#predator/prey framing beloved

[randaccidents]

ANYWAYS after seeing @twig-gy in my head (hello here is your tag :P) it is clearly time for me to rant about my belief system for Heart and Mind's dynamic.

So, anyone considered the framework of Predator/Prey? Specifically, Predator Heart and Prey Mind?

Think about it. Predators are visceral yet instinctive. The need to Hunt is as natural as feeling an emotion. It is something that is needed to survive. Its Impulse, predators dont necessarily have to think about the act of hunting after all. And predators are violent and aggressive, comes with the territory.

Points at Heart. He is Emotion, he is a natural consequence of living that every being will have even without what humans call sentience. He is something that is needed to survive, and he is violent and aggressive. He attacks Mind physically. Also the gun, the symbol of a hunter. (personal interpretation he also literally hunts Mind during the Juno Incident because I am mean like that and Heart deserves some stalking as a treat)

What about Prey? I am literally stealing some stuff off Watership Down osmosis but. Prey has to be Smart and Sneaking and Cunning to escape from a Predator. Even prey animals that are predators of other animals need to be smart enough to recognise when something is too dangerous to fight. They need to know how to escape, where to escape to, how to fight for the smallest window of opportunity to run, to observe and note what is around them. Be cunning and full of tricks and your people shall never be destroyed.

Points at Mind. He is Logic, he is thinking and planning your way through life. He observes and he mentally records things down. He knows how to argue his way in and out of situations to benefit himself. He outmaneuvers Heart and attacks verbally. He transmutes the pain to kinetic energy and keeps going. He keeps them alive.

Predator and Prey, two aspects of the natural world. Without predators, prey animals would overfeed and kill an ecosystem. Without prey, predators would starve and die out.

Heart and Mind. They hate each other. They need each other. There can be no Thought without Emotion, there can be no Emotion without Thought. Feelings still claw at me Logic will rot in me.

(also just. in more canon cccc terms ignoring my interpretation for a second. shouldnt Mind fear Heart pulling out another gun at him? he needs to be observant and fast and cunning or the next gun will be so fast he wont see it coming)

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

can't fight the moonlight

kinktober, day twenty-nine

a/n: this one was a fantasy that was so fuzzy and took a surprisingly long time to figure out, but the hazy dream of it kept me going till i solved the puzzle

summary: it didn’t matter what you did or how hard you tried, you had no way of overpowering the beast the moonlight turned him into. 

warnings: werewolf!bucky barnes x reader, smut, bucky's wolf form is very humanoid looking (think more teen wolf, less twilight), dubcon/noncon, predator/prey, established relationship, monsterfucking, little to no foreplay, dirty talk, squirting, overstimulation, cock drunk, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, forced breeding, belly bulge, size kink, size difference

word count: 2345

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“…and you’ve got some water in case you get thirsty and-, oh! Do you have something to eat? A snack or something?” you blabbered tensely as you helped lock the heavy chains that your partner snaked securely around his own limbs, bolting him to the cold basement for the night, “because I could go make you-”

Letting the iron in his grasp suddenly fall to the floor in a loud clang, like a volcano he exploded, “no!” heatedly throwing his hands up as he fumed, “I don’t need a fucking snack, would you just-…” catching your wide eyes, his sudden anger thawed a bit as he finally heard his own words, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you clutched your hands close to your chest, the keys tight in them dug into your palms.

Head lightly tilting to the side, Bucky let out a sigh, “you’re just trying to help and I’m-”

“It’s okay, I know,” you reassured him, “it’s the moon, I get it, don’t worry, darling,” you averted your gaze, staring down at the cold concrete floor, “I’m sorry about freaking out, like I do every month, but I just wanna do something that can make this better for you, even a little bit, anything, even though I know that there isn’t anything that can, I still can’t stop trying because I hate this,” you heard your voice grow thick and tears begin to blur up your vision, “I really really hate this.”

“Y/n…” you felt his fingers gently graze your cheek, bringing your glossy gaze back up to his, “you are helping, more than you even know. Before I met you, before you moved in and started being here every full moon, I was always terrified of getting out, terrified that I couldn’t detain myself enough and someone would end up getting hurt or worse… but I’m not scared of that anymore. It hasn’t happened once since you’ve been here to bolt the chains I can’t get to on my own and lock the doors from the other side. Plus knowing that you’ll be here when the sun eventually comes up, I hold onto that, no matter how painful it gets or how much I disappear, that fact doesn’t, it stays with me, keeps me somewhat sane throughout the night.” 

Letting out a shaky breath, you blinked away the mist in your eyes, trying to be brave as you uttered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he exhaled, gazing at you as you leaned in to seal the final padlock with a click. Getting up to your feet, you stepped towards the door, but your fingers froze on the knob as Bucky’s voice filled the cellar once more, “try and get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you in a bit.”

Glancing over your shoulder at his shackled frame, sitting against the wall, skin already glistening from the pending trauma, you promised, “okay,” even though you knew this night wouldn’t be any different from the rest. 

You could never sleep when the moon was full, never even relax enough to rest for a bit. Even though the layers of resources that encased the basement silenced Bucky’s screams of agony from the rest of the neighbourhood as well as your own ears, just the knowledge that only one floor below where you were trying to slumber, there your beloved laid in pain as every single bone in his body had to break before he could turn into a monster of the moon, that awareness kept you up better than any caffeine could. 

Locking the solid steel door behind you, so you repeated with the one atop the wonky staircase, the rest of the house suddenly feeling so cold without his presence. 

Still clad in garb you’d worn to work, you couldn’t bother to change out of it even if the dress and stockings weren’t the most comfortable clothing to do an all-nighter in, you just seized the grey cabled cardigan draped over the armchair by the fireplace and shrugged it over top.

Holding the kettle under the tap to fill it up, your weary vision locked on the ominous sphere looming in the night sky clearly visible from the kitchen window. Losing yourself to the sight, too absorbed by the troubling thoughts it brought on, you only snapped out of the trance when cold water began to flow over the side of the pot and soak your hand that clutched it. 

“Oh, shit…” you mumbled as you hurried to turn off the water and pour some of the abundances back out into the sink. 

Placing it down on the stovetop, you listened to the gentle clicking that emanated before the eventual flame as you turned the knob. The slight heat radiating beneath the kettle persuaded you to shift into the living room and with the flick of a match, light the fireplace, granting yourself more of that soothing heat to help battle the night. 

You nearly jumped out of your skin when the water came to a boil, kettle whistling like a demon to relay the message. 

With a mug of tea in your hand, you curled up in the chair by the fire and picked up the half-read book discarded on the small side table. 

This was the routine, even though you never could concentrate, you still at least tried to distract yourself. 

A sudden bang ripped your eyes away from the page they had glazed over four times by now. Your vision instantly trained on the door to the cellar, clearly visible from where you were sitting. 

As the door then began to rattle rhythmically from an unyielding force, your body jumped at every thud, the novel in your grasp tumbling to the floor. 

Frozen in your seat, you watched as the door splintered, swiftly losing the short-lived battle and flying off its hinges.

With heavy footsteps, Bucky’s visage stepped into the light, except it wasn’t the Bucky you knew, not one you’d seen with your own eyes, but only ever heard tales about.

At first, you thought he still looked like himself, but as the firelight flickered across his form, you finally noticed just how altered he was. His natural body hair had quadrupled, fuzzing up his visage and the rippling muscles that hid beneath it, those as well seeming to have swelled up making his frame nearly unrecognisable. Though he always towered above your comparative stature, his height now was something else entirely. The sight of his eyes chilled you to the very bone, the calming blue was completely drowned out by a sea of black, with only a tiny golden flicker in the middle differentiating the obsidian. Nails long and tough like claws, broken chains still clung to his form as you watched his lip curl, a low growl rumbling throughout the room and letting you catch sight of his sharp teeth. 

Scarcely breathing at all, your hopes of him not noticing your presence began to fade as he predatorily sniffed the air. 

Your eyes suddenly grew wide as you spotted a part of him begin to swell up and come into the light. Throbbing, his unusually grand length intimidatingly curved upwards, it too haven grown just as the rest of his body had. 

Finally breaking through your terror, you sprung up and tried your best to run, though you didn’t get far as, within mere seconds, the natural hunter caught up to you and tackled you down to the ground, shredding the cosy knit you wore in the process. 

Cheek smooshed against the floorboards, you trembled beneath his beefy form as his flaming chest pressed against your back, knowing full well that if you made one wrong move, aggravated him in any sort of way, he could snap you like a twig. It didn’t matter what you did or how hard you tried, you had no way of overpowering the beast the moonlight turned him into. 

As your eyes flickered to the front door, it dawned on you that if he could break not only the chain that bound him, but also the strong basement doors, then the last barrier that kept him from the outside world wouldn’t even make him break a sweat. 

Growling directly in your ear, you felt his agitated breath fan across your face as his nose buried itself in your hair. Starved sniffs slowly travelling south, your heart nearly burst out of your chest as you felt him rip your clothes to shreds. Dress tattered and hanging off of you, your underwear swiftly disintegrated completely as only your stocking truly survived the attack, still clinging around your quivering thighs with only the smallest of tears to tell the tale. 

Grinding desperately against the curve of your form, his monstrous girth nudged against you, catching you off guard as even in this petrifying form, you still felt your body respond to him. 

“Bucky, Buck!” your voice squeaked in an attempt at breaking through to him, “it’s me! It’s me! It’s Y/n!” wildly flipping you over and roughly aligning himself with your core, you desperately tried to catch his dark eyes and try again, “Bucky, please!”

Joints locking up at the sound of your shrill cry, a flicker of reignition washed over his haunting glare, softening it slightly as you finally heard him speak, “…Y/n?” his voice was much lower than you’d ever heard it, though very much still his, “oh, fuck… I-…” a shaky breath escaped his lungs as he hovered above you, the tip of his cock nuzzled between your folds, “…I don’t think I can stop…” he grunted, his hand right beside your head digging into the floorboards and leaving splintery scratches in its wake, “I can’t fight it, I’m trying, but-”

“It's okay,” you carefully reached up and touched his cheek. You couldn’t let him run out that door and take some innocent lives. At this moment, all of his focus was aimed at you, so if it could just stay there and not stray till the sun came up, if you could distract him for only a little while longer, then the night might end without any unnecessary bloodshed. So, therefore, you gave in, “I love you, I love you so much,” your glistening eyes blinked up at him as you tried to speak with confidence, “you’re not gonna hurt me, I know you’re not. It’s okay, it’s-” 

Plunging into you, an almost animalistic noise accompanied his harsh action as the beast he’d become seized exactly what it desired. All of the air got pushed out of your lungs as he buried himself in you, stretching you out beyond belief and forcing a shuttering cry to tumble from your lips. 

Never mind the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom, a thing the two of you had always been careful about, that detail fought to penetrate through the fog he sent you into. Stunned that you could even take it all, the sensation of him made your mind melt. You felt all of it. Every vein and every ridge, every jaw-dropping detail that decorated his monstrous cock drove you to madness.

“Fuck!” he snarled, bucking his hips so hard against yours that your whole body shook, the sloppy clapping of skin against skin filled the home as he greedily rammed against the deepest spot inside of you, “do you have any idea how long I’ve tried to break out of those chains?” leaning down closer, he inhaled deeply, “I can fucking smell you…” you shivered as his nose ghosted against yours, “all the way down in the basement, no matter where you are, I can always smell you… calling for me, begging me to come and rip you apart…”

Leaning back again, his bruising grip found your hips and plucked them up, holding them tight as the rest of you still laid melted against the floor like a puddle before him. Like a ragdoll in his grasp, he moved your body, fucking your drooling pussy like the ravenous beast he was. 

As your eyes fluttered down to where he virtually split you in two, the dull bulge that rhythmically appeared in your lower stomach at each and every one of his ruthless thrusts caught your attention, the vision making you dizzy. 

You had never felt like this, never felt anything so intense in your whole life. He was just so menacing, so magnetic, so massive. Your own enthusiasm caught you by surprise, especially as your cunt soon began to cry out around him, showing your living room floor in your want as you squirted all over his rock-hard girth. 

Usually, Bucky would slow down and give you a moment whenever you had an orgasm, but in this moment, tonight, it wasn’t your Bucky that was pounding the living hell out of you, it was someone else, something else, and that creature only seemed to get even more riled up by your lewd display as he picked up his speed till his gravelly groans grew louder and his efforts began to go sloppy. 

“Please, Buck,” you mumbly pleaded, picking up on his telltale signs through your cock drunk haze, “not inside.”

But he didn’t listen to you as he just kept on fucking you till he pumped your pussy full of his cum. 

Panting and puffing above you, he still kept up shallow thrusts, rocking you against him and pushing his load out of your overly sensitive cunt with every piercing plunge. 

“Buck?” you heard yourself uttered as you found his dark gaze, though what stared back at you was not your love anymore as there was no recognition to be found in his eyes at all. 

Slamming you back against him hard enough for it to sting, you shuttered at the possibility that he was nowhere near done satisfying his carnal desire. 

But just before he could ruin you completely, a sliver of light began to dawn on the far side wall. Glancing out the window, you barely managed to spot the morning crest over the treetops in the distance. 

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[tallulah477]

Prove To You

Pairing: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Neteyam, Yandere!Neteyam, ***NON-CON***, Dub-con, Predator/Prey Kink, Chasing, Obsessive/Possessive Behavior, Oral (female receiving), Edging/Orgasm Delay, P in V, Knotting, Size Difference, Fingering, Slight Degradation (use of 'whore'), Belly Bulge, Lapdance (kinda), Creampie, Alien Genitalia, Squirting, A Few Ass Slaps, Mentions of drinking and being tipsy/drunk, Brief Violence/Violent Thoughts (not towards reader), Brief mention of pregnancy, Threat of cutting off another's kuru/neural queue, Thoughts of killing/murder, One (1) non-sexual face slap (reader slaps Neteyam)

Word Count: 9.7K 💀

A/N: Hiiiii it's been a while 🤷🏻‍♀️

Summary: It was only ever supposed to be a hookup, something fun to pass the time. But to Neteyam, it was so much more than that. He's in love with you, obsessed with you - his perfect little mate. But he doesn't know why you keep running away.

**PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS - DON'T LIKE, DON'T READ**

Translations:

Yawne - Beloved

Tìyawn - Love

Tweng - Loincloth

Tawtute - Human

Kuru - Neural Queue

Tsaheylu - Bond, Neural Connection

Swoasey - kava bowl (constructed from seed pods, used for drinking intoxicating beverages)

Kaltxì - Hello

Pxir - Beer

Tsahìk - Spiritual Leader / Healer

Skxawng - Moron / Idiot

Iknimaya - Rite of Passage

Oel Ngati Kameie - I See You

Tanhì - Star

Muntxate - Wife, Female Spouse

Mawey - Calm

He’d only wanted to kiss you. To feel your soft lips pressed against his again. 

It had been so long since he’d gotten to feel them. The mask you have to wear is always a frustrating obstacle. He begs from time to time for you to pull it off, just for a moment, so he can press his warm lips to yours, taste your tongue on his just for a few blissful seconds before the lack of air catches up with you and you have to replace it.

You always say no, always push his hand away from where he has it cupped lovingly around the side of your head, but it never stops him from asking. 

You’re not wearing a mask now though. Instead, a long tube spans one side of your face, curling around your ear and stretching across your cheek before the very end of it forks off into your nostrils. At first glance he panicked, terrified of the thought of you out in the dangerous Pandora environment as a human without your only source of oxygen. It’s silly. He knows that you could have never made it to the village from the lab without some way of breathing. But he can’t help how he reacts, needing to be sure, needing to know that you’re okay. 

He’s at your side in an instant, kneeling in front of your tiny frame, large hands engulfing your head as his eyes searched your face in concern. You smack his hand away, answering his concerned questions of “Ma yawne, what is going on? Are you okay?” with a short “Fine. It’s the new tech the lab guys made,”

He calms, anxiety slipping from his body now that he knows you’re still safe. His eyes flicker over your face, a small smile pulling at his lips as he takes in all your beautiful features in front of him. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, he’s always thought that, ever since the very first moment he met you all those years ago. But now here, without the thick layer of glass covering your face, it’s like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. 

“You’re so pretty, tìyawn,” He whispers, fingers unconsciously reaching out again to brush against your cheek. It’s finally accessible, bare and soft under his fingertips before the dull sting of another slap knocks his hand away. 

You don’t like public displays of affection. 

Or, at least, now you don’t. 

You used to not mind it. Back before that night in front of the fire, you would touch him all the time - sweet and gentle touches when you were talking, so tactile in your interactions with him. A quick squeeze to his knee whenever he was able to make you laugh, friendly half hugs as greetings that would make his heart pound in his chest every single time, your intoxicating scent filling his lungs and suffocating him in the best way. 

He’d keep his nose buried in your neck, breathing you in until you were all he could smell or think about for the rest of eternity if he could. 

He used to carry you places when you would tag along on fun adventures with him and his siblings. Excitement coursed through him every time you agreed to join them, tail swishing eagerly behind him because he knew that eventually you would get tired from walking and allow him to carry you on his back. You like to talk, prattling on about whatever was going on at the lab or a fun new piece of tech that Norm and the others were working on. Sometimes you’d talk about the current drama - someone said you talked too much, were too abrasive, but that you thought that they personally needed to grow a backbone. He’d listen to whatever you had to say - soaking up your voice like the most melodic song and committing every detail you provide him to memory. 

But your voice has a physical response on him. But the horrified looks his siblings would send him when they would see the tent in his tewng from where his hard cock had slipped out of its sheath was always well worth the embarrassment. The feeling of your soft skin on his - arms wrapping around his neck for balance, his hands completely engulfing your warm thighs from where they wrapped tightly around his torso as far as they could. He’s spent many nights imagining them wrapped around his waist from the front instead.

You didn’t mind public displays of affection when you drank an entire swoasey of pxir and danced in front of him by the fire. The celebration had wound down, the clan members satisfied in celebrating the induction of The People who had passed their Iknimaya just a few hours ago. Only a few younger adults who seemed to have the same idea as you remained now, each couple splintering off to different parts of the campground to get their much needed privacy. Even Lo’ak has moved away, enamored by the pretty girl sitting on his lap, uncaring about the way his hands slide down to cup her ass and pull her closer. 

The fading glow of yellows and oranges look amazing against your skin, the steady crackle of the fire like a song all on its own as your hips move to the music only your own head and nature provides. Neteyam’s eyes are wide, excitement coursing through his veins as he watches your hips sway. You sway too, your body a bit unsteady from the drink still in your hand, but mostly it's your hips - the sensual swish back and forth, beads from your tewng (a gift from Kiri he suspects) clank together against each other and your thighs. Your pretty thighs, so soft he wants to wrap his entire hand around them, spread them open for him and see you like he’s always dreamed of. You’d be so wet, so sticky and drenched for him that he’d be able to just slide right in. You were made for him. Made to take him. He’d fit between your thighs so perfectly despite your size difference, he knows he would. 

His breath catches in his throat when you dance closer, small body seductive in the way it calls to him with your movements. You toss the swoasey to the side, the little liquid that was left pouring out and soaking into the ground beside you. Your hands find their way to his bent knees, heat filled eyes never leaving his as you push his legs apart so you can stand between them, searing him with their intensity even from behind the glass of your mask.

Your hands slide up his legs, tiny fingers creeping up the insides of his thighs and he can’t help the audible gulp that escapes him when he feels his cock nudge against his already wet slit, threatening to poke out at any moment. 

Great Mother, you’re so gorgeous. The most beautiful woman Eywa has ever created. You must have been created by her - no other god or goddess or being could ever have made anything more perfect and irresistible than Eywa herself. 

Surely, the Great Mother has made you for him. Just for him. 

“Why so nervous, Teyam?” You giggle, leaning up as far as you can towards his face while still keeping your teasing hands on his thighs, dangerously close to the now bulging fabric. “Tawtute got your tongue?”

“I–um–” He chokes out. He can’t breath, can’t breath with you so fucking close to him. He wants you so badly, wants to touch you so badly he feels like he might die if he doesn’t.

And then you're turning in the cage of his open thighs, back pressing against his front as you grab his shaking hand. There’s a satisfied smirk on your face as you drag his arm around you, the large appendage spanning your entire chest as he sprawls his fingers out across your front. His fingertips automatically curl around the curve of your breast while his palm caresses the other through your beaded top, his body subconsciously reacting to your own guidance. 

His heart is pounding so hard he thinks it might explode in his chest, breathing labored as his hard cock digs into your back.

“You can touch me,” You whisper, but his ears flick at your words and catch them loud and clear. “Want you to play with me.”

“Ha-fuck,” He groans, mouth falling open in silent awe as your top shifts underneath his hand and his finger grazes your hard nipple. Without thinking his hand squeezes your chest, gently but firm enough for you to gasp as he greedily gropes both breasts at once. 

He can smell you now, the mind dizzying scent of your arousal filling the air around you both as you gasp and giggle excitedly at his sudden action, both of your tiny hands reaching up to grip at his big one as you press him tighter against you. 

“Come on, Teyam,” You moan, moan, and he’s not even touching you yet. You turn your head to look at him, craning your neck as you stare up at him with wide, lust filled eyes. “Have some fun with me.”

That night he spent with you under the hypnotic glow of the fire will be forever burned into his mind. Every detail, every moan, every sigh, every praise and whine and plea spilling from your lips as he made love to you for the very first time is kept under the sacred lock and key of his heart - a memory he saved with Eywa back at the Spirit Tree the morning after so that he would never have the possibility of forgetting. 

The memory of your gasp as he pushed you down, beads flying across the mossy ground as he tore your clothes off like an animal and how the roughness of it all made your arousal even stronger. His eyes greedy as they took in their fill of your beautiful body splayed out in front of him like a prize before he covered you with his own. Your fingers teased along his bullet wound scar, tracing the raised line with careful fingers, and he thinks that maybe your loving touch will be enough to fully heal it. 

The place between your thighs feels like home, your tiny pussy swallowing him up and holding him close like the most perfect combination of love and safety. Your voice ringing in his ears, sweet and sensual as you whimper and moan telling him faster, Teyam, fuck me harder, oh god, and he whines in return, cock throbbing and embarrassingly close to bursting so fast already, and sending up thanks and prayers to the Great Mother for granting him this amazing moment with you.

It’s the blending of two hearts, two souls made for each other and coming together as one in a bond so powerful that no one can ever break it. It doesn’t matter that you don’t have a kuru, Neteyam can feel you in himself anyway - can feel you wrapping your tiny fingers around his brain and heart and very being, solidifying your bond together without the need for tsaheylu. 

And when you pull your mask off, holding your breath as the hiss of air escapes from the broken seal around your face - he can’t breathe either. The feel of your lips on his, soft and demanding as you kiss him passionately as he fucks you on the forest floor, makes him see stars.

He’s not sure where the change of behavior came from. One day you were affectionate, touchy and giving with your love, surrounding him with your scent and embrace, pussy wrapped around his cock in a hug so tight he thought you might never let go. He wouldn’t mind that, being buried in your heat forever, warm and loved until the day he dies. But the next morning the walls came up, the attitude started, and when he had gone to greet you with a blinding smile and an adoring ‘kaltxì, yawne,’ on his lips as he bent to kiss your cheek, you pulled back and pressed a firm hand against his belly to push him away. 

He thought that your coldness was nerves, just a reaction a human might have to the new soul bond you’ve experienced. Humans don’t mate for life like the Na’vi do, but you’re special, you’re his, and Eywa has blessed your union and made it so even though it should not be possible. Maybe you just don’t know how to handle it. It’s okay, he can be the patient and supportive mate you need.

But the coldness and hostility doesn’t stop, the days go by and the passage of time doesn’t make you calm down. You don’t throw your arms around him like he wants you to, don’t say those three words he longs to hear fall from your lips said with all the love and trust that you have in your little tawtute body. 

Instead, there’s almost anger, a sudden indifference that he can’t seem to place. Had he done something wrong? He doesn’t think so. So, he tries to do the best he can, be the best mate he can be for you during your obvious time of struggle. He’s always there for you, will always be there for you, providing support and bringing you fresh meat, dicing up your favorite fruits and making you pretty jewelry that he knows will look so beautiful on you if you ever just wear it. 

You don’t. You toss the jewelry to the side like it's nothing, you let the food rot exactly where he’s left it.  

You’re not a Na’vi, you don’t understand the implication of your crassness towards his gifts. You don’t see how your refusals break his heart. It’s okay - you’ll learn. Humans are . . . unusual creatures. It will just take a bit more time for you to warm up to the ways of The People.

But his optimism stings with each slight, each indifference you show towards him. Great Mother, you’re so mean to him. Always trying to run from him when he grabs at you, ripping your hand away from his whenever he tries to hold it. You’ve been hiding from him, your trips into the village getting less and less frequent and you don’t let him in when he tries to come to the lab to visit you. 

“You don’t even like being here,” You say when he tries. And you’re right. The stuffiness of the lab makes him tense, and it feels like he can sometimes feel the energy from the machines pressing up against his body. But when he’s with you he doesn’t care. You’re the only thing that matters to him, and when he’s with you, it’s like everything else just falls away. 

The sting from your smack is still on his hand, but he shakes it off as he reaches out to caress your arm instead. “Ma yawne, are you hungry? You should come to my hut. I’ll cook you a fi–”

“No,” You interrupt, shrugging him off of your arm. “I’m not hungry.”

“Oh,” He breathes, disappointment burrowing in his chest but he tries not to let it show even as his fingers reach out to graze against your wrist. “Well then maybe we can go on a walk? There’s a lake not too far from here that I’ve been wanting to show you. It’s beautiful.” Beautiful like you. “I know you’ll love it.”

“No, Neteyam,” You say again, pulling your wrist from his wandering fingers and crossing your arms across your chest. “I’m busy.”

“What are you doing? Maybe I could–”

“No,”

The clipped word rings in his ears. No, no, no, always no. He’s your mate, you shouldn’t have to tell him no. Where you go, he goes. Where he goes, you go. Together. Simple as that. And yet it’s still always no, no, no. You’re turning away from him without another word, walking away with strides he thinks are way too quick for a human, and he can’t help but wonder where you’re heading to in such a rush. 

“Okay,” He calls out, desperate for the conversation not to be over but knowing it will just upset you if he follows you. “I’ll come see you later, tìyawn. I swear it!”

You don’t even look back.

He hasn’t seen you in nearly a week and his patience is running thin. 

Your absence is killing him. 

Where are you? Why won’t you see him? He knows you have to be suffering too without him. Mated pairs aren’t meant to be without each other for so long and he feels like he’s been apart from you for an eternity. 

You stopped coming to the village. He’s been looking, desperately hoping that he’ll see you among the multitude of faces he sees every day. He wants to hear your voice so badly, wants to pull you into his arms and hold you there, safe and loved, while the warmth of your skin soaks into his. 

He wants to push you down again, cover you with his body as he presses you into his sleeping mat - your sleeping mat. Both of yours, together, the way it should be as he plows into your swollen cunt. His hut should be covered in your scent by now, not an inch of it left without your mark on it. 

It’s not, and his understanding for your trouble adjusting to the bond is quickly dissipating. 

He’s tried to come see you at the lab multiple times. A lot. Every day. The lab guys turn him away.

She’s busy. She’s sleeping. She’s too tired. She’s not feeling too well. 

If you're not feeling well, he should be in there to heal you. Give you comfort when you're at your weakest and motivation to get better. So he can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re safe. If you’re tired, let him in so he can wrap his arms around you. His chest is sure to be a better pillow for you than any other one you would be laying on. He would be warm, chest moving with just the perfect amount of rise and fall to lull you into a restful sleep. Your beauty sleep - not that you need it. And if you’re busy . . . what’s the harm in him just being around you? He won’t bother you, but any time just existing in the same space as you is like a dream come true. 

He tries to be nice, tries to be a good person - these are his father’s friends, allies of the Omatikaya - and he’s never been one to act impulsively. But they are keeping you from him. You are his. His mate. 

By the looks on their faces, they know how lucky they are that they got away with only some vicious snarls and a pushed over lab desk. Keeping away someone’s mate should be punishable by death.

At least, that’s how Neteyam feels right about now.

He doesn’t like being angry, hates the disgusting feeling that he feels clawing relentlessly at his chest. But he’s frustrated and heartbroken at your self inflicted absence and the warriors he’s training are his unfortunate victims. He pushes them hard, way harder than he probably should. Two of them have already had to go see the Tsahìk for their injuries and most of them look just about ready to drop from exertion. The anger he lets out on them doesn’t seem to quell any of the feelings still boiling inside him.

But then he sees you and it’s like time stops. The anger and frustration flee his body in a rush of relief. You’re here. 

You’re hiding behind a tree just along the edge of the clearing. Why are you hiding? Maybe you’re trying to surprise him, stay out of sight until he’s done training so as to not distract him with your beauty. You would have. You’ve told him plenty of times that he has a staring problem. But he can’t help it. You’re just so breathtaking that he can’t help but want to stare at you all the time. You’re what he imagines Eywa incarnate to look like - a beauty so alluring and otherworldly that he just can’t bear to tear his eyes away. 

The training session is just about done. He releases a majority of the warriors for the day and there’s only a few stragglers that need a few minutes of one-on-one training before he can send them on their way too. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying to them, letting muscle memory and repetition help him drag these last few minutes along as quickly as possible before he’s able to run over to you. He’s already decided that he’s going to take you out tonight. A date night, just like his father and mother have. It’s a time where you both can get away from the hustle and bustle of village and lab life and just be with each other. You clearly need it and he’s so desperate to spend time with you that he’s just about ready to kidnap you from your duties just so he can get a moment of peace just to stare at your gorgeous, unmasked face more. 

Maybe do some other stuff too. Hopefully. 

His heart hasn’t been the only needy thing of his without you. 

The last warrior he’s with is really pushing his luck. How hard is it to switch a knife from a bladed upward position to a downward facing position with just one hand? It’s a simple wrist movement to perfect a move that might save your life one day and this skxawng keeps. dropping. the. knife. Neteyam’s seemingly endless patience is gone. He dismisses the warrior, words much too harsh to be considered professional but he doesn’t care. His mate is waiting for him and he doesn’t want to waste any more time. 

He turns back to head to where you are, a giddy smile pulling at his lips, mood immediately flipping at the thought of finally seeing you, talking to you, holding you. 

Except when he does it’s like he’s being doused with freezing water. 

Another one of his warrior trainees, Oäpon, is standing in front of you and Neteyam can see how he’s purposefully bulging his muscles a little more to make them seem bigger - an action male Na’vi do when trying to attract a mate. Neteyam wants to rip those muscles out of his worthless body. He should be disgusted with himself with how fast his hand twitches towards the knife on his hip, ready to give no thoughts and just act on his emotions. He’s not impulsive, he’s not. But for once in his life he feels like he might actually kill one of his own clan members. 

Would the Great Mother desert him if he did?

But you catch his attention again, the movement of your small step closer to the other man dragging his furious gaze back to you. Your gorgeous eyes aren’t on Neteyam like they should be, but instead on Oäpon in return. You’re smiling at him, grinning so wide that surely it's fake because you’ve never smiled at him like that before. Oäpon lifts his hand and there’s a deep purple flower between his fingers. The flower finds its way behind your ear and all Neteyam sees is red. 

He’s across the clearing in a second, roaring snarls ripping from his chest as he tears the flower from behind your ear. He can hear Oäpon start to talk, to question what the fuck he’s doing, but the other man’s words are cut off with a pained gasp as he’s kicked to the ground and then he’s shock silent, fear written all over his face as he stares in horror at his kuru and the knife held in Neteyam’s inescapable grip. 

“Don’t! Please, don’t,” Oäpon begs, voice shaking as he struggles to force the words out. “Great Mother, help! Please, don’t!”

“Neteyam, stop!” You yell, tiny fists beating at Netayam’s back, but he barely even feels them. 

“She is mine!” Neteyam growls. “Mine. My mate. You do not touch her!”

“I didn’t know,” Oäpon whimpers. “I didn’t know. Please! I swear!”

He wants to do it, wants to slice through the braid so badly. He doesn’t deserve to have it. Kurus are sacred, the ability to connect to Eywa and her creatures is sacred. Attempting to defile the bond between a mated pair is nearly unheard of. Your screams for him to stop are just making the desire worse. You’re protecting him?! Protecting the thing that was trying to . . . no. No, no, no. He deserves to have it cut off, deserves to die.

Oäpon should kiss his feet in thanks for the mercy Neteyam shows by releasing him. 

“I don’t ever want to see you near her again,” Neteyam shouts. Oäpon doesn’t respond, too busy scrambling away and darting across the clearing, but Neteyam knows he’s heard him. 

“You’re a monster!” You scream, another fist coming down to hit at his back. “How could you do that to him?”

Your hits don’t stop and even through his rage he’s trying to be gentle with you. He catches your flying fists in one of his hands, holding them tight as he crouches in front of you trying to get on your level.

“Ma yawne, did he hurt you?” 

Your eyes are wide as you stare at him in disbelief. “Did he hurt me? Are you kidding me?"

Neteyam’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“You fucking–” You screech, Neteyam’s ears pinning against his skull from the high pitched, angry sound. “You–you–I–ARGH!”

You're so frustrated, so upset you can’t even speak properly. Maybe you are hurt - Neteyam’s eyes scan your body for injury, eyes lingering on the area around your ear where the flower had been. The flower now lays forgotten at your feet, crushed and ruined from his angry grip, and Neteyam can’t find any source of injury that might be causing your upset.

“You don’t have to worry,” Neteyam says, cupping your cheek with his free hand. “He won’t bother you anymore, I swear it.”

You jerk away from his touch. “What is wrong with you?”

“I don’t understand what you mean. Nothing is wrong?”

“No,” You shake your head, wrists still trying to twist out of his grip. “No, there’s something wrong with you. Something is seriously wrong with you,”

“You are upset, tìyawn. Tell me what I can–”

“Don’t call me that!” You scream, nose scrunching with the effort. “Stop calling me that!”

“Oh,” Neteyam’s swishing tail droops in disappointment. “I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t know you didn’t like the name. I only meant to use it to show my love for you as my mate but I can–”

“We aren’t mates, Neteyam!” The words stab like a knife through his heart and his hand loosens around your wrists in shock enough for you to pull them out of his grasp. “We fucked once. A hookup, Neteyam. Sex, that’s it.”

“No,” He whispers. 

Why are you saying this? How could you say this? He was there! He remembers that night more clearly than any other day of his life. You love him. He feels it, feels it with every fiber of his being. You let him into your body, wrapped him tight inside you like a promise that you would never let him go - like he would never have to be alone ever again. You caressed his bullet scar, and he remembers the feel of your gentle fingers silently mourning for it and for all he’s had to suffer. He remembers thinking that being there with you in that moment was worth every other hardship he has to endure. He can take on anything with you at his side. 

“No,” He says again, disbelief coloring his tone. “How can you say that? We are mates! You’re mine!”

“No, we aren’t,”

“We are! I love you, y/n! Oel ngati kam–”

“We are not mated, Neteyam! We fucked. Mindless, hot, means-to-an-end-to-get-off sex. That’s it! Get that through your thick skull,”

He’s watching you as if in slow motion. You turn, stomping away from him as you start to head back into the forest and his brain feels like it’s going a million miles an hour. You’re mates. You are. You have to be - there’s no other way to explain the way he feels about you. The love and utter devotion he has for you. The need to be near you always - looking in your eyes, touching your skin, hearing your voice and the way you’ve always sounded so sweet saying his name. Eywa has blessed your union and he doesn't understand why you don’t feel the same way. Can’t you feel the same inescapable pull that he does? How your soul is tied to his in a way that surpasses even that of tsaheylu?

He reaches out to grab you before you get too far, fingers wrapping around your upper arm. Your own arm flies out around you and the sharp sound echoes through the forest and his sensitive ears before the pain registers on his cheek. 

He’s never seen your eyes so wide before, crazed and panicked as you stare back into his equally shocked amber ones. Your hand is shaking, still raised in the follow through of the slap. The force of your smack is still heating up his cheek, and if he can feel it as much as he is now, he’s sure your hand is probably tingling. 

Any other time he would check you for injuries. You’re so much more fragile than him - you could really hurt yourself if you’re not careful. But you just hit him. Your mate. The man that loves you more than anything. He’s frozen, body cold and not knowing how to react. 

Don’t call me that.

Anger floods through him again. This was Oäpon’s fault. He tricked you, seduced you somehow - out from right under Neteyam’s nose. He should have killed him. 

We are not mated.

You rip your arm out of his grip, wide eyes locked on him as he straightens his body, unfurling out of his crouched position as he rises to his full height. The shadow his body creates over you sends something primal through him. The darkened image of him completely overtaking your tiny figure makes him hungry. Possessive. 

Just sex, Neteyam. That’s it.

He won’t let that worthless skxawng corrupt you anymore. You’re the love of his life, his tanhì. You’re just confused. You’re not thinking clearly. 

You don’t mean it. 

He feels like if he concentrates hard enough, he can hear the sound of your heart racing. Or maybe it's his own, the frantic thump thump thump thump thump of his heart pumping rushing blood into his ears and making him feel like there’s static in his brain. 

When you turn to run, he’s not even shocked. His pupils dilate until there’s barely any color left, predatory gaze marked onto your back as you sprint into the dense Pandoran forest. Everything is so clear to him now. You’re testing him, wanting to see how loyal he is and how far he’ll go to keep you. You’re a beautiful woman, of course you’d have options. But you chose him for a reason, and now you want him to chase you - to prove himself a strong and worthy mate.

You want to play hard to get? Fine. He’ll play. 

He’s a natural hunter, an apex predator - and you, tiny human, have just become his prey. 

It might be fun to hunt you again - sometime in the future when this is all behind you. He’d be sure to make it as fair for you as possible: give you a head start, maybe allow you to rub some mud on your skin to hide your scent just to drag out the game a little longer, give you ample time and resources to find a good hiding spot where you can sit and try to listen with your not that great human hearing for any sign that he’s creeping up on your position. He’d wrap his arms around your waist when he inevitably finds you, smug grin tugging at his lips when your giggled shrieks pierce his eardrums as he pulls you from your oh so clever hiding spot. And then, he’d claim his prize, tearing your clothes from your body right there wherever he found you and fucking you until your giggly shrieking turns into blissful moaning. 

This isn’t fun. It’s not a game. And your headstart is dwindling rapidly. You’re racing through the forest, running as fast as your feet will carry you. He can hear your heavy breaths, the sound of the ground crunching under your clumsy feet. He can smell you, the scent you’re leaving behind in your rush is a direct trail back to you for him to follow. 

He doesn’t need it. He never lost sight of you. 

One of his strides equal close to four of yours, and he covers ground quickly as he closes in on you. He catches you only a little further into the forest than where the chase started and you scream as he tackles you to the ground, the force of his momentum completely knocking you both off your feet. He doesn’t let you touch the ground on the fall, twisting his body enough to take the brunt of the impact. The action still leaves you breathless, dazed for a moment before seeming to come back to yourself and struggling to get off from on top of him.

His hold around your waist is secure and he uses the anchor he has around your waist to throw you on to the ground beside him before climbing on top of you and pinning both of your hands above your head with one of his. 

“Get off me!” You scream, body struggling underneath him, hands pulling in his unrelenting grip as you try to get free, but you can barely move under his weight. “Get off me, Neteyam! Get off, get off, get o–”

His free hand latches around your throat, your words dying on your tongue as his fingers dig into the sides of your neck. 

“Quiet!” He hisses, baring his fangs. “Be quiet!”

The aggressive display makes a small whimper rip from your throat and he can feel the vibrations tickle under his palm. You’re not quiet though, you never stay quiet - ever the talker that you are. You’d talk his ear off if you could. The only time you’ve ever stayed quiet is when you avoided him, and he refuses to let that happen again. 

“Neteyam, please,” You whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re scaring me. Let’s just relax and talk about thi–”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” He growls. “You’ve said enough already, don’t you think?”

He releases your hands, grip on your throat loosening and moving down slightly until it's just a singular hand pressed against your chest to keep you pinned. Your hands immediately latch onto the large hand, one of your own clutching the back while the other curls around one of his long fingers. He feels how you pull at it, trying to get it off of you - and he knows how much harder you could be trying right now if you wanted to. 

He lowers his face to yours, inches away so that his breath fans across your skin as he speaks. “You like to talk, but you don’t like words. You’ve made that clear. My words mean nothing to you.” He can feel how your quick breathing puffs against his face too, the warm air caressing his cheeks. “You need actions - a visual representation of my devotion to you. I see that now.”

In a flash, his hands are balling into her t-shirt, pulling roughly in either direction and the thin material gives easily under the pressure. You gasp as he rips your shirt down the middle, the torn fabric falling on either side of your body as he does the same with your bra with a quick snap of his wrist. 

“What are you doing?!” You shout, but you can’t fool him now. He’s grown tired of your games and your body can’t lie to him. 

“Don’t worry, yawne. I’ll give you what you need,”

The sound of ripping material echoes through the otherwise peaceful forest. Your shorts require just a bit more force to tear, but it’s barely a percentage of his full strength so the fabric comes apart at the seams easily leaving the ruined bottoms still around your waist and thighs, but a large opening right at your center. A rumble of satisfaction builds in his chest when he smells you, the first scent of your arousal permeating the air around you. You gasp when he rips your panties too, leaving nothing left of the light blue material but the thin elastic around your limbs and hips. 

His mouth waters at the sight of your pretty pussy, bare and tempting and already getting so wet for him. 

“Fuck,” You whimper, arms splayed out beside you, fingers gripping into the moss covered ground. 

“You like it when I’m rough, huh?” Neteyam teases. “When I’m demanding and just take what I want from you?”

You shake your head, trying to deny it, but the way he can see your pussy’s responding clench is damning to your denial. 

“I remember now,” Neteyam’s hand slides down your thigh and caresses your calf, long fingers wrapping around your leg as he presses a nipping kiss to your ankle just above your sock. “You loved how I shoved you down on the ground that night. It made you gush in your pretty little tewng, didn’t it?”

“S-shut up,”

“Hm, my muntxate likes being handled roughly, doesn’t she?”

Your response is a shocked squeal when he snatches your hips, hauling you up off the forest floor, the quick snapping of moss ripping from the ground as you’re abruptly pulled upwards. Your entire world is turned upside down as Neteyam dangles you like prey in front of him. He throws your legs over his shoulders and wraps a secure arm around your stomach to hold your lower back to his chest. The other hand holds onto your thigh to make sure to keep you spread before him as if you had any chance to wiggle away. 

A choked sob rips from your throat as your hands reach for the ground, blood rushing to your head as your fingers stretch as far as they can trying to get leverage and hold yourself up. Your fingertips only just barely graze the soft green. 

Neteyam groans as he enjoys the sight right in front of his face. You’re spread open for him, pussy perfectly framed by the destroyed fabric - dripping and glistening in want against the dimming sunlight despite yourself. He can see how you subconsciously contract and clench it, hole practically begging him to fill it with his tongue. He wants to bury his face in it, suffocate on your smell and taste until it’s all he can think about. 

So he does. 

He digs his face between your legs, tongue lapping at your folds like a man starved. He is. He didn’t get to do this your first time. It was too fast, too desperate. He couldn’t control himself with you. Everything about you calls to him like a siren, luring him in with your beauty and light. You dragged him down on top of you that night. You were already open, you told him - had fucked yourself with that fake cock he had found hidden in your drawers during an impromptu hangout in your bedroom at the lab. You still felt suffocatingly tight when he pushed in, but he had been grateful that he didn’t have to wait.

He had waited so long for the chance to be inside you that he felt like if he had waited another second without you he would have exploded. 

Your back arches as he licks up your slit, moaning loudly as his textured tongue slides across your clit. 

“Oh my god,” You gasp out, hands forgoing reaching for the ground and finding purchase on his thighs instead. “Neteyam, f-fuck,”

He hums in response, his tongue targeting the sensitive bundle of nerves, sliding and flicking relentlessly against the small bud as your moans and gasps get louder and louder. Your sounds are driving him crazy, the taste of you on his tongue setting every one of his nerves on fire. His cock is already hard, already working its way past his wet slit and tenting in his tewng. You taste so good, so perfect for him. He wonders what it feels like for you, how good it must feel for you to be writhing in his grip now, so vocal for him in your pleasure that your voice is already starting to sound a bit raspy from use. He bets his tongue feels better than any other man you’ve ever tried, the texture of it foreign and unique and unlike anything else you’ve ever had before. 

It will be the same way for him too, he’s sure. He’s dreamed about it, fantasized and jerked off to the thought of your tongue, soft and silky, running up and down his cock. You’d torture him with it, be teasing and delicate in your licks, alternating between those featherlight, barely there teases against his lavender tip and firmer strokes down the base of his cock. 

Your nails are digging into the meat of his thighs as he wraps his lips around your clit, panting breaths telling him yes, right there, Teyam, fuck, fuck, yes as your hips try to hump against his face. You’re right there, right on the edge, ready to fall over it with just a little bit more.

But he stops, reveling in your frustrated groan as he pulls his mouth away from your soaked core. His intense golden eyes meet yours when your head forces its way up, raspy voice whining a desperate ‘why’ as you feel your orgasm slipping away from you. 

“Tell me you’re mine,” He demands. He needs to hear you say it. 

“Teyam…” 

He can’t bear to hear you deny him again. Can’t handle hearing you say the words that make him feel like his heart has been dunked in acid.

His lips latch onto your clit again, sucking harshly at the tiny bud and your words cut off with a gasp. He works you back up, your head falling back as he nips at your clit with his sharp teeth before licking down your slit to circle your entrance. You’re so tight, so so so tight around his tongue as he pushes it in. You clench around the wet muscle and then somehow clench even tighter when the hand gripping your thigh reaches over to rub firm circles on your clit.

“Teyam, oh god, Neteyam, please!” You beg, thighs squeezing his head as they try to force themselves closed. “I’m gonna cum. Please,”

You wail as he pulls his mouth away again, your hole clenching around nothing as your orgasm dissipates again. 

“Say it,” He feels your whole body shiver as his words breathe hot air on your sensitive cunt. “You’re mine. Say it, y/n,”

You sob, frustration evident in every sound and twitch your body makes. You’re trying to lift your head again, looking up at him from your spot dangling below him like a puppet, and he wonders if all the blood rushing to your head from being upside down for so long is getting to you. 

“Say it,” He repeats and then digs back in, the flat of his tongue roughly swiping over your clit before latching onto it again.

Your legs kick as he works you up again, overstimulated pussy throbbing as he plays you like an instrument he’s known for years. His cock is throbbing too, desperate to be released from the confines of his tewng and shown some attention. He wants so badly to push inside your soaking hole and feel how it’ll grip his cock within its slick walls. 

“Neteyam, please!” You cry, and he knows you’re so close, right there again as he hurdles you back towards that just out of reach edge. He doesn’t stop the suction of his mouth. You’ll say it, he knows you will. You’ll say it because if you don’t, you won’t get to cum. He’ll keep you here, upside down in his unrelenting hold until you pass out from exhaustion before he’s going to let you go without saying it. 

You’re a stubborn brat. He can see as he looks down your hanging body that you’re biting your lip. You want to say it - you’re just being stubborn. He sucks harder on the swollen bud, free hand smacking your hip and your asscheek just hard enough to make you cry and gush further on his tongue, the remaining remnants of your clothes doing very little to muffle the sting. 

“Okay!” You yell. “Okay, okay, Neteyam! I’ll say it! I’m yours! Please, please let me cum!”

The words make Neteyam’s chest tighten. Finally. Finally, you’ve admitted it, and the excitement from the admission urges him to lick you faster. He’s sloppy and greedy as he eats you out, overeager and face wet to the point of dripping as he devours you for all you have. You cum on his tongue with a choked scream, hands reaching up to grab desperately at his arm encircling your waist, nails digging into the cerulean flesh as your back arches and your thighs clench tightly around his head. 

He swallows everything you offer him, lapping up your juices like his favorite most treasured treat, before placing a protective hand on your back to steady you as he lowers you back down to safety.

“Mawey, yawne,” Neteyam coos, gently brushing away a few rogue pieces of moss stuck to your sweaty forehead. You’re still panting, exhaustion creeping over you as your eyes glaze over and threaten to close. The oxygen tube had unhooked from around your ear at some point during your experience upside down. Neteyam guides it back around your ear with careful fingers. “You’ve been such a good girl for me. Keep being a good girl while I fuck you, yes?”

Your eyes widen at the mention of fucking, shaking your head slightly even as the full bodied shivers of the orgasm’s aftershocks continue to wrack your body. “N-no, Teyam. C-can’t take i-it.”

Neteyam smiles, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss against your lips. The feel of your lips on his is almost enough to make him cum. He’s so worked up already, so high off the taste of your cunt on his tongue that all it takes is the loving press of your lips on his and he’s a second away from exploding in his tewng and ruining the fun. 

“Yes, you can,” He says against your lips, his sharp teeth digging into your plush bottom lip just to hear you whine. 

Last time he fucked you, he took you from the front. It was love making, a bonding of two souls coming together as one - a spiritual experience filled with panting breaths, eye contact, and the passionate coupling that comes with mating with the one your heart belongs to. 

You don’t deserve that right now, not with the way you’ve hurt him - made him work for the love that should have been given freely. The things you said can’t just be forgotten. You need him to prove his worthiness to you? Prove his loyalty? Then fine, he’ll do that by giving you exactly what you deserve.

You yelp when he flips you over on your stomach, large hands grabbing your hips and hauling them up so your ass is in the air and on display for him. The remaining fabric of your shorts still cover nearly half of your ass, but the little coverage does nothing to diminish the amazing view. You try to push yourself up with your arms, but Neteyam is quick to shove you back down with a hand on the back of your neck. 

“No, no, tìyawn,” He says, running a large hand over your exposed ass, his fingers teasing along the creamy slit of your pussy. “You said you’re mine, so let me see what’s mine.”

His teasing fingers find your hole and his teeth dig into his lower lip when he sees your thigh start trembling as he circles your entrance with the pad of his finger. You like it rough, he has to remind himself. You’re a human, so delicate compared to him that he naturally wants to be gentle with you. But that got him nowhere, it got him ignored. You respond to roughness, passion, him taking charge - so he doesn’t give you any warning before he’s plunging two long fingers inside you all the way to the knuckle.

You scream, slick walls squeezing around his fingers, your own hands once again ripping at the moss below you. The scream is agonized, oversensitive and pained from your earlier edging and orgasm. Your thighs are shaking, desperate sobs erupting from your throat. But the way you’re pushing back against him, rocking back against his invading fingers trying to get them deeper inside you tell him everything he needs to know. 

“Look at you,” He coos. His fingers start up a steady rhythm, thrusting inside you with purpose as he stretches you open. “Such a little whore for me, aren’t you?”

Your moans are muffled against the ground, cheek pressed firmly against the moss from his hand pinning you down by his neck. You ignore his question, too lost in trying to push back against his hand and make him fuck you faster - so he rips his fingers from your gripping cunt, drops of your wetness flying from the force of his retreat, and his large hand lands harshly on your backside. 

You howl at the smack, the sound of the slap against direct skin this time cracks through the forest like a gunshot. 

“I asked if you’re my whore,” Neteyam repeats. It’s not as romantic as ‘I’m yours’, but still just as important. 

“Yes, Teyam,” You whine. “I’m your whore.”

“Just for me, right? Only my whore,” Silence again, but your hips are still wiggling and searching for his fingers, so he rewards your silence with another sharp smack. “Say it, yawne,”

“Fuck!” You cry, ass feeling like it's on fire even as more of your slick drips down your thighs. “Yes, yes! Only for you, Teyam. Only for you,”

“Good girl,” Neteyam purrs, and you’re rewarded this time with his fingers sliding back inside your aching pussy. 

He stretches you out on those two fingers, alternating between scissoring them inside you and curling them to rub at that special spongy spot that makes you squeal and see stars. He contemplates adding a third, but decides that he wants to finish stretching you out on his cock instead. 

This time when you cum, it's less of a scream and more of a deep guttural groan that comes from deep inside you. It’s wetter than he expects it to be when you squeeze around his fingers, and the sight of your slick dripping from your mound onto the forest floor beneath you makes him feel absolutely feral. 

He lets go of the back of your neck and pulls his fingers from your abused cunt. The wet fingers work frantically at the knots on his tewng and he feels like he can’t get the fucking thing off fast enough. When the knots come undone and the tan material flutters to the ground, he breathes a sigh of relief, thick needy cock springing from its confines to slap against his belly. 

When he focuses back on you, your exhausted body is already trying to curl in a ball, eyes threatening to close as sleep calls to you. No, Neteyam thinks. He’s not done with you yet.

He flips you back on your stomach, pulling your hips back up high so they’re flush with his. You both groan as he rubs his hard cock between your folds, the tip nudging at your swollen clit. Fuck, you feel so good, pussy feeling like silk against his aching length. His eyes are locked onto where he’s lining his head with your entrance, watching in awe as he nudges himself forward, your greedy hole welcoming him in like you’ve been doing this forever. He can’t control his sounds, grunts and moans of pleasure echoing loudly through the trees as he sinks himself inside your slick walls. You’re so tight, even with the amount he’s stretched you out already you’re still so tight. But you stretch around him like you were made for him, made to take his cock into your depths - like your insides already know the exact shape of him and welcome him back into their warm embrace.

You whimper as he fills you up, back arching and hands clawing at the ground like you’re both trying to get away from him and closer to him at the same time. 

“I fucked you so good, didn’t I?” He gunts, pulling halfway out of your gripping pussy before slamming back in, relishing in the tortured moan it pulls from you. “That night by the fire. Made you cum so many times, over and over again until you were so cock drunk you couldn’t speak.”

He pulls out again, just a little further this time before thrusting back in. He does it again, and again, the rhythm hard and unforgiving and he pulls your hips closer to his. In the back of his mind he fears that he’s being too mean, too rough, but your gasping hiccups and blissed out sighs contain any worry. This is as much for him as it is for you anyway. He’s allowed to be selfish. 

“You’re always so talkative,” He pants. “Where’s that pretty voice now, huh? You were so talkative that night, just endless pleas of my name falling from your gorgeous lips. Like music to my ears. I wanna hear it again. Please, yawne?”

“Mmh, please,” You whine. “Please, Teyam,”

“Please what?”

“Faster,” You beg. “Fuck me faster,”

Who is he to deny such a sweet and pretty thing?

He leans forward, body curling over yours to cover you completely, one of his hands grabbing yours and linking your fingers together as he presses them both against the ground. His other hand is still on your hip, using it as leverage as he fucks your puffy pussy faster, the tip of his cock barreling against your cervix with each snap of his hips. 

He can feel the knot on the base of his cock swelling, the large ball of tissue nudging at your entrance with each thrust. The instinct driven part of him urges him to push harder against you, to force the knot against your tight hole to see if it will fit. 

He didn’t knot you that night, not wanting to risk hurting you or getting you pregnant so fast with such a new relationship. He came inside you with his fist wrapped tightly around his knot instead. Na’vi bonds are forever. Human bonds . . . now he’s not so sure. He’s not willing to risk it anymore. He’s going to bond with you in every way he knows how. 

When he feels his orgasm creep up his spine, he lets instinct take over. His grip on your hip tightens, thrusts halting as he presses the enlarged ball against your soaked entrance. 

You gasp, whimpering as his knot stretches you more. “Oh god, wait, wait,”

But it's too late. With another determined shove, the knot pops inside you and he has you trapped, locked on his cock until time decides to free you. 

“Neteyam, i-it’s too b-big,” You whine, shock evident in your voice. “Hmh, so full,”

Neteyam plants soothing kisses on the back of your head and neck, the hand on your hip smoothing around your belly to caress the large bulge of the outline of his cock in your stomach. “I know, tìyawn. I know. It’s so much, but you’re doing so well. Just a little more for me, okay?”

He can’t thrust now, can't even so much as pull out an inch now that he’s locked inside you. So, he makes you do the work. He keeps one hand on the bulge in your tummy, the other hand coming down to rub relentlessly at your throbbing clit. The stimulation makes you keen, pussy clenching and tightening around him and working his aching length with your wet walls. 

His fingers on your clit are your undoing. He barely hears any noise from you as your orgasm hits, but this time he’s able to see the side of your face as you come undone. Your eyes roll back into your head, mouth opening in a silent scream, but it's like all the breath has been stolen from your lungs. Your body tenses, muscles shaking through the overwhelming pleasure, and he feels as much as he hears how you gush and squirt all over his teasing digits and the ground below you. 

He moans at the sight, the feel of your pussy clenching around his length and the wetness from your orgasm on his fingers and cock makes him tip over the edge. His orgasm crashes through him, tearing him apart as he spills himself inside you. His cum paints your walls, and his knot makes sure to keep every single drop of it inside you. 

Neteyam collapses next to you, shaking as the aftershocks roll through him, and pulls your limp body safely against his. It will be at least an hour before the knot’s swelling goes down enough before he’s able to slip out. You let out a moan of pain as the knot pulls at your entrance as he adjusts you, but he sushes you.

“Relax, ma yawne. I’ll take care of you.” He coos. “Oel ngati kameie,”

You don’t say it back. You don’t even hear him, already dead to the world as your exhaustion finally catches up with you. 

It’s okay. He knows in his heart that one day soon, you’ll say it back.

Taglist: @eywaite @loaksulluyswife @erenjaegerwifee @f-cklife @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @minnory @localjasmine @skywonder @neteyamswillow @luvv4j4ybe11 @vampirefilmlover @quicktosimp (cause you said you liked yanderes)

**Comment here to be added to my taglist!

[pursuitseternal]

“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

[ushiwhacka]

IT'S A KINDNESS, HIGHNESS | gojo satoru + fem! reader | 4,500 words | mdni | royalty au, gojo is the most obnoxious, annoying, charming prince ever <3

⇥ summary: your betrothed is unlike anything you ever imagined. he's improper and brash and delights in embarrassing you - but he wants you. and he always gets whatever he wants. ⇥ warnings: corruption, oral (f! receiving), spit, pussy job, food play (just a tiny little bit), reader is a virgin, satoru is so impatient

for my most beloved char <3 thank you for being so patient and for this super cute request (and also for reading but shh)

You were bred to marry royalty. It’s what you’ve been told since you were old enough to know the meaning of it. You were raised to marry royalty. To sit with your legs flawlessly tilted. To sing like a delicate bird. To speak low and curtsey even lower still. A perfect daughter destined to become a perfect wife. 

A resounding click as you close the locket once more. The intricate flowers are warm under your skin, worn out with how many times you’ve run your fingers over them. Clutching it to your chest, giddy with thoughts about the man who looks back at you through the heart-shaped frame. The many nights it has spent tucked under your pillow as you dream of chaste hand kisses and dancing with your betrothed as everyone else looks on. 

“Do you think he’s as handsome as his portrait?” You peer down at the now opened heart again, sighing wistfully as you think of looking into those shining eyes. 

“Keep your head straight.” A sharp reprimand before you feel another pin scrape at your scalp. And you do your best to swallow an audible wince. “It does not matter if he’s handsome, he’s a prince. And one day, he will be king and you will be queen.”

“But, mother —”

“And you will provide him with as many heirs as he wishes.” Her thumbs press into your bare shoulder blades as she regards you in the mirror. A familiar expression on her face, her mouth taut in a thin line, she levels you with steely eyes. “This will do.” You swallow your questions. “Now go.”

There is a whirlwind of kitchen maids and footmen carrying silver trays overflowing with food, dusting the railing, adding wood to the already roaring fireplace. It all comes to a sobering still at the sound of galloping horses and wheels rolling over gravel and the clamour turns into concealed whispers and feet scurrying away. 

Two years since your betrothal. Two years of waiting and wondering. Two years worth of daydreams and fantasies of saccharine words and stolen glances and promises made tucked away behind secret corners. The air lodges in your lungs.  

The silence in the room is so heavy that you can hear your heart thumping in your chest, faster and louder as the steps in front of the door grow nearer. A click. Then the thumping stops. 

He is just as beautiful as his portrait. And yet, he looks nothing like it. There’s something so brazen about him, how strands of messy, white hair fall over his eyes. How his shirt is too loose and untied, the deep opening showing the pale skin of his chest. 

You follow the contour of it. Wide eyes taking in the dip of his throat, the swell of muscle just underneath. It feels forbidden, something you shouldn’t be allowed to see. And still you cannot peel your eyes away. Watching as he draws closer with every long step. Your feet feel like lead sinking into the hardwood floors. 

Curtsey. You’re supposed to curtsey, low and steady. You’re supposed to bow your head before the prince. 

“Ah, my future wife.” It’s too late. “You look ravishing.” 

Before you know it, your hand is in his hand and you can barely breathe. Your chest straining against the fabric of your dress. He looks at you in a way no one has before, like a predator who’s about to devour his prey. Then he brings your hand to his mouth, his lips warm against your skin. 

And he looks at you. Impudent eyes burnt into yours for too long. It’s lewd. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks heat in embarrassment. 

Your head is reeling, hand clutched into fists as you follow the group into the dining hall. You had only read of such behaviour in forbidden books hidden in the depths of your family library. It was inappropriate, a stolen moment of intimacy. Still, you can feel the shape of his lips on the back of your hand, stinging like a brand. Thumb pressing into it as you sit on the table with your hands in your lap and head hanging low. 

He sits with his chin propped on his fist, looking around with lidded eyes, the very picture of boredom painted on his fair face. Every word out of his mouth comes drawn out and lazy. But you can still feel his gaze following you, the bob of your throat as you swallow, the tiny drop of red wine sauce on your lips, the nervous fidgeting of your fingers. 

The rest of the world feels like noise, blurs, falls away under the weight of his curious eyes until it’s just you and him. And there’s nothing else to feel but how he drinks you in, how he lingers in all the forbidden crooks of your body. Like you’re already his and his alone.

You’re almost afraid to look at him. The way he stretches in the chair, legs spread wide and slouching over the armrests. Every attempt of your father’s to make polite conversation is thwarted with a disinterest that is almost insulting. Current affairs, politics, and tomorrow’s hunt pale in comparison to the way your hands trembles around the fork. How it clatters against your plate when you feel his hand brush the side of your thigh under the table. 

“Are you feeling unwell, My Lady?” The conversation halts when the prince speaks, heads turn to focus their attention on you. 

“I — I am quite alright.” You feel as though you might choke on the very air you breathe. “You are kind to ask, Your Highness.”

It must have been an accident. You try to reason with yourself that it was an accident. But you suspect it wasn’t. Not when his companion turns to glare at him. Not when his mouth quirks up ever so slightly in satisfaction.

Not when he looks at you as a child looks at a new toy. His new toy. There for his amusement.

Feet patter softly against the floor as you pace around your chambers, watching the sky turn black then lighten again. The pillows feel too warm and your bedding is scratching against the skin of your legs. And every time you close your eyes, you see him, you feel the warmth of his hand on yours, his plush lips on your knuckles. 

You press your mouth to the patch of your skin he kissed, you wonder what it would feel like if he kissed you. Would he be loving and tender? Or would he simply take and take some more, leaving you breathless and trembling? 

It is your duty to give, give him whatever he asks for. That’s the purpose of a wife. You had heard the same lecture nearly daily for over two decades of your life. But there was never an explanation. What must you give? Which part of you would he want for himself?

There’s a fluttering feeling in your belly. Like a sense of frustration that builds and grows with each new thought. Spreads lower still and your whole body comes alight. Like you might not mind giving as many parts of yourself to him as he may want, even if it’s all of you. It makes your chest heave and sweat bead at your hairline. Persists until you succumb to the mercy of exhaustion.

You spend the next morning avoiding anyone with a pulse — the gossiping servants, your mother, and especially him. Walking softly and peeking around corners until you find refuge in the library. The tips of your fingers grazing across dusty books as you read the titles. None of them particularly exciting. And either way, none of them have answers to the questions swirling through your mind. So you resign yourself to your thoughts, fingers dancing over the spines of dusty tomes.

“There.” Before you even know you are no longer alone, your body is pressed forward into the shelves, a chest flush against your back. “Just what I was I was searching for.” 

The sound of his melodic voice makes the blood simmer in your veins. He’s toying with you. You know he has no interest in any book your library could offer. And you’re angry. Angry because you know none of it is an accident. Angry because he is not the man you had imagined. 

And all that rage turns to ice in your veins when you turn around to face him, neck craned upwards only to be met with his bare chest peeking out of the crisp white shirt and a wolfish grin. 

“Your Highness, you —”

“Did you like my portrait?” His fingers inch towards you, rest on your collar bone as he examines the little silver heart that hangs around your neck. “I sat for it just for you.”

“It is in your likeness.” 

“You wound me.” His face is much too close to yours, so close that his breath fans over your skin when he breathes out a laugh. You’ve never felt smaller. “Do you think I’m handsome?”

“Your Highness —”

“Satoru.” He interrupts you again. His lips brushing against your ear. “If you are to be my wife I want to hear you say my name.” Your skin prickles up as he whispers, raw where his words fall over your neck. 

There’s an eerie quiet wrapping you together. Like anything beyond those towering shelves falls away. And all that’s left is the sound of his calm breaths and your heart pummelling against your ribs.

“Satoru.” It feels foreign in your mouth, fills it up. Sits heavy on your tongue.

“Good girl.” 

Then he leaves you. He walks out of the grand room with a spring in his step and a wave. And you’re gasping for air, one hand splayed over your chest where he had touched you, the other digging into the wooden shelves as a means to keep you upright. 

You feel watched, his shining eyes follow your every step. He finds you in the library again even when you’ve tucked yourself away in the most private of nooks. He finds you in the kitchens late at night, sneaking a few bites of cake and milk before bed. He finds you in the garden too as you sit on a bench overlooking the pond, tucked in the thick shade of a weeping willow. 

You’ve grown used to his presence in a way. Used to the quickening of your heart at the mere sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Used to the way your tummy coils when he touches you with near unbearable familiarity. 

Satoru sits next to you and puts the tray of lemon cakes on his lap. He’s too close again, his knee touching yours. And you allow it. Again. 

He shuffles in his seat, taps his fingers on the bench, then sighs deeply — making his presence known, waiting for you to acknowledge it. 

You don’t. 

The silence only lasts for one brief moment. “Have a taste.” He brings the sweet to your mouth and nudges your hand away when you try to take it. “No, no. Open wide for me.”

That feeling that sits low in your belly comes back, twists your insides. But you do as you’re told and part your lips. You’ve learned by now that he enjoys watching your face twist with embarrassment. Just loves that you will disregard every lesson in proper behaviour you’ve been taught for him. 

The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, lingers there too long. The cake crumbles on your tongue, tangy and sweet. And his mouth hangs slightly open as he watches the way the cream sticks to your teeth, his lithe fingers resting on your chin. It’s suffocating, like the air has thickened in the space between you. Like you cannot breathe until he tells you to. 

“Why are you squirming?” 

The question catches you off guard. “I’m not.”

“Do you like it when I touch you? Does it make you feel strange between your legs?” He leans into you as he speaks. “Is your cunt all wet?”

Your eyes widen in shock. He’s not supposed to say that word. So filthy and unbecoming.  And it makes you feel all… wrong. Too aware of how your body preens for him.

“That is not an appropriate way to speak to a lady.” It takes every drop of strength you possess to not trample over your words. To ignore how he looks at you, barely surpassing his amusement. To stand on your feet and stomp away from him. 

But still, when you slam the heavy doors to your chambers closed, all you can hear is his voice, deep and sanguine. And all you can think about is how it feels to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent and feel the warmth of his skin on yours. How you sink into every touch and every brush of his knuckles. How you feel dazed and light-headed when he speaks words he shouldn’t. 

How you wish to know more.

He finds you again that same night. Walks into your bedchambers wearing a shirt pulled further apart than usual. Feigns innocence as you regard him with stern eyes and your mouth pressed into a disapproving line.

“You really cannot be here.” You fold into yourself, suddenly aware of how he can see you, see all parts of you through the nightgown that’s turned translucent in the candlelight.

“I must have lost my way.” His voice hushed, but you can still hear the insincerity in it. “It’s a big house.”

“I’m certain you’re used to bigger.” You pull your arms closer to your chest. “Now go.”

He doesn’t. You can feel how his eyes rake over you, take in every detail as you stand almost bare before him — how your hair looks when it’s not neatly arranged and adorned with pearls, how your fingers dip into your shoulders, how the tops of your breasts peek from behind your forearms with every heavy breath.

“You’re beautiful.” He takes a step toward you, long fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t want to leave.”

“Satoru, please.”

“Tell me you want me to leave.”

You swallow thickly, throat tight around your words, swallowing them. Your eyes dart away from him as embarrassment climbs up your legs, warms your cheeks. 

He reaches out, holds your chin between his thumb and index finger. Tilts your head so that you have to look at his face, so that he can see up close the quiver of your lips as you succumb to him. “I’m waiting.” Because you will succumb to him.

The air between you feels suffocating, sticks to you. You turn your head, desperate to breathe, to escape what feels inevitable. But you’re met with the palm of his hand, searing in its tenderness as it pulls you closer to him. 

His lips hover above your own, impatient but still waiting for your resolve to fracture and crumble in his grip. The flicker of your eyes brimming with anticipation is enough of an answer. A shared breath and the distance between you dissipates as he kisses you. 

You’re standing on the tips of your toes, your body extending to dissolve into his. Like it knows its place. He’s gentle, his lips plush and soft and oh so warm as they press on yours. And you feel like you might lose yourself to this feeling, to his touch, consumed by his hunger. And when he pulls away you chase after him.

But he stops you with a hand around your jaw. “Don’t be greedy, now.” His thumb swipes across your lips. “You’re such a good girl, yes?” A dazed nod and his finger pushes inside your mouth, runs over your teeth and pushes onto your tongue. He stakes his claim on you. You’re his. Every last part of you. All of you. His to touch as he pleases. To have as he pleases. His and his alone. “And did they teach you what husbands and wives do together?”

You shake your head.

He swipes over the plump of your lips again, coating them in warm spit as you struggle to keep upright, light-headed, feet tingling with trepidation and something unfamiliar. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Y-yes.” It comes out shaky and breathless, like it should have remained in your throat, died there. Like you should have said no. But there’s that feeling in your belly again, starved and growing, and it wants him. And everything that may entail.

He kisses you again. This time it’s different, firmer, he forces you to open yourself up to him, his tongue licking inside your mouth. Holds you in place with a hand wrapped around the back of your neck. Devours you. Your every sense is alight with the feeling of him, forbidden and yet there in between your eager fingers. 

There’s drool dripping down the sides of your chin, so unbecoming, so embarrassing. Yet it doesn’t compare to the sting that spreads to your cheeks when his tongue darts out to lap it up, lick you clean. Then he kisses you once more, even deeper than before and no drop of himself he has so graciously given you goes to waste. 

You can’t escape the scrutiny of his crystal eyes, shining with pride at the result of his efforts as they take in the sight of you. From your swollen lips, down your neck, to your chest heaving with every laboured breath, and your arms folded together in a feeble attempt to protect your modesty. 

“Let me see you.” His voice trembles just for a moment. As if he, too, is being held together by delicate seams, bursting with want, with the need to have you. 

His fingers snake around your wrists and your breath hitches. But you still let him peel your arms off your body, let his knuckles ghost over the thin material, let him undo the bow that holds your nightgown together. 

You can hear how hard he swallows, see how his throat bobs with the effort, how his mouth goes slack at the sight of your perky nipples peeking out from underneath the white cotton. “Are you nervous?” 

“A little.” 

Knuckles ghost over your clavicle as he hooks a finger around each strap of your nightgown. He looks into your eyes as he pulls them over your shoulder. “Don’t be.” And the dress falls around your feet in a rustle.

The look on his face is unlike anything you have ever seen before. Something primal and fierce. Like a starved animal, a wolf about to devour the lamb caught in his paws. He will take everything, carve it out of your core and grind it between his molars. And you will let him. And you will ask for more.

Feverish lips leave a trail down the column of your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. You hold onto him, nails digging into the base of his neck as he moves further down, watching in awe as he licks a stripe in between your breasts. He’s watching you too, eager to see how your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure, how you try to bite back the moans that tumble out anyways.

His hands move to cup your tits and he takes his time watching how the fat spills from in between his fingers. Touches your nipples so lightly it tickles, then latches his mouth onto one. It’s obscene, the prince on his knees, your skin glistening with a thin layer of his spit. And oh the noises he makes, whining as he sucks on the hardened buds, the pop as he releases one, only to move to the other side and do it all over again. 

The blissful smile on his face as he looks at you coming undone in his arms. 

But it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to fill the emptiness that’s spreading inside out you. “Please, Satoru —” Your voice weak and desperate, begging for something, anything that will make you feel whole again. 

“What’s wrong, My Lady?” He stands to his feet, curving into you. “What do you want?”

“Satoru…” You say his name like a prayer, like it’s your only salvation.

“Do you want me to touch you —” His fingers dip between the fat of your thighs “— here?”

And you gasp oh so sweetly as his middle finger presses into your folds. Your legs buckle, nails digging deeper into his skin. You want more. And you squeeze around his hand like your body knows what you need when even you don’t. But it’s too late. He’s already holding his finger in between you, dripping with your slick. Then he pops it in his mouth, looks into your eyes as he swirls his tongue around it. 

“Mmm, sweet.” It’s like he delights in embarrassing you even now. “I want more.”

He carries you to the bed, sets you down gently before pulling the shirt off his back. He can see you and, at last, you can see him too. The peaks of his chest, drops of sweat running down between the ripples of his abdomen. So broad. Not even marble statues, perfectly carved works of art, can compare to him. 

His hands are smoothing over your legs, firm, like he’s trying to commit every dip and curve of them to memory. His kisses start chaste, airy over the bone of your ankles, tickle the back of your knee. Slowly, they turn hungry, demanding as he buries his head between your thighs. He sucks on your soft flesh there, his mouth hot and needy. Then his tongue laves over the teeth marks imprinted into your skin, soothing the sting of it. 

He stops for a moment. Desperate eyes taking in the sight of your pussy, wet and sticky with arousal. He runs his fingers over the sensitive skin, listens to you sharply inhale at the contact. 

“You’re mine.” The world stops. “Say it.”

You can only manage a strangled whisper. “I’m yours.”

Then you feel it, the warmth of his breath as his mouth hangs just above your core, how wet and thick and hot his tongue is when it licks between your folds. How it curls around that spot that makes you whimper and call out his name. And he wraps his lips around it, sucks on it and you cannot stop the cry that erupts out of your mouth. 

Your belly tightens. And you have to hide your face behind trembling hands, hide your panting and the way your cheeks could burst with shame. But you cannot stop how your body leans into him, how your legs wrap tightly around his head, pulling him closer still. 

“You’re doing so well.” His voice vibrates against your centre and you moan, high-pitched and strained. “Just let go for me.” 

You can feel the sheets grow wetter beneath you, him cursing under his breath about how perfect you are, his tongue all over you, lapping up your slick and dipping into all the perfect places. And that feeling snaps, spreads until your legs are shaking and you can do nothing but wail and scratch your nails across his scalp. 

Lips move across your tummy, sloppy wet kisses mix withe the damp of your skin. He kisses you again, cradles your neck, holds you in place. It’s forceful and his mouth is so hot on yours, dripping, covers you in a taste that’s salty and sweet and intoxicating. 

His hair is tussled, face shiny with you. And he looks at you with some kind of twisted pride in his eyes. “Have I won My Lady’s favour?”

A weak nod.

“Then —” He starts as nimble hands undo the ties on his breeches, “— I should show you what you have done to me.”

It’s a sight unlike any other. His cock, with soft white tufts of hair at the base, thin veins curving around his length and a blush pink tip leaking something clear and thick. And when he rests it on top of your tummy it feels heavy and it goes all the way up to your belly button. 

“When we’re married I intend to have you like this every day.” His eyes are glued to where your bodies connect. “Perhaps more than once. We need heirs, don’t we?” Excitement tingles in your fingertips.

He runs the fleshy tip over your slit so agonisingly slowly. Follows every little movement with such intensity. And he feels like velvet against you, warm and throbbing over your core. Each buck oh his hips catches that sensitive peak between your folds and you feel your insides coil again. Writhe with want, with need to feel that release again. 

You reach out to touch him, feel how he ruts into you. And he moans at the contact, a little choked out and whiny. You run your hand over his length, encouraged by how his lips part so prettily. And he feels so thick, so firm in your grasp.

“You’re a fast learner.” His mouth stretches, a picture of satisfaction.

But his tip catches against your entrance, and his eyebrows knot uncomfortably and he grinds his teeth. Knuckles white around the crumpled sheets as he tries to ground himself. Resist. Just for now. But never again.

His thrusts become more erratic, reckless as he surrenders to the tenderness of your flesh. And you follow closely along, hips bucking into him, looking for more friction, more of him. Your name falling from his lips, and his from yours. Like a sacred choir chant, or a cry for mercy, or something no words could ever convey. 

He finds his release with his head hung and a low grunt. Spilling all over your belly, white and sticky and hot. He’s spent, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest heaving. You like the way he looks at you, bright eyes dimmed and hazy. Softer. And you think you must have taken a part out of him too.

He clings to you, lets you lay your head on his chest, your ear just above his heart. Its steady beat is oddly soothing. And so is the way he gently rubs little circles into your back, grounds you, binds you to him. Unexpected but not unwanted. 

“Do you want to marry me?” He looks so different. Vulnerable and entirely too human, gaze locked onto the carved wood of your ceiling. As if he’s afraid of your answer, the truth in your eyes.

“Hm.”

“Hm?” His chest tightens.

“Only if you promise to sleep in my bed for as long as we both shall live.”

He turns to you with a click of his tongue. “I think they will have to drag me out by my arms and legs.” A wistful sigh. “There might even be casualties.”

thank you for reading! interaction is very much appreciated! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[peachdues]

THE SWEET FAR THING (TEASER)

Knight!Kyojuro x F!Royal!Reader

Kyojuro my beloved, it is your time to shine again.

Have a sneak peek from my Royal AU featuring one of mt favorite tropes — sworn protector/guard x royal.

Obviously this will be super NSFW, who do y’all think I am.

CW: suggestive/horny content ahead.

Scene context: angy Knight Rengoku slips into your chambers late at night following a failed coup attempt.

He’s angry and you know why — you’d directly disobeyed his orders and launched yourself headfirst into the chaos which erupted in the Great Hall.

His presence in your rooms is daunting; a dark anger ripples off him like waves of heat roll off stone in the summer, and yet he says not a word as he slowly stalks toward where you stand near the edge of your bed.

A predator stalking his prey.

Only when the tips of his boots meet the toes of your slippers, only when you feel the blustering heat rolling off his body and enveloping you within its suffocating warmth, does Sir Rengoku open his mouth.

“Where.” It is all he says, his voice low and rich. His eyes are twin pools of molten ore, but even now, you can see the rage simmering within their ochre depths.

“Where.” He repeats, though his tone is harsher.

“‘Where what, Sir Rengoku?” Your voice is as soft as the shadows cast around the walls of your chambers by the flames crackling merrily in your hearth.

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “Your wounds,” his face twists as though the very thought of any harm befalling you is offensive. “Where are they.”

It is not a question, but a demand; one that you know spells trouble if you should answer truthfully.

Trouble that piques your interest nonetheless; one that stokes a curiosity within you that you know is dangerous.

You pursue it anyways. “I am unharmed.”

The knight’s mouth curls into a snarl at the obviousness of your lie. “That is not what the healer claimed.”

“What good is the word of a healer against the crown?” Defiance rears its head within you, eager to both rise to his challenge and to see exactly how far you can push him. “Is my word not law?”

Rengoku scoffs as he steps closer, his leg slotting between your thighs and forcing you to lean back into tour bed frame for support. “It may be so,” he admits, though the fury in his eyes make no such concessions. “But empires built on baseless laws are inevitably doomed to fall.”

“Meaning?”

The Knight’s eyes flash. “Your words are horseshit and you know it.”

He’s right and but you’ll be damned before you admit it.

“You overstep,” the bite of your glare is belied by the way you’re forced to shift your weight awkwardly from foot to foot, as you try your best not to think about the burning press of his thigh between yours. “Now kindly remove yourself from my chambers.”

Rengoku makes no effort to move and his obstinacy thrills you.

Instead, his hands rise to the front tie of your dressing gown and begin tugging, slowly undoing the haphazard knot you’d fastened in your haste to make yourself decent.

Your fleeting moment of triumph is chased away by the breath which lodges in your throat.

“What are you doing?”

Your knight — your fiery, loyal, compassionate yet utterly insufferable knight — slides a single hand between the parted folds of your robe, coming to rest on the dip of your waist covered only by the thing fabric of your nightgown.

The weight of his palm feels like a brand against your skin. “Since you refuse to be forthright about the extent of your injuries,” Rengoku says, pushing the robe away from your shoulders. “I shall have to take inventory of them myself.”

Your dressing gown drops to the bed behind you before sliding to the floor to puddle around your feet. Wordlessly, Rengoku steps away just enough to kneel before you, though his eyes remain locked with yours.

You are wading into treacherous waters, and you know you are without any raft or life preserver which could keep you afloat.

“I shall scream,” you warn, though you do not mean it; not really. You intend only to give him an out, a means to come back to his senses before the blazing heat of his stare consumes you both. “I shall alert the rest of the palace guard.”

His fingers skim up the length of your shin, a phantom caress that is a mockery of how you truly wish for him to touch you.

“My duty is to guard the Crown and ensure no harm befalls it, your Majesty,” Rengoku’s breath follows the path carved by his hands up your legs. He pauses at the knee-length hemline of your nightgown, his chin resting against the slight bend in your leg.

It nearly frightens you how much you adore seeing him on his knees, peering up at you like you are the embodiment of salvation itself.

“So by all means, call forth the Guard,” the Knight’s fingers slowly push below the hem of your nightdress, brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “Call forth every living creature within the palace, for all I care. They will see only the Princess’s Knight, carrying out his sworn duties and managing her every need.”

Your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly as Rengoku’s fingers tease higher and higher up your thigh. “And what are my needs, Sir Rengoku?”

Your flame-haired protector only hums. “To have your wounds tended to, for starters,” and it takes everything in you not to let your head fall back with a cry as Rengoku presses a single, chaste kiss just above your knee.

But the sweetness of the gesture is undercut by the darkness of his gaze. “And to be punished for directly defying the orders of your Guard.”

yes daddy punish me —

[bzurk]

don’t feel obligated to respond at all my beloved but i would looooove to know your thoughts on könig & knife/gun play <3

also i saw your funny number follower post, congrats!!! you deserve so many more i stg you’re one of the most underrated writers in this godforsaken fandom.

- Dad <3

My headcanon… König is not nice. He is an arrogant, proud and cocky man. He takes looking down on people to another level.

"And they said I couldn't be a sniper..."

“Let’s be honest… It’s better off in my hands.”

“Hands off, It’s mine.”

Like, he knows he’s big. He knows he’s scary. He knows he’s good at what he does. His broad shoulders and towering frame are weapons in their own right, constantly reminding others of their inferiority.

He relishes in their discomfort, in the way they avert their eyes and step aside.

He is not the same kid who was relentlessly bullied and harassed, shoved into lockers and ridiculed. He spent so much time alone, stuck in his head, thinking the world was out to get him, afraid.

It hardened him, made him antagonistic and cruel.

Covered by his mask, König could be someone else entirely.

This... side of his comes easily when he has you in his palms, malleable and docile, sharp edges dulled by fear. Something for him, and him alone, a precious treasure for his eyes only.

And once you're in his grasp, he can do whatever he fucking wants to you. He knows you won't talk back, won't deny him, not when he is so much bigger than you, when he could snap your neck with the flick of a wrist.

But he wouldn't hurt you. Not intentionally, anyway.

Threatening you, though? Proving just how much bigger and stronger than you he is? He thrives off it.

The cold barrel of his pistol gliding over your tongue and chipping at your tooth enamel, his name carved into your hip, bruises in the shapes of his fingers, his knife pressed against your throat-

Anyway, rant over- YOU MAKE ME WANNA WRITE FOR KONIG NOW grrrr

cw below the cut: predator/prey, knifeplay

The labyrinth swallows you whole, its corridors twisting like the coils of a serpent, leading you deeper into its grasp. Each turn is a gamble, a frantic bid to outpace the monstrous presence that dogs your every step. Your breath is ragged, each inhale a knife to the lungs, and your heart hammers a frantic rhythm against your ribs, urging you onward. You curse your shoes - sharp, sensible, and utterly impractical - biting into your feet like a predator gnashing its teeth.

The Minotaur breathes down your neck, a force of nature you cannot outrun. Every shadow is its claw, every echo its growl. You are a sacrifice in this man-made labyrinth, the gods demanding blood and fear as tribute. The offices you sprint past, once a sanctuary of mundane routine, are now twisted visions of horror. Desks loom like skeletal remains, chairs crouch like beasts ready to pounce, and the flickering glow of monitors watches with an indifferent gaze, a silent audience to your terror.

Time warps and distorts, stretching and snapping like the sinews of your aching legs. The world has narrowed to the staccato rhythm of your footfalls, the shrill wail of the alarms a discordant symphony, and the relentless pursuit of the creature behind you.

Desperation claws at your mind, a frenzied beast in its own right. You grab a chair as you run past, flinging it behind you with every ounce of strength you can muster. The chair crashes to the floor, an explosion of sound in the cacophony of the chase. For a moment, you hear the beast stumble, a snarl of frustration echoing off the walls.

But it's not enough. It never is.

The beast is upon you in a heartbeat, a shadow of rage and power that slams you against a desk with bone-jarring force, the collision of a heavy animal ploughing into your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs and the panic from your head. Pain blooms through your body, and static takes your vision. Your lungs scream and scream and scream for breath to no avail, muscles spasming. The hit is like a system reset to your body, shutting down all of your functions only to reboot them in a heartbeat.

The Minotaur is faster. He is built from pure muscle and sinew, bulging and heaving under the blaring red lights, the silhouette reaching for the ceiling. He grunts and groans, breath expelled harshly in a facsimile of exhaustion.

The Minotaur steps into the blaring red light of the alarm, its glow revealing him in a series of sharp, fractured images.

What stands before you isn't a creature forged from myth and nightmare, but a man, a towering figure encased in the cold precision of tactical gear. His silhouette is all harsh lines and rugged edges, a mountain of muscle and sinew crafted for power and endurance.

A hood drapes over his head, its fabric heavy with the residue of shadow and blood, concealing most of his features, except for the sharp glint of his eyes; a glacial blue that pierces through the darkness. Those eyes hold no mercy, no hesitation, only the cold calculation of a predator who knows his place at the top of the food chain.

In one hand he grips a large combat knife, its blade gleaming wickedly in the crimson light, reflecting lethal intent. The knife seems like an extension of him, as natural as the breath he expels in harsh, rhythmic intervals. Every part of him speaks of discipline, of a man moulded into a weapon as much by choice as by necessity.

He regards you with an intensity that burns through the space between you, a look that speaks volumes without uttering a word. It tells of dominance and disdain, the arrogance of a hunter who has already decided the outcome of this encounter. And as you lie there, splayed and breathless, you realize that this man, this Minotaur in human form, is the living embodiment of your worst fears - a predator who revels in the chase and takes grim satisfaction in knowing that escape is futile, in knowing that he has won.

The Minotaur steps closer, his heavy boots echoing on the linoleum floor, each step deliberate and filled with purpose. His presence looms over you like a dark, oppressive storm, blotting out any hope of escape. He plants his feet on either side of your hips, a calculated move that pins you in place, trapping you beneath his imposing figure.

His eyes, those cold, glacial blue eyes, narrow slightly with amusement as he regards you - splayed out, wide-eyed and breathless, a deer caught in the headlights. He reaches down, his hand moving with a predator's grace, and grips the collar of your blouse. The fabric strains against his hold, and you can feel the cold, unyielding steel of the knife pressing into the hollow of your throat, its edge a chilling promise of violence.

"Pretty thing," he coos, his voice a low, rumbling purr that sends a shiver down your spine.

There’s a twisted satisfaction in the way he speaks, a predator savouring the fear that radiates from you like heat. His words are a mockery, dripping with condescension, as if your fear is nothing more than a source of entertainment to him. You can see his eyes crinkle with delight beneath the hood, the corners creased in a perverse kind of happiness. It's a manic joy, one that revels in the power he holds over you, in the certainty of his victory.

"You put up a good chase," he continues, almost conversationally, as if discussing the weather or a mundane day at work. The knife presses just a fraction deeper, piercing skin, a reminder of the precariousness of your situation. "But in the end, you know it was futile, don't you?"

His voice is a mix of admiration and taunt, a hunter acknowledging the prey's fleeting attempt at escape while relishing in its ultimate capture. There's a cruel satisfaction in the way he leans closer, his breath a ghost against your skin, warm and chilling all at once.

He relishes in your fear, in the way your pulse hammers beneath the thin barrier of skin, the way your breath stutters in your chest. It's a game to him, one he plays with expert precision.

You can see the madness in his eyes, a glint of something untamed and wild that speaks of a man who thrives on chaos and control, who lives for the thrill of the hunt and the inevitable conclusion it brings. And in that moment, you understand with terrifying clarity that you are at the mercy of a predator who knows no bounds, who revels in the dance of fear and power, and who will not be satisfied until he has claimed his prize.

His knife trails down, down, following the bead of blood as it trickles down the hollow of your throat.

“Pretty, precious little thing,” he coos into your ear, the fabric of his hood tickling against the sensitive skin of your tear-stained cheeks. His knife tinks as it hits your top button. “I will have much fun ruining you.”

You squeak when the sound of your button skating across the floor echoes. Followed by the next, then the next, then the next, until your soft belly is exposed to the beast and its hungry maw.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

🧚‍♀️ Anon

Coraline AU 🪡

Dio as Darling’s Husband

Johnathan as Darling’s Other Husband (It makes JoJo SO much scarier because he’s so sweet, kind, caring and loving that you don’t realize the predator he really is)

Johnathan is actually just lonely and hates what he has to do (So he devours villainous and evil individuals to ease his guilty mind)

JoJo’s true form wouldn’t be thin, instead he would be more muscular and bulky (Like a Goliath Bird Eater) with his even more massive height (He’s so big that he has a bit of a hard time squeezing through the ‘narrow’ *NORMAL* doors and his head will hit the Door Frame unless he lowers his head)

OR

Dio as the Other Husband

I haven’t read the book but I read somewhere that the Beldam had a Mother and she buried her in her backyard, and when she tried to crawl out, the Bedlam put her back in her grave, so I can picture Dio doing that to his father (But he grew tried of it so he killed him)

Dio is trying to Woo Darling into accepting him, but she’s too uncomfortable and feels creeped out that she doesn’t fall for his tricks

Darling doesn’t need an Other Husband when she has her beloved Johnathan (As he’s always been her sweet, gentle giant)

But what if after entering the door, she comes back every time she falls asleep? (And she can’t control it, but it started happening when she found that doll that looks exactly like her)

Because of it she thinks everything is a dream (But finds it weird and concerning that Jonathan is nowhere in sight)

Dio becomes frustrated as he’s never had prey like Darling before, as many women would swoon and fall to his feet for his affection (As he eats their lives up to sustain himself)

Darling becomes scared however when Dio tried to convince her to let him sew buttons in her eyes (And when she tried to stand up to him his appearance became more monstrous as his temper began to spike)

Darling finds the door and uses it to escape, only to her horror find out she’s been gone for days and Johnathan has been missing

She was horrified to find a doll of JoJo and figured out Dio took him so she must return to save her Husband

But here’s the twist, she thinks she sees JoJo when she returns to that world as she runs into his familiar arms and comforting smell, only to her horror to see Dio had attached his head to Johnathan’s body? (As he traps his Butterfly within his web with no chance of escape)

Sorry for the constant splurge, I’m currently haunted JJBA and it won’t leave me alone!

Oh boy! I've got news for you if you didn't already know. I've actually done this au before quite a few years ago. Only it was part 5 centric.

I love the idea of beldam Jonathan just being alone and clingy.

But the whole dio head on Jonathan's body at the end is just mmm... spicy.

For Jonathan I can imagine that reader isn't in a good environment, abusive even. Darling doesn't really know how to deal with their situation. That little door is their only escape and for a time that's all they need but something happens in the real world that pulls them away, something good and Jonathan noticed their distance. He tries to lul them back in but doesn't work.

So eventually Jonathan resorts to taking those who darling lives with. Perhaps there is one person he takes that wasn't abusive to darling and that leads them to try and save them.

For Dio I like the idea of darling thinking it's a dream. Darling is very distant to him despite everything he tries.

When they escape at first they think that Jonathan is at work or is out trying to look for them so they try to call him but he doesn't respond, which is strange as he usually drops everything when it has anything to do with them.

They go around asking neighbors and they tell darling he'd knocked on their door a couple of days earlier asking if they knew where darling was, they didn't and he told them he was going to go into town and file a police report. But he never ended up leaving the house after he went back in to grab the keys.

Darling goes back inside and eventually finds the doll and knows immediately what's happened.

They go back through the door and sees Jonathan standing in the kitchen (they can't see his head behind those damn archways, he'd always hit his head on them and were planning to have them removed during renovations).

They immediately run towards him and wrap their hands around him.

"Oh thank goodness you're safe" they'd say.

"Of course I'm safe, you'd think something would happen to me?" Dios voice would speak and That's when they'd look up and see what horrible form of frankensteining has happened to their husband.

[itsnotmourn]

CONCEPTS AND RAMBLINGS | "animal" cult pmv extras

thank you everyone for liking my pmv (and on yt and twitter) !! i got more attention than i thought it would and that means the world to me! <33

here’s some of my concept art + rambles for it!

the first thing i made up, the character designs!

i didn’t think to refine them because they were good enough to use LMAO... so i scribbled colours down, threw a filter and called it a night

i wanted a sharp change from the verses and chorus (since the song goes from calm to... louder) so i made it greyscale (with a red filter) that changed to brighter colours!

also changed the text font/colour for ignacio hmm. the font was hard to read, in my opinion.

ignacio's design

ignacio loses his bandage colours because that was too many colours for my liking… i completely forgot his hair highlights tho

ah and he doesn’t get a mouth until the fire scene too…

it was only meant to be done for a few frames but i thought it be cooler if it was consistent.

the missing mouth represents his repressed feelings/silence, or something like that.

skidad's design

i got a few questions on whether skidad was a goat. despite looks, skidad’s design is actually based on the herbiadean/jacob sheep! four horns!

i have drawn skidad as a jacob sheep before as well!

look at them ominous friends.

the resemblance to goats is something i considered as well (links with cult/sacrifice) so i think of it as a fun bonus

i gave him wolf teeth because the whole “wolf in sheep’s clothing” but also because i like it when prey animals are given predator features

i left the body as "human" because i only wanted the face to be censored… i considered clawed/darkened hands too but nah

skidad was originally going to be lined like ignacio, but i liked the lineless look for him so voila! makes it feel like he’s “not bound by anything”... actually, this is the same reasoning for the match to be “out” of the border, even though it’s ignacio’s hand

storyboards

i rarely storyboard (most are locked in my mind) but i figured it'd be fun to try!

halfway, i got bored of drawing digitally so i moved onto my notebook. i think it was a good decision; since i drew with my ink pen, it forced me to move on with my mistakes instead of clicking "clear canvas" lol

i had a pretty solid idea of what i wanted after weeks of listening to the song over and over again. the only thing that really changed was the mirror, which was replaced with a shadowy ignacio

the coloured thumbnails i actually did first, just to figure out out what i’m doing for the chorus part… limited palette my beloved

i didn't know where to put the text so i was scribbling everywhere lol

ratio changes

in the chorus, the ratio of ignacio and skidad’s frames changes! it’s more obvious if i combined them together, like this

less for ignacio, more for skidad

did you notice that the fire in this shot look like the cult ?!!! why did i do that, you ask? well:

the fire is the same “red”as the robe

too lazy to draw fire without abusing motion blur

mmm symbolism idk. it's somewhere there

it wasn’t in my plans but i’m happy i made the choice in the last minute. this was the last thing i needed to finish before syncing it up with the music

also this… i just wanted to point it out… make sure everyone knows... did you notice this? did you? did you did you? well now you do!!!

that's it !!! that's your trip into my mind!! okay byeeeee !!

[neetily]

↳ EVENT 42. M!Robin (Incest & Omegaverse AU)

— ✧ warnings: Incest, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, omegaverse AU, dubcon, Creampie — ✧ word count: 2,575

— ✧ A/N: reposting from my old account since i was asked to! formatting might be off, but it's still readable.

Things couldn't be going worse for him, really. Or, does he mean better? It's hard to discern how he truly feels with the fervid fog taking hold of him. He can, however, at least deduce that this is getting a little out of hand, don't you think? Hovering above your meek shivering frame, his brows furrowed in vain concentration of your worried features; the writing has been on the wall this whole time, it's a shame that it took him this long to realise. So soft and small, aren't you?

And you always were. At least at heart, he should have seen this coming. You should have seen this coming, what with your docile temperament and— fuck, breedable body. Always had alpha big brother to look after you, never had to worry a single day of your beta life about the dangers of scary men like him; but there's nowhere to run now, is there? Not as he hovers above you with teeth baring, mouth salivating at the stupidly sweet scent your submissive body emanates for him. Just for him, yeah? All for big brother? You really, really, shouldn't have.

Yet, the more rational part of his mind knows that the pretty pout you sport and the sugary smell you secrete isn't your fault. Far from it, actually! Big brother instincts just begging to take over, override his alpha tendencies so that he can properly look after you and not give in to his innate nature— but shit, you don't make it easy on him. There's a reason why you always get your way, huh? "Don't look at me like that..." He practically begs of you, tone pleading despite his dominating presence above you, indulging in the pliant doe eyed stare you offer him in return, the welling of tears at your lash line threatening to spill; and him, too. Spilling things he really shouldn't for his little sister. Not with you, he tries to reason with himself, biting down on his tongue as a means to distract himself from your heady scent, his eyes still rolling to the back of his head in spite of his best efforts. Anyone but you, his beloved, baby sister.

A late blooming omega, are you?

You had taken a sick day off from school, and at the time he'd brushed it off as you needing one of those days, y'know? A simple break from the stress of life, of which he'd happily allowed you to stay home and rest. But, now he knows the real reason as to why you couldn't attend school with him. He already knew that things were bad as soon as he stepped foot past the front door, assaulted by that sickly scent, overwhelming his senses like a fucking dog as he inched towards it naturally. Expectedly. Slowly creeping through the house like some kind of predator hunting prey until inevitably landing upon your bedroom door. And like a good big brother, this is when he should have known to walk away. Leave the house for, fuck, God knows where— anywhere away from you and that fucking scent. He knew what it meant then, and he's certainly aware of the ramifications of his actions right now. But he heard you mewl his name, all small and servile, beckoning for his entrance. And, well, big brothers want to look after their little sisters more than anything in the world, right?

That's all he's doing. He's just looking after you right now, burying the twinge of guilt blooming in his tummy in favour of bearing witness to your first heat, his gaze half lidded from the sheer amount of stink you waft towards him; the first is always the strongest, right?

"Poor baby..." He coos down at your incessant pathetic whining, stroking the back of his hand against your red hot cheek as a means to offer you light comfort, but your mewls only increase in volume and frequency. Because of his touch? Ah, can you smell just how much he wants you too? How, despite the taboo of wanting to fuck his one and only baby sister into next week, hard enough to make you forget your own name, he wants for nothing else but that? Especially with the way you grab and tease under him, making him honestly a little dizzy from the sheer strength of your scent, how your smell is perfectly suited to his tastes it's almost sickening. Clarity strikes him at his thoughts, a sheepish mumble escaping him. "I— I really shouldn't be here, um..."

Just as he motions his exit, tense arms trembling as he fights with his deep yearn to stay instead, your pitiful voice so easily brings him back to the cusp of deviancy. Grasping at his school shirt so tightly, shaking under him with pure need— he gets it. He's been there before. You've seen him there before too, haven't you? Fisting his precum coated cock all day and night long, a slave to his title: Alpha.

And at the end of the day, that's all he is. Being your brother is secondary to the fact. At his core, he's no better than the freaks who roam the streets. No alpha could ever hope to dissuade themselves from your open display of want, let alone him. A low growl rumbling through his chest when you hazard a squeak up at him.

"Wan' big brothers help... Please, Robin. Hurts," And as if to emphasis your point, he catches sight of your hand dipping down to between your legs, cupping at your surely soaked cunt just so he knows where to kiss you all better. "Been waiting for you all day— Ah, please, Robin..."

And who is he to deny such an innocent request? The thought alone of you writhing around on your bedroom floor, confused and unsure as to why you feel so heated, why there's an ache in the pit of your stomach that only big brother can fill, stirs up his insides all messy with pure, unadulterated, biased, lust. You're lucky to have him as your big brother, y'know? Already used to what heats entail, squeezing his eyes shut in sheer frustration over the swell of scent your little sister cunt gushes out in an attempt to convince him to stay.

You're lucky he loves his little sister too much.

Giving in is almost too easy for him. Dangerously so as he sighs heavily above you, swallowing a thick lump of shame stuck in his throat before sitting back on his feet.

"Okay." Is all he allows himself to mutter, drool collecting in his mouth when his gaze drops to your soaked through shorts, panties probably stuck to your sweet smelling cunt, right? And oh, now that he's resolved to defile you, he leans down, closer to your sopping wet cunt to huff at. A deep greedy inhale, something wolfish within him snapping the second your scent completely wraps around him and natural instincts get a moment to take over. It can't be that bad, right? Cock rock hard from the first whiff of your sweet cunt, he pets at it only once or twice before deciding it's time to take care of his beloved baby sister.

Wordlessly, he undresses you. Tutting down lovingly at your urgent whines and sighs, you're too cute, it almost makes him feel bad for looking at you in such a leering light. Takes him a breathless second to admire the sight of your pretty little cunt as soon as he exposes you bare, sucking air in through his teeth, jaw tight in sheer awe of how perfect you are for him. And it's comforting, isn't it? To have big brother fawn over you, doting on you from above as he undresses himself, quick to leave himself naked in order to care for you in the best way his alpha impulses know how.

"Poor little girl, just need big brother to make you feel all better again?" He teases you, fist squeezing at the base of his cock as he lines himself up to your honey cunt, letting his precum dribble all over your swollen slit as he struggles to breathe properly. It's wrong, he knows that. To take such intense pleasure in looking after you, pushing the tip of his cock into your needy little hole with a shivered gasp of pleasure; it's wrong to enjoy fucking his little sister so full of big brother cock, he fucking knows that. But fuck if it doesn't feel so good to be so bad, right?

Pushing insistently despite the pang of regret in his chest, because your squishy insides are just begging for more of him. Twitching against his length, sighing so sweetly for him until he's balls deep in his little sister and you let out this stupid little moan that he can't help but to smirk at. "Feelin' better?" He cocks his head at you, happy to hear how you only babble nonsense back at him. There's really no going back now, right?

You always were so delicate to him. So pretty too, God, the amount of people he had to fight off of you without your knowing. And maybe somewhere, hidden in the way his hips draw back automatically, driven forward again by the utter need you're gushing around his cock, he's always wanted to do this too. No better than the next alpha on the street, He needed to ruin his innocent little sister, show you the side of him he's otherwise had to hide. All pointed thrusts and greedy groans, raspy voice soon filling up your ears as he immediately folds in on top of you, body encasing your own as he settles into a far too unfairly fast pace for little girls like you; but he just can't fucking stop. Can't even bare the thought of slowing down, resolved to fuck you nice and deep for your first fuck with him, your heat induced haze affecting his sense of judgement as a lust fuelled cloud enters his mind and all he's left to focus on is how you claw red streaks into his back and how your cunt simply drools omega slick for him to enjoy. Slathering his thighs with every fast fuck he offers your poor little cunt, hiding his face in the crook of your neck as if to conceal his rightful shame.

"'M sorry—" He sighs emphatically for you, and yet still his hips don't stop. Pounding you into the floor below, nice wet skin on skin sounds soon filling the room for his brutal thrusts; doesn't it feel so good? Feels so right to have your big brother steal your first heat, right? "It's so, so cute that you— haah, baby—" He whines openly for you, the tight grip of your freshly omega cunt is so fucking addictive. Like a virgin all over again, making his fat cock all creamy with your persuasive submissive hole. "So cute that you— fuck, were waitin' for me—" Genuine praise drips his tongue, muttered against your sweaty skin before he loses his mind and completely gives in to his more baser instincts.

"Sorry, shit, you're just so fuckin' tight baby—" His tongue pokes out against your neck, huffing and puffing away at your sweet sister scent and reeling from how fucking nice it is. How it immediately calms him, convinces him that he's doing the right thing, licking a fat stripe up your neck to drive himself insane. "Baby sister cunts just so fuckin good, holy shit— Wanna— Need t'make y'mine, kay? 'M sorry. So sorry about this, I just—"

He can't keep up with his heavy thrusts, honestly. Humping even himself stupid as he digs his hands under your thighs and lifts them up with his thrusts, allowing him a more precise angle to fuck against your sweet spot. Big brother cock rocking against your insides so cruelly, right? Possessive in his thrusts, gnawing down on his bottom lip to prevent himself from chewing on your neck, but fuck you're so close, and you smell so fucking good, sobbing so prettily for him as he eases the ache in your tummy with stupid amounts of precum staining your hole as his. Big brothers pretty pussy, right? Only big brother could have you trembling under him like this, angel cunt promising to milk him dry with how tight you get at the new angle, relying on him to fuck you all better with swift fucks forward; he has to hold you in place from how swift his thrusts are. Raw dogging his cute little cunt, making sure you can feel his pointed teeth pressing against the sensitive spot on your neck to help you along—

"That's it—" He encourages your tightening squeeze around his throbbing cock, offering you slower but deeper thrusts in return. Threatening to kiss your cervix with how he forces you to take his full fat cock, balls sticking to your ass from how wet you are. Cunts just begging for it, huh? "C'mon," He starts, lifting himself up off of you so that he can selfishly watch his misdeed bare fruit. "Big brother jus' wants to help you— Oh, look at how pretty you are, baby... Need t'make you cum first, okay? Y'can do it, promise it'll feel real good—"

And his gentle coaxing is all it takes, really. Stroking your insides a couple more times before you become impossible tight and he can barely thrust anymore, yet still he feels the way your hole continues to try and suck him in, suck him off with how well you convulse around him, creaming his cock so prettily, shit. It's no surprise that he's quick to follow behind you, another mumbled sorry tumbling from his lips at just how fat his load is for you, genuinely fucking distraught at how he's treated you tonight; but he can't deny how good you make him feel, better than anything else before, intoxicating. From the way you coo so softly up at him as he fills you up, rolling his hips into you automatically, as if it were second nature to make sure his baby sister takes all of his sloppy seed. Gross, right?

But it couldn't truly be, not with the way you beam up at him so cutely as he comes down. Reaching your little arms out to wrap around his neck, pouting up at him for a chaste kiss.

"I'm... Uh, I'm sorry..." He stutters out against your lips, yet nevertheless lets you hold him here. Still warming his cock inside of you; this isn't anywhere near the end of tonight, he knows.

"It's okay, Robin. You helped me. Promise."

And, well... Maybe that's reason enough to have his cock all twitchy again, throbbing inside of your messy little cunt with want to fuck again and again and until you can't stand by yourself anymore. Rely on big brother some more, okay pretty omega? The brief moment of clarity subtly shifting the longer he remains in your sweet presence, coaxed back into the alpha mindset from a mere kiss.

It's not bad to feel good with his little sister, he's sure of it. Because you wouldn't sound so pleasantly surprised when he drags his hips back again otherwise, head thrown back too at the feeling of his cum seeping out from your slicked up hole; marked territory.

Tonight is far from over.

[cur-sedd]

ᴜʜ ᴏʜ! .+:｡ﾟ☆

gmiggle, ty for the love on my gyu posttt <33 so here is another smut with our beloved bbg, jjunie hehe MDNI!! AGELESS, BLANKS DNI!! nsfw content below ╰┈➤warnings: fem!reader x fwb!yeonjun, choking a bit ig, degradation, name calling (slut, filthy girl), objectification (?), possesive!yeonjun, toxic-ish too, spanking, think thats it? lemme know if i missed anything <3 ⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆⋆˚ఎ ☆ ໒˚⋆

You kept glancing back, feeling two holes burn at the back of your head with such burn. Look, you and Yeonjun were nothing official just in a regular friends with benefits situation. See! Nothing special. But why was Yeonjun giving you such dirty looks when you talked to another person, giggling. Even looking at them with those big eyes of yours makes him fuel up with anger.. You should only look at him like that, why are you going out of your way to look at others the same way?? Its pissed Yeonjun off when you even touched anyone but him. Playful shoves, gently hitting, maybe even playing with that person's clothes. Yeonjun rolled his eyes, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek before letting out a soft scoff. The fucking chances you see each other at the ONE house party you decided to go to. Well, better make the most of it. You hum, talking to your friend when a large hand grabbed your wrist, dragging you away. You yelped slightly, shouting out to your “friend” to ‘wait right there’ and ‘it’ll only take a minute, i’ll be back soon’ As Yeonjun rolled his eyes, knowing damn well you won't. Yeonjun found a random bedroom and shoved you in there, earning himself a stink eye from you. “Whats your problem, I was talking to-” “Nuh uh, whats yours? Talking to other people, in front of me? What’re you trying to get at here?” Yeonjun spoke, looking you up and down. A scoff leaving his mouth before he looked away, a hand going up to his waist while the other going to rub his hooded eyes. “And you wore that too, god are you just looking for attention you slut?” Yeonjun continued, now walking up towards you. You click your tongue and move back instinctively, feeling like prey in a predator’s view. His snarky comments always annoyed you, but god why did you feel so turned on by them. “Get that fucking stick out of your ass,” You started, rolling your eyes as you crossed your arms, returning that up and down look. “You're actually so annoying, ‘m not looking for-” You were silenced quickly as Yeonjun crashed his lips against yours, his hands guiding you to continue walking back until the back of your thighs stopped at a wooden bed frame. His kiss was hungry, possessive almost. When you stopped, Yeonjun continued to make his advances. His kisses getting messier and sloppier by the second, hands roaming all over those tight clothes which hugged all of your shapes. You groan a bit as Yeonjun pulls back, your lipstick now transferred onto his lips. Yeonjun looked down at you, eating at you with those eyes. God, those fucking eyes. You look to your side a bit before clicking your tongue once again. He always got the best of you. The red mark on your ass already got deeper in color as Yeonjun’s hand landed on it once again, causing you to moan out. Your fingers turned white at the sheer grip on the sheets, curses leaving your lips as Yeonjun pounded into you. Your voice vibrated after ever harsh and quick thrust, digging your face into the pillow to muffle those angelic sounds coming out of your mouth. “Mm-mm, if you are gonna be a slut i want everyone to hear you.” Yeonjun grunted, one hand situated at your waist to keep you steady as the other reached for your neck, lifting your head up. You let out a large, choked sob, tears of mascara running down your red face. “Mhm, yeah let those noises out. Feels so good huh, got my cock filling you all up, like the filthy girl you are, hm” Yeonjun teased as your back arched, causing him to go deeper inside your drooling pussy. “f-fuck! too much, t’much jjunie” You squeaked out but it was no use. Yeonjun was going to use you like a fucking toy. His grip around your waist tightened as his thrust grew even harder, both of your moans filling up the room. Wanna act bad, act like a stupid slut? then here are the consequences !! (≧▽≦)

[circle-around-again]

The Wrath of Darth Maul by Ryder Windham. Notes & Quotes.

Prologue.

*This is something I have been thinking of doing for a while. I'm a weirdo who likes deep reading texts and mining them for meaning. I have been doing it for this text for some time. I thought I might share it, but more importantly, create a catalogue for myself of notes. I don't know how this will be received, if it will be at all.

This catalogue will present interesting quotes, running themes, headcanons, and an exploration of Maul's experiences. Feel free to browse or use at your leisure. Spoilers ahead.

[scene: spidermaul in the tunnels].

"The prong-nosed rat knew that the dark heap lying in the tunnel was a dead man." (Windham, 1).

This is the first quote of the text. First quotes often hold thematic weight, and frame the story that is to come. It is interesting that Maul is described as a "heap" -- an object, not a body, and that he is specifically described as "dead." This narration establishes that 1) he is worthless, and 2) he is doomed. Fitting for his character, I think. Obligatory world-building: he ate rats to survive, scavenged waterproof fabrics to sleep under, and was an ambush predator who played dead to lure in prey.

"The legs were unevenly jointed, cannibalized from the parts of ruined droids, each leg ending with a tapered point." (2).

Cannibalism mention :3. Interesting that what is cannibalised is a droid, a being in star wars that is not even considered alive. For Maul to cannibalise a droid, on some level, he must thematically be considered a droid. Obligatory world-building: Maul doesn't remember how he got there, how he got his legs, where he is or who he is. He lives as an animal, but with one thing added: "pure and total hatred" (2). Note: unlike The Clone Wars, Maul does not speak and rave. In this depiction, he is silent, as he was in The Phantom Menace.

"He knew that he wasn't a man anymore, that he hadn't been one for years. He was just a creature in a filthy tunnel. And then he remembered the object of his hatred. A man... the man who left me for dead." (3).

Gendered reading: Maul states here that he doesn't consider himself a man anymore. One reading is that, without the bodily aesthetics, obligations and power of conventional masculinity, Maul considers himself worthless (toxic masculinity). Perhaps, he has been drawn towards another gender expression. Maul notably, doesn't even consider himself to be "human." This is a very sad glimpse into Maul's sense of self-esteem. He has also internalised Sidious' vision of an absolute hierarchy of life. Obligatory world-building: Maul has a tantrum when he can't remember things, and destroys his surrounding environment. This does not satisfy him at all. It is interesting to note his coping mechanisms at his lowest point.

"It was then, while he felt his hatred burning within, that a spark ignited in his mind. And he saw a sea of fire..." (4).

A couple of thematic links that I would like to point out: "hatred" and "within" encapsulates Sith philosophy; the inverse of kindness throughout. What begins this journey through his memories is a "spark" - a common phrase I know, but also one intensely linked to Sidious and his primary element of force lightning. Sidious is a catalyst, and the secret at the centre of his being. The oxymoron of "sea" and "fire." This is his literal childhood home, of course. But, later in this novel, Maul's beloved memories of friendship will occur by a sea. I believe it intertwines the characters of both Maul and Kilindi. HC: the previous page ended with Maul remembering a Man to blame... yet this novel begins with the memories of his time in Mustafar under his master. It is of my belief that this unnamed man is Sidious, not Obi-Wan Kenobi.

[ofcoffee-andletters]

FFXIV Write Day 17 - Sally

Notes: Do not mind anything being said in this little one-shot :) everything is fine and this does not imply anything.

Poly!WoL implied

Sally : an action of rushing or bursting forth especially : a sortie of troops from a defensive position to attack the enemy ————————— A miqo’te stares ahead, he sees the casualties to the side, and then considers his options as the pile continues to grow, his brow furrows and he feels a bit frustrated — this wasn’t supposed to be that hard of a mission, or so he thought initially.

As his last little mammet soldier falls down, he hisses — tail standing and becoming way more fluffy, in a defensive manner as he stands over the table that sports a name of ‘Lord of Verminion’ — clearly feeling offended at the game right now, “Stupid little shite game—…!”

The miqo’te leaves the Gold Saucer that day cursing under his breath about how that game was unfair and he was commanding his little mammet troops perfectly fine, and that the enemy was stupid — soon after, commissions across Eorzea for personalized mammets began to pop everywhere.

Surely, both incidents had nothing to do with each other… ———————— “…That’s bold of you, my friend…” An unconcerned voice says, the tone is dangerous, almost like a predator ready to pounce onto his prey — and yet it held no actual threat towards the figure across the table.

Said figure’s ears twitch in reaction, not gracing the ex-Emperor of Garlemald with anything else to show that he had actually heard his words, then he makes a move on his side, smiling pleased and crossing his arms. “I don’t think you can survive that, Zenos~” There’s almost a purr coming with his words.

The blond garlean frowns and squints, his body language changes as he moves his body forward and towers a bit more over the table — his attention fully over the game of strategy and prowess of mind he is engaging on with his friend, “…That’s quite the risk, you’re letting your defenses open…”

“You won’t have enough units if you keep using so many to stop me from reaching the crystal.”

“…That is not the single way to win, I can also win if I decimate your forces completely.”

Brucie huffs and then points at the Verminion table — one that was now in his house — “I fail to see how you’re even going to do that…I have enough defensive units!”

As the two great minds engage in a debate about how is clearly having the better strategy, from the door frame another miqo’te observes and sighs — defeated — before walking downstairs towards an amused Elezen, “…They’re going at it again…” G’raha Tia says.

“That means we’re not going to see them at all for the rest of the day…and, we need a new shelf.” Haurchefant comments and looks over to the side.

There were already many shelves filled to the brim with mammets, plushies and varieties of books — but since Brucie had introduced Zenos to Lord of Verminion, well…mammets had become even more of a constant, just appearing in the house everywhere.

Both men sigh.

…They do appreciate their beloved Warrior of Light showing new hobbies to Zenos but, it’d be nice if they both didn’t end extremely fixiated over the same thing to the point they end up buying a personalized table only to play at home…all day.

“…I will make dinner…and plan how we’re going to drag them away enough so they eat something…” Haurchefant says, defeated.

G’raha is already walking towards the door, “I shall inform mistress Tataru that we will need another Mammet fitted shelf for Brucie’s hobbies…” and so, the miqo’te leaves.

…They do prefer to deal with these kind of troubles, an every day day filled with silly issues and easily fixed new little troubles. It means life is good, for once.

[mismaeve]

Underneath the Autumn Skies

→ Underneath the Autumn Skies, Maglor x Reader, fluffy drabble G/W: None A/N: Wifey @kanafinwe-makalaure!!!! Finally, with a huge delay and for that I am super super sorry, but here is your birthday present. I really hope you will like it. I'm really not sure how I feel about this story because I'm so out of my comfort zone right now with Maglor, but all nervous rambling aside, I hope you will be able to enjoy it. I love you so much!

You pursed your lips in fear of letting out the mischievous giggle that had been brewing inside your throat for the better part of the hour. Wishing to still your pounding heart, you risked breathing out softly through your nose, covering your mouth with your hand when your lungs screamed for the crisp autumn air.

Your already franticly beating heart picked up its pace when you heard the ever-soft crunching sound of the leaves, crumbling and bending underneath the soles of his boots.

Crunch, crunch.

“Where are you, the light of mine?” he sang softly in a voice made of the purest silk, flowing effortlessly through the golden-red thicket, touching the tenderness of your very soul.

You closed your eyes at the sound of footsteps approaching closer, slowly, as if your beloved minstrel was taking his time savoring the hunt.

Crunch, crunch.

“Brightest star of my soul, why don’t you give me a sign,” the voice sang, so close yet not near enough for him to find you in your little hiding spot beneath a large tree whose branches hung low enough to form a neat dome around its trunk, the now golden canopy of leaves providing you with excellent cover.

“A heart so gentle and pure, I cannot keep away,” Maglor’s voice filled the chilly autumn air, floating all around you like the last pleasantly heated kiss of the summer sun.

Crunch, crunch.

“My little dove, how I long to make you mine and by my side have you stay,” his sung words filled your heart with enough warmth to kindle a sun of your very own deep within the walls of your gleaming soul.

Crunch, crunch…..crunch.

You held your breath, expecting to hear the steady sound of leaves breaking and dissolving beneath his steps, but there were none. Everything had grown silent, windless and breathless, not even your lungs dared to scream for much needed air.

 Maglor was near, of that much, you were sure. The tiny hairs on the back of your neck were rising in anticipation, goosebumps prickling your skin and slowly setting it afire. You could neither see it nor hear it, but you knew very well what was coming.

An excruciating silence had fallen upon the leaf-woven dome of your hiding place while the very air around you seemed to pulsate with vigorous excitement. You expected to be pounced upon, like an unsuspecting prey falling victim to a far more superior predator.

He was a hunter after all. A fierce and unforgiving creature, a villain of a different kind capable of striking fear in so many hearts. Except for yours.

Never yours.

When firm fingers bore into your sides, you squeaked like a mouse that had finally been caught in a trap and had nowhere left to run or hide. Before you knew it, a force beyond your own humble being had pulled you through the soft thicket and into the slowly fading daylight.

“My little bird,” he whispered softly into your ear, sending a commotion of flickering butterflies down your chest.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your frame in a way that told you he wasn’t planning on letting go of you anytime soon.

“You found me,” you giggled in delight as you turned around and faced your captor, your hands quickly finding home on his chest where they could feel the steady beating of his heart.

“I never lost you, my light,” Maglor murmured as he bobbed his head down and allowed his warm lips to press a kiss to your forehead.

Satisfied that your beloved could track you down as effortlessly as one draws a breath, you leaned up and let your lips meet in a kiss that left you feeling more flustered than you would have cared to admit. His abilities of making you swoon surpassed even his greater talents for music and murder, a fact he only too gladly reminded you of every little chance he got.

“Do you want your reward?” a breathless question broke from your lips and was devoured by your shared breath.

“Anything you give me I shall treasure for all the days to come.”

 “Play me?”

Maglor picked you up, cradling you against the firmness of his chest, he proceeded to step through the thicket and into the secluded clearing beneath the leaf-made dome where you had been hiding only mere moments ago, sheltered and hidden from the rest of the world, with rising stars as your only witness.

“Gladly.”

→ Gif by @olivieshka → Divider by @firefly-graphics → Taglist: @heilith @eunoiaastralwings @i-did-not-mean-to @warriormirkwood @a-contemplation-upon-flowers @augustwithquills @missymoo02

[hippolotamus]

YES MIRRORBALL FIC MY BELOVED. and also tell me more about merbuck 👀

Goose Friend!!!! A snippet of Mirrorball for you that I am at least 87% sure I haven't shared before:

And god help Eddie, he can only blame what he does next on the vibe and messaging from the music. Before he knows what he’s doing, he stands up, pushing his chair away from the table. His legs carry him – jesus christ is he sauntering? – towards the stage, reaching into his back pocket as he goes. He plucks a five from his wallet, captivated by the way Arsen never breaks eye contact and smirks like he’s won a prize. Eddie intends to toss his offering to the stage and have that be it.  Arsen obviously has other ideas.  He drops to his hands and knees, stalking towards Eddie like a predator after its prey. They’re so close, Eddie can see sparkling shades of blue framed by a hint of eyeliner. A perfect compliment to plush pink lips and the strawberry splotch above his left eye.  “You came all this way, don’t freeze up on me now, pretty boy,” Arsen coos and snaps his teeth in a biting motion.  It takes Eddie a second to realize he’s been so mesmerized staring at the beautiful creature in front of him that he missed Arsen waiting for him to actually deliver what he came up for. Eddie holds the bill out, sucking in a harsh breath when Arsen takes it between his lips, just short of touching Eddie’s fingertips. Arsen winks and backs away triumphantly, leaving Eddie more than a little dumbfounded as he stumbles back to his seat in a haze.

🧜‍♂️ MerBuck my beloved (master tag of snippets here)

As a child, human Eddie meets a young merboy, Evan, during a family vacation to the west coast. They are, of course fascinated by one another. Eddie goes out of his way to find Evan whenever the Diaz's vacation there. Eddie also visits by himself right before he leaves for the army. And then there's a significant gap before they see each other again. When he gets home, Eddie is so turned around with his PTSD he questions if Evan was ever real. So, when he moves to LA, it can't hurt to check... right?

ask me 'bout my wips

[morningstargirl666]

I was tagged by the lovely @garglyswoof to post an older fic, and I’m still to this day really proud of this one, so I’m going to share The Red Wedding with you all. The second chapter has an appearance of klaroline, if you want to read more on AO3.

tagging @stars-and-darkness @bellemorte180 @little-miss-sunny-daisy @helpless-in-sleep @galvanizedfriend @definedareasofuncertainty 

Paws pounded into the earth, claws sharpening against rocks and dirt with each four-legged stride. The wind thrashed and wailed, its rage thunderous, drowning out the panting breaths of the predator and the panicked cries of the prey. Above the moon glowed like a yellow skull, twisted beams of moonlight cascading down through the trees, clawing through the leaves and glinting off her white fur, each strand electrified, standing like thousands of shining knives.

The she-wolf lifted her head to the sky and released a haunting howl.

And then the hunt began.

Caroline huffed, slumping in her seat, arms folded against her chest. She scowled, eyes focused on her friend, who was dressed in a beautifully embroidered gown as she danced in the centre of the crowd, gliding across the floor in the arms of the handsome newcomer. Elena laughed, bright and bewitching, and she drew closer to the man just as her brown hair fell over her eyes in an alluring manner.

Caroline looked away, her jaw clenching. However, for all her jealousy and anger - for all the crushing sense of unfairness - she couldn’t hide the look of hurt that flashed across her face for a second.

After all, she was never the one.

She inhaled a long, rattling breath, forcing a bright smile on her face as she looked around, trying to catch a glance of Bonnie in the celebrating crowd. Instead, her eyes caught piercing blue eyes that for some reason, were fixed on her.

A rakish face, framed by dark hair-

A tilted head, a look of intrigue-

And he smiled.

Caroline blushed, quickly looking down at her hands. But like all the women sending him hungry glances, she was drawn back to back to his heated gaze.

And she smiled.

The shadows twisted and spun, warping the night and snapping at her furry heels; a spectral army charging by her side. Her nose twitched as she ran, high on the thrill of the chase, the stench of fear potent to her wolfish senses.

Yellow eyes glittered, as if made from the stones decorating Death’s crown.

And she smiled.

Bright beams of sunlight shone down through the stained glass windows, bursting into a kaleidoscope of colours. The scent of fresh wildflowers clouded the nose, decorating the air, trailing down hanging baskets and pillars. Instruments began to play softly, signalling her entrance.

The guests rose to their feet, turning in their pews to glimpse her ethereal figure as she stepped onto the aisle. Her white wedding dress hung to her curves, trailing behind her with each graceful stride. The sunlight bouncing off her features and spinning into her golden tresses - which was elegantly plaited with wildflowers - illuminated her skin, making her radiating happiness clear to all.

Caroline clutched her bouquet tightly in her hands, eyes on the man waiting for her at the end of the aisle. And yes, there he stood, dressed handsomely in wedding robes, all dark lines and sharp cheekbones. He smiled, flashing those piercing blue eyes.

Caroline grinned back, the expression lighting up her features. She didn’t realise he wasn’t looking at her, but at the prettier brown-haired bridesmaid at her side.

Atop her head, the silver jewels of her veil - a beloved gift from her mother - twinkled dangerously.

The man ran, faster than he had ever ran before. Around him, the shadows closed in, gnarled tree branches reaching out towards him, snagging on his battered wedding robes that were streaked with dirt and blood, tearing the fabric like phantom claws.

His head jerked behind him, his expression a pretty picture of blind terror. He stumbled, tripping over a fallen log and crashing to the forest floor as something shiny fell from his hand, dropped like luxuries in a yelling alarm.

Another howl echoed, closer than the first.

The man scrambled to his feet, limping the first few strides, having hurt his leg in the fall. Within seconds, he bolted; that primal fear an adequate cure for pain, too focused on trying to escape Death banging on his door.

The silver jewels of his bride’s veil, forgotten on the forest floor, twinkled innocently in the moonlight.

Caroline hugged her sides, eyes trained on the ornate clock adorning the mantlepiece. The hand continued to tick, loud in the empty room, counting down the seconds as they lengthened into minutes, even hours.

Still the door didn’t open, and her groom didn’t enter, their wedding bed left untouched.

Caroline sniffed, wiping her eyes and stifling her tears. Her expression hardened, eyes flooding with justified anger, and lifting the skirts of her wedding dress, she stood from the bed and strode to the door.

In a single motion, she opened it, striding out into the hallway, taking extra care not to snag her white trail on the nails of the wooden flooring. She began opening doors, poking her head into rooms, searching for her newly wedded husband, even calling his name.

When she descended to the first floor, her ears caught the sound of feminine laughter. Down the hallway, not far from the staircase, a door stood ajar, light peeking out from inside.

Caroline made her way towards it.

Another chiming sound of feminine laughter drifted towards her ears as she approached, but this time, it melted into a throaty moan. Caroline froze.

The low, enticing baritone of her groom’s voice followed, the whispered words she caught clearly not used in polite conversation.

Face pale, Caroline rushed towards the door, dreading what lay behind it, but needing to see all the same. She slammed her palm against the wood, barging into the library as the door crashed against the adjacent wall from the force she had pushed it with.

Her groom froze, his back to his bride, lips halfway up the other woman’s neck, her bare legs wrapped around his hips in an intimate embrace. Caroline’s wide eyes drifted to the floor, where the bridesmaid dress lay, discarded thoughtlessly.

Achingly slow, she raised her gaze once more and met Elena’s horrified eyes.

The she-wolf ran through the woods, just dodging trees - air whizzing, fur flattening, claws curling. She leapt over a fallen log, skidding to a stop, upturning the earth and leaves under her paws. Ahead, the man kept running, just visible through the trees.

She bared her teeth into a ferocious snarl, the growl emanating deep from within her throat as damning as a banshee’s wail. Her eyes remained fixed on her frightened prey, back legs bent, ready to pounce.

Enraged screams of hate-

The bitter taste of betrayal-

A sharp sting of a slap across her face-

Caroline fell.

She charged, a hound sent from the depths of hell-

The silver jewels of her veil were torn from her hair, stolen by the hands of the man that had vowed to love her.

Liar.

Tasked with seeking vengeance-

Caroline snarled, nails sharpening to claws as she stood. Yellow eyes flashed.

Run, she whispered.

They ran.

So she pounced-

The beautiful woman screamed, torn apart by teeth and claws, blood spraying across the walls.

Elena’s blood still coating her lips, darkening the shimmering veil of white fur she now wore.

Her groom ran, deserting his once-lover.

And she, the wolfish bride, quickly followed-

Damon screamed, those piercing blue eyes now bathed in delectable fear.

-She always did love the thrill of the chase.