#she's hungry but her heart aches to stay... will the flesh have its way in s3? will she be ... ''already gone'' a la eurydice in hadestown?

[cerealbishh]

"We get to, this season, explore their chemistry and their real love and their intimacy. So we get to have a glimpse into that world that just feels so pure and beautiful and romantic! And then, sort of navigating those other circumstances once they're out in the world, dealing with real... challenges." - Isa in an interview with The Knockturnal(x)

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

The Hunt

Monsterfuckers come get your juice !

A little oneshot separate from the main story, featuring Ruben and Anruh engaging in some of their kinks. This is all consensual. It might read as dub-con, particularly in the beginning, but this is all fully consensual primal play with a predator/prey dynamic. This is also why I'm not adding CNC to the kink list since that's not accurate to the scene.

This also does not include any sexual content in the traditional sense, just kink.

Word count: 1279

Warnings: Blood | Slight possessive behaviour | Biting

Kinks: Primal play | Blood play | Mild fear play | Sadism and Masochism | Dom/sub undertones

Wip: Gammellunden

Characters: Ruben Hylén and Anruh

: Because this is not part of the main story and includes kink, I'm not going to add the wip taglist in case it might make anyone uncomfortable. However, because I promised, I will tag @vacantgodling :

Enjoy~

//

November was a cruel month. Barren, dead, and cold. With no snow to soften it’s rough earth, and no birds to comfort its eerie nights. It made sense that prey tried their best to stay close to home during those nights. That they made sure not to wander too far into the unforgiving darkness of Gamellunden that would swollow them whole. For predators it meant days without food, days without the thrill of the hunt. But then again, it made it all the more satisfying when they caught sight of some poor and lost soul. Oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows. 

Anruh had been stalking behind Ruben for a while now, watching him as he wandered further and furher into the forest. Seemingly with no destination in mind, driven solely by detrimental curiosity. It made her lips curl into a vicious grin, but she remind hidden. Patiently waiting for just the right moment to reveal herself, and the hunt could begin.

That moment came in short, as Ruben stopped dead in his tracks. Just now realizing he was lost. As he spun around, assessing his surroundings to figure out where he was, Anruh slowly moved closer. Not much, not at once. Enough for him not to notice her approach. Enough for him to just make her out in the darkness, to question what he was seeing. And the look on his face when his eyes finally found her was worth every second she’d waited. Walking that fine line of dread and confusion, eyes echoing prayers that she wasn’t real. When Ruben took a cautious step back, Anruh followed after. Ruben’s eyes widened, reality an icy tidal wave crashing into him. Anruh could almost hear the way his heart beat heavy. 

Ruben was first to move. Swiftly turning on his heel and dashing away. Anruh gave him a few seconds before she took chase. It would’ve been easy to catch up to him, even if he was running as fast as he could. But that wouldn’t have been fun. No, Anruh preferred this game instead. Being right on his heels but keeping him just out of reach, feeding him false hope that he could get away. Wearing him down slowly. Anruh just had to keep an even pace, and eventually Ruben would succumb to the ache in his legs and his steps would falter. 

Still, he put up a good chase. He always did. And it took a good while before Anruh caught up to him.

She got a hold of Ruben’s shoulders and threw him to the ground. He gasped once on the impact, then again as Anruh pounced. Ruben tried to escape, acting on pure instinct as he kicked and thrashed. But Anruh was both stronger and bigger than him, and it didn't take long before she had him firmly in her grasp. With her hands wrapped tightly around his wrists she pinned him to the ground. Her figure caging him in. Ruben stared up at her with wide doe eyes. Frozen in fear, at her complete mercy. Anruh’s gaze was dark and hungry, her sharp grin victorious and bloodthirsty.

Predator and prey.

Slowly, Anruh leaned down to Ruben’s neck, feeling his breath hitch as her own brushed against his fair skin. Gently, she kissed the flesh. Providing false comfort and promises that there was nothing to be scared of. Ruben didn’t believe her, tugging at his wrists in a last attempt to escape, and to that Anruh chuckled. 

She continued to kiss him. Feeling his raging heartbeat against her lips as she traveled across his neck. At times she kissed a little harder, sucked on the flesh, and let her teeth graze the frail surface. And the responses were enough to quell even the most aching hunger. Small noises, gasps and whimpers, just barely audible. And the obedient tilt of Ruben’s head, giving Anruh more room to work. To explore the territory she was already so familiar with.

Ruben moaned when Anruh’s lips pressed hard against a particular spot. His every defense surrendering, body turning to jelly in her hands. 

Anruh leaned back slightly. Enough to catch a glimpse of Ruben’s face— contorted in carnal desire. Enough so that he could see it when she opened her mouth wide, revealing teeth that could break bones like twigs. His breath shuddered at the sight, and he braced himself for the inevitable. But Anruh only let her teeth rest lightly against his skin. Dragging them over Ruben’s sweet spot again and again, teasing. Perhaps it was to give him the impression she was considering letting him go. Perhaps she wanted to see how long she could drag it out before Ruben started to beg. 

If she wanted, Anruh could’ve simply told him to, and Ruben would’ve pleaded like his life depended on it. Begged so desperately for her mouth to be upon him, to sink her teeth into him and chew him up. The most willing prey. 

But tonight he didn’t need to beg. Only lie still and be patient. 

When Anruh’s teeth finally pierced the flesh, Ruben gave a needy cry. Fading into sobbing moans as the urroa sank her teeth deeper. Agonizingly slow, driving the human wild. The bite wasn't too deep —Anruh was always careful not to cause irreparable damage to her beloved— but a few seconds could easily be dragged out into hours. Especially when it resulted in Ruben whimpering and squirming in her grip.

Once her teeth were sheathed enough in his flesh, Anruh gave a light tug. A reminder of just how easily she could rip him apart. She wouldn't, never ever. But to tease the possibility was downright thrilling for the both of them. Anruh tugged again, before she began to gently nibble at the flesh. Moving her teeth in and out slowly, drinking the blood trailing from the wounds. Ruben moaned, body trembling as he was taken apart— As he was devoured. And Anruh ate as if she was starving. Like this was her first feast of November. Where the only things chiming the forest were the raw sounds of the predator, and the wanton noises of the prey. 

After what felt like hours, Anruh pulled away slowly. Sitting back up, she let her fingers slide over Ruben’s arms as she released her grip. Though he remind still. Held under Anruh’s heavy gaze. She stared down at him with the pride of a hunter; Ruben's eyes were hazed over and red with tears, messy hair even more ruffled up and skin flushed like the setting sun. His chest was rising slowly with his heavy breathing. And his neck— his neck. Bloody and bruised, skin punctured and torn. The collar of his shirt stained. A low growl rumbled through Anruh’s chest. Felt more than heard.

She dipped down once more, trailing her tongue over the wound. Licking up the blood, savoring the metallic and sweet flavor. When the red stains were gone she kissed his skin. Pressed her lips to each hole in his neck. Ruben sighed as she did, hummed contently as she traced a path with her lips. From neck to shoulder to collarbone, up his throat and jaw. As she did, Anruh let her hands travel up the sides of Ruben’s body, making him shiver under their touch. She brought them all the way up cup her beloved’s freckled cheeks. Holding him so carefully as she wiped away the remaining tears with her thumbs.

Ruben leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering close as the kissing continued. His forehead, down the slope of his nose. And finally, his lips. Long and loving. The finale to Anruh’s feast.

“Mine.”

[galactic-star-bruiser]

Killer

leave me alone, im on a Phoebe x mandalorian kick.

All Mando's POV. (f!reader)

talk of injuries, but nothing more. 

pining, and fluff

song: killer by Phoebe bridges

.,.,,.,.,,,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,,.,.,.,.,

Sometimes I think I'm a killer

I scared you in your house

I even scared myself by talkin'

About Dahmer on your couch

The way she watched me as I worked, her soft gaze tracing the way I moved over the weapons I was cleaning, the way she would leave clothes around the ship, and the way she listened to even the most gruesome stories I have.

It was somewhere between those times that I fell in love with her.

“Are we going?” She’d ask me excitedly, ready for any adventure. 

I did everything in my power not to give into her. 

She moved as if there was a flame beneath her. Wild, sprinting, flailing, yelling, and laughing.

She was a fighter. Brutal. Vicious. 

But when it was just us.... She was softer than anything I had ever known.

But I can't sleep next to a body

Even harmless in death

Plus, I'm pretty sure I'd miss you

And faking sleep to count your breath

The endless nightmares where she’d wake up screaming and find her self on a different part of the ship than the bunk she slept in, those screams broke me in ways I never knew anything could. 

Her innocence stripped with one heinous, tortured, scream. 

I’d always find her and walk her back to bed, careful not to touch her or linger too long. I knew I'd ask if she wanted me to stay with her if I did... God, did I want to stay with her. Hold her in my arms and protect her from the evils of the galaxy.

The way she gently cleaned my wounds, even be them just grazes to soft flesh, made my heart ache. 

Can the killer in me

Tame the fire in you?

Or is there nothin' left to do for us?

There were nights that I thought nothing would come of the small touches we shared, or the time that had elapsed since we started traveling together. 

The night of the fire.

I had went back to Peli for a repair before a fire broke out in the ship yard. I had never been terrified before this... not of the flames, but of finding her.

We stayed the night in a small, dingy hotel with a smell of mold that hung in the warm air. 

I sat on the end of the single bed with my head in my hands, scared of what was to become of my ship.

Her small hands reached to touch one of my armor clad shoulders, a sign of reassurance that only sent waves of electricity through my body.

I couldn’t help but think of the concern that washed over her face all the way to the hotel, never breaking the stare that she held against me. 

I watched her face as the innkeeper said he only had availability for one bed rooms. She just nodded in compliance. I was expecting a grimace. 

There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to touch her and to hold her against me. I wanted to feel her soft hands on my bare face, telling me everything was going to be alright.

I knew that would never happen for me. I was loyal to the creed even if it broke my heart.

I am sick of the chase

But I'm hungry for blood

And there's nothin' I can do

The only way that I knew to show my devotion and love for her was through protecting her... even if she could do it herself, it felt good to keep her safe. Keep her with me.

As I sat on the bed, she sat next to me, close enough so I could feel the heat radiating from her body.

“Are you hurt?” I asked. 

“No.” She answered too quickly. 

“Youre lying, let me see.”

She seemed too exhausted to fight with me and complied by lifting the back of her shirt over her shoulders and letting me examine the cracked, fire burnt, angry red skin of her back.

“Cyar’ika...”. The word tumbled out of my mouth and I could only hope that she didn’t know its meaning. I felt vulnerable, as if all of my armor had been stripped.

She winced as I spread the blue bacta across her back. It took a few minutes but I could feel the muscles in her back relax under my touch.

“Thank you... Din.” She whispered. The way she said my name made me want to cry.

“You can have the bed... you’re in pain” I said solemnly, making my way to the floor next to her. 

“Would you mind staying with me tonight?”

Her soft whisper wrapped its way around my throat and It made me unable to speak. I just laid beside her.

She traced the lines of my helmet and she was shaking.

“Youre safe now...” I whispered, scared to put my hands on her in fear of hurting her and breaking my own heart. I knew I couldn’t have her... even if I could, how could someone like her look into the eyes of a vicious killer like myself? Someone who constantly put her in danger and couldn't even kiss her?

“I know.” She answered back, making me smile softly even if she couldn’t see it. 

Can the killer in me

Tame the fire in you?

I know there's somethin' waiting for us

I am sick of the chase

But I'm stupid in love

And there's nothin' I can do

And there's nothin' I can do

[c-estmabiologie]

Little Spoon to a Bag of Bones | Critical Role Fic

I just wanted to write fluff of Laudna and Imogen cuddling and instead I have...this. I’m begging you, Imogen, honey, chill out. 

Also on AO3

Run.

Imogen’s resolve to run headlong into the storm is becoming familiar and well-worn. Dust swirls and scrapes her cheeks raw, clogs her nose, turns into paste on her tongue, but she’ll run as far as sleep will take her. The guilt about ignoring her mother is a threadbare, moth-eaten thing at this point, but she can’t give herself space to think about it. About how you can't have something anymore when what’s left of it is holes.

Her focus is on finding answers from the figure with the army. Silhouettes reconcile into faces and flesh and armour just when and where they should.

I know who you are! Imogen skips formalities and flings the thought into Otohan’s mind like a javelin.

Just like before, Otohan grins a grin perfectly at home within a nightmare. It stretches into her voice as she replies.

So, you’ve figured out my name. If you know who I am, why do you keep coming back?

( Run! )

Imogen barely has time to brace herself before the bodies rush at her. Otohan leads the charge this time, twin blades drawn and hungry for a throat.

- 

Imogen wakes with a gasp that clings inside her throat like a tonsil stone, solid and bad-tasting. Her body is braced for a threat; every part of her aches to move.

Laudna is the only thing that keeps her from bolting. Her arm cradles Imogen’s head; their fingers are tangled together. It’s not exactly comfortable, but it’s comforting. Imogen wills her body to listen to reason, but it refuses her. It wants to cling to its animal urge to get out even when Laudna is right there, settled and sleeping with her hand held at an impossible angle just to stay with her.

It’s in moments like these, in the liminal confusion after a nightmare, in the press of others’ limbs and snores and unguarded minds around her, that she feels most alone.

She tries to curl herself into Laudna’s chest and her cheek makes a rasping, peeling sound as her skin unsticks from Laudna’s. Her face is slick, and so is Laudna’s arm beneath her, with tears or sweat or (probably, humiliatingly) drool. With her free hand she pulls a corner of the sheet free to dab Laudna’s skin dry(-ish). The shame is unexpectedly grounding.

Imogen rests her face against Laudna’s chest and listens for the hum that is sometimes there (and is sometimes bees). Tonight, she can’t hear anything except her own pulse galloping in her ears. At least her heart isn’t at an all-out run anymore.

Laudna shifts in her sleep and it seems that she’s aware, maybe almost awake, and pulling Imogen closer. When Laudna shifts she rustles pleasantly like she’s stuffed loosely with reeds, except for when, every so often, she produces a very ominous, very internal, very, very wet squelch. Imogen likes to think of it as oil inside a jar of preserves, keeping rot away for as many seasons as it takes (until). It’s the only way she likes to think of it.

Laudna, she whispers, are you awake?

Laudna doesn’t answer because of course she doesn’t: Imogen has kept her question inside her own skull. It’s a test she tortures herself with at night: imagining that she and Laudna have a conduit between each other that isn’t fed by her magic.

Can you feel that I’m awake? She asks without telepathy.

Can I tell you about my dream?

Will you bring me a glass of water?

Will you just hold me?

(It’s easier to ask for things in the dark.)

Can you feel what I really want?

At this last question, Laudna’s chest spasms. Imogen jerks upright and watches as Laudna gasps in short, jagged intakes of breath. She does this every now and then; in her sleep her body remembers that it used to need to breathe and pumps the bellows of her lungs a few times, just for practice. It’s never not alarming to Imogen, but she knows it’ll pass.

And after a few weird seconds it does. Laudna sighs, empties her lungs one more time, and resettles. During the entire ordeal and afterward, her eyes stay open and pointed toward the window. Sleeping sentinel in case Ruidus tries anything funny. The moon is flaring again — even through the curtains the room’s darkness is stained red. She wants to see it, to press her feet into the floorboards and tear the curtains down. She’s sure Ruidus wants her to see it, too, and maybe this desire is something planted in her that first germinated somewhere else. She hates that it has power over her. So many things have power over her. A fucking rock had power over her. Her one hand is still held in Laudna’s and that’s just one more want with an iron grip. Somehow it’s worse that this wanting is completely her own.

You’re weak.

Imogen doesn’t need her own Delilah to spit poisonous ideas. The voice inside her head (the one that is hers alone) has long ago figured — so practically! — that she is destined to live and die alone. This voice will keep her up all night if she lets it.

So for tonight she won’t let it.

Imogen pushes against her urge for going and lowers herself back down onto the mattress. Laudna’s arm is again a bony pillow; her spiky knees tuck neatly behind Imogen’s. Her chin presses solid and real against the crown of Imogen’s head. Every point of contact is an anchor.

Laudna’s feet sometimes rub together (like now, like crickets’ legs). It’s a holdover, Laudna once explained, from when her feet would get cold at night. Sometimes she wakes Imogen up with toes that bump a soft rhythm like walking into her heels.

Imogen lets her eyes drift closed. The rhythm is nice. Being held feels good.

Slowly, like a loving millipede, Laudna’s hand crawls down Imogen’s arm. She feels gooseflesh crop up in its wake. Palm folds over knuckles and cool fingers find gaps in her fist. A ring catches at the tender skin between her fingers as it passes by: two snakes, intertwined ( like us ).

As she returns to sleep, dreamless this time, Imogen feels loved almost like she wants.

[abearthatwrites]

Today on Hadestown lyrics that I didn't realize the weight of until it hit me randomly:

"...and her dark clouds roll in the world up above."

"Look up!"

"Keep your head low...."

Now, this isn't the first time that Orpheus disregarded Hermes' advice. The first time was in "Come Home With Me" when Hermes told him not to come on too strong. But this is a bit more serious, now:

Keeping your head low in Hadestown is associated with being blind to the world around you. Most prominently, the phrase is said by the Workers, who are blinded to the fact that the so-called "freedom" Hades promised them is anything but that. They finally "look up" in "If It's True", after hearing Orpheus'song:

"What's the use of his backbone. . . if he never stands upright?"

But the phrase also is applied to Hades towards the end of "Epic III":

"So he keeps his head low, he keeps his back bending. He's grown so afraid that he'll lose what he owns. But what he doesn't know is that what he is defending... is already gone..."

Hades keeps his head low, blinding him to the fact that Persephone - the woman he built his empire for - is being driven away by his actions.

But here in "Chant", it's subtle, but they apply the phrase to Orpheus. As Hermes begs him to look up, Orpheus keeps his head low, blind to the oncoming storm.

So blind to the storm, he is also blind to the fact that Eurydice needs him now more than ever:

"Eurydice was a hungry young girl."

"Give that back!"

"She was no stranger to the wind."

"It's everything we have!"

"But she had not seen nothing..."

"Orpheus...!"

"...like the mighty storm she got caught in."

"ORPHEUS!"

So when Hades offers her a job in Hadestown, promising her food and shelter, she accepts the offer, flying away from the promises Orpheus made out of desperation:

"Oh, my heart, it aches to stay, but the flesh will have its way. Oh, the way is dark and long. I'm already gone... I'm gone."

It's not until after she leaves for Hadestown that Orpheus finally, finally looks up, but by then it's too late:

"She called your name before she went, but I guess you weren't listening."

Orpheus kept his back low, even when Hermes warned him against it. He grew so afraid of losing Eurydice, so he devoted everything to finishing his song - only to finally look up far too late, and learn that what Orpheus was defending was already gone.

[queenshelby]

The Concubine - Part Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Graphic Torture, Blood, Angst, Violence, Loss of Pregnancy, Smut

Words: 2,656

One week has passed since you miscarried and your life had changed quite significantly. You were sharing it with Tommy now and he was very different to Steven. To your surprise, he was gentle and caring and this wasn’t something you were expecting from a man in his position and with his standing.

You knew what he did and what he was involved in. The murders, the killing, the drug trafficking. You weren’t blind and business was always on his mind. In fact, his mind never rested. He couldn’t rest. There was too much to do and he still craved revenge.

Whilst you had never spoken about it again, the beatings and causing you to miscarry, you knew that he wanted to see Steven suffer for what he did to you. But, Steven was nowhere to be found until that very cold Sunday evening where everything changed with a phone call from Arthur.

‘Fucking got em Tom’ Arthur said through the phone and Tommy was quick to put on his jacket and coat, making his way through the door and to his silver Bentley.  

‘Where are you going Tommy?’ you asked surprised as you followed him through the door. He seemed to be in a mad rush.

‘I’ve got work to do Love. Don’t wait up, eh’ Tommy said, turning around briefly to give you a kiss.

‘Tommy, you promised’ you pouted, knowing that tonight was the night your abstinence and hunger for him was to come to end.

‘I will make it up to you, eh?’ Tommy said with a grin before you pulled him in for another kiss.

‘You will?’ you asked, biting your lip seductively. Whilst you were still bruised and hurt, you were desperate for him to take you. You loved being intimate with him.

‘Yes, I will, and you won’t be able to walk straight for fucking days, eh’ Tommy winked before getting into his car, causing you to laugh.

***

When Tommy arrived at the factory building where Arthur and Michael held Steven captive, the anger within him was building and so was his rage.

He knew what Steven had done to you and he knew what he had done to other women, including several working girls at establishments owned by the Shelby family while using an alias.

‘At last, we meet, eh’ Tommy said harshly as he sat down on a chair across from Steven who was bound to a pole with a with rope. A white piece of fabric was tied around his mouth to keep him quiet while he was sweating profusely.

‘It was fucking hard to find you. But now that you are here, your father can go free, get on with business or, more so, start over again because you fucked up, eh’ Tommy said as he removed the white fabric from Steven’s mouth.

‘I haven’t done anything to you. What the hell do you want from me?’ Steven asked, shivering and crying as he did. He was fearful and believed that Tommy was there to kill him.

‘I don’t want anything from scum like you. All I want is for you to pay for your fucking sins, eh’ Tommy growled, pulling Steven up on his shirt as he did.

‘If this is about this whore your brother saved, she fucking deserved it’ Steven then said, unable to hold back his emotion and, just as he did, Tommy pulled off his razor cap and slowly dragged it across Steven’s face, causing him to bleed profusely.

‘Listen to me you little fuck. I have made a deal with your father not to kill you but if you disrespect Y/N again, I will end you in the most painful way possible’ Tommy then said louder as Steven’s screams.

‘She cheated on me and I should have beaten her to death’ Steven growled in anger and pain.

‘He didn’t fucking listen to a word I said’ Tommy observed with a chuckle. ‘Did he fucking listen Arthur?’ he then asked, looking at Arthur.

‘No Tommy. He didn’t listen’ Arthur confirmed.

‘Pull him up, put him onto the table and start with what he did to his fiancée and the whores he visited at our establishments’ Tommy growled, handing one of his men a belt and they were quick to comply with Tommy’s request while Tommy watched.

‘She did fucking cheat on you, didn’t she, eh’ Tommy then said as the tenth stroke hit Steven’s back.

‘Because why would she be with someone like you...’ he went on to say as the twelfth stroke came down, causing Steven to cry in pain.

‘He is enjoying this too fucking much. Hit him harder’ Tommy then instructed before he continued on.

‘Now, I tell you a little secret Steven. The man she cheated on you with was me. Unlike you, I didn’t force her to do anything, treated her with respect and, if it wasn’t for you fucking animal, she would still be carrying my child. You killed my child and you can be grateful that I didn’t know that she was pregnant before she lost the baby, eh. Because if I would have known, you most certainly would die tonight’ Tommy then said, pulling on Steven’s cheek with anger as the 20th stroke hit him.

‘How does it fucking feel, eh? Being treated and abused like this’ Tommy growled when the final stroke came down on Steven’s back and he told his men that this was enough.

‘I am sorry please…please just stop’ Steven pleaded as tears were running down his face.

‘So that you can go back and rape more prostitutes, beat more women or take your anger out on anyone else who is not equal in size to you?’ Tommy asked.

‘I promise, I won’t hurt anyone…please just let me go’ Steven pleaded.

‘No, you won’t. I will make sure of that’ Tommy then said, pulling his face close as the blood from Steven’s cheek-stained Tommy’s clothes.

Then Tommy pulled Steven of the table and, whilst the blood from Steven’s back now also covered Tommy, he forced him to turn around and sit on the chair in the corner.

‘If you come near Y/N, or her family or any of my establishments, I will have you killed and I will also have your father and brothers killed. Do you understand?’ Tommy asked, causing Steven to nod.

‘Good’ he growled before turning around, facing his men.

‘Finish it’ he then ordered before lightening himself a cigarette and handing one of his men a hot piece of metal.

‘This will hurt’ Arthur then said as he followed Tommy to his car and, just as they left the building, they could hear the screams in the distance as Tommy’s men were branding Steven’s skin with the word ‘Rapist’ as a warning for any women who would cross his path.

‘See that the women in our establishments receive compensation for what he has done to them. Also, I am taking a break for two weeks. I trust you can handle matters without me, eh’ Tommy then said to Arthur, causing Arthur to nod.

‘A break? Arthur asked surprised.

‘I promised Y/N a holiday when this is over. And now it’s over’ Tommy then said.

***

It was at around midnight when you heard Tommy’s car pull up in front of the house and, whilst he told you not to stay up, you did and waited for him in the small reading room leading to his office.

‘You waited up, eh’ Tommy said somewhat surprised when he saw you wearing nothing but black and very seductive lingerie as he hung up his jacket and gun holster.

‘Tommy, are you alright? Your clothes are covered in blood’ you said with worry as you quickly walked over towards him.

‘Yes Love, it’s not my blood’ Tommy said, reassuring you before kissing you gently.

‘Then who’s blood is it?’ you asked almost unbothered by it.

‘Steven’s’ Tommy said carefully, leaving you speechless.

‘I wanted to kill him. But I didn’t. Yet, he got what deserved and he won’t be hurting anyone else’ Tommy then said, sighing as he did and, just like that, you crashed your lips onto his in haste.

There was something wrong but yet sexy about all of this, Tommy covered in blood, the man you loved seeking revenge on the man you hated with all your heart.

‘I need you to fuck me, right here and right now’ you said. Your crimson lips curled, taking on a sinful countenance as your ever hungry tongue slithered forth before whispering ‘I need you Tommy’.

‘My clothes are stained with blood Y/N, I should…’ Tommy said, holding back and, before he could finish his sentence, you responded.

‘I don’t care’ you said with urge and Tommy was quick to return your kiss.

You felt small as he towered over you but you drew up to your full height and boldly ran your hands over his chest.

You then stepped back just far enough to let your nimble fingers glide over Tommy’s tie and shirt, unbuttoning his vest and releasing the loose knot of his tie.

‘Fuck’ he simply growled and you watched his eyes crawl from your encased feet, up your stocking legs, to the clasp of the garter...following the garter straps up and noticing what the frame job was doing to your immaculately bare pussy.

You couldn't help but shiver as Tommy took in the sight of your mound. You could tell just how excited he was by your swollen glistening pussy lips and clit peeking out from under its protective hood. Tommy’s eyes only pulled away reluctantly, to continue the sight-seeing journey they started until your eyes met.

What you saw there made your heart skip a beat. Gone was the selfless man that saved you as he once again transformed into a predator ... and you were his prey.

The smile that your face sported grew with a devilish delight. Finally, the week of abstinence was coming to an end and you would get to experience the beast within Tommy again.

You had no time to react as Tommy stepped close, pushing you back against the wall with a resounding grunt, his hands moving to the lace barely covering your breasts and tugged the flimsy material down.

‘Tell me if I am hurting you, alright? Your back is still bruised’ Tommy said caringly and you nodded before pulling him closer again.

‘I need you to fuck me, Tommy. No holding back, please’ you demanded, causing Tommy to chuckle.

Your breasts were fully exposed now with the prickly lace under the tender flesh, your nipples extended and aching. Tommy used this moment to exert his prowess, as strong fingers captured the taut buds, pinching, rolling and tugging them until he heard a familiar moan.

His lips quickly and fiercely covered yours in a consuming kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, finding yours and battling with it. You knew the demanding kiss was intended to keep you as quiet as possible with the maids around but you couldn't help but return it with equal urgency and demand.

You felt one of Tommy’s hands release your aching nipple and slither down to your fiery pussy. His fingers rough as they worked between the slick folds and against your erect clit. You cried out, his mouth the only thing keeping the sound to a minimum, as your hips bucked against his questing fingers. You ached for those same fingers to worm their way into your seeping hole and give you the slightest moment of relief, but no ... that was not his plan at all.

Your own hands were not still, as the nails of your left hand raked harshly against his shoulder, while your right hand found the buttons of his pants and tore at them. You needed this just as much as he did and were rewarded with little "pops" as the buttons released. You fished your hand behind Tommy’s briefs seeking what you had hoped was his throbbing cock and were again rewarded as your fingers wrapped around his steely member and began to stroke.

Tommy groaned and broke the kiss, panting heavily, nostrils flaring and you saw the darkness in his eyes deepening. His fingers still danced between your thighs and your own hand continued to stroke his hot cock all the while you dared to whisper, ‘I need you inside me Tommy, please’

With each word spilling from your lips, you squeezed his cock in exclamation. There was no doubting your words or purpose.

Tommy needed no other prompting as he pulled his hands from your needy body and worked his pants and boxers down just past his ass, his beautiful cock sprang into full view now, swollen,

Some pre-cum was glistening at the deep red tip and though you longed to tongue bathe that precious organ, Tommy again decided the outcome of this particular adventure.

His hands cupped your ass, lifting you and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your back hard against the wall, your left-hand clutching at him while your right was positioning his cock at your seeping hole. Tommy’s eyes never left yours as he thrusted forward, burying his cock easily into your lava-like cavern.

‘Oh god yes, fuck Tommy’ you moaned before you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth and bit down, wanting so badly to cry out in pure pleasure as Tommy quite literally took you. Each thrust was more powerful than the last and you knew that you would most definitely be sore in the morning.

Tommy’s fingers curled painfully into the flesh of your ass, holding you tightly as he roughly drove his member into your spasming pussy. It didn't surprise you when you felt the index fingers of his hands work their way to your wicked hole and pry before pushing them inside the sinful star.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned as you bit down harder on your lip, tasting blood but managing to squelch the whorish moan that threatened to burst forth.

Tommy worked his fingers in deeper and though you tried, you couldn't gain enough purchase to meet his pounding thrusts. Tommy pulled back just far enough that his swollen tip rubbed the hidden bundle of nerves within you and sent you flying over the edge.

He saw how your eyes widened, how your own nostrils flared and knew you were about to cum. His mouth covered yours possessively again, drinking in the scream of utter bliss and complete orgasmic delight. Your pussy rippled down Tommy’s length, pulling his own release from him.

Your hand left his shoulder and found Tommy’s head, pulling his mouth tightly to yours. It was your turn to devour his guttural growl and devour you did. You drank his pleasure down as his cock spit his precious seed deep into your mound, painting you.

It all happened so fast with an urgency born of intense need. As Tommy’s cock slipped free, he looked into your eyes.

‘Fuck’ Tommy huffed, letting go of you slowly before kissing you again passionately.

‘I missed this Tommy’ you said just before Tommy pulled up his pants and lifted you up.

‘Where are we going?’ you asked as Tommy carried you upstairs.

‘The bathtub for round two, then the bed for round three and I haven’t decided where we will take round four yet, maybe my office…’ Tommy smirked and your eyes widened in disbelieve.

‘I told you, you won’t be walking straight for days, eh’ he then grinned, causing you to giggle.

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[kimetsu-no-imagines]

submission request

its ur bf write me rengoku porn rn before i kiss you in electrical- u know what i want 😩 ——————————————————————————- a/n : !!!!!! anything for u babe!!!!! a request from my bf,,,,,,,how special,,,,especially when haven’t written on here in forever,,,,,, warnings ; mugen train spoilers!!!!!!!!!! s o m a n y!!!!!! mentions of rengoku/akaza fight, alternate universe where rengoku lives it’s what we all want anyway, pre-established relationship/rengoku is your husband, breeding/pregnancy kink, rengoku living and dying (figuratively) between your legs, “dirty” talk but rengoku is such a loving man i don’t think it should even be called that here, uhhhh body worship but with his eyes? its very vague but it is there, boy just loves you okay, also none of this is proof read or anything if that matters word count ; 2,728

I’m Home

When you first hear about it, of course, like his fellow pillars, you’re terrified-thankful, naturally, that your husband at least hasn’t died, but the crow sent to inform you of the events of his mission, of his injuries, doesn’t exactly try to sugar coat anything, not even for you, his spouse.

Skull fractures from dodging the punch that would have smashed his eye completely, broken ribs from dodging yet another hit that, if he hadn’t moved back fast enough, would have gone through him and killed him-the details were gruesome, they were bone-chilling, it wasn’t as if you or anyone particularly enjoyed hearing about it, but one thing was for certain-you were relieved not to have lost him to this, to have lost anyone. Tanjiro and the others were so strong, so hard-working, and they were so young, with so much to live for-you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel if anything had happened to them, either.

There’s so much about it that pains you-not being able to have your husband home with you after he’d already been so busy with this mission and the ones before it, knowing how injured he was and how long it’d take him to recover at the Butterfly Estate, it was all… Torture. Not that you couldn’t go see him, of course-but Shinobu urged you to stay home and relax, you wouldn’t want to see him in the state that he was in, she promised you that much. Her crow did come by to personally update you on his condition every day or so, though-that was at least some amount of relief.

… Or, it would have been. You hadn’t seen any crow come by in a week or so, to the day-and yes, you kept track, because of course you did, you were an anxious wreck, and it’d already been months of your husband steadily recovering, or so you thought. Had he died from his injuries? Did something happen to the estate, were more people hurt? … Well. You supposed that was a silly thought, she lived so close to the Master’s own residence-no demon could get close enough to hurt them, with all the wisteria around both places.

You were so used to having your husband around to calm you when you thought about the worst things, like this-your heart hurt with anxiety and worry. What could you do but stand outside by the door, every day, for hours, just waiting for some sign, of a crow, of Shinobu herself, of anything?

It was another day that had gone by just like that-your feet and legs ached from keeping yourself up for so long, dried tear trails staining the sides of your face-you knew it was silly of you, you knew you should have tried to be at least a little stronger, for him if no one else, but… You just couldn’t help it. You hated this. You just wanted your husband back.

A dejected sigh leaves you as you watch the sun set for just one more moment before turning to go back inside, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes again-maybe tomorrow you’ll go up to Shinobu’s estate yourself. You couldn’t stand this for another–

“Hahaha! Now isn’t this strange! You’re running away from me!”

Your heart stops, and you freeze in place. What?

You feel him before you can turn to see him-chest pressed against your back, though soon you’re spun around and pulled up into a crushing hug anyway, and it’s all you can do to immediately start sobbing into your husband’s brightly-colored hair as you’re held.

“… Hello, my sweet,”  His voice is no longer booming and jovial like it was a moment ago, but soft, gentle and meant only for you, as he squeezes you to him-you want to worry about the injuries he was supposed to be recovering from still, but you don’t want this to end, either. You suppose, he must have just been coming around the corner and through the gate when you turned to go inside-not that it mattered, all that did matter was that he was… Here, holding you.

“You must have missed me terribly!” All hearty, he laughs with you again, even if all you can do is cry in his arms while he rubs soothingly at your back, “But of course I missed you terribly too! I tried many times to sneak out and come home to you, but Shinobu or one of the other girls always caught me-”

You missed his voice dearly, you did-and you were still crying, but you couldn’t help but lean up and kiss him. It was something you usually did to quiet him, for sure, but right now you just… Needed him. And he didn’t seem to mind, hands happily and readily sliding down to hoist you up into his arms, never breaking from you as he carried you into your home.

“… Such a beautiful shouldn’t have quite so many tears upon it, you know,”He mumbles gently against your lips, and you sniffle as you finally reach up to start wiping at them, “I-I just missed you so much, Kyojuro, I was so scared-you were almost-you could have-”

“But I didn’t, and I won’t.” He interrupts you sweetly, but firmly nonetheless, shaking his head at you, “I am fine. I am healed, my love. I am still here to fulfill my duties-and I always will be. That includes my duties to you as your husband.”

“I…” It doesn’t feel like you should believe it-after what you’d heard of his battle, knowing he’d even just encountered an Upper Moon demon, this felt too good to be real or true, and yet… There’s such certainty and finality blazing in his eyes as he stares at you, all you can do is nod.

“… Alright.”

———————————————–

… Really, all you had intended to do this evening, now that you had your husband home with you, was cook him his favorite meal and go to sleep with him, in his arms, for the first time in who knew how long, at this point. Truthfully, that had been your only goal. You wanted him to rest, no matter how many times he told you just how fully recovered he was through the mouthfuls of sweet potato you so lovingly prepared for him-and yet… And yet…

Well, you suppose you simply didn’t account for him wanting… Dessert.

“It’s been so long,” The words are mumbled around you, your flesh, as he greedily, really voraciously eats and licks you up from between your legs-you’d already known him to be feral when presented with the sweet treat only you could provide him with, but this was something else entirely, “-it’s been too long, my love, don’t you understand how very hungry I am?”

You don’t, but by no means are you going to let that stop either of you. You missed his mouth just as much as he missed your taste.

“K-Kyojuro-Kyojuro, I’m-Kyo–”

… He’s never been one to tease or deny you. And yet just as you’re about to cum, so close to the edge you could have tasted it yourself, he’s pulling away from you. His lips and chin and… Well, his face, in general, are so shiny with you-you easily forget your frustration and get lost in the blissful look in his eyes as he cleans himself with his tongue. “While you certainly are the most delicious thing in this world, my sweet,” He crawls up the length of your body so quickly, so desperate to smash his lips to your own, “-as I’ve told you, it’s been far too long. I want to feel you cum around my cock this evening. But I’m sure you have no complaint either way?” Any other day, you’d want to hit him, to get that cheeky look off of his face, but… You also can’t say you don’t want that. Maybe you really don’t have any complaints either way. “… You’re awful,” You huff up at him, but you nod, “… But alright.” … And yet he stays still. It would be so easy-you’re properly soaked, and the pair of you are completely naked, and yet your infuriating husband is just… Sitting there, hovering over you with a smile on his face. It’s a soft, loving smile-but you’ve known him so long, you don’t miss the mischief in his eyes. “… Can I not admire you, my beautiful spouse? Even for a moment, after I’ve been gone from you for so very long?” It’s not a crime for him to stare at you so adoringly-really, you’d love it if you weren’t as damn horny as you were. But... It has been a long time. He’s teasing, but as much as that’s true, you know he’s being earnest, too-his eyes flicker all over your form so carefully, meticulously re-memorizing every tiny detail about you. “... Even more beautiful then before I left you, dear one,” The way he murmurs it, so absently, it’s almost more like he’s saying it to himself, but his eyes raised to bore back into yours after a minute-clearly, he wants you to hear every word of what he’s saying, absent or not. “... Would you like to know something I thought about while I was away?” His love renders you breathless, speechless-it’s all you can do to nod up at him. “During the brief hours of respite I would get, I would think to myself... What would it be like to come back to you, our home... How would it feel, the joy of it all... And then, another thought had started to occur to me,” A sharp gasp tears through you as you feel a few fingers suddenly and swiftly beginning their work at stretching you out-sneaky man, he’d distracted you from his hands with his voice, and even then, he kept talking like he hadn’t done anything, “... What would it be like if I could come home to the sight of you all swollen and glowing with our child...?” Those words rob you of whatever meager amount of breath you had managed to regain. With your child...? “... Oh, my love, you squeezed my fingers so nicely just now,” He marvels at the sight, the feeling of you, worrying his lip between his teeth-you’re so pretty like this, is what he wants to say, but his mind is suddenly consumed by the thought he’d put into both your heads a moment ago. You, glowing with the product of your love in your stomach. You don’t fail to notice the twitching of his cock where it hangs all hard between his legs. “Do you like the sound of that, then...? Do you want to carry my children, our children, my dear one? I’ll give it to you if you just say the word-after all, what poor excuse of a husband would I be if I didn’t?” His fingers move in and out of you faster, frantic and eager to prepare you for him, now, as he almost rambles on like that-his words set your body, your insides, on fire. You do want it, you realize-it’s not something you’d given much thought to before, but here, like this, right now after spending so much time worrying about losing him? You really do want nothing more. “P-p-please, please Kyojuro, I want-please give me your children, I want it, I want you, please make me pregnant, my husband, please-” It’s not meant to egg him on, truly it isn’t-you just can’t help but beg with how badly you want it yourself. But that doesn’t mean you don’t delight in the way he seems to snap, just the slightest bit, above you, quickly removing his fingers from you to replace them with his cock-what you’d been waiting for since he laid you down in bed earlier. That felt like an eternity ago right now, though. The stretch isn’t an uncomfortable one, with the care he’d still taken to prepare you-you missed it, if anything, you missed him. And it’s clear that he feels the same-he’s gone so tense above you, arms trembling on either side of you with the restraint it takes not to move. Somehow, he still manages to keep up that bright smile of his, too. “Do tell me when I can move, my love. This is a bit unbearable with how lovely you feel!” ... As hazy as your mind was with pleasure, you couldn’t help but giggle. Even now, your husband was so... Endearing. So cute. Your bring your hands up to hold his face as you nod your head eagerly, over and over, “Please, Kyojuro-please, I want it,” You can see that he wants to worry about you, wants to ask you again to make sure-but he can’t, his body betrays him, his hips instantly slotting themselves against your own, pulling back only to quickly bring themselves back down, his cock pressing and rubbing against every bit of your insides as it moves in and out of you, over and over and over, so fast-and your husband hardly even breaks a sweat. ... His being a demon slayer, and a pillar, at that, had its perks, you supposed. His stamina was one of them. But he seemed to already be losing his composure, too, with just how long it’d been since you’d gotten to be so close. “This-this is embarrassing, haha-I feel like I could burst at any moment already-just-just thinking about how-utterly perfect you’d look, ah-” His hips stutter, and he stills for a second, to keep his own pleasure at bay for a moment-though he makes up for it with the hand that shoots down to rub and stroke at what his cock isn’t already touching, “-goodness gracious-how perfect you’d look, pregnant, my love-” As if you aren’t ready to burst, yourself. Did he suddenly forget about denying you mere minutes ago...? “M-my husband-my husband, Kyojuro, please, m-me too, just go ahead, please-please give me your child, give it to me, please-” “You’re really as difficult as you are beautiful!” The very wind is knocked out of you as you find your legs suddenly on either side of your head, as he fucks into you with a very renewed, fittingly fiery sense of vigor and passion, grunting freely every time he feels you wrap around him again and again, “I truly did want to take my time with you this evening, my sweet-how irresistible you are like this-I’ll have to savor you another time-” This position, the wildness in his eyes, the feeling and the sight of him-yes, the sight of him, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t see the bulge appearing and disappearing from your stomach-fucking into you desperately, all of it is far too much for you, far too overwhelming, but of course he revels above you in the way you clamp down on him and make a sudden, abrupt mess all over the pair of you, not to mention the futon underneath you. “So beautiful-so beautiful like this, my love-I-just the sight of you, you’re going to make me-goodness-” He leans over you and folds you in half even further, nose brushing against your neck, “I-I’m going to-I’m going to give it to you now, alright? I swear it, my love, my dear one, I’ll-I’ll get you pregnant, I promise, I promise, I--” It’s so intense, he almost roars as it washes over him, as he fills you up so completely it leaks out of you, with how long its been since either of you had any form of... Release. Your legs are released, and they flop numbly down against the plush futon beneath you-your husband can barely keep himself up, but he at least tries to be careful as he collapses against you, chuckling so happily against your shoulder while you can hardly keep your eyes open, let alone say anything. You wish you had the sense what was apparently so... Funny, right now. “... I love you, _____.” The biggest wave of tranquility falls over you, hearing those words. You can’t quite say much of anything still, but he knows-he sees it in your eyes when he looks up at your face. You love him too. Right now, that’s all he needs. “I really am so happy to be home, dear one.”

[yanderenightmare]

Hey, can I have yandere!shinsou to insult the chubby!reader bcs she really made him angry to her by being rebellious so it ended up with she is getting fuck so hard by him 🥵💦

yandere ! SHINSO HITOSHI

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, mind-control, jealousy

MISTAKES COME BEST WHEN SERVED IN THREES

She’d been bugging him all night. 

They were hauled up in his dorm-room with homework, had been so for hours. And it wouldn't have been too bad, but she wouldn't shut up.

She laid on her stomach, elbows propped up beneath her, tits mushed perfectly into his mattress, looking like a comfortable pillow fo support, squeezed like two plump balloons in her top with the way she bounced on them. She always bounced as she spoke, so bubbly, voluptuous lips sucking on her pen in those breaks where she didn't have anything to say, looking like a cute little bunny with the chubs of her cheeks, her legs kicking in the air, ass wiggling like a puppy wagging its tail, as she babbled on and on and on about her stupid crush.

Disgusting. He’d lost count of how many times he’d rolled his eyes, sustained clicking his tongue in an exasperated fashion, now feeling the growing need to go puke his guts up.

“He’s got such pretty hair too, like... it’s fluffy, like a cat, like he has secrets hidden inside there or something...” He wanted to claw his eyes out, but he couldn't stop looking at her, those lips, that cheeky smile, her childish giggle. His ears bleeding, not wanting to hear another silly foolish detail about whomever the fuck had her so neatly tied around there finger. “I just want to run my hands through it, you know?” She fiddled with a lock of her own hair while she daydreamed, finger raking through the pretty shiny treads. “Tangle my fingers inside it and ride his face.” That’s when he snapped.

It took only a split second to process, perhaps because he’d imagined it so many times already. Her plush thighs hugging his face, hands grabbing the fat of her ass, setting the rhythm, not letting her go until he feels her dripping down his chin. “Who?” He sounded like an owl, looked like one too. Eyes intense as they stared at her place on his mattress. 

Such audacity she had, talking up wet-dreams of someone else in his fucking bed.

Her brows knitted, looking at him, legs stopping to rub together in the air. “Hm?” She only hummed, but it was enough.

“What’s his name?” He repeated, and this time she had no choice but to answer.

Her features blanched, eyes pooling with void, enslaved, gorgeous, pupils blown large like a black lake, like ink ready to write all her secrets, to spill her guts for him. 

“Shinso Hitoshi.”

The name dropped from her lips without hesitance, and despite the monotonous sound of it, despite lackluster at the absence of her substantial voice, her full-bodied brazen wild tone, it still managed to make his heart stop, stammer in his chest, before beating along like it usually does, like a skipping rock, picking up its pace, soon to be hammering like some war-drum, fueling war-paint through his system, spiked and frayed, making the thin hairs at the nape of his neck rise, his purple mane frizz with static. 

Thoroughly put out, enough to lose his hold on her.

“Did you...” She shook from the shock, from the shackles. “Did you just-” Her palms pushed into her temple as her eyes scrutinized, pulling her knees to curl into a sitting position on the bed. “Use your quirk on me?” 

Her frame had bled into a blurry view at the light of his bliss, his smile widened into a sneer as sharp as a knife, eyes refocusing at the sound of her voice breaking the otherwise pin-drop silence and galloping of his heart.

He scoffed at her pout, at the brimming, swirling vivid look of betrayal climbing in her eyes, almost drooling at the bashful blush that adorned her cheeks, having never seen her shy or humiliated before and finding an unparalleled sense of victory at the sight of it. 

“What?” He shrugged, sly smile nudging further up on his face, smug and victorious, uncaring of whatever feeling he must have stirred with knowing how she actually felt plain and simple and outspoken, pulled right from her chest, still echoing on the walls, ringing in his mind, dripping from his teeth. He could almost laugh. “Not the guy you thought I was?”

“This isn't funny, Toshi.” Believe him, he didn't think so either. “I trusted you.”

“Your first mistake.” His lilac eyes shone with such sinister glee, such carnal sadistic pleasure, she felt it like a claw on her throat. “Liking me is your second.”

“You’re such a jerk.” Her voice strained, caught between being vicious to teary-wet. He could only imagine, like he’d done so many sleepless nights already, the catlike whimpers and whines she’d spill once he did like she suggested earlier.

She pushed herself off his bed with a bounce and huff and a sweet little sniffle, walking past where he still sat seated on the chair by his desk, hand drumming lean knuckled fingers on the table. “Leaving so soon, Kitten?” He didn't bother getting up. He didn't need to.

“Fuck- you.” She mumbled, her voice already a croak of suppressed cries, her heart aching in her chest as she walked to the door.

The smile cracked even farther, more salacious, more enjoyed, gorged and savored. “Fuck me? Heh, that’ll be your third...” He scoffed, laugh lacing his mocking words. “Stop.” Was all he needed to say to turn all her nerves against her and bend them to do his bidding. “Come here.” 

His hand still drummed on the table, not having bothered turning around as he heard her approach him again. Perfectly timed steps, one after the other, mechanical almost, until she stood, plain and simple, without resistance, between his legs, all up for grabs. His fingers stopped drumming.

Then there was silence again. But she would say the smirk on his face was loud, and so was the glint in those lavender orbs, warm in her head, in her cheeks, hot and heavy with how he eyed her, up and down. Hotter as those arms, lined with the muscles of a man, straining veins and fresh bruises from his training, reaching out scarred hands to touch her ample hips, pulling her closer, tighter between his thighs. Fingers, strangely confident and lax, unbothered and unhurried, soon fiddling with the clasp that kept her short school skirt together at the waist, pinching what pliable flesh he found as he explored. Other hand ascending with the same grace, working slowly as he twisted the buttons to her shirt open, popping one after the other, face buried and pushed into the welcoming warm embrace of her breasts with a heavy sigh, lips dragging up and down the valley of them, nose rubbing and cuddling into her skin, teeth soon gracing alongside his tongue licking at her. Her shirt and skirt falling to the floor, pooling around her ankles, meanwhile his hand moved to the back to pinch loose the clasp of her bra, where the other hand had made itself busy feeling up the thickness of her ass like putty between his greedy fingers.

“On the bed.” He growled, face still mushed into her skin, all clothes except her precious cotton panties left in a pile by the desk.

And off she went, Shinso getting up and out of his chair to trail after her, towering over her short frame, looking down at the back of her head and how it seemed to bob up and down as she walked, hips swaying like a feline from side to side as she stalked, until she turned on her heel and plopped down with a bounce. Always so bouncy. So plump and full of life. Juicy like a peach.

He got down on his knees quickly, hands reached out to grab her knees, prying them apart carefully, opening up for a view of soft plush doughy flesh and the valley that made her panties look like a heart just beneath her tummy, all for him to bite into. He groaned, hands curled as they raked down from grabbing at her ass, until they hooked under her knees, pushing her up and down on her back, tits bouncing from the fall, his other hand giving them the attention they deserve, kneading one breasts in his palm, fingers going from tweaking the nib to pulling at it like picking up a water-balloon by the tail, managing to wake her.

“Get off!” She gasped, whined at the harsh touch, hands coming to push at his hard abs. But he wasn't budging, hands easily and softly finding her wrists to keep them from flailing, his dark chuckle stirring that something deep within her gut.

“Get off?” He repeated, questioningly, a slight snicker playing in his tone. “What?” It was clear he was amused, that he had no regrets and no intentions of backing down. “You don't like it when I touch you?” He pushed her down, drowned her in the sheets, hiked his knee up on the bed to earn leverage and height, like a tower toppling over, pushing her wrists into the mattress, head dipping to kiss at her collarbone, nose sliding up her neck as she shook her head in slight protest were any verbal answers were sure to be taken advantage of. “Well-” He scoffed. “That’s a lie.” His words whispered at her ear, as he smoothly hooked his foot under her leg to push them open, knee fitting snugly between the tight space of her thighs, hiking her up over the tops of his own, fitting between her. “We both know you’ll love it when I touch you, Kitten.” 

He bit her earlobe with another snicker, kissed her cheek chastely, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he dunked in for one hungry sloppy kiss, loving her adorable girlish squeals beneath him, how her hands had stopped struggling, a tinge of rose blushing her cheeks once he pulled up for air. 

“There’s no need to be shy.” Pupils blown, his eyes had never seemed darker. “You belong to me.” He kissed down her neck, bit at her skin. “Every single inch of you.” His hands relieving their post, leaving two smaller hands to stay where they’d been placed. “These tits.” Lips kissing the bud of her breast, teeth rolling it on his tongue. Rough fingers grabbing like claws into the cake of her thighs again, spreading them further apart. “These thighs.” He growled, hands cupping her ass to rut his bulge into her thinly clothed sex, lips crashing onto her once again, even as she yelped against him. “This ass.” He groaned, rocking into her. “All of you. Every single curve.” He purred. “There won’t be an ounce of your being left untouched, unlicked, un-fucked once I’m done.”

[spxllcxstxr]

Creature Teachers • R.L

(GIF not mine)

Request: Hii, this probably sounds really weird but can I request like a (professor, if you’re okay with that) Remus Lupin x vampire reader? Where she really needs some blood so he lets her bite his neck to help her and it can be like cute and romantic or smutty, idk whatever you’re comfortable with. Yikes sorry I sound so weird 💗 — anon

Summary: You’re a vampire out of blood replenishing potions. Your husband offers you his.

Warnings: heavy blood mention, a spider makes a quick appearance, biting, drinking blood, normal vampire stuff, insecurities, all vampire things are a wee bit suggestive if you think about it

Word Count: 1.4k

A.N: I didn’t intend for this to become fic length. Obviously, I got carried away with the idea. This isn’t smutty and it isn’t really romantic? But it’s not angsty. I have no clue exactly what to categorize this as. Hope you enjoy it, because I loved writing it.

****

When your eyes snap open in the middle of the night, you’re greeted by the pitch blackness of the room, and yet you’re still able to spot the spider weaving its web tantalizingly slow in the far corner.

You watch it dangle, seemingly in midair, but it’s thin and translucent web shines just enough for your eyes to catch it.

If you were alive, your heart would be racing and you’d probably be hyperventilating.

The rush of Remus’ blood flowing through his veins is ever present in your ears. His heart pounds evenly in his sleep, and you’re completely and painfully aware of his dorsalis pedis artery pulsating against your own foot.

Your limbs are screaming in pain, skin feeling paper thin.

Hunger.

Hunger is the one thing on your mind, and you groan. If you weren’t so weak, you would pounce on your husband and drain his entire body dry of blood. You’re thankful you’re so weak.

“Remus...” You rasp out, unmoving. “Please...”

You need him to wake up, to help you, so you continue to gasp out.

“(Y/n)?” He eventually mumbles tiredly.

The blanket shifts next to you and his foot ceases contact with your skin. You yearn for it once again, attempting to reach out and follow it, but your body won’t allow it.

“So hungry, Remus...” You whimper, fingers twitching, trying to reach out to him.

“I’ll grab your potions, m’love.” He mumbles, groaning as he gets up from the bed. Your ears pick up the creaking of his joints and the sporadic beating of his heart as he wakes up.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm yourself down.

His bare feet pad across the floorboards and glass vials clink together.

“They’re all empty!” Remus exclaims, going through drawers and looking between stacks of books.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You whine out, roughly swallowing. Your flesh erupts in a fiery pain.

“I can run down to Snape—“

You hiss at the notion, hating his very suggestion. You didn’t need Snape meddling any more in your business than he already is. He was adamant about how the two of you were monsters, set loose around children. Snape delivered potions to you and your husband and yet he still couldn’t trust either of you. You didn’t want him involved to prove him right.

Remus sits on the bed, close to you.

“Bite me.”

His heart noticeably skips a beat due to anxiety.

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him, the whites of his eyes the brightest part of him even in the dead of night.

“What?” You choke, eyes widening at the thought of real human, or at least part human, blood being offered to you willingly.

It’s been so long.

It’s been too long.

“Just enough to get you through the night. Snape will drop off more blood replenishing potions in the morning.” He clarifies quickly.

His heart pounds rapidly which is understandable considering you haven’t had the need to feed from him since you were in school.

“Are you sure?” You ask, trying to restrain your eagerness. Desperately, you lick your chapped lips at the very thought.

Remus hooks his arms under your armpits, dragging you up to sit against the wooden headboard.

Feebly, you head rolls against the hardwood that’s digging into your scalp. A terrible change from your soft and delicate pillow.

“You’re in pain, (Y/n), of course I’m sure. Just not too much.” Remus reassures, pulling off his black shirt, leaving his chest bare and exposed.

Usually, you would use this time to ogle your husband, but instead your eyes latch onto his neck. It’s like every fiber of your being is calling out to his blood supply.

Your vision practically tunnels around his palpitating carotid artery, watching as it jumps in fright. Your gums ache as a fog takes over your mind.

However, you try to fight your instincts off. Using the carotid artery would surely kill him, and rationally, you don’t want to kill your husband. You’re particularly fond of him. It also might be hard to explain how the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor got drained by a vampire in the middle of the night.

You have to have control.

Your lips tremble as Remus drags his body closer to your own. If he’s talking, you can’t hear him. You’re too focused on making sure you don’t bleed him dry. It takes everything you have in you to keep your mind on track.

Abdomens are pressed together, your legs hooked around the small of his back, practically sitting in his lap.

You dip your head in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, burying your lips and your nose against his skin. Deeply inhaling, you can smell the coppery substance through his skin and you haven’t even punctured him yet. Your eyes almost roll back in your skull at the mere thought of real blood. Blood replenishing potions were fine, but they weren’t satisfying.

“You’re sure about this?” You practically have to force out through your lips.

A hand rests on the back of your head, fingers petting through your hair.

“I’m ok, love. Whenever you’re ready.” He shakily replies, swallowing roughly.

Your lips drop lower, away from the arteries and instead hover over the mess of veins nearby.

Before even biting down, you delicately place sloppy kisses on the area you’re about to ruin. You hear him try to calm his heartbeat with a deep inhale.

You draw back, teeth shifting to make room for your fangs, and you finally sink them past layers of skin. He yelps, grabbing onto your hair. He doesn’t try to pull you away from him, but it seems you’re his anchor.

A rush of blood fills your mouth, the coppery taste and scent overwhelming every one of your senses. There’s a sweetness hidden behind all that metal, and you quickly discover it dancing on your tongue. You greedily moan in desire.

You take great big gulps, your body strengthening after each one. You trail your fingers up to his hair, pulling at it to expose more of his neck to you.

Vaguely you’re aware that you’re getting too lost in the thick fog clouding your mind.

“Alright love, that’s enough.” Remus groans next to you.

You let out a low and pathetic whine, tightening your grasp on his hair, lapping at the wound you’ve given him. The flow hasn’t let up.

You hear his heart start to pick up speed at your defiance, like he’s panicking.

“(Y/n).” There’s a faint waver in his firm tone. “Enough!”

That’s enough for you snap out of whatever bloodthirsty trance you were stuck it.

You detach your fangs from his flesh, pulling back swiftly. Blood coats your lips and you dart your tongue out to capture the rest.

Quickly, you scramble away from him, untangling your limbs in favor of cowering on the mattress.

Blood pools where you bit him but you’re in the right headspace to be able to rip your gaze away from it. Your eyes focus on Remus, how pale he’s become, even though you didn’t take too much from him.

“Merlin, Remus.” You pick up his dark shirt and press it to his wound.

Somehow his eyes manage to find yours in the dark.

There’s a glimmer of pain lingering in his irises, and guilt pools in your stomach. A frown tugs at your lips.

You’re a monster, aren’t you?

Couldn’t even control yourself enough, so you had to force your own husband to keep you alive.

You could barely restrain yourself while feeding off of him—you almost killed him. You would’ve, if he didn’t speak up.

“I know what you’re thinking...” Remus murmurs, lazily placing a hand on yours, pressing the shirt firmer against his body.

You purse your lips. Of course he knows, he goes through the same thought process every full moon.

“I’m fine, love. We’ll just both have to take a potion in the morning.” He reassures, scooching back to lay his head in his pillow. “But right now, I’m tired.”

Delicately, he gets under the blankets, shivering slightly.

While you don’t need to sleep at night, to be honest you’re not even tired, but the way he stretches his arm across your cold torso has you cuddling up to his side.

You stay up listening to his heartbeat even out and his breathy snores, knowing that you’re both alright.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

Remus Lupin Taglist: @lunalovecroft

[guinevere01]

Musical artists beware! I’m taking part in @fandomtrumpshate​​​ this year (a charity auction for fandom stuff, benefiting progressive causes) and I’ll be offering image descriptions! Have you been interested in making your art more accessible but aren’t you sure how to do it yourself? Do you have a huge backlog of posts but simply not the time or energy to go back and describe it all? Here’s your chance! I’ll describe 10 posts per $15 bid, for a maximum of 100 posts, though you’re of course welcome to bid higher. Bidding for the action is possible from February 23rd to 27th, but the auctions are already visible since yesterday (February 20th).

Here’s the link to my auction page.

This particular auction is for the fandoms: musicals, Rusty Quill Gaming (podcast) and The Magnus Archives (podcast). We can of course work out your preferred description format/amount of details together!

I’ve shown a few examples of my descriptions of different art types below. I asked and received permission from the respective artists to add each of these works to this post.

ID: A vertically mirrored edit of Esmeralda during God Help The Outcasts in the staged version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Esmeralda is sitting in a blue circle on the floor on one knee. She’s looking up and singing with one hand resting on her raised knee and the other touching the ground by her fingertips. The stone choir is lightly visible bathed in red light and the circular stained glass window of the cathedral is purple. Text above Esmeralda reads: Were you once an outcast too? End ID

Art by @facebetrayedanxiety (previously @jasperindeadland), description by me, original post here.

ID: a pencil drawing in a lined notebook of Paul Gauguin as seen in Starry musical, he’s glancing sideways with a distrustful expression and holding a long curved sword. End ID

Art by @starry-signals​, description by me, original post here.

ID: Two gifs of Lex in Black Friday. Lex has dark brown hair and wears a black denim jacket with sweater sleeves and a hood over a grey shirt with stripes. The first gif shows her during CaliforMIA, singing and shaking her head while raising her arm to the side. Text reads: The dreamer has dreamed.

In the second gif it continues: her dream. Now Lex is being held in a chokehold by Sherman Young during Black Friday. Lex's hands are clutching his arm. End ID

Art by @wendlala, description by me, original post here.

ID: a vertical series of images consisting of textured backgrounds that start out pink and gradually get redder and darker till it’s almost black, with simple white line drawings and lyrics from the song Gone, I’m Gone from Hadestown.

Two hands holding one another: Orpheus, my heart is yours.

The same hands, only the fingertips touching: Always was and will be.

A person seen from the front, holding both their hands to their stomach: It’s my gut I can’t ignore.

The same image, but now the hands are clutching at fabric: Orpheus, I’m hungry.

A rose at the right side of the image: Oh my heart, it aches to stay.

The same rose, its petals now floating away: But the flesh will have its way.

A thread crossing from the bottom right to top left, the point of a pair of scissors visible in the bottom right: Oh, the way is dark and long.

The scissors now around the thread: I’m already gone.

The snapped thread: I’m gone.

The full lyrics is: Orpheus, my heart is yours. Always was and will be. It’s my gut I can’t ignore, Orpheus, I’m hungry. Oh my heart, it aches to stay, but the flesh will have it’s way. Oh, the way is dark and long, I’m already gone. I’m gone. End ID

Art by @mobylace​​​​, description by me, original post here.

Here’s the link to three gifsets I didn’t receive a response from the creator for but that I wanted to include somehow, even if I couldn’t include them directly:

Link to Hamilton gifset by @darkside-rey​​

Link to Spies Are Forever gifset by @mentally-in-pigfarts​​

[isis-astarte-diana]

tooth and nail

Prompt: @koiwokatarushijin​ wanted cheetah!Missy with 16: “I won’t apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you’re taken.” and 64: “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do.” and, as a bonus, 76: “You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck.”

Warnings: NSFW. MIHOW. Some blood. Painful penetration. Cheetah!Missy has a big barbed girlcock and I have no self restraint.

Word Count: 3986

NB: I started this, I liked it, it ran away from me, I stared at it a lot, I finished it. It’s longer than it should be. Significantly longer.

“Keep still.”

Missy’s voice is soft, but the arch of her brow leaves very little room for argument. In the simulated morning of the TARDIS kitchen she looks as beautiful as you’ve ever seen her. With the unbuttoned violet housecoat covering her thin chemise and her dark hair slowly wrestling its way out of last night’s braid, she somehow manages to embody a very human sort of domesticity, even while she inspects the wound on your shoulder with eyes shining a decidedly feline shade of amber. She traces the stinging indent of her teeth with the tip of one short, sharp fingernail, igniting the bite in scalding pain that makes you flinch. She tuts.

“Sorry,” you mumble shyly, at the sound of her displeasure. Your fingers tighten on the edge of the countertop you’re sitting on. “I just- it really hurts.”

She makes a sympathetic noise that sounds uncomfortably close to the chirrup of a hunting housecat. Alongside the elliptical slits of her pupils and the elongated threat of her canines, it turns the pitying look she gives you into something uncanny, something that hovers in that space between frightening and soothing and arousing. It’s a space over which Missy is the sole presider.

“It feels worse than it is,” she explains, as if that’s supposed to bring you comfort. “It probably won’t even scar.” 

“Probably won’t,” you echo, sceptically. “So it might?”

“Well, we can always hope.” She leans in to nuzzle at your throat, her breath warm and quivering with a predator’s purr. The noise sends a shiver down your spine. Idly, you reach up to pet her hair, and her volume increases significantly. You can’t help but smile.

“I won’t apologise for marking you,” she murmurs, and runs the flat of her tongue across the wound. It burns exquisitely. You squirm, whimpering a little, only to feel her hands on your thighs, holding you still. “Everybody should know that you’re mine.”

Missy has always been possessive with her things, of which you take pride of place, but her recent relapse with the virus has only exacerbated that behaviour. She seldom leaves your side for more than a few minutes. Even the maintenance of her TARDIS, something she would usually dedicate entire sleepless days to, almost fell by the wayside until you’d insisted that you didn’t mind accompanying her while she did it. There are piles of blankets and pillows placed strategically throughout the ship, now, courtesy of her new nesting instinct, for you to settle in and watch her working, and she has a tendency to pause frequently in her tasks in order to cross the room and assess your wellbeing.

You can’t say you object.

She’s certainly never been neglectful of your needs, even at her most distracted or dastardly, but this development has come as a pleasant surprise. Typically, she has an almost pathologically long attention span, but the effects of the virus have given her a unique and incorruptible focus on you. She’ll put aside her latest endeavours to make sure you’re fed and watered, will accompany you to bed and stay while you sleep even if she herself stays awake to read. It probably should feel suffocating, but, somehow, it never does.

“I like being yours,” you confess, scratching lightly at her scalp. She kneads the soft flesh of your thighs, just below the hem of your pyjama shorts, her talon-sharp nails pricking you with every squeeze. It’s an affectionate sort of pain. “I wouldn’t mind a scar, it’s just- what if you change your mind?”

“About what?” She licks the bite wound again, gentler now, and shivers with satisfaction at the taste of blood. The sting weakens your voice.

“About me?”

Missy freezes. The purring and the kneading stop abruptly, her spine stiffening as she slowly extricates herself from your neck. The tenderness in her eyes makes your heart clench. You hadn’t meant for the question to sound so melancholy, and now that you’ve spoken you feel abashed for it, turning away as if to hide your face from her. She slips a hand under your jaw, coaxing you back with the careful threat of her fingernails scraping your cheek.

“I wouldn’t want anybody else.” She smiles, the curve of her lips too gentle for the fangs it exposes. “Nobody else could make me feel like you do.”

You flush with delight. “You’re just being nice,” you tease, raising an eyebrow so that she knows you’re not upset, and her answering laugh is like velvet. 

“I’ve never been nice in my life, dear.” Her fingers trail down your neck, spiralling back to stroke over the bite. “This looks lovely on you.”

It looks a mess - or it did, earlier, when you saw it in the mirror while you were brushing your teeth. Her strong jaws have left a deep, livid bruise that spans wide across your shoulder, the bite mark itself half scabbed and half raw, beading lazily with fresh blood. Still, you can’t deny enjoying the thought of being branded as hers, or the way that her obvious appreciation of it laps at your belly with desire. “Do you really think so?”

Her eyes flick back to you, pupils blown, and she bares her teeth at the question. She squeezes your thigh hard enough to make you jolt. “I think I’m doing remarkably well to hold back from taking you here on the kitchen counter.”

This is another effect of the virus that you’re not about to object to.

Missy is hedonistic, by nature, and always has been, but there’s something compulsive about her libido now. The pursuit of pleasure is no longer a hobby for her but an obsession. You certainly had no complaints, before - she would take you with indulgence, your body and its workings a source of boundless fascination, your pleasure or your suffering a thing to be relished - but there is something to be said for being needed. This primal drive to claim and possess and breed is a delightful novelty. It thrills you to see her composure slip so far. Where tooth and nail had been a constant threat, they’re now something of an inevitability, something beyond her control. The depth of last night’s bite is a blazing testament to that.

Sheepishly, you whisper, “you don’t have to hold back. I mean- if you don’t want to.”

“I think perhaps I’d better.” Even as she speaks, you can hear her voice darkening, her fingers beginning to resume their rough kneading of your thigh. She drops her other hand between your legs to cup you through your shorts. The faintest pressure from her fingers against the lips of your cunt makes you wince at the ache there. Her eyes soften. “You’re still sore.”

“Well- yeah,” you admit, with a self-conscious bite of your lip. Hooking your leg around her, you pull her closer with a heel at the base of her spine. She makes no attempt to stop you. The change in position lets you grind into her palm, pleasure sweet and soothing to the swollen flesh. She purrs, squeezing down gently to increase the friction for you, and you can’t bite back a gasp. “I just- I thought, maybe…”

“You thought what?” Missy cocks her head, crooking her fingers to stroke over your clitoris through the fabric. Your whimper earns you another dagger-pointed smile. She ducks her head to kiss along your jaw, tightening her grip on your thigh. “Did you want mummy to kiss it better?”

The desperate noise you make must be answer enough.

Her strength is alarming when she forgets it; it seems to take her no effort at all to pull your hips right to the edge of the countertop, so suddenly that you let out a little yelp in surprise and pain and have to grab the counter to keep from falling hard onto your back. You can already feel a bruise blooming under her fingers from the force. Given her propensity for leaving marks - and the grin that wavers between smug and apologetic - you suspect that it’s not an accident, but when she catches your mouth in a hungry kiss you forgive her immediately.

Her insistent weight slowly presses you to lean back, offering up your throat for her lips. She wastes no time in working her way down it, nuzzling at the softness of your breasts and belly through your shirt until her nose brushes the ticklish skin above your waistband. You let yourself lie flat across the counter, mostly to free up a hand so that you can stroke her hair, and she rewards you by nipping at your hip bone. 

“I can smell myself on you.” It’s almost a growl, her voice raw with desire. “I’m all over you. Inside you.” You jolt upright with a cry when she presses her open mouth to your shorts, her breath hot through the fabric. Your hand goes white knuckled on the edge of the countertop for support. She lifts her eyes to you, almost black with the dilation of her pupils, and scrapes you, gently, with her teeth. It doesn’t hurt - in fact, it feels wonderful, the shock of pleasure stealing your breath - but you recognise the warning and settle back down, closing your eyes against the lights on the ceiling. Her tongue drags flat and scalding over the seam once you do, and she purrs so aggressively that you can feel the dull vibration. Pulling off to ease your shorts down, she adds, “you taste of me, too.”

“I do?” You lift your hips to assist her, and she drags her fingernails down the lengths of your legs as she removes your pyjama bottoms, leaving thin lines of stinging heat in her wake. You quiver under her touch. “From- from last night?”

“From always.” 

Her fingertips pass ticklish over your bare foot when she unhooks the fabric from around your ankles, and she lifts your heel to press a kiss to the sole. It makes you squeak. “Is that a good thing?”

Missy laughs, warmly, flicking her tongue across your arch so that you gasp. She all but slings your leg around her shoulder as she sinks to her knees. Her first breath against your naked cunt is a reverent sigh. “What do you think?”

You don’t think much of anything at all.

Her tongue sliding between your labia is enough to have you short-circuiting, conscious of very little besides the fluid, velvet heat of her. You retain just enough awareness to hold onto the counter beneath you in order to avoid pulling her hair. The briefest pass over your clitoris makes your hips jerk, and she loops her arms around your thighs to spread you wider and keep you in place. Firmer, now, the pressure glides back down, through a delicate furrow of flesh where you can feel both the rough of her taste buds and the impossibly smooth muscle underneath. When she takes this fold into her mouth and touches it - just touches it - with her teeth you have to clap a hand over your mouth to muffle the squeal. 

The reverberation of her satisfied purring doesn’t help matters.

At first, you think she must be doing it on purpose, knowing how it would feel for you, but there are none of the smug chuckles or glances that usually accompany such behaviour. When her tongue strokes the lips of your cunt, still sore and swollen from last night’s activities, and her pitch increases sharply it dawns on you that the noise is involuntary. The realisation that she could derive such obvious pleasure from this renders you almost as weak as the sudden intrusion of her tongue.

Your back arches from the countertop immediately. Missy drags you back down, pressing herself deeper. Kissing you better may have been a misnomer - she’s hot, flexing muscle inside of you, serving mostly to remind you of how raw you are - but you can hardly bring yourself to be upset about the voracity with which she seeks out the taste of herself within you. Your muscles squeeze tight around her squirming tongue. Another escalation in her purrs, coupled with the way her fingers sink into the flesh of your thighs to knead at it, is proof enough that she appreciates her work.

Indeed, she seems content to stay like this for quite a while. Despite her earlier words, there’s nothing urgent about the way she devours you. You lose track of how long she spends working you over with her mouth, stroking unhurried pleasure into you, coaxing out whines and gasps and so much slick that you can feel it running down towards your tailbone. Her teeth catch you, now and then, and flood you with cold adrenaline each time, but never do you any harm.

Her nails are another matter entirely.

Every slow squeeze of your thighs comes with needling pain. It’s not vicious - far from it - but the insistent clawing always follows the same path, carving into you to mark where her fingers have passed. The scratches are blazing hot and stinging with blood. It hurts enough to bring tears to your eyes, but the steady rhythm of squeeze, claw, release is almost meditative, and you lose yourself in it with ease. Dragging your hips over the edge of the kitchen counter, she pulls you down into the lazy pattern of her hands and mouth and breath.

When, at last, Missy fastens her lips fully to your clitoris, the violence of your orgasm hits you like lightning; you’d forgotten that this could only ever end in flames.

By the time you’ve recovered from the trauma enough to lift your head she’s already released you. She laps at the slick that puddles in the dimples of your thighs. Breathless, still whimpering, twitching just above her tongue, you reach down to pet her hair. With a little chirrup of surprise she turns her attention to cleaning away your blood. 

It can’t be sanitary - she’ll wash these cuts properly later, with damp cotton wool soaked in something that burns like salt, purring to comfort your cries - and it stings as much as it soothes. You flinch away from the liquid pain. She holds tighter to your hips, following your retreat even as you scrabble back along the counter, rising from her knees to pursue you. Her low snarl makes you fall still. You know better than to ignore a warning, verbal or otherwise; more importantly, you know better than to snatch meat from the jaws of a lion.

It’s easy to forget, in the calmer moments, quite how savage she can be.

The kitchen lights reflect neon in the vast, dark pits of her pupils when she looks up at you. Her face is wet from nose to chin and faintly smudged with copper. Your eyes lock, for a moment, and a particular kind of stillness settles over the both of you, like the heavy heat before a thunderstorm or the silent shock before a scream. You know full well that any movement now is a provocation. Your arms tremble from the effort of holding yourself still at this half-upright angle, your thighs quivering with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you can’t stop yourself from squeaking like a captured mouse and, apparently, that’s all the invitation she needs.

Missy yanks you back to the edge of the countertop before you can draw breath to cry out. Naked, now, from the waist down, the pain is startling; friction burns red hot between marble and soft skin, her grip on your hips bruising right down to the bone. The sudden onslaught of her strength turns you cold with primal fright. Weakened by the shock, there’s nothing to do but cling to her for stability, wrapping your arms around her shoulders and your legs around her waist. Her chemise rucks up between your bellies. The heavy brocade of her housecoat irritates the cuts on your thighs, a stinging torment that threatens to loosen the tears clinging to your lashes, until her cock slides between your lips and your body comes alive with an altogether different sort of alarm.

Her barbed shaft slicking through your labia sets you alight. Every tiny spine is a fine point of delicious agony, countless of them clustered together like the bristles of a brush, raking over your delicate flesh. When the head of her cock strokes over your clitoris it feels like the prickle of a dozen needles. The jolt of pleasure makes you choke. It’s too much of everything - too sharp, too sweet, too soon after having come already. Your hips give a stuttering roll into hers, torn between the reflex to pull away and the maddening urge to rut against her. 

Fortunately, the choice isn’t yours to make.

Broad, blunt pressure at the lips of your cunt has you stiffening in her arms. You’re wet enough to take her - you must be; you can feel your own slick puddling beneath you on the counter - but you know that it won’t be easy. However pliant the orgasm might have left you, however well she might have opened you with her tongue, nothing can ease the tight pinch of something too big slowly spreading you apart. You tuck your face against her shoulder to hide the trembling grimace of your mouth and draw a long, unsteady breath, willing yourself to relax.

It doesn’t help. It never does.

The first thrust is a hot knife in your belly. Your cunt burns in furious protest at being stretched so wide so quickly, and your whole body clenches in a futile attempt to force her out. Gasping, you flinch away, but she boxes you in with a hand braced behind you on the countertop. 

"It's alright, it's alright." Missy rests her forehead against yours, the words a scalding rasp across your face. You taste your own blood and cunt on her breath. She rolls her hips, pulling you tight against her when you whine and try to squirm away. Her lips curl back from her teeth in warning. "Relax. Take it for me."

She's quivering with restraint. You can see it in her eyes, hear it in the low growls that tug at the end of every laboured breath. Under your shaking hands, the muscles in her shoulders are tight as coiled springs. Her taloned fingers dig into your back as she fights the instinct to hold you still, to pin you down and take as she pleases. Something like adoration swells in your chest.

You don’t want her to stop - you asked for this, needed this, would have gotten on your knees to beg for it if you’d had to - but you don’t have the strength that she does. You have no more control over your tears or your protests than you do the helpless, spasming muscles of your cunt. All you can do is trust her to know what you’re pleading for. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” The rough of her tongue drags over your cheek, tasting the salt there. Your eyes drift shut when she starts to purr again. You can feel yourself slackening, moving limp as a ragdoll as she hoists your leg higher over her hip to open you wider, and she slips deeper inside you with a slow, slick sting. Your face twists in pain, but you dig your heel into her back to welcome her. Her strained gasp cools the shell of your ear. “That’s it. Good girl.”

You mewl pitifully at the praise. Clinging to her, you shift your hips in an attempt to accommodate the stretch better, working fruitlessly to find a position that might make this feel more comfortable. You succeed only in pulling off far enough to ignite the tender walls of your cunt with friction as her barbed cock grasps at you from within. The burn leaves you blinking back a flood of fresh tears. “Missy-”

“I know. I know, dear.” From the tightness of her voice you can tell that she’s reaching her limit. Soon, soon, like it or not, her need will win out, and she’ll be as powerless as you are against it. You take some comfort from that; comfort, too, in the way she lets her head fall against your shoulder, loose curls of dark hair tickling your neck while she laps at the bite wound there.

It helps - it does help, a bit - to have some other hot wet pain to distract you when she finally starts to move.

Any further pleas die in your throat. No matter how familiar it is, you never seem to get used to the feeling of being rubbed raw by those tiny, needling spines. Missy snarls into the curve of your neck, some of the tension draining from her body as she gives herself over to the pleasure of taking you. You scrabble mindlessly at her shoulders, your every breath a sob.

“My sweet human.” Her claws rake over your thigh to stop your futile struggling. You sink into the pain, relaxing against her chest, letting yourself be torn apart in her grasp. She purrs with satisfaction. “You take me so well.”

The angle isn’t perfect, but it’s good enough. You can’t pretend it doesn’t come as a relief not to have her buried inside you to the hilt. Even so, you can feel her almost unpleasantly deep, pressure clenching beneath and behind your navel each time she fills you. The helpless, jerking motions of her hips push you higher, closer, but you won’t be able to come from this alone. The pleasure itself is an ordeal. Your cunt pulses with it, squeezing her barbed cock like a fistful of stinging nettles, turning every wave of bliss to hot ashes.

If you weren’t so exhausted already, you might slip a hand between your bodies to stroke yourself. If she weren’t so worked up from tasting you, Missy might do the same. As it is, neither of you can think far enough to loosen your arms from around the other, tied together tooth and nail in your own separate agonies. 

Mercifully, she doesn’t last long.

“Come on,” you whisper, shakily, when you feel her grip tightening on your thigh. She shudders at the sound of your voice. Your fingers pluck at her hair, cradling her to you, legs locked around her to pull her deeper. You urge her on with tearful, choking desperation. “Come for me, Missy. Please, please. For me. Just for me. I want- I need-”

When she breaks, she snaps like a steel cable.

Her hips jolt forwards with force that steals your breath. She spills inside you, holding you still to make you take it, her teeth drawing fresh blood from the wound on your shoulder as she comes. Pain strangles your shriek into a silent cry. For a long, long moment you’re conscious of nothing but the roar of your own heartbeat in your ears and the twitching, spasming muscles where your bodies join.

The first slow stroke of her tongue across your shoulder makes you flinch. Missy coos, softly, and nuzzles at you, her unsteady breaths hot on your skin. “Might scar now.”

Your sniffles turn the words into a weak accusation. “You did that on purpose.”

“Naturally.” Slowly, so slowly, she loosens her grip on you, easing back until she can press her forehead to yours once more. Her eyes have brightened to their usual shade of yellow. “How could I resist, when you wear it so well?”

Your face flushes with delight. Sounding rather less disgruntled than you’d hoped, you mutter, “you know, most people just buy their girlfriends jewellery.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” She trails her fingers across your clavicle. You shiver at the touch, and at the sight of her licking your blood from her teeth. “I think you’d look rather fetching with a pearl necklace.”

[rextasywrites]

Hello, could I request Lady D x Ethan NSFW please. From reading your list I’m 100% good with pregnancy/impregnation, lactation if the inspiration takes you that way. I look forward to seeing what you can do :)

Hey! I focused on the lactation part of your request, the impregnation/cream pie coming at the end! I hope you enjoy what I have written for you!!! :) <3 <3 <3

Warnigns: SMUT all the SMUT, lactation kink

The start of their relationship was more than...unusual. During the search for his baby daughter, Ethan had stumbled across the Castle Dimitrescu and its owners. Lady Dimitrescu had instantly taken a liking to the american guy, blown away by how determined he was in finding his daughter, not caring about any God or government. 

With the help of the vampires, Ethan was able to find his daughter again, and Lady Dimitrescu offered them a place to stay while they recovered from the horrors they had to witness, and Ethan to recover from the loss of his wife...again.

At this point, Rosy wasn’t able to eat solid food yet, and the milk from the cows gave her a belly ache, making her cry all night long.

“You know...I could help her.”, Lady Dimitrescu said as they watched the little girl in her crib, sleeping soundly after crying her tummy ache away.

“How?”, Ethan asked with a frown, looking over to the tall vampire next to him. 

Lady Dimitrescu sighed and pointed to her chest, “I can lactate. I could feed her an-”

“And you are just saying this now? We could have fed her like this since we arrived! Alcina, come on!”

“I didn’t know if you were okay with this, Ethan Winters.”

“Oh, don’t ‘Ethan Winters’ me now!”

Lady Dimitrescu and Ethan both chuckled at that, but it was a good decision. Rosy would get her food, and Ethan could catch a glimpse at the amazing chest of his new...roommate. Castlemate?

A few hours later, Rosy was hungry again, squirming in her crib. Alcina picked her up and tugged her dress down, just far enough to expose her breasts and bra. The bra was quickly lifted as well, letting her breasts fall down. A bit saggy from previous nursing times, but oh fuck if they weren’t tasty as fuck. Rosy quickly latched onto her nipple, drinking as if her life depended on it. After she finished drinking and Lady Dimitrescu helped her let out a few burps, the little girl settled into a deep slumber, fueled by her full belly.

“Isn’t she cute?”, Ethan asked into the room as his eyes were on Rosy sleeping soundly.

Lady Dimitrescu, still with her breasts out, nodded as she stood next to Ethan. Ethan wanted to talk to her, turning his head...and was greeted with a load of tits right into his face. His whole face burnt red in a record breaking blush as he stumbled over simple words to form a sentence. Lady Dimitrescu laughed at his shyness, wiggling her upper body a bit. “Oh, come on. Are you such a blushing virgin, Ethan Winters?”

“I never have them shoved into my face!”

“Then you are missing out onto the pleasures of life.”, she laughed as she grabbed onto Ethan, pulling him right between her breasts. And fuck, they were soft and warm and felt...cozy. As if that was the place he was supposed to be.

“Not...not with Rosy in the room.”, Ethan muttered from between her breasts, nearly suffocating with joy. Lady Dimitrescu grinned, pulled him off and put her breasts back into place. “Meet me in my chamber when my daughters are gone, will you?”

*

At night, the daughters went out for a little hunt. Sometimes, they liked to drink animal blood, but this night they were out for something more human. In the town next over were some promising ‘subjects’ for a fuck and drink, so the three women went out to chase their prey.

But Lady Dimitrescu? She stayed home - her prey tonight was someone completely different. Alcina couldn’t deny her hunger anymore. She wanted this man between her legs ever since he stepped a foot into her castle. Hundreds of years of female lovers had its perks too, but a good dick once in a while...she couldn’t deny its sweet sides.

“Alcina?”, Ethan stepped into Lady Dimitrescu’s studies, closing the door behind him and locking it...even though the daughters could teleport into the room if they desired. Old habits die hard.

“Ethan my dear, come here.”, Lady Dimitrescu smiled at her hopefully new lover, patting on the bed next to herself. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, ready for whatever he had in mind.

Ethan joined her by her side, nervous as if it was his first time ever. Judging by the fact that he produced a mutant baby with Mia, it is proven that this was clearly not his first time. Lady Dimitrescu smiled and grabbed his hand, placing it on her impressive chest. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Of course. It is just a bit overwhelming, I have never-” “Never fucked a woman that tall with such an impressive chest?” “Let’s say, women your size are a rare breed!”

Lady Dimitrescu laughed at that, guiding him to pull her dress down, exposing her bra and breasts once more. Everything she wore was kept in white, making her appear even more pale than she actually was. Cream on porcelain. “Don’t be shy.”, she chuckled and pulled her bra down herself. What a sight, Ethan thought to himself, gently trailing his fingers over her soft skin, feeling what would be soon his.

“Oh come on, don’t be shy.”, Lady Dimitrescu said and grabbed his wrists, pulling him closer to bury his hands in her soft flesh, but a bit of tenderness underneath. Ethan pulled a face when he realized how tender they felt, giving Lady Dimitrescu a concerned look. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s what happens when I don’t milk myself for a while. My breasts are so full right now…”

“How can I help you with that?”

“Suck on them, Ethan!”, Lady Dimitrescu groaned out and grabbed hold of Ethan’s hair, pushing him against her breasts. Heaven on earth for this man. Without thinking twice, Ethan parted his lips, sucking on the soft breasts. Sucking, biting, everything he could do to leave some marks. Lady Dimitrescu groaned and leaned into his touch, needing more from the man and his exquisite mouth.

It all seemed so natural, as if they had done it thousands of times before. Moving as one, feeling as one. Ethan moved over, latching onto her nipple with an eagerness he had never felt before. Lady Dimitrescu guided his head, and for a moment she bucked her hips for a little bit, just enough for Ethan to notice.

“Careful, I am going to leak soon…”, she said as she cradled Ethan’s head, urging him on to continue. Soft whines and moans escaped her lips, so perfectly red with her expensive lipstick, ready to be smeared around someone else's lips. And she was right. At first, there were only a few drops coming from her nipple, leaving the faint sweet taste on Ethan’s tongue. But Ethan had a sweet tooth, and once he tasted something sweet, he couldn’t stop.

Sucking as if his life depended on it, Ethan helped with his hands too. Pressing, kneading, sucking. The drops of milk changed to a constant small steam of milky sweetness, covering Ethan’s mouth with every suck. “Ethan, yes, carry on like this. Just like this.”, Lady Dimitrescu moaned out, her eyes closed as she took in every movement from him, needing more and more. She couldn’t deny the pool of wetness forming between her legs, a desire bubbling up. But first, her breasts. Then she could ask him for a quick fuck.

Once her left breast felt empty enough, Lady Dimitrescu pulled Ethan away, smirking down to him. “Aren’t you a good little pet for Mommy?”, she smirked, and Ethan couldn’t do more than nod. She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his lips, tasting his unique taste and her own milk. “Now carry on. Then you may fuck me if that’s what your heart desires.”

At the mere mention of fucking, Ethan’s cock started to twitch in his pants, a feeling he had missed so much. No time to get off while searching for your own daughter in a village full of werewolves and vampires. But now was finally the time, and Ethan was more than ready to give her the fuck of a lifetime. Lady Dimitrescu’s right breast wasn’t as full as her left one as she had used this side to nurse before. Just fine for her, because she didn’t want to waste more time with nursing. She needed her sweet release while her underwear stained with the signs of her lust.

While Ethan sucked and nibbled on this side, Lady Dimitrescu let her hand wander down on his body, down to his pants. She cupped the bulge in his pants, feeling him up as he moaned against her softness. So much desire…

“Ethan, come on.”, Lady Dimitrescu moaned and made Ethan pull away from her, a trail of milk dribbling down his chin, “Fuck me. Please.”

She didn’t have to tell Ethan twice. He got off her lap, taking off his shirt in a swift motion, revealing his toned upper body. Lady Dimitrescu reached forward, trailing her hands over his chest, leaving goosebumps wherever she touched him due to her cold skin - perks of not being alive. Her hands tugged on the seam of his jeans, telling him to finally get rid of them too.

In no time, Lady Dimitrescu had taken care of her dress, abandoned on the floor as she laid down on the bed, watching as Ethan took off his jeans and boxers, his cock jumping out of its ‘prison’. She licked her lips at the sight, wiggling out of her underwear. “Come on, Ethan!”, she whined.

Ethan moved between her legs and dragged his fingers along her folds, “Damn, you are so wet already…”, he muttered to his delight, proud of how much he had turned her on. Flicking over her clit, he managed to pull the sweetest sounds from her lips, edging both of them on to finally carry on. “Are you ready?”

“Yes. Fuck me Ethan, fill me up.”, Lady Dimitrescu moaned and this was all Ethan needed. He spread her legs just a bit more, an iron grip on her thick thighs as he pushed himself inside of her. She was wet and tight, his favourite mixture. “Fuck…”, both of them sweared at the same time when Ethan started to move, filling her up.

One of Ethan’s hands stayed on her thigh, but he used the other one to rub over her clit. Even sweeter were her sounds, needing to reach her orgasm as fast as she could. Her desire for Ethan was burning with a thousand fires inside of her, warming her up like no one has done before. Little streams of milk ran from her nipples and Alinca never looked sweeter than in this moment.

“Fuck, fuck, you are so wet...I am going to fill you up Alcina, do you want this?”

“Please, fill me up Etha! Fill me up!”

Ethan gasped and his cock twitched inside of her. He felt his own orgasm approaching, needing to fill her up. Every second felt too long, his hands working faster on her clit while he hammered inside of her. Lady Dimitrescu arched her back with a loud moan and came around Ethan, squeezing every last drop out of him. Ethan followed suit, burying himself deep inside of his lover before he filled her up. Every drop stayed inside of her, making sure she could feel his lust and need for her.

“Ethan…” “Alcina…”, the two grinned at each other as their orgasms faded, Ethan’s cock slipping out of her. Alcina reached down, scooping a bit of their juices onto her finger and sucking it clean. “You have a taste I could get used to.”

“Give me a few minutes and I am good to go again, okay?”

“Seems like a good thing, Ethan Winters.”

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Servant and The Prince | Four

Mama Mia, here we go again lovelies!

Description: This is very much a Cinderella trope because I cannot help myself and I am in love with Loki, chapter four

Pairing: Loki x Female!Reader, third person as I may adapt eventually with an OC

Warnings: anger, mentions of abuse (not graphic), mentions of death (not graphic)

Tags: angst, fluff

Word count: 6.2k (oh god)

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Master List

Y/n’s heart thunders as she gazes up at the glittering golden gates of the castle. If she was not so bogged down with bags she would throw a hand over her brow— a futile attempt to keep her eyes from burning out of their sockets. Do they really have to be this glittery? She thinks they are marvellous, that is not the problem. The problem is that she is not marvelous. Not in the slightest. Not worthy of such magnificent, splendid, rich architecture. She glances down at her simple dress— the loose green threads hanging from the side of the garment— she had meant to fix those— is this really where she must stay? Surely there must be a stable somewhere. A barn for animals like her.

“Come on you churl—” Estrid hisses, her demon-esq nails digging into her arm where her step mother’s hand curls over sleeve— “you are making us look bad. At least pretend to have some couth.”

Estrid drags her forward for a moment, ushering her— all but kicking her— through the blinding gates before losing interest and rushing to meet Anna. Y/n bites her tongue. There are many things she could say. It is almost strange just how many retorts rush to her tongue. They race through her skull, infecting her mind like a sort of mould. Unlike with the bread back home she cannot seem to pick away at it— she cannot make the bad spots go away.

Perhaps if they had not left her to carry all of their things then she would not be taking so long. Do they really believe the princes will spare their diamonds a glance anyway? They are sure to be able to smell the fakes from miles away!

Y/n blinks a few times at the roar of fire that swells in her chest, encasing her very lungs in flames, almost stumbling over the marble stairs beneath her. It feels as though if she does not scream right now— if she does not say everything on her mind, unleash this pent up resentment— then she will surely cook from the inside out. It bubbles, simmers, does the thing pots do when they begin to sizzle— like they are screaming but she is not screaming; she only wishes she was. But she has never wanted to scream and she has been through so much worse. What is one little name, one hand yanking her arm? It is nothing but still she is ready to let the flames engulf her and burn the entire city.

It is terrifying— this kind of all consuming rage.

Estrid turns back towards Y/n, who is still stumbling over the steps, always the faithful servant, and her step mother scoffs. Estrid mutters something under her breath that she cannot hear. An insult, no doubt. It does not reach her ears. There is no way she would have been able to hear it anyway, not over the sound of the flames disintegrating her bones and blood and flesh from the inside out. It makes her want to scream louder— harder, make the castle walls crumble the same way she feels like she is— loud enough to hear over the roar.

Can you not hear it? Do you not care? She can taste the words as they beg for mercy on her tongue, wanting nothing more than to die on the cobblestone before her, spat out in a string of venom like they are meant to be. Can they not see that she is burning to the ground?

She barely swallows the words— she can hear them crying as they pass her throat and she almost changes her mind. She almost sets them free. It is all she can do to bend her neck at her step mother, wonder if the flames are visible in her eyes, and try not to cough up smoke right here on the castle steps. That would be very unladylike— a dishonor on her family. Oh— wait— no it would not be. Her family is dead. She can vomit as much smoke and flames as her little, burning heart desires. She has no one left to bring shame to. Gods, she is so terrified.

Why she is terrified, she does not know. She has never been scared before— not like this.

She was scared of the dark for the longest time. She used to see shadows on her walls and under the waves in the wash basin and against the trees when her mother would make her fetch the cat before bed. She used to think that was true fear— the night. The shadows. The wash basin. But then the morning sun would come and fight the shadows— then her mother would empty the basin— and before long there was nothing left to be afraid of.

But then there was no mother to empty the wash basin and suddenly she was afraid of death and the dark. Surely death must be the greatest fear one can have. Right? The all consuming nothingness, the longest sleep, the unknown. What could be scarier than the unknown? Than losing the people she loves the most and being left to wonder where they are and what they are doing— if they can even do anything— and are they okay? Please, someone just tell her, are they okay? She is not okay.

Darkness and death— death and darkness. At least those were always the scariest things and at least she had overcome them— both of them. There is nothing scarier than those two things. Except, apparently, herself. That is all there is left to be afraid of. Not Estrid or Anna, not pain. Not him. Those are all things she has survived. Overcome. Enjoyed. There is only herself to be afraid now, and the overwhelming, unbearable anger unfurling in her chest and arms and neck and skull. She is terrified of herself.

She is terrified of the anger.

“This way ladies— your chambers are this way!”

Y/n blinks— certain her eyelashes are singed and the blur in her vision is from the smoke in her eyes— and finds that she is no longer on the marble steps but in a long hallway. Pillars rise to her left, showcasing an expansive forest and a smudge of blue that must be the ocean. It feels so close— she can see the waves cresting with white foam so it must be. She can smell the salt, like it is right next to her. She can almost feel the surf lapping at her toes, cooling some of the burning tingle. She would do anything for it to rush up her legs. Soak her dress. Make her skin sticky. She would take the stickiness over the relentless flames. There is no time, though, to take her moment of peace. No time for stickiness. There never is.

“Are you deaf?” Estrid’s hand presses down on her spine, right where the bruises are from the last time the two came in contact. “Move! I will not take kindly to getting the worst chamber because of your dawdling.”

Are the bruises purple? She wonders. Perhaps they are red and black— like molten lava, shifting under her skin. She does not voice her musings aloud, of course. She swallows those thoughts alongside the rest of them. She can feel the precise way they fall on top of their partners, each wasted syllable mushing into the last. They fill her aching belly all the way, pressing on the hollow dip of her throat. If her thoughts were food she would never be hungry again.

Of course, she does not say any of that. Instead she bows her head, eating the flames as they rise. She is so full already though. “I am very sorry, Milady.”

Estrid scoffs. “You should be. Henry should have drowned you at birth had he known you would be so slow.”

At the sound of her father’s name her head snaps up. Estrid is already walking away again, hurrying to meet her impatient daughter. Anna taps her heel against the marble. Click, click, click. Each tap makes her head pound harder. Soon she cannot hear the clicks anymore. Her father would never do anything of the sort— her father was kind! They are not looking at her anymore. They cannot see the smoke billowing from her ears. They cannot see the blackness she feels flashing across her vision. They cannot see the hate. Just like she cannot see the bruises. Are they purple? Are they scarlet? What would her father think of them? She cannot see the bruises but she can feel them. Hot and itchy and painful. Can they feel the hatred? Are they just ignoring it like she is ignoring the volcanic bruises?

Probably. And they are not the only ones. Y/n weaves through the crowded hallway, dodging women of all shapes and colors— quite literally, she narrowly passes a woman with purple tinted skin— all of whom spare her not even a glance. It makes her feel invisible. It makes feel like she can finally breathe. It makes her angry. She is breathing the smoke again. Every face that passes her that does not look at her makes her charcoal lungs ignite even more. Her only solace is the all too familiar feeling of being split in two. The anger is not wholly her own— it is his as well. She can feel him in her chest, that aching part of her anger where he demands to be seen.

Is he mad at her?

She stops dead in her tracks. Just like that, her own anger is gone, replaced with something ice cold and unbearable. It starts in her hands. Her wrists begin aching— freezing— as the ice flows up through her veins. She thought the fire was bad. She takes it all back in this moment— she wants the flames again. The ice is in her chest now. She can feel it creeping closer to her heart. She wants the anger back. Her anger. Why would he be angry with her?

Does he hate her? She can no longer feel her heart beating— the ice has done its job. It is after her throat now, climbing higher and higher. What would it feel like to throw up shards of Ice? Nevermind, she does not want to know. She had wanted to scream before. She had wanted to burn the kingdom down with her voice and words and screams. Now she cannot even whimper. Her tongue is frozen. Her knees hit the floor— she does not feel it. Maybe it does not even happen, maybe her eyes are just frozen now and playing tricks on her. They make her feel as though she is falling— pull the ground from under her and send her vision spinning— but perhaps she is still standing. Still following. Still invisible.

Why would he hate her?

She watches as feet pass by her, heels and boots of all colors all slowing when they cross her path. Well, maybe they are slowing. Maybe that is just her mind continuing to play tricks on her though. She would not be able to tell the difference right now— if there is one, that is. She cannot look past the soles of the shoes, cannot meet the eyes of those passing her. She is stuck— her neck which was so hot only moments ago now stiff. To think that a simple thought could send her reeling in such a grand way as to literally floor her. It is almost impressive, actually. If she could feel anything other than the crushing, ice cold weight on her shoulders then perhaps she would laugh.

To think that a nameless, faceless man could make her feel such torrential and devastating emotions. Anger and sadness. Longing and desperation. It is unreal the things he makes her feel. Otherworldly things. Impossible, tragic, wonderful things. There is no way that any of it is real. She must be losing her mind. She wishes she was losing her mind. Her chest zaps where the emerald ring hits her sternum, tied to a thin strap of leather around her neck, the ice melting for a fraction of a second. It taps against her skin as her hands meet the marble floor, a gentle reminder that this— he— is real. Gods. A measure of the anger sparks back up and this time she knows that it is entirely her own.

When she was a little girl she used to watch the dust devils in her neighbours corn field. Her father would watch with her sometimes. One of those times he explained what was happening. He told her that wind only spirals like that when the cold air meets the hot air. When that happens— and the temperatures collide— they begin to fight. Imagine them like two rivals, her father had said. The cold air grabs the hot air’s hair. In turn the hot air kicks out at the cold air’s knees. They keep doing that— kicking and shoving and biting and pulling— until finally their limbs are but a blur. That is all a dust devil is, my girl— two rivals fighting. She had not thought to ask him what happens when the cold air and the hot air are not rivals— she had not thought to ask what would happen if the hot air and the cold air were actually lovers. Would the same thing happen? Those little dust devils? Would it be better?

Would it be worse?

Much like most things in her life, she does not know the answer to that. All she knows is that she can feel the air— be them rivals or lovers— punching and kicking, kissing and touching, in her chest and it hurts. All she knows is that if he is real then he better come and get her right now before her body caves to the icy fire tornado that is swirling in her lungs. She is going to implode.

“My dear—” a warm hand lands on her shoulder and it is like magic the way her thoughts are silenced, leaving behind nothing but a harsh ringing in her ears— “are you alright? That was quite the spill you just took.”

Whoever is speaking to her has a voice that is like honey and silk. It wraps around her, soothing every ache in her weary body. The hand rubs a circle into her shoulder, not letting her go, and she begins to thaw, the ice around her eyes and throat and heart melting away in seconds. Not back to the anger— no, that is long gone, a mere thought in the back of her mind— but instead to a new feeling. She is neither ice nor fire— she is springtime. She is warm and calm, her fingers flexing against the marble like small creatures emerging from hibernation. She curls them a few times, relishing in the blood as it returns to her hands and the way it does not feel as though it is burning her. It is not fire, it is just blood.

“Do you think you can get up?” The soft voice is right next to her ear now and she closes her eyes for a moment. It sounds so familiar— so gentle. She never thought she would hear that voice again. “I think maybe we should go to the healers— just in case, my dear.”

She can smell it now— the yeast. The berries. She takes a deep breath in and she can taste the strawberry jam on her lips like she is eight years old again. Her father used to always sneak her an extra pastry after dinner. They would split it on the back porch, their fingers sticky and their laughter twisting into the twilight. Her mother must have known— she was meticulous. She was so aware of the things around her at all times. She was beautiful and kind and made the best jam in the entire realm.

“Mother?” The word slips off her tongue instinctively. Naturally. She cannot stop it because, for a moment, it is as though she is right next to the woman she misses most. It is as though everything is okay again.

Y/n lifts her head— she finally can, her neck is no longer stiff with ice— her eyes landing on a woman with flowing golden hair that twists and curls against her chest. It is not her mother. Her chest squeezes. She knows that it should not— it was never going to be her mother and she knows that— but she cannot help but feel deflated. If there was ever a time for a miracle it would be right now. Preferably a miracle that makes the best strawberry pastries and gives hugs that feel like taking a warm bath. She shakes her head lightly, clearing the thought and the mist that has begun to gather in her eyes. It is not the time for sentimentality.

The woman— the woman who is not her mother— has soft blue eyes— iridescent almost— that bore into her own. There is a ring around her pupils where the blue turns to a darker coal. For a moment it looks like the ring is pulsing. The longer Y/n looks into her eyes the deeper she falls into them. It does not feel as much like drowning as one would think. It is a softer kind of falling— it is as though the woman can see every inch of her soul with a simple look. Her aroma strengthens, changing slightly. The yeast is no longer present— that was only ever her imagination— and now there is a strong, flowery scent. It is strangely intoxicating.

She has to blink a few times, turning away for a taste of fresh air, her gaze falling to the woman’s flowing silk gown. It is a delicate ivory number with beautiful embroidery all over the bust. Little flowers. Perhaps that is where the scent is coming from, wafting off the garden around her collarbone. She really is springtime.

The woman laughs and the flowers sway, moved by a breeze of breath and glee. “Oh my darling, I think you just confirmed my thoughts. Let's get you up, alright? See if we can find someone to take a look at you. Your head must be pounding.”

She is like an oasis in the desert. Y/n has never been to the desert but still— this is what she imagines it would feel like. Gentle and easy, like a cool breeze or a patch of shade. It would feel like the soothing touch of this woman’s hands as she pulls her body from its heap on the ground, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her from toppling right over again. Her legs feel unstable and her knees are shaking but everything is okay. But oasis’ are just figments of the imagination— or at least this one is. They are doomed to fizzle away eventually, taking with them the joyful shade and leaving behind the scorching heat.

As the golden woman begins to turn with her, no doubt pulling her in the direction of the supposed healers, there is an ear piercing screech.

“There you are! You were supposed to be following us you dense child.” Estrid is in front of Y/n in seconds, her narrowed eyes locked on her and the familiar, gut wrenching sneer on her scarlet lips. “It is like you never listen on purpose— you just mill about in your own little world. Always about Y/n, never about anyone else.”

The fire from before— the scorching heat— begins bubbling in the pit of her stomach. It splashes like tar, slowly coating her insides in that all consuming hate. She bites her tongue, clenching her jaw. She can still feel the woman’s hand on her shoulder. There is still a piece of the oasis and she clings to it. But even that is being consumed— the touch melting into the lightning in her veins. She is definitely going to explode.

Her step mother takes a step towards her but halts, her eyes darting to the floor where they stay for a long moment. When her neck snaps back up she is positively fuming. “You dropped our things! Why you ungrateful little brat, I—”

In less than the blink of an eye she is no longer looking at her step mother but rather at the back of a blonde head, her hand laced with a hand so soft she would think it an evening glove.

“This young woman has tripped.” The blonde woman’s voice is calm still but holds no more of that gentle tread. Her hand squeezes softly, a contrast to her firm tone. “I will be escorting her to the healers to see what has happened.”

Estrid blinks, her eyes darting away from Y/n and up to the new woman. When she does her entire face goes pale, as though she has seen a ghost. How odd.

“Your Majesty.” Estrid bows her head, her knees bending slightly in a curtsy.

Your Majesty? Y/n’s eyes drift back to the gown— the marvelous ivory silk. It is as though all the little details begin appearing in that moment. The high thread count, the intricate stitching at the waist and bodice, the gemstone bracelet on her dainty wrist. That bracelet alone must be worth more than her entire life. Sapphires and rubies and emeralds. She wears it as though she has no idea how much it is worth— as though she has no idea it is even there at all. She wears it as though she is royalty and she has many more of them in her room.

Oh no— no, no, no.

The blonde woman turns back to her, her crystal eyes softening marginally from what she can only imagine was an icy stare moments ago. “Come on, dear. I will take you to my healer.”

Y/n shakes her head, her eyes wide. Her spine aches as she does. Her mouth feels like it is filled with cotton. She cannot speak but she has to. She has to refuse.

“No, no, your Majesty—” She copies Estrid’s greeting, she does not know what else to call her— “I am alright, truly. I do not wish to burden you further. I will—” She pauses, woozy all of a sudden, the salty breeze ten times stronger— “I will be fine.”

The woman’s crystal eyes narrow but not in the sharp way her step mother’s usually do. “My child, I insist. You do not look well.”

Y/n can practically feel Estrid’s stare burrowing into the side of her face. She can feel the bruises on her back— perhaps purple, perhaps yellow. It does not matter. If she does not go now then they will surely be black in an hour. Less. There it is— there is the fear she had been missing. She wobbles slightly on her feet. The salt air mingles with the pine trees. It is intoxicating— it is deadly. She is going to pass out if she does not move. She shakes her head at the woman, hoping there is something in her eyes that conveys the danger she feels.

“I am alright,” even she can hear the pleading tone in her voice. “Please.”

The woman— the Queen— stares at her for a moment. It is only a few seconds, the coal ring around her pupils pulsing gently, but it feels like days. It feels like a lifetime. She purses her rosy lips, taking a deep breath.

A hand— one much more rough and hot— wraps around her other wrist. “Your Majesty—” Estrid’s nasally voice is high pitched, like she is attempting to hide her cruel intentions— “my daughter just needs to sleep I think. I can take over from here.”

Y/n forces a smile to her lips— one that tastes like metal and blood— like betrayal— hoping it is enough to convince the queen. She adds a little nod in there for good measure. It is all about appearances. For a moment she thinks it is actually going to work. The Queen’s shoulders sag gently, her chin dipping down in a partial nod. It is actually working— maybe she will not get punished too harshly. She will pick up the bags and hurry to their room and stay as silent as a mouse and everything will be fine. Right?

Estrid squeezes her wrist harder— enough to make her bones whine in pain— and she can feel the on her face grin falter. It is for only a fraction of a second, the corner of her lips peeling down in a grimace that she cannot suppress, but it is enough. By the time she has painted the fake smile back on her face the Queen is at her side, that silky hand curling around her shoulder, gentle but firm enough to pull her away from her step mother. Y/n does not know if she would rather thank her or cry.

“I am afraid I truly must insist. As a Queen—” She stresses the word, her title. This is no longer a suggestion; it is an order— “it is my duty to ensure that all my guests are properly taken care of. It will not take long; just a quick check up.”

The Queen’s hand ushers her a couple steps down the hallway. Estrid follows, her brows pulled together dramatically. “But your Highness, I—”

The Queen holds up her hand, an elegant and dangerous gesture, her kind face cracking under the weight of her furious eyes. She does not even try to conceal the rage swimming in the crystal pools. She does not have to— she will face no repercussion for her anger.

“But nothing. She is to go with me and that is final.” Her burning crystals glance down to the bags, all of which are still spilling over onto the marble, draping the stone with bits of lace and silk, none of which look nearly as exquisite as the Queen’s gown. “I will send someone to gather your belongings and return them to your chambers. Now, if you will kindly excuse us.”

With that she is spinning, pressing her hand gently against Y/n’s back and leading her back in the direction she had come from. She can feel Estrid’s glare on her neck, burning holes in the back of her head. If stares were able to kill then she would be laying in a heap on the marble again, she just knows it. Soon, though, they turn a corner and she can no longer feel her step mother’s lethal gaze. That does not stop her heart from racing so hard that she wonders if it will jump out of her chest. It does not stop the vomit from pooling in her throat. She should feel relieved—grateful— but all she can think about is the pain. Both the pain she is in now and the pain she will be in later.

“It was okay really,” she mutters. It is a last ditch effort, one that is destined to fail before it is even out of her mouth, but she has to try anyway. “I am okay. I think I just slipped.”

She did not slip— she lost it. She does not know quite what it is but she knows whatever it is has been lost. Her sanity. Her grip on reality. Her damn mind. Any and all of them, now gone.

The queen stops, turning her bright blue eyes on her once more. She sighs, her smile understanding. “I think if you had slipped then you would have gotten back up.”

The Queen’s tone is pitying, her fingers gentle on her hand, and Y/n drops her eyes to the ground. She resents it— all of it. She does not want pity. “I needed a moment is all.”

A hand presses under her chin, bringing her gaze back up. There is no more smile on the Queen’s face— only a firmness in her eyes. She does not look so much like a Queen here; she looks like a mother. Her mother. She can see some of her own mother in the faint lines near her eyes and the cupid's bow above her rose petal lips. She has to bite down to keep the ache from her throat at bay.

“That was not a moment, my dear. I was there. That was quite a few moments. You were ready to let those girls trample you, were you not?”

“I— I just—” she swallows hard, trying to make her words work. It seems like she cannot string a sentence together for the life of her. Like her entire vocabulary has vanished— “I needed a moment, your Majesty. That is all.” All she can do is repeat herself.

The Queen narrows her eyes, her thumb smoothing over her jaw before she finally releases her. “Frigga.”

Y/n’s heart stutters and she has to cover her cough from the way all the air whooshes out of her lungs. “Pardon me, your Majesty?”

“Please, call me Frigga.”

This time her heart does not just stutter; it stops completely. She presses a hand against her chest, taking a tiny step backwards. She cannot breathe again. The smile on the Queen’s— Frigga’s— face is too kind. Too gentle. Too much. This is not a trick, she is not trying to get her in trouble. She is not telling her to shut up or to hurry up or to grow up. She is just being kind. No one is kind to her. Not even when they want something from her. What could the Que— Frigga, Y/n, her name is Frigga— possibly want from her? What could she give her that would mean anything more than what she already has? She sucks in a breath, sounding quite like a dying animal in the middle of the thankfully empty corridor. It is too much— it is all too much.

“No, I could not. You Maj—”

Frigga grabs her hand again, her warm skin stilling her own, clammy hands. “Calm child. It is alright. You are alright” Her words are slow, her tone a low murmur. It works wonders on her nerves. It is magic. “Frigga. Please, nobody here calls me anything formal. You should hear my sons.” The side of her mouth quirks up, her tone becoming teasing, “mother, where is father? That is all anyone around here says to me. I am not used to such formalities. I would prefer Frigga, my dear.”

Y/n takes another breath, nodding her head.

“Y/n—” she whispers back, not sure what else to do besides introduce herself back— “my name is Y/n.”

Frigga’s smile grows, nodding as well. She makes it feel like this is a normal exchange— like they are just two new friends meeting for the first time. “That is a lovely name.”

The Queen turns after that, pulling her once more to continue walking down the grand hallway. They move in silence, Frigga no doubt trying to give her some room to breathe. It is surprisingly easy to just be there with her. It is serene. She stares out past the pillars as they walk, her eyes dipping back to the faraway shoreline. Now the water is sparkling in the high afternoon sun, the cresting waves catching the light and bouncing it back and forth amongst each other. It is as though each wave that passes winks at her before smoothing against the sand. She cannot tell if they are saying hello or goodbye. Perhaps neither. Perhaps they are just acknowledging that she is there. She bows her chin gently, acknowledging them as well.

She does not know how long they walk for, her attention too focused on the blinking shore, but soon Frigga is pulling open a heavy wooden door— one that has the most intricate carvings on it’s frame that Y/n longs to stare at in depth—and tugging her in behind her. She has no idea what she is expecting— maybe a herb closet and a long table for practicing healing— it is a healer’s closet after all— but whatever it is, what she sees is not it. She is not expecting the most exquisite room in all of existence.

The first thing her eyes fall to is a wonderfully large pool of water sitting in the middle of the room. It must be the size of her entire bedroom, which granted is not that large but in comparison to her own tiny tin basin at home this is pure luxury. The sides of the pool are golden and tiled with colorful gemstones. She cannot even name all them, not recognizing half of the stones. They catch the light pouring in from the expansive balcony, sparkling against each other. There are steps leading up the side, promising entry into the luscious looking water. Altogether it is hypnotizing, calling her name until she is taking a few stuttered steps towards it. As she gets closer she can smell the fragrant oils, much more rich than anything she is used to.

“Oh my.”

“It is quite something, I will admit.” Frigga laughs from behind her, meeting her next to the edge of the tub. She dips her hand into the water, submerging the expensive bracelet in the water without a care. “It was a present from Odin for our first anniversary. I was just as shocked. I did not leave this room for weeks. I even slept here, can you imagine that?”

“I think I would as well, if I were you. It is stunning.” She, too, dips her hand below the water. She almost gasps at how warm it is— at how soft the water is. “I have never seen anything like it.”

Frigga pulls her hand from the water, shaking the droplets lightly from her skin. She turns back to Y/n, her crystal eyes sparkling with joy. “Perhaps later— only if you would like, of course— you could try it.”

Her mouth falls open, her own hand, still swirling through the silky water, pausing. “Oh no, your Maj—” Frigga purses her lips, her eyes crinkling gleefully— “Frigga, I could not.”

The Queen laughs again and she can hear the way her own mother used to giggle. “Of course you can my dear. In fact, you must! But first let us eat.”

Y/n’s brows pull together— what about the healers? Is that not why she is here?

Frigga must notice her confusion because she lifts her hand to her face, the Queen’s fingers now scented like rose petals. “I have found that the best medicine is a full belly, would you not agree?”

Instantly the tears well up in her eyes again. They are not from sadness this time— nor from longing— instead they are from the relief she feels coursing through her body. It is so foreign that she does not recognize it at first. It is neither hot nor cold. There is no pressure on her chest alerting her to it. In fact there is nothing. She feels nothing. It is exhilarating.

She does not notice the first tear fall until Frigga’s thumb catches it. “Thank you.”

The Queen sighs, her smile faltering. It is still there but barely. “Come, child.”

Y/n follows Frigga to the balcony, passing under some gem coloured curtains and into the warm sunlight. She almost freezes in her tracks, the memory of the last time her back was in the sun still fresh on her mind. Her mind falls back to the man, her nose filling with salt and pine which leaks in from the gardens below. She can feel his hands on her back, crawling over her hips. She does not wonder what color her back is this time— be it purple or yellow or molten red— it does not matter anymore. For some reason the thought of him makes it not matter anymore. He makes it better.

Frigga turns on her heel, her eyes lighting up, her hands shooting out to grasp Y/n’s shoulders. It is all she can do not to reel back from the suddenness of the action, wobbling slightly but smiling. She, in turn, reaches for the Queen’s hands, steadying herself on her silken skin.

“I completely forgot my dear, I told my son to meet me here for afternoon tea. You do not mind, do you?”

Y/n’s breath catches in her throat, her memories surging again. She can taste him on her lips for a brief moment. A short, silly moment. She pushes him down, shaking her head lightly to clear her thoughts. That would be impossible.

“No, of course not this is your home.”

Frigga squeezes her shoulders. “Wonderful!”

As the blonde woman releases her, moving to sit in one of the golden chairs on the balcony, there is a voice that sounds from the door. It is deep, impossibly so, and sends shivers racing down her spine.

“Mother, are you in here?”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tag list: @crystal-siren

[boxboysandotherwhump]

PIG FARM

Feeding frenzy

@vickytokio your 'shark moment' prompt gave me the idea :3 (eventhough it's more of an octopus thing to self-eat when stressed. Looks at my bitting stim. Relatable.)

Taglist: @ashintheairlikesnow @finder-of-rings @salamancialilypad @woeiswhump @forestfanders

Mardea and the others tried to ease Fledge into his new life but since he can’t behave himself they had no choice other than to make him realize what he truly is the hard way.

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

CW: solitary confinement, starvation (very, very hungry vampire), involuntary self mutilation (he’ll heal up tho, it’s fine)

Mardea had warned him. On Fledge’s first spectacularly failed breakout attempt she had warned him not to ever dare try such a thing again. Not for one second had he doubted her words. But the love for his sister had won against the fear his heart had held.

Every possible consequence, every surely awaiting punishment, had paled compared to the knowledge that his family believed him dead. What greater pain could there be than knowing they mourned a man not yet deceased? That their hearts were shattered by endless, needless grief, while he sat idle, less than a two hour train ride away.

Not even an entire week, it had taken not even an entire week before he had carved under the knowledge and tried to run again. And Mardea had stayed true to her word.

“I will throw you into a cell until everyone you have ever known has succumbed to time itself.“

Today, the fourth week of his confinement had begun. His world was reduced to forty eight square feet of initially clean stone, twenty five, exactly twenty five polished silver bars and a hunger so deep, so allconsuming he felt it slither through his bone marrow. Almost a creature of its own. It scratched his throat raw. Made his teeth ache with the need to bite. To tear into something warm. And soft. And alive.

He missed Elias.

Elias.

Sweet, scarred, warm Elias.

Delicious Elias.

His fingers twitched and Fledged hitched in his first breath in hours. They still smelled ever so faintly of Elias and Fledge brought them to his lips, inhaling deeply, savoring the remnants of Elias' rich aroma. The others warmth a near tactile hallucination in the cell's cold.

Shuddering, Fledge curled up tighter. Bare feet pressed against icy cobblestone and stiff fingers twisted into threadbare pants. Every minute of starvation wore the veil between death and his own body thinner. Until he felt more corpse than boy. It creeped deep inside his guts, a thousand tiny ice cold feet, scuttling underneath his skin.

Fledge should have touched Elias more. Caressed that milky white skin, followed his impulses to kiss those freckles, one by one by one. Nose up that long delicate neck, along Elias carotid artery. Pulsing with hot, heavenly life. Body brimming with blood. One carefully placed puncture to that artery and it would brim over. Blood gushing out with voracious force, flooding his mouth. Overwhelming his senses.

Oh he was sure it would make him feel as ecstatic as buying a cream chocolate cake all for himself only to bury his hands in it and devour the entire thing in one go. The absolute power high he’d been on back then had outlived his stomach ache. Fledge would never get to eat cake again.

Tears spilled over chalk white cheeks and spit pooled in his mouth as the memory of dark sugar cream blurred with pale salty skin. It trickled over cracked lips, dripped onto his hand and down his palm, his wrist. His teeth followed the spit sticky path and buried deep into his forearm.

Teeth tore into cold dead flesh.

It tasted utterly revolting. Congealed blackish blood flooded his mouth. Cloying sweetness of decay clung to his gums. The life his body had once held had been transmuted,twisted into something eternally rotting.

Fledge sobbed at the taste of his own death on his tongue. But his teeth wouldn't stop gnawing deeper and deeper into his flesh. Driven by pure instinct and primal satisfaction. By soothing pressure against aching, grinding jaws. Fledge’s choked off wails mingled with the squelsh of tearing flesh.

He couldn’t stop.

Please, please someone make him stop.

Bones broke under bites that grew ever more frenetic and it hurt.

It hurt so badly.

It didn’t hurt enough.

Not to silence deaths endlessly scuttling feet. Crawling right under his skin.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Some Semblance of a Man

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31716874

Kaz

Kaz Brekker was always looking for a challenge, for the next rival to ruin, for the next near death experience. He’d learned quickly that sitting idle in The Barrel got you killed and he’d been running ever since. But with Pekka gone, Inej and her parents reunited, and the Council of Tides temporarily abated, Kaz was beginning to realize there was nothing else for him to do but wait.

Of course, there were the day to day activities, he still had The Crow Club to run, he still had slavers to gather information on. But after everything he and the Dregs had been through recently, those tasks seemed trivial. He didn’t want his crew to think that just because he’d come into a bit of money that he had gone soft, and he didn’t want rumor spreading throughout the Barrel that Kaz Brekker was getting bored. Without his crew around the Slat, Kaz had to find other ways to pass the time, and for the sake of maintaining appearances, Kaz would walk the streets at night, pretending to look at his watch, pretending to trail a random person, or spreading rumors. Sometimes he would walk to The Menagerie and think of what it would look like burned to the ground.

That’s where he’d been tonight, with a gentle mist of rain turning the cobblestone to mirrors, pools of colored lights spilling out across the street. There were few people out, the rain enough of a nuisance to make them think twice about spending their coin in gambling halls and pleasure houses. Despite the hour growing ever later, the Slat was teaming with life when Kaz returned, the air smelled like alcohol and sweat, the newer additions to the crew were trying to have a conversation, which had mostly devolved into shouting over the out of tune cacophony of voices singing drunkenly across the bar. Kaz bought a round for everyone, though he knew the chance of anyone here betraying him in favor of another gang was slim, keeping his crew happy with a bit of booze usually made his job a little easier. Besides, the longer the crowd was down here, the longer he had for some quiet of his own, in his room on the fourth floor, where the voices did not carry.

Kaz held his breath as he started his climb up the stairs, it was never easy, but Kaz valued the privacy and protection afforded by his room more than he worried about the pain. He bolted the door behind him, leaning his head against its frame and biting his lip as he massaged the twitching muscle of his thigh. He stretched, rubbed a knot from his neck, and reached for his hat.

He paused, the pattering of raindrops puncturing the peace. “Won’t Jesper and Wylan be missing their Wraith?” Kaz asked his empty room, his back to the window, hiding his smirk. He moved slowly, hanging his hat on the doorknob and turning around just in time to watch Inej swing gracefully from the rafters of his ceiling and drop down to his bed.

“No, they’re going over the books tonight, so they’ll be busy for a few hours at least,”

“Wylan’s books take hours to go over?” Kaz asked, leaning against the wall to take the weight off his bad leg.

“No,” Inej replied “But the boys tend to get distracted by...paperwork and usually have to start over,”

It took Kaz longer than he’d ever admit to understand her meaning, but once he had he merely quirked a single, bemused eyebrow at her. Something hungry and desperate twisted its way through Kaz’s stomach when Inej smiled wryly back at him, her eyes flitting to his collar. “What business?”

“I’ve been reading up on cannons.” Inej began, her face a picture of concentration. “Specht and I are going to be taking a few people we’ve been eyeing for our crew out on the water sometime in the next few weeks to practice. We aren’t going far, just far enough to where the cannon fodder won’t send other ships into a panic. We want to see if they can work well as a team before we commit to hiring them.”

“A wise decision,” Kaz agreed, ignoring the way his heart seized within his chest. It made him happy she would have her freedom, but the thought of losing her to the sea always left an ache.

“I wanted to extend an invitation to you,” the confidence Kaz had grown so used to seeing in Inej’s shoulders melted away, she pulled out a knife, turning it over in her hand. “to join us on that trip. I thought you might want to be there to ensure your...investment is taking form the way you’d hoped it would,”

“It wasn’t an in-” Kaz swallowed the rest of the sentence. It wasn’t an investment. He thought, don’t you know this was all for you? “How long will you be gone?”

“Not long, a day, maybe two.”

“When you have the dates secured, let me know, I’ll see if I can make the time,” He knew already he would make the time.

Inej nodded, a glint of something in her eye “And you? What business?”

“I have a job for you,” Kaz took this as an excuse to get closer to Inej, moving toward his desk and stretching out his leg. “I recently came into the possession of some ledgers,”

“You can use the word ‘stole’ Kaz, I’m not the stadwatch ,”

“They have the names of all the ships that have docked in the harbor, the captain, and their cargo,” Kaz continued, “I was looking through it for leads on slavers when I noticed something,” Inej untangled her limbs, and pushed herself upward, walking over to Kaz’s desk. Kaz had forgotten how comfortable it felt to have her by his side. “There’s a ship that keeps appearing, but it never stays for long. It docks at last light, and it departs first thing in the morning. I’ve looked at the dates of it’s arrival,” Kaz handed Inej the first of the ledgers, she took it from him without a word, scanning the pages in search of the same patterns he had found.

“The Sankta ?” Inej hissed and Kaz could hear the disgust on her tongue.

“I thought that might catch your eye,” he opened another ledger, pointing to the name of the ship and the dates it had docked in Ketterdam. “It comes in every six months or so, and when it does the population in the Barrel always seems to increase. The clubs start advertising more heavily, the pleasure houses start getting more traffic,”

“You think they’re smuggling people into the city?”

“I don’t know for certain what they’re trading, the ledger has different cargo listed every time. And the Captain...I’ve never heard of them before.” Inej placed the ledger in her hand back down on the desk, leaning in closer. Her braid fell down across her shoulder, barely an inch from Kaz’ face. Focus . “If the pattern holds they should be docking here in-”

“Three days?” Inej finished for him, reaching for the second ledger. Her fingers brushed against his gloves, her forearm against his jacket. Kaz lost all sense of time and place, despite the warmth of the room and the floor beneath his feet. One second he was in the Slat and the next he was cold and drowning. Inej was saying something, something like “tell him”, maybe? But he wasn’t quite sure, there was cotton in his ears, his heart was in his throat. There was water rising around his ankles.

“Kaz?” He heard her voice, far off, like a siren calling him to shore. He did not trust himself to speak, as it was he struggled to find breath “Kaz!”

He slammed back into himself, pressing one hand flat against his desk, wrapping the other around the head of his cane so tightly his knuckles went white beneath his gloves. Solid wood and solid metal, no flesh or water in sight, this was always how it went. The place beside him where Inej had been was empty, she had retreated, pressed herself up against the wall, her hands behind her back.

“I’m sorry, I-,” Kaz would have done anything to wipe away her guilt. “I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t mean to-”

“I wasn’t prepared,” he said, unable to look her in the eye, to admit to the weakness they both knew that he carried.

“I know,”

“I didn’t expect-”

“I know,” Inej interrupted. “Does the Sankta change the Berth it docks on?”

“No,” Kaz would never have the words to express the gratitude he felt at her diversion. He turned slightly in his seat, pretending to study the documents in front of him. Pretending like every cell in his body wasn’t honed in on Inej. On the way she was looking at him, distracting him once again with talk of plots and schemes, intangible actions that would let him fly high above the harbor he was drowning in. “It uses the same Berth every time.”

“Do we know who that dock belongs to?”

“It’s paid for by the Council, it’s designated for public use,”

“I’ll see what information I can gather,” Inej said and Kaz nodded, trying to force the image of Jordie out of his head. “Goodnight, Kaz,” Inej whispered after a moment, and though he did not hear her footsteps, he felt her absence immediately.

Where the water had been, regret replaced it. He balled his hand into a fist and closed his eyes. “Wait!” he called out after her, turning around slowly to not seem overeager. Inej was frozen, partway out his window. He felt picked apart with the way her gaze fell upon him, her eyebrows knit together, her face desperate and searching. Whatever unease still lingered in the center of his stomach, whatever terror still wrapped around his ankles, it fell away at the sight of Inej, sitting here on his window sill, backlit by moonlight and held up by hope.

At some point the fear of what her touch would bring him was dampened by his need to hold her close. He was broken and crooked and the most unworthy man, but he needed Inej to know it wasn’t her fault. Wanted her to know that he was trying to push the pieces of himself back together, into someone, something she would not be ashamed to love.

When Kaz and Nina had broken into the morgue all those months ago, he had powered through his fear with thoughts of Inej; the warmth of her skin, the sound of her voice. But as every second in that room of corpses passed them by, Kaz had forced Inej from his mind, not wanting to taint his memories of her with the scent of death. Kaz had believed for so long that the foolish little boy he had been had died in the harbor, but as his eyes fell upon Inej now, he knew he had been wrong. He had carried Kaz Rietveld with him every day of his life, and had pulled that doe eyed little fool to the surface on the back of his brother’s bloated body with every touch since then.

He’d learned very quickly what it meant to be weak in The Barrel. The Barrel starved, and beat, and stole all the kindness and compassion and love out of those unlucky enough to build a life inside it. Weakness got you killed, so Kaz had buried his weaknesses so deep they had turned themselves into shadows. He had kept them there in the dark for so long they had grown claws and teeth, they had become so rabid, so feral that Kaz was finding it harder and harder to keep them locked away.

But maybe he didn’t have to anymore. Because now he had the Wraith, he had Inej, and Inej made him strong. Inej made him wish for things he had convinced himself he could never have. Perhaps if he tried it, if he tried it enough, to touch her, to put her hand in his, to let her rest her head against his shoulder, to...to kiss her, he could finally put the little boy in the harbor to rest. Yes, he would drown his fear beneath the tidal wave that was Inej, he would burn away the memories of corpses against his flesh with the warmth of her skin against his.

“I want to try again,” it pained him to admit to it, it thrilled him to have said it. Kaz failed to keep his heart beat steady when Inej planted her feet firmly back into his room, and closed the window.

“Try what again?” she asked, stalking forward until there was nothing more than breath between them. Kaz studied the head of his cane, his skin prickled with the thought of what she’d feel like in his hands.

“I-” He dared a glance at her, she was ethereal, she was calculating, she was Inej and the rest of Kaz’s wish was lost with his nerve.

“Kaz, tell me,” Inej leaned forward, Kaz leaned back. He clenched his jaw, locked himself away behind his mask. “Tell me what you want,” He could feel the way she looked at him, like she’d created her own gravity and he’d collapsed beneath it. But he couldn’t make himself form words, it had taken everything he’d had to say something the first time, to show her such weakness again would surely break him. When Inej spoke there was an edge to her voice that was sharper than her knives. “Say it, Kaz. For once in your life just...say what you’re thinking. There is no one else here but us. There’s no one else to see you, to hear you treat me like you actually care.”

Kaz hung his head in shame, it was a fair blow, but that didn’t stop him from shattering into a million pieces at the acknowledgement of all the times he’d failed her. “I want to take my armor off.” He forced himself to meet her eye. “I want to beat this, I will beat this. Will you help me?”

They’d done this little dance for months now, the day on the docks, when he’d shown Inej her ship, he’d managed to hold her hand for a whole five minutes without sinking below the waves. He’d tried a couple times since then, with various levels of success. Some days he’d managed to throw his arm around her, others just the thought of her face caused him to tug on his gloves.

“Of course I’ll help you, Kaz, you only had to ask,” Kaz committed that smile of hers to memory. “Are you ready?” Inej asked.

No. Kaz steadied himself and straightened his posture “Yes,”

They started slowly, Inej resting her palm on the back of his gloved hand, Kaz took a deep breath, he could do this, he was fine. Inej’s fingers curled around his hand, she pressed their palms together. Kaz pushed the water away. She laced their fingers together, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You okay?”

“Fine,”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes,”

Kaz wasn’t sure what kind of sound he made when Inej began to tug the gloves from his hands. She froze, looking up at him, reading him the way only she could. She dropped her hand, Kaz wanted to reach for it, but he let it fall away. “I’m sorry, did you want to do it?”

“No, it’s- no one else ever has,” Kaz cleared his throat, biting back a smile at the way Inej’s cheeks flushed. Tentatively, Inej continued, it took a lifetime to complete her task, it took a second. The metal of his cane was cold against his fingertips, for the first time in a long time it no longer felt comforting. He reached out with his other hand, and gently Inej took it, her palm against the top of his bare hand. It felt like fire, but Kaz preferred the burn to the icy harbor he had always known. His breath caught in his throat, Inej continued until their hands were pressed palm to palm.

“Breathe,” Inej whispered, Kaz exhaled and peace rushed in to fill his lungs. She interlaced their fingers, the water started in. Think of her . Kaz clenched his jaw. Think of that day at the docks . Kaz faltered when Inej wrapped her other hand around his wrist, the one that held his cane. He thought that she might pull their hands away, and though he was not a man of faith, he thanked every Saint he knew that she kept her hold on him.

She repeated the pattern, gripping his wrist, his elbow, his shoulder with all his layers on. He kept his breathing purposeful, controlled, his eyes trained on the wall for fear he would look at Inej and see a corpse standing in her place. She slid her hand from his shoulder to his chest, he hoped she could not feel his heartbeat. He nearly lost his footing when her arm went to his waist. He was impossibly warm, sweat had started beading at his temples, he gripped his cane a little tighter.

Inej released his hand and a weight Kaz hadn’t realized was upon him disintegrated in his chest. But it returned in a flash when Inej began to pull off his coat. “Saints,” he whispered. “Why won’t it stop ?” he hadn’t meant to say it, he hadn’t meant for it to send Inej shuffling backward, too far away for him to grasp.

“It takes time, Kaz,” Inej replied, tossing his coat on the bed, taking a tentative step forward, then another when Kaz responded in kind. She brushed her fingers against his shirt sleeve at the wrist, it was an apology and a question. “You can’t kill this kind of monster in a day,” she traced a line up to his elbow. “It took me months,” Inej said, so simply that it knocked his world out of alignment and he had to take a step backward to right himself. Inej reacted on instinct, clutched his shoulders to make sure he did not fall.

“I’m not strong enough,” Kaz blurted out, hoping that if he spoke, he could force the feeling of rotting flesh out of his mind. “I’m not as strong as you,”

“That’s not true,” Inej ran her fingers across his chest and down to his waist. “My weakness just wasn’t visible, yours is,” she unbuttoned his vest, Kaz hadn’t even noticed and the implication of that made his stomach do a somersault. “When someone touches you, you are present, aware.” She continued her pattern, hands going back to his wrist, making sure he could anticipate where her next move was going to be. “Me? I disappeared,” Kaz caught her eye, and threw his thought away. He refused to pity her, he knew she wouldn’t want that. “I looked calm and collected, but no one knew what it was doing to me, to shake their hand or have their arms around me,”

She smiled at him, unrestrained and brilliant, and he looked down to realize he had his hand upon her waist, her arms wrapped around his in kind. This felt like a victory, it felt like a curse. Against the roughness of her jacket, his hand began to tremble. She stepped away, he didn’t want her to, but it was exactly what he needed.

“Your tie,” Inej stated, and Kaz could have worshipped her right then, for understanding that if she had brought her hand up to his neck, he might not survive the evening. He undid his tie, though the tightness in his throat did not relent. He unbuttoned his shirt, hoping that the action would steady his hand. He was feeling light-headed but he wasn’t drowning...yet. He wiped the sweat from his brow, ran a hand through his hair, forced his anxiety out with a breath. He had never gotten this far with her before.

Inej repeated the rhythm: wrist, elbow, shoulders. Her hand was Jordie’s hand, her flesh was Jordie’s flesh. His chest, his waist. The waters started rising, coming in with the strength of a flood. Inej could sense the change in him immediately, “Tell me about the tattoo,” Inej said, he did not want her hand on him anymore, he needed it to stay so he could keep trying. He knew why she was asking, she knew he needed a distraction, and he chuckled darkly because she did not know that this particular question serveed an opposite purpose.

“Not tonight,” But someday .

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,”

Her hand has been in his for seconds, minutes, days, long enough that Kaz let himself hope that one day he could be rid of this. This ghost of his brother, the phantom of his skin, slipping underneath his hand, his chest, his face. Carefully, never breaking eye contact, Inej brought his hand up to her lips, Kaz focused on his breathing, on the moonlight spilling across Inej’s plait. Kaz tasted salt on his tongue, no not salt, iron. His vision went blurry, and he lost the shape of Inej as a result. This was unbearable, but he was desperate for more, it was easier this way. Feeling her lips against his skin, instead of her skin beneath his lips. She pressed another kiss to the creases of his palm, to his wrist. This felt nothing like a corpse, but the traces of her lips burned like ice, like water.

“I never asked you,” Kaz began, relaxing the tension in his jaw “Are you okay with this?”

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to be doing,” she whispered against his forearm, lips brushing the dark ink of his Dregs tattoo. He flexed the hand that held his cane, releasing some of the stiffness in his knuckles. She continued her familiar path across his body, through the smoke of Reaper’s Barge Kaz noticed she took care to avoid the R tattooed to his bicep when she kissed him there.

His whole body was alight, electrified, dying. He could smell death in his nose, he could feel the warmth of Inej’s body wash over him. He was tired, he was treading water, knowing any minute he could drown. He saw Jordie’s face, swollen, purple, eyes cloudy, No. He thought of Inej, of her laughter, her smile, of her voice whispering his name. Kaz Rietveld and Kaz Brekker were at war with one another, and right now, he wasn’t sure who would win. He should tell her to stop, but he didn’t want her to.

Inej took another step in, her hands balling into fists. I’m not doing anything I don’t want to be doing . She had just told him that, but he saw her now, saw how tightly she carried herself. He’d been so caught up in his own head, he hadn’t realized she’d been trying to shed her armor too. She leaned in, and Kaz was back in a hotel bathroom, she paused mere inches from his chest, sucked in one shaking breath, and ran her lips against his collar bone.

The current pulled him under; Kaz Rietveld had won again. Sudden, uncontrollable panic seized within his chest, snapping the leash to which he tied his weaknesses. They ran him over, all snarls and teeth and claws, turning him into something wild and furious. Before he could control himself, before he was even fully conscious of what was happening, he had flung his arms outward, pushing Inej away from him. “Stop,”

Inej, working to quiet her own demons had not been expecting this outburst from Kaz, she lost her footing, stumbling backward, and though she did not fall, Ghafa’s never fall , she did slam the back of her knee into the hard metal of Kaz’s bed frame. Inej cried out, more out of shock than out of pain. Desperation, horror, fury, regret pulled Kaz further under, the room was spinning, the moonlight hurt his eyes. Kaz caught himself on the edge of his desk, fumbling frantically for the waste basket he kept there, the cold metal of it in his hands bringing the briefest moment of comfort before he was vomiting up his dinner.

“Kaz?” Inej’s voice was sturdy, grounding, calm, but he could not turn to face her.

Inej

Kaz Brekker had gone by many names, and Inej had heard them all, whispered fearfully through the streets of Ketterdam by cowardly men. Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. Inej had spent so many nights on this city’s rooftops, seen only by the stars, listening in on the conversations that twisted up to her like crow feathers in the wind. She knew what people thought of him, he held a place amongst the most dangerous and feared of men. To some he was a bogeyman, to all he was a threat. And though she had seen him do terrible, violent things it still sent a sharp bolt of surprise crackling through her body whenever she heard the word “monster” following his name.

That monster stood before her now, leaning against his desk. Trusting her enough to turn away, to leave himself defenseless in her presence. Not trusting her enough to show his face. He was sweating, and in the light that spilled from the lamp upon his desk, Inej could see his hands twitching with the slightest tremor. She knew he was slipping, knew he was trying desperately to pull his armor on. But she was not here for Dirtyhands, and she had no time tonight for bastards. She thought about those names, the truths they carried with them. Could they really be titles for the man she was watching now? A boy who could not look her in the eye? No, the person that stood, half naked and shaking in this tiny little room, was neither of those things. This, she realized, this was simply

“Kaz,” she tried again.

“Leave,” and if she had known him any less she would have thought that he was serious.

“No,”

“Inej,” She was never sure how he could do that, how he could make her feel coveted and worshipped just by saying her name “ please ?” and his voice became a quiet, broken thing.

“No.” She said again, gentle as the breeze “I will not leave you, not like this,”

“I don’t want to see you,” it wasn’t a lie,

“You did great, Kaz, you’re making progress, ” and so was she, though she wasn’t sure Kaz realized it.

“Inej, get out,” he hissed, as if it hurt him to say the words.

“Why?”

He stiffened, and she bit back a smirk he hadn’t been expecting that . “I-” he hung his head.

She knew he didn’t have a reason, not one that he would admit to anyway “Is it because you don’t want me to see you like this? Because you’re worried you can’t give me what I want?” She tried to dampen the delight that bubbled in her chest, when she watched blotches of red blush paint the back of Kaz’s neck and spill down across his shoulder blades. “Is it because you feel ashamed?”

Kaz screamed with a rage she had seen up close only twice, a wild, guttural thing. When he got like this, destruction usually followed in his wake. As if on cue, Kaz slammed his hands down on the table, sweeping everything that rested there- every half drawn blueprint, ledger, and plan -onto the floor. His lantern tumbled with it as did a small wind up dog toy Kaz always kept sitting at his desk. The force of their impact caused both to shatter, sending pieces of glass and metal skidding across the hard wood floors. The paperwork took longer to fall, floating gently in the air around him like snow.

Kaz finally turned to face her, fury exploding behind his eyes. He wanted a fight, but Inej would never give him that satisfaction. When the dust settled, the anger that had possessed him had begun to burn low, confusion taking control of his posture and his brow when he finally saw Inej.

She had crossed her arms and tried her best to look bored. Based on his reaction it may have been working. “You can’t scare me away, Kaz,” It was the wrong thing to say, but it’s what he needed to hear.

The fire that flickered behind his eyes turned to ice, “I am the Bastard of the Barrel,” Kaz spit, stalking toward her, making sure to punctuate his words with the tapping of his cane against the wood. “I brought down Pekka Rollins, I conned Jan Van Eck, I broke into the Ice Court and made it out alive. Men run when they see me coming, parents tell their children I’ll steal them away in the night if they do not behave.” Kaz only stopped when her back was to a wall. He wanted her to feel cornered, he wanted her to feel trapped. On any other night, that may have worked, but she knew this was an act, and she had maneuvered herself so she was near the window, and he hadn’t seemed to notice.  “I scare who I damn well please,”

Inej could not hold back anymore, she hadn’t meant to do it, but she started to laugh. “That’s good,” Kaz blinked in surprise, his posture shifting, his grip loosening on his cane. She took a step forward, he took a step back. “I can see how that would work on most people. But I know you Kaz. Sure, you took down Pekka and Jan Van Eck...with help,” she took another step forward, reveling in Kaz’s retreat. “But you’ve also fainted in a carriage, nearly drowned in Djel’s river, and got embarrassed when Jesper’s Dad caught you two in a fist fight.” Kaz ducked his head to hide the redness rushing to his cheeks. She took another step forward, he ceded his territory. “You got good at palming cards and picking pockets not because you planned for a life of crime, but because you like magic tricks . You’ve lost a hat in every corner of Ketterdam,” Kaz lost his footing, his knees buckled beneath him, sending him tumbling onto his bed. With nowhere left for him to go, Inej smirked, and leaned in just far enough so he could hear her whisper. “And, when you wake up in the morning, your hair sticks up to one side. Jesper and I pretend not to notice, but we both think it’s adorable,”

Inej spun gracefully on her heel, gliding back towards the window, because she was not cruel and did not want Kaz to suffer...she didn’t want Kaz to suffer much . Kaz glowered at her, but seemed to otherwise have calmed. “You know,” Inej said when the silence grew too heavy. “I’ve been afraid of a lot of people since I came to Ketterdam,”

“Even Jesper?” Kaz asked eventually, she could tell from the cadence of his voice he was exhausted.

“Especially Jesper” Inej trusted Jesper with her life, he had brought so much chaos and joy into her world. But he was kind and charming in a way that sent shivers down her spine. Inej had had too many clients come to her, all smiles and compassion. Jesper scared her because she knew what kind and charming men could do. Kaz flinched and looked away.

“But not me?”

“No,” Inej wanted to touch his cheek, to smooth the worry that lined his forehead “Never you,”

Slowly, deliberately, Kaz stood. Inej’s breath caught in her throat when her eyes met his. He looked paler than usual, and maybe a little green, but his hands were still, his stance was steadier. He had locked his thoughts away, no emotion showing on his face, but there was a shine in his eyes Inej had seen before, when Kaz was trying to let go of hope. He quirked a single eyebrow at her, a challenge.

“I’ve been scared for you,” she admitted. “I’ve been scared to disappoint you, I’ve been scared of what it would do to me to lose you.” Inej stepped forward, already knowing what would happen, knowing that Kaz, having slipped away once already, would take a step back. But instead he stood rooted in place, his grip tightening ever so slightly on his cane.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve never looked at me the way everyone else does.” She considered the weight of the words on her tongue. “One day at The Menagare would have been enough to show me what kind of place Ketterdam truly was, and I spent a year inside it’s walls. I’ve collapsed beneath a million broken promises, but never yours. I’ve heard a million gentle lies, but never from you. I have felt a million….unwanted hands,” Inej wanted to shrink away into the shadows, but she refused to show her weakness, she refused to look away. Like magnets they were pulling toward each other until they were sharing the same air, until they were standing as each other’s equals in the center of the room. Inej held out her hand, not a demand, not a question, but a wish. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest when Kaz, without a moment’s hesitation, took her hand. He clenched his jaw, and drew a soft line across her palm with his thumb, it was a certainty, it was a promise. “But never yours,”

Kaz cleared his throat “I haven’t been scared of anyone since Jordie died,”

“Not even Jesper?” Inej teased, because she didn’t know what else to say.

Kaz bit back a smile “Never Jesper,”

“Not even me?” It was another joke, because she’d wanted to see more of that smile.

His face fell into something powerful and serious “I’ve always been scared of you, Inej,” she knew how much it must have taken for him to have admitted it. “From the moment you snuck up on me with bells on,”

“Really?” she could not hold the joy she felt at bay, it spread throughout her body, warming her all the way down to her toes.

Kaz nodded.

“But I was nothing then,”

“You have always been something.” Kaz corrected. “Back then you were Silence,”

“And now?” her eyes kept falling to his lips.

“You…” Kaz continued, leaning down, sending Inej’s heart into a frenzy she was worried she could never tame “should be going home,”

Inej scoffed, Kaz’s walls slipped down just long enough to let a small chuckle pass his lips. She would tuck that away in her memory, a look into the boy he could have been, a minute of vulnerability all for her. “That’s not fair! I told you mine!” If it had been Jesper standing in front of her, Inej would have backhanded his shoulder. But this was Kaz and he had done a lot tonight, she didn’t want to push her luck. Especially when she was enjoying this feeling of his hand in hers, she wasn’t looking to ruin it. “Come on Kaz,” she whispered, “why are you scared of me?”

He chewed his lip, and she could see the gears turning in his head, the debate he was conducting. Should he tell her the truth? Or keep his feelings a mystery and send her away. She was getting tired of being sent away. “Because I trust you.” Kaz said. “Because, you make me want to tell you everything. We deal in secrets, Inej, because we know that information can be more valuable than money. You’ve learned my patterns, you know my mind, you could unravel everything I have built with a single word to the right person,”

It was true, but it hurt. She pulled her hand from his, and regretted it. “You think that I would?”

“No,” he said it so fast, so sure that it knocked the air out of her lungs, it tore her voice from her throat. “And that is why you scare me. Because I know that thought has never crossed your mind.” He tugged gently at the bottom of her braid, twisting it around in his fingers. This was a system they had worked out months ago, for when Kaz wanted to be physical but the feeling of her skin was too much. “You are kinder and stronger than I will ever be and I am scared that-” he dropped her braid, placed both his hands atop his cane, and broke eye contact. “I am scared that you will finally see yourself for everything you are and know I am not worthy of your time or loyalty.”

“Kaz,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say. Because she couldn’t say I love you . The tension in the room, the cord that pulled the two of them together, was severed by the tolling of a clock.

Kaz broke first, eyes skirting to the city stretched out below them. “Goodnight, Inej,” he whispered, his voice rougher than usual.

“Goodnight,” she managed, slipping out of his window and vanishing into the night. Kaz watched her go until he could not feel her presence any longer, then he turned, and started picking up his mess. When Kaz woke the next morning, his heart stuttered in his chest. Sitting in the middle of his desk was a brand new wind up dog toy and laying next to it, reflecting the early morning sun was a geranium made out of glass.

[vecnawrites]

Jaune has survived NNN. His reward: Go to town on May and Ciel and release all of his built up stress.

Jaune had done it. He had survived ‘No Nut November’. It had been...hard (no pun intended), or rather, obscenely difficult. Pyrrha’s beauty, Nora being Nora and walking around in her underwear, Yang being Yang and flaunting her tits and cracking sex jokes every other minute...they all took their toll on him.

And it wasn’t just them! Beacon was full of beauties that tempted him. Professor Goodwitch was an utter bombshell, and many male student’s masturbatory fantasy. Velvet was adorable and had the warm ‘Girl Next Door’ vibe, Coco, the girl who knew she was hot, and flaunted it without being a bitch about it.

Blake, the quite nerdy bookworm archetype, down to actually openly reading freaky smut in class of all places, Weiss, every bit the sophisticated heiress that people wanted to rail and defile like a complete whore, even Ruby and her innocence attracted people like moths to an open flame.

And the foreign students tempted everyone. The smug Cinder Fall, the quiet Emerald Sustrai...everyone had their fantasies, ones that they lost the challenge because of.

He, however, had kept to his guns, a promise of a reward from the two girls who had been interested in him guiding him through the month and its intense trials. May Zedong, the beautiful sniper of BRNZ, and Ciel Soliel, the time focused companion of Ruby’s friend Penny. Both had approached him on Halloween night at the Beacon Halloween Party and given him an offer that he couldn’t refuse: Survive November without ejaculating once, and he could do whatever he wanted to them until their schools left Beacon.

His cock throbbed in his pants as he made his way towards the room that they had asked him to meet them in. It hadn’t been easy, not at all, especially since they had also teased him, regularly sending him naughty texts about what they were doing and even very sexual selfies, which were immediately hidden in a password protected folder so no one could stumble upon them.

Shaking his head to clear it, Jaune realized he had reached the room in question. Swallowing and trying  to calm his aching cock, Jaune knocked on the door. There was a brief pause before he heard Ciel’s voice. “Who is it?”

Swallowing again, Jaune opened his mouth. “It’s Jaune.” he said, glad that his voice didn’t crack. There was another brief moment of silence, before he heard a pleased hum. “Right on time, mister Arc.” he heard Ciel’s voice say in a pleased manner, “It’s not right to keep your ladies waiting…”

The door made a small sound as it was unlocked, and Jaune entered the room, swiftly closing it and relocking it behind him. Looking at what he was met with, Jaune swallowed hard, pants bulging outwards before him.

Before him stood the tanned May Zedong and the cocoa-skinned Ciel Soliel, each wearing a smile and little else. His cock throbbed. He recognized the underwear, or lingerie rather, from the most recent selfie set that they had sent him.

May was wearing a low-cut peephole bra that not only barely contained her surprisingly massive chest (and boy, had that been a shock to see for the first time!), it also fully revealed her fat inverted nipples, the puffy bits of flesh sticking out a fair big from her breasts. For underwear, she wore a simplistic lace-lined bikini cut panty.

Ciel, on the other hand, wore a dark blue bra that contained her B-Cup breasts fully, if accentuating them, but he knew that her bottom was a thong bottom. As if on cue, Ciel turned her body, bending over a bit and showing Jaune the dark blue string that was swallowed up by the split of her bubbly rear, giving the adipose flesh a wiggle after a moment of allowing him to look.

Growling, Jaune stepped forwards, only to stop when both held up a hand. Both young women moved towards him, stroking his shoulders, chest, and back, slowly removing his shirt and baring his torso to them.

Both hummed, pleased that Jaune stood still and let them work, leaning forwards and beginning to press kisses along the firm muscle of his chest, breathing in the scent of his freshly showered skin.

Slowly kneeling before him, the pair pressed kiss after kiss down his chest and abdominals, meeting his belt. Carefully, the pair undid the metal and leather device, undoing the clasps, sliding down the zipper...both found their eyes widening as Jaune’s cock flopped out between them, the long thick flesh nearly slapping both of them in the face.

Both stared in shock, impressed and somewhat awed that Jaune could manage to hide such a thing in his pants. Lowering his pants more, both gasped a bit as they viewed how utterly swollen his balls were. Leaning forwards, the pair pressed delicate kisses to the swollen flesh, inhaling his musk.

“Since you haven’t achieved orgasm in a month, we will get the first one out of the way quickly, so you can truly enjoy the rest of the night…” Ciel hummed, sharing a look with May, whom nodded eagerly.

Slowly the pair started at the base, kissing and licking the thick flesh between them, slowly moving upwards towards his tip, humming and moaning all the while, loving the grunts and moans of pleasure that Jaune was releasing as he gently played with their hair.

Reaching the broad, leaking tip, the pair kissed the fat head between their lips, before they began to lick it wildly, their tongues slipping over the slit and tasting the sticky precum dribbling out, their tongues colliding and tangling together.

Jaune growled to himself, watching the two gorgeous women practically making out with his cock, his balls churning angrily at the sight; he knew that he wasn’t going to last long at this rate with the intense feelings flowing through him…

And he was proven right, cumming hard with a guttural sound, splattering the tanned and cocoa-skinned faces of his beautiful lovers with thick, pent up seed, covering their faces in a gooey white mask.

Both Ciel and May moaned, licking their lips and tasting the musky offering, before leaning forwards and licking the other’s face clean while Jaune watched, his cock not losing a bit of hardness and only getting harder as he watched, his cock demanding more attention.

Looking up at their lover with a smirk, Ciel spoke. “Who, or what, do you want to slate your lust with first, Jaune? May’s Massive Mammaries,” she unclipped the tanned girl’s bra and yanked it away, making the sniper squeak and blush even darker, “or my Plump Peach?” with what had to be practiced moves, Ciel wiggled her thong down and off, leaning over and wiggling her rump in enticement.

Growling in lust, Jaune grabbed them both. What he wouldn’t give for having Blake’s or Sun’s semblances at this moment...but it didn’t matter. He had both of them until they left back to their schools. He would make them both his.

A smirk pulling at his lips, he looked at both eager young women, cock twitching as his eyes roamed the expanse of bare flesh. “I don’t know…” he drawled, “why don’t you both tell me why I should pick you?” he asked, glancing between both.

May blushed fiercely, while Ciel smirked. She decided to start, knowing that the shy sniper would need to gather her courage for this. “Well, my marvelous rear has just enough muscle to tighten around that wonderful cock of yours, and if I do this,” she began to flex her muscles, popping her cheeks, alternating which one rose and fell, getting wet upon seeing the hungry look on Jaune’s face. “I can jerk you off with my ass alone.”

May shuddered, cupping her hefty tits and bringing them up in offering. “A-And I...my breasts are the softest...softest t-things you c-could play with. They...they’ll swallow y-your massive c-cock completely a-and you can t-thrust to your hearts c-content.” she managed to force out, feeling lightheaded after saying something so utterly lewd.

Jaune couldn’t help but smile at May. He could tell she was so utterly nervous, but still trying her best and honestly wanting this. He licked his lips, before reaching out…

May squeaked as she was knocked back on the bed, Jaune straddling her belly, his hard cock slapping against her skin, the fat head pushing up against the bottom of her cleavage.

Feeling the bed shift next to her, May only became more flustered as Ciel looked at her with a pout. “I’m jealous...that cock is going to feel so good between those breasts of yours…” she smirked as Jaune cupped and pressed her breasts together, sandwiching his shaft between them, slowly beginning to rock back and forth.

Jaune hissed through his teeth as he pumped himself between the heavenly pillows that May called her breasts, the softness just as exquisite as May had proclaimed it to be. He couldn’t wait to paint them with every drop of seed in his next load...then he would move to Ciel. Then back to May. And then the cycle would continue, until they begged him to stop or his balls emptied and fired completely dry, whichever came first.

May whined, a pleasant tingle in her pussy. She hated how sensitive her breasts were normally, but this...this was nice. She squirmed slightly, sighing as Jaune’s thumbs toyed with her fat nipples. She arched a bit, glancing down to see if she could see any of Jaune’s cock. She was surprised that even though Jaune was big and making full strokes between her breasts, her flesh had completely swallowed him.

“I wonder…” she glanced to the side to see Ciel watching and gently running her fingers over her pussy, allowing her to see quick glimpses of bright pink between the chocolate skin. “When Jaune cums, will it mostly stay between your tits and just bubble up out of your cleavage, or will it have enough force that it just shoots out and coats that pretty face of yours?” she hummed in thought, looking up at Jaune next. “What do you think, stud?”

Jaune grunted. “You’re soon to find out, that’s for sure!” he growled, rocking back and forth faster, outright humping May’s chest now as he neared his second, but nowhere near last, orgasm of the night. Taking a deep breath, he groaned darkly, hips bucking wildly as his balls pulsed, his cum shooting out of his cock.

May squirmed as she felt wet heat form between her boobs, building and building until-she squeaked loudly as a large burst of cum shot out from between her breasts, painting a long stripe along her face. Then another. And another. And then another.

Next to her, Ciel chuckled, watching as May’s face was once again painted a milky white. “Guess that answers that…” she murmured, before smirking up at Jaune. “My turn, stud!” she rolled on her belly and raised her ass up, shaking it side to side eagerly, smirking as her thicc cheeks clapped against one another.

Jaune grunted as he watched the teasing woman before him, slowly shifting over towards her as May settled back, tits and face glazed in his cum. As he rested his cock between the dark-skinned half moons, Ciel wasted no time, beginning to pop her cheeks and twerk around his cock, clapping her ass along Jaune’s thick cock as it rubbed against her sensitive rim.

Jaune groaned as he squeezed his hands into fists, watching the show with lust. He knew now that the three of them would be doing this nightly until they had to leave. Her control was so great that he could already feel his balls churning again, ready to let out another load. He growled softly at the thought.

Sensing this, Ciel looked back with an eager smile. “That’s it, let it all out! Coat my thick ass in your cum! Paint it white!” she demanded, rocking her ass against him faster and faster, eager to see what was going to happen.

Jaune growled, taking control and grabbing Ciel’s cheeks, humping away madly between them, his balls slapping against the underside of her cheeks. “Here...it...comes!” he pulled back and clapped the thicc cheeks over his tip.

With a harsh sounding grunt, Jaune began to cum, seed rocketing from his cock, bubbling between Ciel’s cheeks, then spraying outwards and coating her lower back and overflowing the crevasse of her ass, trails of milky cum sliding along her dark skin.

Pulling back, Jaune licked his lips as he stared at both young women coated in his thick semen, cock twitching. He acted, unable to hold back any longer, grabbing Ciel’s hips, angling himself down a bit, and yanking the dark skinned young woman back.

“Ahhhh!” Ciel groaned as her ass clapped back against Jaune’s hips. She gripped the sheets tightly as Jaune wasted no time thrusting into her soaking core. She saw May looking at them, at her, in jealousy, only making her clench down harder on the thick cock invading her formerly virgin pussy.

Seeing May’s expression, Jaune chuckled. “Don’t worry, May...I still have...plenty...both of you...will be satisfied...by the night’s end!” he grunted, picking up speed and slamming into Ciel’s backside, pumping into her hard.

May settled, eagerly awaiting her turn to be fucked, knowing that if Ciel’s expression of lust was anything to go by, she would love it.

And she did.

Jaune Arc:

Status: SURVIVED

Time Survived: All 30 Days

Reward: May Zedong and Ciel Soliel As Lovers