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crystalflygeo · 1 year

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Heat haze ft Morax + fem!bunny adeptus!reader

cw/tags: heat/mating cycles, marathon sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, sex toy, improper use of geo (lmao), Morax has a dragon penis, pet names, fucked stupid, reader calls Morax "My Lord" and Morax calls her "my child", power play??

notes: Pure self-indulgent filth <3 I love the concept of heats in general and though on applying that to adepti, then I remembered it's bunny year so why not... apparently there is a bunny in chinese mythology called the "Jade Rabbit" who serves the Moon Goddess soooo. Anyway. Breeding kink goes brrrrrr.

“M-my lord... I’m sorry I’m ah-” You gulp and try to breathe through your mouth, fingers clenching and unclenching trying to regain some semblance of stability. “I’m not feeling very… well”

Shameful. Lord Morax came to see you, probably talk about important matters regarding this year’s crops and yet-

“Is this your first heat alone?”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn, on instinct you look up panicked as your long ears stiffen in shock but just as quickly you avert your gaze, unable to look at him in the face at the revelation, and to avoid staring at his regal visage, fearful of your own reactions if you were to do so.

Oh he knows. He knows. Of course he knows. As much as you tried to suppress it your scent is probably dripping with want, especially when your thoughts were spiraling out of control mere minutes ago. Being an adeptus in heat is hard enough, but as a Jade Rabbit… it was especially hard on you.

You blink heavily, dumbly, your brain can’t keep up with all the emotions right now. You feel lightheaded but still manage to force out an answer. “N-No… no, I’m… used to it.”

Morax tilts his head and the light catches on his majestic antlers making them glow, and you find it impossible not to look “Of course.” He nods, still keeping immaculate composure. “But haven’t you found a mate yet?”

A mate. Your rabbit ears droop. Ever since you vowed to serve Lord Morax you never had time for such things, with the on-going war and protecting the humans, even as a non-combatant adeptus your duties were many. Agricultural care and development, medical support, logistics… you never had it in you to find a mate. You were devoted to your contract, and, to Lord Morax himself.

“I’m… I haven’t found the r-right one yet…” You mumble, hugging yourself and rubbing at your arm nervously in an attempt to mimic something.

“Oh my child, I’m sorry.” Morax approaches you and tentatively cups your cheek, fingers barely caressing your jaw, the touch is fleeting yet electric.

His hand is warm.

You unconsciously lean into the touch.

And he smells so good, so good.

“I could assist you, if you would allow it.”

You immediately flinch back at the words.

“W-what?!”

Morax simply blinks at you and crosses his arms, putting some distance between you two again. “I apologize if my advances are unwelcome.”

“No my lord it’s n-not that.” You can’t help but stare at his strong biceps, blackened skin accented by fine gold linings…

You try to control your breathing and think! Rationally!!

But still, you’re curious. What would it be like? To feel your God’s scent, your God’s touch, your God’s co-

You quickly shake your head. No, no! That’s indecent, scandalous! You’re not worthy, that’s…

“It’s okay, my child.”

The warm touch is back, hands placed at your shoulders, grounding you, stabilizing you. A shiver runs down your spine yet it doesn’t freeze you on the spot, rather it feels…

Tender.

You stare up at him and this time hold your gaze. He’s handsome and his eyes are the purest brightest molten gold you've ever seen, the bright diamond pupils mesmerizing.

You whine and rub your thighs together on instinct.

“My Lord… p-please…”

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

“Ha-aahh… f-faster, please my Lord please- Ah-! Faster!”

You’re reduced to a babbling, moaning, drooling mess as you lay on golden silk sheets. Head down ass up, your arms have long since given up supporting you and your thighs tremble as Morax rams into your dripping wet pussy over and over and over again.

He lets out a low chuckle “So tight…” He whispers, voice deep and raspy with sex haze, the scent of your heat spurring him on and causing his own illuminated beast features to manifest, such as his powerful tail undulating behind him. “You’re practically dripping all over the place, and yet you take me so well…” his breath stutters with another snap of his hips and all you can do is moan loudly, mind foggy with need.

“Oh…” You gasp. “Oh.”

Without pause, he’s slamming into you repeatedly, pulling you down on his perfect thick cock and fucking fast methodical thrusts into you wet hole, aiming for a certain spot that has you seeing stars once he finds it.

“Ah! Ah… Ah!” Your voice barely registers through your own lust-hazed mind. Tears prickling at the corner of your eyes from the rapid buildup in your lower abdomen. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already came, your juices coating your inner thighs and soiling the precious silken sheets. Not that he seems to mind. “O-Oh… Ohhhh. My Lord… M-Morax…”

You’re pretty sure your God has ruined you for anyone else. No mortal or immortal would ever be able to compare to his divine cock, deliciously thick and filling, the dragon shaft lined with small ridges that rub just right against your insides and so utterly big you swear you can feel a slight bump on your navel every time he bottoms out.

You keen and whine when his strong clawed hands pull at your hips. Seems like your legs are also giving up on you so he holds you in place instead. And you love it. His musky scent. His smooth deep voice. His unfaltering stamina.

The Prime of the Adepti. A strong and virile dragon.

And he chose to mate you.

Suddenly you feel him drape over your back, his larger frame practically caging you, pressing against you until his chest meets your sweaty back and you feel his ragged breath against your neck, scenting you and your heat pheromones before sharp fangs graze your tender skin.

You moan and your pussy clamps down on him. You are so close….

“You feel amazing.” He growls. “So good... s-so good for me.”

You buck your hips up to him, clumsily meeting his thrusts as your small fluffy tail twitches. “Nnngh!”

You feel him bite at your shoulder and the sharp jolt of pain is enough to send you spiraling into another climax, moaning high-pitched and gripping him tighter inside you even as he fucked into your slick warmth. Despite the orgasm he shows no signs of slowing down, so neither do you, as the unbearable heat continues to burn inside you, an itch you can’t quite scratch. His hands reach out for your skin, caressing your soft breasts and marveling at how beautifully they fit into his hands. He rubs circles into one of your nipples before pinching it lightly and is rewarded with another high keen and a spasm around his cock.

“P-Please… please… I need it. Please-” You pant, voice laced with desperation, your nails digging into the bedsheets.

“What do you want?” Morax asks, nosing at your neck and lapping at the reddened bite mark he branded into your skin. “Tell me what you need, little one.”

“Breed me!” You choke out “F-Fill me up Lord Morax, I need you to… fuck m-me full, pleasepleaseplease-”

And how could he deny such a sweet plea? Morax redoubles his efforts, panting with exertion and pushing harder, faster, deeper. Shrill little gasps escaping you as your mind goes blank from the pleasure.

“Hah- I’ll breed you properly… mhh… fill you up.” He pants, his pace getting sloppier, his tail trashing wildly, you feel him twitch inside you. “You’re all mine. Mine to take… to fuck, to own, to breed-”

Morax’s breath hitches and he lets out a choked groan, spilling his load inside you in thick creamy spurts as you keen and squirm under him, too fucked stupid for words. You coo happily as the heat under your skin finally abates and you feel full, so full of his seed.

His grip loosens as his hips gradually slow down, head hung low as he catches his breath, his cock occasionally twitching inside you until it eventually softens. He gently pulls out admiring the way your pussy clenches on him, the way your legs shake, weakly trying to lock him there, keep him inside you. The drag and pull of his thick cockhead over your sensitive insides making you keen and whimper from its abuse until your pliant body falls onto the sheets, whining pitifully when you feel his slick seed dribble out of your swollen pussy. You try to close your legs and weakly paw at your core.

No, no, no… it’s supposed to stay inside. Lord Morax’s precious cum-

You squeak as you feel something smooth and solid press against your pussy lips.

“Shhh my dear, shhh.” He coos at you, deep voice soothing your frazzled nerves. “This is just a little something to keep it in, to keep you full.” He pushes gently, working what you now realize was a cor lapis plug into your body. You made another whimpering noise as your lips parted for the toy he’d created for you. Red, puffy pussy folds spread open as they did for his cock, taking the tip before he worked the rest until it finally sunk in, lewdly resting against your opening, a glittering orange gemstone keeping you full. “There, nice and snug, do you like it?”

Your only answer is a little chirp, your eyes half-lidded as your body relaxes.

“Such a good little bunny. You were so good to me my child, so good.” You smile drowsily at the praise, cooing at him as his hand pets your hair and scratches your fuzzy ear. He kisses at your shoulder and starts softly massaging your aching limbs “You were beautiful. You did so well, you took me so perfectly…”

You lean into his touch, curling up to his body, both of you still damp with sweat and other fluids. Resting for now until another wave of neediness hits you.

You both knew your heat would last at least other 4 days…

You idly wonder if by the end of the week you would be honored with carrying his offspring.

#genshin impact smut #zhongli smut #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #crys writes #fem reader #adeptus reader #fun fact I was going to give reader an adeptus name “Spring Bringer” but then I kinda just went meh #tell me if you'd like more of this though #<3

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lxclerc · 9 months

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𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔

summary… charles tries to help his girlfriend study but that proves to be difficult when he doesn’t understand a single thing requested… yes! warning… none. pure fluff.

note… another old drabble request from the graves of my inbox. also as a med student, i adore this idea so much

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

charles has never been the brightest tool in the shed when it came to academics. he supposes it comes with the occupation. growing up, he cared far too much about racing that he had no space left in his mind to care about school too. he was always meant to be a formula one driver so he never cared about the cell or the mitochondria.

ironically, you were the exact opposite. like him, you’ve known what you were meant to be the moment you got ahold of your first book. you’re going to be a doctor, a healer and you’ve dedicated yourself to that dream.

the human body is a beautiful machine, much like the universe. every little cell and atom circulating its vessel holds a purpose, creating a balance between life and death. it’s majestic, truly and a little bit scary. if one thing failed then the entire system could collapse and so you studied and studied and studied for ways to keep that system going, to cure ailments and diseases.

you thrive off academic validation and a minor superiority complex and yet somehow you’re the most anxious person charles has ever met.

he’s madly in love with you. this is a fact. him and his dream that required him to constantly put his life at risk and you with your dream of helping and saving people. really it was a match made in heaven. and charles is madly madly in love with you.

that’s the only reasonable explanation as he pulled himself out of his sim practice, seamlessly moving around the kitchen of your shared apartment as he prepared an ice coffee for you.

you’re drained and you’re on the verge of breaking down and so when he wrapped his arms around you and offered to help you study for your finals, you’d all but cried in gratitude.

no, charles leclerc didn’t care about the cell and mitochondria and but he cares greatly for you and so he’d study it if it meant you’d finally allow yourself to rest.

unfortunately for him, you’re way past learning about the mitochondria. instead you’re studying your worst enemy aka pharmacology.

“angiotensin receptor blockers prevent vasoconstriction and aldosterone release, causing a decrease in blood pressure and peripheral resistance,” you recite from the top of your head, still looking like you’re on the verge of tears but slightly better.

charles shook his head as he held the book you’d given him to help you study, his glasses on. “non, non, amour. it says here it’s ‘angiotensin receptor blockers selectively bind to the angiotensin I receptors in the blood vessels to prevent vasoconstriction and in the adrenal cortex to prevent release of aldosterone then lead to decrease in BP caused by decrease in peripheral resistance and blood volume.’”

you sigh again but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped you. the first time he did it, you’d gotten frustrated but at this point, your brain is far too fried to even get annoyed at him. especially when even he looks like he’s about to start crying.

you pushed away the book from his hand, clumsily crawling over to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing him down so he’d be laying on the sofa and you on top of him.

“my love, i don’t need to memorize everything word for word from the book,” you explain as gently as you can for the third time. you know he’s just trying his best to help you.

“why?” he frowned. “wouldn’t it be better if you knew it exactly from the book?”

you giggled. “perhaps but no med student would ever survive memorizing twelve inch books word for word. we’d simply all break down and die.”

you hold yourself up, pushing his hair off his forehead before removing his glasses. he still looks confused but a lot of things honestly confused charles. thank god he has a smart girlfriend to explain everything to him.

“stop worrying about it,” you say. “i’ve studied enough and we both need a break.”

he sighed in relief, tightening his arms around you. “thank god i felt like my brain was put on a pressure dryer for a minute there.”

taglist: @ricsaigaslec @dragon-of-winterfell @coffeehurricanes @privcherry7 @miniminescapist @sebsdaniel @strelcka @writing-about-current-obsessions @amsofftrack @lostinketterdam @bisexual-desi @cialovessirlewis @multilovebot @lovelynikol16 @troybolton-14 @ohthemissery @dr3lover @myescapefromthislife @sunf1owerrq @the6ccnsp6cyy @t-nd-rfoot @navixfr @xjval @gridbunny

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 one shot

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lale-txt · 7 months

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✱ visiting the cat café with JJK men (pt. 1/?)

a/n: first time writing for JJK aaaa. i should have done this a whole lot sooner! happy to be taking those fine gentlemen out for a date at the cat café hehe. and with the current events in both manga & anime i think it's fair to say we deserve to have a bit of a slice of life delulul moment, right... （πーπ）

❦ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

“did you roll around in catnip before we got here or…”

Gojo only grins at you before he starts a monologue, something about his natural musk that makes him irresistible to little meow meows, explaining how cats are attracted to cursed energy and how he has a limitless amount of it, yada yada yada…

you aren’t listening anymore, only feeling slightly jealous of how he’s swarmed by cats without any effort, like he didn’t have to go through the whole humbling process of getting to the floor and mumbling pspsps until your mouth is dry only for the cats to ignore you

every single cat in the café is practically begging for his attention and honestly, can you blame them

the cats are in heaven. Gojo is in heaven. the staff is in heaven.

a chonky white Persian cat is extra persistent and secures a spot on Gojo’s shoulder, chewing on his hair and that’s when you know you will be leaving this café either without your boyfriend or with a new cat

in the end Gojo simply ends up buying the cat café (oh to be stupid rich) and treats it as his own personal oasis from there on and you can’t even be mad because you get to see his beautiful bright smile whenever you head there together

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

at first, Nanami isn’t too eager when you suggest going to a cat café

the thought of cat hair all over his sandwich doesn’t please him, but he can never resist your pleading eyes and from the reviews he read the food there is supposed to be excellent, so he reluctantly agrees

skeptical at first, he sits down with you, trying to study the menu when an extra curious cat jumps on the table, bumping their tiny head against his chin which makes Nanami frown

“aww, someone likes you”, you croon and try not to laugh at Nanami, hesitantly petting the cat in front of him which starts purring loudly

which attracts even more cats

suddenly you’re swarmed with them and Nanami is doing his very best to give each of them a fair share of his love, even loosening his tie a bit and sleeves rolled up

forget about the food, he’s on a mission now

Nanami will lie awake at night, wondering if owning a cat could fix at least a dozen of his problems (they’re all Gojo related)

❦ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

majestic Sukuna, King of Curses, allergic to cat hair

oh, he’s trying. he’s fighting for his life, sitting on the floor and trying to pspsps the cats with four hands at once

but his sneezes are so earth shattering loud that it spooks the kitties and they gather everywhere but in his lap

except for that one deaf and blind cat that’s always drooling a little which happily lets Sukuna pick them up

the King of Curses will look at you triumphantly, like see, I’ve made this peasant cat obey me, but his eyes are tearing too much to even make out the silhouette of you

good for you because it gives you enough time to snap a good hundred photos of him cuddling with the cat, too stubborn to admit that they might be killing him softly

back home (and after stopping by a pharmacy for allergy pills) you’ll see a dozen tabs open in his browser (you taught him how to google), searching for “anti allergy cats”, “if i shave my cat will i stop sneezing”, “cat hair allergy why” and “why cats won’t obey me”

❦ 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀

local tired lawyer man needs a fucking break

you know how prone your man is to overworking himself, so you make it your own little mission to take him out on small dates during his lunch break

he doesn’t even bat an eye when you suggest a cat café. maybe if he’s surrounded by cats he won’t have to think about the injustice of the whole world, so sure, he’s in

Higuruma feels a sense of calm wash over him the moment he sits down and a kitty rubs their head against his legs, ready to activate their cursed purring technique on him

of course he remembers your favorite drink and orders it for you, something sweet to go along with it as well, and then he’s completely absorbed by the various cats in the café

he’ll point out every kitty that catches his attention and takes lots of photos of them and from you (and he’ll make it his new lockscreen)

kisses you goodbye once you drop him off at the office again and will text you later that he had the most fun in a long time

will also send you the most candid photos he took of you and will smile to himself when you make one your new profile photo, already excited to go back to the cat café with you

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #higuruma x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios

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hotpinkstars · 3 months

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AHHH LOVED THE AL HAITHAM FIC SMM but if you dont mind what was going through al haithams head when he realized she left??

-> the house will never be the same again pt. 2

synopsis -> after being incredibly disrespected by your husband, alhaitham, you moved to liyue. what is going through his mind when you leave?

a/n -> AHHH i'm so happy you liked it!!! and i don't mind making a pt. 2 at all sorry this has been sitting here for a while but i hope you enjoy! here is part 1.

warnings -> all hurt no comfort, reader never turns up lol

w/c -> 1.2k

it’s been about a week now, and you’re already settled into liyue. you’ve caught the eye of a bunch of passersby in the city- a sumeru vision wielder living in liyue harbor?

thankfully, you had the traveler and a kind woman from the qixing named ganyu able to assist you with questions about the city. the first day you got there, she noticed your vision, and asked you all about it. it soon led to the two of you hitting off the start of a friendship in a nice restaurant- with ganyu telling you all of the things to do in liyue, the jobs that can be taken, and how magical the lantern rite especially is. you mentioned to her that you had a passion for the arts, and she immediately helped you look for a side job to make a little bit of mora to pay rent in your nice abode in the middle of the harbor.

“so, were your travels from sumeru alright? i’ve heard trudging through desert is not a very enjoyable experience..” ganyu questioned, a slight grin to be found on her face. “though, i have heard that the city down there is very nice. i would love to visit for myself one day, but with work and adeptal business it makes my days a little tight.”

you nod before replying. “the city is beautiful, especially at night. theres a gorgeous stage down there too, where a young woman named nilou always performs on special events. it’s always been the most majestic part of the city, or at least in my opinion.”

ganyu lets out a noise of fascination, before giggling a little. “i would love to watch her dance. nilou is a familiar name, some people here strictly go to sumeru just to see her. i bet she’s as wonderful as everyone makes her out to be.” ganyu sighs. “i wonder if she travels? we have nice performing places here, too.”

you nod. “occasionally. it mostly has to be a big event for her to arrive, though.” you take another bite of your food. “but i bet if i asked her, she’d come out for at least a few days.”

that made ganyu smile once more, before she asked another question. “well, this may be an odd question, but do you have any romantic relationships?”

“well, that's the reason i decided to move here,” now it is your turn to sigh, making ganyu have a confused look dancing across her face. “my partner and i got into an argument. he wouldn’t stop overworking himself, and i simply just wanted him to come to bed. but he’s so stubborn, and he took his work stress out on me. there was… certainly a lot of name calling.”

ganyus look of confusion immediately switches to an apologetic one. “ah, you made the right choice. that’s no way to treat your spouse.”

you nod in agreement, before finishing your dish and pushing it slightly out in front of you.

“well, i’m going to head back to my apartment now. this was very nice, we should do it again sometime!” you smile before standing and putting some money on the table. “here, this should be half. have a good night, ganyu!”

“goodnight to you too, y/n! i’ll see you soon.”

now, back on alhaithams end..

he hasn’t been home in about a week and a half, due to his work causing his presence nearly 24/7. that pretty much means he hasn’t realized you’ve left yet.

as he walks home, he doesn’t know how he would approach you. does he pretend the issue doesn’t exist? does he keep ignoring you? does he apologize? he thought his mind would split open.

as he walks through the door, he notices that the house is a little… emptier, from when the two of you lived together. he walked through the whole place, looking into the bathrooms to see your products gone. looking at the laundry room, met with no clothes that are yours hanging from the clothesline. and now, when he went to your bedroom…

your pillowcases have been stripped from the bed, and your pillow thrown into the closet. there were only a stack of two pillows, right in the middle of the bed. now his heart was thumping, and really hard. he looked through the dressers. the left side was barren, leaving only his side full. the thing that brought tears to the mans eyes was seeing your wedding ring on your side of the table.

so you really left him. he stands there, shocked, unknowing of what to do. does he try to find you, or does he let you go? oh, how he regrets ever talking to you the way he did. if he just took your advice, you would be in bed, waiting for his arrival. likely bringing him into a hug, shaking all his worries and stress away as you whispered questions along about how his day was.

the next few days felt like someone kept coming over to his desk and stabbing his back with blades like his. he felt so regretful, doing everything he can to stay composed while at the same time trying to find where you’ve gone. dehya won’t give him anything besides “somewhere close to sumeru that’s not sumeru.” that could mean you’ve gone to fontaine, liyue, or monstadt. how would he ever find you?

he’d ask the gaurds, and they all told him you went in the direction of the chasm. getting somewhere, but not close enough. he could walk all that way and come up empty handed. he doesn’t have an exact pinpoint on you yet.

he’d ask nilou. she’d just shrug and say something along the lines of “i heard what happened, but i do not know fully where they went.”

he walked the paths of the city, lost deep in thought. everyone thought it was a little out of character for someone such as him to look and feel as lost as he is. as much as people wondered what happened, they kept their mouths shut.

and for the people who noticed your absence, too, they’d ask different people who would likely have knowledge. but alhaitham didn’t know where to go now. he could walk the whole chasm and still not have you turn up. he could check every apartment complex in liyue harbor, and knock on every door on the outskirts. he could sail the seas to inazuma, and walk every separate island to see who may be housing you, or what commission you may have been taken in by. he could fall down the very waterfall that leads an entrance to the enchanting location called enkanomiya. he could go to fontaine, dive under the waters, walk every rocky mountain, and even visit the fortress of meropide. he could fight every monster near the city of monstadt, looking upon every rooftop for signs of your art, blown through the city of wind. but he still wouldn’t find you.

now what he doesn’t know is that you’re in liyue harbor, and nobody frets to tell him that anytime soon. for now, they’re just going to let him suffer, the same way he let you.

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #alhaitham #genshin angst #genshin x reader angst #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham angst #alhaitham x reader angst

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ayaboba · 5 months

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DAY 3: IT’S JUST THE TWO OF US ❅⋆⍋

summary: a cozy vacation spent in another nation

characters: neuvillette, xiao, baizhu, wanderer, ayato, kaeya, childe, lyney, albedo, zhongli, wriothesley, venti, diluc, alhaitham, kazuha.

notes: locations handpicked by me!! these are general days in another nation, you’re not really doing anything too exhilarating, total wc: 1.8k.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

mondstadt, starfell lake - neuvillette, xiao, baizhu

Breezy and wide plains on the tops of jagged mountains, carrying a sweet breeze of berries and dandelions. Mondstadt, the nation of freedom, stole the hearts of numerous travelers, with its homely and cozy atmosphere, frolicking the winds all around Teyvat and coaxing the interest of many.

It was Mondstadt’s virtue that first drew him in. Freedom, peace, and comfort, the only things he has ever hoped, wished, yearned with every fibre of his being. Mondstadt sounded like a long-awaited exhalation of air, to finally breathe in a new breath of fresh opportunities and beginnings.

The earliest beams of sunshine crept through the sheer curtains.

If it were any other day, you’d let out a vexed groan before rolling to the other side. But today, today was another day in Mondstadt, and you’d be stupid to let any of the time go to waste.

Shoving the curtains aside, you observe in awe as Starfell Lakes glimmers like a pool of sapphire diamonds or like a flutter of fairies, their pixiedust sprinkling a bit of happiness into your day.

“It really is so beautiful here.”

The abrupt voice startles you for a split second. “Don’t creep up on me like that,” faux disappointment lacing your voice. He mutters a quiet apology before letting out a faint smile, interchangeably switching his gaze from you to the lake.

“Should we go outside?”

You nod in agreement, the excitement rejuvenating you even further. “If it’s this spectacular from afar, can you imagine how majestic it must be up close?”

“Very majestic,” he repeats, leading you both out the door.

liyue, jueyun karst - wanderer, ayato, kaeya

Dizzying peaks and swirling mists convey an atmosphere of grandeur and mystique, alluring visitors and their fascination towards the beauty of Jueyun Karst, rumoured to be the abode of the adepti, typically unreachable by mortals. Yet, there was always an abundance of people willing to test their luck and willpower, returning to tell dramatic tales of exaggerated perils and glory. Even so, there were still facts that none could deny about the quiet abode, namely, the distinctive tranquility fusing within its clouds.

It’s truly hard to believe that you weren’t a figure in a watercolor painting. Soft brushes of orange, yellow, and green leaves dance in the chilly breeze. The sound of approaching footsteps quickly snaps you out of your afternoon reverie as you turn your head towards a familiar face.

He greets you with an unsually innocent, lighthearted wave, accompanied with an intriguing wrapped basket. It doesn’t take much to piece together the pieces and present an overall message, not that he tried very hard to conceal it. Perhaps this vacation has muddled up parts of his cognitive functions.

“How are you feeling?” he inquires, the question evoking some sort of suspicion within you. “Hungry? Bored?” he continues, appearing oblivious to your raised eyebrows.

“…both?” you reply, a little confused and hesitant. “I won’t say no to some lunch.”

“Perfect, I found just the place.”

inazuma, chinju forest & grand narukami shrine - childe, lyney, albedo

Luminous flowers hidden deep in the forests, fragrant cherry blossoms lining the streets of Inazuma—the diverse variation of natural features that Inazuma beholds captivates the interest of those seeking something different, a thirst for something that simply cannot be found anywhere else.

Chinju forest, a secluded area of glowing streams and blooms, far enough from the attention of the city, and close enough to the allure of the grand shrines, a more than ideal option.

In the space of Chinju Forest, day was like night, and night was like day. There was really no hourglass here, where time ambled, the grains of sand dripping one at a time. It unlocked a rare sense of bliss, where no-one was obliged to be anything or do anything.

Despite the strong desire to explore the all-imposing Grand Narukami Shrine, the sheer amount of the flight of stairs that you needed to overcome was already giving you second thoughts.

“…Please don’t tell me…there’s more,” he groans, almost succumbing to his knees and screaming up at the sky. “How many stairs do you think we’ve walked up so far? I’ll say at least two hundred, maybe even two fifty.”

No words leave your mouth; there’s none in your head either; all you feel is a growing agonising pain in your calves and thighs. Short, tired pants take turns exiting your body, and you glance up at the new set of stairs—hopefully the last.

“Yeah, me too,” he replies, nodding understandingly as he recovers and hands you a bottle of chilled water. “Take your time, this is going to be a long one.”

After about ten minutes, you both set off again. To your utter confusion, he seems so energised, sprouting encouraging comments in the midst of silence. You’re thankful for the cheers of reassurance, but all that’s needed is a good night's rest under those glowing flowers and twinkling fireflies.

You don’t even realise for a good minute that you’ve reached the top. The sweat pooling along your clothes is an indicator of your mood—exhausted and sore all over.

Your name rings over the few other people gathered at the shrine as he eagerly hands you a fortune slip.

“Read it out loud; apparently it’s quite accurate.”

Modest Fortune: Clouds cover half the moon and the fog is thick.

Above you is the mood shrouded by cloud. Ahead of you, everything is engulfed by fog.

Though the way ahead seems unclear at the moment, all will become clear when the time comes.

Take this opportunity to improve yourself while waiting for the clouds to clear.

You’re not sure how to feel.

sumeru, port ormos - zhongli, wriothesley, venti

Port Ormos holds everything.

Marketing secrets, priceless treasures, and an aromatic scent of homemade dishes crafted with exotic spices and herbs, carrying through the refreshing winds of nearby seawater. It’s enticing—everything from the cultural architecture to the species of trees. Despite its prominence throughout Teyvat, it’s not as overcrowded as you originally thought it to be. Of course, it’s still busy, but everyone mostly keeps to themselves as they go on with their usual lives. At every new turn, you find yourself enamoured by the great variety of stores, keen to explore every inch of them, no matter how unrealistic that goal may appear.

Someone who’s probably more excited about being in the Port Ormos was probably the person trailing by your side. Out of the blue, he’d point and mutter an interesting fact, or occasionally go up to the store owner with a handful of questions, as you stood awkwardly behind him. It’s quite fine by you, though; the several friendships he’s established with owners have brought in handy discounts and bonuses.

“We should try out that new waterside restaurant,” he says one evening as you walk hand-in-hand by the docks, admiring the warm tones of a summer sunset blending together over the borders of clouds. “One of the vendors told me they have a special on Sundays.”

“Ah, a special,” you hum, amused. “Is that what caught your eye?”

“Special things always catch my eye,” he replies, a mischievous smile spreading on his face. “Would you like an example before we enter?”

You arrive at the entrance of the restaurant, and like mentioned, it boasts a stunning view of the clear and pristine waters, lapping at the edge.

There are floral garlands with small lights slithering across the corners of the ceilings, lit with blazing lamps, soft crackles of the flame add to the intimate atmosphere.

“If you insist, then sure,” you answer to his previous question. Your attention is more focused on searching the restaurant for a waiter to call.

“I think they might be standing right beside me.”

fontaine, elynas - diluc, alhaitham, kazuha

The cosmos present themselves in the elegant fashion of being subtle yet imperial, with millions of sparkling stars sprinkling all across Fontaine’s heavens, effortlessly illuminating the world underneath.

The pale streaks of moonlight gleam down onto the cascading waters and the array of flowers and shrubs, casting a magical afterglow that creates a bewitching sense of enchantment, like you were an illustration in an ancient storybook lost as the ages gone by.

Have you ever tried to paint at night? To become a midnight muse?

Cutting through the stillness were the delicate strokes of brushes on a canvas. It’s a smooth and soft sound, as the colours glide and complement each other.

You’re sitting opposite each other, one the muse of another.

With an air of finality, he looks up at you with a satisfied expression on his face as he begins to pack away the paintbrushes and palettes. Whether he’s content with his product is unknown. Nothing about his face or mannerisms convey an emotion, unless if you count the usual peaceful visage.

“Are you close to finishing?” he asks politely as he packs away the last of his equipment. “It’s alright if you haven't; those mountains aren’t exactly easy to get in the right shape.”

He’s right; the intricacies of Fontaine’s environment are undeniably striking and tedious to replicate, from the very details of the petals to the shade of grass.

You add the last few finishing touches before giving it one last, fleeting look.

“I’m finished.”

As you mutter those two words, something stirs in the air. The world suddenly feels so vastly beautiful, and this particular point in time feels so perfectly sacred that it couldn’t have been a mere coincidence, and you know it’s not.

You know that this very moment, this very vacation, this very night—you know that he must’ve planned this all along.

It was so sweet.

“Show me yours,” you suggest, crossing one leg over the other. Everything feels a thousand times more divine; everything feels so much more meaningful that it's imbedded into your head, in your guts; there's a doubt on whether it will ever leave.

“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” he asks lightheartedly. “Don’t raise your expectations too high; I can’t be an exception for everything.”

You’re just smiling, beaming up at the glittering stars, forever grateful for all the light they’ve bestowed upon you, because it’s been a while since you’ve last told them thank you.

Their splendour radiates down to your face; iridescent shimmers twinkle in the tears unknowingly sliding down your face.

#genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons #neuvillette x reader #xiao x reader #baizhu x reader #wanderer x reader #ayato x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #lyney x reader #albedo x reader #zhongli x reader #wriothesley x reader #venti x reader #diluc x reader #alhaitham x reader #kazuha x reader #anya writes ✧.*

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oddinary4bts · 2 days

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Chasing Cars | teaser (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, some chapters have mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: alcohol consumption, curses

☆word count: 1.1k

☆a/n: teaser time babyyyy!! I hope you guys love it :') thank you to @moonleeai and @jessikahathaway for beta-ing, you guys are the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

The hour is late. Jungkook is tipsy, far more than he thought he’d get tonight, but then again, Taehyung is not in a better state, and Sera, Jimin’s girlfriend, had to force him to go home before they got too drunk.

They’re all supposed to help Taehyung’s little sister move in tomorrow, Jungkook included.

“Man,” Taehyung lets out, and Jungkook looks away from the game of Smash they’re playing - that he’s majestically losing - to focus on Taehyung.

“What?” he lets out.

“Can’t believe Y/n will be here tomorrow,” Taehyung answers.

“Can’t believe you’re forcing me to live with a girl.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Don’t worry, Y/n is chill.”

Jungkook doesn’t doubt she is, considering how well he gets along with Taehyung, and Taehyung’s made it seem that he gets along well with his sister. He imagines Y/n’s just going to be a mini Taehyung, which frankly could be fun to have around.

But he doesn’t know anything about her other than the fact that she is Taehyung’s little sister.

“You know,” Taehyung adds as the game finishes. “I meant to tell you something.”

Jungkook cocks his pierced eyebrow in question. “Yeah?”

“Just wanted to say that if you touch my sister, you’re fucking dead.”

Jungkook bursts out laughing, shaking his head, but Taehyung remains entirely serious. Like he meant what he just said - could he?

“You’re joking right?” Jungkook asks as his laughter fades away.

“No, I’m dead ass,” Taehyung insists. “You breathe in her direction, and you’re dead.”

“Damn.” Jungkook widens his gaze, and then picks up the beer he’s been slowly drinking since Jimin left. “Understood.”

Hell, Jungkook knows that he sleeps around. Taehyung does the same - he can’t help but understand Taehyung when he says to stay away from his sister. And he thinks it’ll be easy. Y/n’s probably just going to be a clueless baby college kid, and though Jungkook doesn’t mind going for younger, he’ll have plenty of new faces to explore once Frosh week starts next week anyways.

So he promises Taehyung he has nothing to worry about, and they play a couple more games before they head to bed.

Jungkook wakes up early the next morning, the sun shining right in his face the most efficient alarm he’s ever used before. He wants to go to the gym before helping Taehyung’s sister, and though he hates being awake so early, he immediately forces himself to get up lest he falls back asleep.

His workout goes well, and he’s pleasantly sore when he heads back home. He’s lucky - he manages to park not too far from the apartment. He’s walking home, gym bag in one hand and his phone in the other, when Taehyung texts him to ask where he is.

Jungkook types ‘Fuck off’, pressing send as his attention is solely on his phone.

Until said phone flies out of his hand as he collides with a girl he didn’t notice, and Jungkook watches in horror as the device falls in a flower bed.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” you say, and you immediately dive into the flower bed, retrieving Jungkook’s phone.

You hand it to him, and Jungkook just stares at you, mouth agape. He’s aware he’s staring and that he probably looks stupid, but he’s dumbfounded.

You’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, and he’s seen a lot.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers quickly when you cock an eyebrow, your cheeks slowly turning red. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“At least it didn’t break,” you say, and you flash him a quick smile.

It does things to his heart that Jungkook barely comprehends - it’s like his heart is going miles a minute, yet it’s soothing, warm, much like the pavement feels in the summer when the sun has just dipped below the horizon.

“Right, yeah,” Jungkook answers, and his cheeks burn.

His cheeks fucking burn, and he wishes he could just disappear, dive below the ground until you can’t see him anymore. You just keep on smiling, eyes never disconnecting from his, and he wonders if you, too, feel like he does.

Shit, he thinks he might even hear bells in the distance.

You glance away, and it’s like he’s falling forward while not moving at all, and all he can do is pathetically clear his throat, as if that’s going to offer any help.

“I see you’ve met Y/n!” Taehyung yells from behind you, and Jungkook freezes.

Jungkook freezes, and then something burns in his lungs, like he’s under the surface struggling for futile oxygen he knows he won’t find.

You are… Taehyung’s sister.

You’re Y/n.

His best friend’s little sister.

The one thing Jungkook can’t have.

It makes him feel cold, his heart suddenly dropping in the Arctic sea amongst the icebergs.

“We literally ran into each other,” you say, looking back towards your brother.

And Jungkook sees it - your hair is the same shade as Taehyung’s, your face has the same shape. The smile though - your smile is different from Taehyung’s, and maybe that’s why he was fooled.

Fooled for a few seconds which felt like an eternity.

You walk away then, heading to the open back door of a car. You grab a box, and Jungkook puts his phone in his pocket, eyeing a bag on the backseat.

“Do you want me to bring this in?” he asks.

Only because he wants you to look at him again. His heart flutters in his chest when you do, and he forces it down with a swallow as you nod once.

“Yes, please!”

Jungkook nods too, and he grabs the bag before following you in. His right foot lands on the first step leading to the apartment when Taehyung stops him with a hand on his arm.

Jungkook frowns slightly, meeting his best friend’s gaze.

“I’m serious, JK,” Taehyung says through gritted teeth. “You fucking touch her, you’re dead.”

And Jungkook knows right then and there that he’s fucked. Entirely, thoroughly, immensely fucked.

Because he already wants you, and he hasn’t even talked to you for more than twenty seconds.

“Don’t worry,” he reassures Taehyung, and he hopes Taehyung can’t hear how fake he sounds.

How is he supposed to resist indulging in you when he already knows you’re all he’s ever wanted?

He really is entirely, thoroughly, immensely fucked.

☆☆☆☆☆

Chapter one coming on May 10th, 2024!

What did we think? Are we excited to read?? Let me know here!

Taglist: (strike-through means dumblr isn't letting me tag you)

@jjkluver7 | @lavender2ari | @srslythis-ismylife | @starlight-1010 | @mggv97

@cookysstuff | @02010802 | @kookieleshgo | @biaswreckersinc | @hera19

@ice | @nightapple | @jungkussyficrecs | @boyfriendtaekook | @montyfbaybee

@babystarcandyjk97 | @goldentea10 | @lovingkoalaface | @parapiop7 | @parking-lotnights

@junecat18 | @blr1004 | @buddybops | @kookssecret | @busandbby_jjk

@superchamchi88 | @goldenjeonkoo | @raraluvz | @lovelye79 | @boyswithjun

@skzthinker | @michellekosmos | @8balljk | @kooklovee | @kingofbodyrolls

@ll4l | @kissyfacekoo | @ggukiepie | @moon-gyi | @apples0-0

@jcrl99 | @iammeandmeisiam | @kookoo-kachoo | @marvelbun | @lalaren

@sugas-baby-girl | @glossminmin03 | @kocoreads | @carriereadsbooks | @aiiselle90210

@FeyOcean | @khuderutu | @stuti2904 | @ziya.exe | @shortnspicier

@wiseboojumtree | @bobagukks | @vrusha01 | @lilyy07 | @younhakim29

@screamertannie | @wisebouquetbarbarian | @pixiekook | @nanjeonlangakook | @jcnggukie

@ggukkieland | @phanniefoo | @jksctrl | @sp1derk0ok | @hyukal0ml

@mysjammy | @lesiacapouille | @shearttttttttt | @hobibbb | @mochifuzz

@kooksbunnnn | @moonchilddna | @libra04 | @vminkookgf | @jayrielle27

@tulips4u | @jinniejax | @chimmisbae | @sumzysworld | @imene_ghd

@gguksflowers | @sadgirlroo | @kissme-ornot | @mar-lo | @kazkookiekazookie

@infiresyg93 | @junggukjeonfreakinwife | @sweet-pinee | @chimchimmarie | @pamzn

#chasing cars teaser #chasing cars #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fic #jjk #btswritersclub #jeon jungkook #chasing cars series

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sashi-ya · 7 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 2: GOD FORM Nika! Luffy x F! Reader

Requested by: @jessysapphireblue ➡ Kinktober! Prompt 2 wirh our luffy🥰🥰 Luffy with a female magician reader. Perhaps in a nice secluded Environment and we know curious luffy is and how He would love to test it out with her as she is an absolute sweetheart and laughing with him but she is always so kind and gentle with him even during everything. Pls? I love your writing 🥰💙🩵 tw: mdni. Luffy turns to Nika with his G5. oral. food play. luffy takes you to the clouds, literally. vag. size kink. pretty sweet and romantic. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Moonshine, kissing your skins with soft silver light. Every time you look up in the sky, and the moon is on full display, you remember Wano kuni.

“Luffy… it’s been a long time since I’ve seen your Nika form” you mumble, with a curious hidden intention floating around in your mind. Not only Luffy is handsome in his normal form, but, the white curls and red eyes have been in the back of your mind since you caught a glimpse of it in between tears of joy for his reborn.

“Nhh? You wanna fight, (Name)?” he jokes, laughing like he only knows how to. That laughter that alters the rhythm of your heart; that makes it beat to the sound of happy drums.

You stand up immediately, looking at him, ignoring he was joking about fighting.

“I don’t wanna fight, I wanna… uh… you know…” you stutter, is not that you aren’t close to Luffy enough to ask him to have intimacy, but this sounded differently. However, Luffy can tell -only with you- when you want it.

“Shi. Shi. Shi… you want me to do it while in Nika form? I kinda thought of it once in the bathroom” he asks, taking the straw hat off his face, allowing his adorable cheeks to be bathed by the biggest star shining above the skies.

Your cheeks burn. He thought of it once?

Your eyes land on his sunshine ones, and nod with no further words. Yet, your expression seems enough to give Luffy the yes he needed.

As soon as it is humanly possible to think, Luffy snatches you by the waist and jumps into the beach coast. It was a calm night. The Sunny had docked in a calm island, with no villains to defeat and only to grab some food to continue the trip after Wano. Everybody had already eaten; Sanji and Zoro were doing the dishes and most of the Strawhats were sleeping inside their home, the Thousand Sunny Go.

“I need a place with a lot of moonlight” he chimes, while jumping off the railing to the slightly cold sand underneath.

“Is that a need for your powers?” you ask, curious.

Luffy doesn’t really know if it’s true or not, but he enjoys seeing your face while his body mixes with yours.

“Mmm… I don’t know…” he lies, and you can clearly tell.

Soon, you get to a secluded area right next to the beach. The waves crashing against some rocks will be the perfect companion to the drums of liberation you are sure you will hear.

“So, how should I do this… nghh…” Luffy thinks, pressing his index in the middle of his forehead. Maybe he needs to transmute or connect his energy to another being to turn into Nika?

You wait, sitting on the rock where he deposited you. Looking like a magical mermaid, Luffy suddenly understands that turning into Nika was easier while looking at the person that makes his heart go fast.

And in indeed, and all of a sudden, with his eyes fixed on yours, his heart starts to go even faster. Beating harder against his chest, turning the things that surrounded him into soft gum.

His pristine white locks flow with the sea breeze, and you could swear the moon shines brighter than before since he transformed. The waves act differently, as if they were waiting for Luffy to command them. And you can’t help but gawk at his majestically look… he does look like a God. His litmus halo, the bleached clothes, his smile, the crimson eyes…

“L-Luffy…” you mumble, in awe. It’s the first time you have him right in front of you, and so close, in such form.

He smiles, or rather, smirks. It makes your stomach drop, and your thighs to tightly close.

Luffy pounces on you, laughing. Your back doesn’t hurt when it hits the rocks behind. It’s all soft, and caring, and you feel happy but also there is a presence that feels like is crushing your lungs, making you dizzy… it is the intensity of Luffy’s Gear 5 power and will.

“You know I can imagine anything and make it happen, (Name)?” he asks, with his pointy nose pressed against yours.

You sigh, loudly. There is enough tension built inside your chest. “I… yes…?”

“If I want to, your clothes can turn into delicious chocolate… shishishi” he laughs, touching your chest. His hands play with the fabrics that cover your body and suddenly he can rip them with no effort. Luffy takes a piece into his mouth, he is even amazed at his own power… in deed, what he wanted, turned to be real; your clothes are made of chocolate now.

He begins devouring your shirt first, and then your pants and when he is ready the panties that began to soak with your needy fluids are now melting in your skin.

Luffy gloats before attacking. He does not eat desperately just yet. First, he bites one string of your panties, and then the other. The tip of his front teeth graze your hipbones, making your quiver every time he does. Your hand reaches his hair and lovingly plays with his soft, alabaster curls.

Everything feels like happiness; pleasure and lust mix with pumping hearts of full devotion and love.

His tongue finally reaches for your core, and while he rejoices in the flavour of chocolate he also does with the salty caramel taste of your core.

Luffy’s fingers search for your hand, and when both collide they interlock; the more he pleases you orally, the more you squeeze.

And he takes you to heaven, because if there is something he is the king already of, that’s oral. Your back arches, and orgasm approaches. One of many more of those he likes to drink from.

But this God does not only take you to the stars just with pleasure, but quite literally…

Easing off the buzzing sound of your heart pumping in your ears, with still aftershocks of pleasure from your climax, you feel his arms around your waist and the wind in your face.

“Luffy! What are you doing?” you ask, surrounding with your arms his neck.

“Let’s try going up to the skies!” he laughs, jumping with you in arms. What once used to be sand, looks more like an elastic bed that he uses to fly up.

You open your eyes, as wide as possible -maybe even popping out?- making him laugh louder. While you can’t help but panic to see your feet that far from the ground… but after all, this is exactly what dating Luffy feels like.

White fluffy material, that feels humid and soft, surrounds both of you. And soon you understand these are clouds.

“Here!” he chimes, pouncing into the most dense of them. Nami has taught you that clouds are nothing but water in a different form, there is no way it can hold you two.

Oh, but it does. As long as Luffy can imagine it, it can.

He helps you lay your back on it, and while your naked body feels like being engulfed by the velvety sensation of such magical bedding, Luffy gets ready to place a sweet kiss on your lips.

“You told me once that being with me feels like you are in cloud nine… but since you didn’t come with us to Skypiea, I thought this could be similar to it…” he whispers, with lips pressed on yours and the sexiest smile you ever seen on his lips.

His right hand next to your face. The left one, softly caressing your cheek. Your toes pulling down his white pants, with your eyes fixed on the darkening of his sight. There is something taking over Luffy, it is perhaps lust. Or maybe something else, you can’t describe so simply.

Hardness you already recognize, playfully grazing your entrance, getting ready to slide deep inside of you.

“Can I try something else?” he asks, before entering completely into you.

“Whatever you do, I want it” you purr, with a soft smile and your index softly caressing his cheekbone scar.

His lips slowly part as he lets himself get surrounded by your clenching inner walls. A growl, manly and not often heard, escapes his lips. A moan coming from yours, mixes with his pants.

You suddenly feel like your insides going bigger, something growing deep inside you. It goes gently, hitting every corner and spot of pleasure in your body.

“Lu- Luffy… what is it?” you ask, confused but still almost unable to think straight because of how good it feels.

“You like it? It is.. ngh… me… bigger me…” he grunts, letting himself crush you with the weight of his body. The pressure around his growing member feels heavenly and he can’t even play cool no more.

His lips land on your neck, while his hips move in and out. Faster every time. Harder, deeper… bigger…

Sloppy lids frame your eyes that fix into the immensity of a sky full of stars. They shine closer to you than ever; they aren’t above, but around you this time.

Your arms hug him tightly, your heels carve on the small of Luffy’s back, your nails scratch his shoulder blades… and your hearts synchronize to the beating drums of liberation, up and above the skies 💖 ~

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @trouble-sistar 💖

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arabellasleopardcoat · 7 months

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Violent Delights (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Warnings: Fluff. Pining, yearning, childhood crush. Mentions of sex, sexual thoughts, noncon (Baby reader catching Daemon in the act, it doesn't last long, adults intervene) all the usual Daemon warnings.

A/N: Meet dornish reader! I wanted to explore how Daemon can be in character and be with an actual age appropriate woman. Enjoy.

The first time you see Daemon Targaryen, you are twelve years old. Twelve years old and fascinated by the rain. It’s not something you usually see in Dorne, so as you trail your older brother around the Red Keep, you slip away to get a closer look.

You have never been good at orientating yourself, specially in such large spaces. You climb a stair and go in circles, before you decide to start opening doors. Unsure of which wing you are in, you decide to enter the first empty room you see.

Much to your delight, it is a sitting room with large windows. You choose the biggest one, underneath which a tiny windowsill will do quite nicely for a resting place. The window is heavy to your child self, a monstrosity made of a darker wood unseen in Dorne. You manage to pry it open with great effort and sit by it, one hand extended to feel the raindrops.

It's freezing. It feels just like running water does, but much colder. You close your eyes, committing the feeling to memory. In Dorne, desert and sand extends for miles and miles. When it rains, it's never like this. There are small drizzles, but nothing like this absolute downpour.

If it were to rain like this back home, panic would spread among the population. Crops would get ruined, houses would end up sunk in mud. But as you look down, you do not see hurried servants spreading sand or sawwood in the entrances, much less dragging furniture inside. Everything here seems to be built to withstand the climate.

You close your eyes again, feeling utterly at peace. The soft patter of the rain, so frightening at first, now feels much more calming. This is nice. You could get used to this, you think. Perhaps, when you are older, Qoren might marry you off to a kingdom where there is rain. You would like it, you think. It's a very marvelous thing. Majestic, even. There is a certain beauty in the natural forces making themselves known.

The door opens. You startle. When you look up, you are greeted by the sight of a couple kissing passionately. It’s a blonde man, tall and handsome, and a serving girl. Frozen in place, you stay quiet. You aren’t sure what the protocol is for this, if you should clear your throat or walk out quietly.

The couple parts. The man, young, around her age, pushes the woman down to her knees and starts undoing his clothing. He is a noble of some sort, you know it by the gambeson he wears. It's too finely crafted to be otherwise.

And sure, you are dornish. Someone has given you the talk about the birds and the bees already, along with some necessary knowledge of the feminine mystique. It doesn't mean you want to witness an unknown couple going at it.

As you get down from the windowsill, your shoes thud a little too hard on the floor. The woman doesn’t take notice, her mouth already… Well. But the man, blonde, Targaryen blonde, you think, looks up.

At first, it is as if he doesn’t see you. His face is contorted with pleasure, eyes nearly closed. He is beautiful, you think. His features stand out to you, specially because you are not used to people being so…white. The way he is lost in his pleasure, too, speaks to you in ways you can't yet comprehend.

Then, his eyes meet yours and widen. He is surprised at your presence, but it barely lasts. Without any ounce of shame, he gives you a superior smirk and winks.

You shriek. The serving girl pulls off him as if he were on fire. The man groans.

“Shut up, little girl.” He says, to you, as he pulls the serving girl back on. “In a few years, you too will be on your knees for a man.”

“My Prince!” The girl sounds scandalized. You can tell she is on the verge of placing herself between him and you. It's all over on the way she stands, blocking your view of his nakedness. You wonder if she fears damaging your innocence or what the man might do to you in a fit of temper. You have heard these Targaryens are quite spirited. “She is a child!”

“A dornish one.” The man, the Prince, shrugs. “Now, she can either stay or get out, but I am…”

Whatever he is, he doesn’t get to say it. No, because the door opens yet again, slamming against the wall. You startle, and so does the Prince. The serving girl starts quietly weeping, something along the lines of how she is sure she is about to lose her job.

Helplessly, three pairs of eyes shift to the door. There are guards, spears at the ready, at the forefront of it. One of them even drops his weapon, before shielding his eyes.

“What in the…”

The King and your older brother step inside the room, pushing past the men. Your brother's eyes are frantic, his hands reaching desperately for you.

The Prince still has his pants down.

Your brother takes one look at you, and one look at the Prince and loudly declares:

“We are leaving.”

Safe to say, Dorne does not join the other kingdoms that day.

There are many thoughts in your head about Daemon Targaryen after that. That he is handsome, and bold, and you always smile when told of his exploits. It's not a trait you should admire, as a second daughter, but you like his rebelliousness. When he gets the moniker of the Rogue Prince, you think it fitting.

You grow, during those years. You turn into a beautiful woman, sharp and bold, flourishing in the way women do when free to pursue their interests. But in your suitors' eyes, you have one fatal flaw: You live as you please and bed exactly the number of people you desire to bed.

In Daemon's eyes, though, you are a ghost. A memory that haunts him, every once in a while. He has heard of you, of your beauty and independence. He wonders if he was the one to initiate you into the world of pleasure, if that's why you have turned into such a siren. It's not often that Daemon does, but when he wonders, he recalls the face you had made when shattering your innocence.

But you don't know that yet. The more you grow, the more you forget him, even starting to feel a mild annoyance towards his house.

“You can never trust a Martell.” Or so King Viserys said, when your brother's offer to fund his side during the war at the Stepstones reached him. But he certainly finds it convenient because he pockets the gold so fast, one might believe him a dornish lover.

While it was true that you had an unfortunate habit of deceptiveness, it was not as if you changed sides as fast as a viper shed her skin. You only do it twice a year. Every six months is the perfect time to conduct an assessment of your investments.

Because that was what it was. War was no more than profit, for you, and most of the nobles in Westeros. The only difference is that you were much more honest about it than most.

It wasn't necessarily profitable in terms of gold. No, sometimes it meant gaining lands, or getting other kingdoms to respect you, so you could retain your freedom. But regardless of what you were gaining, you tended to look at things in a rather practical way. Some things were worth the sacrifice, some weren't.

Qoren lacked a business instinct. You had told him time and time again that the Triarchy was not a good investment. You would be losing men and funds, only to stick it to the Targaryens. Grievances aside, it was not worth it. You had to think about the good of your people.

Yet no matter how much you insisted, Qoren refused to see reason. Too proud. He had argued that the Iron Throne was going to scam you, in some way or another. When he had finally conceded to jumping ships, you had found out that he might be right.

While much more profitable than your time with the Triarchy, considering that you were now about to win the war, you were pretty sure you were being robbed. The funds you gave them slipped though their fingers faster than sand. They were either very dumb and got duped every time they bought supplies, or they were inflating the costs on purpose.

The deal had been clear. You would foot one quarter of the expenses for the lasts months of the campaign. But it seemed like you were footing the whole war with how much they were asking for.

While Qoren ruled Sunspear, you had always done your best to be involved in his politics as much as you could. Having been raised with the freedom most dorsnishwomen were, you had not been eager to make a political marriage or leave your home for a land that would think you too unconventional. Instead, to guarantee not being sent away, you had endeavored to make yourself as useful as you could.

But as you grew, you had proven to be much more than so. While he had made a good marriage, with a kind woman, she had not been raised in the way that you had been. You had turned indispensable in the ruling of Sunspear, his Lady in all but the fact that you did not share his bed.

It helped that, unmarried as you were, you retained your title. And as the Princess as you were, you didn't stand for being made a fool. That fact, aided by the hot-blooded nature of the Martells, had been what had prompted you to travel by yourself to the war camp.

If the lords loyal to the Iron Throne did, why couldn't you?

Much to your surprise, when you finally arrive at the Stepstones, it seems like the war is over. You find men pillaging the caves where the Crab King kept his few riches. A few wounded lay on the floor, others already taken by the Stranger.

You step in the sand, kicking a few bodies away to make room for yourself. The whole place is a mess. There are some fires going. Some men are rounding up the enemy’s soldiers, either killing them or placing them in chains. You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the smell of blood and burned flesh.

Slowly, you start to make your way forward. You have made sure to be dressed in the bright yellows and oranges of House Martell, to avoid being confused with someone else. The heavy, male boots you are wearing contrast sharply with the daintiness of your attire.

As you make your way forward, some men try to approach you. You gesture to your guards, a second son of House Dayne and a young man by the last name of Sand, to block their paths.

“Who is that?” Some men ask, dumbly. You roll your eyes. What sort of allies were these, that they didn't recognize your standard?

“Hey, Lady, you can’t be here!” And oh, the sheer stupidity of them all. If you didn't know their lords to be much more cunning, this display might have actually led you to believe that they were, in fact, being duped time and time again instead of inflating the cost of supplies.

“… The Maiden…” Now, that one was a bit better. You looked good in your traveling dress, despite the chunky boots.

“What is she..?”

You bat them all away, set on reaching the center of the smoking ruins. You know the men you seek must be there. The faint screeches of dragons tell you that.

Your knights locate a rock for you to sit on. They stand guard, their backs turned to you. You eye the carnage around you and decide that yes, the rock is precisely where you wish to sit. It's high enough that you get a vantage point to watch the terrain, but not too tall you will need aid to get up on it.

When you sit down, carefully spreading your skirts to not let them touch the dirt, someone sits by your side. You don't need to look up to know it's who you seek. Your guards wouldn't have let him approach if he wasn't.

“Quite the entrance.” He says, casually leaving his sword on the sand. “You have grown.”

Pretending not to recognize him, you look at your nails, casually. His voice sounds exactly as you remember it.

“Do I know you?”

“More intimately than you probably wished at the time.” He laughs, and you finally risk your first glance at him. Daemon Targaryen is still in his armor, covered in so much blood he looks positively feral. His hair, in intricate little braids, is as beautiful as you remember, even if limp and tinted red. A shame he will probably have to cut it now because by the looks of it, the blood and sooth are not coming off.

You are no longer a girl of twelve years old, and he is no longer the young Prince you once caught in the act. Yet, he is still disarmingly handsome. Despite the years and the self assuredness you have managed to cultivate, he leaves you weak at the knees.

How could one say this in a polite manner? Daemon had featured in quite a few of your teenage fantasies, as you grew older. After catching him in the act, you had had an interesting conversation with Qoren. It had opened your eyes to a whole new world of pleasure.

Twelve years old was an impressionable age, especially for young maidens. You had flowered not long afterwards your first exposure to sex. Back then, you hadn't understood what you had witnessed properly, but as you grew, your imagination did too. And Dorne was not a place for the shy.

As you started to look at the world with the eyes of a woman, you had experienced your first infatuation, and it had been on him. Never before had you met a northern that was as open-minded about pleasure as Daemon was, and that fact had made you wonder what it would be like to share his bed. And then, the war at the Stepstones had reawakened your teenage urges.

“You!” You play it cool, as if you had not set up this whole thing on the odd chance of getting to see him. Dornishmen were no strangers to pleasure, after all. And you had never been good at denying yourself of anything you wanted. “The boy in the sitting room.”

“The girl at the window.” Daemon conceded, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “And here I thought I would have to lower my pants.”

You snickered. Daemon looked perplexed for a second, before snickering too. You could tell he was impressed by your lack of a reaction to his joke, probably because he had thought it would scandalize you.

The moment is cut short, though, by his own sobering up.

“You shouldn't be here, little dornish girl.”

“Oh?” You extend your legs in front of you, getting comfortable. Will he mention the elephant in the room, or will you have to?

“These men have not seen a woman in months.” Daemon answers, lightly curling his hand over the pommel of his sword. You look around you, noticing that some of the men are, in fact, staring hungrily at you. It's not something that bothers you, any longer. Despite the nickname Daemon has bestowed on you, you are no girl. Younger than him by a few years, you are more of an old maid. You were used to men's attention. As the Princess of Dorne, you had come to expect it.

“And that concerns me, how?” Because there are much more interesting matters you wish to discuss, rather than the ogling of some uncouth northerns. For one, where was your gold going. Second, what were you having for dinner. Third, if he was going to join you.

“Do I really have to explain?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. Deciding to play coy, you give him a sweet look.

“Please. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of your opinions.” And if it comes out a bit ironic, Daemon doesn't seem to notice, too entranced by the way you are twirling one of your dark curls between your fingers.

“Plenty of hungry cats.” He says, as if in a daze. Apparently, Daemon hasn't seen a woman in months either, if seducing him will be this easy. “And you are looking an awful lot like a little mouse.”

You fight the urge to snicker. You were no mouse, but a viper, and you were ready to strike. But if he fancied himself the protector, you didn't mind playing into it.

“Well, good thing you are here. Now they think this little mouse is spoken for.” You run a hand over his arm, softly. Your hands lift a trace of the blood in his armor, leaving behind a drawing made up of empty space.

“Are you?” He arches an eyebrow, unbothered at the contact. You retract your hand, staring at your now bloody fingernails.

A scattering of images comes to mind. Maidenheads, bloody sheets. The girl you were at twelve. The man he is now. Your nails scratching lines on his back, biting at his throat, nipping at his lips. Unable to connect the thoughts, you let them go until only a pleasant smile remains.

“Are you a hungry cat?”

“No, little mouse.” Daemon tucks a loose curl behind your ear. As his hand comes down, he caresses your neck, lightly. It's barely a brush of his fingertips, yet your breath falters. He leans in, as if sharing a secret. His next words come out in a whisper. “I am a hungry dragon.”

Predictable, if a bit witty. Targaryens and their dragons. Despite it, you enjoy how much of an effort he is putting in. As a Martell, people often expect you to do all the seducing, not noticing you like being seduced as well. It's good that someone finally acknowledges it takes two to dance.

“That explains the never-ending appetite.” You tease, leaning towards him as well. The sun is starting to settle around you, some of his men lighting fires. They do not seem about to stop their pillaging. You wonder if Corlys Velaryon is near, and if so, why he doesn't stop them.

“You have no idea.” His voice is low and smooth. His hand is still on your loose curl, lower, this time. Barely touching your collarbone. His eyes are dark, and you doubt it is from the change in lighting. "A taste would never satiate me.”

“Shame. Little mice make for small bites, I think.” Your lips quirk up at the corners, barely suppressing a laugh. Expert in denial as you are, you know now is the time to retreat. You want him hooked on you so badly, he never sees your next move.

“I would make sure to do so very slowly. Savor it.” Daemon's thumb rubs just between your collarbones, tracing a path towards the valley of your breasts. You move away before he can reach it.

“Maybe, hungry cat.” You stress the last word, already knowing how you will lead Daemon into your trap. It will only take a few well-placed prods at his ego.

“Hungry dragon.” He repeats, a bit annoyed. The idea that you do not recognize him by his proper title upsets him. You laugh.

“Oh, but you look like a starved cat. A stray.”

“I am no stray.” Daemon complains. You arch an eyebrow, coolly.

“What else is a Prince doing fighting a war so far from home?”

Daemon stares at you. You are willing to admit it was quite mean on your part. Perhaps a tad too vicious. But you have yet to accomplish what you wish to, hence why you take it even further.

“You have until tomorrow to deposit the gold you have stolen from us in coffers.”

His whole face shifts, flirty expression replaced by a mask of indifference that is not fooling anyone. Caught off guard by your words, Daemon resorts back to his only defense mechanism.

“And if I don't?” He thrusts his chin up, defiant.

“You will find yourself at war with Dorne.” Your tone is even. Your voice doesn't waver, as if you were discussing the weather and not defying a kingdom much larger than yours.

“And you will declare war with two knights?” Daemon laughs.

“Have you met Dalton Greyjoy, perhaps?” You lean back on the rock, tilting your face up to the sun. Soaking in it. “Awfully young ironborn. Eager to prove himself, much more so if it's to beautiful women. Or so I hear.”

“You have allied yourself with the Iron Islands?”

You say nothing. Instead, you give him an enchanting tilt of the head, as if he was no more than one of your suitors. Your lips stretch into a coy little smile, one that tells him you have a secret he is not privy to.

“I do not believe you.” Daemon shakes his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, before uncrossing them and shaking his head yet again. Stunned. “No. Prince Qoren would never allow it.”

“Qoren would not?” You repeat, mockingly. “And pray tell, since when do you know him so well?”

“Do you know why he dropped the Triarchy?” The question is unexpected. Before this, you had not bothered to wonder about your brother's motives. Used as you were at things going your way, you had assumed Qoren had seen the wisdom of your advice and decided to take it.

“Because I told him it was a bad investment.” You answer, refusing to back down. What could Daemon Targaryen know of the motivations of a prince of Dorne? Nothing. He had to be bluffing, searching for a weakness he could exploit to get out of this.

“Because the Crab King, over there…” Daemon gestures vaguely in the direction of the corpses. “Had eyes that lingered too much on you. And if this Greyjoy boy is the same…”

You blink a few times. It makes sense. The Crab King had never tried to seduce you, yet you know men like that are not used to asking. Instead, they order. You can only guess the face Qoren made when faced with such a demand. He is as proud as you are.

Daemon could be lying, of course. Trying to make you doubt Qoren. Divide and conquer, and all that. You can't let that happen. Everyone knows the two of you are a team. Whatever grievances you have to air with him, they will be on private. You tuck away the piece of information for later, and focus on what's in front of you.

“If Qoren is willing to turn into a turncloak for my sake…” You narrow your eyes at Daemon, menacingly. You know as well as him that the easiest way to stop you is to hurt you. Kill you, perhaps. But it would mean war. “Think of what he will do to you, if you hurt me.”

“You will have your coffers tomorrow, Princess.” Daemon says, bitterly. He knows he has lost. You outmaneuvered him. House Martell has never bowed to dragons. If Daemon declares war on Dorne, his brother will pull the support from the Iron Throne. Corlys Velaryon will not want to get involved, no matter how much he has benefitted from their plot. He cannot wage war alone.

You get up. You dust off your skirts.

“Good. And make sure you bathe before touching the gold. Wouldn't want you staining it.”

You do go back to Dorne with a chest full of gold, and then some. As it seems to be a tendency with Daemon, you almost forget all about him before he is barging into your life again.

It happens on an odd afternoon, while you are trying to broker a deal with a foreign King. The tart taste of the berries makes you scrunch up your face. It's more acidic than what you are used to, but good nonetheless. You smile at the King in front of you. He looks on the verge of drooling.

“I am glad you like it, my Princess.” He simpers. “I must say the shade compliments your caramel skin quite well.”

Caramel. Ugh. How you hate when men compare you to food. It's always your caramel skin, your cherry lips, your golden eyes. Can they get more unoriginal?

You beg to the skies for fortitude. This alliance is important, you remind yourself. Qoren needs them, Dorne needs them. They grow more fruit than you could ever hope for.

As it often happens, your prayers are heeded in a way you could not have expected.

“Princess.” A guard suddenly sprints into the room. “There is a situation at the gates. Prince Qoren needs you.”

You spring up from your seat so fast, one might think there were needles on your cushion.

“I apologize, my King. The berries were lovely. Perhaps you could send some more? For the people?”

“Oh, I understand.” The King gives a jovial laugh. “Duty calls and all. You are right, I shall send you…”

“Good.” You cut him off, and walk out of the parlor. As you start to reach the gates, you slow down your walk. You can't have Qoren thinking you rushed to his side, after all.

“Have you developed some sort of mind reading ability?” Qoren turns at your words. He is facing the gates, right in the middle of the watchtower. It's not an actual watchtower, but rather a ledge on one of your lower walls, right aside to the actual tower. Its slightly off center position allows for a better view of the gates, despite not being very high.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He asks, reclining precariously. Your stomach turns. This is a recurring occurrence, Qoren watching from places he is not supposed to. You often fear he will fall to his death, yet he has yet to even slip. He is noisy enough to not care about the dangers of the world.

“You knew I needed an out, I gather.” You keep your tone flat. While you enjoyed being his right hand, you disliked that so many of your allies thought flirting was the way to do business.

“I didn't. Come here and take a look.” Qoren sounds uninterested in your grievances, which is highly unusual for him. Whatever he is looking at must be fascinating. You start climbing the steps, aided by the guard that led you here. You try to do so gracefully, but it's daunting in a dress as the one you wear.

“How did you even get up here?” You huff, crouching on the ledge before slowly starting to stand.

“Invaders.” Qoren says, unbothered. You nearly fall off, shrieking. The guard pushes you upright again.

“At ease, Princess. We got you.” He says. “Look closer.”

So you do. You narrow your eyes at the horizon, and what you can see of the gate. You can barely make out a giant red blur. A dragon, perhaps? One you already know, by the eerie calm he is sporting.

You only know one dragon. It happens to be red.

“What did you do to that man?” Qoren laughs. Your mouth opens and closes. It has been almost two moons since you departed from the Stepstones, half of the gold you had originally given to the Iron Throne back with you.

You had gone on with your life. Taken a few lovers, here and there. Ate good food. Pawned off resources for alliances. You know, the typical. Daemon Targaryen, though, clearly has not. Because he now stands at the gates of Sunspear, dragon in tow.

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.” You reply to Qoren, still open-mouthed. “Is he trying to declare war?”

Qoren laughs at you, poking you in the ribs. You squirm away, before remembering you are standing on a ledge. You slap his arm.

“Don't do that! We could fall!”

“The only falling being done here is that dragon prince for you, dear sister.”

“Huh?” You frown, confused. What is he on about? Despite your desire to bed Daemon, you had walked away from the meeting with the certainty that he was not interested in you. You were not a maiden like the ones he chased, nor were you young, and you had done a good job of alienating him after threatening him with war. This could not be a mere visit, for you had parted on bad terms.

But Qoren doesn't answer. He only raises his voice slightly.

“Truss him up in chains!” The order is clearly not meant for you. “And place him on the Princess' solar.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, as the guards hurry to carry out his order.

“I'll give you a chance to deal with him.” Qoren says, mysteriously. “I think he is about to ask for your hand.” And with an agile jump, he is off the ledge and getting down the wall. You scramble to follow.

“Qoren!” You scream, nearly falling off in your haste. He is too fast for you, already entering the palace. The guard steadies you again, and you gather your skirts and run after him, but it's too late. You do not know which direction he has turned. “Qoren, what do you mean by that? Have you spoken to him? He asked you for… Qoren, dammit!”

His cheery voice reaches your ears.

“Do try to get rid of him, alright? We can't have our people thinking we have been invaded.”

You chase after the sound, but he is gone. You could follow him to the throne room, but you decide for the more amusing option. No matter if Qoren is teasing about the marriage proposal, you decide to go and freshen up a bit. It will take a long time for the guards to subdue Daemon, and to drag him inside. Plenty of advice for you to change clothes.

Be it for declaring war, or rejecting a marriage proposal, you like to be well-dressed for the occasion. You take your time choosing your outfit, strapping a tiny dagger to your thigh.

Only when an hour has passed, you walk towards your solar. There are a few knights stationed outside, one of them being your Dayne companion. He approaches you cautiously.

“The Prince left instructions for us to enter at your call. One scream, Princess, and we will be in there before he can draw his sword.”

He sounds worried. It's actually kind of sweet.

“Don't worry. He won't hurt me.”

But despite your words, as soon as you enter your solar, you are grabbed harshly by the arm. You look up to find Daemon not only free from chains, but furious.

Perhaps the guards thought it would not be very diplomatic to chain him up. A shame. You jerk off his grip, and go serve yourself some wine. It's a very neat trick, one you have learned from the men in your life. One must let the other do all the nagging while pretending to be entirely innocent, so they sound insane. Often, it leads to the person reproaching you actually thinking they are going mad. You only use it when you feel particularly cruel.

"You took your time.” Daemon follows you, stomping and huffing. “I have been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I was not decent. I had to change into my afternoon clothes.” You give a little twirl, enjoying the luxurious feel of the skirt against your body. You know it will only anger him further. “Do you like them?”

“You have some nerve.” Daemon scoffs. You offer him a goblet of wine, which he takes. “Do you know what men say of you?”

“Does a viper pay attention to the mumbling of worms?” Your voice is calm and sweet. In truth, you do pay a attention to what they say. Who doesn't? But Daemon doesn't need to know that for the game you are playing.

“You are hardly a viper.” His eyes narrow at you, in a flutter of pretty lashes and lilac. Good Gods, what right does he have to be so handsome. You hate him.

“I like to think I am one.” You drink from your wine, giving him a coy little look over the rim of your goblet.

“They say you are a witch. That you place your spell on them and have them dancing at your tune.” He complains, gruffly. So far, he seems very angered by you, which is fair considering the way you parted. What makes no sense is the fact that he has come this far to make his displeasure known.

“It's not my fault men are often led by their cocks.” You shrug. It's rather crass, but you are unbothered by it. If men are allowed to speak how they please, why shouldn't you?

“Perhaps not.” Daemon cocks his head. “But I do wish to ask something of you.”

“Oh?”

Daemon places his goblet down. He plucks yours from your fingers, all soft movements. He raises your hand to his lips, and kisses your palm. His eyes never leave yours.

“Remove your spell from me.”

You laugh. You stare at him as if he has two heads. You laugh some more.

"I'm serious. You have bewitched me. Ensnared me with your charms and feminine…” He lets go of your hand, angrily gesturing. The laughter dies in your throat. Daemon is not joking.

“I have what?” You repeat, confused. Now you are actually thinking him a madman.

“You have made it so I can't lie with another woman. I only get relief when I think of you. Remove your spell, or I shall…” And it's too good, too much of a joke not to laugh. You restrain yourself, knowing angering him more could be bad for your health.

“You shall what?” Despite your attempts, your amusement must show because Daemon grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a tiny shake. It's not enough to hurt you, but it startles you into seriousness.

“I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you.” His eyes do not show the emotion his words imply. While his face reflects need, Daemon has not drank nearly enough to have such a loose tongue. Something is amiss. “Let me have you. If you don't remove your spell, I need to have you.”

His eyes don't show need, but eagerness. He is trying to manipulate you. The thought of him implying that you must let him have you makes your blood boil. You are angered beyond belief. Has he really come all this way to make some half-assed marriage proposal, in the hopes of trapping you with him? Who does he think he is dealing with?

If you were another woman, more inexperienced, you would let this man manipulate you right into his bed. But you are not. You are old enough to know that lust can be cured with a few well-placed hot baths and enough time and distance. His excuses are a poor attempt. You almost prefer the other men's simpering.

“I am no witch, you fool. Now, out!” You point at the door.

Daemon straightens. He eyes you carefully.

“I need you.” He repeats. It's clearly a lie. You wonder what else is, too. Is it odd to feel flattered by him being so set on you, he is willing to manipulate you into marriage?

“You do not. There is nothing interesting here, go find a whore.” You cross your arms over your chest. Your traitorous heart seems to disagree. You don't want him to leave, says the heat in your cheeks. Not yet, answers the harsh ring of your pulse in your ears.

“I do.” Daemon steps closer. He seems slightly unsure and that is what gives him away. If you are trying to manipulate someone, you have to go all in. You can't hesitate because they call your bluff. His seduction techniques need serious work. “You have to let me have you.”

“I don't have to do anything.” You scowl at him, getting right up on his face. To you, it doesn't matter if you are shorter, you will put the fear of the gods in him or so the Seven help you. “And I do not believe a word you say. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have merely asked. I do not appreciate you trying to manipulate me. I do not need to be coerced into it, I am no maiden.”

“And if I were to ask?” His nose brushes against yours, tenderly. Daemon's eyes have turned dark, his body nearly vibrating in excitement at your anger. You had heard Targaryens had queer customs, but had not expected him to be so aroused after getting yelled at.

“Too late, out!” You push your index finger into his chest, hard. Daemon smirks. He takes a step forward, forcing you to back off or get your finger crushed.

“You said I had to only ask for what I want.” He gets closer still, backing you against a wall. “No more games.”

“No more games.” You agree, a bit shakily. He noses along your temple, softly. You look up at him, all big, surprised eyes. How has he turned the whole situation into his favor so fast? And when, exactly, did you lose control?

“I want to know what is behind your eyes.” Daemon presses a soft kiss to your brow, then to your eye. You let go of the breath you are holding, eyes fluttering closed. Your lips tingle with the urge to be kissed, alight with the rush that comes from being seduced. But you do not intend to make it easy for him, no. He can't just expect you to submit just because he asks.

“No, thank you.” You duck beneath his arm, leaving behind your moment of weakness. He still tried to manipulate you, after all. He deserves a bit of suffering.

“What do you fear?” Daemon grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. He nuzzles your neck. “It certainly isn't modesty, you said so yourself. You are no blushing virgin.”

“I do not want to marry you.” You jerk free of his grip.

“Perhaps, you think I would enjoy you less. Or you fear I might not like what hides behind your eyes.” He kisses right behind your ear, softly hugging you to him. “The thoughts you have… The things you crave…” His hand traces an upward path, from your belly button to your collarbones. “To me, it only means you are already mine.”

“I'm not interested.” You say, but your whole body is saying yes. You just can't help it. His attention is overwhelming. His hands are gripping at your waist, your hips, everywhere. You shake against him as if you were an innocent still, and not a woman seasoned in the arts of love.

“I made you like this.” Daemon presses scorching hot kisses against your neck. You wonder if all Targaryens run as hot as this one. “Do you remember, little dornish girl?”

“You did not.” You pull away once more, and grab your wine again. You take a hearty sip. The memory you have obsessed over is one he has thought of too. Daemon had awoken something in you that rainy afternoon, and it's clear you had done the same to him.

“I taught you something, even if unwillingly. I always wondered, when I heard of your exploits, if you thought of me too.” And you have. Oh, how badly have you thought of running into him and bedding him, but you are not willing to admit it. You know if you look at him, you will give yourself away, so you keep stubbornly looking somewhere else.

Daemon chuckles.

“Let me see those eyes.” He gently grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. “Ah. So I was right.”

Furious at being caught, you place one of your hands on his hair and tug. Hard. Hard enough to force him to expose his neck.

“How do you feel about my eyes now?” You snarl.

“They are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Daemon's brows are pinched together, his back slightly arched. Your punishing grip on his hair is hurting him, and you are glad for it. Yet, his lips are parted as if experiencing the sweetest delights. “They are those of a woman in the throes of passion.”

“Do not test me.” You warn, forcing him to his knees. He goes willingly.

Daemon reaches up slowly, his much bigger hand curling around your wrist. He coaxes you to let go, softly massaging.

“I can taste the arousal cursing through your blood, Princess.” He pulls you into him, until both of you are sprawled out on the floor. “I see how your chest heaves, how your breath is getting heavier, how your lips plump… You are excited.”

“So what if I am?” You huff. It's all cornered animal. You cannot deny it any longer, you want him too badly for it.

“It means you and me… We are the same.” And he finally kisses you. His mouth meets yours in a hungry kiss, into which you pour all your frustration. But Daemon coaxes you to go slower, to kiss more passionately instead of hurriedly.

“I want you.” He says, when you part. His forehead rests against yours. “Let me keep you. Be mine. A woman as bloodthirsty as you cannot stay alone forever.” As he lays you down on the floor, as he gets on top of you and his hands pin yours down. “Let me keep you.”

And this time, you say yes.

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purple-writer8 · 4 days

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Suburban Legends - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court Reader

“When you hold me, it holds me together.”

warnings: unrequited love, pining, evil thoughts, intrusive thoughts, lesser fae thinks shes not enough, hating on girl, self doubt, self loathing, reader is a handful, ice powers, groping, lesser fae slander

1.7k words

Part Two to Heather

Masterlist :)

He kissed you. Azriel kissed you. And then you winnowed away, because he kissed you in a way that you knew would screw you up forever. Because Azriel could never love you. You were not soft like Elain, were not some soft baker with beautiful High Fae features.

No. You were just a winterling. A lesser fae that iced everything around her. You paced the House of Wind, paced and paced through the entire manor— scared out of your mind of seeing Azriel again. Why would he kiss you?

Your mind raced and raced and raced.

Azriel deserved someone better than you, he deserved Elain. Not some winterling that got jealous because of a sweater, jealous and you two weren’t even together. Oh, you were so embarrassed— you wanted to die. You got a quick snack in the kitchen, thanking the house for it, and then you rushed up to your room.

Cauldron, you would die of embarrassment if you saw Azriel.

The way that he kissed you, it killed you, because you knew that you were doomed. How were you supposed to live now that you had tasted him? He had kissed you out of pity, you were sure. Or maybe he just didn’t know what to do.

As you ate your chips and dip, you noticed a shadow slithering underneath your door. You ignored it. He probably just wanted to know if you were freaking out or something.

You heard footsteps outside your door and froze when they stopped in front of it. You whispered a curse when your plate with your snack turned to ice, you really had to start controlling your powers.

A knock sounded against the wood of your door, and you wanted to die. You could feel the ice appearing through your body, invading your skin as it did whenever you were in distress— a winterling defense mechanism. You remained silent, unmoving, and after not answering the door for minutes, the shadow and it’s singer left— footsteps disappearing down the hall.

You were tempted to run out of your room and go after him but you were never going to do that. You would die of embarrassment if Azriel simply rejected you, telling you that he only kissed you because he felt bad.

Azriel knocked on your door every night for an entire week, maybe to reject you, or maybe to send you on a mission. You were not sure, but you had barricaded yourself in your room. If you were needed for a mission, Rhysand would reach you, you were sure. Your room had turned into a winter wonderland, your anxiety making your ice powers almost uncontrollable— and frankly unbearable. You were sure you had frost bite by now.

A knock sounded to your door, and instantly you turned to it, watching for the shadow that would always check on you when Azriel came. But no shadow appeared. “Darling? It’s me.”

Surely you could die from embarrassment when you heard the High Lord outside your door. You whimpered when more ice manifested from your fingertips, it fucking hurt and you were sure your fingers could be thawed off your hands any moment now.

Dark majestic talons caressed your mind, and you were tempted to let them in— but instead reinforced the walls that kept Rhysand out, because how fucking embarrassing is it to let your High Lord see how you’ve iced your entire room just because a guy doesn’t want you.

You are supposed to be better than that. But you weren’t.

“Open the door,” the High Lord ordered, and you complied.

His violet eyes widened when he took in the state of your room. “I… What… I… Ice.” Was all he managed to say as he stepped into the room, shivering as the cold hit him.

You smiled awkwardly, unnaturally, “hey.”

“So when Cassian said you turned his room into ice… he meant this?” Rhysand asked and you nodded, awkwardly shifting your weight on your feet. His eyes took in your form and you almost covered your face, but you didn’t. Because the one person who knew all your flaws and ugliness was your High Lord, and he accepted you that way.

It wasn’t a pretty sight when you lost control. As a winterling lesser, the powers that you had were all ice ones. You could wield ice from your fingertips, and when distress happened upon your body— ice bloomed through your flesh, because your blood turned cold. You weren’t good at controlling them; so when anxiety hit you, your veins turned black and you froze everything around you.

Every vein in your body was noticeable, your eyes were white, and you were covered in ice.

Rhysand was probably disgusted by you.

“Azriel says you’ve been cooped up here since game night. Says you won’t open the door for him.” Rhysand stated as he looked around your room, blinking slowly as he took in all of your belongings being frozen.

“For him. But I opened the door for you,” you answered sheepishly.

“He let me know what happened… that night when he went to get you outside… I…” You put your hand up when he said those words.

“I know. I know. He doesn’t like me. I was stupid to complain about a sweater. I mean, my audacity, right?” You laughed dryly. Rhysand frowned, eyeing you— then eyeing your room.

With a snap of his fingers, your room was back to normal. “We’re going out to Rita’s tonight, join us,” Rhysand stated simply, and you were about to decline, but his stern gaze told you that it was a command— not a suggestion.

“I would much rather stay in,” you try anyways. Rhysand shakes his head. “So you could drown in ice and self pity? Get a grip, darling.”

You don’t admit that it hurts. It was not self pity, it was self hate, loathing. You ultimately nod, because you know he is not gonna let you just wallow in your sadness even though it’s all that you want. “Talk to him,” Rhysand said before winnowing away.

You scoffed at nothing. Absolutely not. If he rejected you, which you were sure he would, it would cause you more self hate than you could ever deal with.

You got ready that night in your usual attire. Glittering gowns with diamonds that resembled little snowflakes, reminiscent of your origins. You would look at the clock as you did your hair, and when ten pm rolled around and Azriel did not knock like every other night that week— your whole life was ruined.

At eleven you called for Rhysand in your mind so he could take you down to Rita’s and that he did, though the flight was silent. You were not very fond of him ordering you to hang out when you were miserable.

At Rita’s, you wanted to die.

Azriel was there, sitting silently next to Elain. And instantly your evil mind was hoping she got poisoned by the cocktail she was gently and elegantly sipping.

You truly were unlovable and unlikeable, huh?

You could feel those hazel eyes on you, though no shadows came to greet you. You did not dare meet his gaze because you were sure you would hurl ice all over the floor, so you rushed to find your High Lady and Mor who were chatting by the bar.

They greeted you happily, chatting you up over things you could care less about— because how could you focus when you could see everyone fawning over the shadowsinger in your peripheral vision. He was so magnetic to every fae that it was almost obnoxious.

Feyre started talking about the mating bond with Mor, indulging her in a debate about whether all mates were meant to be. All you could do was fantasize about you and Azriel, mismatched as you may be, surprising the whole court by being mates.

A fae can dream.

A male appeared out of the blue— a handsome male— and he asked you to dance. You indulged him. It was better than standing there pretending to care about Feyre and Mor’s conversation. You loved them, but your mind was elsewhere.

The male danced to the music, swaying along with you, his eyes focused on your white ones. “Shit… I can imagine you sucking my cock with those looking up at me… a perfect lesser fuck,” you gasped at his lewd words because, what the fuck?!

Your heart thudded and you smelled danger, so you gave him an awkward smile and stepped back from him, only for him to snake one strong arm around your waist, tugging you close. “I-Uh, have to go,” you chuckled nervously, looking around for your friends, though the sea of people dancing made it near impossible for you to see their usual booth.

“What does a little lesser like you have to do that is better than being with me?” He asked, leaning down to your ear, an act that sent shivers down your spine. Fear. Which was stupid because you were a spy for the Night Court, you could handle him.

Before you could even snap at him, his hand groped your behind, causing you to gasp and push him away— but in that moment he was stronger, so he tugged you right back to his bulky body. “Who do you think you are?” You scoffed at him, a snarl on your face.

“I’m taking you home tonight, lesser.”

“Over my dead body.” The man stumbled backwards as he looked over your shoulder, to the shadowsinger that had appeared between the crowd. Every fae in the room turned to look at Azriel, at the icy rage that surfaced on his perfect face. He parted the crowd as he stood there, his wings tucked tight as he glared at the High Fae that had been harassing you.

A comforting shadow slinked to you, wrapping around your icy wrist gently. Its gentleness was a stark contrast to the sheer anger it’s master exuded from his being.

“Fuck… I didn’t know… didn’t know she was yours, shadowsinger.”

“Now you know not to fucking touch my mate.”

Author’s Note:

this definitely needs a part three i know

General Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @sheblogs

Series Taglist: @illiicits @dee-writes-smut @going-through-shit @saltedcoffeescotch @evergreenlark

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bdsmrist · 10 months

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theres something so endearing about the church dancing scene and how the characters moves match their personalities.

kim’s dancing is solely based on footwork. it takes finesse, and you can *see* him thinking every step through, focussing his gaze to the floor. like hes trying to remember a dance he learned in his 20s during his juvie days. but he could “break the floorboards” with just how confident every step is. hes calculated, but assertive all at once.

then theres harry, who’s going absolutely insane on the dance floor— erratic, big movements that on their own seem completely impulsive and improvised —but they all seem to come together into one majestic disco infernum number. kind if like how he is as a detective and as a person in general; winging it, but doing so passionately with every single fiber in his bones. i remember busting into laughter when i first watched it. the mind boggling ordeal of watching a man in his 40s recovering from a three day bender bust such legendary moves on the dance floor was priceless. a truly amazing sight.

and then theres andre— the only youngster of the bunch —whos just straight up vibin, shuffling side to side. not moving much. nothing too out there, nothing fancy. if anything, it looks like hes mainly enjoying the scene before him; two random middle aged officers who came out of nowhere and helped them organize their night club, for no other reason than because “fuck yeah, music!”, letting lose and having fun on the dance floor with them. the “delinquents”. a part of him probably doesn’t believe it. its most likely the most positive interaction hes ever had with police officers in his life. but he lets it happen and enjoys himself like the chill guy he is.

its just such an absurd scene, its fun and energetic, but it still conveys so much without saying anything at all. truly one of the most, if not *the* most exciting and remarkable part of the game.

#also when i first played the game and did the church dance sequence kim and i were wearing the matching jackets #which was ON ITS OWN truly iconic #disco elysium #harry du bois #hdb #kim kitsuragi #DE #disco elysium spoilers #de spoilers #kimharry

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ecoamerica · 23 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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i-am-hungry-24-7 · 16 days

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[Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me?]

F!Reader proposing to Simon, let’s see what happens :D !!

The breeze touches your cheek tenderly, bringing you a sliver of coolness, just what you need now to calm down your anxious yet excited mind.

Everything is just as you planned. A nice dinner with some wine, you suggest going for a short walk just like you two always did. You watch Simon walking beside you, left hand engulfing yours in his warm and calloused one and looking in front of him, so you tuck your hand in your pocket.

The little box is there, and you sigh in relief, the whole date tonight you’ve kept checking its presence while making sure Simon doesn’t notice.

You two stop by the lake you both love. The stars shine dazzling in the sky, with the moon accompanied their beauty.

Everything’s perfect. Now it’s the time.

“Simon.” You take a deep breath, and watch your lover turning his head to meet your gaze.

“yeah, luv?”

“I have something to tell you.” You let go of his hands, shifting your body so you’re face to face with him. You can see his eyes dancing across your face with curiosity inside, but he just stays silent, waiting for you to continue.

“Simon Riley, I might not be the most beautiful person among others, might not be the smartest person that can help you the most, but I’m the luckiest person, because I found you in the crowd.”

You clenching hard at your skirt, under Simon’s wide eyes, you continue your words.

“Just like I said, I may not be the smartest, but I’ll always be by your side, holding your hands when you’re unsure of yourself, hugging you when the world is cruel and you need warmth. You are the person I wish I could spend my whole life with you...”

With wobbly knees, you lift your skirt slightly to kneel, and you can hear people standing by and gasping, but all you can see is the man you love with your entire life, eyes sparkling with surprise and the love you have in yours too.

“Will you marry me, Simon Riley?”

The box you have been checking along the whole night is now placed directly in your palm, the diamond on the ring shines majestically just like the stars above you two.

“Of course.” You can sense the difference in Simon’s voice, his voice is shaking too, but the happiness and touch inside is undoubtful. “please stand up, love.”

You let out a sigh of relief, steady your legs and start to straighten your legs.

“ahh!” the sudden relief doesn’t stop your trembling legs, and your body waddled, causing you to stumble onto the ground.

“Lovie!” Simon drops to his knees, your knees hurt, but you don’t care about it when you watch the ring box roll out of your hands and drop into the lake.

“the ring!” Crying out, you stumble to your feet and run into the lake. You know the lake is shallow, you can still find it, you need to find it—

A splash comes in your ears. Through your watering eyes, you see Simon step into the lake with you. His left hand steading you while his right arm swirls inside the water.

“It’s okay, love, it’s here, I found it, don’t worry.”

Finally, the white box appears in Simon’s hand when he retrieves his arm from the lake. Fortunately, besides some dirt and grass, the ring lies safely inside the box.

You don’t have a single energy to speak, letting Simon lead you back to the ground, both of your clothes are damp, and you're still recovering from the fright, but Simon’s chuckles bring you back to reality.

You stupidly watch him burst into a low laugh, a smile blooms on his scarred yet gorgeous face.

“You really aren’t the smartest person.” He hugs you closely until you can hear his heartbeat, faster than usual due to the accident, yet soothing just like you always listen to when you snuggle with him on the bed.

“thank you for confirming, Simon.” You pout, but a grin spread on your lips too.

“but you’re the bravest person, and I’m the luckiest man.”

Raising your eyebrow, you lift your head with disbelief, which vanishes when you look into his eyes.

There’s affection. immovable. unquestionable.

“Let’s go home and take a shower, yeah?”

“Sounds amazing”

Simon reaches out his hand, and you take them into yours. They’re wet this time, but it doesn’t affect the heat radiating and sharing through the connected palms.

“But next time don’t jump into the lake immediately, it could be dangerous. ‘kay?”

“Okay. I'm a dork I admit.”

“yeah, a cute dork.” He squeezes your hands playfully. “My little dork.”

#cod imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #simon riley imagine #cod x reader #cod x you #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader

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colourstreakgryffin · 2 months

Note

HIIIIII I'M BACK, my phone was broken for a few days and even when it was fixed I had no inspo for ideas on asks... BUBUBUBUBUT I'M BACK AND I GOT AN IDEAAAA

I've been losing interest in kny recently so I think I'll go along with Hazbin Hotel!!

Hear me out so much, Husk, Cherri, or Vox with reader who does ballet... I do ballet myself and that shit is soohohohoho fucking awesome and painful at the same time, like doing a split while doing a backbend too, not even like a half assed split no no no no no. A perfectly aligned split. I've had so much moments where I thought my legs would just... *pop* like a doll's. BUT ENOUGH OF MY RANTING.

remember to take breaks and drink enough water, you don't have to rush anything. take good care of yourself, make sure you have healthy habits and treat yourself to something today, like going out to a great restaurant! idk but just make sure you treat yourself to something nice today, Chiharu :3

here's terribly deformed Charlie bringing you chocolate milk :3

Haha! I have that EXACT SAME picture! I love terribly deformed Charlie bringing me chocolate milk every Wednesday. Thanks, Lottie! You know Husk’s response to our flexibility is a resounding ‘what the fuck’ and this is my first time ever trying out Cherri! And hey, I won’t write Cherri or Vox, I’ll write both!

Husk

Husk is a sweetheart when it comes to being your boyfriend, trust me. He’s caring, he may be a bit rough with his advice but he only does so in order to protect you. He’s skilled with people and he is happy to help comfort you. His patience is high… but even Husk himself is anxious at getting to see your beloved hobby

Ballet. Well, Husk isn’t against it. He always thought it was such an old hobby. That ballet dancers don’t really exist anymore but then again, he won’t express his thoughts outloud and he gives you thumbs up when watching your practices. It’s very impressive and he isn’t against being at every single practice to performance

You know Husk is freaked out by how flexible you are. Back bends whilst doing full on splits. Satan’s fuck, he is cringing at how a human body can do that but at the same time, he’s so impressed that he just can’t bring himself to hate what he is looking at

Husk is in complete and utter awe when he can review your practice performances. Ballet may be a bit disturbing to him, due to how much it stretches the body’s limits, but it’s also so beautiful, graceful and majestic

Husk can’t pull his eyes off you and he falls into a deep state of enamour. You’re so beautiful, even more than you already are, as you dance. He couldn’t even believe it was possible

Husk is quite protective over you, like I said before, so when you land on your ankle badly, he is rushing onto the stage to check it and carry you out to make sure you’ll heal well. He won’t let you practice or stretch or practice your flexibility until you are doing better

“Honeypot. You will win this dance, I know you will. You’ve done training for years and you look incredible as you dance. Yes, I will be there in the crowd”

Cherri Bomb

Cherri Bomb is an energetic, supportive and joyful girlfriend. One that doesn’t mind getting a bit destructive and carefree with her partner and encouraging them to have more fun with her but has a soft spot. Of course, however, you know she will take your hobby seriously and help you or watch you for you, it’s actually fun to her as well

Cherri actually finds your ballet passion ‘precious and cute’. Something she is all for since it’s such a simple, innocent, harmless favourite activity. She likes making bombs to make things explode, you love to explode the competition and grace the dancefloor stage with your beauty and poise

Cherri may seem like she isn’t much of a dancer, maybe more of a rapper but seriously, she actually is and it’s canon that she is a very skilled dancer so there is no doubt that she is either passing down her own skills in dancing, training you more or dancing with you. She will dance ballet with you and practice two-dancer ballet with you

Cherri will blow up a hole in the wall at your practice ballrooms or your performance ballrooms to make it and she refuses to let anybody else try take care of you if you’re hurt so suspect her to get into a fight, in a crime of protective passion. She wants you happy and safe, she’ll fight for that

Cherri is actually quite fine with how flexible you are and how your warm-up stretching can really stretch out your limbs. The way you lift your leg up until it’s completely vertical and both your pelvis and the underneath of your thigh is visible. She is impressed and asks if you can teach her how to be so flexible. She isn’t as disturbed as the other two, she likes it

Cherri, just like Husk and Vox, falls into a complete and utter admiration at being able to watch you perform and dance. The soothing gentle music has her head dancing as well and her single eye basically widening, she’s more in love now then ever

“Hey-ya, bubblegum. Did’ya have fun on ‘dat stage? I had fun recordin’ it! You looked amazin’, you’ll win this tournament. No problem! Of course, babe, I’ll be in the front row!”

Vox

Vox is a busy man and can be a bit arrogant at times, but he is actually quite a good boyfriend. He gives off good advice and support, he is protective with his power and he is the type to spoil his lover. When he is around, he’d doting, he’s a bit overbearing but because he cares and he makes sure you’ll always feel loved and comfortable with him

Vox is actually quite supportive but he is the voice of reason. He won’t tolerate you overdoing yourself in your precious little hobby, he will encourage to dance ballet but if you go too far, he will step in and correct your behaviours. However, that doesn’t often happen so you can dance all you want at the big practice ballroom he hired out for you and/or dancing with you

Vox isn’t sure how to feel about seeing how flexible you are… it’s pretty hot but at the same time, it’s disturbing. You’re on the floor and you’re stretching your pushed-back leg over your back so much that you’re almost in a wheel-shape with your body. He’s amazed, he is already cheering you on, he’s recording it to brag about he can’t help but feel aroused

Vox, everytime he attends your passionate hobby’s practice and performance events, records it on his phone or on his own face so he can both watch it back to admire you and to show the other Vees that he is the boyfriend of the best ballet dancer in Hell. He sometimes forgets to record it since you look so… incredible

Vox is protective, extremely protective. You’re smaller, you’re weaker. You’re less wealthy and less well off. You require constant guarding to ensure you’ll be able to make it to the next day. If you even slightly land on your ankle awkwardly, he is stomping up to the stage and taking you away so he can check up on you

You know Vox almost drops the camera he is using to record you every professional dance on the stage and he can’t stop thinking about how unbelievably beautiful you look, how you’re as silly and velvety like a swan with your every spin and flex. He takes a few seconds to snap out of his awe over you

“Come now, sweetheart. You’ve done more than enough, that dance can again-kill everybody in this room and you made all those amateurs look pathetic. I want to reward you for this. Don’t you worry, I’ll be at the final performance“

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wisteria-lotus · 1 month

Text

Painted

Written by: Wisteria and Lotus

Warning!!: NSFW!, groping??,18+!!!!, unprotected sex, nipple play, Rafayel being a little prankster(?) (tell us if we missed anything!)

(around 1k words)

(srry for the wait!)

⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾ 18+ only ☾ .⭒˚ minors dni ⋆.˚ ☾⋆.˚ ☾

You could see a bright light shine upon your eyes as your eyes glinted towards beautiful purple hair. You awoke from a short nap and found yourself on a soft cushioned couch in Rafayel’s art studio. You rubbed your eyes and squinted at the bright sunlight pouring out the vast windows of the studio, showcasing all of Rafayel’s masterpieces that were scattered around the floor. You continued looking around, marveling at his work, when you spotted Rafayel on a high stool, painting away at yet another piece of art. It was a beautiful sight to behold, as the glints of sunlight created a majestic aurora around him and every delicate stroke of his paintbrush was well thought out. He looked behind, to see you awake, as you rub your eyes because of the blurry vision you had when you woke up. As if he had some radar, a radar to see if you were awake, you suppose. He started grinning, like the Cheshire cat in Alice and wonderland, always with something up his sleeve. “You should come paint with me,” He suggested, noticing you gawking at his painting. You looked at him suspiciously, It was a surprise to be asked to do something with him instead of being ordered around as Ms. bodyguard. “I’m not very good at it..” you mumbled, trying to hide that you couldn’t paint even as good as a little 3 year old. “It doesn’t hurt to try,” he said with a big, cocky grin on his face. You predicted he was gonna rub his artistic talent while you were trying to paint with him. And you were right, the moment you tried to paint on the small canvas, he had already made a masterpiece, and he showed it off to you with that cocky face you hated.

You sighed and attempted to paint something simple when suddenly Rafayel leaned back a little too much and toppled over, losing balance. “Woa-WOaaHHhhhh!!” He yelped and grabbed on to anything he could reach, which happened to be the hem of your shirt. Your eyes grew wide as you fell back with Rafayel, who was still gripping your clothes tight. “THUD!!!” Your eyesight was hazy as you tried to move your body when you realized you weren’t lying on the floor. You felt a firm yet soft surface under yourself. You were in a faze and looked down when you spotted a set of chiseled abs beneath you. “Owww…” Rafayel groaned, rubbing his head. You realized you landed on Rafayel and jumped up in response. Rafayel’s frown was replaced by a smirk. “Where do you think you’re going?” He grabbed your waist before you could get off him and swiftly flipped you over onto your back. Your mind was still processing everything that was happening and then, you met his alluring purple eyes. “Rafayel?” He was on top of you, and you had a perfect view of him. His soft, messy hair drooped right above his brows and his eyes were big pools of a purple galaxy. Your eyes made their way to his soft, pink lips. You couldn’t help but to admire this man. As his eyes met yours, he slowly leaned in closer. He couldn’t resist anymore, even when you were sleeping he wanted to give you a light kiss. He wasn't going to miss his chance again, and he leaned in for a kiss on your lips. Your eyes widened to the surprise of his lips meeting you. His tongue slipped into your mouth, your body soon heating up from the intimacy. He was addicted to your lips, how your tongue swirled around his and the strawberry scent that ignites in your mouth each time you breathed out. You could feel his hand tuck inside your shirt and up your chest. Everything about you was like a drug to him. In just a blink, your clothes were spread across the room along with the paintings. His hands are still wet paint, roaming around your body, leaving a trail of colors to where he touched. The paint soothing your skin, the colors being so vibrant. He admired you as if you were the prettiest painting he had ever seen. His lips trailed across your neck to your collarbone and all the way to your stomach. You felt shivers going down your spine from the cold marble floor of his art studio and his warm saliva along your body. The pants and huffs you two were both making filled the room up. Your body felt as if it would melt by his touch.

His slim hands roamed around and started inching upwards towards her chest. You felt the tips of his fingers rub your soft skin as the hands rested on your chest. Rafayel gently touched your breasts and kneaded them more firmly. His touch was still soft and gentle and he brushed a thumb over your perked up nipple, making you gasp in surprise. He smirked slightly as he looked down at your blushing face. He continued rubbing his thumb in circles on your hardened nipples and slid one hand down to your hips, and it lowered and lowered until his hand was on your inner thigh. As his fingers outlined your panties, he grazed his fingers near slightly. You could feel the warmth of his hands as you felt one of his fingers slip into your folds. “Ah-Ahh~!” You whimpered. Unfamiliar noises spilled out of your mouth the moment his fingers slid through your folds, the welcoming feeling of his fingers inside you making you jolt. He slipped another finger in making you arch your back abruptly ,from the pain that you were addicted to. Thrusting into you slowly as his other hand, still on your breasts, his fingers flicking your nipples making it even harder than it already was in the beginning. The wet noises were satisfying his ears.

He flipped you over to her stomach with your back facing him abruptly. You heard a faint rustle and a zipping sound behind you, and then suddenly you could feel his hard length press against your folds, not yet entering you. As you kept urging him to make you feel good, as you saw a glimpse of his face, he smirked once again like the Cheshire cat, teasing your aroused entrance. He slowly started to slip his length into your clit and he quickly shoved himself into you with one big push. You let out a big moan and Rafayel took it out, and then thrusted it in again, creating a steady rhythm. “Mpmh.. you're so tight y/n…” For once, you didn't see the smirking face on him, instead his mouth was slightly parted, and his skin gleamed with sweat. Thrusting into each second passing by, not even knowing how many times you called out his name to not go so rough with you, yet not listening like the personality he has of teasing you. “You're doing so good… Be still and be a good girl for me,” He said with a raspy voice, yet it was still soothing. Maybe it had been an hour since you guys started, or maybe even less, but that was only an assumption, as last time you checked the window the sun had been up, now the sun slowly going down the horizon through the big window he had in his studio. He fisted your hair with his big hands and continued thrusting. What felt like the thousandth time, he finally took his length out, you didn't know how many times you came since you guys started but it felt like a dream. Unless it really was a dream… You woke up to the morning light shining on Rafayel's pale and perfected face. It was as if God created him with his own bare hands, making Rafayel. Comfy on his bed all cuddled up, but also tense for some reason. You turned around to check the time on the antique clock he hung on his wall, but your eyes led to the direction of the mirror, as you slowly sat on the bed, looking at your reflection. One, you naked with hickey marks all over, and two, your body had strokes of paint on it. “I look like a complete mess...” you thought to yourself as you also noticed the pain in your whole body after the long hours spent with him. You sat on the edge of the bed and glanced over to him, and a sudden drowsiness fell upon you, your lack of sleep finally catching up on you. You moved your body close to Rafayel and leaned on his chest when your vision went dark and you fell into deep sleep dreaming about Rafayel…

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #lnd x you #lnd x y/n #lnd x reader #LnD Rafayel x y/n #LnD Rafayel x you #LnD Rafayelx #LnD smut #Love and deepspace smut

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tswwwit · 6 months

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Here's a thing! Reincarnation of Dipper who's not in the best of situations. (A Cult)

Got some gore and knives in here so watch out!

In the room of ritual, everything is ready.

Off in that wide and majestic space, the candles are lit. The circle is drawn. The altar spread with gold and trinkets, little offerings of delight and whimsy, tomes of knowledge. Along with the remnants of the latest sacrifice, dried in long trails down the stone.

The tomes, though. If one looked closely, they would see mostly encyclopedia volumes from like, sixty years ago. Because, yeah, those are going to be so tempting for a being of infinite knowledge.

Long chanting rings through the hallways, preparing the way. The ritual is in less than an hour. In preparation for the service, the servants of their lord make themselves presentable.

Dipper adjusts his robe - too big for him, by at least one size- and pulls at the neckline. It always drags up against his throat, in a tight, uncomfortable way. He tugs it down again, glaring into the small mirror on the otherwise bare wall.

Bill Cipher is the most powerful being in the universe, and his reach is infinite and his discernment of the mind and mastery of mysteries is unquestionable, yadda yadda yadda.

Dipper just. Doesn’t know what everyone else here expects to happen. Especially with the setup unchanged from the one he saw last year. And the year before that. And the one before that.

Odds are, this ritual is going to end up the same as every other one.

Pointless.

Dipper adjusts his robes again, and smooths out the front with slow strokes. As long as this is going to happen, he might as well avoid drawing attention to himself. He’s had enough ‘attention’ for more than a lifetime.

There’s a rhythm to these ceremonies. Dipper hears the footsteps, and easily tucks the hood of his robe up, only semi-stumbling as he joins the twin lines of robed figures leading into the ritual room.

As he tucks his hands together, covering them with long sleeves - Dipper spends another moment to silently sigh.

He joins the line, ducking his head as he joins in formation. The two lines of followers shuffle on with their long robes brushing the floor. He can hear them whispering to each other; varying levels of excitement, boredom. Talking about plans for after the ritual. He thinks he picks up one of the more devout members, almost humming with anticipation.

Despite the murmurs, the sight itself could be quite impressive. An all-seeing eye, if it was real, might even appreciate it.

Still, all these dramatics are so over the top. Just as fruitless and stupid as every other prayer, or ritual. Never worked before, not gonna work now. Dipper’s not sure why they’re trying the same freakin’ thing, over and over again.

For a bunch of people obsessed with the infinite power and knowledge Cipher represents, they haven’t accrued any.

And for that matter! If Bill Cipher’s eye is truly all-seeing, why hasn’t he ever responded? His triangle is emblazoned on every wall, and on their robes. You can’t look at a surface without seeing it staring back at you, and there’s no short of devout worshipers, constantly praying and doing rites.

Dipper dares a glance at one of the long scrawls on the walls, seething slightly at the handwriting. And the grammar.

If he was watching, surely he would have spoken up by now. Even if it’s just to critique the decor, which is tacky as hell.

The main ritual room fills up with warm bodies, and Dipper stands in an inconspicuous place. Just to the left, and not quite entirely in the back. At the front of the room, he can see the priest nodding approvingly, hands tucked behind his back.

Hidden under the sleeves, Dipper clenches his hands together. Breathing out a silent prayer of his own, to nobody particular. He can stand stock-still through one or two more ridiculous rituals, if it means no more prayers to a blind idiot god.

A week. Maybe two. That’s it.

Then he’ll be out of these robes, and far, far away from here. He’ll never see these people again. He’ll never have to chant a single verse again in slightly incorrect Latin. He’ll never have to kneel, or go before that stone altar again, not even once.

The outside world is - there’s a lot of talk about it. There’s always a lot of talk, more or less colored by personal experiences and levels of permission to go ‘outside’. Dipper’s learned, now, that well over ninety percent of the gossip is lies.

If his palms still sweat at the prospect, it’s because it’s… New. Different. But it can’t possibly be worse than here, and, like. Novelty is condoned by his not-really-a-god. Trying new things should be standard doctrine - if the priest wasn’t a total idiot.

Not much longer, now.

Out there, things will be better. Out there, Dipper will have a chance at having a life.

And there won’t be any trouble, since he’ll keep his mouth shut.

“Children of Cipher!” The high-pitched voice of the priest rings tinnily through the air. “We are once again assembled!”

Dipper bows in concert with his fellows. Staring at the ground is a good way to not roll his eyes.

A chant rises up, and he keeps his lips clamped together as he mirrors the ritual bowing and scraping and general genuflection. The priest will go on and on, no matter what he does.

All it takes to get through this is time. Another round of kneeling, then standing, then kneeling, until they stand at the last word in a thronging chorus.

“Brothers!” A louder, shriller call, now that everyone has been drawn close to a fervor. For all his faults, the priest does know how to read the mood - “Tonight is a special evening!” His arms thrown up, spindly and bare as the sleeves drop near to his shoulders. “Who will bleed for our god?”

The only thing that prevents Dipper from flinching is how much attention that would draw.

He hardly dares to breathe, lest some wayward motion be taken as ‘enthusiasm.’

Dipper keeps his head bowed, as murmurs start up around him and his forehead starts to prickle with sweat.

Sacrifices happen all the time. Mostly animals. Last year they got a goat, and that was considered a pretty big one and the stew afterwards was filling, and probably tasted pretty good.

Human blood, though. That’s - They haven’t done this in years.

The susurration of voices in the background grow louder, and Dipper stays bowed in place. Of course nobody wants to volunteer; ‘willing’ isn’t easily found when it comes to getting a knife in your flesh - but someone’s going to bleed, tonight. The ‘volunteer’ bit will be justified by whatever’s convenient.

Around him there’s murmurs, a few, low arguments. Tension is starting to rise, but for the most part, he’s being overlooked.

He nearly thinks he’s gotten away with it, too, when a hard shove on his back sends him stumbling forward.

“Here, brothers!” The voice rings in Dipper’s ears as he tries to backtrack, slipping on the robes of the person in front of him and dropping painfully to the floor. “The provider!”

Shit, shit, shit.

Dipper tries to glance back at whatever asshole pushed him, but the crowd’s already grouped together into a bunch of faceless clumps, drawing back from his fall.

He levels the worst glare he can manage, even as both his arms are seized by two of his so-called ‘brothers’. The big ones.

Gritting his teeth, Dipper digs in his heels. Struggling’s ineffective, protesting’s impossible. Gesturing wildly, including a raised finger in the general direction of the asshole who pushed him, Dipper gets dragged to the foot of the altar.

“See how he offers his flesh! See how he shakes with joy!” The priest jogs his arms in the air. Dipper shakes his head rapidly holding up his hands. “His arms, already offered!”

And for a moment Dipper’s simply annoyed at how obvious it is that the whole damn ritual is a farce.

“Tonight, we call upon the god! Tonight! We-”

Whatever else he’s yelling about, Dipper doesn’t pay any mind. He’s busy trying to use the loose robes to worm his way out of the guards’ grip. It halfway works, until one of them gets him by the bare wrist and painfully pulls it out.

The cold stone hits his waist. One of his sleeves is drawn to his shoulder. His arm pinned, bare and wrist upraised, on the stone.

Damn it, if he finds out who shoved him, he’s going to - he arches up, but firm hands hold his shoulders. There’s little time to think about revenge when he’s trying to find a way out of this. Arm, stuck. Shoulders, held. The exits, totally blocked by a bunch of crowded figures.

In a way, Dipper can’t truly blame them. After all, if the current sacrifice got away, who knows?

They could be next.

The priest seems pleased, at least. He paces in front of the altar, gesticulating wildly, and rambling on about god and blood, and other nonsensical bullshit.

Great. They have their ‘sacrifice’ for tonight. So, so super ‘willing’ too, what with how he, quote ‘rushed to offer himself’, end quote.

Dipper takes a long breath, holding it for three beats. Then he lets it out.

Okay. If this follows most other ‘human sacrifices’, it should be bearable. Some bloodletting, a nasty scar. Maybe a missing finger, but he’s learned to deal with worse. Push through the moment, wait for it to be over. Soon enough, he’ll be on the other side of this entire godawful situation.

Focusing on the transitory nature of pain helps him steady his breathing. And more importantly, slow his heart rate.

Calming meditation. He can work on that. Though it’s difficult, with the way the priest keeps going on and on about an ‘auspicious night’. Also, the very large, curved, very sharp-looking knife.

Dipper tries his best not to stare at it. Or to linger too much on the thought of knives and flesh and blood. If he could stop thinking, for once in his stupid life, it’ll be over before he knows it.

That’s totally not not the usual knife, though. He wonders where the hell it came from.

Last time, it was some basic utilitarian repurposed chef-thing, with a crudely engraved triangle on the hilt and the blade. This one’s much more… Ceremonial. Sharper, too, with a wicked curve and a gleaming edge, and covered in runes that Dipper’s never seen before.

He mouths a swear as one guard uncurls his fingers from the edge of the altar, turning his wrist back upright. The priest waves the very, very sharp blade around, yelling something that Dipper doesn’t bother parsing, even as his mind races. He can tell it’s definitely not Cipher runes on that thing, and not the old Latin their god prefers. Did someone go outside to find this? Another random artifact that the priest got his hands on? Seems like he’s always picking up useless semi-magic items.

The knife doesn’t feel ‘useless’, though, even from a glance. It radiates a pure and terrifying purpose.

Especially as it comes down, and rests against his wrist. Almost gently, its point bites a drop of blood from his skin.

The fetid breath of the priest pants over the altar. Dipper turns away, neck twisting as far as he can manage, eyes shut.

Please let this be just a bit. Just a drop. A small, tentative cut to fill a bit of the channels on the stone. There’s a sting to the metal, a slight burn, and though Dipper’s not one of the main Holders of Mysteries or anything, he feels like that’s a very bad sign.

Then he feels. Cold.

It runs down his inner arm, lingering for an instant before blossoming into sharp, bright pain. He nearly chokes on air, cringing into a hunched position as he feels the knife slide.

The catching drag of the old knife would have been painful, but that was mostly used for taking a finger, or maybe dragging across the back of the arm, in a more decorative than productive way of drawing blood.

The ease with which this knife cuts sends a deep, swirling nausea straight to the pit of his stomach.

“Behold, the flow! The magic gathers, my children!” THe priest’s voice warbles a bit as “With this tool, with this magic, our god will hear our call! He will behold our devotion, and raise us to glory! He will answer-” More and more words, variations on encouragement. Zero substance, all hype. A fanatical motivation speaker, Dipper thinks, half-hysterically.

Vapid or not, the result is effective. The sight of blood has certainly spurred everyone into a kind of frenzy, whether from fear or fervor, Dipper doesn’t care.

And they’re certainly getting a lot of blood. More than required.

Dipper struggles up against the hold, but it’s pointless. He ‘s stuck there for a few long minutes, oozing out for an audience that can’t even see half the damn thing, and it hurts.

The red trail gathers, slowly pooling down and into the engraven triangle. Enough to fill the shallow channels easily, which, uh. Dipper’s never seen before. With the other sacrifices it kind of stopped and clotted, but this moves like it’s being wicked along the surface.

He makes a face as his blood slowly travels through the lines, but can’t see any surface changes, or feel anything that might have been put on the stone.

Until it connects at the top point. Then it meets, completing the image of Bill with a strange, too-bubbly ‘blorp’.

Okay. Weird. But that’s plenty, right? Ritual done, blood offered, and now, he should get going.

Lurching upward gets the grip to loosen up on his arms, as the guards loosen their grip a bit. They already have what they need, and hell. Dippers deserves a friggin’ break. With the immediate attention off him, he can dare a glance at his arm -

And instantly averts his gaze to absolutely anything else.

The priest turns around, arms raised. Pumping them in the air, knife glinting in the candlelight. “Yes. Yes!” He swings the blade around, nearly catching one of the big brothers in the side. “See how easily the liquid flows. The power builds! I can feel it - the summoning, in this room tonight!”

The crowd calls out their enthusiasm, a high rising ‘oooh’ noise.

Dipper sighs, and tries to scoot back away from the altar. It’s done, at least; he’ll just have to cope with the aftermath. Could be worse.

“The other arm, brothers!” A loud, clarion call. Dipper whips his head around, as the priest lowers his arms - and turns back around. Pointing at Dipper. Again. “I feel the blade crave more!”

Uh, hello? What?

Dipper glances up at the knife. At how the slight sheen of blood has dipped into some of the runes, the faint glow - and goes ‘huh’.

Alright, he’ll admit. It’s definitely magical.

But he’s beginning to suspect it has less to do with Bill, and a lot more to do with other forces. Ones that might, say, make a ritual flow smoothly. Or make a fanatical asshole even more bloodthirsty.

Behind him, he almost feels the guards shrug, right before he gets shoved against the altar again. One of the assholes even dares to pat his side, in a brief bit of unexpected sympathy. Not that it means anything.

Dipper longs to curse them out, to scream at every single one of these absolute jackasses. Every one of them is just watching this happen. Nobody thinks about what happens next, ever, including -

He grits his teeth instead, hard enough that he thinks something might crack.

Everyone follows orders. The words of their supposed ‘god’, filtered through a man who’s fallible and frail and frankly fucking stupid. Always getting stupid magical trinkets. Always trying to find a link to that demonic god, constantly pursuing magic, and power, and influence. No matter the cost.

Why would he care if one of the too-few worshipers pays the price?

And fuck that.

Before, Dipper struggled as much as he could. Partly from fear, sure. But mostly to make a point. That this was stupid and painful, and wasn’t going to do anything anyway. Knowing that with enough kicking and protest, he might get them to cut things short.

Now, seeing the priest whip the blade back around, raising overhead with both hands - he fights.

A solid kick lands in the left guard’s groin, and he gets his wounded arm back. Dipper clutches it to his chest, but the other’s still pinned and being twisted, now. Another kick gets something softer, and he hears a huff from the priest. Then a loud, angry order to ‘Hold him down!’.

Dipper’s shoved into the stone, stomach digging into the edge of the altar hard enough to make him gag. His head hits the surface, more dizzying than painful. There's a hand gripped in his hair. Then his other sleeve is drawn up, his healthy arm extended over the table. Bare skin exposed, lying over the bloody surface.

He breathes heavily, nose nearly against the altar. It quickly grows hot from his breath, and moist, too, which is probably why his face feels wet. He doesn’t hear anything but his own harsh panting.

He never wanted to be a part of this, he never wanted to grow up like this. In a week or so, he was going to get out, and now he’s going to get hurt again, so soon, and he only has so much blood in him. He doesn’t want to die. He shuts his eyes, tucking up against himself. Hoping the weight of his body will drag his arm away where his own strength couldn’t, choking back a tightness in his throat. He was nearly out. He was nearly safe.

He was almost free.

He breathes harder, shutting his eyes tight. He presses his forehead against the runes, and the blood, and just wishes he wasn’t here.

Metal clangs on the floor, ringing bright as a bell.

There’s a sudden intake of breath. Dipper feels the hands release him, a shocked sound. Then the ‘flump’ of a lot of draped fabric, all at once.

Dipper keeps his face against the stone, breathing slower. That’s. That’s not how any ritual goes.

He can’t waste the opportunity, though. Now that his arms are free, Dipper pulls his sleeve back up, bundling it around the cut. Shit. Does he clench his fist or leave his grip loose? Which one slows blood flow.

Whatever interrupted this isn’t going to last. He’s only got a few seconds before everyone comes back to whatever passes for their senses, and tries to ‘complete the summoning’, or whatever the hell they were after.

Gotta act. Gotta - Dipper wheels around, panting for breath.

In front of the altar, all the robed figures in the room have fallen to their knees. The priest’s dropped the knife. Dipper scoots it a little closer to himself with a foot, watching as the zealot raises his arms in devout praise.

Dipper pauses. Still clenching tight on his wrist, though his sleeve is starting to feel damp. Things don’t just stop like that. The ritual has to continue. People should be surging up to keep the momentum, but the entire room is -

Oh.

Yeah, now he sees it.

All the candles were lit before. They give a little light to a room that’s never seen electronics in its life, dim as it is.

Right now, they’re bursting with flame, rising high enough to cast weird shadows over the cavern -

And it’s a very bright blue.

Shit.

Dipper whirls around, unsteady on his feet. Staring at a long, long trail of rising blood. Almost a string, or a reverse droplet, floating up from the triangle carved on the stone. In midair it spreads into a thin web, shapeless and vaguely pulsing.

Okay. That is definitely magical. And absolutely up to no good.

He fumbles around - where did he kick the knife? Maybe if he breaks it, it’ll interrupt this whole thing. Who knows what the hell that idiot priest did, or where he got the artifact, or what it does.

Dipper doesn’t know much about gods, or spirits, or demons, but anything that gets pulled in by a blood sacrifice can’t be a good sign. He spots the damn thing near the opposite corner, and braces himself on the altar. It he’s careful, he can reach it without alerting anyone. Maybe.

Which is when the entire hall fills with bright, loud laughter.

“Well, well, well, well, well!” The voice rings just as brightly as the laugh. Dipper jerks towards the sound, involuntarily, only to see a single eye open inside the breath web of blood. “What do we have here?”

There’s a resounding groan from the crowd. Various people start chanting, but they’re all using different verses, and the priest starts his own, presumably improvised, wail of praise and devotion. The end result is an ear-rattling clamor.

Dipper looks back at the altar. Watching the blood twist in this way, and that. The eye alights on him for a moment - he freezes - but it moves on from him quickly, examining the room.

There’s a lot to see, too. Maybe terrified, devout worshipers isn’t weird for a supernatural entity, but it’s thoroughly freaking Dipper out. Even the priest is on his knees.

“Boy, it’s been a while since I’ve had this kinda summon!” The net stretches, almost elastic; twisting into limblike shapes, and fractal forms. The slit-pupiled eye rolls back and forth. Then it blinks twice. “Might as well get dressed for the occasion! Hold on a sec.”

The eye shuts into nothingness. Moments later, the blood starts getting really active, pulsing faster, twisting into shapes like it’s alive.

Dipper spares a terrified check on his wrist, but. No, he’s not feeding it, or anything. This is something else. Someone else, taking the material and lending it power enough to grow.

Even as he watches, there’s a spreading arch of bone and the twist of veins. A fairly glorpy assortment of something between and below what looks like ribs, a strange thick blackness tinged with yellow…

He cringes back, and shuts his eyes. Shit, watching this is deeply unsettling.

Not that it’s gory, per se - that would imply that something’s being taken apart, when it shouldn’t be. This is something being put together, a way that it shouldn’t ever be.

He backs up a step from the writhing mass, getting more fleshy by the instant. Then grimaces, teetering in place. Blood loss, right. From the asshole who started this whole thing. He levels a glare at said asshole -

But. Beside him, the priest is quivering with tension. Trembling like he didn’t expect this to happen.

Frankly? Neither did Dipper. For all the times they’ve done a ritual, there’s never been a reaction like this.

This insane mass, forming insanely out of nothing. Or well, from blood, that spread out in a weird three-dimensional - triangle, oh shit -

He should have known. Should have noticed. This was a summon, and while the object used wasn’t for the right being, maybe that doesn't’ matter with so much gathered intent.

This is….

Dipper falls, awkwardly, to his knees. Then ducks down in as low a bow as he can manage, pulling the hood of his robe back over his head.

Part of him thought Bill didn’t exist, or at least not in the way these guys talked about him. Maybe they’d latched onto some other spirit or deity, and completely misinterpreted everything. Maybe they’d made it all up, including some of the really old texts. There was never any evidence that their lord and master was real.

But given what’s happening here…

Like hell is he gonna look like the only person who doesn’t.

Something - two things - go ‘clack’ on the altar. A few series of taps.

Then a long, pleased sigh, and the sound of soft movement, like cloth.

Dipper keeps looking down. The hood keeps him anonymous, another faceless shape in the crowd. Just one more figure genuflecting before his -

Before a god.

One that might not even deserve a capital letter on the word, perhaps, but still an entity that he should not, under any circumstances, piss off.

There’s a tap that sounds like a shoe, and a low hum. Something lands beside him with a thud. In the brief moment that he raises his head, Dipper catches sight of black loafers, and long fingers on an oddly human-looking hand.

He quickly lowers himself more towards the floor, holding his arm tight.

Yep, just one more super-devoted believer, same as all the others. Super not important enough to notice.

“You know, blood’s usually for blood gods!” Bill Cipher’s voice rings through the room. It’s higher than Dipper expected it to be. One of the fancy-looking black shoes kicks the knife up into the air, where it’s caught by the long fingers of that hand. “Pretty wild for you guys to pull this. With another guy’s artifact, of all things!” A chiding tut, and the knife twirls. “And pretty disrespectful, I gotta say.”

“My lord.” The priest’s voice is dry, even for a guy who already sounded half-dessicated. He rises to his knees, hands clasped together. “We meant no disrespect. We are here to serve you, master. As we always have.”

“Uh huh,” Bill says. In Dipper’s limited sight, he toys idly with the knife, pressing the tip against the finger of an opposite hand. A bead of something dark wells up, and he rubs his fingers together.

The priest recites several lines of a chant, making a triangle with his fingers. So eager, and so totally missing the disinterest in Bill’s tone- “We have always been searching for you, our worship unending! You honor us with your presence. You shine upon us your infinite glory!”

“Sure you have,” Bill says, sounding, if anything, bored. The blade in his hand flips around between his fingers, then back again. The motion reminds Dipper of a very deadly fidget spinner. “Do tell.”

Which is when the priest surges up, nearly grabbing onto Bill’s thigh. He’s only stopped by a rapid sidestep.

Dipper cringes back out of secondhand embarrassment. Bad move. Dumb move. ‘Devoted’ or not, Bill was bored already - and infinite beings of pure energy do not like being manhandled by mortals.

“Let us use this connection, and the blade! Let us complete the sacrifice.” The priest continues, undeterred. Shuffling closer on his knees, he spreads his arms wide, inviting and eager. “The blood could grant you all your power, that you might grant us-”

“Pass.” Bill says dismissively. The knife flashes, and there’s a wet, solid ‘thunk’.

Dipper catches a brief glimpse of the priest’s face - stuck in shock, pale and lined with age - just before his body falls to the floor, as limp as a ragdoll. The knife handle in his chest props him up at a weird angle, before a swift kick from a black shoe sends it tumbling down the short three steps of the dais.

Dipper cringes into a smaller ball, trying to scrunch himself into invisibility. He watches Bill pass in front of him, standing in front of the crowd. The hand rests on a hip, while the other is raised out of site. Still far, far too close.

On the one hand, Bill’s examining the congregation. Distracted, for a moment. Staying out of his attention is so, so great.

Dipper curls up in a much, much tighter ball despite that.

In every single one of his plans to get out of here, Bill Cipher existing wasn’t a factor. Much less his actual, physical presence. All he’d ever thought about was how this was bullshit, that the people he knew were awful - and how hopefully, nobody would notice if he left. Now the ‘god’ himself is here. Standing so near Dipper he could, if he wanted, stupidly touch the hem of his pants.

A distant, insane part of him chimes in with the stupid idea that it’s nothing to really worry about.

Like, compared to how he’s still losing blood, for example.

Right. Staunch first, panic later.

Dipper wraps his sleeve around his arm, as subtly as he can, teeth gritted. His first priority is to stop bleeding. No escape plan - or any plan for that matter - is going to be useful if he dies.

The immensely powerful nightmare god is also a problem, obviously. But in this moment he’s not the immediate threat.

“Hmmm.” Bill lets out a low, contemplative hum. It resonates in the room, with how deathly silent things have become. “Let’s see here…”

After a pause, he snaps his fingers. “Stand!”

The entire congregation leaps to their feet. One of them stumbles and gets a swift kick in the side.

“Sit!” Bill commands. Everyone drops to the floor. A low chuckle, then, “Turn around three times and bark like a dog!”

Oh, now that won’t -

Or maybe it will. Dipper cringes, back pressed against the altar. Don’t just comply, what the hell. Sure it’s a magical god-being, but - fuck. He watches the scene with a grimace.

Bill, though, seems to be having a great time. He’s bouncing in place, voice bright with enthusiasm. “Do a little dance! Twist yourself until your joints snap! Hell, start a fight with the guy next to you!”

There’s havoc in the room of ritual. Robed figures practically fall all over themselves, and Dipper notes with a nauseating turn that some of them have drawn knives of their own. Chaos reigns; an entire scramble to do each possible thing, all at once.

And Bill’s laughter rings out over everything, clapping his hands in delight.

Dipper’s trapped in this room with an insane madman, leading a horde of equally insane idiots, and he doesn’t have a way out. He hopes he’ll stay out of notice. He hopes that he’ll live through the next five minutes.

There’s no controlling the situation, but he can improve his odds.

The altar’s pretty close, and Bill’s turned away, for the moment. Dipper scoots back, inching himself towards the corner. With enough shuffling, he might be able to move behind it and get out of sight.

“Welp,” Bill claps his hands again, this time with finality. Some of the chaos stills. “You’re all annoying, boring little vermin, but maybe you guys could improve. I noticed the blood you used to summon me was real choice stuff!” The exaggerated sound of a kiss. “Very nice.”

Dipper feels sweat building up in his robes, and tries to be very still. Basically part of the ritual scenery. Anonymous furniture, at best.

“In fact. It was so nice.” The voice continues, at a lower tone. Almost a purr. There’s a clack of shoes on stone. “Let’s see who this little treat is!”

The god seizes Dipper’s wrist - the wounded one, sending a bolt of pain down his arm - and clamps his palm around it, incredibly tight.

Before he knows it, Dipper’s standing again, involuntarily, staring past his hood into a bright, glowing eye.

He’s meeting his god. He’s been noticed by Bill Cipher.

So far he’s not trembling, so. That’s one thing he has going for him.

Bill’s eye flicks down, then up again, almost thoughtful. Any question about his power is quickly tossed aside, because holy shit; the magic is nearly palpable, thrumming into Dipper’s skin and making his heart race.

He’s also sporting a bright, wide grin, in a face that makes Dipper do a double-take.

Like. He thought - he glances at the triangle on the back of the wall, then to the person in front of him.

Okay, it’s said that Bill Cipher can take any form he wants, human included, but, like. What?

Thankfully, Bill doesn’t seem to notice any of the insane, stupid things Dipper is thinking. All he does is raise his hand, and with one quick motion, sweep the hood off of Dipper’s head.

Dipper flinches back. Jaw clenched, eye shut.

Shit, shit, shit. Special attention. All the scenarios he can think of say ‘not good’. Best case scenario, it’s because Bill wants to thank him, for... Whatever his blood did. The rest of them involve increasingly terrifying ideas about what ‘nice blood’ means, and how much of it Bill might want. All of it, say. Maybe immediately.

Dipper can’t pull away, not with such a strong hold on his arm. Fighting is downright dumb. Trembling’s happening, despite his best efforts, and the intrusive thought bubbles up that, hey, at least there’s lots of pressure on his wound. Could be worse.

Nothing happens. For several seconds.

Eventually, Dipper peeks an eye open.

There’s Bill Cipher, looking back at him. His eye is literally lit up, the pleased grin wide on his face.

Dipper waits for an order, but the god doesn’t speak. He just wiggles his eyebrows. If anything, he looks oddly… expectant?

Fuck. Dipper has to do something.

What the hell, there isn’t any doctrine for this.

Sure, he knows all of the catechism, and each chant he was taught. He’s got an encyclopedic memory of everything he was taught about this powerful interdimensional god-being, he knows every ritual back and forth. The tenets spring to mind, unbidden: Be obedient, speak his words, serve him in all ways - and most of all, don’t think.

But Dipper can’t chant. He hasn’t been told to do anything yet. And though it’d be a death sentence, if serving involves more bleeding he’d be tempted to kick again. Hell, he literally just watched everyone else trying the other bits. They did exactly what they were supposed to, and that was ‘boring’.

He never could stop thinking, though.

Now, his mind is racing.

A little-known and never-preached fact about Bill Cipher is that he doesn’t, actually, like rules all that much -

So.

Dipper offers a hesitant, closed-mouth smile. He wiggles the fingers of his free hand, a bit awkwardly, in greeting.

Then ducks his head again, wishing he still had a hood to cover his face.

That didn’t make it weird, right? That’s a normal, devout thing to do. Coming from a totally religious guy, who’s only slightly damp from all the sweating.

“Oh.” Bill’s voice lowers to something like a purr. He tucks a knuckle under Dipper’s chin, lifting him to meet his single eye again. An eye that’s glowing now, bright gold and half-lidded. “Ten outta ten on the offering, guys. Very cute.”

Which is a little weird, but probably -

“Y’know what?” And Bill’s grin widens, bright and wild, as his thumb strokes Dipper’s chin. “I like this one.”

Uh oh.

Dipper tries sinking down into his oversized robes, but Bill just fishes around inside them until he can pull Dipper up again by his undershirt.

“In fact,” Bill declares, sounding proud. He pulls Dipper in closer, hand still clamped painfully tight on his wounded wrist. “I’m gonna keep him.”

What?

Immediately after that declaration, Dipper’s tugged in close, thumping against his side. Bill turns to start barking orders at the congregation, a sneer in his voice and a

Dipper can’t quite parse it. He’s still running over the words in his head.

In the ritual room, the candles flare even higher, temperature rising to an uncomfortable degree. Dipper watches two worshipers collide with each other in their frantic obedience, and can’t even laugh about it.

‘Keep’, Bill said.

What does that mean? Everything here is already ‘Bill’s’, in a way. But the way he said it sounded… oddly specific.

A hopeful part of Dipper chimes in that it might just mean ‘not let him bleed out’, but he’s never been that lucky before, and there’s no reason it would start now.

With everything else going on. With the presence of a god. e.

The cultists are bustling about; a few of them deposit things near Bill’s feet, like gifts upon the altar. Boxes, totems, more lit candles that Bill idly kicks over onto one of their robes, watching them flail at the sudden burst of fire.

Eventually, Bill considered the task ‘done’, or close enough. He sighs, shaking his head. “About time, guys! Talk about slow. Hard to get good followers these days.”

Bill clicks his tongue in distaste, then snaps his fingers.

Dipper hears a weird ‘zmmm’ sound to his left. He notices that Bill’s suit is really soft material, and also that he probably shouldn’t be grabbing it like this.

He doesn’t dare look at the sound. Not when Bill’s turned towards him with smug pride, like he’s pulled off a plan without a hitch.

“Man, it's only been fifteen minutes, and I’ve had it with these losers.” Bill gives the congregation a look of disgust, then turns back to Dipper. That grin reemerges like the sunrise. “Screw these guys, am I right?”

This time, Dipper’s smile is involuntary. He quashes it fast, but not before Bill notices.

“That’s what I thought.” Bill says, with deep pleasure. He takes a step closer to the altar, pulling Dipper along with a surprising lack of force. “So! What’d’ya say we ditch this joint?”

Dipper doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what’s been happening, either, other than it’s all been going way too fast.

But Bill Cipher is looking at him, still. Present, powerful. Eager for a response.

Dipper just shrugs.

He wouldn’t know what to say even if he still had his tongue.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Bill says, eminently pleased. Pulling Dipper in closer, with an arm suddenly around his waist. “Hold on tight! It ain’t a bumpy ride, but it’s a weird one.”

Dipper follows as he walks. Partly on automatic, and partly because what the hell else is he supposed to do?

About three steps in, he realizes they’re both walking on thin air, towards and over the altar.

He jerks his head over, blinking at the source of that ‘zmm’ sound.

Because of course summoning am interdimensional god-being would leave a remnant. He had to come from somewhere.

Like, say, a weird red-yellow gap in space, with nonsense things flung around in a black and bizarre starscape. Dipper catches a glimpse of something with two many limbs, and of a series of screaming mouths with no bodies, and a duck and a grandfather clock, tumbling through the air.

It’s almost like it might be a nightmare dimension. Who could have thought.

With nothing else to cling to, his free hand clamps Bill’s shoulder, tight.

“You’re my guest for the next while, sapling.” Bill says, squeezing him tight in return as he steps in - and drags Dipper alongside him, stalking into the portal. “Glad to have you!”

#Let's see if I have any fun facts here #I am very tired!#I meant to sit on this and edit it more but I am Posting because of Reasons #Blame one of my cats for this #Sorry about all the setup #The next chapter which I have already started is where the REAL fun happens #In that whenever I think of some of the plot points I cackle and think 'Get Loved On Idiot'#So that's a hint as to what happens #Man I can never think of fun facts while I'm posting. Only afterwards #Anyway I hope this was a reasonably enjoyable read!

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