#/ Take a look at me cause I could not care at all / ( VISAGE )

[regularshcw]

dean tag dump !

⚰️ dean // ic / take a look at me ; 'cause i could not care at all ⚰️ dean // musings / and though you're dead and gone ; believe me ; your memory will carry on ⚰️ dean // likes / aesthetic / and through it all ; the rise and fall ; the bodies in the streets ⚰️ dean // about / because the drugs never work ; they're gonna give you a smirk ⚰️ dean // music / because one day ; i'll leave you a phantom to lead you in the summer ; to join the black parade ⚰️ dean // starter call / so darken your clothes or strike a violent pose ; maybe they'll leave you alone but not me ⚰️ dean // visage / so paint it black and take it back ; and let's shout it loud and clear

[kyumisyumi]

HI!!! Love your work!!

Is it possible for you to write a fic where the monster is just too big for the reader but the monster is in rut or some sort of overbearing horniness so they coax the reader open to be able to take all of them

So sorry this took forever, life was life-ing. Job hunting and the works. Happy I could finally finish my first request here.

Warning: nsfw tags: heat, double penetration, fisting-ish, we're all just animals at the end of the day

Ship: Naga x Reader (F)

Word count: 800+ words

⊱⊶Taking requests⊷⊰

You were so good for him. Always so good; wet and soft and absolutely divine. He never mind that you couldn't take both of his cocks, just having one in you was enough to drive him damn near feral. His mind threatening to slip into an animalistic haze begging him to fuck you until every last drop of energy -and cum-  in him was gone. Now, however, things were different. The season's arrival brought with it the an aphrodisiac than burned inside his veins. The overwhelming need to breed you - and breed you proper- was pushing him beyond reason. Beyond thought even. His ears filled with the ringing of need and the only thing that could pierce it was the sweet sounds of your moans.

"Please." You didn't even know what you were begging for. For him to stop? For him to start? He'd been fucking you with his fingers for what felt like eons. His long, firm digits sliding in you effortlessly as their tips pressed against the spongy little spot that seemed to disconnect your brain. Your thighs and the plush sheets beneath were absolutely drenched in slick leaking out of your swollen cunt. You didn't even know how you got here; one moment you were tending to the houseplants that sat by the living room window, the next moment you were being pulled into a tight reptilian coil. One blink later; your clothes were gone and a long, forked tongue was tasting you.

You cursed as his fingers pulled wider and wider, finally letting in the fifth digit. Your back arched as he slowly pushed forward with his whole arm. You could feel your insides mold to the shape of his muscles. Did you just come? Your senses were absolutely fried from overstimulation. But the pulsing of your walls eventually caught up to you, bringing with it the jolts of pleasure that wracked your whole body. Pretty little tears began to spill from your eyes again as you searched for him through blurry vision. So weak and overwhelmed that you needed the visage of him for comfort. Your brain didn't care that he was the one causing it.

His eyes almost glowed as he peered down at you, the once thin slits of his pupils expanded, almost fully concealing the color. He looked mad. The pearly whites of his eyes tinted red along the edges. Bloodshot. He was lost. He looked as if he hadn't blinked in years, as if even the milliseconds it would take to close his lids were too long to not look at you.

"Are you ready for me, Love?" He spoke for the first time in ages. Voice raspy, dry, as though all moisture had been sucked from him. "Of course you are." He answered, with zero input from you, not that you could even muster words at this point. "So fucking perfect." He pulled his hand out of you. His eyes finally left you to look at the glistening moisture that covered it then at your thoroughly abused hole. His forked tongue absentmindedly licked your taste off his fingers. He began muttering to himself. Your concern for his sanity grew. You could barely hear his words; praises and coos for you. Thanking the Gods for bringing you to him. Making you for him.

When he raised himself on his tail you could see the leaking tips of his engorged members. Both of them pressing against his abdomen, twitching as though they were ready to spill seed at any moment. He positioned himself between your trembling thighs, one hand squeezing both cocks together. You'd yet to realize his intentions before you felt the dual tips slip into you. You opened your mouth to say something. What? Again, you weren't sure. But when he slowly began to push himself further and further inside you your vocal chords released a ferine moan.  You could feel your walls stretch to hold him, like a fulfilling pressure rather than the straining pain you'd expected. That scared you so much you never tried prior. He lowered himself over you, elbows bent on either side of your limp form. His eyes refocused, studying every minute movement of your face.

There was no patience in him, all of it spent. He'd bottomed out in you before you'd even realised it. His hips smashing against your pelvis with a loud groan. His chest pressed into yours with every breath. He'd give you a moment and only a moment before the thrusting began. You'd felt full before but it couldn't compare to what you feel now. The raw connection of having him inside you; not his fingers, not his tongue, not his hand but his manhood sheathed within you where it belonged. Nothing felt more right, it was both intoxicating and sobering. Pleasure would always be pleasure but this was something more.

You were reduced to cries and mewls as you both devolved into animals.

[innocent-artery]

Kinktober 7th: Inside Joke

aka mommy kink with James Potter

3.5k words

Summary: Jamie's poker face is put to the test when you surprise him with a new toy.

Pairing: Collegeau!boyfriend!james potter x reader

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While reading, I recommend listening to the altar is my hips, a spotify playlist by me!

~

"You what?"

"Did I stutter?" you crossed your legs, turning back and forth a little in James' desk chair.

Meanwhile the man in question stood dumbfounded with an unwrapped package in his hands and his jaw dropped. "I-in front of everyone?"

"Well, yeah. But it's not like they'll see it." You quirked a brow. "Unless you make it really obvious."

James' cheeks burned scarlet at the thought. "I won't." He doesn't fully believe himself as he says it, but as he stares down at the brand-new silver toy in his hands, he doesn't really care.

"Good." You stood, kissing him on the cheek. Your touch was electric on his skin, from your lips to your hand on his chest. He was sure you could feel his heartbeat racing. "Cause we're leaving in ten."

. . .

As soon as he crossed the threshold of Sirius' house, he knew he had severely overestimated his ability to be subtle. Your fingers were locked together so as not to get separated- the house was overflowing with raucous college students and blaring music- but James was using it as a stress toy, squeezing it every time the plug nestled inside of him moved. He had worked up a thin line of perspiration under his glasses and across his hairline.

James could feel the bass of the song vibrating in his feet as he walked, through the walkway down towards the living room. His ears perked instinctively at the sound of a clear, crisp whistle from somewhere deeper into the room. He glanced around until he found the familiar, wide-grinning visage of his best friend. Sirius jerked his head, as if telling him "come over here", raven hair swishing with the movement.

You must have noticed, because when you turned back from him, one hand gripping two beer bottles by the neck, you nudged your chin to signal him forward.

"Welcome, welcome, my dear comrade!" Sirius hollered, holding a red plastic cup up in the telltale grandiose joy that always overcame him when he was drunk. "And Prongs."

James rolled his eyes, unable to help the grin splitting his face as Sirius clapped him on the back.

"Sit, sit!" Sirius beckoned them to the couch, where Remus was draped over the arm, blunt in hand. The sandy-haired boy waved lazily.

James struggled to hide a grimace as he sat down, the prodding of the metal becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. He was grateful for the bottle you passed him, eager for something to ease his nerves.

"Relax, baby," you murmured in his ear, breath tickling his cheek. James' neck felt hot, the hair at the back prickled.

All he could do was swallow thickly, nodding and taking a swig.

"Good boy," you purred, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. "You might want to cover up a little though, hm? A poker face doesn't help much when you've got a boner."

James' eyes shot down. Indeed, there was a growing bulge in his pants.

Before he could say anything, you stood, pushing his legs apart. Shock coursed through him before you sat on the floor between his legs, arms draped over his knees and head leaned against his lower stomach.

This made it infinitely worse. Now he had a bird's eye view of your cleavage, and when you looked back up through your eyelids to smile at him, he had to bit down on his lower lip to keep from groaning. Your head rested so conveniently against his crotch, and when he shrunk back from it, the plug nestled around.

"Oi, Prongs. Y'alright?" Remus nudged the man with his foot, concern painted on his face.

"Yeah," he managed to choke out.

"Sure? You look like y've got something up your arse."

James could feel you shaking with laughter underneath him. He exhaled, shaking his head. "Just tired, s'all."

"Aren't we all." Remus nodded, head lolling over to watch the dancers- or rather, one singular dancer. "But we've got the whole summer ahead of us to loosen up."

James lifted his half-empty bottle of beer in agreement. Remus wasn't even watching, his eyes were trained on Sirius, swaying to the music. He was a dance major for a reason.

James' attention was snapped away to his crotch when you began nodding slowly to the music. You were engrossed in conversation with Dorcas and Marlene- when did they get here?- but James knew that through all your subtlety you knew exactly what you were doing. What you were doing to him. James huffed, gripping the glass bottle so tight to keep himself from holding onto your hair. He wasn't even sure what he'd do with it once he had it. Would he tug your hair away, or rut against the back of your head like a bitch in heat? He knew you'd call him that if he did, you'd call him desperate and such a needy little whore-

He almost sobbed when your head froze. His fingers itched to touch you, but he knew better than to grab your head. So he opted to look down at you. You were glaring a cold fire, so he followed your gaze across the room to some girl whose name he didn't know and whose face he didn't recognize. She wiggled her fingers at James, and as she did so, she leaned forward and pushed her arm into her tits, accentuating her already plunging neckline.

Ah, James thought. He was almost amused at your annoyance, if he wasn't already so turned on at any meager touch from you. Your hand reached under the crook of his knee to rest on his upper thigh, sending electricity shooting through his muscles.

Your head tilted up, and he knew exactly what to do without you even needing to ask.

The minute your lips touched together, mashed in a frenzy of tongue and teeth and quiet sighs, James' body was set alight. Your hand kneaded at his thigh, and he could feel you smiling- you thrived on making him squirm, and you knew when you were succeeding.

By the time you parted, James' head was swimming. He watched through lidded eyes as you licked your lips at the girl, and as the latter rolled her eyes and stalked off.

James was throbbing. He couldn't help his hips from rising up into your hair, even if his efforts were hopeless. His face was red and he was breathless.

He squeezed your hand, and you looked up in question. He didn't even have to say anything.

"Wait." You told him firmly, taking another swig.

Wait? He couldn't wait, he'd been waiting all night.

"Please," he whimpered, leaning down to your ear.

"Patience, Jamie." He hated and loved the nonchalance in your voice, the indifference.

"Need you, so bad..."

"Wait."

"Mommy!"

It wasn't that loud, barely a sigh, but it rang in your ears, scorched your belly. You scrambled to your feet, hooking a finger in the collar of his shirt.

"Can't hardly wait a few hours, huh? I thought you could last longer than that." You snarled, turning and dragging him with you.

James held close to you, trying to hide his raging hard-on by pressing his front into your backside. You slithered through the crowd, around the pillar, up the stairs, and into the first bedroom you saw.

James quickly recognized it as Sirius'. Various posters were plastered almost on top of each other, so that there was more picture than wall. The smell of weed was fainter here than downstairs, and there were clothes- mostly black, but there was an occasional red or silver- scattered all over the floor. Makeup was scattered over the dresser, where a mirror was propped up haphazardly. The bed, however, was as tidy as ever, decorative pillows propped up and everything.

The click of the lock brought James back to the moment. You were standing at the door with one hand on your hip, tongue poking at the inside of your cheek.

"Go on." You said simply. Irritability was painted on your face.

"Huh?"

"Since you needed me so badly you couldn't wait until we got home, go on. You have me. Show me how badly you need me."

James' head went dumb at the idea, and his body acted of its own accord. He stood from the bed, taking your hand and pushing it into his crotch. A low moan was pulled from his throat when you cupped him, gently massaging the ache between his legs. His face dropped into the crook of your neck, relishing in the overwhelming sensations- your smell, the strain of his leaking cock against his jeans, your free hand tracing down the back of his neck. He shivered, gasping and arching his back when your finger trailed down his spine. It lingered at the base of his tailbone, sneaking under the waist of his jeans and tracing feather-light over that ticklish patch of skin.

"Mommy, please," James whined, fingers clutching your wrist.

"Turn around," you muttered, pushing him around by the waist. You walked him over to the bed until his knees hit the edge of it, trapping himself. Instinctively James reached down so he could plant his hands on the mattress, rendering himself entirely vulnerable to your will. Both of your hands groped at his behind. You reached around to unbutton his pants, tugging them down along with his underwear.

"No touching," you snapped before his hand could take his cock, bobbing heavily under its own weight. He let out a weak noise as it dripped onto the blanket pathetically.

You were still entranced with his ass, or rather, what was inside of it. Your fingers went from groping aimlessly to pulling his cheeks apart, finger trailing delicately around the little stud. At even the slightest of pressure, James' now shuddering body arched into your touch and he let out a noise so loud and unabashedly pornographic you had to clap a hand over his mouth. It wasn't until you felt the plug moving that you registered the rhythming clenching of his ass, a telltale sign that he just came.

And glancing around his body, you were right. There was a pool of white under his now softening cock, strands of cum webbing between the tip and the sticky puddle.

"Jamie." Your voice wasn't loud, nor really that stern, but it made him jump regardless.

He didn't dare look at you, but he also didn't dare fight the gentle hand of yours, guiding his face to turn back and look you in the eye.

"Jamie, baby, what am I going to do with you?" You shook your head, clicking your tongue.

It was a rhetorical question, but James gave a weak, defeated sound anyway. He wouldn't have been able to talk, your hold on his jaw having grown tight enough to hold him in place.

"I give you a nice, pretty new toy, help you stay hidden when you can't do it yourself, even start to indulge you when you can't even be bothered to wait, and you cum just like that? Without even asking?"

James knew it was a twisted description of the night's events, but shame boiled in his stomach anyway. "'M sorry, Mommy. Jus' felt too good."

You suck in a breath through your teeth. "I really thought you'd be good this time, bub. But I guess not."

James felt tears pricking in his eyes. But he was. He was so patient. You were just mean.

"Alright, on your back." You released your hold on his face.

"H-huh?"

"If you're just gonna be a needy little brat who cums whether I let him or not, I might as well get some use out of you."

James crawled, with shaking legs, up the bed, until he was propped up against the pillows, beefy legs spread enough to where you could see his sticky cock limp against his stomach and the plug, that goddamn plug that had gotten him into so much trouble in the first place.

He felt as though he were under a microscope, in a cage at the zoo, on a stage, the way you were staring at him. Hungrily, menacingly, with plans in your eyes that he was both terrified and excited to learn of. You kicked your shoes off slowly, stripping off your outer layers without breaking eye contact. James' eyes bulged when you shimmied out of your pants.

"Mommy.." he sighed, fingers flexing over his thighs as he willed himself not to touch.

"Shh, hush baby, I know," you crooned, crawling over to him. Your fingers, lithe and light, traced the underside of his dick, making him gasp. You only seemed to be spurred on by his reaction, your other hand brushing over his thigh.

"You just couln't help yourself, hm? Isn't that right?" James shook his head, resorting to clutching the comforter by his side. "Well, I guess we'll just have to work on that, won't we?"

James didn't have the opportunity to ask what you meant by that, because as you said it, you were shuffling up so that your hips hovered over his cock you were holding upwards. That was the other reason he couldn't ask you, because in his sensitivity, your touch knocked the breath from his lungs.

"Aw, pretty boy, what's wrong?" You cooed, though there was a mean tone to it. "You're so tense."

James gives a hiccupped whine, his lower lip trembling. When your hips rolled deviously over the tip of his weeping cock, his head kicked back against the lush pillows.

"Nuh uh, none of that." You snarled, taking a fistful of hair and tugging his head up so that his gaze, under hooded lids, met yours.

James' hands, now clutching your waist as though it were the only thing that would keep him from drowning- in what, he didn't know- trembled as you sunk down, slowly, onto his poor cock.

"Ah! M-mommy, too much, 's too much-"

"No." You stilled, which was somehow worse. "You're going to take it. I've been dealing with you being impatient and selfish and useless all night, it's my fucking turn."

He shouldn't have throbbed at the word, but he did. James nodded after a moment, when he noticed a tinge of concern in your eyes. It disappeared as soon as it came, and then, inch by agonizing inch, you sank down on his cock until you were sat fully on him.

You didn't move immediately, instead relishing in the feeling. Your eyes fluttered closed and you flexed your fingers over James' chest, which, oddly, seemed to upset you. Your eyes snapped open, staring down at James' chest, plucking at the material of his shirt.

"Off." You grunt, pushing the material up his stomach. James pulled the material from his body faster than he's ever done anything- anything to please you.

You seem satisfied; your hips roll against him, and James feels as though he's been set on fire. The evidence of his previous orgasm was not yet dry on the bedsheets, and here you were sitting on his cock- no, your cock. Your useless cock.

"Aw, yeah, see Jamie?" You dip down, mouthing around his heaving chest. "This is what happens when you don't wait. Mommy's going to get ther way either way, it's not my fault how that turns out for you."

James only nodded frantically, breathing heavy and yelps and gasps giving way to long, high moans. Your lips reached his nipple, and your tongue traced over the sensitive skin.

"Mommy! Please, mommy, don't stop-" James' pleas were cut off when your lips wrapped around the bud, tonguing and sucking and pulling the sweetest, most shameless sounds from the depths of his throat.

A new kind of panic settled over James as your hips sped up. He felt it in the throbbing up his cock, in the heat brewing in his lower stomach. He wasn't going to last.

"Mommy, Mommy slow down, please, 'm not gonna last," he pleaded, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as he tried and failed to think of anything else. He was already denied looking away from you, but even if you'd let him he wouldn't want to.

"Oh, but you will," you purred in his ear. "You're gonna get Mommy off if it kills you."

"Can't, Mommy, 'm sorry," he wails, eyes screwing shut.

"Hold it." You grit, but the firm cant of your hips up and down his length make your orders impossible. White-hot pleasure mixed with shame washed over James as he, against his own will, releases into you.

You were fully planning on continuing regardless of whether or not he came, but seeing the way he fell into a series of jolts and falling limp, you had a lapse of pity. You could tell by the crossing of his heavy eyes that he was exhausted.

Once you were still, and James had caught a breather, he tried nestling his face into the crook of your neck. "'M sorry Mommy. I tried, I really did. Wanna take care of you, wanna make you feel good. Wanna taste you Mommy, please?"

"That's the first smart thing you've said all night, Jamie." You combed a hand through his hair. Gently, slowly, you lifted yourself off of him, rolling over and lying on your back. James was quick to follow your movements, chasing the warmth of your body despite being sweaty and sticky.

"Go on, baby," you nod, legs spreading open. You wince a little at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you, but James was ever so quick to replace it. His eager tongue lapped at you, licking his own cum out of you.

"That's it, sweet boy, just like that, doing so good for Mommy."

James' efforts redoubled at the sugary sweetness of your voice. The hand that was kneading your thighs slithered between your legs, tracing around your hole so his lips could wrap around your clit, tongue laving over your skin in a manner that could only be described as hot. Big doe eyes gazed up at you, pouty and longing for approval. Your moans and praises were confirmation enough, spurring his fingers to sink into you with ease.

James’ mouth and hand worked wonders, that was never a debate, but it was the devotion and surrender in his actions that sent you barreling towards that high. It was watching him earlier as you rode him, watching him try to stave off his orgasm for as long as possible, denying himself overwhelming pleasure simply because you had asked. Your pleasure was his pleasure.

“Ah, Jamie, so close baby, so good- ah!” Your hands flew to his hair when he delivered a particularly harsh suck to your clit; bleary, blinking eyes clouded with lust watched your face contort in pleasure.

You writhed underneath him, and at this point, you were bucking your hips up into his face, pulling it so that his nose rubbed over you exactly how you needed it to.

When your high hit you, your hips stuttered, so James took it upon himself to maintain the rhythm for you, head bobbing with the movement as overwhelming pleasure set your body alight.

The air was thick with the smell of sex as you basked in the afterglow; you’d only just realized how hot your body had become when you pushed your hair out of your face.

“Did I do good Mommy?”

James was blinking up at you wearily, but he looked content as ever. A mixture of your slick and his own cum was strung between his tongue, still poking out over his lip, and your lips.

You hummed, swiping your thumb over his chin to clean him. “Of course, Jamie, did so good for Mommy.”

James happily suckled on your thumb, laying his head on your thigh.

You watched him for a while, content in the silence, until you became suddenly aware of the music still blaring downstairs.

“Oh God, wait-”

. . .

Back at home, you sat with your legs dangling over the bathroom counter as you brushed your teeth. You were contently scrolling, not even paying attention to what rolled down your screen when a familiar name dropped down from the top.

Sirius “The Whore” Black: hey bestie boo

Sirius “The Whore” Black: why are my bedsheets gone

You snorted, clicking on the banner to respond. But before you could type, a few more messages popped up.

Sirius “The Whore” Black: they’re in the fucking washer

Sirius “The Whore” Black: why are they in the washer

You: Because I put them there??

Sirius “The Whore” Black: oh

Sirius “The Whore” Black: oh my god

Sirius “The Whore” Black: YOU HAD SRED

Sirius “The Whore” Black: SEC

You: Take your time

Sirius “The Whore” Black: fuck off

Sirius “The Whore” Black: copulation

You: there you go

Sirius “The Whore” Black: ON MY BED

Sirius “The Whore” Black: so I got cockblocked because of you

Sirius “The Whore” Black: Now Remus thinks I'm a disgusting slob who doesn't even have bedsheets

Sirius “The Whore” Black: I had it so perfectly made too

You: I can say with full confidence that your chances are not ruined

You: Besides

You: Would you rather I had just left the dirty sheets there?

Sirius “The Whore” Black: god no

Sirius “The Whore” Black: but I'm never using those sheets again anyways

Sirius “The Whore” Black: I'm burning the entire bed

Sirius “The Whore” Black: And you will be purchasing me a new set since you're soooo considerate

Your head kicks back in a cackle.

"What's so funny?" Came James' voice from the shower.

You scroll up so that you can show James the conversation. When you push the phone past the shower curtain, the words James reads aloud are not the ones you'd read.

"Sirius "The Whore" Black sent you an ApplePay request - €300."

~

James Potter Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[celestailio]

the written fate ( raiden ei x fem!reader )

outline: years have passed, and kunikuzushi’s heinous crimes have spread fear throughout inazuma. as fate would have it, you cross paths with him once more, the weight of your shared history heavy between the both of you.

contains: mentions of raiden ei x fem!reader, angst, no comfort, ei and reader don't meet, mother and son quarrel time. somewhat follows canon.

wc: 1.1k

a/n: the last part of the longing can be read on its own, tho. it's kinda short, but i think it's enough. i wrote this on halloween and forgot about editing it xo anyway, hope you all enjoy this. i feel so happy seeing the interactions on the previous two fics. again from the bottom of my anxious heart, thank you for taking the time to read my shitty writings <333

you had never seen him like this.

you distinctly remember him as a kind, gentle boy—the one who would flash sweet smiles at you the moment your eyes met and come tumbling and collapsing into your arms. the one would never ever think of causing harm to anyone.

someone who you had been ordered to kill.

that same boy stood in front of you. the twilight illuminates his figure, allowing your brain to register his familiar blue hair protruding from underneath the massive black jingasa. you make out a small crowd not so far behind him. by the looks of it, he was accompanied by the troops of the fatui.

everything has changed about him. he looked so, so unlike him. completely unrecognizable.

“i go by scaramouche now.”

he said with an abrasive tone. something strange glinting in his blue orbs. he began trudging towards you. his black zori leaving imprints on kannazuka’s tarnished sandy beaches. the solar pearls attached to his hat rang with his every step, its chimes filling the dead air between the two of you. he crossed the distance slowly with steady strides, his assertive composure beginning to disturb you.

you had never seen him like this.

you have to regain your composure—say, do something before the anxiety threatens to take over you.

''tell me why? i am just hearing about you joining the fatui?''

your voice croaks a little, but it doesn't matter. as long as it sounds unwavering, that was enough. you're still like his mother, and well, he is still like your son, right?

it's not a problem if he didn't come to you after he woke up in the pavilion years ago. you think maybe he had forgotten about your promise to him. but it's alright. you are here now, and you will take care of this. everything will be okay, just like in the past.

“not to mention, you have been going around, eating everyone's life. does this look like a game to you?”

scaramouche stays motionless. he keeps on digging holes on your crinkled visage. if his gaze could burn you, you would have been on the ground, your body smoldering in a pile of ashes in a mere seconds.

something has changed.

“you never thought of coming to me after you woke up? why?”

“why would've i?”

“huh?''

“to someone who had been deceitful to me. to someone who didn't feel any remorse for me.”

what was he talking about?

''do you know how i felt when i woke up by myself in that ridiculous place? how would i have made the trip to the main island? i had no money, no one, nothing. all because of you and her!''

''how dare you leave me?” his voice now merely a whisper.

''please listen to me. i had no choice. i could not change her mind.''

''i could not leave with you. i have a duty, my destiny, to serve this country and its people, an oath i made many centuries ago, and i have to remain loyal to it.''

''please, i could not.''

you were babbling at this point. so desperate, so eager. oh, god. it felt like you were going to throw up any minute. you know this was going to happen, and there was nothing you could have done to prevent this. curses. you attempt to take a step, longing to be close to him, hoping to comfort him, but he pushes away. from you. his little hand comes up to stop you, head turned away as he couldn't bear to look at you.

''i've had enough. be gone. i don't want to see you any much longer. you disgust me.''

''but-'' you make an effort to reach for his sleeves, but he is quick to grab your arm. the sensation of contact, arousing goosebumps all over your body.

''enough!''

with a sudden jolt, electro energy dispels you away from him as you land near a pile of debris with a loud thud. sand feels rough, grazing against your skin, as you give it your all to lift yourself up. you felt your breath hitching, eyes wide, overflowing with unshed wetness. you gradually turn towards him. a similar look graced his face.

you felt your heart tighten at the sounds of little whimpers leaving him. his hand lingering in the air as if contemplating what he has done. but this had answered enough. you had no choice now but to brush the dirt from your clothes. as you unsheathe your katana and point it towards him. the blade sharp and glows under the moonlight. your stance confident, as words of venom slip out into the crisp winter air.

''you are now an enemy of the nation i serve.''

''this is the one and only time you will step foot in this country, else i will not think twice before slicing your head off.''

scaramouche says nothing to that and wanders off with his fatui subordinates, disappearing behind the woods of tall otogi.

when you return to tenshukaku, you are critiqued on your failure to get rid of the sixth harbinger. the shogunate questions your loyalty to the nation, to the shogun. but you can do nothing like always. all you manage is to come up with a lousy excuse. something about you being outnumbered by the fatui and having to flee before you lost your life. but they don't give a damn, do they?

''he was right there, miko.''

''was he now?''

''he wouldn't listen to what i had to say. i could not get through to him at all.''

''he surely got his mama's temper, huh.''

you remain silent. only the rusting of the sakura leaves swaying in the breeze could be heard. miko's stare begins to soften. shaking her head. her sake swirls in her cup as she takes a seat beside you. head resting on your shoulder.

''that stubborn woman should have just killed him.''

never did you think you would be in agreement with this. a few years ago, you would have slapped a cheeky hand on her shoulders, but the 'you' now would beg to differ. things weren't as they once were. you had never felt so lost and lonely. so empty inside. you lost your little boy, your ruler, your god and the only one you loved. it is unfortunate that you still do and will continue to do so.

and that was what you were cursed for your entire existence. only a star from another universe was capable of rewriting the course of destruction this destitute nation has embarked on.

[adorerbati]

From: 'Orbital Mechanics', the Steve Rogers/Alpha point of view of the Omegaverse fic 'Celestial Navigation'.

This part breaks my heart, causes a deep drop somewhere, in chasms, in bellies and nerve-wracken stomachs.

"This was crazy.  He had to stop this.  It wasn’t healthy.  He knew that.  Telling himself again as he stood here halfway between the cabin’s living area and the kitchen with the clock ticking the seconds off worked about as well as it had the past couple of weeks, when his mind would conjure the image of Anthony from his picture, dangling his visage in the forefront of Steve’s mind like bait on a hook.  Steve knew the hook was there, all sharp-pointed teeth, but he couldn’t quite make himself look away.  He should, though.  God knew, he should look away.  It wasn’t about what he wanted.  It was about doing what was right, and bringing some Omega into this shell of a life he had carefully carved out for himself was the height of selfishness and probably a recipe for disaster, no matter what SHIELD said.  

He ran his hand over his mouth, cupping his chin as if he could draw the lump out of his throat, but it held there, bobbing up and down as he blinked back a sudden burning sting at the corners of his eyes.  He had to stop this. Stop thinking about this.  About him.  Anthony.  Anthony, who was proud and defiant and brave and who was going to be Bonded to someone who would break him in.  Steve could feel his hands balling into fists at his sides, the sudden straining of muscles that came with ready alertness, and the surge of…something…that seemed to happen whenever he thought about that eventuality.  

It wasn’t his concern. Some strange Omega he’d seen a picture of in a stack of files…the boy’s fate wasn’t in Steve’s hands.  It belonged to his parents, who would surely find a suitable match for him.  Someone who would take care of him, the way he should be cared for, not someone who could barely manage to get through a day without retreating to some half-baked fantasy life.  It wasn’t his concern.  It wasn’t, and if it was, he would be better than the type of person who pulled someone into whatever this life was only in the hopes of pulling himself out of it.  That wasn’t fair or right or anything other than self-serving, Steve told himself firmly, failing, again, to quite make the admonition stick.  "

And this part builds me back up. Slowly, tentatively, out of frightened notions and reverie:

“Tony,” Steve began, “if you don’t want…to, ah, to do this…” he trailed off, letting the words hang there between them for a long moment.  It hurt. It physically hurt, like a slow punch to the gut that just kept going deeper and deeper, leaving a gaping wound in its wake.

Tony stared at him, eyes wide, almost wild.  Cornered, Steve thought, brow drawing together.  He opened his mouth to say something else, but no words came.

“I said I’d be honored, Captain,” Tony said in a slow, clipped tone, his eyes narrowing on Steve.

“But…is it what you want?” Steve asked, feeling a heavy blanket of weariness sink into his bones.  

“Do you really want an answer to that?” Tony asked, voice sharp now, barbs hiding in the words.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Steve said.  He wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but he supposed it was the only answer to give.

Tony stared at Steve for a long time, jaw working, throat bobbing, his whole body taut, like finding the answer took every ounce of energy inside him.  One hand reached up to fiddle with the dog tags again, before he seemed to catch himself and realize what he was doing. He smoothed the flat of his hand down his chest instead, trying to make the action look deliberate.  His eyes were flying around the room, landing for fleeting seconds on Steve, then blinking away, eyes bright.

“Yes.  Since you asked.  Yes,” Tony said finally.  Even as warmth burst in his chest, Steve could hear the tension in Tony’s voice, the way it quaked just a little with some emotion he was trying hard to keep at bay.  

“Thank you,” Steve replied.  Relief swept through him, pushing away everything else.  Tony said yes. Tony was his. Mine, Steve thought with a sort of almost vicious triumph.  Mine. Tony would be his, and all of this—this strange meeting where everything seemed off kilter, everything Steve had done wrong, all the ways he wasn’t what Tony wanted—it didn’t matter for now.  Tony was his. He would do better next time. They had their whole lives, after all. He could be better for Tony. Wasn’t that what everyone said would happen? Bond, and he would be better. Different.  This would all be easier.

“You’re getting a shit deal,” Tony muttered, mouth twisting into a grimace.  “Just…I didn’t ask for any of this, you know? Don’t blame me when you figure that out.”

“What are you talk—” Steve began, then broke off with a wince.  I didn’t ask for this. The words rang in Steve’s head. I didn’t ask for this.  I didn’t want this. All other ways of saying that he didn’t want Steve, not really, not the way Steve wanted him.  He wanted something, though. Something that was enough to get him to agree, and whatever that was, it would have to be enough.   Steve knew he wasn’t strong enough to do the right thing here and let Tony go. Find someone else. Someone better. Someone who could give him whatever it was that he so desperately wanted.

Break him in.

I think he may already be broken, Steve thought suddenly.  Something else we have in common, then, Steve thought with a sigh."

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2024 :: Day Thirteen

Prompt: Butte Characters: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Nergui Bayaqud Word Count: 799

Master List

A sense of frustration welled within Nomin as she quietly excused herself from the gathering around the bonfire amidst the rest of the members of the Bayaqud. It was…an interesting feeling, to say the least. She was not quite sure why she cared. She should not have cared. At least…that was what she attempted to keep telling herself.

It was one thing rebuffing the affections of the young woman named Nergui, but seeing how she so easily drifted to Arik or Jargal to flirt with them or make some form of advance on them… Well, it made Nomin feel a little awkward to be around her to say the least. Especially when Nergui’s words to Nomin was that she would make an excellent warrior to join the rest of her husbands, wives, and partners of no particular disposition.

Shaking out her hands, Nomin clenched and flexed them. Over and over.

Eventually, she found a patch of grass where Horse and Wild Sun grazed nearby, and she plopped down onto the ground. Crossing her legs, Nomin pouted while resting her chin in the palm of her hand, her elbow digging into her thigh. At current, she really just focused her eyes on the horizon, the visage of the buttes in the distance reaching for the sky becoming a view she might not have appreciated were she to have stayed to be served her meal at the bonfire.

Curling her tongue and pursing her lips, Nomin let out two sharp whistles to grab Horse’s attention. He, of course, perked up before walking over. In greeting, he lipped Nomin’s hair, causing her to scoff and push his muzzle away playfully before she got up to check his saddlebags. After flipping open a good handful of the compartments and rummaging around, Nomin finally had her paintset and a roll of hare hide she had been saving for another opportunity to paint.

With her materials now in possession, Nomin gently praised Horse before patting his neck and finding another spot to sit so that she could start painting. She tried something new, taking her near-white yellow paint and applying a base to the hide before taking blue to start blending it and making the sky. She would go on like this, ensuring the sky and clouds were presentable before starting work on painting the distant mountains and buttes that were within her vision.

So focused was Nomin on painting that she did not hear the soft whispers of grass as they spoke of someone approaching.

“Nomin…?”

There was a pause in Nomin’s brush strokes before she turned toward the familiar voice. It was Nergui, hands held at rest, fingers laced together before her. She had a look of concern on her face -- an expression that still looked beautiful on her face with her equally beautiful inky black scales.

Nomin returned to her painting. “... What is it?”

“I fear I may have offended you,” Nergui replied.

Silence.

And then another gentle chattering of grass as Nergui closed the distance between herself and Nomin.

“I apologize if I did.” This was a different part of Nergui that Nomin had not seen from her. Granted, they had really only known each other for a couple suns at this point…so all Nomin was really familiar with was how flirtatious and playful Nergui tended to be. Almost as if her status as the khatun’s daughter inflated her ego and sense of self.

But this apology…it made Nomin stop again with her brushstrokes, soon taking her waterskin to wash the paint from the brush.

“I often don’t think about how strongly I come on to other people. This…is why you distance yourself from me, is it not?”

“... That’s…correct,” Nomin slowly said in response. She looked back out to the scenery that she had been painting, not wanting to look at Nergui directly. “I have no feelings for you -- for anyone -- in such a capacity.”

Nergui, now standing next to Nomin, took a seat. “I see. It’s not often I run into those like you.”

“Nor is it often I run into those like you,” Nomin replied in kind.

“I want to be friends.” Nergui’s words were blunt, though filled with a genuine kindness. “Had you mentioned to me that you did not appreciate my affections, I would have not pursued. It is my blindness to your discomfort that I hope to mend between us.”

Thinking about Nergui’s words, Nomin looked down to the painting she had been working on. She felt…calm and at peace. A far cry from how she felt with some other people that usually were found out to have been lying through their teeth. So she looked at the Bayaqud woman and efforted a small smile.

“... If we can be friends, I think that would be nice.”

[abbysbasement]

i want to run my pussy on abby's hammer like a cat in heat i need her to make fun of me i want to suck on her tongue spit everywhere i do not care amen

AN; this is that shit that makes you embarrassed to look at mirrors after you write it. I gotta go... repently shamefully for this... if you know what I mean.

content tags: MEAN dom!Abby, assplay, object insertion (r!receiving, anal, yeah...) spanking (r!receiving), degradation (abs calls the reader whore, slut, bitch, etc.) , humiliation, name calling, affectionate pet name used in mean ways, mindbreak if u squint and tilt your head, strap on penetration (r!receiving), messy/dirty sex? public sex, nobody walks in but reader has thoughts about if someone did. spit kink but not in the mouth. abby and the reader and kinda nasty dirty and unhinged but are deeply in love and there IS aftercare!! started as an informal headcannon, somehow we got to paragraphs and thousand-word counds

WC: 3.1k

proofread?: yes \ no \ barely

tl;dr: abby sluts you out for being bad, you become very well-acquainted with a hammer.

just want u to know that you’re sick (lovingly) and I had to get in peak porn writing position to pump out this reply… no pun intended.

first of all we would have to fight over the hammer but that’s neither here nor there let’s unpack mean, condescending dom abby who loves to tease and make u cry.

I know I said Abby wouldn’t like fucking in public but I also love going back on my word and maybe this is one of those times where she gets super frustrated with you and decides to take u down a peg. she’s forever the doting, loving girlfriend but she knows she’s created a spoiled brat, nd sometimes u just push her too far; running your mouth too fucking much, using your body to rile her up right before her next assignment, and leaving her high and dry, the way you flaunt everything around the stadium, traipsing around in short little skirts, or a paper-thin button up, the hard baby buds of your nipples greeting everyone you talked to. hell, even the one time she caught you going commando at your job, flashing her little slips of your wet pussy as you passed her items over the consignment desk.

if you wanted to be a loose, disrespectful whore, she could play that game too. if she had to punish you into being good for her again, it was a low price to pay.

she’d tell you she had something to show you in the woods outside the stadium, ‘just something for you and me, mouse.’ of course, she’d give you one last chance to make it up to her, to prove that you’re good. but you’re too cocky, wandering hands trailing over her skin, down her chest, cupping that space between her thighs to feel the fat strap she was packing, just for you. Feigning dropping something on the ground to grind your hips against that hard, imposing bulge. She’d play nice, just for a second, looking down at you from your place on your knees. You had that innocent face plastered on, the slightest pull of a smirk playing at the corner of your mouth.

“hi, mam-“ you started, but she shushed you, instead using her palm to push up your head gently, the telltale sign of your favourite ritual. you opened your mouth hungrily, fanning out your tongue in that pliant, pretty way that she loved, letting her know you were all hers. For a second, it softened her; you, happily on your knees, that look of sheer devotion painting your face, waiting to be molded, created in her image. but it was never that easy, and you recoiled as a heavy spray of saliva drenched your face, sticking to your skin and dribbling from your stuck-together lashes. You blinked it back, vision obscured, hands moving away to wipe it causing a filthy smear on your visage.

Your play at aloofness was the last straw, and you found hard fingers tangling their way into your hair and forcing you down in a different position, the pit of her lips and her hot breath beating the side of your face.

“you take me for a fucking joke, cunt?”

“No mama, never— jus’ playin’ a little bit—“

you’d pout, craning your neck to look at her through fluttered lashes and teary eyes. Her jaw was clenched tight, forcing her words through gritted teeth. Eyes dark and predatory, looking over you like a piece of meat. A trail of fear cobbled down your spine and Abby walked it, shoving your mid back down to get you exactly how she wanted you. You were arched up with your tummy and breasts pressed down into the grass, the soft globes of your soft, plentiful ass poking from your flipped-over skirt, knees scuffed by the soil. you were sure that your face was caked with mud or would be. Your cunny wet your panties easily from the excitement of it all, dripping from that pit of terror and sheer animalistic arousal that only Abby, your one true owner could unlock. The slick ran down your thighs, filthy little drips painting your skin that made her own cunt boil internally. From below, you could see the woman who towered over you crack a crooked smile.

There she was.

“Didn’t I say that if you make it hard for me, I’ll make it hard for you?”

You nodded, silently, shamefully. Abby was cruel, palming your ass violently, kneading it, a rage that had been simmering for weeks boiling over in one moment, and you were the frog who didn’t notice the temperature rising until it was too late. “Better brace yourself, dumb fuckin’ whore.”

You wanted to press your luck. to tease just a bit harder, to say ‘for what?’ with the hopes she’d squirm, get out of her body a bit, see if you could brat your way into getting just a little bit more. But before you could open your mouth to let out a cheeky quip, a sound something like the swing of a knife in the wind cut through the silence, and a forgiveless, merciless blow dented your little ass. Your body shot forward against your will, every muscle in those damned delicious arms working overtime to knock you off balance. You knew you were severely fucked, that Abs would have you walking funny for days after how you behaved, that she had no plans of going easy on you.

“Mam- mommy, mommy,” you started, babbling like a fool, nose running and mouth awash with drool as you took your punishment, warm flesh being peppered with harsh smacks that reddened your beloved dom’s palm and indented your skin with hot spiderwebs. She didn’t respond, but you could hear heavy breaths and grunts of exertion pushing out of her nostrils. Your pussy was still leaking, panties nearly translucent from how ruined the fabric was. she was sure to leave a couple of blows there, too, your bitty clitty fighting its way out of its cloak of protection, unwittingly making it a prime target for the abuse your ass was under.

The cloth was removed from you, and abby silently marveled at your redness, the juiciness of your drooling snatch, and how your nub pulsated like it had its own mini heartbeat. she gripped it best she could, wetness making her fingers slip before she could catch good traction, and pulling the bundle of nerves towards her slightly. You were squeaking, moaning, guttural, and animalistic as you fucked your hips in her direction, the pinned hands still captured in her large fist slapping and clawing at any flesh it could find, even the still sensitive globes of your asscheeks. “Ple— fuck, please mama, be niceeee.”

“Fuck are you crying for? You’re a fucking faucet down here, we both know you need this.” water from your eyes dripped down, inky black marks rolling over your nose and into the dirt beneath you, marring your pretty face. your pussy was drooling though, and the rough treatment was exactly what you had been needing. she was always too busy with patrols, or supply runs, or any of the stupid vanity projects Isaac would spring on her at the drop of a hat. she’d feel remorseful about it, trying to placate you at night with lazy rubs to your clit or skating her tongue through your slit, but it wasn’t enough, and all you needed was to get taken down the way you deserved.

like this.

“open up those legs.” she said it like you had a choice, ha. “needa get you ready to take my cock. I mean, that is what you came out here for, right?” you wanted to say a lot, yes mommy, I’m a whore, yes mommy, I’m addicted to your dick, yes mommy, I’m a needy cockslut who has to have it every night lest I lose my fucking mind. but you were already gone; already in that soft, stupid, braindead space where you happily existed as her favourite hole and nothing more, so all you could do was force a weak nod.

but that wasn’t enough for mommy, never enough for mommy. her disapproval came down in the form of her hard, dirty boot on your ass, jostling you, enough to shock you back to life and give you a little scare, but enough to not hurt her baby too bad, because that was unforgivable. she angled her knee over, the tread gripping your ass and splitting your lips apart to reveal the ruby red of your hidden jewel. you could hear the telltale flick and jingle of her utility belt flipping open. there was only a second to exist in confusion before you hissed, keening unintentionally at the feeling of cold metal persisting against those red-hot folds between your thighs.

It was… whatever it was, but it drove you insane; slight bumps, divots, irregularities working every moan and scream out of you, tapping you like a leaky faucet as Abby tormented your hole. That damned work boot kept you open as she took her time, sometimes dipping the unknown attacker into your hole only to let it pop out as she fucked her arm back and forth, up and down, veins pulsing from the exertion. You were insane, fully broken without even feeling her cock in you, being painfully teased, barely fucked with the cold steel she had summoned.

She had fucked you with a lot; grinding on her pistol while she raked the clip through your hole, some shitty keepsake Issac had gotten her to celebrate her first 100 confirmed kills that was just the right size and girth for an anal dildo. fuck, even detached the quiver of her crossbow so that you could grind and get off like a good little girl in the front of the Jeep while she filled up the boot after a supply run.

But you couldn’t pick this one.

Abs was always good to you, a little mean sometimes, but this was just another way she was good to you, devoted to making your slut pussy feel the way it needed to. She was mean, however, when she left you empty and whimpering at the lack of stimulation as she pulled her arm away, dropping her foot and leaning over you as she brought the weapon of m(ass) destruction to your face. “you run that fuckin’ mouth enough, can use it for useful shit too, right?” She started, rough and imposing. “Get your new friend nice and clean for mommy.”

it was… a ball-peen hammer, flat on one side, rounded and fat on the other, and dripping with your nectar from end to end. You shuddered with excitement. She was so fucking dirty, so fucking sick for this, and you were impossibly turned on by it. you needed more. Your lips formed an O instantly, taking the less girthy head into your mouth, moaning at the taste of your own sinful juices coating your tongue. if anyone came upon this sight, if a passing group of scars came by and blew your head off, It didn’t matter, nothing mattered right now, the two of you could get ambushed at that very moment, and you would die happily as mommy’s perfectly debased whore.

she released the grip on your arms, pulling your head up by your hair to fit more of the tool in your waiting, happy mouth. you lapped it all, wetness leaking down your neck and between your pert breasts. Your saliva ran lengthwise down the handle, Abby’s palms being coated in the slick, drippy and sticky. You whined as she took it back, pouting immediately with disappointment. you could hear something muttered, a nonchalant ‘calm the fuck down’ and then the telltale drag of zipper teeth as Abby forced her cock free, dragging the fat head through your folds.

“Want me, mouse?” she said, tone almost sweet again as she fucked slightly into your waiting pussy, just the tip and nothing more. It was almost enough to make the waterworks start again, what felt like hours of evil teasing, toying around with your body like it was a game. She slipped in deeper, then pulled the sheathed inches completely out, biting the fat of her bottom lip as the diamond lines of your wetness stayed connected in thin air. you were fucking gorgeous, and she could take you right here and now, give you all the dick you needed, and melt your brain until you needed to be carried home.

But she wanted to drag it all out, wanted this to be the punishment. You could take all of the receiving, even if the cruel and unusual, but the anticipation, the not having is what killed you; and she knew which ticks would force you to lose it.

you were stumbling, babbling, everything swimming through your head too fast. Your exploited cunny was pulsating, the air blowing between your netherlips making everything so much more sensitive, making your brain even foggier. A thick, adept thumb flattened against your folds, dipping in to collect some of the sacred liquid and smearing it against your inner thigh. Her fingers drummed the fat of your butt impatiently. “So you’re gonna make me take you home? That what you want?”

“No!” You shrieked, on the verge of tantruming. It was too much, enough to wake you up, at attention and ready to take what she was willing to give. “No, no, I mean— want you! need you mama. So bad.” You swirled your hips around for emphasis, grinding against nothing, searching for anything to put out the fire she set inside of you. “On your elbows for me, then.” She said, waiting for you to comply in order to drop your head back down. She hummed in appreciation at your unwavering obedience, enjoying how much you were willing to degrade yourself for this, before she spread open your pussy lips and bottomed out all at once. “Goood fuckin girl, Mouse.”

The fire never got put out, it was quite the opposite, as though your whole body was alight from each nerve ending as she pounded into you with that body made of sheer muscle. She pressed forward, repositioning you with no hands and deepening your arch until she had the proper leverage to hit that fucking spot. She grabbed your hand from behind, guiding you to split your own pussy apart for better access.

Abby loved you for shit like this, how you clenched as you approached a peak, how that sloppy white ring would collect on the blue of her dick. You needed to be fucked like this, to be reminded what happens when toys step out of line and give their owners problems, and she had no qualms with destroying your brain and rebuilding it piece by piece. She could die in this pussy.

Another bead of spit rained against you, a large gob deep in your asshole. She worked you, effortlessly, snapping her hips to batter your cunt every time, using you completely for her twisted desires, moving to slip her thumb into the taut ring for a better grip. You were on cloud nine, barely forming words, sounding like you were speaking in code. Just loud, loose moans ringing from your throat. Yeah, you were sure you’d have to get put on recess for a couple of days to survive the mental effects of this cock.

“Relax for me, babe.” she whispered, softly and sweetly removing her thumb from your tightest hole before the sensation was replaced with something larger, more foreign, cold and hard, and —shiiittt

Abigail Anderson was a fucking crazy person, pushing the ball tip of the hammer into your quivered hole, letting the handle rest on your back as she continued destroying you with no mercy. “Aww, my lil’ Mousey got her very own tail.” She teased, jiggling your ass with her free hand as she watched the brown handle tap against your back in time with her thrusts. You whimpered, and she wrenched your head back up with a firm palm on your neck to meet your eyes. “When Mommy tells a joke, Mousey fuckin’ laughs, right?” She growled into your ear, punctuating her anger with a harsh slap to your already bruised ass and a rough thrust, pounding your secret spot and sending you closer and closer to your orgasm.

You tried to force a giggle, but the sensations from your battered pussy warped the sound into a ragged moan, and you tried to whine, beg, sputter your way into her favour. All you could manage was the stupid repetition of ‘Mousey has a tail, Mousey has a tail!’ until it broke down into just ‘tailtailtailtailfuckkinnnntail’ and until that melted into nothing, just a cheap sob and a scream running through the forest as your orgasm ran through you in the form of floor-sprinkling rivulets and a clench around mommy’s cock.

You wanted to fall but she wouldn’t let you, wanted to cry but she didn’t let you, and then, everything was gone and she was around you, strong arms holding you up, steady hands wiping the dirt from your face, soft lips kissing you everywhere in spite of the dirt on your face. “Got you, Mouse. You’re okay, you’re with me.” She whispered, running a reassuring palm through your hand, moving down to massage the back of your neck.

“Wanna lay down?” She said, motioning to her pack. She always brought a blanket, clean clothes for you, water, snacks, her gun, so that you would never have to hold one with her around. She tried her best to unfurl the fabric with one hand, laying you down and wiping through your poor, swollen kitten with a cloth damp from her canteen. She redressed you, fresh panties, one of her tee-shirts, tented by the hard pebbles of your nipples sticking out. She spread out next to you, letting you find your way to the crook of her neck, to that chest-to-chest position you loved because you could feel her heartbeat like it was yours. she still loved you, of course, would kiss your cheeks and soothe the bruises she left behind and remind you what you have is a forever thing, but that sometimes you need the bad with the good. You were such a bad girl, too whiny and needy for your own good, a spoiled little monster *she* created, but she loved you because of it.

Yeah, she fucking loved you.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved - Echo! You can read this little chunk as a standalone, or head back to the beginning for the full experience!

Sequel to Flinching.

Is this the softest Echo fic I've ever written? Yes. Did I cry while writing it? There is no video evidence. @actuallybarb thanks for requesting a second chapter!

Febuwhump Day 2 Ch 2

Flinching – Med OC&Echo

Warnings: Reference to attempted SA, reference to physical assault, some cursing, wound care, energy crash from excessive bacta use, non-intimate undressing, some self-deprecating thoughts

WC: 2,583

The painful control mediating his intentionally even breaths did little to hide the violent tension pulsing through Echo’s taut body with each thrumming beat of his heart. I could feel it in the rush of blood surging through the pulse point of his inner arm, watched it in the ball of muscle locking around his jaw, and I loathed the knowledge that I was the cause of it. Numb to the ache shooting through the abused lip caught between my teeth, I found myself straining for silence in my every tentative movement, struck beneath the weight of fearing my very existence in that moment was enough to further fuel his anger, and I loathed my own timidness just as violently as I loathed the cause of that rage.

“We’re not going to let something like this happen again.” The deep quiet in his whispered promise was so displaced against that frightful anger that I couldn’t help but look up to see the perfect stillness in those amber eyes; the conviction burning through his every word as the man I’d come to treasure for his gentleness suddenly embodied the powerful visage of the GAR’s most elite soldiers. It was easy to forget the simple fact that he’d earned his title of arc trooper; that the exceptional strength of his towering form was merely a small part in what made him such a dangerous force, but, in that moment, I could see a determination in those eyes that only a fool would doubt, and, for the first time in days, I felt safe.

My gaze fell away at the hiss of the medbay door sliding open. Stepping away from him, I ambled numbly about the room to gather my supplies, dreading the crash I knew would hit me mercilessly after smearing that blue gel over my wounds. At the first hitch of breath from abused muscles balking beneath the weight of a tube of bacta, Echo quickly stepped forward to take it from me, hand only just whispering against mine to ease the thick container from my grasp.

“Just tell me what else you need.” He said softly. Maker, I hated this… I’d sprinted through waves of enemy fire carrying over half my body weight in gear to reach wounded soldiers, but, in that moment, I couldn’t manage even retrieving my own damn bacta… Motioning vaguely toward the handful of supplies I’d already gathered, I managed a small shrug.

“That’s probably it, I think.” The words felt so small, and I found myself cringing at the mere sound of them. Tomorrow… Tomorrow I would force that bouncing smile back in place. Tomorrow I would remember every horror I’d faced and conquered. Tomorrow I would remember that I was strong, and I’d find a way to draw back my shoulders and plant my feet beneath me so I could stand tall beside these amazing soldiers – these amazing men��� but, as I felt his hand settle gently against my back, I had to grant myself permission to be weak, if only for that night, and, amidst the quiet concern and utter lack of judgement from the man beside me, I found some way to forgive myself for it.

“I’m guessing most of the bruises aren’t just on your face.” He started tentatively, and a small huff left me at the quiet apology in his hinted words, head just shifting in a brief nod. “Are you okay with me helping you? I could get you a blanket – something to help keep you covered.” There was that gentleness I so loved him for; somehow finding a way to draw a small smile to my lips even through the haze of emotion that had robbed me of my strength and left me so deathly tired.

“It’s fine, Echo.” I breathed, shooting him a ragged shadow of a smirk. “Not like I don’t have a breastband on. Plus, medic school has a way of stripping people of that kind of shame.” He let out a knowing chuckle, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he had similar experiences from his arc training. Still, when I reached up to undo the clasp at my neck, he turned away in some instinctual offer for privacy.

My fond smile lasted just until I’d begun rolling the skin-tight material up my chest, muscles seizing at the movement. Gritting my teeth against the unavoidable hurt, my hand tightened around the black fabric, scowling with the effort to push through the sharp pain tearing through my back and shoulder as I strained to silence the tiny hitches in my breath, the whimper I only just managed to choke back until finally caving, body trembling against the exhaustion and pain and blinding frustration.

“Echo,” his name left my lips in a quiet plea, “um… could you… I seem to be struggling a bit with this damn skinsuit.” He hesitated only a moment before turning back to me, brows just tensing above the darkness that filled those gorgeous eyes.

“Yeah,” he sighed softly, “turn around.” With a slow breath, I turned my back to him, absently reaching out to steady myself against the ledge of the counter. Still, I couldn’t fight back the way my body tensed at the first brush of his hand over the strip of exposed skin at my waist. “Sorry – hand’s probably cold.” He murmured, pausing only briefly in a silent offer for me to pull away.

“Actually, cold sounds pretty nice right now.” I whispered despite the way my body already shook, but the thought of that cold touch against the swollen and bruised skin just hidden by the thin layer of cloth promised a comfort I couldn’t help but crave; a balm to sooth the heat collected in mistreated flesh. Reassured I hadn’t changed my mind, Echo carefully slipped his thumb between the sensitive skin and the bottom hem of my shirt, movements impossibly gentle as he wedged the fabric up an inch at a time, shifting smoothly from side to side.

I knew exactly what he saw that made him suddenly freeze, heard the screaming absence of breath as the air staled in his lungs; felt the way his eyes burred into the mass of dark purple just beneath my rib. Without a word, his touch dragged across my back to push the shirt up just that much more, and he released a tense, shaking exhale. Movements softening into something that threatened to break me, he continued so slowly, I barely felt him until his fingers only just whispered against my neck to grip the bundle as he stepped quietly around me. I fought to hide the grimace twisting over my lips as I tried to move my arms enough to help him slip the garment over my head, but his quiet words quickly stilled that futile effort.

“I’ve got it.” Even that brief attempt to force such a simple movement left me struggling beneath gritted teeth and too-quick breaths, but that didn’t matter when I saw the ice in Echo’s carefully blank expression, eyes studying each mark of that man’s fury marring my chest, the vivid outlines of his hands clearly defined in nearly black shades of purple along my arms and across my throat just beneath where the neckline of my shirt had been, before finally settling on the ruin of my face.

The horrified rage that kept fighting to wrench his expression into a scowl left me frozen, guilt twisting through my chest. I should have just done this myself – should have taken care of it days ago so they never found out to begin with. The tiny tremor in his hand as he reached for me broke my heart, and I couldn’t bring myself to even breathe as his fingers fluttered across my ruined cheek almost too softly for me to feel before carefully slipping around the back of my neck. With such painstaking care, he lowered his forehead to just settle against mine, and I felt the way he shook beneath each purposefully regulated breath, eyes clenching shut against some fleeting struggle for control, and I couldn’t stay silent in the wake of his hurt.

“Hey… I’m okay.” I don’t think I believed those words until I found myself needing to breathe them into the shuddering air trapped between us. “I’m okay, Echo.” My hands moved on their own to whisper softly over the trembling muscle straining against his jaw. “I’m okay.” Only after several more strained breaths did he finally pull back, hand lingering on my neck for just a moment longer as his eyes locked onto mine with a sorrow and guilt that sent tears clawing up my throat. With a final, sharp sigh, he tore his gaze away, stepping back to reach for the tube of bacta.

He couldn’t seem to bring himself to meet my eyes again as he began meticulously covering each discolored patch of skin with that cool gel, touch such a gentle caress, I couldn’t help but find myself leaning into it. The few areas struck hard enough to split the skin, he carefully bandaged with textbook precision. After he tended to my back, I could have thanked him, relieved him of any obligation driving him to address each exposed patch of dark bruises in turn, but I knew that look in those haunted eyes. There was nothing he could do about what had happened, but, this, working to lessen the damage already done, this was with within his power, and it offered as much comfort to him as it did to me. So I stayed quiet, eyes watching the tender movements of his hand as he worked to remove even the memory of that man’s touch.

When he finally turned his ministrations to my face, that tension stole threw him anew. Lips just twitching into something that wanted to be a smile, I let my fingers brush over his wrist.

“It’s alright, Echo,” I promised gently, “you don’t have to-” but before I could finish, he silently raised his hand to the hard lump on the side of my jaw, guiding the clear blue gel carefully along the bruised skin of my cheek, over the painful gash on my lower lip, fingertips just tracing the swollen bridge of my nose. I let my eyes close as he circled the dark flesh surrounding my left eye, and didn’t notice the way my head began to sink forward until my name whispered gently over his lips.

Chest swelling with a nearly forgotten breath, I belated pushed myself back up, eyes reluctantly opening just enough to search for him. The worry pulling his pale face into the beginnings of a frown sent a flush of heat up my neck.

“I’m fine.” I assured him, though even I could hear the slight mumble in my words. “Side effect of using so much bacta.” A hum caught in my throat as I tried to blink away the haze of exhaustion. “And I haven’t… hmm… been a few days since I’ve been able to get much sleep.” His hand slipped carefully around my arm to steady me against the way my body had begun to sway, and I just noticed that tension steal back over him. Forcing some bit of alertness back into my faltering mind, I looked up at him; saw the way his attention had locked onto my hip, and I didn’t need to look to know he could see the outline of a thumb, that he knew the rest of the handprint wrapped around my waist just beneath the fabric.

“Unless you’re terribly eager to get me out of my pants, I think I can take care of the rest.” I whispered, pleased to hear that teasing lilt playing once more with my voice, and even the weak huff of a chuckle it drew from him was a balm to the terrible weight lingering between us. He glanced away from me a moment, jaw working over words he hadn’t yet managed to form before letting his gaze shift tentatively back to mine.

“Why don’t you take Hunter’s cot tonight?” He asked quietly, and I couldn’t hide my surprise at the offer. “He’s on watch for a while and…” The way his words stumbled over his tongue left me frozen, “I’d honestly just feel better if we can keep an eye on you.” A flush of color crept up his neck, silent plea screaming through those eyes. I didn’t answer for a moment, trying to come to terms with the idea, but I was too tired to grasp the thought for long. I just wanted to sleep; to be free of the wretched memory of that night. I didn’t realize how much I truly didn’t want to be alone until hearing the simple need in his words.

“If he doesn’t mind…” I replied hesitantly, failing to fully stifle the whisper of hope in my voice. A relieved smile flashed across his lips, shoulders straightening as he drew in a deep breath.

“I’ll talk to him to make sure. Finish up, and I’ll be back in a minute, okay?” I gave a small nod, hands already reaching for the waistline of my pants as he turned to leave.

I barely remembered the automated motions of lathering those last few bruises hidden around my hips in bacta before stumbling to my personal locker, the way my hands fumbled with the far more forgiving fabric of my sleepwear; the moment my body tried to collapse, falling heavily against the wall as my balance failed me in a strained attempt to step into my shorts.

The distant call of my name sounded more like a memory than a voice, and it wasn’t until hearing the tap at the door that a hum caught in my throat in some useless attempt at a response, only catching a brief glimpse of Echo as the door hissed open before that merciless weight dragged against my eyelids, body slumping sideways. I didn’t hear the quick flurry of words as Echo darted across the room, but the flush of recognition was all I needed to melt into his touch as he quickly pulled me against him.

“Hey-hey; you still with me, Doc?” The warmth of his breath tickled across my scalp, mind begrudgingly working to find some meaning in his voice.

“Mhmm.” The grumble barely made it past my lips, feet belatedly shifting to find purchase beneath me.

“Alright, let’s get you to bed, huh?” The warmth that touched his quiet murmur only further robbed me of any will to move, eagerly pressing further into him. “I know; that stuff can really take it out of you… Come on – just hold onto me, okay?” The world seemed to dance for a moment, wrenching some fleeting whisper of awareness back just enough to find the gentle concern in Echo’s eyes, and then nothing else mattered because I realized he was holding me.

“Echo.” His name stumbled over my lips, head wilting to rest thoughtlessly against his shoulder. “’m so tired.” I could feel his thumb brush softly over my arm as he started slowly through the ship.

“I know,” he breathed. “That’s good. You need to rest. We’ll keep watch.”

Body already rocking beneath the leisurely ebb and flow of exhaustion-dulled breaths, I managed a final hum in some fleeting recognition of his words and readily let the steady rhythm of his strides lull me into a blissfully empty sleep.

Next Chapter

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[lady-charinette]

Inconspicuous Meowting - Dinner for Two fic

Its been a long while since I last updated, hope you enjoy! :3

Previously on "Dinner for Two"…

"Hey Plagg! Sorry for being so late, I still had to ask my professor something." Adrien greeted him with a wave and a tired smile, hanging his jacket on the coat rack and placing his bag on the empty chair before walking towards him. "So, anything interesting happen?"

There was this hopeful shimmer in his eyes, the one that told Plagg he was still waiting for Marinette to show up.

He almost felt guilty for lying. "Nope, nothing, just some cranky old lady eating her breakfast. Her teeth fell out so she had to leave, good thing you didn't see that. Gonna give me nightmares for weeks, ugh."

Plagg stuck his tongue out, rolling his chair out of the way so Adrien could take a seat at his desk, chuckling. "Don't be like that Plagg, I can't wait to see the day you grow all old and bald with your dentures in a glass."

"Ha, ha, very funny kid." Plagg playfully kicked Adrien's chair, causing him to rotate in circles. The model only laughed and Plagg discreetly shoved the slip of paper that peeked out back in his pocket.

Plagg walked the streets of Rue de Marseille, weaving through the sea of people, bumping shoulder after shoulder until he finally spotted her.

It was difficult to not notice her, Plagg admitted she was easy to spot (and on the eyes); her auburn, wavy locks framing her visage gave her an air not many other Parisians have. She lacked the cynical, world-weary countenance of the majority of Parisians…or perhaps just him.

"Miss Reporter?"

Alya turned and, even though she never saw Plagg before, she somehow seemed to know who he was. "You must be the talking cat." She spat with all the friendliness of a mafia mother about to torture a guy who hurt her family.

Scratch that, she regularly soaked in bath bombs of cynicism and world-weariness.

Plagg gave her a lazy grin. "From 2-9 pm anyway." He motioned towards a vacant bench near a fountain. "Let's sit, this is gonna take a while."

Alya already had her notepad out, a true reporter. "I'm all ears, pussycat."

"If you start calling me that, I'll leave." Plagg groaned, rolling his eyes at the mischievous look the reporter shot him. "Do you have the photo?"

Alya fished around in her jacket and procured two photos, one which she concealed from his view, the other a photo with two people on it. One was Marinette, smiling at a man.

A familiar one.

A stone sunk to the bottom of Plagg's stomach when he carefully glanced over the photo. "…Does he work at the university?"

Alya rose an eyebrow curiously. "Yeah, he's a professor there, why? Wait, how did you know that?" her gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Hold on, does Chat Noir attend university, too? Marinette's university?"

Plagg shook his head. "No but… there are people we know who do." Plagg nodded at the picture. "This guy is a playboy, likes to charm the young ladies in the first year. He attended some lectures at Chat Noir's uni and did the same shtick there too."

Alya dug her nails into her knee. "So, he's a serial loser! I knew something didn't match the energies!"

Crossing his arms and leaning back against the bench, Plagg shot her a look. "…You detect energies? Is that your other gig?"

Alya rolled her eyes. "No. I detect my best friend's energy! Her juju was way off with that guy!"

"…Her juju?"

"Her countenance."

"I'm too old for this."

"Shut up, you're maybe 10 years my senior. Anyway, Marinette thinks this guy is her or uh, your cat?" Plagg firmly shook his head. "Cool. Cool. I had a bad feeling from the stories she told me and how differently he behaved in and out of the restaurant. My other theory was we had a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde situation on our hands."

With a snort, Plagg rolled his eyes until he spied the other photo in Alya's hand. "Care to share with the class, miss reporter?"

"Alya. And yes… this. This is what made me seek you out in the first place. I'm worried for Marinette."

Alya finally turned the picture around and a shiver raced down Plagg's spine.

A lone figure stood outside the building where the last fashion gala took place, his side profile was visible but he wore a hat, so it hid most of his features.

"You think this is the same guy? Was he spying on pigtails?"

"Marinette. And I don't know, I can't say for sure, but a friend of mine who's also a reporter took a picture of the building to capture the lightshow and caught him in it too."

Plagg raised a curious brow. "And what makes you so sure he's waiting on our girl?"

"My girl. If I can get the brightness higher, I think the shirt he's wearing is one from campus or one he often wears. And since he kept pestering Marinette for more dates, I think it's a safe bet he isn't there for the models. Besides, this just screams 'creep'."

"Genius, really. Wearing something recognizable." Plagg's comment caused Alya to smirk.

"I bet Chat Noir wears embarrassingly recognizable clothes too."

Plagg laughed. "Nah, the kid's smarter than that."

Adrien sneezed, pulling the strings to his black hoodie tight.

Nino glanced at him in bewilderment, "Dude, are you catching a cold already? We still have warm weather." Spying the ridiculously large cat ears attached to the black hoodie, Nino discreetly glanced around them at students going in and out of the university building who shot Adrien amused glances. "And… did you have to wear your cat hoodie to uni? The ears are ridiculously huge, man."

Adrien's eyebrows furrowed, shooting a disapproving glance at his best friend. "Nobody who wears a baseball cap all year around judges my fashion senses, dude."

Nino rolled his eyes, protectively adjusting his cap, running his fingers over the fuzzy material. "They make these for winter too, in my defense."

Adrien laughed, slinging an arm around the DJ. Nino squeezed his waist, the two men laughing as they entered the building.

Adrien's passing thoughts kept circling back to Marinette. Despite Nino's much-appreciated presence and the interesting lecture, he wondered if he would finally see Marinette today at the restaurant.

Continue reading on:

Ao3 or FFnet

[i-ate-the-whole-entire-pie]

Worthy

Pss pss pss!!! Here Secondhoes!

Just a little shameless Secondo smut to help me cope with some stuff I’m going through. It’s always old-man-loving-hours in this house.

TW——-

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Unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamic, verbal degradation, safe wording, rope play, impact play with riding crop, blindfolding, biting

I raised my fist hesitantly to the door. He’s always so busy. He won’t have time for you. Why would he want to give you his time anyhow? You’re nothing. I took a step back, but then shook the thoughts from my head.

The worst he can say is “no.” I sighed, wringing my hands nervously. Raising my fist again, I summoned all of my courage, and rapped my knuckles against the door three times. Here we go.

The door opened slowly, and the sight behind it left me breathless. It appeared as if I had interrupted him undressing. Secondo was wearing his slacks, a white collared shirt, unbuttoned to mid chest. He still wore his papal paint and robe, but the robe was undone as well. From under the collared shirt, his chest was visible, sparsely littered with salt-and-pepper hair. A lump rose in my rose as I wondered what it would be like to rest my head there.

“Sister? What brings you here? Have you been crying?” Papa asked. I was surprised, and somewhat relieved to hear a note of concern in his voice.

“May I come in?” I asked, my voice just barely above a whisper. He stepped aside, and held the door open for me, holding an arm out to welcome me in.

“But of course, Tesoro.” I walked in, and took a look around. So many books, and many jars of varied dried goods and wet specimens. His dedication to the Craft had always been admirable. The tell-tale sound of a kettle’s shrill shriek assaulted my ears, causing me to jump and clap my hands over my ears. Papa chuckled, and ran to the hob.

“I do apologize, Sister. I was just about to make a cup of tea. Would you care for a cup? It’s rose and mint from Primo’s garden,” he said, gesturing to the jar he now held. I nodded, and smiled, to show my agreement. He turned back to the hob, after flashing me one of his rare smiles.

“Bene. Honey?” Papa prompted. Honey? Me? I looked up at him, confused. He smiled again. It seemed I had a knack for pulling them out of him.

“Pardon?” I said, trying not to choke. He gave me a warm chuckle. Heat crept up into my face, painting my visage scarlet.

“Le mie scuse, Sister. Would you like honey with your tea? Once again, courtesy of Primo. He is an excellent beekeeper,” Papa explained, holding out a jar of amber, cloudy honey.

“Oh, I see now. Yes please,” I said. Secondo smiled yet again. I did my best to hide my blush.

“Please, have a seat. What brings you to my office this late, my dear Sister?” Papa gestures to the table, bringing our tea and saucers with him. I sat, and graciously accepted the cup. He held up a hand, stopping me from taking the first sip.

“It needs to steep, Tesoro. Good things take time,” he said. Taking my cup from me, he showed me how to steep the loose tea by placing the saucer over the cup. Despite his usual terrifying disposition and mannerisms, here in his chambers, Secondo seemed almost gentle.

He gestured at me, and passed me the tin of tea cakes that sat on the table. “Continue, per favore.” I looked down at the table, unable to make eye contact, wringing my hands once again.

“Um… I was told by the Siblings that you have very s-s-specific tastes. Particularly in the bedroom,” I started. He nodded, and laced his fingers together, gazing back at me with… amusement? Curiosity?

“Si, it is no secret, or news, for that matter. Why does this concern you at this hour, Sister?” Papa asked, cocking his head to the side. My face began to feel hot, and I dipped my head low again.

“Look at me, Sister,” he commanded, his voice a low growl. I could see now the more terrifying, Papa Emeritus II. I looked up at him, trying not to cry. My bottom lip jutted out, quivering with my efforts. You’re wasting his time.

“Is it those tastes you seek?” He asked. I was fighting back the tears now. Papa’s mismatched eyes gazed back at me, softening as he saw the struggle on my face. I finally nodded. He took the saucer off of his cup and took a long, quiet sip. He waited a moment, gauging the taste, and finally gave a nod of satisfied approval.

“It’s ready, Tesoro,” he said softly. I nodded, and with shaking hands, tried to remove the saucer. After nearly dropping it, Papa grabbed it from me, and placed it under my cup.

“I feel so useless,” I said, choking on a sob. Papa gave a tiny, comforting cluck, shaking his head.

“Now that won’t do.” He stood up, pushing in his chair, and held out his hand to me. “Come along.” I took his hand, following him as he brought me into the next room.

It was dark, but fragrant, smelling of sandalwood and musk. The smell instantly put me at ease. Papa dropped my hand, and reached into his robe pocket. I heard the sound of a match being struck, and saw the sudden illumination. He started towards a standing candelabra at the center of the room, and began lighting the many pillar candles resting on its branches.

As I waited for Papa to finish, I familiarized myself with the room. Various furniture littered the room. Some of it was familiar to me. A Saint Andrew’s cross stood in the corner; a spanking bench at the foot of the latex-sheeted bed. A stocks bench was placed off to the side, obviously less popular than the spanking bench. There was even a suspension frame for arial work. A shiver went down my spine as I imagined Papa binding me in copious amounts of rope.

Once Papa was finished lighting his many candles, he waved the match out, and turned towards me. The flickering candlelight made his paint look even more dramatic.

“You have read the Lesser Keys of Solomon, I assume?” Papa asked. I nodded.

“I would prefer verbal confirmation, for future reference Tesoro,” Papa said, as he inched closer to me. My cheeks felt hot.

“Yes, Papa, I have read the Lesser Keys of Solomon.” A sly smile spread across his face.

“Molto bene!” He exclaimed. “Then you must know the name of the President of Hell who cures all infirmities, do you not?” Papa looked at me, obviously expecting an answer. I fought the urge to just nod, and instead bit my lip as I pondered for a moment.

“The President you refer to is Buer, Papa. He can be summoned when the sun is in Sagittarius, and even appears in Sagittarian form, as a centaur wielding a bow and arrow,” I said, elaborating with a confidence I rarely ever had within me. Papa nodded, smiling at me. He took my hand, and led me to a wall filled with various tools.

“He was also depicted by Jarrault as having a lion’s head, and possessed the feet of a goat. But I do not expect you to know that, Sister,” he said. I was feeling more confident. The Goetia were one of my favorite subjects when I first moved to the Clergy, and I had studied the subject extensively.

“He had five feet, allowing him to move in every direction,” I said, causing Papa to smile.

“Ah, so you do know! Sister Imperator had told me you excelled in Demonology.” Papa gestured to the wall of tools. “Please choose,” he said. Any confidence I had before vanished, and my stomach dropped into my ass. I looked up at the many tools, slowly becoming overwhelmed. My gaze shifted, as I became unable to look him in the eyes.

“I’m sorry Papa, I can’t,” I whispered. From my peripheral vision, I could see him cock his head ever so slightly to the side.

“And why is that, Tesoro?” Papa asked. He reached out to me, bringing my face up to meet his gaze. It was almost painful. Every part of me yearned to look away.

“I’m not… worthy,” I whispered. He let go of my chin with a tsk. He turned to the wall, his hand grazing across various whips, floggers, canes, paddles, and crops. He finally came across a long, thick crop, made of deep maroon leather.

“Go to the bench. Undress, and kneel on it. Wait there for me,” he said. I did as he said, proceeding to the bench.

From a mirror in the corner, I watched him putter around the room as I carried out his solemn command. I slowly undressed, distracted by his billowing robes. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his sinewy arms. Despite his age, he was well fit. I couldn’t help the dull ache that blossomed deep within me as I imagined Papa manhandling me.

Papa’s tsk-ing broke my spell-binding train of thought. In the mirror, I could see him behind me, holding the crop in one hand, annoyedly tapping the end fold in his other hand. My face flushed, as I realized I was still wearing my underwear and veil. You couldn’t even do the one thing he asked. You’re so goddamn useless.

“I’m sorry Papa, I was distracted,” I squeaked. Hurriedly, I removed my veil, letting my hair tumble down over my shoulders. My bra came next, the cold air whipping my nipples into stiff peaks. Last came my panties. I tossed them aside, hoping the dampness in them wouldn’t reveal my desperation to Papa.

“Bene,” Papa said, placing the crop on the end of the bench. “Now me.” He held out his arms, beckoning me forward. I gulped.

“Where should I put your robes, Papa?” I asked softly, looking for somewhere to set them. The floor didn’t seem appropriate for the Papal Robes. He smirked.

“The same as your vestments, Tesoro. It’s only a robe. Now undress me. My patience is waning,” he growled. The sound went straight to my pussy, but failed to quell my shame. I began with his robes, standing on my tip toes to reach his shoulders. From the mirror, I could see his amusement. My hands skated over his shoulders, bringing the robe down to drop to the floor. He brought his arms up, gesturing to his shirt. Quickly, I followed his direction, undoing the buttons carefully. His eyes never once left my face, observing my features as I worked.

He held out a hand to guide me to the floor. As I knelt, he placed his foot in my lap. I untied the expensive Italian leather loafers one after the other, taking great care not to cause Papa to lose his balance as I removed them.

My hands trembled as I finally reached for his belt, pulling the leather strap through the metal ring. His trousers fell easily, and I held his hand as he kicked them aside. Papa, now in only his underwear and socks, pulled me back up, guiding me to the bench.

Both of us remained silent as I knelt. Only the sound of the leather shifting under the weight of my knees could be heard.

“I would like to blind you. This is okay? It may help with your nerves,” Papa said, picking up a blindfold from the bench. I nodded, earning a frown.

“I would like that, Papa,” I murmured, trying to fix my mistake. You’re an embarrassment. Papa nodded, seemingly appeased. Next, he held up a bundle of rope. My pussy throbbed as I thought about him tying me.

“I would like to bind your arms and hands. This is okay?” I knew better than to nod this time.

“Yes Papa,” I answered. He smirked devilishly.

“Good girl. Let us begin. At any time, if something becomes unbearable, simply call upon our President Buer. We stop immediately, si?” Papa explained calmly.

“Yes Papa, I understand,” I said, bringing my arms being my back. Papa growled, but this time it sounded less threatening, almost akin to a purr. I blushed scarlet.

“Such a good girl, Sister. You will tell me if it is too tight, si?” Papa asked, as he knelt behind me with his rope.

“Of course, Papa,” I said, looking over my shoulder at him. He rubbed my arms, and began his work. His work was swift, as if he were a spider snaring me in it’s web. My skin tingled, goosebumps causing me to shiver. Papa chuckled.

“Nearly there, piccolina,” he said, tying my hands off. I rested my chin on the leather rest in front of me, relishing the squeeze of the rope. It made me feel safe, secure. My anxiety was finally subsiding. I leaned into Papa’s hand as he placed the blind fold on me. Everything went dark. My mind was going fuzzy as I felt the submission take over.

“Now, tell Papa why you are really here, Tesoro,” he said, bringing me back to reality. I felt him sit next to me, and heard him reach for the crop.

“I feel useless. I want to be used,” I said softly. He began tracing my curves with the crop, causing me to shiver.

“Nobody in the Clergy is useless, besides perhaps my brothers,” Papa chuckled, “But even relics have their moments. Everyone here serves a purpose, piccolina. Even you.”

“Then why do I feel so useless, Papa? I contribute nothing. I can’t even do simple tasks… I’m worthless.” My voice broke as I fought back the tears. Back to square one. Papa tsk-ed.

“Useless… Worthless… what do you normally do when you feel this, cara mia?” Papa asked. I swallowed hard, and bit my lip. “Answer me, piccolina.”

“I… use my hairbrush to… punish myself,” I said, barely able to get the words out. My senses were already peaking. The rope on my skin, the heat in my face, the ache in my shoulders and knees… and the embarrassment. The vulnerability. I was laid bare in front of my Papa, in every way. The crop traced my thighs.

“These bruises are from your hairbrush?” Papa asked, his voice tinged with dissatisfaction. I was suddenly grateful for the blind fold. There would have been no way I could look at him after that.

“Yes Papa, they are. Nobody sees them, and they eventually fade,” I said, hoping to make the situation better.

“How many spanks do you normally give yourself?” Papa asked. I bit my lip.

“As many as it takes to feel better, Papa.”

“And how many do you think you need tonight, piccolina?” He asked, tracing the swell of my ass.

“Until you tire, please Papa” I answered. He inhaled sharply.

“You will count aloud. Adjust now,” he directed. I sat up, bringing my chest up to the leather rest. Papa rested his hand on my back, guiding my forward until I was bent over the leather rest. My heart was pounding in anticipation of the first strike. Finally, there was the whistle, and the crack of the crop across my skin. White hot, stinging pain bloomed across my ass.

“One,” I called. Papa hummed in approval.

Smack! “Two!”

Smack! “Three!”

Smack! “Four!” The deep ache I felt before returned to me, the heat growing between my legs. My legs parted, as I tried to get more comfortable.

Smack! “Five!” The impact of the crop reverberated in my pussy. I was practically dripping now.

Smack! His pace was relentless. With each lick, he grunted, putting all of his force behind the crop. I was getting lost in the feeling. This is what being used is. It felt like an eternity, and I was relishing every second. On and on he went.

Smack! “Thirty eight!”

Smack! “Thirty nine!” I could feel my slick pooling and dripping down my legs. My sobs had broken through around the tenth stroke, and my tears now flowed freely.

Smack! “FORTY! PAPA!” I moaned out. Suddenly, I was yanked up further onto the rest by the ropes on my arms. A hiss escaped me. I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of Papa spitting, skin on skin.

“Do you still feel useless?” Papa growled. I continued sobbing, trying to catch my breath. My hips were yanked roughly. He plunged into me roughly, his cock practically splitting me. I gasped, trying to adjust to him.

He wasted no time, grabbing onto the ropes and setting a violent pace. His grunts and growls were absolutely delicious. It made my pussy clench around him. My moans were distorted by the sheer force of his thrusts. We sounded like a primal machine, the cacophony of skin slapping skin accompanying our symphony beautifully.

“You love being used by your Papa, don’t you cara?” Papa fisted one hand in my hair, the other gripping the rope.

“Yes, Papa!” I screamed, his pace never once faltering. A hand snaked between my legs, forcefully rubbing my clit. My orgasm was getting close. I could feel it barreling towards me.

“Papa, I can’t— I’m gonna- cum,” I cried. He snapped his hips into me, and leaned into my ear.

“You cum when I say, whore,” Papa growled. My pussy clenched and quivered around him, my release threatening to spill over. I was so overwhelmed, all I could do was sob as I pathetically grinded on his cock. He slapped my ass.

“Sit still and take it, piccolina. Let your Papa use you,” he growled. I nodded, still sobbing.

His pace finally began to falter, as he leaned into me. At last, with a long growl, his cock kicked inside of me. His seed filled me in long, hot spurts. His arms wrapped around my torso, holding me against him while he filled me, his chest heaving against my back with the effort of each breath.

Frustrated, I pushed back against him, desperate for my release. With one last slap on my ass, he stood up, unsheathing himself from my heat. The blindfold was ripped from my head. I blinked in the dim light, whimpering and whining.

“Please Papa, I need-“

“You need what?” He asked petulantly, cutting me off. I whined.

“I need to cum Papa! Please,” I begged. Tears streamed down my face. He shook his head.

“I thought you said you were worthless? I don’t waste my time making worthless girls cum, Sister,” he said, walking away. I sobbed, choking on my tears.

“Please! Papa, I need it!” I begged again. He whipped back around and grabbed my chin.

“Still think you are worthless, piccolina?” He growled. My lip trembled, chin aching in his grasp. “ANSWER YOUR PAPA!”

“P-p-please,” I choked out.

“Are. You. Worthless?

“BUER!” I screamed. He dropped my chin, hurriedly untying me. My body shook with my sobbing. Papa scooped me up, tossing his robe around me. He sat on the bed, pulling me deep into his chest. I rested my head under his chin, still sobbing.

We sat like that for a while. He petted my hair, my back, occasionally patted me in a comforting manner. It took a while for me to stop crying.

“You are not worthless, Sister. Not to me, not to the Clergy or the Abbey. And certainly not to the Dark Lord,” he said. I sniffled softly, nodding.

“Lie down here. Let Papa take care of you,” he said. I didn’t even have the strength to nod. I was too exhausted.

He began to lather me in lotion, which smelled faintly of almond and amber. His strong, deft hands began rubbing out every ache and kink, from the tops of my shoulders, down to my thighs and calves. Every movement was done with expertise and care, his lips even dancing over the many bruises of my own making. I held back my tears, quietly watching him work.

His lips stretched into a devious grin as he began massaging lotion into my tired feet. I let out a sigh of relief too soon, as he began to softly tickle and nip at my toes. Shrieks and giggles erupted from my mouth, eliciting dark chuckles from Papa as he continued his relentless assault on my feet. Papa finally dropped my feet when I began to kick at him, and crawled back on the bed to hover over me.

Feeling dauntless, and even a bit duplicitous, I wrapped my arms around him, and pulled him in for a kiss. I was surprised when he didn’t jerk away, and even more so when he deepened the kiss. Amorously, he began to grope at my thighs, wrapping one around his hip to grind into me.

A soft breathy moan left my lips as Papa reached in between us to guide his now throbbing member inside me. He nipped at my bottom lip, and my tongue found his. His hips set a slow, delicious pace, as his thumb found my overeager clit. Like a cat, my back arched as his thumb glided from side to side. My orgasm came barreling toward me, the pressure building in my belly and pelvis. I bucked against him, desperate for the relief my release would bring. Papa leaned into my ear, giving the shell a gentle lick that nearly threatened to send me over the edge.

“I can feel you are close, Tesoro. Would you like to cum?” Papa whispered. My nails dug into his shoulders.

“Please Papa, I need it,” I begged in a broken sob. He kissed my temple and found my ear again. He picked up the pace on my clit, and I had to fight not to lose it then.

“Then cum for your Papa,” he growled. I let go of my will, and in three strokes, the wall broke. My toes curled as I screamed his name, and the bed became soaked with my release. Papa continued to fuck me through my orgasm, prolonging it. His hand found my cheek, caressing it softly. I opened my mouth to catch his thumb, laving my tongue over it, causing him to groan and bite his lip. His hips stuttered, and he dropped to his elbows, still inside me.

Desperate to please my Papa, I pushed him over, climbing on top to mount him quickly. He growled again, animalistically as he grabbed my hips to help me set a brutal pace. His head lolled back as I rolled my hips, hands planted on his chest. Every moan was like music, and I watched the symphony pour from his lips.

Oh Principessa, oh Sister,” he praised me. My heart swelled in my chest, spurring me forward. Spurred on by my rhythmic pace, he finally let out a sharp moan, and snapped his hips up into me. I smiled hazily as I felt the warmth of his release flood me. His chest heaved, and he opened his eyes to look at me. A smile spread across his face.

“Do you feel better now, Tesoro? Or will I need to reinforce this lesson?” Papa asked, his hand stroking my cheek. I smiled, leaning into his touch.

“I don’t know… I might need a refresher, Papa,” I said, earning a devious smirk from him. He reached up for my throat, using his grasp to roll me back onto the bed into my rightful place.

Hell, it’s cheaper than therapy, and twice as good.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

ooh now I need to know your top 3 German wolfstar songs 🫶

aaaahh ok karfy letsgo

Gestört aber GeiL & Koby Funk feat. Wincent Weiss - Unter Meiner Haut

Und ich kann noch nicht nach Haus And I can't go home yet Denn das brennen hört nicht auf Because the burning hasn't stopped yet Ich habe Angst, uns zu verpassen And I'm afraid I'll miss the chance of us Ich habe Angst, wir lösen uns auf And I'm afraid we're dissolving Und es wird schon wieder hell And it's already getting bright out again Wir sehen alle Lichter gehen We watch all the lights expire Im Trubel noch ein leiser Kuss One more quiet kiss in midst of the bustle Lässt mich stehen You abandon me Nein ich lass dich nicht raus No I won't let you out Ich lass dich nicht gehen I won't let you go Und ich weiß, und ich weiß, und ich weiß And I know, I know, I know Und ich weiß, ich tu mir grad weh I know I'm hurting myself right now Doch ich trag dich, unter meiner Haut But I'll carry you under my skin Ich behalt dich, unter meiner Haut I'll keep you under my skin Ganz egal wie lang es brennt No matter how long it's going to burn

(i like to think this song is very Berlin Angel coded and i might write a wolfstar fic insp by the song one day who knows)

Schmyt – ALLES ANDERS (WENIGER IM ARSCH) feat. CRO

Du willst immer fühl'n, aber du machst alles warm You always wanna fell, but you make everything warm Vielleicht war ich nur ein Verlierer, der so tut, als wär er hart Maybe I was only a loser who acts all tough Doch wenn du bei mir bist, wird das alles ganz egal But when you're with me I don't care about anything Denn jetzt ist alles anders, weil du mich magst Because now everything is different, 'cause you like me Kann ich mit der Visage leben, die ich hab I can live with my face now Und was die Leute reden, ist ein bisschen mehr egal And what people say matters a little less Und die Welt ein bisschen weniger im Arsch, ja And the world sucks a little less, yeah Alles anders, weil du mich magst Everything different, because you like me

Ich weiß, um mich zu lieben, muss man echt 'n riesen Schuss haben I know, to love me, you gotta be insane Sie passt in meine Arme, doch ihr Herz ist groß wie Russland He fits into my arms but his heart is as big as russia Ein neuer grauer Tag, doch ich nehme ihn mit Kusshand A new grey day, but I'll take it with grace Mit dir wird Bus fahr'n zum Mustang With you, riding the bus is like driving a Mustang Ich bin cool bis zum Erfrier'n I'm so cool I could freeze to death Doch mit dir geh ich in Flammen auf But with you I erupt into flames Blumen explodier'n um mich rum, wenn du mich anschaust Flowers explode around me when you look at me Und seit du hier bist, ist die Welt nicht mehr im Arsch, ja, ja And since you're here with me the world doesn't suck anymore, yeah yeah

(-> guess which part i think is whose pov)

Edwin Rosen - leichter//kälter

Und deine Lippen sind lila And your lips are purple Wie die Blumen, die ich dir nie kauf' Like the flowers I never buy for you Die ich dir nie kauf' I never buy for you Und du schreist, "Oh, es ist kalt! Es ist kalt! Es ist kalt!" And you yell, "Oh, it's so cold! It's so cold! It's so cold" Oh, es ist kalt Oh, it's so cold Doch du sagst, es fällt dir leichter But you say it's easy for you Ja, ich sei doch so viel kälter Yeah, because I'm so much colder after all Darum bleibst du steh'n So you stay standing Bleibst barfuß im Schnee stay barefoot in the snow Ach verdammt, mir ist so kalt Ugh, damn, I'm so cold Und wenn du das nächste Mal frierst And the next time you're feeling cold Vielleicht frierst du wegen mir? Maybe you're cold because of me Wenn du das nächste Mal frierst The next time you're feeling cold Ist's am Ende gar nicht kalt It isn't even cold in reality

[doodlegirl1998]

Hello! I'm here to ask your opinion on a certain future seeing man named Nighteye.

Not only is he one of the many adults that failed Izuku by teaching him squat on his work studies, but he's a special kind of scum by actively TRYING to make Izuku feel insecure enough to give up OFA and pass it on to Mirio instead!

Like, dude! Seriously!?

Imagine being so butthurt over not being able to choose who the next successor of OFA should be (Even though it was ultimately All Might's decision), that you take your frustrations on the person you're supposed to train.

Couldn't be me!

And sadly, much like Bakugou and Aizawa, he never gets called out for this and is treated like a wonderful person who died for a worthy cause.

Fuck Nighteye I swear.

Hi @theloganator101 👋,

Absolutely fuck Nighteye. I never, ever liked this guy and despise how the narrative tried to treat him as a 'troubled but good guy' coupled with the manipulative redemptive death when actually he was a nasty piece of work.

Let's go over real quick exactly why I hate him, you actually covered some of it already;

His treatment of Izu in his workstudies. You covered this already but I'll add my 2 cents - work studies are meant to help the hero student whereas Nighteye does nothing of the sort for Izuku. Mirio helps Izuku more (the one good thing that came from this is Mirio and Izu being good friends but Nighteye has squat to do with that.) Nighteye actively undermines Izuku (when the poor kids confidence was already on the damn floor) and tries to force him to give up OFA to Mirio.

His treatment of Mirio - while I can buy that Nighteye cared for Mirio to a degree, this isn't some benevolent mentorship no matter how the narrative tries to paint it now. Nighteye looked at Mirio and saw All Might 2.0 - a young version of All Might he could manipulate and mold to his own wims. That is vile. What's more vile is that Mirio is never given the courtesy of finding this out. He's left with this, wrongfully benevolent memory of Nighteye laughing while Mirio remembers the good times of his mentorship with him which feels ick to read when you know Nighteye's true intent with Mirio.

His treatment of All Might - I always got the vibe that instead of treating All Might as a friend and an equal, Nighteye seemed to treat AM as a thing he wanted to own. The key examples of this are; trying to dictate to AM when he should retire (could be read as concern on it's own) then leaving as his sidekick when AM refuses to do as Nighteye wants. As well as trying to dictate who gets OFA next, not respecting that All Might CHOSE Midoriya. Then lastly all the AM merch Nighteye owns doesn't come off as innocent fanboying like Izuku. It comes off like Nighteye is trying to own All Might's visage when he can not own the actual man. *Shiver* (I have no idea why so many fics paint Midoriya as a creepy AM fan - guys Nighteye is right there.)

To conclude, Nighteye always came off to me in how he acted as a Narcissist, in how he treated Izuku, AM and Mirio. So to then have the narrative give him a 'redemptive death' to also write out his foresight really left a sour taste in my mouth. To make matters worse I don't think he actually apologised to Izuku ever...

[sychosid]

you and i are (not) the same

Ch. 1: Wondering if you're still alive

Jay White & Juice Robinson, David Finlay/Jay White

[ Ao3 Link ]

The beast ran through the night. Trees could not stop it, as it weaved through them like water flowing in a river.

It wasn’t the only thing traversing the woods. If you had a keen enough eye, through slivers of moonlight lit up a visage, fair and tired through the trees. The man was trailing behind the beast, from a short distance, upon a pure black steed. There was an air to him that was almost royal, as if he was beyond the world that mortals tread on.

Suddenly, the monster runs. The man and his steed took off after it. Almost as if galloping on shadows, there was no sound as they tracked their prey through the forest.

It only takes moments for the horse and it’s rider to catch up to the beast. Suddenly, the rider jumps off. He wields a sword in his right hand, blacker than the night sky, as if a void that ate any light around it.

He strikes down upon the creature, piercing through it’s shoulder. It collapses with a screech, causing a stir throughout the trees. The man pulls the sword out, blood spurting and bubbling out of the wound. He holds the sword up to the creature’s wide throat, prompting it to pull itself up.

“Where…” the man speaks, his tone cold and icy “…is Jay White?”

🟃

Jay White was not doing great. He was hungover from a few too many glasses of wine and whiskey last night. Cheek pressed against the table in the bar, he nursed the glass of water like it was ambrosia that he was afraid of running out.

His long, dark brown hair was slicked back into a ponytail, for the most part. A few strands were loose, poorly framing his face. He can’t help but sigh like a sad dog, before picking his head up and drinking more water.

Any minute now, his friend and hunting partner would be coming down from the room they had rented for the night, full of boundless energy.

And Jay was not ready for that, so instead he drank water and stared out into space until…

“GOOOOOOOD MORNING JAY!”

Everyone in the bar must’ve heard Juice as he walked down the stairs, arms out wide the whole time as he approached Jay. Jay who deliberately chose a room in the dark corner. Juice wraps his arms around Jay, giving him a little shake.

“Good morning Juice, would you please just keep it a touch quieter?” Jay mumbles as he’s being shaken.

“C’mon man, don’t tell me you’re actually hungover?” He sat down in the chair perpendicular to Jay at the table.

“Well, we needed money and I made a lot of bets about drinking a lot of men under the table. OF COURSE I’m hungover,” Jay’s supporting his head in his hand, elbow propped up on the oak table in front of them. “It made us some good money though, that’s worth it.”

“Were you seriously drinking even after I left?”

“Raked in a cool 300.”

“Ohhh fuck yes. We’re set until we find another hunt!”

“That’s what you might think. Lately there’s been no one, no thing around to hunt,” Jay complains, leaning back in his chair.

“Man, it’s weird,” Juice suddenly slumps forward. “All signs point to someone doing it, not a bigger monster. But whoever they are, just isn’t doing it to fulfill requests.”

“Now no one in a 10 mile radius wants to hire us. Because they’re hoping it’ll get taken care of on it’s own.”

T he two of them sigh in unison, Jay taking another sip of his water. He looks down at his outfit. The leather jacket and pants were well worn, but reliable. His nails were recently painted gold, a strange sight when he was used to them being black and white. “ Hmm…”

“Uhm…excuse me?” A voice broke Jay out of his thoughts. Him and Juice looked up, to find someone looking at them. It had long purple hair, messily tied up. Tired, gray eyes, and pale skin. What looked to be a collar was around it’s neck, with a purple gem set in it, and it was otherwise dressed in simple but worn cotton clothing.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Juice responded. Jay watched with a sharp eye, scrutinizing this person who came up to them.

“I…I need your help!” It pleaded, leaning forward, it’s palms flat on the table. “I just barely escaped my master’s lair; he’s been leading young people into there to feed. I can’t handle it anymore. You’re both hunters right? I happened to over hear you…”

Juice exchanges a look with Jay. They seem to be able to silently communicate with each other, before giving a nod.

“Sure. We’ll help.” Jay offers a smile, drinking the rest of his water. “Master…vampire, I assume?”

It nods.

“Alright, well I’m pretty experienced with vampires. I’ll go get my gear. I’m Jay and this is Juice. You are…?”

“Noel.”

“Just wait here Noel. We can’t carry our weapons out in the bar. Have to go grab them from upstairs,” Jay stands up, holding his hand out. It grabs his hand with both, shaking it emphatically.

“Oh, thank you Jay! Thank you Juice! I think I know the way back, but you’ll have to excuse me if we get lost…” “Don’t worry, I’m an expert tracker!” Juice puffs his chest out. It’s not easily notable in his somewhat loose clothing, but his fist to his chest emphasizes it.

The duo head up the stairs of the bar and inn, to the far right room. Upon entering, they share a look again.

“So…” Jay starts, moving around the room to a chest behind one of the beds.

“Smells legit. Got traces of vampire all over it,” Juice nods his head a few times as he grabs a bag off the floor.

“You recognize any specific one?” Jay opens the chest, pulling out what appears to be a large sword handle, albeit missing the blade part.

“Nope. Something about Noel does smell familiar but I can’t tell you what,” Juice explains, waiting for Jay to finish strapping himself up.

Once the hilt was secured to his waist on the left, he pulls out a thigh holster and wraps it around his right leg.

“Looks familiar but same. Maybe we’ve just seen it around town or something.”

They look at each other again. “Is this really all we got? One bag and my weapons?” Jay asks.

“Yup.”

“Let’s crush it.”

They step out of the room, Jay splitting from Juice for a moment to talk to the barkeep, announcing their exit and they’d likely not be coming back at least tonight.

Juice waits outside with Noel, who looks nervously around before offering a strange smile to Jay. Jay doesn’t return the favor, instead sighing.

“Let’s go!” Juice is basically bouncing on his heels.

“Do you guys not have any steeds?” Noel asks, looking around at the corral at the front of the saloon.

“Had to sell them for money,” Jay shrugs, patting Noel on the back. It was a good amount shorter than him and Juice. He felt a touch bad that it took a step forward as if staggered. “Lead the way, friend.”

“Are you sure? It’ll likely be sunset by the time we arrive if we travel on foot.” Noel looks wary about that fact. It was known that vampires were not creatures of the day, and to enter combat with a vampire at night was usually a death wish, even among skilled hunters. The wariness Noel showed was understandable.

“…I suppose I can shell out for a cyborg horse.” Jay sighs, pulling out a small pouch of coins from his jacket pocket. “I’ll be right back, I guess.”

Juice and Noel were left waiting for about half an hour, before Jay comes back, a rather plain looking brown horse, if not for the steel build of it neck down, taken by the reigns.

“It took a bit of persuasion, but I got the price down to 100!” He sounds triumphant, bringing the horse closer to Noel and Juice. “Here Noel, let me help you up…”

It’s soon enough that the three of them are off, Noel on the cyberhorse and Jay sitting behind it, with Juice walking to the side. All bags have been relegated to the saddles on the horse as they make their way out of the town.

“If he’s going to walk, why did we get a steed?” Noel asks, looking back nervously at Jay, who smiles at it.

“Don’t worry, we’ll pick up speed. You think we’re far out enough Juice?”

“Oh hell yeah we are,” Juice says with a wicked smile. He flexes his back, stretching his shoulders towards each other from behind. Juice lets out a loud howl, his body stretching and shifting until there’s a slight flash, and he’s turned into a wolf.

Without a word, Jay snaps the reigns and they’re off. Noel keeps the uneasy look on it’s face, and Jay doesn’t question it directly. Swiftly, the three of them are going through from the trodden path through a forest at Noel’s direction. Juice seems to let Jay take the lead. The sun is a little lower in the sky once they’re at the aforementioned lair, the mouth of a cave.

“Bit drab for a vampire,” Jay mutters under his breath. He steps off the horse, swinging his leg around and gently landing, before helping Noel down.

“It’s much more grand on the inside.” Noel grumbles, before leading Jay and the wolf-shifted Juice inside. As soon as they pass the threshold of the cave, the scenery shifts from a damp and dark entrance to a truly lavish setting. There is a squared out room, in the far corner a fire was going in a gray stone fireplace. There’s a large Persian style rug in the center of the room, with worn leather sofas on the edges of it. A dark, wooden table is in the center of the rug, with half filled wine glasses placed down.

T he most notable thing, however, is a portrait of a man dead center at the back of the room. Or cave. Jay wasn’t sure how to describe the place. But there was a portrait, of a man, with short sandy hair. He looked like he was squinting, with a stern lip. A black, high neck button up with a cravat is what he was wearing. There seemed to be a purple gem of sorts, centered o n the garment around his neck. Underneath it is a bed, wooden frame and plush looking sheets.

“Tacky.” Jay steps in further, Juice shifting to a half human form by his side.

“I’ll say…” Juice’s voice is practically a growl. The two of them look around, until suddenly a cold chill fills the cave-room, the flame in the fireplace flickering for a few moments.

T here’s a silenced in the room before the fire crackles strongly, mist taking form of a man. A vampire, the man in the portrait, posing exactly as he was right in front of it.

“Christian!” Juice is the first to speak out, growling the name angrily. There’s a rumble in this throat as he speaks, keeping himself low to the floor.

Before anyone else can speak, Jay turns to face Noel, only to be socked across the face, knocking him backwards.

Juice is immediately attempting to pounce on Noel, claws out, only for it to roll out of the way. Quickly it makes it’s way to Christian’s side, both of them looking awfully smug.

“Christian. And Noel…oh, Noel. Now I know why you’re so familiar!” Jay’s already composed himself, pulling that hilt off the side of his belt. “You used to hunt too, didn’t you. Can’t believe Christian Cage of all people’s got you under his thumb, but also that he even has someone doing anything for him. I mean, what is this? Seriously? This little bait and switch?” He points the hilt between the two of them.

“I gave it a choice, and it made the right one,” Christian sounds as smug as he looks. “It’s flourished in my care! I give Noel food and shelter, and spare it’s life. And it brings me fresh blood, and third-rate hunters to get rid of.”

“You did not just call me third-rate,” Jay scoffs, hand on his hip. “Juice, can you believe this?”

“I literally didn’t call you third-rate. I implied you were. There’s a difference,” Christian corrects him, finger up in the air as he does.

“Christian, let’s just get this song and dance done.”

“I can take care of him, master.” Noel pipes up, eyes darting between Jay and Juice.

“You take care of Juice. Jamie and I have some old business to take care of.”

In a flash, Christian is leaping towards Jay. The hunter rolls out of the way, swinging with the hilt at Christian, who disappears into mist just as quickly as he comes back into his physical form to attack Jay once again.

On the other hand, Juice has pounced on Noel for a power struggle, the two rolling on the floor until Noel lands a firm kick on Juice’s stomach, kicking him away. He lands on his back, and Noel pulls out a dagger hidden in it’s clothes, holding it overhead and trying to pierce it through him. Juice grabs it’s hands, keeping it from completing the stabbing motion.

Jay faces off with Christian, swiping upwards at the same time as releasing the switch on the hilt, a sharp double sided blade popping out. The arc of his swing is enough to cut Christian’s cravat as he pulls backwards.

“Hey!” Christian looks down, clearly upset. “That was pure silk! Imported!”

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” Jay stabs forward, Christian back stepping.

“What happened to your little posse?” He deflects, the two circling each other. “I mean you used to have more than the wolf. What happened to that Phantom? The Tongans?”

Jay stays silent, something in his eyes sharpening. He leaps forward, getting Christian in the shoulder. The vampire yells out in pain, pulling away. He clutches his shoulder, hissing at Jay.

Noel again kicks off from Juice, running towards it’s master. Quickly it puts itself between the hunter and the vampire.

“You can’t be serious! Noel, I really don’t like hurting humans.” Jay sighs, dropping his arms to his side. “Why, don’t you want to be free?”

“I like it here,” it shrugs, before holding it’s dagger out at Jay.

Before the conversation or fight could continue, there’s suddenly the sound of a gun being fired. Everyone save for Christian takes cover immediately, rolling behind the lavish furniture around the room.

“What—”

Before Christian could finish, he’s cut off by another bang in his direction.

At the entrance to the cave-room are two men, one with long sandy hair under a cowboy hat, wearing a simple cotton shirt and pants with leather boots, and another man with curly black hair slicked back behind his ears wearing plain black vestments and a cross around his neck. Both men are back to back, smoking cigarettes, each holding a revolver.

“We have no business here with you vampire.” The man in black speaks with the cigarette in his mouth, nodding him away and pointing his gun towards Jay.

“We’re here for wolfman and the half-vamp.” The other man speaks, pointing his gun towards Juice.

Jay closes his eyes and with a deep sigh…

“Aw, fuck.”

[shroudkeeper]

11. prompt / once bitten, twice shy

Where the wind carries the scent of flowers..

I know I can find you there.

Under the setting sun, you shone in her solitude, captivated by songbirds that herald the approach of evening. I did not wish to disturb you and pull you away from your daydreams, especially with the news I would bring.

You must know that I never intended to hurt you, to lead you astray and keep you far from the truth, but I intentionally had. Will that serene visage fade into my memories, will I see disappointment take shape on your features from the choice of taking away your autonomy anytime you look at me now?

Unsure of the outcome of my actions, I held a breath and slowly descended to my knees on the hashi you inhabit, allowing our eyes to meet without strain.

I am not a man who enjoys speaking so freely about my private thoughts, such self reflections are reserved for me alone, but how can I deny you. I owe you an explanation for my actions, even if you are unaware.

I rather you find out from me than another.

Against the pops and creaks of bamboo at the mercy of the winds, and between the melody of the birds that witnessed, I confessed my sin. Already, I could feel my throat burn with each word, a punishment of the kami, perhaps.

"..I do not like to admit my fears to anyone, as an oyabun it is a tool to be used against me. But you are family, my only daughter, and the reason my heart continues to beat. But I am but a mortal man, one who is brought low in admitting how far I would go to keep you safe, to the point of promising you to one who could continue to protect you when time has finally caught up to me."

The heat rose to my face, and before I knew it, tears filled the basin of my eyes and threatened to spill as I watched confusion in her gaze.

I have not cried in years, since I lost my daughter. The thought of going through that again caused emotions to resurface. You took notice, and as my vision blurred, I could see the silks of your sleeves and hear the shuffle of your feet as you closed the distance between us.

Underneath her caring touch, I found no hint of anger, only the cool sweep of her fingertips against the rivulets of tears that chased one another. She wiped my tears, and upon her, I found a warm smile, warmer than the setting sun that was dappled against my skin.

"I could not fathom watching someone I love leave me in this life. The world may know you as a trapped kami, a gentle spirit, but to me.. you are my daughter. I would have had Hayate care for you in my stead, I know he may come to love you.. as much as him. "

Then your arms came around the breadth of my form, and all I could feel was your embrace, you did not have to sign a word to me, I know the universal language of forgiveness. However, I could feel something damp spread into the threads of my robes; I knew that you too had been crying.

My heart ached, I knew I was the cause of this, a fool of a man trying to keep a bird, one who gained her wings.. behind a gilded cage.

Soundless was your weeping, and I allowed you this, to spend a few breaths letting out the tears. But when you pulled away, there was only a smile gracing your dampened features as air of calm fell around you. With your hands between us, you choreograph your words to me.

"Thank you for telling me everything, but in return I ask to not allow fear to ensnare and could your mind. I will not leave you anytime soon, a mortal existence means the days we spend together all too precious. We should look forward to each sunrise and a promise of rejoicing that we yet live and can enjoy our time as a family."

I deserved for you to walk away from me, to turn your back and not look at me the same, not your understanding and forgiveness. "Hayate would serve as a good husband to you, already he has proven himself a master swordsman, bolstering his natural strength. Hancock appealed to me, and if he is a man of his word and finds you this treasure, I will honor his request to stand at your side, without cause to worry.

"Master Hayate deserves someone who will love him, my heart has already been claimed, for the first time, I understand what the word love means. Mister Fitzgerald is not the end of me, he is a wonderful beginning to an adventure."

You didn't need a voice for me to understand the sincerity woven into these words, I knew then you loved him, even before you realized it; I was just not ready to let you go. A part of me perhaps never will be ready for it.

For a long moment, all I could do is kneel there and embrace you, to wipe away your tears and ponder if he will do as he said, if he was a man who would risk it all, his business, his money, the wrath of Lord Lolorito, even possibly his life, all for the sake of love.

You are not a normal woman to love, you live two lives, but a blind man could see why he cares for you, and why he would go to such lengths. I could only pray to the kami he makes you happy, and doesn't disappoint you.

Again.

[tma-entity-song-poll]

Battle of the Fear Bands B2R2: The Corruption

Thermodynamic Lawyer:

““Disease is her primary language” - every line of this is filled with rot and disease and bugs and it’s 100% corruption.”

WORMS (In My Brain):

“worms as metaphor for depression,,,,“isn’t it crazy what squirms inside,,,,” its all very “you can’t escape these fucking worms,,,,,” Also it goes fucking HARD as HELL”

Lyrics below the line!

Thermodynamic Lawyer Esq, G.F.D:

(I hold myself in contempt) Tearing the hair off a black baboon's skull Here's a bitch with some four-thousand names Vomiting lies through her theremin throat As some businessmen pick at her brains Pulls back skinny lips to reveal a proboscis Seems Seth Brindle's at it again Tears pages from spines as she judges the cover And shamelessly spoils the end Blood vessels drying and curling inside are Unfurling from out of her wrists Well, she wrings out a snake and collects all its poison Intending to learn it to hiss Foams at the mouth with a head full of acid And giving some poor illness the blame Knocking the pieces the fuck off the chessboard Insisting that she's won the game So all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear she could not break my heart She could not break my heart, oh lord Makes up excuses for throbbing black bruises And uses them to her advantage Never came down from her last trip, oh Jesus Disease is her primary language Garbled and gruesome, her words so absurd Like a herd of transmissions from Apollo 13 No apology, I request misery So no rest 'til I've twisted her chest round my knee So squeal like a trolley wheel, cry like a baby With autism strapped to a ceiling fan Soil your visage with mucus and twisting of features unable to stand Buckle your knees looking up at me And beg me to spare thee the back of my hand For the sake of humanity, die of your blight We're blessed, you're barren as Mojave sands So all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear she could not break my heart, whoa Now all that I see absolute entropy As the chemical bonds fall apart Well, it seems she broke me But I swear, she can go fucking die (kill yourself) You can go fucking die (kill yourself) Go fucking die (kill yourself) Kill yourself and go die

WORMS (In My Brain):

All kinds of funny And I'm so lazy Try and hang around and it'll drive you crazy And isn't it bad? (Oh-oh-oh) That I'm just distracted but I'm still sad (oh-oh-oh) Can't believe that this is where I'm at Isn't it crazy that I'm still sad Despite the love and all the care and the friends I have? Isn't it crazy that I'm still sad? (There's so much space) Isn't it crazy what squirms inside? These motherfuckers get stronger with pesticide Isn't it crazy what squirms inside? I think it's driving me insane The worms in my brain I changed my address I changed my own name Can't get away Get away The source of my pain The worms in my brain If I dig them out I'd dig my own grave Can't get away Get away from them I said to the doctor "Take a look at my head" 'Cause it's been ten long years since it's even been checked He told me "Come over here" Took a look in my ear and said "Fuck" (What the fuck is happening?) You've got worms in your brain They drive you insane You changed your address You changed your own name Can't get away Get away The source of your pain The worms in your brain If you dig them out You'd dig your own grave Can't get away Get away from them I got worms I got worms I got worms Inside my head I got worms I got worms I got worms Inside my head It's really okay, y'know Like, I've always wanted a pet And it's actually kinda cute when they feed off my flesh Like, sure, they were like kinda hard to deal with at first But I kinda got used to the way that it hurts And I really think you're overreacting And it's kinda distracting Like I know it sounds bad But, like, why are you looking at me like that? Oh, hold on two secs There's one crawling out of my ear right now Fuck these worms I think it's driving me insane (Woah-oh) The worms in my brain (Woah-oh) I changed my address I changed my own name Can't get away Get away The source of my pain (Woah-oh) The worms in my brain (Woah-oh) If I dig them out I'd dig my own grave Can't get away Get away from them I got worms I got worms I got worms Inside my head I got worms I got worms I got worms Inside my head I got worms I got worms I got worms Inside my head I got worms I got worms I got worms Inside my head Ooh That one, that one

[stardustbarbarians]

Too Pretty For War

Chapter 8 (ch. 1 | ch. 2 | ch. 3 | ch. 4 | ch. 5 | ch. 6 | ch. 7 | ch. 9)

A Samuel Kiszka / fem!reader fic

Summary: The only way for Prince Sam to end a war is by marrying the enemy.

Tags: Prince!Sam, war, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst

Trigger Warnings: blood, death, grief

A/N: Sorry this took so long! Finals are kicking my ass rn. Also this is a longer chapter so I needed to spend more time on it. Alright, enough about me, let's check in on Prince Sammy! (also sorry in advance...) As usual: this series is dedicated to @safety-sam.

Words: 3.0 k

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This cannot be happening

Samuel was rushed to the physician’s chambers immediately feeling a sense of numbness wash over him as his legs carried him down halls and staircases. He was vaguely aware that there was someone else with him as he traveled, but he hardly cared. 

When he entered the room where his father was housed he felt as if he could vomit. Lying brittle and broken on red stained sheets was the king, his skin pale as he raggedly drew breath. By his side were Daniel, Veronica, and the queen. Sam’s mother tightly gripped her husband’s hand between her own, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She was still robed in black and now most likely would for the rest of her days. 

What finally snapped Samuel out of his stupor was his sister looking over at him, the pure shock and despair so palpable in her eyes. Veronica looked to him as if he had all the answers; she looked to him for guidance. The prince forced himself to get closer, his limbs shaking as he approached. He had never seen his father in this state before; he had never looked so human. 

“What happened?” Sam demanded, clearing his throat after his voice wavered. He found himself unable to look away from his father’s damaged visage, only ever seeing the king as an infallible titan until that very moment. 

“His majesty was trampled by his horse,” came the reply from the physician. He stood off to the side, blood - the king’s - coating his hands and clothing. A solemn expression adorned his face, something that struck fear into the prince’s heart. 

“What is there to be done about that?” 

A silence befell the room. Samuel had asked the question that was being avoided, everyone in fear of the answer. When the physician remained silent, his gaze casting away from the crowned prince, Sam was filled with fury. 

“I asked what is there to be done!” he roared at the physician, multiple people in the room flinching at his uncharacteristic outburst. 

It went unspoken, but Sam refused to believe it. Nothing could be done

“Sammy, enough!” the Athenian princess called, placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away from the physician. He allowed himself to be moved by his sister, adverse to his own behavior. 

“Samuel,” a weak voice wheezed, somehow commanding the room despite its lack of volume. The prince whipped his head in the direction of the voice, all fight leaving his body as he locked eyes with his father. The king was holding out his free hand with the intention that his son would take it. Sam did so, kneeling at the king’s side. 

“Father, I am here,” the son rushed, his eyes frantically scanning the king. Each breath he took was one that rattled, an arduous face permanently taking residence on the king. 

“My boy,” he began, his eyes finally focusing on the figure in front of him, “my last son.” 

It seemed that all prior negative feelings Samuel felt for his father vanished within him with that single sentence. The prince’s chest tightened as he continued to witness his father struggling to cling to his life. 

“I… I was… unkind… to you…” The king spoke each word between heaving breaths, his horses hooves having caved in part of his chest. 

Tears stung the prince’s eyes. His throat was beginning to close around itself like a fist, causing all his words to get caught in his throat. 

“I… apologize…” 

Samuel’s heart cracked within his chest, the tears finally falling down his cheeks. He spared a glance towards Daniel to find his best friend already looking in his direction, tears glittering in his eyes. Years ago, Sam had lamented to Daniel that the only time he would ever hear his father apologize for how he treated his youngest would be on his deathbed. They both remembered. 

That was what finally made it all real for the young prince. He was not ready. 

“Father…” Sam choked out, trying his hardest to keep all of his emotions at bay. He was experiencing so many at once it was hard to even label one of them. Sam was certain he would perish under the sheer weight of them all. 

“You… will do… great… things…” His voice was growing weaker by the second. 

Samuel made the mistake of glancing down at his father’s bandages. Once mostly white, they were now fully crimson. 

“I am… proud… to call you… my son…” the king’s grip on his son’s hand tightened just enough that Sam was able to feel the extra pressure, a tear slipping out of the corner of his eye as he gazed upon his youngest, “...my swan…” 

A choked sob painfully escaped Sam’s throat. He had wanted to hear his father speak those words to him for his entire life. He found himself unwilling to hear them, just wanting his father alive instead. 

When his father’s grip went limp in Samuel’s hand, that was when he knew his father’s shade had left its mortal ties of flesh and bone. Sam did not have to look into the king’s glassy, lifeless eyes to know that he had left this mortal coil. Pressing his hands clasped around his father’s to his forehead, Sam pinched his eyes shut as he silently sobbed. There was no sound in the room, the air still as it allowed the prince the space to grieve. Sam felt every pair of eyes on him as he fell apart at the seams, unable to stop his tears as they cascaded down his face. 

“Samuel,” his mother gently called, a hand laid on his back soon after, “you must allow Veronica and I tend to your father.” 

Letting out one last shaky breath, the prince dropped his father’s hand and stood. He used the back of his hand to clear his face of his tears, backing away from the king’s body but never removing his gaze from it. He had to collect himself, he was acting foolish. Internally, he steeled himself. He felt himself fall back onto all of his lessons on how to conduct himself as a royal; it felt like an ill-fitting sandal. 

“Take your time with his preparations. I shall arrange for his procession this evening,” Sam delegated, his voice monotone and level as he forcefully shut off all his emotions. 

After he spoke, the prince turned on his heel and left the physician’s ward. His mother and sister were in charge of preparing the body - bathing it, anointing it, and dressing it - as was the women’s job in line with tradition. Samuel meant to stick to his word and plan his father’s funeral procession, however it would not come to be. 

As soon as he crossed the threshold of his chambers, the forgotten sword attached to his hip caught on one of the decorative vases by the door and shattered onto the floor. The prince gazed down upon the broken sherds, some of the pieces still wobbling from the force of the fall. Orange and black ceramic peered back up at him, slowly but surely becoming blurrier as the seconds passed. With a trembling hand, he reached down and cradled one of the larger pieces in his palm. Wet spots began appearing on the orange clay, Samuel barely able to see them through his blurred vision. 

As violent and sudden as an earthquake, rage swept through Sam’s veins. His hand clenched around the broken piece of pottery, his fist trembling under the sheer force of his grip. He could feel the sherd break the skin of his palm as warm blood trickled down from his hand onto his inner forearm, but he cared not. The only thing that occupied his mind were theories that he had been cursed by the gods as an infant. Hades cursed him with the gift of death and Apollo that of prophecy. The two gods worked in tandem to torture him with visions of his relations dying only for them to come to fruition days later for their own sick entertainment. 

Sam wanted to break things. He wanted nothing more than for everything within sight to  be shattered by his hands. The prince had gotten within a hair’s breadth away from unsheathing his sword and striking at every item in view, but then he released the broken potter from his grasp. He watched it clatter onto the white floor, drops of his blood splattering alongside it. 

All of the fury and fight he harbored in his veins dissipated and suddenly there was nothing to keep him upright. Samuel sank to the floor, his jaw clenched in an effort to contain his wails of lamentation. All at once, the crushing weight of grief fell upon him as everything within the past month and a half culminated. No, not just the past month. The past thirteen years. 

That was how the princess found Samuel: on his knees before a broken vase as he distraughtly lamented. 

“Your highness?” she timidly asked, knocking lightly on the ajar door. 

The prince startled, whipping his head in the direction of his wife standing in the door. She looked entirely uncomfortable, her face pinched together in what could have been disgust or sympathy, but mainly confusion. 

“If you are here to celebrate the death of the king, I ask you find another location to do so. I simply have no energy to entertain your musings at the moment,” he expressed, sniffling as he attempted to wipe his tears. 

There was a silence as Princess Y/N grappled to find the words for her next sentence. Sam saw her brow furrow as she pondered. “You misunderstand me. I sought your attention with the intention of offering my assistance with the king’s burial.” 

Immense guilt crashed into him, his blood turning cool. All she wanted to do was help and Sam insinuated she had come to rub salt in his wounds. The prince bowed his head in shame, hot tears burning his eyes. “Apologies…” 

“Do you… wish to discuss it?” 

Sam’s first instinct was to turn her away, to remove her from sight and grieve in solitude, but he then was reminded of a moment not long ago where the roles were reversed. She had not refused his company, he needed to extend that same courtesy. He nodded slowly. The princess took that as her cue to fully enter his chamber, shutting the door behind her. She kneeled down directly in front of her husband, making herself comfortable. 

Silence filled the air, both individuals anticipating the other to speak first. Finally, the prince broke, unable to handle the uncomfortable air. 

“I apologize for my unkemptness. I know not why I cry so; I never won my father’s favor nor he won mine,” Samuel explained, his gaze flicking back and forth between his bleeding hand and the princess. 

“It matters not whether you were close, he was your father. It is normal to grieve his loss whether you won his favor or not,” Princess Y/N delicately explained. Samuel was left feeling surprised, not expecting her kindness. But the way that she spoke… 

“You say that as if you know.” 

This earned a scoff from his wife, but not a malicious one. “My father still breathes. However, I may as well be dead in his eyes.” 

She would not look Sam in the eyes, rather she gazed out of the open balcony door. Suddenly, it made sense to the prince. She had snapped at him that day due to her past with her father. She could not believe her family missed her as she had no past experience to suggest such a thing. 

“Nothing you ever accomplished was grand enough, correct?” 

That made Princess Y/N look at her husband. She regarded him with a skeptical look, gauging whether or not he was attempting to be rude. “No. And my siblings were always the standard to be compared to, despite faults of their own.” 

Memories of that exact scenario surfaced in Samuel’s mind, jealousy and guilt joining alongside the memories. 

“I was never meant to be in line for the throne, something my father made certain to remind me of often,” the prince admitted, tucking his hair behind his ear. 

“Joshua was the firstborn, I remember him,” her voice was so timid, once again avoiding Sam’s gaze, “he was lively and incredibly kind.” 

Sam forcefully bit back his anger, tired of being furious all the time. “It is hard to forget him, even outside of his death causing the war.” 

It went silent between the two once again, the air tense as so much was left unspoken. Over a decade of bloodshed weighed heavily upon the two royals. They both wished to discuss the conflict, but both feared the response of the other. 

Once again, Samuel was the one to break. “I believe I will always resent my father for using Josh’s death to beat the drums of war. Jake, Ronnie and I all begged him to not invade, but he would not listen. ‘It is what Joshua would have wanted,’ he claimed, but he could not have been farther from the truth. Josh wanted peace and he made that clear from the start.” 

The prince hung his head, feeling his throat beginning to close up the longer he spoke of his brother. 

“He was meant to be king. Athens would have flourished under him,” Sam could not refrain from shooting a glance at his wife, “had he not been poisoned.” 

“I know that what I say will fall upon deaf ears, but Sparta never wanted war. We only train all of our citizens in combat on the chance of invasion as a defensive measure. We held that feast thirteen years ago in the hopes that Sparta and Athens could strike new trade agreements, not spark war. It was not us who poisoned your brother,” the princess passionately explained. She was right, Sam wanted not to hear about it, but she spoke with such conviction that Sam had no choice but to ponder her words. 

“Say I believe you, do you expect me to believe he keeled over from nothing?” 

“Jacob was present as well, yes? If removing your line of succession was our goal, why would we spare the next directly in line when he was in our midst?” Her point was a strong one. It caused Samuel to call into question the intentions of his near life-long enemies. 

“When Joshua died, what was being served? What food was there?” 

Confused by the question, the princess wracked her mind attempting to search for the answer. “I would guess what we usually server at feasts: lamb, wine, apricots-” 

Instantly, Samuel felt his body run cold. The lives of thousands upon thousands of men had been lost over a simple mistake. All of that blood spilled was caused by a small miscommunication. 

“It was the apricots. They are poisonous to only him, but you had no way of knowing such knowledge,” Sam informed, his tone haunted by the immense guilt he felt. 

He recalled a time when he was young when his big brother picked an apricot off a tree as they were playing outside, taking a bite of it and becoming red in the face. Jacob was able to rush his puffy and swollen twin to the physician, the medical professional informing Josh to stay away from the fruit. Curiously, Jake was able to consume the fruit just fine, much to Josh’s chagrin. 

“It… It was all a lie.” 

They all died for nothing 

“Samuel, listen to me. You cannot change the past and there is no good in dwelling in it. You yourself single-handedly ended the war and that is what you should focus on,” the princess sternly informed, taking her husband’s head between her hands. 

Sam was frozen. He did not know how he should conduct himself after such support from a person who allegedly despised him. 

“I will never understand you,” Sam claimed after wrapping his hands around her wrists and gently lowering them. 

“Why do you say such a thing?” If Sam did not know any better, he would have claimed she had been hurt by such a comment. 

“The first night we met, you professed you wanted nothing to do with ending the war. ‘You are the one who wishes for peace, not I’ were the exact words you spoke. And yet here you sit praising me for bringing peace. I am failing to comprehend your motives.” 

The princess sighed, her gaze casting away from Samuel’s. She tugged her hands away from the prince’s grasp, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“I spouted such notions because I was furious at all things pertaining to your kingdom… as well as you. You uprooted me from my home and family and expected me to go along with your every plan; I was frightened,” she quietly explained. 

Sam saw her in a different light, seeing a small scared girl instead of the hardened and brave warrior princess he had only ever seen before. 

“War… war is all I have ever known. Ever since I was a girl, I have trained to be a warrior. The idea of living in a world where I did not have that seemed… Well, it seemed unimaginable. I was hostile and I lashed out at you unfairly; I apologize.” She had looked Samuel directly in the eyes after speaking. The prince was struck by her sincerity, held in place by the intensity of her stare. He believed her apology. 

“I believe I owe you one as well. I should have been more accommodating towards you,” Samuel admitted, hanging his head. 

After a moment of silence between the two, Princess Y/N broke the silence for the first time. “I have a proposition: let us begin again.” 

The prince looked at her extended hand she meant for him to shake. Giving her his best attempt at a smile - given the fact he had just finished sobbing - he grabbed her hand. 

“It’s an accord.” 

Princess Y/N returned the smile. She soon got to her feet, readjusting her clothing. She once again offered her husband a hand, pulling him effortlessly to his feet. 

“Let us go, Samuel. We have plans to arrange.” She clapped him on the back in a friendly manner. Sam laughed at the action, suddenly not feeling so alone. 

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Taglist:

@doodle417 @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @jmks-housewife @ageoferin @alwayssotiredbutneverofyou @etoilesnoor @ascendingtostardust @godlygreta @s0livagant @gretavanflowerpower @morganic-goods @dannythedog @baguettejuliette @fan-girl-97 @gaby-gvf @age-of-nyahh @mzbrightside @myownparadise96 @xserenax-13 @sammysvanfeet @loofypoofy @chalametpwk @seventieswhore @razorbladekiszka @kdarling1 @capturethechaos @unfortunatelykristin @welightthefire @gretavanfleas @sammiejane22 @satanplayshisfluteforhim @starsasone @mintysammykiszka @writingcold @tearsofbri @gretasmokerising @streamofstardust @lunaindigoraven @jakeydoesit @tripthelightfandomtastic @sunfl0wer-power @wingedgardener2000 @gretavanbitches @teddiie @gardensgatedaisy @sparrowofthedawnsworld @angelbabyyy99 @sammysprincess @whollyfreeamongststars @gretaswhore28 @l0rdoffli3s @kay-jordan @lightmyloverry @kenzie18 @gotavansleep

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