#hes just so attractive like lord have mercy upon me

[earl-grey-love]

I need to come out of the closet rn or I never will, I am obsessed with Bar..batos on an unprecedented level. Okay, thank you.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

hi, other half, I've came to beg you to write some smutty thing for me. You once posted sth about riding Aegon's belly and yOU BITCH, I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO STOP THINKING ABOUT IT SINCE THEN. So I'm begging you, queen of chubby!aegon, to write something about getting off on Aegon's fat belly (and u know the details, i know u do bc we share the same mind).

i love u, please and thank u🤍🥺

I LOVE YOU! and whoopsie, I can't help it if my thotty thots overtake your mind <3 lord have mercy, I really took my time with this one boo, like I actually lost myself AHAHA you know what they say, great minds think alike :))) hope you enjoy lovely x

Satisfied, Yet?

PAIRING: chubby!Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader.

WORDS: 2,464.

WARNINGS: NSFW, slight mention of fatphobic comment, thigh/stomach riding, p in v sex, swearing.

Since being anointed as King, Aegon's life had altered drastically. Most of these changes not only seeped into his political stance in the realm, or in his dutiful role of upholding social responsibilities, although in his physicality, too. Since, having been betrothed to Aegon from his long, before days as Prince till now, you'd been front row and center to all these unfolding changes...

Nonetheless, at the very least you were quite absorbed in all the theatrics, particularly relishing in your husband's growing figure.

Aegon had always been an envoy to gluttony since his youth, his habits had only recently begun to swell from a boy's meager appetite into a man's. Since his coronation, Aegon, with you loyally by his side, had been invited and exposed to plentiful feasts, tourneys, banquets and celebrations in honor of his succession, with copious amounts of succulent roasts, pastries, sweets, treats and wine, that could fulfillingly feed the entire realm thrice. It was inevitable that such a habit of glutton would overtake…

Although you modestly dined in moderation, Aegon often found himself feasting, ravishing through the delectable flavours each region of the realm had to offer to their newly appointed King, eagerly hoping to appease his Grace.  As time went on, you found that his table manners had become wilted, as he’d often lost focus, disengaging in conversations, too enraptured by gorging himself on the delicacies offered to him by his meek subjects. You’d even occasionally witness him satisfyingly licking the tasteful grease off of his now thick, pudgy fingers, savoring the sacred moment, as his other free hand massaged his full, distended belly. 

In doing so, and unknowing to Aegon’s own naked eye, his appetite grew just as rapid as his waistline. His grandsire, the Hand, Otto Hightower, often eyed the King with disgust although, so long as Aegon showed up to such meaningful events, he did not protest. Nor did the Dowager Queen, Alicent, for she grew weary and apprehensive to provoke Aegon, now that he was King. Thus, no one dared to fuss. 

If you were being frank with yourself, you intently observed Aegon’s newly found habits, not in a parallel way to his grandsire, although with lust. Aegon’s appetite was what you’d believed, fit for a King. The repercussions of this, you reaped bashfully, as you gradually watched your beloved husband's figure swell. He maintained muscle, through occasional combat training and flights with Sunfyre, although now a visible layer of fat had grown all over, padding the muscle beneath. His legs, once modestly average sized, had now grown to be as thick as tree trunks, along with his bulky biceps and forearms to match. Although the centerpiece of attraction was his abdominal region, now protruding over his hidden waistline, the soft flesh hung, resting over his stocky thighs whenever you found him lounging. 

Gods be good, was it a mission to remain incessantly composed for hours when you were present to spoil your longing eyes upon your dear husband sprawled comfortably upon the Iron Throne… He’d grown into the seat, the fat of his thighs digging into the edge, subtly hanging over its edge, as he just managed to fit in. The image was stupendously ingrained into your brain, and the only thoughts that you could muster were sinful. 

Nonetheless, Aegon remained oblivious to the venereal effect his appearance was having on you…

****

“Fuck-” Aegon frusturatingly huffed.

“What is it, my love?” You concerningly question. Slowly closing the pages of your novel that rested against your lap, as you turned to face your husband, you had been greeted with an exasperated Aegon, his plump cheeks reddened from all the bustling noises you’d mindlessly heard in the background whilst reading. 

“It seems I am in need of a new fitting. I have been struggling to button these trousers on, dearest, not to mention how uncomfortably tight they now feel,” Aegon sulkingly protested. You carefully watched on, as you witnessed Aegon curiously pondering over his reflection in the mirror of your shared compartment. The pantaloons he’d been whining about, he’d just managed to dress, although remained loose and unsecured where it should have been buttoned and fitted. Instead, his portly belly hung low, his flesh engulfing over the opening and seams of the pants. 

“Be honest before the Gods dearest, have I grown?” Aegon uttered, as he turned to face you sharply, his hands gliding over his swollen belly, as the one squeezed the mold of fat over where his ribs lay protected beneath.

“I-uh, I do not know what you mean, dearest. Y-You look fine,” You meekly respond, unable to maintain direct eye contact, once Aegon was done sizing himself down, returning his gaze unto you. A stern look had brewed across his face, as you lowered your head to the book on your lap, fiddling with its torn edges.

“Do not toy with me, Y/N. Be honest, at the very least, I command that you speak the truth before your King. Have I grown…fat?” A distaste apparent in his stern voice, Aegon looked upon you with fretful eyes. 

Your reluctant gaze had softened with adoration. You did not wish for Aegon to feel even the slightest tinge of shame for his change, nor did you want him to think it possible, that you were revolted by the very sight of your husband.

“Y-You may have grown somewhat in size, but Aeg, that does not mean I love you any less. No lesser, than the day my maiden eyes had laid upon you.” 

Although you spoke warmly of the truth, Aegon refused to believe. Disapprovingly shaking his head in protest, he tore his attention away from you, avoiding eye contact as his glistening, lilac eyes had now wandered to the ground beneath his feet. His hands nervously gliding up and down the sides of his thick thighs, as he slowly seated himself down over the edge of the bed, an audible creak of the wooden frame fracturing the silence. 

“People must look upon us, and feel pity unto you, my wife. For look at the ‘hog’ she has now binded herself to-”

“Aegon, please-” You firmly interjected, racing over towards your husband, as you gracefully knelt before him, your hands now appearing tiny, sprawled against his large thighs, gripping the flesh for stability. 

“Aeg, look at me-” Your hand reached over, tugging at his fatty chin to redirect his attention solely onto you. 

“They-” Your fleeting eyes darting towards the shut door and back towards him, indicating to the world beyond.

“-should not matter. I would never say such vile things, nor could I ever think of you like that.” 

Aegon remained chillingly quiet, although you’d faintly glimpsed a sudden glint in his eyes, as his fixed attention lingered over your soft lips. 

“Prove it.” 

His sudden words took a solid few seconds to register in your mind, before you’d fathomed its meaning. Prove so, how? 

You knew exactly what was required of you. Your readiness for this moment had been stirring amid the quiet moments against the bustle and haste, of the banquets and festivities you’d both attended, that you often found yourself reservedly pondering in your own lustful thoughts, envisioning many things… 

“Sit properly on the bed,” You boldly uttered, as you stood yourself up, pushing yourself up from Aegon’s knees, leaning yourself ever so slightly forward that the evident cleavage in your tightly fitted gown were brazenly displayed to Aegon, as you stood swiftly. It made you innocently chuckle seeing Aegon smacking his juicy lips in response, as he strugglingly shuffled himself atop the bed, right towards the center of the wooden headboard. His large, rough hands steadily rubbed against the tight fabric of his thighs in anticipation for what was to come, as he intently observed you from afar. 

Both your undivided attention remained mutually onto each other: a faint, tender smile appearing on your face, as you noticed the hunger in Aegon’s eyes [mildly similar to how he gushed over the plated feasts], a smirk beaming across his face. 

Slowly walking over towards him, you’d managed to hike the front of your dress up sensually, before crawling atop the bed, only to find yourself straddling your beloved husband. Your legs had been stretched out broadly, accommodating for his wider frame, as his stomach pushed against the sensitive region of your lower abdomen and entrance. Gods, did his thighs feel so tender and soft beneath your ass, as you comfortably lowered yourself down, readjusting your position. Your arms instinctively stretch over towards his neck line, as your fingers begin to tangle and pull on the platinum, short strands from behind. 

It seemed the warm, tense friction of your body against Aegon’s was already beginning to stir the new King, pleasantly.

Closing in the distance between your faces, as your moist lips teasingly hovered over his plump ones. 

“You want me to prove it, baby… So be it,” You softly whispered, the warmth of your breath Aegon had inhaled, unable to remain patient, the young King pushed his mouth against yours, his tongue shoving its way through in exchange for a long, passionate kiss. Somehow, his pudgy hands had managed to find their way towards your backside, roughly squeezing the flesh of each cheek, you were certain his fingerprints would remain evident. 

Almost in tune to a rhythm, you began to pace yourself in a loop, slowly rocking forwards and back against the thin fabric of Aegon’s strained pants, your body shoving in deeper towards his distended belly, before leaning back to give him some momentary relief. 

“Mhmm,” Aegon lowly moaned, as one hand remained glued to your tender ass cheek, whilst the other snaked its way firmly behind your back, his rough hand gripping your neck, his thick fingers entangled in your hair, as he massaged the base of your head. 

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me, seeing you become this-” You breathlessly whimpered, as you tore apart your lips from his to speak. 

Aegon sensed the sincerity in your tone, and the soft, pleasing look in your eyes, as you ached for him. You could’ve sworn he could physically feel the throbbing sensation pulsating from your moist cunt, against the soft flesh of his full gut. 

“And what is it that I have done? What is it that you wish to do to me, my sweet, sweet angel?” 

Your pace had subtly quicked, briefly feeling Aegon trying to align your cunt to his cock, he undoubtedly was not expecting your next move. 

Insisting Aegon to recline himself further back into a semi-fowler position, the plentiful, fluffed cushions supporting his heavy mass in conjunction to the solid headboard hidden beneath. You swiftly shuffled yourself further up his body, thrusting yourself forward with enough momentum that you now sat atop, straddling his doughy, bloated stomach beneath. Your hands now gripping dearly onto his broad, dense shoulders, nails digging into the cloth-like fabric of his white shirt, as you further continued to thrust against him, riding his flesh beneath deeply and vigorously. 

“Fuck, Y/N-” He growled, as his grip remained strained onto your hips, as they rhythmically bucked forwards and back, desperately riding in deeper into his mass. 

“See-uh-See, what you’ve done to me, this, all of this-” You squeeze a little more into the flesh of his skin, pulling at the fat that embodied your husband, signifying his tremendous growth. Your moistened cunt began to coat his pale, soft skin stripped with reddened marks and stripes all along his sides and below, with your sweetness, as his shirt hiked up against your movements. 

“L-Look, my King, look at exactly what you’ve done to m-me-” You bashfully utter, as your spine instinctively arches, the collision and smacking of your skin against his continued to be heard in such close proximity, only muffled by either of your mindless moans and grunts. Nestled between your lower cunt and backside, you could feel something poking through, Aegon’s thick cock beginning to swell, feeling its pulsating urge beneath the strained fabric, the incessant need to shove itself inside of you grew with each movement. 

“Hmmf-” Aegon’s heavy, volatile breathing grew rapidly: as he ate himself to swell, his efforts became strained, often catching him huffing and puffing after hiking up a dense flight of stairs. 

“Come on, Aegon- I-I’m so close already-” You stutteringly whimper, sensual moans mindlessly interrupting your words. Now your wetness began to lubricate his succulent, fleshy skin entirely, as your cum pooled beneath, making your movements easier, gliding over his portly stomach. Where his lean pecs had once been, now a thick layer of adipose mounted over: one hand remained gripped to his shoulder, desperate for the stable support, whilst the other firmly cupped and squeezed at his enlarged, swollen pec. The roughness of your touch against the sensitive site, scored a loud plea for your name from his lips, that momentarily left your lifted breasts, before resuming to suckle on your soft skin. 

“Prove me wrong, baby. Prove me so fucking wrong-” Aegon groaned and moaned desperately, his grip remained firm as he tried desperately to shove you down deeper into his body. 

Instantly, you felt your pulsating cunt drench his swollen, soft belly as you pleasantly cried out, moaning Aegon’s name like a banshee in the night. His cock beneath you twitched in response, some moistness had brewed and seeped beneath its place, for it seemed Aegon was just as close to pumping, making a mess of himself. Although, as surprisingly swift as he could be for his size, Aegon thoroughly knew his way around your body, despite the changes to his own. His pants already undone from before, he could easily lift you up momentarily, pulling it down further enough for his bare cock to protrude through, aggressively shoving himself into you as you now remained atop. His thick cum coating your inner walls, as his veiny, fat cock grazed over your sweet spot, whilst your walls clenched on his thick cock. 

“Fuck, baby-” He subtly mouthed,  as he prompted himself further up, although his belly innately blocking his way, as he tried to lean over towards your own feeble body. The pace of your breathing now in sync with his, as your heated bodies lunged over towards one another for support, he held your weak self in his bulky arms, Aegon’s dense cock still remained inside of you, its strong pulse echoing from within your walls. 

“Satisfied, yet?” You helplessly pant, as you reluctantly pull yourself out of Aegon, repositioning yourself laying, nestled by his side. 

“I guess I should hold back on training for a little while longer, I wouldn't want to lose this figure, if that’s what I’ll be expecting, dear wife.”

[candycandy00]

The Offering - A Sukuna x Reader Fic Part 4

Once upon a time, Sukuna was a human man, albeit a monstrously cruel and powerful one. Villages across the land worshipped him as a living deity. One such village holds a festival for seven nights in his honor every year, and on each night they make generous offerings to him, including women who are never seen again. On the fifth night, you are selected to be the offering. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

If you’d like to be tagged when I post the final part, comment to let me know. You must have your age in your bio or pinned post and be 18+ to be tagged.  

Feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated! Thanks so much for the feedback on part three! It warms my pervy little heart! ❤️

Smut. 18+. Sukuna is a human (my theory is that he got his four-armed body by modifying himself with jujutsu fuckery later in life). Dubcon. Mentions of rape that happened “off screen”. Very rough sex. Blood. Sukuna just generally being a sadistic monster. F!Reader. This is dark and quite intense!

It was late the next morning when Sukuna was sitting in the bath, cherry blossoms floating all around him. He’d long enjoyed the fragrance of this particular flower, especially because they were so short-lived. This village had been wise to hold his festival in the spring, so that they could incorporate the blossoms into his offerings. 

As he watched the pale pink blossoms float by, his mind drifted to the offering who was probably still asleep in his bed, or perhaps having breakfast. Now that he’d thought of her, he wanted her to come and bathe with him. She would probably be embarrassed, even though he’d seen every inch of her numerous times by now. Imagining her blushing face was getting him excited, so he summoned a shrine maiden and told her to bring the offering. 

Only a few minutes passed before the girl was led into the bathing room, wearing only the sheer white robe. The moisture in the air was making the thin fabric cling to her body in all the best places. Sukuna subconsciously licked his lips as the girl bowed low to the ground and the shrine maiden left. 

“You can look up,” he said, and he waited for her to raise her head and look at him before he stood up in the bath. The water came up to his thighs, leaving most of his body exposed. He watched her expression as her eyes raked over his form, water drizzling down over his muscular chest and abdomen, his cock soft but still large and impressive. He knew he was an attractive man. Many people, regardless of gender, had looked at him with appreciative eyes. But once they knew who he was, his reputation for cruelty and extreme violence made their sense of fear override any attraction they might have felt. 

Well, this strange offering was the exception. 

Even knowing he was a sadistic monster, she was completely overtaken by her lust for him. He found that endlessly amusing, and so he stood there wet and naked before her, giving her hungry little eyes a feast. 

“Stand,” he told her, “and remove your robe.”

Instead of getting up immediately, she instead lowered her flushed face back to the floor. “Lord Sukuna,” she began with a small and frightened voice, “may I please… request something of you?”

He stepped out of the bath and walked over to stand above her. This close, he could see that her body was trembling. Though he was normally annoyed by requests, he was too curious not to allow it. He asked, “What is your request?”

She kept her head to the floor and spoke in a frail and halting voice. “If… if you see fit to do so… could you please… show me mercy and b-be gentle with me today? My body still aches from last night, my Lord.”

Ah, so that was it. In all honesty, hearing her beg him to be gentle with her while quivering before him made him want to take her right there on the floor, harder than he ever had before. He wondered what sort of expression she would wear as he mercilessly pounded into her. Ahhh, he could hear her lovely screams in his mind, her pleading voice begging him to stop as he left fresh bruises all over her soft body. 

Then his mind was invaded by the image of her smiling, and the image of her hugging the pink robe. He sighed. “I’ll show you mercy, if you can satisfy me in other ways.

Now stand up and remove your robe.”

He watched her hurry to her feet, clearly eager to please him. As she shyly pulled off the robe and let it drop to her feet, he wondered how he would kill her at the end of the night. She had certainly pleased him enough to earn a quick death, but he didn’t want it to be over so soon. He wanted to take his time, draw out every agonized scream, slowly slice away parts of her until there was nothing left. 

Ah, but he didn’t have time for that. He would be leaving the village by morning. It was a shame that she wasn’t the offering on the first night. Then he would have had the whole week to enjoy her. The first four nights had been an utter waste. Only the first offering had made it to his bed, and only then because he hadn’t enjoyed a woman in weeks and wasn’t feeling particular. She’d been totally boring, a hole to fuck and nothing more. He didn’t even remember her face or what she’d sounded like. The other three had been eviscerated in front of the dais, their hysterical blubbering too annoying for him to bear. 

He looked at the bandaged girl in front of him and wondered if he’d ever be able to purge from his memory the image of her smiling face, the sounds of her sweet moans and cries, the feeling of her arms clutching him with all their meager might. He walked over to a stone seat near the water and sat down, deciding to give the matter more thought in the evening. 

********

When Lord Sukuna had stood up in the water, you’d literally stopped breathing for a few moments. Standing there naked, glistening with water, black ink trailing lines down his body, he looked every bit the god your village worshipped him as. When he came to stand over you, the closeness of that perfect body to yours made you feel dizzy. His beauty only made you more self conscious, but you took off your robe as he commanded. 

Now he was seated near the water, and he beckoned you to follow. You approached him slowly, dreading whatever he might do to you but also feeling an incredible thrill. You were already wet just from the sight of him. 

When you were close enough, he reached up a hand and ran it over your bandages. You felt a shiver when his damp palm slid over your bare nipples. 

“Let’s take these off,” he said, and began peeling the thin strips of cloth from your body. He unwrapped you as if he were opening a gift, using careful, intimate movements that left your face burning. When the bandages were completely removed, you somehow felt more naked, even though they covered very little to begin with. 

He pulled you closer to him, so that you were wedged in between his spread legs. You could feel that he was getting hard. As if in response, you felt your own arousal dripping down your legs. You clamped them together, embarrassed that you had no control over yourself when you were this close to him. But he looked at you with a smug smile, seemingly able to read your thoughts. One of his hands squeezed in between your thighs and moved up, just grazing your pussy before withdrawing. 

He held up his hand, shiny with your fluids, and looked you in the eyes as he licked it clean. Your knees nearly gave way. That look in his eyes said he knew he was driving you mad with lust, that he enjoyed making you so wet you could hardly bear it. He grinned as he leaned closer and said, “If you want me to show mercy to your dripping pussy, then satisfy me with your mouth.”

As he pulled back slightly, he licked two of his fingers, thoroughly coating them in his saliva, then plunged them into your mouth. He watched you suck them ravenously as he spoke again. “Ah, but I haven’t given you permission to have my cock in your hot little mouth. What are you going to do?” The question was asked in a mocking tone, but you knew the answer. 

His fingers slipped from your mouth and his strong hands pushed you down to your knees in front of him. His fully hard erection stood tall, inches from your face. You wanted it in your mouth immediately, to taste him, to please him. But he hadn’t given permission yet, so you looked up at him with teary eyes and said, “Please, Lord Sukuna… please honor me by letting me taste your cock.”

You saw his eyes widen just slightly, and his engorged member seemed to twitch. Then a wide smirk appeared on his handsome face. “Very well. You can taste it, but you’re not allowed to take it into your mouth yet.”

With a small bow of appreciation, you extended your tongue and began licking up and down his length, slowly, with worshipful motions. You paid special attention to the tip, where a few delicious drops were leaking out. Ahh, you wanted it in your mouth so badly! 

“Please, I beg of you, my Lord,” you said between licks, a thin string of his sticky precum connecting his tip to your tongue, “Let me take you into my unworthy mouth.”

He looked down at you with no expression. “Denied,” he said. 

His cock was throbbing under your tongue, but he clearly wasn’t going to go easy on you. It wasn’t like you were trying to be seductive, you were simply voicing your genuine desires. You nestled your tongue into his tip again and continued your pleading. 

“Lord Sukuna… please… I need you in my mouth… please! Fill my mouth with your cock… let me drink your cum…”

You said it all while licking every inch of him with religious devotion. 

Finally, he grinned down at you and said, “You can take me in your mouth now.”

Your lips immediately enclosed around his length, the unbelievably huge cock completely stuffing your waiting mouth, your tongue circling it. 

Even though you were enraptured with the taste of him, you heard his silky voice above you. 

“Oh, but now that I’m in your mouth, don’t take my cock out. No matter what. I’ll remove it when I’m ready.”

You looked up at him and nodded your head as best you could while having your mouth so full. You couldn’t imagine wanting to take it out now that you had such a gift in your mouth, but your mind was getting a little fuzzy, momentarily forgetting the kinds of cruel games Sukuna liked to play with you. 

Your legs were slippery, drenched in your own juices. You were so aroused, you couldn’t stop your hand from moving down to slip inside your folds. 

“Don’t touch your clit,” you heard Sukuna say in a commanding voice, and you felt like sobbing as you pulled your hand away. He wouldn’t touch it or allow you to touch it last night, and so it remained swollen and sensitive and begging for attention. 

You heard him laugh at your distress. “Such a needy little cunt,” he said. 

He was pulsing in your mouth, you could almost feel his heartbeat. You kept up your ministrations, using your entire mouth to pleasure him. The thick organ twitched once more, and then all at once his hand gripped your hair and pulled you forward until he was choking you. He came, shooting hot cum directly down your throat. But at the same moment, he released your hair and his hand moved to your nose, where he pinched it shut, cutting off your air. 

You almost jerked back in your panic, but you remembered him telling you not to take his cock out of your mouth, so you held on, feeling the warm and sticky cum sliding down your throat as you struggled to swallow it without breathing. Tears were falling from your eyes as you looked up at him, silently pleading for him to let you take a breath. He watched you for a moment before finally releasing your nose. 

For several moments you sucked in air through your nose and sputtered and coughed around his cock, not letting it fall out of your mouth. He seemed to be enjoying your struggle, looking down at you with an amused expression. It took you a little while to realize he still hadn’t pulled out, even though he had already cum. 

“Did you really think I would be satisfied with cumming in your mouth only once?” he asked. Then he reached down and stroked your hair as he said, “Keep me in your mouth until you make me cum again.”

You wasted no time swirling your tongue around his now soft cock. The first step was getting him hard again, so you focused on that, making gentle sucking motions and moving your head back and forth. You tried to ignore the red eyes staring down at you, watching you work, as well as the soreness blossoming in your jaw from keeping something so big in your mouth without letting your teeth hit it. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to be fully erect again, and the feeling of him swelling against your tongue made you even wetter. 

You had given up denying to yourself that you were falling for this monstrous man. He was cruel and brutal and enjoyed hurting you, but it didn’t change the way you felt in his presence. You wanted him, so much that your entire being ached for him. Even knowing he was going to kill you did nothing to dull your passion. And so you communicated those feelings through your mouth on his cock, wanting him to feel your desire, your love. 

And after only a few minutes, you felt him throbbing again. His hand returned to your hair, and you prepared yourself to have his cock shoved down your throat again, but this time he suddenly pulled himself out of your mouth. As you looked up at him curiously, his hand still holding your head still, you felt strings of hot cum shoot onto your face. It covered you, getting into your hair, dripping down over one of your eyes, across your nose, running down over your lips and falling from your chin to drizzle over your breasts. 

You stared up at him with one eye open, frozen, not daring to wipe any away without permission even as a glob of it ran over your left eyelid. As he looked down at your messy, cum-soaked face, Sukuna was smirking again, clearly very pleased with himself. He stroked the back of your hair and stood up from the stone seat. “Good girl,” he said, “now finish your meal.”

It took a moment for your addled mind to understand what he meant, but then it clicked for you. As he watched, you began wiping up globs of his cum with your hands and pushing it into your mouth, licking your fingers clean each time. You smiled up at him and said, “Thank you for this blessing, Lord Sukuna.”

The smirk seemed to vanish from his face, and he turned away from you. Was that….? No, it couldn’t have been…. You knew it had to have been your imagination, but for the briefest of moments, just before he turned away, you could’ve sworn there was a faint pink tint to his face. 

You didn’t have time to think more deeply on it, because soon after he turned back to you and scooped you up in his arms, carrying you to the bath. You didn’t protest, only gasped in surprise as he stepped into the water and sat down, easing you into the steamy warmth. The water smelled so sweet, like him. 

He gently pushed your entire head down into the water, just for a few seconds, then pulled you back up. Then he had a sponge in his hand, wiping at your face. When finished, he turned you to face away from him and then began running his hands through your hair, working some sort of lather into it. 

Was he really washing your hair? It seemed ludicrous. He was a tyrant, an evil god, but right now he was carefully rinsing your hair. The soft movements made your whole body tingle. Was this his way of rewarding you? Or the start of another sick game? 

Once your hair was washed, he sat back against the wall of the tub and pulled you into his lap, your back against his firm, wet chest. One of his hands moved over your body lightly, brushing over your nipples, your stomach, you hips, and then settling between your thighs. 

The hand just sat there for a while, not moving and not parting your folds, as if it were just a comfortable place to leave it. Then, just as you were relaxing, one of his fingers slipped in. It pointedly did not touch your clit, only the area around it, which drove you mad. He circled it without even grazing it once, and you quivered in his lap. 

“Please… Lord Sukuna…”

He had his mouth close to you ear. “Please what?”

“Please touch my…”

After you failed to finish the sentence, he whispered to you, “Touch your what?”

You squirmed as he kept rubbing everywhere except your aching nub. “My… c-clit,” you whined, both your hands gripping his strong arm. 

“I won’t,” he said, “and you won’t either. Not now.” 

The finger he’d been tormenting you with slid completely inside you, and was quickly joined by another. You moaned, your back arching against him as he pumped both fingers in and out of you. 

Your senses were overwhelmed. The heat of the water, the strong scent of cherry blossoms, Sukuna’s perfect body pressed against yours, his sultry whispers, his fingers fucking your needy hole… it was too much for your fragile emotions to handle. 

“Lord Sukuna… I love you…”

The words slipped out before you could stop them, and you quickly lowered your face to hide your blush. His fingers never stopped, and in fact he added a third as his other hand tilted your chin up to make you look at him. 

He looked amused, as usual, and said in his beautiful voice, “Such a pitiful little offering.” Before you could even wonder what he meant by those words, his mouth encased yours, his tongue pressing between your lips and swirling with your own. Your hips in his lap reflexively moved with the rhythm of his plunging fingers as you moaned into his mouth. 

Every inch of you felt amazing. You wanted to stay like this forever. If only the festival would never end, if only you could have been chosen the first night and had a few more nights with Sukuna, if only he felt even one tiny, fleeting speck of care for you. 

One of his fingers pressed a spot inside you that made you nearly scream in pleasure, and you came on his hand, your body shuddering in his arms while his lips drank in your moans. 

The two of you remained in the water for a while longer, neither of you speaking, your panting the only sound in the room. Then Sukuna stepped out of the water, and you followed soon after. 

You stared at his form longingly as he dried himself off. He caught your gaze and laughed. “We just bathed. Don’t tempt me to make a mess of you again.”

You blushed and turned away from him to finish drying off yourself. You were still embarrassed about your slip up earlier, when you accidentally admitted that you loved him. You knew such feelings from an ordinary village girl were laughable to him, so you hoped he would simply forget it. 

The two of you pulled on fresh robes and left the bathing room. As you walked down the hall a few steps behind Sukuna, he looked over his shoulder and said, “Let’s have something to eat. You don’t want to be hungry when night falls.” Then he continued on. 

You stopped dead in your tracks. It occurred to you that he would definitely take you in his bed one more time before the festival ended, and he would probably hurt you again. You thought you could withstand physical pain, you’d even made peace with the fact that he would kill you. But there was still something he could do to you that you didn’t think you could handle, something he would most likely do just for the sake of being cruel. He could let you know just how little he thought of you, how ridiculous your sad little love was, how meaningless these past few days had been to him. 

A strange little throb appeared in your chest, and you pressed your hand there to feel your own heart beating. You shook your head to try to dispel your dark thoughts, and hurried after Sukuna, deciding to do your best to enjoy your final hours. 

Tag List:

@yourmumsthings @boogeysmoth @gojoscumslut @slut4animedilfs @urcrybby24 @kaqua @chiisana-akuma @httpslu0 @thoreau-ly @poopoobuttsy

[k0komis]

Butterflies

Pairing: Dottore x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Your mind was always on Dottore, even thinking of him filled you with butterflies. But alas, he is a cruel harbinger. And he takes pleasure in breaking your silly fantasy.

Words: 1381

Warnings: Mature content, Dark Content, Physical Violence, Unwanted Sexual Advances, Degradation, Dottore being sadistic, Syringes and stuff, Maybe manipulation? Heavy angst. Not Beta Read.

You were one of those poor Snezhnayan people forced to work with the Fatui. Suffering days and nights so that your family gets food to eat and has a roof above their head. Yet you felt derived of these needs. You were neither an assassin, a scholar, none of those. Just a dumb, silent assistant to the second Harbinger, Il Dottore.

He made you work hard every hour, from running errands to spending hours in a fixed position having to hold something. The organisation paid you, yes, but the Doctor in his kindest would thank you with the most unnerving smile. And in his worst days? Sometimes your scars still hurt simply thinking about it.

But still you couldn't help but praise him. You, your family, everyone is alive because he was merciful to keep you alive. And you were glad you were just a labourer, his high ranked officers would rarely find themselves in control of their body.

Sometimes you would get a little daring. Staying back a little longer after he dismissed you just so you can feel his attention on you. You couldn't help but want to give everything to the harbinger. A twisted feeling inside you wanted to worship him, grovel at his feet with your thankfulness.

Your actions hadn't gone past Dottore. He had noticed one of the servants having a mind of their own, not simply following his orders. It piqued his curiosity, for this 'servant' didn't seem to rebel against him. And he was bored. Horribly bored. His experiments were going too smoothly, people around him scurried away like rabbits the moment they saw him- there was nothing he could take his time with.

Unless ofcourse, he took advantage of your innocence.

You were surprised to hear that Lord Dottore had called for you specifically. Patting down your clothes, you rushed to meet him. Numerous scenarios crossed your mind, lovesick ones, to the most horrifying ones. But you managed to compose yourself. You knocked on the cold and heavy wooden doors, cheeks flushed from anxiety.

You were permitted to enter. Upon doing so, the first thing you noticed was that The Doctor was without his mask. His back was turned to you, but you could clearly see the thing laying on his desk.

He gently kept the papers he was reading back on the table, and addressed you, "Do you know why you are here?"

You didn't. You daren't lie either. Your voice shaky, you replied, "No Lord Dottore, I do not."

The sinister chuckle that followed made shivers run down your spine. Is it finally your time? Would you have to leave your family alone in these desolate icy lands?

"What is your name?" He asked, turning to you. Words got stuck in your throat as those scarlet eyes pierced right through you. You felt exposed, vulnerable, threatened even, under his gaze. Somewhere deep inside you ached at the realisation he didn't know your name.

"y/n, sir."

"y/n, why did you join the fatui?" His question caught you off guard. The truth felt embarrassing to you. You were poor, helpless. You needed these near-god harbingers to spare you a morsel of their time to survive.

"I... I needed money." Dottore narrowed his eyes at your answer.

"Why me then? Wouldn't Pantalone suit that area better?" Dottore was seemingly poking at you. You felt it, he wanted to hear something particular. And you knew what he wanted to hear.

When you first saw the harbingers, you had immediately fallen in love with the Doctor. He made your heart erupt in butterflies. Despite being known as horrific and cruel, he was undoubtedly handsome, and you needed something to latch onto among these cruel members.

You were attracted to him. And you have spent years justifying that attraction to the point he's the only thing keeping you sane.

Your silence only amused him further. Within moments, you found yourself being cornered into the door by the man. The coldness of the wood seeped in through your shirt, sending shivers down your spine. You flinched when he raised his hand.

But instead of hitting you, he simply locked the door. The click brought you back to reality, your grave situation sinking down on you. The Doctor had trapped you.

"I'm special to you, right?" Gloved fingers caressed your cheekbones. You tilted your head away from his touch.

"How dare," He stopped to grasp your chin firmly, "you expect mercy out of me without giving me something in return?"

Your heart was almost exploding now. But no matter how much scared you were, an awful feeling in you made you happy, you were going to serve him! Your stomach fluttered, knees going weak just at the thought. The man's grasp on your face kept you steady, and your hands weakly grasped at his arms.

"What does master desire of me?" You asked.

Dottore grinned, sharp fangs showing. "I would've preferred a rebel. I like them screaming and trying to break free." He was almost talking to himself- and you felt horrified. You have disappointed him!

You let go of his arms, looking away in grief. A hard slap to your jaw completely disbalanced you, and you fell to the cold floor. Tears rolled down your reddened cheek, and he retorted, "Giving up so easily? What about pleasing me?"

The two of you stayed still for a few seconds as a frown covered Dottore's face.

"Hey, idiot... Don't ignore me." He kicked you hard to your abdomen. Everything about him was so strong, so forceful. Not only had you disappointed your saviour, you had angered him too.

Metallic taste wettened your mouth, you knew you were bleeding internally. "S-sorry-" you were stopped and you freezed with dread as a horribly stern voice asked you, "Get. Up."

Fidgeting around, you stood up and almost fell down immediately, your ribs breaking out in cramps. He grabbed your face, fingers pressing against your cheeks, making your lips pucker. He pushed a finger through your lips. You let it enter in your mouth and felt him poking your tongue.

He let your face go to inspect his hand. Noticing the blood, his eyes lit up. Soon you found yourself being pulled into a kiss, his tongue choking you with it's sheer size.

You've wanted to kiss him for the longest time, shouldn't you be happy? But where's the affection you wanted to give to him?

He pulled away, a string of mucus and blood connecting you two. He flipped you to your back, hand folded uncomfortably and pinned to your back. He licked down your neck to your shoulder, where he ripped of the scarf with his teeth.

"You are delicious. I want to devour you." He spoke on your skin before plunging his fangs into your skin. You screamed and felt him hum along your skin.

"The fear is coming out now."

His grip on your hips were cold and bruising. You could feel his crotch grinding against you. He was excited... But he wasn't going to let you enjoy any of it. You've wanted it haven't you? Only those upto his standards get what they want, not you.

Tears were now flowing freely down your face.

He dragged you to a nearby table and shoved you down on it. He put his elbow over your spine, pinning you down on the table. You felt a cold metal drag over the veins on your neck.

"NO!" You protested.

"Just like that. Com'n baby tell me you don't want it." He was unhinged, his voice dripping with poison. Whatever it was, you were sure didn't want it.

You prayed to Tsaritsa- or whichever god would hear you. Oh the terrible mistakes you've made being infatuated with a harbinger, with Dottore. You just want your family to be safe and healthy, whatever happens to you.

You felt the metal tip puncture your skin, burning your blood.

Dottore got impossibly close to your ear and whispered, "Your family will be safe, just give me this delicious flesh of yours."

As your consciousness started to fade, you heard him consoling you, "You loved me didn't you? Don't worry this will make you forget everything... Again."

Again?

Has he toyed with you before too and you never remembered?

[achaotichuman]

The moment Elain wrapped her lips around his cock, Tamlin was done for. He did not expect Elain to give head as good as she did, but Tamlin supposed she must have experience with Lucien. The thought sent an unexpected surge of pain through him, but he didn’t have time to contemplate his sorrow as Elain abruptly sucked him hard and he gasped. “Wha-“ Elain pulled away from him and Tamlin was about to beg her to come back, but she snapped, “You weren’t focused on me the whole time, so you deserve to be punished. No more for you.” Tamlin clasped his hands in prayer. “Master, please! I’ll be so good, I promise.” Elain tsked. “I’ve been merciful enough. Now…I’ll let Lucien handle your punishment.” Lucien walked over to him, and Tamlin studied the wicked scar slashing on the right side of his face. So long and sharp and jagged, complete with the metallic gold eye. So cruel and beautiful. “Perhaps Amarantha had the right idea,” Tamlin forced out, mustering the last bit of bravado he had. “You look even better with the scar.” Lucien smiled slowly and sinisterly. “I’ve always known how completely, utterly attracted to me you are, Tamlin. Since you’re so desperate for a scar like mine, why don’t I give you one?”             Then before Tamlin had the chance to react, Lucien’s hand grew talons which slashed across his face. Tamlin screamed, and there was a sickening squish as an object Tamlin knew was his eyeball fell to the ground. Suddenly, Tamlin could only see through one side, and panic began to set in as his singular eye desperately tried to adjust to give a full view of the world. Lucien only said gently, coaxingly, “Now you look just like me. How do you feel?” Pretty fucking terrible. Like breaking down and crying. Tamlin had no idea an eye could have so much blood. Somehow it was so much worse than having his intestines carved out. As a warrior and High Lord, Tamlin had always prided himself on his observation, his senses. Now, half his sight was gone. But, Tamlin knew that was the wrong answer. Instead, he forced his trembling lips to smile as he croaked, “Like…the…sexiest…male…alive.” Lucien laughed softly. “Is that how hot you think I am?” Lucien’s hand was wandering up Tamlin’s arm, finding a grip on his bicep. “Did you ever have doubt, my lord?” Tamlin whispered. Lucien smirked. “No. But it’s nice to hear you say it all the same. Unfortunately, you’re still not escaping your punishment.” Tamlin begged Lucien this time. “Please, master, have mercy on your former high lord.” Lucien waved his hand, and fire manacles wrapped around his clasped hands, holding them in prayer position. “This is a nice sight,” Lucien murmured. “You, begging before me. Last time, it was me begging you to have mercy on your sentries. How the tables have turned. Did you feel powerful then?” Lucien snarled in Tamlin’s ear, “Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling?” Tamlin shuddered. “No.” Lucien laughed lowly. “You want me to get on top of you so badly you can’t even enjoy the sight of me beneath you?” Tamlin nodded vigorously. He’d hated himself after that, for making Lucien feel so weak and afraid. But he couldn’t undo the past. “I’m sorry for that,” Tamlin said earnestly. Lucien’s eyes burned with fire. “No. But you will be.” Then he unsheathed those talons and lowered them upon his manhood.             Tamlin blacked out. When he woke up, he was jarred by the sight of Lucien slowly turning his castrated dick in his hand, even going so far as to stroke it up and down with his thumb. Tamlin groaned, unable to help himself even in the blinding pain. It’s not his fault Lucien drove him mad with lust. “You’re such a dirty, needy little whore,” Lucien chuckled. “Open your mouth,” Lucien ordered, every inch of him the High Lord. Tamlin obeyed, opening his mouth wide. Then Lucien forced Tamlin’s own dick down his throat.

I knew you had a thing going with castrating men with how many times you've said you'll castrate me but Christ, Mita, I never thought you'd actually write it. Not complaining though. Tamlin is getting every inch of himself ruined and the man is liking every second of it. For some reason this all feels purifying. I don't know why.

I also find it very funny that like a week ago you were the same girl who couldn't imagine putting smut on the internet and now here we are. Again, not complaining at all.

Also Tamlin is such a bottom bitch, I can't even. I want to be him though.

[snippychicke]

I really loved the Dali imagine you did, thank you for doing it for me! 🥰 May I be so bold as to ask for a continuation / part 2 to it? Hope all is well with you!

MisSam!!! I am so sorry it took me forever to write this! I really hope that it is well worth your wait, and I hope you enjoy!!!!

The next morning you woke again to feel much more… cohesive. 

Dali was still at your bedside, asleep in the hardback chair. Which meant you had a perfect opportunity to study the demon. 

Dali had been helpful as you adjusted to your new life. You had initially been a little creeped out by the fact he was always lingering nearby - but as one of the other teachers pointed out, you were the newest and 'very independent' for a new teacher. Your mentor - Buer - didn't seem to mind, but Dali was probably just concerned. 

Thus, you had started acknowledging him. Slowly the two of you began talking, and you felt like you were befriending him.

As well as developing a crush. 

He was nice, but it was the devilish side that had caught your interest. He may be a senior staff, but he still acted a bit childish at times as he pulled tricks on faculty and students alike. 

So no, you weren't upset by his prank. Honestly, you felt like you should have expected something like that sooner rather than later. 

But… now that he knew you were human, was everything going to change? 

--

Dali woke to something tickling his nose, preceding a slap to his face.

By his own hand.

Your laughter brightened the room as he startled awake. He blinked owlishly, confused for a moment before his mind woke up, refreshing him with the details of a long day and night at your bedside; holding a vigil as you fought the dire effects of his prank. 

But here you were, falling back into your bed as you gripped your ribs, a large grin on your face as you laughed. 

And - okay, that was a classic. He relaxed, smiling softly as he waited for your amusement to dwindle. 

You were awake. You were safe. 

You… were human. 

Devi, he felt like the biggest idiot when Lord Sullivan divulged that secret to him, after making him swear not to tell another soul. Things made so much sense now; why you tended to be skittish, your different thoughts, your imagination...

Watching you, feeling that fear that he may have accidentally killed you, made him realize - or rather admit several things. 

Mainly, his interest in you was far more complicated than he liked to pretend. It wasn't purely scholarly, or out of professional concern to make sure you were doing your job right.

He was attracted to you; your mind, your smile, your body. Everything that made you, you. Human, demon, it didn't matter to him. 

A wicked idea sprung to his mind as your laughter started to fade. He shifted before springing onto the bed, pinning you down. He grinned as your laughter suddenly died, your eyes wide with fear, face flushed darkly. 

"You dare to trick the master?" He growled with a feral grin before attacking your sides with his fingers. Tickles were torture after all, though your gasp and perles of laughter were anything but. He knew exactly how to toe the line between playful and too much, and made sure to stick right on the edge as you squirmed beneath him until tears were in your eyes as you begged for mercy. 

"You think you deserve mercy after the worry and heartache you put me through?" He purred, leaning close to whisper in your ear as his hands fell from your side to brace upon the bed. "I should gobble you up for making me worry so." 

He could almost hear your heart pounding. This close to you, he could smell the fear; a hint of that delicious scent he instinctively knew was human, as well as a trace of arousal. 

It answered part of his question, though he knew arousal didn't necessarily mean you were interested in him. He was your supervisor, and hopefully a confidante now that he knew your secret. Betraying your trust was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. 

"Well, if someone hadn't put toxic beetles in my desk," You shot back quietly, surprising him. He pulled back to study your face. You avoided his gaze, but there was a hint of steel in your expression nevertheless. 

"Well, I guess I will have to protect you from such careless idiots," He replied. "Though, I have a feeling they sincerely regret their idea now, and would offer their deepest apology." 

Your gaze drifted back to his, studying him intently before softening. "It was intended to be funny and not malicious. And it wasn't like they knew my… disability with magic." 

"Do you possess any magic?" He asked seriously, and felt his stomach twist as you shook your head. Devil, how had you lasted this long without any magic? In a school full of demons no less.

"I'll protect you," He swore, shifting to brush your hair. "You're one of my precious teachers who pledged their life to Babyls. No one will harm you under my watch." 

You hesitated before smiling once more. "I trust you." Before he could react, you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for looking out for me." 

Oh. Oh. He couldn't let you get away with that. "I can protect you from the others," He crooned, a warning in his tone. "But not when you play with fire like that." 

There was a pause as you registered his words; the meaning behind them, the hazy look in his eye. Dali was giving you every chance to back off, and instead you rose to the challenge. 

"You mean like this?" You wrapped your hand around the tie loosely hanging around his neck before you pulled him down. Dali happily met your lips in a kiss, moaning at the sensation. Soft, warm, smelling and tasting like some exotic treat. He groaned as he shifted to cradle your head between his hands, as one of yours wrapped around his shoulders to keep him close. 

It would be so, so easy to get carried away. Something about you was intoxicating, making the rest of the world blur into nothingness. All that mattered was your lips, your tongue. Your nails digging into his back, your legs shift to straddle his hips. 

Those small noises from the back of your throat, letting him know you were enjoying this just as much.

But, he had a reputation to uphold - and he had just vowed to protect you. Including from his own desires. He forced himself to pull away, though lingered close enough where your breath merged with his. "As much as I would love to continue, it's probably best if we… take it slow." 

"Can teachers even have relationships?" You asked softly, a hint of dread in your voice at the answer.

"As long as we both understand the student's safety comes first." And many demons found it hard to accept that their mate would always put their vow to Babyls before everything else. 

But you were human, and apparently full of surprises. "I would certainly hope so," You replied with indignation. "I would never ask for you to put my life before theirs." 

"Well then, it seems like I have an even better excuse to sit in on your lectures." 

[tyunni]

pLS IK for some reason seeing them so fit actually motivates me sjjsjsjd we can be on our way to get cooler tgt may 🤝🤧 bUT ALSO DIDNT JAKE ONCE UPON A TIME SAY THAT HIMSELF, RIKI AND SUNGHOON (i think ??) HAVE THE BEST ABS IN THE GROUP ????? SKSJSJJDJSJSKKSDJ

also yeah idk 👀 it was one of the first things on my tl but like that was the only post i saw of his abs sksjskks i’m pretty sure it was from the second concert too btw

WHAT IM SAYINGGG and riki being around our age is also a big motivation for real idk why but i feel like if they can do it then so can i 💪 ALSO YEAH WHEN JAKE WAS TALKING ABT THAT IM P SURE HE SAID JAY HAS THE BEST BODY OUT OF ALL OF THE BOYS????? NGL i do see it.. the concert pics 🙏 lord have mercy bcuz his biceps were showing and so were those hearts in my eyes THATS SO ATTRACTIVE OF HIM JAY LOOKS SO GOOD ENHA HAVE BEEN HITTING THEM GYM FOR REALLLL HOON IS GETTING SO BUFF TOO?????? Like i've seen a few tweets saying how it was like seeing them irl and i saw someone say sunghoon is super fit and buff WHICH IS SO COOL GOOD JOB TO THEM HONESTLY 😔🙏 during future perfect promotions too u could see sunghoon has nice biceps AND THE PARADOXXX INVASION MV TOO LMFAOAOOAOA THE SCENE WHERE HE JUST STANDS FLEXING THEM ITS SO CUTE 😭😭 Theyre super proud of themselves and feel good working out and it shows. Tbh that's all that matters they seem proud ESP HOON HE'S SO CUTE 😭😭😭

[wisdomrays]

TALBIS (Self-Concealment): Part 2

Heroes of self-concealment are always in self-negation and self-denial and try to attract the attention to the Almighty in everything they do. But some scholars, like Harawi and Ibn Qayyim, went to extremes in evaluating this virtue; the former asserted that it is the Almighty, not the servant, Who conceals His servant from others, while the latter denied this state altogether. For this reason, I would like to remind the reader once more that self-concealment denotes that travelers to the Truth, who have attained spiritual purity by carefully performing their obligatory religious duties, have become deeper in their attachment to supererogatory acts of worship in order to be favored with God's company and have become polished mirrors reflecting His manifestations of Majesty and Grace. The All-Generous One becomes the eyes and ears of His servants who have reached this point; they see and hear with Him, and He never leaves them to suffer loneliness and helplessness without anyone to claim them. By means of the criteria which He inspires in them so that they view life, things and events appropriately, He causes them to reach the best results in both this world and the hereafter. He causes them to see things that others cannot see and to hear things that others cannot hear, and he employs them to carry out His will in the human realm and to convey to people the things which He is pleased with and the things He wills others to do. The Qur'anic statements, When you threw, it was not you who threw, but God who threw (8:17), and Those who swear allegiance to you (O Muhammad), swear allegiance only to God. God's Hand (of aid) is over their hands (48:10), refer to this point, in that those who have reached this rank are absolutely convinced of Divine Unity, but sometimes they see everything annihilated in God and sometimes they are able to distinguish the absolute (Divine) Existence and the relative existence (of other beings) from each other. Although the rank indicated by the verses belongs primarily to the Prophets, who are the purest of all and incomparably superior in self-concealment, as in all other virtues, other heroes of self-concealment have a share in it. However, the self-concealment experienced by travelers on the way to God is concerned with and should be attributed to the Divine Attributes, not the Divine Being, and the unchangeable rules of Shari'a determine its limits and nature. The throwing and hitting, seeing and speaking, and exalting by participating in allegiance, which are mentioned in the verses just cited, signify that the Truth manifests His Attributes of Majesty and Perfection, not His Divine Being, on the chosen, matchless being, upon him be peace and blessings.

This consideration is expressed in the following words of Jalal al-Din al-Rumi, although they also suggest to some extent annihilation in God and subsistence with Him:

Noah said: O people leading rebellion to God, I am not myself;

I am dead with respect to my soul, but alive to the Beloved One.

I died and was annihilated with respect to some senses of Adam, the father of humanity,

And the Truth has become (a means of) hearing, seeing and perceiving for me.

From the very beginning, the people of truth have stressed that existence arises from self-annihilation and that the assertion of self-existence ends in annihilation. The best and most appropriate approach in this respect is that travelers to the Truth annihilate themselves with respect to their carnal selves and ego and that they find a new life in spirit and heart.

Our Lord, do not let our hearts swerve after You have guided us, and bestow upon us mercy from Your Presence. Surely You, only You, are the (Munificent) Bestower. Let God's blessings be upon our master Muhammad and upon his family and Companions to the fullness of the earth and heavens.

[prabhupadanugas]

Varaha Dvadashi: Lord Varahadeva appearance day From: Shrimad Bhagavatam, Canto 3. The pregnancy of Diti Jaya and Vijaya cursed by the four Kumaras The appearance of Lord Varaha The victory of Hiranyaksha and his death at the hands of Lord Varaha. After describing the appearance of the white Boar Incarnation that had appeared during the Svayambhuva devastation, Maitreya next described the red Boar Incarnation that had appeared during the Chakshusha devastation. Maitreya related these pastimes to Vidura in the same manner in which he had heard them long ago when Lord Brahma had narrated them to the demigods. Once upon a time, at sunset, Kashyapa, the son of Marichi, was offering oblations to Lord Vishnu into the sacrificial fire. At this time, his wife, Diti, approached him due to being greatly afflicted by sex desire. Without trying to attract him gradually by her bodily expressions, the beautiful Diti frankly begged her husband, "O learned one, Cupid is forcibly distressing me with his arrows, just as an elephant troubles a banana tree. I want to have sons like my co-wives and so you should be merciful to me." "My father, Daksha, had separately asked each of his daughters, whom we preferred to marry. Then, after understanding our intentions, he handed over thirteen of his daughters to you, and we have been faithful to you ever since that time. O lotus-eyed one, when someone in distress approaches a great person, his pleas should never go in vain." The hen-pecked Kashyapa could have strongly refused his wife, but because he was also sexually inclined, he tried to pacify Diti, who had become very poor-hearted and talkative, due to the contamination of lust. Kashyapa said, "O afflicted one, I shall soon gratify your desire. It is only due to having a good wife that a man like me can cross over the great ocean of material existence. Indeed, a wife is so helpful that she is called the better half of a man's body. Just as a military commander can easily conquer invaders while remaining protected within a fort, so a man can conquer his senses by taking shelter of a good wife. https://www.instagram.com/p/CoKDpgZrLdE/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sukirichi]

black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

 “I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.

[tales-unique]

FAITH, LOST  III

I gave myself a small case of blue balls with this chapter, I apologize! It gets a little, ahem, spicy. ❤️

Edit: @chelseareferenced forgot to tag my boo! Sorry love!

Chapter 3

Lords grant you mercy you were going to kill him if he didn’t let you out. Heisenberg had, quite quickly, established a set of ground rules that you were to adhere to at all times when in the Factory, the most notable being that you weren’t to leave the upper floors without him under any circumstances. This, of course, left you alone for the majority of your time there since he never allowed you to aid him in his work.

You’ll just get in my way — he’d sneer at you, patting your head in a condescending manner. Not to mention the Lycans have a preference for young, supple devotees — he would tease you, wiggling his gloved fingers at you from inside in the elevator, chuckling to himself as he descended into the bowels of the factory to continue his projects. You had no idea what he was creating down there, but you knew that it often didn’t work out as planned from the way he’d fume when he returned. Once again you have been left to your own devices, only this time you have a way to alleviate at least some of your boredom. With a huff of effort you slide to the floor and crawl over to an old vent duct in the wall. It had caught your attention one night when the echoing of his voice through the shaft had woken you up, realizing that one of his work rooms below you was connected to yours via this duct. Though it provided you with minimal entertainment, it did give you insight to the type of work he did. Experiments; this was where he made the Lycans and the other twisted creatures that roamed his Factory. One night, against your better judgement, you had read an extract from an open journal on his desk when trying to make yourself useful. It mentioned something called Soldats and an army he was trying to create. You were lucky that you had moved away from it to straighten his sheets, otherwise he would have caught you red handed. Not that he was happy to have you in his space at all. “Fuck!” The loud cursing pulls you back to reality and you peer down the shaft expectantly, gripping the grate that covers it as you listen to Heisenberg rant about his latest creation being a failure. He had a tendency to speak out loud, likely recording his findings. The echo of his boots thudding against the metal floor betrays his movements and you follow it along the floor until you can’t hear it anymore. It means one of two things; either he’s leaving the Factory altogether or he’s coming back up. Quickly, you get to your feet and smooth down your clothes; a pair of simple trousers and a tunic top. You’d managed to scrounge up the modest outfit with the help of the ever amicable and charming Duke after a rather abrupt introduction from Heisenberg. Begrudgingly he allowed you to pick whatever you deemed necessary, and even a few luxuries like a fancy hand mirror, even though he complained that you were going to bankrupt him. It didn’t stop him lingering nearby, supervising the exchange through the puffs of cigar smoke. It was on your return to the upper levels, Heisenberg fancying the stairs instead of the elevator this time, that you’d properly come into contact with the Lycans. You weren’t sure what possessed him to give you a glimpse of inner workings of his Factory. Maybe it was another cheap shot at frightening you, or maybe it was pride that drove him to parade his creations before you. Needless to say, they did scare you. The lower reaches of the Factory was their domain and as you followed Heisenberg closely, his one clear instruction, you couldn’t help but feel their eyes watching you from afar. They snarled and growled and howled at your intrusion, sniffing the air curiously. It was rare for their Master to bring something new to their den and not let them tear it limb from limb. You were quick to beg him to take you back to the relative safety of the upper floors, which he did so with immense satisfaction and shit-eating grin on his face. The sound of the elevator dings and you come to stand in the doorway, watching him stalk out as soon as the gate opens, muttering heatedly to himself. In typical Heisenberg fashion he stalks right past you and into his office without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. Clearly someone was having a bad day. Steeling yourself, you pad gently to his office door and find that he’s left it open for once. A good sign. Usually if his mood is dangerously sour the door is slammed shut and you avoid him like the plague until he makes himself known, but that isn’t necessary this time. “Is everything alright?” You ask from the threshold, careful not to enter until you’re invited. Like the ever faithful woman you are you try to serve him as best you can, even if he does make it very difficult at times. Heisenberg sits in his metal chair, leaning back. His stance is exasperated, but the tight grip on the shot of liquor in his hand is angry. His hat and coat have been discarded on his bed, his glasses sit on the desk, and you see blood on his knuckles. Upon closer inspection you see the trails of splatter on his exposed forearms, his shirt sleeves having been rolled up while he was working no doubt. “Yeah,” he breathes, raising the glass in a mock toast, “I’m just dandy.” He is definitely not dandy. Toying with the prospect of overstepping the mark or remaining respectful to his status, you rock on the balls of your feet. On one hand he always seemed so annoyed when you’d remind him that you were there to serve him, as Mother Miranda had instructed, but on the other he often chastised you if you tried to take the initiative; frankly, the constant push and pull drove you mad. “Heisenberg,” you chide quietly, approaching him cautiously. He hated it when you called him my Lord, or even sir, heatedly telling you to just call him by his surname like everyone else did. You obeyed, accepting it as the happy medium. Vibrant green eyes watch you closely as you settle for leaning against the desk, careful not to disturb the organized chaos that was his research. It’s still a work in progress, the way you navigate around one another, but you’re slowly making progress. “You can talk to me, you know,” you remind him, trying to remain resolute under his intense stare. There’s no denying that his rugged appearance, scars and all, are attractive and his more wolfish qualities gave him a uniqueness that was equal parts exciting and intimidating. You swallow nervously at the notion that you may be growing a little too comfortable in your thoughts of Lord Heisenberg. “Is that right?” He hums, knocking back the shot in one. He sets the glass down slowly on the desk, lulling you into a false sense of security that you had no business having in that place. In an instant he’s up on his feet and towering over you, hands braced on either side of you. You stiffen at the sudden closeness, looking up at him with a startled expression; he always gets a kick out of scaring you. “And just what would we talk about?” Comes his veiled question, shrouded in feigned innocence, asked in a voice like sin. You can practically feel the static in the air, the room electrified. He’s trying to tempt you, to trip you up so you’ll fall into his trap and make a fool of yourself. It’s a game he likes to play. That little hummingbird caged within you is in full flight when he runs a clawed finger gently down your cheek, the threat of him slipping and slicing your flesh too real to ignore. Oh, how he finds your fear so tantalizing. Your lips part in a shaky exhale, chest tight with the onset of emotions you’d really not want to be unpacking right now. The metal edge of his desk digs into the back of your thighs, boxed in by his large frame. This close you can feel the heat that emanates from him, a consistent wave, that mingles with the scent of oil, leather, and something wholly him. It leaves you reeling, panicked by the unsettling notion that you like it. You’re losing the game so early on and he knows it, even though it was rigged from the start to be in his favour. Just at the point when you’re about to crumble, your body yearning for that delectable touch to trail just that little bit lower, Heisenberg cuts you off. It’s cold and efficient, with all the precision you’d expect from someone of his talents. With a low, downright sinful chuckle he takes a step back, leaving you a wide-eyed, wanton mess. He’s won and you just let him do it. Colour burns shamefully on your cheeks and you’re quick to scamper away to hide in your room, proverbial tail between your legs. You’re furious that you made things so easy for him to play you, and play you he did. Utter fool. Little did you know that the fourth, and most dangerous, Lord had played himself for a fool too.

[nicole-lynne]

Pool Party Disaster

Notes: Well y'all, because I'm the worst, this has been sitting in my drafts for the better part of a year. It was supposed to be for @kayteewritessteve's writing challenge...and then I lost every single motivation I had to do anything I enjoyed. So it's 100% late and who knows how it really turned out. But I finished it so here ya go!

Description: Steve and you are in a secret relationship, but it may not be so secret anymore after some semi-public sex.

Based off the prompt: "I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one would notice."

Warnings: NSFW +18. Minors DNI.

You watched lazily as a bead of water rolled down Steve’s shoulder blade, past the dip of his back, and disappeared into his swim shorts. In a large group of people, you knew you should look away, but it felt impossible to drag your eyes away from the place where the shorts hugged his muscular thighs.

“You know you’re drooling, right?”

Snapping your eyes in the other direction, you shifted to find Bucky hovering behind your chair with an annoying smirk on his face. Folding your arms roughly, you ignored the heat in your cheeks. “I was not.”

“Yes, you were.” Bucky said as he moved to sit in the pool chair next to you. “But it’s okay, I don’t think anyone else saw.”

“There was nothing for anyone else to see anyways.” You said snarkily.

“You two aren’t discrete at all, you know? Steve practically popped a boner when you walked out in your suit. Somehow all these other idiots just haven’t put two and two together yet.”

Truthfully, you weren’t surprised that Bucky had figured it out. He was Steve’s best friend and a trained assassin. It’d been more surprising to you that it had taken him this long. You and Steve had started this, whatever this was, over a month ago and no one had mentioned it yet.

There was a part of you that wanted to deny it just for the satisfaction of seeing Bucky question himself, but the other part felt relieved that someone finally knew. And as you glanced over at Steve, laughing with Thor about something, you knew, no one denies Steve Roger. He’s the kind of guy that girls trip over themselves to get a few moments of attention.

“Look, Buck-”

“It’s fine, it’ll be our little secret.” He squeezed your arm lightly, clearly seeing all of the thoughts on your face. “Why not let you two have your fun while you can. You know Tony will blow a gasket once he finds out.”

The idea of your brother finding out about your budding romance with the supersoldier wasn’t exactly something you wanted to think about today. Clearing your throat, you gave Bucky a smirk with a bit of gratefulness behind it.

“Although, I’m still amazed you’ve been able to keep it a secret from the little play-boy genius.”

“It’s not like we’re making out right in front of him, Buck.” You said, irritated.

“No, you were just practically undressing him with your eyes like a love-sick teenager.” Bucky guffawed loudly, and you shoved him backwards futilely. He stayed planted to the chair, snorting at your weak attempt. “Okay, fine, I’ll drop it. I’m just saying, you better get a plan together before Tony stumbles upon it on his own. After the Accords and...well, you know he’s not Steve, or my, biggest fan.”

“I know...you know I don’t blame either of you for that though.”

“We know you don’t, doll. It’s still hard to live with.” Bucky said with a grimace.

“Buck, it wasn’t you. And I’m glad Steve protected you from Tony. You’re his best friend and he needs you in his life.” Reaching forward, you squeezed his hand until he looked up at you. “Besides, who else would annoy me if you weren’t around.”

“You know you love me.” He scoffed, giving you a big grin. “So what are you guys gonna do?”

“Eventually, we’ll work on a plan, but for right now, thanks for keeping it quiet. You’re a great friend, even if you are a sadistic ass sometimes.” You smiled and patted his leg before standing up and moving towards the patio door that entered into the huge kitchen.

To your back, Bucky shouted, “Baby, you don’t even know the half of it,” making you shake your head and giggle. Sliding the door closed, the rest of the noise from the backyard hushed to a dull roar.

You made your way toward the island, in search of something to snack on. Finally you located some tostitos - score! Pulling out a handful of chips, you turned to watch the party through the glass panes that took up the whole fourth wall.

You were pretty sure that Tony had invited the entire company for his barbeque and no one dared to decline. He wasn’t exactly scary or anything, but he definitely liked things a specific way and he always made a mental note if someone wronged him - in his eyes. That was the reason it was so hard to admit this thing with Steve. It wasn’t a secret that Tony didn’t like Steve and he wouldn’t be too happy to know that his little sister might be falling - hard - for the supersoldier.

The sound of the door opening and closing brought you back to reality and you looked up to find Steve watching you intensely from the other side of the kitchen. The light framed him, reflecting on the few drops of water on his chest, and his hair was spiked from where he’d run his fingers through it.

“Hey there, soldier.” You said, smiling sweetly at him.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He replied, walking around the island to you. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Yeah, it’s alright. Not as much fun since we have to keep our distance.”

“Seemed like Bucky was keeping you company.” He said curtly, his gaze focused on the solo cup on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow, “um, yeah I guess so.” Steve hmphed grumpily. “He was teasing me about being so obvious while I checked you out. He said we’re not discrete enough to be having such a naughty fling.”

Surprised, Steve lifted his eyes to meet yours. “Oh. I thought... Well, I thought he might be-”

“Hitting on me?”

“Something like that.”

Reaching forward, you slipped your hand into his. “He wouldn’t be dumb enough to do that, Steve, when I’m so obviously into you. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all afternoon.”

Steve let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “I’m sorry, doll. I guess it’s just seeing you like this has my head all cloudy. It’s hard not to imagine every guy being attracted to you looking like that.”

“Are you serious? I’ve been watching these vultures circle you all day hoping to get a shred of your attention. It’s ridiculous.” You laughed haughtily and hopped up to sit on the counter top. “I think one girl jumped into the pool in front of you like six times trying to catch your eye.”

“Really? I haven’t even noticed.” Steve said, amusement in his voice, as he moved to stand between your legs. “I was too busy focusing on how incredible you look and how much I wanted to have you wrapped around me.”

You let out a shuddered breath as he dipped his head down to press a kiss against your exposed shoulder while his hand moved under your top and pinched your hard nipple. Every time he talked like that, so different from his public image, it made you black out. There was only the tiniest voice telling you that anyone could walk in at any moment.

“You’ve got to stop talking like that or I won’t be able to control myself.” You panted, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had spotted you through the tinted glass.

Steve’s lips trailed up your neck until his teeth nipped at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “What if I don’t want you to control yourself?”

Lord have mercy, this man was going to kill you.

“I’ve been so desperate to have you all day, sweetheart. I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one would notice.”

“What if someone’s watching?”

“No one’s watching us. They’re all too scared of Tony to look for us.” His fingers on his free hand traced back and forth along the tops of your thighs, leaving goose bumps where he touched.

“Aren’t you?” You forced yourself to ask.

Steve leaned back to look at you, “Scared of Tony? Nah. I’ve fought him for the people I love before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

You couldn’t help the smile that grew from his words and shifted closer to his body, letting the heat of his skin radiate through you.

Breaking the silence, Steve’s gruff voice said, “Now do you want to explain why you snuck out of my bed before I could have my way with you this morning.”

You hadn’t meant to leave him hanging this morning, but you’d been late for your meeting already, and if the hard-on pressed against your ass was any indication for how the rest of your morning would go, you couldn’t risk being any later.

“I-I was late for a meeting that I couldn’t miss.” You managed to stutter as his mouth trailed down and sucked on the pulse point in your neck, knowing that always drove you crazy. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t want to wait until tonight,” He nudged your thighs apart more and ran his index finger along the edge of thin material covering you, rolling your nipple with the other hand. “I want you now.”

Before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your clit through the bottoms and captured your mouth in a kiss, swallowing your moan happily. Your lips parted and his tongue slipped against yours. In just a few moments, he had you worked up and you were grateful that the swimsuit was absorbent. Then, with no hesitation, he broke your kiss and dropped to his knees, his pupils blown with lust.

“Steve,” you hissed, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve been dying to taste you, sweetheart.” He said as he pulled the fabric to the side hastily and ran his tongue through your slit. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan and, instantly, you ran your fingers through his hair. “God you’re amazing.”

“Don’t stop.” You breathed out.

Quickly, he sucked your clit and flicked his tongue back and forth over it, causing your eyes to roll back with intense pleasure. His finger teased at your entrance and, with one look up to your blissed-out face, he pushed in one finger to the knuckle.

As slow as he could, he dragged his finger out of you, hooking it just right against your g-spot, then pushed it back in. Each time, playing with your clit in the same rhythm. You were dripping wet but Steve wasn’t letting any of it go to waste. The warm feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach and you knew this orgasm wouldn’t take long at all.

You were beginning to regret not waking him up this morning.

His other hand cupped your ass and pulled you closer to his face just in time for him to hit your g-spot and your clit at the same time, pushing you just over that edge. Fire raced through your veins as you rode out your high, his moans sent vibrations through your body that made you buck against him harder. His hands gripped you tightly to keep you sat on the counter until you started to come down, his mouth still working against you in gentle motions before letting your suit snap back into place.

Slowly, he pressed a soft kiss to each of your thighs and stood up, letting you pull him in for a kiss and you moaned as the taste of yourself hit your tongue. You let your hands roam down his chest to stop at the top of his shorts. Only hesitating for a second, you pulled them down enough to reveal how hard Steve was.

“Can I fuck you, baby?” His breathing was ragged, his lips brushed against yours, as you pumped him in your hand.

All your inhibitions went out the window and all you could do was whimper in response. With one swift motion, he jerked your suit to the side and pushed into you, both of you groaning in pleasure. He didn’t pause to give you time, instead, he began thrusting into you mercilessly.

Your head tipped back, letting him drop his lips to your exposed neck. He slammed into you over and over, rocking your body on the counter, and you dug your nails into his shoulder, desperate for something to ground you.

“Feels so good, sweetheart.” Steve murmured. “Were made for my cock.”

His dirty words made you moan, and you tightened your legs around his waist in response. Slipping his hands under your ass, he lifted you up so he was hitting a deeper angle. With the change, you slipped your hand between your bodies and started circling your clit, bringing your orgasm closer.

“Don’t stop, Captain.” You huffed.

The second you used his title, his eyes darkened with lust and his speed picked up as he stroked into you roughly. Each time, he hit the perfect spot and your eyes rolled back in your head. Your hand had stopped moving, distracted by what Steve was doing. Pushing your hand to the side, Steve moved into the spot and rubbed in sync with his movements.

“You gonna be a good little girl and cum for me?” He growled.

A few more thrusts and your orgasm washed over you and you clenched around his dick in pleasure. Immediately, he attached his lips to yours in a passionate kiss and you slipped your hand into his hair to tug him closer. He pulled out of you two more times before he faltered and his own orgasm hit him. You could feel him pulsing in you and there was no stopping your own body squeezing him for everything he had.

Both of you were panting, trying to catch your breath, occasionally making eye contact and laughing about what had just happened. Gently, he pulled out of you and tucked himself back into his shorts before reaching for a few napkins on the counter and cleaned you up as best as he could.

“Thanks, soldier.” You giggled, adjusting your suit bottoms.

Steve opened his mouth to respond when FRIDAY interrupted. “Mr. Stark requests your presence in the study.” All the bliss drained from your body instantly. You whipped your head around to look at Steve but his face was already hard as stone. Sliding off the counter, you dragged yourself toward the study with Steve trailing behind you, silent as a shadow. You lingered at the door for a moment before pushing the door open and walking in.

Behind the desk, Tony sat back in his plush chair with his hands steepled together. His lips were tight together in a harsh line and he was glaring daggers into Steve behind you.

“On the counter? Really? I eat there.” Was all he said.

“H-how did you know?” You squeaked.

“I always ask FRIDAY to inform me of any... inappropriate behavior when I throw a party.” Tony raised a brow incredulously, “People are animals and can’t keep their hands off each other in public, clearly.”

“Hey,” Steve snapped, “keep it respectful.”

“Why don’t you take your own advice, Cap.” Tony jumped up. “That’s my little sister you had your filthy hands all over.”

You blanched at the thought of Tony seeing what you’d just done.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out this way, but that doesn’t give you the right to judge either of us.” Steve took a step toward Tony. “I’m well aware of some of your indiscretions in your past.”

“Indiscretions are way different from absolute betrayal.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic now, Tony.” Steve ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I think I deserve to be dramatic after my sister was being railed on my kitchen counter.”

“That’s enough,” Steve stood in front of Tony and balled a fist into his shirt roughly, “you’re not going to talk about her like that again.”

Neither of them paying attention to you, you backed up and dropped onto the couch. Tears swelled in your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. This was the worst case scenario of your brother finding out - no, this hadn’t even come up in your list of worst case scenarios. You were absolutely mortified that a moment like that had been captured on camera.

Not able to stop it, a sob slipped from you and you buried your face in your hands. Steve’s eyes moved from Tony’s face down to you, instantly releasing Tony’s shirt and moving to your side.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder and tucked you into his chest, making you cry harder, your body shaking violently.

“Ahh kid, I...” Tony trailed off, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Steve glared at Tony harshly, then leaned down to kiss your head. “Baby, I need you to try and take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

Lifting your chin with his fingers, he waited patiently until you made eye contact with him. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, but Steve didn’t judge, only waited until you nodded slightly. He took a deep breath and you followed his motions, inhaling deeply, holding at the top, and releasing it slowly.

Steve held your focus as he breathed with you until you stopped shaking and the tears were dried on your cheeks. He gently cradled your face, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs, before kissing the tip of your nose.

You knew, without a doubt, that you loved Steve more than anyone you’d ever been with. The fact that he’d helped you through this breakdown had just made it more clear that he was the one you wanted to be with. Your eyes fluttered shut and you worked up the courage to look at your brother. Turning to him, you grimaced at the blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry about how you found out, Ton. But I’m not sorry for loving Steve. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m not going to let your own emotional problems get in the way of my happiness.” You croaked, your throat raw from crying.

Tony’s face fell and he had the decency to look ashamed. “Kid, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry for what I said. I guess I was just in shock at...”

“I know this isn’t easy for you, but believe me, this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out either.” Steve squeezed your hand in support and you gave him a small smile.

“You really care about her, Rogers?”

“No, Tony.” Steve said and your head snapped up to see him grinning at you, “I love her. I’m in love with her.”

Not having a care in the world, you launched yourself at him to give him a huge kiss. Steve chuckled but kissed you back with the same enthusiasm. Tony groaned and grumbled until you leaned back, a blush on your cheeks.

“Look, I guess this all fine and dandy, but let’s try to keep the displays of affection in front of me to a minimum. I already have to bleach my eyeballs and I don’t need any more reasons.” Tony headed toward the door, avoiding looking in your direction again. “And Cap, if you hurt one hair on my baby sister’s head, I will blast your ass all the way to Wakanda.”

You and Steve bust out laughing and you let him haul you to your feet. He held your face affectionately and you leaned into his touch.

“Since we’ve got Tony’s blessing now, you want to sneak home for round two?” He teased.

“No way, Captain. Now that we’re free, I’m planning on spending the whole day with you in the pool.” You took his hand in yours and pulled him to the door. “Besides, I’ve got to show all those girls who you belong to.”

“Belong to?” Steve darted forward and flipped you over his shoulder, smacking your butt playfully. “I think you’re all mine, baby.”

[gingermintpepper]

Gloxinia and Meliodas' First Meeting.

Time Period: Sometime during the Holy War

»»————-　♔　————-««

He remembers the Lord of the Faefolk.

Elizabeth lays limp in his arms.

The world explodes around him, typhoon’s cacophonous touch laying waste to the landscape but he does not feel the slice of the wind. Raindrops pierce through the clouds, bullets of water that seem to attack the thin veil of his cloak but he cares not for them. All he knows is the gellid flesh pressed against his chest, the drooping wings whose feathers seem to swell with water, bright white eyelashes slack from exhaustion, delicate eyebrows devoid of that determined furrow.

He’s running out of options, had gravely miscalculated during his battle with Calmadios and now was left without a place to return to, without a roof with which to weather this storm under. He had no place where Elizabeth could rest and recuperate from her wounds.

Even amongst the wanton destruction Meliodas had wrought in his time in the physical realm, the memory stands stark in the backdrop of his mind. A routine perimeter sweep after they had managed to gain new territory from beating back the Goddess Clan in the south. The normal agenda after such events - visiting the human nests, establishing the new order, weeding out dissenters and surviving pests, setting up scouts; it was all necessary yet monotonous activity so no one particularly fancied running such errands. It was only because Meliodas had drawn the short lot that he had to do the grunt work himself.

He hadn’t expected to find Fairies in the human nest, small creatures with their delicate wings healing humans and helping repair their odd little hutches. He’d not so much as heard about encounters with Fairies since coming into the realm - only knew of the whispers of the so-called Fairy King’s Forest and the great magic that was contained within. Meliodas thought it all nothing more than the mangled stories of drunk demons. He hadn’t felt any significant magic in the physical realm besides the heavy cloud that was the bestial Giant Clan and so he had dismissed even the notion of Fairies as such.

Yet there they were, smaller than even him in their diminutive stature, little faces scrunched in joy and determination even as the nest around them was razed and half ablaze.

And so Meliodas thought, ‘If the Fae are real, then surely their King is no illusion either.’

Zeldris must have heard by now he thinks. Would know that he made good on his word to abandon their people for the sake of Elizabeth and, ultimately, for ending this useless conflict.

Was he laughing at him? Was he gleefully watching his heinous older brother suffer for choosing a lover over the future of their clan only to immediately lose her to his pride? Meliodas alone had made the decision to defect while surrounded by his troops and three Commandments. His confidence in his strength had cost him dearly, but with Elizabeth at his back, he had felt invincible.

The rain continues to pour around them, but Meliodas cannot feel its freezing touch. Elizabeth’s warm blood is beginning to seep through her clothes. He doesn’t want to hold her tighter, fears that squeezing her will only make her bleed out faster. What good is his strength if he cannot help those most important to him in their times of need?

Lightning tears the sky asunder, thunder racing so close to its heel that the world around him seems to quake. He’ll have to land - he can’t risk attracting the bolts with Elizabeth in his grip. He is a demon but he can’t help but pray.

Prays that the chill descending on Elizabeth’s skin is only the rain. Prays that Zeldris finds some way to end the conflict too. Prays that he hasn’t ruined the only thing that could save Elizabeth’s life.

It surprises him even now. The ease with which the Fairies revealed the location of their home to him. Meliodas was quite aware that they knew him to be a demon. Even without knowledge of the rank or class that he occupied, his magic alone was nothing but purest, deepest black - yet, even as they trembled with their breaths caught in their throats and their little fingers halted in their actions, they dutifully told him what it was he wanted to know.

He remembers thinking then that the Fairies were a weak bunch - that they were a naive people who surely teetered on the brink of extinction for the easily exploitable trust they so readily gave.

Then came the fog.

He’s not surprised that even during this tempest, the fog is thick.

The last time he entered, the mist showed him illusions that confounded him for hours. The road disappeared beneath him, he’d ended up on a mountain and then at a lake and throughout it all quiet laughter echoed in his ear, disorienting him. Angering him.

Today there is only the quiet of deep, deep fog and the dampened splashing of rain as it struggles to cut through haze.

Meliodas lands on the muddy ground and takes off sprinting. He slips in an errant puddle, the ground slick and treacherous but even then he does not let go of Elizabeth. The air’s knocked from his lungs as he lands on his back. His shoulder burns but he cannot heal himself. He does not know what effect his miasma would have on Elizabeth in this weakened state. He does not want to find out. With trembling fingers, he adjusts her, frowns as the muscles beneath her fair skin refuse to twitch even when he lets his touch linger on the plush flesh of her lips, her cheek, the puncture in her stomach which gushes, gushes, and was he always able to glimpse the pink of her stomach? Was it wrong that he found that healthy colour as beautiful as the rest of her? But her skin is cold, cold too cold and her blood runs hot and Meliodas curses even the rains, roars his frustration so the lord of the lands knows that he is in no mood for games.

“Gloxinia!”

A part of him wondered if the Fairies had conned him; if they had only pretended to be shy things and had taken the opportunity to lead him to his death instead of guiding him to the Forest like they claimed they would. He’d think much higher of them if that was the case.

As it stands, Meliodas only wishes to tear the heads from their breakable bodies for the tasteless jest. Already, he’d found himself at the bottom of a lake, in which swimming in any direction only dragged him further down, a mountain trail which had led to him being apparently attacked by some manner of beast and a desert which stretched for so many hours that Meliodas had begun to sweat through the leathers of his gear. Terrible caterwauling the likes he had only heard in the deepest annals of the Underworld dogged his steps, and when the screeching stopped, the laughing began.

In each direction he was met with nothing but a wall of fog so thick that he could not even see the colour of his shoes and with each step without a discernible goal in sight, his resentment only grew.

And then, oddly, he caught the strong smell of flowers.

An unmistakable flash of red like spider lilies blooms in the corner of his periphery.

The tumultuous rain quiets to a mere whisper and the fog dissipates leaving only a dew laden field of bright, bright flowers.

The Fairy King is no less spectacular the second time around, celestial wings aglow with multicoloured magic which seems to glitter even in the midst of this gloomy, terrible squall. He stands with his hands at his side, thin lips pressed into a fine line. He is unarmed, alone. Unimpressed.

“You have returned,” he says dully and Meliodas does not have time to be offended at the lack of respect.

He tightens his grip on Elizabeth’s thigh, does his best to keep from snarling. “Heal her!”

A perfect eyebrow threatens to scrape scarlet hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

Meliodas growls, refuses to rest Elizabeth against the forest floor yet cannot risk jostling her for the sake of emphasis, “She hurt herself protecting me. I want you to heal her.”

Gloxinia’s neutral expression becomes a faintly bemused smile. “Is that a request or a threat, Demon Lord?”

Meliodas glares (and Elizabeth is growing cold in his grip, cold, cold, he is running out of time-) “Both, Fairy.”

The fog begins to creep in not unlike storm clouds on the placid horizon. The sound of thunder begins to descend upon them, red and purple flower buds disappearing beneath the cloak of the Fairy King’s enchanted mist. The fae smiles and it is a cold, cruel thing which sits comfortably on cherubic features, “Then I bid you farewell.”

Meliodas feels the wrath overflow, feels it in the way his vision goes black at the edges, in the way he can hear Elizabeth’s failing heartbeat. Anger at Gloxinia for refusing him, for dooming Elizabeth to death. Anger at himself for being unable to protect her, for failing her, “I will raze this forest to the ground, Gloxinia! Help her or I will slaughter every one of your kind!”

And that despicable Fairy only looks down at him, golden eyes more damning than any bolt of heavenly lightning, “It matters not, Demon Lord, she will already be dead.”

Then he is alone.

Elizabeth’s heartbeat grows so frail that Meliodas cannot hear it over the rain that has rushed in. Fog blinds his eyes, anger stifles his mind and the breaks and creaks in his bones finally overwhelm him. He crumples, mud splattering all over Elizabeth’s once white battle silks. She will die. She will die and it will have been his fault. Is this how Zeldris felt he wonders? This despair - this deep, gaping emptiness as the warmth of his lover cools to ice beneath his numb fingers.

Meliodas has never cried. It is a foreign concept to one as high born as he but his heart sinks to his stomach and threatens to slip free from his chest altogether. He bends his head, furrows his brows, squeezes Elizabeth’s flesh as he listens to her slowing heart.

‘Please,’ he wants to whisper. ‘Please, please have mercy on a sinner. Just this once.’

A pungent scent like foreign herbs fills his nose -

“[Droplet of Life]”

There is a glow, some bright unfathomable light and Meliodas sits up like he’s been burnt. Elizabeth’s heart suddenly beats in her chest, loud and melodic and it is the sweetest sound Meliodas has heard in years. He looks up to find cold eyes looking down on him, the Fairy King’s red hair spilling over his shoulders like reeds against some sheer cliffside.

He frowns, squints at Meliodas then appraises Elizabeth. Without so much as another word, he straightens himself and makes a gesture with two of his fingers. The fog lifts entirely, revealing a twisted up pathway between massive, primordial boughs. Flowers of every specie litter the ground preceding the entryway and Gloxinia turns his back on them. “Spend the night here,” he says and though Meliodas twitches at the unmistakable authority in that light voice, his gratitude and surprise renders him mute. “This storm will rage for four days and five nights. Regain your strength then leave.”

And then he disappears into the forest, leaving Meliodas and Elizabeth in the stillness of his eden.

[thevindicativevordan]

On Maxima

Every time DC wants to put Supes in a relationship with someone other than Lois, I always wonder why they don't just go with Maxima.

Especially since she's basically what they turn Diana into every time they try to hook the two of them up. Why not just go with the actual Superman Rogue/supporting character who is also a warrior-queen? Who is already almost as violent as she is horny, forcing Clark to try to get her to chill out, even as he's tempted to join her? If it isn't already clear, I like Maxima. Her character archetype, the supervillainess who tempts the hero with sex appeal, is one that's pretty damn popular for obvious reasons. Also for obvious reasons, this kind of character can provoke a backlash nowadays.

Personally I think she can still work just fine, she just needs some revamp. The basics of her character and backstory are still solid and offer storytelling potential. She's the Queen of the alien Empire of Almerac. Maxima is drawn to Superman because of his power. The real big fix is changing why she's attracted to his power, and why she came to Earth in the first place, shifting it away from eugenics to something else.

What I'd Do With Maxima

So I'm going to take some cues from the DCAU incarnation of Maxima in that the reason she seeks Superman out is because she's been deposed.

DCAU Maxima got deposed after she met Superman, but she lost her throne because her people judged her too self-absorbed and immature to lead them. Which she totally was, and changing that formed the crux of her character development over the course of the episode. I'd take a similar route with reworking comics Maxima's backstory.

Maxima has just taken the throne when the Interstellar Empire of Almerac comes under the assault of Mongul of Warworld. Crushing Almerac's defenses, Mongul gives the world an ultimatum: Turn over a selection of their greatest fighters to fight for Almerac's continued right to exist in Mongul's gladiator arenas or he'll reduce the entire planet to ashes. He also demands a sizeable portion of the population be turned over as slaves tasked with keeping Warworld running, and he wants Maxima to be among those slaves as a symbol of Mongul's authority over Almerac. Maxima angrily refuses, but her people don't trust in her leadership on account of her youth and immaturity, and Maxima is overthrown. She's handed over for transport to Warworld, but while en route she breaks free and seizes control of the transport. Alone and without allies, Maxima sets a course for Earth to seek out the one person she's heard is a match for the Lord of Warworld: Superman.

Only interested at first in his power, and planning to use and dispose of him afterwards, Maxima at first presents herself to Clark as a potential mate. Her hope is that will entice him to support her on what could be a suicide mission, and that offering power and wealth via marriage will cement his loyalty. Being betrayed by her subjects still stings her though she takes great pains to pretend otherwise. Superman turns down the marriage offer, but agrees to follow her to take down Mongul and free Almerac. The two travel back to Almerac which is in the midst of choosing who will fight on Warworld. Clark pretends to be a native of Almerac and is chosen as one of the champions. Initially planning to stay on Almerac and purge those who betrayed her while Clark fights on Warworld, Maxima chooses to give herself up to Mongul, after he announces that he will be vaporizing an entire continent as punishment for the Almeracans failure to turn her over to him. Amused at her compassion for those who betrayed her, Mongul adds Maxima to the roster of gladiators, and she departs with Clark to the arenas.

Over the course of a series of battles, Maxima and Clark butt heads, watch each other's backs, and gradually fall in love with each other. Maxima admires Clark's resolve, restraint, and maturity, traits she's forced to admit she lacked. She's skeptical of his idealism however, seeing it as a flaw that undermines his effectiveness, particularly when it comes to killing. Clark admires Maxima's passion, bravery, and refusal to settle for anything less than the best in anyone including herself. All traits that make him ponder if perhaps she does have it in her to be a good leader. He dislikes her arrogance and entitlement however, particularly when it comes to her royal right to rule. A frequent source of fights between the two is whether the common person should have any voice in government with Maxima scoffing at that and point at how the mob gave in to Mongul, with Clark countering that Almeracans had long felt unheard and cut off from their rulers. Obviously that they're both super hot doesn't hurt as part of why they end up sleeping together.

Ultimately through a series of events Superman and Maxima succeed in freeing Almerac and driving Mongul away. Then everything promptly goes to hell. Having fallen for Clark for real over the course of their adventure, Maxima repeats her offer to him of marriage, except genuinely this time.

The two have had sex a couple times already, and Clark is genuinely tempted at the prospect of sticking with Maxima. He's grown to enjoy her company (having sex tends to do that), he enjoys the freedom to be himself without having to hide his powers, the Almeracans embrace him as their champion, and as Maxima's consort he could take an active hand in shaping society. At the point in Clark's career where I'd want to do this story, he's growing out of his youthful rage, but he's still not at peace with his lot in life. Earth's inability to meaningfully change at the pace he wants frustrates him, and leaving behind the restrictions of life there does entice him. My point is that I think the appeal of Maxima to Superman should and can be more than just breeding little Clarks as has been the case in the past.

However Clark ultimately rejects the offer. He can't bring himself to cut ties with Earth, Maxima's unwillingness to cede some of her power to her people isn't something Clark can accept, and Clark is also concerned that taking up her offer would compromise his ability to be a hero. As you would expect, Maxima is pissed at his refusal, treating it as another stab in the back. Due to his help in freeing her people and reclaiming her throne, she spares his life but exiles him from Almerac, declaring him persona non grata throughout the Empire.

Unbeknownst to Clark, who leaves after it's made clear the Almeracans don't want a civil war, Maxima is pregnant with his child. The child allows her to avoid entering into a political marriage, maintaining her independence since she now has a heir. This daughter will be groomed in hidden to take over the Empire, which Maxima now has plans to expand. The humiliation Mongul visited upon Almerac has had a big impact on her mindset. Now she's focused on eliminating any potential threats to her people, and she wants to transform Almerac into the greatest Interstellar Empire in the Milky Way. Then it will never be at the mercy of a foreign power ever again.

For stories, Superman and Maxima are clearly going to clash given she's become an imperialist herself, no better than Mongul. You can tell stories about Clark foiling Maxima's attempts to conquer other worlds, or Earth itself. Maxima would occasionally dispatch assassins or go personally to attack Clark, for the purpose of preventing him from getting "soft". The public reason for this is that he's become a roadblock to her aims, and needs to be eliminated. Secretly, her goal is to constantly push him to be stronger because she wants him to meet his daughter one day. Not for any sentimental reasons mind you, Maxima wants Superman to teach their daughter to be his equal in ability and resourcefulness. After learning everything she can from Clark, said daughter will be charged with leading the invasion of Earth. Conquering Earth, and defeating Superman, will be the girl's rite of passage into cementing herself as Maxima's heir. The world of her father, Superman, is destined to be her own Throneworld as Almerac's is Maxima's.

Think you could have a lot of fun in giving Clark a "Damian" of his own to deal with. Personally I'd have it so that the "daughter" would be akin to the New 52 Maxima who I thought had some potential. You could have Maxima and Maxima Jr. argue about the morality of Almerac's expansion, with MJ ultimately taking her father's side which causes enormous problems for her mother since she can't disown her daughter without a replacement heir. I think that could be a fun family dynamic to explore.

Wondering where Maxima will show up next. Part of me was hoping Almerac was that part of underdeveloped Superman lore PKJ talked about fleshing out, but that seems to be either Warworld or the Phantom Zone. I still think Maxima and Almerac have a lot of potential to be major players in Superman's world, but it's going to take someone being interested in fleshing them out. Maybe the upcoming Superman cartoon will accomplish that? If not I'll just have to hope someone will down the line.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Family of Our Own: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

May, 1754

Claire was in her garden with Maggie. Brianna and Kitty were supposed to be helping as well, but they were a bit preoccupied chasing chickens and making the dogs bark their heads off.

“I don’t want to hear it if either of you get bitten!” Claire called over her shoulder.

“We won’t, Mummy!” Brianna said, exasperated.

Claire turned back to face Maggie again, and the girl shook her head.

“Ye canna stop them,” she said. “No’ until it’s too late.”

“You’re too right.”

Claire was just about to demonstrate something for Maggie when the sound of a horse’s hooves caught her ear.

“Girls! Get the dogs inside!” They obeyed, turning it into another game of sorts to corral the beasts. She didn’t want the dogs spooking the horse and throwing whoever the rider was to the ground. It was midday, and they weren’t expecting any visitors. Claire squinted down the road, wiping her hands free of dirt on her apron, her throat clenching on instinct at the sight of a flash of red. Her nerves settled however, when she remembered.

Once a quarter.

Apparently it was time for Jamie’s first visit from Lord John Grey.

“Who is it, then?” Jenny appeared on the porch, flanked by the girls, including Janet this time, all having realized that getting the dogs inside could only mean a visitor on horseback.

“It’s Lord Grey,” Claire said, returning to Maggie’s side.

“Lord ha’ mercy,” Jenny breathed. “Inside, girls. Now.”

“He won’t hurt anybody,” Claire said, furrowing her brow. “There’s no need to worry. Jamie trusts him.”

“That makes one of us,” Jenny said, her jaw hard, and her eyes fierce. “Inside,” she said again, and Maggie trudged past Claire to obey her mother.

“Wait, Brianna,” Claire called, stopping her from joining the throng.

“Are ye mad, sister?”

“I want her to meet him,” Claire said lightly. “It’s about time she meets a respectable Englishman,” she reasoned, with no little disdain directed at the assortments of horrible Englishmen they’d been harassed by over the years. “Besides, he’s a friend of her father.”

“Respectable and English dinna belong in the same sentence,” Jenny grumbled, ushering the girls inside.

“Should I take offense to that?” Claire said testily, putting one hand on her hip and the other on Brianna’s shoulder.

“I’ll let ye know in a bit.” She gestured with her chin, and Claire turned around to see the horse crossing the threshold of the archway. She was surprised by his appearance; she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he bore little to no resemblance to the scrawny young lad from all those years ago. His face was kind and gentle; his eyes held both quiet mirth and an impenetrable sadness. He was slender but still finely muscled, the makings of a good soldier.

“Good day, Madame,” he said, slowing his horse to a stop. “Is this Broch Tuarach?”

“That it is,” Claire answered.

The man paused for a moment, blinking back something that was seemingly shock, his lips parting silently, then closing. “Well,” he said, awed. “I do believe I’m in the presence of the Englishwoman I’ve heard so very much about.”

He dismounted, keeping hold on the reins. He bowed lowly, bringing his tricorn hat to his chest, maintaining eye contact all the while. “Lord John Grey,” he said. “I am entirely at your service, Ma’am.”

“Claire Fraser,” she answered, curtsying, keeping one hand on Brianna’s shoulder. “And I do believe it is I who is at your service, my Lord. You’re the reason I’m no longer a widow, after all.”

He smiled, almost seeming uncomfortable as he put his hat back in place. “Yes, well, it was the least I could do,” he said. “And this is?”

“Brianna Fraser,” Claire said proudly, nudging the girl a bit so that she’d curtsy. “My daughter. Jamie’s daughter.”

“My God,” John breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. “No wonder she’s his spitting image. He never mentioned…”

“He never knew,” Claire said sadly. “I wasn’t showing until after Culloden. She was quite the surprise.” Claire gripped both of Brianna’s shoulders.

“Indeed,” John said. “Well, Mistress Fraser, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Brianna answered, her normally hybrid speech entirely posh, her nose stuck in the air. Claire briefly contemplated that perhaps her daughter was mocking John’s Englishness, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

“She doesn’t have the burr, then?” John said, amused.

“She has whatever she wants in the moment,” Claire said with a chuckle. “She’s quite the impressionist. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Indeed, Mother,” she said in the same tone, staring John down, or up, rather.

Both of the adults chuckled, perhaps a bit uncomfortably.

“This is one of Da’s dearest friends, Brianna,” Claire said cheerily, squeezing her shoulders and looking down at her. “He’s the reason that he came home to us. I’d like it if we were all friends. Wouldn’t you?”

“I should indeed love to make the acquaintance of one of the King’s finest,” Brianna said rather obnoxiously, drawling the vowels like a veritable fop. “Even if he’s a bloody Redcoat,” she added, not skipping a beat, her accent remaining perfect.

“Brianna — !”

“John!”

Before Claire could scold her daughter’s behavior, Jamie came running from the side of the house, trailed closely by Rabbie, likely along to take care of John’s horse. John smiled uncomfortably at Claire before turning to greet Jamie as he quickly approached. Claire was rather shameless in how she admired her husband, glistening as he was with sweat from a long day in the fields, curls damp and wild, shirt slightly stained at the collar and clinging to him despite its loose fitting, exposing the overworked muscles beneath. She had to remind herself there was company, including that of their small daughter.

Dragging her eyes off of her husband’s beautifully made body, she immediately noticed she was not the only one aware of said beauty.

John immediately changed when Jamie came into view, in ways that Claire could not exactly put her finger on. He seemed lighter, as if being fed for the first time after months of starvation.

Christ...this isn’t attraction.

This man is in love with my husband.

“Christ, man, it’s good to see ye,” Jamie said enthusiastically, shaking John’s hand with fervor. “Ye’ve met her then? Ye met my wife? And my child?”

Any insecurity that had just seized Claire’s heart upon her realization melted away, and she strode contentedly to meet Jamie, pulling Brianna along by the hand. She smiled, standing at Jamie’s side and settling herself into him, warming to her core as Jamie draped an arm over her shoulder. She reveled in the smell of him; dirt, manure, sweat, and Jamie, his general masculinity.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure,” John said, smiling more genuinely at Claire. “Beautiful, both of them.”

“Thank ye, a charaid.” Jamie was warm against her, flushing with pride. “Can ye imagine? I had a bairn all those years and I hadnae a single clue.”

“I can’t imagine,” John said. “You must have been overjoyed.”

“Aye.” Jamie looked down at me, catching my eye sweetly, then winked down at Brianna. “She is...they both are my greatest joys.”

“It does my heart good to see you so happy, Jamie,” John’s voice became soft and light, his eyes glistening. “To have seen you through such pain, then to see you like this…” He stopped himself, seemingly overcome. Claire threaded her arm around Jamie, grasping at his side. “It’s overwhelming.”

“It is,” Jamie agreed. “There are still days I canna believe it’s true. I’m overwhelmed near every day at my luck. And it’s because of you, John. You are the reason I’ve got them back.”

He grasped John’s hand, tightly. Claire felt herself go flush, and she tightened her grip on Jamie’s side despite herself.

“I’d do it again and again, Jamie, no matter the risk.”

Their hands remained clasped together, and they maintained eye contact, and Claire suddenly felt like an unwelcome voyeur to something she did not fully understand.

He told me nothing happened. He told me nothing happened. He—

“Mummy,” Brianna piped, still not dropping her put-on airs. “I would quite enjoy something to eat.”

“Christ, a nighean, why’re ye speaking like yer mother?” Jamie wrinkled his nose down at Brianna, finally releasing John’s hand.

Brianna shot a look at John, her nostrils flared. “I’m hungry.”

“Alright, lovie. Go inside and ask Mary MacNab for something from the kitchen. We’ll be in.”

Claire briefly brushed a few curls away from Brianna’s face before the girl scampered inside, apparently all too eager to get away.

“I’m sorry…” Claire said once Brianna was inside. “She’s not normally so rude.”

“She was rude?” Jamie furrowed his brow.

“Before you got here, she called him a bloody Redcoat.”

Jamie snorted, then smiled crookedly at John. “Well, she isna wrong.”

Claire pinched Jamie’s side, causing him to jerk a bit.

“She also was most certainly mocking his speech,” Claire said. “She does that sometimes, impersonates the Redcoats that come by. To make her cousins laugh. I suppose she thought she’d try doing it to your face since she knows you’re a friend.”

“Yes, well,” John dipped his head a bit, clasping his hands behind his back. “I can’t say I blame her. I’ve heard brutal things.”

“Aye. My family suffered many an indignity in my absence at the hand of some Redcoat or another,” Jamie said, tightening his grip on Claire. “My brother-in-law told me Claire was beaten.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Claire said. “I wish he hadn’t…”

“No, I’m glad he did. Because if he ever returned — ”

“I know Lord John is a friend,” Claire interrupted quickly. “But perhaps it’s best either way to...refrain. From what you’re about to say. Or anything similar.”

Jamie nodded, tight-lipped. “Aye. Well, ye get the idea. The wean’s trust has been broken. Hers and the rest of my family, unfortunately. My sister is none too pleased ye’re here.”

“Brianna has had to lie to protect me, us, all her life,” Claire said softly. “She saw me bruised and bloodied after that beating. She’s...she’s only eight. Back then she was only six. It’s...difficult to conceptualize a ‘good Redcoat’. For everyone, not just her.”

“I understand,” John said. “Believe me, I do. The last thing I want is to make anybody uncomfortable. I’ll just fill out the report and be on my way.”

“Ye mean just leave?” Jamie said, incredulous. “I’ll no’ have that. Ye’ve been traveling fer days, no doubt, no’ a home-cooked meal in sight.”

“Well, yes — ”

“And beds at an inn arena so comfortable, I ken it well.”

“Stay the night?” Claire said, perhaps a little too abruptly. “Do you think that’s the best idea? You know...Jenny?” she added quickly.

Not because I’m threatened...because of Jenny.

“Jenny can hang,” Jamie said, genially. “This man sacrificed his own safety to see me home. Right this minute he’s putting himself in danger, knowing as he does I’m no Mister Malcolm. The least we can do fer him is give him some leisure, good food, and a warm bed. Fer one night.”

Claire sighed. “Alright. But you are talking to Jenny.”

John chuckled, oblivious as to just how much he should fear Janet Fraser Murray.

“Speaking of Mister Malcolm, should I mention a Mistress Malcolm in my report?” John asked.

“Well...the other officers who’ve come by know me as a Fraser cousin, and a Scot at that,” Claire said uneasily. “Elizabeth Fraser.”

“I suppose I could say Mister Malcolm was made a widower during his time in prison, and that he’s remarried to the previously unmarried Fraser cousin. Would that make it easier for you both to live your lives together?”

Jamie and Claire exchanged a look. “What d’ye think, mo ghraidh? Any interest in being Mrs. Malcolm?”

She hummed an amused laugh. “It would be an honor.”

He leaned in to kiss her sweetly, and Claire was so swept up in the moment, she nearly forgot John was standing right in front of them.

“I thank ye, John,” Jamie said warmly.

“We thank you,” Claire corrected, smiling at John while embracing Jamie, “my friend.”

“It is a privilege to be known as such by such a woman,” John said with a small bow of his head.

“Shall I show ye around the grounds, then?” Jamie said, excited. “The lads are in the fields waiting fer me to return, but they can surely wait. Fergus can lead.”

“Fergus. Your son?” John said, as if recalling.

“Aye,” Jamie said, swelling with pride. “Ye’ll meet him at supper.”

Claire nearly offered to show John around herself so that Jamie may get back to work, but she knew that he was proud of his ancestral home and that he would find great joy in showing his friend all there was to see.

But she was too curious to pass up the opportunity to be alone with John for a few minutes.

“Why don’t you tell the lads you won’t be back so they’re not waiting for you? The last thing we need is Jenny’s wrath that productivity was slowed for all this,” Claire said.

“Aye, ye’re right.”

“We’ll wait for you in the stables, I’ll show him the stock.”

Jamie made a Scottish noise of approval, squeezing Claire to him and kissing her temple before darting off to the fields.

“Shall we?”

Claire looked up to see that John was offering her his arm. She curtsied slightly before accepting, fitting her arm in the crook of his elbow before heading off around the house and toward the stables.

“You have no idea how often he spoke of you,” John said, seemingly out of nowhere. “He loves you dearly.”

“I know,” Claire said. “I can assure you it is equally returned. Believing him dead was...nothing short of horrific. For eight years.”

“I am sorry,” John said, sincerely. “If there were a way to get word to you safely…”

“Please, don’t. You’ve risked yourself enough as it is.” Claire gave his arm a squeeze, offering him a reassuring smile.

A small silence passed between them, nothing to be heard but the bleating of the goats, the clucking of the chickens, and the leaves rustling around them.

“You love him,” Claire said.

John stiffened against her, nearly stopping in his tracks. “No, I hardly know what — ”

“It wasn’t a question,” Claire said, strengthening her resolve a bit, hardening her jaw. “Jamie told me of your predilections.”

He made to pull away, panicked. “Madame, I — ”

“It’s alright, my Lord.” Claire tightened her grip, not letting him get away. “Where I come from...such things are not so taboo.”

He gawked at her. “I’d certainly like to know where that is.”

“It’s...hard to explain,” Claire said wistfully.

John cleared his throat. “How...how much did he tell you?”

“He told me of your friend that you lost. Which…I am sorry for that loss.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice tight.

“And he told me how you...looked at him. And now that you’re here...I see it.” Claire looked away, staring ahead at the stables as they came into closer view. “You look at him the way he looks at me.”

“I…” John sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not sure either.” Claire kept her gaze ahead, uncomfortably aware of their closeness. “In a way, selfishly...I’m glad you love him so much. Because that’s what brought him back to me. But it’s...cruel, isn’t it?”

“How is that?”

“Because he...he’s not…” Claire almost stopped, as John nearly had before. “He isn’t. Is he?”

John chuckled softly, smiling sadly. “There were a few times where I thought perhaps he might be. But his heart belongs to only one.”

Claire could feel his eyes on her, so she turned her head, making uncomfortable eye contact. “So you really never…”

“No, Madame, I did not. We did not.” He did stop then, looking at her seriously. “I’d never met you, of course, but I’d not be able to live with myself if I was part of betraying you.” He started walking again, his more serious point made. “I confess I hardly even had the desire, knowing as I did how madly he loves you.”

“Hardly?” Claire’s brow furrowed.

“Well…” She could feel the heat from his blush radiating off of him. “I couldn’t say never. That would be a lie. And I do pride myself on my honesty.” His words were clipped and terse; Claire almost regretted bringing it up. “You could say the mind was willing, but the flesh was weak. In a way.”

Claire nodded slowly, staring ahead again. “If it...weren’t for me. Would you have?”

She felt him stiffen again. “No. It would be an abuse of my power over him. Such a thing would be despicable.”

Despite his discomfort, Claire could hear the genuineness in his voice. It was a comfort to know, but that still wasn’t what she meant.

“What if...that wasn’t an issue?” she pressed further. “Would you have?”

She heard him swallow. “Well...yes. I’d have tried.”

Claire nodded. “Would he…?”

“You know him better than I do,” John said, not a hint of malice. He meant it.

“I’m...I’m not so sure about that,” Claire said, sounding more sad than she’d meant to. “I just mean it’s...it’s been eight years. A lot of things can change in that time. People change.”

“While that may be true, Madame Fraser, one thing has not changed,” he stopped again, turning to face her, taking both of her hands in his, “and that is the love he bears you. That I can assure you.”

Claire forced a smile, gratefully squeezing his hand.

“God, you are a dreadfully forward woman,” he said, chuckling.

“I’ve always been terribly honest,” she said sheepishly.

“While frightening, I don’t find that necessarily a detriment,” he said lightly. He offered his arm again, and she took it much less hesitantly, leading the rest of the way to the stables.

“Do you know that I bear you no ill will?” John said rather suddenly. “I realize how shallow of a promise that may seem, given that you have everything I’ve ever wanted and could never have. But it’s true.” Claire felt shame burning in her core to think of her initial reaction to the depth of John’s feelings. “Do you know what I said to Jamie after he was freed?”

“Cherish that wife of yours, Fraser,” Claire quoted fondly. “He told me.”

“Did he tell you why I said it?”

“No?”

“He asked me what he could do to repay me,” John said.

Claire felt an unexpected rush of tears, suddenly overcome with something resembling pity, mixed with immense gratitude. She squeezed his arm and looked at him.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“John,” he corrected lightly. “Please.”

“Then I’m Claire,” she echoed, “John.”

“Alright, Claire.”

They finally reached the stables, and Claire took the initiative to introduce him to all of the horses. Rabbie was in a stall with John’s horse, still brushing the beast down as he gnawed on his hay. John was absolutely tickled when Claire introduced Alastair as Brianna’s horse.

“Takes after her father, then?”

“Quite. She’d been begging me to ride since she could talk. I delayed it for years because of her condition.”

“Condition?” John’s brow furrowed, concerned.

“Oh, she’s perfectly healthy. Just...leftover complications from a difficult birth. If she fell it could kill her. I’m just...paranoid.”

“I see,” John said, though he still seemed concerned. “Does Jamie know?”

“Do I know what?” Jamie appeared in the doorway of the stables.

“Brianna’s condition,” Claire said, welcoming Jamie back into her arms.

“Oh, aye, I ken all about that,” Jamie said. “She’s a fighter, my daughter. Braw wee thing.”

“I can tell,” John said, smiling knowingly.

“Alright,” Jamie said, taking the place that John had just had, settling Claire’s arm in the crook of his elbow. “Ye’re acquainted wi’ the beasts, aye? Shall we move on to the rest of the land?”

Claire and John exchanged a fond look before both looking up at Jamie.

“We shall,” John said.

[kurtstinypurse]

nothing but a senseless babble (klaine mini-fic)

so from how this week has gone, I ended up craving the chance to write something soft and fun. I have a list of the prompts I still haven’t filled, and I decided to use one of those and see what I could come up with! here’s a ��ways to say I love you” mini-fic, prompted by @porcelainandthehobbit once upon a time.

also, thank you to the best @hippohead I know for convincing me this was worth writing & for always always being so so supportive :’) 

I hope a little escape of something sweet is even close to as good for some of you as it was for me <3

“No, Kurt. You’re going to have to cut it down. Your closet at school isn’t even going to fit half of what’s in that pile, and I am not giving you any room in mine.”

“But-”

“No!” Blaine interjects right away, exasperated at the sight of the veritable mountain of clothes in Kurt’s Bring to New York bin. By comparison, his Keep at Home box is sparse, Donate essentially empty. “Do you remember the tiny shoebox of a dorm room we’re going to be living in? Not to mention the sorry excuses of closets? We don’t have room.”

They’re going to be cramped enough as it is, inevitably at each other’s throats more often than not, being forced to share a space with room enough for two beds, two desks, and two dressers, but not much else. The model rooms on NYU’s housing website looked small enough, but Blaine has a suspicion the freshman dorms are even tinier, even older, even less comfortable.

But it’ll be worth it.

He really is looking forward to living with Kurt, to the endless opportunities for sleepovers and movie nights, study sessions and late night dance parties. They’re going to have exactly what they’ve more or less dreamed of for the better part of their friendship, since they were little kids, and it’s going to be awesome. He knows it.

But he isn’t looking forward to living with all of Kurt’s clothes and scarves and accessories and shoes and everything else.

“Yes,” Kurt huffs, folding his arms across his chest and lifting a petulant eyebrow in Blaine’s direction. “But I also remember that you didn’t exactly ‘cut down’ on any of your bowties when we packed your stuff.”

His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and then he uncrosses his arms to offer mocking air quotes to emphasize how ridiculous Blaine’s idea is - cut down? Yeah right.

It makes Blaine feel nothing but defensive, annoyance bubbling in his belly, magnified by the exhaustion from packing their stuff for the third day in a row, by his nerves about moving halfway across the country, by his fears of it all not working out how he’s hoped for so long.

Defending himself is easier than confronting all of that - and so he does.

“Bowties are tiny! Your clothes are-”

“Are you saying I’m large, Blaine?” 

“No! You’re perfectly in shape and you know it. I just meant-”

“Ooooh, you think I’m perfectly in shape?”

Kurt is fully taunting him now, grinning widely in that way where his eyes crinkle at the corners and his teeth barely peek out from the stretch of his lips, and it catches Blaine off guard, throws him for a loop as he realizes what he’s just said, too.

What it implies.

Blaine has noticed Kurt, obviously. He’s noticed him often, but of course he has - Blaine is gay, and Kurt is attractive and Kurt is right there, and it’s only natural.

He rarely lets himself acknowledge it in his own head, though, let alone out loud.

Let alone to Kurt.

“I- You-” Blaine stutters, gapes, finally manages to recover. “Stop being ridiculous, Kurt! You’re deflecting. Just- Cut your clothes down!”

“You love it,” Kurt insists, shoving the folded clothes between them to either side, scooting forward on the floor until they’re sitting right in front of each other, cross-legged, knees just shy of touching. “You love me.”

Of course he does. Of course he loves Kurt, loves how Kurt riles him up and makes him feel safe all at once, loves when they get like this and loves their comfortable silences, too, loves how his friendship with Kurt is everything and always has been everything, hopefully always will be.

But-

“No. You’re ridiculous, like I said.”

He isn’t ready to give it up.

“What- You don’t love me?” Kurt gasps dramatically, his hand thrown over his heart. “Your best friend of- god, nearly a decade? Your future roommate? Your-”

“Nope!” Blaine cuts in, biting back a grin, realizing he’s somehow become amused along the way instead of annoyed, feeling competitive now instead of irritated. “You’re ridiculous, and I hate you.”

Kurt narrows his eyes into a glare that usually sends a shiver down Blaine’s spine - but tonight, it only invigorates him, makes him want to dig into this deeper, see how far he can take it before one of them breaks.

Actually, before Kurt breaks. Because it won’t be Blaine.

Not tonight.

“You love me,” Kurt insists, his voice low, almost threatening, nearly chilling, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, nearly close enough for Blaine’s vision to blur as he attempts to hold eye contact. “Tell me you love me.”

He’s pulling out all the stops.

Almost all the stops.

“No.” 

Blaine stays steady, schooling his face into a neutral expression, but he knows what’s next. They’ve been here before, testing each other, rapidly approaching a stalemate. Over the years, it’s evolved from bickering over what game to play to this, something much more loaded, full of the unsaid and the unacknowledged, never referenced outside of these moments, quiet lines never crossed, boundaries never pushed past the point of no return. 

He isn’t sure why he still bothers standing his ground, still bothers trying, because if he makes it this far, there’s only one way it ever ends, time and time again.

There’s one more of Blaine’s buttons that Kurt knows exactly how to push, one more thing that Kurt always uses as a last resort to get his way.

It should be predictable. Blaine should be ready for it.

He should harness the telltale glint in Kurt’s eyes, use it to brace himself, but instead, it just makes him freeze.

It gets him every time. It works every time, this now isn’t any different.

Kurt rears back, and he pounces.

Blaine vaguely registers the sound of a yelp that he feels ripping through his own throat, but he’s too focused on falling backwards and not hitting his head against the hardwood floor to be embarrassed of or even control the noises he’s making. He manages to land instead on a rogue pile of Kurt’s clothes-

And then he’s laser focused on the feeling of Kurt on top of him, lording over him, his impossibly quick fingers tickling Blaine’s sides, making him squirm, thrash, defenseless - and making him laugh, too, deep from the pit of his belly, his body shaking with the force of it.

“Tell! Me!” Kurt insists in the midst of his own peals of laughter, and it’s like his hands are everywhere, up to Blaine’s armpits and back down again, over his stomach, his arms, his chest, hitting all of his most ticklish spots without giving a second for mercy. 

It’s funny, and it hurts, and Blaine feels utterly hysterical with the childishness of it all, with Kurt straddling him, above him, consuming him, stealing the breaths right out of his chest, overwhelming and overly stimulating and-

“Fine! F-Fine, okay, I-” 

He almost breaks - wants to break, to make it stop - but he can’t get enough of the words out to forfeit. 

“You what, Blaine? You what?” Kurt eggs him on with a grin, leaning in closer, lowering his body down nearer to Blaine’s, a mere inch or two away from holding him down completely. It gives him better leverage - Blaine can tell based on the way Kurt’s fingers speed up, dig deeper, and the determination in Kurt’s eyes, steel blue ferocity.

He’s entirely ruthless.

Blaine squirms, arms flailing in search of a chance to push Kurt off, not finding it, hands grasping in the air, at the clothes on the floor, at Kurt, in a desperate search for purchase, but he can’t find that, either.

There’s only one thing left to do, and he musters all the air in his lungs to do it.

“I love you!” he finally gasps out, voice shaking with uncontrollable laughs, feeling completely wild and unhinged. “I love you, please, I love you, I love you-”

His voice chokes, dies in his throat, cutting off his near-senseless babble of a repetition when his eyes meet Kurt’s, and he finds a sort of intensity he’s never seen before, not from Kurt, not directed at him.

They stop moving at the same time.

They stop laughing at the same time.

They stop breathing at the same time.

Kurt is raised up on his hands now, bracketing either side of Blaine’s head, and he’s staring down at Blaine with flushed cheeks, wide eyes, parted lips, hair mussed and messy, so devastatingly gorgeous and so magnetic in a way that’s startlingly new. 

Blaine feels flushed, hot with the culmination of every touch and every breath since his back landed against the floor, and he isn’t sure when it all changed. 

He isn’t sure when they went from the way they’ve always been to this.

He can’t move, can’t look away. In the past frozen moments he’s gotten lost in Kurt's eyes, and now he’s stuck there, swimming in the pools of blue and green and gray, all there is.

“I love you,” he whispers again, feeling like he’s saying it for the very first time, the words holding a different weight on his tongue and shaping differently in his mouth, too, in his chest, in his bloodstream.

But there’s nothing else to say.

Kurt’s elbows buckle, and his fingers twine for a desperate hold through Blaine’s hair, and they’re kissing.

They’re kissing.

It’s deep and it’s hungry right from the start, nothing like the few tentative kisses Blaine has shared with a few tentative crushes in the past, nothing like what he thought kissing Kurt would be like.

Because, yes, he’s thought of this. He’s caught himself staring at Kurt’s mouth before, watching as Kurt absentmindedly sucks at his bottom lip while he studies, watching as Kurt sips from his designated straw in the milkshakes they share at their favorite diner, watching as Kurt nibbles the chocolate off of his biscotti at the Lima Bean. And he’s caught his mind drifting there, too, when he’s laying in bed at night, wanting.

Wanting.

But Blaine has never identified it as anything but his curiosities latching themselves onto the person closest to him. He’s never considered that the low, twisting coil that forms in his belly when Kurt locks eyes with him across the choir room and makes him feel like he’s the only person in the building could mean something more. He’s never paid much mind to the lift of his heart when Kurt touches him, to the fact that they both always seek out little excuses to stay close and to hug and to brush and to lean, to the strangeness of these teasing tests that they give each other, to what it all points towards.

He’s never considered that the way Kurt is the first thing on his mind every morning and the last thing every night could mean something, either, but that’s because it’s just how it’s always been, from the time they were children.

But maybe wanting Kurt, needing Kurt, loving Kurt is just how it’s always been, too.

And that’s why it doesn’t feel like a first kiss - because it isn’t, not really. There’s no hesitation to it, no question in the movements of their mouths or their hands or their bodies.

The testing has already been done.

It makes it easy for Blaine to reach and to grab, one hand grasping Kurt’s hip, rubbing his thumb in insistent circles at his hip bone, through his shirt, the other sliding up Kurt’s chest slowly, coming to cup his face, holding him close, holding him right where he is. It makes it easy for Blaine to plunge into the depths of their kiss, working Kurt’s mouth open with his tongue and then inside, tasting, learning, searching, finding.

It makes it easy for Blaine to allow himself to feel, to revel in the swirls of heat that form under his skin and thrum there with an energy that becomes addictive right away, every nerve ending in his body alert, awake, responding to every part of Kurt, too.

When they finally come up for air, parting just enough to breathe again, their foreheads leaned together, Kurt’s body now settled fully against Blaine’s with a weight that soothes him and ignites him all at once, there’s no panic, no embarrassment, no apology, no takebacks.

No explanation, because there doesn’t need to be one.

The moment holds them tenderly, allows Blaine the opportunity to resurface, to come into his senses and into his body again, settling into this newly awakened iteration of himself and of them, but it doesn’t take long.

This is him. This is them. 

And of all the changes they’re about to face together, from moving halfway across the country to learning how to navigate a new city to leaving everything but each other behind, this feels like the easiest one, already perfectly known, perfectly understood, fully formed and solid and unshakeable.

It almost doesn’t feel like a change at all.

When Blaine’s eyes flutter open, he finds Kurt’s already open, gazing down at him with a fondness that makes his breath catch, so close that Blaine’s vision blurs all over again as he attempts to focus, but the circumstances are all different now, slow instead of fast, purposeful instead of hysterical, building something together full of meaning and gravity instead of butting heads just for the sake of it.

He wants to stay here forever, laying in the clutter of all Kurt’s belongings, anchored by the literal weight of Kurt on top of him and of the feelings inside of him, too, the ones he finally has a name for, all slotted into place. 

“I love you,” Kurt murmurs, and warmth blooms like flowers in Blaine’s chest, threading him into the garden of Kurt’s words and his touches and the tenderness in his eyes, each and every bit of them blossoms of meaning and of intention and possibility.

“I love you, too,” Blaine whispers, cranes his neck up just enough to kiss Kurt all over again, and it’s all they need.

They both know what it means.