#soot the familiar

[chibi-lucca]

Marlu Monday! :D

I've got mostly patreon exclusive stuff now, so I'll just be posting some parts of the rushed chapter I made for the contest a bit back.

Please feel free to support me as an artist and become part of the making of Marlu!

The story is about the young witch Marlu. In recent years the church has gained a tremendous amount of power and followers. The reason for that is the dark witch; a rumored individual who is doing the church’s bidding. Marlu, through his journey of helping people and warning his fellow witches of the threat behind him, comes face to face with the dark witch and the plan of escape changes.

[notthecity]

also on a fully unrelated note to the rest of my blog my favorite thing about the qsmp is quackity realizing just how unique the phenomenon he created is every two weeks. the eggs were just some cute almost pets to take care of, until everyone got emotionally attached and now the players would commit crimes against humanity for their minecraft children. bringing creators from all over the world together resulted on some unlikely friendships that never would have happened otherwise, think roier and cellbit, philza and forever, charlie and mariana, jaiden and roier, and so many more. and if the cinema night proves anything, it's that the fanbase is immensely creative, making everything from hilarious memes to an amazing 10-minute moving comic diving deeper into a character's lore with quality worthy of professional animation. like... godspeed you lil Mexican streamer, good on you for accidentally creating one of the coolest things I have seen on Twitch in recent years

[azuriteknight]

I think it’s really cute that a lot of the qsmp members’ friends have also gotten attached to the eggs

Some of the eggs have off the server family they got to meet over call (Skeppy meeting Dapper and Tommy meeting Tallulah)

Gumi calling Bad asking him to tell Dapper she says hi and Sam resubbing to Bad asking the same (also threatening to never resub if Bad didn’t lol)

Tina always hearing about Foolish and Leo’s adventures on the qsmp that day when she and Foolish play Valorant and Moo (Foolish’s IRL sister) calling herself Leo’s aunt

Idk it’s just kinda sweet, something about these eggs just makes people attached

[nomsfaultau]

Fairytale au where Wilbur and Tommy always had no one but each other. The two young brothers fend for themselves as much they can, but it’s hard. One winter day they get desperate and try scavenging in the woods far past where humans are supposed to go. They find a cozy cottage, and tentatively investigate to find the owner is gone. The boys break in and devour as much as they can because they haven’t had a good meal (or sometimes any meal at all) in so long.

They scarcely notice the crow watching in the window sill, but it notices them. Philza is a very powerful witch, and naturally knew the moment they broke in. But he also has business at the moment, and so only gets back by nightfall. He finds the boys hidden in a cupboard sleeping nearly fused into one another. They didn’t want to get found, of course, but it was so cold outside.

Tommy and Wilbur wake up tucked in a bed. Naturally they flee, terrified of the wrath of a witch. The brothers count themselves lucky for surviving the encounter.

They find the cottage nearly every time they enter the woods now. But the brothers are cautious, a survival instinct beaten deep into their marrow. They avoid the cottage avidly, worried what awaits them.

But then Tommy hasn’t eaten in days, and Wilbur hasn’t eaten even longer than that. And Tommy keeps crying at night and Wilbur would do anything for him. So they enter the cottage. It is empty, or so they think, and so the pair raid the pantries once more.

But they freeze when they realize there’s a witch perched in the rafters, watching them the whole time. Like he’s ready to swoop at a moments notice and twist their necks with his sharp crow’s feet. They run.

But they don’t the next time. Wilbur keeps a wary watch on Philza the whole time as he urges Tommy to keep grabbing food. Wilbur almost expects the door to be locked when they try to leave, but it isn’t. The shadows that cling to the ceiling like fog don’t quite hide the witch’s smile. It sends cold down the both of their backs.

The boys grow a little bolder each time, still cautious, still wary, but assured to some degree the witch only ever watches. They never take anything but food, since all the stories say that’s a death sentence. Still, Wilbur is half way convinced their souls have been stolen already and they just haven’t noticed yet. But it matters little when his brother is starving. The winter is unrelenting in its cruelty, and each time hunger claws at their insides they’re a little quicker to turn to the cottage for warmth and full bellies.

And then one day the cupboard is barren. The witch’s crow lines crinkle as he stares at them. But the house smells of glorious cooking and Tommy scampers off. Wilbur follows, though keeps his eye on the witch the whole time.

They find a table set with three plates. They’re still warm and piled with mouth watering food. The boys have only ever really cooked something if it was dangerous to eat else wise, and it turned out charred more often than not.

The boys dig in, but freeze as the witch appears at the threshold. Philza drinks in the scene, then walks in, claws scraping across the floorboards. There’s no comment as he takes a seat at the side, Tommy having claimed the head of the table. The witch simply begins to dine, and then Tommy, finally Wilbur.

“So. You’re fattening us up to eat us?” Wilbur challenges.

“The pair of you are rather scrawny for that,” Philza says lightly. “Malnutrition tends to do that. I’d be waiting years if that were the case.”

“Then you’re trying to steal our souls!”

“I make no promises either way.” It was almost more soothing than if he’d outright denied it, because then Wilbur would’ve known for sure he was lying. Like this? …well, Wilbur still isn't sure, but his caution feels vindicated.

Caution that still fades over time. They begin to eat more meals than not with the witch. And when blizzards come and they have no other bed to turn to, the brothers find themselves welcomed to the softest pillows and blankets they’d ever known. They keep watch, of course. They always did, instinct ingrained. And then they spend more nights with Philza than without, and nothing ever goes wrong, and they both get so much more sleep if they don't bother with watch…

Gradually, they begin to never leave the cottage at all. There is no food or warmth to be found outside in the terrible blizzards. It just makes sense to stay. And Philza is so lovely to talk to. Wilbur no longer checks over their backs. The scrape of his talons on the floor bring not a shudder but a grin. And anyway the claws are always so gentle when they ruffle through their hair. On the coldest nights the witch’s feathers are so wonderfully soft and warm, so why shouldn’t the boys tuck under wing?

It’s when spring comes that Wilbur realizes something is wrong, so horribly, gut-wrenching wrong. Because there is no excuse to stay anymore, and yet the brothers do.

Wilbur prods the distrust in his gut, the wariness that’s served him his whole life. All he feels for Philza is warm fondness, and that— that is a feeling reserved for Tommy and no other. No, Wilbur knows for sure that whatever the witch has done to them is powerful magic indeed. A thrall inescapable, sly and slow like a poison seeping in until it's too late to cure. No curse is more inescapable and deceptive than mind control. The witch stole their hearts alright, just not in a way Wilbur had known to guard against.

Wilbur will cut out the part of him that feels that way if that’s what it takes. It’s only ever been Wilbur and Tommy, or Tommy and Wilbur. And no one, not even some all-powerful witch, will take that from him.

So quietly, carefully, Wilbur hardens his heart and prepares their escape.

(End part 1)

[lavb-b]

Spa session

Gotta keep the hero in shape

Based off this tweet ⏬️

[fernlessbastard]

Wilbur acts like a cat In heat when horny. while quackity usually says it straight up "Wilbur, look at me like that again and I will bend you over this couch." or "bed. now." after coming home from work, while Wilbur is much less outright with it. some of his strategies are, in this particular order:

giving him "the look"

bending over counters provocatively

hugs from behind, featuring ear and neck kisses and tucking his head under his chin

draping himself across his lap (this is standard behaviour, but if he starts kissing his neck its a clear sign)

whining, whimpering and moaning while doing something that does not usually elicit those sounds

grinding against quackitys ass and whining into his ear when hes doing something un-horny (ie. cooking) until he gets the memo

straight up dry humping him

generally, he tends to get very, very touchy and rubs up against him much more. if one of thems not interested, they'll say a safe word, but unless that happens they've agreed its fair game.

Yes, 1000%, absolutely

Oh but for the record before the tntblr elections era people think I changed my mind: dogboy Wilbur is still the only canon version, he's just a slut💅 listen: collar and a leash. I'm not even talking full on pet play, but a collar and a leash.

Also I'm sorry but them being catboy4dogboy is just way too perfect

[kakyogay]

hey gang have a cannibalistic cult rabbit thing (Jack) because what was supposed to be just a butcher vanity redraw (bc pretty much any song about eating other folk could fit him) turned into something bigger

but I also kinda redid his fit and some features in the process so uhh don't know what I'm gonna do with his ref now 💀

[fluxydrawings]

wahoo! wilbur and tubbo talkin in pogtopia podfic :) fic by the lovely @thatweirdguyinthebushes! i love this author so ill deffo be doin more stuff by him soon so watch out

[a-whole-lot-of-things]

yesterday i was drawing with pasca pens for the first time while also watching wilbur's stream, and couldn't not draw tallulah

[samathekittycat]

hey, hey Philza got mpregged canonically right? cause every time I search for an answer I find both yeses and nos, I wanna say I'm sorry for asking you this but I'm really not

sincerest apologies dear but i have no memory of such an event

followers, please help this poor lad on her quest for mpreggery

[10piecechickenmcnugget]

OOOH YOU WANNA SEND ME ART REQUESTS

OOOH YOU WANNA SEND ME ART REQUESTS SO BAD

(if you like this post you are legally obligated to send me an art req)

[dragonflyace]

Do you like Superhero AUs?

Do you like Sleepy Bois Inc?

Do you like Tubbo being included for once??

WELL DO I HAVE A FIC FOR YOU

Introducing

THE RAVEN SYNDICATE (linked here)

What's it about? I'll tell you!

The story follows Tommy, the only one in his family of superheroes that doesn't have powers. He's skilled in many other ways that his family isn't, but that doesn't stop him from feeling like he needs to prove himself.

When he ignores Phil's warnings and dives headfirst into a dangerous case, determined to get to the bottom of it, he realizes that he's in way over his head, and nothing will ever be the same.

If you want to follow along, make sure you follow my AO3 and my socials! You won't want to miss it!

[caprisunsweet]

GOOD* Questions I'd Personally Ask at a DreamSMP Panel

Seeing as some people in the fandom may get the chance to ask DreamSMP cc's some questions at upcoming panel(s), I thought I might take my shot at recommending some questions to ask Each cc (or the group as a whole) as well as some general tips and my own recommendations for how to act at a panel based on my longtime fandom experience, and also my experience at- actually being at panel style conferences where I presented and had a Q+A portion!

Some general tips though to start off:

Always remain respectful to the panel host and the panelists This seems like it should be an obvious one, but please be respectful to the panel members, especially the host/leader! Hosting a discussion like this can be a lot of hardwork, especially if you have a time limit, a lot of questions to get through, or a lot of people on the panel. A Host has to balance the time issues, as well as help guide the conversation to run smoothly (usually by turning your awkward ass or hyper-specific question into something the panelists can actually understand and respond to). It's a tough job, and you should always give your support!

Equally value your panel members If you have a large cast on the stage, try and make sure to equally value them in the conversation. This is a little trickier because it's a group effort but, if you notice one cc being consistently targeted for questions, and one cc who has gotten none or only been able to answer group questions, switch your target! There's no worse feeling then being up on that stage and just having to sit there silently. So if you get the chance to ask a question, consider directing towards that one person who hasn't been appreciated as thoroughly

If you have a question for a specific person, be specific This might seem a little counterintuitive to the last point, but if you really have a question that can clearly only be answered by a select group of people, just ask that group/individual specifically. It helps lessen the awkwardness of having the other panelist members have to fumble through an answer for something they- weren't really involved with. And if a panel member you aren't directing the question to answers, then that's great too!

Keep an eye on your time; have a question prepared This is another tip just to help your host. Having your question and what you are going to say prepared in advance (even if it's just thinking/preparing it while in line behind others) is way better then getting to the mic and fumbling through it.

Have fun! Don't force the conversation to be harder then it has to Easy, funny, and simple questions are totally okay for a panel! Oftentimes they can have some of the funniest responses (We all saw the c!Quackbur question and talked about it for days for a reason) and lead to the funniest answers and reactions. Keep things lighthearted and don't feel like you're going to war with the cc's OR other fans. Don't bait or target a specific cc to fan discourse fires, but don't be afraid to ask questions you really want the answers to.

With that said, here is a big long list of questions you could ask (most of the) members of the DreamSMP:

Group Questions:

(aka. questions that could be asked and answered by all of the cc's)

What is your favorite part of your character? (Not playing them, but who they are)

If you could restart the SMP, or change the plotline at one point, what would be something new or different you would want to do with your character or the overall story?

If you could start your character over completely, what would you keep the same and what would you want to do differently?

If there was one character arc or storyline you didn't originally get to be in, but could go back and join now, what would it be?

What is one word you would use to describe your character(s)?

What is your favorite bit done by another person on the DreamSMP?

Do you enjoy the improvised or planned moments of the SMP more? Whether in your own lore or just overall.

The DreamSMP balances a lot of humor and funny moments with more serious topics and moods; how do you all strike that balance when it comes to when you do lore?

If you could name the biggest pivotal moment for your character, and who they are now, what do you think it would be?

Are there any characters from other tv shows, movies, cartoons, etc. that inspired part of your character or that you have received ideas from?

The DSMP has lasted for over two years, and a lot of fans have celebrated it for the lore and story, but also for the friendships that we've seen be created or resparked through it and how we've seen you all as content creators grow. If the DSMP was to end right now, what would you consider the most important thing you learned, achieved, or gained from your time on it?

Individual CC Questions:

(Some may be group questions, but they are more targetted towards a smaller specific group rather then able to be used for a general panel. I'm going to try and limit the number of questions to 5 for each cc bcus SPACE)

Dream:

c!Dream is notorious for being one of the most complicated characters on the SMP to understand; For you, what has been the most difficult part in playing/writing him?

How do you think that c!Dream has changed over the course of the SMP?

c!Dream is largely also a solitary character, at least in the most recent seasons of the SMP, but his lore ties into a lot of different characters stories and he interacts with a lot of different people. What characters do you think have had the most significant impact on him?

Recently we've gotten more lore for DreamXD's character. What is it like playing him versus playing c!Dream? Do you enjoy one more then the other?

You've been involved in the writing for the DreamSMP since day one of lore and have done a lot of work for the SMP in making it what it is today; what is your favorite thing that you have written so far?

George:

Your character has been around since the beginning of the SMP, but I think we have gotten the least amount of lore for your character in that entire time. How would you describe c!George to somebody who knew nothing about him?

You've had some of the most chaotic lore streams as well; how much of those 'c!George is dreaming' streams do you actually plan out versus being completely improv?

If c!George actually took control of the server and became god like he was dreaming about, what do you think would happen to the server? Would he regret it?

Sapnap:

c!Sapnap is pretty well known for his pet murdering tendencies; was that sort of just a thing that happened by accident, or do you have it out for Minecraft pets in particular?

c!Sapnap's caught in some really contentious points with two different groups of three (c!Quackity and c!Karl, and c!George and c!Dream). How do you see those relationships affecting him, or the others in the groups, as in one he goes from trying to be the diplomat and in the other he's the main aggressor?

Your character tends to operate seemingly more on impulse and emotion, but is always driven by his desire to protect his friends and family. How do you think his idea of who's worth protecting has changed over time?

Badboyhalo:

The Egg is one of the most unique storylines on the SMP, going into a completely different genre then the majority of the storylines as it focuses more on typical horror tropes and plots. Where did you get the idea for the Egg from, and what was developing an almost completely separate storyline like?

You are one of the cc's with the longest careers in content creation, and one of the first members of the DreamSMP, but you've continued to make fun and unique content on it, from trolling Foolish, to the Eggpire, to the Prime Path change; how do you think your experiences in making content have helped you in consistently streaming on the DSMP while creating new content and storylines?

Do you think that c!BBH regrets what he did with the Egg, or would he do it again?

You've done a lot of creative trolling on the DreamSMP; what have been your favorite pranks and trolls? Who is your favorite person to troll?

Awesamdude:

So, I think we've figured out the scrapbook was a bit of 'yes and' improv but; who is in c!Sam's hot and dangerous people scrapbook? Does he count himself?

Two of the defining relationships for c!Sam in recent arcs were with c!Quackity and c!Dream, two characters who have resorted to pretty ruthless means to get what they want. How do you think his relationship and interactions with those have affected c!Sam and the way he sees the world? Is any sort of reality check on the way for him?

Without control of the prison, which had been pretty foundational to his identity in season 3, what do you think is next for c!Sam? Do you think he can just ignore the 'Warden' part of his personality, or is that going to start showing itself outside of his duty to the prison?

Sam Bucket- what the fuck is up with that.

Ponk:

Do you think you'll keep building lemon trees?

You are one of the most consistent DreamSMP streamers, streaming almost everyday on the SMP. Over the course of time you've played on there, what has kept you coming back to keep playing?

c!Ponk's been in some pretty turbulent relationships with other SMP members, especially c!Sam but his true feelings on the characters seem to change or at least remain unclear. How does c!Ponk feel about c!Sam at this point? Do you think they could reconcile, or is c!Ponk done with him?

TommyInnit:

You've been involved in the lore since basically it's beginnings; when you first joined the server did you ever think that your characters story and fanbase would get so big?

We all know that Exile was originally thought of by Tubbo when you two were in a call together, but a lot of people are curious, what was the planning and writing process like for the rest of the arc? Were the streams mostly improv, or did you have a set goal or things you wanted to do each stream?

c!Tommy's in general a pretty chaotic character, who's been through a lot and can get into a lot of trouble at times. If you could give him any one piece of advice what would it be?

Two of c!Tommy's longest relationships on the SMP have been with c!Wilbur and c!Tubbo, and I'm sure Tubbo and Wilbur's roleplaying and writing with you had an impact. how do you think those two, as writers and as other characters, have effected c!Tommy as a character?

Do you think c!Tommy will ever truly be done with the discs and c!Dream?

Tubbo:

c!Tubbo is one of the characters who has had a really natural but subtle progression in his character over time, from the positive if realistic best friend, to a traitor to his country and then president of it, to a slightly unhinged nuclear scientist with a kidnapped son. Is there any one part of c!Tubbo you think has stayed consistent over time, or one phase of his character you enjoyed most?

Do you think c!Tubbo ever would have actually nuked Las Nevadas, or any of the other parts of the server?

One of the big themes for a while was c!Tubbo and c!Tommy trying to avoid becoming their predecessors, aka c!Schlatt and c!Wilbur. Do you think that is still a line or thought that follows c!Tubbo, or now that L'Manberg's gone they've let it go?

A lot of people have been really impressed with c!Tubbo's character and the way he has been written. How much of his writing and his progression as a character did you plan out versus let happen naturally? What was the most difficult part?

Punz:

A lot of people were really surprised by c!Punz having been working with c!Dream the whole time; did you enjoy seeing the shocked reactions of the audience when the big reveals liked the staged disc finale or meeting up after the prison break were dropped, or did more people expect it then you thought?

c!Punz is a pretty enigmatic character; one of his big driving factors seems to be money, but he's also shown himself to be pretty loyal to c!Dream in the face of a payout from someone else. What would you say his driving factor or motive/goal is?

Did c!Punz really just want chaos from joining the Eggpire?

Fundy:

A lot of people have been confused by this for a while but; what exactly is c!Fundy? Is he a fox, is his mom actually a fish, was he born out of c!Wilbur's toe, is he some reincarnated phoenix type thing? How old is he?

c!Fundy's story has revolved pretty heavily around family and trying to prove himself in the face of being dismissed repeatedly. And at this point it seems like he's entirely given up on the notion of having a family. Do you think there's a chance of him and c!Wilbur ever reconciling?

You've also had your hand in quite a few different plots across the server, from L'Manberg, to Las Nevadas, to the Dreamon Hunters and even a bit of the Egg. What was your favorite phase of playing c!Fundy?

Purpled:

c!Purpled's pretty clearly a mercenary who will do a lot of things for money or personal gain, including murder, but we've also seen him be hired in the past by the Eggpire and not follow through on their request. So where is c!Purpled's sort of moral line in what he's willing to do?

The UFO was pretty significant to c!Purpled; can we expect to see him try and rebuild it at some point? Was there a specific reason it was important to him, more then just a 'legacy'?

We didn't get to see a ton of what the members of Las Nevadas' relationships were like when they were all together, but c!Purpled and c!Quackity clearly had a tenuous relationship. Do you think killing Slime was enough to get that out of c!Purpled's system or should we expect them to continue butting heads?

Wilbur Soot:

The Ghostbur angst; is it meant to specifically punish us because why he's so sad

A popular theory is that a lot of the Ghostbur-in-limbo bits you have shared with us is actually what c!Wilbur experienced while in Limbo, shared as if it is Ghostbur's current experience while in fact Ghostbur no longer exists. Is there any credit to that theory?

A lot of comments have been shared about the "darkest" arc of the DreamSMP, but the story in general seemed to take a much darker tone as soon as went into Pogtopia, with the focus on c!Wilbur's mental spiral and paranoia, as well as the general stress and trauma inflicted on the many other characters. Was c!Wilbur's mental spiral something you had always wanted to do in the storyline or did you think of it later?

Do you think c!Wilbur was actually sincere in his apologies to the other SMP members? Do you think they were good apologies, or that he's learned from those experiences at all?

A lot of people thought when c!Wilbur made his return that he would become a sort of big bad of the server again, but as we saw he kind of just- ran a burger joint and very badly tried to fuck with c!Quackity. Do you think you'd ever want to try and go that 'big baddie' route with c!Wilbur in the future?

Eret:

After his conversation and apology from c!Wilbur, do you think c!Eret is truly ready to move past his betrayal of L'Manberg during the revolution? Or is it going to be something that continues to haunt her even as she goes forward?

The SMP doesn't have a good track record when it comes to political leaders; on a scale of 1 to 10, and keeping in mind the other political leaders they've had, how well do you think c!Eret did?

Towards the beginning of the server, c!Eret had a lot of close relationships with other characters like c!Niki, c!Fundy, and c!Tubbo, as well as during his kingship with her knights. Do you think we will see a return in some of those bonds and friendships?

Jack Manifold:

In c!Jack's mind, does he have an ideal conclusion or resolution to his relationship with c!Tommy? Or is he just flying blind on emotion?

One really significant relationship and bond we've seen was between c!Jack and c!Niki, but they seem to have left things off with a true difference in beliefs. Do you think that c!Jack will ever come around to c!Niki's thinking of letting go of his grudge? Will the two's friendship ever come back?

c!Jack is often played for laughs, but has a lot of genuine emotion and pain to his character. Do you think that the audience interpretation of him as the funny B-tier cartoon villain has helped you channel that desire for him to be noticed and valued?

Nihachu:

A really meaningful moment for a lot of fans with c!Niki was that first Syndicate meeting where she mentioned feeling heard and listened to for the first time, and how it startled her. How do you think her relationship with the Syndicate has helped change her?

We got to see a much more aggressive part of c!Niki's personality when she was trying to kill c!Tommy and during Doomsday. Do you think that urge for vengeance and aggression is still a part of her, or has she moved past it?

You've talked about how you want to become a psychologist to help content creators, which is a really impressive goal. How have your studies in psychology helped you approach your character?

Quackity:

I may be wrong, but I believe you have the highest number of characters played by one person. And quite a few of those have come from bits that you then turned into bigger parts of the story, especially Mexican Dream. But you've also introduced a lot of very serious and dark moments as well, with Slime's death, torturing c!Dream in the prison and etc. When it comes down to what to include or continue using, how do you make that decision? Is it what you'd find personally entertaining/interesting or something else?

Your pre-recorded streams have widely been commented as being similar to movies and enjoyed greatly by the fanbase. What was the recording and filming process like for those streams?

c!Quackity, c!Wilbur, c!Dream, and c!Sam have all become considered as the bigger bad guys of the server, based on their actions and general sort of fucked up ness. How do you think those characters have played off of and impacted one another?

Will we ever get a c!Fiancees reunion, for good or bad?

Someone already asked Wilbur this question before but it seems fair to ask you as well, have c!Quackity and c!Wilbur ever had any kind of romantic relationship or tension?

Karl Jacobs:

Tales from the SMP is one of the most beloved things to come out of the SMP. What is your favorite part of running one of those, and what has it been like to develop your character almost entirely through a separate series to just playing on the SMP?

You've been working on a comic book series for a little while now; what has been the process of writing that like, in comparison to writing for Tales or the DSMP

Do you think c!Karl will start forgetting all of his friends, including c!Sapnap at some point?

Antfrost:

Do you think we'll ever get to see Velvet in the DreamSMP story?

In the aftermath of the Egg Banquet and what happened to c!Ant, we haven't seen much of him beyond his genuine apologies for what happened. What has c!Ant has been up to since then?

Anndd that's it for now. Obviously I am missing some people, but there are a lot of characters and cc's who's content and characters I am- not as familiar with haha. I'd rather others offer up their own recommendations then give only general shallow ones!

Just remember, the cc's are there to have as much fun as you are! Be polite, be considerate, and be interested in everyone's responses, or at least try to be respectful of them. And please, don't find a war in the crowd over lore /lh

[pseudowho]

Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

[nomsfaultau]

Another mini-arc of Fault is being released. Fault is an SCP SBI AU that deals with themes of dealing with the trauma and guilt of surviving, The SCP Foundation’s system of oppression, and naturally found family. The first arc is Tommy and Tubbo-centric, focusing on the sacrifices needed to survive, and then broadens to fully introduce the rest of the Sleepy Bois, alternative morality systems, and new terrible mental health strategies. While the story does get dark, it makes the moments of love shine all the brighter. Even if humanity hates them, these monsters have each other’s backs.

Mind the tags, and enjoy.

[nvirskies]

it's getting hot in here - c. la rue

warnings: reader is like half-naked? just no shirt on is all but reader is wearing a sports bra, nothing sexual just like a tad suggestive?, clarisse is a gay mess, kinda ooc clarisse, i know next to nothing about blacksmithing please hang in there with me, fem reader, no use of y/n, self-conscious reader, not beta read

summary: clarisse goes to pick up a custom order dagger from the forge when she's met with an unexpected sight.

hephaestus!daughter!reader x clarisse la rue

word count: 1.3k

taglist: @lvrue @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover @star-girl69 @petitegavotte

from this post !

a/n: tbh might make this a multi part thing, at least a second part. also, so sorry this took so long to finish- i got sidetracked with a couple other things irl. hope you enjoy! men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16- / 19+ dni

It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.

And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.

Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction. 

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. It was the forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day. 

She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

Something about you entranced her. 

She didn’t know if it was the way your hair was pulled into a low ponytail, some loose strands clinging to the sides of your face, the way you subconsciously bit your lip as you focused completely on the red-hot metal in front of you. Or perhaps, it was the way your muscles rippled in the dim firelight as you struck the metal again and again, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed portions of your skin from both the heat and the exertion. 

Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely. 

As she gazed at you, a light blush dusted her cheeks as she came to the realization that you weren’t wearing much while working. The heat of the forge had led you to forgo wearing a shirt entirely, said shirt reduced to a tiny, crumpled gray bundle of fabric in the corner of the room. You were left wearing a sports bra, dusted with ash and soot and a pair of baggy sweatpants resting just above your hips.

It wasn’t as if Clarisse had never seen people dressed in less before. Hell, she’d seen her own fair amount of skin for various reasons. But this time, it seemed different. The slip of paper and bag of coins in her hands were forgotten momentarily as she simply stared at you from the doorway.

The way the dim light of the roaring furnace illuminated you from behind gave you an almost ethereal glow, the edges of the flames flickering around your moving silhouette. 

She could see the muscles in your arm and shoulder tensing and relaxing with every ever-so-precise swing of the hammer, and she found herself silently watching you work from the doorway. 

Ultimately, it was the soft clinking coming from the bag of drachmas Clarisse held in her hand that drew your attention away from the project in front of you. Your head snapped up, tense and a tad startled from the sudden sound, having been so zoned into your work that you hadn’t noticed her presence. 

The hammer in your hand dropped to the metal workbench with a loud clang, the sound reverberating throughout the forge, ripping Clarisse from the glossed-over, hazy look in her eyes as she watched you move just moments ago, having been completely and utterly under your spell.

“Shit-!” you exclaimed, jumping slightly and wincing at the harsh sound, eyes widening further as you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed far too casual compared to how she normally treated campers, especially given her outward distaste towards children of Hephaestus. 

And all of a sudden, you’re all too aware of your lack of a shirt and your cheeks flare with an embarrassed bright red flush.

Flushed the same color as the heated metal in front of you, Clarisse noted absentmindedly. It wasn’t a look she didn’t like. But of course, she would never admit that. The big, bad Clarisse La Rue flustered over something as insignificant as muscles on a girl? Impossible.

Her attention is drawn back to you, observing as you scurry to the other side of the room to grab your stashed-away shirt, slipping the loose grey fabric over your body, any and all views of the muscles she had seen just moments prior completely disappearing in a matter of seconds.

After having taken a few calming breaths, you steeled yourself for a barrage of snarky remarks that you were sure would come spewing out of the Ares cabin counselor’s mouth like acid out of the myrmeke’s mouths, but they never came.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed to be a bit flustered? Her eyes didn’t meet yours for a moment before she straightened herself out. Before your very eyes, you watched her cool and collected facade slip over her like a mask, and that trademark smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips.

“I’m here to pick up an order, under my name,” she remarks, holding up the bag of drachmas and thin slip of paper in an outstretched hand. Her gaze seemed like it was scrutinizing everything about your appearance from the baggy grey shirt that hung loosely over your frame to the soot just barely smudged on your forehead. Whether it was a good or bad look you had no idea, subconsciously shrinking into the shadows of the dimly lit forge.

“Right, right, La Rue…” you trail off nervously, scanning the room for the rack that held completed orders and leafing through the tags attached to each object. “La Rue, La Rue, La Rue, where is it-?” you muse to yourself, repeating her last name in a hushed tone until the sight of it comes into view. The dagger she had ordered was at the edge of the table, with the request for a heavyweight handle and an etching of her initials into the butt of it.

Normally, Clarisse would have found your behavior annoying if it were coming from anyone else, but oddly enough, she quite liked the way her last name rolled off your tongue. It felt almost natural, too natural. Quickly, she brushed away the lingering thoughts about how you had looked almost god-like with the flame from the roaring furnace glowing behind you, the thoughts of what your skin would feel like under her hands. 

After a beat of silence, you grabbed said dagger, placed a little ball of clay over its razor-sharp tip, and slipped it into a small drawstring bag, pulling it closed. 

“That’ll be five golden drachmas, La Rue, or fifteen silver ones. Whatever works for you” you say as you hand her the bag, other hand outstretched for the paper she held and to take the coins. She dropped the five golden coins in your palm and grabbed the bag to turn on her heel and walk out without another word.

Or so you thought.

“Thanks for the weapon. I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”