#the raven's hymn

[wolveria]

The Anomaly Archives - Reality #001

AU of The Raven's Hymn

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dubious consent, sex pollen

AO3

With infinite universes come infinite possibilities. But even within the threads of innumerable choices, there are… patterns. Threads that will interweave time and again, with no discernible rhyme or reason.

Some call it fate. Others, providence. Humans call it the law of Large Numbers, and that is close enough for what I attempt to convey to the record.

The purpose of this record is to document the threads that curve toward one specific individual. To what end, the Editors will determine. I am simply an observer.

That is what I tell myself.

--The [REDACTED] Wandsman of [REDACTED]

The opening of the outer doors brought his head up, alert and poised for his cruel captors to make an appearance. He had grown agitated, pacing in front of the observation screen, not knowing what had befallen her. His dear assistant, taken away in chains to once again be submitted to the senseless whims of brutish men.

The Doctor did not fare well, his chest a boundless void with each passing moment of her absence. He missed her sweet presence, the comfort that came with it, her touch soothing the machinations of his restless mind.

Of course, that same touch could also light a spark in him, setting the fatwood ablaze, and it took all of his considerable will to smother the flames before they spread beyond his control.

It was a different sort of fire that consumed him now, rage curling around his heart as his assistant was carelessly shoved into the chamber. She caught herself on the autopsy table and leaned her weight against it as her legs seemed unable to steady beneath her.

Her bare legs. The grey medical tights she usually wore were missing, leaving her only in the white smock.

Possession, a creature with liquid fire for blood and flame-kissed metal for claws, a beast that demanded retribution on any who had dared touch her. It raged within his dark form, but he held it at bay for her sake.

The Doctor was at her side in an instant, and the ravenous beast was temporarily sated as he caught hold of her shoulders. She appeared weak, or fatigued, and he feared she would collapse from the way she trembled.

Despite her clumsy gait, she stepped into the circle of his arms and held him, her grip strong with desperation. The Doctor blinked. It was not unusual for her to return in such a state, affected to a degree that left her on the edge of ruin.

But this seemed... different. Unfamiliar, the way she pushed her face into his neck, breathing in deep as if to catch his scent, her fingers pressing divots into his back. Her body crowded him, restless, pressed flat against his surface and straining to be closer.

Deep within, something flickered to life.

“…Doctor Reid?”

He hadn’t intended her name to come out as a breathless rasp, but he was caught off-foot, not entirely sure how to approach this novel situation. This close to her, surrounded by her familiar fragrance, there was an underlying chemical he didn’t recognize.

Alarm jostled his thoughts. He might not know the compound, but he could sense its nature, a hormone intended to affect mammals in a particular way.

His assistant didn’t answer him with words; she slipped a leg between his, attempting to straddle his thigh, a precarious position while they still stood. She wasn’t deterred, holding him tighter as she rocked against his hip.

The Doctor’s mind struggled to assess the situation correctly, but his body responded with a haste that outpaced his good sense. Heat licked up his abdomen and his member stirred, threatening to expand out of its sheath with the sudden blood flow.

He jerked back, forced to catch her when she nearly spilled to the floor.

 “Assistant, please.” He held her firm but kept a modest distance between them. “I need to know what was done to you. Do you remember?”

She licked her lips, pupils blown as she tried to focus on his face. And she did try, he knew from the dip in her brow and her confused frown.

“Y-yes. A gas. They m-made me inhale it. I tried n-not to breathe, but...”

“I understand,” he said, soft. Despite the irritating reactions of his body, his heart ached for yet another indignity she was forced to endure. “Your predicament is through no fault of your own. I will attempt to provide aid. If you could please tell me your symptoms, I shall try to find a remedy that—”

“No!” She shook her head, words choked, eyes wide. “He said n-not to. Leahy. He said no... no antidotes. Nothing f-from your bag.”

His eyes narrowed, venomous barbs curling around his chest as they always did when he was reminded of the Site Director’s existence. The Doctor would love nothing more than to adorn a pair of gloves and wrap his fingers around the man’s neck. He would not wish his suffering to end too swiftly, after all.

“What is the purpose of this drug?”

His assistant shook her head again, discomfort and unease lining her features. She squirmed against his grip, sweat beading on her forehead below her hairline.

“He didn’t say. They just... gave it to me. Nothing happened, at first. And then as they were bringing me back—”

She released a noise, her legs rubbing together as she avoided his gaze.

“Please,” he gently said, “tell me what you are experiencing. If only so we may relieve the symptoms—”

Another noise from her, this one pained, and she wrenched from his hands, surprising him with her strength. She slipped within the confines of his hold and crushed her body against his, gripping his robes as if she were drowning.

“Hot,” she gasped into his shoulder. “Too much. Need it to stop. Need—”

While he reeled from her sudden proximity, she grabbed his hand and shoved it under her smock, forcing him to cup her. The shocking heat was the first thing he noticed, the second, how she was soaked through her undergarments, wetting his fingers with barely a touch.

He had lived a long life, longer than even he could remember, and never once in his great existence could he recall a time when his mind simply... stopped. Nothing passed through it except a soft sort of buzz, like one of those televisions that no longer received a signal.

The noise she made was unholy, sinful as she rubbed herself on his hand. Her face was against his collar, pressed into the loose fabric that encircled his throat. His skin had always been muted to sensations, a barrier between him and the outside world, but he could feel every heated breath she exhaled, ever scratch of her nails and the slick essence leaking from her.

His assistant was dwarfed in comparison to him, yet she pushed him, forced him in retreat to the inner chamber, all the while her lips explored his neck, guiding his fingers for the relief she sought. There was only a thin barrier of cotton between her flesh and his, and it would take so little effort to pull that barrier aside and gift her with exactly what she needed.

If this event had occurred earlier in their partnership, the Doctor would like to believe he would not be the empty-headed fool he currently was. He would have much more restraint, in control of his own faculties, and he would put a stop to this entire affair.

As it was, he remained frozen as she backed him all the way to the desk, his hips pinned against the edge as they could retreat no further.

She pulled his hand away from her slick heat. Any return to his senses that might have happened were thwarted as she dropped to her knees, her fingers searching, exploring for something at the joining of his legs.

A strained, choking noise left him. She could not possibly know about—

“I’m sorry.”

Her apology came out like a prayer, hushed and desperate for salvation.

“I’m sorry I’m sorryimsorry—”

She found the opening of his internal sheath, her fingers sliding within the slit, and stroked just within as if to coax him out.

It was more than effective. His member pushed through the opening, and he braced his hands against the desk behind him—the air had left him as she took him in her hands. She stroked him, her eyes wide, filled with such desire that he could hardly believe he was the target of such carnal attention.

Lacking any hesitation, her lips parted, and she took him into her mouth, swallowing him down in one smooth motion.

The sharp, visceral warmth of her enveloping him left him without a voice. The metal desk creaked in protest as he gripped it tight; he knew he would leave permanent dents into its surface.

The Doctor could focus on nothing else than the sweet ache she was pulling out of him, laving him with her tongue and sucking as much of his length as she could.

It was... too much, too pleasurable to be real, and yet too wonderful to be a dream. He wouldn’t say he lacked for imagination, but even his mind couldn’t have envisioned the endless landscape of pleasure her mouth provided.

She pulled back just enough to lick the glans, groaning low in her throat, lapping up the lubricating fluid that leaked from its tip. It was an image that would be forever burned into his mind, branded into the depths of his molecules and atoms.

His fingers found their way into her hair, holding the strands that had loosened from her ponytail, what remained of it. The contrast of the soft mane to the rough hide of his gloves snapped him out of his syrupy haze.

“Assistant.”

His voice came out in a croak, unsteady. She didn’t seem to hear him.

He tried again, voicing her title in a bid for her attention, and this time, he knew she was ignoring him.

“Assistant,” he snapped, and she paused long enough for him to take her by the shoulders and pull her to her feet. Her dazed expression was cut through with a look of annoyance at being interrupted from her goal.

The Doctor sighed. He would not think about how that combination of annoyance and desire-heaviness in her eyes was a heady combination.

“It is you who needs relief,” he said. “Not I.”

An arguable point with his phallus hard as steel and pressed against her stomach, but this was not about what his traitorous body wanted.

She seemed to think over his appeal, but her frown of consideration was growing hazy again. His own focus was nearly shattered as her hand wrapped around his length, squeezing and attempting to finish what her mouth couldn’t.

He held her motionless with his own hand over hers, his phallus still in her grip, a compromise since she was determined to not let go.

“What would you like me to use?” he asked, voice gentle compared to his firm grip on her. “My fingers?”

He didn’t often think about his mask, nor what past researchers had told him in regard to it—that he had a human mouth trapped under the chitinous material. But for the first time, he cursed his lack of access to it.

The thought of putting his mouth on her was… was…

She shook her head, regret and a shadow of embarrassment on her features.

“That… that won’t be deep enough.”

Ah. So, that’s what she needed but was too ashamed to ask for, even now in a state of drug-induced need.

He lowered his head, close to hers so it would give the semblance of privacy, even if it was simply an illusion.

“The bed would be more… comfortable.”

It was her own comfort and dignity that concerned him, and he would not take her on the floor or over the desk like some… some animal, but he couldn’t deny he ached for her, the evidence caught between her fingers.

Her expression would have been sweet under other circumstances, the shyness mixed with intoxicating desire. But that was based in a lovely fantasy. The reality was a darker, crueler portrait.

She nodded, her reluctance no barrier between her and the demands of the chemical. She released him, finally, and he covered himself in his robes in what amounted to a pointless display of modesty.

The Doctor led her over to the bed, though he needn’t have. She pressed close to him, as if any degree of separation might give their captors reason to intervene and take her away. He held her just as close; he would not allow them to interrupt her relief, though he’d already concluded this was the point to their new experiment.

Once they reached the bed, he hovered close but didn’t proceed further. He was… on unfamiliar grounds, and she must have sensed it, because she quietly said, “Lie down.”

He would have obeyed any instruction she gave when delivered in that strained, husky tone. Raze the facility to rubble, flay his own hide with his scalpel. Lie atop a bed and allow her to use him however she wanted.

However she needed. He had to remind himself the true purpose of this. Her actions were not under her own volition, no matter the extraneous attention, or how genuine the ache in each touch. This was a means to an end, and he would gladly be her instrument.

His back barely hit the covers before she was astride him, yanking his robes aside. She must have removed her undergarments when he had briefly turned away, because her bare skin was scorching in his lap. Her flesh hot, slick, as she ground against the curve of his shaft.

His hands automatically went to her hips, seeking something to hold, an excuse to touch her. She still wore her smock, though the hem had bunched around her thighs, and he didn’t know why he did it—he pulled the material higher, his fingers stretched wide across her bare skin now on display.

The Doctor might not know the finer points of coitus, but his assistant seemed to know exactly what she wanted. With a lift of her hips, she held his phallus in one hand and pressed the tip against her, and without so much as a word, she slid down.

He could scarcely breathe, the tight flesh of her swallowing him from root to stem, and even with the ample lubrication, the strain on her face indicated discomfort.

He tightened his hold on her hips to dissuade her from doing this too quickly, but she growled through her teeth and pushed downward, hard, the force smacking their hips together, and he swore he saw constellations.

She did it again, and again, until she found a steady rhythm, though it was shaky and desperate, a reminder that this was not some spontaneous tryst. She focused on her task with dogged determination, and he was simply trying to remember his own name.

He closed his eyes and surrendered to the feel of her around him, everywhere, leaving no space between them in a way he’d only dreamt of. And even his dreams hadn’t come close, a cheap, laughable copy compared to the genuine article.

Almost… genuine. Close enough that if he kept his eyes shut and let his mind wander, he could imagine the white sterile walls were replaced with something woody, organic. Natural, in a way this place never would be, and she could be free in a way she never was.

From the slow tightening of her walls to the ragged pace of her breathing, he guessed she was close to reaching her peak but was having difficulty achieving it. He wasn’t sure if he should expedite the process or draw it out, a question of what would rid this cursed chemical from her system more efficiently.

But when she hunched forward, face screwed in concentration as a soft sob left her lips, he made this decision.

The Doctor had made himself a passive participant, to let her use him how she wished. The alternative would be to take her how he wanted, with a force that would leave their relationship forever ruined, unable to hide his actions behind the mantle of helpful concern.

So, he must be forgiven this indulgence. After all, she did need his assistance.

With a firm hold of her hips, he thrust upward, and at the same moment, pressed his thumb into the sensitive nub that had been neglected thus far.

His assistant arched forward, holding herself up by hands on either side of his head, bracing as he took control of her pleasure. With a few thrusts aimed at the inner surfaces she hadn’t been able to reach, accompanied by the movements of his thumb, she toppled over the edge.

Or more succinctly, she crashed. Now entirely folded over him, she dug her fingers into his shoulders, choked cries escaping her as she throbbed around him.

His own control was lost as a strange sensation expanded at the base of his phallus, and he was almost too late to realize what it was. The bulge was halfway inside her before he managed to slip it out, seconds away from unintentionally trapping her around him.

The extra pressure against her entrance had elicited another weak cry, and she ground down on his hips, as if she wanted it—and he spilled into her, unable to stop or pull away until it was far too late.

Not that his actions would have wrought him much; her thighs were vices around his waist, and he suspected even if he’d tried to redirect his orgasm elsewhere, she would have successfully intervened.

When the Doctor’s head cleared enough that it wasn’t filled with pleasant static, he found his arms had naturally sought their way around her, one hand on her back while the other was in her hair.

She hadn’t moved, and by the soft, almost-sobs she made, he knew something was very wrong. He gently stroked her hair, unsure of what else to do. He certainly wasn’t going to move her.

“Doctor Reid?”

She flinched. No, not a promising sign at all.

“I’m… sorry,” she finally whimpered.

He frowned, or his version of it.

“I’m so… so sorry.”

It was then he felt the moisture dripping into the collar of his hood.

“Oh,” he breathed out, both relieved and horrified. He’d begun to fear he’d been too rough, harmed her in his eagerness, but this wasn’t a preferable alternative. “Dear one, you have nothing to apologize for.”

She curled around him tighter, a dejected sob leaving her throat, this one unable to be hidden.

Carefully, he lifted her, only far enough to tuck her against his side. The sensation of sliding out of her was an interesting one, as if he were raw, oversensitive. He would prefer to clean the mess, but he wouldn’t dare leave her now, not when she was on the edge of trembling apart.

“This was not your fault,” he pressed. “You are not to blame. They are.”

She shook her head, another quiet sob mangled as she tried to choke it down. Even now, she fought to hide weakness, vulnerability. He understood this was who she was, burying every sign that she was in pain, and he would not begrudge her that. He simply… wished he could spare her this silent suffering, take her to a place where she would never feel the need to hide.

But that was the entire problem. They weren’t elsewhere.

He lifted the blanket to cover them both, giving her privacy from the unwanted voyeurs as well as warmth for her shivering limbs. An effective strategy, as she huddled close, her face against his chest as if she sought to be shielded against the world.

The Doctor would fill that role to the best of his abilities. He was uncertain what waited them now this line had been crossed. He doubted it would stop at a single test. Whatever the intended result—and he could take a damn good guess what it was—he could only hope they would not expand the experiment to include other subjects.

He had no interest in being used as a stud, and if they even considered turning his assistant into some kind of broodmare….

With the Doctor’s teeth trapped behind his mask, he could only grind them in spirit, but grind them he did. Putting in place the catalyst that would usher the facility’s downfall was becoming more and more appealing.

But his assistant fidgeted, moved closer, as if sensing the dark turn of his thoughts. He brushed them aside, for now, and focused on her. Threading his fingers through her hair, a rumble would sometimes vibrate in his chest, involuntary and unfamiliar, but it seemed to comfort her.

A new ache took residence within him. Her pain was because she thought she had taken advantage of him. The truth was quite the opposite: he had indulged where he should have remained distant, clinical, appropriate. Instead, he had made the fatal mistake of allowing himself, but for a moment, to pretend.

And now, they both suffered, for very different reasons.

He struggled with the words that would encompass his thoughts, aware that nothing would make this right. In the end, he touched the side of his mask against her hair and whispered, “Je suis de tout cœur avec toi.”

She shivered, as if it was a spell cast over her, but she didn’t ask what it meant. She simply held on.

The Doctor returned the gesture in kind. For now, there was nothing else to be done, two souls whose only shelter was each other against the impending storm. And there would be a storm. The Doctor would make sure of that.

[pylonangel]

i’m sorry i don’t know if ill ever finish this but i wanted to make a poster for TRH at one point so ill share it

[drawings-by-meh]

Poor nervous birb boi

@wolveria

[tripodcoffeecup]

049 Reads Us Poetry

For my darlings: @veeskei and @wolveria.

Apparently the Plague Doctor likes poetry. Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven", read by The Volgun.

[corundumb]

This, except Leahy's office.

[scary-lasagna]

Scp 096 (established relationship) where the scp researchers found that if someone sees his photo and comes running at them, if they put a photo of reader (another researcher) in front of their face, 096 gets confused and doesn’t kill them, and so reader can come in and take 096 back to his room?

SCP - 096 “Shy Guy”

It was sabotage, no- attempted murder.

The researchers had no clue it was your face in the file, these precious little interns didn’t even look over the contents before slapping them into a D-class’ arms and sending them into a testing chamber.

It was supposed to be the second unknowing D-class, on the other side of the testing room in a 2x2, 14” thick, lead box.

A simple study of how fast 096 could rip it into shreds, allowing more intel for breach shelter doors if it ever escapes again.

(That was a mess, and ironically how you two met, being the only one who knew how to handle him properly.)

The pressure sensors on the floor never moved, only shifted awkwardly. No crying. No screaming.

And somehow the silence was more terrifying than the outburst he should be having.

One of the head researchers called the D-Class back in, and the file is examined. Not too much later, you’re called into the observation room.

Much to your dismay, it seemed someone tried to killed you rather unceremoniously while also endangering the lives of so many others.

And being the lead researcher over 096, as well as his self-proclaimed “BFF”, you were able to waltz in and give him a gentle pat on the back, comforting his confused state.

You lovingly secured the bag over his head, the only thing that gives him the maximum comfort and relief, and stood him on the ‘X’ marked on the floor, all set and ready for the MTF to transport him back to containment.

[nugothrhythms]

“Parable” by Brooklyn, New York based darkwave duo A Cloud of Ravens to be featured on their upcoming album Lost Hymns, coming April 2023

[solanine-and-swords]

i’ve been listening to ancient latin hymns for the last five hours and im just like. this must be what it feels like to be ronan lynch. i feel like im simultaneously in a church and burning something down. highly recommend

[violetmoondaughter]

Athena

Παλλὰς μουνογενής, μεγάλου Διὸς ἔκγονε σεμνή,

δῖα μάκαιρα θεά, πολεμοκλόνος, ὀμβριμόθυμε,

[Ἄῤῥητ’, εὐρήτη, μεγαλώνυμος, ἀντροδίαιτε·

ἥ τε διαΐσσεις ὑψαυχένας ἀκρωρείας,

ἠδ’ ὄρεα σκιόεντα, νάπῃσί τε σὴν φρένα τέρπεις.]

ὁπλοχαρής, οἰστροῦσα βροτῶν ψυχὰς μανίῃσιν·

γυμνάζουσα κόρη. φρικώδεα θυμὸν ἔχουσα.

Γοργοφόνος, φυγόλεκτρε, τεχνῶν μῆτερ πολύολβε.

ὁρμάστειρα, φίλοιστρε κακοῖς, ἀγαθοῖς δὲ φρόνησις.

ἄρσην μὲν καὶ θῆλυς ἔφυς, πολεμήτοκε μῆτι.

αἰολόμορφε, δράκαινα, φιλένθεος, ἀγλαότιμε·

Φλεγραίων ὀλέτειρα γιγάντων, ἱππελάτειρα.

Τριτογένεια, λύτειρα κακῶν, νικηφόρε δαῖμον,

γλαυκῶφ’, εὑρεσίτεχνε, πολυλλίστη βασίλεια

ἤματα καὶ νύκτας αἰεὶ νεάταισιν ἐν ὥραις,

κλῦθί μευ εὐχομένου, δὸς δ’ εἰρήνην πολύολβον,

καὶ κόρην ἠδ’ ὑγίειαν ἐπ’ εὐόλβοισιν ἐν ὥραις.

Only-begotten Pallás, born of the revered lineage of mighty Zeus,

Heavenly happy Goddess, warlike, indomitable,

[Ineffable, yet easy to know, glorious, cave-dwelling,

You dart across the hills and towering ridges,

And the shadowy mountains, and you delight your heart with the valleys.]

Delighting in arms, you who drive the souls of men to madness;

Athletic Maiden. Having a spirit of dreadful nature,

Slayer of the Gorgóhn, virginal, abundant mother of the arts.

Advocate, frenzy-loving to the wicked, but prudence in the good.

You are male and female, oh shrewd one who generates war,

Form-changing, dragoness, divine inspiration, revered,

Destroyer of the Phlægraiôn Giants, equestrian.

Tritoyǽneia, deliverer from sorrows, victorious divinity,

Gleaming, inventor of crafts, queen besought by many prayers

Day and night even into the final hours:

Hear my prayer, give me peace and wealth, 

And satisfaction and health with prosperous seasons.

[wolveria]

The Raven's Hymn - Ch 40

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings: Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

CHAPTER WARNINGS (Rated E): Explicit sexual content, monster fucking, nonhuman anatomy, non/dubcon (more on the side of dubcon), intense but brief anxiety, hurt/comfort

Chapter Summary: “Is there any other way?”

AO3

It felt like the last day of your life.

You didn’t move from the bed for some time. Waking up within the warm circle of 049’s arms, your cheek resting against his chest, was something you never thought you would have. It also came at great cost, and you would pay it soon.

But when? When would the deed need to be carried out? Were you supposed to start immediately? Wait for instruction? It was a horrible thought, but you wished Leahy had been clearer about what exactly he wanted. It was the gaps of knowledge, the unknown parts you were supposed to guess at, that left you frozen with indecision.

049 didn’t rouse you, though he must have known you were awake. He didn’t speak, and you didn’t either. There wasn’t much left to say, but it seemed there should be. You weren’t going anywhere, so why did it feel like you were supposed to say goodbye? Express regrets and wish for things you could have done differently. It felt closer to mourning than it did waiting for an execution.

049 only stirred when the food slot opened, delivering breakfast. He carefully ran his gloved fingers along the back of your hair, his breath tickling the crown of your head.

“You should eat,” he said softly.

“I’m not hungry.”

“I assumed as much.”

You curled closer, seeking out his comfort, and then you stiffened. You sat up quickly, letting his arm fall away from your shoulders. You didn’t want him to think—you just wanted closeness, not…

With a bitter glance at the camera, you moved down to the foot of the bed and got out. The bed itself had one side pushed against the wall about midway up the room. The bookshelf was at its head, and beyond that, the desk and bathroom area. But towards the foot of the bed, in the back corner, sat the camera. It would give a perfect view of… of…

You retrieved the food tray and laid it out on the counter, leaving plenty for 049 to partake, though most days he didn’t. You forced yourself to nibble as much as you could, your stomach too much a knot to allow more than a few pieces of fruit and half a bagel. It was an unfortunate side effect of your anxiety. When you needed energy the most, that’s when your body refused to have an appetite.

049 didn’t comment on your sudden departure, and the air in the chamber was somber. That’s what it felt like, the both of you preparing for a funeral. It almost made you break the silence just to say something, even if it was mundane small talk. You wanted to ask about the medical files, or his journal, or anything at all. Something to fill the space with more than just heavy waiting.

The silence stretched on, though really it was more accurate to call it white noise. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights, the dull rumble of the air conditioner. It was the ordinary ambience of an office space minus the water cooler chatter. If you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine you were back at your old office, ignorant to a world that made little sense and held even less compassion.

Your period of waiting was interrupted by a click of the intercom. You flinched upright on a lab stool, like a rabbit hearing a gunshot in the woods, ears perked and legs tensed to leap. You’d been staring vacantly at the medical files, not reading the words or seeing the faces, and now your full attention was on the speaker in the ceiling.

“Tonight.”

That’s all they said. You couldn’t tell who the voice belonged to—not the Site Director, but the order clearly came from him.

Tonight. It had to be done tonight.

“What time is it?”

049 had been at his desk in the inner chamber, but he stood at the threshold between the chambers now.

“Ten twenty-five, AM.”

You didn’t doubt his innate ability to sense time. He was never wrong. Your stomach roiled but you kept down your meager breakfast.

The day passed with a vicious graduality. You wished they had given a specific time. Or given no time at all. It was as if this whole project was designed to break your mind as well as shred what was left of your dignity.

At some point, you put your head down on the counter, hunched over on your stool, reports forgotten. The darkness under your crossed arms was a respite from the constant fluorescent lights, a shield from the observation window. Let them see you defeated. There was something freeing about having nothing left to hide.

Time passed in a restless haze between dozing and spacing out. Two meal deliveries signaled the passing of the day, and you ignored them. 049 didn’t attempt to speak to you, perhaps knowing this quiet deprivation was what you needed. He had always been perceptive that way.

You didn’t focus on anything at all until a gentle touch grazed your arm. You didn’t flinch. There was only one person who would touch you that way, and you wouldn’t retreat from him.

“Doctor?”

You raised your head, blinking at the bright lights and bending your back to sort out the kinks. You looked over your shoulder, but 049 didn’t speak immediately. He simply studied your face, his eyes soft with concern.

“What time is it?” you asked. What else was there to track but the time?

“Ten minutes after seven.”

“Mmm. When does the sun set?”

“Half past the hour.”

Punctual as ever, your masked physician. You gave a small smile, but it felt empty. It faded as you looked past him to the open door of the inner containment chamber where you spied the bed and its innocuous dressings.

You turned back to the counter and braced your hands against it to push yourself up. No point in delaying. Sunset was the best indicator of night, and it was better to get it done and over with.

Maybe… maybe it would be easier after the first time.

You didn’t know how you managed to make it into the inner room without stumbling. Your knees were shaking, your calves constructed of gelatin, and your lungs pulled for air.

You walked toward the bed, and then past it. You turned around and walked the other way. You paced, back and forth, your breathing becoming more erratic, spots dancing in your vision.

You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do thisyoucouldntdothisyoucou—

Something broad and dark blocked your way. Gentle hands held your shoulders in place, and 049 said, “Breathe.”

You tried to obey, but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Slowly. In… and out. As I’m doing.”

You copied his breaths, slow and steady. In for several seconds, hold, then slowly out. Repeat. Focus on his breathing and nothing else.

When your body wasn’t wound as tight as a coil, you swallowed compulsively and chanced a look. 049 met your gaze steadily. There was no fear or anger there, just the weight of his worry.

You pressed your lips together to keep them from trembling, and your voice came out a whisper.

“Is there any other way?”

It felt childish to seek comfort in this moment, but you were weak. Too weak to find a way out of this, too weak to prevent this from happening. Too weak to face this alone.

His hand cupped the side of your jaw.

“If there is, I do not see it.”

Your head dipped in agreement. This was it, then.

049 pulled you into his arms, and he held you carefully but warmly. Always so warmly.

“This isn’t the end,” he said low in your ear. “We do as they command, we survive another day on their terms, but it will not always be this way. And there are things not even they can take.”

When you pulled back there was certainty in his eyes, along with something else. An intensity buried within that stirred something inside you, and this time, you didn’t stifle it.

“Okay,” was all you said. You took his hand and led him to the bed.

You let go when you got under the covers and made room for him. You pulled off your leggings and underwear, keeping the white smock on. Fuck whoever was watching, you weren’t giving them more of a show than you had to.

049 joined you under the covers more slowly, his movements careful as he laid down. He didn’t touch you, and it took a moment to remember what he’d said before. In this area, you had more knowledge than he did, or at least more practical experience. You would have to lead.

“Do you need to get undressed?” you asked, not sure how this was supposed to work with his robes also acting as skin.

“No. This will be sufficient.”

He was on his side facing you, but he seemed indecisive. Out of his element.

You gave him a small smile only he could see and took his arm, gently tugging it toward you.

“Come here.”

He obeyed, but his movements were still cautious, testing the waters. You continued to pull, indicating you wanted him to lie on top of you, and his eyes focused on your face, uncertain.

That trepidation vanished as soon as his weight settled on you, his hips nestled between your legs. You moved them apart, making room for him. His gaze darkened and his hands curled into the sheets on either side of your shoulders.

Your smock was caught between your legs, putting a barrier between you, and you pulled it up to your stomach. 049 closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath as your bare skin pressed against his robes.

The intercom clicked on.

“No covers.”

049’s eyes flew open, a soft growl escaping as he reached behind him to throw off the blankets from the bed. He muttered a heated, “Va te faire enculer,” in the direction of the camera.

You had no idea what he said, but you certainly liked the way the crude French rolled off his tongue.

“My… apologies,” he said, turning back to you. “I should not have lost my composure.”

You bit your tongue to keep from telling him losing his composure was necessary for what you were about to do. He would learn that soon enough.

“It’s fine.” Your voice was gravel. You cleared it. “Are you ready?”

His gaze softened, and oh, it had a dangerous affect at close distance.

“I am. Are you?”

You nodded and winced at the clinical nature of it, but that was probably the best approach. Have sex only long enough for 049 to orgasm, and then it could be done with.

Except you couldn’t stop trembling. It was equal parts anticipation and nerves. If you’d had sex semi-recently (how long had it been?), perhaps this would have been much easier. You could treat it as a chore, an item to check off your duties for the day. Or more accurately, something you had to do under threat of further torture and humiliation.

Except your body wasn’t responding as if it was under duress. The tension that had been growing each day you spent with 049 was building to a point of unbearable pressure. Your cheeks were hot, skin tingling in all the places you touched, and you could only guess what your expression looked like. With the way 049’s gaze roamed your face, taking in every detail, you were more exposed than your half-nakedness.

What did it matter how clinical you were? You ached to touch him, to be touched, and you refused to allow 049’s first moments of intimacy be cold and distant.

You hooked your arms under his shoulders, splaying your hands across his back and gently pulled him down until his chest was against yours. 049 gave a shudder when more of his weight rested on you, his breathing slightly off-rhythm.

That’s it, you thought, rubbing your hands across the back of his shoulders. Just relax.

His face pressed against the side of your cheek, the curve of his beak against your jaw, and you automatically opened your legs wider. Your heart was hammering, and the trembling was there but not as harsh. Your own body relaxed under his weight, yearning for his hands on you, but he kept them dutifully gripped into the bed sheet.

Something warm and heavy pressed against your hip. You frowned, confused as to what it was, and then understanding hit you when you shifted against it and 049 released another halting breath.

You tilted your hips up in silent permission, keeping your lips firmly closed, not knowing what sounds you would make if you opened your mouth. You wanted to take him into your hands, discover the shape of him, get him to make more of those noises that he was keeping trapped in his throat.

But you kept your hands on his back, and 049 adjusted himself, moving one arm between you. He grabbed himself to line up with your entrance, but he hesitated, even now with his eyes dark and his voice a rasp.

“Are you sure?”

You made a kind of strangled noise and nodded.

His eyes grew darker, a new hunger in their depths, and he lined up with you, the head of his cock pushing against your folds. You drew in a sharp breath. The shape was different, the head tapered, and it pressed against your entrance.

The head slipped inside with some resistance, and that’s where he couldn’t go any further. He was wider past the head, larger than a human, and you weren’t nearly wet enough yet.

“Keep going,” you grit out. You kept your face as blank as possible, but something of your pain must have shown through.

“I have- in my satchel, there are bottles. Lubricants I can retrieve—”

“No.” You gripped his arm. “No, don’t leave.”

If he left now, you’d lose your nerve. You couldn’t start this over again. You couldn’t.

“Stay,” you repeated, your voice shaking as if you were on the verge of crying. Because you were. “Please.”

He released himself, settling his weigh again as he cupped his other hand against your hair.

“I will not hurt you.”

You wanted to say he wouldn’t, or if he did, you could take it—you’d endured far worse. But you remained quiet, distracted by his thumb stroking your hair. His gaze was thoughtful, slightly off focus.

“There are… other methods I can employ to make the process smoother.”

“Okay.” You would agree to nearly anything at this point, just as long as he didn’t leave. “Whatever you want.”

Your nerves were frayed, the trembling was getting noticeable again, and you regretted not eating anything all day. You waited, not sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t for 049 to bring his hand towards your face. He hesitated, his thumb tracing the outline of your jaw. You searched his face questioningly, and he took a breath.

“Since I cannot do it myself, I will need you to coat my fingers with your saliva.”

Oh. Oh.

You swallowed and nodded. For having all the experience, you were the one slow to catch up, but your apprehension melted when his fingers touched your lips. The tip of your tongue tasted him without thinking.

His eyes grew sharp as he pressed his fingers past your lips into your mouth. You welcomed the intrusion, sucking the digits automatically, tasting the strange, living leather.

The pads of his fingers pressed down on your tongue. He probably wouldn’t need to do anything more than that to get you ready, but you weren’t going to stop him. Heat pooled low in your gut, fueled by his single-minded focus on your mouth.

There was no true reason for you to swirl your tongue around his fingers or to suck them down nearly to the last knuckle. No rationale behind it, yet you did it, imagining another part of him heavy and full in your mouth. 049 sucked in a breath and shifted his weight. The warmth of his cock against your leg along with the pressure in your mouth had you salivating. By the time he removed his fingers with a wet pop, they were slick with your spit.

049’s hand slipped between you again, touching your inner thigh. His fingers trailed upwards, dipping between your folds, and his fingers pressed against your clit.

Unlike when he joined you in bed, filled with uncertainty and doubt, his fingers moved with precision. Surgeon’s fingers. They pulled you apart with gentle eagerness, coaxed with deft certainty. First one finger than two circled around the sensitive nub, stimulating it into hardness with startling ease.

A surprise moan punched out of you, and you tilted your head back, fighting to control your breathing.

049 dipped his fingers down your slick folds to your entrance, prodding inside without much resistance before dragging his fingers back up, drenching your nub with your own arousal.

“What—” you choked out. “Where… did you learn to…”

He spoke into your ear, a hint of smugness to his words.

“The human body is familiar territory I have traversed countless times. It has its secrets, but I know them all.”

You nearly choked on your own breath, your chest rising and falling too fast as you tried to remain somewhat in control. His fingers slipped back inside your entrance, rubbing against the spongy material on the inside wall as his thumb rubbed circles against your clit.

You weren’t going to last long like this. He’d already made you wet enough so penetration would no longer run the risk of injury, but he didn’t stop. You didn’t want him to stop, you wanted to come on his fingers just as you’d wanted to when he’d given you that first examination, unfairly making your body respond like a well-tuned instrument to his ministrations.

Your peak was rapidly approaching, and it was not one you would be able to bear in silence. It was going to hit you hard, for everyone to witness for their dissection and cataloguing.

You couldn’t—you didn’t want them to—

“Stop.”

It was a testament to his self-control that 049 stilled his movements. You were breathing hard, sweat damp on your skin, a ruined mess with just a few strokes of his hand.

049’s focus was sharp, devouring in the way a predator would savor over their prey whimpering between their claws. But he didn’t move, and concern crept into his eyes as he searched yours.

“I don’t… want them to see.”

Your eyes burned with humiliation, with the force of your need and the shame of it.

“Turn me over.”

His gaze flickered with understanding, but there was concern there too, and he seemed as if he was going to speak. But then he removed his fingers from inside you and lifted up, a hand on your hip turning you onto your stomach.

When his weight settled along your back, his cock pressed against your thigh, you bit into the pillow to muffle the moan. It felt different in this position, your hips automatically lifting from the bed, desperate to rub against him. There was no hesitancy this time, your need far greater than your fear. You didn’t care what the cameras saw now, what little they could see. He was once again shielding you from your watchers, his broad form keeping their prying eyes from your skin.

Your smock had ridden over your breasts, and your pert nipples rubbed against the sheets, drawing out another low moan. 049 adjusted himself so his cock hung just behind you, heavy and hot against your folds.

“Please,” you begged, your knees braced against the bed, lifting your hips as much as you could with him weighing you down. “Please.”

He growled low, his face pressed into your hair just behind your ear, and he lined himself up. He pushed, the head of his cock breaching your entrance easier this time, followed by the wider length of his girth.

You whined between your teeth, the stretch almost too much even with your arousal making a mess down your thighs. He held your hip with one hand, biting out something in French.

Insatiable, you tried to meet him, pushing back, and forcing another inch or two inside. He gave a gutted noise, as if the pleasure was almost too much. It was a beautiful sound; you wanted to hear it again. You tried to wiggle further backwards, take more of him, but he grabbed your hip firmly with his other hand, making you still.

“Wait,” he spoke in that same breathless shudder. “One moment.”

You didn’t have a choice with his vice-like grip on your body. He breathed heavily, a shiver rippling through him, and God, you wanted him fully inside you so much it hurt. The cameras, the observers, they didn’t matter in the face of the hunger that licked up your thighs and heated your core.

“Please,” you whispered, his face so close you didn’t need to speak louder. “I can do this.”

He let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.

“It is not a question… of your capability.” His words were taut as a wire. “It is a matter of strength, and how I must... restrain mine.”

You took his hand and placed it on the bed, slipping yours underneath. You twined your fingers with his, your knuckles braced against his palm. What should have been a lethal touch, but for you, never would be.

“I trust you.”

049 shivered, his forehead pressed against your hair, his body trembling in an effort to remain still.

“I need you.” You squeezed his fingers. “I want you.”

You sensed when he stopped fighting it. His posture relaxed, no longer rigid, and he pulled back a few inches. He pushed back in, the sudden intrusion hot and wet and sending sparks up your spine. You arched back against him, and the next thrust went deeper.

Unshed tears blurred your vision, the stretch and fullness almost too much and yet not enough. It was on the third thrust that his hips connected with yours, snug against you as his cock filled you past what any other human could.

You could barely think, barely breathe, your body a useless, lustful thing. A moan dragged out of you as you leaned back against him, and with his own answering growl he pushed you flat against the mattress.

The restraint he’d tried to maintain was gone, though his movements weren’t careless. Each thrust down into you, each roll of his hips was done with intention, a drive to ruin you for anyone else. You were completely full, your walls clinging to the strange textures of his skin, the curve of his cock striking a deep bundle of nerves you didn’t even know were there.

His skin was hot, almost burning every place he touched you, his cock sending jolts of heat down your gut. His breathing ran ragged, accentuated by the harsh metallic effect of this voice. Any moans that slipped out were quiet but choked with pleasure, driving him harder into you.

Your mind was a bubbling, staticky mess. 049 wasn’t just thick, there were ridges along his shaft, a pattern you couldn’t discern, not with your mind a jumbled haze. Every thrust rubbed against more than one sensitive spot, leaving you a drooling, panting mess as your walls slowly tightened around him. You were close to reaching your peak, and this time, you weren’t going to stop.

His hand hadn’t left yours, his fingers clawing the sheets underneath. But his other hand rounded your hip to press flat against your abdomen, right above your pelvis. Comforting. Protective.

Possessive.

White light burst behind your eyes. You were a vice around him, forcing him to slow as you throbbed and arched your spine. 049 growled, losing his rhythm. Something large pressed against your entrance at the base of his shaft. You didn’t know what it was, but you grinded against it with a single-minded need even though it was far too large for you to take.

More French expletives spilled from him as he forced you to remain in place, but the hot barrier pressed against your entrance as 049 shuddered with a low growl that was almost animalistic. He throbbed inside you as he gasped for air, each breath hot against your neck. He dipped his head against your shoulder, releasing your abdomen to slide upward, wrapping his arm around your waist.

You released a heavy breath and relaxed, bliss washing over you like a soothing wave, aided by his warm weight on your back. You still pulsed around him, but it was a dull, pleasant sensation. Closing your eyes, you let yourself stay in the moment. No thoughts or worries or fears.

Just him. Only him.

Next Chapter

[pylonangel]

[tylermileslockett]

Hey folks, this image of Apollo was done for a private commission. Xoxo

The following text is reposted from my previous Apollo Olympians image.

“Phoebus, of you even the swan sings with clear voice to the beating of his wings, as he alights upon the bank by the eddying river Peneus; and of you the sweet-tongued minstrel, holding his high-pitched lyre, always sings both first and last…And so hail to you, lord! I seek your favor with my song.”  (-Homeric Hymn, translated by H.G. Evelyn white)

APOLLO (uh-PAH-low), God of prophecy, oracles, music, art, protector of and disease of boys and men, and archery. Just as his twin sister Artemis is patron to women and girls, Apollo is both protector, and killer from disease of boys and men. In my Illustration the god holds his bow and arrows behind, while he strums the lyre gifted to him by trickster Hermes. Near the sun flies his ally and divine messenger, a white raven. The column on the right is capped with a cow, representing his sacred animal as a god of herds. The serpent Python sits dead at his feet, killed by Apollo’s arrow so that the god could take over the Delphi temple location. The temple complex sits beneath the god, while on the far right, the Pythia (Apollo’s oracle priestess) sits upon a tripod, breathing the hallucinatory gasses seeping up from the earth to get her prophecies which she bestows upon visitors.

The laurel tree has associations with Apollo because the god, chasing a Naiad (water nymph) named Daphne call out to Gaia (mother earth) for help, who transformed the nymph into a laurel tree, which the god adopted as his sacred tree. In book 1 of the Iliad, Apollo supports the Trojans by raining down a plague on the Greeks, and later helping Paris to kill Achilles. Apollo’s cruelty is shown in Ovid’s mythical lyre contest with the inventor of the flute; a satyr named Marsyas. When Apollo suggested they play their instruments upside down, the satyr lost, and was flayed (skinned) alive as punishment for his hubris. 

[ceruleancattail]

Kissing Lilia’s calloused fingers.

Holding his hands tenderly within yours, rubbing reassuring little circles into the back of his palm. Lowering your lips onto his skin, feeling his body heat waft against your lips, gently caressing every inch it could reach. Pressing a small, soft kiss into his palm, before glancing up at him.

Lilia let out a little sigh, a small smile sliding across his lips. His shoulder slump ever so slightly, the tension melting away from them gradually. He looks at you, a loving gaze that made your heart skip a beat.

Clasping his hands within yours, feeling the callouses that line his palm. Rough, hardened patches of skin, the fruit of all his efforts. The results of the training he endured as a young man. The scars from a war he fought eons ago, for the people he loved.

The story of his life, etched in flesh and blood. Yet not all of the pages were filled with misery. Lilia has more callouses now, from his days in Night Raven College.

Tough patches on the very tip of his fingers, from nylon strings pressed too tightly. His bass has a tendency to bite back whenever he strummed its strings a little too vigorously. Could you really blame him? With the music blaring all around him, the bass shaking the very stage, and the crowd of students screaming out the lyrics alongside him….the adrenaline just rushed through his veins.

Perhaps he would still have some semblance of self control, then. Until Lilia met your eyes. In the throng of people, screaming your throat out. Waving to the beat of the song, cheering for him as loudly as you could. He saw himself reflected in those lovely irises of yours.

Only Lilia, in your eyes, filled with the gentle twinkling of awe. Well, since you’re watching ever so passionately…. Lilia just supposes he’ll have to put on a show. This old man still has some life in him yet. Goodness, you really bring out the best in him, don’t you?

His palms have changed,having enrolled in Night Raven College. Callouses on his fingers, from writing long, sweet letters to you by the moonlight, pen skating through the page in its sleek cursive. For the plainness of instant messaging wasn’t as intimate as handwritten letters, packed and sealed with a gentle kiss.

Callouses on his fingers, from strumming his bass all day, trying to figure out the words he’ll use in his song. A hymn to you, and only you. Music is the language of love, was it not? Let Lilia attempt to speak to you, straight from the melodies of his heart.

Lilia changed, ever so slight. But is that not beautiful? Is it not the destinity of something… someone so loved?

To be loved, is to be changed.

Lilia doesn’t mind too much, if it meant he could be loved by you.

[corundumb]

Sidelines pg 1

Branched from @wolveria The Ravens Hymm

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

T-48 hours to Armageddon (when we watch me finish GO Season 2), I want to make a statement. and a will.

I've been getting a lot of ominous statements from the fandom. They've become increasingly concerned for my mental stability and even survival post the season two finale (thanks guys). I feel like as mascot I need to make some kind of statement, in case I do not survive the Final Fifteen. Maybe a will. Don't worry, this contains no spoilers (?) and no speculations or fanfiction about season 3. It is simply My Dramatic Outpouring of Poetic Emotion.

Firstly, @neil-gaiman, good day to you, Neil, this is the first interview (?) I have watched of yours. And I see you said "quiet, gentle and romantic" which until now I was kind of assuming was a fandom inside joke. I'm glad I know what to expect going into the second half of season two. In case I do not survive, thank you very much for this journey, you have created a masterpiece. I think I will watch Coraline in the next 48 hours since I am living on borrowed time and I do very much want to watch that before it all ends.

Secondly, to all the maggots, thank you very much for kidnapping me and dragging me into this beautiful pain with you. I do not think I will survive the Final Fifteen. I fell for Crowley and Aziraphale too deeply. But all my love to you, and I hope you will ensure my memory lives on. Take my posts and my meagre contributions, for they are yours. Maybe @1800ineedshelp, Lina, you can ask the maggot choir to sing Eleimon Aegovoskos (for those unaware, that is a hymn I wrote for Crowley) at my funeral, if my body is found and not discorporated. @queermarzipan I need you to mention my love for Drarry.

I have already put a POTC post in queue, maybe I'll add a few more so I linger painfully on this site even after my mortal remains are resigned to the stardust that Crowley once created.

Thirdly, @howmanyholesinswisscheese, please make the funeral arrangements and pay for them, thank you. You can play Someone to Stay if you like as you cry over your beloved late son (me). I hope I was your favourite (only) problem child and family disappointment.

Those who made art for me, @ivory--raven, @1800ineedshelp, @madfangirlontheloose, @arkytiorlecter, my deep thanks, let it be displayed in lieu of a photo.

Lastly, OFMD fandom, I'm sorry I entered so late. Make sure the show is renewed. Fly your gay flag high for me.

I still have two days, but I'm taking precautions because I'm very organised like that. Take my love, maggots, all of you, I couldn't tag everyone though I want to. May the nightingales sing again.

Your mascot and prophet, very, very dramatically yours,

Asmi

[mambalae-s]

fallen glory — ushijima wakatoshi x reader

wc: 3.2k words

cw: god! wakatoshi x nymph! reader; unprotected sex; breeding kink; size kink; wakatoshi is a big boi; reader is described as a black woman; degradation; manhandling; ; creampie; not proof read; if i’m forgetting anything please let me know!

notes from author: please, if you’re under 18, do NOT interact with or read this post. i will block you.

there are legends among mortal towns, the tellings of stories passed on by flesh and bone. a god, mankind will utter through shrouds of smoke, beneath fire-lit nights of centuries old, where the stars would even hold their breath to hear the words of divine destruction. a god so mighty and fearsome that wields power in his breath alone, that the earth would tear herself apart and offer her burning heart, that she would so desperately beseech her master that this mere sacrifice would be enough to please him. mankind would sing those sorrow-filled ballads of flaming rivers that sputtered brilliant embers, so brilliant in their dying glory that venus herself would weep and beg for mercy.

and this god, oh, this righteous and almighty god, his heart would mirror the depths of darkness. how cruel, this god, that he would beckon the tempests and the floods to destroy and ruin the earth, that he would paint wars and famine across endless seas and planes until there would be nothing left of man. when he bestows his wrath on bellowing thunders and rips the heavens asunder with magnificent lightning, he holds no mercy for the weak and unfaithful. his eyes behold, and his left hand cast their judgement, and the earth can do nothing but wait with bated breath as the universe stands still around her, powerless, and without charge of the pestilence that would next consume her and wipe her filthy soul clean once more.

oh, but who could imagine the divine’s demise at the hands of a damsel?

let these words not travel far, lest they spread across continents and reveal him for what he is. let the world not know of his mortality, of a heart that quivers before summer-touched evenings and sings wretched hymns of manly lust and desire. of his visits to the holy garden, they must not learn, even less should they know of the soul that resides there — the very same that would tame the tempest, and incite a hunger so ravenous and feral only to quench it all the same.

he’s here; you know without even looking, and your intuition tells you that he knows that you know. you don’t need to look behind you to know that wakatoshi’s watching you, eyes of gold and olive that stalk you like a hunter. he takes in every part of your image as a devotee does with visions. the droplets of water that glisten across dark brown skin, the sheer white fabric that clings to your full mounds and ass, barely doing anything to conceal your perked nipples, or the dip between your plush thighs. by the heavens, you truly are a vision of sin and desire — one that held the key to destruction between two-toned lips and written like scriptures among dark coils of hair akin to sacred vines.

“well?” you sigh, sinking further into the pond. the cool water kisses your skin with a tenderness that washes away the day’s searing heat. goosebumps rise across your body and you lull your head to the side, and that’s when you see him, your god come here to visit the garden of eden. “will you just stand there or are you gonna join me?”

how brazen, you must’ve sounded, irreverent as if you knew not the god who’d walked into your sanctuary. yet you knew all too well who he was, and you knew what he’d come for. you knew that, just with the sight of your body drenched in water, you could unravel this benevolent god and reduce him to nothing but a man lost in desire. since the first day he found you here on a lonely spring’s afternoon so many years ago, you’d somehow wrapped his tongue between your teeth and poisoned him with pleasure untold so that he would return time and time again. he reminds you of a lunatic, seeking the taste of your nectar like a man who knows nothing else, and you’d become his drug and his achilles heel, the very thing that could unwind this god and render him to nothingness.

the waters part to make way, welcoming wakatoshi into the pool as he comes close to you. his body presses against yours and he leaves no room between, so greedy in the way his fingers dip into your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck to take in your scent. you reach up one hand to wrap into his long, jade green locks, and you pull him closer to you, eager to feel his lips leaving soft kisses across your skin.

“i can’t stop thinking about you…” he grumbles into your jawline, hungry and impatient. his fingers wrap into the thin fabric of your gown, nails digging into your flesh as he pulls you closer, pressing his hard cock into your ass as if he wants it to disappear between it. “fuck, what are you doing to me?”

you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips, though you know there’d be no sense trying to. coyly, you reach for one of his hands and bring it down to your pussy, pressing his palm flat against it and pushing yourself further against his length. “nothing, darling.” the words that leave you are teasing, almost to test him — accentuated by your sugary laugh when his fingers begin to peel your dress against your skin without you needing to tell him. “it’s you who keeps coming back here on your own accord.”

his fingers dip between your thighs and your knees buckle a bit when they brush against your pussy. you’re wet, wakatoshi discovers your slick already pooling into his hands despite him hardly even touching you. tauntingly, he caresses you, pools your slick along his fingers as he so barely slides them between your swollen cunt to hear the hiss that slips out of your mouth.

“look at you,” he chuckles, condescending. “so needy already, hm? do you want a god’s cock to defile you that badly?”

he’s baiting you, drawing on your words like a puppeteer, you know it. only touching you ever so slightly, giving you the smallest taste of what he knows you want, yet he wants you to beg for it. he wants you to throw yourself unto desperate abandon and give yourself up to him. and it’s working too damn well. greedily, you try to sink yourself down on his fingers, but he quickly stops you with a hand around your throat. frustrated, you whimper. “wakatoshi…” you keen. “for god’s sake, stop toying with me already!”

his teeth sink into your neck suddenly, the sensation of his lips sucking on your flesh causing your pussy to flutter. “nngh…” overcome with weakness, your head falls back against his chest, and your eyes are forced to behold the behemoth of a man behind you; the glistening droplets that slide down olive skin and the furrowed lines atop his expression. his lips part on breaths heavy and weighted as he squeezes his fingers tighter around your throat, and your own breath catches beneath his grip. you’re left wanting, needing the very air he robs you of, needing him inside your core, needing him and everything he’d give to you.

ah, you think bitterly, i’ll lose this war again today.

“you know what i want to hear from you, little one.” wakatoshi’s words ghost against the shell of your ear, causing you to shiver, heat coursing through each pulse despite the chill of the water. he takes his hand from your soiled thighs and brings his fingers to his mouth, and you watch with eyes glazed by lust as he sucks your juices from them and groans. “hurry…” he huffs. his cock twitches against your ass impatiently, his balls almost ready to burst and bury themselves inside your tight little cunt. “you know i don’t like waiting…”

those words so heavy and fogged over by hunger, you know he’s teetering on the very edge of snapping, letting you know that you’re not the only one who wants the other. he makes slow, intentional work of licking his fingers clean and he sees the way your inhibitions snap behind your eyes, revels in the whimper that leaves your lips as your hands fly to remove your dress all on your own. your breasts fall freely for him to see them glistening under filtered sunlight and of sight of your pursed nipples causes his length to twitch hungrily against your ass.

“please…!” inhibitions abandon you, your pride lost on the incessant pulsing between your legs. you need him to fill you, to ravish and demolish you — you’re aching now, impatient, craving him, “please, toshi, i need you inside me… now!”

you see the very moment wakatoshi reaches his limits and he snaps.

a yelp escapes you as he hoists you up, spinning you around to lock your legs around his hip. his lips crash into yours, mercilessly pushing his tongue into your wet cavern like a beast as he drinks you in. he feels your moans rumbling through his chest and he responds in kind, the space between you non-existent and your body flushed against him.

“that’s a good girl.” whimpering, you claw your fingers into his back as if holding on for dear life. “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you want to curse him for toying with you, want to shut that filthy, irreverent mouth of his but your mind is too cloudy to give anything but sweet pleas of his name. drool pools from between your lips as he draws his tongue along your neck, suckling and biting every inch of skin. you’ll bruise blue and purple, you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to care. you want him to mark you, want him to possess your body and soul.

your fingers tangle into his tresses of green hair and you pull, causing him to hiss against your neck. “enough already, wakatoshi..!” despite your harsh words, you know they sound like nothing but muddled pleas to him. he’s so much bigger than you, it’s hard to forget he still has control over you — the way his large palms squeeze your ass, the way your body has to sit just above his hip, it’s hard to forget that fact.

“just fuck me already! you act like you don’t know the things you do to me, haah, like you don’t know how much you make me want you even— nngh, even when… you’re not here…”

ah, but how unfair of you, isn’t it? how can you accuse him of such things when really, you’re the one who does this to him? how could you not know that your visage haunts him day and night? that he dreams of taking you over and over, of pumping your hole full of his seed until your tummy would swell? that even then, he’d keep filling you up, keening to hear those sweet, filthy cries of his name over and over? you must know what you do to him; he growls against your skin, sinking his teeth into your collar and causing you to cry out and pull against his hair. “then tell me what you want, darling…”

frustration bubbles within you like an erotic poison as you glare down into emerald orbs. have you not been clear enough for him? what prayers would it take to satisfy this insatiable god? for him to finally give himself to you and abandon all else? you’re already powerless here in his hands, your dress reduced to a soaking bundle that wraps around your waist where his hands palm your bare skin. the tip of his cock only barely touching your core, and you can do nothing but wait until he sinks you down unto it. struggle as you might, your need couldn’t be fulfilled until he wills it, until he finally lets in and use you like you want to be used.

“i want you to take responsibility…” pettily, you huff, eyes narrowing further at the coy grin that sits on his mouth. even with his flushed cheeks and your spit coating his skin, he looks up at you, waiting for you to finish. “i want you to destroy me and fuck me senseless. i want you to force me to take every drop of seed and use me until your fat cock empties out everything inside me.”

wakatoshi hums, pleased, it seems, by your words, though he knows he wouldn’t have been able to hold off any longer even if he hadn’t wrung them out of you. oh, the things you do to him without even knowing that turn him into a wild beast. he all but eagerly lines up the head of his throbbing dick to your entrance, and the warmth of it is already so welcoming as he parts your pussy lips, teasingly rubbing your clit.

“take responsibility, hm?” he purrs against your skin as you whimper, soon forcing out the loveliest scream of his name as he brings you down in one swift motion. he watched your eyes roll into the back of your head, drinks in the way your lips fly open as his length spreads you apart. his own eyes narrow and he clenches his teeth — your tight walls squeeze around him so deliciously, so small and delicate as they clamp around the intrusion. “such a pretty, fragile little doll, aren’t you? fuck…!”

god, he hadn’t even fully sunken into you yet, and already he felt himself hitting the tip of your cervix, pressing deeper and deeper and causing your entire body to convulse as drool pours from your lips, fat tears pooling on your waterline. your orgasm wrecks your body in waves and you tremble, already fucked too weak to even support yourself. helplessly, you fall limp into wakatoshi’s arms, neck lulling back so that you’re forced to look up at the god above you, forced to watch his face contort in mortal pleasure as your hole continues to needily suck him in.

“aww…” he coos at your pathetic form. he brings one hand to cup your messy cheek while the other continues to support your weight, pushing a thumb into your open lips. almost mindlessly, you latch unto it and begin sucking. “already? kitten, i’ve hardly done anything to you yet.” even then, wakatoshi wants more from you. he wants to fuck you senseless, break you to nothingness until you couldn’t think of anything but him inside you. so he pushes, deep past your walls until he fully buries himself inside you, his tip so deliciously hitting your womb. you squeal and tighten your legs at the sensation of him bottoming out of you, dig your nails deep into his arms as if to ground yourself from slipping further.

“w-wait…! please, toshi—!” you cry, though your words are lost on him, drowned by his heavy breaths as he presses his lips against yours, pleas swallowed up while your body shakes. “i only just came, i’m— nngaah! ‘m too sensitive, slow down— fuck! ahh!”

despite your begging, wakatoshi doesn’t give you a moment to recover. he sets a relentless pace of pounding into you, pushing deeper and deeper, the sound of his balls clapping so filthily against your slick not yet enough to hide each honey-coated wail he forces out of you. “you said to… hnngn— take responsibility, didn’t you?” roughly, he wraps his hand around your throat and forces you to look up at him, all so he can take in that beautifully fucked expression you wear, teardrops lining your lashes and your mouth wantonly gasping for air. “that’s exactly what i’m doing, darling. isn’t this what you wanted?”

“yes..!” you can’t deny it. lying to him would be no use, it’s too late to try. your body’s already betrayed you for the pleasure he gives you, your battered hole pulsing around him with each thrust as he stretched you impossibly wide. “yes, wakatoshi..! fuck! i wanted you to fuck me n use me just like this!”

he chuckles, sinful and ungodly, as he releases his hold on your throat to place it around your waist and pulls you down, over and over, repeatedly until your body can do naught but fall to his mercy. “haah..! nngh….! fuck, fuck, fuuuck!”

“that’s it, kitten, just like that.” oh, heavens help him, he already feels himself beginning to waver, his hips staggering as he drives into you. he’s so close, his cock twitching viciously inside your beaten pussy, so close to exploding and filling you up. “take everything, you hear me? i’m gonna cum deep inside your filthy little cunt, and you better take all of it. gonna breed you again and again.”

“mhn! mhn! mhhn!” you’re far too gone to even understand the words he growls at you, far too gone to care for much else other than the sensation of him breaking you apart, or for the prayer you let escape your corrupted heart. “do it..! do it, waka…! let everything out and cum inside me, please, please, please!”

oh, how good did it feel to be at his mercy, to let him ruin you time and time again, at his beck and call. beneath his hold, you release all senseless moral and surrender to the wicked hunger of a being far greater than you. without warning, your body convulses beneath your pleasure as your second orgasm crashes over you. it rips through every vein in your body and releases itself from your core and you scream, your mind gone blank as you cream and squirt all over him. the very coil wound so tightly within your gut breaks like a tidal wave and pushes you off the edge, and after a few more harsh thrusts, you’re granted your reward.

wakatoshi grunts and gasps as his cock bursts his cum inside you, near panting as he pulls you flush against his hip and forces every drop into your delicate womb. his fingers dig deep into your doughy flesh, moans falling from him like a man needing air. he’d spent every last drop inside of you, his chest heaves on the aftershocks of pleasure, but gods be damned, he isn’t through with you yet. you, crumbled against his chest and fucked positively dumb, he hadn’t yet had his fill of you.

“h-hey, wakatoshi, what’re you—!” your startled shout goes unheard by the god as he forces you off his cock, only to bend you over rear up against the edge of the pool. shivers involuntary wreck your body, your whole clenching and your form already weakened by him. “please, i can’t take anymore, lemme rest a little— gaah!”

he silences you quickly by pushing his fingers into your stretched hole, pushing his cum back inside you as your walls object, already far too sensitive. “didn’t you hear me?” he grins, though you can’t see his expression from behind you. so, he pulls you up by your neck, grinning as he towers over your small frame. oh, how feeble and defenseless you stood before him, your legs couldn’t even support your frame, and it was all because of him.

“i said i’d make sure to fill up this tight little cunt. i’m not just done with you yet.”

© mambalae-s — rb’s+feedback are greatly appreciated!!