#❝ bearer of the flame ❞ — face

[primofate]

Quick Kinich Brainrot.

Kinich sings the Ode of Resurrection a little louder and with a little more earnest when you're involved.

He doesn't notice it, but Mualani sure does. Kachina is none the wiser, she thinks Kinich treats everyone equally.

"Excited?" Mualani prods the said man on his side, grin as wide as ever, while waiting for the Ressurection to start.

"Huh?" Kinich asks.

Turns out he was none the wiser too. He thought he treated everyone equally.

"For Y/N to come back!" Mualani tries to hide the exasperation in her voice.

"...Isn't everyone?" Kinich simply says. Ajaw is surprisingly quiet.

Mualani has a retort at the tip of her tongue, but the ceremony starts. The eulogy is recited and the humming commences.

The ceremony is the same as it always is, and as the Pyro archon disappears into the Sacred Flame, people start to cheer and shout.

Kinich stays quiet. Eyes tacked on to the flame, shoulders tense, searching for the first sign of the Pyro Archon and you.

His mind doesn't quite register it when the Pyro Archon emerges from the flame carrying you in her arms.

The cheers continue, but when people start to notice that you're unconscious and asleep, the noise dwindles down.

Kinich masterfully swings himself over to meet the Pyro Archon, peering over at your face. "Is Y/N okay?"

"What's wrong with 'em? Psh. And here I thought they weren't one of the puny ones! Well at least it ain't a bag of bones!" Ajaw cackles, but constantly tries to circle around to catch a glimpse of your face.

"Trouble in the Night Kingdom," the archon replies. "They're fine, they just need a bit more rest to stabilize the Abyssal energy in them,"

Kinich steps back with a sigh.

The wave of panic that hit him settling down to ripples. Something similar had happened to Kachina before, in fact that time had been worse. Kinich hated to admit it, but he didn't feel half as scared back then than he did now.

What did that tell him?

He puts his hands forward "I'll take Y/N, archon. I'll take care of them," urgency and desperation mixed together in his voice.

The pyro archon had no doubt that he would, but shakes her head. "They'll have to stay here until the abyssal energy stabilizes, it could be dangerous to you as well,"

"But--" His response was automatic, and he had to stop himself from protesting.

Just take Y/N home. Don't let anyone else take them.

Repeated in his mind, over and over again. Home. You'll be safe there. He'll make sure of it. But he relents, and drops his arms to his sides. "...Okay,"

The pyro archon promises you'll be fine.

Kinich was a competent fighter. He was an ancient name bearer. He had fought so many battles and looked for many more.

But in this one simple and single moment, suddenly he wasn't so strong anymore.

His fear was bigger than his whole existence.

[yandere-wishes]

˖ ࣪⊹𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞/𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐜𝐞 ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⸸ Yandere! Capitano x reader

༒︎ Summary: He's the ice bearer, the monster sent to snuff out the flames of your homeland. But isn't that just love? To kill with such passion. Wouldn't anything else just be a lie?

🗡Warnings: Yandere behavior, blood, and gore, reader has a pyro vision and wields a claymore

𓌜 author's note: I made some Girlypop Capitano edits to sorta fit the vibe: One & Two

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Do you love me? Or do you love how I make you feel?

๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪⭑ ๋࣭

Kachina is lost

She does not emerge from the scared flame

Nor does her ancient name echo across the skies.

Life stills, death looms.

light wanes, darkness reaches.

The glow of the sacred flame burns your eyes.

It's ambers whispering grime truths.

"I volunteer to go, too. You'll need all the help you can get."

Mavuika's flame mane rasps across her shoulders as she shakes her head. Lips taut in thought, sepia brows furled in eccentric fret. You've yet to see this shade of worry painted across your archon's face.

"I can't afford to excuse you, especially now that I fear my powers are dwindling. I need someone to have my back. Besides I'm sure the champians can handle it."

Duty first, that's the oath of the Princesses of Flame. Guard the archon with your life, protect her through any means necessary.

You force your head into a sharp nod.

The chill in the stadium air sends a nervous tang rippling through your spine. You've heard the Wayob speak of this sort of frost before. This all encompassing thing.

His boots grace the stadium floor with all the grace of falling stars. Ethereal armor glows in the soft roar of dancing flames. Icicles in dawn's first light.

The tall figure tilts his armor-clad head up at the archon's perch, with impertinence. You almost swear you hear a chuckle of mockery chime from the inside of his helmet.

"Pyro Archon" he speaks, voice distant and distorted, ice on ice through hail storms. The chill glides across your body again, how can one man be so cold? Shouldn't the cold be a sweet thing? Relief from harsh suns and harsher fires?

"Since the oath made five centuries ago remains unfulfilled, what use is the gnosis in your hands?"

He is all ice. But not the sugar-laced ice cubes that float leisurely in spiced cacao milk. No. He is the harsh verglas only spoken of in hushed tones around grisly campfires. The ice that leaves plains frozen and destroyed. It kills all things warm, all things that breathe.

There is a chill in the air.

It penetrates the skin and nests between the bones.

subconsciously you run your fingers across your neck.

"I challenge you for the gnosis, for the right over Natlan's rules" He shrugs off the heavy cape, the multilayered garment with too much wool and heat.

Strange, strange thing.

It amazes you how he hasn't melted from wearing such stout apparel in such smoldering climate. He tosses it to the side careful to never ripe the precious fabric.

"Fight, or summon your champion"

Your hand rests heavily on Mavuika's shoulder. Eyes transfixed in a silent plea.

The people need their Archon.

Natlan needs its Archon.

Besides this is your duty.

Mavuika nods.

Red eyes never once straying from the intruder.

Vicious sparks flicker across your palm. Like sparking a match across dried bark. You feel the inforno's kiss licking past your skin, weaving into the bone, as your weapon materializes. Your fingers ring across the worn, burnt handle of your loyal armament.

"I shall fight you fatui, for the honor and glory of Natlan and the Pyro Archon."

He watches you through the mask, through the ebony darkness that shields his mysterious visage. He reminds you of how Saurians watch their prey. Weighing each tiny breath, tasting each heartbeat through the air. He looks nothing less than regally monstrous.

Like death, doom, and despair.

You've tasted this before, engraved the bitterness upon your tongue, and honed your body to fight it. He will not take Natlan, he will not condemn your home to his cold.

The weight of your claymore pulls you down. Plunging into hard rock. You watch as he bats the dust with his hand. Gloved and armoured. What is he hiding? You wonder. What man truly needs so many layers? Armor, ice, frost, steel, wool. You long to peel them away, desperate to find something human underneath. Something squishy and worm. You want to feel his heartbeath between your teeth. Drink from his warm blood and relish in the sweet aftertaste. A testament to how you conquered the cold.

You've never seen someone so eager to be hidden in layers up layers.

Snow on ice.

Ice on iron.

"You're awfully young to take on such a big responsibility little girl"

his voice makes you shiver, you can almost taste his ice on your tongue.

Bitter, like barbwire and salt.

"Don't mock me Fatui" You warn, molding your body into a battle stance, knees folded almost kissing the stadium floor, weapon clasped with both hands. Eyes on the target.

Just like Mavuika taught you.

Just like you taught Kachina.

You can feel the heat from your vision coursing through your body, cracking your bones and mingling with marrow. You wait, just one more breath. You use the pyro blessing to project yourself through the air, like an arrow aimed straight for the man made of ice and lies. Swinging your claymore, ready to dent his helmet - and hopefully his head inside-  but he blocks it with his glacier sword. Just a thin dainty thing, capable of quelling your inferno-laced colossus.

Capitano advances, with a flick of his sword he pushes you back. Your heart hammers wildly, someone so skilled so strong, it's almost a shame he can never compete in the pilgrimage. That he can never be on your side.

You use the momentum of his push to frontflip through the foggy air. You land squarely on his wide shoulders, digging your foot into his trapezius muscle, while your knee scrapes his other shoulder for balance. You swing your claymore once more, trying to strike his head off. But to your shock, he parries it with the back of his rime gauntlets.

You keep pushing trying to slice through ice, armor, flesh, anything. Yet everything about this man seems to be made of inviolable steel adorned with everlasting cyro. For a second the metal of his helmet kisses the inside of your thighs. There is no shame in battle, no flirting with the opponent. There are only two bodies entwined until death and defeat. Until one rises and one falls. Still, there's something about the way his black face, regards yours that has a shy blush creeping on the hollows of your cheeks. The man, no this formidable monster is far too close, it's almost as if he's longing for a kiss. You leap back, whispering patronymic blessing to the Archon when your feet meet solid rock once more.

"You fight well little girl, but your attacks are careless, loose. You can not defeat opponents if you can not penetrate their defenses."

He dashes, so quickly you almost think he's flickering between the ground and air. You feel his familiar cold before, you feel the hilt of his sword nestle into your abdomen. He leans forward, helmet sending frostbite through the side of your head "You smell so sweet, like the roses of Snezhnaya". Capitan thrusts his sword with raw force sending you soaring into the stadium walls, the rocks crumple around you, as you struggle to lift yourself up once more.

Your eyes try to carve sight through dust and debris. The air is thick, hot and cold. You blink twice desperate for your eyes to focus. There are silhouettes dancing towards you twirling through the air like Yumkasaurus.

Capitano's ice projectiles glide through the air, they're almost beautiful if you could doubt their lethality. He commands them with flickers of his wrist, and it's only when their frost kisses your body that you fully remember this is a battle, not a dance. They lounge themselves between your ribs, underneath your heart, in the plump of your thigh, the bullseye of your shoulder. Pretty icicles cut open your flesh burying themselves deeply inside you, you'd almost dub it romantic, with how the icicles intonate to your erratic heartbeat.

The frost begins to infiltrate your vascular flow, cauterizing you from the inside. Spreading through the outside, you hiccup out a low moan. Capitano laughs, in a tone that feigns mockery. "I see my ice is to your liking". You bite your lip holding back another moan, it's so wholly painful yet so satisfying. You were right the cold does offer such a delicious relief from the blazing inferno all around.

Your opponent stalks closer, kneeling by your freezing body. You doubt Muarvirka can see through the grey air permutating the stadium. Maybe that's why, away from all prying eyes. The captain lifts his helmet revealing smirking lips. He grazes the side of your mouth with a faux kiss. savoring your warmth before, parting your lips, and deepening the kiss. Even his lips are utterly frozen, he sucks you flames from your mouth extinguishing your fires, with blood-deep frost. He runs a cold iron-clad claw across her cheek, scrapping up the skin, creating a rivulet of red. Before licking it lovingly with his icy tongue. "Why are you so cold?" you shutter, "Why so frostbitten? Has no one ever taught you the joys of the flame?"

He laughs, really really laughs this time. And while you still can't see his eyes, you swear they soften. "I've been burnt too many times, trust me the cold has its merits. But one must be willing to surrender to them."

Capitano plucks your body from the ground. He cradles you roughly in his arms.

He has no warmth to offer.

No heat.

He is only ice.

The fog yields, as you look up. Mavuika screams, her anger palpable. "I'll accept her as my prize for now archon" Capitano spits. "But next time I shall challenge you and know that I will take the gnosis too."

The flames in the stadium roar, trying to melt away the frost plaguing your body. Trying to replenish your spark. You begin to flail and kick, desperate to be liberated from Capitano's iron and frost-clad grasp.

You need to break free, to return to your archon's side, to be there when the others return with Kachina. You can not let this monster pilfer you away from your home, your people, your archone.

"Let me go!" you scream, your last attempt at a battle cry.

"Shhh, war trophies have no right to refuse."

⋆⋆⋆༺𓆩⸸𓆪༻⋆⋆⋆

Super tempted to draw the reader's outfit!!

🪐 @definitely-asexual-volcano @eth3realc0rps3  @numberonefanfury  @madara3437 @crystalkat6747 @m00nlight-mexican @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @orcasandtea @tecchoukisserr

[luvrxbunny]

gullible

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Breeding

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, a lot of body descriptions, reader is on the curvier side, some grinding/dry humping, male masturbation (barely), ovulation, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 4.7k

A/N: lets say spider society is funded by the most rish spider-people and thats what the dinner was for. also this is long asf- i blacked out im so sorry 

It’s a formality. This whole dinner party. It’s something Miguel gets invited to every year and every year he dreads going to it, having to play posh in order to get some extra funding from the higher-ups. Although, he doesn’t mind too much this year because he’s bringing you. 

He’s fidgeting, and complaining about his collar when you come out of the bathroom, you’re asking him if you look okay and he knows his answer before he looks at you. He knows you look good, he tells you so before turning to you and only reassures you upon gazing at the outfit. 

This dress is new, and you’re worried your tummy might be too big for it so you’ve thrown a coat over to hide it. Miguel knows what the coat is really for but doesn't mention it, not wanting to risk making you so uncomfortable you change out of everything. He compliments your new perfume instead, winning a confused smile from you. You’re fidgeting with the coat on the ride to the venue, saying that it’s itchy and you’re getting too warm. He suggests you take it off but you gently refuse and stop complaining. 

He gets dragged away from you the moment he walks through the door. He hates leaving you alone at these things, he knows you don’t socialize well and he knows the men here want a taste of you. He’s anxious to get back to you for the entire hour these deep pockets talk his ear off. He hasn’t been listening, he’s thinking about you. He’s almost overwhelmed at the love he has for you, he’s never felt this way before. He’s missing you even though you guys are in the same place, even though he’s only been away from you for an hour. He can’t get out of there fast enough, shoving the doors of the conference room open and searching for you immediately. 

When his eyes find you, they find that you’ve already taken your jacket off and you’re socializing with an entire group of people. They’re conversing with you comfortably. You bring a smile to his face as you laugh at someone’s joke. His eyes rake over your body, finally taking in your true outfit. 

It has him stiffening in his pants. You’re wearing a dark red pencil dress, the same color as his suit. It hugs your curves perfectly, doing justice to your plush thighs, your ass and showcasing the curve of your back. His favorite part though, is the way it hugs your front. Your boobs look great, sure, but it’s emphasizing the little pooch that sits at the bottom of your stomach. 

You hate it, saying it makes you look fat, that you wish you could get rid of it… but in Miguel’s eyes? It’s just proof you’re the perfect woman to mother his children. He came to this conclusion before he even knew about your tummy. He had seen your wide hips, your care toward others, how good you are with children, and decided he wanted you. 

Once he got you to date him, to fall in love with him, he found out about your little belly fat. You’d been sucking it in as much as you could whenever you were around him, sometimes wearing higher pants than necessary in hopes of the jeans pushing your stomach down. It broke his heart to hear you so insecure but there was also a little flame igniting in his stomach. 

The flame never left. He didn’t tell you about it, but every time he noticed your belly pushing against your tank top, or a tight shirt, whenever he felt your soft tummy on his hard stomach- through the t-shirt you insist on wearing while he fucked you- the fire raged brighter. He added it to the list of reasons you’d be an amazing child-bearer. He’s obsessed with the protective fat over your womb. 

He watches you cover your stomach with your arm as you laugh, not even realizing you’re trying to hide his favorite part of you. He’s walking over to you before he plans out what he’ll say. He just stands beside you, inhaling your sweet perfume, and waiting for you to feel his presence, it doesn't take long. You turn to him with a surprised smile and give him an excited hug. “Miguel!”

His heart expands at your excitement upon his arrival, he wraps an arm around your waist and presses you against him. Your voice is muffled as you speak to him. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” He’s not listening though. 

To any outsider, it looked like Miguel just really missed you, when in reality, he was making sure you could feel what you do to him. You let out a pretty sigh into his ear once you feel his bulge press into you. Your eyes are on his as you pull away, searching them for a reason as to why he’s hard but all he’s too busy taking in every piece of you. 

You’re both lost in your own world, you don’t realize the people you were talking to have moved on from your conversation, talking with some other people now and leaving you and Miguel to your moment. 

His hands are resting on your hips before one slides behind you, pressing his open palm against the small of your back before the other presses against your lower stomach, right over your uterus. Miguel can feel your stomach tense under his hand as you suck in, tightening your muscles but Miguel just tuts and tilts his head at you, disappointed. “Don’t do that, cariño. I love her.” Your gaze is on the floor as you listen to him, he sounds drunk, his voice is distant and hazy. 

His head is cloudy with fantasies. He can see your stomach, how it would grow and swell as you create his child inside you. He thinks about how beautiful you would look with your womb stuffed full of him. He swears she’s calling for him- your womb- begging him to fill her up, paint your walls white until his seed takes, maybe a little more after that just to be safe. 

You can see his thoughts racing, you can tell he’s working himself up, you just don’t understand what is doing this to him. His hand on your stomach is making you a bit self-conscious, but your muscles have been too tight for too long, and they give out. Your soft tummy relaxes and presses into his hand, pulling a relieved sigh from Miguel. His breathing picks up and his eyebrows furrow before he looks up from your stomach, looking into your eyes instead. “You know I love this, right?”

He looks back down at your belly as he readjusts his palm, opening his hand wider to cover more of your pooch. You whine and shift uncomfortably, the way his hand is resting over your womb is hot, it’s turning you on but you’re barely aware of that fact because anxiety is overrunning everything. You’re waiting for Miguel to slip up, for you to see a crack in his lies. You appreciate the attempt at making you feel better about your body but you don’t- you can’t believe him. 

Until you look up into his eyes. 

They’re drowning in need, his pupils entirely blown out, covering most of the red in his eyes. He’s gazing at you as he slowly pulls you in and presses his plump lips against yours with a moan. You pull away quickly and look around, a few people looking your way at Miguel’s louder-than-safe moan. You look back up at him to warn him, tell him to keep it down but the words die on your tongue. His eyes are hazy and confused, still looking at your lips like he can’t figure out why you pulled away. You smile at him incredulously and pull his hand away from your back but he whimpers when you try and take his hand off your womb. 

“Miguel, we’re public, baby.” Your voice is soft yet frantic, and his eyes are still begging you. “People are staring…” That gets a reaction, his face twitches and his eyes clear and harden a bit. He looks around the room with a snarl and you have to pull his gaze back to you. 

“Hey! What’s gotten into you?” The question hurts him a bit as he thinks it over, he really is trying to pinpoint why this is affecting him so much.  All he can focus on is you though, your scent enveloping him like a cloud. It smells like everything good, like flowers and honey, but also clean like soap and linen. It’s suffocating him, stopping all thought. 

“You smell so good, amor. What is that? I don’t recordar buying este para ti.” His voice is muffled as he buries his face in the top of your head, looking for the source of your scent. You’ve had enough, he’s doing all of this in the middle of the party, and you’re starting to feel a bit embarrassed. You’re pushing him back, slowly walking him to the edges of the party. You feel people staring until you finally hit a wall, pushing a grunt from Miguel. “What is up with you?” Your tone is gentle but you’re getting concerned, you’ve never seen him like this.

His eyes are shut tightly as his brows furrow and he lets out a pathetic whimper. “I’m sorry. I- I don’t know.” His hand leaves your stomach to bury in his hair and you instantly miss its warmth. You take a step closer to him, waiting for him to say more. “Can we leave? I think we’ve been here long enough, yeah?” He’s already pulling your hand to the exit. 

He’s silent in the car and on the drive home, constantly running his hand through his hair, and bouncing the leg that isn't on a pedal. You’re taking in his frantic state and notice that through all this, he’s still hard. “Miguel…” He gasps softly and turns to you for a moment. “What’s wrong?

“I don’t-” His eyes dart to your form. “ Your dress for one.” You glance down and wish you hadn’t, you see your stomach split into rolls, folding the fabric of your dress, accentuating the it’s softness. Your arms cross over it, trying to hide and Miguel groans.

“Don’t do that, I told you.” His voice sounds painful and strained. You look back at him to see a distressed look on his face and his hand palming his throbbing cock through his suit pants. “I fucking love her.” His breathing gets heavy, causing him to inhale more of your painfully sweet perfume. “What the fuck is that smell, baby?” 

You can hear him take a big inhale of the air in the car and a shiver runs up his spine. “I’m…” You struggle to round up enough thoughts to answer him, too distracted by the way he crushes his dick against his thigh and the little moans that accompany his movements.  “I’m not wearing perfume, Miguel.”

That's when it hits him. Why he’s so desperate for you, why your scent is clouding his every thought and taking over his mind… You’re ovulating. 

A broken groan rips from his throat at the realization, he speeds the rest of the way home. When you guys finally arrive he parks in the driveway and unlocks the doors, but doesn’t move. “I need you to get out, bonita.”

You feel arousal settle in your stomach as you press your legs together. Miguel’s head falls back, and his hair falls with his head, revealing his red-tipped ears. His hips are still gently thrusting into his hand, the other is squeezing the wheel so hard you thought it might crack. “I- I need a moment, baby. I’ll explain everything, just go inside and-” He lets out a breathless curse and his hips stutter against his palm. “And go change and just- just wait for me, okay? I’ll be there in a moment, go.” You’re in a trance as he speaks but the force in his command shakes you out of it. 

You leave the car silently and make your way to his place. You change out of your clothes in a daze, putting on a tank top and one of his sweatpants as you try to process what just happened. You grab a blanket and wait for Miguel on the couch. 

It’s only a few minutes before you hear his footsteps approaching the door. You stand in front of the doorway, oddly nervous as you watch the knob turn. His eyes meet yours the moment the door opens, his eyes stay on yours as he ducks through the frame, and takes his shoes off. They only tear from yours to take in your new outfit, your lower belly is the first place his eyes land. He gets that weak look in his eye you’ve been seeing all night and his breathing picks up.

Miguel notices the way your stomach sucks in for a moment before relaxing, letting your body be as she is and it making him feral. He needs you so bad, he wants to just take you right here but he promised you an explanation. His eyes flicker up to you and he takes a shaky deep breath and tries to keep his voice steady. “Have a seat, hermosa.”

He looks nervous, he keeps wiping his hands on his suit pants as you walk over to sit on the couch, he seats himself at the other end, across from you. You’re turned to him, legs crossed and laying in his lap. He turns to face you more and accidentally places your legs over his bulge, you can feel his thighs tense as he folds in half, letting out a choked moan that he tries to cover as a cough. You let him think he got away with it, he leaves your legs over his bulge, giving him enough stimulation to think straight. 

You’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain and he decides to just rip the band-aid off. “You’re-” Arousal stabs in his stomach at the sentence he has to utter. He bites into his lip and tries to regulate his breathing. “You’re o- ovulating.” Your legs shift in his lap as your expression falls, embarrassed. “And I can smell it.” 

Your legs pull out of his lap quickly and you bring your knees to your chest. “What?!” You sit up and tuck your legs under you, sitting on your calves. “You can smell it? I’m- God that’s so- I’m so sorry.”

His mind is getting hazy again without your contact. “No. Cariño, not that. It’s not like that.” He sighs at your confusion, he wishes you understood how desperate he was, maybe then you wouldn’t ask him to talk so much, maybe you’d just let him fuck you already. “It’s more like pheromones.”

His hand slides across the couch cushion, wraps around your ankle and slowly drags you toward him. “It’s a change in your personal scent. Your body is trying to trick mine into breeding you, and guess what?” He’s pulled you straight and is crawling up your body, slowly lowering himself against you so his bulge is pressing against your pussy, right over your clit.

 He’s so hard he’s able to split your lips, rubbing the cloth of his sweatpants against your naked pussy and you gasp at the feeling. Your hands slide up from his biceps to pull his head in, anxiously awaiting the rest of his sentence. He smirks at the eager look on your face and leans in, just inches from your lips, and whispers against them. “My body is so gullible for you.” You whimper.

You can feel your entire being heating up as he kisses you so intensely, like he’s trying to devour you. He’s groaning against your lips and licking into your mouth as he wrestles his jacket off. Your hands shoot to his belt and struggle to get it off, whining into the kiss when his belt gets caught on the loops. He smiles into you and his hands come to rest over yours. “Tranquila, bebe. I’m the desperate one, remember?”

You shake your head his words and let him take his pants off while you wiggle out of his sweats. He moans at your bare pussy and his arms give out for a moment, almost dropping his weight on you before catching himself. “N-no panties?” His fingers are on you, rubbing your clit and spreading your slick all over you, coating his fingers in it. He’s being downright messy.

“Miggy- Miguel, I need it so bad- need you so bad. I love you so much. You’re so-” Your mind is already gone as you grind up into his fingers, overwhelmed by the added pleasure of his desperation. He’s groaning into your ear as he humps himself against your thigh in time with his fingers. 

“I don’t know. I need-” You cut him off with a moan and he smiles as you apologize in between whimpers. “I think I’d need to cum in you, cariño. I need- My brain can only focus on-” He groans as you writhe against him, pushing your thigh into his crotch. His head lowers to rest against yours as his fingers speed up inside you. He can feel the way you’re coating them, soaking every crevice with your sweetness. He can feel the way they’re sliding inside you, the way your walls are squeezing him, it’s too much. “I can only think about cumming in you, bebe.” 

Truthfully, his thoughts were more focused on what would come afterward, watching you swell with his child but you guys haven’t even had a conversation about kids yet.

“No.” You whine at him, he feels sadness shoot through his stomach but he tries to mask it. “Just fuck me, please?” You’re looking up at him with puppy dog eyes, your hands around his neck pulling his face impossibly closer as your lips try and lock with his. He nods at you gently, he wants to give you anything you could possibly want.

“Okay, amor.” He kisses you quickly before taking his hands off of you and starts unzipping his pants, pulling himself out of his boxers while you wait. You watch him for a bit as he gets undressed before a thought pushes into your head.

What if I took my top off this time? 

You think it over for a second, you want to be yourself with him, completely and he’s explained his love for your tummy over and over again. 

What could be the worst that happens?

Images of Miguel’s face twitching in disgust flash through your head. Unrealistic scenarios of Miguel pulling away, starting to reject your advances and your kisses plague your brain. 

He wouldn’t do that. 

You take a deep breath and bite the bullet, pulling your tank top over your head quickly and Miguel freezes, causing an abundance of discomfort on your end. You thought this was something he’d want, something he’d like, now that you’ve exposed yourself though, he’s silent. 

You try to stand strong, but your hands are twitching at your sides to cover your stomach. You pray to whatever god there may be that you somehow gain the ability to read his mind, to see his thoughts, to force him to say something… anything. 

His cock pulsing. He’s never seen you completely shirtless, despite being together for over a year. He never wanted to push you, too scared that he’d push you away. He’s seen you with no top but only with a towel over your stomach, or pants pulled over your stomach as you change. But now? Her full glory was on display, there’s a little curve underneath, separating your tummy from your pussy and he’s in love. 

His eyes are zeroed in on your naked stomach and your hands come up to cover it, legs pulling inward as you fold into yourself. He can’t have that. “Don’t” 

His voice is sharp and dark, a strong command but you don’t listen, covering your stomach fully. “It was a bad idea. I’m so uncomfortable, Mig. Can-” You let out a heartbreaking sigh. “Can you just pass me my top?” You threw it down just out of reach and your hands are occupied covering your stomach. Embarrassment is coursing through every vein.

How are we gonna move on from this? I fucking killed the shit out of the mood. Fuck. God, I hate this. 

“No.” He’s moving back toward you, climbing up your body again, ignoring the obvious confusion you’re facing. You curl in even more which just upsets him. He grabs your leg and pulls, forcing you out of your ball before pinning it under his own. “Uh-” You let out a noise of surprise but Miguel pays it no mind as he reaches for your arms. He takes both of your wrists in his hand and pins them above your head, holding them there as he admires your tummy. 

Your heart is racing but you don’t struggle. Miguel is looking at you like to most amazing piece of art and you’d do anything- anything- for him to keep going. You feel yourself leaking between your legs as he just stares. His breathing is slow and shaky and his brows keep furrowing, like he’s having an internal battle with himself. He takes another breath and exhales through his mouth, letting his breath fan over your face before releasing your wrists and leg. 

He’s waiting for you to pull your hands back down, cover one of your most beautiful features… but you don’t. 

Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in. “Can you please, please, fuck me now?” His face twitches before he smiles, taking a deep breath as he pulls away. He kisses your chest as he slowly rises, his hand already on his cock, pumping himself gently as he aligns himself with your entrance. You’re gripping the cushions with all your strength as he works himself in. 

He’s worried. You feel insane around him, the softest thing he’s ever felt, extra wet and open for him to breed you. His mind keeps wandering back to cumming inside you, even though you said no. He’s walking the line of some dangerous thoughts. 

I am stronger than her…

He shakes the thought out of his head and focuses on you. The way you’re moaning his name like it’s the only thing you know, your hips are growing frantic as the grind up against him. “Miggy-“

“Amor.” He smiles at the moan that rips from your chest as you bury yourself in his neck. His hips speed up at the sounds of your moans right next to his ear, your breath tickling the shell of it.  

“‘M gonna- “ Miguel cuts you off with a growl and his brows furrow. He doubles down on his thrusts, bringing his hands to the small of your back, gripping you hard and fucking you into his cock. 

It’s going to take a serious amount of focus to keep his orgasm at bay until you’re done. “Go- Fuck. No, just wait, baby.” You let out a confused noise at his command. He’s never asked you to hold it before. 

“Fuck! Mi- I don’t know how!” Your sentence turns into a sob as he watches your body tense up, pulling all your muscles tight and gripping the roots of his hair. “Haah- Miguel. Baby, I ca- an’t. Please let-“ 

A moan stops your sentence as Miguel presses onto your womb, forcing his cock against your walls, stretching you even more. You feel so full you don’t know what’s happening. Your eyes are wide as you stare at his hand, slowly looking up to meet his eyes. They’re frantic, desperate and wild when they meet yours. 

His panting aggressively, intermittently pausing so he can try and regulate his breathing. You’re staring into his eyes, shocked at his reaction and a smirk pushes its way into your face before you moan at him again. He pulls his hand away from your womb like it burned him and pulls out, gripping the base of his cock so hard it must hurt. 

You were so close, teetering on the edge, just hearing Miguel utter your name could’ve tipped you over… but he pulled out instead. “Miguel!!! Why? I- I’ve been good, haven’t I?” 

Your desperate pleads are worsening his situation. He ignores your words and starts rubbing your clit, his fingers moving over the little bud lightning fast. “I’m not punishing you, bebé bonita”

You whine at the love name and grip his arm, trying to pull him closer to you. “No puedo correrme dentro de ti and I’m… I’m too close right now, cariño.”

You’re trying to push his hand away now, shaking your head and whining. “S’okay”

Your yanking at his arm, trying to get him back over you. “Cum inside, Miggy.” 

His eyes widen and he doesn’t move. He honestly thinks he’s hearing things at this point, fantasizing without realizing but you’re look at him all shy and expectant. So you actually said something… “W-“ He takes a deep breath. “What?”

You whine at him and avert your eyes as your legs slowly spread for him. “You- You wanted to, right? I want it…” You whine at the thought. “I need it, Miggy.”

His vision blurs as he reaches out for you, lining himself up as quickly as he can. He can already feel his balls pulsing, tensing and preparing a load for you, for your pussy, your womb. 

It’s worse than the first time he ever had sex with you. Every nerve is alight, he can feel every little detail in your pretty, perfect pussy. On top of that, you’re moaning like he’s never heard before, louder, more high pitched, more desperate than earlier and they’d already shocked him then. He can’t. 

“Mm- Not- fuck. I’m not gonna last. Not even a min- shit. Oh my god, cariño. Not even gonna last a minute. Fuck me, niña bonita.” Your almost screaming his name at his words, his languid pace and the way he’s literally shaking for you. “Gonna- shi-it.” His words sound like broken sobs as his tip gently abuses your cervix. 

You’ve pulsing around him, trying everything you can to wait for him so you can milk him while he pumps you full. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck. I’m gonna cum in- in you, baby. Voy a follarte un bebé, amor. Te dejaré embarazada, te mantendré llena de mí en todo momento. Mierda. Te verás tan hermosa, manteniendo a nuestro bebé protegido en tu grueso útero. Oh, joder"

(“I'm going to fuck a baby into you, love. I will get you pregnant, I'll keep you full of me at all times. Shit. You will look so beautiful, keeping our baby protected in your thick womb. Oh fuck.”)

Your eyes roll back and the coil in your stomach snaps as Miguel rambles, hips thrusting into yours gently, his gaze on the back of his skull. You’re fucking yourself on him as best you can in this position. It’s awkward and over-exerting but completely worth it when you hear a whine of your name and Miguel’s cock starts throbbing inside you. 

Twitching once, twice, before hardening even more and pouring a torrent of cum into your waiting pussy. He’s the loudest you’ve ever heard. Moaning out your name on repeat, thanking you for letting him cum in you with a lot of other Spanish sentences in between. 

His hand presses to your womb as he winds down but his cock twitches out another load as he pushes down, fucking into you slowly again. “Te amo tanto, mi querida. No puedo imaginar la vida sin ti. Una vida en la que no tendrás mis hijos, en la que no estemos casados…” His entire body shudders as he finally stops pouring into you. 

(“I love you so much, my dear. I can’t imagine life without you. A life where you don’t bear my children, in which we aren’t married…”)

He leans down and kisses you slowly, eyes hooded but still focused on you. Your eyes are teary and trying to shut, exhausted from the entire night. Miguel keeps pressing kisses all over you as you drift off. 

“Un mundo sin ti es uno en el que no podría vivir, amor.”

(“A world without you is one I couldn't live in, love.”)

Thank you so mcuh for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[0bticeo]

i just want you to stay (with me) | dabi x reader

night shifts are hell, you think. here your are, stumbling back to your flat, in the dead of the night, hands shaking with the exhaustion of hours of work at the ER.

so, when you close the door behind you and all but slide down its wooden surface, you’re not expecting anything but a good night’s worth of sleep.

“rough day at work, sweetheart?”

you barely startle. barely. there, sprawled on your couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table before him, is dabi. 

you let out a huff, a tired smile tugging at your lips.

“night shifts suck.”

he grins, a sharp flash of white in the dark. you don’t bother turning the lights on. too much and he’ll shy away, shadow slipping in the dark streets below.

“quit your job, sweetheart.”

“and lose easy access to quality medical supplies? hard pass.”

“giran probably knows a spot."

you step closer, feet quiet on the linoleum floor. 

“i’d rather not be branded as a criminal. my poor mother wouldn’t handle it.”

“shame. you’d make a cute villain.”

dabi’s skin stretches and pulls over the narrow bones of him, taut over his jaw as he grins. he’s watching you, eyes blazing like his flames, a predator ready to pounce to all.

but you know him.

you see the way his shoulders sag in quiet relief, feel the way his fingers - long, slender, deadly - curl around your wrist. he won’t ask you to stay. the words would hang too heavily in the air. they might choke you both. you, little civilian meddling in the muddy waters of crime. him, villain with thirty known victims under his belt.

yet… yet, here, in the quiet darkness of the little place you call a home, he melts. lets you unravel him, lets you pull down his coat, the leather smoke-heavy, ember-warm on your skin. lets you pull off his shirt and run your hands over his burns, the gnarled flesh, barely holding on. you’re careful, when you touch him.

“my nerves are burnt, sweetheart. i don’t feel a thing.”

“liar”, you whisper against the shell of his ear, lips brushing against the cold metal of his piercings. 

he feels too much, you know. quirkless you may be, but if there’s one thing you learned in your meager twenty-four years of existence, it’s that meta-abilites are always a reflection of their bearer. and dabi…

oh, dabi burns and burns.

you look at him, sitting on your couch, watching you, teal eyes like twin pyres in the dark, a siren’s song of fire. the moonlight is kind to him, you think, curling in the dips and crevices of him, nestling in the jutting collarbones, the sharp edge of his jaw, the stark metal of his staples.

you settle beside him, hand light on his shoulder, touch gentle on his skin, gaze critical. 

“i thought your burns would be in a worse state than that.”

he lets out a low rasp of a chuckle.

“what, disappointed you can’t get your hands all over me, doc?"

you let out a huff.

“you’re a menace.”

heat on your hips. he’s pulling you closer to him, broad hands encompassing your waist. his head fits on your chest. a low rumble.

“you love this menace.”

he’s leaning into your touch, dabi, a lick of heat warming your side. his hair brushes against your shoulder. your palm presses flat against his chest, against the unburnt planes of him.

his eyes are half-lidded, heavy blue drawing you in. a small smile tugs at your lips. your fingers thread through his hair.

“i love you.”

you feel his cheeks grow hot, even through the fabric of his your t-shirt.

“that’s a low blow, doc.”

you grin, lips soft against his heated forehead. he nuzzles in your chest, burying his face in the cradle of your arms, driving you closer to him.

if he could meld you together, cremation flashing blue, he would. keep you all to himself, away from the hustle and bustle of your ER job, away from the hero commission and its demands.

he settles for this instead. 

he stays.

[familiarscars]

Infamous Desire | Nicholas Chavez

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. nicholas chavez x female reader. ⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. With dreams becoming more and more real, you live in the impasse between succumbing to the infamous desire. ⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). dirty talk, somnophilia, knife play, explicit sex, murder, stalker, profanity.

With your palms together, you hear each word of his like music to your ears. He says “God, our Father, take away the sins of the world” as if he were not the bearer of most of them.

Light brown hair perfectly combed back, narrow gaze and broad shoulders over the dark cassock with red details over the cross. Father Charles was the definition of a heretic, frighteningly handsome and intoxicating beautiful, capable of warming parts hitherto unknown beneath the sacred vestments.

"May the Lord lead you safely to your homes, my brothers, I have heard that an evildoer is roaming Houston." Father Charles warns, closing his Bible and turning his attention to the faithful. "Pray, fast, keep evil far from your homes and avoid going out at dusk."

Leaving the only chapel in Houston empty, everyone followed the low sun due to the time and left after the end of Sunday mass, except you. Running her fingers over the dark wooden benches as she walked forward, her eyes never left the man standing at the pulpit, focused on the scriptures. From this point of view, his arms seemed larger, as if they were going to tear the tailored fabric at any moment.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, dreaming about him every night after prayer had become a routine, and it was common for the temperature to fluctuate between her legs.

"Is everything okay, sister?" Father Charles' voice cut through your thoughts that seemed to be drifting into dangerous territory.

''Yes, yes" You answered a little shakily, adjusting your skirt as a distraction "Do you need any more help to fix the church?"

Father Charles gave you that look and smiled, walking towards you, flames coming out of his pupils and shooting through your body like embers. Since his arrival at the parish, nothing seemed to have returned to its normal state.

"Always so dedicated, sister…" Charles said in a hoarse whisper, leaning down until he was at your height, he lifted your chin with his fingertips and your faces were so close that the warm air of his breath blew against your face. "You deserve the best reward that heaven has to offer you."

With his fingers moving away from the contact with your face, you felt him blush and smiled shyly as you shrugged your shoulders. "Would it be bold of me to ask what it would be, Father Charles?"

"That's not an answer I can give when my mission is to only apply punishments."

"Then maybe I deserve to be punished." You say frankly, forgetting that you are in front of a Catholic authority, obeying only the command of the unbearable heat between your thighs.

"Do you wish to confess, sister?" He asks before half-closing his eyes.

Closed in the four wooden walls of a confessional, your fingers lowered the veil that covered the top of your head, and from the side view you saw Father Charles sitting in the next room.

"Father, give me your blessing because I have sinned"

You say without taking your attention off his erect body. "Every night in my dreams my object of desire manages to persuade me, without any effort, I allow him to take me, to soil my body with his sweet profanity and give me the cup of sin to drink with him. It is becoming more and more recurrent, I am no longer able to separate illusion from reality and being close to him has been torture without remembering the images we experience every night."

"It doesn't seem that serious to me, sister" he began with a deep voice filling the confessional. "We cannot control our dreams, there is no need to consider it a sin to have carnal desires."

"Not even if the object of desire, is you?"

An anguished silence formed in seconds, from the side view you noticed Father Charles closing his fingers on his own thigh, shrinking the fabric of his cassock. You didn't know what that reaction meant more precisely, but a wave of regret for saying those words slowly emerged.

Six Hail Marys and twelve Our Fathers was your punishment, not exactly what you expected after revealing to your parish priest the unbridled delirium he caused in your head every night. Charles left the confessional in silence and, with the discouragement of having done the biggest mistake of your life, you returned to your room at the back of the church.

Cold water from the shower on your naked body, eyes closed, and nothing could contain the maddening agony of thinking about that man from the moment you woke up until the time you went to sleep. Like a volcano, he left a trail of overwhelming destruction with just his intoxicating presence and the woody scent of his skin.

Your fingers sailed to your nipples, twirling around them in circular motions, allowing your mind to take you as far as possible. Heat, tension, stiffness on the soft skin, that was the effect he had on you as if he were constantly electrocuting you with high voltage wires.

All the shame spread in his presence and you just wanted to feel him, you just wished that instead of your fingers entering, it were his. In your core, you made rotary movements until your clitoris stiffened from the spasm generated by your body. A moan escaped your lips, you're at the height of pleasure, didn't care about being heard by the other nuns in the room as you sank two more fingers inside yourself.

Between the strands of hair, you raised your head and noticed a presence watching you through the bathroom window, but you didn't move to stop when you realized that having someone on the other side made you even more excited.

A short scream tells you that you came on your fingers, and a last sigh of relief leaves your lips as you relax in the hot water. The sight of another body in the window is no longer there, and you raise your eyebrows, curiously wondering where the figure that was stalking you was.

After turning off the shower, you wrapped your body in a towel and with bare feet felt the cold floor on the way to the back door of the room. The night breeze attacked you with force, with a wind that made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

You heard a grunting sound that seemed to come from the outskirts of the parish, and even though you were hesitant, you overcame your fear and followed wherever the noise was.

You covered your mouth with your hands to prevent your scream from echoing around the place as you saw Father Charles disemboweling a man's body in the middle of the lawn. His white clothes were stained with blood, his hair disheveled over his face, and he was panting like an animal as he finished taking the life of that being. Shock seemed not to be enough, your legs were frozen in place, and you forgot that your towel had slipped when you put your hands to your mouth in fright.

The dark and demonic gaze that had taken over Father Charles's body left the lifeless body and wandered towards you. Appetite leapt from his expression, as if the reclusive animal was finally free, thirsty for everything it needed to repel. He delighted in the fear on your face, and you tried to retreat as his steps advanced, but to no avail when he grabbed you by the throat and threw you against the church wall.

"Ask me, sister" he said softly, taking his hand from your throat to your hair, his face slowly nuzzled your neck and little by little you gave in as you wrapped your legs around his waist. "Ask me why my body is covered in the blood of a guy I don't know."

"Because, Father Charles…" You gasped when he passed a rigid tip at your entrance.

"Because he was watching you from the same place where I usually jump to see you every night, sister."

"You…

"No… it wasn't just a dream, we gave in to our desires together, every damn night since I got here." He blew and sent shivers down your entire body, pressing your legs tighter around his waist. The object he was using, cold and firm, pierced you and elicited a shy moan. "There is no sin without punishment, sister. Prepare to meet the worst of the devil in me tonight."

The handle of Father Charles' knife moved back and forth against the liquid that was running between your legs. Hot, voracious and with the taste of blood, it was the kiss of the man destined for the holy life who synchronized his tongues at the same time as he passed his lips over my face and pressed his body against the wall.

Infamous desire inflamed your veins and you used your hips to grind against the tip of the knife with the slow and sensual rhythm of the kiss. Your moans were muffled by Charles' lips every time he sank the object deeper.

"That's it, darling," he exhaled in a hoarse voice. "There's no need to rush to finish this dance, I'll always come back the next morning."

Every night was real, he invaded your dreams and confused your reality with the kisses on your belly and the rotating movements he made against your clitoris. Responsible for all the orgasms that flooded your bed the previous morning, Father Charles escaped your fantasies and came true before your eyes.

Taking the soaked knife out of you, he heard the plea you made when you felt you were empty. With a mischievous smile, it didn't take long for him to fill you again with his hard and robust member, too strong for your tight entrance. Charles tore the walls of your pussy as he forced himself against you, and your moan as he dug his nails into your wounded back sounded even louder.

Your breathing synchronized, and he looked deep into your eyes as he thrust and lifted your body with each thrust. You closed your legs to squeeze him, and you had never heard a sound as intriguing as the moan of a man like him. Your body gave the first spasm and your eyes rolled back with the high concentration of pleasure in your vertebrae.

Charles gave you a relentless sequence of penetrations, slamming your back against the wall, rough and delirious, he didn't waste a single drop of your body, running his tongue over your face, neck and breasts, as if it were his fountain of youth.

With a long grunt, you came all over Charles and drew a restrained smile from him. He used his own fluid as lubricant to continue his thrusts. The pause made him sigh and with his fingers digging into the back of your neck he led you to kneel in front of him. His entire length was entering your mouth with difficulty.

You thought it was impossible for someone to have something so exaggerated, but he did. Your hand helped you by stimulating his erection and you worked on smearing it with your saliva, tasting it as it hit your throat. Charles writhed silently and made up for his lack of control by squeezing your hair between his fingers.

Your free hand massaged his balls without breaking eye contact with him. You felt your legs slip again just seeing Charles blush at how slowly he sucked your cock inside.

It was definitely not just a dream this time.

[cagesofgold]

BOWS - Touya Todoroki / Dabi x Reader

Touya’s never had to buy a gift before. He has vivid memories of linking flower stems together, pinching their petals at the ends with his fingers and placing them on Fuyumi’s head. Or that time he found a stray football discarded against a lamp post and brought it home beneath his shoulder for Natsuo. He had given a gift before, as he knew it.

But is that what you knew it to be?

The whiskey glass in his hand seemed to never end, the bottom tilted to one side with lashings of ice beginning to melt. Brown lurid liquid sloshing with every jolt of his hand, subconsciously anxious and consciously angered.

Touya thought he knew you pretty well. He knew that you hated mornings, and relished hot showers. He knew that your smile lit up every room you’d ever walked into and you hated cutlery against plates. He knew he could find you most often behind the bar, tucked away in the corner observing Kurogiri as he whisked around the shelves lined with liquor - your nose within a book, the pages water damaged and crinkled. He knew you loved to laugh, and hated those who took that from you. He knew you found it hysterical when Twice would perform his All Might impression, and rejoiced when Spinner would bring in fresh pork cutlet for dinner.

He knew that you loved the stars and the moon. And every celestial being within that sky, untouched by the brutalities of humanity, and holding the secrets we would always sought. You loved pointing out funky shaped clouds and insisting they looked like cats, when to Touya they just looked like blobs. You loved when he would bring you in snacks from his avid disappearances from the base, showing you were still at the front of his mind.

He knew your eyebrows would crinkle nervously when his hands would dust over yours, never wincing from their ragged appearance, but wincing from his touch. He knew you loved to dance, arms wrapped around his neck and fingers drumming along his nape to the rhythm - telling him to “Loosen up”, he never did. You never stopped telling him.

He knew that your lips were soft. He knew that they had no right to touch his, wrapped in wholehearted good meshing with the bearer of sin. He knew he shouldn’t come near you, but everyone knew that you had poisoned him from the minute you walked in that day. A shy grin tugged at your lips, intelligent and calculated words silencing dubious conceptions - and a white bow flailing behind you.

He loved those bows. You had one in every color. Some crimped, some satin, some cotton. Some with butterflies and some with strawberries. Some with small blue flames you had painted yourself and excitedly thrust into his face one day, a classical book still shoved under your arm and hair wild from the morning air.

They were apart of you as much as they were him. He was always finding little bows everywhere you went, like a trail, follow the bow, there goes Y/N.

He would never forget when he found you on the ground outside. A puddle of coalescing liquids, some crimson, some grey - seeping into your jeans as you held something crushed in your hands. Your favorite bow, doused in deep red stains - mauve accents polluting the pink stitched hem.

He knew you were upset, soul as crushed as that little piece of fabric. And as the days went by and your hair was absent of their astoundingly large presence for their size, he felt a pit of unease settle in his stomach.

The ice in the whiskey glass had melted, and Touya’s hood was pulled over his head as he transcended the steps to the front door of the bar, tugging it open with force and tearing down the streets. Each step he grew faster, careful to keep his face downcast in order to maintain his identity - to hide his scars you would always kiss. He dug his hands into his pockets, the hands you would always caress and wash, sweet whispers that he didn’t deserve, didn’t deserve for a fucking second, reassuring him that he was loved.

That you…

“Do you want that wrapped?” The cashier smacked her gum uninterestedly, bright blue eyeshadow on her waterline contrasting her dark eyes.

He nodded, keeping his voice wrapped away in the confinements of his true self that only you were allowed to see. He had some nerve, acting as if that was some kind of gift. You really had rewired his deprecating tendencies.

Cash slid across the table and the paper handles were clutched by burnt fingers, black boots sidling across squeaky linoleum floors - and a ten minute walk back to the hideout.

The moon hung low, and the stars peeked out from the blanket of black which hugged the sky. He wondered if you were looking at them, hanging out your window in that way he always hated, your laugh cutting straight through him as you glanced over your shoulder at him, that smile that went all the way up to your eyes. That smile which told him everything he begged to know his entire life. He never valued it before, and selfishly, the only reason he values it now is to make sure that smile never leaves. It stays to bless everyone who has the courtesy to see it.

His fist met your door, three raps and a slap. The order you made up whilst wrapped in a cloud of giggles, he swore to never do it. You thought differently. The door slowly creaked open, and he was met with a flood of emotions all crashing into him at once. Your eyes were deep set, rings of purple hanging below those vibrant colors he loved so much - except they’d flattened into something unrecognizable - and an instantaneous anger rose through him. Not directed at you, god, never at you.

Before his name could escape you he placed the box in your hands. Your palms were flat against the decorative box, a sweet pink fabric adorned with white ribbon. Lace lining each edge. You cocked an eyebrow, confusion clouding your eyes before he just simply tapped it with his pointer finger, shuffling around where he stood - one foot tapping against the floor.

Your gaze dropped downwards, opening the box slowly, careful and mindful of the wrapping. He found this incredibly endearing. And when you saw what was inside, saw it laying there, unspoken words between both of you laced within every stitch - He knew.

Touya thought he knew you pretty well.

He knew you loved him, and by god did he love you.

[moonflower91]

Where You Go, I Go

"He's afraid of me."

"Yes," Saerah hummed back, her fingers running softly through the ends of his long silver hair. "He's an old man now. Short of time, patience and temper. Like as not to lash out. Daemon has spent his life at war -- in the Stepstones, with his brother, even poor Rhea Royce to a degree. Now, likely the biggest war looms on the horizon, and he did not draw first blood."

“The folly of the young, as grandfather said. Smarter to wait than draw first blood.”

She fixed him with a sidelong look. “I shall say naught, for to insult Daemon for his recklessness, is to insult my love.” Aemond only rolled his eye, and settled further down her body to rest his head in her lap. 

"I do regret that business with Luke. I lost my temper that day."

"I know. You did not leave me intending to kill anyone, nor did anyone expect such a little fool to be the bearer of Rhaenyra’s business. You left me intending to make a marriage offer." She said it softly, stroking his hair, but he could hear the fire behind the icy tone in which  she spoke.

"That work is done now, Saerah."  He all but grumbled, turning his face into her lap.

"Yes, yes it is. Anyway, Daemon is full of bile and pride, but he is beholden to Rhaenyra. I can only imagine how burned he feels, to be reined in like a mad dog. Especially by her—not only his young wife, but the one whom Viserys chose over him.”

"You believe that whore would stop him from winning the war for her?"

Saerah thought for a moment. “To a point. She has ruined herself forever now with Jaehaerys’ slaughter. Mayhaps she takes pause now to act an innocent. But as her losses pile higher, I think it will make her desperate.”

“We fly with larger dragons and possess a larger army, with some of the best military minds in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Aye. She and Daemon will die for Helaena and Aegon’s boy. Imagining how I might kill them has caused me  such dark thoughts of late. I’m frightened of them because I know I truly desire them.”

“Tell me.” He said, turning his head to look up at her.

She could not meet his eye, and stared out, watching the flames in the hearth. “I would burn all of her bastards alive, perhaps making her watch. And then, I'd keep her alive for a long while, to let her wallow in her agony, and have Daemon ripped apart by dogs. His limbs thrown into the filth of slums he once lorded over.”

Aemond scoffed. "You've thought about it quite extensively."

"What else can I do all day, trapped here in the Red Keep but think of ways to make them suffer?" Saerah did not enjoy the idea of murdering children, even if it was in vengeance. But that little child, sleeping in his bed, who loved stories and ponies and playing with his mother's long hair...to be butchered, to die in fear and pain…

Her fingers tangled in her brother's hair, heart speeding because it felt just. Almost. But she knew her pain and grief drove this feeling. It would not be justice, she knew. But how she longed for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s agony to sate the burning ache of her family’s suffering and grief .

"I was terribly lonely without you here, Aemond. If you leave me again, I shall follow you on Vexxa."

“And leave Helaena here? Alone with naught but her fears? With her broken heart?”

“Helaena has Mother beside her. And Jaehaera.”

“Whom she can hardly look at without running away in tears. Jahaera and the boy looked just alike.” Like we did , he thought. When they were very small, Alicent once told them, they’d looked so alike no one could tell them apart. Of course, that had changed as their personalities grew. 

“I am a selfish creature, then, for I will still follow.”

“I am selfish then, too, for I would let you.”

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

The Womb

Summary: You become Horus' cupbearer, unaware of the true role he has prepared for you.

Horus Lupercal/fem!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, power imbalance, manipulation, forced medical procedures, breeding kink, dubcon

Word count: 4008

Author's note: Well, first of all, this is the most uncomfortable drabble I've ever written. Traitor Horus is a creepy dude. Secondly, I found the song he listens to every time before he goes to see his wife.

Song: Le Destroy - Breed

Crack the whip, break the skin Breed, breed, breed Take it out, push it back in Breed, breed, breed, breed

War spared no one. Neither the weak nor the strong, neither adults nor children. Everyone suffered, trying to find salvation in a Galaxy drowning in flames. You were one of trillions of people thrown out to be slaughtered at the whim of the Emperor and the Warmaster.

It didn't matter who you were in your past life. Whether you had many rights or were almost on the level of serfs. Whether you could provide yourself with everything you needed or you had to work until you were exhausted. All that mattered was that you were weak and defenseless. Meat that could drown the ambitions of demigods.

But instead of sending you to work like other slaves, they prepared a different fate for you. A much more luxurious and safe life than in your past. At least that's what they told you. They promised you a bright future, but you didn't believe a single word of it. How can the future be bright when worlds are burning in the fire of battle, and people are captured on ships like cattle?

You couldn't hope for anything good. Especially when you were told that you would be the personal cup-bearer of the Warmaster himself. The slaves who explained the rules of the job to you, preening you along the way, tried to calm your cries. They said that he was very kind to his personal servants. Besides, he chose you himself. Of all people, fortune smiled on you.

Perhaps you could have believed them, convinced yourself that everything would be fine. But you saw pity in their eyes. Saw relief. "It's good that it wasn't me," they thought. And it would have been better if they had said these words, and not the ones they constantly said out loud.

He likes you.

Damn them, they could have kept silent for the sake of sympathy. But sitting on the floor in the Warmaster's chambers, you wanted to hear their babble again. If only not to sit in this oppressive silence. Perhaps one day you would have been glad to be on the "Vengeful Spirit" and serve the primarch. But now you would gladly refuse such an "honor".

As soon as you hear the door creak, you immediately rise. You hope that your master will not see you trembling. He will ignore your reddened eyes and not pay attention. Hoping that Lupercal will show mercy to you and let you go would be too stupid and naive. Besides, as the slaves said, he desperately needed a cup-bearer.

He likes you.

Looking at the primarch, you were stunned. Thoughts got confused in your head, and your lips parted, unable to squeeze out sounds. Before you stood a massive giant, a creation of the highest human mind. A man who cannot be looked at without awe. One of the best warriors and politicians of the Imperium. The most beloved son of the Emperor. At least what he used to be.

Now before you stood a primarch who looked more like a daemon than a man. Horus' once beautiful face had become gray and old. But even with his short grey hair and wrinkles, the Warmaster looked like an old man, but he wasn't. He still towered over humanity and was ready to live a long, if not immortal, life. His bright, hellish eyes practically screamed it.

It is said that the sight of a Primarch would make weak-willed people weep in awe or even faint. Those who could cope with such feelings still felt the rapture of meeting the son of the Emperor himself. But you felt no awe. Only pure fear.

Horus smiled softly at the emotion he evoked in you. It only made you tremble more. How could such a gentle smile appear on the face of pure evil? As if Lupercal still saw himself as a hero despite the atrocities he had committed.

“Please, do not fear me. I promise I will not harm you.” - the Primarch slowly approached you and knelt down, as if talking to a wild, frightened animal. - “What is your name?”

You barely whisper your name, hoping not to burst into tears. And yet, a small worm of hope stirs in your brain. The Primarch probably knew your name, but still asked it out of politeness. Or out of a desire to calm you down. Perhaps he really will not hurt you?

“A very beautiful name, like its owner.” - your cheeks warm up and, under someone else’s laughter, you shyly lower your eyes to the Primarch’s chest. - “You will have simple duties. Clean the chambers, serve me drinks and food if I ask. And be near. I ask no more. Will you do this for me?”

You nod, thinking over his words, as if tasting them. Such a kind attitude towards you from the Warmaster baffled you. But he has no reason to deceive you. So why not let the man circle you like a wolf in sheep's clothing? As long as he keeps it on, you are safe.

“Yes, Warmaster.” Your voice is quiet compared to the Primarch. You cannot see his terrible face, but you feel it spread into a smile. You imagine it on a younger, truly kind Horus, not on your master.

“I am very glad to hear that.” The man's hand twitches slightly, as if to touch you. But instead, he rises from his knees and walks towards the table, leaving you behind. You inhale, realizing that you have not been breathing at that moment.

***

The job was easy, really. Horus Lupercal didn't ask much of you. Although you had a hard time handling the jug in your hands. But the primarch lowered the cup low enough for you to pour wine into it. He didn't have to do that, and yet the primarch took into account the difference in size.

He might not have cared about your needs. Yet you got the most comfortable, the best room among the slaves. In addition, your quarters adjoined the primarch's chambers. And you did not have to worry about who or what you would meet on the way to your lord. When you realized that the bedding was made of silk, you gulped. As a free citizen of the Imperium, you could not even imagine such luxury.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg. Your closet (you had a closet!) was filled with a huge number of sets of clothes. Including shoes and underwear. And even though it was obviously a servant's clothing, it was made of too fine a material. Too beautiful. The Sons of Horus pattern stood out in particular.

And that's not even mentioning your rations. Not to mention slaves, many free citizens of the Imperium could never afford such a sumptuous meal. Your entire diet was carefully selected. The food was tasty and healthy, and considering that you were forced to eat strictly at certain times, your stomach was always full.

You felt safe. Safer than ever. And the Warmaster was a kind. Even though you were frightened by his appearance and the deeds he had done, even now he exuded an inhuman charisma that confused you. His care was suffocating, but you could not refuse it.

Deep down, you hated the Emperor's beloved son, now a traitor, for what he had done to your home world. For what he had turned the Galaxy into, which he had once sworn to protect. But alas, with each day that Horus spoke to you, the burning feeling of rage gradually faded.

“You know, my sons used to attend the Iterators’ classes.” - the man’s voice is filled with sadness and you look in surprise at the Warmaster, who has thoughtfully settled into his glass. - “There will come a time when the wars will end, and my soldiers must be prepared for a peaceful life. So I said.”

Lupercal winces and throws back all the liquid before slamming the cup down on the table. You take your time filling it, unable to take your eyes off the man. The conversation is too frank for you to simply brush it aside.

“I love war. It’s in my blood. But I also love peace, I wanted the Crusade to come to an end. And for my sons to receive the recognition they deserved. For all the blood they shed for humanity.”

A wicked grin appears on the old man's face and you clutch the jug tighter.

“But not my father. Not the False Emperor. He wanted to get rid of us as Thunder Warriors. We were always tools, but I did not think he was truly going to destroy us. Did all those thirty years I spent with him on Terra mean nothing? I really, truly, unlike my brothers… saw him as my father.”

A crushing silence falls in the chambers. And although you still feel fear and the thin thread of hatred has not yet completely broken. You already feel something different towards Horus. A bright feeling that you did not think you would feel towards this monster. Sympathy.

“I am sure you would have been a better father.” - the words escape on their own, but you do not regret what you said. You really thought so, listening to the Warmaster's stories about his sons. Even about the “prodigal sons,” traitors like Loken, Horus spoke with unprecedented sadness. And with the hope of meeting again.

You see how something breaks in the man. Was it your imagination or were there uninvited tears in his terrible eyes? But the man only smiles brightly at you and holds out a cup, which you immediately begin to fill. Trying to ignore the primarch’s devouring gaze.

“Thank you, my dear. It means a lot to me.”

It is only praise. Just gratitude for kind words. Recognition from a mortal girl who will continue to remain in the shadows. You repeated all these soothing words to yourself, scolding your long tongue. Only it was too difficult to ignore the strange tension between the two of you.

And this was only the beginning.

With each passing day, you became more and more entangled in the nets kindly laid out by the Warmaster. You were afraid of his behavior, you saw that there was a ruthless monster in front of you. But you couldn’t help yourself, willingly following his lead. There was something bright in the man, which made you simply open up to him.

He increasingly talked to you about his past, hopes and dreams. You listened to his stories with unprecedented interest, akin to awe. Not because Horus chose you as a personal listener or remembrancer, if you could say so. It’s just that at such moments you forgot where you were, drowning in thoughts under the man’s voice.

And if before you tried to behave as quietly as possible, now you did not hold back your emotions. If before you stood still like a wooden soldier, now you could sprawl right in the chair and put your hands under your head. But most of all, Horus liked it when you were located on the floor right at his feet. This is how children usually sit when listening to a fairy tale.

“You had a terrible childhood.” - you purse your lips, pulling your knees to you. - “It’s terrible when your whole life has to be tied to death and battles. Especially from birth.”

“I didn’t approve of such rules either, but they appeared on Cthonia for a reason. Radiation, lack of resources, dangerous lands. You’re right, it’s not the best place for a child.” - the man looks into the distance, delving into his memories. - “But it was my ���birth” there that brought peace to this lost planet. And I will bring it again when I arrive on Terra.”

Horus smiles softly at you and you smile back uncertainly. You couldn’t say exactly when you stopped being afraid of his inhuman appearance. And although the Warmaster sometimes withdrew into himself and it seemed to you that he was talking to himself, you became more and more attached to him.

You want to ask more about the gangs, but a sudden knock on the door confuses your plans. You quickly get up from the floor and move away from Horus, looking at him uncertainly. Should you open the door and let the guest in? You had already forgotten that there were other people on the Vengeful Spirit. And not only mortals.

But Lupercal stops you encouragingly with his hand before saying, “Enter.” You turn into a shadow again, and, having glanced at the Space Marine unnoticed, you even want to hide under the blanket, like a little girl.

Perhaps once, like his gene father, he was handsome. But now a man with the same disfigured appearance stood before the Warmaster. The new sewn-on face looked too unnatural on the man. And hearing that the guest was called Little Horus, you only cringed from the specific humor of fate.

But the worst thing was his look. Not because it was blazing with hellfire, not because they were covered in blood. It was just that Aximand occasionally, but still looked. Glanced at you. Like a beast ready to attack. You felt his invisible hands wandering over your body, stopping at places that were especially interesting to him.

When you had to pour wine for Little Horus, it was hard to stop trembling. He was still talking to the Warmaster, but at the same time he was staring at your face. Not at all embarrassed by his behavior. The worst thing was when before leaving, he turned to the Primarch, but he immediately answered “No.” You looked at the Warmaster with gratitude, who was smiling reassuringly at you.

“Please forgive my son. He is not yet accustomed to the presence of women.” - your uncomprehending look caused the Primarch to chuckle. - “I told you that my father planned to destroy all the Legions? It was for this reason that he took away my sons'... desire. So that they would never even think of creating a new generation of men."

The gears in your head begin to turn like a machine. You look at Horus in disbelief. "And you-"

"Yes. I gave them back what was taken from them. Of course, not all of them have fully grasped their new needs yet. And some can be a little... rough. But they learn quickly." - the primarch lowers his gaze to the bowl, speaking too slowly and quietly, almost seductively. - "Though I would welcome someone to show Little Horus what tenderness is. My son has been deprived of it for so long. He deserves a little peace, don't you think?"

Your silent and stunned expression said it all for you. The man chuckles, reminding you of a very pleased wolf.

"Well, all in good time."

***

You are becoming more and more confused. You do not understand what role fate has prepared for you. Why can't life be simpler? The fact that the servant (even though you were the Warmaster's own cupbearer) had her own servitors was already a misunderstanding. But when Horus inquired about you undergoing the necessary medical procedures, it became completely uncomfortable.

You were not tortured. One could even say that they took care of you all these weeks. They conducted medical examinations, treated you extremely tenderly, as if you were made of porcelain. But at the same time, they clearly performed operations. About which they told you nothing, not devoting you to a single detail.

Once you burst into tears in front of one of the medics and said that you were scared. You do not understand what they are doing to your body. But the woman stroked your hair and assured you that all the augmentations were personally approved by the Warmaster. They will noticeably improve your life and make your body strong enough.

"Strong for what?" the woman never answered.

The last time you went to the medic, you woke up in bed, expecting everything to be calm, like the last time. But in your lower abdomen, you felt a pain like you'd never felt before. It was like someone had punched your uterus multiple times, turning it into mush. You quickly pulled the covers away before sobbing loudly.

There was blood between your legs. Too much blood. All the white sheets were covered in it. Where did you get so much blood? Are you bleeding internally? Gasping, you touched your lower lips, unaware of anything wrong, before moving your hands to your stomach. You felt nothing. Nothing. But something was wrong. You couldn't be bleeding that much.

Did they cut out your organs? Did they put something in you? What did they do?!

“Am I dying?” Your muffled wheeze escaped through the flood of tears as you desperately thought about what to do. “I'm dying. Cut it out, take it away. What's inside me? What's there?"

You didn't notice when the medics managed to enter before you felt yourself being pressed hard into the bed. Panic attack. Hormones kicked in. Full compatibility with implants. Bless Chaos. What are they talking about?! But even if you had the strength to resist, it quickly leaves you as soon as the needle pierces your arm.

Darkness covers you. But instead of saving and peaceful calm, you find yourself in a nightmare. You hear the disgusting laughter of the people around you. No. Daemons. They laugh at your sacrifice, at your suffering.

They want to swallow your soul. Tear your body to shreds. But the only thing they can do is drip saliva on you. And laugh. And whisper. About how soft and pliable you are now. How easily you will stretch and fill up. What wonderful meat and functional organs you have. How well you have been transformed into prime cattle.

Into womb.

***

This time the bed is warm. And so damn soft. You feel like you're sinking into it like a little kitten. You wish you could curl up into a fetal position and never get up. But a noise nearby reminds you that you can't hide in this place. That you'll never be alone.

You slowly open your eyes and lift yourself up on your elbows. You realize with surprise that you're right in the Primarch's bed. The man, unarmored, is sitting on the edge of the bed. Bright yellow eyes are watching you. A gentle smile appears on his face.

"See, Sanguinius? I told you she was strong." You looked around the Primarch's chambers in confusion. There was no one else there. A chuckle was heard nearby. "She's so cute under the anaesthetic. Now leave us alone, brother."

You pull the blanket up to your chin, not taking your eyes off Horus. The chambers are unusually dark, only a few lamps are lit. But it seems to you that even if the room were pitch black, you would still see the primarch.

“He’s gone, you have nothing to fear.” - the man moves closer and puts his hand on your leg. It would be easy for him to break your bone. - “The medic has been given a full report on your condition. All operations were successful. But how are you?”

Your heart squeezes from the knife of betrayal. He promised that you would not be harmed. That you would not be hurt.

“What operations?” - your throat is hoarse from tears, and your eyes have long since dried out. - “Horus, what have they done to me?” - panic again engulfed you from head to toe as soon as you remembered the liters of blood. You began to choke from an excess of emotions.

Seeing what was happening to you, the man pulled you to his chest. Softly and tenderly hugging as much as his strength allowed. You pressed your cheek to his massive chest, trying to even out your breathing. The smell of sulfur permeated the clothes and body of the primarch.

“You have been prepared, dear.” - the man’s languid voice envelops you, penetrating into your insides. You want to run away, but Horus squeezes you too tightly. - “Taking a man is quite a difficult experience for a woman. And a primarch even more so. But I want to do everything right. So that our child is born as it should be. Like a human.”

The words left your mind. You felt deceived, so pathetic and insignificant that you had no strength to fight. You could not and did not want to blame the Warmaster for anything. Just let it all end. Just let him shut up. But as always, Horus opened his soul to you.

“I love all my sons. And yet, it was not I who did not raise them. I was not in their lives from the very beginning. I had never had a connection with any of them as strong as I had with my father. I wanted to feel that same feeling, but in a different way. To be an example. To be a mentor. To be a real father. But better.”

“My legacy will not be grown in test tubes and used as a tool.” - the Primarch’s tone darkens and becomes lower, which makes you press yourself closer to the man you want to hide from. - “I will not get rid of them. I will not abandon them. I will be a better father than my own. And you-”

Horus unhooks you from his torso, still holding your shoulders. You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears and how your whole body is stretched like a string. A monstrous smile lights up his old gray face, and his eyes burn brighter than ever, promising a future you have never seen before.

The Primarch slowly lowers you onto the bed, undressing you along the way. You can only sniffle and continue to watch. Continue to listen. All the slaves said you were lucky. But no one promised you that everything would be so easy. You yourself are to blame for your naivety.

“My father may not have wanted grandchildren, but Chaos was kind enough to tell me how to make them. The best specimens were collected, capable of enduring surgery and occultism. But of all of them, I chose you.” - a monstrous palm gently touches your cheek. - “I liked you immediately. So pure, so kind, so fragile. The perfect mother for my true sons.”

Your now naked body is covered in goosebumps from the cold. But as soon as the Primarch is on top of you, waves of warmth pass through you. Tears gather in the corners of your eyes, but instead of withdrawing into yourself or pushing the man away, you cling to him. Hug him.

You are scared and alone. But beyond these chambers, it is even more terrible. You could have ended your life in grueling work or under the weight of a Space Marine. You could have been experimented on by soulless people or devoured by daemons.

But Horus will protect you. He was evil, he breathed it, he was the very embodiment of darkness. And yet the way he spoke of you with tenderness, the way he touched you... you won't have a better option. You may have fallen into the clutches of a wolf, but with you he would gladly wear the skin of a sheep, if only you were not afraid of him. If only you loved him.

"I'm sorry that you are afraid. You see me as a monster, for I was created for war. But I sincerely wish for peace." - the man whispers in your ear and you are surprised to realize that he is crying. - "And after the death of the Emperor, it will come. I promise you."

You sigh, feeling a foreign organ between your legs. But your renewed body, albeit with a stretch, still accepts the primarch. You say nothing to Horus, instead allowing yourself to cry quietly. While your body fulfills its intended role. And you know that this promise will not be kept either.

[mothiir]

yknow what??? fuck it. im not even gonna turn on anon. IM NOT EVEN GONNA DO IT!! because at this point you'd clock my ass a nautical mile off for who it is just bc im gonna ask for exactly what you caught me for on anon LAST TIME.

SO,,,, haha,,,, heyyyy mothiiiiir,,,, pllllleeeasse more nasty ass rabbit/emp headcanonnns OR writing or anything,, you always cook and im one starving ass loser.

thank you ily and your writing once again ok ok ok BYEEE

cw: angst, not what you intended but this got me thinking about the emperor and then uh. we got this. not set in the little rabbit verse, which will soon become obvious. playing loose with the canon timelines because i don’t know exactly how the burning of monarchia went down.

—

—

Monarchia burns — and three days later, Guilliman and his sons make planet fall.

—

It takes a great deal to surprise a Primarch, and yet here Guilliman is, blinking at the charred rubble of your former capital, struggling to find words.

“Say that again,” he says, at length. You sit up from your prostrated position, lifting your head just enough to address his shins rather than the ground.

“There is no penance great enough for the crime we have committed against the Emperor and the Imperium,” you say, your voice soft, but ringing clear. “There is no punishment that we do not deserve for such blatant defiance of the Imperial Truth. I can state that we were misled — which is true — and that we were ignorant, but that is no excuse. All I can say is that when I discovered that my Lord Husband was acting in defiance of the Emperor’s wishes, I acted as swiftly as I could to remedy it.”

It makes even less sense the second time around. The once-glorious city is wreathed in flames; the sun blotted out by a miasma of smoke. The same story is repeated across the entire planet. A revolution almost overnight — temples torn down, idols cast into the sea, believers put to the sword. The few Word Bearers that remained had died at their posts; they had slaughtered thousands of their kinsman, but died all the same. Bears torn down by hounds.

“You did this,” he says. You shake your head minutely. Your hair — once a glorious braid almost to your waist, always ornamented with some fancy that Lorgar had gifted you — has been chopped into an unkempt bob around your shoulders. Guilliman vaguely remembers a tale amongst Lorgar’s adopted people: of a queen who had lost a great battle, and shorn her locks in penance.

“No my lord. I did nothing. My people acted against the rot in our ranks. They carved it out.”

“Millions have died.”

“It is no great loss that those who would espouse the evils of theology perish,” you say, your voice as flat and featureless as a windless sea. “All I ask is that those that remain…”

For a moment, emotion returns to your voice, colouring it.

“All I ask is that some of them be spared. Please.”

You lift your face for the first time since his arrival. Your lips are lined with blood, shadows hung beneath eyes sunk deep into their sockets. In the space of three days, you seem to have aged decades — from a fresh-faced woman in the bloom of youth, to a crone who has seen the ending of all that she loves.

—

The seas do not boil. The sky does not burn. Another battle is brought to a shuddering, decisive end as the Ultramarines join on the side of your rebels — no, you cannot think of them as such. They are not rebels; they are vindicated. They are fighting for the truth, for what is right and good. They are crusaders.

You — you are not a crusader. You are not sure what to call yourself. Lorgar called you a goddess; a title that always disquieted you, but you accepted it, for his eyes shone so when he looked at you, and he made love to you as though you were the only thing that mattered. Now, you have lost count of the number of men and women who have died for referring to you as such.

You are not a widow either. Your husband lives, though you do not know where he is. Once, Lorgar pressed his hand to your chest and felt the thrum of your heart against his palm and said that no matter where you went there was a golden cord that bound your heart to his; that no void nor fire could split asunder what was joined in love.

You dream that you wind a golden chain around your hands, pull it taut, and bite until your teeth chip, until your tongue bleeds, until it frays into dust on your lips.

—

When you meet the Emperor, you press your forehead to the cinder-warm flagstones that used to be a marketplace, and you wait for death. You know, in a distant dreamy sort of way, that you should be afraid, but you are not. You accepted your death what seems like a lifetime ago — in reality, it is less than four days since you gave the order to start burning the temples.

The irony of it all. People answered your call to arms, to not-so-holy war, because you are Lorgar’s bride, because you are the woman once called goddess. And what did you do with the power that he gave you? You ordered that his greatest works be destroyed.

But what else could you have done?

Colchis is your home. And in his arrogance — in his endless childish arrogance — Lorgar would have let it burn to ash rather than do as he had been bid. Did he truly believe his father a god? If so, why would he not obey his commandments as soon as they were given?

Thinking this way hurts you — not only because it stirs anger like a wounded animal in your breast, but because it throws into stark relief how Lorgar’s mind contained chasms and corners you never saw. How even though you gave yourself to him as completely as a woman can, he always kept parts of himself hidden from you — but you will not waste time delving into that labyrinth. His beliefs are inconsequential. Only the facts matter. Lorgar worshipped his father as a god. Lorgar was told to stop. Lorgar did not.

You visited the day of judgement upon Colchis before the Emperor got the chance, betting everything on a single desperate gesture. You do not regret it, though you will dream of the dying wails of your people until the end of your days. If you had not acted, all would have died. Now, maybe — just maybe — some may live.

“The girl acted in the best interests of her people,” the Emperor says, and it is only then that you realise precisely what was happening: he was rifling around in your head, subtly enough that you could not see the intrusion; mistaking his exploration for an ill-timed moment of navel-gazing. All at once, pain rushes into your knees and thighs, knife-like cramps. How long have you been kneeling there?

Then, inexplicably, a wash of frustration: girl, he calls you. Girl. You are staring down your third decade of life — nothing for one such as him, of course, but really.

Girl. You carved out your still-warm heart and laid it on a flaming altar and he refers to you as girl.

“Stand,” he says, and you obey, fighting the hysterical urge to snort with laughter — you’re exhausted, swooning, and starting to feel the after-effects of the universe’s most powerful psyker reading your thoughts. Blood drips down your chin. “I am satisfied with the efforts of your loyal Imperial citizens against the primitive cultists.”

“Thank you my lord,” you say, keeping your gaze fixed on the ground — thus missing entirely the swift, puzzled look Guilliman gives you, for ‘I am satisfied’ is more praise than the Emperor normally gives anyone.

(And perhaps it is just a trick of the light, or the wild shadows cast by the afterglow of battle, but Guilliman swears that just for a moment his father smiles.)

“Heracles,” says the Emperor, addressing one of the gigantic golden sentinels standing to attention beside him. “You will escort her aboard the Bucephalus. We will speak further when I have dealt with my son.”

The golden sentinel inclines her head, and you try your best to stay upright, your legs shaky as a newborn colt. You do not think of what the Emperor will do to Lorgar; you cannot.

“It goes without saying,” says the Emperor, almost as an afterthought. “But your marriage to him is annulled.”

Eight years. Your life; your heart; that golden cord. What love has joined together, none may tear asunder - except that is not true, was never true.

“Yes my lord,” you say.

[best-nun-tournament]

Round 3, Match 1

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus (The Locked Tomb) vs Mercedes von Martritz (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

Harrow is a nun of the Ninth House. She's been described as a space goth necromancer fantasy sci-fi bone nun.

Mercedes von Martritz is a nun of the Church of Saint Seiros at Garreg Mach Monastery.

The Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus

She’s great. She has so many fucking problems. She’s been running the goth space convent since she was 10. She’s puppeting her dead parents around. She doesn’t like tastes. She is extremely passionate about bones. She’s locked in a twisted bond of love and violence and devotion and sacrifice with her childhood best enemy. She lobotomized herself to preserve the best enemy’s soul. She’s been in love with the corpse of the Devil all her life. She goes around in bone jewelry and skull face paint. She’s a sad wet cat who was born in a cardboard box all alone, etc. She chopped another woman’s arm off and regrew a skeleton arm, in a sexual way. She has awkward little fireside chats with God where he makes millennia-old meme references at her and she does not drink the proffered tea. She saw God make a your mom joke and it “destroyed some cavern of her reverence”. She’s even gay. She’s everything.

Mercedes von Martritz

Mercedes was born to the fallen House Martritz and bore a minor Crest of Lamine, a special type of blood that gave it's bearer enhanced abilities. Her father died shortly afterwards and Mercedes' mother remarried into House Bartels, giving birth to Emile von Bartels, who also had a minor Crest of Lamine. Mercie's stepfather was uncaring and only married for his new wife's crest which led to said wife's departure from House Bartels. She ran away with only her eldest child to the Kingdom, where Mercedes would really start her own life as a student of Fhirdiad's Royal School of Sorcery. There, she befriended Annette Fantine Dominic and both girls would later attend Garreg Mach Monastery together. Mercedes is a kind soul with a soft voice and the ability to speak her mind. She's the eldest student attending the Officer's Accademy and takes it upon herself to be a shoulder of support for her classmates, no matter their origin. When the timeskip hits, Mercie returns in a nun's garb and expresses reinforced belief in the Church, even in the route where you fight against the Archbishop. I find her extremely fascinating due to her sub-plot with her brother, Emile. Mercedes held deep regret for leaving her brother behind in House Bartels despite not knowing that he had chosen to stay behind to protect her and her mother. Emile later returns as The Death Knight, a general under the Flame Emperor's command and his story with his sister changes depending on the player's route. Should the player oppose the Flame Emperor, Emile and Mercie can reunite briefly, with The Death Knight granting Mercedes a relic that can only be operated by their Crest before dying in her arms in a later battle, happy to be with his family once again. In the event that the player does side with the Flame Emperor, The Death Knight becomes playable alongside his sister, revealing thatthe years spent in House Bartels changed him, giving rise to two distinct personalities: Jeritza von Hyrm and The Death Knight. Jeritza had been a teacher at Garreg Mach, serving as a spy to the Flame Emperor while The Death Knight quelled his bloodlust under the Flame Emperor's orders. In this route, Mercedes reaches out to both Jeritza and The Death Knight as their elder sister and the exchanges they have are some of my favorites in Fire Emblem history. Also Mercie is bisexual and both M!player and F!player can marry her in the end, regardless of route. Love her for that

[moodymisty]

Hi i have a request yandere lorgar x f reader (9 ,47,45,42)

Reader decides to support lorgar more after seeing the mental state of him after the burning of monarchy,lorgar starts to become more and more obsessed with her to the extent of treating her like a goddess , he wants to always have her by his side he doesn't want to lose more things in his life.

( idea inspired by roroco316's recent drawing https://www.tumblr.com/roroco316/746301636466589696/the-annunciation-warning-very-hereical-yes-the?source=share )

Sorry for the bad English I'm using an online translator.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

 Author's Note: I love that art so much, so I hope this in a way provides a similar vibe?

Relationships: Lorgar/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Tokophobia, Pregnancy, Does it still count as breeding kink if you’re already pregnant and he gets off on that?, Possessive, Praise Kink, Overstimulation

"Lorgar?"

You cautiously walk into his study and gently call out, peeking your head into to see where he is.

A few moments later you notice him on the far side of the room, looking out one of the large windows at the darkness, spattered with only a few stars. He turns shortly after hearing your voice, and gives a small, pained but pleased smile.

"Ahh, my little goddess. What are you doing up?"

Having successfully tested his mood and found it safe you come in, the door closing behind you. Your more casual, plain nightclothes are at odds with his decorated study, even if it pales in comparison to the one he had on Monarchia.

But that's nothing but ash now. All of those tomes, scrolls, tapestries, memories, gone.

The Fidelitas Lex is now your permanent home, after everything.

"I couldn't sleep, so I wanted to come see you."

There's a myriad of reasons you could blame for your inability to sleep; The only just concluded razing of Monarchia and your sudden transplant onto the Word Bearers flagship, or your growing child; Which has constantly caused you to feel ill up until recently. You absentmindedly brush your hands over your still somewhat subtle belly at the thought.

“I thought maybe seeing you for a bit help.”

You keep shaking and your mind is still racing even days later; It’s preventing you from getting much rest at all. Lorgar softens at your comment and beckons you closer with a hand.

"Come here then, I'd love for nothing more than for you to sit with me for bit."

You walk closer and he moves to sit down on his large chair, lifting you into his arms and sitting you in his lap sideways. It lets you rest your back against his right arm, legs going across his lap.

Taking his left hand he gently brushes it over your shoulder before he rests it on your belly, silently thinking. During it all however, he consciously avoids your arms, and his brow furrows for a moment when he sees your sleeves have ridden up to expose more of your skin.

Your arms and hands still have burns on them from when the invading Ultramarines set the entire palace ablaze, intent to smoke out anyone inside.

They'll heal, its the mental wounds you're far more worried about. For Lorgar more than yourself.

Apparently Lorgar had been not unlike a raging beast when he realized you were still trapped inside, and only managed to calm himself when you'd return to him, Word Bearers at your side. They’d hauled themselves through flames to get you if not only to then plead for their primarch to retreat; as even their legion mother was not worth losing their primarch and everything he had built.

Lorgar speaks up; His voice is quiet, but you can hear it fine in your little bubble.

"To think I almost lost you... Both of you," Lorgar moves his hand from your stomach to cradle your jaw. "I don't know what I would've done. You are my guiding light."

His grip is firm, holding you close as if afraid you'll leave, or be nearly ripped from his arms again. You gently touch his arm.

"I was afraid I was never going to see you again."

Lorgar's face softens, looking down at you.

"Don't worry. I will never allow that to happen again." You grasp at his clothing and pull yourself upward, him leaning down to gently press his lips to your own. The angle is still awkward with his height, but you just manage it.

The look in his eyes is dark when he pulls away, staring down at you as you lay so small in his lap. His tone of voice seems to change as does is attitude; He’s been even more mercurial as of late, to at least given circumstances it isn’t entirely surprising.

“They were all jealous of me, you know that?”

You at first don’t know who he means by that, but his latter statement adds some clarity. “They were all jealous of the world I built, the things I wrote, created,” Lorgar removes his hand from your jaw with a gentle caress, before trailing downward.

“They were all so jealous I found you, someone so beautiful, who understood me,”

His hand rests on your thigh and grabs the fabric of your dress, pulling it upward. Thankfully any cuts and bruises there have healed, since Monarchia. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as you shiver from the air against your once covered skin, and Lorgar puts his warm palm against your thigh.

“Perhaps if they weren’t so intent on killing one another, they would have found love.”

You sense a subtle jab at Guilliman, who had not only been one of the more vocal Primarchs against Lorgar having a lover so close and intertwined with his legion, but as well as having tried to kill all that he loved by razing Monarchia.

Lorgar's hand slips between your legs, spreading your thighs across his own as his right arm still cradles you close to him. His fingers brush over your outer lips and instinctively your knees try to close, but you can’t with his large hand in the way.

“You’re already so wet,” He mutters as if in a way teasing you. “I know I haven’t been accommodating to you, as of late.” Your bed has been quite cold without him, too busy commanding his legions movement after the Ultramarine’s devastation and his newfound disgust for the Emperor.

But he still had you, he had said; All to himself. The news of you being with child had still been fresh in his mind happening only days before Monarchia was up in flames. It only seemed to further his possessiveness of you.

"I have always thought you were the most beautiful thing in the world," Your hands grip his clothing deathly tight, trying to hold yourself steady. "But something about you and our child, you keep getting more beautiful by the day."

His index finger slowly sinks into you, curling upward as he fully sheathes it inside of you. The way you’re sitting sideways, you don’t have much options to move, and so you’re stuck writhing in his lap as he has his way with you.

"Lorgar..." He makes you feel good, you want more, but you can't help but feel as if something is off. Nothing you can speak of to him, as you lean into his arm and your heart hammers against your chest. Your thighs quiver and shake as he slips a second finger into you, stretching you just enough to get the friction you needed.

You've been so sensitive since getting pregnant, it's not long before he makes you cum on his fingers. You cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle your noises despite the room being empty apart from the two of you.

He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, but doesn't completely remove his hand from between your thighs. Instead as you feel your muscles twitch from the aftershocks he presses his finger against your clit, causing your hips to jerk from the suddenly overwhelming sensation. Within moments you're whining even louder than you had been earlier, the sudden overstimulation nearly too much for you to handle.He gently rubs, slowly pressing and rolling with his fingers before he eventually decides to slip them back into you, but he doesn't get much farther beyond just barely pressing against your entrance.

A firm knock on the door startles you, but Lorgar almost seemed to have been prepared for it. Perhaps he heard them coming, long before the knock.

“...Primarch Lorgar? You’re needed on the bridge.”

Lorgar pulls his soaked hand from between your thighs, and wipes it off on his clothing as he turns to look over his shoulder at the still unopened door. His other arm still holds you closer to him.

But while he is irritated by the interruption, you know that Lorgar enjoys the suffering, in a way. You know once his duties are done he’ll find you again and finally satisfy himself, after he’s waited so long it aches.

“Very well. I will be there in a moment.” Lorgar gently ushers you to your feet, hands hovering as if doubtful you won't fall.

“I can walk still, Lorgar.” You joke at him, and he smiles back.

“I know, I only worry.” His hand drifts across your jawline, before he stands fully upright; You notice him softly adjust the fabric of his trousers.

“I will finish with whatever they have for me, and then I will return to you. Get some rest in the meantime, I urge you.” You nod, crossing your arms gently.

Lorgar’s eyes are soft, but there’s a darkness in them you catch.

“But do be ready for me by then.”

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Wicked Games

Assassin!Reader x Poly!Feysand

Author's note: This is my first self-insert and first smut, wanted to try something new for a change. Not proof-read, we die like men.

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

This mission was supposed to be simple, quick. In and out, cut and dry, the job coming in like all the others: A manila envelope under your door, no markings, the target and order inside. That was how it had always been, how it always would be, it was the only thing you knew to be true. So how in the Seven Hells had you ended up here? The High Lord leaned against the wall, his well pressed shirt open half way down his chest, the swirl of Illyrian ink in stark contrast to his bronze skin, so casual in the face of what should have been his own demise. Worse, the High Lady, perched atop the desk, her bare legs bouncing against the wood as she kicked her feet almost giddily. Neither of them looked displeased with the fact that you had been sent there to kill them. In fact, you were quite sure the infamous Curse Breaker was laughing at you as you squirmed uncomfortably in your seat. They hadn't even tied you down! It was starting to feel like an insult, they way they'd simply ushered you in here and asked you to sit like you'd come in for a meeting and not for the poison you'd slipped into their wine minutes before.

"It was a valiant effort, really," said Rhysand as he pushed away from the wall and came to stand behind you.

It was impossible not to be aware of the sheer power of him when he was this close. It was like a dropping a stone into a pond, the ripple of star-kissed power brushing steadily against you. You'd been around powerful males your whole life, had been trained to kill many of them, but none had ever felt like this. He was the shadow of a thought in your mind, a brush of darkness against your skin, you could practically taste jasmine and citrus.

Feyre was no better as she placed her elbows on her knees and leaned forward to get a better look at you. The dress she wore was cut low, the neckline plunging towards her midsection, accentuating every curve when she sat like that. Power radiated off her, not just Night, but something other, as if something beyond the power of the High Lords prowled beneath her skin.

"Not many people dare try," she said with a grin. She'd been the one to catch you. It had been a mistake going for her first, you could see that clearly now. The decision to spike their wine and than disguise yourself as their new cupbearer was already a risky move, but you liked to be absolutely sure the job was done, and done right. And Feyre hadn't taken her throne, she had been perched in Rhysand's lap, kissing his neck and whispering in his ear as she drank cup after cup. You'd thought she would be too drunk to notice the change in taste, too caught up in the revelry to even notice that you were not their usual cup bearer. You had been very, very wrong. She hadn't even gone in for a sip, had somehow been using her public display of affection to distract from the fact that she'd slipped right into your mind and seen exactly what you had done. And still, she could have killed you right there, could have summoned water or flames or ice and you'd heard she could do and taken you out in front of everyone in the Court of Nightmares. But she'd gotten out of Rhysand's lap, stumbling on heels you thought were too tall for her, and thrown an arm around your shoulder, whispering in your ear that she needed your help finding the bathroom--and knocking the spiked drinks out of your hands in the process. It was very clear to you now that she had never been drunk in the first place.

Neither of them were anything like the report you'd gotten.

"I-" what was there to say? Words felt useless.

Rhysand leaned down, resting the bulk of his weight on the back of the chair, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "So who do I get to thank for sending you?"

You shivered at his proximity, at his warm breath over the shell of your ear. Not many people dared to get this close to you; not many people got the better of you like this either. This was certainly a lot of firsts.

When you gave no response, Feyre said, "Don't be shy."

They were likely to rip the answer right out of your skull with those terrifying daemati powers if you kept your mouth shut, or worse, summon that Shadowsinger you'd seen lurking around the halls earlier. "I don't know."

Rhysand made a disappointed sound from where he still hovered by your ear. You refused to try and turn to look at him, refused to acknowledge that you had even heard him.

Feyre jumped off the top of the desk, her stilettoes clicking against the polished marble floors. "Now, now, don't make this difficult for yourself."

"Your secret is safe with us," Rhysand said mockingly.

"I don't know! I get my orders in the mail. There's never a return address or signature."

"Where's the mail?"

"I burned it."

"Well in that case," his voice was the only warning before you felt something scrape against your mental shields. You tried to throw more walls up as a talon slashed across your mind, but it was not Rhysand that slipped past, but Feyre, quick and quite as the huntress they said she used to be. She laughed as she sprinted through your memories, all attempts at shielding useless as Rhysand kept poking at what little shields you had up to distract you. They were the perfect team, synced to perfection, each move calculated and sharpened.

Feyre stepped into the memory of you opening the envelope as simply as if she had stepped through a doorway. The memory unfolded for her, you saw your own hands break the seal, open the letter, and burn it in a flash, before reality broke back through. You shook your head, fighting the memory away like it was a spot in your eye.

"That handwriting looked familiar, didn't it, Darling," Rhysand purred, the low timber of his voice rumbling in your ear.

"How thoughtful of Keir to give us an Anniversary gift," Feyre returned.

Keir. You only knew the stories about him, what a horrible male he was. You'd been lucky to have not been born in the Court of Nightmares like your mother, had grown up only with the tales of what kind of place this was. Your mother had protected you for as long as she could, but when Amarantha had come, when war bands had fought and bickered over land in the little territory she and your father had managed to make for themselves... well, they were gone and you'd had to find a way to survive, but you hadn't forgotten those stories. Your stomach twisted. This job had never been easy, but it had never been for males like Kier. At least, you'd never thought so.

You must have looked surprised because Feyre put two manicured fingers under your chin and tilted your head up to look at you. Something wicked gleamed in those strikingly blue eyes and you quickly blurted, "I swear I didn't know! I needed the money, I didn't know the job was from him."

"We believe you," she said. "But I think you should prove you're worth letting go."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "I'll do anything!"

Rhysand chuckled at that. "Anything?"

The suggestiveness in the question made you shiver, more so when the High Lady broke into a grin. That couldn't be a good sign.

"I want to see Keir sweat a little, don't you dear?" Feyre asked over your head to her mate.

"More than just a little, I should think."

This felt like a fever dream, everything a little distorted and muffled. Perhaps it was. You had hit your head pretty hard on your last mission. How else could you explain what was happening here?

"Stand," Feyre ordered.

You did as you were told, even if you were biting the inside of your cheek.

"So responsive," Rhysand said, more to Feyre than you.

You frowned at that.

Feyre stepped closer to you, settling her hands on your hips. There was no room to twist away as her mate settled in behind you, the heat radiating off him seeping through your shirt. They even moved in perfect sync.

Nowhere to run now.

"You're going to play our favorite game with us."

Game? The reports hadn't said anything about them liking games.

"I don't understand-"

Rhysand cut you off, "Just follow our lead."

Feyre gave your hips a squeeze, "It's fun, trust me."

You didn't know what this had to do about proving you had made a mistake in taking this job, but you didn't know what other choice you had, so you just nodded.

They led you back into the throne room, the night's revelry still in full swing. Near the back, where the tables were still piled high with food, was Keir, the aging steward speaking conspiratorially with some of the other high ranking officials of the Court. Did he know already that you had failed? If he did, he didn't show it. He didn't so much as look up from his conversation.

Something hot twisted in your stomach at the sight of him. How could you have taken a job for a male like him?

Feyre pulled your thoughts away from him as she pulled you over to the dais, where their thrones sat empty. Even though Keir wasn't paying attention, others in the crowd were.

You swallowed thickly as Rhysand slid into his rightful seat, looking every bit the High Lord he was. Feyre didn't resume her seat in his lap, however, this time she perched on the arm rest, and guided you into her former place.

Your cheeks heated, mouth dry as the High Lord looped a strong arm around your waist and positioned you more comfortable on his lap, one long leg slotting between your own.

Feyre chucked at your obvious embarrassment. "Now now, you said you'd do anything." She said into your mind.

You dared a glance at her. This wasn't what you'd meant!

"This game is much more fun if you relax," Rhys purred as he dragged his nose over your throat looking for a place to sink his teeth.

You shivered despite yourself, the warmth of him seeping into you.

Feyre gripped your chin in her hand, forcing your gaze away from where it had wandered into the crowd. Keir still wasn't paying attention, but more and more people were halting their dancing and drinking to leer at this new pet their High Lord and Lady had brought back with them.

"Eyes on us."

Rhysand's hand slid over your hip and down to your thigh. The servant's garb you'd borrowed was a thin pair of pants, and a large, hooded sweater, not the sexy, revealing gown the High Lady donned, but you still couldn't help but feel incredibly vulnerable in this position.

How were you supposed to know what to do? How was this proving you could be trusted not to take another job from Keir? Was that fool even looking this way?

Rhysand nipped at the underside of your jaw and you jumped, thoughts careening away from Keir and whatever he was doing. The High Lord's breath was warm on your neck, each nip he left along your jaw sending shivers down your spine. It was an effort to keep your eyes open, to not immediately tilt your head back against his shoulder and let him explore every inch of you as you submitted fully to him. He could make you, if he wanted, it would be all too easy for him to reach inside your mind and move you however he wanted. You'd be a liar if you said the thought didn't excite you. The thought of handing yourself over to someone with that kind of power, testing to see what they'd do with it was more tempting than you'd ever dare say aloud. And maybe the High Lady had heard those thoughts, because a moment later, she was threading her hands through your hair and tilting your head back to let Rhysand explore further.

You whimpered softly as he ran his tongue over your pulse point and then Feyre was leaning in and nipping at the other side of your neck. It was too much at once, the overwhelming scent and warmth of them had you leaning fully into Rhysand's shoulder, eyes closing. One of their hands slid under your shirt, stroking at your side, you thought it might be Feyre, but didn't dare open your eyes to look, lest this really be a dream and you'd awake alone.

"Good girl," Rhysand praised. Somehow, even in your head his voice was low and husky. His hand slid further up your thigh, testing as he drew closer to your core. The move had you squirming and Feyre responded by dragging her hand from underneath your shirt to hold your hips down. There was no escaping either of them.

You still weren't sure how you ended up in this position, but you no longer cared. All you knew was this, them, and how much more of them you needed. Distantly you wondered if this was some daemati trick, if they had slipped into your mind and convinced you to do this. You decided you didn't care if they had, not as Feyre's lips were on yours, her tongue sliding past your teeth. There wasn't a hint of wine on her lips, despite all you'd seen her drink earlier. How she did that was anyone's guess.

Rhys drew circles on the inside of your thigh with his fingers, teasing you now as he continued to nip at your throat. There'd be marks in the morning, of that you were certain.

Feyre broke apart abruptly, laughing as you chased after her. "I think she likes this game of ours."

"Shall we play some more?"

You could play it all night if they wanted. There was something intoxicating about the two of them that had you desperate for any scrap of affection they could give you.

"Yes!" You said it faster than you intended, a blush creeping it's way back up your cheeks as you realized how pathetic it sounded, especially to two high fae. "Please."

Feyre leaned over you to kiss Rhys this time, intentionally pressing herself forward so her chest brushed up against you. You arched up to press your lips against her collar bones, too scared to go lower. She hummed approvingly into Rhy's mouth and he rewarded you by dragging his hand the rest of the way up your thigh, cupping your core through your pants. You were desperate for friction now, grinding your hips into his palm, even as your lips continued to work of Feyre's collarbones. She smelled so good! Her skin soft under your lips. You wanted the time to run your lips over the smattering of freckles she'd gotten while hunting in the summer time.

Rhys' free hand slid into your hair, pulling tight as he whispered in your ear, "No marks on your High Lady. Not without my permission, understand?"

If you were of any sound mind you might have been tempted to scrape your teeth across her throat, just to see what he would do, but you knew you weren't lucky enough to get away with it after everything that had happened already. "Yes, sir."

His dark laugh rumbled in his chest, the vibrations sending shivers down your spine. This was a very dangerous game, far more dangerous than any assassination attempt had ever been. Dangerous, because, for once, you were enjoying it and enjoying anything in this line of work got you in trouble.

Feyre leaned back, out of your reach, and still held by Rhys' arm around your waist, it was impossible to reach out after her. Especially now that the High lord had decided he didn't like the article of clothing between his hand and you, and was reaching for the waistband of your pants.

The blush returned tenfold. This--touching, kissing, in front of all these people was one thing, but that?

The High Lady pouted as she looked at you, her eyes lust-blown, so dark you almost couldn't see the blue. "I think you have too much on."

Before you could contemplate what that meant, she snapped her fingers and your sweater disappeared entirely.

You tried to move to cover yourself, squirming now, and she grabbed your hands with a disapproving tut. "No hiding."

Rhys' hand had slid inside your waistband, so close again your hips rocked forward, searching for him without conscious thought, even as your face heated. There was a fine line between your pleasure and sheer mortification and somehow you were still teetering between the two, torn between wanting more and wanting to sink into the floor and disappear. The crowd was watching, or at least you were pretty sure they were, at this point you were too scared to look and kept your gaze glued to where the High Lord and Lady were touching you.

"So pretty," Feyre hummed as she moved your hands up and around Rhys' neck.

There was no hiding what they were doing to you now. You might have fought them harder if Rhys' hand wasn't finally where you wanted him so desperately, a finger sliding easily into you. Your jaw dropped, a strangled sound coming out of you.

"So wet," he teased, mind to mind. "All this for us, pet?"

Pet. Toy. The High Lord's little play thing. You'd been called worse.

"Yes, sir."

"So well trained, maybe we should keep her," Feyre said as she placed a gentle kiss on your nose.

"Where'd you learn this manners, hmm?" He nipped at your ear as he slid a second finger inside you.

Your eyes rolled back into your head at the stretch, at the way he curled his fingers, hitting all the right spots. Heat coiled in your gut and you found yourself instinctively tightening your hands into the silky strands of his hair.

"Certainly not Keir," Feyre said as she brought her hands to squeeze at your breasts.

You'd had your eyes closed, lost in the bliss of Rhys' ministrations, unprepared for the new sensation of her hands on you, you let out a moan louder than was appropriate for the situation.

"Guess I'm just good at this game," I quipped weakly. The two of them working together like this was becoming overwhelming, you could barely think past the point of contact of with their hands. There was only this and them and the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach. Rhys' pace was quickening. Feyre was playing with the clasp at the center of your bra, toying with it like she was contemplating ripping it off you.

She might have, if someone hadn't cleared their throat at the base of the dais.

"What do you want Keir?" Rhys sneered, the true picture of princely boredom, as if he was not currently holding you at the cusp of an orgasm, as if his mate wasn't leaving hickey's on the exposed skin of your breasts as they spoke.

You'd thought, as you registered Keir's presence that this would be the end of it, that they would stop now that they had his attention, but Rhys was still curling his fingers inside you, stroking relentlessly as Feyre bit and sucked at your sensitive skin. You arched into her, biting down on a moan, this game be damned. Who cared about Keir? About the rest of the court? You needed them to keep touching and kissing you. This was all that mattered.

You were panting as Feyre giggled into your skin. "Doing so good for us."

"Please," you begged, grinding yourself down on Rhys palm. You were so close, just a little more.

"I hate to interrupt," Keir began.

"No you don't," said Feyre. "It's your favorite thing to do."

"But your little toy-"

"Brought us a gift for our anniversary?" Rhys finished for him.

"We know," Feyre added. "It was a really sloppy attempt at a gift."

Keir stammered, none of the words coming out right.

"She needs some training," Rhys said. "A little refining around the edges, but I think this will be a very profitable relationship."

"Just wish we knew who sent her our way," Feyre cooed.

Rhys' free hand hand came up to rest on your throat, just tight enough to make you lean your head back to look at him. The move sent heat straight to your core, your muscle tightening as you whimpered for him. "But we'll get it out of you eventually, won't we, pet?"

Keir was visibly shaking now.

"Mhmm," you whimpered.

"Come on now, where are those pretty little manners you had before?" Rhys teased, his hand suddenly stilling.

The loss of friction was too much, tears welling up in your eyes. "Yes, yes High Lord." You stammered.

His grin was feline as he started moving again, faster this time. Feyre slid behind your mental shield again, this time opening up a door in her own mind to show you what you looked like through her eyes, your pupils blown, your cheeks flushed, lips kiss swollen and red. They'd left little red marks all along your throat and chest. Then she blasted you with an image of what she still wanted you to look like, images of her between your legs, of you taking Rhys in your mouth. You tightened around Rhys' fingers.

"And you would take the word of some-" whatever word he was about to throw at you was suddenly cut off as Rhys removed his ability to speak.

"Careful how you speak, Keir."

The steward's mouth opened and closed as he tried in vain to defend himself.

Rhys waved a hand, "You clearly have nothing useful to say here, you can go." Keir spun like a top, mouth still flapping open and closed like a fish, limbs splayed awkwardly, clearly not in control of his body, until Rhys made him walk half way to the door. Once he'd been released from the High Lord's grip, he stumbled and all but ran for the door.

"Why...?" The rest of the thought eddied from your mind as Rhys curled his fingers, hitting a spot inside you that made stars dance across your vision, your orgasm barreling through you so fast you're sure you screamed their names, but didn't have the presence of mind to hear it for yourself.

"We could kill him now," Feyre said as you slumped back against Rhys' shoulder. "But what fun is that? Why show him the mercy of a quick death when we can have him looking over his shoulder every five minutes, contemplating how to beat us in this wicked little game of ours?"

"I think," Rhys cooed as he placed a gentle kiss on your temple. "That it would be much more fun to eventually turn you on him instead."

You huffed a laugh at that.

Rhys carefully removed his fingers from your core and attempted to bring them to his mouth for a taste, but Feyre beat him to it, sliding his long fingers directly into her mouth, holding eye contact with you the entire time.

You clenched your legs together, wincing at the bit of soreness you felt there.

"Besides," Rhys purred in your ear, right before he shifted you around, settling you chest to chest in his lap. "This game is just getting started, isn't that right, pet?"

[ka2ki2]

Chrysos Heirs

people who play both hi3 and hsr are WINNING rn

anyway. i've determined likely flamechaser parallels for a majority of the chrysos heirs. most of them do not actually look like their flamechaser counterparts, which makes me think they're not direct expies but merely parallels.

I also sprinkled some minor analysis of what little lore we have on these guys. Amphoreus is massively inspired by greek mythology.

watch this before reading!

Aglaea = Eden (both associated with gold)

Eden owned the Elysian Realm previously, but at that time it was called the Golden Courtyard

Eden is also called the Bearer of the Gold Signet

Aglaea is called the Goldweaver

You're not going to believe this-- Aglaea is named after the Charis called Aglaea.

The mythological Aglaea basically runs errands for Aphrodite, which would explain why HSR Aglaea bears the Coreflame of Romance.

HSR Aglaea is from the city of Okhema. In greek thought (plato I think?), Okhema is an intermediary between the body and the soul. I did as much research as I could and the best I could figure out is "it carries the soul through rebirth". SORRY IF THAT'S WRONG-

HSR Aglaea has the "divine authority of mnestia". After lots of research, I think mnestia can be loosely translated to Remembrance, so perhaps that's the Amphorean way of saying she's a pathstrider of Remembrance?

Aglaea's drip marketing references the myth of Prometheus, where Prometheus stole fire from the gods and returned/gave it to humanity.

Tribbie = Vill-V (multiple 'selves')

Tribbie is called the "three-faced messenger"

We see Tribbie adopt multiple personas in the video. She can even take multiple forms at once

Vill-V has partitioned her personality into 8 different segments

Anaxa = Su (both associated with knowledge/enlightenment)

Anaxa is said to have "enough knowledge to refute faith, and to stir up a torrent capable of slaying gods."

Su is called the Enlightened of Bodhi, Enlightened One, and other similar titles.

These two have lots of physical similarity

Anaxa's namesake has some interesting connections with Nous actually

Hyacine = Griseo (both Asleep)

In the video, when Hyacine is on-screen it says "let the sky become the slumbering cot from which she wakes".

Due to the 8th Honkai Eruption, Griseo fell into a deep sleep.

Could be named after Hyacinthus

Mydei = Kalpas (fire in battle)

In the video, Mydei is seen in a post-battle poise surrounded by fire.

Kalpas is constantly surrounded by fire during battle.

Both characters constantly seek out fighting/strife.

Mydei is likely related to the greek god Deimos

One of the unnamed people has a mask too though, but these guys are too similar in aesthetic and personality

Cipher = Pardofelis (...come on.)

Cat girls.

Same eye and hair color

Castorice = Aponia? (butterfly theming)

Castorice is pictured with butterflies both in the video and in the twitter art. These butterflies look highly similar to the butterfly motif in Aponia's design

Aponia is very strongly associated with butterflies. Her dress is patterned like one and she has butterfly wings in her ult

Both seem to have devastating levels of power

IDK about the greek origins for this one. Castor? Kratos (who is actually a child of the Styx)?

Phainon = Kevin (deliverance)

Yeah they're both related to deliverance. They literally outright said deliverance in the video, and Kevin bears the Deliverance Signet.

Also they look EXACTLY THE SAME

Also both seem to be the 'leader'

In mythology, Phainon is the star of Cronus/Saturn (cuz they thought saturn was a star)

Cyrene = Elysia (...COME ON.)

They look identical and have almost the exact same personality

i have yet to figure out the two unnamed ones, Hysilens, and Cerydra. nor can i find their name origins... the closest i found, after ages of digging, is this for Hysilens

the remaining flame-chasers are Kosma, Sakura, Fu Hua, and Mobius. only one of the unknown people seems to be male ("unknown 2"), so that one's probably Kosma.

And yeah that's the culmination of me losing my mind for the past 6 hours. lucky you, you didn't have to watch me try and fail to decipher what the 12 titans might be connected to. (greek titans, 12 olympians, and HSR aeons all didn't line up easily waaaaaa)

here's the failed attempt to figure out the aeons if anyone else gets ideas from this

OK thanks for reading. normally I post my loredumps in discord servers with my friends. this is my first time posting it anywhere abfiushdliueh

[poisonf0rest]

Waxing Gibbous

Tonight the nightmare is different.

It is dark and the forest path before you is doused in red, the full moon soaked in inky crimson that bleeds into a deep purple, the twisted branches clawing into the sky like fractures. Despite the blood moon looming closer and closer, you continue to run, feet hitting the cold earth as thorny brambles and grasping hands claw at your legs. 

No, not running. You are chasing something. Someone. 

But with each step you are left further and further behind, breathing in ragged huffs before you trip against the undergrowth, falling, your screams muffled against the dirt that fills your mouth and clogs your throat. 

A blink, and you are standing. 

The moon is no longer a bleeding red, and you think this was what the world looked like before the sun died— light filters in between the rustling leaves, coloring the sweeping grasses in a golden hue, flowers dotting the landscape with a kaleidoscope of colors now incomprehensible to you. It was beautiful, and you wanted to cry. 

Standing in the midst of the sea of grass was a man. A beacon of fire as the sunlight kisses his crimson curls, and when he turns he makes a sort of face you don’t completely understand, expression foreign and suffocating. You think it looks a lot like peace. 

You begin towards him on instinct, walking, then breaking into a run. 

But you aren’t fast enough. 

Halfway through the field the ground gives way beneath you, grass growing taller and taller— or perhaps you are falling further and further— as the earth swallows you whole once again. 

And before you no longer stands a man. But a Beast. 

A snowstorm howls against the castle walls, and the ancient stone does little to protect the grand hall from the sheer cold. The Beast curls in upon itself against the center of the room, dark fur and contorted muscles a blight against the vibrant red carpet that trails from the arched doorway to the stairs at your feet. You’re sitting on a throne, you realize. 

“Closest of kin, last bearer of Our blood. Kneel afore Us, or get thee gone.”

The voice echoes down the throne room, and only when your mouth closes do you realize those words were yours. 

But neither the Beast nor the hundreds of statues that litter the hall respond. They remain frozen, like long-forgotten gods of old that time had finally reclaimed. For a moment, you think you are the only living thing left in the castle. And then the Beast moves. Its jaws open, wretched howls leaving in what would seem to be words, although the language is not one you understand. 

You feel your head nod regardless. 

“Moon-scented Hunter, thou'rt dear to Us. Gods and men have cursed Us so, and yet thy remain at Our side till the bitter end. What is it that binds thy so?”

Finally, the Beast raises its head, and you feel something crack inside you as you gaze into those familiar crimson eyes, eyes that hold the flames of the sun and the chill of the winter storm. He speaks again, howling as he moves into a kneel, twisted bones and excess limbs nearly making the pose nearly indistinguishable. 

“Ah,” you laugh, a cold, bitter sound. “We know this path well. For there is none other that leads to such deplorable ruin of men and gods alike. There is no curse more twisted than love.”

This time when the Beast speaks, it sounds a lot like pleas. And yet you know there is nothing you can do for him, for history moves in vicious cycles, and not even the stars can defy destiny. 

And yet his insolence amuses you. Few dare to defy fate, and fewer still dare to fight it through all their lifetimes. Such a powerful love. Such a tragic story. 

You stand from the throne, body weightless as you descend the stairs and stand before the Beast. With every breath he seems to turn more and more human, fur receding and bones snapping back into natural shapes. 

Kneeling, you mirror his pose before placing your palms in his. Slowly, the claws retract into hands, each ridge and scar so hauntingly familiar that you would have recognized them even with your eyes closed. “We await thy return. For the honour of Cainhurst.”

Which is to say, give me every reason not to stay, and I will love your monsters regardless.

Which is to say, I still dream of kissing your claws and teeth.

Which is to say, I love you. 

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

You wake up. 

You don’t remember a thing, but you swore you dreamt of ashes. 

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

There are thirteen days of hellish silence until you hear the rhythmic knock from the clinic window. 

You resume the current experiment you were in the midst of running- analyzing a sample from Vicar Amelia’s corpse- in a vain attempt not to show just how relieved you were at Diluc’s return. If you saw his face again, filled with fire and renewed snark, you're not sure you could keep yourself from running straight into his arms. So you keep your back turned even as the window slams shut. 

Turning the knob of a microscope, you clear your throat. “I’ll admit I was beginning to get worried when—”

A crash, something shatters. 

Jumping, you turn in time to see Diluc stumble forward, knocking over another set of vials before his knees give out, blood trailing from the window, across the floor.

“Saints.”

You barely catch him in time to stop his head from slamming into the table. 

He reeks of gore and death, just as he had when he died in your arms. He’s dying. He’s dying again.

Hauling Diluc on your back, you’re cursing in heaves as you drag him towards a rusted tub in the corner of the clinic. His larger frame crushes yours as you struggle to push him into the bath, water sloshing around the both of you as he slips under, massive arms and legs hardly contained in the metal keg. The lack of heating in the dregs of winter means the water is freezing, and your teeth chatter as you fight to keep his head raised. And yet, even after being dunked in the numbing temperature, the Hunter hardly gives more than a low groan of discomfort. 

Are these all remaining wounds from the Vicar Amelia fight? 

Straining, one arm keeps Diluc from submerging entirely as the other begins frantically stripping away layers of bloodied clothes, revealing more and more wounds. Once you’ve secured his head and arms on either side of the tub you stand, scrambling together stitches and blood vials. 

No. These ones are new. 

Forcing his mouth open, Diluc is barely conscious enough to swallow the blood, movements sloppy as red mixes with the crusting black trailing down his chin and neck. By the time you’ve gotten rid of all his clothes, the tub was filled with a brown, rusted slosh and numerous rounds of dressing.

Diluc’s head rolls to the side, hitting the metal rim of the tub with a thud as he attempts to speak, only for a hoarse groan to leave instead. You hush him, whispering into his temple as you pad his head onto a makeshift pillow, leaving for a moment to collect alcohol and more cloth for his wounds. His fangs were out. You pretend not to notice. 

“This might sting.” You shake away the tremor in your hands, kneeling behind him as you begin scrubbing off crusted blood.  “I don’t understand, how did you leave the Dream with these wounds?”

With complete honesty, you don’t understand much about the Hunter’s Dream. Even less about how it came to be, or how it was even possible to begin with. But with your previous involvement with church Hunters, you understood it was where Hunters returned to once they died, a sort of temporary limbo before they returned to their hunt in Yharnam, healed as though Death had never touched them in the first place. 

But you suppose Death took a piece of them each time, for they never really returned whole. Not in the ways that mattered. 

Whipping the cloth down Diluc’s back, your hands pause as they rub over two new scars, each one etched in a raised gnarled growth from shoulder to ribcage. Claw marks, you realize. From Vicar Amelia.

And right under them were several newer scratches and stabs, still bleeding as you pressed the cloth to them. 

Pushing Diluc up gently, the Hunter goes easy, pliant against your touch. “How long?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

You grit your teeth, accidentally scrubbing harsher against his fresh wounds. Diluc lets out a muffled hiss. “How long have you been back from the Dream?”

For a moment the only sound is the drip of the faucet as it leaks into the tub. He’s not answering. Your hands fall to your sides, fists clenched around the rag.

“Nine,” he whispers. ” Nine days.”

“Nine days.” 

Nine whole fucking days that you thought you might never see him again. You hurl the cloth into the water and walk around to face him, palms ramming onto the edge of the tub. “Why?”

You stare down at him and Diluc stares right back, brows furrowing as he leans closer, water sloshing around him as his hand lifts to your face. Without thinking you’ve already leaned into his touch, biting back a sob as the warmth from his palm rests against your cheek. His touch burns, even with the freezing water now dripping down both your bodies. 

Calluses decorate his palm, scorched skin rough against your jaw. Your eyes trace down in silence. His arms are laced with scars raw and deep enough to look as though they were still bleeding, his shoulders and chest are filled with old wounds cutting through curly patches of red hair in a history even his semi-immortal body couldn’t re-write, and in the corner of your eye you see his left thigh encircled with a gnarled line that takes you a moment to recognize— it’s where he tore his own leg off.  

Living proof of every death he has died. Of every death denied to him. 

You had thought the first time you would see Diluc naked you would have thrown a joke or two, made some sort of innuendo or inappropriate joke just to watch the tips of his ears turn redder than his hair. You had imaged it a hundred times, playing out in a hundred different ways. 

But never like this. Not while you map every wound on his body like a coroner trying to figure out which finally sounded his death knell. 

Lifting your hand to his, you brush his knuckles against your lips. 

“Kiss me.”

He does. 

Water splashes onto bloody tiles, Diluc’s body surging forward as his hand cups your jaw, pulling you into him as you nearly fall into the tub too, barely catching yourself against his broad chest. You try very hard not to think about the rest of him, wet and bare, underneath you. It’s not working. 

Your free hand snakes around his neck, fingers knotting themselves into the unruly mane of his hair as it sticks to his back and shoulders in crimson curls. Unlike every other time you’ve enticed his affection, Diluc quickly demands more, his tongue already pressing against your lips as he coaxes your head further back to grant himself easier access.

“Wait don’t,” you begin, cut off by Diluc’s lips. “Your stitches might come un–” He kisses you again. And again. Your words turn to ash, burned away by the passion you’re suddenly overcome by. 

He’s consuming you, igniting you in your entirety and you can only welcome the flames. 

Somewhere against your dwindling sanity you know this display was little more than a calculated performance. Perhaps this was just to curve your anger. Perhaps it was simply meant to distract you. Perhaps it was to distract himself.

But with each insistent press of Diluc’s tongue against your own, each ghosting prick of his fangs against your bottom lip, you find it increasingly harder to care.

Another rough tug drags you closer to the Hunter, and your hand slips against the wet metal rim of the tub, a sharp hiss caught against your throat as you yank your arm back. A thin line of red drips from your palm, swirling into the bath.

The scent of blood stabs the air, the flood of rust and copper rushing through Diluc’s skull, into his lungs, and lower still. 

Superhuman strength wrenches you backward as he reels away, one hand restraining your bleeding hand and the other wrenching over his face as he looks away, stifling both his nose and mouth. His chest heaves, each breath coming out in ragged huffs visible in the cold air. 

You can still see the glint of his fangs through the gaps in his fingers. 

You frown. “Tell me, Hunter, do you wish to drink?” 

Diluc tenses beneath you, refusing to meet your gaze. You swear he’s leaning as far away from you as he can without quite literally shoving you onto the floor. His hand muffles his words, and you can hardly make them out against his palm. “It’s hardly about what I want.”

Always being the goddamn martyr. 

“Why?” You tense against his grip, fighting to meet Diluc’s eyes. “Why must you keep doing this?” 

“I do not know what you’re referring to.”

You thrust your chin towards his body, towards the new wounds that mutilate him, anger cracking your voice. “This! All of this! Why, when I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m capable of helping?” His grip turns harsher. You pretend not to feel it. “Let me help you.”

Before you release it you’re standing, Diluc forcing you to your feet as he places more distance between the both of you. He released you at arm's length, but gods does he feel so much further away? 

“Again, I fail to see what it is you’re referring to.”

“Do you?” A sharp laugh, and you catch his wrists, thumbing at his scars as your eyes trail the rest of them. “You think this fixes it? You think forcing yourself to suffer will alleviate you from your guilt?”

“And what do you know of guilt,” a growl, “Doctor?”

“Do you truly think there’s anyone who has failed more people than a doctor? As though I don’t have the blood of more innocents on my hands than you do.” 

You swallow, daring to step closer and raise a hand, only for Diluc to flinch away from your still-bleeding palm. He refuses to look at you. Why won’t he ever look at you?

“Our suffering will not bring them back, Diluc.” He still keeps you at a distance, and you relent, leaning your head against his bloodied knuckles as you exhale slowly, deeply. He doesn’t let you come any closer. You don’t force it. You simply stay put, forever at arm’s length, bracing yourself against his palm as if just to remind him that you are here, you are with him, and hoping that, for now, that alone will be enough.

You know this type of self-destruction well. The violence- the pain- it silences the voices. 

You can’t remember their screams if all you can hear is your own.

“It will not give them peace, it will not make them forgive you, and it will never give you freedom from the memories.” If it did, the nightmares would have ceased years ago. 

But that’s the funny thing about grief. Sometimes, it’s the only thing left when all the anger has finally burned and died out. Diluc knows this, being alive for centuries has taught him well, as he is doomed to repeat that same spiral of anger and violence and suffering until it finally kills him. 

What does he know, if not grief? What is he, if not this rotten husk of anger and rage? What is left?

Just a beast and a boy fighting for control over a broken body.

But then he feels the warmth of your breath, every exhale shaky and heartbreaking as your lips quiver against his palm, and he cannot help but want to hold you. 

“Today was my birthday.” 

The burning pressure against your wrists disappears, and Diluc sinks to the floor, falling back into the tub as his arms and leg hang out. Head knocking against the metal rim, you watch his throat bob in silence before you kneel down beside him. His hand finds yours, and, ever so slowly, his pinkie finger intertwines with yours. 

When Diluc continues, his words come out in a rasp, each one lodged against his unbeating heart before they spill out. “I try not to remember. One year I attempted not counting the days, hoping I’d simply forget,” a laugh, humorless and hollow. “Come early spring frost and I still could tell it was the morning of my birthday. The world won’t let me forget.” 

After all, he killed his mother the day he was born and killed his father the day he became a man. 

He had lost all the family he’d ever known on this day. 

He was so young back then. 

“Every year I visit them, far west from Hemwick Charnel, on a cliffside overlooking the castle and the sea.” Diluc’s words come easy now, and you begin disinfecting his wounds again as he talks, the slow rumble of his chest comforting as his body begins stitching itself back together. “I was picking lamp grass when I was ambushed by a horde. I didn’t know where else to go but here.”

A hum, and you let go of the cloth. “For what it’s worth, I am glad.”

Diluc turns to look at you with a raised brow. “Glad?” He’s about to continue when you gently shove his head, correcting yourself with a snort. 

“I’m glad you were born. I’m glad I got to meet you. After all, who else could I blackmail into my service with a rifle and a vile of blood?” He laughs, the sound rough and warm. You can’t help but laugh too. 

Leaning forward, you brush aside the long, wet strands of hair from his shoulders and place a kiss to the nape of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of smoke and ashes. 

“Happy birthday, mon chéri.”

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

Yharnam seems to be cursed with late winter storms, and this April is no different. 

You once swore you’d take snow over the typical rain or hail, but the relentless blizzard outside has you second-guessing that now. For the entire day now it has been impossible to see even three feet beyond the windows, a foggy white blanketing the city. 

The children had fallen asleep hours ago, all seven of them huddled close as you tucked them under layer upon layer of blankets, Diluc and you taking turns to make sure they were warm and secured.  

Now you and the Hunter retreated back to your own quarters, a small room nestled above the orphanage and the clinic. It sufficed though, and between the library set up in the corner of the room and the fireplace crackling before the seating area, the two of you easily fell into a comfortable routine. 

Despite having read and reread many of your books– the majority being medical, philosophical, or the guilty pleasure novels that you‘ve expertly hidden throughout the shelf– you choose a new romance book to take back to your armchair and instantly curl up in it. 

You’re only fifty pages in when you’re disturbed by an amused huff from your Hunter. 

“May I inquire as to what is so amusing?” You peek over the pages, glaring slightly. He just had to interrupt you as soon as it was getting good. 

Diluc hums. “Nothing in particular. It’s just that whatever you’re reading is causing you to make a rather strange sort of face.” He mimics you, brows scrunched before a smirk cracks across his lips at your scowl. He tilts his head, smile never dropping. “Your heart rate spiked.” 

There is no way you’re admitting to reading pure filth in front of him, so instead you clear your throat, shifting your fingers so they cover as much of the title as they could. “Yes, well, this requires a lot of concentration so excuse me.”

"Of course. Concentration." 

Diluc chuckles, the sound low and smooth and utterly horrible for the purity of your thoughts.

Crimson eyes flicker to the small crook where your neck and shoulder meet, just barely covered by the silk of your nightgown, and his tongue drags over his fangs as he forces in a deep breath. All your shifting in your seat allowed the billowing neckline to slip past your shoulder, exposing the delicate skin, and you could practically feel the Hunter’s gaze burning into you. 

You know he can hear your heart flutter in tandem with that treacherous twisting of your stomach— a sort of unholy anticipation when you spot the brief flash of hunger across Diluc’s face.

Logically, you knew this was akin to tempting the Devil with sin. And yet that damnation tasted so sweet. 

Your poor Hunter was already so far on edge from being unable to go out to hunt due to the heavy snowstorm. Early spring, and yet the winter was relentless in its hold over the city. You only managed to keep Diluc inside by assuring him that the Beasts would despise the cold just as much as anyone else would, and if there were one night where he could rest easy, it would be tonight. 

And yet it seemed as though both the words rest and easy were completely foreign to your Hunter. 

All the more fun for you, really.

Uncrossing and recrossing your legs, you allow your nightgown to hike further up your thighs, letting out a sigh as the fire crackles and snaps. Diluc’s grip tightens against the armrest of his chair, the leather upholstery cracking under his knuckles. The Hunter can’t stop the slow glide of his eyes over your body, catching himself wondering if you had even bothered to wear anything beneath the flimsy slip of clothing, banishing the thought instantly with a flushed face. 

But not before you catch it.

“Oh? What’s wrong, my dear Hunter?” You snap your book closed, setting it on the nightstand before stalking across the room. “Now you’re the one that seems rather… distracted.” 

He swallows, hard. “And you seem rather intent on tempting me, even after I remember advising you against doing so. Specifically on a night such as this when I haven’t hunted nor fed.”

“I’m right here. You need not ask.”

A strained grunt. Diluc’s eyes burn into yours as you find your way to his chair, almost predatory in the way they catch your every movement. It excites you even more. Leaning down, you brace your hands against the armrest, caging him beneath you. 

The fireplace is alight at your back, silhouetting your every curve, mimicking the desire burning both in your gaze and lower still. Saints, you can’t tell what you want more— to devour him or let him devour you. 

Both. 

Both would be acceptable.

You fall forward, thighs slipping atop Diluc’s own as you lower yourself onto him in one slow motion. His hands come up, and you guide them to your waist, each palm large enough to cup the entirety of your hips. It sends another trill of wicked excitement through you. 

The glint of the fire catches against his fangs. Perhaps it’s the lingering effect of the dreamroot you smoked earlier, but you can’t help yourself, thumbing at his lip as you tilt Diluc’s jaw up. He goes easy, opening his mouth as you gently prod at the razor-sharp teeth. Behind those twin fangs his gums swell slightly at the top, a large cavity trailing down into the root of his teeth. 

Thumbing it gently, you retract your fingers just long enough for Diluc to say, “Venom glands.”

A hum, both your hands now lifting to his jaw as Diluc’s arms meet you halfway, urging you to slow despite your excitement. Whether for your sake or his you did not know.

Diluc’s hands remain at your wrists as you gently push his lip up, sliding your thumb along his fangs, pressing against the gland until a steady stream of venom trickles down the long tooth. 

It’s mostly clear, an unassuming amber in color, and yet the moment it drips onto your skin you feel the dizzying effect of the venom takes hold. Your eyes follow the trail, certain it must be a type of neurotoxin by the way it’s numbing your fingers and wrist as it trickles further and further, muscles relaxing involuntarily as they fall victim to the venom. If it was this powerful at mere contact, you shiver to think at what it might be capable of at injection. 

“Does all Vileblood venom act the same?”

“Not,” Diluc grunts as your grip against his jaw shifts. “Not quite. Every individual’s toxin varies, and the effect depends on both participants.”

Gliding your fingers down his neck, the Hunter beneath you shivers. “How so?” Dropping your hands, you let them rest upon his shoulders. 

“Different lineages hold different properties: paralysis, hemorrhage, coagulopathy, necrosis. But the chemical effect differs between partners, it’s impossible to tell how any one individual would react.” 

You snort. “Partners? Seems a little too consensual of a term for what your kind does. Perhaps,” You lean forward, “Preying?” Rock your hips into his as your lips brush his neck, “Hunting?” A gasp, and you pounce, “Devouring?” You bite. 

The sweet sound of Diluc’s moan rewards you, and you pull back in time to watch the bruise fade back into the pale column of his neck. His throat bobs, eyes flickering back to your own neck. 

He’s so obvious sometimes. 

“I’ve been wondering, do Vampires have favorite spots to bite? I’d assume major arteries, makes for easier…” You guide his hands further down, allowing them to roam until they thumb at the dimples against your lower back. “Access?”

Diluc’s mouth opens, dry, his mind failing him at every turn when it comes to you. You laugh under your breath, dragging your fingers up your body, allowing the thin silk of your robe to slip off both of your shoulders, exposing inches of soft, delicate skin. “Don’t tell me you’re a clichè and just go for the neck? Or perhaps this frustrating gentlemanly façade is to hide even more perverse tendencies? Well? Are you hiding something from me, mon petit monstre?”

“No.”

You lean in, teasing. His gaze drops lower. “No?”

“Avoid arteries. They—” Your hands fall from your chest, one grabbing Diluc’s jaw, forcing him to look at you, as the other begins toying with the lace of his blouse. A beautiful blush clings to his face, dusty red from the firelight as it burns at his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Saints, he’s so warm under your touch. “They’re too messy. It’s a balance between force and mercy.”

By the time he’s done talking you’ve finished opening his shirt, hands greedily exploring the newly unveiled skin as you hum in response. Hard planes of muscle are ridged with curls of thick red hair, cut only by singes and scars, and you bend to kiss each one, nestling yourself further onto Diluc’s lap as your lips continue to worship him. 

“Force and mercy, hm?”

You once offered to heal them, to stitch up loose gashes and dress older wounds in ointments. But Diluc refused. Now, as your tongue traces a scar from his chest to his sternum, you begin to understand why he collects these reminders of failures long ago. He believes it to be an atonement, his physical proof to pay for every sin he’s convinced he’s committed. So be it. You’d love them regardless. 

A kiss to the gnarled skin before you move further, lips brushing over another patch of burns before you sit up, taking in the view before you. 

There is something horridly addicting in bringing the apex predator of the world to your mercy. Diluc was doused by firelight, bare chest tinted with blush and the slick aftermath of your ministrations, skin matching the crimson of his unruly mane of hair now cascading down the couch and sticking to his sweat-slicked muscles. His eyes meet yours for only a moment before they dart from your lips to your neck and back again. 

Everything about him was blinding, so furiously red it burned. 

You shiver. 

That moment of weakness was enough, however, and Diluc lifts you easily. His powerful grip forces your hips flush against his, body towering over your own as your chests brush with every ragged inhale, head dipping to rest his forehead against your own. 

He’s trembling. Elongated fangs have sunk deep into his bottom lip, blood trickling down his chin, dripping onto your breasts. Every muscle in the Hunter’s body is tensing and yielding again and again, fighting every instinct with the control he so piously boasts. 

Ever the fucking gentleman. 

You grumble, pushing yourself forward, deliberately shifting your hips against his own, smirking at the low gasp he makes against your ear. It is as your dear Hunter said: force and mercy. 

One hand palms at the hard planes of muscle down his torso, nails digging into his abs, watching as the red lines disappear as soon as you make them. It only tempts you to try harder. Maybe use something sharper. The other hand works to lift Diluc’s face to your own, drinking in the heavy blush that coats his cheeks, eyes hooded with a bleary fog, unable to look away from your neck as his own black blood stains his lips and chin. And yet he still refuses to bite you. 

You have half a thought to force the Vampyr’s fangs into your skin on your own when the man finally moves. You don’t register it at first. One moment his forehead is braced against yours as you perch atop him, and the next you’re pinned against the arm of the couch, Diluc looming over you as he kneels between your thighs. The fire snaps in the background. 

Diluc lowers his face an inch, grazing the tip of his nose along your neck. Beneath your hand, his chest heaves upward as he inhales a slow, greedy breath of your scent. Breathe. You scream at yourself to remember to breathe. 

“You’ve yet to answer my question. Where, Diluc,” another brush along your neck, this time with his lips. Your voice trembles. “Where would you bite me?”

Too far. You knew this question was pushing him too far, you knew the fool you played to even dare press his limits, to tempt him with forces you couldn’t begin to understand or control. But gods old and new be damned, you were tired of constantly trying to figure things out. 

It was its own kind of discovery, the surrender to instinct. 

And so you do nothing except tilt your neck further, allowing him to brush his lips over your neck again and again. With each movement you arch further into his lap, feeling that heat and hardness grind up into you, mere friction enough to override every rational thought. 

Finally, Diluc stops. A heavy breath fans the lower crook of your neck, stopping just above the curve of your shoulder. “Here.” 

It’s a command as much as it’s an answer. Diluc dares to kiss you there, finally, opening his mouth as you feel the warm nudge of his tongue, fixating on that spot until something seizes him, a deep growl reverberating through his chest. 

Diluc shudders and parts his lips, lingering just above the damp spot, every exhale a cold gust against the hyper-sensitive skin of your neck. You don’t dare move, either in fear of scaring him away or luring him further you do not know. Instead, you shift your hand once resting upon his shoulder into his hair, coaxing him to press harder. His tongue traces a circle on your skin as he obeys. 

You stifle a moan. The devoted mix of kisses and nips was going to leave more than a mark, and that thought alone rid you of any remaining control. Deliberately, you grind harder against his thigh, the firm pressure of his muscles sending your eyes rolling into the back of your skull. Yet you continue, meeting the painfully hard strain against his trousers with every soft roll of your hips.

Diluc groans. Fisting your nightgown in his hand, he forces the two of you together, bending you backward with the force of it as his mouth opens wide against your throat. 

"Please," you whisper. 

You feel the twin pricks of his fangs, hovering just above your skin, just enough to feel them. Ripples of fear and desire and terror and anticipation shutter down your spine. Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of every place Diluc touches you, his nearly bare chest heaving against your own, the heat of his breath on your neck, the weight of his hand on your waist. The roar of your blood in your ears. The pounding of your heart. 

Right as you feel the pressure begin to sink into your throat, you lose your balance, the force of Diluc’s hold pushing you back as you slip off the couch and hit the table. 

The cracking of wood breaks the both of you from the trance.

Diluc is breathing heavily, bangs shielding his face as he cages you against the table with his arms, one hand protecting the back of your head from the impact that would have otherwise rattled your skull as the other braces your back. He’s straining though, as if he himself is trapped between standing up and descending upon you once more. 

“…Temptation.”

Your head snaps back, falling against the table with a thump as you try to meet his gaze. Raising a hand, Diluc laces his fingers between your own before bringing it against his jaw, nuzzling into your touch. 

Finally looking at you, you stifle a gasp at the sight. His pupils are bleeding, turning the whites of his eyes into an inky red, so deep they are nearly black, pupils themselves dilating and constricting like a beast’s. 

“You are temptation.”

You manage a wry smile despite the lust and fear burning throughout your body. “Your temptation.”

A smile. “My temptation.”

And with that you tug his face down to your own, ramming your lips together. Diluc protests against you, words muffled into the sloppy kiss, his resistance half-hearted as his tongue already works to meet you halfway, trying ever so desperately to steer you away from his fangs. That won’t do. 

You prop yourself up with one elbow, feeling the weight of Diluc’s body drop onto your own, pinning you to the table as his lips claim yours this time. It’s more tongue and teeth than anything else on your part, nipping his bottom lip as your eyes catch on his fangs once again. The taste of his own blood lingers from where he bit himself, and you moan before pushing your tongue forward, allowing it to push up against his teeth, feeling two clean gashes trail down the muscle as it drags along the length of his fangs. 

The taste of your blood fills Diluc’s mouth. He flinches, pupils blown wide. 

You pull just far enough to say, “Drink.”

He does. 

There’s a low growl, a sound more beast than man, and Diluc consumes you with the savagery of a wild animal. His lips chase yours, sucking your tongue into his mouth as he feeds. It’s twisted, the sounds you’re both making and the web of blood and saliva that drips between the both of you, the very act of him feeding off your tongue enough to be considered sacrilege. 

But, Saints above and gods below, you never want him to stop. 

Pressing the hot muscle into Diluc’s fangs again, you feel a numbing sensation seize your tongue, losing control as the warmth from Diluc’s mouth and his natural venom rupture every nerve and muscle, chasing down your spine, compelling you to grind even harder against him. Every kiss is tainted with the obscene sounds of him swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood, the creaking of the table as your hips rut into each other no better than animals in heat, and the moans that echo along with the snap of the fire. 

It is still not enough. 

Breaking the kiss, Diluc’s lips chase after your own, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, thoroughly drunk off your blood. Not that you’re faring any better, nightgown bunched at your waist and slick to your skin from sweat, blood smeared across your lips and chest. 

A dark smile cracks along the Hunter’s mouth, glinting with blood-stained fangs as he snarls, “Addicting.” 

Saints. The way he said that word echoes in your skull and you whimper, clenching your thighs around his waist and pulling him closer still. Diluc obeys, pressing your bodies together so tightly you could feel his heartbeat against your chest.

Without thinking your hand is already trailing down every straining muscle of Diluc’s body, scratching down his chest and abs until it grinds against the searing heat straining against his trousers. The Hunter keens, pushing into your body as he gasps, hardly giving himself a moment to breathe before claiming your lips once again. 

You’re trying your best with the atrocious number of belts and laces that block you from your goal, and yet to no avail as your mind can hardly think straight between the insistent press of Diluc’s lips on yours and his venom running rampant in your veins. 

Another whine and you give up on the trousers entirely, laying your palm flat against his clothed cock. He bucks into your heat, and you marvel even through your lust-dazed mind at his sheer size, having to rub both hands down his length to simply feel it all.

Diluc gasps, tearing his mouth from your own as he licks the remaining blood from your skin until he forces himself from your lips. “Don’t. Don’t do that, else I really might lose control of—”

You do it again, cruelly grinding your palm into his length before dragging your fingers up again, nearly coming up to his lower abdomen as you thumb the mass of red curls disappearing into his trousers. Oh, gods, you need him, now. 

The Hunter hisses as your movements get rougher, jaw snapped shut as he thrusts into your hold, the force of it enough to drive you and the table you’re pinned upon backward. You can hardly stop yourself from imagining that power, that sheer size buried deep within you. All-consuming. Addictive.

You’re about to press up again when his hand catches your own, yanking both up and slamming them above your head. A whine, and you thrash beneath his grip, arching against him. But Diluc no longer responds, his body rigid as he witnesses the mess he’s made of you. 

It’s instinct, the way you beg and whine for him. It’s merely a prey’s response to a predator coaxing them into a false sense of bliss before the kill.

“You deserve so much better.”

And then the warmth above you disappears, leaving you cold and empty and aching, alone with only the crack of the fire and the silence of the night.

Diluc was gone.

Something stuck between a laugh and a cry of pure frustration leaves you, and you fall limp onto the table as you stare up at the ceiling. “Fucking bastard.” 

Even with the fireplace at your back, there is no mistaking the sudden chill of the room, and you force yourself to sit up despite the horrid mix of Vampyr venom and raw desire making your limbs tremble with every movement. Saints, everything ached, the room spinning as you stumbled onto your feet. Not trusting your legs enough to make it to your chambers, you opt to collapse against the couch, another delirious whimper seizing you as you lay sprawled against the leather. 

You hate him. 

Saints you hate him and you hate him for leaving you while the growing need between your thighs threatens to swallow you whole. The leather was deliciously cool against your flushed skin and you writhe against it, another breathy moan slipping past your lips as you turn to face the door. 

Your quarters were on the third floor, two above the clinic and one above the orphanage. There were only so many rooms Diluc could have fled to, at least until the snowstorm subsided. 

For now, though, he is stuck in the house. Curse or blessing it may be.

You bite onto your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood- you wonder if he can smell it- as your hands glide downwards, ghosting over the bruising remnants of Diluc’s touch. Oh, you hate him. You hate him so much. Even the brush of silk against your skin was becoming unbearable, and you slip past the nightgown, letting it bunch at your hips. 

Even amidst the venom and lust, your logical side begins to panic— heavens forbid you’re loud enough to wake a patient or the children sleeping only a floor below. 

But you know that with his senses Diluc can hear everything. 

And that alone would make this punishment worth it. 

Call it retribution. 

A hand slips beneath your undergarments and Saints, fuck, you were dripping enough to ease your fingers in already. But you remember the bastard voyeur undoubtedly listening in and force yourself to slow down. Instead, you rub slow circles around your entrance, the mere friction enough to drive your head back into the armrest, waves of heat rippling through you. 

With a broken whimper, you slide a finger into your weeping cunt, a breathless moan pushing from your lungs as you do. Not enough. Saints. It’s not enough. 

You whine, and yet force yourself to draw each movement out, the twist of your wrist accompanied by your muffled cries and the lewd wet sounds of each movement. Withdrawing your finger nearly to the tip, this time two plunge back in, and your back arches off the couch with violent tremors as you imagine it was Diluc’s hand instead. Your Hunter’s hand, hot, rough, and big enough to send you reeling with a mere touch. Deeper and deeper, he’d push you to breaking, and your free hand claws into the leather at the thought of it. 

It’s Diluc’s voice rings in your head, and you see that dark smile, glinting with blood-stained fangs as he snarls. “Addicting.” 

Addicting. 

A sob, and you force your fingers curling up in self-inflicted cruelty. It’s Diluc’s hips that grind into you with relentless fervor, it’s Diluc’s hand that brings you closer and closer to the edge until you draw blood from your lips, and it’s Diluc’s name that leaves your lips in silent screams as you finally come again and again until the room fades to black. 

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

You’ve ruined him. 

Gods the fucking taste of your blood lingers in Diluc’s mouth, every dry swallow, every inhale, every damn breath tastes like you, and it makes him want to submit to every beastly urge and simply consume until—

Diluc sinks his fangs into his arm with a groan, forcing mouthful after mouthful of blood down his throat in hopes that the bitter taste of his blood covers your own. 

It’s not enough. Not even close. The hunger had hardly subsided and his dick was still begging for release, heavy and controlling, demanding his very sanity as he stumbled into one of the abandoned patient cubicles. Your voice, broken and desperate, rings against the base of his skull, and the memory alone is enough to send new ripples of heat down his spine. 

Throwing himself onto the cot, Diluc shields an arm over his face, attempting to block out the sounds of your moans, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the taste of you still raging through him. But even the slightest movement only succeeds in making the rough seams of his trousers rub against his cock, the friction enough to make him grit his teeth, fangs sinking into his bottom lip. 

And then he hears your voice again. 

He goes deathly still, afraid he’s begun to hallucinate in this lust-induced haze. But no, there is no mistaking it. From where you are, a floor or two above, he hears the rapid stutter of your heartbeat, your stifled cries, and the slick, wet sounds of your hand as it—

“Saints,” he’s gasping for air, ”kill me now.”

Diluc knows you’re torturing him. 

His ears strain against his will, and Diluc catches another whimper from you when suddenly the scent of your blood hits him like a bullet. You’re bleeding. You’re bleeding and his cock is throbbing in time to your weakening heartbeat. 

You really do turn him into a beast. It’s sinful. 

One hand unbuckles his trousers, fumbling them down as the other stifles another moan, sound low and tortured. Diluc’s pace matches yours, and as he hears the slow rub of your fingers against your core, he in turn grips his cock, pulling it from its confinements as it springs against his abs. Saints, he’s leaking enough to coat his palm in slick already, excess dripping onto his thighs. 

It’s easy, with the taste of you in his mouth and the breathy voice of you in his head, to imagine it’s your hand gripping him instead. He hates himself for how much harder he gets at the thought of it. 

But Diluc hardly gets to dwell on it, any semblance of embarrassment is swallowed whole by greed as he hears your pace quicken. Listening to you intensely as you fuck yourself on your hand, his jaw clenches as he grounds himself in time to the beat of your heart, hips stuttering as he gives himself a painfully rough jerk. 

With each pump his hips rut faster, erratic movements rocking the cot as the groan of the frame is covered only by the slick slap of skin and his muffled whimpers. Diluc’s mind wanders, and he can’t help but remember how you writhed beneath him, dark blush tainting your features and that cruel smile flickering across your face. What face are you making now? 

He pictures you below him once more, but someone as unpredictable as you would never be satisfied with that for long. Would you push him down? His eyes flutter closed and he indulges in your noises that reverberate through the wall. Would you tie or chain him up, each movement slow and cruel as you used him to your heart’s content? Granted, he could break free from any sort of restraint, but would he want to?

Fuck. He’s not going to last.

Desperate, Diluc digs his nails into the soft underside of his cock and with a prolonged squeeze starves off his orgasm, thighs trembling from the pressure. Diluc thinks you’d do the same. You’d tease him, you’d send him to the brink only to stop, a cruel sort of devotion only you could give him. The thought alone is enough to send his head rolling back, mouth open as he growls out your name. 

It must be poison. Your blood must have gotten him addicted. 

From the room above your pulse stutters, and he feels each beat of your quickening heart on his tongue, he feels it against his cock, and as soon as you moan a broken mantra of his name, Diluc knows he is doomed. 

You must be his damnation. 

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Part 22 Straw Hats go to Dressrosa to stop Doflamingo! (Who has big plans for Reader)

You already have plans but I think it would be cool to see these things happen

Reader joins Luffy and Ace in the Area (Because she was stubborn)

When she was the walking and talking toys she actually felt very uncomfortable and that something is very wrong

They learning that the Area Prize is the Flame Flame Fruit! (Because when Reader brought Ace back to life she brought him back to life with his powers)

Reader meeting Sabo with Ace and Luffy and is in awe meeting her new brother (She’s sparkly eyed learning about her newest big brother)

When Robin was turned into a toy, what if Reader’s power was activated on her mind to prevent her memory of Robin from being ‘Erased’ and she’s just confused as to why everyone doesn’t remember ‘Mama’ (When Robin and everyone turned back to normal her horn stoped flaring)

I think it would be interesting since Sugar’s power affects memory when she turns people into toys, however if it’s someone that Reader knows then her power is activated on her own mind, preventing her memory from being wiped

Doflamingo intends to make Reader join his ‘Family’ as the Heart Suit (As her ability will be useful to him) as he learned what Caesar found out about her blood and wants her power

She brings Scarlet and Corazon back

Reader’s in awe seeing the little Tontattas and find them cute

Reader meets Bartolomeo (Or ‘Big Brother Barto’) and he swears to keep her safe

So much happens in Dressrosa I can’t keep track! 😭

-Arriving in Dressrosa was incredible for everyone! The city was massive, and it had been a long while since you had all been to such a large city.

-Despite everyone wanting to go out and have fun, Law had to be the bearer of bad news, warning and reminding everyone that Doflamingo was in charge here, and he had people everywhere.

-Nami was hesitant on letting you go onto the island, even in your disguise, as they didn’t want to risk your safety, but after you, unknowingly, giving her big pleading eyes, as you wanted to explore, she relented, allowing you to go with the group.

-Robin gave you a hat much like her own, only dark blue, and a large pair of heart shaped dark purple sunglasses that covered a good portion of your face. The two of you were matching, something you couldn’t help but beam at and Robin thought was adorable as everyone was wearing disguises, something Law insisted on, despite some of them being very bad.

-When a massive tournament was announced with a wonderful prize, none of your family was anticipating seeing your face on the poster, offering you as the grand prize for the tournament at the colosseum.

-Ace and Luffy were furious, wanting to immediately throw hands as you were hugging Usopp, who had immediately kneeled, panicking.

-Law realized that this was a ploy to capture you, “They must realize we’re here already. This is a trap so we should- OI YOU IDIOTS!!” He was quickly yelling at Ace and Luffy, who had grabbed you, running off to the colosseum so one of the two of them could win, to ensure your safety, but not before Luffy grabbed you and ran off with you!

-The others ran after them, but once inside the colosseum, there was no way out for the fighters. Luffy explained his genius plan, that if this was a trap to kidnap you, the safest place for you would be at the colosseum!

-Robin agreed, thinking that would be a smart choice, before her group agreed to research more of the other strange reports, like marines, government officials, other pirates, and other nobles from other kingdoms going missing.

-Robin showed her rare scary side, as she stared down both Ace and Luffy with a sweet smile on her face, “You promise to keep Y/N safe, right?” all four men, Ace, Luffy, Usopp, and Law, were all quickly intimidated by Robin, but they promised and you beamed brightly, “We’ll be back soon Mama!”

-She smiled at you, giving a small nod and everyone went their separate ways. However, it was amusing when your brother’s signed up, because they couldn’t use their actual names, so Luffy became Lucy, and Ace became Anne, which you thought was kind of funny, before they gave you the nickname Eri, which you loved as you got to match with them with new nicknames! Despite not fully knowing the reasoning behind it.

-Your big brothers wound up being in different rounds, so they wouldn’t be fighting against each other, which did work out so one of them could stay with you during the different rounds.

-Rebecca was so pretty, and she let you inspect her helmet after she bought Luffy and Ace each a lunch box, and you beamed, “It’s so shiny!” she couldn’t help but smile softly down at you, worried about you, seeing a child there, but Ace just gave her a firm nod, “She’s the safest with us right now.”

-Rebecca didn’t know the situation, but she didn’t question it as your brothers commented a lot on the different fighters, seeing so many strong ones. Ace cracked his knuckles, seeing Burgess there. Ace told you, as he walked away so he wouldn’t attack the taller man, that he was part of Blackbeard’s crew, who was the one who almost got Ace killed.

-Three men approached as you were watching the first round with Luffy, as Ace was in the first round, something he enjoyed, as you got to see him fighting without his Devil Fruit ability, as that would have given his identity away.

-The tallest of the men spoke to Luffy, revealing he knew exactly who he was, despite the disguise, explaining that he fought Garp many years ago, and Garp ruined his life, and now he and his grandchildren were going to take their anger out on Luffy!

-You had been on a bench when they started to attack, with other fighters yelling at them, as Luffy was doing his best to dodge the attacks, telling him to knock it off, and that he was the wrong person.

-You gasped, seeing your big brother being attacked, and as Chinjao charged, you called out, running into the way as shouts filled the air, seeing a child, “Please don’t hurt my big brother!”

-Your glasses were folded and down the front of your shirt, as you were having issues seeing inside, as it was a bit too dark for you, so your face was revealed as your large tear-filled eyes were looking up at him, silently pleading with him, Sai, and Boo to not hurt Luffy.

-They froze, seeing this tiny child willing to defend her big brother, and as the first tear fell, instantly they were all on their knees, trying to console you, apologizing, their vibe instantly going from scary to soft as you sniffled softly, trying to stop your tears. At least Chinjao knew who you were, but he kept it quiet, not wanting anyone else to know so you wouldn’t be at risk.

-It was amusing when Ace arrived back, winning his match, seeing a room full of rough looking fighters all acting goofy, trying to make you smile as you were in Luffy’s arms.

-You were learning what Garp had done as you were holding onto Chinjao’s hand, or at least one of his fingers, “So grandpa made you sad?” your cheeks immediately puffed up in a pout, glaring lightly, angry for him which instantly caused heart related issues as people all over the room collapsed from cuteness.

-You told Chinjao, “I’ll call grandpa and I’ll ask him to apologize. Everyone should apologize when they do something wrong, right?” As you asked this, you looked at Luffy who beamed brightly, telling you that was correct.

-After Luffy fought, winning his match, returning Chinjao’s head to normal, which looked pointy and made him even taller, you got to meet two new people after Luffy made it back to you both.

-The first was a man who looked like a chicken, with a bright green mohawk, who called you Y/N-senpai, knowing exactly who you were.

-His name was Bartolomeo and he beamed, getting to meet his idols, as he told Luffy that he joined because when he saw you were the prize, he had to win so he could save you and return to your family, unaware that it was a ruse by Doflamingo, but Luffy could tell that he was a good person as you were holding onto his hand, looking at his painted nails while he was gushing that you were holding his hand.

-The second man was someone that Ace and Luffy both knew, and you were wide-eyed as they rushed to him, embracing him while ugly crying. Sabo was so warm and kind, hugging both of them, so happy to see them again.

-You were a little shy as Sabo kneeled, removing his hat, “And who is this?” Luffy beamed brightly kneeling beside you, “This is our little sister- Y/N!” If he was more surprised he didn’t show it as he gave you a warm smile as Ace spoke, “And Y/N, this is Sabo, he’s our third brother!”

-Your eyes went huge, immediately sparkling as Sabo quickly fell, clutching at his chest, “Really? I have another big brother?” and Koala didn’t hesitate to take blackmail pictures, thinking it was adorable.

-It was about a half hour later and you were crying, your hands clutching at the end of your dress as a super tall man walked into the room you had been put, after all the fighters were being attacked, pulled in by a sticky man that made your skin crawl, Trebol.

-You didn’t know where any of your big brothers were, as you had been ripped from Luffy’s arms, screaming out for him.

-This new man was very tall, wearing glasses over his eyes and had a huge fluffy pink coat. He introduced himself as Donquixote Doflamingo, and you knew the name, as Law had been saying this was a dangerous person.

-Doflamingo had smiled wickedly, seeing you there, as he knew from Caesar what you were able to do, not only naturally, with your unusual ability, but also your blood.

-After Law had destroyed the lab, making sure every piece of research that had been collected, including the blood vials, had been destroyed, Doflamingo was furious, until he realized that you and the rest of the Straw Hats would be coming to Dressrosa.

-He knew that your family would take the bait on offering you as a prize in the tournament, as it would make them not think clearly, and he had been proven right, as your brothers had basically delivered you right to him.

-He picked you up by the back of your dress, letting you dangle as he laughed, “You are quite the surprise, Y/N.” you sniffled softly, your eyes piercing into his own, despite being hidden by glasses, “Mister Dof-Dof…Mister Flamingo, where’s my big brothers?”

-Doflamingo was stunned stiff, seeing your tears, hearing your words, mainly only what you had called him, as he had a sudden flashback of Corazaon, who would always call him big brother.

-Only moments later, Doflamingo had you in his arms, holding you carefully, properly as he smiled down at you, “You’re going to join my family Y/N. Let’s see- you’re cute so how about the Heart Suite!”

-You were a little confused, holding onto his fluffy coat as he held you like a little doll, “But… I have a family, my big brothers and sisters, and mama!” He just ignored your words, choosing only what he wanted to hear, “You can call me big brother! And I’ll introduce you to everyone else!”

-Your instincts were telling you that he was dangerous, so you behaved, not wanting to do anything to upset him as he took you into a large room where lots of other people were, introducing you as the newest member of the family!

-You saw Law, but he was hurt as your eyes went wide, but he caught your eyes, silently telling you to be quiet, which you did. Doflamingo sat you down on his own chair so the others could greet you, many of them commenting on how tiny and cute you were, including Sugar who was elated to have someone her own size now.

-She had to leave not long after, to go back to work as Doflamingo lounged around, as he wanted your family to come to try to save you, so he could take them out so you would have no choice but to join his family!

-When Luffy and Ace arrived, shouting at Doflamingo to let you and Law go, your horn surprised everyone by suddenly growing, being covered by the aura as you looked confused, reaching a hand up to touch it.

-Doflamingo chose to ignore it for the moment as he chuckled, “Your plan to take out Sugar failed, Nico Robin is a toy now!” You froze, hearing this but tears welled as you saw everyone’s confusion as Luffy spoke, “Who’s Robin?”

-Law spoke to you while Viola ran over, holding a key to Law’s cuffs, telling you that Sugar had the ability to change others into sentient toys, but when they get changed, the memories of those changed are lost to others. You could remember her no problem as he theorized your ability activated when you realized that she was in danger, so you were able to remember whoever Doflamingo was talking about, while they didn’t.

-Ace and Luffy managed to throw Doflamingo out, who strategically retreated to call upon the family, as he watched in horror, seeing toys returning to normal, your horn also returning to normal, showing that Sugar had been taken out!

-After you unlocked Law’s shackles, being the only one there without a Devil Fruit ability, seeing the Sea Stone cuffs, Ace glared slightly, knowing that they needed to take Doflamingo out and Luffy agreed.

-The plan was for them to meet in a specific place, and Luffy trusted Viola with getting you to Robin, as she knew the back streets, which she agreed to. You didn’t want to be apart from them again, hugging Viola tightly, but she did her best to keep you calm.

-She told you of Scarlett, and what had happened to Dressrosa all those years ago, including what happened to Rebecca’s mother Scarlett, who was Viola’s younger sister. Your eyes were big and sparkly as she hid around a corner, trying to get you to the flower fields, after you both saw Robin flying overhead, “Are you and Rebecca princesses then?” She couldn’t help but giggle, thinking you were cute, as she told you that they could be, but they had to take care of Doflamingo first.

-At the flower fields, you were reunited with Robin and a man who was dressed like a prince and Bartolomeo as your eyes were sparkly, “It’s a prince! Mama it’s a real prince!!” Cavendish adored your praise, posing for you as you squealed happily.

-When the group was attacked again, Robin put herself in front of you, glaring hard at the opponent who blew his hat off, you didn’t know his name, before she spoke to Bartolomeo, “Will you take Y/N and get her to safety?”

-He seemed stunned by her request before he immediately grinned, creating a staircase out of barriers with his ability, as he and Cavendish stood in front of her, the two easily blowing the unknown man back, “Take Y/N and run, Robin-senpai!” she picked you up and ran with Viola, sending him a wink as you waved, “Bye-bye big brother Barty! Bye-bye Prince Cabbage!”

-While Cavendish was in anguish over his name, as you had trouble saying it, Bartolomeo had fallen to his knees, large tears flowing from his cheeks as light shined down upon him, as if he had done everything in his life worth doing, being your big brother!

-Robin did her best to protect you, as more members of the family appeared with the intent on taking you from her, and when she was trapped, Leo, who appeared, “Take Y/N and run!”

-You looked back, scared for Robin, who gave you a firm nod as you followed Leo, running. You learned that he was a Tontatta, a race that you could only describe as fairies, which you adored, holding Leo in your hands as he guided you through a forest to safety.

-Leo told you to stop and you gasped, seeing Law hurt, one of his arms off, while he was trying to stand, as Luffy and Ace were fighting against Doflamingo, all of them hurt.

-Leo took to the skies, looking for a safe way away from the area before he gasped as you ran for Law, “Big brother!” Ace and Luffy froze, hearing you there as Law turned, looking panicked, telling you to run.

-Law lunged, sensing Doflamingo charging to grab you, and he took a hard hit to the back as he covered you, keeping Doflamingo from grabbing you, who was sneering down, “You’re just like Corazon- weak!” You were in shock, your eyes wide as your brothers charged, getting him away from you as you hugged Law’s head.

-Law told you about Corazon, who was Doflamingo’s younger brother, who was killed protecting Law so many years ago. You felt so sad for Law, hearing how this man, Corazon, had died to protect him, just like how he had protected you just now.

-The first sob ripped from your throat as you hugged Law and he felt the wave of energy flow through him as you healed him, reattaching his arm and healing his wounds before they all froze, seeing two figures reforming from nothing.

-Corazon kneeled beside Law, who was stunned, seeing him there as tears welled as Scarlette gasped as you swooned, catching you as you developed a fever and fainted.

-Luffy and Ace were both now furious, seeing that you had been pushed so hard to not only heal Law but bring two people back from the dead.

-Scarlette took you and ran after Law and Corazon turned to face Doflamingo alongside Luffy and Ace, as he was now furious, looking almost unhinged.

-Scarlette was stunned to find not only Kyros, but Rebecca and Viola as well, all of them banged up, but safe and sound, as they all gaped, seeing her there, seeing her alive again! With you included (despite being unconscious), as they shared a family hug, all of them crying, being reunited at last.

-After discussing your condition, Viola told them how she knew of your ability to heal others, but there had been a rumor, after you had revived Ace and Whitebeard, that you could bring others back from the dead, and many were trying to stop that rumor, not wanting it to spread.

-A new voice spoke up, “You’re right.” They turned, seeing Sanji there, who looked beat up, smoking quietly as he looked relieved, seeing you there, knowing that you must have done something reckless again as Scarlette passed you to your brother after Viola vouched for him.

-Sanji told them to get to safety, as something big was coming, sensing Luffy and Ace’s power, and he took off towards the ship after getting word from Robin that he needed to take Nami and the others on the ship and they would meet up on Zou.

-Chopper and Nami took care of you while you were recovering, finding out what had happened between Sanji and you, once you were awake, and they were amazed so much had happened, but they were glad to hear that you hadn’t been hurt, just kidnapped and scared, and overdoing it with your ability again, but they didn’t scold you, just making you rest instead.

-You thought about all the new fun people you had met on Dressrosa, you wished that you had been able to say goodbye to all of them, as they had been helping everyone.

-As you sat on Sanji’s lap as you ate, holding up an apple slice to him, Brook was sitting next to you, telling you of the next destination, Zou, which was a giant walking elephant, which made your eyes sparkle brightly!

-When you asked about Luffy and the others, Nami told you not to worry about them, as they were going to meet your group on Zou, so you all would wait there for them, and you nodded, hoping they wouldn’t take too long.

[senaridaes]

tw death and a bit of body horror I guess?

At some point I planned a tma fic where one of the artifacts was an XIIIth century oil lamp like this

and it was a Flesh artifact that would manifest itself when a person got lost in the Dark. At first sight it doesn't need any fuel, the flame is very stable, and the lamp proves to be an invaluable asset as the person is looking for a way out. But the catch is that it actually does use fuel. You're the fuel, your own body fat, and at one point the bearer of the lamp inevitably recognizes that fact. And as the hope of escape vanishes, they are faced with a dilemma: do they want to succumb to the darkness, or be consumed by the flesh?

Pretty basic, but I think the fears would get a kick out of letting the people they lured in choose their own method of demise.