Ooh kings starting their garden when they're v young like responsibility/patience teaching or something? Then they take care of it the rest of their life
Ooh kings starting their garden when they're v young like responsibility/patience teaching or something? Then they take care of it the rest of their life
1. I meant hypothetical twins not Blue's twins lol
2. What if the sovereigns wings grew like hair and then the clippings were planted in the garden and then when they died, the wings were displayed in their section?
OH JUST TWINS IN GENERAL gotchu gotchu. yes they'd rule together
also no offense but thanks i hate it 😭😭 the imagery that comes up is wack and id think itd leave marks if they were to trim crystal wing uhh growths. maybe i'm imagining it wrong?
the thought of a sovereign having their own garden tho 🥺
Has Praxus ever had more than one heir to the throne? If say twins were heirs to the throne would they both be (crystal) king? Also what if they planted each King's crystal during their reign in the garden? Like the first king's crystal is in the center and the longer the reign, the bigger their ring of the garden is?
yes! perhaps ruby king aries had younger siblings, or the previous sovereign did too. but smokescreen and prowl were single heirs due to health reasons for both.
this is the reason why i may include rave in this au, as it'd make sense for prowl to want to break this risky cycle. praxus had single heirs during their worst years when two wars were going on at once, so prowl would be eager to have more than one heir
i was fancying the idea of the twins being heirs, BUT. i ship blue/twins, so i think it'd be a little weird to make them siblings. i may have... a different plan for the twins 👀 but hypothetically, yes. they would rule together!
and that is a wonderful idea!! perhaps when a sovereign passes away, their crystal wings are planted and grown?
Funny palace headcanons?
prowl raids the kitchen on a regular basis, and they prepare for his attacks when they bake bc the smell travels and attracts him like a moth to a light
there is now an unused room with an unnaturally large berth somewhere in the palace. nobody has figured out how to get the berth out and how someone managed to even got in there in the first place
prowl has gotten lost as a kid a few times
i've probably mentioned this enough, but the palace is so clean mostly because of prowl's long long cloth. he is his own personal broom /j the workers keep the palace clean so prowl's stole doesn't get dirty. its expensive.
🤲 princess rave?
perhaps even bismuth princess?
aw man that'd be so cute!! 😭 alas, the crystal is generational and she would be covellite alongside bluestreak! ♡
catboy (well, jaguar boy) teomitl, extremely gratuitous smut, no plot whatsoever, have fun.
(every day i inch closer and closer to writing omegaverse)
Also on AO3
Acatl thought he could probably be forgiven for not immediately picking up on Teomitl’s identity, in the end. While the imperial family had been visibly blessed by Tezcatlipoca, that didn’t make everyone with jaguar’s ears or a furry tail poking out from under their cloak royal princes. The nobility spread their seed far and wide, and even peasants were sometimes born with claws. Rarely, but it did happen, and in any case he’d been somewhat preoccupied. There were such things as priorities, no matter how much Mihmatini teased him, and Elueia’s disappearance had been the more pressing concern. The fact that one arrogant young warrior had been jaguar-blessed had ranked very far down on his list.
It helped that Teomitl was very little like Tizoc, regardless of their family resemblance. Honestly, Acatl had never met a more sensitive boy; Teomitl’s ears and tail were in constant motion, swivelled flat back in irritation or perked forward to catch every word of a lesson, even as his tail lashed restlessly.
And he was...alright, Acatl could admit it.
Teomitl was cute.
It wasn’t a word he used lightly. In fact, it wasn’t a word he normally used at all. But there was no other way to describe the rounded ears and extravagantly fluffy tail, not to mention how a hint of sharp canine tooth still sometimes showed even when Teomitl had his mouth shut. And the way Teomitl’s keen focus on their lessons could be distracted by a butterfly fluttering across the tiles of his courtyard, the way his pupils would go big and dark, the way he wiggled in his seat in preparation for an instinctive pounce before remembering his dignity—yes, cute was the only word Acatl had for that. So really, it was no wonder that he could sometimes forget who Teomitl’s brothers were, because it definitely wasn’t a word that could be applied to the Emperor or the Master of the House of Darts.
Even so, he was still a youth of noble blood. Acatl really should treat him with respect.
But they were sitting in the courtyard after a lesson, and Teomitl’s ears were flat back as he tried to bandage his own arm, and it was astonishingly hard to suppress the urge to ruffle them. With the way his head was shaved down to stubble, they looked not only enormous but also exceedingly fuzzy. The spots, probably there as some sort of warning, only drew his eye even more.
One ear twitched slightly, which did interesting things to the muscles they were attached to. Acatl clenched his fist in his lap. No.
Then Teomitl let out a sharp hiss as the cloth came loose again, and Acatl bit his lip for a moment before making up his mind. “Let me.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d bandaged Teomitl’s shallow wounds. It was better to have them clean and covered rather than risk even a minor cut festering, after all; though Teomitl seemed terribly tense every time, he also didn’t put up a fuss. Now, though, his tail was lashing back and forth, so Acatl laid a hopefully-comforting hand on his forearm. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Teomitl bit out, without looking at him. There was an odd sort of vibration underlying his words, not quite a growl.
You’re not, he thought, but he didn’t press the matter. Securing the bandage should have been the work of a moment, but he found himself distracted. He’d naturally taken a seat on the bench next to Teomitl without thinking about how narrow it was; they weren’t quite pressed against each other, but it was rare that Acatl was close enough to smell him. He didn’t smell like a man; there was something wilder underlying his scent, mixed with the faint traces of a distant bonfire. Acatl took a deep breath, filling his lungs. Smoking Mirror’s blessing lay heavily on the boy indeed.
Teomitl shifted a little, restless. Well, he always did hate sitting still. In the afternoon sunlight, spots showed like watermarks on his shoulders as he moved; it was a good thing Acatl had plenty of practice wrapping bandages, because once they’d drawn his eyes he couldn’t stop looking. Teomitl truly had excellent shoulders, broad and well-muscled and strong, the sort he might like to smooth a hand over.
His mouth felt strangely dry. Odd. He was suddenly very aware of his own hands, of the warmth of Teomitl’s soft skin in his careful grip and the smoothness of the bandages compared to the wiry dusting of little hairs on Teomitl’s arms. And aware, too, of how Teomitl was nearly vibrating under his ministrations. No, he realized belatedly, not vibrating. Purring. Teomitl purred.
Cute, he thought again. He patted Teomitl’s forearm, and Teomitl made a strange little noise in his throat. He glanced down at where he’d automatically tied a neat knot. “Ah, too tight?”
Teomitl’s ears twisted back and forth as though he wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended that he needed care, but he shook his head. “No.” And then he added, grudgingly, “...Thank you.”
He faltered midword, because Teomitl, free of his attentions, was sitting back on the bench and stretching extravagantly. Muscles bunched and flexed under dark skin, making those faint markings ripple. His feet kicked out and his back arched like a bow as he linked his fingers above his head, seemingly just to test the maneuverability of his lightly-wounded arm; Acatl’s eyes dragged down his curved spine all the way to where his loincloth had been tied askew to account for the base of his tail, which lashed like a whip to finish off the wave of motion. And there was the noise he was making as he did it, somewhere between a groan and a growl of pure pleasure at the movement of his own strong body.
Acatl didn’t think he’d ever heard even a sacred courtesan sound so pleased with her own work, not even Xochiquetzal. No, this was nothing like Her at all. She’d made him dizzy, taken him entirely out of his own body, but he’d never been more present in his own skin than he was on this bench. The stone was cool under his skin, his mouth was dry, his palms were absurdly damp, and his heart—gods, his heart was racing. His cock twitched as though to remind him helpfully of its presence.
I thought my vow of celibacy would be easy, came the half-hysterical thought. It was the only thing that was making it through the screaming.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Teomitl had finished his stretch and was wriggling on the bench, knee bumping against Acatl’s in a way that sent lightning through his skin. One ear turned towards him. “So,” his student said casually.
Acatl made a sound. He hoped it sounded questioning, and not as though his entire world was being upended. He was pretty sure he’d failed. From the heat in his face, he had a terrible feeling he was blushing and spared a moment to thank the gods for the folds of his cloak in his lap.
“Do you think Mihmatini is at home?”
It was like being dropped into ice water.
Right. Teomitl was courting his sister, who was beautiful and brave and accomplished and who any man would be lucky to marry. It didn’t, couldn’t matter that Acatl was staring at him in the sunlight and realizing things about himself he’d never felt before, that his skin tingled with the desire to feel Teomitl’s body against his, that Teomitl’s fanged grin was sending his heart up into his throat. Teomitl wasn’t for him.
“Probably,” he said after what felt like far too long a pause. “Let’s go see her.”
He was almost a little disappointed when nothing changed. It seemed that waking up to the reality of Teomitl’s beauty should be accompanied by something. The stars turning somersaults in the heavens. Flowers bursting into bloom out of season. Fish swimming backwards. But aside from his own physical reactions—which were admittedly intense, he hadn’t taken himself in hand so often since his calmecac years—their days were the same. He woke, dressed, carried out his duties.
And every two or three days, he met with Teomitl.
It was enough to drive him mad every time he thought about it. Teomitl was an excellent student, the Revered Speaker’s brother, courting Mihmatini, a dozen years younger than him and, as if all that wasn’t enough, blessed by Tezcatlipoca—any of those should have been an arrow in the heart of his desires. Somehow it just made it worse. It was getting to the point where every jaguar-blessed warrior or nobleman he met brought a twinge to his chest.
Not even the weather, cloudy and overcast and visibly threatening rain as they finished up a lesson on the simpler tracking spells, was helping. When everything around them was gray, Teomitl’s golden ears and tail were like soft sunlight whispering through the courtyard. If he didn’t have to pack up supplies, he could have stared at the boy for hours.
And then a crack of thunder split the sky, loud enough that he twitched. Damn. Now I’ll have to walk back in the rain.
Teomitl’s reaction was far more dramatic; he jumped, dropping his knife. By the time Acatl turned to look at him, his tail had puffed out to twice its normal size and his pupils had shrunken down to pinpricks, focusing on nothing.
Acatl wasn’t sure what the boy was seeing, but he had a pretty good guess. It hadn’t stormed like this since they’d fought the Storm Lord’s avatar, and clearly Teomitl had been more affected by the experience than he’d let on. He’d had some fairly vivid nightmares of drowning himself, and they made him wake shivering every time. I thought Jade Skirt would protect him, he thought, but immediately realized that was stupid. The gods didn’t mother anyone.
Perhaps he could, though. He set his bag down and laid a careful hand on Teomitl’s arm. The muscles under his touch were too tense, twitching when a drop of rain landed on them. “Teomitl?”
“I’m fine,” Teomitl snarled, flashing his fangs for a moment before bending to retrieve his knife.
Acatl let the disrespect slide. Teomitl’s tail was still enormous, and he was moving in the jerky, arrested fashion that suggested he wanted to bolt. It pinched his heart and gave him an absurd, vicious urge to pull the boy into his arms. Before he could give in—he was sure it wouldn’t be appreciated—he stepped away to finish shoving things back into his bag.
In went the loose sheets of paper, the dry ink cakes, the reed pens, the knives, the carefully carved stone bats and hearts and owls. He didn’t dare look at Teomitl, but he was painfully aware of how stiff he was. “I think our lesson’s over for today,” he commented with a lightness he didn’t feel. “Why don’t we send to the palace kitchens for something to eat?”
Teomitl’s head snapped up, pupils dilating to something approaching their normal size. “What?”
Had his heart been pinched before? The suspicion in Teomitl’s voice was squeezing it. It’s as though he can’t believe I want to spend time with him, he thought with a flash of anger at all those who had left this brave, stubborn, sensitive boy to grow up like a wild flower.
He pushed it down. Thunder was rumbling in the distance, and Teomitl’s tail was lower to the ground than he’d ever seen it. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward into Teomitl’s personal space and saw it lift slightly, saw some of the tension leave his flattened ears. Duality, he wanted to stroke them until they perked up again—but no. He couldn’t.
His hand twitched before he forced it down. “Tlaloc can’t touch us now,” he said softly. “Let’s make some better memories of the rain.”
Lunch was still warm by the time it was delivered to Teomitl’s courtyard, but he barely tasted the flaky fish. He was far too distracted watching Teomitl eat. Every time the boy took a bite his ears wiggled back and forth, and he was clearly a great fan of the small bones by the nearly inaudible chirping noises he made as they crunched between his teeth. It made Acatl’s chest feel like it had been filled with warm honey.
If he was a braver man, he would put an arm around him. Teomitl was right there, just barely touching him, and it would be easy. But if he did that—gods, if he did that he wasn’t sure he’d ever let go. So instead he tried to focus on the rain hammering on the awning, dimpling the cloth above their heads. Or on his meal, which really was quite good. He almost had it and was managing to actually finish his last bite of flatbread when Teomitl’s tail bumped lightly against his hip, and he shivered so hard it made him cough.
Teomitl popped the last shred of fish into his mouth, swallowed, and glanced over at him. His tail slid lightly against Acatl’s thigh. Acatl told himself it was probably a reflex, but that didn’t stop another shiver from coursing through him.
This time Teomitl noticed; he tilted his head, pupils dilating and both ears perking forward. “Are you cold, Acatl-tzin?”
He swallowed. There was a distinct damp chill in the air, soaking into the side not perilously close to Teomitl, but he hadn’t really registered it. It was something he could ignore. Should ignore, because thinking about being cold next to Teomitl only reminded him how warm the boy ran, how deliciously soft the skin was over those hard muscles. Still...still, he couldn’t lie.
“...A little,” he muttered.
Teomitl caught his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. His tail flicked against Acatl’s leg. “Let’s...go inside to wait out the storm. It’ll be warmer.”
He’d been teaching Teomitl for weeks, but they’d only ever met in the courtyard. Teomitl had never invited him inside, and he found he had to battle down a spike of nerves. It would be fine. It would only be awkward if he made it so.
But as soon as he pushed aside the entrance curtain and stepped into the room where Teomitl slept, his guts twisted. The bright frescoes on the walls—Chalchiuhtlicue and Tezcatlipoca, with jaguars and ahuitzotls chasing each other in a stripe at head height—were the only sign that these were the sleeping chambers of a youth of imperial blood. It was spotlessly clean, yes, but also almost spotlessly empty. There was a chipped bowl, a worn sleeping mat, a few wicker chests, and that was it. No soft furs for a jaguar-blessed young man, no rope to sharpen his claws on, not even a comb for his fur. It was as though nobody lived there at all.
“...Teomitl...” he began, and stopped as he took in his student’s stance.
Teomitl was stiff, ears flattened unhappily. His tail was puffed out again, but this time it lashed hard enough to ruffle his cloak. He didn’t say a word, either in welcome or in fury. From this angle, Acatl couldn’t see his face clearly. The thunder rumbling outside sounded like a jaguar’s growl.
“I should go,” Acatl muttered. He didn’t want to. Gods, he didn’t want to. The last thing he wanted was to leave Teomitl alone in such a bare room with a summer storm raging outside. But Teomitl looked anxious, looked upset, and he couldn’t bear the thought that it was because of his presence. Back stiffened, he turned to leave.
A hand grabbing his wrist stopped him. “No. Stay.” There was an audible gulp. “If you want.”
He turned around and his heart shot up into his throat. Teomitl was looking at him sidelong through lowered lashes, his ears rotating forward and back—but the puffed-out tail he’d thought was lashing was instead twitching hopefully, and there was a deep flush across his cheekbones. Fuck, Acatl thought distantly. He hadn’t realized it was possible for the boy to be cute and attractive at the same time, but that flush made him want to lean in and kiss it just to see if it would get even darker. Gods, you are beautiful.
What actually came out of his mouth was, “Of course I’ll stay.”
Teomitl smiled—smiled—and dropped his wrist, sinking down on the mat effortlessly with his tail coiled loosely around him. “We could play patolli until the storm stops.”
Acatl quickly took a seat next to him before the more...prurient applications of their relative positions could do more than whisper in the back of his mind. Gods, he really had to stop thinking about Teomitl’s mouth. Hadn’t he seen those teeth? “I don’t gamble,” he muttered. Well, not for real money, at any rate. Games over tokens at Neutemoc’s house had gotten quite fierce before it had all gone bad.
“And you’ve got no other ideas as to how we might spend our time?” There was that vibration under his voice again, and Acatl was glad they weren’t touching.
His heart still did very strange things every time he remembered Teomitl actually purred, and then the boy’s words sunk in and that just made it worse. Face hot, he turned his attention to the frescoes on the walls. No other ideas? Don’t tempt me. “Not unless you have a burning desire to go over your lesson,” he said drily, and instantly regretted his choice of words.
Teomitl hummed. That was Acatl’s only warning as he shifted his weight, leaving him no chance to stop the boy pressing against him from shoulder to hip with—oh gods—his fluffy tail wrapped around his waist, the end flicking in his lap.
He froze. He wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. “Gnhk.”
Apparently he did, but that didn’t help, because Teomitl smelled spicy and scorched and savory all at once and his mouth started watering immediately. To make matters worse, his student was purring. And he kept on purring as he dropped his head to Acatl’s shoulder, ears flicking against his cheek, and murmured, “You looked cold, Acatl-tzin. I don’t like the idea of my teacher being uncomfortable.”
Being uncomfortable wasn’t the problem. His heart felt like it was about to force its way out of his chest. They’d touched before, but never like this; he was hyperaware of every inch of Teomitl’s bare skin, almost uncomfortably hot against his own. Teomitl’s tail brushed against his cock, and even through his cloak and loincloth the barest touch was enough to get him hard. He was shaking like a leaf. “Hah,” he managed weakly.
And then a strong arm slid around him, and he thought he might faint. Teomitl’s hot breath wafted across his cheek, his voice a rumble. “Better?”
Acatl’s heart was still racing. “...You are...rather warm,” he managed.
Teomitl purred and nuzzled against his throat. He was so sensitive that it made him gasp, but he had to remember that the boy didn’t mean anything by it. The jaguar-blessed were notably more tactile than others, with their keen senses of smell and touch. Teomitl certainly didn’t sound like he meant anything by it, at any rate; his voice was completely casual, only a faint tremor running through it that was probably an effect of the pouring rain. “Mmm. Let’s stay just like this, then.”
Alright. He could deal with that. He was more than half hard and hadn’t been this pointlessly aroused since meeting Xochiquetzal, but he could handle sitting here with Teomitl in his arms. It was far from the worst torture he’d ever been through, even if Teomitl’s tail kept twitching in an intensely distracting manner. He could just keep his hands to himself and think of the cold and the dust of Mictlan, ignoring the demands of his flesh.
But then the thunder cracked right above their heads, and Teomitl gasped and dug his claws into Acatl’s waist, and he twisted without thinking to wrap both arms around the boy and press his face against the top of his head. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” It was meaningless, useless, but it was all he could think to say.
Teomitl’s heart was hammering. His voice came out in a shaky hiss, ears crushing themselves against Acatl’s cheek as they flattened down. “I’m fine,” he spat, but he was hyperventilating.
Acatl squeezed his eyes shut. His heart felt like it was being torn in two. Carefully, gently, he smoothed his hand over Teomitl’s spine and the fluttering bellows of his ribs. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe. I know how you feel, but it’s alright.” And then—reckless, but the truth—he added, “I won’t let anything hurt you.”
Slowly, achingly slowly, Teomitl started to relax. Some—not all—of the tension he was carrying drained away, his ears carefully lifting. But his breathing was still a little fast, and his heart was thumping away under Acatl’s palm, and his voice was actually shaky as he breathed out, “Acatl-tzin. I...”
He stroked Teomitl’s back gently, feeling the way muscles rippled at his touch and hating himself a little for enjoying it. “Yes?”
Teomitl pulled away, ears cautious and face red as he shot Acatl a little look from under his lashes. He’d never removed his tail from Acatl’s lap, and now it flicked again. “I had. Some ulterior motives. For...for inviting you inside. You know what time of year it is.”
What time of year...? It took Acatl a moment to realize what Teomitl was getting at, and when he did he thought he was going to catch fire from the inside.
How had he forgotten that the jaguar-blessed went into heat? Or well...rut, he supposed. It was why they almost never became priests, not even of Smoking Mirror; their libidos didn’t mix well with the required vows. For Teomitl to bring it up meant that it was almost upon him, and any moment he’d be achingly aroused and desperate for relief. And he wanted—hoped—Acatl would provide it?
Acatl couldn’t breathe. He didn’t think he’d ever been more aroused and more frustrated in his life. I can’t. He knows I can’t. Not with— “Then you should have sought out my sister, if you’re serious about marrying her,” he snapped, and regretted it instantly. He was a fool.
Teomitl growled low in his throat and lifted his head to meet Acatl’s gaze head-on—still blushing, but now those ears were starting to tilt backwards. “I don’t want your sister. Not like that. We spoke, and—I want you. If you’re interested.”
As though he thought there was a possibility he might be misunderstood, he laid a hand on Acatl’s thigh, just barely brushing the sliver of bare skin exposed by his cloak. When his fingers slid under the fabric, claws scratching gently, Acatl lost the ability to think.
If I’m interested. If I’m interested. Meeting Teomitl’s eyes was impossible, so he looked down instead. This proved to be a mistake, because Teomitl had shifted his cloak aside and he couldn’t miss the state of his loincloth. “Ah...”
Teomitl’s hand slid higher, nails dragging in a way that sent sparks through his veins. “Well?”
He shouldn’t. It was beyond foolish, beyond reckless. It could get him killed. If he was a wise man, he’d gather his cloak around him and storm from the room, walk home in the pouring rain by himself and let the water cleanse his shaking lust.
He wasn’t a wise man, and Teomitl was tracing patterns on his thigh. He flicked a glance up to find the boy—the man—watching him as steady as a jaguar, and his blood roared in his ears. “I.” He had to stop and swallow, mouth gone dry. “I am very interested.”
“Thank the gods,” Teomitl muttered, and kissed him.
Oh. Acatl had never been kissed before and honestly wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing with his tongue, but that didn’t seem to matter; Teomitl was taking the lead, and all he had to do was follow. That, at least, came easily; he grabbed for Teomitl’s shoulders and let himself melt into it, one hand winding up on the back of Teomitl’s neck. When his lips parted for Teomitl’s tongue—not rough, noted the part of him that was always analyzing things, but fascinatingly textured in a way that made his cock twitch—he couldn’t help the sound that escaped him. That seemed to affect Teomitl too, because he growled and deepened the kiss and his hand on Acatl’s thigh slid inwards until Acatl had to break away, gasping, at the brush of knuckles against his hard flesh.
Teomitl didn’t move his hand. Teomitl, in fact, brought his tail back into play, rubbing him through his loincloth. His voice held another purr behind it. “I wasn’t sure if you’d—”
Acatl’s grip tightened on Teomitl’s nape and Teomitl made a breathless noise; he let go in the next instant, but even as he did so he realized it hadn’t been a noise of actual pain. His cock twitched. In heat. He must be. And gods, but if he likes it rough...
But before they dealt with that—and they were definitely going to deal with it, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else—he had to wrangle with how on earth Teomitl couldn’t have thought he’d jump at the chance. How on earth he thought anyone wouldn’t jump at the chance. “Are you insane?”
“I don’t know, you make me feel—ah!”
Lightning turned the sky white, and Teomitl shuddered all over. At first Acatl thought it was simply from fear and slid a hand up the side of his head, stroking his ears in the hopes that it would calm him. They really were incredibly soft. Teomitl sucked in a breath as he fondled them, eyes going impossibly dark. “Acatl-tzin,” he panted.
It seemed that fear, like pain, wasn’t quite the right emotion. The surge of lust through Acatl’s veins almost swamped him. “You like that.”
Teomitl nodded rapidly, voice shaky with desire. “I think right now I’d like anything you do to me.”
Anything? Oh, those were dangerous words. Acatl moved without thinking, almost shoving Teomitl down to the floor; Teomitl hissed sharply, digging his claws in, but when Acatl kissed him again—heatedly, hungrily—he arched his back and ground roughly against him. He’d have thought, if he’d let himself picture this at all, that Teomitl would want to be the one in control, but when he dared a nip to Teomitl’s throat and Teomitl bucked, legs falling open, he realized he’d been mistaken. He’d fit between Teomitl’s spread legs without realizing it, and the sheer possibilities of such a position made his head swim.
He didn’t have much time to contemplate, though, because Teomitl was pushing him back and tearing at his loincloth and panting, “Acatl-tzin, please, come on,” his irises almost entirely swallowed up by pupil and his tail lashing against the back of Acatl’s thighs. His cock was leaking steadily, making a damp spot on the front of his loincloth.
Acatl sucked in a breath. He’d never—but that didn’t matter right now. His fingers shook as he undid the knot, baring Teomitl to the cool air. His cock wasn’t quite the same as an unblessed man, a little more tapered with slender ribs down its length—thank the gods there weren’t spines, he’d heard things about jaguar genitals that made him wince to even contemplate—but when he stroked it Teomitl swore and thrust into his hand almost frenetically.
Every drop of blood in his body felt like it had drained into his own cock, but he made himself be still. Made himself ask, “What do you want? I’ll give it to you.”
Teomitl’s breyath was coming in quick, shaky pants. “Fuck me,” he spat, and Acatl froze, brain buzzing with stunned want. Teomitl must have thought it a rejection, because he writhed and gasped out, “Please. There’s oil—in that chest, over there—”
He lunged for the one Teomitl indicated, nearly dropping the jar as he tried to unscrew it. His hands almost refused to obey him; he was too aware of Teomitl shifting position, fabric rustling as it hit the floor. Teomitl’s tail waving across his stomach as the boy rolled over made him gasp. By the time he was able to turn back, what he saw nearly took his breath away.
Teomitl was on his hands and knees and gloriously, completely naked, legs spread wide and tail arched almost above his head. Presenting. Presenting and eager, from how he was scrabbling frantically behind himself with one hand to open himself up wider.
Acatl had never stripped so quickly in his life. He nearly tore his loincloth trying to get it off, a problem for the future; right now, all he could focus on was the desperate throbbing of his own cock. He rutted forward on sheer instinct, sliding against Teomitl’s gaping hole and the base of his tail, and Teomitl almost sobbed. “Please—Acatl-tzin, please.”
Thunder rolled in time with his pounding heart. It was horribly, horribly tempting. But there was plenty of oil, and so instead of giving Teomitl what he wanted he breathed, “Patience,” and slid two slick fingers in. It was tight, tight and molten hot; he only barely had some idea of what he was doing, but that didn’t seem to matter.
Teomitl was vocal. He cried out sharply when Acatl breached him, an intoxicating noise Acatl wanted to hear more of. No, he wanted more, he wanted to hear Teomitl scream.
He thought he’d probably get his wish. As he sank in to the knuckle and spread his fingers, the cry turned to a moan and from there to a noisy gasp as Acatl started pumping them in and out, working him open as best he could. Teomitl yelped and rocked into each thrust, tail waving erratically as though it was entirely beyond his control. “Acatl,” he panted, voice cracking, and then Acatl shifted the angle and he howled, ears spasming. “Acatl-tzin! Don’t—gods, more!”
“More?” He wondered if this was how being drunk felt. Teomitl was desperately fucking himself on his fingers, and his untouched cock was leaking steadily. He wasn’t sure how long he’d last. “More what?”
“Your cock,” Teomitl panted. “Please, please, I need it—!”
Well. If Teomitl needed it that badly, he’d damn well make himself last. He slicked himself up roughly, without thinking about it, pulled his fingers free—Teomitl made a broken noise, hips jerking—and shoved his cock in.
Almost immediately, Acatl had to bite his lip to stifle the groan that wanted to escape. It was just so tight. Tight and hot and gods, Teomitl was perfect, and he wasn’t even all the way in yet. He drew back, grabbed Teomitl’s hips, and slammed in to the hilt.
Teomitl yowled and clawed at the mat, his entire body shuddering, and some sort of leash in Acatl’s brain snapped. There was no question of him stopping or pausing or even slowing down; Teomitl might have been a youth of imperial blood, blessed by Smoking Mirror, untouchable by the likes of him—but right now? Right now he was a bitch in heat and if he wanted to be bred like one, well, Acatl was ready to oblige.
Instinct had him braced over Teomitl as he started fucking into him in short fast strokes, panting roughly over the nape of his neck. Teomitl’s ears and tail almost bounced from the force, yelps and snarls escaping him with every thrust. Even the storm outside wasn’t enough to drown the boy out.
It made Acatl feel wild. Unhinged. He bit sharply at Teomitl’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark, and growled, “Is—this—what you want?”
Teomitl nodded frantically. He seemed to be beyond words.
Now the rhythm he’d built up was starting to fall apart, but that was fine; all that mattered was that he kept moving, kept pounding into Teomitl at exactly that angle, that Teomitl kept his ass up and just—gods, he just took everything Acatl was giving him, but then again he’d never accepted his own limits, had he? Acatl bit at his throat, his shoulders, his ears, grabbed his hip hard enough to bruise, and Teomitl shouted his pleasure to the heavens. “Ah—ah, Acatl!”
Everyone would know what they were doing. This was as good as signing his own death warrant. But Teomitl was hot and tight, squeezing impossibly perfect around him, and Acatl didn’t care if this killed him. He groped for Teomitl’s cock, found it slick and hard, and pumped it roughly just for the pleasure of feeling Teomitl writhe and clench down around him, yowling something that might have been his name.
“Yes,” he hissed. “Yes, that’s it, a little more, come for me—”
Teomitl fell over the edge fast, hard, and all at once, convulsing with a yowl that shook the rafters and was definitely audible over the thunder. Lightning split the sky, but Acatl wasn’t sure if it was that or his own explosive orgasm that was turning his world white. A few hard thrusts and he was spilling his seed deep, making Teomitl shake and whine breathlessly around him.
Even after the aftershocks faded, he didn’t pull out right away. He couldn’t; Teomitl had regained enough control over his extremities to wrap his tail around Acatl’s waist, keeping him in place as his harsh breathing evened out and he slowly remembered how to think. By the Duality.
Bone-deep vibrations shook through him, almost torture after coming so hard, and he groaned as he realized what it was. Teomitl was purring again.
“Stop that,” he muttered. It felt too good, made him seriously consider letting himself get hard again just to fuck his leaking seed back in, but he knew he’d regret that. Little-used muscles were protesting already. “I can’t...”
The purring didn’t stop, but it lessened until he was finally able to even consider pulling out. That was a more difficult act than he’d anticipated; Teomitl was still tight around him, and when Acatl finally withdrew he actually mewled in a tone that broke Acatl’s heart.
At a loss, he stroked Teomitl’s hip gently. “I just want to clean up a bit. You’ll thank me later.”
Teomitl flopped bonelessly to the mat, letting Acatl move him where he wanted; now that the initial rush of his heat was down to a simmer, he seemed much less desperate. His eyes were soft and warm as he took Acatl in, ears flicking contentedly. “Mmm...”
Gods, he looked so happy, and Acatl had done that. Had made him into this absolutely perfect creature sprawled on the mat, all lazy and sated with a light like the sun in his eyes. Lazy and sated and...
He blinked, taking in the sight of Teomitl’s flushed, hard cock laying against his belly. “By the Duality,” he blurted out, “how are you aroused again?”
Teomitl blushed, but there was a smug smile on his face. He flicked his tail, brushing against Acatl’s cock and the inside of his own thigh. “Usually it’s like this for a few days, but I’m sure it’ll run its course faster if you keep helping.”
He swallowed roughly, feeling his skin prickle with heat. Fucking Teomitl once had been intense, but over and over for days on end? “I’m not going to survive.”
Teomitl stroked himself slowly, drawing Acatl’s eye inevitably back to his cock. When he thumbed the head, a tiny bead of liquid pearled at the slit. “We could try something different.”
Well, at least he’d die happy.
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Justice Society of America (Comics), Infinity Inc. (Comics), Manhunter (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Damon Matthews/Todd Rice Characters: Todd Rice, Damon Matthews Additional Tags: Mental Health Issues Summary:
Damon comforts Todd on a day when he needs it.
Does anyone know like. I want an offline version of discord servers, if that makes sense. Like so i can make and keep an dorganize stuff without having to be in the app itself
on my hot girl shit today
I just played Minecraft with my sisters and one of my sister's friends. Ended up trapped in a recreation of the dsmprison in survival mode. 2/10, wouldn't recommend
I am in lore hell. No orphans tho
Knights Templar - Wikipedia
@atelier-maroron Regarding your previous post on Gilbert's kaleidoscope view of his uniform.
@pn3um6 your thoughts?
My theory (one I'm fooling around with) is that Obsidian may have had Templar Knights for centuries hence the reason why Gilbert's uniform is as such.
Teomitl: I’ve got an idea.
Acatl: Should I be concerned?
Since I heard that Phos is returning from their 10,000 years, I decided to do a colour edit on a manga page.
as I know basically no Japanese somebody please help me out I’m begging you translate this for my poor heart
Obsidian Adventure Time Distant Lands
I have a request:
From your prompt list: ♡ for one muse to kiss the other with a knife to their throat
THANK YOU, I LOVE YOUR WORK SO MUCH!
A/N: Thank you anon for the request! I was really intrigued and enjoyed working on this 💜
TW: knives, reader is momentarily held by force
Word count: 1595 (I can't help it. He just demands words)
The halls of Himmelsgard are labyrinthian. You wander barefoot over the cold stone floor, trying to make sense of where you are, but it feels as lost a cause as counting grains of sand on a beach or teardrops by a gravesite.
The wall sconces cast their pale orange light on dark gray walls, leaving you enough to find your way even as they birth shadows which seem to follow you. Are they there to guide you to where you have to go or are they stalking you, herding you toward some unknown beast crouching in its lair?
The chill caresses your skin through your nightclothes. Soft, filmy material is a fine choice when you are in a warm bed, but it is hardly any protection against the cold fingers of night. A robe would have been smart, but you had fled your room in a hurry.
As envoy from King Chevalier, you had been sent to Obsidian as a gesture of alliance, a way for the newly-chosen king to make sure that your choice as Belle was accepted by Obsidian, Rhodolite’s most uneasy ally. Along with gifts of wine and food, carefully chosen by you and Yves, you carried a letter, signed in the king’s elegant hand, declaring you under his direct protection. It was a formal, official way of keeping you safe while you were here. And you had lost it. Specifically you had misplaced the reticule it was safely tucked inside of.
Maybe it was in the library where you had stopped for a moment on the brief tour of the palace. Or had you left it in the great dining hall, when you were awestruck by its enormous black, wrought-iron chandelier dripping with thousands of teardrop crystals. You aren’t sure. What you do remember with a clarity as bright as those crystals is the hard look in King Chevalier’s blue, blue eyes as he handed it to you with the warning not to lose it.
This brings you to the present and why you are wandering the halls of Gilbert von Obsidian’s palace at an hour far too late, far too full of half-seen things that live in the periphery of your vision. You breathe in, trying to shake the apprehension that stalks you in the dark.
In front of you is a set of double doors, the tiger-and-gun sigil of Obsidian branded into the wood. This looks familiar. Your heart pushes itself up slowly off the floor of your chest, hope returning. Yes, you remember this door. You are certain. Reaching down, you pause only for a moment with your hand on the curved, golden handle and then step inside.
The room is heavy with darkness. The only light at all are the pale, silvery beams of moonlight shining through the large rose window. You wait a moment, giving your eyes time to adjust. This isn’t the dining room or the library. It is a study of some kind. Bookshelves full of heavy gold-embossed tomes. An austere table in the middle of the room with parchments spread across it. Maps? Missives? Even the heavy, ebony wood desk is covered: scrolls still tied with black, silk ribbons, several elegant black-feathered quills, a gold and glass inkwell. A chamberstick fashioned to look like a leaping tiger, the wick of its candle still smoking.
It happens as if he has been reading your mind this entire time. One moment you are standing in the entrance to the room, the next you are pressed with your back against the now-closed door, a strong arm across the top of your sternum, a blade mere centimeters from your throat, a face like a beautiful nightmare filling your vision.
Shock freezes you, the blood in your veins turning glacial. Your lungs are held prisoner by fear, only capable of short, uneven breaths. You can hear the thundering of your heart in your ears and you wonder if he can feel it where his arm touches your skin. A tiny prisoner, rattling its cage. Screaming.
“Why are you in here?” Gilbert’s voice is low, calm, the steady sound of an ocean rocking on a still, summer night. An ocean that holds a hidden world of serrated teeth, crushing tentacles, maws that swallow you whole.
He fills your senses. Your sight is his raven hair, his ivory skin, his wine-colored eye, narrowed with suspicion. Your hearing is his voice, liquid electricity pouring into your ears. Your smell is his scent, the air before rainfall, the cool as day lays back and submits to night. You feel the softness of his sleeve against your skin even as it holds you in place. You taste fear, something bitter and burning.
“I will only repeat myself once. Why are you in here?” His breathing is steady. He isn't afraid. He isn’t nervous. Shock slowly melts away as the fires of indignation and outrage flare up inside you at his placidity. How dare he?
“Remove your arm.” You try to sound forceful, but your voice comes out thinner than you would like, tin instead of steel.
His dark brow raises slightly as something flashes in his eye, like the play of light through leaves.
“You are aware, Häschen, that I am the one with the dagger.” But the pressure on your chest lessens.
“Remove your arm….bitte.” If words could bite, that last one would have sunk its sharp teeth into his hand.
Perhaps it's hearing please in his own tongue. Or the courage you have mustered. He drops his arm from your chest….only to place his hand on the wall by your head, the other still holding the dagger to your throat. At least now you can breathe, even if every exhale shakes.
“My question.” He shifts, a step closer. He radiates control, every movement, no matter how slight, a conscious decision.
“I was lost.” You keep your gaze on his eye. If you look there, if you allow the sanguine color to hold you in place, you won’t think so much about the danger so close to your throat.
He breathes out, his breath carrying the faint scene of the herbal liquor that Obsidian is famous for. Cinnamon bark. Cloves. Licorice. Ginger. You swallow. When you had arrived at the palace, he had taken your hand in his. An unexpected spark had rushed through you when he then raised your hand to his lips in the coolest of kisses, a tendril of night across your skin, and welcomed you to Obsidian. That same heat now rears its head, joining fear and anger in the roiling of your stomach.
“He sent you to spy, didn’t he?” His voice is suddenly as sharp as his blade, honed by years of anger and hatred. You immediately know who he means.
“King Chevalier did not send me to spy.” Despite your uneven breathing, you speak calmly, your chin tilting upwards in a small gesture of disdain at the very idea.
Gilbert shifts again and you can now feel the kiss of the blade at your throat. His eye gleams with intelligence, with something bordering on primal. It is almost jarring within the elegant setting of his study. He holds your gaze, silence stretching between you, growing heavier the longer it goes on.
“I can taste if you’re lying.”
His words are drawn out slowly, measured and weighted. They wrap themselves around your throat, as dangerous as the dagger in his hand. They press the air from your lungs. They are oil to the fire inside you. Fear is blackened and shriveled, burned to a crisp by the white hot blaze of sudden craving.
You blame it on the hour, on the knife at your throat, on the scent of him, the sight of his face, lust etched into its perfect lines. You blame the words that come out of your mouth next on a desire that vanquishes you.
“Go ahead and see.”
He needs no other prompting. Knife still at your throat, he leans forward and his mouth is on yours. It is instantly demanding, hungry. He kisses with the intent to ravage. He makes good on his promise to taste you, over and over, swallowing every gasp that tries to escape.
“You are a spy,” he growls against your lips.
“No,” you exhale and he covers your mouth again, drinking the words like fine wine. Your hands desperately curl into the rich material of his clothes. You should push him away but you can’t. You can’t. You are holding on, limbs brittle with longing.
“You are his.” His mouth is by your ear, words molten.
“No.” Again he devours you, your tongue and lips his feast. The blade at your throat begins to waver in his now unsteady hand.
“You want me.” His lips are still on yours when he whispers, his voice crushed velvet and rough sand.
“No….” The word, a weak and wanton thing, escapes you on a sigh of pleasure as he bites into your bottom lip.
He plunders your mouth again, the hand with the knife having now fallen to his side. You are burning, aflame from the inside. Everything, every lick of fear and anger and hesitation has burned to ashes at his touch and only want rises, a phoenix blinding you both to anything but each other.
“Your first lie, Häschen,” he rasps against you.
The knife falls from loose fingers to the hardwood floor, forgotten. His hands grip your hips, pull you against him, ravenous.
“Heute Nacht gehörst du mir.”
Tonight, you belong to me.
Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @atelier-maroron @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesroseforclavis @somekidnamedkai @ikemen-prince-writers-posts @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @queen-dahlia @moonstruck-writing @gilbertvonobsidian
Charlie can call Ingo from most places in Hisui by going CHOO CHOO on the celestial flute. They’d probably do it whenever they really want some company so they have a seperate, more urgent sounding one for complete emergency, although Ingo tries to respond to all of them regardless.
© Obsidian | Do not edit.