see what more comes while experiencing it. you swear that you can catch him gazing at you every other day, and you always see his pencil moving across the papers in his book. inside are sketches of you in all your beauty, how he adores you, even complete with little notes about the things you like.

he wishes to show you the world, all there is to be seen across the entire galaxy. he will be there, to guide you, to accompany you. it's not that he doesn't trust the rest of the crew, but really, this is the closest thing to a date you've ever gotten. taking in the sights of new worlds, creating new memories together, and maybe getting tossed in a bit of trouble along the way. sure, it may be tiring or troublesome, but he wouldn't want to face it with anyone else.

those that come across him know him as welt yang, but this is the name he has inherited. he doesn't tell it often, perhaps, but at least you know him. the real him. he's not just welt to you, but also joachim. it is something he entrusted to you, who he is, who he once was, who he shall become— everything about him.

he adores you, and all your entirety. you are like a burning star in the galaxy above, one that burns with him.

together with gepard landau . . .

gepard, captain of the silvermane guards is a busy, busy man. between his duties as captain and his daily life, he does his best to find time for you. his lack of charm is exactly what makes him charming, some may say. he's no nonsense, stubborn, "famously uncompromising" ( as his sister claims ) with an unmatched loyalty. it sounds horrendous, but perhaps that's exactly why you love him.

you tell him he should prioritise his duty first and foremost, he is an important figure in belobog, after all. and he does, he stubbornly commits to it. even if he can see in your eyes that you're hesitantly letting him go again. it's in these rare moments that he gives you a small, warming smile and a gentle embrace— he tells you that he'll do his best, for the preservation of belobog, for its people— and most importantly, you.

bothering him on patrol isn't one of your favourite activites, there are definitely more enriching things out there, but you still do it from time to time. usually, it's when the nights are a little colder and you can't seem to sleep. it's the same old thing, each and every time. he tells you you should get home, but not after a quick walk together with him. you'd chat about the little things, and he'd even shyly try to hold your hand in such a moment. after that, he personally escorts you back to your residence, and never forgetting to leave without a kiss goodnight. it may be a simple kiss on the back of your hand, or you might get up for a quick kiss on the cheek. you don't know what you do to him.

gepard doesn't strike me as a type that knows a lot in this area. he was born and raised as a noble child, and then went straight into becoming a protector of the city he grew up in. he'd feel a little flustered at a few things, the ideas and thoughts that come to him while together with you. he's even more embarrassed as he goes to his sister for advice on how to deal with such emotions. he reads books, fiction of romance that he does best to turn into your reality. it's not perfect— he's still clueless on what's a really good date— but he's always trying harder just for you.

it's not often that he gets free time, but once he does, he's quick to seek you out... after his sister of course. for many good reasons, actually. other than the usual check in with his sister he loves so dearly, she is more helpful than most others despite her teasing. serval is a big source of support in his relationship with you, not to say you two can't handle it yourselves. he's just rather clueless about love as a whole sometimes, and she's there to give him a little nudge in the right direction. thanks to her, gepard brought you flowers once, and he does it every so often.

never underestimate the lengths he'd go for you. he may be constantly out there in the front lines trying to combat the antimatter legion and the fragmentum, and he may be busy with training the guards or some other silvermane business, but he would always keep you in mind. you're part of his motivation, and you've grown to be the biggest part of it. you could tell him it's nothing important, if you ask for something, like a favour or likewise, but because it's you, he'll put it right at the top of his priorities. you are his priority.

dates are difficult, especially when you're captain of the guards. walking around with him attracts more attention than any other thing, but it doesn't stop him from inviting you out. the luxuries of belobog would be easy for him to indulge in, as a landau and as captain, but truly, simply spending time with him is enough. your favourite dates are ones where you freely walk aimlessly in the day, perhaps after a bite to eat. fresh snowfall is light upon the city streets, unlike the eternal freeze. you find it hard to resist temptation, letting yourself be swept off your feet for a sweet kiss in the everlasting winter snow.

gepard landau has an immense lack of charm. he's stubborn, he's uncompromising, and maybe even a little dense or a little blunt. but the brighter side of these qualities always show around you. he'll find a way to see you, and he won't rest until he has. his lack of knowledge in this department has him cutely flustered from time to time, but also has him doing unknowingly romantic things. he loves you, and he wants you to know that.

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Smutty Kol mikaelson headcanons?

mmm smutty kol… i need to get back into the swing of writing for him!

okay. i have so many WIPs where he's more dominant, but have only posted one smut of him and he's submissive in that one. that being said, i can see him going both ways.

also, in general, idk why i started doing my hcs like this, but i can switch them back to the other format if preferred

tw: cnc / dub / non section; minor noncon mentioned

he's definitely experienced & mostly dominant

he's been alive since the dawn of time

he's an original vampire & whether or not he reveals that status, he will embody it by being the more dominant one in the relationship / situationship

and as charming & flirtatious as he is, it's safe to say he's got a lot of experience under his belt (HA - accidental pun)

that is to say, though, he's probably never been super serious about any of his flings

until, ofc, he meets the one that he absolutely falls for, and none of those hookups matter + he's lost interest in anyone else

1920s - little subsection for if you met him in this decade

okay so i read about this thing that happened in the 1920s called "petting parties," where PDA and sex weren't really acceptable, so people would have these orgy-type things centered around heavy petting and i can see that as SUCH a kol thing

i was actually going to write something based on that idea but need to do more research on it first

but kol would be so engaged with something scandalous (for the time) like that

he'd have girls worshipping him for the way he touches them; for the feel of his fingertips against their skin; the way he undresses them with his eyes, both parties wishing they could strip themselves of the last layer of separating fabric

he'd get into so much trouble in the 20s for this kind of stuff

flirting with other men's women, making crude hand gestures under tables to turn them on

he knows how to lay on the charm and fit in with the 20s, but he has the sexual appetite and style of a modern man

ofc, those words being nothing negative, but instead just him knowing how to be rough and how to please

modern day

likes the vulgarity & speed of modern sex

likes that he can strip a girl of her clothes and pin her to the wall and she welcomes it

likes that there aren't a thousand eyes watching his every move; likes the freedom & lack of rules nowadays

he wasn't around for the sexual revolution of the 80s (thanks, klaus 😞), but he would've relished it

all the young women looking to finally express themselves sexually; him giving them the best first experience he could deliver

despite all that, though, he loves the tender, loving sex of being with someone he knows, once in a while

he appreciates it more once he gets into a stable relationship, but sometimes his menial hook-ups were on the gentle side, too

modern day in an established relationship

rougher by nature, but can certainly be sweet, and often is

slow & passionate, kissing all over - forehead, neck, down your stomach, chest

roughness or gentleness depends on his mood

depends on your mood, too, because he cares & won't ever push you into something

respects boundaries if you say no

he maybe wasn't always like that, but when he started running with witches, he learned a specific respect & appreciation for others, especially women & those he'd sleep with

so, when he wants to have a long-term relationship with you, he really puts in the effort to be the best he can be

he wants you to know he loves you and shows it

kinks

so i read a fic about this, and i can see it fitting him 100% - some kind of predator / prey; hunting / hunted type dynamic, where he stalks & hunts you & then when he finally catches you off guard, fucks the daylights outta you up against a tree

very much a kol thing

throw a knife in the mix, too

you're pinned to a tree with a knife at your throat and his fingers are underneath your clothes, pleasuring you out of sight

bonus points if it's at night. or, if he hunted you all day and finally caught you at night. by now, he's extremely hungry

speaking of hunger, let's not forget about feeding

he definitely fed on most of the girls he railed in one night stands, but if it were a person he loved, he wouldn't feed until he knew he had enough control to not hurt them

the most intimate situation he can imagine is slow, passionate sex with blood sharing at the end

him drinking from you, then healing you back with his blood, or a mutual feeding if you're a vampire, too

first time with him with someone who just turned, he'd be very gentle, knowing how difficult the transition is

giving into every single need, including offering his own vein when the blackness starts to form under your eyes

i'm not sure kol would be into exhibitionism, but pda and public flirting, certainly

flirting across the bar at the grill, beckoning you closer with his eyes, then (mostly tasteful) jokes once you sit next to him

even when you're dating, flirts like you're strangers and he's still trying for your attention, just for the thrill

though places that are kinda hidden but kinda public, he loves to take you into those for a quick time ;)

bathroom stalls, dressing rooms, janitor closets, the whole lot

also... shower sex

he'd think it'd be a great idea even if you're skeptical

but you agree & it's ofc, a disaster, bc it never actually works out like it does in tv

but you make it fun anyway & he has a very strong hand on you to keep you from slipping

now, klaus' room, i think, he'd love to take you in there as a "fuck you" to his brother after a fight

an orgy type of guy, i think, as long as you're consenting of it

and then gives you all his love & attention afterwards when you get jealous of one person in particular

makes up with gifts & a very long night in the bedroom, with lots of aftercare

witch!kol would 100% tease you in public

it's over for you once he discovers vibrating panties

sometimes gets turned on by you at the worst possible times

you stand up to him against one of his brothers? yes

you fight off an enemy all by yourself? yes

even if you're joking around and fit a whole doughnut in your mouth or something, he's dtf

and his response to your shock is always along the lines of, "i can't control it!"

if he's in a submissive mood

is submissive at times, and some times, needs you to be more dominant

especially when esther is around

i can see kol having mommy issues & needing that reassurance

but it would take a certain level of trust for him to be comfortable telling you that

at first, you were surprised at how submissive he got, but then you were happy to provide what he needed

he's very appreciative of your comfort & lack of judgement when he gets in that type of headspace & makes sure to shower you in thanks & kisses when he "wakes up" from it

tw: cnc / dub / non

can't see him being into this, especially in a relationship

except for the desire to hunt you, i don't think he'd be into it straight up

as previously mentioned, pre-witch hanging-out, he might've had a few incidents that were a little questionable, but he's straightened out & learns that those incidents were wrong & does not repeat them

his biggest offense in one of those situations was probably nonconsensual blood drinking that turned him on

was still kind of a baby, psycho vampire when it happened, & he probably still regrets it to this day

dubcon, though, where you're both drunk after a night of bar flirting, he's into

like, if you were used as a distraction for him when caroline was used to distract klaus

you're both drinking way too much and one thing leads to another and then you find yourself in the mikaelson mansion in the morning like 🤷‍♂️

he makes sure you don't regret it, though, and you don't

calms his worried little not-beating heart

somnophilia, given explicit consent beforehand, he would like

the prospect of you waking up full of him, or with him delivering pleasure via tongue or fingers

you wake up and the first thing you feel is pleasure brought on by him - he loves that concept

[l0vem41l]

the passenger princess playlists

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, probably ooc, self-indulgent because we have fun here, author's taste in music is utter shit 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. these stupid parasites that keep infecting my brain aka bruce wayne,clark kent, jason todd, tim drake, and stephanie brown

author's note: THEY ARE THE PASSENGER PRINCESS!!!! WHY???? because if i projected my music taste on the reader insert we would have many issues. im not THAT self indulgent w/ my stuff i say, posting hcs of character's music tastes based on my own

you decide that it's time to show how much you trust them.

"hey," you mutter, eyes still on the road, fingers absentmindedly drumming on the wheel. "...you can have the aux cord, by the way."

▸ BRUCE doesn't even take it at first. he usually prefers to drive in complete silence himself, so he lets you handle the music. he's pretty nonchalant about what you play, indifferent to most music as long as it doesn't make his ears bleed.

the first time he takes the offer and plays something he personally enjoys, it's pretty straightforward: his main genres are classical, jazz, and dad rock. like... a lot of dad rock. he can read the room er, car?? well enough to know that the classical and jazz songs he listens to aren't exactly driving playlist material. and yes something in the way by nirvana will be played battison i fucking love you

BRUCE's songs include: ♡ she sells sanctuary by the cult ♡ something in the way by nirvana ♡ 1979 by the smashing pumpkins

▸ CLARK is more than happy to share his music! he's always been excited to hear whatever you jam out to and is pretty open to different genres. he definitely finds favorites of his that match the energy of your car playlists. doesn't wanna play anything that's too much of a bummer though, mainly because driving with you has such good vibes!!! he can't ruin that :( unless your in some sorta mood to be upset. then he's got some stuff aka a lot of elliot smith and jeff buckley

he finds a lot to love in all sorts of genres. it's a mix of stuff that he grew up listening to with his parents, stuff that he found on his own from artists he enjoys, and stuff you introduced him to. his music taste is just a mosaic of love for the people around him.

CLARK's songs include: ♡ it's been a long, long time by harry james and his orchestra ♡ cupid by sam cooke ♡ real love baby by father john misty

▸ if there's someone who's going to criticize music without sharing his full music taste? it's JASON. he's actually not mean but he'll make comments which give the impression that he thinks he'd be better with the aux. like bro ask for the aux normally. REMIND HIM WHO'S HOLDING THE WHEEL. YOU BETTER PRAY THAT THE VOTERS ARE IN YOUR FAVOUR WHEN WE DRIVE INTO THIS TELEPHONE POLE

when you give him the aux privileges he's secretly overjoyed. he likes a lot of different genres, rock, metal, indie rock, some punk... but don't ruin his mood by pointing out his music taste is vaguely inspired by bruce's. or make fun of him for listening to sleep token. obviously he likes listening to chill music too— but for a drive? it's gotta be loud and fast. secretly gets happy when you like the songs he plays. the validation gives him a quiet sort of joy.

JASON's songs include: ♡ knives out by radiohead ♡ goddamn these hands by the taxpayers ♡ custer by slipknot

▸ TIM is pretentious about music, but he doesn't intend to be. he's proud of his taste to the point where he's beyond spotify wrapped and stats.fm. i firmly believe he's made his own software to track the music he's listening to and it's thorough. that being said, he really doesn't mind listening to your music. he likes giving recommendations based off of the songs you play in the car.

tim adores branching out into different genres, and the more obscure it is, the more he likes it. given, he's also into some pretty known and loved bands. car seat headrest. radiohead. slaughter beach, dog. the minute you hand him the aux, he's trying to put you on his favourites. a lot of indie. like... so much indie. and midwest emo... american football WILL be played. he also unfortunately cannot hide his love for the pinkerton album.

TIM's songs include: ♡ never meant by american football ♡ oh! starving by car seat headrest ♡ tragic girl by weezer

▸ STEPHANIE is so cool. i've seen swiftie headcanons but guys... pop punk princess stephanie brown is too real. pop punk, alternative rock, riot grrrl— all that stuff. probably got aux privileges before you even gave her permission, she just started queuing up her songs with yours.

when she gets full control, she already has a playlist ready for the drive. it's kind of all over the place, but the vibes are great. you will go from mommy long legs to chappell roan and then to whatever recession pop artist she's into that week. steph is also a big fan of evanescence, kittie, and hole. those in specific are heavily headcanon-y but i feel like she'd appreciate them.

STEPHANIE's songs include: ♡ misery business by paramore ♡ cherry scented by jack off jill ♡ gimmie brains by bratmobile

▸ what are you listening to? you don't know but CASS seems happy at least. when you gave her aux privileges, she didn't really know what to do. she ended up just picking her favourite songs out of your usual playlists.

eventually, she gets excited by the prospect of sharing what she usually listens to and it's... something. so here's the thing: she listens to a lot of ambient noise. like, things that people usually sleep to. you once drove around for half an hour listening to nothing but the noises of rustling leaves and chirping birds through your speakers. and she was happy.

she listens to a lot of music where there's not a lot of lyrics most of the time, but tends to listen to some of stephanie's music as well— usually the more mellow side.

CASS' songs include: ♡ relaxing tranquil day in the forest by nature sounds ♡ healing ritual by whatever, dad ♡ to violet by adrianne lenker

part two... potentially??? lmk which character's you'd want ^_^

— reblogs always appreciated!

[goatcheesecak3]

How about Adam x reader who were dating before the trap, maybe got into a fight, but Adam lives because that’s definitely what happened and they find each other.

Also ur NSFW hcs were good so feel free to sprinkle some spice if you see fit :)

Lost and found

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x gn!reader

Fic type: angst, fluff

Warnings: missing person, medically induced coma

A/n: hello!! Thank you for your request, it was such a cute idea!! There's no nsfw because I couldn't find a way for it to fit into this story, but while we're on the topic I just wanna give a message to anyone who saw my Adam nsfw hcs!! I originally posted the unfinished version by accident, but I've gone back and added more to them since! So make sure you're all caught up on those, in my very biased opinion they're extremely canon teehee :^) all can be found in my masterlist as usual

You and Adam had dated for two years before finally ending it about a month ago. The relationship was tumultuous to say the least, epic highs followed by epic lows. Being with Adam could be so wonderful at times, the way he kissed you like you were the only person in the world, the way he would have you folded in on yourself laughing. Your memory was filled with long nights spent talking and falling deeper and deeper in love. Adam was good with his words, which was a blessing and a curse- he could make your heart flutter just as easily as he could crush it. Arguments were frequent, and volatile, he always took things too far. Deciding that this was no way to live, with heavy hearts, the two of you called it quits.

You'd heard around from mutual acquaintances that he'd gotten into a pretty rough spot after the breakup, apparently he'd become some kind of stalker for hire? Like a private investigator but with absolutely no credentials or regard for his or anyone else's safety. It didn't exactly surprise you that he'd gone into a somewhat shady line of work, considering his lack of high school diploma there weren't really many options for him, you wished you could help, but you'd both agreed to keep your distance and move on.

One day however, you couldn't help but break the promise you'd made to yourself, and you asked about him. You'd run into his best friend, Scott at a video store, and despite all your restraint, the words tumbled out of your mouth:

"How's Adam been lately?"

"Pfft how should I know? I haven't spoken to that asshole since he totally bailed on my band photoshoot" Scott scoffed, rolling his eyes disinterestedly.

It wasn't like Adam to turn down paid work of any kind, so you decided to pry deeper,

"What do you mean? He just didn't show up?"

"Yeah, no call, no nothing. He hasn't spoken to anyone. Probably thinks he's too good for me and the guys now with his investigator bullshit, but lemme tell y-"

"Wait, he's actually doing that?! That's so dangerous, you don't think he's gotten himself into trouble do you?"

"I don't know, I got my own shit to worry about. Besides, no one bails on me and gets my sympathy. Scott Tibbs don't chase, baby." He said, all too loudly. You could practically see his ego bulging out of his head.

As you left the video store, the interaction played on your mind. After you and Adam had broken up, Scott was pretty much the only person in his life, and he didn't seem to give two hoots about Adam's wellbeing. Essentially, there wasn't a single person on earth who'd heard anything from Adam in the last week, and no one seemed to be trying to find him. You knew his family were estranged, and pretty much everyone else in his life were all acquaintances at best. If he was in trouble, it was up to you to help.

You headed to his apartment, just to see if he was home. Best case scenario he was, and you got some of your cds back, worst case.. well, you didn't wanna think about that.

You crept up the creaky mildewy staircase of his apartment complex until you reached his floor. Something in your gut felt wrong as you got closer to his door, something that you couldn't quite understand. It wasn't fear, it was overwhelming dread. You always thought there was a big difference between those two feelings; fear was wondering if something bad would happen, and dread was knowing in your heart that it would.

You knocked on his door and waited a beat. Nothing. For whatever reason, a voice in your head told you to try the door handle, and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Adam's apartment looked frozen in time, a half eaten bowl of mouldy noodles sat on his coffee table, an empty beer bottle next to it. Everything looked untouched. That was until your eyes made their way to the floor next to his closet- his camera. Smashed to pieces, and left strewn all over the floor. Your eyes darted up toward his redroom, which appeared to have been ransacked.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. You repeated over and over in your head like a mantra.

Your first thought was that someone he'd been stalking had caught him, followed him home to destroy any damning evidence, then deal with Adam.

Panic set in at this moment, as you rushed through his apartment, desperately hoping he was just passed out somewhere.

"Adam?! Adam?!" You cried out, to no avail.

Of course, the second you had regained enough composure to remember to do so, you called the police and filed a missing person's report. The next few days were filled with police interviews, cutting out and sticking the few pictures of Adam you had onto missing person's posters and plastering them all over the city. You handed them out to anyone who would take them, you gave them to all the venues and corner shops that Adam often went to, and you hounded the police relentlessly.

Sure, Adam was your ex, but my god how you had loved him, how you still loved him. You were the only person in his life who loved him, and you refused to give up.

After 6 never ending days, your phone rang. It was a call from the police.

"We've found a young man fitting Adam's description on the outskirts of the city. He's currently in the hospital in a medically induced coma while the staff tend to his injuries. As he is unable to identify himself at this time, we would greatly appreciate it if you could come down and identify him for us" the voice from the phone said.

This was like music to your ears, you tried not to get your hopes up, but you just knew it was him. It had to be, you could feel it in your heart.

As you stood by the bed of the man, you fell to your knees and wept. He was far skinner, his skin pale and almost translucent, his hair tangled and dirty- but there was no doubt about it, that was your Adam.

"That's him! That's my baby! Oh my god, that's my Adam!" You sobbed, clutching into the police office for support. He looked happy for you.

...

After a few days, Adam woke up. He was by no means in good shape, but he was alert, he was safe, and he was asking for you. He'd had to speak to police before he could have any visitors, but they'd assured him that you had done a great deal to help them find him, and he was touched.

"I thought I was gonna die in that room.."

"You probably would have, if y/n hadn't tried to find you"

"No one else reported me?"

The cop shook his head solemnly.

"Damn... I gotta see her, i- I gotta thank her,  i-"

He rambled like this for a while, until he was assured that you were able to come visit him.

...

"Hey, sugar" Adam smiled cockily, despite how weak he was.

You approached the chair next to his bed and reached down to stroke his face lovingly.

"That didn't sound very ex boyfriend of you" You teased.

"Aw come onnnn, I nearly die and you still don't want me back?" He whined, giving you a playful pout.

You chuckled and kissed his forehead,

"I basically saved your life, don't get greedy"

Adam's eyes narrowed, and he looked uncertain, "wait.. are you saying you actually don't wanna get back together?"

You rolled your eyes and pinched his cheek,

"Of course not dummy, I just like watching you squirm"

Adam mustered all of his strength to lift his arms and place his hands on your cheeks, pulling your face towards his.

"You're such a bitch" he mumbled against your lips with a smile

"You're a bitch" you giggled back.

The playful teasing went on for a while, until you were sat in a love filled silence, just holding eachother's hands. Adam was the first to break the silence.

"I'm a changed man, you know, y/n"

"Huh?"

"While I was in that room, you were all I could think about. I kept thinking about all the times I hurt you and I knew I needed to make it right. I made a vow to myself that i was gonna get out of there, and I was gonna get you back... and I was gonna love you the way you deserve to be loved. I'm gonna do that, y/n. I'm gonna prove I deserve to be with you, even if it takes a lifetime... which it probably will now that you basically saved my life"

"Yeah, it's gonna be pretty difficult to level that playing field" you smiled jokingly.

"I mean it, y/n," Adam said, his voice serious, "I promise I'm going to devote the rest of my life to loving you, it's the least I could do".

And several happy years later, he's kept that promise.

[rfswitchart]

Hunter's Comfort Food

I think, at this point, you all know my personal favorite Owl House headcanon. I shouldn't have to say what it is, you already know what I'm about to discuss. However, I am going to describe why Hunter loves what he does and maybe you'll adopt it as your headcanon too...

It all started when Hunter ran away from the Emperor's Coven Post-Hollow Mind. He'd been living in the paranormatorim in Hexside since, building a nest and living on snacks. Gus, having seen the former Golden Guard living so dreadfully, offers him his lunch, which, among other things, included a sandwich.

Hunter then helps Gus escape Adrian and the scouts, citing his reason for doing so being because Gus offered him food. When the illusionist questions him on it, Hunter says "It was a really good sandwich." As many have pointed out, Hunter's diet in the castle was probably miserable. On top of it, he was clearly malnourished, as several characters (Luz, Eda, Amity, Edric, Emira, Matt) have said. So it is assumed he didn't have a great time food wise, which is why he looked so happy eating that loaf of bread in King's Tide...

Yeah, look at him go. Happily chewing on some bread and being pleased as punch over it. And this is where my HC came to be, Hunter and Gus bonding over a simple offering of food. A kindness Hunter had probably never known until then, combined with something that probably saved his life or at the very least made him feel much better. I feel like that sole interaction weighed on Hunter's heart, and it made him fall in love with sandwiches. After all, without Gus' sandwich, he would have never been able to sit down and actually talk about how he was feeling about Belos. He wouldn't have bonded with Gus and helped the younger witch when he needed it most. Hunter developed an intensely strong bond with Gus, a friendship and brotherhood forged in love, trust, and sandwiches.

That said, I assume when they were trapped in the human realm, Hunter started looking into various types of sandwiches (with the help of Camila and Luz, of course.) Figuring out what the best meats and cheeses were. What kinds of vegetables go well with them (information he totally shared with Willow, obviously.) The best kinds of bread and condiments to compliment the other ingredients. I assume he learned about what foods he liked and disliked (boy loves himself some olives, btw.) Of course, this eventually lead to the ultimate creation. His pride and joy: The True Hero Sub. The culmination of his knowledge and understanding of foods that allowed him to create divinity between two slices of bread (well, shoved into a loaf of french bread, but hey, who's counting?)

Of course, this is a BIG sandwich. I know, that's the one I made myself. It is about 2' long (60.69cm for you non-Americans.) It is not something you can eat by yourself, and Hunter would never want to eat it alone. Because of this sandwich, Hunter came up with his philosophy on food; "Food tastes best when shared with others." So I assume the first time he made one, he shared it with the others. Definitely Gus, his sandwich brethren, and possibly Willow, someone Hunter would be thrilled to share his accomplishments with.

And this probably continued as he became an adult. I bet anything that Hunter has a series of sandwiches he brings with him to work. He maybe even wrote down his own cookbook of sorts for them. You KNOW anytime he had a new idea, Gus was the first person he told about it. He probably even made a book to make sandwiches to represent Cosmic Frontier characters (you know Gus AND Camila happily assisted him.) And that's my headcanon. A boy, his best friend, and a type of food that brought them closer and possibly even saved a life in more than one sense. In this house, we respect the Sandwich Bros. (Tagging @childlikegoblinqueen, @unniebeans, and @probablyhuntersmom, who I assume have also had this headcanon infect their brain for some time. *evil laugh*)

[xxsabitoxx]

Keeping Secrets (Giyu Imagine)

A/N: I feel like I've seen a few imagines/headcanons where Giyu has a wife and baby and keeps it a secret from the other Hashira. Not intentionally, but like Giyu being Giyu sees no need to tell them about it cause these meetings are strictly business. This whole scenario was super cute to me so I've been drafting a full-on HC post for a while now with all the hashira. However, my main writing focus has been on Roommates so I haven't gotten a chance to work on it. Before I absolutely lose my mind...

You and Giyu met shortly after surviving the Final Selection. He's extremely heartbroken during this time in his life because he is trying to cope with the death of Sabito. You meet him one day during a mission and go out of your way to talk to him. You've always been good with reading people and their emotions so you can practically feel the weight of his grief just by being in his presence.

Giyu is reluctant, letting you talk to him a bit but not really saying much in return. It takes time, but slowly Giyu warms up to you and one night after finishing a mission Giyu opens up to you. Your seemingly one-sided friendship quickly blossoms into mutual feelings. Giyu hesitantly welcomes you into your heart, trying to ignore the fears of losing you the way he lost his loved ones.

Fast forward to the time when Giyu becomes a Hashira. This is a transitional period of his life, so many things are changing at once and the weight of getting older brings along new titles and new responsibilities. You two are stuck together like glue, regardless of your different titles, Kagaya sees the potential and continues to let you partner up with Giyu during missions. It's during this time that Giyu starts to realize he cares about you more than a friend. He's never really experienced these kinds of emotions before so he's not entirely sure how he is supposed to go about it.

Lucky for him, you're still good at reading emotions. It doesn't take long for you to catch on and take the initiative. Thanks to your openness and determination, within a few months of his Hashira promotion, Giyu begins to court you. It takes another year of proper dating, but Giyu ends up asking you for your hand in marriage shortly after your 18th birthday. You, of course, accept.

The two of you marry a few months later. A small ceremony with Kagaya, Amane, and their children. Urokodaki is there and a few important people from your life are there as well. It's quiet and private and no other corps members catch wind of the fact that the rather 'infamous' water pillar has taken a bride.

Within a few months of your marriage, you and Giyu stumble across the Kamado siblings. After a bizarre battle with both siblings knocked out, you and Giyu discuss ways to keep them safe, coming to the mutual agreement that Urokodaki would be able to help. It is a few months later that you end up getting pregnant, right before your promotion to Hashira. This causes you to cease corps activity almost immediately. You even like to joke that Giyu planned this, he had been hinting at you retiring from the corps since you got engaged.

You end up giving birth shortly after Giyu's twentieth birthday and a year later you're itching to get back to your duties. You have a beautiful baby, one who is still getting the hang of walking and learning to say more than just a babble of "dada". A baby that is the exact replica of their father, the only thing they got from you is your eye color. I mean really, you carried them for 9 months and they have the audacity to come out looking like their dad.

Much to Giyu's dislike, Kagaya awards you with the title of Hashira within a few weeks of your return. You had practically jumped back into training within two months of birthing your child, nearly giving Giyu a heart attack day in and day out. Now comes the day of your first Hashira meeting. To make things a little less obvious, Giyu left for the meeting before you. He had taken only a few months off to help you after your baby was born, but the other hashira had been told he was sent away for a mission that would take quite some time. Kagaya was willing to help keep your marriage and family a secret until you both felt ready to share.

You're getting antsy, the kakushi that you had requested to watch your child while you both attended the meeting was running late. So late that if you didn't leave right then, you'd arrive at the meeting after it started. The last thing you wanted was to make a bad impression on the other hashira. So, one hasty note later, you were hauling your baby into your arms and heading out for the meeting. You weren't quite sure how you would go about explaining this, never mind to the other hashira, but to your husband. "Dada is going to faint." You spoke to your baby, a bit of your nerves settling as they looked up at you with a gummy grin. Only a few teeth were beginning to poke up from their gums... which had been giving you and Giyu one hell of a time. Teething was certainly not your friend.

By the time you made it to the Butterfly Estate, you were settling your baby on your hip and trying to focus on your breathing. "You'll be good for Mama right?" You whispered to them, smiling as they just giggled in response. You adjusted your posture, taking one last deep breath before entering the gardens. You heard them before you saw them, the intimidating aura of the Hashira was certainly no joke.

Giyu's eyes landed on you first, his expression turning to one of mild shock when he realized your baby was in your arms. For a moment he was convinced you had lost your mind, but he couldn't dwell on that for long. "My, are you lost perhaps?" Shinobu walked past him, the chatter around him had quickly died. "No, that can't be the case, you're in a corps uniform." The last bit seemed to be more to herself than to you. "I-no I'm here for the meeting with Oyakata-sama. I'm the new pillar y/n." You nearly said your last name, which was Tomioka. Granted the baby in your arms looked just like him, you figured it wouldn't take long until they pieced things together.

"You're the new pillar and you have a child?" You glanced upwards, the serpent hashira was staring down at you from a tree branch, eyes narrowed. All eyes were on you and your baby, you had glanced at Giyu only once so far. "That would be correct. The kakushi who has been kind enough to aid me and my husband with our baby was running late and I didn't want to arrive after the meeting started." You glanced at everyone else, noticing that all but one pillar was looking at you. Shinobu was standing in front of you, her eyes trained on your baby rather than you. "Say..." her brows were furrowed as if trying to understand why the child in your arms looked so familiar.

"Yes?" you had a funny feeling she had already figured everything out. But, before she could speak, a bubbly pink-haired woman was bounding towards you. "OH! THEY ARE SO CUTE! IT'S SO NICE TO MEET YOU!" She smiled brightly at you, squealing as your baby began to smile and giggle at her. Mitsuri Kanroji had saved your ass for the time being. "Oi..." This time it was a male voice, one that effectively quieted the space. You recognized him as Sanemi, the wind pillar. "That kid looks exactly like Tomioka's lame ass." Your eyes nearly bulged out of their head, though you knew it was coming, you just hadn't expected it to be from him.

You swallowed, watching as the other pillars looked between you, your baby, and then over at Giyu. You shifted nervously, waiting for the dam to break and the realization to come out. “Say, Shinazugawa isn’t wrong…” one of the taller men spoke, if you remembered correctly, his name was Tengen. Giyu talked about him from time to time cause the man was a shinobi with three wives. “Do you have something to confess Tomioka?” Shinobu was looking right at you as she spoke, because of your nerves you actually responded. “I-I don’t know what you mean.” Her brows raised at that, which caused you to realize your fatal mistake, the nail in the coffin if you would. “Oh? I was referring to Tomioka Giyu… however it seems you’ve confirmed my suspicions… Tomioka y/n.”

Just thinkin lol

[miaoua3]

Hiiii!! How are you doing?? I hope you are doing great! I just wanted to ask if you can write about Seungkwan husband hcs? and I also wanted to say that I really love your account it is an absolute masterpiece, I always check everyday if you posted anything because I am excited to see what you wrote ❤️❤️✨️

(Sorry if my message isn't understandable English isn't my first language 😅)

hiii! omg FINALLY a request for our boo, i’ve been waiting for this day, of course i can do it, it would be an honour. and thank you so much for saying that, as well as loving my account so much, i love you all more😭❤️

(btw, your english is perfect, have more trust in yourself and your abilities🫶)

anyway, enjoy this!

Husband! Seungkwan Headcanons:

•(sfw! hcs):

proposed in such a romantic and…seungkwan way lmao just imagine-his members of course had to be a part of it, so they have been dragging you around the whole city the entire day, making sure that you look absolutely perfect for the showtime. seungcheol took you to get your nails done, before jeonghan stole you away from him to get your dress ready, and then joshua and jun were the ones to take you to get your makeup done and- you get the idea lol, but then, as you walked with hansol and chan up the stairs of the building that you and kwanie live in all the way up to the roof, you already started crying because you knew what’s coming. and you were right because once the door of the roof were opened, you see the love of your life standing at the end of the long red carpet, right in front of an altar made out of flowers in a shape of a heart. and because it’s boo seungkwan, of course he serenaded you the song you two were listening the night you two kissed for the very first time. the rest is history❤️

has his wedding ring constantly on him, be it in his ring finger or on a necklace around his neck-the ring is one part of an outfit that is not negotiable, he will wear it no matter what

constantly talks about you when he’s a guest on talk shows, he will find any way to make any story be about you, he could be asked about the thought process behind the song he cowrote with woozi and he will just be like “oh well it’s actually inspired by my wife! she’s always my inspiration behind anything i do and write- i remember distinctly, on that day i was just-“ everyone is low-key annoyed by it because…can he go on for two minutes without saying the words “my wife”? lol

so so so very affectionate- he will hug you all the time, doesn’t matter if there’s people around or if one of you is busy, if boo seungkwan wants to hug and kiss his wife, he will do as much, even when you’re washing the dishes or vacuuming or doing skincare- he will just sneak up on you and hug you from behind as he nuzzles his face in the curve of your neck, he fr sometimes remind you of a cat

is very big on jokes in your relationship, he will try to make you laugh as much as possible, that’s why you two have so many ongoing inside jokes, god forbid someone says one word that will remind you both of one of your jokes, you two will start cackling, leaning onto each other as you two try to control yourselves but with no avail (jeonghan is so sick of you two, he had been enduring this ever since you two started dating and seungkwan was still living with him)

his favourite nights are when you two get drunk on sweet sweet wine from italy and start jumping and dancing around the apartment, all while singing (read: screaming) the lyrics of your favourite songs together, naturally using your hairbrushes as your microphones. something about this makes seungkwan feel…like he will live on forever, if not in other people’s minds and he in books of records, then at least in your heart and memory❤️

because this is boo seungkwan we’re talking about of course, expect little harmless and useless fights (more like bickering) to happen at least twice a day, he sometimes does it because he genuinely doesn’t agree with you but sometimes he does it just to see you pout at him lol, from fighting about which sort of tomato tastes the best to who the best marvel character is, expect him to start shit at any topic you try to bring up lol

•(nsfw! hcs):

his words are always so sweet, they taste like honey both on your and his lips, but then his actions would be so dirty, a complete contrast from what he’s saying- he could be asking in that deep voice of his that he always pull on you in the bedroom “who is my good girl?” but in the same second he would be landing such a hard and nasty spank on your ass cheek that has you throwing your head back in pleasure- his words so affectionate and full of praise, but then his actions look as if it were a punishment, he dances on that thin line so well

prefers fucking you either in missionary or when you ride him, he loves seeing your face scrunch in pleasure as his dick is pounding into your heat, your muscles tightening around him-there’s just something in the way your eyebrows furrow and your mouth open on their own while he’s bringing you pleasure, plus it’s only a bonus that this way he gets to kiss you anytime he wants to (or a louder moan threatens to spill out of his mouth)

and his fingers? gosh his beautiful fingers…the only reason why he isn’t eating you as much as he would like to is because you prefer to have his fingers instead, so long and so pretty and perfect, curling inside of you just the right way, his little nails scraping against you sweet spot which brings you to your finish way before you’d like- and when he licks the very same pretty fingers clean and then wraps them around your pretty little neck? gone. gone and done for.

surprise surprise-boo seungkwan is a talker in the bedroom. shocker, i know. half of his honey sweet words won’t even register im your mind due to the pleasure, but he will still talk, going from kissing your neck and nibbling on your ear and talking, just like “fuck, your sweet pussy feels so good around my dick baby, you’re gonna make me so fast. would you like that, hm? does my sweet girl want my cum? want me to fill you to the brim? fuck, if you don’t stop clenching around me like that, i really will do it-“ KNDKABAPA BOO SEUNGKWAN

loves placing your legs on his shoulders and bending forward, it makes your pussy feel that much tighter, which then makes you both feel how good he’s stretching you, the burn making you moan even louder which makes him fuck you even harder and faster

isn’t a boob person per say, but he will leave so many hickeys on your chest, you will lowkey look like a mess lmao, they would be littered all over your soft tits, ranging from purple to blue and yellow in colour- i mean seriously, don’t even think about wearing something a little bit more revealing or people will ask if you got mauled by a bear lol (that night is something jeonghan will NEVER let you live down lol (seungkwan was low-key proud of his artwork though lol))

LOVES it when you grab him by the hair and redirect his mouth where you need him the most, the sting of the pull, the neediness that is displayed through your actions, the way he doesn’t even want to tease you or reject you- it all gets him feeling so hot and bothered, he will literally moan as you pull him by his hair from between your legs to your face so you can kiss him i- i need him SO BADDDD DJKWKXKSJAB

[iheartyvesss]

post-outbreak joel miller hcs

joel miller x younger!reader

this was requested by @marianita195

warnings? fluff for the first hcs! for nsfw: creampie, pussy slapping, squirting, dirty talk, dom!joel, reader’s mentioned to have hair long enough to pull, and pussy eating. i think that’s all lol 😭

pre-outbreak hcs here!

sfw

boyfriend!joel who isn’t “entirely sure how to do this relationship thang anymore.” joel had been with someone before, you knew this, but you didn’t mind. joel had told you of tess, how he was with her for a while but it wasn’t how he felt with you. he was stubborn to come about his feelings, yes, but it wasn’t anything you couldn’t work with. you were patient. that’s what ellie thinks makes you two work so well. he’s stubborn, and as he is stubborn you’re just as patient. you work with him. allow him to come to you in your own time.

boyfriend!joel who is losing his mind the first time you get hurt out on patrol. “you weren’t supposed to be there.” he’d murmured into your hair, sighing heavily when you’d only laughed in response. joel knows you can handle yourself and it’s a thing that he admires about you, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying about you and your health. joel sat by your bedside in jackson’s infirmary until you were just about cleared. he spent his time gripping your hand in his whenever he wasn’t sleeping or going to check on ellie.

boyfriend!joel who can’t help but love the way you treat his ellie. he hears the two of you stay up and talk into all hours of the morning. about what? he doesn’t really know besides the fact that you refuse to share what the conversations are about. “why don’t you ask our girl yourself?” you’d told him, smiling so sweetly he couldn’t bring himself to scowl at you for being a brat. you spend most of your time with ellie if not with him or maria. you take her to the library with you, as well as the gardening section you sometimes assist with. if ellie’s on patrol, you’re on patrol, and it warms his heart in a way he can’t quite pinpoint.

boyfriend!joel who loves you because you are his polar opposite and his mediator between him and his daughter. ellie is too rash while joel is too calculated, leaving you to be just right. you’re often the one to make final decisions in the household over the dumbest of things. your favorite memory is the first time ellie officially began to hang out with dina and jesse. joel was worried out of his mind that jesse would try something with ellie, and how desperately you wanted to tell him there was nothing to worry about.

boyfriend!joel who doesn’t know how to completely express his love for you and ultimately fumbles a bit in the early stages of your relationship. you were supposed to go on your second date with joel at his house, he’d said he was going to make dinner and ellie would remain in her little room in the back. you’d spent all day thinking of it, even losing track of books and stressing yourself out over where’d you last put them. maria found it adorable, if anything. she’d told you to go ahead and leave early if you were that excited. you had a few nice items of clothing from the many runs you and some of the others had done, and this little red number was just perfect. you’d practically skipped to joel’s house only for him to not answer when you knocked. you remember ellie coming through and opening the door, eyes widening before cursing joel out loud and turning to pull you into the house. “um, he hasn’t come back from the job he was workin’ yet so maybe we should wait?” you’re positive ellie could feel the embarrassment flowing off of you in waves but you agreed with the younger girl anyway.

boyfriend!joel who’d came in an hour later, flustered and visibly stressed. he found you and ellie curled on his couch watching freaky friday, and his chest had tightened because you looked so beautiful. “(name)- goddammit.” he murmured, running a hand down his face. “ellie,” he paused to look at her, using his chin to gesture for her to leave. “go. please.” he added the please quietly, stress clear on his face. it was probably the only reason she left without a word. “listen, (name), i’m sorr-” but you’d already stood with a soft smile. “no, it’s fine. i’ll go and we can try again another time, okay?” he’d believe you if you hadn’t swallowed thickly, pushing some hair from your face. joel could feel the guilt creeping up his chest and god did it make him sick. “no, darlin’ jus’ give me a minute and i can make us somethin’ to eat. i’m sorry. i like you, sugar i just…it’s been a day ‘m sorry.” you smile genuinely at that and find your feet moving their way towards him. “you like me, miller?” your eyes are gentle when he looks down at you, and joel realizes you make him feel safe. “we can make another day out for this, ‘m not going anywhere ‘cause of one mishap. i was embarrassed, yes, but you were caught up with patrol and such there’s nothing to do about that. we’re fine, joel. i promise.” you press a gentle kiss to his cheek, to the other, then to his lips. “we can try again, hm?”

nsfw headcanons ↓

boyfriend!joel who fucks you rough and nasty. his hips are always so rough against yours as his beard tickles the side of you neck while he kisses down it. his fingers dig into your hips and the most you can do is whimper out his name. your eyes roll to the back of your head and youre grappling at his back desperately for any type of leverage. anything to keep your body grounded from the euphoria taking it over. “thas’ it sweet thing. you’re taking me so well, hm?” you can only nod as a sob rips from your throat, legs tightening around your boyfriend’s hips to pull him deeper within you. joel grips your jaw with his free hand, forcing you to look him in his eyes as he fucks you deeper. he pushes you further into the bed, hips slamming against yours at a stuttering pace. “joel- can’t- can’t- feels weird.” you sob out, closing your eyes only for them to flutter open when you cum. you cum hard, fluids spraying against his lower abdomen and some getting on the sheets. joel’s eyes change a certain way when he witnesses you squirt for the first time, and the twitch of his cock tells you he’s far from done.

boyfriend!joel who has a thing for face fucking. joel loves to get you on your knees or have you lay over the side of the bed. he’ll purr sweetly at you, “you gonna take it, pretty girl?” and you eat it up everytime. you’re looking up at him with big eyes, pressing kisses to his thighs and mumbling about how good you can be. he likes to take things slow before he uses his throat by tracing his thumb along your lip before tapping his cock against your lips. “go ahead sweet thing. take what you want.” and you’re already spitting on his cock, stroking him a few times before taking him in your mouth. you move up and down his cock, getting used to the size despite how many times you’ve taken him down your throat. joel knows when you’ve gotten settled because you take him all the way down your throat and hold it, blinking up at him like the most innocent thing in the world. joel prefers to grab your hair, pulling back before fucking into your throat slow and deep. he holds you there despite your sputtering and choking, only pulling out when he feels it’s enough. when joel begins to fuck your throat you can never help but guide your hands down to your cunt. you’re moaning around his dick while tears fall from your eyes, pitiful and shaking hands desperately rubbing at your clit. your hips jut into your hands to no avail, because only joel can make you cum the way you want to. his grip always tightens unbearably when he’s about to cum, and his hips stop deep in your pretty little throat to cum down it. “thas’ my sweet girl. takin’ this dick like it was made for ya.”

boyfriend!joel who loves nothing more than to eat you out. he loves the feeling of your warmth against his mouth, the way your pussy is so responsive to his actions. he loves to run his tongue through your folds before suckling on your clit. he rubs your clit slow and steady, watching your reactions to his ministrations. you cover your eyes with your forearm in an attempt to hide the tears already trying to form in your pretty eyes. joel chuckles at your actions before pulling back and pressing a soft kiss to your clit. “remember you gotta be quiet, pretty.” you nod quickly, whimpering softly because you need him to move. when joel starts he never really knows how to stop. he goes in, fingers stretching you deliciously while his lips work on your clit. he latches on and sucks, pulling the most wanton of moans from your lips. your hips jut against his face with a soft sob and you’re desperately trying to hang on to your already building orgasm. joel doesn’t care though. he only hooks his fingers in your cunt and thrusts, pulling back to spit on your pussy as if you weren’t wet enough. he flattens his tongue against your pussy, peeking up at you with what could only be a smug look in his eyes. “you gonna cum on my face, sweets?” you nod, shaking your head harder when you began to thrust up against his tongue. “gonna-” joel shakes his head. “don’t say it, do it.” and you’re creaming on his face as a cry rips through your throat.

boyfriend!joel who likes to fuck you in one of the check-in stations while the two of you are out on patrol. he rubs his hands down your sides, pinning you against the table of he little shack. you’re looking up at him with a cheeky smile that makes him raise a brow at your attitude. “what? you gonna fuck me in a lil shack ‘cause you can’t hold it? ‘nd you say i’m the slut.” joel doesn’t take attitude and you’re fully aware. trust. so you’re not surprised when his previous loving strokes down your side go rigid. he scoffs airily, “turn around.” you bite down on your lip but comply anyway, undoing your belt to allow him to pull your pants down easier. joel laughs from behind you, murmuring something along the lines of “fuckin’ slut.” and he tugs your pants and panties down in one tug. he runs his middle finger through your folds, tuting softly when he feels the slick build on his finger. “fuckin’ slut was already thinkin’ about getting fucked over this table, huh?” you moan softly, nodding to answer his question. you wiggle your ass out to him, looking over your shoulder with a pout. “please, joel? need it s’bad.” he laughs again this time, though it’s deeper and full of some sort of intent. he doesn’t say anything following his laugh, prompting you to turn around to ask again. “shut it.” joel snaps, thrusting into you in one quick, delicious thrust. your question dies on your lips as you lean forward and moan loud and deep, your pussy clenching tightly around your boyfriend. your eyes water from the sudden intrusion and your toes attempt to curl in your shoes. “mhm, bet you shut the fuck up now.” he hisses in your ear, gripping the back of your head to pull you back up with him. joel’s thrusts are hard and unforgiving, a pace he sets only for when you’ve been a brat or simply asked for it. you sob out his name, begging for him to slow down and that your pussy can’t take it. “can’t take it? didn’t you jus’ try to beg for it? you beg for it then you fuckin’ take it. take what you get sweet girl. ain’t that right?” words are lost to your little brain and you can only muster up a nod to his questions and statements. the hand that isn’t holding you up rests on your clit, giving it a sharp slap before he’s rubbing it like you aren’t already twitching against him. “oh my- fuck!” joel’s thrust only further the deep knot forming in your tummy, making you squirm and twitch in his grip. he chuckles when he feels you clench, too fucking tight, and you’re screaming and sobbing as you cum on his dick. “atta fuckin’ girl.” he lets you go, bending you over to ride out his own orgasm. your fingernails dig into the wooden desk, leaving scratch marks you would have a hard time explaining to the next couple to come out here for inspection. “shit, this pussy gotta be made for me. my pretty slut with a pretty pussy, hm?” you nod against the desk, praying a splinter doesn’t find it’s way into your face. “good.” you’re crying out, cumming again as joel’s balls slap against your pussy one final time. he cums deep inside of you, holding your hips down to ensure his seed stays deep inside of your pretty cunt. he pulls out, watching the way his cum oozes out of your pussy. “a sight i ain’ ever getting tired of.” he hums, shoving his fingers back into you.

back to the website !

other tags: @whichwitchwanda