#''softer'' and sort of holds their hands a bit more. they have their own fair share of hardships and stuff too still

[tired-biscuit]

general!kiba becomes a soft sex addict when he finally realizes that the rubbing n kissing and cuddling you love doing feels better than just fucking you <3

18+ fem!reader / cw: soft, lovey-dovey handjob and fingering, mentions of an imbalanced power dynamic. royalty AU.

series masterlist

your husband’s tenderness comes out to play at nighttime — when he’s absolutely sure that it’s safe from being seen by prying eyes.

hand to heart, you must admit that you’d thought of his initial reluctance to exhibit actual, proper intimacy towards his own wife as an oddity of sorts. being the softer sex by default, or perhaps it being the consequence of how you’d been raised, his hesitance has left you feeling somewhat baffled in the beginning of your arranged marriage.

after all, his way of caring is, in fact, nothing like what you’ve read about in the romance novels you still shamefully hide in the darkest corner of your dresser even to this day. he is not even anything remotely similar to the things you’d picked up from hushed bits and pieces of gossip coming from the young, giggling maids that are constantly running about the halls of your new home, as well as the subjects merely brushed over in the chatter of the noble ladies you’re sometimes burdened to sit down to engage with over lunch, simply because your high status — and your birth right — compels you to do so.

and speaking of those women; no matter which company you end up in, they all end up looking at you in the exact same way. with saddened eyes, both the maids and the prestigious women of the court all gaze at you like they almost pity you.

to be fair, how can they not? to a stranger’s eye, your spouse is seen as nothing but a big, intimidating brute that’s acquired himself quite the reputation of being utterly ruthless on the field. every inch of him is covered in scars, deadly weapons and grime, and he’s always wearing that irked scowl on his face that makes him look older than he actually is. his footsteps are so heavy as he walks alongside you, they make the iron that he carries on him at all times clink.

in contrast, you’re such a delicate little thing when compared to him. with your inexplicable poise, gentle mannerisms, kind face, pretty gowns and the blue blood that’s coursing your veins, you could be called his polar opposite.

but all of that grace of yours is to be used for what, exactly?

to be mounted by some common man every night, who just so happens to have lucked out only because he’s great at wielding a sword and shouting orders at an army of men who are just as dirty as him? to have all of your sinless attributes tarnished and besmirched by his greedy hands that have surely been covered by someone else’s blood more times than yours had been with soap?

he’s a warrior. you’re unblemished royalty — well, not any longer. the only embrace you’ll ever receive from a man like him is the suffocating kind. an embrace, whose only purpose is to hold you still on top of the bed as he proceeds to tear through your expensive regalia, and has his way with you again and again; breeding you until you birth him a child he’d never even considered of helping you raise in the first place.

well, that’s what you’d thought before, at least. what everyone has thought.

however lately, not as much — as far as your opinion about him is concerned. others still see him as a bastard who’s only good at baring his teeth and putting up a fight, sure, but for you, the turmoil doesn’t last as long. no, being his wife, you get the fortune of quickly learning that there actually is some kindness hidden inside your supposed brute of a husband’s heart, as well as the fact that there are plenty of reasons as to why he tends to keep that kindness at bay — at least until you’re alone, that is.

for one, it’s not seen as proper for a person of his and your rank to publicly fawn over their spouse in this day and age; that much is obvious. secondly, he’s actually awfully clumsy and remains stuck in the wrong mindset. your union is still fairly young and thus makes him rather addled and inexperienced when it comes to handling a wife and fulfilling her needs and wishes, as well as the overall married life that she brings into the house he’d never even once dared dream of owning before. sometimes he simply forgets that it isn’t just him that he has to worry about anymore.

lastly, being the top brass of the royal military, working under the command of your father, his position makes him obligated to represent all things virile and pertinacious whenever he finds himself in the company of others; all things so stereotipically — and insufferably, much to your dismay — male.

that one is the peskiest of the three. it’s a lesson that’s been drilled into him ever since he’d been a young boy. a lecture that’s taught him that he must function in this world with no squeamish reactions, no fear, no mercy, no tears, and the most important one of them all — definitely no heart; with the rare exception of it being laid down on a silver platter for the sake of the kingdom whenever its rightful ruler demands it.

all that matters is devoted loyalty. utter submission and respect towards the hierarchy. now that you think about it, perhaps he’s not all that much different from you, despite being male. he’s just as much of a prisoner to a system with a defined set of rules just like you are.

but while you’re attending your fancy tea parties, he’s willing to die for his homeland if it were to request his life as sacrifice, and has made that deference evidently clear with his actions every single day. while you’re attempting to charm numerous social circles, he’s willing to draw his sword, face war head-on and kill in the name of his country, too.

and that last part, the cold-blooded killing of soldiers and young men — sometimes boys, for fuck’s sake — that are just trying to serve their rulers exactly like he does and that he sometimes has to do as a goddamn job, really tends to bring out the worst in his nightmares.

———

he’s thrashing on top of the bed by the time you finally get him to wake up.

the room is dark. dawn barely peeks at the corners of the limitless night sky that still has a long way to go from appearing bright and clear. and whilst the semi-darkness is supposed to bring a sense of tranquility to your private chambers, comfort and whatnot, you can’t help but notice how there’s palpable tension hanging over the entire space as you reach out a wary hand for your husband.

you watch as he pushes up from the bed and starts to gasp for air in a series of short, and what you could almost call petrified, breaths the moment he comes back to. shock riddles you — you’ve never seen him act so disheveled before. he’s trembling all over, visibly squirming in his attempt to realize his surroundings. the way his palm presses to his forehead with a soft smack before he runs his fingers through his now-mussed chestnut hair causes your lungs to tighten all of a sudden. it’s even worse when you see him shudder again and rub it in self-soothing circles over his heart instead.

he looks… scared. jittery. your fearless, strong as a bull — and stubborn just as one — war general looks terrified.

“hey… hey, it’s all right; you’re all right,” you try to whisper towards the shadowy silhouette of him whose shoulders you pretend not to see involuntarily shake once more at the merest sound of your voice. he’s skittish like the herd of deer that you sometimes see hanging around the edge of the woods during your walks in the garden; that is before they see you as well and scurry off to god knows where. it’s so peculiar.

and as a result of it, you’re talking to him, cooing and whispering as if he’s a wounded animal. perhaps he is one, because when he turns to look at you, the expression that sits on his face makes him look like he didn’t expect to see you there at all; much less to see you extending a helping hand in his direction with eyes so kind that he’d melt on the spot if he were any more conscious than he is as of this exact moment.

the sight of the pure confusion mixed with the evident fear and disapproval that now swirls in his wide open brown eyes saddens you greatly. it’s as if he’s already so used to consoling himself all on his own that he’s been almost caught by surprise by the fact that there’s someone else there this time around, willing to selflessly soothe him without any hidden motives at all.

his chest keeps rising and falling in a way so rapid that it causes his nostrils to flare and the vein in the side of his neck to protrude against the tan skin. you can see the ridge of it in the moonlight whenever he tilts his head at just the right angle and swallows the saliva that’s gathered in his cotton-filled mouth. it’s not supposed to be there in what should be the most serene hours of the day. he’s supposed to rest.

perhaps you can help with that.

“it’s all right,” you repeat. your tone falls flat but remains calm for the sake of his dignity that you know matters to him immensely as you apply weight to your hip so that you can lean over and caress his face. it’s probably better than treating him like a baby; the last thing you want to do is upset him. “it was just a dream; whatever it was, yes?”

sweat immediately sticks to your fingerpads as you touch him. he’s slick with liquid salt; is absolutely drenched in it. it makes his hair damp. his skin is so hot that it feels like he’s running a fever. the dead that he’s put into their graves have come to haunt him in his sleep as punishment, so he flinches against the touch you place on his cheekbone, producing a low sound that almost reminds you of a whimper, but immediately gives at the tenderness you apply behind it.

the noise he’s just made melts your bones. you try to shut it out because indecent thoughts start to pour at it, as well as simpathy.

still only half awake, he rubs the sleep from one eye with twitchy fingers and another quivery exhale before you ease him back onto the pillow with a small amount of effort and a gentle push to his chest. you rub the space where his heart lies, the silken soft hairs tickling your digits. the goose feathers inside the pillows rustle under his weight as he turns to his side and presses himself against you so closely that there’s no space of emptiness in-between anymore; not even a ghost of it.

it’s pure instinct to push closer towards the sense of almost motherly safety that you exude now and that he hasn’t experienced ever since he was a child. it’s an action he does without thinking, because if he did think about it, he wouldn’t initiate it in the first place. he’s curled up into himself like the house cat does whenever the room gets too cold because the flame in the nearby fireplace gets snuffed out. with his nose smushed against your chest, he sighs as you hug him and rest your chin on the top of his head.

his hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles his face even deeper into you, and you can’t help but secretly relish the vulnerability he’s putting out into the open at long last. minutes pass, the blue on the sky gets lighter. every breath he takes turns depeer and more calm as he inhales your scent — subtle notes of lavender soap mixing with the warmth of sleep — and listens to the sound of your peaceful heartbeat whilst trying to tame his own into a similar rhythm.

he catches the way your pulse stutters as he wraps his arm around you at some point and digs his fingers into the small of your back, but he’s simply too exhausted to acknowledge it in that cocky way he tends to use as of late. his callouses make your skin tingle; the sensation causes your thighs to rub together almost unwillingly as he falters for a mere second before he strokes along the curve and leaves feather-light touches that make you want to shiver in the same way he did earlier, though for an entirely different reason.

his almost unbearable body heat pours into you, limbs sticking together because of the sweat that hasn’t gotten the chance to dry up yet. shamefully, you must admit that it warms you up on the inside, too. you’re not sure if your sudden greedy arousal has arrived, plaguing your mind, body and spirit alike, because of the intimacy that stems from how open he is with his emotions at this exact moment, the late hour, or the fact that you’re both completely naked underneath the covers, but it causes you to drag your nails across his strong back until you’re reaching the nape of his neck and digging your fingers into his hair like a whore which you certainly aren’t.

you’re trying to soothe him, to not make him feel scared anymore, but instead he’s kissing your chest, leaving small, warm patches of saliva across your collarbone and everything to surround it. with each messy kiss and lazy flick of tongue, you can feel the subtle graze of his canines dragging across the skin, making a certain kind of heat begin to pulsate at the apex of your thighs.

he just wants to feel you beside him. feel your warmth, scent, love, soul intermingling with his. without any words spoken because it’s too early for that and he’s not ready for it yet and his brain still feels far too sluggish. without any consequences and shame for being a soft-hearted kind of man for a change. he wants to thank you in the best way he knows and to not feel as alone.

arousal grows and grows inside your core, whether you want it to or not. it drips, turning you slippery between your legs; so wet that all you can do is trouble your bottom lip with your teeth and breathe through your nose as you feel a droplet of it slide down the inner side of your thigh. it’s embarrassing and sinful — how hot and bothered you are getting during what is supposed to be a sweet and tender moment between a wife and her husband. how dirty you’re becoming; all of your princess teachings lost to a mere thought of a cock stuffing you full.

kiba doesn’t seem to mind the sin, though. he only grunts something incoherent in reply to your soft whimper and the needy tug that you place upon the roots of his hair as soon as he wraps his mouth around your nipple and starts to suck.

you can see how goddamn innocent he looks despite the scar; pressed against the fat of your breast and with his eyelids terribly heavy both with sleep and lust. can see how comfortable he’s gotten; with his face buried between your tits in a way that makes him seem like he’s right at home. it makes his thick eyelashes flutter. makes his cock hard, until it’s poking against your tummy, leaving a thin trail of sticky wetness behind.

his cheeks are pink and warm, and his cupid’s bow has been smoothed out from the way he languidly keeps suckling on your sensitive bud. sometimes he even nips at it gently, making you not only feel, but also see lightning flash before your very eyes. he’s still stroking your back with his hand, reaching over to slide his fingers over your hip and to sneak them right between your legs where the shameful wetness gathers in copious amounts you’d never admit to yourself of being able to produce.

all of his affections are slow, sleepy, but they drive you absolutely wild. pulsating, white-hot heat drops upon you like the most treacherous mistress as he cups your pussy, spreads your lips gently apart and starts to rub small circles over your clit, making you unknowingly part your legs just so that he can touch you better. you squirm, lifting slightly, and he uses the chance to slide his other arm under your side, pressing the flat of his palm on the middle of your back just so that he can keep you from pushing away.

“so wet, princess,” he rasps softly, his voice still deep from slumber. “what are we gonna do about it, mm?”

everything is a blur after that. somehow you end up with his cock between your hands; smearing the precum that’s gathered from tip to base, making him grunt gruff obscenities as he presses his forehead against your own. your hips wiggle from the way he’s stuffed your tight princess cunt, as he lewdly calls it, with two of his thick fingers; pumping nice and easy, still spoiling your clit with his thumb.

he looks so good with his jaw locked in tight like that, kiss-bruised lips slightly parted and a subtle tick of concentration and obvious strain repeatedly appearing in his cheek. his muscles are taut, brow furrowed, hair slicked back and sweat of a different kind than the fearful one earlier sits on his skin now. his eyes are so dark, they make his pupils barely visible even if they’re blown wide open.

you’re just touching each other — exploring, taking your time, not fucking nor talking. instead you’re kissing. panting. he’s throbbing as you use both of your hands to stroke him, leaking precum whilst his hips keep pushing in and drawing back so that he can fuck your fist better, his balls tightening at the feel of it. you’re throbbing and gushing slick because he’s bullying that soft, squishy part inside of you that makes you want to wail in absolute pleasure even though you’re still so embarrassed by the wet squelches it produces.

he’s left such big lovebites marking your neck and bossom that the maids will surely talk about it in the morning, as will the ladies of the court. they’ll call it ghastly and bestial and an insult to god. they’ll say it’s blasphemy, which will only spur him on to give you more of them because he’s a good-natured but annoyingly wicked delinquent by heart, not a killer.

surprisingly, neither of you seems to care about what kind of consequences you’ll invoke later when it’s time to face your duties as princess and general — yes, even you. you just can’t bring yourself to care whilst quickening the roll of your hips so that you can fuck yourself faster on his fingers, still learning the mechanics of it, whilst he whispers your name like a chant with a voice so hoarse that it cracks as he watches you do it. you just can’t do anything else but listen and cling onto him for dear life and just feel.

he wants to say so many things. that he doesn’t sleep well because he sees the faces that had begged him for mercy, and sees the throats he’d sliced in response to said pleas, and feels guilty because he did in fact drag the knife across from one end to the other so many times that it’s become muscle memory. that he feels like he tosses a chunk of his own life into purgatory each time he has to take someone else’s life for the sake of the country, even if he roars in apparent delight as he does so.

he wants to tell you that he’s fond of you for not questioning him why he comes to bed so late at night and leaves long before you’d even begun to stir awake. that he appreciates the things you do — like the way you copy his actions that he does during the day and wrap yourself around him like a human shield when the night is long and the nightmares plague his defenseless mind, even if his body is armed and there’s a blade always hiding underneath his side of the bed. that you’re a good wife. that he might learn to love you, if he’s actually capable of it and lives long enough to do so.

but he can’t say it. the pride is drilled too deep, the soldier in him holds the leash too tight. the walls he’s built around himself will come crumbling down at some point; some hidden, more genuine part of his psyche knows they will. not yet, though. not so soon.

so for now, all he does is watch as you break into a million little pieces on his fingers and scream for god to help you like the pure little thing you are. all he does is hope that the way raw affection pools and glimmers in his amber eyes at the sight of your fucked out face is enough.

it’ll turn into love at some point, the affection. it’ll smooth out the sharp lines and edges of his face, brighten his grin into something a little more charming instead of feral, and will turn his eyes into a golden shade of honey.

a sugary kind of nectar, that he now swears he tastes on his fingers as he pulls them out of you and licks them right clean.

it’s sweet enough to drive the tastebuds wild. it’s sweet enough to give him equally as pleasant dreams.

[luimagines]

A Dragon’s Dominance

Another commission.

They wanted Warrior Dragon au. In which case all the lu boys are dragons. I was given many creative liberties. It’s slowly consumed my very soul.

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

You had learned something new about your traveling group. Every last one of them was some variant of dragon.

It was surely a learning curve for you. With time, you had learned that there was a whole secret culture that you would have been completely ignorant to had you not have it more or less shoved in your face. They could see more, smell more. They had half forms and full forms and were incredibly possessive. They shared their bonds in ways you couldn’t even register. You had no idea.

And they had tried so hard to hide it from you.

While dragons are still considered mighty and powerful creatures…. They were received in less than stellar interpretations in some eras. These boys were quick to learn that it was better to play it safe than to be overly prideful.

You had ended up in Warrior’s era. Queen Zelda was quick to receive the weary group and decided that a party should be thrown for the Heroes of Hyrule.

No one was impressed.

But no one was going to fight her on this. As a dragon herself, she would treat her kind and her hero with the honor he would be (and has been) denied otherwise. Zelda’s and the royal family were typically the only tolerable dragons, you came to learn later on.

The boys began to get ready as the party began to be prepared. You were given an outfit to wear as well, courtesy of the Queen and a request from Warrior- should the grape vine be believed at all.

You tried to make it work but you had begun to feel out of your element as it was. You were going to run late if you stalled any more.

There was a knock on your door.

You jumped and froze. It came again, a bit softer this time and more hesitant.

Warrior called your name.

With relief causing your heart to jump into your throat, you dashed for the door, pulled it open and pulled him in. “Link, help me. I don’t actually want to go.”

The name had escaped you before you could stop it. You were too frazzled to even realize your mistake.

Warrior blinked. He took a minute to process it. You were beautiful. His heart was beginning to betray him. His palms began to sweat. He wasn’t sure if his own outfit would even compliment yours the way he would have intended.

“Well…” He starts. “I don’t plan on staying the whole time if that helps. I’m not… fond of this sort of interaction anyway.”

You begin to calm down. “Really? Why? I thought this would be right up your alley.”

Warrior kicks the floor a bit. You look positively ravishing. He wanted to do something reckless. Something irreversible. Easy boy. He coughs. “I may blend in but that doesn’t mean I like it.”

You take a steadying breath. “That’s… fair actually. … I bet you have some people throwing themselves at you, huh?”

“It happens from time to time.” He admits.

You frown. “...I see… I can imagine that wouldn’t be very fun then.”

Warrior smiles gently. “It’s just one thing though. I have other reasons but they are neither here, nor now.”

He looks you up and down. You can feel your cheeks flush and you struggle to look him in the eye for the time being. Warrior offers his hand, brushing it hesitantly against yours. “Hey, I think I have just the thing to finish your outfit off… If you’re willing to follow me for a moment anyway.”

Anything to keep you from going into the public.

“What is it?”

Warrior takes your hand, pulling you to his side. He wraps his arms around your waist and guides you through the halls of the castle. “Something I’ve been holding onto for someone special.”

Well that doesn’t answer any of your questions.

He stops in front of some doors.

You think you recognize them. This must be his room. 

Warrior lets you go. “Give me one moment.”

You nod and he disappears behind them. Three minutes pass.

He emerges with a ribbon of some sort. No, that’s not quite right. Warrior holds it up. His face is red and he looks bashful. Something in this moment seems significant. You can feel it in the air but you don’t know why.

“I wanted to give this to you for a while now.” He says quietly. “I couldn’t do it before because… well… I didn’t have it with me, obviously… but I think it compliments you quite nicely.”

He holds it up and you can see small fabric flowers, sewn onto a thin embroidered wire with ribbon hanging near the sides. It appears to be a headband… but much more intricate.

“Do we have the time to even fix that onto me?” You blurt.

Warrior laughs and steps closer. He brushes a bit of your hair to the side and starts the process of braiding the ribbon into the hair that will fit, making sure the flowers give the appearance of a crown along your hairline. “To be completely honest, as long as I’m your escort, it’s not like you’ll get in trouble. People won’t think you’re rude for showing up fashionably late.”

You have calmed down completely at this point. Vaguely, you can smell whatever Warrior must have put on before he left his room. It seems just like him. It smells like hickory smoke and the comforting feel of an old beloved book. At the same time… you think you can actually smell his cologne through the musk. You can only think of Warrior. Only he would smell like this.

“Well, I’ll just show up when you do.” You say quietly. “That way I won’t have to worry about doing something too stupid.”

Warrior chuckles, matching your whispered voice. His fingers work nimbly to secure the headband to your head and it feels nice to have your hair played with. The moment feels comfortingly intimate, even if nothing is necessarily happening. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.” He takes a step back, looking proud of himself. “Gorgeous. Just I knew it would be.”

You flush entirely. But this is just Warrior. Encouraged by his smile, you give a little spin, showing off your outfit completely. “What do you think? Am I good to go?”

Warrior smiles wider and offers you his arm. “I think the party can finally begin.”

You laugh a bit, placing yourself at his side. “Does that mean they’ve been waiting for us specifically? Would they then have permission to start?”

Warrior grins with you. “Naturally.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“You wouldn’t change a thing about me and you know it.”

“It’s just a shame that you know it too.”

The banter was easy and amusing. You always seemed to relax in the presence of Warrior. He was just so pleasant to get along with.

Before you knew it, you had arrived at the doors to the ballroom. Warrior puts his hand on the door knob and turns to you. “Ready?”

With him at your side, of course you are. You tell him as such.

Warrior grins in the dorkiest way he can manage and opens them. “Then let’s try to forget the present for a little while.”

You nod and follow him in without question. The music continues but you can feel the way heads turn in your direction. Your grip on Warrior tightens, refusing to let him go although you’re well within the walls of the party.

“Dance with me?” Warrior tugs on your arm gently.

You look back up at him for a moment. You nod.

Warrior smiles and leads you to the dance floor, letting the music carry you through the motions. You can’t get rid of the feeling of stares no matter how much you try to ignore it.

“I just need to stay for three dances more often than not.” Warrior informs you. “If you want, you can come with me and we can both get out of here.”

“You’d let me?” You whisper. A smile lights up your face at the thought. “I won’t get in trouble for doing so, will I?”

“Of course not.” Warrior laughs. “If I’m held to that standard, why would they ask any more from you? It’s nice that you’re here with me though.”

The song ends and Warrior bows a little for fan fare. “One down. Two more to go.”

The next song to start up is one you recognize and it’s a bit longer than your typical dance. You don’t look around the room for another partner. You simply grab Warrior’s hand again and start to move to the beat. “Well we can get one more in the bag before someone steals you away from me.”

Warrior grins and shakes his head. “I’m more worried about someone stealing you away from me.”

“Strange. You’re the popular one.”

“And yet, here we are.” He says.

Warrior spins you around and you can feel yourself being pulled closer to him with every orbit. You lean into it and drop your voice to a whisper. “I can’t be crazy, right? Everyone’s looking at me.”

“I know.” Warrior replies in the same hushed manner. “It’s because you’re the brightest star of the night, Sweetheart.”

“Well how do we get them to stop?” You  plan your hand by his shoulder. Warrior’s keep his hands on your waist and small of your back, swaying with you to the beat of the music in the background.

He sighs. “Unfortunately, I fear we can’t do that. …And I’m also afraid it’s my fault.”

“What?” You blink in shock. That can’t be it. “What do you mean?”

“You came in with me and you’re wearing my headband… well it was actually my mother’s.” He admits in a quieter voice than before. “But some people are more nosier than they should be because of my position… and standing with the princess… and defeating Ganon and all that jazz you already knew about.”

You stop moving with him. Warrior has to stop the dance and with small and hesitant movements, he takes your hand. “Allow me to explain? Please? It’s…. A dragon thing.”

“No need, Link.” A voice drops in, sugary sweet and skin crawl worthy. Cia drapes an arm around Warrior’s shoulders and sneers at you from over his shoulder. “If they don’t understand… well no one can hardly blame them for it. I would like a word with you however-”

“No.” Warrior steps out of her hold, standing over you protectively. A small tongue of flame flicks within his breath. “I’m going to be the one to do it. I claimed them.”

“Do they even know what that means?” Cia raises an eyebrow. She appears to be calm but at the same time you don’t understand what has Warrior so on edge. He looks ready to fight.

You grab his hand and hold it tight. “Maybe not. But I can learn.”

Warrior shoots you a grateful look.

Cia looks muffled. Her grip tightens around her staff but she manages to side step out of the way for Warrior to lead you to the doors that lead to the garden. He begins to take you out of the ball room even if you’ve only been there for ten minutes total.

You try to look for the rest of your group but you can’t seem to see anyone you would recognize. You’re not sure if that means they’re not there, that they’re hiding or that they changed their style and dress so much to fit the party that you just can’t recognize them anymore.

You get dragged out into the moonlight and into the rose hedge maze. Warrior still appears to be on edge. He looks over his shoulders multiple times as you move and eventually pulls you behind one of the walls of the maze.

You both look at each other for a moment, letting the words and implications drape itself over the both of you. You take a breath and pull a little bit of ways away from Warrior. “...Claim me?”

Warrior blushes. You don’t think you’ve seen him so flustered and bashful before. He coughs and brushes his thumbs over your knuckles. “Dragon term…”

You nod. “Yes. I’ve gathered that at this point.”

Warrior looks down at your hands. “We have hoards… We’re quite greedy as a species you see. When we see something we want we put a claim and a mark on it. Sometimes we can say either or and still mean that-”

“You want it.” You finish for him. “You want something, you take it, it’s yours. Am I wrong?”

Warrior bites his lip. “That’s the premise.”

You hum. It’s not necessarily a foreign concept to you. Finder’s Keeper’s right? “How do I fit into this then? You want me?”

Warrior coughs, breaking his character somewhat. “I’ve… wanted to court you for a while now. The others were waiting and teasing me relentlessly.”

“What did you even do?” You raise an eyebrow.

Warrior reaches over and touches your hair, twirling it around his finger. You tense and bite your lip. “The headband?”

Warrior nods. “It’s yours…. If you’d have me.”

You can’t help but to flush as well. “So when all the people were staring-”

“There’s been some issues in the past. Everybody is wondering if I’ll ever take a mate to a degree.  Haven’t shown interest in anyone and for good reason. I’m not known to have the highest merit. Or the best prospects or even the biggest hoard-” 

“You want me as part of your treasure?” You cut him off. “The headband was to tell everyone else that?”

Warrior pulls you closer and leans into your space. “I get it… If you don’t want literally anything to do with me. I’m damaged and my future is only going to get harder to deal with and that’s not even scratching the surface of the social pressure and expectation my name comes with-”

“Link.” You say it purposefully this time. The man shuts up instantly. “Let me see you…Scales and all…”

Warrior doesn’t move. He doesn’t meet your eyes. He doesn’t even appear to be breathing. You don’t think he’ll go for it. The thought that you’ve crossed a line vaguely passes through your mind. Warrior begins to shift in front of you. He grows a tail and horns. His eyes sharpen and fangs sprout just behind his lips. His scales appear to be a bright blue, with hues of green and purple that dance in the changing light.

“There.” He looks away.

“Is this all you can do?” You trace your fingertips over the scales that encircle his eye, dragging your nail down his temple and cheek, stopping just past his jaw and down his neck. You can see Warrior gulp.

“Well …no.”

“Show me?” You’re pushing it.

Warrior looks into your eyes. His grip tightens for just a moment before he steps back. Another shift happens and a full dragon stands in front of you. Smoke comes out of his mouth but he lays close to the ground, trying to appear smaller and as least threatening as possible.

“You’re precious.” You drop to your knees and cup his face.

He scoffs, sending more smoke into your direction despite his attempts to control it. “Now I know you’re making fun of me.

“I’m not.” Your heart drops for a moment. You don’t want him to think that you’re trying to ruin a sentimental moment as it is. You kiss the tip of his snout and lean back comfortably against the grass. “You are very pretty. Even as a reptile.”

Warrior shifts back into his half form. His eyes bore into yours and he’s quick to pull you closer. “Please don’t play with my heart. I need an answer. I can take it off if you reject me. I won’t try anything else-”

You kiss him.

Warrior freezes and doesn’t know how to react even as you pull away. You swallow the small lump in your throat. “You idiot. I don’t care about your dragon customs or whatever. I don’t know what the process is for all of this… But all you had to do was say something.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and hide your face in the crook of his neck. “You’re a sweetheart. I’m willing to give you a chance.”

You can feel Warrior’s heart beat against you. It’s quick and panicked. You have a feeling this isn't how he thought this night was going to go.

He hugs you back fiercely and begins to purr. This delights you to no end and it’s suddenly very hard to stop yourself from giggling. It tickles.

“I promise-” He says with a thick voice, heavy with emotion. “- that I’ll do everything within my power to make sure you want for nothing and that no one will harass either of us. I swear it.”

“And Cia?” You say beside his ear.

“...She’ll be a problem.” He settles on. “But she’s been acting out for a while now. Leave her to me and Zelda. And if you need anything else regarding the magic then talk to Lana. She’s more… flexible than Cia on more things than just me.”

You nod and relax into his hold. That smoky scent comes from Warrior is pleasant and comes in waves as you both sit on the ground within each other’s arms. Warrior relaxes as well and hugs you tighter.

“Easy.” You warn. “I might smell like you by the end of the night if you keep this up.”

“Good.” He mumbles. “That’s the point.”

“Eh?” You pull back. “Do you mean to say-” You push him back as well so that you can actually look him in the eye. “-that you’ve been doing that this whole time? It’s purposeful?!”

“Of course.” Warrior smirks at you. “You’re mine.”

[ijwrff]

Can you do a poly Robbie X Reader X Anti? ( Asking for another one of us)

Of course! I hadn't thought about a poly relationship with those two...but honestly I can see it. It's goals. Just straight up goals. And I hope you, and anyone else you're asking for enjoys it thoroughly :) thank you so much for asking me, and for the one who wanted to ask it of me! I appreciate it so much <3

@serenitydusk @thattiredanimator1t0mblr @viciouslyyearning

Word Count: 1,097

Things were much more simple back then. You had feelings for Robbie, yes. But you didn’t know if he felt the same, he wasn’t exactly the best with words. He’s adorable, in every sense of the word! How could you not fall for him? His eyes were enrapturing, and his hair was always so soft. He was always so kind to you, and even made you laugh! But now…now things are different. It made you question a lot of things about yourself. 

You met Anti. He seemed intimidating, and quite frankly rude. You didn’t like him at first, not one bit. He yelled at you, made you feel stupid…and as much as you liked Robbie, you didn’t wanna visit too much after that. But you couldn’t say no to those eyes. It had you go back time and time again, and you started to see a different side to Anti. A softer one, just a man who made random and bad jokes, and would start a fight if someone didn’t laugh at them. He stopped yelling at you, and even let you hug him, which is something you didn’t think would happen. 

Now you were visiting, and only Anti and Robbie were home. You weren’t doing much, just watching tv. A stereotypical relationship was playing, the girl and guy were madly in love with each other at first sight, it was only making your head hurt. You thought that was what it was like to gain feelings for Robbie. But now you were left to question if you liked Robbie, or Anti. They were opposites in many ways, but among the people that lived here, they seemed closest. Maybe their opposite personalities blended well together. 

You of course were sitting on the couch between them. Barely paying attention to the screen, you subtly glanced between Anti’s hand and Robbie’s. It went on for a while, and you didn’t want to lead one of them on only to get with the other one! You hadn’t seen them get jealous over you, but you didn’t want to put a wedge between them if you chose one or the other. They were pretty close, and you didn't want to break up their friendship for your own feelings getting in the way. 

They shared a glance over your head, and both grabbed your hands at the same time. You jumped and looked back and forth between them. Neither looked at you, was it a mistake? You jumped up and tried to ignore the slight blush on your face as you looked between them. Robbie looked confused, and Anti looked cocky. 

“What?” Anti said, his smirk on his face. He waited half a second for you to speak and when you didn’t, “Just holding your hands is all.” He stretched, and stood up, pushing your shoulders lightly to try and get you back on the couch but you fought against it slightly. 

“N-No! That’s not all!” Robbie noticed how distressed you were in those words and he stood up too. Now they were both back to being on either side of you. They gave you a second, and you tried to get your words together. “I…It’s not fair. I don’t want to make either of you feel led on. I just…I don’t know who to choose. I’ve liked you both for so long, I don’t want to hurt your relationship by picking.” You closed your eyes, not wanting to see their faces right now. 

“Oh. That’s all?” Anti said, deadpan. It made you open your eyes in surprise, as you looked to see him. “We know. We already talked about it.” He went from having a hand on your shoulder to an arm around your shoulders as he pulled you closer. “Choosing is dumb. No point in it really.” 

“W-what do you mean?” Were they teasing you? Maybe even saying neither would take you? “If you’re playing some sort of game, it’s not funny!” You refused to cry right now, but your feelings you hadn’t yet said were soon to slip out. Knowing that this could turn bad, you were terrified. You couldn’t face a rejection from one, let alone both! Still…hope tries to make its way into your brain. 

 “No game!” Robbie said, cuddling close to your side in a tight embrace. “We…like you.” His words were a bit slurred, but the meaning was strong. “Don’t choose…” From his nearly crouched down position, he looked up at you with those adoring eyes of his. He was looking at you with a mixture of anxiety and that same thing that budded in your chest…hope. 

“D-Don’t choose?” You were trying to keep any excitement you had out of your voice just in case it was some elaborate prank. “How can I-” The words were cut off by Anti, which did happen quite a lot. Very regularly he’d take charge of the situation. Even when it wasn’t asked for, but this time you didn’t mind he did so, in fear of looking like the fool in this situation. 

“Yeah. Easy. Just date both of us.” Blunt and right to the point, Anti swung around to be directly in front of you with both hands on your shoulders. He was taller than Robbie, so it was easy to look at you from over Robbie’s head where he was bent down. It wasn’t as confident or as cocky as it was often, but instead serious and calculating. “I mean really, why choose? We both like you, you like us, and we’re okay with it.” 

“I…” Hesitation turned to determination. “Yeah! I’d…I’d like that.” And the tears fell that you were holding in. “I’d LOVE that!” And you laughed, making their worried faces turn into that of joy. They laughed when you did, and both pulled you close…or in Robbie’s case, closer. If it was even possible. 

You were inseparable before, but now after the confessions? Even more so. Dates, games, shows, walks, anything was perfect with the three of you. There may be fights, but all of you (even Anti) worked hard to resolve them. Robbie wasn’t much to fight, but in any relationship there’s always going to be disagreements. However, with how happy you made your two boyfriends feel, they made you feel just as happy if not more. Arguments are few and far between, and you couldn’t imagine your life without them. 

“I love you”s were often, once you had all reached that point. And just hearing those three words, from any part of your relationship ended up making you all even stronger…together. 

[pangtasias-atelier]

Hey there, can you write Byleth having the ability to make fertile land when eats and Rhea learning about this forced into immobile blob with nice big moobs and thick thighs too?

Well this got ridiculously long ajbsnsjbs

Kinda tried this in my former like style of describing time passing instead of doing like snippets now. And kinda enjoyed it and might do it some more for other requests. I hope you enjoy it!

Warning: This is a fetish story!

“Rhea, I insist that you reconsider. These delusions must stop,” Seteth stares at the Archbishop, expression stern as he awaits her hopefully repentant response.

The Archbishop of Fodlan’s chambers vacant save for three individuals, the large room’s doors are completely sealed. Despite the tense nature of their companion, the other two remain impassive as they usually are.

“All I plan is for an experiment of sorts. If I am proven to be wrong, then I will cease looking into this matter. Do you not find that fair?” Rhea holds her hands together, smiling at her personal aid.

Seteth scoffs and adjusts his collar, as if affronted by the very question —which he very might well be considering his observant, impartial nature. He gestures over the last occupant of the room; a less concerned occupant who is more concerned about finishing the food —a plate of grilled herring that had been recommended to him both by Seteth and Rhea before becoming a favorite of his as well— in front of him than the conversation that should concern him the most. “And what of Byleth’s opinion? Have you asked him about his thoughts, Rhea?”

Byleth finishes his current mouthful before responding, at least aware of some common decency after fully awakening. “I don’t really care,” Noncommittal shrugging, the always stoic hero simply follows what is asked of him. Though his own near rapturous state in which he simultaneously stuffs himself while trying to savor each and every bite shows his real stance of only satisfying his cravings. Paired with Byleth’s current state of being rather heavyset, his body saddled with a generous amount of flab from the onslaught of dishes he’s imposed on himself, his true stance on the issue if even more apparent. Byleth’s upsized clothes handle his shapely figure well. So well that they accentuate his new, curvaceous shape. A sizable tummy added to his former stick slim figure, the flabby ball of fat that is outlined by the taut draping fabric of his top helps make the large newly grown breasts seem even larger. Byleth’s soft, doughy chest warps the pink design on his upper chest; the triangular shapes pushed to the side by breasts that are clearly a size too big for the current apparel. The rest of Byleth’s larger upper half is concealed by his oversized jacket. His lower half similarly spared by his oversized, draped jacket, the bit of his thighs that are exposed do reveal his hourglassed shape, Byleth clearly having the same body as both the archbishop and her assistant. His girthy left thigh even pushes the slit of his top further to the side. Unlike most of the rest of his concealed figure, his high collar does squish his pudgy neck, the bunched up flab drawn attention to as well as his softer, more rounded out face that’s paired with a set of flabby cheeks that have lost all sense of angularity to them; Byleth’s cheeks now have a flabby curve to them, now rounded out as if mimicking his usually stuffed appearance now.

“Then I believe that solves this matter,” Rhea speaks, smiling at Seteth after easily winning their argument.

Byleth crams the last few forkfuls of food into his mouth and eats the rest of it as quickly as he can with a stuffed mouth while also following Rhea.

“Fine, as long as Byleth consents then I guess I can have no qualms about this,” Seteth clears his throat, willing to rip the bandaid off and ask the second most important question. “And when do you plan to test your hypothesis?”

“Now,” Rhea seemingly glides from her position, heading for the door.

The doors now open, Seteth holds back any comments and simply walks with them in silence.

All in the monastery leave the three alone. The trio are only briefly interrupted by passing greetings and thanks. It takes the three only a few short minutes to reach the edges of the monastery’s grounds; the area barren of its former lush, green beauty, all that remains is the dirtied, scorched soil from the war. A scant few dry yet new patches of grass that try their best to grow are the only things that accompany the burnt, lifeless area.

“And what is it that you propose to prove your theory, Archbishop?” Seteth standing beside Rhea, the tense grip he has on his crossed arms loosen ever so slightly as Byleth walks forward without so much as a response from the overweight male.

Byleth takes a few steps towards the Eastern edge of the area, where a massive stone planter manages to have a single lead budding from a tiny almost withered stem at its edge despite its surroundings. Focused on his earlier, private conversation with Rhea, Byleth simply focuses on his task. He completely fails to notice the touch of greenery that sprouts under the heel of his boot.

Seteth’s eyes widen. Arms now at his side, he offers a glance at Rhea who only continues to stare at Byleth with a knowing smile. By the time he looks back up Byleth, the man has already joined them, face impassive even after reviving the withered plant enough to sprout another few leaves and plants.

“Come, I’m sure we have much to discuss in my chambers,” Rhea heads back without another word or glance at the other two.

Seteth turns back to look at Byleth, being met with nothing more than a shrug by him before walking off as well. Left alone for a quick respite, he huffs to himself. He stares at the results in front of him, the bleak, ash gray area revitalized by the slightest newest additions of grass doing nothing but to reaffirm the results of the experiment. Rhea’s suspicions confirmed true —as well as his own despite how much he wished to be wrong— Seteth only gives one last glance before heading back.

And when he enters Rhea’s chambers, he holds back a sigh at the sight in front of him.

Three others already discussing with Rhea, not a single one of them holds a single concern or issue. Hanneman, Manuela, and Alois all part of the monastery staff for several years even before the war, all three of them are already privy to the true nature of Byleth along with Rhea and Seteth’s.

“Seteth, now I can explain my plan to all four of you,” Rhea gestures for Seteth to join them, which he does so with hesitation. “As you are all now aware, Byleth has inherited the goddess Sothis’ ability of creation. Granted, his are much more limited in scope as it seems so far,”

Hanneman is the first one to break up Rhea’s explanation. The older gentleman has his personal notebook, the prior page already scattered by barely legible notes before he switches to an empty one that he immediately begins to take more notes on. “So Sothis had the ability to create vegetation from her size?”

“No,” Seteth intercedes on Rhea’s behalf. “Remember Byleth’s strange circumstances regarding his birth. Any ability that he could inherit from Sothis is bound to be affected in some strange ways. Though, this is certainly bizarre. Ah, where is Byleth by the way?” Seteth finally notices the strange absence of the one at the very center of the situation.

“I passed by him on my way here. The man seemed to be in a rush as he entered the dining hall,” Alois heartily laughs to himself, remembering the sight of the not so usually nimble man.

“He has taken to his new duty very well then. As I was getting to, I plan for us to take Byleth around all of Fodlan now that we have confirmed his newfound ability,” —Rhea gestures to each individual as she continues— ”Hanneman will be in charge of researching and understanding the extent of Byleth’s new ability. Byleth’s health, not that there should be any complications, will be Manuela’s task. Alois will stay and protect Garreg Mach. And Seteth will help with protecting everyone in the off chance we need protection since we will be leaving immediately,” Rhea stands up after doling out everyone’s role.

“Wait, Rhea. You can’t possibly—” Seteth is pulled back as someone loops a thin arm around his shoulder.

“Oh come off it, Seteth. You of all people should know how the Archbishop gets when she sets her mind to something,” Manuela leaves with a mischievous smile, the expression followed by laughter.

Seteth sighs. Manuela and Hanneman have followed after Rhea. “I would rather not indulge her behavior,”

“Come now, Seteth! You heard Archbishop Rhea. It is your duty to ensure the carriages are safe. Let us be off to honor her wishes,” Another arm wrapped around Seteth’s shoulders, Alois leads him down to the ground floor and to Garreg Mach’s Eastern entrance. The area is the very same where Rhea tested Byleth’s ability.

By the time the two arrive, Alois’ eager insistence is far from rushed. The entire area is already set up with carriages and with drivers ready for the voyage. The two carriages at the very center stand out amongst the rest; the two large vehicles are clearly designated as Rhea’s, though the other carriages still carry the emblem of the Church of Seiros and are far from being throwaway carriages with their own large sizes. The entire area is devoid of many actual Knights of Seiros, only a couple required with Fodaln peaceful enough now with the eradication of those who slither in the dark.

“We will be using my personal carriage. Our route should allow us rather common lodging along our many stops,” Rhea gestures to her carriage; she waits to enter last, ready to give the command for the voyage’s start. Alois waits in the distance, doing his best to hold back his tears from being unable to join despite having his own important task in Garreg Mach.

Seteth stops after the other two board the carriage. “And Byleth? He—”

Some heavy wheezing and huffing sounds out behind him. Byleth appearing after his light lunch, the man’s belt is completely undone around his waist. His stomach audibly gurgles from his feast; his belly wobbles with each tired step he takes, the slow pace accompanied with a blushing face. Already heavyset, Byleth appears even larger than he did before his lunch. Extra pounds added to his frame, Byleth’s clothes completely struggle against him. His side of his stomach is exposed on the side where his top drapes over him. The soft, jiggly mass shakes with his tired, full waddling. Byleth no longer wears his coat. He has the black coat draped over his arm, the fabric swaying back and forth much like his jutting stomach. Byleth’s top is close to shredding from his even larger breasts, the black fabric closer to a transparent gray from its tautness. Byleth’s pants sturdy, he has them unbuttoned. The open flaps to his pants are barely visible under his belly. Byleth has no expression besides looking ready for a food coma despite having gained a not so insignificant amount of weight. He steps into his own carriage —with assistance getting up by a knight— without speaking a word to Rhea or Seteth. Byleth’s carriage is much larger than the rest, but no one questions. No one but Seteth.

“He will need space to grow along the journey. How else will he be able to restore the destroyed areas of Fodlan?” Rhea answers Seteth's bubbling question without bothering to explain Byleth’s sudden growth. “Knights of Seiros! Today marks our expedition to assist all of Fodlan. Our fellow people are suffering along with the land and we will see to it that we ease their pain. Let us be off, for Fodlan!’ Her miniature speech finished, Rhea drags Seteth into the carriage, the entire entourage now on the move to fulfill Rhea’s mission.

And so, the group’s mission begins in earnest the instant they step off the holy grounds of Garreg Mach and into the rest of the Fodlan. Byleth’s ability weaker the smaller he is, the journey starts off in the relatively undamaged Leicester Alliance. Rhea somehow having the foresight to plan her expedition even before confirming Byleth’s strange ability —whether from actual understanding of the situation or from being another one of her bizarre, unethical ideas— the focal point of her plan is well taken care of. And extremely well fed.

Byleth is fed nearly around the clock. Not that he needs much encouragement; Byleth rather ravenous a few days into unlocking his ability, the growing swordsman greedily devours every last morsel handed to him. Told to stay in his tent at all costs, lest he waste precious calories that could go to his waist, Byleth happily complies. The minty haired man allows his already flabby figure to become absolutely ruined. A fact that is hidden from the rest with Byleth always shrouded in the comforts of his enormous carriage. Only those who bring him his meals see his enjoyment. Those being Rhea and her trusted helpers: Seteth, Manuela, and Hanneman. Their assignments nothing more than false advertisements, even Manuela and Hanneman are barely required to do anything despite having the more important tasks. Hanneman’s leisure comes not from his own decision, the elderly scholar forced by Rhea to be patient and wait to return to Garreg Mach before starting his research in earnest. Instead, all four stand by to do nothing but hand Byleth his meals. But even that task is mostly taken care of by Rhea. The Archbishop does all in her power to ensure a prosperous voyage. Byleth the way to achieving such a thing, Rhea treats him like a prized hog all throughout their journey.

By the time they reach their first main stop, Daphnel, Byleth is already a rather hefty 400 pound. The visit by the very Archbishop comes as a shock to the county. But with budding gardens and crops that lose their former pallor, their surprise turns into amazement over Byleth’s talents. The people’s words and rumors spread quickly, even faster than the entourage can move the growing Byleth. Their exploits and talents in the Duchies of Reigan and Goneril, arrive at their last stop in the County of Ordelia. The church is welcomed with even greater excitement than usual, Ordelia facing the largest issues from bordering the Adrestian Empire. And so, while the church helps rebuild the destroyed homes and structures, all Byleth needs to do is sit back and eat.

Now 500 pounds, the obese formerly slim war hero is nothing like his former self. Byleth wears a pale imitation of robes, the white fabric draped around his enormity and pinned in the back. Walking around to spread his gift of fertile land, the flabby, wobbling man is welcomed with banquets of food that each town can offer up. Not a single ounce of food goes to waste. By the time Ordelia is far better off than before and the group leave for Adrestia, Byleth’s cart is chock full of offerings.

The Adrestian Empire takes the longest for the group to travel through. Not quite as welcomed as when they traveled through the Leicester Alliance, Adrestia the loser of the war they started, it doesn’t take very many stops before the attitude changes. A change that correlates with the environment. The route along the coast allows Byleth the numerous, near endless opportunities to try the hearty seafood cuisine presented to him. Byleth packs on a staggering 200 more pounds a little less than halfway through the journey. And still, his sheets for clothes are only expanded upon by more bolts of fabric pinned to the existing drapery. Byleth an absolute beast of a man, his breasts and thighs remain the most impressive thing about his figure. His thighs make it especially difficult and tiresome for the morbidly obese man to walk around. With each thigh large enough to smother a chair and then some, each ponderous step Byleth takes is followed by heavy wheezes and the profound shaking of his entire body. His breasts are offered no support by the fabric. The two pendulous breasts sway even as Byleth sits in the comforts of his increasingly cramped carriage, each bump in the road sending his figure into a jiggling mess.

The fervor for the incredibly fat hero only grows as his waistline does, the land growing in its abundance along with his figure. By the time the group manage to finish their entire route through the Adrestian Empire, the numerous offerings for Byleth compounded with Rhea’s enhanced food leaves him nothing more than an immobile mess. A tremendous 1,000 pound man is far from a shock to anyone as they enter the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. The naturally cold climate of Ferghus able to nip at unaccustomed foreigner’s skin, Rhea’s route thankfully has them travel through the emergence of Summer. The still chilly Spring’s snow only lightly dusts the countryside’s roads and forests. Byleth so incredibly fat now, the immobilized man has nothing to worry from the light cold. His own mass of blubber warms up his obese figure. So large now, the grass along their route leaves a trail for them; the very edges of the road seem even more revitalized than before, the now stronger soil leaving nothing but potential for later. The visibility of their route only increases as they travel more of Faerghus. The shock of a half ton man is only replaced by amazement soon after seeing Byleth's innate abilities. So much food is handed out at every stop they take. With Byleth so fat that he can no longer feed himself, the group takes turns staying with him. Rhea takes the longest shifts, insisting upon feeding such a large man that now struggles to even fit within his carriage now.

Byleth’s carriage has to be restructured after only two thirds of the way through Fearghus. Parts of the wood carefully are torn off to give him room; the only structures that remain afterwards are a single plank of wood on each side and an oversized tarp to give him some privacy. Byleth mindlessly eats throughout the entire remodeling process. Byleth’s massive thighs prove to be a struggle for the carriage the entire rest of the journey. Despite being magically reinforced by Manuela and Hanneman, Byleth’s enormous thighs that are large enough to serve as their own personal bed take up the entire width of his carriage. They press against the wood, the planks bent and warped around the avalanche of flab that still grows by the day. Byleth’s thighs eventually sag off the sides of the carriage, bits of his creamy bundles of lard held by the sturdy tarp that tries its best to contain such a large man. Byleth’s thighs are ridiculously large; the two immense legs seem to even rival his surging stomach. Byleth’s knees are caked in a heaping layer of flab from his thighs, the joints completely inflexible like the rest of his enormity. Even his ankles and feet are swathed in flab, Byleth resembling more a round blob of lard that he is more than the war hero he used to be. Byleth’s stomach is still respectable in its own right; the mass of fat is large enough to be used as a personal seat for a couple of people to use comfortably.

By the time the group reaches their very last stop of Fhirdiad, Byleth’s carriage is a creaking, groaning mess that seems lucky to still be in somewhat working condition every day. And yet, Byleth feasts throughout the entire day, his body only being forcefully stopped by needing to sleep. And Byleth makes up for the lost hours of food. Each breakfast he has lasts him more than enough time to go right into lunch. And lunch is almost the same, his light lunch —consisting of food that even four men would probably be unable to finish in the time it takes Byleth to— followed by periodic snacks that eventually lead to his dinner and dessert. Byleth’s ability is further enhanced by his enormity. Unable to leave the caravan more than a thousand pounds ago, a sweeping vicinity around Byleth is affected by his potent ability. So fat now, the soil itself sprouts even without the assistance of any seeds whatsoever.

Weighing a ton, Byleth no longer resembles himself anymore. Not that most recognize him for his physical feats anymore, all now thinking of an immense blob of fat upon hearing his name. Not when Byleth weighs more than an entire ton of pure lard. The journey back to Garreg Mach is one of near frenzy. The group moves the fastest they can, several horses needed to haul Byleth’s immense self. The tarp to his carriage is completely blown out and distended, his encroaching flab held back by the fabric. As if with the Goddess’ blessing, Byleth’s carriage makes it through the entire journey back.

“Lady Rhea!” Completely unfazed by the bulging tent of fabric for a carriage, Alois rushes —with as much propriety he can muster— over to the Archbishop. “The construction you asked for is complete. We can-”

The sound of wood groaning catches everyone's attention. On its very last breath, Byleth’s carriage gives out as if recognizing its finished journey. Despite the harsh cracking and breaking of wood, Byleth emerges completely fine after people rush to remove the tarp off of him.

Completely exposed, the swordsman is completely unrecognizable. The only similarity he shares with his former self is the bright, minty hair. Not that many can spot the pop of color against a near landscape of lard. Byleth’s mass blankets the ground around him, fat surging in all directions from no longer having to be so confined. Byleth’s stomach is a blanket of flab. His large gut churning from his multiple meals, the turbulent mass of flab is still wobbling from his fall. His gut alone nearly rivals the rest of the group’s carriages, the huge pile of flab still yearning for more food. Byleth’s breasts show off his ability of fertility; the two enormous breasts practically rival the size of his gut. The sagging chest has a surprising amount of shape to it despite the rest of his expansive rolls that line his entire corpulence. His breasts seemingly lurch forward, the two tits that are larger than an entire person now forced to sag down Byleth’s large figure by gravity. His breasts even manage to make the way and almost touch the very upper rising bits of Byleth’s thighs. His thighs are the largest feature about him. Each hedonistically sized thigh is large enough to need three carriages put together to just barely hold him. So many rolls riddle his thighs that the boundary of where his legs and stomach flab end and start are near indiscernible. Byleth’s ass rises high behind his figure. The enormous rear is composed of two meaty bedframes of flab. His ass has the barest semblance of a shape, the distended, rounded out sagging flab large enough to almost reach as high as Byleth’s arms and face. His arms are almost the same as his thighs; the two enormous pancake stacks for arms are forced to the sides of him. The two massive piles of flab have a small indent at the top of each, right where Byleth’s sunken hands are, the digits so fat he can no longer even move his fingers. The two piles of flab are parted by another pile of flab that makes up his neck and face. Byleth’s neck is now a ring of fat; his neck is buried under hundreds of pounds alone, his multiple chins also not helping. Two bulging cheeks round out the mound of flab making up his neck and face. His face wobbles as he still continues to eat with regard, a magical feeding tube now immediately inserted into his mouth with no longer having to worry about the carriage.

Into the newly constructed open structure in the distance. Byleth transported to the newly created farmland, he is at the very center of the acres of field. “We will allow him to rest and enjoy himself here first before we set out again,” Rhea’s words are always final, and she heads over to Byleth.

Along with Byleth’s size is his ability. Directly touching the ground, the very land itself immediately responds to his presence. Already nicely kept grass grows longer and fuller, the area close to resembling overgrown. The out of season flowers bloom, a myriad of flowers packed to the brim in their planters.

“Stellar work Alois. I knew I could depend on you,” Without so much as telling the rest about her plan, Rhea uses her magic. The soothing faith magic envelops Byleth. The very air itself warmer, as if the ambience were light and airy, Rhea warps Byleth away.

Byleth already eating away, his half lidded eyes don’t even bother shifting attention away from his feeding tube. Instead, he guzzles away at his food, the farmland already growing and reacting from its generous —and generously sized— patron, Byleth all too happy to embrace his new ability.

[mamamittens]

NSFW Headcanons: Do they like it?

Ace

Hair pulling?

He's a noisy baby all the time, but a sharp pull on his hair is kind of like sitting on the TV remote with the volume button up for whatever he's currently 'expressing joy' about.

Try not to tease him with this cause it signals to him you'd like a bit more rough play. Using his hair to hold him in place is likewise asking for more rough treatment. So unless he's presently occupied you're basically begging for a response.

In the heat of the moment he might forget that not everyone grew wild on a mountain. And he's going to feel terrible if you actually get hurt--really kills the moment for him.

Pulling your hair on the other hand?

Only if he's in a mean bitch kinda mood. And it's strictly to hold you in place cause he's not playing nice at that point.

The moment he starts doing things that hurt by design you know your ass is in trouble (possibly quite literally).

Spanking?

Again with the physical violence! He can sure take the punishment but can you?

He's a bit more into... Softer kinds of sex play but boy howdy if you push him over the edge first--well he's going to get really loud for starters. And he's absolutely going to tease you to shit if you can't take it yourself.

Does get a little more whiny about it than feral if you rub the impact site. Like a mini apology and cuddle sort of effect? He'll still get a bit excited but isn't likely to get so rough as long as you're not too mean.

Likes using spanks as more of a startling motion than actual foreplay. Which just makes it worse if you can't take it as well as himself. He is conscious of his strength though, so I promise he won't be breaking at bones.

Gets really soft and mopey the next day if there's any bruises though he... Definitely seems to like the lingering reminder.

(On you or himself actually, he's not shy about his own 'sex prizes')

Temperature play?

He can't really uh... Nope out of this one with grace? If he gets riled up, the room gets warmer a lot faster than it would otherwise. If it involves touch he's all for it though. Really likes tactile kinds of temperature play and finds himself unusually reactive to cold things.

So those ice cubes are going to see a lot of use--though not long term use for sure. Especially if you use them to tease him. Fun way to find his sensitive spots though. Just find where the ice melts the fastest.

Using it though? Well, he's a little limited in what he can literally hold. Ice doesn't tend to stay frozen long in his hands even when he's holding back. But he can do hot easily!

Gets insufferably smug using his hands in the place of a hot 'item'. Just a fair warning. A damn menace with his fingers. Likes teasing you by lighting a fire with his bare hand and extinguishing it before he touches you just to hear your response when his hand is still incredibly hot.

Using oils is... A calculated risk. Like, he can control the fire so it isn't likely to burn you but he gets why if it makes you a tad too nervous to try. If you let him though he gets messy as hell. In a lot of different ways.

Might end up having to use burn cream for some light... Uh... 'sun burn' damage.

Marco

Hair pulling?

I feel like this one is a tad tricky cause of his haircut. Like, he doesn't have a lot to start with, ya know? But he also had a kinda... Fucky relationship with pain. It rarely stays for long so he tends to... Chase the sensation in the bedroom? A little?

What I'm saying is if you're willing to pull his hair, better be ready to pull hard and often. Really bully him about it and he'll gladly return the favor. Gets a bit more rough during sex but again, he makes sure you know how much he appreciates it.

As for him pulling your hair? Eh, he likes manhandling you with it. The sharp gasp and distraction is an excellent opening for sexy opportunities. But he's more likely to just... Hold you in place than pull.

He's aware that he tends to... Get a little excited if you 'fight him' in the bedroom. Kind of an impulse to show off how strong he is.

Spanking?

Spank his ass if you wanna see a very shocked response. He does get a little... Playfully offended though? He likes it but the odds that you're willing to hit him hard enough is slim. If fire doesn't pop up, you didn't pop his thigh hard enough.

So yeah, it's more of an attention grabber for him. Or an instant 'bitch' button depending on what you're slapping. Prepare to be folded and fucked the fuck out of if you choose wrong... Or right if that was your intention.

As for you? He likes popping your ass hard and then rubbing it with fire just to see you squirm. Won't do it a lot though, just if you're purposefully teasing him.

Likes doing a bit of marking but doesn't tend to indulge a lot cause injuries tend to heal faster after sex with him.

He absolutely flares up when he cums and he's given up on trying to leave bruises.

Temperature play?

Well consider him intrigued! Reactions to hot and cold isn't something he can heal unless it gets... Bad. So this is something his devil fruit doesn't ruin for him. Prefers heat to cold though cause of the numbing factor. That does mean you can really wind him up if you get creative though. And he really appreciates your creativity.

Tease him with cold and then switch to hot until he feels it if you want a show. He gets really whiny about wanting to feel your touch and it doesn't trigger his uh... 'fight' response unless you get really mean about it. Like finally deciding to slap him hard enough to hurt when he literally can't feel it. Oh boy, would that be a dick move he'll make you regret.

As for using it himself? Well, he likes winding you up with it. That's pretty fun in his opinion. Particularly if he's in you so he can really feel every reaction. You might even get the impression that he's a tad sadistic he'll tease you for so long. Switching from hot to cold to hot again until you can't tell if he's got an ice cube against your skin or hot wax.

In reality?

Well, he considers himself quite flexible.

@marco--the--phoenix @secretsnailor

[contrastparadoxx]

It was never easy when when someone was forced to confront conflicting personal truths, and Vrayan in particular was not particularly fond of problems she couldn’t bite. This time was no different. On one hand, medical professionals of any sort were not to be trusted, excluding her beloved Kamala of course, and maybe Selene. On the other hand, however, PR0T0 said this would help, and that it would swear on its life that she would be safe, and she trusted it above all others. In the end the second is what won out, which is the only reason she could now be found in this building, every inch of her wound up and on edge.

Although the rabbit trolls ears were far too big and heavy to move around on their own, her nose twitched and eyes darted as she tried to take as much information as possible. A gold was just outside the door, which was open, looking about as unamused as you can get. Vray had instinct swiped at her and another drone with softer looking features had instantly grabbed her and now continued to hold her. All we’re waiting for the actual doctor to arrive.

“I said I’m sorry” the Cabbit said, trying to at least make conversation

“Look, I literally could not care less, I’ve certainly dealt with worse” she didn’t bother wiggling, well aware she was not going anywhere until she either used her psionic or Xuange showed up. Luckily the later did not take too long, and Tertet was gently set on her feet as soon as he could be seen down the hall. She brushed her clothes off and adjusted the white coat she had been given earlier.

Something about the man that came in instantly put Vrayan even more on edge than she already was. Maybe it’s the way he felt like a memory she couldn’t quite recall, maybe it’s the way PR0T0 tensed up slightly beside her. Whatever the reason a small growl blossomed in her chest, claws digging into the bed under her.

The doctor did not even react to the threat, simply giving the pale mutant a quick glance then walking over to grab some medical instruments. Well, seemed like this was going to be an interesting interaction.

—————————

The whole thing went smoother and faster than Vrayan could have expected. Vray had to deal with a fair bit of poking and prodding, but it was relatively painless all things considered, and soon enough she was laying on her stomach getting exactly what he was going to do to her explained. Not that it actually made any sense, of course. She couldn’t help but let her mind wander, wondering if Selene or Kamala would understand what was being said… maybe she should tell Kam about this when she got back. Wait, that would require listening, fuck.

She tuned back in just in time to be asked if she was good to go.

“Yeah, as ready as I can be, anyway”

She squeezed PR0T0’s hand as the doctor nodded. No turning back now.

[dyrewrites]

Weald and Wen - snip number I don't even know

“Gooodliiight,” Parnamyr trilled from the doorway, ducking beneath the arch and standing to his full height. Then, taking a step inside, he flopped onto the bed and cast his eyes to the Nectar’s naked bark, suckling his own bottom lip until his sister flared in his periphery. Huffing, he rolled onto his stomach and kicked his feet behind him as he spoke to the Nectar alone, “I trust you are well rested?”

“As well as can be expected in a place such as this,” Delgrij tried to sneer, but his voice stuttered as the monster stared too hard, too long.

“And what sort of place is this?” Parnamyr asked, lips twitching as the Nectar yanked his shirt on. He bit back a moan at the blush in those pale cheeks and bit harder as the Nectar stomped toward him, eyes hot.

But Mitra reached him before he could make good on the promise of those eyes and pressed both tiny hands against the Nectar’s lips. He held his tongue, glowering still, and Parnamyr grinned.

“Chips it, Parni,” Mitra flared at her brother, “cracked ‘nuff, nots shines no more scuffs this light.”

“Snipping all my finest stitches,” Parnamyr said and sighed, rolling over to sit up on the bed, “Very well, to the point then, of your visit and protection in my tower.”

Delgrij scoffed but choked on his planned curse, tossing his arms up as Faerai rushed to whisper and soothe.

Mitra would not be soothed, she crackled, burning to deeper violet and flitted to her brother’s face, “creak straight ans smooth, or lose yous bark.”

Parnamyr ignored the threat, but studied his sister’s minute form. She did not clink near as loud as she should and he cocked his head, grinning as he spotted it, “Oh, and what is this now, have a bit of floss caught in your hair?”

Blushing, Mitra reached for the band wrapped around her gathered tendrils and her brother reached as well, to test, to touch. And she fled, leaving him to chuckle at her violet flash.

Returning his eyes to the Nectar, Parnamyr then ran the tip of his tongue slowly along one thin lip, certain to drip the milky drool that coated it, before he spoke, “Regardless of how bright my fair sister burns or how rough your bark scratches,” he all but moaned with the Nectar’s renewed glare but forced his voice to harden, “you breathe because I allow it.”

“Mitra,” Faerai croaked, yelping as the monster’s red eyes set on her, but Delgrij’s branches warmed her and she tried again, “Mitra say need us to stop the Nothing...”

“The what?” Parnamyr asked his sister’s violet core.

And, flitting to sit on the crystal table and far from the reach of his needles, she answered, “Is Fyrni words for Hollow.”

He groaned, “I do not recall them using such a term when it stripped me of my bark and,” Mitra flared and he rolled his eyes, “the words are irrelevant. You are correct, youngling. My sister was sent to retrieve you, well, something like you, to stop the Hollow. Or rather, to wake the one who can,” He watched each of them, suckling his lip as they worked out his words and then asked, “is this not the plan she shared?”

“Ones turn, Parni,” Mitra reminded, dimming as she glanced at the little beastie, held close in Delgrij’s arms, “Little beastie nots wakes Lady alone. Needs rolls to city.”

“Is she so tender as to have no access to the Breath?” Parnamyr teased, keeping his eyes on the youngling.

“Sings shiny ‘nuffs,” Mitra began and Parnamyr raised a brow as her and the pup shared a look. His sister’s creaking voice returned softer then, “but nots holds words.”

“Our arrangement is feeling more and more one-sided, sister,” He grumbled, “What use do I have for an untrained pup?”

“Song and Shield,” Mitra crackled, twitching her brother’s mask and sealing his lips with a thin frown.

But Faerai gasped at the words, the memory of them pulling her away from Delgrij, her eyes twitching from the monster to Mitra, “How know these names?”

“Names is ofs,” Mitra started.

“Our saviors,” Parnamyr finished, eyes on the floor as he continued, “they pulled us from the ravenous shadows that devoured our Discs.”

Flickering with Faerai’s confused brows, Mitra rushed to settle the shiver that followed, “yous papas!”

Delgrij shuffled onto the table,keeping his doubt silent as he watched the sprout pace the dreadful carpet, it is madness; a world before our own. But the doubt faltered as he listened to their talk of a distant world, an eaten world and reason whispered, they cannot all share the same delusion. The monster clanked with another sigh and Delgrij glared but its foul voice did not spill through air or thought and he turned his attention to the pebble. She flitted to follow the sprout, her light warm and even and his doubt all but shattered in her glow, what else explains a Myr hot as heartlight and harder than wallowood without a scrap of stonecover...or a fawn the color of sorrow-hued petals with canopy scented ichor and a voice that can shape the very clay beneath her? He sighed again, holding his face in his branches as his thoughts prickled with questions he wanted no answers to.

“Papa never share...not know,” Faerai mumbled, memory swelling with stories of the Song and Shield. Stories not shared by her father but his peers; other Elders, who had settled with him and her da too many ages past for her to count. Those memories held no hint that her fathers were anything more than beloved Reapers of their time and her face wrinkled,“why papa not share?”

“Ifs nots for yous papas there shines no us,” Mitra offered, pulling Faerai from her thoughts and as she glanced at the monster, Mitra added, “Parni nots always so craggy.”

“Oh, yes, once upon a light I was downright delightful,” Parnamyr chided, “but none of that matters now. What does is that the Lady sleeps while we need her awake and the only voice She will answer to is that of a Reaper. Pup of our saviors or not, if you are not capable of fulfilling this need I have other needs you can fill.”

Mitra glared at her brother, her color bruising as she clipped, “Faerai will wakes the Lady ans yous will rolls us ons ours way—alls glimmers ans gloss—ifs yous nots shine ages of etchin’ yous selfs a new face.”

“The Flickering City means crossing the Wake, the Glaer, and all the terrors therein,” Delgrij interrupted, stilling as all eyes turned on him, “wh–which is, of course, the plan. However, the seas are vast and I...do not fare well in bare heartlight.”

Parnamyr ignored the burn of his sister and smiled at the Nectar, cooing, “Why, delicious, this is the pup’s task, there is no need for you to brave such distant agonies when there are ample agonies right here just aching to be,”

“Snatch boat,” Mitra cut through her brother’s salacious promises, flitting to cut him further by breaking his gaze on the Nectar, “Boat with cozy cabin to holds heartlight from burnin’ yous bark.”

“And what of the Wen,” Delgrij asked, ichor itching beneath the monster’s probing stare, “Aside from the fog outside this foul nest, how will we make it through those poisonous stalks...or beyond the Auru that hunt them?” He eyed the sprout, sitting then in a chair far too large, her eyes low and voice swallowed, “She is at risk in those–”

“We are at risk here!” Faerai shouted, indicating the limp shadow beneath her, “We are at risk all places! But we need wake the Lady and there are no Fyrni to teach us, not in woods, and not in Spine!” balling her shaking paws into fists, she lowered her voice and continued, “and we need to learn if others breathe. We need to go to city and, and we will risk all we need to get there.”

“Parni?” Mitra’s flared eyes warned her brother.

And he sighed, “I can offer passage through my mire but with Sorrow looming it would be unwise for me to accompany you. However, I do possess many detailed maps,” he smiled at Mitra and she flickered, “Yet the Wen’s stalks, and the Rim beyond, will be swollen with the avaricious desires of the Auru who claim it,” sliding his eyes to the youngling, he cooed, “The pup will need a disguise.”

A wider grin split his face with the last word, spoiling whatever tentative comfort the light of the room provided. Still they followed him, and his chuckling glee, out of the room and down the endless stairwell.

[liquidstar]

*leaves food out for your OCs and gently pets them*

they appreciate it! i do too :)

ik i rbd the post abt putting them in mentally damaging scenarios but ultimately when i think abt their stories and how i want them to go i DO want them to have happy endings- with some acceptations but... well personally im not the kind of person who makes ocs just to create fucked up scenarios lol. but i do put them through the ringer only because i like making characters who are fucked up but get better <3

[followmybones]

Fluffly Poly Oikawa and Iwazumi Headcanons

Tōru Oikawa x male reader x Hajime Iwazumi

male reader; 2nd POV; requested post

headcanons separated into 3 different parts (Movie Nights, Sleepovers, and Selfcare Nights), established relationship

female readers do not interact

Movie nights

 Movie nights would be one of the most common dates between the three of you, the two of them are the type to enjoy privacy when trying to spend time with their significant others, and they’ll both take any excuse to cuddle you and each other. 

 On movie nights, prepare to have to settle arguments between the two of them. They’re not serious arguments, but they can never agree on silly things, like what movies to watch, which type of popcorn to buy, what kind of snacks to get, even what blanket to grab, Iwazumi likes heavy blankets, Oikawa, on the other hand, likes fluffy soft blankets, and they always argue about which to use. 

 Typically they’ll have you sit between them, Oikawa likes to cling onto you, and Iwazumi prefers to keep an arm around your shoulder (usually, his hand ends up in Oikawa's hair). Oikawa tends to cling tighter when watching scary movies or during moments of suspense, and Iwazumi gets just a bit more affectionate during romance movies, really any romantic/cute moments get him. 

 Sometimes Iwazumi falls asleep during movie nights, he’s just so comfortable, he feels so safe with the two of you. Oikawa will stay up for as long as you want, so long as you don’t mind a half-awake clingy boy snuggling up to you, or an over-excited boy whisper-shouting about how totally messed up the plot twist in the movie is. 

 I would recommend staying away from sad movies, Oikawa isn’t embarrassed, he won’t hold back any tears, and poor Iwa will start fretting over the two of you and your emotional states. You could be completely unbothered by the movie, and he’s still going to kiss your cheek and cuddle closer to the two of you just to make sure you two know he’s there.  

Sleepovers

 Typically the boys like having sleepovers at Iwazumi, not for any real reason, well that’s not true, Iwazumi likes seeing you in his clothes, and Oikawa likes the way cuddling with you feels on Iwazumi’s bed (Oikawa swears Iwa’s bed is more comfortable than his own).

 Both of them don’t care if there’s noise while they’re going to bed, so they leave it up to you. Oikawa likes to listen to music while he sleeps, but Iwazumi prefers nothing to be on except his fan. 

 Iwazumi likes to sleep with only a sheet in the warmer months and with a weighted blanket in the colder months. Oikawa, on the other hand, likes a fluffy comforter in the warmer months, and when it's colder he adds a fluffy blanket on top of his comforter. When you sleep together though, they tend to agree on sharing a comforter, and Oikawa likes to use that he’s cold as an excuse to cuddle closer to whoever is nearer. 

 Waking up is a bit of a mess when you have somewhere to be. Iwazumi is the first to wake up, he probably fixes up something for breakfast, like some toast, he’d probably also cut up some simple fruit, and he definitely makes himself a protein shake or a breakfast smoothie of sorts. He’ll start waking Oikawa up first, but only because he whines and goes back to sleep immediately, then he tries to wake you up. He’s a lot softer with you since he’s most likely known Oikawa a lot longer, but once you’re all up and running. There’s definitely a struggle for the bathroom, but after Iwazumi invested in a mirror for his bedroom, things started running more smoothly. 

 On days when the three of you can stay in bed all morning, Oikawa is the most likely to leave the bed first. Iwazumi is still the first to wake, but typically after using the bathroom and getting some water, he returns to read in bed until you and Oikawa wake up. Typically on these easy-going mornings, you and Iwazumi have to bribe Oikawa to stay in bed with cuddles and kisses, he pretends to be offended by the bribery, but he thinks it a more than fair trade.

Selfcare Nights

 Selfcare nights are typically prompted by Oikawa (and possibly you). Just a night for some face masks, calm music, a lighthearted show playing softly in the background, and some good snacks. 

 Selfcare nights are usually combined with sleepovers, but not always, and on occasion, the lighthearted show is replaced with some romantic comedy Oikawa swore the three of you had to watch. 

 Oikawa has a collection of facial creams and masks, he’d happily supply the cosmetics, and if you and Iwazumi show a preference and liking for any specific product, he’d make sure to keep some extra on hand. 

 Oikawa will use just about any face mask, so long as it's safe and smells nice, but he tends to lean towards face masks that aim to hydrate his skin. Iwazumi probably feels uncomfortable wearing any face mask that isn’t a sheet mask or a light cream mask, it’s very foreign to him, but he’s trying his best to learn what helps with his skincare.

 Iwazumi refuses to put the mask on himself (he feels weird putting it on really) he’ll patiently wait and sit until either you or Oikawa comes and puts it on him. He likes the way Oikawa smooths the mask onto his face when he puts it on, and he enjoys the little kiss you give him as a reward for sitting still when you put it on him.

[earlgreydream]

brat.

| Bucky Barnes x reader | smut |

warnings: smut, mild degradation (not meant seriously), spanking, dom/sub dynamic, general chaos

a/n: I can’t deal with the pressure of my life, I need James Buchanan Barnes to make me let it go

Bucky had been agitated since you had sent him naughty photos of yourself while he was in the middle of a meeting. He had glanced at his phone and immediately turned it face down and continued speaking. After the meeting, he sat at his desk, looking at the photos you’d sent. His favorite was one where you had your tits out, wearing just little black panties, along with a black ribbon tied around your neck.

He’d originally been the one to tie the ribbon around your neck, about a year ago. He’d hooked his fingers in the satin and dragged you forward like it was a collar, making you blush and shy.

Now, you wore the ribbon around your neck whenever you were in the particular mood for Bucky to make you feel owned.

You were always under constant stress and pressure to perform well, having to control and manage everything, both at work and school. The only place where you could let it go, relinquish all control, was in the bedroom with Bucky... or on the kitchen counters, the bathroom of a club, his desk at work, and anywhere else he could get his hands on you.

When you were alone with Bucky, you became playful, soft, and sweet, and it turned him on to no end. Bucky truly thought you were the most gorgeous and hottest girl in the universe, and he practically worshipped you.

That is, except when you were being a needy brat, like today. Sending him naughty photos at work (unprompted) was strictly against your rules, and you knew you played a dangerous game with him. Bucky wasn’t one to play around when it came to testing the boundaries.

Secretly, that was why you did it. You wanted Bucky riled up, to come home and be rough with you. You wanted him hard and unrelenting, to have you screaming and writhing for him. You were tense from your stressful week, and he was too, and there was no better solution in your mind to release that built up tension.

He shut off his phone as his boss walked in, asking him about a project, and Bucky struggled to focus on what he was being told, too distracted by the image of your soft tits swirling in his mind.

“Thanks, Barnes.”

“Yeah, sure.” He called back half-heartedly, picking his phone back up once he was alone.

~you’re going to fucking regret that, baby~

~I doubt it. X~

He was practically seething at your response, ideas of how to get you in line already forming. He was fed up with your bratty attitude, and his annoyance just built over the course of the afternoon.

When he was finally finished with work, he drove home faster than normal. The door smacked loudly against the wall when he entered, alerting you he was mad. Your heart jumped in your chest, and you felt a pang of regret at your insolence.

“Y/N!” Bucky’s voice echoed, and you nervously walked down the hallway in one of his oversized button downs.

He stopped for a moment, taking in the sight of you. You looked small and meek, innocent in his big shirt. Ribbon was tied around the base of your neck, and your eyes were shining as you gazed up at him.

“Hi, daddy”

He almost melted at the sweet sound of your voice, at the utter innocence you seemed to hold. He dropped his keys in the dish by the door, snapping out of it. He stared at you with a hard gaze, entirely unamused by your earlier behavior. You sank into yourself, taking a step back. He stepped forward, and you continued until he had backed you against the wall outside of your guest bedroom at the end of the hall.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Bucky asked you, waiting for an apology.

I’m sorry daddy, is what you should have said, attempting to win over the last bit of forgiveness he was willing to give you. Instead, you decided to dig yourself into deeper trouble, unable to resist the temptation to goad him by being a brat.

“I could’ve gotten myself off in the time it took you to get home, maybe even more than-” you didn’t even get to finish your sentence before he was on you.

He hooked his fingers into the ribbon, jerking your small body against his. His silver eyes blazed, threatening you to struggle.

“Do you think you’re fucking funny?” He growled, and you stared back at him, suppressing your fear.

“A little, actually.”

That did it.

“Get on your fucking knees, you insolent brat!” He snapped, jerking you downwards so you were kneeling in front of him.

Your knees bit into the hardwood floor, and the ribbon left a faint red ring around your neck from him dragging you by it. His hand went up your neck to your cheek, and you flinched as he sharply tapped your face. It wasn’t enough to be a slap, Bucky would never hit you in a way you didn’t like, but the sharp smack made arousal drip from your core.

You wanted him to run his fingers through your hair to guide you, like he did when he was feeling softer, but you knew that you’d pushed him too far to receive any sort of help.

He grabbed your jaw and forced your mouth open before burying himself in your throat. He did it in one quick movement that had you gagging, choking on his length. Bucky didn’t care about your fight to breathe, snapping his hips at a brutal pace, stretching your throat. You did your best to open for him, but tears slid down your cheeks from your lack of oxygen.

“Y/N, look at you, letting me fuck your throat like a little whore.” His words dripped with condescension and you looked up at him with glassy eyes.

You moaned around him, sending vibrations that pushed him closer to the edge.

“You’re going to swallow, got it?” He ordered and you made a noise of approval, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth. He came in thick spurts, his cock deep in your throat. You swallowed his seed as well as possible, gasping as he pulled out of you. You lost your balance and put a hand on his thigh to steady you. He stepped back, letting you fall forward, barely catching yourself.

You whined in protest, and he grabbed you by the hair and jerked your head back to look up at him. Your chest was heaving as you drew in oxygen, your face was sticky with tears, and your mouth was salty with his taste.

"You look so pretty on your knees for me," Bucky's tone was mocking, a slight Russian accent hanging off his words, a silent threat hanging in the air.

"I did so good, sucking you off like you wanted-" you were about to ask if he'd take care of you now, and he just let out a short laugh.

"You think you're getting off?" He spoke as if it were completely ridiculous.

"Yes?" You tried, and he shook his head.

"Then you shouldn't have been such a little brat. Brats don't get to come."

"But daddy-!" You whined in protest.

Your mouth snapped shut when he dragged you up to your feet and tore his button down off of you. You shivered in the cold air, and his fingers hooked into your panties, pulling them down your legs.

"You're fucking soaked, Y/N. Is this just from sucking me off?" He embarrassed you.

"Y/N!" He snapped when you didn't answer, fed up with your disobedience.

"Yes," you breathed, blinking back fresh tears of anxiety.

"I'll give you something to cry about." He threatened and you bit your lip, knowing it wasn't an empty threat.

"Safeword?" he asked, making sure you were able to communicate with him if it was too much.

"Falcon," you answered obediently and he nodded. He took your wrists in his hands, noticing the way your hands were trembling. He kissed your smooth skin, though his gaze didn't soften.

"On the bed. Now." He pointed, and you bent over the edge of the bed, your ass on display for him. You hid your face in your arms, hiding the embarrassment visible on your cheeks from being so exposed.

A shaky whine escaped as you heard his belt snap, fear prickling up your spine. He watched you squirm on the bed. He knew you hated being smacked with the belt, and he leaned against the wall, watching you nearly lose your mind in anticipation. He was curious to see if you'd continue the bratty behavior, or if this was what would finally cause you to break, and his fingers twitched as he ached to turn your ass pink.

As soon as the tension began to leave your body, and you settled on the mattress, he landed the first blow with the leather on your ass. You screamed both from shock, and the welcome pain that blossomed across your skin.

His dark laughter echoed in your guest bedroom, and chills made your body shudder. You were getting what you wanted, this had been your goal from the beginning. You also knew that you were completely safe, that Bucky loved you dearly, and this was just a bedroom scene, not meant to truly hurt you. Despite both of those facts, the fear was very much real. Bucky was incredibly intimidating, especially when he was mad.

"Four more, alright?"

"Yes, daddy."

Dry sobs burned your throat as he spanked you quickly, leaving pink stripes across your fair skin, but light enough they'd disappear by morning. It was more psychological than physical, and it was causing you to nearly shake with arousal. It was dripping down your legs, and Bucky noticed, adding to the shame of just being spanked. He took a step toward you, squeezing your ass in his large hands, making you whimper in discomfort. He slapped your skin, and you struggled to contain your pained yelps. It wasn’t near as bad as the belt, but the sting spread through your skin as he continued your punishment. 

You sighed in relief when he finally finished, wrapping his hand around your throat and pulling you up so your back was against his chest. He gave your throat a squeeze, making your eyes roll back. He kissed your shoulder before biting down into your smooth skin. You squirmed in his grip, mewling softly. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed, looking up and meeting his gaze. 

“I know you are, baby,” He kissed your mouth for the first time, and you melted into his hold, ignoring your soreness. 

“Hands and knees for me, doll.” 

He released his grip on you, lightly tapping your thigh to get you to climb up on the bed. You moved onto the bed, but your arms were unsteady, so you dropped down to your elbows, letting your back arch.

“Can’t hold myself up,” you murmured apologetically, not wanting him to think that you were being bratty. He kissed your bum, and you sighed quietly at the tender action. 

“I want to come, daddy,” you begged, hoping he had softened.

“I’m sure you do.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, knowing that you weren’t going to get what you want. Bucky’s hands wrapped around your hips, holding you steady as he stood behind you. You squirmed as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, a choked noise leaving your throat as he brushed your clit. You were on edge, but you knew if you spilled over, he would spank you until you were bleeding.

He noticed the shudder it caused, and his voice came deep and threatening. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“I won’t!” you promised, wanting to be good for him. 

“Better not.” 

He thrusted forward, rolling his hips until he was buried all the way in you, making you yell and grip the sheets in front of you. The stretch burned, your body never quite getting used to his size. Usually he eased into you, but he clearly didn’t care about your pleasure right now. 

He began to snap his hips against yours, using your body to chase his own release. His hands slipped off of your hips and snaked around to your front, going up to your breasts. He squeezed roughly and pinched your nipples, pulling them between his fingers, making your vision spark. You shrieked at the sensation, and you tightened around him. You held back your orgasm, fighting against the urge to release. 

“Your cunt feels so good around me, doll. If you keep squeezing me like that, I’m going to lose my mind,” Bucky murmured, his words getting lost in your mind.

You tightened around him purposely, feeling him twitch before painting your insides with his release. He groaned deeply, continuing with shallow thrusts as he emptied himself into your heat. When he pulled out, he stared at your swollen sex, his release dripping out, and down your thighs. You screamed as he slapped the sensitive area, arching your back. You whimpered out a beg to ease up on you, and he moved you to lay on your back. You were barely there, whimpering out apologies pathetically, and he kissed a line from your belly up to your lips.

“You’re forgiven, doll.” He said, kissing you sweetly.

“Please, I’ll be so good.” You were desperate, throbbing around nothing, and you wanted to release the tension your body held so bad.

Bucky watched you beg, almost inclined to put his head back between your legs.

“Fine.” He sat on the bed, pulling you to straddle his thigh. You looked at him in confusion as he held your hips down.

“You can ride my thigh and get off that way, or you can quit complaining.”

Your eyes widened, and your face burned in humiliation. You hesitated for a moment before giving into your needs, rolling your hips and dragging your core over his thigh. You squeezed your eyes shut, burying your face in his shoulder as he quietly mocked you and how desperate you were. Your thighs started to shake, and he bounced his leg, making you come with a scream as you bit down lightly on his shoulder. 

“Daddy, no,” you complained as his hand snaked down to pinch your clit, sending shocks through you.

“Watch your mouth.” He ordered, grabbing your jaw in his free hand, disapproving of your protests. He overstimulated you, turning your pleasure into torture. You struggled to catch your breath as you writhed on his lap, begging him to let you ease up. You swore at him, and he smacked your already stinging core. You yelped at the pain, letting him have his way, too exhausted to protest further. 

You could’ve cried again as he finally eased up, deciding you had adequately paid for your misbehavior. After, he spent the entire evening showering you with attention, showing his soft side and loving on you.

[monstersandmaw]

WIP Wednesday share?

Not sure if this is a meme or just a random question, but here's a sort of 'prologue' from something I'm working on in the background. It's a contemporary poly story with a male witch and a female witch who discover that they're fated to find a third 'soulmate' and become a trio. The third is a guy who is not a witch, and doesn't even know about the existence of magic... yet.

This is the prologue/pre-story, where Ben is 16 and hasn't met either of his soulmates yet.

___

With a gasp, Ben’s grip on the cold glass slipped and the crash that followed brought his father from the living room.

“Son?” he asked, striding over and taking him by the shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Ben’s chest heaved and his ears were still ringing, but he turned a little towards his father and swallowed. Slowly raising his palm, he wondered how to begin to explain. “I —” he faltered, the sound dying in his throat with nauseating familiarity. “I… I kn-know w-www-why my love-line splits in t-t-two…”

His father ignored his stammer in a way his mother never did, always fussing and finishing his words for him. “You do?” he said, and then in a voice that was somehow even softer and kinder than it usually was, he asked, “What did you see?”

Ben smiled, still stunned. “I have t-two soulm…mmmmmates.”

The older man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, good for you,” he chuckled, but before he could get any further, his wife bustled into the kitchen, clucking like a hen and began fussing.

“Oh Ben, what happened?” she crooned, stroking his black hair and steering him physically backwards away from the shattered glass on the lino floor so that he staggered and stumbled. “Here, sit down. Are you hurt? Don’t worry, darling; I’ll tidy it up. Marcus, why are you just standing there?”

“The boy’s blind, Hilary, not incapable,” Marcus growled and placed a heavy hand on Ben’s shoulder, grounding him. “And he had a vision. Big one, by the sound of things. Give him some space.”

“Oh,” she breathed, and Ben bit back a tiny snarl. His mother had never been entirely comfortable with magic, despite knowing that the man she had married was a witch. That Ben had inherited Marcus’ gift of foretelling too had never been a comfortable fact for her either, and the distance had only grown between them when he had started to lose his sight a few years earlier. She loved him, but his deteriorating eyesight had made her prone to babying him.

“It’s fine,” Ben sighed, and extended his hand — the hand with the love-line that forked into two parallel lines across his palm — and drew on the well of power within him. His father, still holding his shoulder in strong fingers, let a little of his own magic pass between them, stabilising Ben’s own magic and joining with it while Ben set his will to repairing the shards of shattered glass. His mother sucked in a tight breath, and Ben heard her leave the room without a word.

Panting slightly, Ben held out his hand and let the glass float up into his grip before turning and holding it out to his father.

“Well done,” he said, ruffling Ben’s hair. “Still a small crack up the side though,” he added.

“Oh?” Ben asked and turned it around in his fingers, feeling for the hairline crack. “S-So there is.” He smoothed his fingertip up the line and let the glass fuse together again.

“Your hair is getting long,” his father commented while Ben set the pristine glass on the counter top. “You want to get it cut?”

Ben shook his head. “I’m thinking of l-l-letting it gr-grow.”

“Fair enough. You want to talk about the vision?”

With a tight breath, Ben shrugged. “N-Not r-r-really.”

“Fair enough.”

___

Not sure if I'll share more, but if there's interest, I can share updates as I work on it. It's called 'Trinity' in my WIP folder, so I'll share it under that title if there's any interest.

Claire is his female soulmate, and she's short, with a blonde bob and a curvy figure, studying Italian and History of Art at uni while working in a bar. Raff is the third of the trio, tall, tanned and pretty muscular, with wavy dark hair and a cheeky smile. Ben is average height, pretty skinny, with long black hair and dark brown eyes. He has a stutter and is blind, in case that didn't come over in the extract above. He's studying for a PhD in early music at the same uni as Claire.

[kiranogareru]

STAR GAZING

WARNING: Language, but this is all fluffyyyy

A/N: I present to you, my first requested work. Dedicated to @mysticmaee I apologize for taking so long, I hope this meets your expectations. Enjoy and again I'm so so sorry it took me so long

Y/n and Bakugou -as much as he refuses to admit it- have been pretty good friends for a while and they recently started dating

Katsuki is well aware of the fact that he isn't all that good at this whole relationship thing!

He knows how a relationship is supposed to be like, he's read all those things about them in novels before and even though they appeared unrealistically perfect to him, Bakugou couldn't help but compare himself and feel inferior to those fictional men and their romancing abilities!

He has observed how well Y/N seems to be fitting the role of a girlfriend and has taken mental notes of the way she always shows him how she feels, whether that's through words or affectionate little gestures, such as simply holding his hand!

Bakugou has never really been the type for physical contact, one could even say he is quite touch starved in all honesty, which makes him a little bit timid to show her his appreciation that way, since it makes him feel uncomfortable and it gives him this weird fluttery feeling inside

The blonde thinks back to the short time they have shared as a couple and how sweet Y/n has been to him, even before, when they were just friends and he insisted on pushing her away!

Bakugou is suddenly left dumbstruck, when he comes to realize that he never even asked her out properly! She just kind of blurted out her feelings and he simply claimed her as his..and by his, he means his one weakness, but of course it goes without saying that he would never reveal that!

He then decides that he wants to try harder. He knows he can do better 'I can be the best boyfriend she's ever had, I'll be her number one!' he tells himself

'She put so much effort into approaching me and I know I made it even more difficult -I can't help it, that's just how I am- but the least I can do is put in just as much effort, it's only fair!'

He doesn't want to be a shitty boyfriend, because for 1 he knows that's not what she deserves and 2 he's the best, he's not one of those stupid extras, who would let her slip right through their fingers!

'It's time I finally lowered my defenses' he thinks, although he's still hesitant of showing his softer side and unsure of what that can possibly lead to

Katsuki walks in silence as he rakes his brain for a way to make it up to Y/n for the way he's been so far.

It's not like he's treating her bad or anything, as a matter of fact he is at his calmest when he's around her and all he does is admire the way her beautiful e/c eyes sparkle when she's focused on something she enjoys, or how her face lights up when she's happy, or he revels in the taste of her lips against his own whenever they share an unexpected kiss!

This warm feeling spreads throughout his chest and blood rushes to his cheeks, tinting them with a shade of pink, at the thought of the memories!

That's when it hits him and the perfect idea pops up in his head. If he's learnt anything from romance novels, it's the fact that every relationship starts with a date!

And that's something they haven't done yet, which gives Katsuki the opportunity to change that!

"Katsu?" Y/n stops in her tracks, making him break out of his trance and do the same

"You zoned out, is everything ok?" She asks with a soft smile, placing a hand on his cheek

"Tch, everything's fine dumbass, I'm just thinking" Bakugou returns the smile, resting his hand at the back of her neck, gently pulling her head closer and leaning in to leave a chaste kiss on her forhead

Y/n is left speechless and her cheeks burn up at the sudden action, Bakugou doesn't usually behave this way, especially not in public!

'I don't know what he's been thinking about, but I'm pretty sure it has something to do with this adorable change' She ponders

Y/n is quick to wrap her arms around him and bury her face in his chest, inhaling the scent of burnt caramel and cologne -something that she's grown so accustomed to, that it now brings her comfort

Bakugou's eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a breath as he relaxes, bringing one hand to her head as his other one makes it's way to her back to hold her close

They stand there in each other's embrace for a bit, before they decide to continue their walk to the dorms, hand in hand

•••

Once they reach the dorms, they catch the attention of a few of their classmates and friends. It's only logical though, since a smiling Bakugou Katsuki is not a sight one could easily miss!

The rest of the day goes by pretty quick as usual, since everyone is studying either alone or in groups, but once that's out of the way most of the students normally spend their free time by engaging in their hobbies of choice

While Y/n is hanging out with Jirou in the purple haired girl's room, singing and having a good time, Bakugou takes that chance to go to the kitchen and set his plan in motion

He has all the time he needs to prepare a few things for later

While the ruby eyed boy is in the middle of cooking, Sero walks into the kitchen, Kaminari following close behind him

"Kacchan?!" Kaminari exclaims in surprise

"Hm?" Katsuki turns around and realizes he has an audience

"How come you're cooking today?" Sero questions in confusion

It's not uncommon for the explosive boy to cook for his classmates, but he had done so just a few days ago already, that's what didn't sit right with Sero

"All of you extras cook like shit, tonight we're having some actual food!" Bakugou's voice remains low in volume, but his usual aggression is evident in his tone

"It smells amazing, what is it?" Sero technically drooling as he walks over to check

"I bet it's something spicy!" Kaminari declares, knowing his friend's taste

"Damn right Dunce Face! Let's hope you idiots can handle it this time! Tch" Bakugou tries to mask the smile forming on his face with his signature, cocky, smirk

"Kaminari.." Sero gives the electric blonde a look

"I know right!" Kaminari laughs, returning the look

"What are you idiots on about?" Bakugou raises an eyebrow

•••

As soon as the table is set and dinner is served, the students pick up on something unusual

"Hm? Where did Bakubro go?" Kirishima points out, while looking around the room

Kaminari and Sero stand back to back with a hand on their chin and wearing a knowing expression of confidence on their faces! The sparkles surrounding them are technically visible at this point

"What do you know? Spill the tea!" Mina interrogates with a pointed look

"Has anyone seen Y/n? I thought I saw her come downstairs earlier.." Jirou asks, seemingly popping up out of nowhere

"They are probably fu-" Sero wraps Mineta up using his tape with an unbothered face

"Shut up you nasty grape!" He scolds "They are on a date! We are sure of it!" He continues pridefully

"Who knew Bakugou could be so good with the ladies, right!" Kaminari comments, almost in disbelief

Meanwhile Y/n is comfortably sitting on a blanket behind the dorms with Bakugou. The night air feels cool on her skin, but not cold enough to give her goosebumps. It is rather refreshing if anything

They place their now empty dishes on the tray that's sitting in front of them and Bakugou pushes it aside

"That was delicious!" A look of content spreading on her features

"Hm, of course it was!" He cocky voice sounds. A winning smile playing on his lips

"Katsuki, this is so sweet..thank you" Y/n softly speaks, tilting Bakugou's head slightly with a hand on his cheek and leaving a feather-like kiss on the other

"You don't need to thank me dumbass..you deserve it!" His tone calm and loving

Bakugou lifts his hand and places it over her smaller one that is resting on his face

They lie down on the blanket, eyes staring at the wide night sky, littered with sparkling gems

"That one reminds me of you!" The excitement clear in her voice as she points at the sky

"How can a star remind you of me dumbass?" His laughs in amusement

"The way it shines looks like an explosion, it's powerful and beautiful!" Her explanation flusters the blonde momentarily, but he gathers himself and starts looking for the perfect star

"That one right there is you then!" He gestures towards it

"Is it now? How can a star remind you of me eh?" She teases

"It stands out, it's so bright and has such a stong presence!"

"Katsu..you idiot" She murmurs feeling bashful

"Huh who are you calling an idiot, idiot?"

Y/n intertwines her hand with his and Bakugou tenses up!

He still isn't used to the gentle gesture, since he has always perceived his hands as weapons, however as he eases into it he starts rubbing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb

"This side of you is so soothing, so intoxicating~" She smiles before continuing

"I'm so lucky to be the one who gets to see you so peaceful..Dynamite" He is caught off guard by the mention of his hero name, which only she knows this far

The first reaction that comes to his mind is to kiss her and his body acts just as fast, pulling both her and himself to sit up and doing exactly that

His lips connect to hers in an uncharacteristically slow and passionate kiss! It is as if Bakugou is pouring everything that he can't put into words in this kiss!

He pulls away with his confidence restored

"Do you want to be mine?"

"I'm my own person idiot and we're already dating!" She laughs, knowing what he meant, but wanting to mess with him regardless

"I know that dumbass! You think I would date some sort of weakling?" He asks matter-of-factly

"I'm already yours and you're all mine!" She boasts

"Damn right!" Bakugou cups her face in one hand, tilting it upwards and leaning down slightly to capture her lips with his once more

[dreamingofaizawa]

Powerful Ch. 4

Yakuza! Shouta Aizawa x Fem! Reader

*Mafia AU*

Warnings: A little fluff, misogyny (not from Shouta), descriptions of body part removal, blood, a teeny bit of gore (sort of), violence, a dagger, reader is a little bit crazy, so is Shouta tbh, there's a tiny bit of spice (it's like two sentences idk), swearing

Word Count: 4.2k if you read the violent part, 3.3k if you don't.

Author's Note: Okay, so I decided to make this a full part with the option of skipping the kinda graphic part. Yes, reader is a little insane here, yes, this reflects my level of crazy. HOWEVER, the only reason it's like that is because the man being de-tongued is a piece of shit and deserves everything that came to him.

ANYWAY, enjoy~

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

*

*

*

As the months pass you’re getting more comfortable with Shouta, more comfortable with the physical touching and the closeness that comes with the relationship. He’s always on you, a hand always on your lower back, around your waist, he’d even begun holding your hand. You appreciate this side of him that only you are allowed to see, the soft beneath his rough, calloused exterior.

So far you’d attended at least six more meetings, only one ending in another incident. It was you that made the final threat, this time without unsheathing the dagger. The tactic seemed to be working, there were less men outwardly demeaning you and your assigned title has been the only one you’d heard when being addressed.

The power trip is honestly a little intoxicating, knowing that more began to respect you and the ones that don’t have fear in its place. Knowing that you have the freedom to tell off overly rude men, can wave your dagger at whoever dares touch you and have Shouta backing you always.

And you know Shouta will back you up. You may be on a bit of a power trip but you still have your wits about you. Both of you know you’ll never step out of line, never needlessly flaunt your power or antagonize for no reason. Shouta understands that whatever you do, it’s for a reason. Because that’s just how you operate.

Logic resides over most anything else in your brain, which is why you’re so good at concealing your emotions. Before the engagement, your family’s success depended heavily on wits and intelligence rather than sheer force. Having been taught all your life to use your brain and logic to help you in and out of situations, logical thinking has become a habit, as subconscious and natural as breathing.

Of course, that doesn’t mean everything you do is logical. You’ve had your fair share of rash decisions and emotional slip-ups. And you’ve learned to sharpen your words, make them sink deep and tear at your target’s weakest points, or even their strongest points, making their argument and resolve come tumbling down like a rockslide. Needless to say it’s immensely satisfying to see someone get so thoroughly humiliated by your words alone.

You have to admit to yourself sometimes, you can be a cruel motherfucker.

* * *

You’re woken up by movement. Your eyes open just as Shouta is leaning over you, carefully pulling his arm from beneath your shoulders as you’re placed on your back. When his eyes meet yours he sighs through his nose, he was clearly trying not to wake you. Calloused fingers brush a few stray hairs from your forehead before he leans down and presses a kiss there.

“Go back to bed, little one. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.” Your eyebrows knit together and you let out a small groan.

“What time is it?” His soft hum nearly lulls you back into dreamland, but you manage to keep your heavy eyelids open.

“5 am. Sleep.” He kisses your forehead again before slipping out of bed and disappearing out the bedroom door. You do try to go back to sleep, let your eyes close and snuggle up in Shouta’s leftover warmth. But then you smell coffee. You take a deep breath, soak in the scent, and suddenly you’re not tired anymore. With a new motivation you get up and make your way to the kitchen to find a shirtless Shouta pulling a mug from a cupboard and taking out creamer and sugar. You sneak up behind him and wrap your arms around his trim waist, pressing your cheek into his back.

“I thought I told you to go back to sleep, little one.” You hum, squeeze him tighter.

“I smelled coffee.” The muscles under your palms jump with his deep chuckle, and he takes out another mug for you. The two of you work in comfortable silence, savoring each other’s company. You sit at the dining table first, watching the man as he returns everything to its place. You can’t help but admire his form, how every muscle ripples under his inked skin, how calm and graceful his movements are despite his rough-cut reputation. You can’t help when your gaze drifts south, gray sweatpants sitting low on his cut hips, and your face burns as you realize exactly what you’re looking at before ripping your eyes from him.

He joins you at the table soon after with his mug held in one large hand. There’s still only silence, and you keep your eyes locked on your own mug, occasionally bringing it up to your mouth and taking sips of the hot liquid. Shouta’s eyes are on you, watching every small movement and sigh that escapes you after a sip of coffee, how your mouth turns up after your tongue peeks out to lick your lips, the flutter of your lashes as you savor the taste of the bitter drink.

You don’t notice until your eyes flick up and meet his, and you freeze in place for a moment, confused as to why he might be looking at you. He thinks you look so cute, your doe eyes big and round and your head tilting to the right. Do you even know you’re tilting your head like that? His heart nearly bursts in his chest when you blink a few times and nibble at your lower lip.

“Shouta?” He hums and averts his eyes, resting his elbow on the table and his head in his hand.

“I apologize for staring, little one.”

“It’s fine. I’m just not used to the attention, that’s all.” An eyebrow raises, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips.

“Really? A pretty little thing like you, not used to attention?” You blink. Is he….flirting? You can’t stop a smile from working its way onto your face, your eyes dropping to focus on your coffee that was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. A man had never done this before, you never had any romantic attention because you were never allowed to date. Something warm settled in your stomach, making you feel a bit fuzzy and happy. Is this what butterflies are supposed to feel like? Shouta speaks in your flustered silence.

“Well it isn’t my fault I’m the only one with an amazing taste in women. At least now I know I won’t have any competition.” You had to stifle a giggle at his antics, shooting him a sceptical look.

“Shouta Aizawa, are you flirting with your fiance?”

“If I were, would you say it’s working?”

“That answer will depend on the end goal.” He hummed, glancing up at the ceiling as if it held the answer.

“I’d say the end goal is to get my fiance to like me back.” You cross your arms over your chest, faking a pout and turning your head away in false disgust.

“Well then it’s failing. Miserably, at that.” He places a hand on his chest, furrowing his brows in mock offense.

“Now why would you say that?” You stand, taking your mug to the sink with a playful swing of your hips and a dramatic lilt in your voice.

“She is unhappy, your fiance. You’ve neglected her!” With the mug in the sink you lean back, throwing your head back and placing your hand on your forehead, closing your eyes for dramatic effect even though your back is to him.

“She is hungry, Shouta! There is no food in her stomach!” Without a sound he’s suddenly behind you, pressing his chest into your back and leaning over to place his mug next to yours. You’re a bit shocked at the sudden proximity, jump just a bit when an arm wraps around your waist and he grabs the hand that was on your forehead. His breath is hot on your neck, voice soft and sultry in your ear.

“Well she’s not the only one that’s hungry.” Teeth nip at your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and heat to your belly.

“But we can fix that pretty easily, don’t you think?” He leaves a searing kiss beneath your ear before he’s releasing you, cool air washing over you where his body had been pressed only moments ago. You’re left flustered, breath stuttering and skin hot. It’s almost laughable, the reaction he’d pulled from you. He asks what you want to eat, says he’ll have it brought up so the two of you can relax until the meeting at lunch.

But you aren’t really listening, still trying to calm yourself from what he’d just done.

____

When you don’t answer him, he peers over at you still standing at the sink. At first he’s confused, not sure why you’re so still and unfocused. But then he watches as your chest rises and falls just a tad faster than normal, lower lip tucked just barely between your teeth and your body very stiff in the same position he’d just left you in. You’re either extremely flustered or very uncomfortable with what he just did. Before he can apologize you suddenly turn on the sink and splash your face with cold water.

“Are you okay?” It’s cute, how you jump at the sound of his voice. It’s almost like you forget he’s there, too focused on whatever had been swirling around in that beautiful mind of yours.

“Yeah, I uh...I’m fine.” The nervous little chuckle you let out said nothing of your emotional state. He’d have to ask himself.

“I apologize if that was too forward, little one. I’d hate to make you uncomfortable.” You waved your hands in front of your face, eyes going a bit wide. It’s odd, seeing you outwardly, and frantically, expressing emotion like this when you’re usually so calm and rational.

“No, not at all!” You stopped, dropping your gaze and clasping your hands in front of you, your voice getting softer as you speak.

“I mean, I wasn’t, really. I… didn’t hate it so… yeah.” Ah, so you’re flustered. It makes sense, seeing as you said you aren’t used to receiving attention. The real question is why you hadn’t gotten attention from potential suitors. You’re a beautiful woman, a goddess in your own right, and on top of that you’re intelligent and flexible, easy to get along with. Were you just surrounded by extremely stupid boys your whole life that couldn’t tell the difference between a rock and a diamond if it were sitting in front of them?

Well it doesn’t matter much anymore, because you’re his now, and he’s not going to let you go.

____

Ultimately, the two of you decide on a simple breakfast, eating and relaxing afterward just as Shouta wanted. Soon you’re both standing outside a large hotel, the restaurant at the top serving as today’s meeting venue.

You’re greeted at the door by an escort, a woman in a beautifully tailored suit, who then guides you through the hotel and to a secluded elevator and up to the restaurant. The entire floor remained empty and silent, save for the one chef and waiter and the ten other Yakuza men seated at a large round table.

At this point you’ve gotten used to the sudden silence as you approach and sit at the table with Shouta. For the past few meetings that’s the only real acknowledgement to your presence aside from the occasional headbow and a quick address to both yours and Shouta’s titles. It’s a small step forward, recognition, and it’s better than you had expected by now.

However, it becomes obvious that the recent halt in outwardly opposing voices were only the calm before the storm. Nothing you’d seen or heard yet matched what happens next.

“Shouta, old friend, why have you brought a woman to this meeting? Or any meeting for that matter?” Well shit. Someone really wants to die today. Shouta doesn’t seem to move at all, though his eyes flicker over to the man who had spoken. He seems around Shouta’s age, light brown hair short with an undercut and deep brown eyes. A scar cut through his face, from his right temple through his eye and across his nose to his left cheek.

The fact that he’d addressed him so casually meant he must have a rank close to Shouta’s, there’s no possible way he was a real friend. Shouta makes his viewpoints clear, the only person you’d see him refer to as ‘friend’ is Hizashi Yamada, who’s just as much of a feminist as he is, though the loud blonde is radically louder and more flamboyant than Shouta.

“You are not my friend, nor I yours. We may have known each other for a long time but that does not change how much I despise you. You’re lucky I don’t carve your tongue out for what you just said, so I suggest you be extremely cautious choosing your next words.” The man doesn’t seem affected by the threat, but you know Shouta’s tone of voice. He’s dead serious. The brunette only succeeds in digging himself into a deeper hole.

“Oh don’t be like that. You know as well as I do you can’t do anything to harm me for no real reason. Besides, it’s obvious she doesn’t belong here. She probably has close to no experience with such power, let alone being able to keep up in a meeting of this caliber. You’ve chosen poorly, my friend. My sister would have been a much better match for your wife.”

Now you’re seething. He’s openly insulting you, which is plenty grounds for Shouta to react negatively. Shouta’s word is law after all. Of course, he waits a beat for you to react first, and you do, speaking with a venom reserved specifically for assholes like him.

“‘She’ has a title, and you’d be wise to use it.” Shouta leans back and crosses his arms over his chest as he watches the events unfold. The brunette only scoffs.

“Like I’d use such a ridiculous title for you. Being Shouta’s fiance doesn’t change your rank at all, you’re inferior. Even disregarding rank, you’re a woman, you don’t belong here anyway.” You’re still deadpanned, only a single eyebrow raised.

“As far as you’re concerned I do belong here. And the title is anything but ridiculous. By refusing to address me at all you’re disobeying Shouta’s direct order. I wonder, what kind of punishment does that entail?” You look over to Shouta, who opens his mouth to speak, but is cut off by the other man. All the while the other nine men sit back in silent horror as he digs his own grave.

“No punishment at all. A bitch like you is hardly worth a title, let alone be addressed by name. You’re lucky I’ve even allowed you in this meeting.” At that you stop, letting out a low ‘ah’. Shouta is smirking, an evil thing that you had never seen up until now, but you know what it means all the same. It means you get to have fun. You take your dagger and slide it across the table to the man, who looks at it with confusion.

“Cut out your tongue.” Your words catch him off guard, his eyes wide before he starts laughing.

“You really think you can do that? Shouta, put her in her place will you?” Shouta only gives a dark chuckle.

“You heard her. Pick up the dagger and cut out your tongue.” He scoffs, clenching his jaw.

“That’s nonsense. You can’t do that.” Shouta stands, beginning to remove his tie.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, Masa. Now, you either pick up that dagger and slice your own tongue off or she can do it for you. You’ve disregarded my explicit order to refer to her with her assigned title, and then you insulted her directly. A woman above your rank commands more respect. On top of that, you’ve failed to address me with my title after I’ve told you to do so several times in the past, which is grounds enough for you to lose several teeth.”

Shouta stands behind him now, and you’re making your way over as well.

“Now, what’s it going to be, Masa?” You fully expected him to drop to his knees and apologize, beg for mercy, because it would be a damn pain to clean up the blood after taking out someone’s tongue. He only sat there and scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of defiance. Looks like he’s losing his tongue.

“Alright, then,” Shouta speaks louder now, addressing the entire room, “Let this be a lesson well learned. Masa here has refused to obey my order, and then continued to insult my wife. For his transgression, he’ll lose his ability to speak for the rest of his life.” Shouta grabs his collar and rips him out of his chair, manhandling him and tying his hands behind his back with his necktie. You make a mental note that he called you his wife just then.

Meanwhile you go over to the chef and ask him and the waiter to lend you their largest apron and a pair of gloves. Once you have them you ask them to have someone bring up a small tarp or something to cover the floor, and not to return to the floor for the rest of the day. It’s only a few minutes later you’ve got an apron over your dress and latex gloves on, a small blue tarp on the floor and a stack of towels on the table.

**The chaos starts here, so if you’re not all that crazy or averse to blood you can just scroll down and skip it**

You grab the dagger and waltz over to where Shouta has Masa on his knees, Shouta’s hand yanking his head back by his hair and the other hand squeezing his cheeks, forcing his jaw open. Shouta raises an eyebrow at you.

“What’s with the doctor’s getup?” You playfully roll your eyes at him.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Blood is hard to get out of clothing and the smell of death is rancid. I really don’t wanna deal with the cleanup this is gonna involve. I’ll try not to get it on your suit, too.” He shrugs.

“I can pay for another suit. Don’t worry about it.” You pout.

“But I like that suit. It looks nice on you.” He groans, a very faint blush on his cheeks and at the tips of his ears. It’s rare to see, but it makes you giggle every time.

“Just hurry it up. We still have a meeting.” You nod. Poor Masa is now starting to thrash, and the other men are either shaking their heads in disappointment or looking down at him with little more than disgust. He must have been quite a douchebag to earn the ire of this many high-ranking Yakuza.

You peer down at him and brandish your dagger, reaching down to pull his tongue out. He starts trembling, shaking his head and garbling out something that sounds like ‘please’ and ‘no’ and ‘don’t do this’. You almost pity him, and being as merciful as you are you release his tongue.

“Why are you so afraid, Masa dear? I was under the impression you wanted this to happen, considering your attitude earlier.” His words were slurred with Shouta’s grip on his jaw, but they were coherent enough.

“No, no, no I didn’t I swear! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean any disrespect!” You coo down at him, crouching and cupping his face in your free hand.

“Oh sweetie, I think you did mean to be disrespectful. You see, we had warned you, and you didn’t take that warning to heart. Looking down at your hands now, I can see you’re missing the pinky and ring finger from your left hand and the pinky from your right as well. You must be in serious debt to several oyabun right now, so I have no idea why you’d be so careless. You clearly haven’t learned your lesson, so now it’s my job to teach you isn’t it?” He thrashes some more, shaking his head as much as he can in Shouta’s grip.

“No! No please! I promise I’ve learned!” You coo again.

“Aw, sweetheart. You want to keep your tongue? Is that it?” He nods furiously, tears beginning to prick his eyes. You look up to Shouta, who looks incredibly amused at the scene unfolding.

“Oh Shouta, don’t laugh at the poor thing. He wants to keep his tongue, you know. He looks desperate.” Shouta rolls his eyes at you.

“Yeah right. Stop toying with him. You’re just being cruel at this point.” His voice is playful, and you can’t help but playfully scoff at him.

“Rude! I’m not that cruel. It’s fun when they get desperate. Besides, I’m not completely heartless. Adrenaline helps with the initial pain, so it’ll hurt a bit less. What better to get the heart pumping than some false hope and then ripping it away?” The brunette, whose face still sits in your palm, nearly growls.

“You’re fucking insane, woman.” You look down at him, slightly shocked that he’d just said that and subsequently dug himself into a deeper hole. Then you giggle, almost maniacally.

“Why thank you, dear Masa. You know what they say, all the best people are crazy~”

With that you reach into his mouth and grab his tongue, quickly slicing it off. There was little resistance thanks to your dagger being as sharp as it is, and there was a moment where everything was still. The sound of his severed tongue hitting the tarp rang loud through the room, then the bloodcurdling scream sent everything back into motion.

Shouta released him and he doubled over, blood spilling from his mouth like a waterfall as he hacked and tried not to choke on it. You grabbed Masa’s bloodied face and tilted his head to look up at you, then grabbed a towel and stuffed it in his mouth before cleaning up his chin.

“It’s over, Masa dear. I’m sorry I had to do that, but you just refused to listen. Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson now. Try not to upset anyone else, okay?” Shouta untied his hands and you stepped away to let him take care of his wound.

You remove the bloodied gloves and apron and wipe the dagger clean with a towel, discarding them onto the tarp before grabbing Masa’s phone and holding it out to him, having him dial his own medical team and explaining the situation to them. They arrived shortly after, taking the bloodied tarp and everything else with them as they tended to Masa’s wound.

**The morbid ends here**

When all is said and done the meeting carries on as normal. Afterward you and Shouta went home, got comfortable on the couch in pajamas and turned on a shitty romcom. It really was pretty shitty. You turn to Shouta, who had started munching on popcorn.

“You think he'll be okay?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Who? Masa? That prick will be perfectly fine. He might have to learn sign language being unable to speak and all, but he dug himself into that mess.” You hum and nod.

“Why are you worried about him?” You hum again and think about the answer to that question.

“Well I’m not really worried, just more curious I guess. I have no clue how a wound like that is supposed to heal so I guess I just wanna make sure I didn’t kill the guy by accident.” Shouta’s chuckle is low, his chest and stomach bouncing as he laughed.

“At least now I know you can take some blood. Remind me to let you do the dirty work from now on.” You groan.

“Oh come on, Shouta. That shit takes forever to prep and clean! I don’t wanna have to do that a lot, it takes so much energy and time.” He scoffed at you.

“It took less than five minutes to have the tarp down and you completely decked out. That’s not ‘forever’. You’re just lazy.” You roll your eyes.

“Yeah? And so what if I’m a little lazy? A girl can’t take a break?” He chuckles.

“Don’t be like that. We both know you enjoyed removing his tongue.” You sigh, then lay down and put your head on his lap.

“Fine, you caught me. I did like it a little.” He chuckles a little, but doesn’t say anything else on the subject.

“What do you say we get to bed, little one?” You peer up at him as he brushes hair from your face. He’s so gentle with you it’s hard to believe he’s the same man from earlier. Though you’re sure he could say the same about you. A completely different side of you emerged today, the side that craves violence and relishes in bloodshed. You always knew it existed, but you wondered if it was just in your mind or if you really did want to be able to do that sort of thing. Turns out it was the latter.

You smile up at Shouta, and he gives a small smile back.

“Sure. Let’s go to bed.”

[thora-jane]

Twin-Way Mirror Pt. ii

Series Summary: You've been friends with the Weasley twins since your first train to Hogwarts, but as the three of you start your 6th year, you start to question if your feelings go beyond friendship.

Summary for Pt 1: After recalling how you first met Fred and George, you finally arrive at the burrow and reunite with your favorite twins.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 2,196

female!reader, 2nd person POV

You can remember the first time you met Fred and George clearer than any memory from your muggle life. You had sat down in an empty train car after getting a talk from your parents about how “this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for your poor grades in the past,” and all of the anxiety of having your world blown open was starting to get to you. The train was about to pull out of the station when two boys with brilliantly red hair swung open that door to your coach.

They shoved their way inside and introduced each other without a second thought before making themselves comfortable. One of them made a joke about how quiet you were. 

“Blimey, Freddie, you’d think she’d seen a ghost!”

“Nah Georgie, I think she’s seeing double!”

“How could she be seeing double, you’re the only ugly one here!”

That got you to chuckle, and the two of them got the biggest smiles on their faces. After you introduced yourself, and explained that you didn’t know much about what was happening, the two of them sat beside you and explained everything they knew about their world.

Not long after their world became your world, and Fred and George were with you to explore every step of the way. You were overjoyed when you got into the same house as them, and they were overjoyed that you were one of the only people to tell them apart (George had a few freckles a little ways behind his ear, Fred didn’t).

Much to people’s surprise, for as close as you were to them, your record was far more spotless, having barely served any detentions in all your six years at Hogwarts. You were also one of the few people in their lives they hadn’t tried to pull a prank on. 

You however, also noticed that you were one of the only girls in your year they hadn’t flirted with. Which, you didn’t think should bother you, but something about the way they would try to charm nearly every other girl they shared classes with left some sort of sour feeling in your heart that you couldn’t quite place.

Actually you could place it. You knew exactly how you felt about them, but were too bothered by the implications to think about it. They were your friends. They’re twins. And the very thought of liking both of them at the same time made you feel a tad uneasy. Of course, you didn’t think of them as the same person, yes they both looked the same (and Merlin, was that look special), but Fred was more open, he was the one to initiate the trouble. George however, was a little softer, but that didn’t stop him from tying up all the pranks with the most Weasley-Twin bow to insure utter destruction. And (as much as you hated to know this) the way they flirted was a bit different. When Fred flirted with a girl he wanted the whole room to know, he was loud, he would charmingly tease them from the other side of the room, he’d make a girl freeze up and blush, smiling behind her hands. When George flirted, he would make sure he had the girl’s attention, leaning in close, not breaking eye contact, talking in a quiet voice he knew she would listen to. God, it infuriated you to have to sit and watch either one of them flirt.

You paused, sighing as you realized you messed up a stitch on your current project; a crocheted Lion hat. You promised the boys you would make one and wear it to each of their quidditch matches, you even told them you’d enchant it to roar when Gryffindor scored a point.

Pulling out the past few stitches, you put your hook through the loop and started over again. You couldn’t stay mad at the twins. It wasn’t like they cared for you like that, anyways. And besides, what good was it fussing over two handsome young men not liking you when they were already your friends?

***

You could feel a yawn work its way up your throat and out of your mouth as you looked out the window. Mrs. Weasely had enchanted the car to drive on its own now and she had dozed off behind the wheel a while back. The stars were starting to come out and fields whizzed past your window. Off in the distance you saw a faint light from what you assumed was the burrow. You and the Weasleys had been friends for years, but you had never actually gone to the burrow. You’d been offered to come and visit in the past, but your parents had always insisted you come home for the winter and summer holidays.

The lights approached faster, and soon enough the car began to slow to a stop in the drive by a house that looked like it could topple at any second. Actually, it looked a bit like two or three houses stacked on top of eachother. Undoubtedly held together by strong magic, you assumed. 

Mrs. Weasely awoke with a jolt, “Good heavens, I must have fallen asleep,” She smoothed out her hair, turning around with an embarrassed smile as she surveyed the back seats, “(y/n), could you wake up Ron and Harry?” You nodded, and her smile warmed “That’s a good girl, I’ll go inside and put the kettle on, dinner shouldn’t take too long,” She left the car, and Hermione twisted her way around the front passenger seat to whack Ron on the head with a copy of the paper she was reading.

“Oi!” He awoke with a snort, waving her hand away, “bugger off, would ya? I’m up already!” The two of you girls laughed as you nudged Harry’s side and he lazily blinked his eyes open with a confused whine.

“C’mon, would you mind helping me get my stuff inside?” you asked, getting out of the car and lugging your trunk out of the back and carefully lifting up Eros’s cage. Stroking his beak through the bars and letting out a chuckle, he looked up at you with his large, yellow eyes. “That ride wasn’t too difficult for you, was it?” You asked, not expecting an answer as you opened his cage, “Go on then, all this open sky should be good for us, right?” You smiled as you watched him flutter out of his cage and off into the night. He was a smaller owl (Northern Saw Whet, according to the lady that sold him to you) so his cage wasn’t too much of a tight fit, but the suburbs didn’t provide the best place for him to really get out and stretch his wings.

You turned around to place the empty cage on top of the trunk, half expecting either Ron or Harry to be there and help you. But the two of them were still tiredly stretching out by the car door. What you did notice though, were two tall figures running out from the house, waving their arms excitedly and shouting your name as they got closer.

You dropped your yarn bag and ran towards them, smiling as you collided into a hug with one of them. It was dark, so you couldn’t quite tell which twin you were hugging, but you smiled nonetheless, “I missed you,” You laughed as they messed up your hair.

“I missed you too, we wanted to come pick you up but-”

“-Mum thought we’d burn down your house or something,” The other twin finished solemnly, a few steps behind the first, “We promised to only keep it to any shrubbery in the front yard, but apparently that didn’t cut it,” he sighed, mouth twisting into a smile through the dark, “now where’s my hug, (y/l/n)?” 

You chuckled and held out your arms, but didn’t expect him to take a running start before picking you up off the ground and spinning you around, not really putting you down. You let out a little yelp between laughs as he swung you over his shoulder and started walking back to the house.

“You’re not going to put me down, are you?” You asked as casually as you could, trying to play this off as if it were a normal occurrence. There wasn’t a time when either of them picked you up like a large sack of flour, so you attempted to maintain composure as you were jostled around from your place over his shoulder.

“Not a chance,” He replied with the same nonchalant tone, or at least as nonchalant as one could be with a sixteen year-old slung over their shoulders.

“Fair enough,” you sighed, “I don’t suppose we could go back for my bag?” You asked, craning your neck to look back at the car as Ron and Harry watched you and seemed to visibly groan before Hermione picked up your bag and Eros’s cage, turning to them and saying something before walking behind the tree of you from a ways away, “Oh nevermind they’ve got it. So, how have you two been faring?”

“Splendidly, although it has been rather dull over here with no one to show their support in our financial and entrepreneurial endeavours,” the one walking beside you sighed.

The one carrying you added on, “And we were quite curious about that muggle candy you promised us, I don’t suppose you have any for your favorite twin?” 

“Oh of course, which one of you is George?” you asked, hoping they couldn’t see the smirk on your face.

The one holding you up gave an exaggerated gasp and stopped in his tracks, “You foul woman! Not only can you not tell us apart but you have no favoritism for the one who holds you? I have a good mind to drop you right now!” He declared, letting his arm drop from holding your legs as he lurched forward, causing you to slide from your spot on his shoulder and making you scream. 

You thought you were going to fall, but he caught you again, this time he was holding you in front of him with both arms. For a second, your face was squashed into his shoulder, but once you were able to catch your breath and recover your nerves, he looked down at you in his arms with a devious smirk.

“Only joking, I am George. And as your favorite twin I would never drop you like that,” He gave a joking wink before Fred smacked him on the back of the head. You looked up at him for a moment unsure of if you were blushing, and if the darkness would hide it if you were. 

After a moment’s pause you suspected might have been too long, you stated as calmly as you could, “Oh I never said you were my favorite,” you smiled innocently, “I was just wondering which was which.”

At this, Fred cackled, and George let out a fake roar of rage before he took off running, you still in his arms, “I’ll show you. You creature, I thought you were my friend! Betray me for Freddie?! How could you! After all I’ve done for you!” Fred picked up his own pace, going further and making it into the house much faster than the two of you.

You had to wrap your arms around his neck to keep from falling as he ran past Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who had since gotten nearly to the house. George ran through the doorway sideways, not putting you down despite your protests until he ran to the livingroom and dropped you unceremoniously onto the couch and into Fred’s lap, “There, now you can give all the muggle sweets to your favorite twin, you despicable wench!” He cried, trying to hold back laughter.

“George, I never said Fred was my favorite twin, either,” you corrected, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.

Now it was George’s turn to cackle as Fred shoved you out of his lap and onto the floor, “Wicked demon! Keep your stupid muggle candy and quit playing with our hearts!” It was then that Mr. Weasely put down his book (not that he had been reading it since the three of you barged in), and leaned forward to ask as politely as he could.

“Pardon me but did you say muggle candy?”

“Do none of you have manners?” Mrs. Weasely scolded from the kitchen doorway, “The poor girl had to pack in a mad dash and sit in a car all afternoon, then you drag her in like barbarians and start poking and prodding about muggle life! Let (y/n) have a moment to get herself settled, my goodness!” She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron before smoothing her hair and smiling at you, “(y/n), dearie, you’d better wash up for dinner,” she turned to the twins and let out an exasperated sigh, “As for you two howler monkeys, you’d better show the lovely lady up to her room. And please,” she added “let her walk on her own two feet?”

[marveldc-imagines-hub]

Imagine Coming Out to Steve as Bisexual:

A/N: Here’s (hopefully) the first installment of a sort-of series that I like to call the Imagine Pride Series. I don’t know how many I’ll get done this Pride Month since I’m starting it sort of in the middle of the month but if people end up liking it and I get enough ideas/requests for it, I’ll continue it and maybe it’ll become an annual thing until I’ve done a billion characters or get bored of it, lol. Anyway, this first one ended up being very personal for me, which I definitely didn’t intend, but... yeah, lol. Also, this series will be filled to the brim with my personal LGBTQ+ headcanons for Marvel characters, so if that’s not your thing, steer clear. Anyway, enjoy!

Word count: 2,477

Warnings: Coming out anxiety. Use of the Q-slur (reclaiming) and one F-bomb.

Masterlist

Ko-Fi Shoppe

~~~

    You were in your bedroom getting prepared for lounge time before bed—and psyching yourself up—when you thought you heard the front door open through your apartment’s paper-thin walls. You grabbed your phone and turned down the music playing from your Bluetooth speaker; the current song was Janelle Monáe’s “I Like That”, from the Queer Confidence playlist that you’d built for this specific event. Taking a deep breath and giving yourself one more good look in the mirror attached to your closet door, eyeing the to-go bag you had packed with essentials and left ready to grab on the bed, you listened to the jingle of keys as they were dropped onto the table by the door. The sound was quickly followed by a voice.

    “[Y/N]?” Steve half-hollered, and you heard the sounds of movement as he made his way to the hall. His voice got softer as he got closer. “Baby?”

    You gave yourself a shake and patted your face with your hands before answering. “Bedroom!”

    Even though the two of you had been living together for well over a year, he still knocked and waited politely outside until you gave him explicit permission to enter. When he did, he immediately gravitated towards you. He casually looked over you, in your pajama pants and baggy cropped sweatshirt, as he strolled over, and seeing the slightest furrow of his brows made your stomach churn. Steve Rogers wasn’t too bad at reading people but he was always able to read you like a book and you immediately knew that he noticed how tense you were.

    Apparently, he also noticed that you were trying to keep your cool and act normal because he didn’t immediately jump into Worried Eyebrows Rogers. Instead, he decided to give you some time to sort yourself out and opted to simply hug you from behind. Nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, his warm breath gave you goosebumps as he mumbled a soft, “Hi.”

    You almost forgot about your plan as you melted back into his arms. “Hi,” you replied just as softly as you leaned your head to rest on top of his. You allowed yourself to close your eyes and place your hands on his, slowly run your hands up and down his forearms; you tried to take everything in just in case this was the last time you would be held by him. The solidness of the chest you leaned against, the sturdiness of his footing even as you put your full weight against him because, in reality, your body weight was like carrying a loaf of bread to the super-soldier. The curve of veins and muscle across his arms, the dampness of his hair under your cheek that was probably caused by his evening run despite the rain happening at the time. The faded smell of the 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner that Steve used despite your complaining, the much warmer body heat than any normal person that was like being wrapped in a heated blanket during the wintertime but being suffocated in a sauna during the summer, that currently bled into you and wrapped you into a comforting cocoon.

    You weren’t sure how long the two of you had been standing like that in silence but it was long enough for Steve to decide that it was Worried Eyebrows time. He slowly raised his head again and when you opened your eyes again, he was watching you carefully in the mirror. He wore a dark navy T-shirt that was just tight enough to outline the muscular form underneath—with the help of Thor and Asgardian booze early on in your relationship, you’d gotten a blushing and giggly drunk Steve to admit that he purposely wore clothes like it because he enjoyed the attention, just a smidge—and a pair of black joggers that you got him for Christmas a few months ago.

    “Are you okay?” Worried Rogers finally asked when he realized you weren’t going to speak first. He kept eye contact with you via the mirror, which almost hurt to hold on your end, as he pressed a light kiss against your temple and then a second one to your cheek. “You called me home early. Said it was something that couldn’t wait?”

    And now I don’t want to say it at all, you thought as you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth. After hesitating for a bit longer—a few seconds or a half-hour, you couldn’t tell through your anxious haze—you sighed and said, “We need to talk.”

    “What, it’s not like you’re leaving me or something, are you?” Steve questioned. The quirk of his brows and a brief smile that appeared told you that he was joking but when you didn’t even chuckle or tease him back, that smile quickly reversed into a frown. “That’s not what’s happening here, is it?”

    “Well…” you mumbled, then trailed off. You glanced towards the bed, where your emergency-leave bag sat waiting, and when you looked back at Steve’s reflection, he was staring at the bag with worry lines etched deep into his skin. “That’s up to you.”

    “Hold on.” Steve moved from behind to stand in front of you, although it was only briefly as he took your hands tightly in his and led you to sit on the edge of the bed with him. He glanced at the bag again, the lines on his face grew deeper again, and you were suddenly reminded of his true age. He looked you in the eye again. “[Y/N], talk to me.”

    “Ours” by Taylor Swift played quietly in the background as you tried to untangle your thoughts and make your mouth work again. The song wasn’t a Pride song or by an LGBTQ+ artist but something about it just fit so well. As you tried to recall the speech you’d been practicing all day, then decided to throw it out altogether, Taylor sang, “So don’t you worry your pretty little mind / People throw rocks at things that shine / And life makes love look hard…”

    “Steve, I…” Your tongue seemed to tie itself in a knot whenever you tried to say it. 

    Steve’s worried, borderline scared, look turned soft. The gentle Worried Eyebrows were back and his thumbs caressed the backs of your hands so softly that it felt like he thought you’d shatter at any minute. He pressed another, stronger kiss against your forehead and mumbled, “You know you can tell me anything.”

    Steve was one of the kindest, most welcoming, most understanding people you’ve ever known but there was still something intimidating about telling him. Normally, you couldn’t fathom him reacting poorly to anything that you could have said but now, you couldn’t help remembering the fact that he was a masculine, old-fashioned, soldier—a soldier from the ’40s—who was still the Ideal American Man to a lot of people, especially some rather unsavory people, and to your knowledge, Steve didn’t have any other queer people in his life that were close to him. Maybe he didn’t want any. Maybe he didn’t like them, like many people who idolized him don’t like them. 

    A little spark of anger sparked in the dark void of anxiety that you were feeling. It wasn’t fair that people hated people like you simply for existing and as much as you loved Steve, if he held the same sentiments, you definitely didn’t want to be with him. The spark quickly turned into a raging fire and suddenly you were blurting out what you’d struggled to say all day, all month, ever since you’d discovered yourself.

    “Steve, I’m bi.”

    Steve stared at you for a bit, then blinked. “What?”

    You took a breath and squared your shoulders. It wasn’t any easier to say it a second time, but you managed in what you hoped was a confident voice, “I’m bisexual.”

    Steve blinked again and his head tilted slightly to the side, but otherwise didn’t move much. “Okay.”

    “O… Okay.” You echoed. You felt your cheeks grow warm.

    Slowly, a relieved smile appeared on Steve’s face and you watched as the tension in his entire posture relaxed. “Was that what you wanted to tell me? You wanted to come out as bisexual?”

    Your face grew heated still and you glanced away. You pulled your sweaty hands from Steve’s and wiped them on your pant legs as you stammered, “Y… Yeah, I mean, yes.” You picked at the fraying hem of your shirt for a few moments, then looked back at your boyfriend—to see that he was absolutely glowing. “You don’t care?”

    “No, of course not,” Steve said, only to quickly shake his head and backtrack, “I mean, of course, I do! I care because it’s you and your identity. I just— It’s just not what I was expecting at all.”

    It was your turn to stare at him. Now you just felt a little silly. “What were you expecting?”

    Steve looked past you to the bag sitting on the other side of you and his expression saddened a bit. He took your hand tightly in his own and squeezed them as he looked at you again. “What were you?”

    “Uh…” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze, “Well, I guess… I don’t know…”

    “[Y/N],” Steve said more sternly, “you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’m a grown man; I can handle it.”

    “A grown man who was America’s Sweetheart in the ‘40s,” you pointed out. “I had a right to be worried.”

    Steve nodded slowly. “No, of course, you did. I understand. You know I’m okay with it, though, right? I’ve made that clear, right? I’m proud of you and I’m grateful that you told me. Glad that you felt safe enough to tell me, even if you were still worried about it. You know that, right?”

    Kesha’s “Raising Hell” played in the background as you scrubbed your eyes with your sweatshirt sleeves, gave Steve a dumb-feeling nod. Of course, you knew Steve wouldn’t care.

    Steve took you in a tight hug as you tried to shake away the tears burning at the corners of your eyes. He ran a hand over your hair and gently rocked the two of back and forth in true, calming, Worried Eyebrows Rogers fashion. After a bit, when he felt you finally relaxing, he murmured against your hair, “I love you, you know? All of you. Because you’re you.”

    You felt your cheeks warm again and you nodded against his chest. “I love you too.”

    The two of you continued to sit like that for a while until Steve suddenly hummed thoughtfully. He slowly released you and you let him go, he sat back on his hands and chewed the inside of his cheek. 

    You watched him curiously as he glanced around the room, thinking. “What?”

    “You know, I…” Now he trailed off, glanced at you before his gaze darted away again and he chewed his cheek again. “I… Now I know this isn’t my information to share but Buck’s always been pretty uncaring about it, I guess.”

    Your brows furrowed. “Buck? Like, Bucky-Buck? Our Bucky.”

    Steve chuckled. “Yeah, our Bucky.”

    “What about Bucky?”

    Steve hesitated again but eventually continued, “I had almost the exact same conversation with him before he left for the war.”

    Your eyes widened. “Wait— Bucky?”

    Steve nodded slowly again and his gaze finally settled on you again. “Bi too. Coincidence, huh? He was lucky, sort of. Says he always knew. Obviously not super open, given the time, but he was never ashamed of it or anything.” He paused and briefly glanced away again before continuing. “I still don’t know.”

    You blinked. “Don’t know what?”

    Steve just stared at you, cheeks tinting pink as he waited for you to put the pieces together.

    “Wait, you’re queer?”

    Steve shook his head quickly. “Or something. But I don’t like that word. Power to anyone who uses it positively but I was around when it wasn’t.”

    “Right,” you said, still dumbfounded, “Sorry. Yeah, I won’t use it for you then. Hang on; you’re not straight then?”

    Steve chewed his lip and gave you the cutest bashful smile that you’d ever seen on such a large man; you could almost see the scrawny, sickly, pre-serum Steve sitting in front of you.

    “I’m offended,” he softly quipped.

    You stared at him a bit longer. Then you burst into laughter. Steve chuckled along with you, watched you with a growing smile as you fell back onto the bed in a giggling fit. Eventually, you calmed down, wiping tears that you weren’t sure were completely from laughing and staring up at the bedroom ceiling. “My gaydar’s fucked, dude.”

    This time Steve laughed and he collapsed back onto the bed with you. Then he grabbed you, wrapping his arms tightly around your back as he rolled over with you so that you were laying on top of him.

    “Well, like I said,” he said, watching you, “I don’t know.”

    “Well, you kind of know, though,” you replied, “right?”

    Steve tilted his head a bit, then nodded. “Kind of.”

    “So… what?”

    “What?”

    You shrugged and grinned. “I don’t know. What are you into? What do you think you are? Like, I uh… I like girls. And guys. And everything in between and outside.”

    “I thought that was pansexual or something?”

    “For some people it is. For some people, bi is only girls and only guys. I tried pan, omni, a few others, but bi was what I always came back to. Bi just… fits.”

    Steve sighed and stared past you at the ceiling again. “See, I just think there’s too much information. I’m too old. Get confused easily.” 

    You snorted and snickered as he flashed a smile at you. “Some people don’t do any of it, you know. Labels and stuff, I mean. They’re just kinda like ‘I like this and all there it is to it.’ No label, just them and love. Couldn’t be me but it works for other people.”

    Steve nodded again and after a minute said, “I just like people.”

    You smiled at him. “Okay.”

    He looked at you. “I really like you.”

    The smile slowly turned into a grin. “Oh yeah?”

    Steve smiled back and held you tighter against him. “I like you a lot.”

    “Well, well, Mr. Rogers—”

    “Captain,” he grumbled under his breath, “but it’s fine.”

    “Captain Rogers,” you corrected as you slinked up to lean over him. You took his face in your hands and leaned so close that your noses bumped together. “I like you a lot too.”

    Steve leaned in the rest of the way to kiss you and you kissed him back. Despite the teasing, the kiss was soft and sweet, and when he pulled away from you, the way he looked at you full of love was just as sweet.

    “Love you,” he said.

    “I love you too.”

[nxrthmizu]

| honoured | day 16

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@daminette-december2019-2020 ​

prompt | Royalty AU

pairing | Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng 

words | 1.7k 

author’s note | Hi watch me indulge myself in this because it’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a royalty au 

»»——⍟——««

“You’re all pathetic.” Damian hissed, twisting the sword out of yet another knight’s grip. “How are you supposed to protect me when you can’t even beat me in a duel?” His sharp words glared at the line of knights that had applied to be Gotham’s prince’s personal guard. None of them lived up to his expectations, and at this point Damian wasn’t even surprised anymore. 

He huffed impatiently. “Is that all you lot have got?” 

“May I try, sir?” Spoke a knight that was way too short and way too small in comparison to the line of other silver-clad men. A pair of bluebell eyes met the prince’s emerald ones, a spark of determination and confidence glinting in them. 

Damian sighed, eyeing the spark in the bluebell eyes, a smirk overcoming his features. How naive, he thought. He couldn’t wait to smite out that light in those bluebell eyes. 

»»——⍟——««

He didn’t. 

The room was completely silent as Damian’s sword flew across the room with a clang, twisted quickly out of his grip as the small knight surprised him with the sudden attack. It was so quiet that the failed knights could hear the prince’s shallow, panting breaths that hurried to pay off the oxygen debt in his muscles. 

“... What is your name.” The prince’s voice was deadly quiet as he stared into the blue eyes. The knight slid the helmet off, dark blue hair tied up in a ponytail, flushed cheeks painted red from the ten continuous minutes of unending parrying. 

“Marin Cheng, sir!” 

The failed knights watched with bated breath as the prince stared down coldly at the shorter knight. They had underestimated the knight greatly- No one thought that the small midget stood a single chance against the prince, who was one of the best swordsmen known throughout the kingdom. 

“...” He surveyed Marin with a careful eye. “Very well. See Mr. Pennyworth about your new living arrangements.” The words were unspoken, but the whole hall was clear about what the prince had left unsaid. 

You are my personal guard. 

»»——⍟——««

Marin never left Damian’s side, per his request. His personal guard’s job was to follow him around to ensure he was never outnumbered in an ambush- And he had to admit, Marin’s presence was rather enjoyable. The small knight was not made out of a lot of muscle- But certainly had the wits and deftness to make up for the lack in size. 

The knight quickly learnt that there were times when Damian wanted the air to be filled with chatter, and when he did not. During the times that he wanted to rid of the silence, the blue-haired knight would begin talking animatedly, chatting about anything and everything around them- The bushes around the royal garden, the new bakery that opened downtown, the new uniform for cadets. And when the prince valued his silence, the blue-haired knight would keep quiet and simply follow the emerald-eyed teen around. 

“Marin.” 

The knight was sitting on the floor of Damian’s private library, flipping through a book with the prince’s permission. Blue eyes glanced up instantly, the book forgotten quickly as the knight waited for the prince’s instructions. 

“I’m bored.” Damian pushed the documents he was supposed to read aside. “Fence with me.” 

The two of them were in the palace courtyard in a while, both their swords drawn as the prince stepped forward with the first move. The metallic ringing of sword on sword rang through the courtyard, the blows consistently repeating as the prince parried his knight’s attack. 

“You’ve gotten better, my prince.” Marin commented with a slight smile, blocking another of Damian’s attacks. 

A smirk slipped onto the prince’s features. “Of course.” 

»»——⍟——««

Months flew by uneventfully, Marin moving seamlessly into the prince’s life, getting used to the daily schedule of the emerald-eyed teen. Marin would be up at 5am, training alone in the empty courtyard until 6, when a shower and a quick pop-in to the kitchen would be needed. At 6.30, the knight would accompany Damian to breakfast and the rest of the day would be spent in the study or in the courtyard. 

Of course, Marin’s appointment as the prince’s personal guard brought a lot of attention in the form of jealousy and hate in the knight’s direction- But most of the time, these glares were simply dismissed by Marin. The other knights started trying to find any sort of dirt on the personal guard, knowing there was no way they could outmatch Marin in skill. 

And fortunately for the other knights, (And unfortunately for Marin), the blue-haired knight had a giant secret. 

The blue-haired knight shrieked in terror as the other silver-clad men dragged her into the middle of the king’s court, wrapped in only a white towel, all of her secrets laid out after they ambushed her in her morning bath. 

“Sir!” One of the knights said with a scoff. “We have an imposter among us.” 

It was clear now, without the wall of her silver armour to hide in, that Marin was actually a Marinette. Her long, dark blue hair covered her bare shoulders like a curtain of ivy, her bluebell eyes sharp in fright of the king’s reaction. 

“Prince Damian’s personal guard...” The knight continued, eyeing her hatefully and with a glint of victory. “Is a woman.” 

Before anyone could express their surprise at this discovery, the doors of the hall slammed open, as loud as a thunder clap across the kingdom’s skies. The furious prince stood in the middle of the doorway, marching to the centre of the court with narrowed eyebrows and a displeased frown. 

“What is this?” He demanded, eyes flitting over to the nearly-naked woman sitting in the centre of the hall.

“Damian,” King Bruce begin slowly. “It seems that your personal guard is... A lady.” 

‘Infuriated’ didn’t even begin to describe the prince’s expression. “And?” He snapped, turning to point his glare at the knights that surrounded the blue-haired knight. “She’s more than competent at her job. More competent than you lot, actually.” 

“My prince, with all due respect, don’t you think it’s inappropriate to have a lady as a knight?” One of the silver-clad men spoke up with a raised eyebrow, his fellow knights murmuring their agreements. 

The prince sucked in a deep breath before sharpening his ice-cold glare. “I am to be the future king of this country.” Hissed the emerald-eyed prince. “And if the knight, whether a she or a he, is capable of holding he or her ground in a duel against me, which, may I remind, you lot weren’t, then I would be nothing less than honoured to have her fight by my side.” 

Silence rang deafening volumes in the courtyard as men registered the fact that Prince Damian- The ice prince himself- Just admitted to be honoured to fight in someone’s else company- Never mind the fact that the someone happened to be a woman. 

“Father.” Damian said in an icy tone, shedding off his cloak to wrap around Marin- No, Marinette’s shoulders. “These knights clearly have no concept on respect and privacy. They dragged out a woman in nothing but her towel into the centre of a hall. Father, surely you don’t believe that these people here deserve to be knights?” 

The king hummed thoughtfully. “You do have a point. I don’t suppose they do.” 

“Your majesty-” 

“Alfred, have these men be removed from the palace premises and be stripped of their knight titles, please.” 

“Father, if I could make one more request?” 

“Speak.” 

Damian stood up, a cold fire burning in his eyes that would later lead him to be a fair and just ruler. “I would like to allow capable women to join knight ranks officially.” 

The court was so silent that you could hear the pen scratching of Mr. Pennyworth, who was busy making arrangements and smiling proudly at the emerald-eyed prince’s request. 

“That is an interesting request, Damian.” The king smiled thoughtfully. “Have your proposal on this new law finished and on my desk by tomorrow afternoon.” 

The prince nodded his head, gripping his personal guard’s shoulders as he helped her stand. “Thank you, father.” He said, emerald-green eyes glinting at the now former-knights as he guided Marinette out of the hall, the doors slamming close as if nothing had just happened. 

»»——⍟——««

 “Did you know this whole time?” Marinette asked quietly, now decked out more comfortably in her knight gear. The prince and his personal guard were seated on the stone steps of the courtyard, the sun beating down into the ceiling-less area. 

“... Ever since you beat me. Yes.” Came the prince’s answer as he watched the blue-haired woman wipe his sword clean. “You were too small-built to be a man. Your shoulders aren’t wide enough.” 

“I see.” 

Silence resumed as the blue-haired knight fidgeted awkwardly on the step, her hands moving quickly to make the metal shine under the glow of the sun. 

“You don’t have to always wear your armour around me.” Damian mused quietly, leaning against one of the pillars comfortably. “You can just wear a shirt. It would be easier for you to move around. And since everyone knows anyway,” He shrugged. “No point in you trying to cover up with your armour anymore.” 

Marinette blushed at the prince pointing her out blatantly. “I... Yes, my prince.” 

“Go change. I want to duel for a bit before I have to draft up my proposal.” He said lazily, flicking his hands at her. “I’ll practice on my own first. Hurry up.” 

He watched her retreating back, the clanks of her armour gradually getting softer as she returned to her room, which was only a corridor away from his. His mind flickered back to the day he first met her- Damian thought he’d never lose to a man in swordplay. 

And he was right. 

He lost to a woman. 

A woman by the name of Marinette Cheng. 

»»——⍟——««

taglist. @maskedpainter @animegirlweeb @starmist19 @myazael @stainedglassm @user00000003 @toughluna @nickristus-dreamer @missmadwoman

send in an ask to be added to Cady’s Daminette December taglist! 

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also I feel so sorry for everyone waiting for me to update never knowing which dates I’ll write for lol 

Oh oh and I'm pretty proud of this because I didn't use she/her at all before Marin's gender reveal :)