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janumun · 2 months ago

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A Relentless Conquest (LaDS Sylus - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Words: 10.7k Pairing: Sylus/Reader

Tags: dueling (Sylus fighting), semi-public sex, oral and vaginal sex, Sylus’s brand of manhandling, dry humping, praising, dirty talk, rough sex, wander in wonder AU/historical AU, based in ancient Mongolia, creampie, size difference, mild rich/poor class power dynamics

Summary: What happens when you end up catching the unwanted attentions of a sleazy magistrate on a day out in town? A duel for your honor — or lifelong imprisonment — is what awaits you. That is, until Sylus, leader of the exceedingly notorious Onychinus gang, and a man you dub reluctantly, an old acquaintance, intervenes and offers the immoral magistrate a deal he cannot refuse.

[A fic where Sylus engages in a precarious duel in order to free you from the clutches of a corrupt high official; wins the duel AND the prize at stake, you.]

Author’s Notes: The things the Wander in Wonder trailer did to me were unspeakable, I had to get started on this fic right away. Another long monstrosity so it took me quite a while to hammer it out smoothly. Some terms used within, to note: *tögrögs is an old Mongolian currency and *Lungtang is the Mongolian city used loosely within this fic’s setting, as per Sylus’s alleged outfit inspiration drawn from the Mongol’s hunting fit in the current event, “Wander in Wonder” . An amazing twitter thread for the rest of the inspirations drawn for the boys’ outfits can be found here.

Link to Ao3

Perhaps you should’ve considered your course of action through before you’d tossed yourself voluntarily into the metaphorical den of lions. Caleb did always tease you for your often impudent ways, declaring you’d get yourself into hot water someday.

You didn’t quite think past saving the small, unfortunate child in front, when he’d careened straight into the Magistrate, staining the sickly bone white of his gaudy robes with the treat he’d been brandishing in hand. An action of careless innocence that could’ve saddled the boy with a severe punishment of thrashings at best. And at worst —

You didn’t even wish to entertain the horrifying notion.

You whisper a quick note of warning to the trembling child in your arms before he’s nodding his assent, making a clean dash away from the Magistrate and his burly procession of hired cronies. They do not move to stop him; the official’s beady eyes sweeping cursory across his fleeing figure before he focuses upon you once more.

“Well then, speak up, girl. How do you plan on making up for the crimes of the filthy criminal you just let escape?” He leers at you, sending a frisson of disgust through your veins. “I do not mind much, provided you are able to compensate me in full.” He holds up two thick, swollen fingers. “two thousand tögrögs.” Your stomach revolts in near horror at the exorbitant price he names.

“Speak, lass, do you possess the means to compensate me?”

“...Apologies, Sire, I do not.”

The Magistrate clicks his tongue at you, as if that son of a cur had not already anticipated your answer; your garb alone giving away your status as a mere commoner while he stood, a tall, foolish braggart of a Magistrate, who’d been a constant source of worry amongst the townsfolk as of late. “What a pity. I guess we shall have to make you pay off with what you do have on person, shan’t we?”

His eyes rove down the length of your body in a manner greasy enough, it has your fingers itching to claw them out of his skull. Thoughts of the consequences of your actions extending to your family after — your grandmother and Caleb — are what stay your hands, firm by your side. You try and maintain that demure grace firm within your body instead.

“What else are we to do if she cannot pay for what she has cost me, yes?” The Magistrate flourishes his arms wide and turns, towards the crowd that has gathered to watch, setting the stage for his perverse demands. “An eye for an eye, an honor exchanged for honor; that is the Law of our Lungtang, is it not?”

None of the commonfolk dare to speak against the tyrant’s words, lest they make of themselves a new target to harass. And you do not blame them either, the burden of your reckless actions, yours to bear alone.

The man trundles forwards on heavy steps; the large, ugly stain left across his robes growing wider in your lowered line of sight before the expanse of his bloated, sweating hand fills your field of vision. The rings around his fingers, nearly engorging the base of them as he curls his hand about your jaw to heave your gaze up towards him.

The ugly, toad-like sweep of his tongue against the top row of black and gold teeth has a chill skittering down your spine. “You’re rather lovely, you know that?” He croaks in a low, creeping voice.

You bite harsh into your bottom lip to revolt against the bile that threatens to reflux past your throat and onto the bastard’s face. “What say you become my whore then, dearest? I’d treat you very...” A slimy slip of the hand down the expanse of your body, to settle at your hip. “ well . And if you please me, you could even climb the ranks and become first Mistress, you know?” You judder at the stench of his breath, nearly in your face now. Unable to help the revulsion he inspires in you and you know; the cur in front takes it for a show of abashed innocence, with the way his leer stretches wider across his face.

“I am far too plain and discourteous for a man of your stature, my lord. If there is anything else I could do for you in recompense, I would be more than delighted to offer my services.” The words uttered, sit sickly sweet on your tongue. “I have a good arm on me and can do any physical labor you may require of me.”

The rat makes a show of deliberating your words. “It’s a pity the only ‘physical labor’ I require of you lies within my bed, dear girl.”

You visibly recoil from his revolting touch at your arm; perhaps you aren’t able to quite keep your emotions from surfacing upon your face this time round as the man grabs at your forearm tighter, gaze darkening in simmering displeasure.

“You know the law, woman. If you wish to run scot-free without offering anything in return, you must put your life on the line and agree to a duel with the offended party.” He chucks a thick, swollen thumb back at his minions, voice seething into a threatening octave. “And I wouldn’t suggest that unless you want them to crush that pretty face of yours.”

You consider ending it all; cutting the bastard open for him to choke in a pool of his own gurgling blood. You think you could do it too, before his bodyguards could get to you.

And with the loss of their Master, they wouldn’t be able to hold you prisoner within the dungeons for too long: you hoped. The stray, wild thought is all you can see within your vision.

Your hand twitches for the dagger fastened right beneath your satchel, one Caleb had lent you for protection. Fingers barely grazing against the polished hilt of the blade, cobbling together courage to see your mad plan through.

Before large, thick digits are slipping against yours to halt — a fleeting touch of caution — from behind, fracturing your hasty plan entirely.

You’re barely able to comprehend the sudden, unnoticed proximity of your interloper, before a great arm is coiling fast about the expanse of your waist, snatching you swift from the Magistrate’s claws and firm against a warm, broad chest.

“Now, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” The well-known burr, welcome, in that moment stirs joy within your belly as you reach to crane your neck to meet eyes with that familiar scarlet.

“Sylus.” You croak in near disbelief.

He exhales, low, against the shell of your ear, before he slowly lets go of you. “I’m away from Lungtang for a mere fortnight, only to find you scrounging for trouble, upon return.”

Your irritation might’ve flared at his words if not for the phlegmy clearing of the Magistrate’s throat in front.

“And who do you think you are to touch my property so carelessly, insolent fool?”

Your ire directed from the man behind to the bastard in front. You feel Sylus’ hand soothe a flex about your shoulder.

“My bad, honoured Magistrate.” He sweeps an insouciant palm at him, the grin upon his face edged to a dagger’s point. “We did not think you would be gracing Lungtang so soon with your noble presence. Or we might’ve arranged for a far better reception, for your Grace.”

Each word that slips past Sylus’ lips is a sarcasm heavy barb that turns the official’s face in front purple with each syllable uttered. “That woman owes me, you dog. I shall make her my mistress, as is only fair I extract proper recompense from her for her grave offense.”

One of the Magistrate’s men behind scamper forward in that moment to whisper urgently into his ear. The official’s eyes nearly burst out of his sockets at whatever he’s learned, wide toady gaze skittering towards Sylus as if he is indeed a rabid beast that would bite if disturbed.

He thrusts an accusatory finger at him. “You are the Onychinus’ leader.” He spits. “That gang of lawless hounds.”

Sylus’s mouth quirk into a vicious smile at the allegation. “That I am.”

“You— you,” The Magistrate seems to sputter for the space of several moments before the man at his side mutters something else into his ear.

The official straightens at whatever he’s heard, clearing his throat, once. Twice. “I am willing to pardon your crimes.” He begins once more. “Provided you can prove yourself worthy in a duel against one of my men.” The crowd around you breaks into quiet murmurs. “But,” he continues. “if you lose, Onychinus dog, then along with your little woman, you shall give up your life to my service, your autonomous tyranny within these lands shall cease to exist and you shall follow my sole command.” He pauses for a moment’s breath, as if to let the weight of what he believes to have been a devastating challenge, sink in.

But all he earns from Sylus is a raised brow. “Sounds like a deal. Let us raise the stakes, though, shall we?” He cocks his head at the procession of guards right behind the Magistrate. “I’ll take on all your men, not just your best. Give you a real crutch to get started with.”

The crowd of onlookers erupts into gasps of surprise and gibbering discussion amidst the concerning blue coloring the Magistrate’s face at the taunt. You desperately clutch at Sylus’s arm. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He meets your wide-eyed panicked gaze with a cool, gentle one of his own. “Calm yourself down, kitten. I’ll be fine.” A large hand, he places gentle at your head in reassurance but all it does instead is send your alarm flaring higher.

What had you roped the man into? Infuriating though he was. Sylus was a confounding acquaintance of years; you could not help be lured into irritation any time he were around — a man whose companionship you’d come to cherish in begrudging gratitude over your time together — but this is not what you’d wanted.

Your reeling thoughts fractured by the screeching Magistrate in front. “You think you’re all that, you shameless scoundrel? Oh, you’re just a man and I’ll make sure they break your limbs, bone by excruciating bone, before we drag you bloodied and defeated, to my estate.” He spits the time of the duel to be held tomorrow in that same fury before he’s turning on you both and trudging back off to where he came from, his procession of cronies falling along right in line.

And you’re left behind, with the metallic poison of your regret within your mouth and bone deep worry within your body as you stare up at Sylus’s form.

The next day arrives much too soon, even as sleep evades you through the entirety of your night, spent tossing onto much too warm sheets.

Now, having dragged yourself to dress and prepare yourself for the dreaded day, you trudge out of your home, chancing a brief, longing look upon the humble place over your shoulder, in case it were truly your last.

You hadn’t divulged the details of your itinerary for the day — which possibly entailed getting sold into slavery to a sleazy official, by the time noon rolled in — to Grandmother or Caleb and you preferred it remain that way for as long as possible. Your Grandmother was coming along in her years, with weakened nerves now and Caleb tended to be a frightful worrywart in matters concerning you.

“Someone’s starting the day rather early. That eager to see me fight, are you, kitten?” The familiar voice beckons. You toss a raised brow over your shoulder at your previously truant neighbour, now returned — his house having settled long vacant in his absence, over the course of his journey to Gods knew where. And the root cause of all your fretting; Sylus moves to join you by your side in two easy strides.

“Don’t you even dare try joke about it, you absolute madman,” you mutter darkly under your breath, reaching to knock a fist against the side of his torso.

The same old routine you tumble into, with him; you aren’t able to tamp yourself back from biting into the man as soon as he’s in your sights; the only person capable of wrenching out your honest, most reflexive reactions. And you hate the ease with which this incendiary of a man manages to drag them out of you.

“What took over you to throw that offer out at that bastard, when you all but had a nice, even playing field to yourself? Now you’re just—” Your mouth snaps shut against the rest of your words, bitterly swallowed.

How did you even begin to disentangle your bunched feelings on the matter? You knew how all of Lungtang chanted the tales of the fearsome Onychinus head. A conundrum of a man with a reputation as daunting as his influential mien, one that never failed to instil the fear of God in lesser men; criminals and bandits, who sought to rob their small town on the rare luckless occasion — dubbed this obscure town’s own Warrior God.

But to you, he was also just Sylus; the man you’d grown in close proximity to since your late teenage years and a person you’d grown to care for in the natural course of your odd tug-and-push relationship.

And though you remained constantly wary of the type of people Sylus associated with, in his particular line of work — a job you did not wish for, to bring even a modicum of harm onto your family by association with him, you could not help the restless agitation that needled at you each time Sylus left home, sometimes for weeks on end, on any number of his covert expeditions.

And each time he did, the very nagging, unwelcome thought intruded, that perhaps this time he might not make it home.

“Are you worried for me right now, kitten?” Sylus’s airy query breaks through your reverie, your gaze leaping to find his, fixated firm on you. Those scarlet eyes seem to lose part of their mirth at the face you’re sure you’re pulling.

You tear your gaze away first, choosing to watch the path you two trek on, instead. “Of course, I’m worried. What a silly thing to ask.” A muted wisp of words.

Ones that spark an immediate stroke of mild discomfiture at the admission; you prattle on before he can speak. “I know you’re strong, I know that. But just you against what — 13 or 14 grown men? More if that bastard intends on killing you. Anyone with half a wit and eye can see it’s a self-slaughtering mission from yards away. I don’t understand—” your indignant voice breaks, to throttle in much needed air into breath parched lungs. “I just don’t understand why you’d do that. I don’t understand you.”

Help me figure out what you’re thinking; are the words you wish to speak but your voice refuses to assist.

Sylus hums a low, throaty sound; in admission that he’s heard you.

And then he opens his mouth to speak. Divulging a ‘reason’ that makes no sense to your muddled mind, simple though his words are. “That cad disrespected you.” Garnet tips your way to meet your surprised gaze. “That’s reason enough, is it not?”

“I—”

“Don’t fret anymore.” he continues. “I won't lose, you have my word.” Long, tapered digits brush gentle at your temple, in reassurance of your worries. “And once I’m done with that weasel, he won’t ever be capable of crawling within a mile of you, let alone dare a finger your way again.”

The confession, sudden and honest, spurts warmth within your chest that readily clambers up your cheeks and floods down into your belly. A knot pulled tight within seeming to relax just that bit, in comfort of his words. Truly, he confounds you; this odd, beautiful man.

You capture his fingers against yours in an insistent hold, halting him in his tracks. “You better keep your promise to me, Sylus,” you speak, meeting his gaze, firm on yours. “Do not forget the prize that’s at stake here. You'll come out of there, victorious. I won’t afford you any other options, you hear me?”

A pleased grin edges across that beautiful mouth, skewing it wider. He angles forward, so that garnet gaze is level against yours. Flexing the catch of his digits in between yours before he’s sweeping your hand towards his parted mouth in a fleeting brush of lips against your knuckles. “If it is my victory the Lady commands, so it shall be done.” He elaborates, a mild tickled inflection to his thick baritone.

You disregard his little jibing use of the title for this one instance; his solemn promise you know he’s sealed to you; in the gentle grip of your fingers against his, garnet that refuses to stray until you see the resolve of his vow settle within that gaze too.

By the time your deliberately protracted journey finds its end at the arena, edging the outskirts of Lungtang, the Magistrate along with his chosen warriors are already there, positioned and waiting by the great stone pillars of the vast grounds.

The coming fight having attracted the townspeople to turn up in droves to watch the weaselly Magistrate take on their best warrior — hordes of curious eyes you feel boring into the two of you as you make your way towards where the Magistrate awaits.

“Here you are. Any later and I might’ve started considering you’d fled with your tail in between your legs.” The Magistrate crows out loud. “After all, my men shall soon prove how Lungtang’s criminal they so falsely worship as a hero, is more bark than bite.” The swarm of brutes — big and terrifyingly bulky — he’s brought along, laugh at their Master’s goading.

Sylus, however, remains unperturbed. “Is that so? I can’t wait to find out,” he responds, scrubbing an insouciant hand through his hair.

His apathetic response seems to key the Magistrate’s ire even higher, sputtering his rage at him. “Y-You absolute— you imbecile. I will crush you.” Creeping a hand forward for you now, “I’ll hold the girl with me. We might as well quicken ourselves, in preparation for when you inevitably fall and watch me claim my rightful prize.”

You steel yourself against the touch, palm rising to curb his approach with a polite denial but your companion is swifter; large hand darting forth to curl a harsh fist against the official’s greasy wrist.

“No.” Sylus speaks, voice a low, lethal burr you haven’t ever heard from him before. “I don’t think you will, Sire.” Whatever it is the foolish Magistrate discerns within your companion’s steady gaze, has him flinching in visible fright at the sight, sweat beading wide across his pale, swollen face.

He wrenches his wrist from Sylus’s grip, as if scathed just as you angle a curious look up at the Onychinus head; his face an impassive mask — hardly unusual — before it breaks into the tiny quirk of a self-assured grin when he catches you watching.

The Magistrate yelps in frustration, turning in on a ferocious heel. “D-Do not waste my time any longer than you have.” Barking the rest of his words; he heads toward the makeshift dais he’s had set up for himself at the edge of the ring. “Come onto the fields now so we can commence the match.”

“Sylus,” you place a hand at his arm to stall. “Duck down for a moment.”

He raises a careful brow at you and you think he’s going to refuse for a moment but then he surprises you in the wordless, compliant drop of his head close to yours. Allowing your eyes to trace his features; those familiar scarlet eyes steady against yours, the slope of his broad nose, sweeping into the bow of full, slightly scraped lips.

You realize you trust this man and what he’s offered you, whole-heartedly. And so, you wish to extend the same sentiment, reaching for the precious beads adorning your neck — an heirloom from your late parents, your most prized possession.

Plucking it up and over your head in between cautious digits before you reach to place it about his neck instead. Leaving part of your most priceless gift with him, just as you’ve decided to entrust him with both your Fates. “A charm,” you clarify, “for good luck. It has been my most invaluable escort and has kept me safe all these years.”

Sylus mutely treks delicate fingers across the worn beads of the chain, grasping it in between a loose fist, in acceptance of your faith.

“Return it to me once you’ve won.” You tell him, rapping a firm fist against the leather guard at his chest.

Large, warm digits move to curve about yours, gripping your fist against himself. “As if I could turn down such a heartfelt request, sweetheart.” A spirited grin tugs at his features. “I’ll bring your little treasure back to you in one piece.”

“Good, I’ll wait for it.” You respond. “Now, go out there and show them the might of our Warrior God.”

The Magistrate flourishes open an official scrolled document, no doubt detailing the terms of their duel as soon as Sylus shifts to take position within the field, on opposing side of the assembly of his hired goons.

You move to occupy a place up front, to stand among the vast gathered crowd, observing the proceedings as the Magistrate clutches the scroll up into the air and begins to drone out the conditions of the fight and the prize at stake — your belly stirs in nausea — you . “The duel shall be declared closed when all members of a party have been knocked unconscious; or killed, under the rare, unfortunate circumstance.” His beady eyes rove Sylus’s way. “Any objections?”

Sylus shrugs the question off entirely in the flex of an arm against his chest, in preparation of the duel. “Let us not waste our time debating inanity now, as you said earlier. Commence the fight.”

The Magistrate’s face colours a foul purple — you hope he may truly burst — but all he does is spew a cold, curt, “Begin.”

The arena hurtles into instantaneous chaos, along with the crowd’s rousing cheers and gasps of terrified delight as the Magistrate’s cronies hound Sylus all at once. Your body hunching forward on reflex to watch as the first set of blows streak straight for Sylus’s face but he ducks down with an agility, unusual to a man of his stature.

He catches two of the oncoming blows against his palms. Jamming his fists tight about their wrists before he contorts them sideways in a dull crackle of bone. The men immediately buckle to their knees in an agony of groans, their peers stepping over their fallen companions after, to grab for their opponent who springs out of their way, as if dancing the men around, with a noose placed about their grappling bodies.

A sharp jab comes right for Sylus’s side after, the crony tries and lands a hit against his ribs; the latter’s grasp flexing about his arm to break his momentum, wrenching him close into his body. Before Sylus jostles his elbow harsh into the man’s back.

Two men lunge for Sylus, aiming for his blind spot; your scraped call of warning lost amidst the thunderous din of the crowds as Sylus rounds upon his assailants. Grabbing the man he has on hand, fingers fisting tight into his garb before he hurls him onto the approaching minions, with a force violent enough, the three go bowling straight into the dirt.

The crowd’s cheer is raucous; wild as the grin that splits wide across Sylus’s face as he stretches his body tall to full length. “Come now, that’s surely not all of what you’ve got for me.” Sweat barely beginning to make itself known across the firm muscled expanse of his arms, his torso. He's hardly out of breath while his opponents gawk at him as if cornered against a rabid beast.

Your heart thrills in unexpected, startled pleasure to witness the strange, sensuous virility to his almost savage visage as he paces forward on swift, easy steps, within the ring.

You’d always known Sylus to hold a rich charisma compacted within that strong personality; an ability to entice all he came into contact with. A brilliant, perceptive mind along with that tacit, undeterred will; he’d brought flourishing business booming within Lungtang over his period of unofficial rule of the place. The uncrowned Onychinus King and a fearsome warrior; the first time you’d truly stood witness to what he was capable of, outside of devious negotiations, professional and unalike.

And to know, it was for you that he stood in that place now, socking down enemies with the streak of a great, terrifying beast that had your heart skittering within your chest and your blood thrumming within your ears, alongside the adrenaline roiling through your veins. He truly was an infuriatingly perfect man.

You joined your voice to the shouts of encouragement rolling off the townspeople, in waves for their Warrior God just as Sylus brings an opponent down to his knees with a violent sweep of his knee to his torso.

“Enough!” You hear the squeaked, enraged bellow of the Magistrate as he watches the proceedings with an increasingly incensed face. Whipping his reddening face towards the crowd to shake a threatening fist at them. “Quiet down before I have you all thrown into the dungeons!”

But the townsfolk refuse to relent; their cheers rising to a deafening roar as the Magistrate nearly tumbles out of his seat to thrust a trembling finger at the ring as Sylus tosses another of his men over his shoulder to taste the ground at his feet . The attendants at his side scamper towards the arena at once. A quick, urgent rush of communication seems to pass in between the attendants and Sylus’s remaining opponents. Before the servants are tossing weapons into the ring, ones the cronies lunge for as soon as they hit the field. Rising slow once more as they brandish their newly obtained unfair advantage at an unarmed Sylus.

A great wave of shock and indignance passes over the crowd just as you push past the row of onlookers to jostle yourself to the very front. “Hey! This was not among the rules!” You shout at the Magistrate. A sentiment the rest of the crowd joins you in mirroring but all it earns you is an insouciant shrug from the bastard, shedding any remaining responsibility of hosting a fair fight against Sylus. “And the rules didn’t indicate the participants were not allowed the use of tools at their disposal either. The opposing party’s principal should’ve brought his own if he wished for one, as well.”

“That’s not—” Your voice breaks in agonised distress just as the Magistrate turns away from you entirely to press his rotund body back into the comfort of his seat to watch his laid-out massacre once more. Son of a cur.

“Sylus!” You try and yell for his attention amongst the horrified cries of the crowd. “ Sylus, you don’t have to fight anymore! Get out of there, now! Sylus . ”

His gaze sweeps over the mass of spectators for that one split moment, as if foraging for yours. Until it seems to find and fixate upon you, his mouth forming slow shape over words you cannot hear but understand on instinct, “Stay right there.”

Your heart leaps and slams violent against the back of your breastbone with the crowd’s rising screams, just as a hefty brute lunges for Sylus; a battle axe heaved high above his head to strike a killing blow.

The first cleave of the blade, Sylus avoids, to the tumbling pummel of your frenzied nerves. The man’s fervent swings, he dodges left and right. Avoiding another enemy’s assault with a dagger aimed straight for his gut; Sylus streaks the side of his palm flat onto his wrist in a hit vicious enough, the knife goes flying out of his grasp to stick, hilt-up, useless onto the ground. Before Sylus pummels a heavy fist into the assailant’s face, plastering him down onto the ground.

The metallic chains of a flail come streaking for him, just as he side-steps past another heavy swing of the axe, catching the iron fetters of it harsh against his wrist. He ducks close into the enemy, manoeuvring the momentum of his attack into his own advantage, to wrench the man harsh into the fist he rams straight into his gut. Tumbling him sideways into the ground, unconscious.

The bulldozing axe wielding maniac, now in close proximity, careens straight for Sylus on a fervent bellow, sweeping a blow straight for his head. Sylus seizes his last standing opponent’s assault against the strength of a muscled forearm. Catching the brunt of the axe’s hilt at it before he shoves back on a ferocious, inhuman show of force.

Sylus, your heart hammers, lips forming shape over the syllables of his name in urgent prayer.

The momentum of the wide, stone blade pushed back in such violence, sends the wielder staggering back with the weight of it; Sylus turning that precious moment of weakness to his benefit as he lunges straight for his neck, seizing it within a thick fist. The core muscles of his arm, rippling with the force with which Sylus hauls him off his feet entirely to drive the man down onto the ground with a vicious snarl.

The combatant stops moving immediately, knocked out cold on the dirt; Sylus rising slow onto his feet as he stares at the man, chest heaving with the efforts of his strenuous exertion.

A grave’s quietude slumps across the gathered crowd for several, tense moments.

And then shatters into raucous chaos as the Conqueror of the duel is cheered to the high heavens; Sylus’s grin, wide and daunting, as he shifts off his fallen opponent, scrubbing a large hand back through sweat soaked locks as he starts ambling over toward the edge of your side of the arena.

And your heart — your silly little heart — soars from its place within your chest and out for him, the high of his victory, as if it were your own, throbbing brutal within your blood.

Before you know or comprehend it, your legs are moving; pushing past the crowds of onlookers, the wooden slates of your sandals skidding at dirt, as you fly across the ring toward Sylus. Your gaze entirely filled with your brilliant warrior’s expression shifting into surprise as you hurtle into him. And Sylus — that big, beautiful man understands — catches your careening body within his embrace; your momentum, he breaks against a half-swivel about his heel. Large, warm arms come tight about your body, wordless, without a question uttered, to seclude you further into that private space; just for you both in that moment.

Your arms stretching about the thick expanse of his neck as you hold on hard to him; Sylus’s low exhale you feel warm gently, into the crescent of your neck as he sinks into you. The people, his duel; none of it matter when you embrace him this close against you, the adrenaline of your unbound joy, his impressive triumph settling into your thundering heart, you feel pressed against him.

His soft, heavy laughter curls pleasant into your ears. “To the victor go the spoils, I guess.” He breathes. “Although this treasure seems particularly eager on jumping into my arms herself.”

“Of course I am.” You press yourself away from him enough to afford yourself a proper survey of his face. “Gods, you were brilliant. Thank you, Sylus.”

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye; a slow, testing touch. His gaze simmers in unusual, unexpected gentleness that siphons the breath from your lungs. “You need never thank me for anything, sweetheart, let alone this. I do not want it.”

Your own relief blooming into a smile, but before you can respond; an unpleasant, harsh voice fractures through the air — the Magistrate seething and raging as he makes his way over to you both, an army of guards right behind. Clearly, the man could not stomach a sore loss; rabid fire and venom within his gaze as he trudges toward you, screaming obscenities.

“Step back for a bit, kitten.” And you obey without further prompting, granting Sylus a wide berth for whatever he plans on doing.

He doesn’t spare a moment longer before he’s striding forward, snatching one of the Magistrate’s unconscious minions off the ground. Hoisting him high up by the scruff of his neck. The Magistrate’s steps stagger just then at Sylus’s mad display, perhaps sensing the disaster he’s called upon him.

But it’s far too late. “Here, have a present from all of Lungtang, Sire.” Sylus tows his arm back, wide, and aims — to the scurrying cries of the Magistrate — before he violently hurls the man in hand, right at the waddling official, bowling him and half his guards over like a stack of gambling plaques.

“Sylus.” You gasp at his insane spectacle.

Before the corrupt, toppled lot can even think to get their bearings back, Sylus is strolling back toward you; a quick flourish of a large hand thrown over his shoulder, in signal. “Take care of them,” he instructs out loud.

A swarm of dark clad men melt away, on his sole command, from the crowds, to pack around the Magistrate and his men, blotting their figures entirely out of your sight. “Come on.” Sylus’s voice fractures through your reverie, his frame crowding your field of vision.

“Whe— aah!” A hefty arm swoops beneath the back of your legs, sending frantic fingers scrabbling for purchase against the strength of Sylus’s shoulders as he hoists you up against his body. “What’re you doing?”

He flashes a devious grin up at you, completely at odds against the bewildered shock you know is wide across your face. “Time to get out of here, sweetheart,” is all he offers in response before he’s sweeping you away from the pandemonium he’s wrought and the boisterous crowd; discarding all of that well-earned glory behind.

The throng of on-goers tapers out the farther you get on to the road winding away from the arena; curious and awed looks alike garnered your way: at your position, and at the man — the infamous Onychinus head — who strolls easy through the streets of Lungtang, in possession of the strange woman he carries snug on the crook of an arm.

A flush creeping hot up your face the longer this spectacle goes on until Sylus’s pace — thank the Gods above — dwindles to a halt. “This should be far enough.”

“Yes, thank you. Put me down now.” Tapping fraught fingers against his shoulders in emphasis. Sylus raises a sculpted brow at you but relents, nonetheless. He steps past the mouth of the nearest back-street, well clear of people, before he helps you down onto your feet.

You lean a hand across his arm, taking a moment to scramble your bearings back.

“The brief walk back has you this out of breath, huh?” You turn a half-hearted frown at his mild ribbing; the man barely having broken a sweat himself, for having carried you all the way down here.

“I wasn’t the one who asked you to lug me the entire way, you know,” you return.

“What can I say, sweetheart? I’m rather protective of my treasures being made to rot too long among the grime.” He gently pinches your cheek in between thick, tapered digits; voice descending to a softer baritone. “And I won, as promised.” Long, tapered fingers skim heat across the angle of your cheekbone. “So, you’ll give me a pass this once, won’t you?”

Vivid scarlet flitters in inscrutable emotion to witness you cup careful palms about his own, as he touches you.

“You also pulled that insane stunt with that sleaze of a magistrate at the end there. I don’t know how you plan on getting out of that one,” you point out, but there is no actual heat to your accusation.

He exhales a half-laugh. “That’s probably long taken care of.” Stroking the fall of your hair back against your ear. “No one will come after you now.”

You step closer to him. “You do know I’m capable of worrying about you too, right? I’m not heartless.” His mouth quirks at your peeved admission. “...You’re important to me Sylus.”

A streak of something akin to surprise fulgurates for a moment’s notice within that garnet gaze, at your confession.

Your fingers trek a steady path against the painted beads of your necklace dangling at his chest. “Although I do hope you’ll never pull something like this on my behalf, ever again.” He'd brought it back to you, safe and unscathed, just as he’d said — a vow made, he had honoured.

Relief was still warm within your chest, along with the turbulence of long nursed vexing emotions, brought forth to the surface — for a man you’d known for almost half your life — by the day’s sequence of events. “I don’t think my heart could handle it.” You huff out a soft laugh.

An inscrutable emotion streaks across Sylus’s face, too quick to pick apart until it retreats entirely once more.

“Unfortunately for you,” long, tapered digits sweep about yours at his chest, capturing your hand steady within his grip. “that’s not a pledge I can offer you.” His whisper is low, throaty as it settles against you and you realize the sudden proximity of your positions.

His striking face is all that floods your vision. His gaze flickers from yours, down toward the bow of your parted lips — a remiss on his part, you can tell from how it rolls back swift to catch your eyes once more. If you did not know any better, you might’ve almost thought he meant to lean further and—

But was it really the mad conjuring of your mind and a reluctantly hopeful heart that wished to see what it thought it did? Or had you been this obtuse on purpose all along?

Your brow knits in consternation; this far removed from the persistent babbling of voices — your anxieties, the people, his duel, your uncertain fates at the time — and sequestered within the quiet alley; your roiling thoughts are loud and insistent.

“And why’s that, Sylus?” You ask quietly.

The skewed pull of his mouth is devastatingly beautiful even in its lack of mirth, this up close. “I think you know the answer to that, sweetheart. Or are you going to pretend otherwise?” His thumb strokes its gentle path across your knuckles — lighting an incendiary course — your hand still placed firm at his chest. “Whatever your choice, however, know it has always been yours to make.”

The muted, steady beats of his heart beneath your palm seem to thrum past the sensitive pads of your digits as they skim a line past his pectorals, and up your body, warming it from the inside out.

You swallow against the surge of a nervous fever that takes you all at once; ploughing past that pluck of anxiety at your chest, to bet your entirety on the one gamble you’re about to make.

“Come to think of it.” Pink tongue slinks past a mouth parched, to trek a slow path across your bottom lip, end to end; the intolerable burning intensity of Sylus’s scarlet gaze scouring each single motion, sending your light-headedness thrumming higher. “You haven’t truly won yet, have you, Sylus?”

“What?” He exhales heavily. His breathing has quickened just a snick higher, you notice, underneath your feathering ministrations. You’re fascinated by how he sounds much short of breath in this one instant than he did throughout the entirety of that match. The fact sending a deluge of warm pride and desire threading through your heart.

“A winner is only one when he has been crowned as such, and received his dues.” You clarify, shifting closer against him.

Stretching up on the balls of your feet until you’re a mere hair’s breadth from his face. “You however, have yet to claim your prize.” Sweeping forward until your lips are skimming against his in a tentative, testing brush of kiss — your hammering thoughts of uncertainty, of whether he wants this too, swiped clean with the soft, guttural choke of sound that slips past Sylus’s lips at your brazen initiative. And before you can bask under the simmering warmth of what that sound does to you, Sylus is curving a large palm firm within the thread of your locks, wrenching your mouth back against his in a bruising, fervid kiss.

Eager fingers skitter at the strength of his shoulders to ground yourself against the sudden, pleasurable onslaught just as he captures your waist within the ironed grip of an arm. Almost lifting you up entirely against him until you’re suspended barely at the tips of your toes.

His grunts are warm against the inside of your mouth as his tongue skims past the easy access of your parted lips to taste you against himself. The wet muscle sliding against yours before he sucks it into his own mouth on an approving groan of desire.

You're nearly nerveless by the time he parts from you on a wet stretch of sound, barely enough distance, his breath cascades hot against your damp lips with each guttural word, keying you higher. “This is getting a bit too dangerous, kitten. I suggest we stop here if you don’t wish to reach a point of no-return.”

“No. No,” Your hands flit in fervent frenzy from the stretch of his shoulders to bunch into the thick silver weave of his hair. “We don’t ever need to stop. I want this, I want you, if you do too.” Your mouth descending back against his in the dizzy crush of lips and tongue, Sylus’s groans of pleasure you drink down against your own moan.

“There hasn’t been a single moment where I haven’t desired you, sweetheart.” He whispers in harsh breaths into the pocket of space you allow him in between your kisses. “You’re the one who said it now. So, brace yourself.”

A hand you skim down the thick length of his neck, grazing at the base of his hair to support yourself against the large arms that cage your waist to lift until he’s driving you both back against the wall of the narrow alleyway, shrouding you deeper into shadows.

His kiss of gentle affection skids past the cut of your cheek, so at odds against the fierce brunt of his arousal you feel grinding into your belly. You buck against the touch just as Sylus eases you down, only enough you’re on your feet now; bodies still moulded tight against the shape of each other.

His mouth continues its work of feathering kisses across the curve of your cheek, down the delicate line of your jaw. His hips stroking against yours in gentle motions, sending the roll of his hard length against your stomach each time he guides you against himself, having you squirm in roiling pleasure, helpless against the insistence of his mouth and pelvis. Meeting his body with yours in the reflexive buck of your hips against his.

The elongated stretch of your skirt, sending a mild frisson of frustration through your nerves to feel the restriction of your movements against his. Groaning in soft defeat against Sylus’s mouth over yours, just as he cups a large hand about the angle of your pelvis. Caressing past the flare of your behind, rucking up the fabric within a tight fist to slide it, far too slow, up your legs.

A final brush of temporary farewell he kisses against your drenched lips before he descends, unhurried, down the length of your body; scarlet gaze refusing to relent from yours for even a single measured moment of mercy. A thick palm he traces, appreciative, down the curves of you as he pitches on to his knees.

Thumb warming its touch against the edge of a knee, your skirts bunched at the hand fastened about your leg as it caresses a slow, sensual path up higher. The glorious sight he is, down on his knees in between the willing split of your legs; undoing in its entirety — you shudder at the devastation he brings upon you when his fingers hone their target upon the cloth of your underwear at your hip. Skating a delicate path against the knot of it before his index slips underneath it to tug undone.

Wresting your underwear away entirely on his next sharp tug before he sweeps the mortifyingly damp cloth away from your body and under his nose for a long, obscene inhale. “You smell sweet, kitten. So much of this pretty nectar, all for me... I admit I’m more than a little flattered.” The skew of his devious smirk pulls wider at your choked sound of pleasure to witness him swipe your underwear down against his back, and pocket into the satchel at his belt.

“Sylus,” you reprimand half-heartedly, in distressed urgency.

“The victor takes it all, does he not? These are my spoils to have now, kitten.” His large palms are back at the skin of your legs, skimming a dizzying, scorching path up the quiver of your thighs. “Just as you are, the treasure I snatched for myself.”

“Let me indulge in my private feast, quietly now.” He baits in heated whispers, jaw falling open as he disappears in between the heavy folds of your skirt and — Heaven help you — the sound that scrapes raw past your throat to feel the tease of his broad tongue against your drenched slit, is unlike any you’ve ever heard before. The high-pitched squeal you cut off in the hasty wrench of your bottom lip into your mouth, heated desire clouding your swimming vision to tamp down your moans of arousal, lest any passers-by, just a few feet away from your shadowed alcove, spot the indecency of your display.

Thoughts drifting into emptiness — musing absent at how self-conscious you’d been while Sylus had carried you within his arms all the way out here; fully clothed then. And yet, here you were now, with your skirts bunched high up against your pelvis with that very same man’s wonderful tongue shoved deep inside you.

The hot pads of Sylus’s index and middle you feel skim against the tight bead of pleasure at your apex, just as the point of his tongue seeps in at your entrance, sending your hips stuttering into his steeled grip, fast at your pelvis.

You clamp a palm shut tight against your tapering moans, unable to smother them within yourself any longer. The heated plumes of your own breath crowding back against you with each shivered moan Sylus forces out of you.

His mouth brushes about the length of your folds, the bow of his upper lip bumping gentle at your tight bundle of nerves. Before he closes it within the searing heat of his mouth, sucking at your increasingly swollen flesh.

Sylus draws at the drenched slick of you like a man intent on devouring you whole, the thought drives your pleasure higher along with the rising euphoria bubbling within your body. A curious thumb parts your inner folds wider to admit the broad of his tongue deep into your slit. Your walls spasming against the breach of it as your hips judder down against the strength of his jaw.

“You’re close, aren’t you sweetheart? You can keep up a little longer.” His smothered encouragement, the vibrations of his thick voice right against your slit send you tumbling higher upon that precipice of sweet release.

The added, ruinous excitement of not being able to see him past the abundant frill of your skirts blazes you higher; the sole nervous anticipation of not knowing where he’d touch you next has you gushing on his tongue.

A low, soft curse you hear spill guttural against your folds, vibrating straight up into your womb, “You’re practically weeping on my tongue, sweetheart. I like that.” Your answering moan you bury into a bite of your sleeve as you fold your arm about your face; a full body quiver long having taken you. You no longer hold control over yourself. “Grind down on my face, relax yourself. Yes, there’s my good girl now.”

The praise having your walls grip hard at the fingers he’s worked into you now. Propelling them at an indolent, maddening pace into your depths.

“Sylus,” you pant harshly, mind numbing into a crescendo. “I don’t — hah — can’t — much longer.” Begging for a release so, so close at hand.

“Then don’t . Let yourself go.” His groans muted against the wet heat of you. “I’ll catch you when you fall.”

The crook of his middle and ring fingers up into you has you spasming against the intrusive stretch of them. Opening you up deeper; the deft pads of them scrounge up a spot against your frontal walls that has your mouth flying open on a silent scream, head falling back against the unyielding brick of the alley as your fluttering insides clamp down violent against his adroit handling of you. “Right here, is it?” You think you hear his muted whispers spill throaty against the sensitive expanse of your thigh.

Right at the junction of your hip as Sylus sinks a bite into the pliant flesh just as his thick fingers rub up against that same weak spot inside to have you disintegrating into senselessness right above him.

You can’t fathom how he’s brought you to such complete devastation in just a few, nimble strokes of his tongue and fingers into you, against you. Never having been dragged this fast or good to the precipice by your own hand, let alone another’s. He’s away each layer of defence, piece by excruciating piece, having worked you open so thoroughly as if he knew your body like his own.

Truly a man that sought relentless victory even in between the fall of your legs.

And it is only when that pleasure point is one keyed far too high, with the incessant press of his third finger up into your walls, stretching you open — so incredibly full of just his digits alone — does your body fall. No longer capable of protecting yourself against the battering deluge of a release so consuming, your knees buckle underneath the hefty intensity of his ministrations.

Sylus’s large hand, you feel warm about your rump, to curve its easy support about it, as he presses his face further into you. Waves upon waves of pleasure, drowning your keening cries against your well-abused bottom lip. A faint frisson of overstimulation stringing you higher to gain enough conscious thought back to catch his low, guttural growl searing harsh at your drenched folds, at the sensation of you gushing all over his tongue.

You quiver in nerveless arousal to feel the fleeting brush of his kiss farewell against your slit before he rises, slow, onto his feet once more. Your body clenches in on instinctual need to catch sight of his face once more. The slick that glimmers obscenely copious across his mouth and down the strength of his jaw, the untamed, almost bestial intensity to that barely tamped heat within scarlet, as Sylus sweeps a careful thumb against your wetness has you unfurling trembling digits forward to snag around his neck, dragging him down against yourself.

Consuming the ferocity of his kiss just as eagerly in the tongue you lap at his lips, slipping along the angle of his jaw; moaning softly at the taste of you that clings still to him. Restless fingers steal in between your bodies to reach for the arousal that strains delectable and intimidating against his trousers.

Flittering your digits about the catch of them as you work them open enough along with the thick fingers that aid you to release him free for your hungry gaze. Your audible gasp of pleasure Sylus captures against the pad of his thumb edging just past the part of your lips.

He’s incredibly blessed, bigger, girthier than any you’ve ever had before. The prospect of taking that thing inside your body simultaneously terrifies and excites you.

Your dazed musings Sylus fractures in the cup of your jaw in between firm, gentle digits. “Nervous?”

“...A bit,” you admit. Adding for good measure, “Nothing I can’t handle, though.” An expectant hand you move to curve about the breadth of him to make your point — fingers barely able to cup entirely about him.

Sylus’s laughter is a low, heavy burst of sound. “Don’t worry, kitten.” He reaches down to join his fingers against yours in languidly stroking the length of him. Coasting in close to your ear as he lays a kiss of dark, hoarse promise against it, “I’ll teach you to do more than just handle it.”

Your pleased moan you throttle against his quick, vehement kiss as Sylus gathers the folds of your skirt up to bunch about your hips. Fitting himself into the space he makes, his arousal glancing hot against your outer labia; feeling him so close to where your body clenches in on tense anticipation.

He withdraws from you on a wet slip of tongue, seizing your gaze within his. The firm fist he strokes at his length guiding the flared, slick head of him against your folds to lubricate in your wetness, bumping pleasant at your sensitive bead of nerves on each indolent stroke.

You buck your hips up against his in an impatient scratch of throaty sound. Slipping the head of him so close against your slit, it almost makes you dizzy with need.

You are not, however, prepared truly for the actual breach of him as he splits you open in pleasure so blinding, it streaks right against your tender bead and up deep into your belly. Sylus’s guttural groans brand hot against the crescent of your neck in overwhelmed desire, a muted swear swallowed into the bite of teeth he presses into it. “Relax yourself a little, kitten, you’ve gone too tight on me.”

You try, you truly do as you smother past your burning need to scream, for breaths to claw into your lungs; he feels too much, too good all at once, your body incapable of doing much else except accepting the slow propulsion of him deeper into your walls.

He feels almost too much for you to handle, spearing you open so far around him you didn’t even think yourself capable of such a feat. And yet, the copious arousal that slicks in between your bodies, with the voracious clench of your walls around the hard strength of him, sucking him inside, speaks volumes. Of how you’re thoroughly enjoying the feeling of being impaled upon his length.

“More,” you pant; the slow thrusts of his hips up into yours sending your lashes flittering shut, in overwhelming euphoria and need. “I need more, Sylus.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, large hands fixing hot fetters of flesh against either side of your pelvis as he thrusts into you, each swollen stroke of his arousal sending him impossibly deep, until you feel it may truly reach your womb.

Sylus heaves himself closer into you, nearly pinning you against the wall with the sheer strength of his towering body, the heavy pumping of his hips into you, sending euphoria skating through your veins. Intoxicated on feeling the way he moves within you.

A hand drifts up from your hip to grip at the flare of your waist beneath cloth as Sylus manoeuvres your body to thrust into you at an angle that drives him hard against your swollen spot of pleasure inside.

Your hands fly in agonized frenzy to clutch at his arms, his shoulders as you grapple with the blinding pleasure he’s carving into your body. His head skews downward to catch the sensitive flesh of your neck in between the bite of restive teeth, a low moan wrenched free of your throat. His mouth strokes down the length of your skin until he teeths at the fastenings of your collar, wrenching violent at the buttons before he scatters them apart. Mouth engulfing the exposed slope of your clavicle in fervid groans.

Your fingers skitter for purchase into the silver brush of hair at the base of his neck, tugging harsh with his increasingly heavy pace. A low whine clambering past your throat when his grip upon your body tightens once more in purpose, dragging his length to the near tip of him before he rams back into you on a guttural snarl so primal, it has you violently spasming about his thick shaft, your vision blanking in for a moment.

Sylus’s face is a flood of savage bliss and heated concentration — the sight along with his pleasurably punishing thrusts into your walls — has your heart nearly trying to rip past the bruising beat of it at your breastbone. Hips meeting his in stuttering thrusts as your body bows up, sharp, toward him to chase a height of euphoria so in sight.

“You’re moaning so loud, kitten.” His throaty chuckle stirs weighty into your belly. “Keep that up and you’ll draw us an audience.” Gnawing weakly at your bottom lip to instinctively tamp your sounds just as Sylus moves to drive into you on a particularly ruinous, deliberate thrust that has your legs buckling entirely underneath you.

But he’s there to catch you, thick forearms cording about the feeble, trembling plush of your thighs before he hoists you up entirely onto him; his hushed chuckle drifting into guttural laughter. “Why try being quiet on your own when you can just make use what you have at your disposal?” His lips drive against yours in a vehement kiss of teeth and tongue, devouring you, just the way he is in between your legs. You let yourself go at last, moaning unabated into the searing warmth of his mouth, Sylus’s pace turning to near-frenzied rutting, with the sounds he wrenches from your bruised throat.

He forces you deeper against the wall, spearing you helpless in between the cool stone at your back and the unforgiving intensity of his drilling thrusts pillaging your body. Golden deep pleasure roiling pleasant just beneath your skin, to push at the confines, until you feel like you could float out of it heavenward and never return to the ground.

Your fevered gaze snags against the painted beads of your gifted charm about his neck, swinging vehement with the force of his propulsions. Drifting absent fingers against the worn orbs of the necklace, mushed mind admiring how truly lovely he looks like this for you; coupled along with that tight knit of concentrated pleasure, it makes you believe he truly is all yours to have. As if he belongs to you, with you.

That sole, deranged thought sending arousal thrumming within, so blinding, your body quivers into the tight curve of a crescent, pressing hard against his chest, a peak so close, you can feel it stirring vicious into your belly. “You’re all mine to have, aren’t you? My great warrior,” you gasp against his mouth, trembling fingers sweeping for the broad strength of his shoulders as your nails drive in, harsh.

Sylus’s response; groaned heavy against your tongue, without hesitation. “You’ve always had me in my entirety, sweetheart.”

Your body has wholly given up — a leaden weight — within his grasp, held together only by the strength of Sylus’s arms curving steeled grips about your thighs. Pounding into you with each fervid roll of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs — the profuse flow of your arousal sweltering in between your already burning bodies, the obscene squelch of it each time he withdraws from your walls only to drive back in with savage, terrifying accuracy, rutting himself so good against the spot inside that has you quivering uncontrollably around the length of him.

Your combined sultry symphony so loud within your ears, drumming along with the thundering of your heart, you’re sure any passers-by crossing the mouth of the alley would be able to hear. Your cotton-fed mind so far gone, however, you’re no longer coherent enough to care about anyone hearing your claims upon each other’s bodies. So deeply entrenched in the sole existence of Sylus: his body, tongue, his bruising grip upon you, you love so much — scoring stinging crescents as your own signs of victory, across the broad strength of his shoulders, down the firm muscle of his arms, serving to drive him only harder into you until he’s knocking half-screams out of your throat. Swallowing them up against the hungry sweep of his tongue.

Sylus’s thrusts into your body have turned erratic, his guttural moans heating your skin into a blazing furnace. You’re so close to release, you can feel the heavy crest of its deluge approaching — golden and ruinous.

His grip upon the flare of your hip shifts, pressing you impossibly deeper against him, the new angle driving the length of him against your sensitive bundle of nerves on each hammering thrust. “A-Almost—” Gasping a breathless warning.

Hurtling you so high; the frenzied pump of his hips into yours, the constant stimulation at your swollen bead sending your walls spasming so violent, you feel Sylus loose a long, guttural groan deep into your mouth. You tumble off the precipice of release just as you feel the first thick spurts of his seed searing fire against your sensitized walls; Sylus’s sultry growls keying your frenzied release so high your fingers scrape across the back of his neck to tug him harsh against your mouth. Sinking your quivering, heated desires into a vehement bite at his chest, Sylus’s digits weaving tight into your hair at the back of your head, to hold you there.

His thundering pulse you moan against in appreciation, laving absent to soothe the reddening bite at his skin, as your body convulses with the still flowing spurts of his release, stroking at the intoxicating fever of your prolonged orgasm, filling you to the brim and over; the warmth of it you feel drip past your folds and onto his sturdy thighs.

Taking several, long much needed moments to compose yourself as your sweat-slick face falls, nerveless, to press your cheek against the damp expanse of his chest, body still suspended firm upon the corded strength of his arms, his cock nestled snug and thick within you.

You claw a much-needed gulp of air past a throat, long sore. “...I fear you may have to carry me here on out, as well, Sylus, because I certainly can’t move an inch right now.”

His amused chuckle drifts warm against the top of your head. “While joined together just like this?” He teases softly. “You may truly pass out of sheer embarrassment this time if I do, kitten.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you quip right back, half-hearted, canting a languid gaze up his way. “I think I’ll be long knocked out before any pesky shame kicks in, from how good this — you were.”

You feel Sylus’s length twitch within your walls at your words, groaning quietly at the growing strain of his arousal, back to half-mast already. Truly, was there a limit to the man’s enduring stores of stamina?

But perhaps, the real question was of your own insatiable appetite too, when it came to him, as you were only newly discovering — your wrecked body responding in the muted burn of arousal, kindling into slow fire within your belly, clenching weakly at him.

“Tell you what, sweetheart.” Sylus’s skewed grin tucks against your ear as he nuzzles at your cheek. “I’ll carry you out of here in my arms, as you wish, without the additional parade of our naked bodies. In return,” A kiss he feathers, against the angle of your cheekbone. “Come home with me.” He asks of you, softly.

You bury your approval in the nudge of your nose against him, catching his lips against yours in a gentle, chaste kiss, “Sounds like a done deal to me, my handsome warrior.”

End Notes: Thank you for reading! This was a very fun indulgence and I hope everyone who bagged Sylus’ card enjoyed his soft card story.

Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro , @beebumbo , @hellinistical , @dangerousluv1 , @webmvie , @Cas-tiel13 , @aria-tempest , @raendarkfaerie , @lamentinee , @unhingedsillygod , @tiredas , @ladyparamount

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awkuni · 1 month ago

Text

༻⋆ 。𝓹𝓼𝔂𝓬𝓱𝓸 𝓴𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓻, 𝓺𝓾’𝓮𝓼𝓽-𝓬𝓮 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓬’𝓮𝓼𝓽 ? ♱

⤷ “ in his opinion, nothing could ever compare to the rush he got by seeing the glossy trepidation bloom in the coruscating bulbs of your iris. ”

part of k.tober ノyandere!scaramouche x fem!readerノnsfw — mdni. murder. knife play. unprotected sex. mirror sex. fingering. hair pulling. choking. dacryphilia. overstimulation. orgasm denial. creampie. degradation ( use of ‘whore’ ). wc .. 3959.

a shake of your head sealed your decision. the coursework was piling up on you and you needed to take all the time you could get in order to finish it by the tight deadline, you had no time for matters such as—

“the party will be so much fun! c’mon, you need to loosen up a little bit…” your friend spoke over the phone, the excitement in her voice prevalent, even if it was locked behind a screen. she had been trying to convince you to attend this halloween party for weeks on end now, but you were set in stone about your decision.

“i can’t,” you firmly state. it was tempting—so tempting. “i-i have t—”

“scaramouche is gonna be there…” your friend coos, and you know that this is her way of bribing you. it was silence on your end for a couple beats as you thought about what he just said.

scaramouche was probably one of the most attractive men you have ever ran into, and it’d be an understatement to just say you were starting to fall for him. every time you took a quick glance at him in the hallways you swore you could feel your heart jump into your throat.

you snap out of your childish daydreams to formulate a response, but you didn’t have time to even open your mouth. the last thing you heard was a sharp ‘think about it’ from your friend, before the call’s screen disappears before you. you click your tongue, throwing yourself onto your bed and staring at the ceiling.

on one hand, you had the opportunity to finally have a break from all the stress that had been weighing up on your back and crushing your brittle mentality. however, on the other hand, you would be in for hell if you didn’t complete this task. you had been working on it for a week straight, and you were determined in your mind to just see to it until it’s completion.

however, you don’t know what overcame you, but you somehow had a change of heart—you didn’t know when and you didn’t know why. currently, your head was resting against the wall, the bass of the grating music drilling holes into your skull. you had only managed to down a couple shots until you started feeling sick, and you already started reminding yourself to never drink on an empty stomach.

being separated from your friends made you feel slightly uneasy. you couldn’t even remember the last time you saw them, all of you had started to split up the more you all drank, your mind becoming hazy as you tried to piece together the events which lead you to this very moment in time. your mental timeline was all over the place, and you wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort of your own bed and sleep everything off.

from across the room, you make eye contact with none other than scaramouche, which almost makes you spit out your drink. you had completely tuned out of whatever this drunk man in front of you was rambling about, instead focusing on admiring the pure beauty which painted his flawless features.

his eyes had a faint glint in them as the lights of the room gleamed off of the vibrant indigo hues. his jaw was chiseled to perfection, as if he was crafted by the very gods which created this world. you hadn’t even noticed that you were staring until he turned to your direction, looking you with equal amounts of unshaken adoration. the smirk that crawls onto his face gives you a harsh awakening as you ground yourself back to reality, eyes flitting back to the male in front of you.

“you know… you’re real pretty, you got a boyfriend?”

you could feel your body warm up as you grew more anxious, not exactly wanting to talk to this guy anymore. you could feel scaramouche’s glare still on you, and your eyes kept floating back to him. whatever magnetic field scaramouche had on him, you found yourself endeared. you rarely felt like this, however scaramouche easily had that effect on you.

you were so lost in thought that you had forgotten to answer his question until you felt a hand grip your arm. you give him a swift shake of your head, breathing in deeply in order to muster up the courage you needed to walk away.

“i feel a bit off, can you excuse me…?”

you worm your way out of his grip, letting yourself take a breather as you make your way to the bathroom, clicking your tongue. you probably shouldn’t have had that much to drink, as you started feeling nauseous. your eyes flit over your figure in the mirror, sorting yourself out until you heard a harsh, desperate scream coming from the main living room.

your brows furrowed in confusion at the sounds of panic, the thudding of rushed steps and the slamming of doors not exactly appealing to you. you swiftly shut the door to the bathroom as people began rushing upstairs, locking it and leaning against it as a precaution.

fear and dread start to weigh heavy on your heart. the shouts and cries of people was blood-freezing, if the goosebumps rising on your skin didn’t make it evident. the alarm bells started ringing in your head—what if you didn’t make it out of here alive? you wouldn’t see your friends or family ever again, and the mere thought of that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

each soft gasp of air you took in burned your dry throat, your heart dropping to your stomach and making you even sicker than you were already feeling. your whole body was trembling from terror, down to the very core of your being and sinking it’s claws deep within your roots. you can feel the familiar sting of tears welling up in your eyes, your brain being so full of cotton so you can’t even process a simple thought.

you had never felt this way before—you were always a person who thought, there was never a time that you weren’t overthinking about anything. however, at this moment in time, your brain had fizzed into naught, incapable of concentrating or even forming a physical thought. your lungs strained as you tried to control your breathing, bile rising in the back of your throat.

your hazy vision flits around the room, the sounds of outside dulling down as your racing heartbeat begins to thud in your ears. the thudding of slow footsteps treading up the stairs made you flinch, and the knocking of a fist on the door immediately made you shoot up, swiftly turning around as your feet carried you back a couple steps.

the knocking wasn’t exactly forceful, nor was it aggressive in any nature. it was simply a sign that someone was out there. you somehow manage to find your voice, yet it was wavering and barely even stable.

“w-who is it?”

“it’s me, scaramouche. there’s nobody else, you’re safe.”

you look under the crack of the door, his shadow obscuring the dim light of the hallway. you were fighting a war in your head, but your physical body moves faster than your mentality and you bring yourself to the door, hand going to the lock and twisting it. your hand was trembling as it closed around the handle of the door, your whole body freezing. was this really the right decision? you couldn’t fully trust him right now, you had to be cautious.

yet, none of that mattered anymore as you found yourself opening the door, peering through the crack timidly. your eyes widen at the sight that solemnly graced your vision.

it was in fact scaramouche, however he was drenched in dark crimson liquid—which didn’t take a genius to deduce that it was blood. it was splattered on his figure like paint, as if he had just finished meticulously lineating a perfect picture on a battered canvas. as if he had created something beautiful out of something ugly.

the sharp knife he held tightly in his hand made your body flinch in a cold sweat and you immediately went to shut the door again, however it seemed he was ahead of you and he used his free hand to hold the door open, leaving a messy splotch of scarlet on the clean wood.

“don’t,” he spoke in a soft tone, contrasting the serrated soul which laid behind his dull eyes at this very moment. “don’t lock me out.”

“what did you do?!” your voice keened into a shaky cacophony of concentrated panic. sheer horror flooded every brittle bone in your body as he pushed the door open, despite your strong protests. you had put every ounce of your strength into keeping it as closed as possible, but clearly it wasn’t enough.

your feet carried you back, desperate to keep a safe distance between you and scaramouche. his crazed mind clearly didn’t care, the red stains on his face giving you a warning of how much your life was endangered just by being in the same room as him. you choked on your breaths as his melodic tone rang out in your ears again.

“don’t you see? i did this for you.” his touch was as gentle as his words, the metallic substance being smeared on your skin held an essence of sweet saccharine. it was hypnotic, and you found yourself unable to pull away as he comes closer, and closer, forcing you to take stumbling paces backwards until you hit the cold ceramic on the edge of the sink. “there’s nobody between us now, don’t act like i’ve been completely clueless. i know how much you want me, and i did you a favour.”

he brings the sharpened edge of the knife against the apple of your cheek, teasing you by dragging the freezing metal down your face, adoring the way you shuddered. in his opinion, nothing could ever compare to the rush he got by seeing the glossy trepidation bloom in the coruscating bulbs of your iris. the blade stinged you slightly, and he places it on the counter in order to not startle you any further.

he swirls the blood around your cheek, acting as if you were now his canvas as he mixes the paint into the hues on your cheek. he was impairing the silken innocence of your expression, dirtying you with the aftermath of his sinful deeds. “i got rid of the obstruction in our way, and now we can be together freely, hm? you didn’t like that man anyway, did you?”

you found yourself unable to answer his question, his looming presence crushing down on your fragile frame. it was mind crushing, brutalising your mentality and preventing you from thinking rationally. you felt as if you had no control over yourself anymore, blankly staring up at him with a shaken look.

he brushes your hair out of your face, letting out a condescending chuckle upon seeing the state he reduced you to. he’s so close to you now, close so that you could feel his staggering breaths fanning against your quivering lips. you can feel every twitch in his expression, every tug of his lips as they contorted into a smirk. you felt your breath being withheld from you the longer you gazed into his dilated eyes.

his lips graze against yours lightly, rippling the waters as a look of pure longing started to wash over the indigo pools of admiration. the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed down the lump which formed in the back of your mouth.

the next moment you blinked, the harsh string of tension snapped, and his mouth was on yours almost immediately, stained hands beginning to roam your body. he was greedy, desperate to ravish the entirety of your being. he guides your movements with a hand on the back of your neck, keeping you still and allowing him to taste you fully.

your lips merged with uncoordinated passion, the magnetic attraction you felt earlier coming into full force as you pulled yourself closer, desperate to indulge yourself in this moment a little longer. his hand on your cheek descends to your leg, crawling its way up your thigh and grasping it bruisingly, using the leverage to pull your hips flush against his.

his tongue writhes it’s way into your mouth, a stifled moan escaping your lips at the action. you felt your composure melting, your tongues intertwining in a dance of yearning as they fought for dominance. resistance on your end was futile as scaramouche easily managed to direct the kiss into his best interest.

you pull away momentarily, gasping for the air which you had been deprived of. after fulfilling your lung’s pleas, you attempt to lean up and kiss him again, but he seemingly had different plans for you.

his lips trail down your jaw, descending down to your neck as he nips and sucks at the sensitive flesh, creating a harsh purple blemish on your skin. the whine that came out of your mouth was involuntary, yet it didn’t matter to him. his breath hitched as his groin stirred with desire. it burned in the pit of his abdomen, erupting a wildfire which seeked to consume the entirety of his body.

“you have no idea… no idea what you do to me.” he rasps out next to your ear, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he hikes the hem of your skimpy dress up to the plumpness of your hips, revealing your underwear all to his greedy eyes. his finger rubs down your slit through the fabric, the gasp he manages to pull out from your lungs only feeding into his ego.

you feel yourself going weak in the knees, suddenly sporting a throbbing need of arousal for scaramouche. your hips instinctively roll into his touch, a soft mewl spilling from your lips as you craved more of his touch. you could feel yourself getting wetter the more he teased you, and you doubt that you’ll be able to hold yourself together any longer. every inch of your being was now aching for more of his touch. he had you wrapped around his finger without even trying.

you tilt your head to face him, looking at him with a pleading tint in your eyes. your lips part silently, only to whisper out a half-hearted ‘please’ as you grasped onto his wrist for stability, tugging him closer to your throbbing core. he sucks in a breath through his teeth, eyes flitting between you and your trembling lower half.

he exhales sharply, deciding to yield into your desires. he pulls your panties to the side, spreading your glistening folds with nimble fingers. he feels drool pool underneath his tongue at the sight of how wet you are for him. his finger drags up your slit, pressing down against the swollen jewel which crowned the top of your labia. he slowly begins to massage it in circles, admiring the way your hole began to clench around virtually nothing. it was all a game to him, seeing how desperate he could make you until you inevitably break from pleasure.

he presses a warm, burning kiss to the side of your neck before he gathers your juices on his ring and middle finger, slowly pressing them into your cunt.

the whiny moan you cried out was like a desperate prayer for him to continue. it was like you were handing over a medal of acquiescence to him, and he would gladly wear it on his sleeve for all to see. it would be like his very own medal of honour, bestowed upon him by the one person he put above everything else. he can feel his heart skip a beat, slamming against his ribcage as he carefully begins to pump his fingers in and out of your sopping pussy.

it was as if your cunt was crying out to him with the lewd squelches his fingers made, begging to be filled wholly by him. it was so alluring—the feeling of your velvety walls clamping down around his fingers, practically suffocating them, was so addicting. he could only imagine what it would feel like to finally stuff you full of his cock. his self-restraint was slowly crumbling, and he didn’t know how long he would be able to hold back.

he hooks his fingers deep inside of you, up against a particularly spongey spot which had you reeling, eyes rolling back so far you could see stars bursting into supernovas. you found yourself gasping, struggling for air as he continued to scissor your abused hole open further. your mind was in a hazy mess of foggy lust. you’re barely able to see through the mist and into reality with how good his fingers felt. your eyes fluttered, looking at him with a half-lidded gaze which he could read like an open book. the way you started letting even more moans out spurred him on, and he could almost taste your impending climax on the tip of his tongue.

just as you brushed against the edge, he pulled his fingers out of you roughly, the pleasure dissolving within your reach. you let out a disappointed mither, grinding your hips up into thin air, chasing a release which was slipping through your fingers by the minute.

“shh, stop goddamn complaining. i’ve got you…” he grumbles, digging his hand into your hips and making you swivel round, forcing you to bend over the sink. he brushes your hair out the way, planting a kiss to the back of your neck as he tugs on the waistband of your panties, letting them flutter down your legs, pooling at your ankles.

heat spreads across your body from your chest like raging vines, infecting every pore of your body which exuded the strong stench of arousal. your elbows brace themselves on the cold porcelain of the sink, yet your strength begins to falter once the rustling sounds of him discarding his pants shoots through your eardrums.

your teeth grit together upon feeling the head of his cock press up against your dripping pussy, collecting your copious amounts of slick. it was embarrassing how much he turned you on, but to him it didn’t matter. he felt a gleaming warmth in his chest knowing that he was the only one that was able to reduce you to this state you were in right now.

your hands grip onto the edge of the sink for stability, a loud moan fighting its way past your lips as his hips thrust unceremoniously against you, his cock almost splitting you in two. his hand rests on the small of your back, encouraging you to arch it for him. you whimper, the new angle ensuring that his tip hit hard against the deepest areas of you, which drove you insane.

the cloudiness of your vision clears as you blink it away profusely, only to reveal your fucked out features in the mirror before you. you were in total disarray, your makeup smudged from your tears and lipstick smeared due to his greedy kisses. you can practically hear the way his face contorts into a smug expression upon seeing the plight on your face.

you couldn’t bare to look at yourself anymore, letting your head hang low as you struggled to regain your bearings. scaramouche observed you with unwavering mirth, a hand trailing up your spine delicately and watching your delicious shudders.

what wasn’t so delicate is the way he fisted a lock of your hair, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. it was almost aggressive—demanding in a way. he wanted you to see how much of a slut you were for him, all dumbed-down and unable to comprehend a word.

“don’t be shy… look at how much of a whore you are f’me. don’t look away.” he leans down to coo in your ear, letting go of your hip to grab his blade which he previously dropped, tauntingly dragging it up your arm and pressing the blunt side against the column of your throat.

your jaw drops, letting your mouth part as you shamefully moan, blurry eyes staring into your own reflection. tears spill from the corners of your eyes out of bliss, your cunt clenching down on him. it was like his own panacea, a carefully concocted elixir to bring him the rush he so desperately craved from you.

it was deplorable how quickly you were going to cum from him treating you so degradingly. your legs began to tremble as your voice teeters on a higher pitch, blood thrumming with pleasure as he continues to plow into you. without warning, you cum on his cock, cunt clenching down on his length as you let out a borderline pornographic wail, eyes rolling back into their sockets and you swear that fireworks are exploding before you.

a shuddering gasp is what escapes you as you slowly come down, only to realise that he hasn’t stopped, nor does he plan on stopping any time soon. his eyes focus on your dazed expression, so clouded by lust that its almost pitiful. he drags the knife down your side, pressing the cold metal into your thigh just to make you jolt.

overstimulation soon dawns on you, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of every twitch of his cock in the confinements of your walls. his thrusts grow more sloppy at the fluttering of your walls and the way your eyes drifted to him in the mirror. the look in your eyes drove him crazy; the way you were looking at him tiredly, half lidded and overcast with sexual ardour.

he drops the knife, letting it clatter on the floor. his hand comes up to wrap around your neck, pulling you back against his chest as he rests his sweat-beaded forehead against your nape. he lets out a guttural groan, letting go of your tousled hair and bringing his hand down to your swollen clit, tracing it with expertise and serving it just the right amount of pressure to have you cumming for a second time.

you had no time for respite between your orgasms, feeling the sharp claws of euphoria dig deep into the back of your mind. it burned down the back of your thought, the savoury release sending your mind into overdrive. your mind was empty, all that filled your wallowing thoughts was the way scaramouche’s girth was messily pumping in and out of your tight hole.

with a breathy moan, scaramouche comes undone, your cunt sucking him in so deliciously it was as if it was begging to milk him dry. he bottoms out inside of you, spilling his warm, sticky cum into your womb. it felt almost heaven sent—a sensation that nothing would be able to top. he found himself getting addicted quickly.

however, he wont force your body to break under him. not today. so, he reluctantly pulls out of you, leaving you to almost collapse against the sink, if it wasn’t for scaramouche swiftly wrapping his arms around your waist.

“so good… n’ you’re all mine now, aren’t you?” he whispers with dripping devotion into your ear, and all you can manage to say is a garbled noise of agreement, along with a heavy-headed nod. for now, he was satisfied with the limp weight of your tired body in his arms. in this moment, his world dissipated into nothing, and he found contentment in nuzzling into your scent as you drifted off. the thought of the dead body in the living room weighed nothing on his conscience, his mind filled with you, and you alone.

#✎ ₊⊹ 𝓼igned #scaramouche #scaramouche smut #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche fanfiction #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader smut #scara x reader #scara x reader smut #scaramouche genshin #scaramouche genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader smut

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inkedaway · 14 days ago

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Hot and Cold (Dandadan)

Title: Hot and Cold

Notes: I don't often post fanfiction but man, something about this show grabbed me, so here I go. This is just me having a lot of speculative thoughts about Okarun's Turbo form and me just wanting to put them down on paper. This is a what if scenario - what if it took time for him to calm down instead of returning back to normal immediately?

Pairing: Momo/Okarun romantic undertones, this is fluff

Rating: G

Summary: But the one thing she did remember from her several few ordeals with him so far in his new form, was the strange attitude shift, and the fact that he curiously, ran cold. Temperature wise. Temperament wise… everything, really, but specifically, to the touch. She clearly recalled the first time she'd gripped his hand, and he'd closed it around hers, and how the surprise had been only just glazing the shallow parts of her brain that oh, he was quite a few degrees colder than he'd been just a few moments ago, and wasn't that interesting? Ao3 link: Here Can also be read under the read more here.

Momo hadn't really realized that she hadn't spent a lot of time observing Okarun's newer form. Every single time he'd used it, she'd had, metaphorically speaking, much bigger fish to fry, and hadn't managed more than the cursory surprise the first time, and just plain acceptance that this was, indeed, just a thing now.

Not once had events slowed down enough for her to actually pause and process what she was seeing, or what he was really doing beyond the surface level. In her defense, it was quite hard to think on her feet, while running away from potentially life and death situations, and also take a moment to appreciate the changes her new friend had gone through. She could not be blamed for it, really, but the one thing she did remember from her several few ordeals with him so far, was the strange attitude shift, and the fact that he curiously, ran cold.

Temperature wise. Temperament wise... everything, really, but specifically, to the touch. She clearly recalled the first time she'd gripped his hand, and he'd closed it around hers, and how the surprise had been only just glazing the shallow parts of her brain that oh, he was quite a few degrees colder than he'd been just a few moments ago, and wasn't that interesting?

Still, like with everything in those situations, it had been swiftly and efficiently shoved to the back part of her brain, in favor of focusing on figuring out how they were both going to get the fuck out of their current situation with at least (most) of their parts still firmly attached.

This wasn't to say she hadn't thought of his form, or the boy in general. She had.

Unfortunately, it had become a common occurrence for her thoughts to stray to him throughout the day. Sometimes, she wouldn't even begin the moment by thinking about him, and then her train of thought would veer right and into a mountain side, as she got entirely distracted by some stray notion, landing back on Okarun.

Despite this, she hadn't really given that form... much thought outside the obvious. Which was, perhaps, why she was so surprised when the door to exit the school roof opened, and rather than the hunched over, geek boy she'd been expecting to join her for lunch, it was the other form that practically dragged itself over.

He looked tired.

But then, he always looked tired like this, and for a moment, she remain quiet as the boy walked over and then, just... allowed himself to flop on the ground near her feet, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, boneless, lifeless, "What happened to you, anyways?" she asked between bites of food as she angled her head to look down at him, "What's with all... this?" she gestured vaguely at him, from head to toe, waving the food she'd been holding on one hand at him.

For a moment, all she got was a grunt, or perhaps a sigh, it was hard to tell like this. His position remain flopped on the ground, both eyes having closed, before one opened and settled on her. Red, unblinking and strangely reminding her of a large cat, "Got mad," this explained absolutely nothing to her, and must have been obvious from the way she stared at him, because he let out a long, soul wrenching sigh as he closed his one eye again, "Can't change. No idea why. Not that it matters."

Granted, he wasn't entirely wrong; most students couldn't see the difference like she could. There was little danger in him being in that form at the current moment in time, "Uh...huh," she said as she ate, "You still mad?"

She got no response this time, just a small flick of a large hand that she interpreted as a vague negative, but otherwise he remain stretched on the floor, near her legs.

It was then the notion came to her; he reminded her of a sunning lion, too lazy to move in the heat of the day, but still dangerous enough that he could spring into action at any given moment, "Cool," another bite of food and soon enough, her sandwich was finished, and Momo scrunched the paper it'd come in within her hands, "So, just a thought but... every time to use your powers, you tend to go back to normal. That likely hasn't changed. Give it a go maybe?"

A whine exited his mouth, or... his mask, without it moving. Heavy, mournful, like she'd just asked him to give up his first born or something equally ridiculous, "I don't wanna move, Momo... I don't wanna do anything, just leave me here."

"For the love of-" Momo rolled her eyes and swiftly decided this just would not do, "Get up. C'mon, up, up, up!" her hand reached out and began to move him, pushing his shoulder several times, to no avail, "If we tire you out, you'll stop this downer bs thing you got going."

Despite her best efforts, the most she got out of him was another small sound, the one eye reopening to fix back on her, "Nooo... what if I need to use those full bursts later? I ain't gonna do that," and, well, he did have a point, not that she wanted to concede that to him. As such she continue shoving on his shoulder, until one of his hands shot out, lightning fast, grabbed her arm, destabilized her, and forced her to crash half on top of him awkwardly.

"Okarun!!" her first reaction was mild panic, swiftly followed by severe annoyance as she hovered over him. He was still looking at her, almost languidly, from that one open eye. And perhaps Momo had misrepresented him; less of a lion, more of an overgrown, lazy dog, flopped over, refusing to move. She lifted a hand, and gave his shoulder one last smack before she righted herself back so she was sitting beside him once more, instead of partially over him. A huff of breath escaped her lips before she looked at him out the corner of an eye, "Were you aware you run cold in this form?"

"Is that why you won't lay down with me, Momo?"

There was zero innuendo in the question, no sort of implication to the words, just curiosity, and perhaps, melancholy there. She turned her head fully to watch him then, "No, you idiot, of course not," rather than actually responding to his question and following that very dangerous train of thought to its inevitable conclusion, instead she frowned down at him, "You're cold, but not uncomfortable. Also, why do you only call me Momo while you're like this, anyways?"

Both his eyes opened then, and strangely enough did a full on blink, "Momo is Momo," as if this were any sort of explanation. When all the response he got out of her was a clearly confused look, he apparently gave up explaining himself and closed his eyes again, "I'm tired..."

"You've literally done nothing today, it's noon, Okarun. You can not be tired," The small huff of sound he made, like an upset, annoyed dog seemed to contradict her, but since he didn't really use his words, Momo let out a sigh and rolled her eyes at him, "You plan on returning to class like that?" another sound, this one sad almost melancholic, like he couldn't be arsed to even begin thinking about class at the current moment, nor any moment in the near future.

Lifting her phone out of her pocket, she looked at the time; there was a bit more than half hour before they'd have to leave, which gave them, hopefully, enough time to fix their current predicament, though Momo guessed it couldn't be that bad. Worst case he'd just flop on his desk and no one would pay him any mind.

Given her previous thoughts, she turned her head and simply watched him for a while, taking note of the way his spiritual energy merged with his hair and his clothes, specifically, making both look almost engulfed in flames. From her own experience when she'd held onto him, neither hair nor clothes were heated whatsoever, though then again, she hadn't really paid it that much mind, what with the killer crab chasing them at the time.

Before she even knew what she was doing, her hand had lifted and reached out towards his hair, curiosity taking her. Her own movement didn't register until he apparently sensed the hand and both eyes opened to settle on it, before they slowly moved to fix on her own, languid and unblinking, but a clear question there, "Oh, sorry, just..." there was zero judgement in his gaze, if anything, a vague curiosity there, "Your hair," his expression did not change, not even an eyebrow twitch, though he did offer her a very slow, once again, almost feline like blink, and given he did absolutely nothing to stop her, she moved her hand in the direction of his hair.

Momo wasn't someone that kept herself from doing or saying the things she wanted to often, and besides, she was more than well aware that had he wanted no contact, she would have never even been able to get close to him. He may have been still at the present moment, but he'd demonstrated twice already that he was more than cognizant of the world around him, "It looks like fire, Okarun. I was wondering why it also runs cold, is all. Do you mind?" her hand had stopped only a few scant inches away from his strands, and she waited for him to make a noncommittal sound before she lowered it into the white mass, sweeping her fingers like they were a brush.

She watched him close his eyes against her ministrations, and once again, the animal like comparison returned in her mind, "C'mere," she said after a few moments, and slowly moved herself and him, fully aware that the only reason she was managing to move him, was because he was allowing it. He remain mostly dead weight but he did nothing more than make a vaguely whine like sound at losing contact with her hand in his hair.

"Momoooooooo..."

She grabbed at his shoulders and he offered no resistance to her when she pulled his head on her lap, "Maybe if you fall asleep, you'll change back," no response other than a small huff, but his eyes didn't close again until one hand returned to sink in his hair, moving carefully through it. It felt, to the touch, much like normal hair would, and if she closed her eyes, and blocked out his looks, she was certain she would not have noticed the difference.

Idly, it made her wonder if she would ever manage to get the boy to lay down like this while not in this form, and would the texture of his hair be any different. She focused her attention on the phone she had clutched in her free hand, and as she petted him, her mind drifted, her thoughts discombobulated while she scrolled through her phone. On instinct, she knew it was still a while before the bell rung and they'd be forced to move anyways.

Her attention only returned back to him when she heard a soft snuffle like sound, her eyes tracking down to see her hand now moving through black, unruly hair, which interestingly enough, did indeed feel the same, the boy having actually managed to fall into a light sleep in place, his form having returned to normal.

Less of a dangerous predator in this form, more of a lap dog, cute and vulnerable, she thought, but her hand did not stop its movement.

She still had five or ten minutes left after all.

#momokarun #dandadan #ken takakura #momo ayase #fanfic #fic

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little-annie · 3 months ago

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Thanks to the @strangerthingswritersguild and @penny00dreadful for the prompt!

Wax | T | 1,018 WC | Steddie

They're set up in the kitchen of their tiny apartment. Wax pot hot and ready sitting on the countertop, popsicle sticks, muslin cloth and rubber gloves next to it neatly laid out. It's the best set up Steve could manage in their small home. Sure the lighting in the living room is immensely better, but he's not about to spend an hour or more trying to get wax out of shag carpet when he unavoidably gets some on the floor.

In nothing but his underwear, Eddie's laid out on one of the hot pink massage tables the school lends their students, shuffling uncomfortably atop the paper cover, wrinkling and ripping it before they can even begin. “You're sure about this?”

Well, not entirely. But Steve's not about to tell Eddie that. He needs the practice for school.

“Yeah, Babe. You'll be fine.”

“Like it's not going to burn me or rip my fucking skin off?”

Okay. Well. It's not like Steve's about to tell Eddie that both of those are actual possibilities.

He gives his boyfriend a placating pat to the top of his head instead.

“Steve! It's not actually going to burn me is it?”

Again, it is 100% a possibility.

“You'll be fine.”

"Fucking ow!”

They've been at it for a little over an hour. Steve's beginning to sweat and his arm is starting to get sore.

And Eddie. Well….

“Oh holy mother of Wayne!”

…. He's not doing great.

They started with Eddie's eyebrows. Which evidently were very difficult to do as the man chose to glare the entire time, and took much longer than they should have with his struggle. Then they did his knuckles and arms, which surprisingly wasn't bad. They just learned Eddie absolutely needs to exfoliate more because his tattoos looked nearly new once the hair and layer of dead skin was removed.

Then they moved to Eddie's chest, which has hardly any hair. Just a sprinkle between his pecs and a dusting around his nipples. That Eddie didn't mind. Actually he seemed to like it a little too much. Tenting his underwear proudly and stating with a bitchy attitude, “I will not apologise for my body's natural reactions to you playing with my nipples.”

Which Steve supposed he couldn't argue with that.

Now though they've moved on to Eddie's armpits. Which has been eventful. He'd put on pit-stick like Steve had asked him not to, thus resulting in Steve wiping at the damn things until they were clean and sore, and maybe a little inflamed. Which should have been a good enough sign as any to stop, but Steve was too focused on berating his boyfriend to consider taking a break until the skin calmed down.

So, after applying the baby powder like he should and swiping a layer of wax onto Eddie's skin, Steve had pulled back the first wax strip with Eddie's wiry black armpit hair and evidently a layer of skin intacted.

It's nothing awful. It's not like he's oozing blood but, like, there is some there. Popping from Eddie's inflamed skin in little red pin pricks. Dotting now what looks like the rug-burned skin of his boyfriend's armpit.

….He blames Eddie.

None the wiser to the current layer of skin that's been removed from his body in a pinky size strip, Eddie continues to scowl at the ceiling as he bemoans his current situation. “I'm going to die on this bubble gum pink table Steve. Perish from pain alone. I survived bats from hell and I'm going to meet my untimely demise by – why do you look like that?”

Oh, maybe he shouldn't still be staring at the piece of his boyfriend's body stuck to the mess of wax and hair on the muslin strip in his hand.

“Steve, what's wrong?”

“I- well.” God he's never going to hear the end of this, “Remember how you were worried about ripping your skin off?”

Eddie's eyes grow comically wide, which unfortunately in his case is made even funnier by the red splotchy, freshly waxed skin around his eyebrows.

“Steven.”

“Don't Steven me. If you didn't put on deodorant like I told you to, this wouldn't have happened.”

After a solid second of attempting to surely glare daggers into Steve's soul, Eddie twists to try to get a better look at his one underarm.

“How bad is it? Is it bleeding? Baby, is there going to be permanent damage? Is there a hole!? I can't have a hole in my armpit, Stevie, they'll call me holy pits! I'll die on this godforsaken pink bed and my headstone will read ‘Edward holy pits Munson, Gone Too Soon.’ My obituary will tell the tale of my sordid demise. ‘Perished at the latex wrapped hands of his lover. For if his death were caused by immense pain or bodily harm via hot wax, we'll never know.’”

Steve's giggling by the time Eddie's finished.

“You laugh now, but in no time at all I'll have expired in the kitchen of the home you love.”

“Eddie-.”

“Will you mourn me?”

“Ed-.”

“Promise me you will, and that you'll take no other lover.”

Steve fondly rolls his eyes. “I promise to mourn you until my dying day, and to leave this world as lonely as I was before you.”

Eddie nods to himself then, still laying on the bed with his arm propped above him, “Good. Now kiss it better.”

He can't be serious.

“Your armp-?”

“Kiss it better and all shall be forgiven!”

Mumbling to himself a quiet ‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ Steve kisses Eddie's armpit and then immediately after, his lips, whispering against them, “Better?”

Eddie hums, kisses Steve again and whispers back, “One more should do the trick.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, kissing Eddie's lips again, “I really do.”

An impromptu make out session on the creaking massage table later, Steve sits up in Eddie's lap.

“I do still have to wax your legs though.”

“Baby, no.”

“And, um, you know what a Brazilian is?”

By the horrified look in Eddie's eyes, Steve assumes he does.

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kierewrites · 10 months ago

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What Would Karma Do... when you support him at his baseball game?

navi - masterlist

Karma Akabane x Reader

Mood Song: dare

Summary: Remember the beloved Assassination Classroom anime? This is pretty much that, except you enter the picture of Karma's chaotic school year. Let's see just how compatible the two of you are.

Warnings: mild cursing, just some chaotic fluff

Ever since the kidnapping incident, things have been ironically great.

It was ironic because to any regular person, said things should’ve been horrible. You had a new classmate that was a robot, Korosensei's apparent brother came and tried to kill him, and Professor Jelavic's old teacher came to try and show you all a lesson.

But somehow amongst the chaos you found harmony. Honestly you were surprised with the way you were handling things. Between getting kidnapped and the rest of the unusual events, it’s safe to say you didn’t see this much action back at your prestigious school from your old country.

Regardless, you couldn't help but feel this newfound comfort was thanks to your lovable (and slightly chaotic) red headed boyfriend, Karma Akabane.

Ever since you had almost been kidnapped your relationship with him grew stronger. He began to open up new sides of himself with you, just as you did with him. For once everything seemed to be going great. That is, until the A Class came back into the picture.

"Well, that was a beating." Nakamura sighed as the females of your class trudged to the baseball fields.

Thanks to your training, you didn't feel too sore from the rough loss you just endured, but that didn't help your deflated ego.

Back at home you were great at many sports, winning was just something you were accustomed to at this point. But unfortunately you had to play the one sport you despised: basketball.

Each of the classes had a tournament of different sports, the boys were currently playing baseball while the girls just finished their basketball tournament. You would've killed to play baseball instead, but beggars can't be choosers. The A Class had olympian-like players anyways, so at least the outcome wasn’t that big of a shock.

"For real, I feel like all my fingers are broken." You whined with a pout of your lip as you wiggled your sore fingers around to help the aching feeling.

"No worries, there's always next time, yeah?" Kataoka said with a soft smile, her words making the group of defeated players feel just a bit better.

Kayano whimpered as she looked down solemnly, "It was my fault. My suckage dragged the whole team down."

"Oh come on don't be like that." You sighed as you wrapped an arm around her.

"Yeah Y/n is right, we all sucked"

Kayano let out an annoyed growl as she crossed her arms, claiming her lack of skill was due to the rather… feminine build of the Class A players. At this you couldn’t help but snort, watching as your classmates argued over whether that truly mattered.

You knew your own chest was a fair size so you decided not to butt in for the sake of the argument. Luckily for all of you, the large fence of the baseball field came into view about halfway through the conversation, a smile curling onto your lips.

The feeling of an elbow jabbing your side caused you to choke a bit as you looked over to see Nakamura smirking at you.

"Excited to see your boyfriend~" Nakamura playfully sang, the girls all squealing at the sight of your cheeks glowing a bright pink tint.

Laughing bashfully you fiddled with your fingers as you grinned over to her, "Maybe~."

"I still find it ironic you and Karma became a pair, he gives me the heebeejeebees." Kurahashi said with a shiver, a few of the girls nodding in agreement at that.

All you could do was really shrug. You knew where they were coming from, but you just saw things differently with the chaotic brute.

"Anyways, let's hope the boys are doing better than we did." Hayami said, all your gazes now focusing on the field where you watched your fellow classmates in uniform.

Based on the sight of things, the game didn't seem to be going well. Or even fair for that matter.

Class A's team was mere steps away from your class' batter. It was obvious he wouldn't be able to swing without the ball being caught immediately.

The sight made your brows knit together in frustration, your fingers clinging to the thin metal bars of the fence as your classmates gathered close by. Karasuma was already there watching intently, his expression understandably grim.

"Looks like the boys were doing better than we did," Nakamura said with a sigh as she pointed out the scoreboard with your class in the lead, "But it looks like they're suffering the consequences now with Mr. Stick-Up-His-Butt."

Your eyes moved from the scoreboard to the very principal himself who stood from the dugout, a devious intent in his eyes.

The sight alone made you shiver. Just like his son, something just seemed very off about that man.

Your thoughts came to a halt when the sound of a familiar tongue clicking filled your ears. Tilting your head to the side, your eyes widened to see a familiar redhead leaning against the gate entrance to the field.

"Tsk tsk tsk, I'm disappointed your eyes weren't on me first angel."

Smiling wide, you jogged over to your boyfriend and jumped into his awaiting arms.

"Sorry Karma I got distracted, I missed you today." You mumbled with a smile as you stood on your toes just to peck at his lips.

Karma simply chuckled as he returned the peck before glancing back to the field with a raised eyebrow, "I missed you too Y/n, but mind me asking who distracted you first?"

Karma's jealousy never failed to peek out from his nonchalant facade, his words making you roll your eyes at him playfully before you glanced back at the field to search for your prior distraction.

"Principal Asano just caught my eye... I don't know what it is but something about him makes me feel uneasy everytime I see him.”

The slight shiver of your body didn't go unnoticed by Karma, his arm squeezing your waist gently leading you to look up to his confident golden hues.

"What the old man? Don't let him get to you, it's just a facade." Karma said with a grin as he shifted your hips so that you were facing him once again, "Just you wait, once we beat these Class A jerk-offs you'll get to see the principal lose his cool, it'll be a dream come true."

Giggling at Karma’s all too excited plan, you snaked your arms up into his red locks giving them a ruffle while playfully raising a brow.

"Be nice my prince of chaos, we don't wanna hurt their egos too much."

Karma let out a genuine laugh at that, smooshing his lips up against your cheek before backing towards the gate entrance, "Whatever you say, princess."

His return of the mocking nickname made you roll your eyes, but not before blowing him a kiss as he jogged back to his classmates. This game was sure to be interesting.

"We're at the top of the second inning and the invincible defense is still the order of the day!" The sports newscaster exclaimed over the radio.

"Batter number eight, left-fielder Akabane."

Your eyes lit up as you saw your boyfriend walk up to the base, you were about to shout his name but paused in your decisions when you noticed the redhead looking deep in thought.

Blinking at this, you glanced to the field and noticed the rest of the team just a few footsteps away from Karma as some sort of defense. Though you were no expert in baseball, you knew there's no way that was allowed.

"Move it kid. Get your tail in the batters box." The referee shouted, he sounded a bit agitated.

Karma simply glanced towards your principal, his eyes narrowed in focus causing you to raise a brow.

"Never pegged you as the type to play dirty, sir." Karma spoke, venom on his tongue as the principal simply smiled at the boy.

Now it was all making sense, the principal was Class A's new fill in coach of sorts. What happened to their old one?

"If the rules haven't changed, this little gambit ain't legal. They're guarding the infield, umpire should've called it by now." Karma hissed, his head glancing back at the A Class spectators with a grin, "Oh come on, anyone smell a rat or is it just me?"

At this your classmates seemed to snort. Though Karma was being his usual snarky self, everyone knew he was right. This was a risky call for the principal; was he really that scared of your class winning? This rivalry the classes had amongst each other must have been much more personal than you thought.

"Oh, never mind!" Karma exclaimed with a sly smirk as he pointed towards the A Class spectators, "You guys are morons, baseball is like a foreign language to ya!"

At that final comment there was a mix of laughter and yelling. You couldn't help but giggle as he stood amongst the angry students with his arms out, as if he was welcoming the angry cries.

His golden eyes landed on you for a quick second, he flashed a smile and winked before turning back to bat for his team. This trouble maker was going to start a riot and his only response was sticking his tongue out.

Sure enough the rest of the game went as expected. The A Class was playing dirty, from getting too close to the players to even bunting the ball making it nearly impossible for the E Class to have any sort of defense.

Your poor classmates looked exhausted and drained, you felt horrible for them. This game was getting dragged out in the blazing heat all because A Class couldn't take a loss.

Just as it was Class E's turn to play defense, Karma ran to the group with what looked like an idea in mind. You knew he had been talking to Korosensei, maybe it was a new plan for them to win?

Sure enough as your classmates broke away from their huddle the plan was revealed, but you weren't very fond of it.

Karma and Isogai moved not even three feet away from the batter that was up. Karma's golden eyes glared towards the principal as you heard him speak up.

"Choking up the infield isn't helping the batter's concentration, but what are you gonna do? Now if the umpire had called you on earlier there'd be a precedent for telling us to back off." Karma explained as a matter of factly, his eyes narrowing as he grinned to the principal, "You're cool with this, right chief?"

Suddenly your heart began to race a bit faster. There's no way the principal would okay this right? It was just a silly baseball game, it wouldn't even hurt your school's reputation.

Unfortunately the principal didn't seem to care as he simply smiled and nodded his head.

"Proceed as you will, a true athlete does not falter before such trickery."

Your eyes widened as Karma's grin turned into a wicked smirk at his words.

"Wow, duly noted." Karma cooed before him and Isogai walked even closer to the batter until they were a mere footstep away, "We'll hold you to that sir."

Moving closer to the fence you attempted to call out Karma's name until you felt a hand on your shoulder. Glancing up you noticed it was Karasuma's hand but he kept his eyes glued to the field.

"You have no reason to worry Y/n, the boys know what they're doing and they're following the octopus' order."

Biting your lip you let out a shaky sigh and nodded before glancing back to the field.

Even the batter seemed to be a bit shaken up, but the principal simply said to ignore them. His words nearly made your head explode, your foot nervously tapping against the messy clay of the field.

As Sugino made his first pitch the pitcher sure enough followed the principal's orders and swung, the bat just inches away from Karma and Isogai's heads as they moved back barely an inch. The sight made you gasp as you began to anxiously bite at one of your nails, this was insane!

Karma only seemed amused as he moved closer to the batter with a psychotic grin, "Give us a break, holding back ain't gonna cut it pal. On the next throw, swing like you're trying to kill us."

In the next moment you expected to see Karma and Isogai on the ground with cracked skulls, but instead you heard the batter cry in fear as he hit the ball awkwardly causing it to bounce on the ground.

Karma was quick to jump and catch it, throwing it to Nagisa so he could place it on the home base. Isogai then quickly instructed Nagisa to throw it to third base which he did, Kimura catching it just in time to get the last player of Class A out.

"T..The game is over!" The sports announcer said shakily, "I can't even... this is insane! The winner is... I never thought I would say this but the winner is E Class."

Though there were obvious groans and gasps of shocks, the cheers from your class were much louder as you all clapped and shouted their names. Your classmates soon left the field to meet up with you guys, your classmates all high fiving and cheering for one another.

Skipping to your boyfriend you gave him a tight hug, his arms raising in surprise before he chuckled and hugged you back.

"That was amazing Karma!" You exclaimed into his chest as he ran his fingers through your locks before taking a step back and glaring at him as you grabbed onto his collar and pulled him down to your level, "But if you ever do that again I'll kill you!"

Karma's eyes widened in surprise before he laughed and shooed your hand off his shirt, "Yeah yeah. You know I wouldn't have let those A Class jerks touch me angel."

His smug words made your lips tug into an annoyed frown as you crossed your arms at him, the sight making Karma roll his eyes before snaking his arms around your waist and tugging your turned back against his chest. Your attempt at remaining annoyed with him slowly cracked as he kept placing messy kisses on the sides of your face.

"Don't make that pouty face, you'll get ugly wrinkles."

Your pouted lips immediately fell in feigned offense as you narrowed your eyes up at him, but before you could rebuttal, you heard some of the A Class students grumbling to themselves.

"Oh damn that was totally pointless, how did they lose to those E Class jerkwads?" One of the boys snarled. Their words made your brows furrow as you gripped onto Karma’s arms that were wrapped around you.

Karma seemed just as annoyed as his grip on you tightened slightly.

"All that superior fire power wasted."

Finally having enough of their passive aggressive comments, you stood up a bit straighter as you shouted over to them with a grin, “I think you mean all that superior fire power lost.”

The sight of you sticking your tongue out at them soon after your comment made their faces scrunch in anger, but as soon as they caught sight of the scary looking man behind you, they quickly averted their gazes and mumbled amongst each other.

Watching them walk away made you huff, your body turning around to face Karma as you puffed your cheeks out in annoyance, “Those jerks just won’t leave us alone! Someone ought to teach them a lesson.”

The sight of your frustrated expression nearly made Karma groan as he smirked down at you. Though a rare sight, you always looked so adorable all fired up. He couldn’t help but tease you.

“Woah don’t get too fired up there angel, you may do something crazy like try to set their alarm clocks an hour back so they’re late to school.”

Karma’s words made your lip pout as you glared up to him with folded arms.

“Have fun walking up the hill by yourself.” You huffed, turning on your heel to walk off with your classmates, but you were stopped in your tracks as strong arms lifted you into the air, your growls slowly molding into giggles as Karma ran with you to catch up with your class that already began their ascent to the classroom.

Nothing out of the ordinary for your classmates, they simply observed your interaction with smiles before Karma placed you down, the large group of you walking up together with a sense of provide filled in all of you.

“So, how did the basketball tournament go?” Nagisa asked, turning back to his classmates only to be shocked at the dull expressions on the girl’s faces.

“Oh yeah! Did you kick-” Karma’s words were cut off when a collective sigh of groans filled the air, your lips quirking into a sheepish smile as you glanced up to your boyfriend who wore a confused expression.

"Uhhh, let's not ruin the moment."

next chapter

#karma akabane #karma #akabane #karma akabane x reader #karma akabane x you #karma x you #karma x reader #kunugigaoka #assasination classroom #long fic #sfw

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loveerran · 1 month ago

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Deliverance for the Captives

I recently attended a ward that was different than any other ward I have ever attended before. It was located near a prison and comprised mostly of men who were either currently incarcerated or previously released. They met in a warehouse conference room. Folding chairs were set up in a fan shape, pointed toward a podium. On the week I attended, they were having a testimony meeting. I arrived a bit late and took a chair a friend was saving for me just as the testimonies were beginning.

An LDS testimony meeting can be a real cultural experience. Everyone is welcome. A typical testimony meeting involves members taking turns standing up and delivering whatever words are in their heart to the entire congregation. Testimonies may be a minute long or considerably more. The entire program is completely free form and open to all the unexpected moments such a format suggests. Sometimes testimonies are brief and focused on a witness of Jesus Christ. Other times, they delve into personal experiences or provide the congregation with an impromptu lesson from the speaker. And there are, occasionally, some that are quite memorable and depart from the typical formulas entirely. It’s a uniquely Mormon event, and you really should consider attending one just for the experience (you can sit in back and not participate, and they are typically held on the first Sunday of each month).

In this particular meeting, a man who had spent decades behind bars spoke encouragingly to the others. We also heard the story of a homeless man living in a park and dealing with police issues. The US incarcerates a lot of individuals, and most have significant difficulty finding work and putting their lives together after release. Almost all the speakers were men, though two were women.

The testimony that stood out to me the most came from a wonderful sister who was married to someone who had spent time in prison. She followed up with more wonderful thoughts a bit later as we sat in a lesson together. The two messages touched my heart and have been coming back to me ever since. This is how I have been remembering them:

1. During the testimony meeting, she spoke to the men about living with ‘the jail that is in your head’. She talked about how they carry with them the burden of their own negative self-perceptions and how this holds them back from believing they can heal and re-integrate, holds them back from realizing who they are as children of loving Heavenly Parents and from becoming who they and their families want them to become. She also spoke of how the negative beliefs and judgments of others hurt us and bind us down. Christ came to set the prisoners free. Part of becoming free is realizing that the past does not dictate all that is possible in the future for us. Christ wants to free us from the chains of negative self-perception and the shame and fear we inherit from the world around us when they see us as something other than children of God.

2. In a later class she spoke again. This time she talked about her own situation. How hard it was to have a husband who was in prison. She spoke of a box of expectations, and how she placed in this box all the things that had been part of how her life was supposed to go, and all the accomplishments and milestones she had expected to experience along the way: college, marrying a returned missionary, living happily ever after, and so on. Instead, her box had blown up, just fallen apart in tatters. As she lived through that, she learned that the love of God exists outside of boxes. God works powerfully, even in lives that don’t seem to fit the mold of conventional expectations.

Some people who read this may be offended by the idea of these men attending church. They may want to focus on the fact that these men are criminals who have done bad things and hurt others. They may want to continue ostracizing and isolating them or avoid interacting with and seeing them at all. Those are natural feelings, and I do not expect and am not calling for the victims of these men to forgive or embrace them. However, they are still human beings. They are still children of God. They are still in need of redemption. Christ called on us to minister to those in need, including those in prison – physically or otherwise. Our prophet has encouraged “each of us to reach out to ‘the one’ in our lives who may be feeling lost or alone”. Mercy and the enduring love of Jesus Christ can be difficult topics.

After that meeting, I found myself feeling glad these men had this place to gather, a place to seek healing and fellowship, a place to express their desire to do good and become better, a place to work on their hope for putting off the sins of the past and becoming reborn and redeemed through the atonement of Jesus Christ. I was glad that their families, and those who still love them and want them to heal, could join them there. And I thought about how Jesus might embrace and welcome them if they ever attended His ward, regardless of where it was.

#queerstake #tumblrstake #not an lgbt post #lds #mormon #religion #love #freedom #liberty #atonement #healing #spirituality

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gayofthefae · 3 months ago

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They've said they want their show rewatchable. As someone who wasn't like SUPER invested in the ships/show before, the most rewatchable thing they can do is Mike's queerness.

I would not have rewatched it until season 5 came out. Maybe once before then if I got bored, but definitely not as much as I have without it. And the plots for Will have been too supernatural focused (also a good rewatch point after season 5 comes out, I'm sure) to be worth rewatching for his queer personal plot for two seasons before we even really get to it too much.

But Mike? Everything Mike does is impacted by his queerness. Will? Obviously. El? Most DEFINITELY. The Supernatural? You mean the thing that only ever affects Will and El? Yup.

Do you know my first thought, as someone not yet obsessed, when it started to become more clear that Mike was queer? "Oh, that's more interesting"

The average person isn't gonna drop the show because their ship broke up amicably. But they are going to if they get bored.

Mike having been queer the entire time, who cares if planned, as long as it isn't contradicted by anything prior (which is not possible because queerness is not disprovable) just gives a whole new view to everything he's ever done, making it less straightforward than you thought it was, changing your original view of the events, making you want to rewatch just to see how each moment is impact.

Making it more INTERESTING.

It's simple, honestly. Speaking as someone who passively thought the couples were cute and generally wanted the characters to be happy but wasn't deeply attached or fixating on any part of the show, Mike being queer is just more interesting than him being straight. That's all the people really want.

They've already gotten lots more residuals from this. And I'm sure they know that at least half of it isn't just because of the vol 2 lore drop. And it isn't because of what we think is gonna happen for Will in season 5 either, why watch seasons where it also hasn't happened yet. It's because of something else, much like the lore, that affects every facet of an entire plotline from the first episode. Not even the lore actually does that, it's just interesting to know, but that one's easier to connect back in your memory, but isn't as deeply rooted that you need to think through every singular behavior of the mind flayer. But with Mike, we know it affects it, but we immediately had to know how.

I probably would have rewatched it once by now. Maybe one more time a year from now to prepare for the season 5 release, but maybe not. I didn't do my rewatch before season 4's release, so I might not have. But instead, because of Mike and Mike only, I'm currently on my third watch since 2022. Maybe fourth, I'm not sure. Not just because of a ship I wanna see again because they're cute. Because I'm LEARNING something new every time I see his face on my screen. Not because I ship it, not even because I personally want it to be true for any character's sake.

But because Mike being queer is just. more. interesting.

#stranger things #byler #100% honesty #i would have watched season 5 for the social participation #i was late to season 4. i forgot it came out #i only started watching it when i did because my best friend told me she wanted to talk about it with me #i might have been months late #i might not have gotten back around to it #mike wheeler is queer #not because im queer or because will is or because i want him to be #not because it's a happier ending #but because it intrigues me #it tells me answers i thought i had are wrong and it makes me ask questions #people love questions. and people love answers. and when we have all the answers we get sad because we want more. so we get excited to have #questions again. more answers to find #byler validation

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rwylm-things · 5 months ago

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Author’s note : I’m lowkey geeking that I just wrote that !! Ok ok sorry I’m dramatic and cringe. Basically I would just like to preface a few things. This fic is very unfinished, I wrote it a while ago and don’t know if I’ll ever finish. I’ve always wanted to dip my toe into creative writing but always been to scared of…..sucking? This definitely sucks though.

Despite that I read someone say on here that your first writing is going to be bad. So here it is; my god awful Jason fic. What better way to start my journey of writing than fan fiction (please be nice I’m sensitive)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLOW-POPS

Jason Todd x reader

Warnings : suggestive language

Word Count : 763

Tick.

Finally,

You immediately braced your legs for the jump out of your seat. The ancient wheels on the chair create an uncomfortable squeak. You don’t pause to cringe at the awful sound, instead waving bye to your co-workers and making your way out the door. It had been a long day. Slow, but long. You had been laser focused on the minuscule arm that counted the final hour of the shift. As your legs hurriedly moved towards the car you could feel the tiredness seep through your bones. This particular shift had started in the earliest hours of the morning, as you start the engine your eyes drift up to the colors in the sky meshing together to create an orange hue. You let a hefty sigh leave your lips. The more thought put into it, the more excitement your mind created surrounding the prospect of taking a hot shower, watching some trash tv, and falling asleep on the couch. Smiling contently to yourself, you rush home.

Well. That was the plan. It really was.

You just may have forgotten to calculate for one important factor.

Red Hood.

Red Hood, who you may or may not have started a situationship with after he had saved your life last year. Your vehicle had been in the shop and you narrowly missed the bus for that night. Despite the fact that you’d been living in Gotham for up to a year at that point, you still took your chance and walked home from work. However, luck had never really been on your side. This was an event he would continuously criticize over the next year.

‘no concept of personal security’

‘no awareness about what's going on around you’

‘if I hadn’t been there…’

‘blah blah blah blah blah’

On one hand, you found it annoying that he really believed you couldn't take care of yourself. On the other hand, the delusional part, you relished in the thought of him giving a shit about what happens to you. To be frank, maybe situationship was the wrong word. Although you two were definitely not in a relationship. If you ever did come up with some miraculous courage, you would question the status between the two of you.

You seriously doubted that he would ever commit to a relationship. While he never specifically stated it, you knew. Despite the moments of softness he would spare, ones you would deny sent a fuzzy warmth into your head. Still, it was clear what he wanted from you.

You couldn't say friends with benefits either, that would insinuate that you two were friends. That would insinuate that you know more about him other than, he likes to be on top and has daddy issues.

Anyway, not the point.

Red Hood.

Red Hood, who was casually leaning against the marble countertops when you twisted the doorknob and stepped in. His helmet hung from his fingertips, leaving his face covered in only a black domino mask.

Red Hood.

Red Hood, who currently had you pressed deeply into the couch, leaving no room between your bodies. His full lips pressed harshly against your own, his tongue seeking entrance into your mouth. Once you slightly parted your lips, his tongue began dancing with yours, fighting for dominance.

He always won.

“You taste like cherry.”

This was the first he spoke since you had entered the apartment.

“I-” you paused as he began suckling on your neck,

“I ate a blow for lunch. Well actually I ate like six. This nice old lady I helped today gave me a jumbo bag. Don’t ask me why she just carried that around because I don’t know and I wasn’t about to ask. I know that I'm not supposed to be taking candy from strangers but like she was really nice and I was starving. Now that I think about it, I probably ate like ten.”

You rambled quickly, sounding almost breathless from his lips on your neck. You swear you felt him smile against your skin.

Meeting with him always gave you a rush of adrenaline. Meeting with him always created a very specific feeling you swore you could feel run through your veins. Knowing the hands that were gently caressing your upper torso were the same that ruthlessly pummeled the worst of Gotham. Maybe you were messed up, but hey, maybe that's what drew you two together.

That being said, you were tired.

As he moved to kiss further into the crook of your neck, you rested your eyes for a split second.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #red hood x reader #batboys x reader #titans jason todd #dont hug me im scared #red hood #dc titans #batman #dc universe #dc comics

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ladythornofrivia · 1 year ago

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Kingdom of Fire & Blood || (Part Three)

🐉 MASTERLIST 🐉

Next Chapter

summary: modern!reader bloody and beaten up but the prince interrupted the scene.

pair: aemond x reader

warnings & disclaimer: smut, violence, p in v sex, sexual content, aemond being arrogant, modern reader doesn’t know how the world of GOT works but is a Aemond stan, praise kink, breeding kink, spitting kink, voice kink, fluff, angst—family drama, oral sex, hate sex, stalking, jealousy, virginity loss, obsession, reader being sassy and aroused, sweet moments with reader and aemond. Reader is a huge GOT & HOTD fan. Pro-Green, Reader is a green supporter. Aemond becomes king instead of Aegon. (P.S. Alys who? I only know Aemond x Reader)

a/n: please read chapter 2 before reading chapter 3 to know what’s happening. I hope you don’t mind long chapters.

Chapter Three: The House of Black & Green

~ Aemond’s POV ~

Thunder and rain barraged outside the Red Keep. So does Aemond’s heart, thundering and disoriented, clashing like the volcanos in the Doom of Valyria.

Aegon, on the other hand—surprisingly—stopped drinking; silently looking beyond the carved hole and examined the events unfold.

A gush of blood tainted onto the stoned floor when Ser Marrow thrashed your body forward, collapsing with a wet thud.

In the house of the dragons, Targaryens and Velaryons immediately stood from their seats, watching the events unfold. Ser Marrow huffed with his might, abiding for the Targaryens to come to an understanding with Ser Marrow’s reasons.

Alicent rose onto her feet and hoisted you up, but only meet halfway by you sitting up, bleeding as Alicent untied the blindfold and shielded you with her arms, as if Alicent has regret something in the first place.

“Explain yourself, Ser Marrow,” Alicent demanded, brows furrowed in ferocious temper.

Rhaenyra got up from her chair at a slow pace, mouth opened with terror at your current state. She knew that you were hurt from the battle; poisoned by the blade piercing through your youthful flesh.

“I was only doing good for the realm, to keep the peace intact,” Ser Marrow explained. “For Targaryen dynasty!”

“Lady (y/n) rescued my daughter from falling off the bridge, and you call it a ‘threat’,” Alicent defended.

Rhaenyra contained her wrath when Ser Marrow spoke for the ‘good of the realm’. “She saved my son,” she scolded him. “If it wasn’t for her, my son would’ve been killed from the wretched fools.”

“Yes, the wretched fools that this thing brought to the Red Keep!” Ser Marrow accused. “People are dead because of this monstrous bitch!”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Ser Marrow, you forget yourself. What in the Seven Hells are you thinking? Beating her to a pulp, causing an uproar in the room was no good of excuse for you to gain sympathy of your ranking from us! Why do you think so highly of yourself? Have you had no shame on what you’ve caused?”

Ser Marrow hesitated for a moment, looking at you, then looking back at Rhaenyra. “I only did my duty, princess. Should she stay here in King’s Landing, death and destruction will bring upon the Targaryen line.”

“She did what she had to do to keep my family safe—”

“She’s a monster!” Ser Marrow bellowed. “A monster hiding beneath the human skin. She’s isn’t ordinary! Dangerous and filled with malice and lascivious intents to destory Westeros!”

Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. Prince Daemon, who stood the corner of the room, watched the events unfold.

Meanwhile, Alicent still embraced you tight, lessening the anxiety you were trying to suppress.

Aemond watched you from afar. Even awake, he found himself focused on your features—all fragile with grace and beauty within quietude. Droplets sank onto your tainted dress and your once immaculate hair has disarray from hair pulling. Aemond kept his composure and cast his sentimental aside.

Behind him, Aegon took notice of this, but said none; only amusement etched onto his drunken face.

“How dare you raised your voice against me, your future Queen, an heir to the Iron Throne and Seven Kingdoms?!” Rhaenyra declared.

Ser Marrow chuckled. “We all know in our hearts that you will never be queen or inherit the throne like that Rhaenys bitch, stringing along in a comfortably life with that old and weak man like that Sea Snake fucker!”

Everyone’s eyes snapped at his statement. Even Aemond’s and Aegon’s—halt from their tracks.

“Oh yes, surely you think it’s time to realize that you, a woman with big tits, hideous face and a loose cunt will never stand a chance against the son to rule to Seven Kingdoms on the Iron Throne. Sons are meant to rule, never the daughters.”

Rhaenyra had gone pale.

The silent gasps ensued.

Alicent stood up and approached Ser Marrow. “Remove your cloak and sword; you are hereby exiled from Westeros and reside at the Wall.”

Ser Marrow snorted without batting an eye on Alicent. “I don’t take orders from an ugly, vicious cunt.”

Alicent withstood her ground. “I won’t ask again, Ser Marrow.”

Anger blazing, Aemond make haste outside of the secret passage to enter the room, but Aegon hauled him back.

“Release me, brother. I have no time to indulge with your silly antics,” Aemond warned.

Aegon clutched Aemond’s arm tighter. “You’ll get in trouble. In more ways than one,” he warned back.

“Since when do you give a shit about your younger brother other than your wine and whores?” Aemond yanked his arm off from Aegon and entered the scene without noticing him; everyone is too focused that they’re unaware of Aemond’s presence hidden behind the thick pillar, his sword in hand, with his watchful eye, he was waiting for a moment to strike.

~Your POV~

Clutching your stomach as you were urging not to cough more blood. Behind you, the shadow overcast the ground, revealing Rhaenyrs Velaryon offered you a comforting smile and hands on your shoulders, though appearing more apologetic and saddening.

“Ser Criston, take Ser Marrow and escort him outside the Red Keep at once,” Alicent demanded in a low tone.

Ser Marrow shoved Criston back; Criston held his sword on his throat as the other guards in the room held their swords directly in front of Criston and Marrow.

“I will take no part in this charade,” Ser Marrow replied.

“Stand down now, good sir,” Criston said. “And walk away from the Red Keep.”

Ser Marrow. “This is your doing, Criston! If you haven’t brought that bitch here in the Red Keep, I would’ve still be part of the Kingsguard!”

“This is your own choosing to beat Lady (y/n),” Criston responded, apathetic.

“If only the monster hadn’t save the Rhaenyra’s bastard son, the succession to the Iron Throne would be secured. But he’s no son of the late Prince Laenor”—chuckled—“no, rather both monsters brought great ruination.”

For once, you’re glad Jace isn’t here.

“Fuck you,” you choked, blood spattered. “Admit it, you couldn’t handle a woman who bested you.”

Ser Marrow’s mouth clenched so tight, veins protruding from his neck. “You vile, insolent de—”

All the guards’s swords lowered, except for one blade tip kissed on Marrow’s neck with a pointed end. “A war hasn’t even begun and you’ve beaten a young maiden. Do you really think that have you a chance of walking out alive,” a voice said. “I dare you to say the word “demon” again, Ser Marrow.”

All their eyes turned to Aemond, who was looking down, gazing at you.

Though your eyes nearly dwindled, you heart beat pounded against the cage in your chest at the sight of him.

“Aemond, what are you doing here?” Alicent asked, rushing to his side, tugging the upper sleeve of his leathered jacket.

“I was only here to defend her,” Aemond answered with a droned hum. “After all, she saved my dear sister,” Aemond said coolly without averting gaze away from Ser Marrow, though given the exception of looking towards you ever so benign.

“Get back out in the hall, Aemond. This is no fight of yours; Ser Marrow must stand down and leave from the Red Keep,” Alicent said, frantic.

But Aemond ignored her, deepened the blade. “If you touch her again, there will be war.”

Everyone held their breath as they watch Aemond, his cautions ingrained into their minds.

“Aemond,” Alicent hissed, nudging him.

Aemond lowered his blade, and as soon as he did, Ser Marrow rushed towards you with his fist high up, but the sword cleaved Marrow’s head into two, leaving the guards already held their swords to disarm Aemond, as the table clanged loud; one guard bled from his head; Aegon slammed the guard down from trying to stab Aemond on his blind side, and held a short sword; the blade’s tip scraped the guard’s cheek.

“I wouldn’t do it again if I were you,” Aegon said to the guard and caught sight of you with a faint smirk on his wine-stained lips.

Prince Daemon lazily made his way to the crowd to retrieve Rhaenyra as the guards collected Ser Marrow’s body. But before that, Aemond said, “Feed Ser Marrow’s corpse to Vhagar. His service is no longer needed.”

Spectators stared in awe at the sudden events; not one utter a word of objection or sputter disagreement with the one-eyed dragon prince, as Aemond swept his sword clean with a cloth, not sparing a glance to anyone.

Once he sheathed his sword, Aemond advanced towards you and lifted you up, leaving everyone staggered at his proclamation for you.

Taglist: @galactict3a @toodlesxcuddles @daonenonlysandman @hufflepuff1700 @me753 @fredskum @danika1994 @colored-tr-panels @valeskafics

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trollprincess · 1 month ago

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Okay, so. “The Apprentice.”

Before we go in, if you’re going to watch this film, keep in mind trigger warnings for marital rape and racial, religious, and homophobic slurs.

Now, I would cut for spoilers, but I feel like at this point we should all know enough about Trump’s past that none of this is a spoiler. It’s a bit like saying “The boat sinks” about “Titanic.” Well, yes, it does, but the devil’s in the details.

Anyway. The movie focuses on a younger Trump’s mentorship under attorney, known scumbag, and gay-but-let’s-pretend-he’s-not Roy Cohn. (Let’s put it this way. If he’d died now instead of ‘86, the “I didn’t know the leopards would eat my face” song would be playing over celebratory TikToks.) Cohn proceeds to mold him into the douchebag we all know and loathe, and ends up getting bitten in the process. (Just as a note, this prompted me to get a Cohn biography so I could beef up on just how awful he was in even more detail than I already know.)

The film itself is very well-made. There are choices in terms of camera usage (making it look more 70s and 80s), storytelling, foreshadowing current events, etc., that are very well done. At the beginning, you almost have a smidge of sympathy for Trump, although it’s a HUGE almost. (It’s clear he was raised by a dick and wants to be like said dick, when maybe he would have been better off if his father croaked when he was little and his mother had all the control over his raising and that of his siblings.) Like, there is a *hint* that he might be redeemable if the right person got their hands on him. Instead, it’s Roy Cohn, and we have the six-foot pile of chinchilla diarrhea we have now.

So here’s the thing. I think anybody who heard Jeremy Strong was cast as Cohn thought, “Now that’s perfect casting.” And it is! He looks like him, he sounds like him, he plays him as manipulative sewer sludge. I will be incredibly surprised if he doesn’t get an Oscar nomination for best supporting actor. Every time he’s on screen, you’re drawn to him. He’s a monster, but a monster you want to keep your eyes on, either to see what he pulls next or to see if he finally gets what he fucking deserves.

But you know what was a delightful surprise? Sebastian Stan as Donald Trump. No, I’m not kidding. I mean, no, Trump is not delightful, but I know a lot of people were like, “Aw, SebStan as Trump? Come on.” The thing is, he’s *good*. Obviously, Trump in 2024 is an absolute cartoon of a human being, but all those tics and vocabulary choices and style choices came over time. The Trump at the beginning of the movie is a sliver of what he is now. You can see him if you squint, but you’re still working on SebStan in a bad wig. By the end of the movie, though? He IS Trump in the late 80s. He moves like him, speaks like him, brags like him. It’s as if the current Trump is him turned up to eleven, and SebStan at the end of the movie is him at about five tilting toward six. The last scene is him speaking to the ghost writer of “Art of the Deal,” and you can see Marla Maples-era Trump *right there.* It’s not a comic impression, it is a very real and respectable performance.

I feel like I should also mention that Maria Bakalova portrays an empathetic Ivana, especially given the mentioned rape scene and the moment when she shows Cohn something approaching real sympathy. I think she may be overshadowed in terms of awards by Strong and Stan, but she does a commendable turn as the first of the three wives Trump bulldozes through as his desires change with the wind.

It’s entirely unsurprising that the Trump campaign wouldn’t want this movie released. I mean, for starters, the marital rape scene is horrific and upsetting. But I think they should also be worried about just how much Trump seems to lift wholesale from other people without attribution - Cohn’s rules for life, Reagan’s campaign slogan - not to mention Cohn repeatedly getting him out of shit that should make any average American enraged. Why in God’s name would you support someone who got out of federal discrimination charges and $160 million in taxes for building a hotel using Cohn’s expertise with blackmail?

Of course, that requires the entire movie to be true, and … well, even the most historically accurate movies have their flaws. The problem here is that the people who worship him aren’t going to believe anything bad about him, and the people who wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire are bound to feel that even if something isn’t true, it *sounds* like something he’d do. So fact-checking “The Apprentice” is like fact-checking Cocomelon. Your toddler doesn’t care as long as you give them the damn iPad. But at least with Cocomelon, if you just give them the iPad and walk away with your hands up in defeat, your toddler is probably not going to threaten to set the house on fire because Cocomelon told them to.

So yes, anyway, an excellent movie. I hope someone else is president when it gets nominated for Academy Awards because Jesus fucking Christ.

#tw mention of rape #the apprentice

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bouncybongfairy · 1 year ago

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Angels Like You

Loki x Fem Reader

Summary: After being pruned by the TVA, you were sent to The Void where you've lived ever since. During a storm Loki comes to your setup, seeking shelter. You allow him to stay and explain your nexus event to him.

Word Count: 2.0k

The context for this story: I based the reader's character after Sigyn who is the goddess of victory. In Norse Mythology, Sigyn is Loki's wife and is known for being extremely loyal. In Loki the mythical god's actual lore, after he kills the god Baldr he is banished to a cave where he is bound to rocks as a poisonous serpent drips venom onto his face until Ragnarok. Sigyn is so faithful she stays with Loki in this cave and holds a bowl above Loki's head to protect him from the venom. I based the reader's actions and relationship on the lore of Sigyn and Loki's romance if that makes sense; Thanks for reading!!

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

You were sent to the void so long ago that it’s hard to remember what life was like beforehand. It was such a beautiful life, living on Asgard with your mother and sisters. Mother was a baker and made everything from sweet to savory and your father was a butcher. They were in love and always were, newlyweds by the time they were only 17. Everyone in the family helped out with the bakery, one of your favorite things to do was teach your younger sisters how to make different pastries. Taking care of the animals and interacting with so many locals. You threw another stick in the fire, trying to shake your head of all the memories. Your handmade shelter was holding up nicely from the storm currently roaring around you. While you were scavenging recently you found a mini DVD player among a bunch of rubbage. It had the movie Star Wars: Episode II Attack of the Clones which you’ve been watching on repeat ever since. It was comforting to you, especially because of how much the background looks like Asgard during certain points of the film. You had your legs kicked up, eating an unknown form of fruit that you picked earlier when you heard rummaging. You slowly start to get up not wanting to alert the potential threat. Arming yourself with your daggers, you get closer to the entrance of the shelter. Throwing the wooden door open you step in front of it. Unsurprisingly, a Loki stood in front of you smiling as if he was coming to ask for a cup of sugar. Instead of focusing on who was standing before the doorway, you whip your body around. The Loki that you saw was an illusion created to distract you, every single Loki you encountered did this so you were very familiar with this technique. You pressed the blade into his neck, causing him to raise his hands in defeat.

“How did you get my blades?” he asked, looking quite taken back.

“These are mine, not yours,” you replied flatly.

“How did you know I was coming,” he asked, most likely to stall.

“Because all Loki’s think they're clever by doing so, it’s like your party trick at this point. What is your business here?” you asked.

“Is that an Asgardian accent I recognize?” he said, dodging your question.

“What. Is. Your. Purpose. Here?” you ask, backing him against the wall and pressing the blade against his neck so hard that you caused a small scratch on his throat.

“Okay, cards on the table. I only came here looking for shelter from the storm. Truly had no ill intentions, could you please..?” he asked, insinuating for you to unarm yourself. You did pull the dagger away from his neck but kept them in each hand.

“I don’t believe you,” you said.

“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” he said, sitting down and putting his hands in front of the fire, “you know you’re incredibly uncharismatic for a Loki,” he said, using magic to dry his clothes.

“I am not a Loki, and I never said you could stay here,” you said.

“Okay if you’re not a Loki then why do you have those daggers?” he asked.

“They belonged to a Loki and now they belong to me; end of story,” you said.

“Wasn’t aware it was pawning for a storytime,” he said giggling.

“Do you want to die,” you said, moving closer.

“You think you can kill me?” he asked.

“Me being able to kill you is irrelevant. I know I can keep you out of my hut, and I know that storm will have its way with you,” you said.

“Fair enough,” he said, putting his hands up playfully to surrender.

“Why are you wearing a TVA jacket?” you asked.

“I am a bit of a consultant, helping them with an inside look into the mind of a Loki,” he said.

After physically showing your disgust for his loyalty to the TVA through facial expressions. You started roasting a chicken over the fire that was in the center of the shelter. Loki again began to pry about the origins of your accent. You ignored his inquiries and turned the roasted chicken that was cooking above the fire. He was eyeing the food like a lion would a gazelle.

“I thought you worked for the TVA? Don’t tell me your wonderful new friends aren't feeding you,” you said flatly.

“Well you know sometimes missions go… askew if you will,” he chuckled then conjured himself a blanket.

“The TVA discarding lives at will? Can’t say I’m surprised,” you said.

“And what about you? Clearly, you're Asgardian so what was your nexus event?” he asked.

“I lived in the villages of Asgard, my family and I lived comfortably. My mother and father ran a foodery. They were given the opportunity to work in the castle’s pantry. Without a second thought, they took the opportunity, especially because it meant proper education for my sisters and me. We were shocked to see the interior of the castle. I couldn’t stop laughing because of how mesmerized I was,” you said, turning the chicken again, “as my sister and I lost our minds, the queen came around the corner. My mother was so upset that she saw me acting foolish, she pinched my forearm so hard it bruised. She took us to our separate rooms before showing my parents around. I didn’t want to be in separate rooms, in our old home, the room we shared was so small and the sudden change was jarring. Once I was alone in my room I broke down into tears, I was only 13 and it was all so overwhelming.” You moved the chicken away from the fire onto a makeshift table. Ripping one of the legs off and setting it on a chipped plate. Loki thanked you before you even handed it to him. After taking a few bites, he stared at you, waiting for you to continue.

“The next day things were getting easier. I came out of my room and saw a snake slithering outside my door. I picked it up and began talking to it, saying things like ‘If someone else would have found you, they’d make you lunch’ or ‘let's get you out of here before you’re killed’ but after I set it free, Loki shapeshifted out of his snake form. The first thing I noticed were his eyes, they were so bright and his pupils were wide.

“I was uh- trying to scare you but when you picked me up I had to wait till you set me down to shapeshift back,” he explained.

“Why would I be scared of a creature that is simply existing?” you asked.

“You have a point there,” he said laughing, which caused you to join him.

“After that encounter, it was like we couldn’t stop bumping into each other. Everywhere you went, he'd always end up stopping by even just to share a quick glance with each other. Eventually, things got more serious, and we’d both sneak out to meet each other in the library. Loki loved the library, he explained that when he was to rule Asgard, he’d make his soldiers study basic battle strategy and geography to ensure his glorious purpose wasn’t to be wasted. I always loved romance novels which irritated him beyond no end. One that you remember was about a young king named Angus who was turned to stone by Medusa. His queen Rose was wrapped in his arms when turned, he was protecting her. He thought if he shielded the queen from the serpent's view and it did. The queen could have escaped but she would’ve needed to shatter her king’s stoned body. He was gripping her so tightly that the stone was rubbing her skin raw, but she was so touched that in his last moments, he wanted to be as close as he could to her. The love she had for him was so strong that she couldn’t bring herself to it. So she died in his arms. Aphrodite was so moved by the queen's sacrifice that she turned her body into a rose bush with thorns that completely wrapped around him. To protect his stoned body so she could be with him forever. Loki would poke up and talk about how no king would ever do that. Even if he was right, it didn’t stop you from reading them obsessively.

The night before my 14th birthday, Loki appeared at my window wanting to talk.”

Flash Back:

“I have something to show you,” he said, taking you by the hand and helping you climb down from your window.

When you got to the bottom, there was a black horse that Loki helped you on. You were scared of getting in trouble but he insisted that nobody would notice. This is when you knew feelings were starting to develop, at least on your end. At first, you were scared to fully wrap your arms around him. He reached behind him and pulled you by your arms closer to him. You now had your cheek pressed against his back, watching his long black hair bounce as the horse galloped. You guys were getting deeper and deeper into the forest, starting to see more animals and thicker trees. When you guys finally stopped, it was starting to rain quite hard. He grabbed you by the waist and helped you down from the huge stallion. Taking you by the hand he began leading you to a cave that was nearby. At first, you were reluctant to go into this dark and foreign entryway. Loki dried your clothes and conjured a lantern. When he lit the cave up with light from the lantern you couldn’t believe your eyes. The cave had rose vines on every section of the wall. Your hand immediately threw your hand over your mouth.

“Like in that book you love, when I found it I knew I had to show you. I know it’s not much-” you interrupted him by pulling him into a hug.

“This is amazing, thank you for bringing me here to see this,” you said.

“I actually didn’t bring you here only to see it,” he said, pulling the book out of his saddle bag.

The cave’s floor was covered in long grass, which made it very comfortable when sitting on the ground. Loki’s back was pressed against a portion of the wall that he cleared of vines and thorns. You were your back against Loki’s chest as you read aloud to the book. You kept stuttering over words at first, being distracted and flustered. Eventually, you settled and were able to read fluently through the story. You guys stayed there until it began to rise, and right before you parted ways to separate bedrooms you shared a chaste kiss. Ever since that night, you knew Loki was the love of your life. The connection that was growing was strong and undeniable. It remained that way even after time aged the two of you. By the time you guys were 18 the love between the two of you was still as fresh as the roses in the cave. A wedding was being planned and the energy in the air was euphoric. Both of your families were healthy, the kingdom was thriving and you loved each other. Long story short: Baldr invaded Asgard. Loki killed him and saved so many people's lives yet he was punished. Banished to the very cave where your love blossomed in, only now the roses were all dead, yet the thorns remained. When you saw him, he was passed out from the pain. A serpent was suspended above his head, dripping its toxic venom onto his skin. You refused to leave his side, at first he would scream for you to leave. Not wanting your mind to be poisoned by the pain of seeing him so weak. You comforted him and held his head with one hand and used the other to hold out a bowl, catching the venom. You weren’t sure how much time passed, but one day you couldn’t stand the thought of living this way. For your love to be punished for doing what he believed to be right by his people. You noticed Loki still had his two daggers tucked into his pant-line. Knowing you would have to be quick, you emptied the bowl of venom and quickly grabbed his daggers. Using your own head to cover Loki’s body from the venom you start attacking the snake. After severing its head, you passed out from how bad the venom burned your skin. When you woke up Loki was already causing Ragnarok, he had so much pent-up rage. The timekeepers found me and when I was at the TVA pleading for answers, they told me certain events on my timeline needed to play out before Loki was released. Because you were the one who released him, they blamed it on you.

End of Flashback

The Loki you’d just met was looking at you with a pitiful expression. You noticed he picked his chicken clean which made you chuckle.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.

“Not your fault,” you said.

“I know but, that’s one of the most heinous stories about survivors of the TVA,” he said.

“I’m glad you liked the chicken. I’m going to bed,” you said, setting your cot up.

“Is it okay if I stay?” Loki asked.

“If you stop asking questions then yes,” you said, extinguishing the fire and going to sleep.

#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki series #loki season 2 #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki imagine #loki s2 #loki fanfction #loki fandom #marvel loki #loki mcu #glorious purpose #marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction

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