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mortyvongola2-0 · 2 years

Text

Sacrificed

Pairing: God!Madara Uchiha x Reader

Genre: Oneshot, filthy filthy smut

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: too many to count, afab!reader, rough sex, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, the Uchiha breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, aphrodisiacs, Madara has a big dick Uchiha, blindfolds, hands are tied, stomach bulge, mating press, overstimulation, some temperature play, strong language

A/N: This monstrosity has way too many tags, forgive me if I didn't tag every kink. Honestly this was only supposed to have like, two kinks or so, but uh obviously that did not happen and I'm not sorry about it. If this one does well enough I plan on writing a Sacrificed for each of the founders trio, and if I feel the inspiration after that I could add other Naruto characters as well so, let me know if that's something you'd be interested in.

A HUGE thank you to @therantingfangirl for helping me edit this oversized self indulgence! She's the best you guys, I love her and you should send some love her way! This wouldn't have been out as quickly, and would've had many more typos lol, if not for her. So tell her thank you for me~

edit 7/30/22: WE NOW HAVE ART!! A biiiig huge thank you to the amazing @skydaddy01 for their incredible art. They did a fanfuckingtastic job creating god!Madara's appearance, especially with so little to go off of because I'm bad at asking for things. Seriously, go check them out, especially if you like the art~

Without further ado, enjoy Sacrificed (Sun)

Read it on AO3

Villagers scattered about, decorating homes and streets alike, preparing drums and costumes with jovial attitudes; the excitement was palpable. Most everyone looked forward to the Festival of the Sun, it was hard not to! The music, the ritual dancing, the offerings of food and wine to the gods as well as loved ones were certainly something to be excited about. The festivities themselves lasted for an entire week. It had to in order to entice him down from his place of rest. He was hard to excite, after all.

The Festival of the Sun is performed once a year before the cold season begins in order to plead with the sun god for protection from death during the upcoming frost. At the peak of the festivities, a living sacrifice is offered to the deity, but seldom does he come down. Most sacrifices come back without having even felt his presence, however throughout the history of the festival there were rare instances of his sacrifice being found dead at the end of the celebrations. The manner of death was always the same, burnt from the inside out. These instances came to be synonymous with having met him.

That fact made you, the sacrifice chosen for the upcoming celebrations, a bit nauseated. The idea of meeting the sun god made you nervous for many reasons; you were his devout follower, a young peasant chosen by the temple due to your dedication to your faith. At least, that’s what they told you when they notified you of your impending position. Your faith was well known in the village, you made the hike to his temple every two days without fail and prayed for hours in his sanctuary as well as volunteered to help clean the entirety of his temple.

His statues had always entranced you and you often wondered if that was what he really looked like. Was he really that tall and broad? Certainly awe inspiring if true. You’d run the soapy cloth along the carvings of his hair and close your eyes, guiltily pretending you were running your fingers through his majestic locks, it was so long, and the artist made it look so wild and untamed, giving his likeness a dangerous edge that made you bite your bottom lip. It would not be an exaggeration to say you were attracted to your god, or rather to the idea of him.

You had never met him or even heard his words as some priests had claimed to have heard. The high priest, the one who informed you of your role in the festivities, had said that your devotion moved the god and he had asked for you; that made you roll your eyes. As if the sun god himself would ask for you. The odd one, no family or friends, let alone a dating history, or anything of the sort that would catch the attention of anyone let alone such a powerful and incredible god. No matter, it would just mean another year without his appearance, though there is the possibility he’s so enraged by your presentation that he decides to burn you like the others.

He was not known for his mercy, after all. His lust for blood was legendary and his rivalry with the god of the forests still affects humanity despite their typically dormant state. Their battles have scored the earth and ruined oceans, much to the god of the sea’s displeasure. The temple texts state that the gods of forest and sun reawaken every century to continue their discourse. Were the previously killed sacrifices burned for his amusement or was he displeased with their appearance? Being burnt from the inside out at the hands of your beloved deity, was that your destined end?

As you contemplated your possible demise, the festival began. For the first three days your job was to stay in the temple. You were to pray all day, bathe in the ceremonial waters, and eat only the fruits provided. Each day the ceremonial drumming, which was performed as the sun began to set and would continue until sunrise, could be heard despite the temples stone walls. Their beat entrancing and familiar. It gave you something to look forward to as you prayed without response.

On the fourth day you weren’t allowed to eat anything, only drink a strangely viscus and milky liquid with no taste that left the core of your being feeling cold. The usual warm bath with citrus scents was replaced with the same cold and thick liquid you were forced to drink. Are they trying to give me a cold before they send me to my death? You thought as you shivered. The older priestesses were made to wash you, they rubbed the fluid into every part of your being. Maybe I’ll freeze before I’m burnt alive.

It was almost like a massage, the way the older women prepared you. The way they rubbed the fluid into the flesh of your breasts made you blush, and the blush only deepened when your sex was given the same amount of attention and pressure. You bit your lip and squeezed your eyes shut. The feeling was a bit unusual. Heat began to swirl in your center, and it helped you fight off the cold for the rest of the bath.

When you were brought out of the bath rolls of white and red silk were draped around your body in odd patterns. The material itself felt wonderful but they tied the red pieces around your arms and neck, while the white silk they used to bind your chest and cover your mound. It was an odd feeling, only being partially dressed and your abdomen being bare made you flush in embarrassment. They tied your hair back in a braid that was as long as your hair would allow, and they twisted the same type of red silk around it. You were not allowed to look at your own appearance and one of the women led you out of the temple without so much as a word.

Once outside you began to shiver again and your bare feet gracing the soft grass only made you feel colder. The breeze made goose flesh begin to rise along your skin and you wrapped your arms around yourself to try and keep warm. Sounds of the villagers enjoying the festival gave you something to focus on. What would you be doing, if you were not here? Enjoying some wine perhaps, dancing around the oversized fire that was lit in your god’s honor? Mmm maybe even enjoying a full plate of roast boar, your stomach grumbled at the thought.

A group of priests, including the high priest, emerged from the temple and began to lead you further to the west of the temple. On that side there was a trail. Most everyone knew of the trail, but it was not to be used by anyone but the blessed. It led up to the highest peak in the valley and at the top stood a temple made specifically to hold the sun god’s presence when he graced the earth.

The high priest ushered you onto the trail and began to walk in front of you, the others following behind. The entire hike up felt very stiff and uncomfortable, it made you more nervous than you already were. The high priest stopped, as did you, right before the doors to the sacred temple. It was much grander, the walls made of marble instead of stone with gold gilded doors and carvings of suns in the luxurious columns. A strong wind practically blew through you, and you wondered if you’d ever feel warm again. A quick glance around at the people meant to guide you made your stomach twist in knots. They all had such grave expressions. You wondered what was next and began to try to convey your question with your eyes but they refused look at you. “Um,” you began. “Excuse-“

A loud shout rang out from the village, the signal to start the drums. Startled, you glanced at the sky and saw that the sun had begun to set. The high priest turned and walked until he was right in front of you. He began to press a large flask of what looked to be the same viscous liquid into your hands while a different priest came behind you and began to tie a red ribbon made of the same silk tightly around your eyes. The cool material caused your heart to beat as hard as the drums. “Drink this once the sun has fully set, there will be more inside, be sure to drink all of it throughout the next few days.”

Your breathing picked up. Someone, you weren’t sure who, began to tie your wrists together in front of you. “Do not attempt to look at him,” the high priest spoke again. “Do not try to touch him, only he can initiate contact. You may roam around the temple but do not leave it.” How did he expect you to roam without being able to see? “We will be back at the end of the festival to collect you, do as we say and as he says and you will survive,” he paused, “probably.”

You nodded nervously; you couldn’t see his face but could feel the sense of dread in the air. “Alright, let us begin.” Someone began to push you forward and you felt your bare feet touch the chilled marble, heard the large doors creak open, and felt the plush of a cushion as they sat you down on the floor. Once their touch left you, the sense of foreboding increased. When you heard the door slam shut you knew you were alone.

You could hear the high priest begin a prayer outside the door, though it was rather muffled, you pressed your fingers against each other, and you tried to calm your nerves by joining in on the prayer. “Allow your warmth to protect and guide me,” you muttered. After a moment’s hesitation you added, “and your cruelty to pass over me.” And altogether you ended the prayer with an ‘amen’ though yours felt a tad more strained.

Through the blindfold you could make out vague shapes thanks to the small amounts of light; but that was all you could see, and once the sun set you would essentially be blind. You stayed seated for a time and fiddled with the flask that you had been given. The wrappings around your wrists weren’t painful or too constricting but they did limit what you could do. How were you supposed to stay like this for four nights and three days? “Where even is the restroom?” You glanced around at the shapes that made up what you could see. “Do gods even use the restroom?”

After a few more minutes of fretting and shaking you decided to stand and try to figure out what was in the room. You placed your arms out in front of you. Your hands may have been bound but you were still able to grab a hold of things. The temperature of the temple was colder than the temperature outside, it was similar to the biting chill of the nights in the cold season. At this point you wondered if you were doomed to die from frostbite. The tips of your fingers scraped against the cold marble of the walls, and you continued to glide your hands along the carvings to guide you through the area. As your vision began to worsen you knew the sun was almost under the mountain.

Your fingers brushed against a metal decoration and you began to explore the piece to the best of your abilities. It felt like a throne, a large one, with a cushion made of the same type of silk that was draped around you. The size of the throne made it feel a bit more like a small loveseat, you couldn’t imagine it being too comfortable with all the surrounding metals. Beside the throne seemed to be a short table with a pitcher atop it. The pitcher was carved, and you could tell it was well crafted by running your fingers along the object. It felt much too light to be filled with anything, much to your chagrin. You had been hoping for a sip of real water.

While there was still a bit of sunlight left you decided to try to explore the center of the room a bit more. You walked cautiously from the throne to the middle of the area and saw a shadow that seemed to be a table or something similar. It was a bit tall to be a table and you placed your hands on it and felt that it was also made of a cold marble. There were no chairs around it and as your fingers brushed along the edges you felt that there were words engraved on it. You wondered if they were gilded with gold like the carvings on the outer columns had been. Slowly, you attempted to read what was engraved around the table. “A sacrifice of flesh and blood,” you muttered. “Well, that would be me.”

“Is that right?”

You flinched. That was not a voice you recognized. It was deep and alluring, with an inflection that sounded almost amused. The man’s voice had come from behind you, where you remembered the throne being. Cautiously, you turned toward where you thought the voice was coming from but immediately had to squeeze your eyes shut. All there was in that direction was a bright light, like the sun itself had come to rest in front of you. Wait, your breath caught in your throat. The sun itself?

“A-Are you perhaps-“

“Yes?”

You felt so hesitant. Your heart felt like it was going to pound out of your chest, the urge to drop down on your knees and bow was at the forefront of your mind. There was a warmth, an intense but welcome warmth, that began to move toward you. Your eyes were still closed tight; even behind the blindfold his brightness was too much. Like a warm breath it felt like his presence was closer, but you weren’t sure how close. Without much more thought, you gave into your urge and got down to your hands and knees with your head resting atop your extended arms on the floor. Even the floor felt warmer now than it had before his arrival. “My lord!”

“Hm, not quite as interesting as I was expecting.” He sounded so close, almost as if he was directly above you. “But not altogether unpleasant.”

Your skin began to tingle from the contrast in temperature. Hot and cold. Internally, you still felt like you were freezing but externally his presence had warmed everything to such a degree it felt like you might melt. Lightly, it felt like just the tips of his fingers, began to trial down your exposed spine, like he was counting vertebrae. Again, your bottom lip felt the sting of your teeth as your mind reeled at not only meeting but being touched by your god. The same god whose likeness you had thought of in some not so holy ways.

“Is it still too bright?”

“P-Pardon?”

“I understand that my presence tends to be overwhelming for human eyes, shall I dim myself?” He answered his own question, as the harsh biting against your eyelids seemed to lessen and instead of a sun his presence looked more like a group of brightly lit candles. It hurt still, but you were finally able to open your eyes. You wanted to look at him, wanted to take the blindfold off and gaze upon his glory but you kept your head down, afraid of the consequences of doing so. “Thank you for your consideration, my lord.”

“Still so polite,” his dry chuckle was like velvet in your ears. You shivered, but not from fear or temperature; you wanted to hear him speak more. The pleasing thought of having him order you around floated about in your mind. Warm, overly warm, fingers gripped your chin roughly and had you look up at the veiled view of his face. “I like how you’ve thought about me a lot better than the way you’re speaking to me now.”

Your heart hiccupped. Your thoughts of him!? You could feel the color drain from your face. All the unsavory thoughts you had about his image filtered through your mind at once. The few times you had touched yourself had also been to ideas of him. Would he kill you now for your blasphemous behavior? Was he aware of all of them? That rich chuckle continued to fill your ears, much more amused this time, and he turned your head from side to side as if in assessment of a product at the market. “Don’t be so nervous, child. You act like I’m going to burn you alive.”

You were pretty sure he might.

There were no details, but from his outline it seemed like the statue was rather accurate. His hair was long, spiked, and wild like the mane of a lion; his shoulders broad and perfectly set. He barely had a hold on your chin but the bits of his fingers you could feel felt strong, large, and overly warm. The high priest had told you not to look at him but maybe? Just a peek? “Can I remove the-“

“Do you want to go blind?”

“What?”

“Do you think you can stare directly at the sun without repercussions? You’ll go blind if you look at me with your naked eye.”

“Oh,” you pressed your lips together, your cheeks red with embarrassment. “Right, yes, that makes sense.”

“Eager to see your god, are we?”

You wanted to nod but refrained and he let go of your chin. “You haven’t finished the elixir yet.” He said it as a statement of fact and let out a sigh that sounded exasperated. The blood in your veins rushed at a dizzying pace and you felt panic begin to rise in your throat. Had you displeased him? Would he leave because of it? Anything but that.

“I hadn’t realized the time, please forgive-“ Wet warm lips pressed against yours midsentence. It was intense and hot, so very hot. One of his large hands grabbed the back of your head roughly, forcing you to tilt your head back and he tugged on the braid. The surprise made you flinch, and your mouth opened slightly, but it was enough for him. He began to force a liquid into your mouth from his. It was different from the others; it had a sweet taste to it that sat heavy in your center. The warmth of his lips felt like it might burn, but the cool of the liquid soothed it almost immediately. The contrast made you moan, and his tongue began to enter your mouth.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you began to feel turned on as his tongue caressed and pulled at your own. Were you allowed to kiss back? How was this supposed to work? Another noise escaped you as his tongue scraped against the roof of your mouth, slowly and with intent. You squeezed your thighs together in an attempt to calm down. He pulled away slowly, allowing his tongue to linger against yours in the space between you. The sun god chuckled once again, “That face is rather enticing.”

If only you could see what face it was. His touch left you and the warmth of his being began to dissipate. “Resting for so long can be quite boring,” he began, his voice sounded like it was back at the throne. When you opened your eyes you could see the light of his being further back, it seemed as if he was sitting on the golden décor. It almost looked like he was slouched, with one hand against the arm rest and his head on his fist, but that was just your assumption. You had no way of seeing the details of his form. “So, while we wait for the elixir to kick in, entertain me.”

Entertain? How? Should you ask? What if that angered him? He didn’t seem like the patient sort. You heard a sound similar to liquid filling a basin and saw him shift as it looked like he may be drinking. Your heart pounded in your ears in time with the beat of the drums that boom from below. Oh, was that it? At this point in the evening, for the festival, everyone would be dancing. Is that what he wanted? The dance was created for his worship, after all.

You stood on nervous legs, your hands still bound, and listened patiently to the beat. When you felt you had a good enough idea of the rhythm you began the dance. It was fast, continuously moving, with moves similar to dodging attacks in a spar. When the drum paused you twisted your spine and bent backward, almost hitting the sacrificial table behind you, and stretch your arms up behind your head to touch the cool marble. The stretch made you feel exposed. Your neck, abdomen, and legs were on full display. As the pause remained, so did your position. It was difficult, but the dance seemed to warm you up. You felt the flush travel across your body, and you began to feel rather thirsty. You resumed at the same time as the drums.

Everything seemed to disappear as the song continued. Your muscles began to loosen, your tension nonexistent, you completely forgot where you were or why you were even dancing in the first place. It was like you were hypnotized to follow the music. One foot out in front and the other behind, your hands pushed out in front almost like you were begging. Everything felt warm now, your breathing was labored from exertion. Much to your embarrassment, even your core felt a bit sticky. Your hair began to frame your face and you barely registered that the braid had come loose. “Keep dancing,” came his silken command. So, you did.

His approach was harder to feel this time, the difference in temperature not quite as stark, but when his hand caressed the side of your neck you gasped at the excess heat. “I didn’t say you could stop.”

Right, more dancing.

One of his hands remained at your neck, curling around it like a collar and restricting your movements. You couldn’t move away from him without feeling choked. His other hand slid down the length of your swaying curves, from the tops of your covered breasts to the dip of your hips where the white ribbon was tied. The heat was almost sweltering and the ache in your sex began to grow. He tugged and the silk around your waist began to slip away, creating static as it fell from your flesh.

You couldn’t help but stop, your senses now fully focused on your naked lower half. Without the cloth your arousal was even more obvious, its evidence sticking to your thighs. “I don’t like to repeat myself,” he growled so close to your ear. A shiver wracked your form, and you did your best to start moving again, but his hand inching toward your center made you lose your rhythm and your movements became awkward. His hot tongue began to lick a stripe along the red silk wrapped around your collar bone. His warm fingers began to stroke the plush flesh of your mound. A fresh wave of slick began to coat your labia.

“Mm,” you pressed your lips together. You felt like you were on fire. “My lord, please,” you whispered, not entirely sure what you were asking for.

“Tsk, you know my name. Say it.”

He was giving you permission to call him by name? His fingers trailed down and began to stroke the naked flesh of your sex. The amount of wetness made the sounds of his fingers vulgar as he moved them back and forth against the sensitive skin. Your head fell back, and you gasped, his warm fingers immediately zeroing in on your clit. The heat was overwhelming, adding extra stimulation to your already pulsing bud. Your core began to clench, and your hips reflexively bucked toward his hand. “Go on,” he chided. “Say the name of your god, tell him how badly you want him to finger you.”

Your vagina pulsed at the thought. Saying his real name was taboo in the temple, but he was giving you permission. It was impossible to think, his fingers sped up their assault. Only incoherent noises left your throat as your knees began to buckle. How were you this close already? The hand that was around your neck squeezed teasingly, cutting off your air flow temporarily, before moving down to support your lower back as your legs threatened to give out. Instinctively you reached out and tried to use his arm for support before immediately pulling your hands back. They burned, like you had touched a hot stove.

“Do not try to touch him, only he can initiate contact.” The high priest’s words rang out in your mind.

“Weren’t you warned pet?” His head leaned down to your burnt hands, his fingers not ceasing, and he licked along your palms as if to soothe them. The mixture of pain and pleasure only brought you closer to the edge and you began to buck your hips in earnest. Your pleasured noises began to grow into full moans as you approached your peak.

Quickly, without warning, he removed his fingers from your clit and unceremoniously thrust two inside of your entrance. It burned, the heat and the pain of the stretch, but it brought you over the edge anyway. He hadn’t even had to move his fingers and you were already clenching down on them. Tears welled in your eyes behind the blindfold, and you called out, “Ahh, Madara!”

“How cute,” he announced, his voice a note or two deeper, the arm that was supporting you was trembling. “So eager that you came just from having my fingers inside you?”

Madara began to move his fingers, slow and deliberate, making sure to scrape them against your walls and ensuring that pain accompanied the pleasure. He moved his mouth to your neck and tugged at the red ribbon, untying it with his teeth and exposing the rest of your body to his gaze. He began to scissor your entrance and you felt the tightness in your gut return. “Such a naughty human, touching yourself to the thought of your god. Did you think I wasn’t watching? Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

You felt like you were burning, and you heard the juices of your arousal splash against your skin. His thick fingers began to thrust quickly, and he brought his palm up to rub at your sensitive clit. A whine left your throat. He continued his verbal assault. “I watched you each and every time you called out to me with lust. I saw the way your greedy pussy swallowed one, then two, even three of your own fingers. But it was never enough, was it? You needed something else, needed these fingers to fill you.” He added a third finger and you had never felt so full. A cry of his name left your lips again and that rich chuckle of his vibrated through you. “Well how is it? Now that you have the real thing, is it satisfactory? Are you still feeling greedy?”

“It’s good,” you slurred in a drawn-out moan. His fingers began to push at your walls in opposing directions and you thought you might drool. “So so good.”

“Only good? Well, I guess I’ll have to try harder then.”

All three fingers curled at once and began to press on a specific part of your walls. Your breathing stopped, your body convulsed, your toes curled, and your vagina clenched like your life depended on it. His palm pressed hard against your abused bundle of nerves, and you came yet again. But this one was different, more intense, almost painful as it washed over every part of your being. You felt dizzy before you remembered to breathe. His hand kept moving but you were at your wits end. “Too much, ah,” you wanted to grab a hold of his arm but barely registered you would get burned again if you did. Your sex throbbed painfully. “Please lord Madara,” you pleaded. “It’s too much.”

The sun god removed his fingers slowly but made sure to keep supporting you. You watched as the vague light of his being seemed to lick a trail from his own palm down his arm and he moaned deeply as he followed the trail back up to his palm. He moved his hand away from his own mouth and brought his fingers to your lips. “Suck,” he commanded.

Your tongue poked out of your mouth shyly and you wrapped it around the three fingers hesitantly. A grunt left your throat as you tasted yourself on his digits. He shoved the three of them into your mouth, not willing to give you the chance to continue to do as you pleased. Obediently, you sucked. The heat from his fingers almost felt like they would burn your mouth too. Again, you wondered what he looked like in full detail. You gently scraped your teeth against the three digits. “Good pet,” he muttered and pressed the pads of his fingers down on your tongue. “Now, lay down on that table. I’m going to take my sacrifice.”

Madara removed his fingers and let go of you entirely. You stumbled, almost fell to your knees again as your support disappeared. Thanks to the light of his being you were able to see the shadows that made up the cold marble of said sacrificial table. As much as you tried to make your crawl a top it look sexy, you fumbled a few times. It was rather high, making it difficult to crawl onto, but your inability to be graceful didn’t seem to deter him as he was atop you the moment you fully laid down.

The sun god’s scorching lips graced yours once more and this time you tried to meet his tongue stroke for stroke. His impossibly warm palms enveloped your breasts and began to mold them to his liking, almost as if he was trying to change their shape to his hands. For the first time you felt his entire body as it pressed against you. His muscles were firm as they met your squishy flesh and the hardness of his arousal rubbed against your belly in interest. It leaked with precum and the thought of that being your doing gave you butterflies. Slowly he pulled away, he seemed to sit up for a second as you heard the sounds of a glass bottle opening. His own breathing sounded labored, but it paused as he began to gulp down whatever he had opened.

When he was seemingly satisfied, he pressed his lips to yours again, and much like the first kiss, forced the liquid down your throat. Some of it dribbled down the side of your mouth, being too much to swallow all at once, but it didn’t seem to bother him as he continued to aggressively explore your mouth. What surprised you was when he began to pour out the chilled liquid onto your overheated sex. Your back arched, the contrast in temperatures a shock to your system.

He threw the glass bottle away and it broke against the flooring with a loud crash. His thick fingers began to coat themselves in the fluid and started to scoop it into you. You groaned into his mouth. Madara kept pushing it in, forcing it as deep inside of you as his fingers would allow. It felt odd, his hands and your body heat slowly warmed the liquid as he pushed it inside. The god pulled away from the kiss with a loud breath. “No more games,” he announced and pulled his fingers away.

The sound of his slick fingers against his own flesh made you shiver. You wished you could see it, him fisting himself atop you. What a gorgeous sight that would be, it was almost worth the risk of going blind. Almost. He lined himself up with your entrance, one hand holding your tied wrists above your head and the other holding him in place. His tip felt large as it twitched impatiently against your hole. Anticipation made you hold your breath.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

He thrust in and your jaw dropped. Big, he was so big. You felt overstuffed, like there were six of his large fingers shoved inside. Madara pushed forward more, your walls spasming around the intrusion. He was too big; it was too much. You felt like you were going to break, like he’d split you in half. More of his shaft entered you and he groaned, his guiding hand now reaching up to grip your hip and push you further onto him. It felt like he had knocked the wind out of you as the tip of his penis hit your cervix. Surely that was it, he couldn’t go any further. “Pretty little thing, so fucked out already and I’ve barely even started,” he chuckled, his words strained. He brought the hand that was holding your wrists down to wipe your chin of drool that you hadn’t even realized was there. “You’re so wet,” he grunted and pulled his hips back before snapping them forward quickly. You grunted, the drag of his dick the best thing you had ever felt. “Behave and I might just reward you.”

He began to thrust in earnest, the mushroom head hitting against your cervix with each thrust in, like it was trying to bury itself deeper inside of you. Your back bowed and he forced your hips to meet his. You brought your hands up and began to grip at the edge of the marble table. Your white-knuckled grip the only thing keeping you grounded. He brought his unoccupied hand down to your left breast and began to thumb the nipple in time with his thrusts. The shlick shlick shlick sound of each drag against your insides made your toes curl once again. You felt the heavy weight of his balls hit against your perineum and the slick that was pushed out with every thrust leaked down onto the stone beneath.

The sun god was more vocal than you had expected, grunting with effort, and groaning when you clenched particularly hard around him. You licked your lips, your mouth felt dry from hanging open for so long. Your guts began to twist in knots again and you knew you would cum soon. In a rush of bravery, you brought your legs up and attempted to wrap them around his waist. Immediately, your flesh began to burn, and you set them back down. “What did I tell you?” He sounded strained and he moved his second hand to your other hip. “Behave.”

“I can’t-“ you cut yourself off with a moan, his shaft scraping just right against your g-spot and causing your climax to begin again. He hissed and you felt his hair tickle your stomach as he leaned forward and his grip on your hips tightened. You hoped he’d leave bruises.

“Fuck,” he sounded depraved, and you bit your bottom lip hard. His hips continued to push into you. “Your walls are trying so hard to milk me, is that what you want? Hm? You want me to breed you?”

“Uhn,” you couldn’t help but nod vigorously. Your mind so warped with pleasure that you’d do anything he asked. “Oh, Madara,” you groaned and bucked your hips against his grip.

“You want to carry my bastard,” his voice thick with arousal. His large hands pulled you further down on the table and he put both of your legs up around his shoulders. “Everyone will know it’s mine. They’ll all see your rounded belly and know that it’s the seed of their god growing inside of you.”

The new angle was intense, he bore heavily down onto your cervix with every thrust. He pushed your legs forward, putting them up by your shoulders, almost folding you in half, and pushed into your womb. You screamed. It was too much, an intense mix of pain and pleasure that had your nerves confused. “Feel me reach the deepest parts of you,” he grunted. Madara grabbed your tied wrists and brought your hand down to your folded stomach. He made your hands press against your lower belly where you felt the outline of him inside of you. The extra pressure added more feeling and you whined. “I’m going to fill that pretty little womb of yours.”

His thrusts quickened, becoming bruising and focused. You kept your hand where he placed it and felt his bulge as it moved in and out of you. Your head moved back and through your lust filled haze you noticed that the edges of the blindfold had loosened. If you moved a bit more maybe it would come off? Madara moved one of his hands inward and began to stroke at your clit quickly. His pace becoming uneven as his breathing sped up. “You were fucking made for this,” he groaned out. “Made to take me, to be folded in half and fucked stupid.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cried out and moved your head to the side. The silk slipped off of your eyes and you kept them closed as you tried to ignore the need to look at him. He felt so good, so brutal. Your clit throbbed and your core clenched for the fourth time. This was it, the most intense orgasm you’d have possibly ever. You wanted to look at him, to gaze upon his glorious face as you came undone. “Madara, please,” you began, your voice keening at the end. “Look at me.”

You opened your eyes just in time to see him look into yours. He was gorgeous, his dark hair wild and strung about him in a halo of black, his naked flesh flushed pink with exertion, his eyes so dark they looked like they would swallow you whole. His muscles rippled as he fucked you open, the lines under his eyes crinkling as his lips tightened in a smirk. Madara whispered your name and gave one more strong thrust before you squeezed your eyes tight in ecstasy. “Such a bad girl,” he taunted.

This orgasm was unlike any other before, your entire being felt tingly and a different kind of pressure built in your sex. When that pressure released a large burst of clear liquid gushed from you and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. Your legs shook, your walls trembled, and you barely heard Madara’s own grunt of release as he poured his molten semen into your womb. Your everything trembled and you felt like you might melt into the table below you. Your vision went from white to black and you felt your consciousness begin to fade.

“You may rest for now,” his voice sounded so distant in your mind. “We’ll resume shortly.”

When you woke next, you felt so disoriented. Your eyes were open, but everything was hazy, you felt like you were sitting on something hard but comfortable and you lifted your head to try and see where you were. “It took you long enough, pet,” came Madara’s silky voice from behind you. His chest pressed to your back and his arms pressed you further against him. “We still have three more nights of fun to get to.”

A/N: Again, this amazing art contribution was made by the one and only @skydaddy01 please go check them out and send them a huge thank you from me! Madara looks incredible, doesn't he? Uhg I can't stop looking at this art.

Part Two

Hashirama||Tobirama

Season 2

#mortyvongola2 fanfic #mortyvongola2 0 fic #madara uchiha smut #madara smut #naruto series #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #madara x y/n #madara x you #madara uchiha x reader #madara x reader #gods and mortals au #tribute to the gods au #mortyvongola2-0 sacrificed series

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csealia · 1 year

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God of War and Blood 🐷💕

Close ups:

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littlegingermochipie · 2 years

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zukaang | rajamandala | राजमण्डल | 羅闍曼荼羅 devdas, chigo, lengger lanang and layla-majnun inspired tale

the day zukō was born, agni bestowed him with a single eternal flame, everlastingly alight inside the gentur lamp which he would carry along with him everywhere he went. no one could extinguish and light it back at will except the one who’s destined to guide his fate, as prophesied at naloni mitoni.

after his genpuku as the successor of ōzai tennō, zukō accompanied azhura in attending durga puja and seren taun, hosted by baginda bhumi at the central port of canggu. the siblings then reunited with maiko and tài linh, who became patrons of entertainment in northern manjung.

their seventh generation of tawaifs featured the esteemed amrapali, whose swara and abhinaya effortlessly enamored kaldera royals. as she danced, not only did she take everyone's breath away, but also the life of every kindled flame in the room. then, when she lit them back with gentle sway of her hands, zukō knew that she's the one.

realizing that his son had set his eyes on a mere yìjì, ōzai warned the prince that he might be deceived by outlanders witchery, but zukō insisted that he trusted agni's sacred will. he continued to chase the tawaif in unquenchable desire to know about her more, unaware that the fate he would thread on was to become a madman, lost in utterly blind love which turned into the purest form of devotion.

because amrapali was, in fact, not merely a dancer and disciple of buddha. she was bodhisattva kannon in her avatar form－a man named āng, awakened in rana pota lake as the only living sky dweller. his kin were mercilessly wiped from existence milennium ago by zukō's ancestor, souzan tenshi, who begun the conquest of rajamandala.

āng's crimson henna, drawn by performers of tide drifters; adinda katara and kakanda saka, covered his distinguished irezumi, while his voice was trained to move even the most hardened heart by paduka běifāng and a hia haru, the stone wielders. together with his beloved shrivijayans, the avatar would liberate the victims of war under ōzai's tyrant rule.

however, it was out of āng's prior knowledge that he would possess karmic ties with the very son of his own enemy through vortex of conflicted, mortal feelings. willingly bestow thousands of blessings to zukō's thousands of prayers, he would, but even as the emanation of god, āng still could not simply pull the strings of fate as he selfishly pleased.

by the will of sang hyang widhi, āng was destined to succeed in ending the misdeeds of fire breather’s forefathers, but at the cost of his heart falling forever in unfulfilled love. for he knew, that even though zuko took the role of mirabai to krishna, their wish to be united would be granted only in death like that of layla and majnun.

for @zukaangweek third day prompt: sacred/possesive

#zukaang #kataang #sokkaang #realistically sad ending #religiously good ending #(majnun) loving god through his creation (layla) and the notion of their virgin love is the most powerful agape of all #both agni and kannon testing the earthly beings (like shinta in agni pariksha and chigo with monks) is the red thread here for zukaang #the original trio of the gaang in troupe of court entertainers planning to overthrow villains is absolutely hot #you can take the aang/water siblings tag platonically or as or spicy as you want 👀👌#yep the namings - titles - endearments - lyrics/poems - places - terms here is mostly from south - southeast - east - western asia #obligatory zukaang bollywood au that went overboard because my brain wont shut up #this is also a tribute to the iconic lgbt dancers lengger lanang god i love their graceful presence so much #aang fanart #zuko fanart #katara fanart #sokka fanart

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thedeadthree · 1 year

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VALAENYA (asoiaf) / ILLYRIA (hotd)

ELAENAERA (hotd) / KAROLINA (btaj/john wick/c*od)

YELENA (fo3) / FAYE (resident evil)

TAGGED BY the dears @marivenah, @dihardys, @shellibisshe and @florbelles to make the girls with this beloved meiker! ty so much! <3

TAGGING: @feystepped, @griffin-wood, @risingsh0t, @denerims, @queennymeria, @chuckhansen, @jackiesarch, @aartyom, @kingsroad, @arklay, @stormveils, @roofgeese, @leviiackrman, @malefiicarum, @loriane-elmuerto, @unholymilf, @belorage, @aceghosts and you!

#only if you want to! 🥀🍄#oc: valaenya targaryen #oc: illyria ilmestys #oc: elaenaera targaryen #oc: karolina pajari #oc: yelena voronin #v: way back home #oc: faye marlowe #leg.ocs #leg.tagged #t: picrews #always the loveliest to make the loves in the ICONIC picrew 🥀❣️#no wasteland!au yelena my BABY ✨😖#so……… karolina enters as a challenger to the ring and got a c*d verse sksjjxxj ✨😵‍💫#ty ty to macy for the ghost posting ✨😵‍💫 …….. bc now im considering karol and him..! i think they would be neat!#(chiara also might get one too jajxjxh but im still thinking of whom <3)#and modern au looks for the asoiaf girlies ✨😌#the dreamy look for ella is so fitting here..! a cute tribute to her dragon in her canon u know? moon god dragon and things!#likely would be a socialite or model or something where she would get to be paid for being pretty jssjxhxh love that for u darling! <3 #the ever charismatic enya further portraying that she’s beauty and grace and can punch someone in the face ✨😌🐉🥀 icon!#ILLY BABY be it a*soiaf or a modern au shes so cool! the white hair and the heterochromia are missing but ah! baby baby!#since she has strands of white that are likely from magic u know? ✨🥺 and placed on the same side as the heterochromia 🌿😌#off duty faye! date night with l*eon or spending quality family time with annoying siblings *cough* emery either/or she’s thriving!#local harvard med student thinks infuriating nepotism scientist is begrudgingly adorable more @ 11 ✨😒🥀❣️

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iamrizaka · 6 months

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How many titan side demigods survive the hunger games? Do you think the gods accept more than one winner? I can't imagine that there's a lot of them. And there are a lot of gods interested in the winning demigods.

I like to think that there've been seven games in total, from each game one winner.

Right now we know about Lee, Alabaster and Ethan. I haven't thought about other winners, but they are here too.

#and in every game there were 20 tributes #usually its older and stronger demis #but considering the fact that some of supposed tributes (and some avoxes) decided to poison themselves #some older avoxes had to take part in the games #and as we can see out of approximately 140 people only seven survived #it gets pretty interesting if some games were happening at the same time #and for other games the gods have to take older avoxes (that have already been brought)#which would lessen the amount of demis in the ta #i believe that one avox managed to become a winner #pjo #pjo au #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo hunger games au #rizasks

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avaetin · 11 months

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Your recent daily wips are my source of serotonin pls don't stop. Thank you!

Can my nonsense act as a replacement? I seriously need to space out when I share things. I'm running out of things to share without spoiling both stories.

#given au #primordial god! chronos x ananke! nico #i offer my nonsense as tribute lol

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blindmagdalena · 5 months

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All That Glitters

18+ 15.7k words. Dragon!Homelander x F!Reader fantasy au, messy world building, referenced cannibalism, handfeeding, super dubious consent, sexual coercion, monster anatomy, size difference, cunnilingus, breeding kink, dirty talk, marathon sex, mating bond/bite, knotting, tongue baths, virgins, scent kink, overstimulation, body betrayal, fairy tale schmoop. AO3 Link!

Summary: In a world where the only currencies that matter are gold and blood, the gods are lavished with both. Your regions god is a fearsome beast said to reign hellfire from the skies should his appetite not be satiated. When the demand for human sacrifices increases, you make the choice to volunteer yourself, determined to bring an end to the bloodshed, and ascend into the jaws that await you in the old stone tower deep in the woods.

illustration by the ever incredible @anon-nee, who was instrumental to the writing of this fic. see the full piece here! originally written for Monsterlander Mania, but obviously spiraled wildly out of control.

For as long as you can remember, there have always been sacrifices.

Such a thing is not unique to your village. Gods–and the creatures worshiped as such–throughout the world demand all manner of recompense for protecting the lands of those who idolize them. If the slaughter of a single lamb ensures green pastures in which the herd may thrive, few ever think twice before they lift the blade.

Not all townships worship for benevolence, however. Yours has always worshiped for mercy.

For generations, stories of hellfire raining from the sky have been passed by your people. A great, terrible beast with wings as wide as ten men were tall once patrolled the skies above you, wielding power so devastating that not even ballistae firing bolts the size of tree trunks could fell it.

It had a hundred names, each more terrible than the last. Scourge of the Skies, the Red Death, Flame’s Maw, and perhaps most unfortunately, the Devourer. Named as such for the countless lives it began to claim when treasures were deemed an insufficient tribute. Sacrifices were initially sparse, required only every dozen or so seasons. As time went on, the Devourer grew greedier and greedier, with the timespan between sacrifices shortening.

By the time you offer yourself to the council, there has been a sacrifice every month for over a year.

The wagon hardly jostles on this well-trodden road. You imagine it used to be a rougher ride, but with the increase in frequency of travel, it has smoothed. The thought worsens the feeling of icy weight in your stomach. One might think the exquisite fabrics you’re dressed in would bring some measure of comfort–softer than anything you’ve worn before–but the extravagance of them only serves to further alienate you from yourself.

You have become a thing. A finely adorned offering, and the fabric makes your skin crawl for it.

The tree cover breaks, revealing a monolithic stone tower that stands so tall, it splits the sky in two.

The Tower of the Seven. It’s been generations since anyone knew exactly what it was named for, but legend speaks of mythic creatures that were once held in such reverence, this tower was built in their honor. It served as both a temple and home to these venerated beings.

The years have not been kind to it. The stone pillars have become wild with overgrowth, and the air about this place reeks of stale, old death.

It stands now as a graveyard.

Even the horses refuse to venture much further than the threshold of the treeline, forcing you and your attendants out of the wagon to tread the remainder of the trek on foot. The men who walk with you carry short swords, but they serve no practical purpose, their edges having long since dulled. They are not here to protect you, they are as much a part of the ceremony as your fine clothes.

You shield your eyes as you look up at the staggering height of the tower, but swiftly drop your gaze. Best not to think of what awaits you.

On paper, sacrifice seems a simple thing. Slitting one’s throat upon an altar, floating a burning pyre across the river, or feeding the tribute a concoction of sleeping death and burying them into eternal slumber. Murder can be a righteous thing in the hands of a believer, or so they say.

For you, and those who have come before you, martyrdom is not as effortless as lying down and dying for the cause. The tower presents a trial to you. You must willingly climb the hundreds upon hundreds of large stone steps in order to prove yourself a worthy tribute.

Why you must prove your flesh worthy of consumption is beyond you. You’ve never heard of a farmer who sends his cattle to run laps before the slaughter. It seems a petty thing to demand. Perhaps the Devourer has grown indolent and slovenly in its feasting.

It’s easy to dream up nightmarish images of such an awful creature. A legless winged wyrm with a ribbed body, fat and slimy like an oversized earthworm. It would have an enormous maw with hundreds upon hundreds of jagged teeth, its breath reeking of charred flesh and sulfur. Such a wicked beast would stink like the layers of hell.

Somehow, tormenting yourself like this is an oddly calming distraction. The more nightmarish it becomes in your mind, the less real all of this feels. It’s just a bad dream.

No one speaks as you reach the base of the tower. There’s nothing left to say. You’re one of a dozen in the last year alone these men have ferried to their death. It almost seems cruel to expect eye contact, let alone sympathy. For that reason, it catches you off guard when one of the older of the three, a man named Hector with a thick set of troubled brows furrowed above kind but bloodshot, watery eyes puts his hand on your shoulder, offering a light squeeze.

The last sacrifice had been his own daughter.

In his gaze you find grief and gratitude in equal measure. Neither brings comfort. You return a small nod and move your eyes back to the ordeal that awaits you.

The tower is like an optical illusion: the proportions make it seem a reasonable size at a distance, but the closer you walk to it, the more mythical a thing it becomes. The archways curve high above your head, sized for creatures of legend, and the head of the building disappears completely into the sky.

In the center of it, a spiraling stone staircase beckons you. The masonry is exquisitely smooth despite the age of it, carved in an era when magic was a hundred times more prolific than it is now. It’s wide and open, the steps so large that you’ll be taking them one at a time. Worse than that, however, is the complete absence of any kind of protective railing.

If you sway, you very well may fall to your death.

At the center of the spiral stands a pile of debris. As you approach, a rustling catches your attention and you freeze, eying the pile warily. The head of a creature suddenly pops up, startling your heart into a thunder, but after a beat you recognize it for what it is: a small fox, its muzzle dirty. The two of you stare at one another for a long moment before one of the men behind you calls out, “Shoo, shoo now.”

Everyone keeps hushed, as if terrified of disturbing what is yet unseen.

Moving closer, you anticipate you might see a dead rabbit, or perhaps a chicken. Anything would have been a more welcome sight than the gnarled half-eaten body of a woman dressed just like you piled amongst the debris. You gasp, both hands flying over your mouth as you stumble a few steps backwards.

For a horrifying moment, you swear you see your own face in the rotten remnants staring back at you with black, empty eye sockets. It’s the hair that gives away the delusion, however, and with a chill down your spine you recognize the sacrifice who came before you; Hector’s daughter.

“Nadja,” the man groans morosely, the weight of grief in his voice palpable. You move away, towards the stairs, and watch with a morbid sort of fascination as the man weeps over the corpse of his daughter, touching her hair and her clothes, the only parts of her not twisted and rotted with death, the body left for maggots and scavengers. It’s sick, nothing like the beautiful and noble gesture sacrifice is always said to be. You look up at the dizzying height of the spiral staircase, following the line of it until the stone disappears into darkness. Did she fall, or was she cast away, having somehow proven herself unworthy?

In a strange sense, watching the men wrap her body in cloth to be carried home feels very much like playing the part of voyeur to your own demise. You stand at a distance, hand braced upon the stone, unable to shake the dread that you’re witnessing a vision of the future. Your future.

No. You will not be left for the insects and carrion-feeders. You turn your back to the sound of Hector’s weeping and, without another world, determinedly begin your ascent one large stone step at a time. Although you feel the men’s eyes heavily upon you, they remain silent, as if already grieving you.

Do not, you think brazenly, skin flushed with unexpected fires that bring your blood to a boil. Do not dare mourn what isn’t dead.

Those flames burn hot enough to carry you easily up the first several floors, indignantly stomping your way. You’ve heard stories of this tower all your life, but nothing could have prepared you for the true scale of it. Most of it is in a terrible state of decay, full of overgrowth and rot that, centuries ago, may have been wood and cloth.

You stop for a breath beneath the remains of what looks to have once been a vibrant mural. You can see trace evidence of beautiful paints, but whatever it depicts has been brutally clawed from the stonework. You lift a hand up high to trace one of the deep gouges in the stone; the marks are spread too far apart for your fingers to reach, but you can make out five distinct patterns nonetheless, like drag marks from a hand three or four times the size of your own.

Beyond the ruined mural, there are statues, too. You pass a grand monument of a woman who stands over seven heads tall wielding a sword of equal might, the statue adorned with steel bracers. You think she might have been beautiful in the same way a frightening storm is, but the head of the statue is long since gone.

On the next floor, you see upon the ground the ruins of a statue of a mermaid–at least, you thought it was. Upon further inspection, however, you see that the statue depicts a man. He has the lower body of a fish and strange indentations along his ribs, just beneath his bare carved chest. He, too, is headless, torso split horizontally, stone strewn across the floor.

This temple must have belonged to these lost figures, their monuments as desecrated as the rest of the tower. Whoever the Seven was, the world has since forgotten.

You wonder if the Devourer did this, defiled this temple to erase whatever history of heroes came before its tyranny.

Ultimately, you only find six statues. None of them have managed to keep their heads, and some are in worse shape than others. You imagine the seventh might have been destroyed entirely. It’s easier to imagine how or why these things might be than it is to focus on how badly your body aches, how you started this venture with the morning sun barely upon you, and yet you barely feel any closer to your destination as the darkness of night encroaches.

Every limb screams for rest. You stop occasionally, but you feel you must not sleep. Was poor Nadja pitched to her death for sleeping through her trial? You’d rather not find out. You’re not even sure if you would wake with the same angry conviction that drives you forward now, climbing step after unforgiving step. It’s gotten colder the higher you’ve gone, too. There’s a chance if you slept amidst the stone, you would turn to it yourself.

“Grant me strength,” you whisper to whomever may be listening. Be they fae or devil, benevolent or malevolent, it would be a boon to know there was some manner of being on your side.

You lean on the wall far from the edge as you ascend the spiral, too nervous of a fall to look over the edge and gauge your progress. A brisk wind chill has begun howling through the tower, whipping your clothing about and biting at your skin. You hug one arm tightly across your chest, bracing against the cold. At this rate, you’ll make for a crunchy meal not just for your bones, but for the frost you arrive covered in.

Your foot slides on something on the step that shifts and clatters. You nearly fall, heart hammering in your chest as you manage to catch yourself. Looking down, you’re shocked to see a pile of shining gold coins spilling down the steps amongst the debris. There is enough wealth discarded on these steps to see a dozen families fed for years and years to come.

You must be getting close. Carefully, despite the tremble running through your body, you shuffle your way through the mess, kicking it aside when you need to clear more of a path. The sound of rubble and gold and the like falling off the edge of the steps makes you flinch, the prolonged clattering of it serving as a reminder of just how agonizingly high you’ve managed to climb.

The familiar flicker of fire light draws a gasp of relief from you, tears gathered in your eyes from the sheer pain of moving your body forward. You can see shadows dancing across the walls, beckoning you from the cold with the barest hint of a warm draft. You’re practically crawling up the steps now, every part of you aching horribly. The tremble in your body is so severe, you worry you would fall to your death if you continued trying to walk through the hoard of treasures that have spilled down the steps.

You practically sob with relief when you reach the final step, limbs quaking beneath you as you haul yourself up onto the top floor and away from the awful railless edge of the spiraling stairs. You bury your face in the fold of your arms. The mixture of relief and exhaustion is so intense, the rest of the world falls away briefly, and the only thing that matters is catching your breath while you all but dry heave on the floor.

“I’ll be damned. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” purrs a resonant, honied voice, snapping you immediately back to reality. You shoot into an upright position so suddenly your head spins, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear your blurry vision.

Before you rests an enormous circular hall lit with dozens upon dozens of torches. The walls are lined with beautiful arched windows, and the interior is piled nearly to the vaulted ceiling with obscene amounts of coin, weapons, artifacts and similar treasure. Your gaze drifts towards the center of it all, where the source of the voice awaits you.

As it turns out, The Devourer is no oversized earthworm.

Reclined upon a magnificently carved marble throne, you behold a creature made of equal parts man and beast. Even sitting, his stature easily brings him heads taller than you. He is adorned exquisitely in gold embellishments–jewelry and piercings alike–and rich navy slacks, serving as a fine centerpiece to the lavish, untidy wealth that surrounds him. He wears a crown fit for a king, the jewel of it a radiant blue that matches his sharp predatory gaze. His lips spread into a wolfish grin. You’re utterly bewitched by the flash of his fangs.

“Rise,” he orders you, gesturing with a clawed hand that’s easily the size of your head. His rings shine beautifully in the firelight. “And speak.”

Shakily, you fight to climb to your feet. Worm or not, this man–this creature has been preying upon your people for generations. You remind yourself of the countless lives lost, of the mourning families, of Nadja’s desecrated corpse and the sound of her father weeping over the rotten remains of her. You steel yourself.

“You who the people know as Scourge of the Skies, Red Death,” you begin, blinking rapidly. Your head began swimming the second you stood. You’ve never been so worn out in your life, and though there are flames here that offer a slight degree of warmth, the cold has sunk deep into your bones. As you speak, your vision gradually begins to tunnel. “Flame’s… Maw… and the Devourer,” you address, fighting desperately to stay focused even as he fades in and out of clarity. “I’ve come to pay my village tribute, and to… to…”

The darkness at the edges of your vision thickens. Your words feel heavy and slurred on your tongue. You sway, feeling your own head slosh like a bucket of water, and before you know it, you’re pitching forward, and the world goes black.

That was anticlimactic.

There was a time he would have been met with awe. Reverence. He didn’t expect you to simply black out.

Scourge, Red Death, Flame’s Maw… Maw. He’s always despised that word in particular, and the ugly imagery it evokes. Just a handful out of hundreds of names he’s been called over the years–if you can call them that. Many border on insults, if not are so outright. The most tolerable name he can remember is Homelander.

They called him that in celebration, he recalls. Those were the last of the days he had any care left for them.

He blows a smoky little raspberry as he stands, hands clasping behind his back beneath his wings. His tail sways idly as he approaches, tentatively intrigued by your splayed form. It’s rare that a sacrifice makes it all the way to the top at all, let alone in a single day. The last one only made it halfway before she decided falling to her death was a kinder fate than him.

Truth be told, he should have reigned hell upon their little village for her insolence. Fortunately for them, her display filled him with far more apathy than it did fury. He crouches down near enough to touch, though he hesitates, hand ghosting just over your body. He tilts his head to the side. Your breaths are shallow in your sleep, a slight wheeze to each one. Your body is clearly overexerted.

Delicately, he slips his hand under your cheek to turn your face to him, examining your features. You’re prettier like this, the tension drained from your expression and replaced with peace. Certainly not the worst tribute he’s been offered. You were at least determined to reach him.

The corner of his mouth twitches.

He won’t kill you. Not yet.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, supporting your comparatively slight form with ease. You feel as frail as any mortal might, but the weight of you in his arms strikes him with a peculiar sense of melancholy. He takes pause, more closely observing the shape of you cradled in his arms, head lolled against his chest. You fit there nicely, small as you are. He can almost pretend you’ve simply fallen asleep in the crook of his arm; somewhere you’ve always belonged.

It’s an intriguing little fantasy. He hasn’t felt the need to indulge in one of those in a long while. He keeps his eyes on you as he walks you to the collection of pelts gathered on the far side of the room, where he lays you down atop them.

What had you been intending to say before you passed out? Your departing words spin round and round in his mind while he looks you over, lowering himself until he’s on his hands and knees above you. Tributes used to come richly adorned in jewelry and glittering things, but such pageantry has long since vanished. He’s surrounded by enough of it that the absence doesn’t bother him anymore.

The glitter of gold hardly catches his eye these days. He doesn’t call for sacrifices to add to his wealth. He only seeks to quell his boredom. Perhaps you will prove useful for this, at least for a time.

Pressing his clawed thumb lightly to your chin, he tilts your head away and leans in, nosing up the line of your throat, lips barely ghosting your soft flesh. He inhales the salt-sweet smell of you, a mixture of sweat, the dusty stone steps you’ve scaled, and the sweet herbal oil bath your kind always receives before you’re sent to him. The blend is strangely intoxicating on you.

It makes him wonder if you taste as good as you smell. Parting his lips, his split tongue spills past them and drags a slow serpentine pattern from your neck to your jaw. Mmm, fuck. You taste better than you smell, the rich oil you were bathed in still clinging to your skin beneath the salty tang of your sweat.

It would be too easy to devour you. He groans quietly at the thought, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. He’s known few things more intimate than sinking his sharp teeth into warm, pliant flesh. The feel of a pulse slowing against his tongue. The metallic rush of blood down the back of his throat. He hasn’t craved human flesh the way he does right now in years, yet something in the scent of you has ignited that primal aspect of him. Salivating already, he swallows it away and draws back.

Not yet. He still wants to hear what you were going to say.

It makes him smile to see the goosebumps that have erupted on every inch of your exposed skin. He cocks his head to the side and trails his index claw down the center of your chest, dragging down the pretty white fabric of your sacrificial dress, stopping just shy of the swell of your breasts. More goosebumps there, too.

None of it compares to the sound that you make. In your sleep, your brows furrow, and you exhale a noise somewhere between pain and sheer exhaustion, your small hand brushing his as you adjust against the pile of plush fur pelts. His gaze drops sharply, hand lifting tentatively. After a beat, he sets it down lightly atop yours. Captivated, he watches your whole body respond to his touch, turning and curling in towards him like a flora bending to the light of the sun.

Fascinated by your innate reactivity to him, Homelander lowers himself onto his side next to you. After a beat of hesitation, he encircles your wrist with his thumb and index finger and brings your palm flat to the warmth of his bare chest. A tantalizing shiver rolls through your unconscious form. Just as he had anticipated–hoped?–you follow the feel of him, moving completely onto your side and into him, breathing out a shuddering little exhale while the fire that runs through his veins warms you.

It isn’t enough to stop you shivering, though. Shifting, he spreads out his wing and curls that over you, blocking the draft that spills in from the surrounding windows. Only then does the tension in your body begin to ease, warmth chasing out the chill from your bones.

Homelander smirks, feeling inexplicably accomplished over this mundane little feat. He’s never particularly cared for the comfort of his tributes before; they’ve never served as anything more than playthings and meals. You should be no different. He knows you would be a delectable thing on his tongue, warm and wet down his throat, yet the thought of you in pieces–cold and unmoving–instantly vanishes his appetite.

He wants you in a new way entirely. Against him, with him. He wants to taste more of you, drag his tongue along the plains of your body and see how else you’ll react to him. He wants to find the places that quicken your breath. Would you sing your pleasure for him? He’s barely heard your voice, but already he can imagine it vividly.

You would. You will.

He’s begun to pant at the thought alone, smoke wafting from his mouth, his eyes softly aglow with crimson light. The smell of you has filled his senses so thoroughly he feels intoxicated by it, and between his thighs, his cock has begun to throb. He leans closer and nestles into your hair, inhaling deeply, a rumble leaving him on a warm exhale.

His entire body has taken on the heavy pulse of his heart, alight with the most visceral feeling he’s had in centuries. This is more than hunger, more than carnality–you mean something. Never before has he felt compelled to find pleasure in the frail body of a human, yet his blood sings it voicelessly in the back of his mind, his every instinct screaming one word again and again and again.

Mate.

Homelander had given up on the concept of a mate a long time ago, given that he’s… abnormal. Sterile. As an unnatural creature, there could not be a natural match for him. Someone who would call to his very blood and set it aflame. Yet here you are, seeking him as desperately as he once sought you. Is that why you were able to accomplish what so few before you had, pushing your body so clearly beyond your limits?

A low, possessive rumble leaves him. Reckless.

He pets your hair, testing the texture with his fingers awhile before letting his hand roam down the back of your neck, between your shoulders, up over your hip, down your leg. You’re no longer cool to the touch or shivering. He flattens his palm to your back and closes his eyes briefly. He’s never heard of a dragon bonding to a human before. He wonders if you’ll feel it too, recognize it for what it is, or if your mortality will make you oblivious to the depths of it.

It takes every ounce of his restraint not to shake you awake to find out.

Instead, he patiently learns the cadence of your heart. He commits your scent to memory, weeding out the natural musk of your skin beneath the herbs and oils you’ve been lathered in. Soon enough he’ll be able to pick you out of a crowd by the thump of your pulse alone, track you down from miles away with nothing but the barest whiff of you.

Not that he’d ever let you get so far from him now that he has you.

All you’re missing now is his scent. Leaning down, he licks a line adjacent to the one he had prior, and then another, mindful of his horns. The sweet taste of you makes him moan. He spends hours with you tucked in against him, idling away the time by learning your body as well as teaching you his. He nuzzles his cheek lightly against yours just so that he can turn and taste that same spot, something deep and primal in him appeased by tasting himself on your skin.

“My mate,” he half sighs, half growls.

He can’t wait to meet you.

Consciousness comes back to you in a gradual slew of sensation. Your fingers twitch, flexing in what feels like a lush, thick pelt of fur beneath you. Your whole body is pleasantly warm, as if you’ve fallen asleep in front of a crackling hearth, the cold of those awful stone stairs a distant memory.

The stairs…

Your eyes snap wide open, your spine going stiff. You’re laying on your back. Something wet and hot is dragging along the exposed skin of your shoulder–your dress pulled askew–in repetitive swipes. Looking down, all you can see is a mess of flaxen colored hair and one long, angular horn, the tip of it adorned in gold. The press of what you can only imagine to be a tongue is unnaturally smooth, as hot as settled coal against your skin. The beast gives a growl, and sharp teeth graze your skin. Your throat feels tight, the scream that bubbles up locked behind the tension of your jaw.

Oh gods, you think, beginning to shake. He’s eating me!

“Good morning,” purrs a familiar voice, the words vibrating against your skin. He lifts his head from your shoulder, though he doesn’t go far. You half expect to see his maw bloodied with your entrails from all the horror stories you’ve been told, but his grin is as clean as it was the first moment you beheld him. Up close, he’s even larger than you had initially realized. His face is well defined, with strong cheekbones decorated with smooth red scales that ascend into his hairline, where a golden crown sits neatly behind his horns. “Mmm, someone got their beauty sleep,” he says, the words a low, pleased rumble. You’re speechless, watching in bewilderment as he cups your face, hand so large it covers most of your neck, too. “You were out for hours.”

Your eyes dart to your shoulder, where your dress has been tugged down, but your skin appears unmarred. Around you, one of his enormous wings is curved over, shielding you both from the light and the cold beyond. You can’t move your legs, and with a glance, you understand why: his enormous tail is draped across both of them, pinning you in place. You look back at him, eyes wide in fear and confusion. You wonder if he’s been with you like this through the entire night. “You’re… You’re not eating me?”

The broad smile he flashes makes your heart skip a beat. His eyes, though sharp and a shade of blue you’ve only ever seen in the sky, are disarmingly human. Beautiful, even. They crinkle at the corners with what almost looks like fondness.

“No.”

“Why not?” You ask instantly, adrenaline making your voice sharp. “Not that I wish for you to eat me,” you say just as quickly. “But do you not–were you not–” He cuts you off with a noise that you belatedly realize is a laugh, the resonance in his chest so unearthly it gives every sound he makes an inhuman quality. “No, I was not eating you,” he says, sounding far too amused for your liking. “Tasting you, yes. And you do taste divine,” he says, leaning in again. You push your head back into the furs as much as you can, but he moves to the side, bringing his lips to your ear. “I knew my mate would.” Mate?!

Your hands fly up to his chest–gods, he’s as warm as hearth stones–as if to push him back, but you may as well attempt to push an oak tree aside. “What?”

He draws back, glancing down at your hands pressed to the bare skin of his chest before his gaze returns to yours, eyes narrowed in distinct pleasure. “Mate,” he says again, deliberately drawing the word out. “Dragons bond only once in a lifetime. Usually to another dragon. Clearly exceptions can be made, and you, precious little thing that you are… appear to be mine.”

His eyes fall shut, he leans in, and with a lurch of your stomach you realize he means to kiss you, his lips pursed and rapidly approaching. Your own lips part and a noise wholly outside of your control escapes you; a scream so shrill and sudden that it knocks even him back in surprise.

Blinking several times, he gives you a quick once over, visibly expecting to see you wounded and bloody somewhere. He looks back to your face when he finds nothing amiss. “What?”

“I can’t–I don’t know you,” you blurt out, equal parts flustered and alarmed. You can feel yourself burning up, and it isn’t just from the heat of him against you.

“So?” He dismisses, smiling with an array of sharp pearly teeth. “I’m your mate.”

“Humans don’t have those,” you counter, squirming under the weight of his tail. It’s like he’s draped several sacks of grain across your legs. “My lord Devourer, I–”

He scoffs, tail lifting as he shifts, bringing himself up onto his hands and knees over you, his wing unfurling and allowing the sun to spill in, washing you both in its light. “Homelander. If you must use one of those silly names, use Homelander. I’d prefer beloved, though,” he says with a sly lilt to his mouth.

A shiver rolls down your spine. Along with light, brisk morning air has slipped in between your bodies.

“Homelander,” you repeat, a name you’ve never heard before. It’s a great deal less menacing than the others, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has been eating your townsman for as long as anyone can remember. “I–”

He takes hold of your jaw with just his index finger and thumb, the rest of his fingers curling lightly over your throat. “You talk too much,” he tells you, eyes hooded and hungry. “Are you going to scream every time I try to kiss you?”

“Maybe,” you choke out, fists clenched tightly in the furs beneath you. He leans closer, tilting his head, his nose barely brushing the tip of yours. “I’ve never been kissed by a dragon before. Like I said, we don’t have m-mmm!”

It happens so swiftly you don’t have time to gather the air to scream. He presses his lips firmly to yours, making a noise so close to a moan that, despite the relative chasteness of the kiss itself, you flush with the indecency of it. It feels… hot. The heat of him is nearly too much to handle, like touching your lips to a hot mug of tea, but there is something intoxicating about it. He uses that heat to mold you to him, pulling you closer, his body sinking down against yours.

You’re too dumbstruck by the whole of the situation to struggle–not that it would accomplish much–which leaves you to simply experience it. His lips are tentative against yours, not harsh or demanding. He coaxes yours with his as if to dance, luring you into something that almost feels good.

Your heart hammers in your chest, his warmth pooling in your belly and spreading slowly through the rest of your body like boiled water poured into a lukewarm tub. He’s immovable, inescapable, and to your dismay, not entirely awful.

“I want to claim you,” he all but growls against your lips, his other hand clawing slowly down your side, tugging at your dress.

Your heart leaps painfully against your ribs. “Homelander,” you say, though he’s hardly paying you any mind, kissing your cheek now, your jaw, carving a wicked trail with his lips while his hand dips lower and lower, seeking the bottom hem of your dress. Heart racing, you breathlessly cry, “Beloved!”

That gives him pause. He rears back to look down at you, head slightly cocked, eyes bright and attentive. Your breaths are shallow, pulse pounding in your throat. You swallow dryly. “I’m thirsty,” you tell him, which is no lie. Your throat is so dry it almost hurts to speak. “Horribly. And hungry, I’ve not eaten since yesterday’s breakfast. You mean for me to survive, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” he says, expression twisting like he finds offense in your words. “You’ll want for nothing.”

“Then please. Water?” You push, praying that he is more man than beast.

He regards you quietly, eyes subtly darting back and forth. There’s a petulant kind of impatience to his gaze that catches you off-guard, like a boy who’s been told he has to wait before he gets to play with his new favorite toy. “Water,” he echoes eventually. You nod. He startles you when he exhales a little plume of smoke from his nose, reluctantly lifting himself off of you. The chill of his absence is immediate. “Don’t move,” he says, suddenly looking displaced. You’ve caught him by surprise. Perhaps you’ll survive this yet.

You watch him rise to his full height, standing easily eight feet tall. You sit up, pulling the furs over your legs to combat the cold seeping in. The muscles of his back give a mesmerizing flex as he stretches his wings out, the span of them just as jaw-dropping as his height. He wears furs over his shoulders held in place with thick leather straps that cross over his back and chest, emphasizing his musculature as well as the crimson plating that covers his body. Spines run down the length of his back, transitioning down into a tail that’s even longer than he is tall. It moves along the ground in zigzags, almost like a serpent. You don’t realize how intensely you’re staring until you look back up and realize he’s looking at you over his shoulder, those piercing blue eyes keenly set on yours.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. Something about his expression makes you feel like you’ve been caught doing something naughty. You drop your gaze. “Back in a jiffy,” he says. You look up just in time to see him step off the ledge, those brilliant red wings fanning out behind him. He disappears so suddenly that you can’t help but gasp, sitting up on your knees. You hear the beat of wings against the air, and then a second later see him lift back up into the skyline, twisting in the air before gliding back down out of sight.

You sit in stunned silence, listening to the fading thrum of his wings. It doesn’t feel real. You don’t know if this is some kind of twisted game he pulls with every sacrifice, or if you’re truly somehow different. You weren’t entirely expecting him to listen to you, but he did. He’s gone, presumably to fetch you food and water. You don’t know how, but you just commanded the Devourer to not only let you go, but bring you a meal.

In hindsight, you’re a little concerned that it was never specified what kind of meal. As far as you’re aware, he primarily eats people.

Adjusting your gown, you haul yourself up to your feet, crossing your arms in a vain attempt to protect the heat of his body lingering on your skin. When that doesn’t work, you pick up one of the several fur pelts strewn on the floor and drape it over your shoulders, sighing in relief. The pelt still holds some residual warmth; a boon over the lovely but ineffective fabric of your ceremonial gown.

In the light of day, you can make out a great deal more detail throughout the lair. The floor to ceiling archways deter you from venturing too far beyond the center, but still there is plenty to investigate. For example, the throne catches your eye immediately. The size of it makes you feel like a child again, navigating a world not built for you. The masonry of it is exceptionally smooth beneath your fingers, save for a handful of deep, jagged gouges that marr the arm rest. Tilting your head, you realize that you recognize these marks: they match those that you’d seen on the ruined murals.

You trace them with your fingers, connecting them now to the draconic claws that, just moments ago, had so delicately followed the curve of your body. He could so easily tear you apart, and yet in that moment you had never known a gentler touch. You pull your hand back beneath the pelt, feeling a shiver roll through you that has little to do with the morning chill.

Mate. That word sticks in your brain like a wad of gummy tree sap.

Circling the throne, you carefully step around the glimmering mess of gold, silver and jewels that litter the stone floor. There’s so much of it that it doesn’t even look real, stacked over itself like forgotten hay bales left to rot. There is more wealth here than you’ve seen in your life. A single satchel of it would keep you comfortable for the rest of your life, and yet here it serves as little more than clutter. As far as you can tell, it means nothing here.

The Devourer stopped seeking material treasure generations ago.

As you explore, part of you expects to find the corpses of all those who have come before you. Dozens upon dozens of bodies stacked up in varying states of consumption or decay, or maybe a monument built of their bones. You find no such construct, though. In fact, nothing about this place seems put together. You can’t imagine the madness that living like this for a week would induce in you, let alone decades.

To the east, movement catches your attention, startling your heart into your throat. It looks like a silhouetted figure at first, but your brain catches up quickly, and you approach the gently billowing fabric. It’s draped over a statue, giving it the illusion of a person, and your curiosity gets the best of you as you tug the drape down off of it.

You suck in a sharp breath. Once again, you find yourself faced with a legend given form– a painstakingly and intricately carved statue in the Devourer’s perfect likeness. It comes as no surprise that this is the only in-tact statue you’ve seen, but what you don’t understand is why it’s even here. If the Devourer was a usurper, some vicious interloper, why would there be a monument to him in the same vein as all the others?

The plaque beneath it reads: Homelander. Son of the Skies, Protector of the Earth.

Devourer, Scourge, Flame’s Maw–these names are all you have ever known, and yet this is the name carved in stone. He was once worshiped not out of fear, but reverence that you can see in every gentle curve of stone.

What happened?

Shuffling closer to the statue, the discarded fabric gathers at your feet. It’s not quite to scale, but it’s a handsome likeness nonetheless. It’s certainly been cared for more than anything else in this place. You wonder if it’s just vanity or if it’s something less obvious. You trace the smooth stonework, letting yourself get a better look at this version of him that’s less likely to eat you.

Objectively speaking, it’s a handsome visage. The resemblance is uncanny, clearly the work of an intensely skilled mason. His jaw is strong, eyes set forward in unerring determination. Tentatively, you touch the lips of the statue. He’d been so certain that he wanted to kiss you. Just the thought of his closeness and heat makes your stomach erupt in a flutter of butterflies.

Mate.

“I thought I told you not to move.”

You barely hear the full sentence, your own scream ringing loudly in your ears. You move to spin around, but your foot catches on the pile of fabric you had dropped to the ground and suddenly your whole body is pitching backwards, the back of your skull destined for the smooth, unyielding stone behind you. Fortunately for your brain matter, your descent is halted just shy of contact, one familiar clawed hand cupping the back of your neck while the other lands at your back, steadying you.

Homelander stands over you, a curious quirk to his brow. With his hand at the small of your back, his claws press lightly through the fabric, effortlessly upholding your weight. He holds you as if you’ve been caught mid dip in a dance.

“Gods, you scared me,” you say, eyes wide. “I didn’t hear you.” You had been so certain you would hear his return based on the sound of his wings when he’d left, but his approach had been terrifyingly silent.

“Yes, I know. It makes me a very effective hunter,” he says, dipping down to nuzzle at your neck, taking advantage of how the pelt has slipped off of your shoulder. He inhales the smell of you, prickling goosebumps all over your body. “I missed you.”

“You’ve barely been gone,” you reply impulsively, awkwardly trying to adjust yourself out of this arch he has you in. No use. His size makes him impossible to maneuver around, and your foot is still tangled up in the fabric that he’s currently standing on.

He gives another one of those rumbling sighs, drawing back to look at you. “You’re supposed to say that you missed me, too,” he chastises you, and though his tone seems light, you’re sure you see a flicker of impatience or irritation in his gaze. Maybe both. Despite how fearsome the sum total of his features make him, you’re once again caught off guard by his eyes. Though the color of them is icy, there’s a distinctly human warmth to them that grounds you in his gaze.

Still, the last thing you want to do is make him angry.

“Oh,” you croak quietly, realizing he’s actually waiting for you to say it, staring down expectantly while he holds you. “I… missed you, too,” you return stiltedly, unsure your hesitant delivery will be satisfactory. Shockingly, his expression lightens, lips curving into a smile. He lifts you off of your feet, untangling you from the mess beneath you and turning around to set you back down on relatively clear flooring.

“Good,” he purrs, stroking his hand down the back of your head like he’s petting an animal. He seems determined to touch you, but entirely unaware of how to. He cups the base of your skull and tightens the gap between your bodies, enticing you with his warmth as much as he terrifies you with the hunger in his eyes.

You put your hands to his chest, soaking up the heat of him as you vainly try to maintain an ounce of personal space. “Ah, the–the statue, it’s beautiful. Why do you cover it up?” You ask, the words leaving you in a flustered tumble.

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder, looking at the statue like he’s only just remembered it exists. “Oh, that. Mmm. Don’t always like what he has to say,” he replies, fitting his hand over top of yours, pressing it to his chest. You blink. What in the world does that mean? “You humans chill so quickly. I’ll have to light the hearth next time I leave you,” he says, earning a yelp from you as he abruptly lifts you up into his arms, tail slithering audibly along the floor as he carries you back to what you suppose for all intents and purposes is his nest. His touch instantly warms you to your core, making the fur you wrapped yourself in seem like a thin sheet in comparison. Despite your apprehension, you can’t help the way the tension in your body naturally eases with his warmth. Upon returning to the collection of pelts, you see the fruits of his labor.

Literal fruits, in fact.

Homelander has returned with a small bounty consisting of apples, two melons, and even a handful of peaches, all of it held in a beautiful–albeit aged–woven basket. You don’t get the chance to eat those often; the trees they fall from grow high on the surrounding mountains, and the farmers in your village are content enough with the established agriculture that no one bothers to grow them.

In addition, a tall golden pitcher stands filled to the brim with water. You’re once again hyper aware of just how incredibly thirsty you are, lips dry, throat parched. It’s the only thing you care about, clambering towards it the second Homelander sets you back on your feet.

The pitcher is heavy. It appears made of solid gold and it’s three times the size of any you’ve ever seen before. You don’t lift it so much as you just tip it back slightly, sighing loudly as you drink back the crisp, clear water. You sputter as the flow abruptly increases, water spilling from the corners of your mouth. Homelander has lifted the pitcher to help you drink, holding it one handed as if it’s no more than a drinking cup, his other hand settled upon your waist. He looks thoroughly pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded, lips gently curved upwards. Once you’ve drunk your fill, you push against his hold and he relents quickly, unnerving you with just how attentive he really is. He sets the pitcher back down and watches you wipe your chin dry.

“Thank the gods,” you sigh habitually, finally not feeling as though there’s grit in your throat with every word.

“I’d prefer you thanked me,” he says coyly, his gaze drifting down to where the water has wet your gown. The fabric clings to your skin, sheer where liquid has touched it.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. Thank you, Homelander,” you correct. It’s taking every ounce of your fortitude to speak in full sentences with the way he’s staring at you, let alone the idle way his thumb is stroking your hip. No one has ever touched you with this mixture of ease and clear intent, the weight of his hand practically thrumming against you. The magnitude of him is a difficult thing to parse both in terms of his sheer size and the legend he represents. You don’t know how to reconcile him with the monster you grew up dreading.

No one warned you that monsters could be warm and handle you gently.

“Time to eat,” he says, setting the pitcher back down. He takes hold of both of your hips and pulls you down with him as he sits cross-legged on the pelts, the circle of his legs large enough that you fit perfectly inside it, your own legs hanging out over his crossed calves. His tail loops around as well, encircling him and draping over your legs. The underside of his tail is not unlike the belly of a snake, with large overlapping scales that layer down the length of it. It’s just as warm as the rest of him, and feels like an unnaturally soft stone that’s been baking in the sun.

Reaching over, Homelander plucks one of the peaches from the assortment. It looked perfectly average in the basket, but between his fingers it looks almost comically small. With a deftness that you wouldn’t expect from a creature of his size, he begins to slice through the peach with his blackened claws, delicately cutting out a wedge that he does not hand you, but he instead brings it directly to your lips.

You stare for a moment, struck by the rich red center of the fruit, how the juice of it drips onto his hand in sweet smelling rivulets. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, and he quirks a brow, nodding towards the slice of fruit. You decide that of all the potential battles you have in front of you, this one in particular isn’t worth fighting, and you part your lips, watching him as you do.

His own lips mimic yours, falling apart in quiet entrancement. He slides the wedge between your teeth and watches with rapt fascination as you bite down on it, holding his gaze in an exchange that feels so unexpectedly raw and intimate, your pulse ticks up a notch. You swear he notices it by the way his head tilts ever so slightly, almost as if he’s listening.

“Good?” He asks, voice little more than a rumble.

Gods above and below, it is good. Despite the preternatural heat of his hand, the succulent flesh of the peach retains the morning chill, sweet and cool on your tongue. It’s perfectly ripe, yielding easily to the cut of your teeth and flooding richly across your tongue as you chew. He feeds it to you until it disappears, pressing the last of it in with his thumb, which then follows the line of your bottom lip, smearing the sweet juice on it. You nod and lick your lips, tongue narrowly missing his thumb, and what that does to his expression makes your stomach flip.

He’s quick to cut another slice to offer you. You repeat this process in silence, the air thick with tension that feels so palpable you’re sure you could swim through it. The sounds of the world have narrowed entirely to the sound of his claw cutting through the delicate flesh of the fruit and the tip lightly scraping the pit inside it. His hands have a sticky shine to them by the time he’s tossing the pit back into the basket, stripped as clean as a bone.

You chew your final bite, jaw slowing as you watch him take his fingers into his own mouth. He’s unabashed in the way he slurps the nectar off his digits, tongue slipping between them. That’s when you realize that his tongue splits down the middle, dexterously sliding over his fingers to lap up every drop of juice. Not only that, but you spot a flash of gold; the same kind of piercing he has on his ears. Watching him stirs something hot in you, a radiating heat that lights a flickering pulse between your thighs. You audibly gulp the last of your bite, tensing subtly when Homelander looks at you.

Slowly, his lips curl into a devious smile. “See something you like?”

You flush, fighting the urge to look away. Don’t play into it. Change the subject. “What happened to your last mate?”

His expression shifts to something slightly more incredulous. “There wasn’t one. You’re my first, my last, my only. Dragons only bond once,” he says, that split tongue rolling along his sharp teeth, that gold tongue piercing clicking against them. You wonder where else he’s decorated himself with gold.

Wait, what did he say? Your gaze snaps back up from his mouth to his eyes, which are once more set into that self-satisfied slant. He’s closer to you now, and nearing by the second.

My first, my last, my only.

“But I am no dragon,” you say, leaning away subtly, though there isn’t far to go. He’s got you trapped nicely in place, like a butterfly beneath pins. “How could such a bond form?”

“I’m as mystified as you are,” he says, his hand sliding up the small of your back. “I didn’t think a bond was even possible for me. Apparently there’s something different about you,” he says, and you notice a brief twitch of his lip, a flicker that looks just a touch like disdain. It disappears as quickly as it had appeared. “Something special,” he murmurs, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek.

Your heart races, your capacity for thought slowly disappearing the closer to you he gets. New subject, new subject! You think, frazzled by the warm spiced smell of him. His hand flexes on your hip, claws prickling your skin through your dress. “Aren’t you hungry?” You ask, eyes darting to the basket full of fruit just to his side.

“Yeah,” he rasps, voice so low you feel it reverberate. His nose brushes your cheek, trailing down from your jaw to your neck. You shiver, and the pulse between your thighs grows into a steady throb. He inhales deeply. “I’m famished.”

The world around you spins and the next thing you know, you’re on your back staring up at the aged banners draped along the stone ceiling, the fur pelts warm and plush beneath you. Homelander pins your arms down at your sides, once more poised on his hands and knees over you. His tongue draws a wet molten line from the collar of your dress to your throat, and you let out a soft, nervous cry as his teeth graze your skin.

Perhaps he’s going to devour you after all.

Oh gods! Gods, gods, gods, please no!

“Wait, wait! Don’t–please don’t eat me,” you plead in a panic, pushing up against his hands with all of your might. He doesn’t yield at all. You may as well be pushing against the stone walls of the tower itself.

He does laugh, however. It’s that same rumble of amusement that travels through your skin and into the core of you. “For the last time, I’m not eating you. I can smell your arousal, though. Practically taste it in the fucking air,” he says, trailing lower down your chest with every word, brazenly nuzzling the space between your breasts before continuing down. A wave of humiliation rolls through you at his words, and you look away. He releases your arms in favor of sliding his hands up your bare legs, pushing your dress up with them. “I’m just going to have a little lick.”

Frantically, you try to grab at him as soon as your hands are free. “Hold on, stop–”

“Enough!” He snarls suddenly, startling you quiet. You swear for just a moment that his eyes flash crimson. You clutch your hands to your chest. “You’ll not be harmed. Understand? Just… let me,” he says tersely, gaze hard before gradually softening as you silence yourself, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes. Satisfied, he lowers back down.

His sharp claws kiss harmless welts all the way up your legs, up to your hips, where he catches the band of your undergarments. He hooks his fingers over the waistband and drags them down, seeming to enjoy the way you pant and writhe under him, your heart racing.

“Have mercy,” you slip in quietly, squirming beneath the hot press of his hands, though you’re no longer struggling against him. “I’ve never–no one’s ever–I’m inexperienced,” you desperately explain, your mind running wild with what his size will mean for you if he decides he wants more than to taste you–to claim you, as he’d said before.

“Good,” he replies simply, pushing your knees up into a bend on either side of his head. “As you should be. As am I,” he says, turning his head to drag his split tongue in swirling patterns on your inner thigh, moaning at the taste of you.

You grip the pelts beneath you, brows furrowing. You stare down at the top of his head in confusion. “You are?”

“I told you. I’ve never had a mate. I’ve never felt the need to put my cock into what I intended to eat,” he says against your skin, erupting goosebumps all over your thighs. That should horrify you, but you’re instantly distracted by the sheer burning heat of his breath wafting over your wet cunt, a gasp slipping from your lips when he eagerly presses his tongue to it.

His tongue feels as smooth as glass, like liquid in the way it contours to your every curve. The split of it rubs on either side of your clit, massaging it between the two sides in a way that makes your knees shake. “Ffffuck,” he groans, immediately pushing his tongue into you, licking up the wetness of you twice as eagerly as he had that ripe peach.

You buck against him, a moan escaping you. The sound only encourages him to plunge his tongue deeper, that golden stud on his tongue brushing hotly against your inner walls. He drags it up and pushes it flush, half inside you and half grinding against your clit before pushing back in deep. It feels unlike anything you’ve ever known, so much better than your own curious, clumsy fingers. He laves attention on you like he’s starved for it, drinking just as thirstily as you had from the pitcher.

There’s no rhythm to the way he moves, no sense of consistency. He slips his hands under your ass and tugs you forward with ease, lifting you to push his thick split tongue even further inside you, plunging it in and out, growing greedier with every dive. He growls low in the back of his throat, tail thudding repeatedly against the floor. Instead of the little lick he claimed he was after, he’s working himself into an obvious frenzy feasting on you.

“H-Homelander, please,” you keen, his relentlessness rapidly building an unfamiliar pressure within you. He’s as sloppy as he is voracious, the wet sound of him obscene and loud in the enormous lair. His claws bite into your ass where he holds it firmly to his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. If he does, he’s taking it only as encouragement.

His tongue touches something inside you that makes your whole body jolt. You grab hold of both of his horns, your back arching as you desperately cling to them. You’re certain you meant to shove him back, to struggle. Instead, your body is ablaze as you yank hard on his horns, hitching your leg over his shoulder and riding his tongue with a shaking gasp.

The pressure bursts, and the wave of euphoria that crashes down on you is unlike anything you’ve ever known. You convulse against his mouth, walls tightening around the intrusion. You don’t recognize your own voice in the sounds you make as he continues to ruthlessly fuck you soaked and open with his tongue, his breaths so hot they nearly burn. The waves of your climax feel like they’ll never end, spurred on by every deep, wet thrust.

“Homelander! It’s too much, Homelander, too much, please, please–beloved, please, I can’t, I can’t,” you beg, desperate to get his attention. You’re on the verge of sobs when he finally withdraws his long molten tongue from you. You suck in a shuddering breath, releasing his horns and collapsing back against the pelts, sweat prickling along your hairline.

However, your shallow breaths are nothing compared to the sound of Homelander’s ragged panting. He looks entirely wild, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, his cheeks flushed a dark red, the lower half of his face shiny with a mixture of your slick and his own drool. He takes his hands from under you and yanks the sash around his waist loose, dropping it to the side. Reaching behind him, he unfastens his pants.

Your mind is still a haze, but even through the delirium, you’re shocked by what you see when that rich navy fabric falls from his waist: his cock is as large as the rest of him, thick and dripping. The underside of it is strangely ribbed, a feature you’re certain is to be attributed to his draconic nature. Not only that, but he’s adorned in gold here, too, with a ring pierced into the head of his cock and studs between each ridge. Your eyes widen.

It’ll never fit.

Nevertheless, he looks entirely undeterred. Homelander adjusts himself between your legs, eyes thoroughly glazed over with lust, and presses his nearly scalding palms to your inner thighs, pushing them into a wide spread and down to the ground. Arousal and fear lance through you like a twin bolt of lightning.

“H-hold on,” you stutter, lifting a trembling hand. “I–” Bending over you, he silences you with a firm kiss. You press your hands to his chest and feel it thrumming beneath your palms, the heat of him more intense than ever. You can’t help but moan softly into it, overtaken by the smell of sex and something akin to burning incense. His tongue slips as deftly into your mouth as it did your cunt. Even after having felt it inside you, it’s thicker in your mouth than you’re prepared for, sliding in deeper, like he means to fuck you with it here, too.

It wholly distracts you until you feel a heavy, blunt press to your wet cunt. You make a half-hearted noise of protest, but his only answer is a low rumbling growl, claws biting into the meat of your thighs as he holds you still, effectively gagging you on his tongue.

His cock is as hot as the rest of him, but a great deal more solid than his malleable tongue. The thickness of it slowly spreads you wide, an aching pressure. You’re not sure if the burn of it is from the stretch or the heat, but either way it’s driving you insane. It’s hot and painful and good, frictionless with how thoroughly he soaked you, and despite your nerves, your cunt is loose with orgasm. It’s as if your body, independent of your mind, is eager to welcome him in.

You make a keening noise, the sound of it muffled in this devouring kiss. You grab hold of the leather straps across his chest and yank on them, twisting at them, but nothing takes your mind from how intense it feels to be split apart on the fat head of his cock.

The sounds Homelander makes in response are downright bestial, low and rumbling from his chest. Your only relief is when the widest swell of his cockhead finally breaches you, just the tip of it settling perfectly inside you. You cry out when he gives an exploratory backwards pull, and then shivers as he begins to rock gently, breathing heavily from his nose as he fucks you with nothing more than the head of his cock.

You’re starting to feel lightheaded, pitchy little noises leaving you with every exhale. Homelander sharpens his pace, breaking the kiss with a loud, carnal moan as he tips his head back. He’s barely even inside you and yet the girth of him is overwhelming, the ridges of his cock stimulating you in ways you didn’t know possible, the fat curved head rubbing against that same spot inside you that his tongue had previously made you see stars with.

Thoroughly overwhelmed by the incomprehensible assault of sensations, tears gather in your eyes. That pressure is building back up in you once more, starting at the base of your spine and slowly crawling up it. Desperate to tether yourself, to feel connected, you move your hand from the strap at his chest and touch his face. To your surprise, that instantly snaps his attention down to you, his beautiful blue eyes lost in a crimson glow.

Homelander meets your gaze, some level of cognizance returning to him, and whimpers, something hidden and vulnerable escaping in that exchange. He bends down, his nose brushing yours, and rests his forehead against yours while his thrusts grow more and more erratic, but never deeper. He fucks you in shallow, jagged snaps until finally that mounting pressure overwhelms you and you come again, simultaneously squeezing him into his own sudden release.

The flood of him inside you is burning hot, spilling into your core even from here, and he practically roars with it, burying that loud primal cry into the crook of your neck while his body stills, releasing pulse after pulse of thick, hot seed into you.

His breath billows hotly across your neck, the burning scent of him thick in the air. Your mind is so addled by your own euphoria that it takes you time to realize he’s speaking, fervent murmurings against your skin. “M’sorry, still, be still, I’m–don’t move,” he rasps, fractured little noises leaving him in between his words. You choke on your own breath when he sinks in, working you open slowly, shivers pitching up and down your spine. Gods above, he isn’t done.

Surely he doesn’t mean for you to take all of it… Does he?

You moan weakly, pushing your hand up into his hair and grabbing hold, which elicits a rumbling sigh from him in return. It’s silkier than you expected it to be. “Too big, it’s too much, it’s not–it’s not going to fit,” you pant out, screwing your eyes shut tight. While his release had initially softened him some, you can already feel his cock filling back out. Every bit he slips in further, you feel the mess of his release being forced out of you, come dripping down your thighs, slicking the way for the rest of him.

“It will,” he says at your ear, kissing the spot just below your earlobe, then your neck, his tongue slipping out to taste the sweat there before he kisses that same spot. He’s set upon you like an animal, lost to the drive of instinct, determined to fulfill his promise to claim what is his. “It will because it must. Because it’s yours. Because you’re mine.”

Homelander releases a breathy whine, sounding just as overstimulated as you are, nuzzling at your throat while he slowly works his way deeper, practically vibrating with restraint. He sounds as overwhelmed as you feel, but he refuses to stop, to lose. He holds you in place, growling whenever you squirm or struggle against him. The feel of it is dizzying, unbelievably hot and heavy, like fire given form, filling you in ways you didn’t know were possible. You’re feeling it again, the slow rise of that carnal pleasure building to an inevitable climax, and your whole body trembles with it.

You make a desperate keening noise, and Homelander hushes you, kissing your shoulder. “Sshhh, good, you’re doing so well for me. Don’t move yet, it’s almost over. You were made for this, for me. You feel it, don’t you? How easily your cunt opens to me. Nnngh, hah… Fuck, you fit me. You fit me. You do, and you always will,” he pants, voice hitching.

He slides his hands from your thighs to your waist, the press of his claws just shy of painful. With one final move, he lets out a quaking moan as he pulls you down onto the last of it, finally burying himself completely in your snug, come-soaked cunt.

The fullness of it breaks you–snapping the last tether that was holding you in place–and you come again, your velvety walls seizing up around him impossibly tight before spasming your pleasure around every vein, ridge and piercing he has. You can feel the shape of him so viscerally that you’re sure your body will remember it, carved out in the shape of his cock forevermore.

He cries out with your release, a reverberating sound that you feel all the way down to the marrow of your bones. You don’t know if he’s more in pleasure or pain, but he makes no move to retreat. Instead, he brings you that tiny bit closer, pressing every inch of your body to his. He rides out your pleasure, panting a wet spot into the crook of your neck.

Tears roll from your eyes to your temple, disappearing into your hairline as you breathe roughly. You’re overwhelmingly hot, oversensitized and raw, but as the aftershocks of your orgasm fade, your body steadily loses that quiver. You feel as if you’re melting down into the furs, struggling to even keep your eyes open as a gentle ecstasy sweeps over you.

Once he recovers enough, he lifts himself up onto his hands, and then sits back onto his legs, his hands on your hips to lift you partially into his lap to keep himself buried deep, hitching your legs around his waist. His eyes are completely glazed over, lips parted around heavy, hungry breaths. He doesn’t look at all sated. If anything, the look of his desire has only intensified, despite his obvious sensitivity. Sliding his hands up your body, he pushes your pretty white dress all the way up over your head, tossing it to the side so that he may finally see all of you.

“Look at you,” he breathes, voice utterly frayed. He stares at you as though you’re a vision sent from the gods, a nymph plucked from the heavens and nestled snugly upon his cock. His hand sweeps down your stomach, settling low on it, where he lightly presses down. You both moan with the pressure, with how keenly you both feel it. “Told you it would fit,” he says, but his voice is not smug. There’s a breathless wonder to it, like he’s awestruck by the look of your body against his.

His tongue rolls out to sweep along his lips. He opens his mouth, and you can see threads of saliva snapping between his sharp teeth, his mouth wet with hunger. He continues to reverently stroke your stomach, his large splayed hand easily covering the expanse of it. “You’ll make a beautiful mother,” he says, a concept you don’t even know how to begin to unravel, but the way he says it makes you feel worshiped. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me,” he says, a shudder in his voice. His crimson wings spread and curve in on either side of you, the hooked tips of them bracing on the stone floor.

“Mother?” You slur belatedly. You feel dizzy, your body as warm as burning coals and tingling all over. He lifts your legs one at a time, bringing each one up parallel to his chest. They hook over his shoulders as he leans forward, wasting no before time kissing you. His wings support his weight while he grips your thighs, squeezing possessively.

“Mother,” he confirms between kisses, bending you practically in half as he begins to rut against you. He’s not thrusting so much as he’s grinding into you, wringing a low moan from you. “You want that, don’t you? I’ll keep you safe. Feed you. Fuck you. I’ll take care of you, be yours, and you’ll be mine, won’t you? Sweet little thing, fucked happy and heavy with my children. Tell me. Tell me you want that.”

“Yes,” you moan, kneading the furs on either side of you. He paints a beautiful picture in your mind of fresh fruit, crisp water, and this dreamlike pleasure for the rest of your days. Beneath him, any thoughts of the world outside this moment melt away. There’s only the two of you, resplendently warm and living amongst the clouds. “I want it. I want–I want you,” you say, touching either side of his face. He leans heavily into your touch, his eyes falling shut. A soft noise that sounds like relief escapes him as you kiss him, coaxing that long, clever tongue out to meet yours.

The eagerness with which he reciprocates nearly chokes you, his tongue slipping over yours and halfway down your throat before pulling back, practically devouring you in this kiss. In your fever, this consuming passion feels so much like love it makes your head spin, makes you forget where, when and who you are. He breaks the kiss to moan unabashedly, shifting to put his lips to your throat, mouthing at your skin like he’s trying desperately not to sink his teeth in. The thought thrills you. You almost want him to.

“Again,” he pants, grip tightening on your thighs. “Say it again, please.”

“I want you,” you say again, more certain now. The desperation in him is disarming, and despite the animalism of him, you can clearly see the man in him now, hear it in the way he pleads for you to indulge him. That and the euphoric spill of pleasure electrifying your every nerve imbues you with some kind of sense of power, and however misplaced it may be, you immediately feel drunk on it. You can feel your body beginning to build back towards that ultimate swell of euphoria again. “I want to be yours. I want you to be mine.”

He groans, dipping lower to suck a mark at the junction between your neck and shoulder. This time, when you feel the brush of his teeth, you don’t shy away. You cup the back of his head and drag your nails down his scalp. Homelander thrusts his hips jaggedly, wringing a throaty gasp out of you. “Keep talking,” he demands, but you hear the plea for what it is.

“You feel good. Y-you fit,” you say, echoing his own words, though it’s getting harder to speak with the way he’s starting to fuck you in earnest, just barely withdrawing before he drives back in, as if he can’t bare to be more than an inch outside of you. You moan for him, chasing the bliss swelling rapidly between your legs.

Wait… Something really is swelling.

“What is that?” You ask, voice reedy. You whimper. Somehow, it feels as though he’s getting bigger. “What’s h-nnngh, what’s happening?” Your words are starting to slur together again, your mind split down the middle between your mounting orgasm, and the surreal feeling of the base of his cock growing inside you.

“Knot,” he explains between swipes of his tongue. “Keeps every drop of me inside you,” he says, giving a shuddering moan as that swell catches on the rim of your cunt when he tries to draw back. Just when you thought you had adjusted, that swell makes you ache, has you whimpering and squirming under him.

He could have told you it would get bigger!

“Oh gods, it–mmm, I’m–it feels–” You stop and start again and again, writhing, but he keeps you firmly in place, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud in your ears as he fucks you harder and faster, spurred on by the quiver of your cunt as your own climax nears.

“Come for me again. Show me that you want it. I want to feel your pretty little cunt squeeze my cock for my come,” he urges, voice reduced to a rough growl in your ear. He sounds like he’s barely holding himself together, every word more strained than the last. “Give it to me. Give yourself to me.”

The tug of his swollen knot bouncing off of your rim and the feel of his thick ridged cock massaging your walls completely overwhelms you. “Y-yes, okay, I’m–oh gods, gods, I’m–I’m coming, Homelander, Homelander!” You call, lips falling open on a silent scream as your throat locks up, a third orgasm crashing down on you with a force that knocks the air out of your lungs.

Homelander muffles his own cry into the crook of your neck, stilling halfway through your orgasm with one final slam. This time, the rush of his release is pressed tightly against your cervix, pooling inside you with nowhere to go, his knot doing precisely what he said it would. The heat of it fills you in hot, rushing spurts, his cock jerking against your spasming walls with every load he empties into you.

A sudden stinging pain makes you gasp, confusion seeping into the euphoria that has thoroughly addled your brain. Fuck, you realize he’s biting you. His teeth sink in as smoothly as a knife through fresh butter, the sting giving way to the sheer heat of his mouth, the stroke of his tongue, and the inexplicable way it intensifies your orgasm.

The room falls deafeningly quiet save for the pound of your own heart in your ears and the heavy way you’re each catching your respective breath. Your arms fall bonelessly to your sides as you pant, your vision slightly blurry. Homelander begins lapping at your shoulder, soothing the spot he’d bitten. Your whole body feels heavy, stuffed fuller than you ever could have conceived possible. All you can do is whine as he adjusts you, gingerly bringing your legs down to settle on either side of him.

You’re not sure how you’ll ever get off of his cock now that you’re on it. His knot feels like a permanent part of you, fitted so snugly that, just as promised, you don’t feel a single drop spill.

Homelander doesn’t stop at your neck. He drags his tongue down to the dip of your clavicle, where it splits apart slightly anywhere it moves over bone. It feels surreal, but somehow different from the first time you woke to him licking you. For starters, you’re not terrified he’s going to eat you. That has an entirely new connotation now.

He moves down further, slinking down into the valley between your breasts, sighing as he pushes them together to lave his tongue between. He’s languid, practically purring with each breath as he savors the feel and the taste of you. You don’t have it in you to feel much more than exhausted, your limbs as heavy as stone, but it does feel good. Your breath catches when he opens his lips around one of your nipples, sucking almost half of your breast into his preternaturally hot mouth. His pierced tongue swirls over your nipple while his teeth flex precariously against the tender flesh. You lurch, letting out a breathy noise.

“Careful, please,,” you exhale, earning a glance up from him. His eyes are completely glazed over, soft and dark in a way that takes your breath away. He hums quietly in some weak acknowledgement before his eyes flutter closed, his throat bobbing with every swallow as he sucks your breast with unexpected gentility.

Watching him stirs a wash of strange feelings in you. With what little strength you have, you bring your hand up to touch his horn, contemplating the texture of it beneath your fingers. You follow the line of it down to his skull, tracing his hairline just beneath the crown that adorns his head, slipping behind his sharply pointed ear. He’s truly incredible to behold up close like this, beautiful without the lens of terror you had been viewing him through.

On some level, you know you should still be afraid, but it’s a difficult feeling to muster when he’s warm and lax on your chest with his cock buried inside you, suckling on your breast as you’re still riding the high of three consecutive climaxes.

You push your fingers into his flaxen hair. You’ve never seen hair this color before except in very young children. In your experience, age always darkens it away to a sandy color, but his is as bright and warm as sunshine. There doesn’t seem to be any part of him that isn’t golden. He exhales a deep sigh as you run your nails along his scalp, nuzzling sweetly against you. You smile despite yourself.

Who would have thought that a dragon might be so very much like an overgrown house cat?

When Homelander lifts his head, his tongue is the last to leave, returning to his mouth with a wet slide across his lips. He’s left your skin shiny with saliva, but he isn’t finished. He immediately lowers himself to your other breast, taking it into his mouth in precisely the same way. You bring your other hand up into his hair and continue to massage his scalp, earning yourself an appreciative little moan from low in his throat, his tail sliding audibly back and forth on the stone floor.

The two of you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time. You drift in and out of consciousness, worn thin and soothed by the heat of his body seeping into your muscles, fairly certain you’ll never be able to sit up on your own again. Homelander eventually releases your breast with a soft pop and settles his head on your sternum, narrowly avoiding taking one of your eyes out with his horn. You continue to stroke through his hair as your strength gradually returns.

The swell of his knot, too, lessens, but even soft his cock fits snugly inside you. It isn’t until Homelander gingerly lifts himself off of you that it slides out, coming free with a significant gush that soaks your thighs and puddles beneath you. You flush, making a strained little noise. You feel carved out and left hollow by the sheer size of him. His wings withdraw and tuck in behind him while he sits back on his legs to admire the splay of you beneath him.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. You’ve never felt as exposed as you do in this moment, laid bare under his gaze. Even now, visibly drunk on pleasure and thoroughly satiated, there is an undeniable lingering famine in his stare. He sinks down and slowly spreads your legs apart, leaning in to run his tongue up the crease of your inner thigh. He laps languidly at your skin, earning hitched little breaths and sounds from you as his tongue deftly cleans the mess he’s made of you. He’s much more tame now than he had been, focusing not on overstimulating you, but simply washing you. It’s a strange and animalistic thing to do, but it’s intimate, too. Sweet, even.

Gods, he’s really done a number on your psyche.

Once he’s satisfied with the state of you, he climbs back up and settles on his side, looking at you with his hand poised over you, hovering like he isn’t sure what to do with it. His expression starts to shift, concern seeping into it. “You’re quiet. Did I hurt you?”

You huff a little breath. You’re quiet because you’ve just been fucked within an inch of your life by a dragon’s cock, but aside from that, of course he had. “You bit me, for starters.”

He turns somewhat sheepish at that. “Instinct. I wanted to mark you.”

“You succeeded,” you say, touching your shoulder tentatively.The skin is still raw, but it isn’t bleeding. It doesn’t even feel like it’s going to scab.

You must wear your confusion plainly, because Homelander is quick to explain: “I sealed the wound. It should be fully healed by sundown.”

“How did you seal it?” You ask, bolder now with how you touch it. It feels like simple indentations, a perfect mold of his teeth.

“My saliva has particular properties. There was a method to my debauchery,” he says, pointedly licking his lips.

You suppose that’s far from the most miraculous thing about him. “That’s convenient,” you say, to which he smiles. It’s bizarre how easily this comes now. You’ve heard of breaking the tension before, but this is certainly the most intense way you’ve ever broken through that initial barrier to more casual conversation.

Seeing that his hand is still hovering over you, you make a choice and take it, pulling it down to settle on your hip. Relief and excitement flash in his eyes in equal measure, and he takes that as permission to tuck you the rest of the way against him, settling on his side. He rests his head in his palm, propped up on his elbow. You curiously explore the plains of his chest with your fingertips, testing where flesh meets scales. They feel almost like bone, crimson colored protrusions that catch the light as prettily as rubies. They’re smattered along his body in the same way a human might have moles or birthmarks, incidental and seemingly without rhyme or reason.

His ribs are guarded by stiff plates that aren’t as solid as the scales, but look to serve as hardy protection. You let your fingers swoop down the ridges of them, comparing the textures along different parts of his body. It’s fascinating.

“I’ve never seen anything like–” you begin to pull your hand away as you speak, but Homelander takes hold of your wrist, bringing it back to his chest.

“Don’t stop.” You look up at him. His expression catches you off guard. He looks wounded, those fiercely blue and ever human eyes of his intensely focused on you. Swallowing, you nod. He lets go, and you begin to traipse your fingers along his chest again, following the line of the leather straps that cross over it. He lets out a heavy breath. “No one’s ever touched me like this,” he tells you after a long few beats of silence. “Not that I can remember.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring down at your small hand tracing patterns on his chest. “What happened to this place?” You ask, because that seems politer than asking what happened to him.

“Guess it’s been too long for anyone else to remember. They’re all dead,” he says, the mood of his words difficult to discern. He inhales a contemplative breath, clicking his tongue at the end of it. “Time happened. I used to be something else to my people. I was… war. I brought fire down on their enemies, and they loved me for it. I won them their home. Homelander. There were others like me, but I was the best of them,” he says with conviction, though you sense bitterness in his voice, too. “When all the wars were won, they built this tower. They built monuments to their gods, and they placed us here with them as though we ourselves were relics.”

The end of his tail has begun to slap lightly against the ground. You can feel a slight uptick in the heat of him beneath your palm.

“They placated me with gold. Adorned me in it. At times they would summon me to festivals. Use my strength to build their stone cities, but they didn’t celebrate me. They had forgotten their love. They treated me as you would any other tool. Something to be taken off the shelf for work and put away when the task is done.”

The seething resentment is more clear in his voice than ever. While you didn’t ask it, it seems he understood what you really wanted to know. You’ve never heard this story before; The Devourer had only ever been a tyrant upon the people. No one ever spoke of a Homelander. No one ever spoke of a hero.

“When treasure failed to keep me impotent and obedient, they tried meat instead. They sent me livestock, as if the simple act of killing a cow would satiate me,” he snarls through his teeth, smoke wafting between them. He sucks it back, tipping his head up slightly in a bit to regain his composure. “They thought they could control me indefinitely. Out of sight, out of mind. It worked for too long, but only because I allowed it. Because I thought things would change. They never did. So I took their gold and their cattle and their crops and demanded more still. I demanded until they couldn’t ignore me any longer. When they failed to provide, I reigned fire down on them as I did their enemies two hundred years ago, and I gave them no choice but to look at the monster they made.”

His tail cracks like a whip against the stone floor. His anger is so visceral it makes your heart race, but there is more in his gaze than just fury. You feel as though you’re watching him rip apart the stitching over a wound that has been festering for far too long. “After that, they sent people. Simpering peasants who had no fucking idea who or what I really am. They bathed them in oils like slaughtered lambs basted for roast,” he growls, the blue of his eyes fading into an eerie crimson glow. “So I did. I devoured them, and I spat their own blood in their faces. If they wouldn’t have me as a man, they would have a beast instead.”

The Devourer.

You sit in stunned silence, watching as the glow of his eyes gradually fades, though his temperature remains the same. He looks at you, his expression braced, as if he anticipates a specific reaction. Rejection, you suppose. It seems to be the only thing he’s known for centuries. Within his gaze, you recognize a profound need to connect, to feel you, to hear that there might be a single soul in this gods damned world that wants him.

What does one say to such a story? The anger in his voice strikes such a wounded chord, you can practically smell the blood. The rawness of it alone makes your eyes prickle with tears, a lump gathering in your throat. How warped he has become not for the absence of love, but the deprivation of it. It’s clear in the way he speaks of them how desperately he wanted them to still love him.

“I’m sorry,” you say so quietly it’s a wonder he hears you. His expression flips completely, morphing into bewildered surprise.

“What?” His voice sounds small.

“I’m sorry that they abandoned you.”

If his own words are a knife in the wound, yours twist it deeper. He flinches like he’s been struck, staring at you with such bruised incomprehension. He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s as though he doesn’t even believe what you’re saying enough to formulate a response. He kisses you instead, holding your jaw in his claws. “I was good once,” he says against your lips, voice hushed as if he’s confessing a far graver sin. “I’ll be good for you. Let me be good for you.”

The desperation in his voice sets loose your tears. You nod, kissing him just as fervently. Centuries of bloodshed on the back of willful neglect is difficult to stomach, but you believe him. You believe the love that went into this tower–this beautiful prison–that they made for him, and you believe the love that you saw in his face carved in stone. You have no doubt that the wonder of him once inspired all those who beheld them, and that they were fickle enough to grow weary of him. Desensitized and disinterested.

When he rejected their apathy, they rejected his humanity.

Homelander lifts you up into his arms, sitting up, kissing you properly with a hand cupping the back of your head, his arm around your middle. His wings curve in around you, and he kisses you until your lips turn sore and you have to protest, your words melting into muffled laughter. He draws back with a brilliant grin. It’s different from the others you’ve seen; it’s the kind of smile that brings deep warmth to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. He lingers close to you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I stopped believing a long time ago that you could be real,” he murmurs, unable to stop himself from stealing another quick kiss, his nose purposefully brushing yours. He’s thoroughly starved for every little touch.

“I am. So are you. Not the Devourer, the Scourge, nor the Red Death,” you say, tucking back the stray locks of hair that have fallen over his crown. This, too, had been carved for him. He had been loved once, and as he said, he had been good. There is love in you enough to help him find that goodness again. There’s no reason you cannot live for the being you intended to die for. “Just you. Just Homelander.”

He kisses you, and suddenly you feel as if you’re free falling. From this point on, your life is something new. Something inexplicable and unpredictable. It’s yours, but it’s also his.

All that glitters is not gold, and sometimes the monster in the dark is just your reflection.

phew. thank you SO much for reading. this fic took me almost a full month to write, and it often felt like it was never going to end. that said, i'm already kind of chomping at the bit to write more in this universe. i feel like these two have a ton of potential, and there's just so much more that i want to do with them now that we have the groundwork done. once again, a huge shoutout to the amazing artist @anon-nee, who not only illustrated our dragon boy himself, but these awesome environment sketches as well. please be sure to go give them some love! The Tower of the Seven

The Dragon's Lair

#homelander x you #homelander x reader #monster romance #terato #monster x human #dragon x reader #monster x reader #homelander fanfiction #i'm gonna need so much aftercare from y'all on this one i've been writing it for the last 23 days lmao #and i'm posting it all at once because I LOVE U #my writing #monsterlander mania

2K notes · View notes

introcoryo · 5 months

Text

— au where you’re reaped as sejanus plinth’s tribute from district 2, and he breaks into the arena to get his final goodbyes in.

coriolanus can see the brunette’s jaw tighten in his peripheral vision when highbottom announces that he’ll be mentoring one of the district 2 tributes. that tightness is followed by a deep, deep scowl when the reapings are aired, and your sweet, lamb-like face is shown on the now, sejanus notices, glaring screen. he has half a mind to storm out, but instead swallows thickly to fool his brain into thinking he’s calm and collected.

he remembers you, as if a remnant from a previous life. sejanus knows this is a shameful way of thinking. he’s no capitolite. they can throw as much money as they want at him, keep his stomach full and plump of steak and apple pie, give him the so called luxury of attending the academy, but he knows his name will metaphorically never leave that reaping bowl. for each year the hunger games have commenced, three names were picked from district 2. a boy’s, a girl’s, and sejanus’s. he is in that arena with them, although not physically. and that is what hurts him most. his name, although not verbally chosen and spoken into a microphone, is amongst that litter, and yet he has the privilege, like every capitolite, of leaving the arena every year when the victor is announced, when his fellow district 2 tributes do not have that option.

upon first greeting you at the capitol zoo, a stinging pang shoots through his throat. he has absolutely no idea how he’ll be able to mentor you without completely destroying himself in the process. it’s eating him up inside; this hope that the academy has indirectly forced you to place in him. how that hope, crushed, would leave as you, god forbid, would have to take your final breaths in that arena, with nothing to attach to that despair but sejanus’s face.

you’re timid at first. you too, remembered this familiar face. the big brown eyes, never dull of emotion. long, fluttering eyelashes. he’s much taller now, with curly hair that looks like raw hazelnut under the sun. with the way he’s looking at you, you figured he did not outgrow his tenderness. it was no look of pity, though, but a look of understanding. of sharing your fear, instead of accepting your fate. that made you feel a comfort you haven’t felt since standing in your district’s square.

after a few minutes of silence, of examining each other wordlessly, communicating with shared gazes, sejanus decides to speak up first, albeit everyone knowing it is his heart that speaks for him.

“i am so, so sorry for—”

he begins, but you stop him. there wasn’t a point to this, you think. unless he was the one who picked out your name specifically, why would he even feel the need to apologize? that certainly won’t change anything.

“it’s fine. it’s not your fault. i know, big elephant in the room, i’m behind bars at a zoo. the odds just weren’t in my favor. i’m not sure they will decide they like me later, either.”

sejanus clenches a hand around one of the steel bars at your pessimism, but how can he blame you? he has no hope himself, how could he even possibly think you would? he wishes he could effortlessly bend the barrier separating you two with his palms, grabbing you by the hand and running off somewhere else. somewhere safe. somewhere hopeful. he knows he can’t, and that leaves a shake in his voice as he chooses his next words delicately.

“i just… if there’s any way i could help you, guarantee that you would… walk out of there unharmed…”

“well, i saw the district 12 girl with her supposed mentor in here. inside the zoo. you’re mine, i assume? do what a mentor has to do. mentor me out… and some food won’t hurt, either.”

at the mention of that, sejanus’s face slightly lights up, and he reaches into his scarlet colored blazer pocket, taking out a wrapped napkin and handing it to you. you reach through the bars to take this mysterious item from him, fingers lingering just a bit, and unwrap it to find a sandwich, diagonally cut. you smile wistfully at the simple meal before you, this being the very first act of kindness you’ve been on the receiving end of since coming to the capitol. so much for hosting etiquette.

“thank you, sejanus, really… here,” you say in an unanticipated small voice, holding out one of the pieces.

the brunette freezes. you’re still kind. all of this, and you’re still kind. perhaps that’s all you’ll ever be. perhaps that’s what will be what dooms you in that arena. you will try to speak heart to heart, not sword to sword. he loathes that he’s thinking this way. he absolutely despises that he knows you will not be able to walk away from this without staining your hands red, but what has made a home in his chest is the miserable feeling of not knowing whether you’ll be able to do that. he’s district. he will forever be district, a vow he made at birth. but here he is, standing in front of you, free. here he is, handing you food as though you truly belonged in that zoo. he is everything you wished you could be in that moment, and yet you still decide to share your meal with him, despite the rumbling coming from your stomach. he wants to take it. wants to act like this is a normal picnic that you two are having together, but he knows you need that full sandwich. he knows you should take all you can get.

and so he declines politely. you begin to talk about the changes in district 2 since he’s left, and how life continued, yet everyone was stuck. sejanus emphasizes. he listens. but the dread has not left his system. he starts to think about how he’ll see you in another life if this one wasn’t enough. there’s so much time on the other side, and here it all feels like a constant countdown. never knowing if your time will be cut short. he mentally chastises himself; he needs to be optimistic. he needs to be here for you, now. he needs to think about the life you’ll have when he gets you out, not if. soon enough, you’ll believe it too.

to say that sejanus was a complete wreck watching you enter that arena would be an understatement. the cameras capture your soft features so well that you look displaced. lost. you shouldn’t be there, he thinks. no one should be there. the tears that built up in a split second blur his vision, and when the bell rings, he is there, running as a district 2 tribute.

sejanus watches as you take his advice, as you run and hide immediately, and he is kept at bay through at least that. he can’t lose it now. not when you’ve placed your entire life bare in his hands.

but sejanus is weak, too. he feels too much too often. his thoughts are frantic, and he finds himself in that arena the following night. the thumping in his chest intensifies as the voice at the entrance pleads him to enjoy the show, and he scoffs at that. he checked the cameras before coming, so he knows exactly where you are, and he’s so overwhelmed with the thought of seeing you that it doesn’t register that he has now, momentarily, taken the path he very well could’ve lived if he had not moved to the capitol. sejanus plinth, district 2 tribute.

light footed, he makes his way across the arena, and up the stands. he saw you come out of hiding when it was safe out, when most of the tributes were either asleep or in the tunnels, gathering a weapon or two from the cornucopia then settling on high ground. he figures you were startled once you heard the automatic greeting that played when he walked in, so he whispers your name.

he whispers it again. so delicately. laced with so much sweetness, it feels wrong to say it here.

and then a third time. the syllables now come out desperate. overwrought. he can’t leave without seeing you. touching you. it will break him.

“sejanus?” his ears perk up, and he looks around, frenzied, trying to distinguish the direction your voice came from. you peek out from one of the stands, and when you find those big, brown eyes looking back at you, you pick yourself up entirely and run to hold the man before you. the man who rushed into the possibility of death head on just to wrap his arms around you. he’ll face it all, just for that. oh how he wished you knew how badly he wanted to swap your places.

“you’re… but how? why? it’s dangerous here—” sejanus wastes no time, cupping your cheeks and diving in to kiss you. his hands are holding on to you for dear life, as if his knees will give out without the support. his eyebrows are knit together, focused on the feel of your lips on his. they’re dry, chapped, and cracked, but he doesn’t care. he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip to give you some relief, making a mental note to send you some water as soon as he leaves.

he kisses you until it hurts him. until his lips are swollen and red. until the way you’re tightening your hands on his broad shoulders feels as though it’ll leave bruises. when you break the kiss to breathe, he tries to take you all in. to memorize everything. he desperately needs a pen and paper right this moment so he could draw you as accurately as he can, lest his memory fails him later.

the automatic voice sounds again, and only you turn your attention to the entrance. slowly comes coriolanus snow, the district 12 girl’s mentor, and his eyes scan the arena before they land on yours. you nudge sejanus lightly to direct his gaze to his friend, but he wants more. he can’t leave now. he can’t leave you. not like this.

“it’s okay, sejanus. i’ll be okay. help from the outside, and we’ll see each other again in no time.” you whisper, a tiny bit unconvincingly, eyes glossy. “just take care of yourself, okay?”

sejanus’s lips quiver, and he too whispers. you don’t believe it’s because of the other tributes, but because if he were to speak normally, only a sob would come out.

“you are myself. please take care of me.” you glance down and nod at that, tasting the saltwater that came rushing down your cheek. he wipes the trail that settled along your face, and begrudgingly makes his way to the blond.

sejanus is motivated by the thought, the need, to get you out of there. no matter the methods he uses. no matter the consequences he faces. he has the resources to buy you more time, and he finds himself not above exploiting them.

#this was so long omg sorry #it’s 4am and i’m thinking about sejanus plinth #the hunger games #thg #tbosbas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus x reader #sejanus plinth angst #sejanus plinth fluff #sejanus plinth imagine #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird

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diorsluv · 2 months

Text

feather , part 33

“ no, duh ”

series m. list previous chapter next chapter

( socialmedia!au )

lhughes_06

liked by _quinnhughes, mackie.samo, jamie.drysdale, and 199,272 others

lhughes_06 call me gordon ramsay the way i’m always cookin 😮‍💨🧑‍🍳

view all comments

jamie.drysdale bro maxxed out frat boy speak

→ lhughes_06 ☝️🫵🤫🧏‍♂️

username43 I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD THAT’S HER

jackhughes is that what the burning smell was

→ lhughes_06 HEY I DID NOT BURN ANYTHING

→ jackhughes tell that to the smoke detector

→ lhughes_06 SHUT UP

yourusername when he can cook 🙈

→ rutgermcgroarty WHAAAAAAAAT

→ markestapa SAY IT AGAIN FOR THE CAMERA 📸

→ lhughes_06 oh 😳

→ dylanduke25 😱😱

→ _quinnhughes oh. OH. OH? O H ?

→ edwards.73 WAIT A SECOND……..

→ jackhughes what the fuck!

→ colecaufield WHAT DID I MISS???

→ trevorzegras did you have some secret intervention that i was not a part of?!?

→ _alexturcotte say it again no fucking balls

→ jamie.drysdale i checked life360 i know where you are 😒

→ adamfantilli so WHAT THE HELL IS THIS

→ luca.fantilli I LEFT MY PHONE ALONE FOR ONE MINUTE AND I COME BACK TO FIND THIS

→ mackie.samo go ahead n repeat that one for me

→ yourusername now that i have all your attention did you see that drake video 😨

edwards.73 this is the hardest soft launch i’ve ever seen

→ rutgermcgroarty i bet something’s harder tho 👀

→ lhughes_06 ✅ rutgermcgroarty

→ markestapa WHAT

→ yourusername WOAHHHH 🙉🙉

→ _quinnhughes BRO WHAT THE FUCK

→ jackhughes the dick jokes are getting worse

→ trevorzegras but i taught him well jackhughes

username10 bro exposed half her face thinking we weren’t gonna know 🙄

→ username87 i meannnnnn we all know anyways 🫢🫢

trevorzegras whens the hard launch

→ lhughes_06 well don’t spoil the surprise

→ trevorzegras 😥

→ colecaufield whos gonna tell him

→ _quinnhughes not me

→ jackhughes def not me

→ yourusername i volunteer as tribute 🙋‍♀️

markestapa luke is a dumbass confirmed

→ lhughes_06 mark is a bully confirmed

→ markestapa 🤬

→ lhughes_06 😓

luca.fantilli remember when you used to post about the friend group? cuz i dont 😒

→ lhughes_06 i just wanna show of my gf 🙁

→ lhughes_06 is that so wrong 😔😔

→ luca.fantilli yes

→ lhughes_06 oh…

→ yourusername and i’m sure your gf wants to show you off too lhughes_06

→ lhughes_06 well if she did then i’d be very flattered

→ yourusername ah then you should be pretty flattered cuz i’m almost 100% positive she wants to

→ luca.fantilli CAN YOU TWO PLEASE FUCKING STOP 😭

username51 man im ngl ur girlfriends hot

�� lhughes_06 oh hell no BACK UP

→ username40 LMAOOO

elblue6 oh that’s great sweetie! when did you learn to cook?

→ jackhughes mom he still doesn’t know how to

→ lhughes_06 YES I DO

→ elblue6 did your best friend and newly turned girlfriend teach you?

this reply has been deleted

→ lhughes_06 MOM YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SAY THAT

→ _quinnhughes 💀

→ elblue6 oops

username88 ellen’s actually a fucking savage

→ username92 mama hughes 🫶

username13 i’m waiting for fuckin tmz to make some article about this shit

→ username7 GOODBYE NOT TMZ

username65 luke sweetie even my non hockey friends know about this shit.. you gotta step it up

liked by lhughes_06

_quinnhughes bro thinks hes cooking just cuz he got a girl

→ lhughes_06 I COOKED SO HARD FYM

→ yourusername lukey ily but you did not cook whatsoever 😭😭

→ colecaufield we cooked for him

→ adamfantilli and burned 2 kitchens down in the process

→ lhughes_06 so what i’m hearing is you did more damage than i did

→ _alexturcotte 🤫🤫

dylanduke25 she literally doesn’t even like steak

→ lhughes_06 and how would you know that

→ dylanduke25 because she texted the group chat that like two years ago

→ lhughes_06 ACCORDING TO RESEARCH taste buds change about every 7 years soooo

→ edwards.73 dude she turned you into a nerd

→ yourusername on behalf of his gf THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING A NERD

→ markestapa 👀👀 yourusername

username22 he aint foolin anyone

username78 oh my god he can cook 😱😱😱

rutgermcgroarty but isn’t being able to cook like the bare minimum

→ lhughes_06 no……..(?)

→ yourusername YES IT IS 👏👏

→ lhughes_06 I MEAN YES IT IS

→ markestapa no it’s not 🙄🙄

→ yourusername i mean they jus gotta know the basics is what i’m saying yk

→ mackie.samo your man knows more than just the basics from what i’ve heard

→ yourusername yes he does 🤭🤭

→ dylanduke25 shit is that why i can’t get a date

adamfantilli i really thought you weren’t gonna post her 😔

→ lhughes_06 don’t be jealous man don’t worry

→ adamfantilli i’m not jealous 😕😕

→ mackie.samo idk you kinda do seem jealous

→ adamfantilli I’M NOT

→ luca.fantilli it’s okay bro let it out

→ yourusername awww adam do you want his attention 😣😣😣😣

→ adamfantilli stfu i KNOW you can’t be talking yourusername

→ yourusername oh ! 😃

→ markestapa LMFAOOO

username9 you live to torture us

username27 there’s no point in begging they’re never gonna do a hard launch

→ username66 it’s not like they need to

jamie.drysdale you’ve successfully shivered my timbers

→ lhughes_06 what 😥

→ jamie.drysdale my timbers are shivered as fuck

→ colecaufield LMAO

→ lhughes_06 I DON’T GET IT

→ jamie.drysdale i don’t need to see you two kissing on insta i already see it every day on ft

→ trevorzegras i mean at least you’re getting a show 🫣🫣

→ jamie.drysdale GOD NO

→ jamie.drysdale i’m going to vomit

→ jamie.drysdale never make that implication ever again

luca.fantilli what a jumpscare

→ lhughes_06 bro stop fucking hating 😒

→ luca.fantilli i can’t help myself

→ yourusername get off the fanboy agenda lu 🙄🙄

→ luca.fantilli fuck both of you

→ adamfantilli i think they’re already doing that luca.fantilli

→ yourusername MY GOD NO

username33 i don’t think they know what soft launch means anymore

_quinnhughes you didn’t even have the decency to put a trigger warning 😔

→ lhughes_06 wtf would it even say 😭

→ jackhughes tw happy couple

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, trevorzegras, edwards.73, and 248,050 others

yourusername shit’s feelin a little too soft now.. might have to switch it up 🫣

view all comments

markestapa are u saying what i think ur saying

markestapa ARE YOU FUCKING SAYING WHAT I THINK YOU’RE SAYING????

→ yourusername idk marky what do you think i’m saying 🫢

→ markestapa shut the fuck up dont tease me like this

→ yourusername you’re such a fan stop acting like you don’t know we’re already together 🙄🙄

→ markestapa thanks for crushing my dreams and aspirations🖕

jamie.drysdale i know you forced him to wear that shirt

→ yourusername WHAT NO I DIDN’T

→ trevorzegras lying is a sin ‼️

→ yourusername is it so hard for you to believe that maybe he just genuinely loves me 😔

→ jackhughes yes

→ _alexturcotte honestly it’s harder to believe that you genuinely love him

→ yourusername ARE YOU CALLING ME UNFAITHFUL??

→ colecaufield lmfaooo no we’re just saying he’s hard to love

→ _quinnhughes damn

→ lhughes_06 damn.

username65 HINTING AT A HARD LAUNCH??

→ yourusername am i?? 🙊

edwards.73 i don’t think you wanna hard launch him

→ yourusername why 😓

→ edwards.73 everyone’s gonna get jumpscared

→ lhughes_06 uncool bro. UNCOOL.

→ mackie.samo lukey boy you sound pretty offended as her “best friend”

→ lhughes_06 i’m just being a cool best friend and getting offended for her boyfriend WHO I’M SURE IS GREAT AND AMAZING AND SUPER HANDSOME

→ rutgermcgroarty okay buddy you do you

username21 OH MY GOD HARD LAUNCH RIGHT NOW

username73 FUCKING FINALLYYYY

lhughes_06 you’re actually so cute

→ yourusername my bf doesn’t approve of you go away ❌❌

→ lhughes_06 aw shucks

→ jackhughes AW SHUCKS??? 💀

→ rutgermcgroarty stop the glazing

→ luca.fantilli biggest dickrider i’ve ever seen

→ dylanduke25 literally hop off her dick bro

→ mackie.samo you guys smell that?? cuz i smell a d1 dickrider

→ trevorzegras bro folded so hard

→ _alexturcotte stay strong my brother

→ lhughes_06 shut the fuck upppp

username54 you’re killing me 😓

colecaufield are you stepping on his docs

→ yourusername they’re dupes 🙏🙏

→ lhughes_06 THEY ARE NOT DUPES

→ lhughes_06 i mean from what i’ve heard at least

→ _quinnhughes you’re fumbling this secret really hard

→ edwards.73 there’s nothing to fumble at this point 😭 _quinnhughes

→ markestapa bro has enough money to buy 100 pairs of doc martens and still gets the dupes

→ yourusername financial management!

adamfantilli it’s SUMMER. why did he buy you skates 😭😭

→ yourusername indoor rinks 🙄🙄

→ luca.fantilli use your brain little bro

→ rutgermcgroarty 🧠 adamfantilli

→ adamfantilli that’s.. not what people use that emoji for

→ rutgermcgroarty i know exactly what they use it for 😉😉

→ yourusername HUH????

→ lhughes_06 whats wrong with buying her skates during the summer 😐

_alexturcotte 🧱🚀

→ yourusername LMAOOO I READ THAT SO WRONG

→ _quinnhughes how the hell do you read it wrong it’s literally emojis?

→ dylanduke25 bricked up rocket?????? wtf is that

→ _quinnhughes never mind

→ mackie.samo it means hard launch dumbass 😒😒 dylanduke25

trevorzegras do you just tie a bow around everything and call it coquette now

→ yourusername that’s exactly what i do

→ trevorzegras oh 😰😰

→ mackie.samo SO COQUETTE 👺

→ colecaufield so coke ett!

→ jackhughes i thought it was pronounced coke-eh???

→ yourusername cocaine

→ jamie.drysdale oh.

→ markestapa novocaine yourusername

→ edwards.73 why are we naming drugs

→ rutgermcgroarty NOVACANE markestapa

→ dylanduke25 FRANK OCEAN 🥰

→ _alexturcotte what the hell is going on

username56 THE FLOWERS ARE SO CUTE

username29 does he spoil you

→ yourusername he does 🤭

_quinnhughes i see he’s treating my lil drizzy good

→ yourusername wtf u never call me that

→ _quinnhughes what’s wrong with calling you lil drizzy 😥😥

→ trevorzegras it’s MY nickname for her

→ yourusername ehhhh trevorzegras

→ trevorzegras shush now

→ trevorzegras AND PLAGIARISM IS ILLEGAL

→ _quinnhughes shut your face zegras

→ trevorzegras face is shut 🫡🫡

mackie.samo i flinched out of utter terror

→ yourusername next time i see you you’re gonna flinch cuz of my fist

→ mackie.samo okay then square up 😤

→ yourusername i got your sisters on speed dial

→ mackie.samo i got your brother and bf on speed dial 🙄🙄

→ yourusername but they can’t hit me or else my mommy will get mad

→ mackie.samo fucking cry baby

→ yourusername suck it 🤬

dylanduke25 is that book cinderella

→ yourusername only you would look closely enough to notice what book i’m reading 😭

→ dylanduke25 what can i say i love the details

→ yourusername mhm i bet the girls love you

→ dylanduke25 no actually they don’t 💔

→ yourusername aw duker it’s okay ily

→ dylanduke25 i bet your bf’s punching the air rn

→ yourusername he’s currently whining about you and laying on top of me 😃😃

username58 luke’s a clingy bf?!?! 🙉

jackhughes mom misses you

→ yourusername AW TELL HER I MISS HER MORE

→ _quinnhughes the ass kissing is crazy

→ yourusername shut up before i tag your mom

→ lhughes_06 mom’s trying to steal my girl 🤬

this reply has been deleted

→ jackhughes luke we all saw that you’re such a pussy

next chapter notes ) ITS SHORT I KNOW but after you know.. stuff……. happened i really wanted to get something out AND IT’S VALENTINES DAY SO HOW COULD I NOT i hope you guys had a great day, valentine or not!!

tags: @aliaology @hockeyboysarehot @absolutelyhugh3s @jackquinnswife @freds-slut @love4ldr @blueeyedbesson @43hughes @v1olentdelights @dancerbailey3 @random-human02 @ho3forfakeguys@loveforaugust@cstads-blog@h0e4fictionalme-n

#luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes #quinn hughes #jack hughes #trevor zegras #cole caufield #alex turcotte #jamie drysdale #adam fantilli #luca fantilli #rutger mcgroarty #ethan edwards #mark estapa #dylan duke #mackie samoskevich

332 notes · View notes

mortyvongola2-0 · 2 years

Text

Sacrificed

Pairing: God!Tobirama Senju x Reader

Genre: Oneshot, smutty smut

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: oh so many, afab!reader, rough sex, dirty talk, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, way too much overstimulation, copious amounts of cum, oral sex male receiving, copious amounts of fluids, temperature play, virginity kink, breeding kink, praise kink, power kink, aphrodisiacs, stomach bulge, use of inanimate objects for stimulation, Tobi-rail-me, Tobirama's schlong is too big, womb bullying, no refractory period, strong language

A/N: Holy shit this is so long and I’m so sorry it took forever to get out but it’s finally here and I’m so relieved. Again, sorry it took so long but honestly this thing is monstrous. Twice the size of Madara's and almost twice the size of Hashirama's. There's a lot of lore and references in here to the previous Sacrifices and to future ones but you don't have to read either to fully enjoy this.

Thanks so much again to my amazing editing bestie @therantingfangirl and my artistic troll @skydaddy01 for all your hard work helping me make this so great~ You guys are the best. As well as all my tumblr friends who have been patiently waiting and encouraging me. And thank you so much to all of you who waited and enjoyed the previous ones.

Now, without further ado, please enjoy the final fic for the first season of Sacrificed. Sacrificed (Water)

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A child had been chosen, a young girl only 8 years old. A child with a bright smile and a love of the color green, a child who’d never known a day of hardship, who’s skin was unblemished and who’s laughter could brighten even the darkest of situations—your little sister had been chosen to be the sacrifice. Your mother had dropped to her knees, your father brought to tears, and all you could do was sit and stare as it felt like the world came crashing down around you. How could they do that? Under who’s authority was she chosen?

You wanted to scream, to run through the village and gather an army in protest of such a grotesque decision, but you couldn’t. Your body refused to work with you, and you were only able to sit and stare as your little sister tried to comprehend why her family was suddenly so distraught. The officials who brought your world to ruin stood there and watched, unflinching and uncaring, as your precious little sister cupped your face in her chubby hands. There were tears in her eyes, which brought tears to yours.

“What’s wrong? What does that mean?” She was scared because you were scared, because your mother wouldn’t stop begging on her knees while your father squeezed his eyes shut and held his wife back from gripping the hem of the officials’ robes as she pleaded for mercy.

This isn’t right, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut. You wrapped your larger hands around the trembling ones on your cheeks. She’s just a child, if the gods are just they wouldn’t ask for such a sacrifice.

Why her and not you? You were an adult, passed marrying age, some of the village teens had started to call you the old maid because of your single status. They’d laugh as you’d yell back, telling them you weren’t old at all, but of course they never listened. That same question kept repeating itself in your mind. Why her and not me?

“That is all,” the highest official stated. “We will come to collect her for the ceremony next week.”

He turned, as did the other three, and they began to walk away. Why her? You tightened your grip on her small hands. Why must she pay the price for the rest of us? Why not- “me,” you called out. The officials paused and you removed you sister’s hands from your face and held onto them as you stood. “I volunteer in her place.” Your hands shook, you were more afraid than you’d ever been, but your resolve outweighed your fear. A child, not only her but especially one like her didn’t deserve to be so cruelly murdered for everyone else’s sake. “Is that acceptable?”

The group of four stuffy, old men seemed to ponder that as they looked at one another in a panic. They seemed to huddle together for a bit, every second that passed weighed on you like a stone. What if they said no?

I won’t let them take her.

Calls for a sacrifice didn’t happen often, normally the four-village alliance just went about their days as usual, but a drought had begun. The rains had stopped almost five months ago, the crops were suffering and therefore the livestock suffered, and with both the crops and livestock in short supply the strain on the people became too great to ignore. Even the fish supply, which was a staple for coastal villages like yours, had begun to grow scarce due to the low tides. It almost felt like the water was disappearing overnight. So a sacrifice was needed—am mortal that would be offered up to the water god as payment for the rains he offered.

No one knew what became of those who were sacrificed, whether they died at sea or, against all odds, were placed in the hands of a cruel god. They never returned, body or soul. Most assumed they died at sea. The religion among the people had begun to wane since the last sacrifice, many had believed the practice to be cruel and barbaric. The officials turned back toward your small family and cleared their throats. “We appreciate your willingness,” the oldest, who wore the most expensive robes, glanced nervously between the others before clearing his throat. “We will have the elder females come check to make sure you are worthy of the position.” They would check to make sure your maidenhood was intact, that was the one qualification you knew of, and you met it just fine.

“Very well.”

“They should arrive within the next few days, and if all goes well, we will arrive next week for you instead of your sister.” With that, they left, and all of your strength went with them.

You crumbled to the floor, your young sister began to panic, your mom clutched you and sobbed more as your father held all three of you tightly. You could only imagine how badly your teenage brother would react to the news, but somehow you felt numb. An all-consuming nothingness filled your chest as you wrapped your arms around your precious little sister.

Yes, your mind supplied. Its better this way.

The elder women came after two days and confirmed your virginity and whatever else it was they were looking for, after that you were told to go to the official’s lodgings every day to be prepared for the official ceremony. It was an odd affair, you were forced to kneel before a statue and pray to it daily, only allowed to eat lotus roots, and coached on the part of the ceremony that involved everyone else. You were never told what to do after your small boat was set afloat in the sea. Those preparations took up most of your day and when you’d return home your mother would try her best to put on a smile and act like everything was okay, your father would take every opportunity he could to embrace you, your little brother did his best to hide the tears in his eyes, and your poor little sister, who still didn’t quite understand but knew something was wrong, would burst into tears and cling to you all evening.

It was an overwhelming experience, but you fell into the routine like it was second nature, so when the day of the ceremony arrived you were thrown a bit off balance. Instead of lotus roots you were given nothing to eat, only a strangely thick fluid that warmed you to your core whenever you drank it. The time that had been allotted for prayer had become the time for grooming. You were placed into a warm bath of the same fluid, you figured it was to save on the limited supply of water, and they bathed you like a princess. The elder women massaged your skin and combed your hair to perfection. They painted your lips and eyes with crimson, and your abdomen and thighs were decorated with blue dragons that spewed water and seemed to move alongside dark storm clouds. Sitting still while being painted had been rather difficult, the softness of the brush and gentleness of the strokes had left you ticklish and tingly. You thought that viscous fluid had something to do with the latter, the more you drank it the warmer you became and the more sensitive you felt.

The women wrapped you in what felt like gauze. The soft material made the hairs on your body raise, you blamed it on the new sensitivity. They wrapped your breasts like they were being bound, then tied off the artificial top behind your neck; the bottoms were similar, wrapped around your hips and upper thighs until they formed a short skirt that covered enough but too little all the same and made it difficult to walk. Jewelry was placed in your hair, pearls of white and blue were scattered about your locks, and you estimated the price of half of those decorations alone to be worth more than four times the price of your family’s home. Probably enough money to feed your family and your neighbor’s families for two or three years, but that was only your estimation.

Your feet remained bare but they placed bands of silver with pendants of matching pearls around your ankles and wrists, they made a small jingle noise whenever you walked. When they felt you were decorated enough they pinned your hair up and placed a veil over your head. Your vision was obscured but the women took your hands and guided you to the ceremony area in the center of the four villages. The sun hung low in the sky and the people quieted down as you were brought beside the officials. The weight of what was about to happen truly began to settle in your chest and churn your stomach.

Its fine, you had to tell yourself. If it wasn’t me, it would’ve been her, so its fine. As long as it’s not her, anything is fine.

“Great God of Water,” the thrumming of your heartbeat in your ears drowned out most of the official’s grand speech, your brain was only able to catch onto the last portion. “We ask for your mercy and blessings upon us in these desperate times. Please, bless us with your rains once more. Bring life into our plants and our soil as we bring life to you!”

The villagers were full of mixed emotions, though you could not see it, you could hear the hesitation and reluctance to cheer from the crowd. “You are doing us a great service,” the official told you quietly, he kept a solid grip on your bicep. “You will not be forgotten.”

You were led from the center of the villages to a palanquin where you were commanded to enter. Once you were secured inside you heard the cry of a familiar little voice. Your precious little sister called out and tried to run after you and into the palanquin. Your father ran after her and picked her up quickly to keep her from climbing inside. You poked your head out and lifted your veil to see her one last time. A pain unlike any other gripped your heart as you looked at her tear-stricken face, and the frowns of grief on your other three family members. “I have to go now, little lily,” your voice almost cracked, and your eyes filled with tears as you called her by her nickname. “Be sure to watch over mom and dad for me, and don’t do anything to worry your older siblings too much.”

“O-okay,” she sniffled pathetically.

“I love you, all of you,” you whispered, unsure whether they would hear it or not, before lowering your veil again and righting yourself in the vehicle. If you had said anything more, or looked at their face’s any longer, leaving would have become unbearable. Your heart squeezed again, and you had to hold back the tears that threatened to spill and ruin the hard work and time that went into your face paintings. The palanquin stopped after what felt like only a few moments. A man you recognized as one of the many officials assisted you in your exit and began to lead you toward a well-known pier.

The sounds of the ocean had once calmed you, a relaxing sound from the time you were young, now the sounds only heightened your anxiety. The other officials followed behind as you were led down a set of steps and told to step into a decorated boat fit for one. There were strings of blue and white flowers placed along the edges of the boat and inside, the soft petals cushioned your feet as you stepped in. The boat rocked and you had to keep your balance as you clutched the elder man’s hand for dear life. Some of the water splashed against your feet and into the bottom of the boat, and you feared that there was a leak somewhere.

Its fine, you repeated to yourself, over and over. A mantra to try and collect yourself. You’re doing this for your little sister, for her, for your family. Its fine.

“Sit down carefully,” the man said as he helped usher you onto the cushioned bench and let go of your hand. You sat stock still, back straight, your fingers fiddling with the edge of your gauzy coverings to occupy your swirling mind. What was going to happen to you?

Don’t worry about it, just focus on how you’re protecting your little lily, your family.

The material stretched under the stress of your nervous fingers. “I’m sorry we can’t offer you anything more,” the high official began from his spot beside the one that had guided you. He handed you a glass bottle of the same liquid you had been drinking all day. “For what it’s worth, you are far braver than anyone I have ever met.”

You stared at him blankly, you were panicking, how is that brave? You wanted nothing more than to jump out of that boat, back onto the docks, and run away. But you knew that if it wasn’t you, it would be her and that was unacceptable. “Farewell, I wish you only happiness in your next life.”

With that, they set your boat adrift, almost in perfect sync with the sun dipping under the horizon.

It was a strange sensation, an isolation you knew not many could understand. You were alone, set adrift in the sea, not knowing what would happen to you. The waves pushed your craft along, rocked it, made it creak. Luckily for you, you didn’t get seasick easily, but the constant motion was disorienting. There was nothing to do but fall deeper into your racing thoughts; wondering how you would get out of this and whether it would end with you living or dead. Maybe you’d die of thirst, cooked like a fish in a pan under the sun after a few days of only the strange milky fluid to drink. That fluid certainly didn’t help with the heat.

A strange light from the corner of your eye caught your attention and you lifted your veil to get a clearer image. You looked into the water, leaning as gently as you could to one side. The light was soft, glowing and pulsing with its glow as it drifted just within sight. One soft purple glow became two, then became a third with more pinks and yellows; more and more lights began to show up just under the surface. They moved with the current, going in the same direction as your boat, and you stared in awe at the sheer number of soft lights. They surrounded your vessel on both sides, each one seeming like its own entity.

The blue lights were the most beautiful, they were few but seemed to dance to a tune only they knew. You dipped your hand under the water’s dark surface, doing your best to try to reach one of the creatures. One hit your hand and it almost felt like nothing. It flinched, its glowing body maneuvering around your hand to continue its path. “Are these jellyfish?” You tilted your head to the side, enraptured by the phenomenon before you.

You wondered how many others had witnessed such a beautiful display, and with so many all at once. Jellyfish were not rare, many washed up on shore or got caught in fishing nets as they floated with the current, but never had you seen any that glowed. It felt like a private show, just for you.

Was the water god taking pity on you? The thought made you frown. Allowing you to see some unseen wonders of the ocean as thanks for your sacrifice? Did the beauty of these creatures really make up for what was to come? If they really were from the water god- you cut off that train of thought, unsure what to feel. There was a strange tightness to your chest that you were unfamiliar with. Bitterness maybe? Twisted reverence and self-pity melded together in an uncomfortable whirl of feelings? You clicked your tongue.

The water began to grow louder, almost restless in sound. Reluctantly you looked away from the beautiful jellyfish to search for the source of the noise. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary that you could see, but it felt like your boat was going faster, the water’s volume only increasing as your boat continued on. You glanced back down to the jellyfish below you and couldn’t tell if anything was wrong. They seemed to be drifting at the same speed you were. “The current must’ve picked up.”

To add to the beauty of your private show, you began to place some of the flower petals that decorated the deck of your boat on the water. Scattering them about to add another layer to the multitude below you. The blue and white petals decorated the surface and accented the glow nicely. You laid your head on the boat’s edge, relaxing as the moon shone high in the sky. The sound of the rushing waves, the motion that had nauseated you only an hour or two prior began to lull you to sleep. You continued to scatter petals as your eyes fell closed, your overheated fingers relaxing against the chill of the sea. Yes, you thought, mind caught between the waking world and the slumbering one. It’ll be fine like this. Everything will be fine.

“Lord Tobirama,” you whispered, sleepiness creeping into your voice. “Please, save my family.”

A flash of light lit up the sky, almost like a strike of lightning but without the ferocity of thunder. The waves grew larger, you clung to the edge of your wooden craft as it rocked with the aggravated water. It seemed even the jellyfish had begun to struggle, as their lights began to dim and disappear, leaving you on your own once again. “What in the,” the winds picked up and you held your hair down. Misty water began to spray everywhere, and you fell back against the deck as a particularly rough wave crashed against your boat. The raging water was deafening, the moon and stars were not enough to illuminate the now dark waters. You sat up and immediately wished you hadn’t.

A telltale swirling had begun in the waves a short distance ahead and you knew that meant certain death for you. Your panic began to rise again, your knuckles turned white as you clutched the back of the boat as if that would save you. What could save you? Was there anything? I don’t want to die, you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, the winds and water whipped your hair and made those expensive pearls fall from their delicate places. The veil was torn from your head, cold sea water crashed against your back and into your boat and filled the bottom with a layer of water, the flower petals floated up to your ankles and you squeezed your eyes shut.

Before your wooden vessel even dipped below the angry waves you were soaked to the bone. The whirlpool took hold of your barely afloat vessel and you never felt so hopeless. A deafening crack resounded and you stumbled like a newborn fawn. You opened your eyes in time to watch as your face crashed into the sea, the overwhelming current pulling you under and it felt like it was trying to pull you apart. You choked on the water, too startled to make any rational decisions. Your eyes stung, all you could see was darkness, the current kept pushing and pushing at you, you couldn’t tell which way was up and which led further into the depths. Someone help!

Something incredibly cold, colder than the water touched your outstretched arm and began to pull you through the never-ending darkness. You sputtered and coughed as you broke through the water’s surface. Your eyes stung, so you kept them closed. Your lungs, nose, and throat burned as you did your best to expel all of the salty liquid you had swallowed. Whatever had pulled you out had pulled you to a sandbar or something of the sort as you were able to stay on your knees and keep your airways above water.

Once you had finished expelling the water from your lungs, you greedily began to suck in air, as if you swallowed enough of it you’d never drown again. After a bit of calming down and realizing you were no longer on deaths door you felt alright enough to open your stinging eyes. For a while everything was blurry, no matter how many times you blinked to calm the stinging sensation it remained. Though everything was distorted, you could see that you were in a dark structure of some kind. The body of water that had been an ocean before was now a large square pool with lily pads and lotus floating atop the surface, a lily pad had even clung to your left side. The water came up to your waist while you remained on your knees.

You felt your panic begin to rise once again. How is that possible? I was just in the middle of the ocean how can I-

“You’re alive,” a deep timber. You looked up and saw the blurry outline of a tall person in front of you. Had he been there before? His feet were bare as he seemed to stand on the water’s surface like it was solid ground. All of your well-earned air felt like it was punched out of your lungs. “Good.”

From what you could make out, this man had light hair. Maybe white or silver? Your vision was still too blurry to tell. He had on some sort of long deep blue draping, a robe maybe? The pants he wore underneath the draping were dark in color, you guessed black, and the trimmings on the robe were of a silver variety. One of his large hands reached for your face, and you flinched at the chill of his touch. You closed your eyes, fear gripping your form, but all you felt was the gentle caress of his thumb across both of your eyelids. His hand pulled back as soon as he’d finished and the stinging that had plagued your vision disappeared.

When you opened your eyes again you were hesitant but felt relief at being able to see everything clearly once more. The white-haired man stood high above you his muscled arms crossed over his chest. You were right, it had been a royal blue robe, with filigree and dragons depicted in a sparkling silver thread. His skin was so pale, almost like moonshine incarnate. He had three red markings on his face, one on each cheek and one on his defined chin, each one came to a pointed tip towards the center of his face. There was a tuft of white fur spiked at the top of his collar, it matched his spiked hair.

He wore a frown on his face, seemingly greatly displeased. Under his silken robe he seemed to be wearing a tight black shirt, resembled under armor in appearance and it ended midway up his neck, covering his defined adam’s apple. “You,” he began, the baritone of his voice made your face heat and brought a shiver down your spine. The man seemed to think carefully about what he wanted to say, his arms flexed, you were entranced by the subtle rise and fall of his chest, his piercing red eyes never left your form. A sigh escaped him, you tilted your head, he began to disrobe before tossing the soft material at you. It covered your face and confused you. “Put that on and follow me.”

You frowned at the thought of ruining such nice material with your wet form. It was such a luxurious fabric; you didn’t think you’d ever felt anything like it before or would ever feel anything like it again. The more you touched it, the more you realized your dripping fingers didn’t bother the material at all. It was almost like the water didn’t exist, the material neither repelled or soaked in the water from your form so you finally gave in. It took you a minute to stand, he faced away from you as you stood, and you realized he was being polite.

The gauze-like material had soaked in a lot of water and loosely hung from your form. Your breasts were almost entirely bare, your right nipple on full display, and your sort of skirt had sagged so much your entire lower belly was exposed and displayed the fullness of your hips. You could only guess what your backside looked like and hastily wrapped the blue robe around yourself. “I—” you began, voice hoarse from the strain of swallowing and expelling sea water. “Where am I?”

The man turned his head a bit to glance at you and you assumed he deemed your appearance appropriate because he began to walk away. His feet left ripples against the water’s surface as he stepped on it like flooring; meanwhile, the water still swallowed your feet and up to your shins. He couldn’t possibly be—

“You are in my domain.”

“Your domain?”

“Yes.”

You were struggling to keep up with his pace, your body still bit wobbly from the adrenaline drain.

“I am Tobirama.”

“Tobirama!?” The Tobirama? Tobirama Senju, the water god? The one your sister had almost been sacrificed to and the one that you had been? He was real? And alive and well apparently. Without the robe, more of his physique was on display. His back was muscled, his shoulders broad but waist on the slimmer side. The shirt he wore had cut outs at his hips that exposed more of his milky skin and teased the defined bones there.

“That’s Lord Tobirama to you.”

You dropped to your knees quickly, your arms outstretched in front of you with your palms toward the heavens. You placed your forehead flat against the cold black stone at the edge of the pool, your quick action had caused the waters of the pool to begin to move again, the sash on the robe had untied itself and the cold water against your hot warm flesh startled you. “Lord Tobirama, god of water and keeper of knowledge, please send your blessed rains to my people.”

When he did not respond you decided to continue. “My family—my village, they will starve soon without them. Please show us your mercy.” Your lips trembled, your throat tightening at the thought of your family. “I know I am insignificant and unworthy but—” the high priest’s concluding line came to mind as you tried to win his favor, bring life into our plants and our soil as we bring life to you! “Please use my life to spare theirs.”

The silence weighed heavy after your pleading, and you dared not lift your head. Was he thinking? Was he angry? Had he disappeared? Your mind raced with questions, with thoughts and feared outcomes. Tears began to well up in the corners of your eyes, so you squeezed them shut. This was it, wasn’t it? You’d die by angering him, not having saved anyone in your family let alone the youngest. I’m sorry little lily, everyone.

Cold, very cold, fingers tipped your chin upward. He held your head in place to make you look up at him. His face remained neutral, which was better than you had expected. Those red eyes scanned your features, your eyes were wide and dewy. You had never expected the god of water to be so handsome, so human-like and yet still so ethereal. The fingers that held your face were so large and strong, you knew you couldn’t break away unless he allowed it. You wondered what he was looking for as his eyes scanned your own again.

Those cold hands moved and began to help you to your feet, they allowed you to lean on him a bit, your twitching fingers gripping his forearms tightly as you balanced yourself and hoped for the best all at the same time.

“I cannot alter the course of nature,” was his simple reply. So simple and yet even more crushing than the sentence that had announced your sister as a sacrifice. “I will send you back in a few days’ time, mortals cannot stay in the realm of gods for too long. You will remain here in the meantime.”

Your grip on his arms tightened. He was so close, but you felt so far removed that you didn’t notice the minute twitch of his fingers against your hands or the subtle downturn of his luscious lips as he watched your face crumble. The fact that you were stuck there hadn’t even registered until later on when he led you to the room you would occupy while there. Tobirama allowed you two rooms, one a very luxurious bedroom, decorated in dark marble walls with glowing pearl like stones for light, all material made of the same type of royal blue and silver silk as the robe he encouraged you to keep on. The room was so beautiful it made you feel out of place. There were bookshelves that adorned the walls beside the double doors; they were made of pearl with many tomes and texts, scrolls and leather-bound books, all worn and delicately placed like they’d been read and reread many times over.

The second room you were allowed was an equally exquisite bathing chamber. Again, the walls were dark marble, inlaid with pearlescent accents. The same pearl like stones glowed for light, and an empty pool similar in shape to the one you had emerged from rest at the center of the room, the edges and inside decorated with bright silver. You wondered how often humans, or even other gods, used these rooms but you didn’t voice your question. Your heart still felt heavy with the knowledge that you were of no use to your people or family.

“When I go back, will I be able to be with my family again?” The question left you before you could think about it.

The god closed his eyes and crossed his arms again, a soft sigh left him as he began to walk toward the heavy double doors that led back into the hallway. “I suggest bathing before going back to your bedchambers, that ceremonial makeup you mortals love so much has smudged everywhere from the sea water.”

His avoidance of your question irritated you.

“What use is going back then? If I can’t save them, if I can’t see them, I’d rather you have left me to die in that whirlpool.”

He paused, his back visibly straightening, before he opened the doors and left you alone in the unfamiliar room. The sound of the door closing shut behind him was loud and it brought your negative emotions to a head. You felt so helpless, so hopeless. The weight of your emotions brought you to your knees again, but you began to slam your fists against the polished floors in your anguish. What use were you? Was this situation? It hadn’t mattered that you took your sister’s place, she would still starve along with the rest of your loved ones. You hadn’t truly believed in the water god but some small voice in the back of your head had whispered the possibility of salvation, which you hadn’t realized had become a hope.

You cried your fill, cried until your eyes hurt and wailed until your throat gave out in protest. When your body wouldn’t let you cy any longer you wiped your eyes and nose and just sniffled. There was no way for you to tell how much time had passed, but a bath and sleep sounded like the best you could do at that moment. You stood and removed the robe and began to remove the loose gauze you had been wrapped in and used it to wipe off the smudges of paint that were left along your body. Across the back wall was a large mirror that you approached. Your reflection looked rough.

Your eyes were swollen from crying, the beautiful makeup was smudged, your hair was fizzled and damp with half dried sea water, the pearls and decorations that remained were strewn about in a tangled mess. A sigh left you as you began to pick out the decorations one by one and placed them on the floor beside you. When you finished you were surprised to find that the pool had filled with water without you having to do anything, but the more you thought about it the more it made sense. You were in the home of the water god after all.

After your bath, which was at best lukewarm, you replaced the blue robe and walked back to the room that you had been given. You were so tired, you decided to flop down on the plush bed. It was so soft, but so unfamiliar. What was there for you to do now? When you were expelled from the realm of the gods, where would you go? Where would you be? How did it all work? Those questions kept running through your mind until your body could no longer stay awake.

A few cycles of sleep passed by like that, you assumed they were days but you couldn’t be too sure. When you woke up there was always fresh fruit placed carefully on the bedside table for you to eat. You would partake in the familiar foods as you explored the hallways and rooms of the domain. You knew you were told to stay within those rooms but there was not much else for you to occupy your time with. Eventually you stumbled upon where Tobirama seemed to spend most of his time.

It looked to be a study, comprised of the same dark marble and pearl mixture, with a desk like structure raised from the ground for him to sit in front of. Bookshelves like the ones in your chambers lined all four walls, each organized but in a chaotic manner. The books and tomes in that room looked far more used than the ones in your own, which was quite impressive. The first time you stumbled upon him there he seemed to be studying some sort of scroll, brush in hand for note taking. Despite your anger toward him you couldn’t help but admire his appearance. Everything about him was enticing, from the elongated bridge of his nose to the way he furrowed his brow in concentration. The flexing of his shoulder blades as his arms moved and the subtle tapping of his bare foot as he worked felt more human to you than you wanted him to be.

Despite your one oversized robe he seemed to have found another to wear, this one was black with white dragons and square like patterns made of royal blue. A similar fur to the one that lined your collar lined his and you wondered if it was because he was cold. His skin had certainly felt freezing. After watching him for a while you’d move on to a different room, your second favorite one to visit. It was the room you had arrived in. The pool you had come out of laid at the center of the room, under a large skylight with columns of white marble seemingly holding the structure up. The sky that was shone was so unfamiliar that if you hadn’t known you were in another realm that would’ve told you immediately.

The sky remained dark, but a dark blue of sorts, with patterns of light that looked like water reflections being the only source of motion. The reflective patterns were very bright, and they shone down on the center of the water pool where an altar like structure sat. It was made of the same white marble as the four columns, and it had engravings along the edges of the pedestal. The only one you could make out read a sacrifice of flesh and blood and it made you wonder if this structure had been a temple at one point.

At the other end of that room, across from the altar and pool sat a throne like chair that seemed to be made of pearl. It was freezing to the touch and felt rather uncomfortable when you sat on it. The seat itself was far too large for you, you estimated two of you could sit in it with some room to spare, but you weren’t sure if it would be equally roomy for Tobirama. He was a rather tall man, with an athletic frame, but you thought he’d fit perfectly in the center with just enough space on both sides. The throne made you feel rather lonely, looking out at the empty room and still pool from that spot felt empty. You decided to sit on the altar and watch the sky from there, rather than the lonely throne.

When time kept stretching by, with only fruits, nuts, and roots to eat, and the oversized structure thoroughly explored without forcing your way into locked rooms, you began to comb through the texts in your room. Some of them you couldn’t read, written in some other language or the wording was too difficult to understand, but some were rather interesting. Most of the scrolls seemed to be religious texts, about the different gods and their regions of reign.

Like the sun god and the god of forests, Tobirama was revered as a long-standing deity. The tome you read had claimed him to be the younger brother of the god of forests. That same tome talked about other gods, one was even supposedly a descendent of Tobirama but he had been one of the punished so his name was blotted out of the text. Some of the other books talked about Madara, the sun god, and how strong he was and the many theories behind his rise while other gods like Tobirama and Hashirama, the god of forests, were left to decline. That particular part must have been outdated, as Lord Hashirama’s region and strength had seemed to quadruple in the past 30 years. Your mother had been born in that village and she had spoke about the abundance and grace of the forest god.

You paused a moment. The story your mother told said that Lord Hashirama had regained his strength after falling in love with a female human that had been given to him as a sacrifice and one of the handwritten scrolls you read had theorized that Lord Madara’s great strength came from the yearly sacrificial ritual his region practiced. “Then is Tobirama unable to change nature because he isn’t strong enough? Because there hasn’t been enough human sacrifice?”

You thought back to when you knew to be the last human sacrifice given to the water god, which was before you were born. How many years had it been? Your father had been the one to tell you about it, and about the outcry of the people afterward. Even when telling the story he seemed disgusted by what had occurred. “He was only 11? Or was father 10?” Either way it seemed there hadn’t been a sacrifice made to Tobirama in almost 50 years before you.

So what was different about you? Had you not done something important to complete the ritual to give him strength? Were you even enough? Did it have to do with your age? You couldn’t recall how old the previous sacrifice was but you thought she had been an older woman. Burning with determination and questions, you clutched the theory tightly to your chest and made your way toward the water god’s study.

You barged in, too focused on your emotions to think about the disrespect you were showing a god. He had paused his writing when you entered, his sleeve held back in one hand to prevent ink stains and brush in the other. The water god looked handsome as he always did, same black long-sleeved shirt but he wore another royal blue robe, the pattern on it was of silver water lilies and koi swimming beneath. It was beautiful, and he left the robe open for all to admire the tightness of his shirt against his skin. Tobirama looked at you calmly and waited for you to explain why you interrupted him.

“What’s wrong with me?” You blurted out, sophistication and eloquence being two words that could not be used to describe you at that moment.

“What?”

“The scroll,” you unfurled said paper and pointed it at it, approaching closer to his desk. He set his brush down and took it carefully from your grasp. “You don’t have the power to send rains or to even send me back, do you?”

He remained silent, his sharp eyes glanced up at you before his jaw clenched and he looked down at the scroll again. “You haven’t had a sacrifice in 50 years, so your strength has dwindled.”

“Wrong,” he stated calmly and set the scroll down on his desk as he crossed his arms over his chest. A habit he seemed to have. “It’s been almost 200 years.”

“What?”

He let out a sigh and looked you in the eye, a slight frown on his lips. “Gods often sleep to conserve power; I believe I have been asleep for about 200 or so years.”

“Then the previous sacrifices?”

He shook his head and his silence weighed on you. You pressed your lips together and rubbed your arm slowly. “Why did you wake up then?”

“I am unsure,” he paused and tilted his head back. “When I last went to sleep, I was certain my brother and I would sleep for the rest of eternity, but it seems there was just enough prayer to reawaken me.”

“Lord Hashirama had weakened too?”

“Yes, we believed that humans no longer needed gods so we decided it would be better to fall silent.”

“But not anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Hashirama’s region has been flourishing for at least three decades now. I assume he’s still awake even now.”

Tobirama looked to the side as he processed that information. “Madara too,” you continued. “He receives a yearly sacrifice even now and his people call themselves the Empire of the Sun and have yet to diminish. They are currently attempting to unite the continent.”

The water god’s fists clenched and his eyes narrowed at that news. “Damn him,” he muttered under his breath. “And has my brother done anything to stop this? To stop him?”

“I don’t know, I only know about the legends.” You rubbed your sleeve covered arm a bit hard and bit your bottom lip before asking. “So what do I need to do to restore your power? Is there anything I can do? I am your sacrifice after all.”

He let out a loud huff through his nose as he closed his eyes. The water god tapped against his arm as he seemed to think on things. Your chest tightened with emotion. Could you really end up saving your family after all? Nothing would please you more, even if it was something scary like letting him devour you whole, you would do it without hesitation. Tobirama uncrossed his arms and placed them on the desk in front of him.

“There is but I’m not sure how much power I’ll be able to gain from your worship alone,” he began to move his papers and scrolls aside. “Sit here, we’ll run a test first.”

Your heartbeat picked up. A test? Would it hurt? You approached his desk anyway and nervously sat atop it, making sure to sit facing toward him. His proximity made your face heat up and he sat and observed you closely. His eyes looked you up and down, and at the height you were atop his desk you were able to make direct eye contact without looking up at him. He placed his hands at your hips and leaned forward. His breath fanned your lips as your skin began to flush. “Are you willing?”

“Yes,” you whispered, enchanted by his voice and proximity. “I’ll do anything.”

“Then let’s begin the test,” was his only warning before his large hands gripped your hips and his mouth pressed to yours. His lips were cold, so very cold, and the same could be said for his hands. His low temperature permeated the silk of the robe and made your skin prickle. You wanted to try to warm him up.

Anxiety rushed through you as you felt his cold tongue press against your lips. What did that mean? You had never kissed anyone before, but his cold touch made your body heat up. Without much thought you wrapped your arms around his neck and unconsciously pulled him in closer. His tongue pressed harder against your lips and it forced your them to part. So cold, an appendage that was typically warm was practically an ice block in your mouth and you shivered.

He groaned as he pulled back, you were out of breath, an embarrassment unlike any other filling your chest. Did he pull away because you were bad? Did you fail the test? Were you not enough? You almost whimpered at the thought, your body continued to shiver.

“Are you,” he seemed to shiver too. “Are you still untouched?”

Heat rose, you could feel it span your entire face and the top of your chest as you nodded in embarrassment. “Yes,” you whispered, nervous. “Is that going to be an issue?”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice having taken on a deeper tone. “Are you cold?”

“You seem colder than me, your skin is ice.”

He smirked a bit and moved back before standing. “Stay there, I’ll be back shortly.”

Tobirama hadn’t lied, he had come back rather quickly, but with a black flask in hand. He sat back down easily and handed you the container gently. “Drink all of this and then we can continue.” Your body thrummed at the idea of continuing, so you did your best to chug whatever it was in the flask. It was viscous, and if you could see the color you knew it would be the same as the strange fluid the priests made you drink before the ceremony. Immediately your body warmed, and you shook from the contrast in temperatures. “Good girl,” he praised, his voice made your toes curl. “Now lean back and sit still.”

You did as you were told and almost gasped as you watched his deft fingers begin to untie the sash for the robe. “Wait, I’m not—”

“This is a part of the test,” he began. His cold fingers pressed against the naked flesh of your abdomen as he pushed the robe open. You felt hypersensitive, that light touch alone was almost enough to make you moan. “Stay still, and quiet, and then we can move on to the real ritual.”

“S-So, am I enough?”

“Possibly,” he muttered as he lightly caressed his hands up the sides of your form and stopped at your breasts. His cold temperature in contrast with your warmer one caused your nipples to harden; you pressed your thighs together as you watched his pupils dilate at the sight of your naked breasts. The light-haired man’s fingers twitched, and he ran them lightly along your breasts toward your pebbled flesh. Your eyes closed in embarrassment and a whine attempted to leave your throat. He paused, his eyes looking back at your face before landing on his forgotten calligraphy brush. “We’ll have to see how this works out won’t we? Little mortal, spread your legs for me so we can begin.”

You swallowed the noise that had threatened to leave your throat as you nodded. You opened your legs slowly, embarrassed by your nakedness and the obvious wetness that had begun to spill from you. If you could’ve, you would’ve brought your hands down immediately to cover yourself, but that would be disobedient. There was an unnerving feeling of obligation, both to stay obedient to him as your god and to hear him praise you more. The tip of his brush hit your collarbone and swirled down toward your chest, and you jumped at the sensation. He clicked his tongue, “Behave, little girl. Stay still and quiet.”

The brush followed back up the trail, leaving black ink along in its wake. The water god brought the brush back down a similar path, but this time he brought it all the way down to your nipple. You wanted to cry out, the tickling sensation circling against your hardened peak went straight to your core and you could feel your clit twitch. He continued to circle it, over and over, your breathing picked up. Surely that was allowed, right? Tobirama brought the tip of the brush down from there and trailed it along the underside of your breast down to your lower belly.

Unintentionally, your stomach flinched at the cold brush. He clicked his tongue again and brought his sharp eyes up to your face. “I’m sorry, my Lord I didn’t—” he shushed you, cutting your apology short.

“Remember to be quiet,” he told you, his other hand creeping up to your mouth. None too gently, he placed his index and middle finger into your waiting lips and his jaw tightened as you began to suckle on them instinctively. “There’s an obedient sacrifice.” You whimpered at his words, and he pressed his fingers deeper into your mouth, back toward your throat. “Do my words affect you that much?”

His eyes trailed down to the heated area between your legs and he tsked again, his tone sounded smug. “You’re so wet, from what? A kiss and some light caresses? Are you so innocent that even this little is too much?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, you could feel your clit twitch under his gaze, he let out a breathless chuckle. The brush began to move along your lower belly, right above your womb he swirled the ink in a cyclical pattern. Once satisfied, he trailed it back upward toward your neglected breast and paid extra attention to the nipple once again. By that point you couldn’t help it, you sucked on his fingers as hard as you could, but a whimper still left you. Tobirama kept up his swirling, you were so sensitive, your lower body unconsciously pushed forward as you felt your clit throb hard. “Mmm!”

It felt weird, you had never felt anything like that before. Your entire body twitched, and your toes curled, you felt a rush of wetness start to leak onto his desk. The building in your lower belly had relaxed but your sensitivity only increased as he continued to tease your nipple with his brush. When you opened your eyes again there was a definitive redness to his cheeks and the tips of his ears, his eyes were entirely focused on your throbbing sex and his breath was noticeably labored.

“So disobedient.” The feeling in your chest tightened, your high cut short. You disappointed him? His voice had kept its husky tone. The brush left your body entirely and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. “You couldn’t keep still or quiet,” he began to trail the brush down your abdomen once more, a swirling pattern that laid right over your womb once more and used your heightened sensitivity against you. Your sex ached, virginal channel twitching in anticipation of something you knew little about. “Those who misbehave must receive punishment.”

The brush trailed down further; the ink covered bristles marking your pelvis before drawing over your mound. “I’ll give you one more chance to behave. If you remain quiet and still, I’ll let you cum again,” his sharp red eyes, pupils all but swallowing the irises, stared into the depths of yours. You nodded your assent, and he kept the eye contact as the brush moved to your folds.

He watched you like a hawk, looking for every minute twitch and flinch, as he began to circle your labia before moving the brush toward your dripping flesh. It was incredibly difficult not to whine as the brush head grazed over your weeping entrance. Tobirama’s jaw clenched and unclenched as he started his assault on your neglected bud. You bit your bottom lip to keep from whining, the pressure was too light. The water god’s eyes narrowed as he seemed to read your mind and pressed the brush harder, moving it up and down in a lapping like motion.

You wanted to close your eyes but his own were too intense, too enticing, you couldn’t look away. “You’re trying so hard to please me,” he taunted, a tight smirk on his perfect lips. “Can you feel it? Every time I speak to you, your hole twitches.” He brought the brush down to circle your clenching entrance to emphasize his point. “Does my voice make you ache?”

A whimper almost escaped you.

“So wet and warm,” he turned the brush over and began to prod at you with the rounded end. “Little girl, this lewd thing,” his cold hands cupped your sex and you let out a quiet groan, your eyes moving skyward. “Such a salacious reaction is unbecoming of a virgin.”

The water god removed his palm and brush and brought them up to his face. “Look here,” he commanded, and you obeyed. His palm glistened with your slick and the calligraphy brush was soaked through, your fluids mixed with the black ink and dripped down his cleaner palm. “You’ve ruined my favorite brush, and my palm is soaked despite barely making contact. So obscene,” he brought his palm to his mouth and lapped at his palm, a visible shiver rattling him at the taste of you. His red eyes remained focused on your own as he cleaned his palm. “What is a god to do with a sacrifice like you?”

You were at your wits end; you couldn’t sit still or remain quiet anymore. It was too much, you were sweating from both heat and effort, your sex throbbed and ached unlike anything you’d ever felt before, your breasts were tender and felt heavy under the knowledge that he could be holding them instead. Even your fingers itched to hold onto him somehow, to tear away at his arrogance and get at the flesh beneath that cloth. A whine that felt closer to a sob bubbled in your chest and threatened to escape your lips.

“You did very well that time,” the god told you, almost affectionately. “Shall I reward you now?”

“Yes,” you cried, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Please, my lord, I can’t—”

“Enough,” he hushed you. The white-haired man stood and placed one of his large hands on the small of your back and the other approached your heated sex again. You unconsciously pushed your hips forward towards his hand and he allowed his palm to make contact again. This time, however, he pressed the heel of his palm against your aching bud and ground down on it. “Cry out to your heart’s content.”

A loud moan escaped you and you threw your head back. Your reached forward and grabbed at his thick wrist to hold his palm in place as you sloppily rode it. Using his hand on the small of your back, he brought you closer to him and pressed his cold lips to yours. The kiss was sloppy, you were fueled purely on instinct. He seemed unbothered by your lack of experience, and he used his tongue and lips to guide yours. When you were right at the precipice from your rough grinding he pulled his palm back and swallowed your cries of protest.

Tobirama did not leave you waiting for long, his cold fingers returned, and he prodded one at your entrance. You were so wet that he penetrated you easily. It felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs, you pulled away from the kiss to gasp as your body tried to register the foreign feeling. He pushed his finger in deeper and you felt your walls squeeze around it. “Nngh,” you groaned. The cold of his finger contrasted so starkly with the heat of your insides. He began to pump his finger, in and out, and the friction felt so good. “Mmm.”

“You’re gripping my finger so tightly,” he pressed a kiss to your exposed collarbone. “Spread your legs more, I’ll be adding another finger shortly.”

You nodded dumbly, your mind and body reeling from the pace he had set. His thumb reached up to circle your clit as he added a second finger. You were thankful for it, as the second finger made the stretch a bit more uncomfortable, but you were able to experience the same amount of pleasure thanks to his thumb. The noises that came from your body were sloppy and wet. The faster he went the more your juices sloshed and dripped, the louder your moans became. “Such filthy sounds you’re making. So depraved, like a whore.”

“N-No,” you whimpered. “I’m not—”

“Your pretty hole would beg to differ. Now that it’s felt my touch, its begging for more. Shall I add another finger?”

The tip of his ring finger began to press inside, and you shuddered, almost drooling. It felt like too much, you had never had anything or anyone inside of you before. His third, thick and equally cold, finger slid inside and the stretch burned. You grunted, feeling like you’d been punched in the gut and the water god began to scissor your insides. “This is all in preparation for the sacrificial ritual.”

“Ritual,” you panted.

This isn’t the ritual?

He hum in concentration, his digits began to thrust in and out, then stretch, then in and out again at a brutal pace. Tobirama removed the hand that had been holding the small of your back and used it to undo his robe’s sash. The silken material slid open easily and with that same free hand he began to palm at the oversized tent in his trousers. You almost balked as he began to pull his clothing down to reveal the agitated flesh, he groaned loudly at being free of the confines.

Tobirama was long, exceedingly long, and generously thick with a purpled tip leaking with copious amounts of precum. He was so hard, and you almost burst when you realized that you were the reason he was throbbing. Your eyes were entranced as he began to pump himself slowly, your hips bucking to meet his fingers with more vigor. His thumb flicked your clit and all you could think about was trying to fit that beast inside of you. “Lord Tobirama,” you cried out. “I feel nnn- weird. S-Something’s coming!”

“Then cum, clench around my fingers and cry out for me.”

“Mmm, my lord,” you whined pathetically, your eyes squeezed shut and you bit into your bottom lip. He kept pumping you with his fingers, his thumb baring down on your clit with almost a painful amount of pressure. His continued work heightened your orgasm and elongated it. Soon his fingers, his thumb in particular, became too much and you began to squirm in overstimulation.

“The ritual,” he grunted, the sounds of his hand working his cock melding with the sounds of your wet sex. “Mortal worship is what gives us strength. And what greater form of praise is there than sex.”

“Please, your fingers, it’s too much,” more whining, you sounded a bit hoarse, but your body couldn’t take much more.

“So, we are yet to be finished.” The water god finally stilled his fingers and removed them with a loud shlop sound.

You nodded, eyes soaking in and memorizing the image of a partially clothed water god, pumping his rigid manhood with his hand that had just been removed from your body. His cheeks were tinged pink, his ears had a dusting of the same shade, his intimidating and crisp appearance disheveled because of you. Slowly you slid off from his desk, your bum hitting the cold floor roughly. He watched you, his haughty demeanor returning as you sat on your knees before him.

He stopped pumping and angled his erection toward your closed lips. Tentatively, you licked it. You had no idea what you were doing but you wanted to please, to worship him as he said. “Good girl,” Tobirama praised as he placed his hand, the one wet with his own precum, in your hair and pulled you flush against his aching need. “Open your mouth.”

Almost as soon as you opened your mouth, he placed his throbbing tip inside. You wrapped your lips around it and closed your eyes. How was even this part of him so cold? He pushed his hips forward and you had to open your jaw further to fit him. The taste of him was tangier than you expected, but that also could’ve been the taste of your lingering juices. He moved his fist, at the base of his shaft, together with your slight head bobs.

The sounds he made were divine; low grunts and moans, a rumbling in his chest when you scraped him with your teeth, his labored breathing grew louder and louder with each passing movement. Your jaw ached but you loved the feeling of his throbbing flesh in your mouth. The longer you sucked the more of him you tried to swallow. Eventually he reached so far back that he hit the back of your throat. Tears were welling in your eyes at the effort and saliva leaked from all parts of your mouth. You began to grunt and whine along with him, fresh arousal dripped from you onto the floor.

With one final thrust of your head to his pelvis, he throbbed and groaned loudly as he spurt cold spend down your throat. You wanted to taste it, but your tongue had already numbed from the temperature of his cock. He removed himself slowly, a small trail of semen and throat mucus following behind. When he was fully out of your mouth you rubbed your throat. It felt abused but in a way you never expected to enjoy, you happily swallowed the gunk that remained on your tongue and didn’t need to be told to lick him clean. He was still rock hard and you pressed your thighs together at the sight.

He reached down and helped you to your feet. Tobirama fully removed his robe and you pushed off the one that had loosely remained on your arms. The god adjusted his trousers and you frowned in confusion as he tucked himself away again. He still removed his tight shirt, revealing a haven of well sculpted flesh to your greedy eyes, which gave you pause. “We will continue in the altar room.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know where that is?”

You nodded.

“Then go, I will meet you there. I have something else to prepare.”

Again, you nodded, throat still sore, and began to walk toward your second favorite place to be. During your walk there you had begun to feel cold, and you wondered if it was because of the cum you swallowed. You could almost feel it as it sat in your belly like ice and froze your core, but you couldn’t help the tingle of need that pulsed at your entrance at the thought. You wrapped your arms around your middle to conserve heat.

You waded through the pool as you went to sit on the altar to wait for him. As horny as you still were, you were thankful for the reprieve. It allowed your overtaxed body a break and your lust addled mind some clarity. Though with the clarity came the anxiety of being deflowered by the same flesh that had deliciously tortured your throat. A shiver crawled up your spine, both from the cold and at the thought of how ruined you would be afterward. Tobirama was going to split you in half, he’d probably reach well into your guts if he bottomed out inside of you.

The water god appeared in the hallway; he was still shirtless with two flasks in his large hands. One flask looked the same as the one from before, black, but the other had a dual blue and purple hue that attracted your attention. You stared at the flex of his muscles as he walked, his hair looked like he had run his hands through it a few times, but he approached you with purpose. His feet glided over the water like it had when you first saw him. He narrowed his eyes at your hunched form. “Are you alright?”

You nodded and muttered, “Just cold.”

He handed you the black flask again and you began to drink it before he told you to. The fluid slid down your throat like slime, but it warmed its way down and seemed to overtake the cold that had seeped its way through you. The mixture of the viscous drink and Tobirama’s essence seemed to unsettle your stomach a bit but it wasn’t anything to worry about. Those sharp red eyes watched you carefully as he leaned in closer. “Is that better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Are you still willing?” That question surprised you. Would you have been sitting there still naked if you weren’t? Or even drank more of that strange fluid? You appreciated the sentiment though.

“Of course.”

“Good, then move over for a moment.”

“Whah?” He nudged you aside before he sat himself down in the center of the altar. The pale god sat and began to slide his trousers down just enough to expose his half-hard member and the swollen balls below it. Tobirama opened the blue and purple flask before beckoning you to straddle him. You were up on your knees with your hands clutching his shoulders. It was a position you had not been expecting, though you weren’t really aware of what positions where normally used in this sort of situation.

The white-haired man leaned forward and began to lap at your neck, both hands moving to cup your cold breasts. He pressed them together before rolling and squeezing them. You moaned softly when his cold thumbs began to rub your nipples. His lapping turned into opened mouth kisses as he made his way down your unpainted collarbone and to your breast, where he had conveniently, rubbed the ink off of your skin. That cold appendage left a wet trail from the top of your left breast to the underside before he enveloped a nipple and vigorously sucked. A higher pitched moan escaped you and you tightened your grip on his shoulders.

Before he switched to the right breast, he poured some of the liquid from the blue and purple flask into his hand and rubbed the fluid against your sex. He nipped at the pebbled bud in his mouth and smeared the fluid into your soft tissue thoroughly. With a breathy groan you bucked into his hand. The water god poured more into his palm and made sure to coat his fingers before pushing them into you. You leaned back on your haunches a bit, giving him better access to your insides, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that the fluid was warming up the more he worked it in.

“Mmm,” you bit your lip and glanced at his cock. It had risen back to hardness and your inner walls clenched at the thought.

Tobirama chuckled breathlessly, “That eager to be stuffed full of me, hm?”

He removed his fingers from your entrance, and you whined. His cock visibly throbbed at the sound. The water god poured more of the fluid into his hand and began to rub it along his member. The substance was also a bit viscous but lighter in color than the one you’d been drinking. “Get back into the previous position, little girl. I’m about to split you open.”

Swallowing nervously, you straddled him again, and your grip on his shoulders had your knuckles turning white. With his none lubricated hand placed on your hip, and his other keeping his length in position, he began to slowly bring your down onto him. The blunt tip felt good as he rubbed it against your entrance and clit, it had relaxed you enough for you to try to sink down on it.

The tip felt impossibly wide as it popped inside. “Relax, if you tense up it’ll make things more difficult.”

Relax, you told yourself. Easier said than done. You closed your eyes and sunk down further. The stretch burned and you bit your bottom lip. Only when you pressed down a little more did Tobirama let out a groan of pleasure. “That’s it,” he encouraged. “Just like that. Good girl.”

The praise made you want to try harder, so you took more of him in at once than you should’ve. It knocked the wind out of you, his blunt head hit against the spongey part in your walls that made your toes curl. He panted and removed his hand, no longer needing it to hold himself in place, instead he placed it on your other hip to try to ease your burden. Your hands shook, it was painful but pleasurable all at once, the feeling was almost too much. “Halfway there.”

Only halfway? You whined again as you tried to take in more of him; the whine only grew in volume as he rubbed against the most sensitive parts of your inner walls. His eyes were narrowed in on where your bodies connected, the sharp red was filled with undeniable desire as he watched your being swallow him. “Look at how well you’re taking me.”

“Lord Tobirama,” you groaned as you sunk down further. Your entire body flinched when he hit against a part of you that felt wrong. “Nn, I can’t take in anymore.”

“You were being such a good girl. There’s no need to worry, only a bit more to go.”

“I can’t. I—” you cut yourself off as you attempted to do as asked but felt that same intensity. You shook your head. Before you had fully adjusted to the fullness, Tobirama began to raise you up and down along his length. It felt like heaven and hell in one place. Every time his blunt head hit against that spot it tried to push a little harder against it. Your legs trembled, your brain too pleasure fogged to try and ride him. When he started to thrust up as he brought you down, you swore.

“You don’t ever want me to leave this hole do you? You’re sucking me in, trying to take me in deeper despite saying that you couldn’t. But look,” he grunted with exertion, and you felt a telltale pop as he pushed past the barrier. It hurt, it felt wonderful, it was too much. Your body began to spasm and your vision blurred. The highest pitched noise you’d ever made escaped your lungs and you clawed at his back, leaning forward against his chest to try to gain some relief from the feeling. Tobirama shivered against you.

His grip on your hips was bruising as he continued to bring you up and down, sinking deeper then he ever should’ve. You were a mess, tears welled in the corners of your eyes and you felt stupid. All you could do was moan and whine like a bitch in heat. “If I cum inside we’ll be tied forever, do you want that?”

You nodded, the pressure in your lower belly about to burst.

“I’ll sow my seed inside you,” he panted, his thrusts and pulls increasing in speed. You bounced up and down on his lap at an erratic pace. Tobirama continued to ramble. “You’ll take every last drop. The thought of you with milk swollen breasts and a round belly is enough to drive me insane. You’re my precious little broodmare. Fuck!” His curse was punctuated by a particularly hard thrust, one that smashed your clit down onto his pelvic bone and caused you to reach your peak. You felt a rush of fluid leave you and you whimpered as oversensitivity set in almost immediately.

“Such a good—” he thrust two more times and gasped as he reached his own end. There was a distinctive rush of cold as he came inside you. It felt like a lot. You bit your bottom lip and pressed your forehead into his shoulder as he relaxed his grip on your hips. The two of you remained like that for a while, basking in the post orgasm bliss. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed your forehead gently.

Exhaustion began to swallow your form but before you could completely give in he spun you around to face the throne. He remained inside of you, his member twitching and spunk leaking from you and dripping down his sack. You whimpered when he leaned your back against his chest and angled your body so that you could watch your combined fluids run down his darkened flesh. “We’re not finished,” he supplied before he gripped your hips once more with just as much force.

Tobirama bounced you like you weighed nothing, the new angle giving you a clear view of the indentation he was making inside of you. You placed your hands over it and felt him practically pulse both inside and in your hands. Your mouth dropped open. As he worked you open, again and again, more of his cold sperm fell out of your center and stained his skin and the marbled stone. “Look at what you’re wasting,” he grunted, one of his hands crept down to tease your oversensitive nub and cause you to flinch with every motion of his fingers. “I’ll have to use something to plug you when we’re done. You don’t want to waste anymore, do you?”

Drool began to drip down the sides of your open mouth as you threw your head back against his shoulder, your hands rubbed against your own skin as they pressed back against him. It made you feel him harder; it made him rub you more. Your entire being felt like it would explode, your brain too stimulated to comprehend his question. “Ffffn,” you felt like your brain had gone numb. “Haaa, ahn.”

“Hm?” He brought his hand away from your abused nub and up to grip your chin. The water god turned your face toward him and his slick covered thumb swept across your exposed tongue and abused lips. “Have I fucked you stupid?”

He pressed his thumb down on your tongue so that you couldn’t speak. You tasted the mixture of his and your own cum on his precious thumb and you felt that same gush of fluid leave you. Your entire being thrummed, your heart felt like it might explode, you wanted to thrash and to move away from him to lessen the intensity, but you couldn’t. His grip was too strong and all you could do was cry and whimper as you came again almost immediately after from his continued thrusts and blunt cock head against the very back of your womb. “My dumb little sacrifice,” he groaned. “A perfect little child maker. Spray me one more time, worship me with you entire being.”

His fingers left your mouth and he readjusted you to bend forward in his lap. The tears that had formed began to stream down your face as you shook your head. How could you explode again? Your essence had already sprung from you like a fountain; you couldn’t possibly do it again. Tobirama held you in place by your wrists, keeping you bent over and facing away. Noises you had never made before fell from your throat and squelched from your sex. You heard him grunt in effort and felt the weight of his sack hit against your angry clit once before you convulsed and sprayed again. “Mmm, good girl.”

You felt his cold semen as it burst inside of you once more. It collected in your womb like a pool and furthered your convulsions. He brought you back to his lap and rubbed your aching arms as you continued to shake, and he continued to cum inside of you. Despite the copious amounts of sweat and other fluids caked to both your skin and his all you could feel was the weight of his sperm inside of you and the cold it gave off. “Very good girl,” he muttered against your hair as he kissed the top of your head.

After an unknown amount of time you finally stopped whimpering and shaking, and your tears seemed to dry up. You were parched and sore but you managed to place your hands against the arms that held you once you felt a bit more grounded. You cleared your throat in attempts to get your mind off of the cold that permeated through you and the nervousness that his still rigid member, which remained in your depths, brought forth. “Did that give you enough power to save the village?” Your voice was so hoarse, so overused and abused, but the worst part was the obvious exhaustion.

The effort it took to stay awake to wait for his answer became too great and your eyelids grew too heavy to keep open. Your brain, exceedingly thankful for the much-needed break, turned off almost instantly and you slumped completely in his arms. The rumble of his chest as he began to answer was all you were able to register before total exhaustion embraced you.

“Little mortal,” he began. “There is much more worship to be had.”

tagged list: @therantingfangirl @skydaddy01 @justmyownreality @hashira-mal @sneetsnoot @ladyyanna @ttipsyy @hi-my-name-is-korg @silvermadara

Hashirama||Madara

Season 2

#gods and mortals au #tribute to the gods au #naruto series #mortyvongola2 0 sacrificed series #mortyvongola2 fic #mortyvongola2 fanfic #naruto fanfiction #tobirama senju #tobirama simp #tobirama smut #tobirama #Tobirama Senju smut #fic art #god Tobirama #tobirailme #tobirama x reader #tobirama x y/n #reader insert #tobirama x you

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sunboki · 3 months

Text

You and Han Jisung are the ultimate best friends. While he’s busy nerding away, you’re filling him in on the latest and greatest drama. That’s until he brings up crushes. And I mean, what’re you supposed to say when he asks you that? It’s not like Jisung’s your crush… right?

📓 » Han Jisung x f. reader

GENRE┊non idol au, friends to lovers, (kinda) enemies to lovers, two idiots being oblivious, fake relationship au, highschool au, angst, fluff, slowburn

WORD COUNT┊5.1k words

PLAYLIST

WARNINGS┊profanity, lack of communication, childish pettiness, stupidity at insane levels

AUG’S NOTES┊valentine’s day with ji :(( take this as my tribute to hurting my own feelings with this fic 😭

THE BOYFRIEND STATUS TAGLIST — CLOSED

The first night of your downfall all started in mid-January.

All was well and had been going well, until it wasn’t.

You’ve known Han Jisung since second grade, starting with having to apologize for knocking over his castle and him proceeding to cry even louder in the sandbox, snotty in his red and white striped shirt.

You swear that shirt is still in his closet.

And when he was wimping away in a corner, you were the one that got him out of his shell. To this day you’re convinced you’re the first person to ever witness the true Han Jisung, who starts slapping things when he laughs really hard, who gets overly competitive during board games, who keeps hundreds of mind-blowing tracks he’s produced to himself, and who (you wouldn’t admit it) has one of the prettiest smiles in the world.

Freshman year of high school you met Jisung again in your Geography class.

Initially, it took you a moment to recognize his face, having changed quite a bit over the years. And certainly not a bad kind of change. Although, his nerdy personality was all the assurance you needed to figure out it was him, apart from that he switched to contacts, grew his hair out more, and looked, y’know, “older.”

Older as in: what happened to you? ..Why are you so attractive?

But you won’t get too far into that.

Through the years he tutored you. Jisung had a knack for studying since day one, and despite occasionally looking like he could pass as a dropout (usually the week before finals), no one else could maintain better grades than him.

So, on a night both you and Jisung were slouched over your desk, procrastinating school work by rating people at school from most to least kissable, he turns to you, face halfway illuminated by your lamp.

“Do you like anyone?” Your boba-eyed friend asks while you aimlessly scroll through your camera roll in search of the photo you’d been talking about, mumbling a quiet “of course” in response.

Jisung makes an unconvinced noise and clasps his hands together, leaning forward.

“No like, like like anybody.”

Finally escaping your ‘rating people’s kissing-capabilities’ headspace and now entering into your ‘is this the question i think it is?’ one, you wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans.

It’s a strange question, not a Jisung-question, and you find yourself growing increasingly nervous the longer he stares at you.

You’ve never even thought about it really, so why are you so sweaty? Why does your heart feel as if it may just beat out of your chest, why is your mouth so dry?

Questions.

Clearing your throat and secretly praying it didn’t give away your piling anxiety, you feign a roll of your eyes, tapping your fingernail on the cool desk.

God, why are you so nervous?

“Um, nobody, why?” You retort, ignoring the scrutinizing squint of his eyes watching you.

It’s never like this. You’re the one that teases, gets him all shy, stumbling over his words. So now you suddenly feel like Jerry and he’s Tom.

Abnormal.

“C’mon, there has to be someone you think is cute,” He whines, and before you can stop it one word smacks you upside the head.

You.

“It’s Minho!” You shout, hurried and barely audible as if trying to tune out your inner panic.

Han looks stunned.

Han as in best friend, not crush. Right.

What were you thinking?

“..Min.. Minho?” He phrases slowly, evidently surprised.

Being completely honest, you’re just as surprised as he is. Minho is attractive, sure, but never in your life did you consider him like that.

Oh how you wished you could erase all of this from ever happening.

It doesn’t make sense. Because it’s not like you’re into Jisung. Or are you?

Nope. Nuh-uh. You were just caught off guard and unprepared. Not to mention it was an unexpected question, that’s all.

Fuck.

You like Jisung. There’s no point of lying to yourself anymore. From the start of seeing him again, those “friendly” gestures weren’t friendly anymore, they were intentional, pursuing. Walking from class to class together, constantly checking your texts, meeting his eyes only to smile like fools.

“Yep. Minho. That’s the guy,” Cutting each sentence shorter than the last, you nod fervently, avoiding his gaze.

Both soaking in utterly hellish silence, the tension was likely seeping through the cracks in your door at this rate.

He really shouldn’t have ever brought this up, and you shouldn’t have said Minho. So on the bright side, at least you’re both at fault here in the grand scheme of things.

“..Alright then.” He shrugs and goes back to writing down notes, ignoring how the room feels a hundred degrees hotter and that every inch of your soul is drenched in a cold sweat, plagued with the situation you landed yourself in.

What has gotten into you?

Why Minho was the first name you said couldn’t be explained, and, with your amazing fortune, Minho happened to be Jisung’s friend in their shared engineering program.

Any name. You could’ve said any name.

Great.

“Psst!” You hiss, lingering behind the door, waiting for your victim to finally finish his day-long conversation with Mr. Hong.

Said victim (a.k.a Minho) delivering a venomous glare from the corner of his eye, you gesture for him to come nearer (much to his obvious dislike) once the coast had cleared. Thankfully, the classroom was a distance from Jisung’s, providing ample time to strike your plan before they joined sixth period together.

A plan that had been devised throughout the many hours you spent sleeplessly investigating your ceiling last night.

“I need your help.”

Wait for it. Here comes the questions.

“Is this about Jisung?”

Before you can open your mouth, he cuts you off.

“You got in trouble again, didn’t you?”

You sigh.

“I-“

“Are you pregnant?”

“SHUT— up.” Grabbing a strong hold onto your one opportunity to speak, you clamber both him and yourself into the nearest seat, dreading this experience the longer Minho stares daggers into your soul.

The idea is a stretch, but if the boy in front of you cooperates, at least a few bases might get covered.

“Minho, I need your help with Jisung.”

Anticipatory eyebrows (looking freaky similar to a cat) urge you further.

“Alright, first things first,” You huff, fishing in your bag prior to sliding the notebook in front of him. His eyes widen, breathing an esteemed “wow” upon reading each line.

“Rules For Our Fake Relationship”, The title reads in messy sharpie marker. A silly, first-grade clique idea, although, if wielded correctly, could very easily quell your.. “problem” for a bit while you brainstormed the next step.

Problem being, how can I make sure, at all costs, my best friend doesn’t know I’m in love with him?

“You really thought this one through, huh.”

“I do what I have to.” Cracking your knuckles and stretching your neck, you ignore Minho’s judgemental eyeball and begin setting down some basic rules.

#1 Under no circumstances should we ever kiss.

He seems to whole-heartedly agree on that one, pretty much gagging at the thought.

#2 No one but us is allowed to know this is fake.

The rest is history, so by the time you’ve reached twenty and he adds a “No acting lovey-dovey around me” rule, you realize you might as well make this a “Rules For Worst Enemies” list instead.

But just as you hand him the pen, awaiting his signature with an eager gaze, he deflates, popping the cap back on much to your displeasure.

“Before I sign my life away to your Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, you have to promise me something.”

“..Okay.”

Please don’t say your credit card, please don’t say your credit card please don’t say your credit ca-

“No matter how long this,” he gestures to your page-full of rules, “lasts, you have to find a way to explain yourself to him before Valentine’s Day, deal?”

Valentine’s day gives you a full two weeks to keep up your act, and as much as you want to deny and tell him that would technically break Rule #2, you doubt he’ll agree any other way. It’s Minho for goodness sake, you could throw a brick at his head and he’d wake up in the hospital the next day still remembering to feed his cats.

You’ll make an excuse.. or something like that.

Fine.

“Deal.”

Finally signing the bottom of the notebook paper, the bell rings for your next class to begin and your hand has already started to cramp horribly, a telltale sign your job here is done.

Stashing the illegitimate document in your bag and parting in opposite directions, your movements halt when Minho shouts your name, his flannel-clad form sporting a mildly smug grin.

“Hey! Don’t fall in love with me, okay?” He yells, and you make a disgusted face before both erupting into laughter.

After a rather ungrateful attempt of explaining your tardiness to English class, you drop your backpack down beside your desk, notifications buzzing with texts Jisung sent earlier today asking about where you want to sit for lunch tomorrow and your weekly tutoring sessions amongst other things.

A frown tugged at your lips.

You shouldn’t have lied, really really shouldn't have. So deep inside you hope; pray this’ll be your solution.

Fuck.

Jisung likes you.

Scratch that, he’s liked you. Liked you ever since fifth grade, when he skinned his knee wrecking his favorite captain america bicycle and you patched him up with multiple superhero bandaids.

So when he finds out it’s Minho you’re interested in, Lee Minho who in a billion years he didn’t expect you to be interested in, he’s astonished.

Because it’s not every day your best friend who you’ve been harboring the fattest crush on tells you she’s interested in another guy, especially not your other good friend, so he feels entitled to feeling a tad bit upset.

It’s not your fault and he knows it. You don’t know he likes you because he’s too much of a coward to say anything, do anything.

But somehow, in some majestic, all-knowing way, he wishes you had said his name instead.

Whether it was Summer Camp in middle school or all those times he’d sat behind you in Algebra just to talk to you, it was inevitable. Because before either of you knew it, he was falling in love, and apparently you were falling in love too; with someone else.

“Alright, and? Are you gonna tell me, y’know, why you like her?”

Awaiting the dismissal bell, he folded, desperately needing some kind of assurance. First person he usually went to was you, but that wasn’t possible now, since it’s not like he could simply run up to you and shout out his feelings, could he?

Duh, of course he could. Which is another reason why he won’t, and why he doubts he ever will.

Hell, merely talking to you on the phone whenever Minho passes by amounts to a mini heart-attack.

Instead, Seo Changbin stepped in, and in the midst of a barely occupied cafe, Han Jisung found himself spilling his guts. Spilling his guts as in: venting and brainwashing himself into thinking he could win you over.

“I mean, everything.”

His friend makes a hopeless sort of sound, head resting on his hand.

“She’s like…” Han forks a bit of the cheesecake, Changbin’s expression spurring his cynical seat-mate to continue.

“Cheesecake.”

The level-headed of the two chokes on his drink.

“..Cheese– Cheesecake?”

Han affirmatively nods. “And I love Cheesecake.”

Changbin rises from the table with a frantic Jisung in tow, pleading for his friend to hear him out.

“Look! Look wait, Changbin please-“

He swore the man’s eye twitched.

Although, they’ve known each other for four years, and he was quick thinking up a solution.

“I’ll work out with you for a month.”

He’s never seen a man sit himself down faster.

And as a result, their two hours of utterly senseless talk turned into short-lived (yet greatly appreciated) relief, filled with bits and pieces of advice granted by the matchmaker (Seo Changbin) himself. Plus, he made a good point in advocating you weren’t going out with Minho yet, right? Meaning, despite the possibility being sparse, he had a 1% on his side.

Rain pelted the campus upon his exit, the boy clambering his hood over his head, stepping a mere foot into the watery terrain for a text to vibrate his phone.

Usually he’d ignore it, but that was before he saw the number.

You.

Han stopped dead in his tracks, hoodie slipping off his head in the process—standing there, assailing droplets drenching his form, device clutched in a numb grasp.

Guess the relief wasn’t the only thing short-lived.

Y/N : You’ll never guess what happened Ji!! Minho asked me out!

Something about Jisung is different recently. You’re not sure if it’s an effect of your (fake) relationship, but he’s just.. different.

Distant.

Perhaps you should’ve expected it. This is the first time you’ve ever been in a relationship while being friends with Jisung, and the entire point of this after all is to keep your mushy feelings hidden.

But his entire “cold” persona was starting to get under your skin.

Yesterday he’d completely ditched you to talk to Chan, a fellow producer in the same class as Jisung which, might you add, never happened.

In fact, there was a time that your best friend had gotten so immersed in a conversation he slammed right into a pole. He still has a scar on his nose from it.

More so, a few months ago, leaning against the sink in his dorm the day after midterms when you’d be stressing and obsessing over precalculus, he reached up, cupped your cheek in a hand and rubbed his thumb along your skin.

..And you tumbled head first into those silly feelings the “he’s just a friend” Y/n had locked away and thrown out the key to.

Little did you know Jisung had a spare key all along.

“Eyelash,” He had said, but in your pounding eardrums the comment sounded more like a whisper, an invitation.

That night you lay in bed, trying incessantly to fall asleep to no avail, because every time you close your eyes the scene ran on replay, except in your fairytale he had leaned forward and kissed you—

A car alarm going off outside your window knocks your daydream awry, ushering you to give up on peaceful slumber after the three-hour trial period.

So why were you upset? You wanted this; you wanted to stay as friends out of the fear he didn’t feel the same—even more so that your friendship would dissipate along with it.

Easy.

It didn’t feel fair. You felt like, even though Jisung didn’t have any romantic intentions with you, you were technically (unintentionally) assigning his position as the third wheel without so much as a single vote.

And it didn’t feel fair, because a possibility remained.

A possibility that could mean Jisung liked you, and if that were the case, your efforts, not to mention your mind, would officially drift itself into a never ending orbit.

Albeit amongst your mental warfare, school ran right on schedule, blind to the infinitely deep shithole you had dug (and wished to bury) yourself in.

Thursday’s schedule consisted of a main topic.

Senior prom.

According to your firsthand accounts, prom in high school is either the best or the worst school event in the history of events.

The popular girls stick to tiny maxi dresses with overly tall heels and massive hoop earrings—granted, you don’t blame them for the dress, they’ve got snatched bodies, but sometimes (most of the time) the glitz and glam is a lot on the eyes.

Jocks will show up in cargo’s or dress pants thinking they’re the shit while their attire doesn’t even cut it when you look at their weekly exchange of a girlfriend, but hey, that’s high school.

If you were talking about yourself, you’d say prom was, well, prom. Not horrible, not amazing either.

Freshman year you spent way too much time rewatching “To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before” and filling your nights treating the approaching occasion like a sacred holiday. Sophomore year you began to lose interest, and as for Junior year, you nearly forgot it existed.

The more you thought about it though, Jisung would honestly rock a pair of heels.

Anyway, that’s besides the point.

Senior year, this year, there was a change in your rotation. Change, as in, big change. A what-about-Jisung-while-Minho’s-in-the-picture change.

It’s not like you were genuinely dating Minho, yet your wack job of a situation kept you from telling your best friend (crush) who is deliberately avoiding you at the moment, the truth.

Never in your life did you think you’d string yourself into something like this. That Han Jisung, that snotty-nosed boy, would be a constant reason for your incessant headaches, occupying every expanse of your mind on a continuous loop.

And by chance, fate of some kind, you finally run into the runaway culprit, tagging along with Changbin after the lunch break he normally spent with you.

Oh how the tables have turned.

So when the boy expertly dodges your first attempt to communicate, you don’t let him go, unwilling to let another unread message slip past without sparing a word.

“Jisung- wait.”

He turns to you, lips drawn in that straight line that always forms when he’s nervous.

Hundreds of possible questions you could ask in this moment, minimal time.

“Are you.. going to the prom?”

What kind of question is that you dumbass.

Fixating you with an equally incredulous stare, he tips his head slightly, a mocking, humorless chuckle following.

“Um, yeah?”

What. The. Fuck.

Maybe it’s the way he phrased his words, his cocky attitude when responding that irked your nerves. Regarding you like you’re three years old.

And maybe that’s your flaw, feeling like you’re supposed to be the one sending him beet red instead, used to that comforting casualness, your comforting casualness.

Together.

You wrinkle your nose, ripping your hand from his sleeve like you were stung.

Jisung seemed to feel it too, although only you could tell.

“Oh.. okay. I’m going with Minho, my- boyfriend, so don't worry about me!”

Aw shit, now you’re just embarrassing yourself. Shut up and leave, girl.

Jesus, why do you feel like crying?

You’d never sprinted off faster, long abandoning sympathizing with the now jerk-face Jisung and certainly trying to abandon the two days separating prom’s date and the three from Valentines, otherwise, your explanation deadline.

Talk about pressure.

Nonetheless, shopping for something couple-clique was hell. After never anticipating you’d be shopping for two in the first place, simply finding a flattering color proved itself challenging.

Minho was ungodly picky, and you refused to wear what this lunatic deemed prom-worthy. Also, simultaneously trying your hardest to welcome whatever prom season was (an occasion that felt disgustingly uncomfortable) and staying awake to tirelessly plan on how you would behave seeing Han there left no room for relaxing.

Oh, and telling him everything before Valentines too, adding another sleepless night to your February calendar.

Insomnia much?

“Yah! The tie is what makes us look like a couple!” You groan, pressing the dark green bow tie to his shirt while his grabby hands attempt at prying you off.

February 12th arrived dangerously fast, to the point you managed to snag a somewhat-similar tie and dress shade at the last minute, a tie of which you were straining to attach to Minho while standing in an adjacent room to the packed auditorium.

He childishly whines, complaining that it’s too much before all of a sudden the door springs open, figure standing frozen in the entrance.

A figure none other than Jisung.

Best part? Your hands are pressed to Minho’s chest, stuck in a rather compromising position now that you mention it.

“Oh— sorry, um,” He steps back, frantically closing the door in his wake.

This is what you wanted though, isn’t it? Payback for how rude he’d been, for him to believe you were dating Minho, that you weren’t remotely interested in him.

Regardless, it feels like betrayal.

Your companion’s mildly concerned look speaks your mind.

In the midst of your mental tormenting session however, Minho slammed his hip into the side of the door while leaving, gritting out a hushed curse.

“Want me to kiss it for you?” You automatically tease, puckering up your lips in an attempt to block out the voice in your head calling you heartless.

Well, it’s not like Jisung likes you. The only feelings you’re hurting here are yours.

“I. Would. Rather. Die.” He retaliates, nose scrunched while nursing the wound.

‘What a sweetheart’ you want to call back, but the weight on your chest seals your lips shut, and with a nervous nod you stiffly head toward the opening hall.

Something to blame. Right about now, you need something to blame that would at least provide some breathing room considering the blasting of a bass shaking the floor and just how many people are crammed in here.

Everything feels too tight, too much. Minho’s got a loose hold on your hand to keep up the act, but for who? You can’t spot Jisung anywhere.

The fake boyfriend to your side caught on relatively early, sending you a troubled expression you mirror back.

An hour in and there was no enjoying yourself, no laughing and slipping drinks somebody stole from their parents, no dancing around or sending the same compliment to seventy girls on repeat.

Han wasn’t here even after he had told you (asshole-like) he’d come. The entire reason you went these lengths.

Amidst your frustration, you spot a man in the crowd.

Aha.

Chan.

I’m not looking for Jisung I’m not looking for Jisung I’m not looking for Jisung—

“Where’s Jisung?”

You’re kidding.

Chan narrows his eyes, giving your wavering, obviously upset frame a once over.

“Jisung? He dropped off something for Felix. Didn’t he tell you he wasn’t coming?”

Again, you’re kidding.

What a liar.

And maybe you shouldn't have yourself get so mad. Jisung didn’t even know the half of it, nonetheless how far you’ve gone to secure his suspicions were out of your hair.

But you did go that far, and to think he didn’t show up after all left your tribulations useless.

Calm down, the sensible Y/n would scold.

This wasn’t the sensible Y/n.

Racing from the auditorium to the neighboring apartment complex a block or so away, you utilize the extra key he’d given to you, bursting through the door while ripping off your gloves and kicking off your mud-stained heels along the way.

Han spins around, clad in regular clothes—somewhat regular clothes apart from how incredible he looks—with his biceps straining against the sleeves of his t-shirt, glasses adorning his face, plate of leftovers in hand.

He’s been working out recently, or maybe the majority of the Jisung you’d seen wore hoodies and baggy tees.

You’ll thank whoever got him to the gym later. Presently, number one is Jisung. You and Minho can be dealt with afterward.

“Look, I know you really don’t want to hear this right now, but Minho and I broke up and—“

The words sound like vomit on your tongue, especially from the look Jisung gives you in return.

Fake, It’s all fake. Yet, it feels so real. Yes, you’re still mad, but it’s Jisung, and who are you to deny you still aren’t into him.

You don’t have to be sensible to know that.

“So?”

So? He asks. This Jisung asks, not the one who would’ve, at the drop of a hat, asked if you were alright, asked if you needed anything like a friend does. This is cocky Jisung, jerk-face Jisung.

You’re spoiled with the old Jisung, were spoiled.

But this isn’t him, this is somebody else.

Your frustration levels might breach out of your ears at this rate.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He scoffs, carding a hand through soft strands of hair. “I’m not Minho. I’m not someone you can drag along just for the fun of it, alright?”

Who are you?

Wildly, you wrack your brain for any plausible explanation.

“What- What do you mean drag you along? I would never—”

“Then why?!” He cries, slamming the plate against the table hard enough you notice a crack wedged on the side.

Breaking point.

Come to think of it, this is the first time you’ve ever heard Jisung yell.

What felt to be months and months on end of this lying and stifling came out to this, huh.

Screw it.

“Because! Because I like you, no, I love you Jisung, I love you so fucking much it kills me! Minho and I were fake! I set up all this bullshit just because I was scared of what we have disappearing, can’t you understand that?!”

He’s seething; fat, crocodile tears dotting his waterline. And you stand there pathetically, waiting to hear it, hear something.

“Turn around.”

Huh?

He raises his eyebrows expectantly, and you slowly do as told, awkwardly shuffling around till your back faces him.

His fingers sift across your back, chills spreading along your skin.

“You’ve been uncomfortable all night, haven’t you? Why didn’t you tell Min— Tell me?” He grumbles, unzipping the back of your dress and simultaneously allowing much needed air to re-enter your lungs.

You don’t need to respond for him to know, another of the many things you’ve fallen for when it comes to Jisung.

Although, another reason added to that list would be his arms wrapping around your waist, cozying to your back. And another when you shift around, your own arms slipping to his neck, savoring a hug you hadn’t realized how horribly you missed.

“Can you go back to being just Y/n and not Minho’s fake girlfriend?” He mutters, head buried in your neck.

“Yeah yeah.” You respond, voice wavering the longer you stay pressed in his embrace.

Jisung pulls back slightly, studying your face.

“Can I…” He begins trailing off, eyes suddenly laser-focused on your face.

A roaring pit of deja vu swallows you whole.

His thumb does that, that thing again. That careful caress on your cheek, that close proximity.

“Eyelash.”

Everything feels like it’s on loop.

Only difference is when he begins to lean forward, and you swear it’s your imagination when he pulls the glasses off his face, lips barely ghosting over yours.

“Can I kiss you, please?” His tone slightly breathless, you don’t have to say a word by the way you’re looking at him for Jisung to take initiative.

Yet, his feather-light peck to your forehead catches you off guard, preparing to laugh before a careful hand slips to hold your neck, maneuvering your face into a kiss you’re certain you’ll remember.

Jisung, whom, quite frankly, squealed every time the two main characters confessed their love to each other, who was emotional and fragile, was kissing you.

He kisses you, just like that stupid fantasy.

It’s messy, inexperienced, but it’s Jisung. That’s enough.

And then, even worse for your sanity, his hands slip beneath your thighs to pick you up—an action that wouldn’t have been this detrimental if he hadn’t gained so much muscle recently—but it does.

Basically breathing him in, you’re slow to separate, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, sending chills down your spine.

Your nerves are on fire.

If anything, the world could burn and you’re certain you wouldn’t even notice, not when Jisung had you caged between his arms on the bar stool, positively enamored with every slight huff and gasp of air, the squeezing grip you had on his arms.

Ignorant to the point you forgot about his gym-partner (likely responsible for helping Jisung grow muscle, you’d thank him later for that) otherwise roommate who wouldn’t appreciate his best friend hogging in the kitchen.

Luckily, it only took the clattering of keys lodging into the doorknob to pull you two off of each other, scrambling to grab clothing while you raced to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

Mere seconds after your hasty escape does the man, the myth, and the legend walk in, duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

Jisung awkwardly grins, leaning back on the island as if you hadn’t just been sitting there, all pretty and perfect.

Han had always thought Changbin would be some type of dog in his past life—maybe a Rottweiler. And by the way he seemed to practically smell something was up, he was certain of it.

“Did I.. walk in on something?”

Nearly slipping half-way through his reply, Jisung (non)chalantly wiped a bout of sweat from his hairline.

“Nope! Just uh.. organizing?”

He would get weeks of shit if anyone caught on, nonetheless his roommate.

Instead of interrogating him further, Changbin grunted, bending down to pick up what the younger thought to be a piece of trash, only for one of your heels to be pinched between his fingertips, expression reading: “Seriously? Organizing?”

Color draining from his face, Jisung humorlessly chuckled, likely sweating enough to fill the Atlantic ocean.

“Did I ever tell you about my secret life as a drag queen?”

Hastily snatching the shoe away at the older boy’s face palm, his face flushing ten thousand degrees upon the cuff to the shoulder he received.

“Y/n?” His friend called loudly, met with your pitiful “here…” from the bathroom and a smug giggle from an amused gym-rat.

Yeah. Shit for weeks.

“Do you think Minho’s a good kisser?” Jisung piques, sprawled out on the couch with a bag of potato chips in hand.

The first official night of your relationship with Han started in mid-February. Tonight, you planned a movie date.

You, almost suffocating from how fast you inhaled, threw a not-so-kind slipper at him, the boy screaming avidly in response.

Through a fake relationship, pettiness, and a sad attempt at making-out, in a sense, you did explain yourself.

Hah. Suck it Minho.

“Hey! I’m just asking!”

FIC TAGLIST. @liknws @itshannjisung @spearbinnie0327 @manuosorioh @dearly-somber @thefangirloncrack @ivydoesit23 @thisrandomgoofy15 @thisisnotjacinta @palindrome969 @shycreationdreamland @j-oneseungz @hyperpixie @eyearebee @cupidcures @gumiess @loxgirl2004

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morewittepain · 3 months

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some thoughts i had while thinking about college and inevitably connecting it back to my fixations as i always do:

random tbosas college au hcs!!

lucy gray would beg whichever poor soul got forced to be her roommate to push their mattresses together to make a mega bed, but she gets so cozy the first night that she sleeps through all seven of her alarms and misses like three classes.

livia, arachne, and clemensia are all insufferable sorority girls. except arachne and clemensia are super serious about it and livia is only in it for the booze and the lols. she made one joke day 1 of freshman year about being a sorority girl and ended up committing to the bit a little too hard, and now she's too far in to back out.

there's one bar off campus that all the daddy's money students (the academy mentors) started going to to escape from the weird liberal arts kids (the tributes) until one day lucy gray ends up scoring a job playing at said bar and now everyone is significantly bummed out when anyone mentions the place.

riding off of that, we all know that lucy gray is a theatre kid, but she's the most insufferable brand. she runs through the halls singing show tunes, she tries to start flash mobs in the dining hall, and if you mention it once she will not shut up about the theatre club's latest improv show. they did wicked once and she showed up to classes in full green makeup every day throughout the entirety of tech week.

not only is she the theatre kid, she's just the weird kid in general. she shows up to every 8 am class in the most insanely tacky diy outfits. more often than not, she repurposes whatever costume pieces the theatre department was throwing out. it's all craft store gemstones, hot glue, and a metric ton of puffy paint. she's also constantly conjuring flowers out of thin air it seems and passing them out as flower crowns to whoever is within a ten mile radius. mid final she just slowly passes you a whole heap of daisies weaved together and you're left like "??????"

she sets her eyes on someone and either becomes their best friend or worst nightmare.

coryo walking through the front door covered in glitter with a **very** homemade rainbow scarf forcefully tied around his neck and a flower behind his ear: TIGRIS THE WEIRD KID GOT ME ON THE WALK HOME AGAIN AND I COULDN'T OUTRUN HER

sejanus and coryo would dorm together for a total of two months before coryo decides that if he doesn't move off campus he will literally kill himself so he ends up back with tigris and commutes. he's a coward (sejanus snores).

oh god wait no is he a frat boy? i hate that image in my head. GET IT OUT!!

mizzen is significantly younger than everyone else, like 14 or something, and hangs out on campus with coral (bc in my head they're cousins or smthn) and it is quite literally the "uhhhh want a beer?" "HE'S FOUR!!" meme. nobody knows what to do with him. he's just sitting there with an ipad and a yoohoo living his best life until coral makes him do his homework.

coryo fails a situationship twice a week and everyone clowns on him constantly for never being able to get out of the talking stage. one day he's showing up to lucy gray's shows and the next he's ducking behind cars in the parking lot so she doesn't see him. one day he's making out with livia at a party and the next he's crying on the floor while clemensia pats him on the back because nobody loves him. one day he's genuinely hooking up with sejanus and the next he's pretending he was drunk so he can act like he doesn't remember. boo you whore!!! men will do anything BUT therapy.

sejanus is that one kid whose mom is always on campus for some reason and just chilling in their dorm. they're knitting sweaters and watching friends, leave them alone!!

clemensia would be the ra that everyone hates because she would absolutely snitch on your ass to look good, meanwhile lamina is the ra that everyone loves because she's just in it for the free room and is too tired to hunt anyone down for breaking the rules. work smarter, not harder.

reaper is also a weird kid, but in the mysterious artist who just glares at people from across the dining hall and sketches angrily kinda way. he and lucy gray are besties because i said so. he's teaching her how to paint in exchange for guitar lessons, except she can only finger paint and he's left handed and can hardly play her guitar comfortably.

treech and lamina were that one couple that picked the same college during their honeymoon phase in high school and travelled together except it absolutely ruined their relationship and now they hate each other. if you're a girl's girl, though, you take lamina's side because she does no wrong (totally not because she lets you sneak pot into the dorm as long as she "can't see it" so she doesn't have to do a whole night's worth of paperwork).

coral and lucy gray have been dating for half of a semester but pretend to hate each other when they're in public simply for the bit. they're faking petty cat fights, they're glaring at each other in the hallways, but really they're smoochin behind the scenes. they just think they're funny.

it's 5 am and i need to SLEEP but please drop any other headcanons you have about this batshit au because I would love to see them. i'm sure this will make no sense when i reread it in the morning, but trust that i will revisit this subject because them just being normal teenagers is always so funny to me.

#the hunger games #thg #tbosas #tbosas headcanon #thg headcanons #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #sejanus plinth #arachne crane #clemensia dovecote #livia cardew #reaper ash #coral tbosas #mizzen tbosas #lamina tbosas #treech tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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sleepy-gee · 3 months

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crave - avox!coryo x rich!reader┊ao3 ┊masterlist

instead of being sent off as a peacekeeper as punishment for cheating, coriolanus got his tongue lopped off and was sold as an avox. your family bought him, not knowing your history, and you can't help but feel bad for him.

a/n: hhh i love this au might make a longer fic out of it,,,

word count: 1.2k

trigger warnings: little bit of angst

No one had heard a word from the boy since his tribute won the Hunger Games- He vanished just as she did. Did something happen? He wasn't there at graduation, nor was he there for the after-party. The party made sense, but the big graduation ceremony, where the announcement of who got the Plinth Prize took place? That was unheard of. To everyone's surprise, the prize money was distributed evenly between the top remaining students. How nice?

You and Coriolanus had a certain.. History. You could be seen as rivals, but there was a lot of underlying tension that said otherwise- And a certain drunken incident behind a club a year back. That was in the past, though. Neither of you mentioned it, no badly how much you wanted to.

Still, your mind couldn't help but wonder. He wouldn't miss something as big as this unless something happened..

It still felt off to you, but you brushed it off and decided to call it an early evening, already feeling tipsy from the posca you had consumed earlier. Your mansion was surprisingly bustling when you arrived home, Avox’s raising up and down the stairs. That was odd. Normally, it was only ever this busy when you had company, and you weren't aware of anyone coming over. Surprise change of plans?

“Mother?” You called out, slipping off your coat and hanging it up.

“Ah! There you are, darling.” Your mother entered the foyer, wearing her iconic bright smile. “Sorry about all of the.. Commotion.” She gestures to the tongueless servants running up and down the stairs with a hint of disgust. “We're getting your graduation present in order.”

“Aw.. Mom, you didn't have to do that.” You smile, and she pulls you into a hug.

“Nonsense, darling.” She pats your shoulder as she pulls away. “You've done so well, worked so hard.. It's the least we can do. You just go rest now. We'll take care of everything.” She kissed your cheek before dismissing you.

You wove your way between a few servants before finding yourself in your room, and you drift off to sleep nearly the second your head hit the pillow.

***

A few days later, your gift was ready. After a lush breakfast, your mother took your hand and led you to the servants quarters- Where the maids and Avox’s resided.

“Mother? What are we doing down here?”

“You'll see.” She said in a sing-song voice, leading you down an unfamiliar hallway. The chemical-y smell in the air gave away that it must be new. She paused in front of the door and turned towards you again.

“You're starting to truly become your own person, and that's a lot to handle on your own. Yes, you have help around the house, but… You need something a bit more personal. Someone who caters to your needs and your needs only, so..” She trailed off, grabbing the door knob and pushing the door open.

“Surprise!”

Oh, what a surprise indeed.

A boy sat hunched in the corner, shackled to the wall by his ankles with his knees pulled up to his chest. The light from a window on the wall opposite of him highlighted his blond curls and sharp features. Was he more than skin and bone at this point?

You took a step closer, only to find yourself face to face with him.

Coriolanus Snow.

“.. Oh my God.”

Your breakfast threatened to reappear.

Coriolanus’ head snapped up, and you got a better look at him. Sunken eyes, hollow cheekbones, chapped lips.. What had they done to the poor boy?

You were never a big fan of him to begin with, but.. This was just wrong. You took a hesitant step forward, and the boy flinched, cowering like a wounded animal.

“I'll leave you two to talk.” Your mother said a bit too cheerfully before leaving. How was everyone so okay with this?!

You kneeled in front of Coriolanus, watching the way his jaw tensed. “.. What the hell did they do to you?”

His chapped lips parted for a moment, like he was about to say something, but they quickly closed again. Oh, right, he can't say anything. The boy would live the rest of his life in silence.

You swallowed down the bile rising in your throat, turning your attention to the shackles around his ankles. The cuffs were far too tight and restrictive, leaving bright blue and purple splotches against his pale skin. There were a few marks around his wrists, implying further restriction, but they must've been removed earlier.

"Those look bad.” You muttered, reaching out to touch one of the bruises without even thinking about it. Coriolanus yanked his arm away from you, eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Sorry..”

You backed a step up before looking around in search of something to free hum. Nothing. Damn it. Your gaze traveled back to the blond. “.. I bet you're hungry, huh?”

He nodded after a moment, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed awkwardly. Was it always that prominent? “How does some broth sound?”

A flash of life returned to his eyes for a second, extinguished by the reality of the situation. It nearly made your heart flutter.

You smiled softly. “Yeah? Alright.. Just give me a moment..”

***

You returned around 10-15 minutes later with your very own ‘Avox-Care-Kit’, complete with water, broth, a blanket, and general first aid. You still couldn't find the damn keys to his shackles.

Coriolanus almost looked relieved when you stepped back into the room, looking up at you like a puppy begging for food. How adorable.. Almost. It's a sick thought, but when he couldn't speak, he was almost bearable.

You draped the knitted blanket around his shoulders before setting the bowl of broth and water down in front of him. “I don't know how you are with solids yet.. We'll start small.”

Coriolanus mouthed a small ‘thank you’ before picking up the bowl with shaky hands and taking a sip. You watched as he swallowed, his face shifting into an expression of discomfort. He'd have to relearn how to eat.

The discomfort seemed to be somewhat tolerable as he downed the entire thing fairly quickly. The boy had never been that buff to begin with, but you'd certainly remember if he was this thin.

“.. So, uhm.. Can I ask you something? Or at least try?” Coriolanus nodded, looking puzzled. “Uhm.. Okay, how about..” You pulled out a sketchpad and pencil from your care-kit. Good idea, right? Until you found another way. You handed it to him.

“Okay.. What the hell did you do to end up as an Avox?” He cringed at the question, picking up the pencil and staring down at it in disdain before writing a sloppy answer and passing it back to you-

“Cheated. Don't ask.”

“Cheated..” You clicked your tongue. “Ah. Guess Highbottom wasn't kidding when he said cheaters wouldn't have a future, huh?” You joked. Coriolanus shot you a glare. Clearly, he didn't appreciate that. “.. Sorry.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before standing back up. “I should probably go, uhm.. I have homework, and you need to rest.”

Coriolanus’ eyes widened a little, his brows creased with displeasure. He looked upset to see you go. In what world did Coriolanus Snow want you to stay by his side? The boy despised you.

Then again, this wasn't the same boy from the Academy. That playfully sinister glint in his eye was gone. This.. Was Coriolanus in his most vulnerable state. One where he couldn't say no. One where he had to listen. The tables had turned, for once.

Maybe you'd have to take advantage of that in the future.

#ao3 #fanfiction #the hunger games #thg #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #au #avox au #my fic

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bit-dodgy-innit · 1 year

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Heaven Sent You to Me

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CW: umm we all know Greek Mythology is like screwed up right? So there’s mean patriarchal men in this, a bit of power play between Apollo and reader, innocence!kink, oral (f!receiving), PinV sex, loss of virginity, talk of pregnancy

A/N: YES I AM AWARE THAT I SHOULD BE WRITING THE MORE THE MERRIER OR ANSWERING THE OTHER 87 ASKS IN MY INBOX BUT MY MUSE IS FICKLE OKAY? She said “Oscar as Apollo or no words at all” so here we are 🤷‍♀️ I watched The Two Faces of January last week and kept thinking that Oscar looks like a Greek god and @lovely-cryptid ‘s greek mythology AU lives rent free in my head and I couldn’t help myself…

Also the title is a lyric from an Ariana Grande because I have fully reverted ten years writing a Greek Mythology AU for my fandom du jour with a song lyric title bc I'm ~artsy~

You should have known he was a god. The way his fingers seemed to fly over the strings of his lyre. That enchanting, mellifluous voice. The smile that shone brighter than the sun itself. You’d encountered him in the woods behind the temple consecrated to him for Zeus’s sake.

Though who could blame you for assuming he was a mortal man? What would a god, an Olympian, want with you – an unimportant peasant in a small, unimportant village? He’d appeared to you as a mortal, a beautiful, alluring one, but a mortal. In fact, he’d been rather short in stature. Apollo’s affairs and exploits were famous, nay infamous, and even now it seemed impossible to reconcile the man who had spoken to you with such sweetness, who had wrung ebullient laughter, as well as previously unimaginable pleasure, from you was the mighty god you and your family had worshiped since time immemorial.

The revelation that you had lain with the god of light, music, medicine, the averter of evil, had been one that raced your head endlessly over the past few days, but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine. You instantly conjured the broad, chiseled planes of his body, so starkly contrasted with the gentle way he’d made love to you. When you revealed that you were a virgin, he was tender with you. Fragments of memories flashed in your mind’s eye but the one that oddly lingered the longest, and the most vividly, was the sweep of his thick, dark lashes across his high cheekbone when his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as he met his release. He had been the portrait of pleasure and beauty. You were truly a naive fool for not realizing the divinity in front of you in that moment.

“We must pray that you conceive,” your mother had declared. “You have already secured our family great status, but a demigod? Dmitri, can you imagine?”

Despite her praise, your cheeks burned in shame when she turned to your father for his reaction. You detested how openly and calculated this very intimate, typically private event in your life was being discussed. No one was supposed to know. Yet your sister had found the blood stains on your chiton while laundering it, and she’d coaxed the details out of you.

“Did it hurt?” she whispered.

“No.”

Her brows furrowed, “But you bled. It always hurts. It hurt my first time.”

“I…I don’t know. It didn’t. There was a–,” you blushed bright red and lowered your voice even further, “–a stretch, but it was pleasurable. I didn’t notice the blood until you did.”

Your sister was not willing to let it go. A trait among the women in your family that you’d failed to inherit.

“Well, how large was he?”

“Caris,” you urged her to stop. Yet, you knew your plea was useless, so you quickly approximated your lover’s size with your hands.

“Oh that definitely should have hurt!” Caris squawked in disbelief.

“I’m not talking about this anymore!” you proclaimed.

And that really should have been the end of it. Yet when you, Caris, and your parents made your weekly tribute at Apollo’s temple the following day the priests and acolytes were all abuzz. The god had appeared yesterday.

Initially, you had been as exhilarated as the rest of them, yet your stomach dropped and face blanched as the priest who had seen Apollo described him. Inky curls, olive skin, dark eyes with a strong brow and prominent nose. The god possessed an undoubtedly commanding presence, but there was a playfulness, an exuberance to him.

You and Caris traded bewildered glances. The priest’s depiction of Apollo matched up rather perfectly with Phoebus, the young man you’d stumbled across when you’d decided to take a walk through the forest rather than immediately returning home after your visit to the temple.

“It’s him,” she asserted lowly as you all headed back home.

“Shhhh,” you tried to speed up and away from her, a stupid idea because Caris had longer legs than you. When she inevitably caught up with you two seconds later, you insisted, “Don’t be silly.”

“Apollo is the god of healing and diseases. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that he could minimize any pain for his lovers? Especially the virgins?”

“Caris! Enough!”

The vehemence of your demand had caught your mother’s attention. While in the moment you were able to extinguish any suspicions she had, eventually Caris’s big mouth betrayed you. You had expected her to rage. To punish you. You, an unmarried, unbetrothed woman, had engaged in an activity that was the most important gift in your dowry to your future husband. You readied yourself for the insults and reproaches your mother would hurl at you for becoming damaged goods as a marriage prospect.

Yet, she all but kissed your feet when she found out. She rejoiced, then immediately marched you back to the temple to meet with the clerics. That was when the humiliation began. You were examined to ensure that you had in fact been deflowered. As if that hadn’t been degrading enough, you then were stripped and prayed over for hours, leering men begging Apollo for a sign to confirm that you were indeed the one the god had chosen to ravish. The manner in which the priests brusquely groped and prodded at you couldn’t have been more different than the way the deity himself had treated you, the god they claimed to serve.

When a sign didn’t immediately appear, doubt had set in. A mortal woman winning the attention of their patron god was the most momentous thing to happen in your village in generations, so if you were lying? Eternal shame. For you and your family.

You were kept overnight in the temple in a nicely appointed room, but forbidden to see anyone. You cried yourself to sleep, yet much to your relief, at dawn, Apollo provided the confirmation the priests needed and you were allowed to go. Of course, by the time you returned home, everyone knew.

After having a bit of time to contemplate it, you realized that it wasn't so much the fact that every single person in your life began treating you differently that unmoored and overwhelmed you, it was how swiftly it had all happened. It hadn’t been your choice.

You were required at the temple daily now for rituals. Thankfully, the fact you’d lain with a god disqualified you from becoming an acolyte, you were still needed for “veneration” purposes. You soon deduced this meant that the priests simply wanted to keep you around to curry favor with Apollo.

You hated it. You were the only one present in the chamber currently who had ever meaningfully interacted with the deity, yet you were reduced to a glorified altar ornament for their rites.

The only way to weather these hours-long sessions was to recall what brought you here in the first place. You retreated into your memory of that fateful afternoon when you met Apollo.

It’d been a beautiful day, and you were more at ease in nature. The hustle and bustle of the village and the imposing columns of the temple felt suffocating to you.

You’d heard him first before you saw him. The most beautiful music wafted toward you. You couldn’t have turned away if you’d wanted to. It was as if the mixture of the melody he played and the tune he sang had entranced your feet to carry you to the source of the sound. You hadn’t heard the song before, but inexplicably, it had an odd air of familiarity within your ears.

The sight of him initially seemed to be a joke. He had to be a mirage of some sort. A song so gorgeous coming from a man who was even more dazzling? Had you tripped and hit your head on your stroll from the temple? Surely you were dreaming.

His song ceased when he sensed your presence.

“I’m sorry,” your apology tumbled from your lips at once. “Please don’t stop on my account, I didn’t mean to–I’ll leave. I apologize for intruding.”

Before you could tuck and run, he called to you.

“Don’t! There’s no need.”

You froze, and slowly pivoted back to face him. He’d gotten closer to you, which was terrible for your clarity of mind. In addition to his good looks, he radiated an irresistible air of power, and his proximity only compelled you to submit to it more.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the man before you turned boyish and shy before he queried, “Would you like to hear more?”

“Please.”

It was the first time you were treated to his smile. It reduced you to a blushing fool with a startling amount of efficiency.

He motioned to a nearby boulder for you to take a seat on. You obeyed instantly. He took his place on a nearby log and resumed plucking at his lyre.

His song was haunting, beguiling, and hopeful all at once. His voice lilted over the lyre’s strings. He sang in a language you didn’t understand, and couldn’t begin to identify, but you were captivated all the same.

You were slightly embarrassed, though not at all surprised, that there were tears staining your cheeks when he concluded.

He grinned dopily when he saw you dabbing at your eyes, “That bad, huh?’

“Stop,” You chuckled through your tears. “You have a gift.”

He shrugged off your compliment with a frustrating amount of nonchalance.

You needed to know more about this mysterious man. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m merely passing through.”

“Are you a minstrel then?”

He smirked as if you’d said something inadvertently humorous to him. “I suppose you could call me that.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“Phoebus.”

“Have you traveled much, Phoebus?” you inquired.

“I have.”

“Could you tell me about the places you’ve been? I’ve never left this utterly boring village.”

“I will, if you tell me what keeps you here. Is it your village’s association with the deity?”

You cocked your head in confusion. It was an odd question to you. You strove to answer diplomatically, “While I wouldn’t say that Apollo is driving me away, I wouldn't say he’s keeping me here either.”

Again, that secretive little smirk tugged at the corners of Phoebus’s quite luscious mouth. “I see. He’s vastly overrated isn’t he?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go so far to say that!” you attempt to course-correct. “We’re blessed with his patronage.”

A mischievous glint danced behind Phoebus’s dark, magnetic eyes. “Say no more. Now, where do you want to hear about first?”

He proceeded to regale you with tales of the most wondrous places. Of seas and mountains and monsters and the divine. You got lost within his stories. You wished you could live within them.

It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to accompany him on a stroll when he suggested it. Typically warnings would blare in your head - you must not stray any further with this handsome stranger, he could sully you, or worse, harm you, but you felt entirely safe with Phoebus. At the time, it had been impossible to put your finger on why you’d felt so. Now, it was abundantly clear: you’d been in the presence of one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. Still, he chatted and wandered with you in a remarkably similar manner to mortal men your age.

When you two came across a river and Phoebus proposed a swim, your cheeks had burned with sheepishness. He hadn’t mocked or derided you, he simply offered to turn away while you undressed and submerged yourself into the water to afford you some modesty. However, Phoebus hadn’t been quite as bashful as you had been when disrobing. In fact, the flourish with which he all but flung off his chiton led you to believe he wanted you to watch him, rather than avert your eyes like you immediately did once you realized what he was doing. You hadn’t been quick enough however, and had caught a delectable glimpse of his toned chest, thick thighs, and what you deduced was a well-endowed groin.

You only dared look back up when you heard the splash signaling his entrance into the river. He resurfaced with his black curls matted and slicked back against his skull, an impish grin on his lips. He reached for you and you floated to him without hesitation. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, even though you two were the only people around for at least a mile.

“You may,” you granted him permission in a similarly hushed tone.

Your lips drifted together, and then it was as if you had become a feral animal let out of its cage. You couldn’t get enough. Your lips moved against his ravenously, your legs wrapping around his torso on instinct when he moved toward the river’s bank. While the press of his arousal against your hip was certainly a foreign sensation, you weren’t afraid. He deposited you on the warm silt for a moment before retrieving your tunic and laying it under you, a makeshift bed for what was about to come.

It was then that you confessed. You didn’t know what to expect once the words left your mouth - judgment, indifference, a perverse excitement - but Phoebus smiled softly, and nodded his head, as if he’d expected it.

“Then I shall show you how beautiful pleasure can be,” he vowed.

He took his time, dipping his head between your breasts to mouth at your pert nipples, then lower to between your legs. When the tip of his nose drew a featherlight line along the seam of your sex, you gasped. You may have been a virgin, but you weren't totally naive. Caris had been betrothed recently and regaled you constantly about her rendezvous with her soon-to-be husband, but she had never mentioned this. It was as if Phoebus was sending you flying through the clouds, straight to Olympus, with only his tongue. Your fingers had wound into his damp curls to hold on for dear life as you fell apart for him.

It wasn’t until your pleasure crested that he slid a thick, suspiciously uncalloused finger through your folds and pressed it inside. He cooed comforts to you when you tightened around him, your body’s first reaction to try and expel the intrusion. One digit became two, and after a while, he guided your hand to manhood, showing you how to grip him, coaxing and coaching you on how to bring him back to hardness.

Caris had always advised you to shut your eyes and not to look at a man’s member for too long, since it wasn’t the most pleasant of sights. She was wrong in this instance. Every bit of Phoebus was mesmerizing, and his erect cock was no different from the rest of him. His encouragements echoed in your ears as if he was speaking them to you in the present.

“Yes, that’s it sunshine,” he’d panted, “You can grip me tighter, oh, that is lovely. You are a fast learner, aren’t you? I’m going to make you feel so very good.”

Becoming one had been the most intense sensation you had ever endured. It was all too much, yet you wanted more. You keened when Phoebus had draped your legs over his broad shoulders to penetrate you deeper, your skin suddenly feeling too tight. It was too much, it was too much, you’d chanted to yourself. Phoebus’s girth was unrelenting, but at the same time you never wanted it to end.

Your lover was an attuned one, so when he observed that the position was perhaps too vigorous for his little virgin, he’d rolled you over so you were straddling his ample hips and speared on his desire.

“Here, grasp onto my shoulders,” he instructed you, “so you can control the depth and the pace, yes?”

Phoebus had long fucked the words out of you, so your reply came as a breathless, frantic nod. You wished to thank him, truly, you couldn’t have asked for a more considerate man to share this with for the first time. Instead, you did as he said and found a tempo and pattern of undulating your hips against his that suited you.

Phoebus couldn’t help himself, he began meeting your pelvis, thrusting up into you. You howled in pleasure, and his gaze instantly searched out yours to confirm those were good sounds instead of pained ones. He didn’t look away once he had found the answer he was hoping for in your eyes. Those deep brown irises had bore into yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more convinced you were they held galaxies.

You were so caught up in Phoebus’s gaze that you didn’t notice he’d snuck a hand in between your bodies until the pad of his finger connected with your sensitive bud.

“There you go sunshine, let go for me, you can let go.”

You felt as if you were going to explode out of your body as Phoebus continued to repeat those sweet-nothings as if they were a prayer.

“Let go for me darling, I know you can, let go–”

“You may go.”

The high priest's imperious tone snapped you out of your reverie. No longer were you in the forest with Phoe–Apollo, but rather the towering temple consecrated to him. Your relief that you could leave superseded your annoyance at being interrupted. You desperately needed to return to the privacy of your bedroom for a bit of self-relief.

Perhaps it was because you were in such a rush that you didn’t initially notice him as you flew out of the side entrance of the temple. It was his voice that stopped you.

“You’re not with child.”

“Holy Hera! You frightened me!” You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart.

“So you can stop fretting." Clearly, Apollo wasn’t particularly remorseful about the scare he'd given you. "Though to be honest, I’m surprised you’re relieved. Most women, beings far more divine than yourself, are usually thrilled to carry my offspring. They clamber for the chance and flaunt their bellies if they conceive.”

“I…I could not withstand the attention, I do not think. Nor the pomp and the responsibility.”

“The priests would help with the burden.”

“Yes but the child’s father wouldn’t,” you pointed out. “As great an honor to mother a demigod would be, I would prefer a…someone to experience it all with.”

Apollo nodded. “That I could not give you.”

“I know,” There was no resentment or disappointment in your voice. “I would never expect you to.”

“That must be why I yearn for you still,” Apollo mused, “why I cannot stay away.”

“I...my family is expecting me.”

Apollo was not accustomed to being refused. He fixed you with a look of amused incredulity after you spoke.

“I do not want them to know. Or anyone for that matter.” You realized how ungrateful you sounded. To spurn a god was to write your own death sentence. “Not that I don’t desire you, or that I wish to disregard your desires–”

“You want me all to yourself.” When you opened your mouth to amend his statement, he stopped you. “It’s alright. I want you all to myself too.”

“You have me,” you averred. “However, when the priests and my mother get involved…”

“I understand. I do not wish for fanfare either.” He pulled you close to him. Your breath hitched at the press of his hardness into your hip through both of your chitons.

Your mouths were millimeters apart. Instead of closing the distance, you asked, “Why did you tell me a false name when we first met?”

He smiled that bright, beatific grin that warmed you from the inside out. “I suppose for the same reason that you want to keep this a secret. If you believe your family is meddling, then mine is…”

Apollo didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You giggled, a sound he much enjoyed. At last, he captured your lips with his. Kissing Apollo melted you, you became a molten, liquid being when he pressed his lips to yours.

As transcendent as the kiss was, the god could feel that you were holding back. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

You were not proud of the flip your stomach did at the pet name. Once you regained control of yourself, you replied, “Nothing, nothing at all. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, simply tell me what is bothering you,” he countered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

When you hesitated, his fingers tilted your head up so your eyes met. “I won’t be angry.”

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your complaint. It was funny, you’d spent your entire life beseeching Apollo for this or that in the temple, yet when he was standing right in front of you, eager to know what troubled you, you couldn’t find the words.

“Why me?” It was a deflection from Apollo’s question, but still a valid inquiry.

He chuckled. “You’re asking me to apply logic to attraction, something inherently instinctual,” Apollo pointed out. “Though if I had to try to put reasoning to it, I would say it was because you are kind, beautiful, you have a tight, juicy little cunt…” he cupped your mound to demonstrate his point. You gasped at the contact. “...and when I’m with you, I feel the most like a mortal that I've felt in decades.”

Mortal? Was that a bad thing? Were you unintentionally insulting the deity?

Apollo was quick to assuage you, “I enjoy it, sunshine. The immediacy, the urgency. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You sought to return his kind words but what was there to say? It was obvious why a mortal such as yourself would fall for a god.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What vexes you?’

“I…after we…our first meeting,” you struggled to select the right words, “the priests wanted to corroborate that we’d lain together, and their methods were…they were not very gentle.”

Your lover’s eyes turned stormy. No sooner had you told him did a crack sound from what you guessed was inside the temple.

“No, please! Don’t hurt anyone!” you begged him just as swiftly.

Apollo’s face softened slightly. “Even after they violated you, you show them compassion. I swear to you I won’t, however, I must ensure that you, and by extension, myself are treated with respect.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. Gods were not known for their mercy, so the fact he was willing to compromise with you at all was a victory.

Apollo pulled you into another kiss that stole your breath. “If I cannot have you now…then tonight. When the moon peaks in the sky.”

“How will I find you?”

A smirk played across his lips. “Don’t fret, sunshine. I shall ensure it.”

A/N: Sooooo…what do we think?! 🫣 A little more flowery than my usual but I just had too much fun with this and now I have ideas for a few installments 🤦‍♀️

READ PART TWO

Tagging a few folks who might be interested:

@bitch4marvel @luciannadraven33 @oof-its-roobi @twwcs, @ninebluehearts @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction , @romanarose @dameronscopilot

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