#Hero-turned-Whore (Link)

[imgeekgirlfan]

Deal with the Devil

Pairings:  Raphael x f!Tav/Reader  [From Baldur's Gate 3]

Content Rating : Mature 18+  

Warnings: Spoilers for Act 3 (Baldur's Gate 3), NSFW, Smut, Manipulation, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Unprotected sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Creampie, Rough Sex, Biting, Ownership, they hate each other but also fuck each other, (Raphael is a Man Whore)

Synopsis : Yes, making a deal with the devil was foolish, but fucking the devil you despise is even more foolish.

AN : This one-short fic is inspired by the quest ‘Deal with the Devil’ involving Raphael in Act 3. Raphael approaches Tav to make a deal at the Sharess' Caress (a situation conducive to writing smut fic Lol)

Yes, I know that Canon Raphael is bad in sex, but I don't care! hope you guys enjoy the full experience of ‘Man Whore’ Raphael in my fic.

also big thank to my lovely friend and smut fic expert (lol) @missmarmaladeth for being the beta reader for this fic. If it weren't for her help in proofreading and providing guidance, this fic wouldn't have been completed (tbh, it's very hard to write a horny fic)

Read in Ao3 : here

Two years. 

That's exactly how long since you left Baldur's Gate, your hometown. 

You reminisce about the past when you decided to escape, as vividly as if it happened yesterday. You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn't set foot in that wretched city again. 

But fate has a whimsical way of playing with your life.

Two years of tumultuous uncertainty, a journey you never thought would happen to your ordinary life. started with surviving the infection of mind-flayers, spreading madness into your brain. You joined forces with other survivors, embarking on an adventure to find a cure. Along the way, you get involved in local troubles, both intentionally and unintentionally. From goblins to witches, demons, and even confronting malevolent gods lurking behind schemes of dominion.

Who would have thought all of this would lead you back to Baldur's Gate once more, with a drastically different role from before.

The hero, the sole hope of the kingdom, defending the city of Baldur's Gate 

Quite amusing indeed. 

You sigh deeply, mocking yourself genuinely. As you follow your gaze along the densely packed houses and shops on both sides of the street, some built with bricks, some with wood, the salty smell of the seaside city mixes with the faint stench of fish stalls and the smoky haze from distant ironworks. The grumbling chatter of the townsfolk invites annoyance but is still pale in comparison to the beggars and street children attempting to pickpocket you at least five times, forcing you to handle it the way the hero of the city should—threatening to chop off their hands if they dared show their faces near you again.

After keeping an eye on the little delinquents skulking away through the alley and ensuring no one would disturb your peace again, you turn your attention back to Baldur's Gate once more, this time with a different sense.

Certainly, overall, the city remains as chaotic as ever. But you find it hard to articulate what you're feeling at the moment. It's like you don't really know and aren't familiar with this place at all, even though Baldur's Gate is your hometown.

You can't pinpoint precisely what is strangely amiss, from the people to the houses and in every square inch of the city. Yet, you sense deep down that there's something unsettling here. It's as if all the malevolence has converged on this city.

Soon, you discover where the root of that malevolence comes from

Sharess' Caress, the most notorious brothel in Baldur's Gate.

You didn't intend to come here to seek sexual pleasure for yourself. But one of the small quests you took on due to financial need is linked to the disappearance of a prostitute, which seems to be connected to the murder case of a prominent priest in the community, as well as the case of explosive-laden donation boxes.  Because The suspicious toymaker also seems to be lingering around this brothel as well

It's suspicious... Why do all the clues from three different cases point directly to this brothel?

But setting aside those minor quests, another interesting thing about Sharess' Caress is the special concoction Drink from the bartender named Hooligan, which has gained fame as the city's signature drink that one mustn't miss. You've never had the chance to taste it before.

Considering the burdensome responsibilities you've shouldered throughout the journey, facing life-threatening situations multiple times, would it be reasonable to reward yourself just a little?

However, bringing companions into the brothel seems somewhat unsettling. So, it might be better to let everyone separate and enjoy some relaxation in the city for a day before regrouping once again. Even though Baldur's Gate may not be the most hospitable place for you, it's still an exciting city for outsiders like Shadowheart, a rural dweller from Moonhaven, or Lae'zel, the warrior from the Githyanki tribe, who comes from Stardock, far away from here. It's not a difficult decision for them to explore the big city rather than drink their heads off in the brothel with you.

The white-painted wooden building may look compact from the outside, but it's much more spacious inside than expected. As it's midday, there aren't as many people in the brothel as you thought. You maintain a composed expression as a woman in a tight-fitting red and green dress with a high slit saunters over to greet you at the counter. Each step she takes reveals smooth white legs intentionally. Her golden, voluminous hair cascades down in waves, and her heavily made-up face resembles a glamorous mannequin, with a full-fledged business-like smile. She introduces herself as 'Mamzell Amira', the owner and madam of this brothel.

“A weary traveller, battered and bruised. You come for sustenance. No —Decadence. A mien cool as ice, yet eyes burning hot. Oh yes, I know your bliss.” She spoke in a melodic tone, akin to singing a song. Her captivating voice effortlessly sent shivers down the spines of those who listened, making them either enraptured or have goosebumps “A sturdy dwarf, a leather whip. She gives - you receive. Or have I misjudged you?”

You almost choked on yourself, having to fake a cough to clear your throat. You were somewhat relieved that your companions didn't come with you, as the current situation was quite awkward.

"I didn't come here for that," you clarified.

Amira raised an eyebrow, slightly surprised by the guest who didn't come for sexual purposes like others. She appraised you once more; Everything about you seemed contradictory—the youthful appearance conflicted with the worldly weariness reflected in your expression, and the luxurious silver brooch nestled in your light-colored hair hinted at your high-class status in Baldur's Gate.

Overall, you didn't quite look like an adventurer, more like one of those noble daughters dwelling on a grand estate. However, the silver-accented armor and the sharp-pointed sword hanging at your waist confirmed your profession as an adventurer quite well.

Nevertheless, there was something the madam was particularly confident about—you have money, and she wasn't foolish enough to let a heavy-pocketed customer like you slip away easily.

"Of course, my dear. We've other ways to fill your void. A drink, for one. A pair of Drows for another. or Devils, for those who desire to be scorched, Choose your sin."

"Devils?" That word struck a chord within you, and your unintentional display of curiosity was quickly noticed under Amira's keen observation.

“Oh yes,  We are blessed to have a devil in residence at the moment—a temporary guest, but he asked that I send any potential clients his way.” 

You listened to Amira intently and silently. With a face hard to read from Amira's perspective, However, the woman still seemed excited, thinking she could successfully entice the customer as she had intended. 

“Everyone who's paid a visit looks quite changed by the experience.” Amira continues to convince you, hoping to stimulate your curiosity even more. The madam was right that you were very interested in this devil, but certainly not out of infatuation or admiration.

This was because you had a strong intuition that you might know this mysterious devil very well. 

There was no point in keeping the doubt to yourself. You took a breath before firing the last question that lingered in your mind, "Tell me, did the devil give you its name?"

The corners of the lips, painted with red lipstick, widened into a broader smile than before as she uttered the name of someone—someone whose name you didn't want to hear most at this moment.

"Indeed, he did—Raphael."

Raphael 

Exceedingly handsome. and with a voice that could make the foulest blasphemy seem the sweetest hymn

Amira mentioned him like that without exaggeration, not even a bit. Raphael was the embodiment of mesmerizing allure, drawing mortals to worship him instantly upon meeting his gaze. You became aware of this when you first encountered him at the Emerald Grove. introducing himself to you as one of the Lords of Hell and Ruler of the House of Hope.

With sharp facial features and dark red skin like the evening sky, he was towering and majestic. He was always dressed in expensive attire wherever he appeared. He evoked a sense of unease in you at  first sight, reminiscent of the highborn nobles of Baldur's Gate that you despised deeply.

But beyond the despised feeling, there was also discomfort mixed in. Under the red-brown eyes of the devil, every time he gazed at you, it wasn't just surface-level scrutiny; it felt like he was delving deep into your soul, reflecting every sin you've hidden away.

You and Raphael have never crossed paths before, and there wouldn't have been much chance of meeting either. But because you've become a hero and have built up a myriad of adventures outside the city of Baldur's Gate, that drew Raphael's attention significantly. He appears before you, inviting you to visit his home and offering assistance in overcoming the imminent threats to the kingdom. All he asked for was a small pact from you.

You refuse without hesitation. Only fools would sell their souls to the devil.

However, your rejection triggered the ego of the Devil Lord intensely. From then on, the cat-and-mouse game began. He pursued you everywhere, like a shadow, lurking in the darkness and revealing himself in the light. His red-brown eyes watched your every move, waiting for the opportunity to intervene in your adventurous journey. Sometimes he helped you, while other times he intentionally made your life much more difficult. Your existence became excellent entertainment for Raphael, and he was determined not to let you easily escape from him.

You remember well when the devil stood before you, asserting that you had no way to refuse him. No courageous human would dare to reject him, and one day, you would have to crawl back to him in hell, knocking on the door of the House of Hope to beg for his help.

What an absorbed devil he was!

'Little Mouse' Raphael always called you that, with a tone of endearment like a generous person coaxing a child. But this devil was far from being akin to the term 'generosity. He always saw himself as the cat teasing a mouse like you, making you run around and struggle until exhausted before finally smacking you down under his paw, leaving you only to plead for mercy. That was his true desire.

There's no need to guess. Raphael is here because he wants to disturb your emotions, as usual. This thought made you so annoyed that you wanted to walk out and find another bar to drink at. However, escaping felt like accepting losing, and you hated defeat as much as Raphael did. So, you resolved to ignore the devil all day, as long as you didn't come face-to-face with him. There is no reason to lose your temper, right?

You lean back on the wooden chair in front of the bar counter, waiting  for a drink from Hooligan, who is busy concocting drinks for other customers. The contemporary music playing softly through the red curtains on the opposite side helps set the lively and relaxed atmosphere. You let yourself unwind a bit, until a customer sitting nearby turns and greets you in a friendly manner.

"Oh! It's Raphael's favorite misadventurer, aren't you?"

Although you intended not to pay attention to Raphael entirely, you reluctantly acknowledge that his name always manages to catch your interest. Glancing at the person beside you distrustfully, you notice she is a Halfling woman. She holds a large glass of beer in her hand and offers a friendly smile that seems more genuine than hostile. Despite the dark eyes that seem to harbor a hint of mischief, you observe her staff and expensive robes, making a guess that she might be either a witch or a warlock. Yet you're more convinced she's a warlock since she seems to know Raphael well.

"You've put me out of pocket, you know. Raphael bet me five soul coins you'd reach the city in one piece," the petite woman continued, unfazed by your silence and indifferent to your skeptical gaze that turned back to her. "He rented a room upstairs, in the hope that you'd drop by."

"First things first, who are you exactly?"

Finally, you asked what you had been wondering. You had only just met her here today. It was strange that she conversed with you as if you were old acquaintances. This made you even more suspicious because you knew she was connected with Raphael, and Raphael's people were never trustworthy to you. You thought so while touching the sword strapped to your side, ready to fight if necessary.

"Ah, I forgot we've never met. I've had my eyes and ears on you so long, we feel like old friends."

She glanced at your hand gripping the sword hilt and sighed slowly, almost mockingly, before extending her hand towards you.

"Korilla is my name. I'm Raphael's....assistant, shall we say."

You cursed Raphael inwardly. This was the reason he often appeared to you at inconvenient times. He had eyes and ears around you all along, sending people like Korilla to follow you everywhere.

Once, you wondered and even asked him directly if he was intentionally following you. But the devil just laughed and accused you of flattering yourself.

Raphael was quite a tricky devil, able to deceive you like this.

"Sorry, but I don't think I have any business with your master," you replied firmly, refusing even to shake hands with Korilla as a gesture of courtesy.

Korilla didn't take offense at your discourteous actions. Instead, she seemed to empathize with you a little, judging from your whacked expression. She knew you had been through a lot before getting in here. Watching you under Raphael's orders for a long time made her know everything about you, almost as much as she knew about her own master.

Raphael liked you a lot. Korilla knew that well, even though he never said it. and she herself liked you just as much.

"Take your time—have a drink, sample the good. Go see him when you're feeling refreshed."

The halfling warlock spoke before getting up from her seat and walking away. With just a blink of an eye, she disappeared as if she had never been here before, leaving only a faint scent of sulfuric acid, a trademark of the devils swirling beneath your nose, along with bits of hellish ashes scattered on the floor.

You are wondering why she was so confident that you would encounter Raphael.

Overthinking was futile. You brushed away the doubts from your mind and returned to the bar once again. Hooligan sent a business smile similar to Amira's as she placed the polished aluminum glass on the clean wooden table. She was a tall, masculine woman with short hair. You noticed the rough, scared hands, which definitely didn’t come from just poring drinks but from many tales of the battles. You know she’s just like you, or perhaps used to be like you.

"Miss, may I recommend a new drink for you?" Hooligan said as she reached for the ale pitcher nearby and poured it into the glass set in front of you until the thick foam almost spilled over. "My new drink is sure to knock you off your feet."

The rich, dark brown beer exuded a sweet aroma, tantalizing your taste buds. You raised your head to look at Hooligan, considering her offer thoughtfully "Sounds intriguing. How exactly does it knock one off my feet?"

"Oh, I couldn't tell you that! It's not that it's a secret, but I don't even know exactly how it'll turn out. Exciting, isn't it?" Hooligan winked, looking at you scrutinizingly "It might make you stronger, more alert, improve your palate, or knock you out completely. You won't know until its first drop hits your tongue."

You know both of your downsides very well: one - you don't like being challenged, and two - you're not hesitant to try new things, even if they might not sit well with your stomach (like eating glowing mushrooms from the Underdark that gave you a three-day bout of diarrhea).

You didn't take long to think before raising the glass to your lips and saying, 'I'll give it a try.'

'Oh, and don't blame me if there are side effects, like fingers turning into tentacles or your tongue becoming a piece of wood,' the bartender warned you at the end, but it was too late. You had already swallowed the liquid smoothly down your throat.

And you had no idea whatsoever about the side effects... much worse than what Hooligan had cautioned you about.

Everything was just too much. Too much.

You're not sure if this is drunkenness or not. But within seconds, the heat starts rising, scorching from the tip of your tongue down to your gut. Your face flushes with a deep red, and dizziness clouds your mind as if you've downed five glasses instead of just one.

Suddenly, every nerve feels strangely awakened, and emotions are overwhelming and difficult to control. Your senses expand to encompass everything within Sharess' Caress, whether it's taste, smell, sound, or even the pulsating veins beneath your skin.

And right then, you feel the sharp gaze piercing directly toward you, from somewhere neither near nor far.

You lift your gaze to the second floor of the brothel, peering through the oakwood ceiling. While the eyes of ordinary humans like yours couldn't penetrate beyond, you sense there's someone up there, someone with enough ability to observe you from a distance stealthily.

Raphael

For a moment, you recall Korilla's words from earlier

"Take your time—have a drink, sample the good. Go see him when you're feeling refreshed."

Perhaps it's the effect of the drink that makes you feel so invigorated, almost recklessly bold, mixed with a touch of annoyance since you learned you've been watched by the Devil himself from the start.

Suddenly, you feel the urge to tease Raphael.  It's not that you've never teased Raphael before, but this time, the alcohol coursing through your veins seems to be a significant factor in stimulating your mind.

Just the thought of seeing Raphael frustrated lifts your mood instantly.

Without hesitation, you rise to your feet, flexing your muscles slightly before relaxing them.  You do not forget to leave two gold coins for Hooligan as payment for the ale. Then you stride confidently towards the staircase, adorned with red carpeting. Prepare yourself for the confrontation that is bound to happen very soon.

Devil’s Dan

You read the name of the room with a small chuckle. You had thought it would take longer to find Raphael's room, but the letters inscribed on the prominent wooden sign next to the door immediately caught your eye. It was as if the Devil himself was shouting at you, saying, ‘I'm here!’

Korilla wasn't lying when she said her master was eagerly waiting to meet you. Raphael did everything to reveal to you that he was here.

You pushed open the large wooden door and stepped inside. The scent of incense and faint sulphur greeted your nose.

"Well, well, Little Mouse finally emerges from its hole. I thought you wouldn't dare to face me."

Raphael's soft voice echoed before you could see him.  You turned towards the sound and met the gaze of the familiar and handsome dark-skinned man in a sleek, red-lined noble's attire. From head to toe, he exuded refinement. He sat in a luxurious chair at the center of the room, with papers, ink bottles, wine glasses, and an unfinished chessboard on the table before him. His arms rested on the armrests, fingers interlaced in front of him. His gestures were graceful and confident, yet subtly commanding.

However, you couldn't deny that Raphael in human form was remarkably beautiful. He seemed more like an Aasimar than a Cambion.

Yet, a devil is a devil through, no matter what. His beautiful appearance is crafted to lure human souls, including yours.

However, you remained the only person who didn't fall into Raphael's tempting trap.

For Raphael, you were fundamentally different from the many mortals of Faerûn. Whether in centuries or millennia, you remained steadfast and never bowed your head to anyone, not even to a god or devil like him. You were stubborn yet willing to compromise, threaten, and negotiate when necessary, choosing to handle everything through diplomacy rather than force. And you did it all with remarkable finesse.

He still remembered the time when Astarion, the white-haired High Elf vampire who was your team companion, came to plead with him to help read the symbols carved on his back by his old master's hand. But because devils never helped anyone for free, Raphael offered to kill Yurgir, one of the Orthons who had escaped from him, as an exchange.  You were reluctant to agree with him, but you accepted to help your friend without realizing it was a suicide mission.

Yurgir was a fiend adept at slaughtering, one of the formidable of hell. Many brave souls had agreed to deal with Raphael to kill this fiend, exchanging fame, gold, and impossible desires—but none had ever succeeded.

Until you. You were the only one who succeeded effortlessly, using only your persuasive skills and wit to deceive the foolish Fiend into killing himself and staying in hell under his power once again. Fulfilling the pact beautifully and seamlessly.

That was just one of his impressions from many stories of yours that Raphael closely monitored, initially hoping to see your failures. Instead, you always left him fascinated with every feat you accomplished. Eventually, your name—a mere human—had been deeply engraved in his mind.

It's been a long time since Raphael has enjoyed anyone's company as much as yours. And it's difficult for him to let a little mouse like you slip away from his claws.

Surprise flashed on the devil lord's face as you walked in to see him so casually, without provocation or fleeing as usual. You sank into the chair opposite, crossed your arms, and looked at him with a strange smile before bursting into laughter, which only fueled Raphael's curiosity even more.

"What's so funny?" he asked impatiently when you still didn't speak.

"Nothing really," you shrugged, still chuckling, "I just didn't expect you to do something like this."

You stopped speaking intentionally, leaving the devil more curious than before. You always knew how to tease and surprise Raphael, making it a small, subtle entertainment between you and him.

"Amira said this place has new upper-level prostitutes, a handsome devil," you added mischievously.

You lowered your eyes in a gleefully mood when you saw Raphael's expression change immediately as you spoke. 

You didn't make up the story yourself; Amira told you so. It seemed the madam misunderstood severely, thinking that trading human souls was equivalent to trading sexual services. Also, Raphael hadn't revealed his true status to her because he didn't pay attention to lowly humans. So, in Amira's eyes, this devil was just one of the temporary prostitutes here for some sinful indulgence.

The grandiose ruler of the Nine Hells had turned into nothing more than a whore in Baldur's Gate. Isn't that funny?

"Amira said you have so many guests. I'm curious how much those people have to pay to fuck a grand devil like you." 

You paused abruptly. The seemingly comfortable afternoon air suddenly turned heavy, suffocating, and oppressive—as if you were just a tiny ant ready to be crushed underfoot at any moment. You trembled, feeling both cold and feverish, sweating profusely all over your skin. It felt like the scorching flames of hell were passing through your body rapidly.

You swallowed hard, struggled, and started to regret what you just said. It seemed like you might have gone too far because Raphael, who always enjoyed teasing you, chose to remain silent—ominously quiet.

You thought he was angry. Surely, he must be angry. Yet why did the one who should be angry crack such a strange and untrustworthy smile like that?

The hairs on your neck stood as the devil leaned closer. In the blink of an eye, the human form transformed into a full-fledged devil. Dark red skin returned to its fiery origin. Wide, menacing wings spread a threat. The devil's smile remained. He grasped your chin with sharp, clawed fingers, pressing hard enough to hurt but not enough to draw blood.

The yellow, fiery eyes gleamed vividly, refusing to look away. Flames flickered within those dual orbs, said to resemble venomous snakes, representatives of sin and vice. But Raphael was more than that. You thought he could drag you to hell with just a glance.

"Of course, my worth is quite high," he said, his voice both silky and dangerous. "But since you, little mouse, dare to ask,. I'll offer you a special discount just for you."

Before you could retort, every word was swallowed by the devil's lips, engulfed by the Lord of Hell's mouth as if claimed dominantly. Your breath is taken away and replaced by a strange new taste, burning like flames ignited by a matchstick.  arousing sensations of arousal from head to toe.

Your eyes widen, and your breathing quickens in sync with your heartbeat. You know this isn't right. Raphael is the devil, the person you should flee from the most. But your body responds in contradiction. The effects of the alcohol persist, and you're too weak to resist, even though you can't admit to yourself that you're content with this kiss.

The moment lingers, almost eternal, as the devil hopes to extinguish mortal life with the touch of his lips.

Finally, Raphael withdraws his lips, allowing you to catch your breath once more. His long nails still grasp your chin, studying the woman before him; your flushed face is now even more red and radiant than before.

"Little mouse, so impolite and uncouth. How fortunate you are to still be my favorite. If it were someone else, they wouldn't have a tongue or mouth to speak so freely like this again." Raphael smirked, trailing light kisses along the edge of your lips to your earlobe. Normally, he couldn't read your mind at all, but this time, it's as easy as reading the morning newspaper—Everything you think or feel at this moment.

Certainly, beer plays a part, but other components are just as important.

From the missing prostitutes to the mysterious priest murder and the toy bomb case, the evil deeds of humans are all connected to the devil, more or less.

And everything leads you here, falling into his hands.

You are overly confident. You always think you're the one in control of the game. But that's your mistake. No matter how hard you struggle, you're just a little mouse, dancing and following his plan. And he always enjoys the game of chasing mice with you.

"Why are you so quiet, little mouse? has the cat got your tongue?" Raphael teased you. when you, who have been skilled in provocation, keep silent. He found it somewhat amusing to see you trying to maintain self-control, as well as the little remaining dignity in you, even if it failed utterly.

Your breath stuck, and Raphael's touch felt like a paralyzing ray spell. You wanted to argue, to refute, to draw your sword against him, but you knew you couldn't. Every cause and effect had stopped working in your mind when you fell under the gaze of those yellow eyes, and his nails still lingered on your face.

You've been in dangerous situations many times before, and you know that what's happening right now is no less dangerous than escaping from the goblin camp or facing the God of Death. But what sets it apart from everything else is that you don't feel scared or angry, but rather, you feel the excitement coursing through every corner of your body as his hands explore, pushing beyond the boundaries that you and he usually tease each other with. It awakens something that you've tried to suppress all along.

For whatever reason, both he and you know well enough that he wants you just as much as you want him, especially at this moment—right now.

Playing with Raphael is like playing with fire. You know it deep in your heart. When he pulls you close with his tail, the curve of his lips forms a wicked smile. and those intense eyes of his gleaming with desire, resembling the fiery hell that attracts the lost souls towards him like moths.

With just a flick of his finger, Raphael can easily manage to unravel your armor. He's done it before with Astarian, mocking and revealing the marks from hell on the vampire's back.

But it's too easy for him, and the Devil Lord doesn't fancy anything that comes too easily. You know him as well as he knows you.

Each of Raphael's hands undoes some part of the armor, graceful and flexible, like the way he handles his luxurious cloak. The sound of metal hitting the wooden floor momentarily brings back the remaining shreds of sanity. Part of you wants to test Raphael like you tested Halsin—the archdruid from Emerald Grove who charm you. You just want to see how far it will go and where it will stop.

But it turns out that you are testing your own patience.

You bite your lip unknowingly as Raphael's finger moves up to your bare thigh. You want to reject him, to feel disgusted at the touch, but every part of you is calling out to him. You realize that being with him every second makes you feel like you're floating in the middle of a dark, endless ocean with no way forward and no idea where to stop. In the end, you'll probably succumb to drowning, for sure.

"I think I should ask Amira for a refund," you say, hating how hollow your voice sounds. "You're more drab than the drow twins downstairs." You didn't intend to utter the final sentence, knowing that you're at a disadvantage now to challenge him. But it's hard to resist, given the old habit between you and him of always looking for ways to annoy each other.

"Is that so?" Raphael chuckled softly, always admiring your boldness in every situation, even now. "No refunds unless you've already experienced the service."

You were about to retort, but the chance to argue was abruptly shut down when the devil's finger slid inside of you, teasing your clit so skillfully that you had to raise your hand to cover your mouth. Yet, you couldn't quite muffle the soft, moaning sound. Raphael responded to your expression with another laugh, leaning forward to plant a kiss on your smooth neck. His two fingers did a good job of continuously stoking your emotions.

The changes in your facial expressions and the huskiness in your voice as his finger part your fold and glide against your slick.  provided more entertainment for Raphael than any other time you and he faced off.

The heat enveloped your entire body. You could barely feel anything except the sinful delight and the hot breath beside your ear. Raphael's lips traced along your flushed skin, leaving marks everywhere. You couldn't stop the soft moans escaping through your parted lips anymore. Your mind is driven by escalating desires.

"Judging by the moans, I'd consider it a compliment," Raphael teased, seizing the opportunity to mock you. His hand pressed against your back, drawing your body closer to his. He enjoyed watching your contorted face with delight while his fingertips brushed against wet lips between your legs

He knows you're on the edge. and the devil never misses the opportunity to tease his favorite little mouse. Raphael abruptly stopped all actions, flashing a smirk at your frustrated expression and the lingering arousal he had induced.

"Raphael!"

You hissed at him, while Raphael remained feignedly indifferent. His claws dragged slowly over every curve of your body, leaving marks all over your skin, intentionally marking his ownership. It incited your desires slowly and ruthlessly. You knew he wanted to provoke you, but your mind was too empty to retort or even to curse back.

"I want to hear you beg me."

Raphael held your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. Both authoritative and arrogant, you've always detested the way his voice held power, but now it sent tremors through your body. Emotions surged, nearly overwhelming you. You closed your eyes briefly, feeling embarrassed, wanting to disappear and be unnoticed.

Your voice is trembling desperately with every word that falls from your lips. "I need more," You whimpered. "Please, Raphael."

In the blink of an eye, before you could even react, you realized your role had been flipped beneath Raphael's frame. On the soft silk-covered bed, his arms became bars that caged you tightly. His rough lips aggressively bruise your lips with a taste of intense heat and the sting of expensive wine, intoxicating you more than Hooligan's ale.

"I have a new proposal for you," Raphael whispered, his lips linger at your ears. "I'll make you remember today forever. I will fuck you in a way no one in Faerûn has ever made you feel."

The hot breath brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "And in exchange for the extraordinary experience I'll give you after this, you'll belong to me and me alone."

‘It's unfair’. You gritted your teeth, suppressing the urge with boiling emotions. "You're so evil," you cussed, certain that he intended to torment you cruelly. with such an inequitable proposition, while you were closer to the edge

He wouldn't explicitly force you, but he wouldn't give you the chance to reject it either. Just like a true devil who seeks maximum benefit for himself in every situation.

"Of course, I am very evil." Raphael smiled, gladly accepting your compliment. "You should understand this is a privilege for you. Just know how honored you are that I lower myself to fuck you."

Raphael never let go of his haughtiness, even when it came to sex. Both Incubus and succubus knew well that Raphael never played the role of giving to anyone; he's only indulging in the pleasures offered by others. It wasn't his duty to bestow sexual pleasure on those inferior to him.

But with you, it was entirely different. From every devil he had ever shared a bed with, the moment you pleaded with him with a soft, desperate voice, and with tears of pure joy pooling in those beautiful eyes, Raphael immediately realized that this was the moment he had been waiting for.

He enjoyed excessively the fact that he could make you cry out and beg him desperately. It pleased him immensely to show you how much he could make you submit to him.

Greed is one of the sins and the essence of every devil. Spending time with you has awakened Raphael's greed without you even realizing it. He knows well that he wants more than this and even more. He won't stop until you - both body and soul - become his completely.

"Make it worth my while, and I'll consider the offer again." 

Your response widened the devil's smile. His intimidating golden eyes gleamed with a terrifying allure. "Challenge accepted."

There was no warning, as the mere chance to tease you was what Raphael enjoyed the most. He grabs your hips, pulls you close, and inserts his swollen tip into your entrance in one swift motion. The devil chuckled softly at your stunned expression, followed by a faint curse, until there was just a moan as he began moving slowly and heavily.

The rough touch of the devil's skin clashed with the softness of your thighs, repeatedly and rhythmically. Every movement accentuated the spot of ecstasy that made you groan louder. It filled you with an unexpected pleasure that you never imagined feeling. Raphael didn't exaggerate when he said he would fuck you in a way that no one in Faerûn could. He knew exactly what to do to make you feel so good that there was no way to forget this day. And it seemed like he was enjoying himself as well. Raphael breathed heavily, lingering at your hips, his girth slowly stretched your slick silky wall, embracing his length perfectly, as if it were made for him—for him alone.

"My little mouse... do you still want to say that I'm more boring than these prostitutes here?" Raphael didn't hesitate to mock you, alluding to your previous insults.  making you want to claw at his smug face or slap his arrogant mouth, but all you could do was tightly grip the bedsheet to vent the tingling that he relentlessly injected into you. Your helpless state seemed to please him so much. When you felt his cock inside you trembling and expanding slightly more, causing your legs to tremble when he slammed deeper into you

Seeing you overwhelmed by the taste of pleasure he gave you, Raphael felt even more delighted. His lips moved down to your neck, kissing and biting the skin aggressively, causing you to flinch with pain. But it also ignited your arousal. Excitement flowed through your core as Raphael continued to nibble on your neck. with each thrust into the tight, warm of your walls.

That's not enough for him. His fingers run up your legs, climbing up until they reach your chest. He squeezes the soft, pliant breast with full force. leaving bruises that you're sure will be evident the next morning. Yet, you don't protest. Deep down, you enjoy what he does, especially when Raphael's fingers tease your tits, increasing your arousal almost to madness. As his thick hips press against you, driving you nearly breathless with the overwhelming pleasure.

"Do you like it? Little mouse," Raphael asks, though he knows full well you're not in a state to converse anymore at this point.

Your arms cling tightly to his broad shoulders, gasping with the overwhelming feeling flooding your senses.  His forceful push makes your head spin, almost causing you to lose consciousness at every moment. Raphael's thrust becomes more intense, as if he knows you're about to reach climax, tempting you to scream again. However, Raphael's lips cut in before you could, slipping his tongue into your mouth, tasting you with a messy, tantalizing kiss and a feeling of odd intimacy.

With the final thrust, the whole world in your sight changes. Your vision blurs, lost in the mist of pleasure. You feel like you're being consumed by Raphael's touch, which expands to encompass every inch of you, inside and out.

Your nails dig into his broad shoulders. Your body trembles uncontrollably. A growl escapes Raphael's throat as he buries himself deep inside you, releasing white hot seeds of ecstasy, fulfilling and scorching your stomach, melting you until you can hardly resist, and succumbing under the complete embrace of the devil's sin.

Raphael doesn't miss watching you during this time. As your flushed face twists with lust, your rapid, ragged breaths cling to the lingering joy. Sweat covers your skin, making you shimmer and impressive. also seem so fragile and vulnerable. So fragile that he's sure he could crush you with just one finger.

But he won't do that.

Raphael muses to himself before easing himself beside you, pulling you into his arm. He finds some satisfaction in the fact that he can make you speechless for a moment. But he secretly misses the sound of your annoying voice as well

"It's time for our pact, isn't it?" 

Your brow furrows slightly as you look at the devil beside you, who has reverted to his human form. This is when your consciousness begins to settle in again, along with your resentment towards Raphael. You can't help but berate yourself. You've always thought making a deal with the devil was foolish, but fucking the devil you despise is even more foolish. 

And what's worse is that you don't even feel a bit of regret for what's happening.

"If being yours means I have to serve you and go out to kill someone for you, then I won't do it."

Raphael is almost laughing at your response. Despite being unarmed and vulnerable, you haven't lost your confidence, not even a little. That's why he finds you more impressive than any mortal. Because you always manage to make him intrigued.

"This isn't about your mission or mine," Raphael said, tracing his thumb along your lower lip before pressing a slow and lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I just want to make sure we have these special moments like this more often, that's all."

One thing you learned about devils after encountering Raphael is that they always speak the truth, but never all of it. 

You lock eyes with Raphael in his full human guise. Though there's a hint of playfulness in some of his words, you can discern the seriousness and darkness lurking beneath the veiled sentences. Though you are not entirely sure what he wants from you, you sense that he anticipates your answers more than usual.

You don't have much choice because the heroes never go back on their words. And even though you're reluctant to admit it, deep down, you too desire moments like these again.

You nod unwillingly. Your reluctant expression makes Raphael smile broadly. Your small defeats bring him greater satisfaction. Although he knows you're too stubborn and too tough to easily succumb to him, and he knows even that you'll find a way to get back at him painfully later, for sure.

But that's why he's always been infatuated with you. Your conflict with him is part of the game you've been playing all along. It's the only amusement he'll never find from anyone, except in you.

And so begins the game of cat and mouse anew between him and you. A game with no losers or winners. But this time, Raphael is confident that it will be his. whether the game or you.

Because a pact is a pact, and he'll make sure you become his most prized possession, locked within the house of hopes, you will be his trophy that no one in Faerûn can admire except him.

[mistydeyes]

HIIII CONGRATS ON 1k!!!!!!!!! “crystal glasses” w kyle maybe?? ur angst prompts r so good as an angst lover it’s so difficult to choose🫶🫶 THANKS💕💕!!

thank you so much anon! and ahh I love that everyone enjoys these prompts the angst ones are just TOO good

link to the prompt list and 1k celebration!

prompt: crystal glasses - a fight ends with shattered wine glasses and someone is left to pick up the pieces

pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x fem!reader

warnings: SWEARING, violence, angst, kyle highkey being a dick when you call out his savior complex

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Fights with Kyle were rare. In fact, they seldom happened as you both would logically worked through the argument and find the root of the issue. However, that all went out the window when you both had been drinking. Something about alcohol fueled your anger and all the repressed feelings came to the surface. What had started as a nice night of drinks with friends, had ended with you both arguing and slamming the flat door as Kyle angrily went on about someone who had hit on you. He did this every time, you grew embarrassed at the amount of screaming matches he had gotten into with other patrons. You poured a glass of wine as he continued his fruitless tangent.

"Why the fuck would you entertain them? They were clearly trying to shag you," he yelled as you choked down the bitter red liquid. You looked at him angrily as he turned the argument to you. "Oh so now it's my fault?" you challenged back, "it's my fucking fault for just talking to someone and having them get the wrong idea." Normally, Kyle would relent and apologize for his accusatory behavior but he was too forgone with his opinion. "Then why did you just look at me blankly then when I said I was your boyfriend?" he continued and now held the wine bottle to his angered face. "God, Kyle," you said bitterly, "way to go fucking blaming me for some asshole." You laughed cynically as he just stared and breathed heavily. "You always make it a fucking issue when you can't come in and be the hero," you mumbled and the air grew silent.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he countered and you swallowed as this had opened up another hidden sentiment you held. His words sounded slurred as the amount of liquor from the night began to hit you both. You looked at him through a harsh gaze before you replied. "You fucking heard me," you started and took a step back to establish some distance, "You always get so riled up when I'm not bowing to your feet and thanking my savior." He was about to speak up before you stopped him. "Don't even try to argue with me, you always find a way to make me feel bad about shit like this!" You secretly hated going out with Kyle as no matter what the context, he always found a way to flaunt your relationship and his military status. "God you know I thought I actually was helping but maybe you want to go home with one of those pricks," he replied and what he continued next made your blood boil, "maybe I'll just let them take my whore of a partner."

At the utterance of the term, you stood there in shock. "What did you just say to me?" you practically screamed at him and he had a sick smile on his face. "Just saying what I see, a fucking whore," he replied and that was the final straw. You looked down at the half drank a bottle of wine before angrily throwing the liquor in his face and the glass on the ground nearby. He jumped back slightly and held his jaw as he felt the wine soak his chest. A string of swears followed as you grabbed your things in haste and ignored his shouts. Grabbing your phone, you blocked out his continuing conversation and attempt to rationalize his opinion. "Just stop fucking talking," you screamed back and stepped around the shattered wine glass. You hastily grabbed your coat as he stood with clenched fists at the kitchen counter. "Oh so what you're gonna call me a whore and then fucking hit me?" you asked sarcastically and he held his hands to his side. "Where are you going?" he said more quietly than before and you started to see maybe a semblance of sobriety from him. "I'm going to fucking let someone take your whore of a partner," you replied and flipped him off before walking out the door and heading to a friend's house.

[fleshfishfig]

soooo ive been giving this "roleswap turned rewrite" some more thought

part one (?)

i think the first thing to fix would be the timeline ? ik Nintendo doesn't really care for it but they've established something with skyward sword that they can't really take back and trying to revamp the entire timeline (and foundation of Hyrule) when botw leans heavily on the whole blood of the goddess and spirit of the hero thing is plain stupid.

spoiler alert i haven't played/watched all the games which makes me inadequate in actually trying to fix the timeline lmao but i try my best

ik most people are miffed by the time travel/draconification because it took away a lot of the mythical and spiritual part of botw and I won't deny that. but im a whore for a good old causal loop so ill keep those elements in although it would be more interesting to replace the zonai era by post-ss era. on one side you've got a kingdom that has fallen to the calamity a hundred years ago trying to rebuild itself now that the threats of evil have been defeated and on the other side there are the hylians who descended from the sky into a land that hasn't been explored yet and have to make do with probably unfamiliar ressources. both would be stories of communities building and expanding their settlements to offer a better life for their people (less talk about royalty more about community the push to stick to traditions, ancient legends and hierarchy was one of the major issue encountered by link and zelda pre-calamity)

as for the ancient sheikas id assume 10,000 years before botw would still be taking place after all the other zelda games so after a convergence of the three timelines ? the fallen hero timeline ends with a pretty... dead Hyrule, no settlements afaik. the child timeline kept traditions and the royalty alive and in the adult timeline we know that Tetra and Link refounded Hyrule and found new continents, they made hyrule their own and technological advancements flourished. it wouldn't be far fetched to imagine the sheikah built upon those growing technologies.

after that we know the sheikahs endured genocide at the hands of Hyrule royalty, id like to think that because of this, Hyrule fell into a dark age, it would explain why so much was lost to recorded history after the first calamity.

to me all of this would make the timeline cleaner, we don't need hundreds of variations of Hyrule refounding itself but im not willing to touch upon what botw has established and moving it around the timeline probably wouldn't work.

this is the first time ive tried to put all those thoughts on paper lol it's still vague in my head and im not really eloquent sorry :')

[miscsinners]

I guess the princess and her knight can't defeat Ganondorf even working together~ It's good that he knows what to do with slutty elves like them~ He'll fuck Zelda and Link until both of them submit to their new king like proper sluts~

"Oh no, you defeated us~... What are you going to do~?"

Even working together, neither Zelda nor Link were able to defeat Ganondorf in a direct confrontation. But rather than seem scared for her life, Zelda's attention has already shifted to the pillar of meat that's being presented to them both. Although he doesn't say anything, judging by where Link is staring it's obvious what he's thinking about as well.

With this powerful cock all but ordering them to worship the man who defeated them, neither of the two have the will or strength to resist. Pathetically, the hero of time and the princess of Hyrule are using their mouths to worship Ganondorf's enormous, incredibly strong cock, not putting up any resistance while they mindlessly devote their mouths to him.

The two of them are equally matched in their skills of cock worship, but they're well aware that their new owner will reward whichever Hylian slut does a better job by letting them be the first to get slammed full of his cock and properly broken into cock-enslaved whores. He doesn't even need to say or do anything, the two of them are competing with each other and fervently pleasuring the massive monstrous cock that makes both their brains turn to mush just from the taste. Neither of them deserve their titles; they're both cock addicted sluts who couldn't even resist becoming their sworn enemy's cockslaves, let alone defeat him.

[toadshusbandry]

Merlin priest/demon AU

Trigger warning for blasphemy

I saw some people on instagram discussing the Merlin priest/demon AU and man is it my time to shine ! If anyone is looking for prompt, the best place to look is in exempla (singular exemplum) collections (small anecdotal stories usually told during public preaching in the middle ages).

As an example, the Ci nous dit (around 1320) tells the story of a dancing ermit (roughly translating from old french here) :

"An ermit who was trying to dance like he used to when he was younger sees the devil stir his stew. He asks him what he is doing and the devil replies : ' since you are doing my job by dancing, then I shall do yours by stirring your stew'."

In other words "you're sinful when you dance so let me prep your food because i don't want you to stop".

Anyway, my point is, there's a lot of great prompt to be found among exempla. I might be biaised because this is part of my thesis and im a whore for a good anecdote.

I'm leaving the link to a database with over 13 000 exempla, if it can be useful for some.

https://thema.huma-num.fr/

You can search with keywords and get summary of the exemplum. Also if you have access to some collections, it's worth taking a look, some of this stuff is absolutely hilarious. I have seen stories that give big 'I thought of this come back during my shower and turned it in a story where i was the hero and added it to my sermon' vibes.

Edit : the person on instagram was papysanzo, I don't know if you can tag on tumblr ?? I just wanted to give them the credit they deserve for inspiring me

[kayleen756894]

For the writers ask: 3, 14, 35, 41, 50

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

Hurt / comfort is like my favourite thing ever so I throw that into nearly all my fics lol I enjoy both the sad and the safety of it all.

Also the majority of ships I write about involve a shy / insecure character who’s deeply in love with someone who’s confident and alluring but is in denial / afraid of their own feelings or something along those lines. I love writing the confident one helping the shy one come out of their shell while the shy one helps the confident one learn to accept their feelings, regardless what those feelings really are.

Also redemption. I love writing about villains / anti-heroes / characters who have made bad choices and regret it. I love writing about their complexities and seeing if I can make the reader sympathize with them. I’m also just a whore for the Bad Girl Gone Good trope like yes please.

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

Not that I can think of honestly. Either it’s something I refuse to read or it’s something I know I enjoy, and if an author didn’t do it in a way I like then I just click the back button, no big deal. More often this is because I don’t agree with the characterization rather than other tropes tho.

35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life?

Ngl I’m a little confused by the question but maybe just like… how in love my characters are? Lmao I love writing about romance and having characters be so deeply loyal and in love and their vulnerabilities are laid bare and they’ll make choices for their love they might not otherwise make. And in fiction I love that shit. But I’ve definitely never felt romantic love even remotely close to that and I’m unsure if I ever will, but even so writing about it thrills me and brings me joy 👌

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

Not many fics make me think that but I suppose an exception is Risen from the Ashes, a Game of Thrones Sansaery fic. Definitely one of my favourite fics of all time. The characterization, the storytelling, the pain, the details, the love, I can’t 😭 if I were capable of actually completing multi-chapter fics I’d want them to turn out like this masterpiece.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934313/chapters/37154903

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

I’ll use this to answer this one: 28. Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?

Just to shoutout a cherished friend of mine who is ALWAYS down to read my Danganronpa fics and talks about them with me and I would always send them to him before posting. I never let people see my shit before posting except for him. The amount of confidence and reassurance he’s given me and honestly how much we’ve bonded over them means so much to me.

Thanks for the ask!

[pervysenpaix]

More monoma content pls..? Saw the recent official monoma art where he tugs his tie and awooga…

Hnndfgggg—im foaming at the mouth and sweaty. How can you come here and not drop the receipts? I’ve searched far and wide and I can’t find this holy grail that you speak of so please bless us with links of our blue eyed king 💙

While we wait, would you like to discuss some more Incel!Monoma ? 🤭

18+ MDNI| tw! Breath play.

Things have been different since your little outburst in the elevator. Monoma still glares at you in the cafeteria whenever you’re sitting with the rest of your class but he holds his tongue, choosing to turn up his nose whenever you meet his periwinkle gaze. Walks to class seem so much longer without Monoma bumping into your shoulder or saying something vile. You can’t even focus during hero training because you’re constantly tugging at your costume thinking he’s going to comment but he never does.

You finally decide that enough is enough and now you’re standing in his doorway twiddling your thumbs while you wait for him to respond to your confession. It sorta just spilled out how much you missed his attention and admired him as a hero and felt sad that you didn’t hang out anymore.

His mind blanked for a second. Here you are dressed in your cute little blue pajamas tugging at the bottom of his shirt to let you in. Of course he has to oblige , look at the state of you! Practically crying when he asks what you want from him.

“Jus’ wan’ you , Neito” you hiccup, pouty lip wavering as you hold back tears.

That’s why you’re on your knees know struggling to take his length. And he’s being so mean—pinching your nose so that you’ll open your mouth wider in attempt to breathe , not that it’d be possible with the way he’s forcibly fucking your throat. your throat feels raw and your jaws hurt but you can deny the throbbing between your thighs. So you’re whimpering and drooling around his cock , tears streaming down your face while you grind your milky cunt against your heel. You look so fucking pathetic and Monoma is rock hard—did he accidentally take that red heads quirk ? He doesn’t have time to ponder because he’s cumming down your throat with a gasp. Not even paying attention to the sweet degradations that he’d been spilling the whole time.

“Nasty little dove”

“Such a whore for me. A perfect whore”

“You’re pathetic you know ? God I can’t believe I’m wasting my time with a beautiful idiot like you”.

So , he runs a shaky hand through his blonde strands and looks at your poor poor trembling frame. Just begging to cum. And he wouldn’t be much of a hero if he didn’t help you out 🥹

@mhathotfic I was thinking about our boy.

[the-cutest-boys]

Continued from Here

Link continued his dance, showing off his body to all the the prying eyes around him. He was getting rather aroused himself by this point, and was simply waiting for a customer to approach the stage and offer up the money for a ‘private performance.’ Of course, some threw money up onto the stage, but only by paying the listed fee would one of these ladies get to ravage the sexy dancer.

@askkagetheshingami

[scarlettriot]

Stood Up

Pairing: Sero/F!Reader

Summary: When you find your dating making out with someone else at a Halloween party, Hanta swoops in and reclaims your evening, rekindling an old flame.

Contains: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Demisexual Reader, Astronomy/Greek Lore Nerd Sero, Old flame

Warnings: 18+ Below the cut, Minors DNI! Swearing, Demi Problems, Praise/Smidge of Degradation, Name-calling (slut & whore), Pet names (Love, good girl, pretty girl), Car Sex, F Masturbation, Oral M Receiving (Road Head) I think that's everything

A/N: This took me much longer than I expected. It's also my first time writing Sero. Given the season, I decided to add a touch of Halloween and costumes to this one.

If you'd like to read other's in the Stood Up series, here are the links:

Stood Up - Bakugo - WC 3,502

Stood Up - Kirishima - WC 3,612

Stood Up - Kaminari - WC 2,461

Word Count Starting Below: 3,494

Denki Kaminari's annual Halloween bash was in full swing by the time Hanta had arrived. He'd come straight from patrol, wrapping himself up in his own tape making a half assed mummy costume for himself. Not like anyone would notice with the flashing colored lights, loud music, and abundance of liquor.

However, Hanta didn't even make it up to the double glass front doors of Denki's home. Not before doing a double take at the very familiar pirate that ran by him.

"Y/N?" You stopped allowing him the chance to catch up to you, "Holy shit, it is you, when the hell did you get back?"

Three years you'd been gone, working in America. Time differences and busy schedules made it so the two of you barely kept in touch. It was a shame, Hanta thought, considering how close the two of you used to be.

"I- uh- just a few weeks now. I heard you were helping out with the disaster relief after that storm."

It had to be his eyes playing tricks on him, the funny colors of the dancing lights were what made your cheeks look wet, right? Those couldn't have been tears.

"I was, yeah, but I got back yesterday. I didn't know-"

"Get the hell outta here!" His head snapped back towards the front of the house, just in time to see Eijiro, dressed in an impressive werewolf costume, literally throw someone out of the party. The guy drunkenly stumbled off, Eijiro walking over towards where Hanta was standing with you. "Y/N, you good?"

You nodded while Hanta tried to piece together what'd happened. "Sorry, it took me a second to find the bastard. Do ya wanna come back in? I'll make sure he leaves."

"No, Eijiro, thanks though. I'm just gonna head home."

The wolfman frowned but understood. "We'll have a smaller party for ya! Just the gang as a welcome home! You know Denki will look for any excuse to throw a party." He turned his gaze on Hanta. "A mummy, really?"

"You've been a damn werewolf for the last two years! You don't get to give me crap."

Eijiro poked the fuzzy pointed red ears carefully set into his spiky hair. "Mina and I worked real hard on this costume... seemed like a waste to only wear it once."

"We both know you haven't just worn those once, big man."

That got a chuckle out of you while all Eijiro could do was shrug and try to hide a shit-eating grin.

He asked you again if you'd like to stay and once more you said you were going to just head home. It was when you specifically said you were going to be walking home that Hanta spoke up offering to drive you back to your home since it was Halloween and people were creeps.

You were a damn pro hero but he still didn't feel right about just letting you walk home alone.

When you agreed he told Eijiro he'd be back soon and walked over with you to his car.

>>><<<

A part of you missed the old station wagon Hanta used to drive, not that this BMW he now drove wasn't absolutely amazing, you just sort of missed the comfort of the old car.

He waited until he'd reached the end of Denki's long, winding driveway to finally speak. "So, you wanna tell me what happened back there, or am I just supposed to pretend like Kiri didn't kick someone out on your behalf?"

"You could probably just ask Kiri and he'd tell you."

"I could, but, I'd like to hear it from you."

You knew you could tell him, there was nothing you couldn't tell Hanta. There was once a time when the man knew every single detail about your life. Sure, time and distance had put a strain on that relationship but you were back now. There was no reason why you couldn't at least start rebuilding what you and Hanta once had.

"Y/N, if you don't wanna say anything-"

"I was just casually seeing this guy. You know me and dating, how we don't always work out." You said abruptly and he quit talking, "And so, we weren't like official but we said we'd go to this party together. Well, I got here and went looking for him and found him making out with one of Hawks' sidekicks. I got a little upset when he noticed me and, well, he just said he found someone better."

Hanta actually stopped the car, pulled off to the side of the road, threw it in park, and looked right at you because he knew what found someone better meant exactly. You'd used those words in high school when that guy from Shiketsu that you'd been seeing got pissed off that you wouldn't put out and ended it with you. You went to his dorm crying because he 'found someone better', is what you told him. It took him a few hours to get the truth out of you.

You'd always been the kind of person to love with your entire heart but sexually, you'd confessed that you felt different from all the other kids your age back then. Not having the same urges and desires that everyone else seemed stricken with.

"Hanta, it's fine, really. Kiri heard the whole thing and, well, you saw what happened."

"Doesn't make it right! So, you went on a couple dates with a guy, that doesn't mean he just gets to expect you to put out for him! Even if you weren't demi, no one gets to just assume they deserve sex."

His lips were pressed in a narrow line, nostrils flared once in annoyance. He was usually so calm and laid back that you thought it rather cute when he got overprotective. "It's alright, Hants, really."

He still gave you a look that said he disagreed but then shook his head, dropping the subject for now at least.

"Still like those late-night drives?"

"I love them."

"Good."

Hanta waited for a car to pass and whipped the car in the other direction.

It wasn't long before he had the windows rolled down, conversations filling in the blanks of lost time, in between belting out choruses of your favorite songs. Minutes slipped by the further he drove, you lost track of both time and kilometers, letting him tell you all about the ridiculous antics the group had been up to.

Eventually, you caught the scent of salty air and even in the dark, you had a pretty good idea where Hanta was going. He followed a winding road, making two left turns and then a right leaving you on a stretch of road that paralleled the ocean.

You let your head fall against the seat, eyes falling shut and inhaling that wonderful smell you missed so much. Hanta had just one hand lazily on the wheel, his elbow resting out the open window, a relaxed smile was illuminated in soft orange lights off his dash.

You let your head roll onto his shoulder, not as easily done without the bench seat in his station wagon but it worked nonetheless. "Thanks."

His free hand came to rest on your knee, "Anytime."

He turned the wheel, pulling over and parking in front of a small beach access that you guys had found at 3 in the morning five years prior. Hanta kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the car to avoid them being sand-filled and you did the same with the knee-high boots purely because you longed to feel the sand between your toes.

The wooden planks were worn, parts buried beneath the sand until eventually, none remained. Breaking waves flooded your ears and you made a run for them! Before you could reach the lapping water though, tape had wound around your middle and yanked you backward.

"Not happening!" Hanta said firmly. "Last time I let you talk me into late-night swimming we didn't have a change of clothes either and we both got so sick! I think I might have actually died without Bakugo's soup!"

You chuckled, remembering being nineteen and curled up with Hanta on the sofa in the living room of the apartment you all shared for nearly a week. The sniffles didn't cease for almost three weeks.

"Okay, okay, no swimming." You flopped back down into the sand, his tape still attached meaning the cellophane hero was pulled down with you. "Tell me about the stars then, Hants. Who's out tonight?"

Astronomy was a hobby of Hanta's you learned about after moving into the dorms your first year. It wasn't uncommon to find him out on the roof most nights, laying on his back and looking up into the clear night sky littered with twinkling stars, usually with a joint pressed between his lips. It became almost a habit for him to grab you on his way up, pulling you along because you were more than happy listening to him tell you about each constellation and the stories behind them.

It was around this time of year, in your final year of high school; somewhere between him recalling the greek mythos of Aries and Sagittarius that you noticed your heart beating a little faster. You realized something had shifted between the two of you, and, holy shit, was this what it felt like to have a crush! When the hell did that happen?

You'd entrusted everything to Hanta back then, and now, laying in the sand shoulder to shoulder while he talked about Draco, that familiar feeling stirred again. You remembered what it was supposed to be like when you weren't forcing it for some random guy. How simple it was supposed to be.

You inclined on an elbow and he stopped mid-sentence. "Eh, everything alright?" You nodded but he looked anything but convinced, mirroring your position and asking you again.

It was easy for you to lean forward, to brush your lips against his for the first time in three years. And, when you pulled away, he looked about as shocked as he had the night you'd done it when you were eighteen.

"You- you still like me?"

When you left for America, you'd both agreed to put a pause on your sort of relationship. Free to date and screw whomever you pleased because three years was a long time and it just seemed like a fair decision to make. The realization that he might now have someone else special in his life dawned on you...

"Yeah but I totally understand if things are different now and I shoulda asked- oof!"

He kissed you so hard you toppled back into the sand, quick pecks, one right after another, ending them with a long one that nearly left you breathless.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. I didn't want to make you feel awkward about things or make you think I expected something. I thought that maybe since we didn't talk for a while your feelings might have changed."

"I can say with confidence they haven't."

"Thank fuck." He groaned and captured your lips in another searing kiss.

It was easy to lift his shirt off, the shreds of tape that remained were now covered with gritty sand that clung to your fingers as you traced the chest and torso you knew so well. Gliding over defined muscles, lingering on old scars and mapping out new ones he'd collected in your time apart.

His own hands were busy flicking open the brass fastenings of your corset, huffing about it being so much more difficult to get to your chest and something about it being very unfair.

By the time he'd undone the last one, bright headlights shown across the beach. "Shit."

Giggling ensued from the walkway and you both sighed, at least it wasn't the police or a hero patrol. Hanta gathered his shirt and ran back to his car with his hand in yours.

"I thought our days of being caught were over."

"At least it wasn't Mr. Aizawa this time."

A chill ran down your spine remembering the night and the lecture you'd received when your teacher had caught Hanta sneaking out of your room early one morning.

"So, uh, do you still plan on going to Denki's party?" You asked innocently enough but Hanta knew you far too well.

"I think I'm gonna miss it this year." His hand found a home on your upper thigh. "Apparently, you and I have a lot of catching up to do. Lost time to make up for and all that."

"Too bad you don't have that old station wagon anymore. If you did, we wouldn't have to wait to get back."

Dark eyes glanced over at you not so subtly parting your legs.

"I dunno. It's not too often I travel in the backseat of my own car but I've been told it's pretty roomy. Lots of legroom."

Your hand ran over your legs, dipping down to lightly brush your more sensitive parts, thankful you opted for the thin pair of black leggings rather than the dark skinny jeans. Your fingers danced again and this time you let a soft moan pass your lips. "Eyes on the road, Hants."

"That's a little hard to do when I've got you spread out in the passenger's seat." He grabbed your free hand and pressed it against the bulge in his pants. "You've got me distracted, filthy little woman."

You appreciated him testing the waters, a subtle way of checking if you liked those nicknames he used only in private with you, giving you a chance to protest if your likes had changed. They were one's that only felt right coming from him and you were eager to hear more.

Forgoing your own high, you leaned over the center console as best you could, undoing his belt first, followed quickly by his zipper letting his strained cock be free.

His grip tightened on your leg when you kissed the tip of him. "Just like old times, huh?"

A chuckle turned quickly into a moan, taking him in your mouth, pushing yourself further on his cock, fighting your gag reflex to get him down your throat. Hanta reclined his seat further, giving you more room to work with.

Your legs clenched tighter with every groan you pulled from him, wiggling your hips in the seat, letting a hand fall back between your own legs. There was an attempt of a moan around his cock when his fingers coiled in your hair. "Such a good slut. Keep fuckin' goin'." He let you continue at your own speed, needing to focus as best he could on the road rather than what you were doing but, damn, you were making that increasingly difficult.

He wasn't stopping you though. He rarely did. You'd sucked him off on countless drives before and only stopped when- "That's it." He lifted you off him by your hair at the same time he pulled off the road. There was a convenient turn-off, hidden by overgrown brush you noticed before he shut off the headlights.

Hanta took you by the chin, smearing drool. "Backseat, pretty girl." He reached into the glove box and pulled out a foil wrapper, "What do you say we test out that legroom?"

He wait to watch your smile grow wide before crawling into the back because he had to be the first to go if this had any chance of working. Once situated, pants under his thighs, he patted his lap for you to climb over.

You slid easily onto his lap, hands traveling up and over his shoulders, kissing hard while you rocked your hips against impossibly hard length.

There was so much comfort in the familiarity of him. It wasn't awkward to fall back into rhythm with Hanta, to remember that he loved the feeling of your nails dragging down his chest. And he was just as eager to get your shirt off, reach your breasts he'd missed so much, and get his tongue on your nipples.

Your head tipped backward, loving the pace he set, hips bouncing creating the perfect tug on your nipples between his teeth.

"Love, if I promise to buy you a new pair, can I rip these damn leggings? They're just so thin and-"

"Please." Your breathy moan had him smirking and with a single grunt the leggings were ruined, cool air from the vents had only a moment to touch your bare ass before Hanta's hands reclaimed it.

There was no way he hadn't felt your arousal before ripping your clothes off, you soaked through your panties and leggings, you knew that, but that didn't stop him from commenting on how soaked you were now on his fingers. "Want me inside you, whore? I think you do."

You nodded with a whimper and he slipped a finger in. "Hants, noo- I- I want your cock, please."

"You're gonna take my fingers like a good little slut first." You clenched at the words falling from his mouth. "So fuckin' tight you can barely take a finger. How'm I supposed to fit in here if you can even take a single finger? Need you to loosen up, alright." He pushed another finger in, scissoring the two inside you.

"This gonna make you cum? You need this bad, don't you? Tell me. Tell me how bad you need to cum."

"I want it. Please, please, I need it. I'm so close," You babbled and ripped the foil open with his teeth, rolling it with one hand on his cock. In an instant, his fingers had been replaced with this dick. Sticky fingers on your ass helping you ease down on him with a hiss.

"Fuck," Hanta let out a throaty chuckle, "You still fuckin' feel the absolute best." He dropped a kiss between your breasts, letting you adjust to his girth. "Perfect. Good girl. Such a fuckin' good little slut."

He wasn't about to last long. Not once you started bouncing up and down on him, your tits right in front of his face.

"Couldn't even wait for me to get you home, had to fucking tease me in the damn car." He held onto the fat of your ass, pulling you along him and slamming you down hard.

"Kinda pathetic how desperate you are. Fuck. Kinda hot too."

When the top of your head bumped the roof of the car, he scooted lower, trying to give you as much room to ride him however you pleased.

"What do you need? You wanna cum, don't you, pretty girl, what do you need?"

"Faster, faster please."

Hanta shifted even lower, making you grab onto the two headrests while he thrust his hips up into you at a rapid speed. His thumb on your clit was the additional stimulation you needed to fall over the edge. Nails clawing at the black leather as he continued to moan below you now chasing his own release.

You stayed poised above him, using every last bit of strength to stay upright until his mouth was rambling and his cock pulsed inside of you. Fingers bruising your skin before holding your pelvis snuggly against his.

He was bent in a way that looked entirely uncomfortable and yet he still smiled so widely. Reaching up to brush hair out of your eyes, "You okay?"

"Perfects, Hants. A little sore but I'm sure you are too." He moved off his lap, letting him slip out of you with a groan, "Is your neck gonna be okay?"

"I'll be fine. Having you back, love, is more than worth a little bit of a neck cramp."

As he tied a knot in the condom, depositing it into a plastic bag he had tucked away under his seat, Hanta raised a brow, "Love, really, are you alright? Please, tell me if I hurt you at all."

"No! I'm good, why?"

"You're sitting silly."

You were sitting a little odd, perched on your knees rather than sitting on your ass because the leather was chilly and you told Hanta as much making him laugh. "Wait, I think I can help." He leaned back to the front of the car, flicking a button making it glow. Once he tucked himself back in his pants he hopped out of the car and you could see him rummaging in his trunk through the rear window.

"I keep forgetting to take this out from our camping trip a couple months ago. Guess it turned out to be a good thing." He laid the blanket down over the passenger's seat, declaring that should help a bit.

You wrapped the now toasty warm blanket around your bottom half while Hanta drove back towards the city, your head on his shoulder, his hand on your thigh.

"So, shopping tomorrow? I believe I owe you a pair of leggings..."

"It's a date."

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Kassandra x Fem!Reader - Save Me, Sweet Devil

Knight November Week 1: Refusing the hand of a witch’s son winds you atop a tower, your freedom guarded by a perilous drop and a fearsome dragon. You’re destined to a lifetime of miserable solitude, you think, as man after man meets a gruesome end by fire or claw. That is, until an exiled knight - tanned and charming, scorned for her appetites - attempts to succeed in relieving you of your disposition where the others failed.

Contains: implied sexual content and nudity. [mature] - Minors DNI.

AO3 link here. Word count: 3200

Days had passed since you awoke in a cold, mossy tower, the grey stone climbing to a magnificent height. A drought-ridden field surrounded its foot, spanning for a good distance, flanked by masses of dense green woodland. To attempt to scale the tower from its summit would be risking a perilous fall; that, and you’d have to deal with the indigo dragon patrolling the field.

Naturally, that spoiled man-child you refused the hand of had to be the son of a witch.

‘ Ungrateful whore, undeserving of my precious boy. May you rot in this tower, living the rest of your miserable days alone, maddened by your isolation, destined to watch puny excuses for heroes fall at your feet. ’

The parchment entailing this message was long-crumpled, having been folded into a myriad of sculptures to ease your boredom. Other than eating and bathing, the only eventful parts of your day included delusional noblemen attempting to take on the dragon guarding you. At first, you were optimistic. But as bones and charred flesh piled up around the creature, this hope had been vanquished.

As men would approach the field, you’d try to dissuade them, urging them to turn back and leave you. None of them would listen; no, not when the prize for your salvation was your hand in marriage. Thus, they all met similar gory ends, torched or shredded by the dragon.

Today was no different. A party of noblemen – members of your kingdom’s court, you recognised – stood trembling in the field, eyes fixated on the now incinerated body of their sixth member, who blindly charged at the beast without any heed to your warnings. You sat on the tower’s windowsill, legs dangling off the edge, exasperated beyond your wit’s end.

“Head home, lords,” you called down tiredly. “You won’t be able to kill it.” Frankly, you’d rather die in the tower than have to wed any of them.

They were too busy dumbly grovelling to notice the clip-clopping of a horse through the woodland.

“That’s…it?” resounded a deep, feminine voice, dripping with a honeyed accent and a tinge of disappointment.

A chestnut stallion trotted from behind the line of trees to a halt beside the party, its hooded rider swinging down from the saddle adorned with a plethora of tools. The party snapped out of their stupor, blinking at the rogue with incredulity. “What, you’ve never slain a dragon before?” the cloaked woman teased, laughing at their agape mouths. She dwarfed them, tall and evidently broad from the squared silhouette of her shroud.

One of the men coughed indignantly, holding out his shaky arm as a pathetic barricade: a futile attempt to ward the wayfaring stranger from the dragon. “This– this is no place for a woman,” he stammered as she unfastened her cloak.

The woollen hood fell from her head, revealing umber hair strewn into a messy yet elegant braid. She tossed the garment onto her steed’s saddle, murmuring something to the creature. Crossing her arms – undoubtedly firm with muscle from the way they flexed beneath her thin, cream shirt – she turned to face the party. “Relax, gentlemen – this isn’t my first dragon,” she grinned.

You about lost your balance when you caught a glimpse of her face: bronze and chiselled, with fierce dark eyes and a heart-melting smirk.

“Miss, please step back from the—”

Rolling her eyes, the rogue withdrew her sword from its scabbard, the ornate silver blade glistening in the afternoon sun. “Oh, you’re going to kill it, are you?” One of the men gulped. She nudged the charred corpse of their fallen comrade with the tip of the blade. “He one of yours?”

The leading knight furrowed his brow. “Do not disrespect the chosen party of the kingdom of Veloran.”

“Not my kingdom,” she dismissed, flipping the sword in her hand, chuckling at the noble’s splutters. You sighed dreamily at her attitude. “Look, I’m here because I heard there was a dragon needing felling, and some king was offering a fancy reward.”

Arrogantly – and not in the charming, swoon-worthy manner this woman oozed – the shortest, stoutest nobleman guffawed, earning an irked glance from the rogue. “Is something funny, sir?”

He finished snorting, catching his laboured breath; a courtesy of the impressive gut he sported, all but bursting with ale. “The reward is the princess’ hand. What could a woman possibly do with that?”

“A princess? That changes things.” Her curious gaze drifted up the cobbled tower, eyes widening slightly, from the hem of your dress to its bustier, all the way to your burning face. An alluring smile washed over her features, her eyes twinkling something that stirred your stomach in the best way. “A different sort of treasure to what I expected,” she winked.

For the first time since your captivity, you desperately hoped to be free of this blasted tower, comfortable being the damsel in distress if this gorgeous woman was to be your saviour.

Biting your lip, you begrudgingly tore your gaze from the handsome stranger to anxiously glance at the dragon. “Please be safe, miss,” you called down.

“Don’t worry, lovely. You’ll be safe and warm in a moment,” she assured you. Smiling, you rested your cheek on your palm, unsurprised when you felt heat pulsing through it. Tell me you’re offering to warm me up, you thought, beside yourself in infatuation.

Tightening the buckles of her gloves, she waved her hand at the noble party. “I’d stand back, unless you want to join your friend over here.” She lifted the charred corpse with one arm, the display of strength making your heart pound, and positioned it in front of her like a shield.

“Hey, ugly!” she grunted loudly, causing the dragon to perk up. “You the runt of the nest, or something? You’re smaller than I expected.”

Pushing itself upright, the beast screeched into the field, causing the knight party to fall to their feet and scamper backwards. A determined grin carved its way onto the woman’s lips. You gripped the windowsill, knuckles straining with apprehension.

With a powerful roar, the dragon billowed a pillar of flame from its mouth, engulfing the rogue and her human shield in violent swirls of amber. Your heart sunk. The inferno persisted for what felt like a dreadful eternity. There’s no way she survived—

The split second the flames dissipated, the scorched noble’s corpse was thrust forward, crumpling to the grass. Confused, the dragon’s eyes followed the body, too distracted by the blackened figure to notice the rogue roll to the side, taking off in a sprint. She leapt into the air, gripping onto one of its teeth and slinging herself up into its mouth. You gasped as the beast went to snap its jaw shut, but she was quicker; she buried her sword in the roof of its mouth before you could blink. Azure blood trickled down her arm as the dragon’s eyes rolled back, head lolling forwards, arms going limp. She somersaulted from its mouth before it closed, landing gracefully on the ground.

One side of her shirt was stained blue and black with blood and soot, but otherwise, the stranger was completely unscathed. Your mouth hung open in awe.

The noblemen’s eyes bugged out of their heads. “How did—”

“As I said, not my first dragon,” she brushed off, re-sheathing her sword. She sauntered over to her horse, unhooking a rope from his saddle. One end had a grappling claw, you noticed. Then, without a care for the knight’s protests, she ripped his crossbow from his grasp, removing the nocked arrow, replacing it with the grapple.

Jogging back to the dragon’s carcass, she sturdily tied the other end of the rope to its ankle. She met your shocked gaze. “I’d stand back if I were you, princess,” she grinned. Nodding, you swung your legs back into the tower, taking a few steps back from the window. The hook whistled through the air and embedded itself in the stone windowsill. “Does it look secure?” her voice faintly called.

You walked back to the window and gave the rope a firm tug. “It’s not slipping.”

She walked to the base of the tower, tossed the crossbow to the ground and wordlessly began to scale the formidable structure, unphased by its height. Your mouth opened to protest, to plead her to be safe, but you found it full of cotton as her large hands gripped each jutting stone. Within the minute, she had hoisted herself up onto the windowsill, head resting against the tower wall, arms resting lazily on her knees.

“Hello, princess,” she winked.

Up close, she looked even more like a goddess. Each little scar nicking her face added to her rugged beauty, especially the one above her soft looking, smirking lips. Flustered, you managed to avert your gaze from those lips to her mischievous, tawny eyes.

“Good afternoon, um—” you didn’t know her name, you realised. Unlike the men before her, she hadn’t yelled it in a stupid declaration of devotion before charging to a grizzly end.

“Kassandra,” the rogue replied, a devious lilt tickling her tone.

“A pleasure to meet you, Kassandra,” you stammered. “(Y/N), by the way.”

“I couldn’t call you by name, my lady. You’re royalty,” she grinned.

Softly, you breathed out, “You just saved me from a dragon – and having to marry one of those idiots down there. You may call me what you like.”

“Well, in that case, how does beautiful sound?” she smiled seductively, shedding her gloves before holding out her hand. Large, marred and veiny. Swooning, you took it, for stability if nothing else. Kassandra brought yours to her lips and ghosted a kiss over your knuckles – a formality, nothing more, surely. Nonetheless, you nearly fainted. Her lips were as soft as they looked.

“Charmed,” you stuttered. “You needn’t have removed your gloves, Kassandra.”

“I wouldn’t dare touch a princess with anything but clean hands, my lady,” she murmured, lips hovering just above your skin. Purity be damned, this woman could do whatever she pleased with you.

It took some effort to rip your gaze from hers. “Are…you hurt?” you enquired, searching her for tell-tale signs of injury. Kassandra shook her head.

“Forget about me, lovely. Let’s get you to solid ground.” She pushed herself off the wall and swung her legs around, patting her strong thighs. “Hop on,” she invited with a wink.

Breath hitching, you stared at her. “Your lap?” you squeaked.

“Trust me.” Kassandra gently tugged your hand towards her, and you found yourself bending to her whim without complaint, until you were nestled in her lap. Eyes fixed on your lips, she hooked her hands around your legs over your dress, encouraging you to wrap them around her hips.

She had definitely done this before.

“Can’t have you falling, can we?” Her breath smelt of apples and wine. You wondered if she tasted of it too.

You tightened your legs around her, sucking in a breath as you found yourself flush against her torso. Instinctively, your arms snaked around her waist. Kassandra withdrew a short blade from her boot. “What are you going to—”

Suddenly, she leant backwards, her calves pushing back on the tower wall from inside being the only things keeping you both from a fatal fall. You swore and she laughed. “Relax,” she whispered. Her lips are so, so close to yours; gravity alone would suffice to close the gap.

Unable to focus on anything other than this dangerously attractive stranger, you didn’t see her rest the flat of the blade on the rope, hands gripping either side of it. “Ready?” she asked.

“Are you certain—”

“Just hold on, beautiful.” You adhered, and she pushed off the wall.

The two of you soared down the grappling line, her strong arms supporting both your bodies. It was exhilarating – the stomach-dropping kind, alike nothing you had experienced in the castle – and over all too soon, when her feet touched the ground. She let go of the blade with one hand, bringing it to hold your thigh as she stood on two feet.

“Wow,” you muttered into the crook of her neck. It took a few seconds to regain the breath that had been knocked out of your lungs during the ride.

“Comfy, princess? I can carry you if you are,” Kassandra hummed teasingly.

Flushing, you de-tangled your legs and eased yourself onto the grass. “Sorry,” you squeaked.

“Don’t be,” she smirked. Inserting the blade back into her boot, she removed her hand from your thigh. You frowned at the loss of contact, which didn’t go amiss. Kassandra chuckled, turning her attention to her horse. She clicked her tongue twice, calling out, “Ela, Phobos!”

The stallion galloped over to your position by the dragon’s carcass. “Need a leg up?” she asked.

“I should be alright, thank you.” You wasn’t entirely confident in your words. Shakily, with some effort, you threaded your foot into the stirrup and hoisted yourself up onto Phobos’ saddle. Thankfully, your dress was billowy enough for you to be comfortably on the horse. Kassandra followed suit, assuming a seat behind you, your back flush against her chest. Her arms snaked around your waist to grip the reins.

“Where to, princess?” she asked, lips tantalisingly close to your ear.

“Perhaps an inn? The sun is to set soon and, well, you must be famished,” you smiled, fighting off the giddy tremor threatening to seep into your voice.

“Ravenous,” she smirked. Subconsciously, your tilted your head, all but fainting when her breath fanned your exposed neck.

Gently, she kicked the side of Phobos, the steed embarking in a steady trot. You glanced over your shoulder at the noblemen, mouths agape in disbelief as you disappeared into the woodland. Smiling, you sighed, relaxing back into your saviour.

“Is this alright?” you asked timidly, leaning your head back and resting it on her broad shoulder.

Kassandra chuckled. “Of course, lovely. You must be tired,” she murmured. You hummed, closing your eyes. “Let’s get you into a warm bed, hmm?”

“Will…” you hesitated, wondering if you really should ask your next question. It would be bold. Very bold. You could feel the rogue’s burning curious gaze, and the thick forearms encircling your waist suddenly felt heavier. “Will you be joining me?”

“I was hoping you’d ask that,” she whispered against your temple.

With a click, Phobos sped up into a gallop. It was impossible to determine what was louder: the thuds of his hooves against the woodland floor, or the deafening beating of your heart.

  ╔═════☩══♛══☩═════╗

Rain pattered against the roof of your cosy room in a quaint inn, the only other sound present being your breathy panting: the aftermath of your saviour’s warm, skilled hands and a sinful tongue. You were boneless, tingling, the bedsheets so coarse compared to her velvet touch.

Kassandra was a goddess in the candlelight, the golden glow illuminating every scar and muscle along the broad expanse of her back, seeping into the shadows of the three gnarly rings wrapped around her right arm. Her braid had long come loose, mahogany curls spilling down her shoulder, not quite covering the scratches you had left moments ago. She held a jug in one hand, cupping a goblet with the other. Dark mulled wine trickled from the pitcher’s lip into the cup.

Smiling, the rogue turned back to you, setting down the jug. She offered you the goblet. “Drink up, lovely,” she murmured, in the same licentious tone she had used while her fingers drew moan after moan from your lips.

Shakily, you sat upright, senses foggy from the waist down. You weakly held the bedsheet to your bosom, not that what it concealed was a mystery to the woman, and accepted the cup, sipping the liquid. “Sweet,” you muttered as the saccharine beverage coated your parched tongue.

“You tasted far sweeter,” she teased. You hid your face behind the goblet as she laughed; your soul left your body as she wiped the remains of your essence from her lips and chin.

“Your nonchalance is…astounding,” you breathed out, chuckling with her. “Are all Lakonian women quite so bold?”

Kassandra beamed. “You have a keen ear, princess.”

“I’m a diplomat. Comes with the duty.” She hummed in response, plucking the goblet from your grasp and taking a swig. You reclined against the headboard, staring intently as a drop of the wine trickled from her lip, running languidly down her neck. “What brought you all this way? A penchant for slaying dragons?” you enquired, fighting the urge to lap the wine from her skin.

“Plainly put, I was…exiled from Lakonia.” Your eyes widened as she swirled the liquid in the cup. “I used to be a knight, actually. A pretty respected one at that,” she chuckled to herself, taking another sip.

“Why were you exiled?”

“It turns out taking the king’s daughter to bed wasn’t the wisest decision,” she winked. A laugh escaped you. You leaned forward, analysing her face for signs of jesting. “I’m perfectly serious,” she added.

“Do you make a habit of bedding princesses, Kassandra?” you teased.

She rolled her eyes light-heartedly, setting down the goblet. “She wanted to spite her father, and I was just the means. A quick, emotionless fuck, nothing special.” Crossing an arm behind her head, she delicately took your hand and pulled you towards her. “You, however, are a beauty to be savoured,” she whispered, lounging back, moving your legs until you loosely straddled her hips, the bedsheet discarded.

“What is it you do now?” you asked, humming as her hands wandered up your thighs.

“That’s not important, angel,” she murmured, gently kissing your shoulder.

Sighing, you frowned in concentration. “Mercenary?” you guessed.

“Perceptive. But it makes for bloody pillow talk.”

Laughing softly, you relaxed into her. She ghosted her mouth over your throat, soothing the kiss-bruised skin with butterfly pecks. “What a terribly risky way to live, though,” you noted. Kassandra crooned in affirmation.

“Everyone has enemies,” she sighed. “There’s no shortage of blood-money out there.”

“You know, our court is in need of a blade, if you’re looking for a more permanent contract.” Her lips ceased their idle journey and your heart stopped, filling with the dread of having possibly said the wrong thing. “Forgive me, that was a bold assumption. You needn’t accept the offer – you’ll still be rewarded handsomely for saving me. I simply—”

Kassandra silenced you with her mouth, the warm flesh caressing your lips with feather-light passion. The anxiety melted from your brain. She held you against her chest, a broad hand fanning over the skin of your back. Pulling back, your eyes met.

“Will I get to see you?” she asked, her unoccupied hand meandering from your ankle to the apex of your thigh, a smirk seeping into her tone.

You gasped as the hand trailed further. “As often as you’d like,” you whispered.

Kassandra buried her face in your neck, her chuckle reverberating through you as she did something utterly devious with her hand, drawing a shudder from your frame. The smirk on her lips was tangible as she spoke.

“Then I’d be a fool to say no, wouldn’t I, princess?”

[lemonlurkrr]

@aureateart​ ok. My favourite parts of twilight princess  (and some other random thoughts about TP sprinkled in there) taken from my monster TP word vomit google doc :

Link lmao

Ok but for real, I like this incarnation of Link :)

I love Ordon (it just seems like such a chill and cozy village)

ALSO love how easy it is to interpret Link as being a sort of older brother figure to the Ordon kiddos. It’s just,, super cute? AND GHHH nice nice good thanks nintendo for giving me characters to care about/characters that I can imagine Link caring about

He didn’t sign up for any of this (tbh, none of the Links really signed up for this jshdjsd). But I mean like, dude was just going to take a trip to castle town, drop a gift off for the royal family, and come back. But haHA oopsies he did get to castle town eventually but definitely not the way he expected hsjdhsd

He’s just a little dude?

AND FUCK. HE REALLY HAD NEVER BEEN OUTSIDE OF ORDON UNTIL ALL OF THAT

everything is new for the player AND Link

Midna

She’s cool :)

she really just

*teleports into your jail cell* hello whore.

I am no master at writing but AYYYY she do got a character arc!!!

She was actually pretty helpful sometimes, I ALWAYS checked in with her before turning to a game guide

Other NPCs

NICE

Love all of the TP character designs (ASHEI’S ARMOUR??? AOWOAOAOOAO)

Saving Zelda and all of Hyrule was important yea but thinking back maybe it was more like, the Ordonians and the kids were what was pushing Link to keep on going

I like the Resistance members :) Very video gamey of them to have one NPC assigned to each dungeon but hey!!! Kinda cool getting to see a little glimpse of each of em

Idk, it’s just fun to imagine Link popping into Telma’s bar after each dungeon and taking a little rest :) (or to celebrate? maybe just chat, idk, give this man some downtime!!)

Honestly it was just kind of nice that Link wasn’t entirely alone. I mean, I know Midna was there the whole time, but I am always for giving Link a big group of friends (see my love for hyrule warriors, age of calamity, and LU LMAO)

Hero’s shade, very very cool, kinda sad he died with regrets but HEY. He got to pass on his knowledge eventually

AND the connection to OoT?? AND assumed to be related by blood too????? GOOD SHIT

Ilia, I REALLY really wanted to like her (er, it’s not like I dislike her, she’s just,,, kinda there for me).

It definitely seems like Nintendo was pushing to make her the romantic interest, but GHHHHH they really threw that out of the window for me by having her lose her memories

I saw a text post a while ago that said it would have been interesting if Ilia was Link’s sister instead and YES!! That would have been cool too :0

Wish we got to know Zelda a little more

I feel like we barely know anything about her

Idk man, like I said earlier, I never really had any sort of drive to save Zelda during my playthroughs

She obviously knows Midna, so maybe if they gave us just a little bit more of that relationship I’d be more interested in her?

TP WORLD BUILDINGGGG

Botw has good world building too, but each race felt kinda,,, isolated? I absolutely love the different architecture and vibe each town has (and all the the weapons too) but ghhh yea everyone felt so separated. As far as I can remember, we don’t see tooo much of the races interacting with each other? Now that I’m typing that out maybe that’s to be expected because of the calamity but KLSJDKJFD ANYWAYS THIS IS ABOUT TP

The world feels nice and alive, love how populated everything is

Castle town I like castle town a lot, it feels dense and busy and I really like how you can’t talk to every NPC you see

Very cool very fun that we got to see the Gorons hanging out in multiple spots

kinda wish we got to see the Zoras a little more (I guess they are a bit limited since they need water but GHHHH the tp zoras are so prebby,,)

BUT HEY, I do remember seeing a zora or two hanging out in the hot springs around death mountain after beating the lakebed temple (I think, might have been a different dungeon) 

but aaaa would have been nice to see them in at least a couple of other places. I think it would have really added to the “congrats Link!! You’re restoring peace to Hyrule” feeling you get from seeing the Gorons hanging out in Kakariko and Castle Town

ORDON

Love how chill it is and how it’s kind of separate from Hyrule proper

They really do seem to be doing their own thing apart from the rest of Hyrule

Just kinda adds onto the “he’s just a regular dude minding his own business” kind of vibes I get from TP Link

Also I like Ordona :)

THE LIGHT SPIRITS,,

Love their design

And love how they’re not exactly like a pure white?

Different spirit representing each aspect of the triforce my beloved

But yes hi I think Ordona is very cool

Who are you, how did you get here, which goddess do you represent? Do you even represent one of the three golden goddesses? Do the Ordonians know about you? Have any of them ever SEEN you??? Do they worship you? Does anybody even know about the existence of the light spirits?? FUCK so many questions but ghhh I like how they broke the status quo a bit by throwing in a fourth spirit :)

I feel like this one is kinda weird but I like that voice sample they used in the light spirit music. It’s spooky and pretty at the same time :)  

cutscenes mmmmm

Ok ok, the spooky lanayru cutscene is very good

BUT THE “Link, Chosen Hero! Lend us the last of your power!” CUTSCENE MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM LOVE IT SO MUCH

IT just

Idk man

It just hit different

I like the music

And seeing the light spirits swimming around in the light juice water whatever it is

Summoning the light arrows?

AND HHHHH “Lend us the last of your power!” THIS IS IT. This is the final battle.

Seeing Zelda bow down, and then Link putting his hand out 👌👌👌

Link: ok bud, let’s do this together :)

Connection to OoT (did I already mention this? Maybe., Whatever)

Very cool nintendo :)

I love seeing connections between all the diff zelda games.

Because like, on one hand, they’re all separate from each other because of yknow, individual hero stuff. BUT ALSO, they’re all connected because of the reincarnation stuff

Grrrr walking through the sacred grove and going “The Hero of Time walked around here a long time ago” FUCK THATS SO COOL

Is the Hero’s Shade watching me? What does he think of me? DIsappointed? Proud? The Hero of Time went through HELL so this timeline didn’t have to deal with any of the shit Ganon was gonna pull with the triforce, better not fuck this UP Link!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Midlink is cute

Kinda hurts that she smashed the mirror but that was probably so Nintendo didn’t have to worry about people going “but what about the twili??????” for any of the other games LMAO

BUT ALSO LIKE SKJDKLJFJ There are some pretty massive plot holes in TP anyway so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever it’s fine we’ll just use this for angst because GOD do y’all like angst

So is Shadlink

Honestly don’t know where this ship came from but it’s cute so whatever

THE MUSIC??

Love Midna’s theme and how they referenced the dark world theme from ALttP (I remember trying to learn the dark world theme on the piano and doing the Leonardo DiCaprio point meme at the little jingle I recognized from Midna’s theme)

Hyrule field theme SLAPS.

Apparently references a couple of the other over-world themes from the previous zelda games (I got this from 8-bit Music theory’s video on the over-world zelda themes, he talks about TP at around 11:40 but def recommend watching the whole video if you’re into music analysis stuff)

So there’s this bit of the Hyrule Field theme, I don’t know the official name for it but I remember seeing somewhere it being called the “at an advantage theme” since yeah, you hear it during the boss music whenever you expose their weak points. FUCKINGGG LOVE THAT. Didn’t notice it during my first playthrough, but hearing it during my second was like a little easter egg for my ears every time :)

Midna’s lament is very pretty (and fun to play on the piano)

COURAGE THEME.

I didn’t care for it too much when I started playing the game but hearing it in ZREO’s arrangement of the Hyrule Field theme literally makes me turn into a puddle of emotions. Also hearing it around and of the Ordon kids (I think it plays after Link saves Colin) AAAAAAAAAAAAA

Orchestra piece #1 and #2 HOLY SHIT???????????????? 

Literally, the first time I listened to those I just,,,, plugged in my headphones, volume 100, layed on the floor/against my desk and silently vibed. I don’t know what the hell it is, but those two just fit so well with TP?? I still avoid listening to them nowadays cause if I DO I definitely will get overwhelmed with the “god I love this game so FUCKING MUCH” kind of feels.

Wolf link sucks at singing

the first time I heard him howling Zelda’s Lullaby I lost my shit because LKSJLDKSGLKJFSKG god that was.,, Bad. Anyways, hearing him howl some of the songs from OoT was cute :)

TP STAFF ROLL??? 

VERY GOOD. IT’s like 10 minutes long and GOD do I love every single second of it. It doesn’t have the same energy as the skyward sword staff roll or the orchestra pieces but GOD does it hit good??

Nice and calm after that big exciting adventure. Maybe it would have been more fun or emotional to have a higher energy piece but it was really nice getting to sit back and watch the camera fly around Hyrule. Seeing like, the Gorons and the Zoras having a good time, the kids returning to Ordon? GOOD SHIT.

and AAAAA that end, when you hear the main Zelda theme and see Link riding off out of Faron woods on Epona… good shit. It gets you thinking, where the hell is he going? What is he doing? Off ot do more adventuring? Going to help out the resistance or something? Going to help Zelda? Or maybe he’s trying to figure out a way to restore the mirror of twilight? Whoooo knows.

hhHHHHhhh it’s just that final reminder that YES!!! YOU JUST PLAYED A ZELDA GAME. JUST ANOTHER STORY APART OF THE WHOLE EPIC OF THE ZELDA SERIES AS A WHOLE

I also want to acknowledge the instrument/samples they used for all the twili stuff.

They’re all just so unique and contrast SO well with the rest of the TP OST. LIKE FUCK!! Anytime I hear the screech from the Twilit Kargarok? Sends a shiver down my spine. I associate those sounds SO strongly with the twili realm. (Like, the same way you associate the BSHEWW VVWWMMM sounds with light sabers)

I love it so god damn much

literally any time there’s a certain sound or motif associated with something I lose my shit

Sacred grove sacred grove sacred gro-

lovely lovely lovely so much fun playing that on the piano. AND again, I did the Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme when I heard the theme from the lost woods come in GHHHHHHHH

shoutout to TP Faron Woods for helping me study and get through all of my schoolwork

BLEGUUHHH can you tell that I really love music?

and also yea I guess TP is kinda cool too :\

IF YOU READ ALL OF THAT THANKS I GUESS

[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

“Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 8: The Baltic Sea]

You are a Russian grand duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You (don’t actually) hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Language, creepiness, grief, mentions of historical violence, sexual references (not graphic), angst but honestly have I ever written a fic without an exorbitant amount of angst? No, I have not. You signed up for this.

Word count: 5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @okilover02​ @adrenaline-roulette​ @youngpastafanmug​ @m-1234​ @tensecondvacation​ @deacyblues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @rogerfuckintaylor​ @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @someforeigntragedy​ @mo-whore​ @mellowfellowyellow​ @peculiareunoia​ @mischiefmanaged71​ @fancybenjamin​ @anne-white-star​ @theonlyone-meeeee​ @witchlyboo​ @demo-wise​ ​

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

“There is a man coming for you,” Mother says as she drags the brush through my hair with her gnarled, arthritic hands. We’re back in the former governor’s mansion in Tobolsk, our voices hushed, the wind a shrill whistle through the floorboards and eaves, the lamplight weak and golden on our faces like a dying sun.

“I know,” I reply, because this has all happened already. “His name is Ben, and he might seem rather heartless at first but he’s not. He’s fearless and watchful and forgiving. He has one of the best hearts I’ve ever known.”

“It’s best not to get too attached.” Mother’s face is strained, aloof; her jaw is rigid with disapproval. “His task is to take you to London. But it is also to leave you there.”

“Of course,” I agree, hoping I sound more convinced than I feel.

“Uncle George will welcome you with open arms. He will get to be the hero, your gallant rescuer, all the royals of the world will reach out their hands to you, their hearts will bleed for you. And you will have the honor of marrying the very best of them. The Prince of Wales will inherit the largest empire in human history. And—one day, undoubtedly, although I suppose it seems awfully far from now—so will the child you will have together. A child with Russian blood and Romanov bones.”

I cannot summon a response to give her; I can only stare at my own shadowy reflection and imagine the weight of some other queen’s tiara on my head: Queen Victoria’s, perhaps, or Queen Adelaide’s, or King George’s wife Queen Mary’s, or another impeccably-bred woman whose name time has lost entirely. I wonder who will remember my name when my duty is accomplished and my body has returned to the earth for a year, a decade, a century, an eon. There is one comfort that I find in this imminent future: while Russian law prohibits a woman from succeeding to the throne, the British royal family has no such exclusions. I will not be resigned to Mother’s fate of birthing daughter after extraneous daughter in a torrent of wasted blood. A daughter of mine could be beloved by the public, could inherit the British throne. Maybe my future husband would even allow me to name her Tatiana.

“I hope it will not take you long to produce a suitable heir,” Mother says. Now her eyes are distant, hollow. And there’s something else I notice that I don’t like at all: they’re solid black, huge and glassy, without any irises. “The people may grow impatient. The people may begin to hate you. I know what that’s like, and it isn’t easy. I felt it for years before Alexei was born. It was like blades behind my eyes, screws turning in my bones. It hurt worse than when they killed me.”

“I’m afraid, Mama,” I whisper, a child’s words on my trembling lips.

“Oh, my love, don’t be afraid.” She smiles tenderly, but her teeth are fangs. When she touches my cheek, her hands are only bones. “In London, you will be protected. You will be safe. You will continue the bloodline, and you will make us so very proud. And when you are finished, you will join us in the grave.”

I try to scream, but I can’t; I can’t move, I can’t breathe. I watch our sickly yellow reflections in the mirror in horror as the rest of Mother’s flesh falls away like a snake’s skin, ribbons peeling off to reveal the ivory-colored bones beneath: her clavicles, her carpals, her skull. As tendons and ligaments disintegrate, her fingerbones rattle against the floor. The hairbrush drops with a bang. And something in me snaps and now I do scream: I scream so loudly and so mindlessly that I wonder if I’ll ever be able to stop.

“Hey,” someone says through the screams and clattering bones and jaundiced light. And then again, as they nudge my shoulder: “Hey, wake up, wake up—”

I jolt upright in bed, gasping, and the scream cuts off in my throat. Ben is standing beside me in perfectly transparent light; he must have turned on the bedroom lamp.

“You were having a nightmare,” he says in that deep, subterranean voice, his eyes troubled.

I nod, still catching my breath. There’s a cold sweat slick on my ribs, my spine. When I lay my palm against my chest, I can feel my heart hammering there. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“Are you alright now?”

I gaze up at him blearily without knowing how to answer. No. I don’t think so. Not at all. Never will be. Nice of you to ask.

“Do you need anything?” Ben says. “Want me to bring you anything?”

“Can you…can you just…stay?”

Ben’s eyes go wide, although he shakes that off with a consciously flippant toss of his head. His cheeks flush a startlingly deep shade of pink. His blond hair is wild and wavy and falls down over his forehead. It’s getting long, I realize. He hasn’t gotten it trimmed since I met him. “Uh, yeah, sure, okay, do you mean…like…on the other side of a wall of pillows, or…?”

In reply, I reach for him, my face crumbling.

“Okay, okay,” Ben says quickly, climbing into the bed and catching me as I fold into him. I clutch his nightshirt and sob against his chest like the archetypal damsel in distress that everyone imagines me to be, like a child. “You’re alright,” he soothes, somewhat awkwardly at first, as if he’s afraid to touch me in the wrong way, as if I’m all glass inside and one careless move will shatter me. But then Ben’s resistance evaporates and he pulls me in closer, one hand on the small of my back, one hand on my face, whispering like we’re the only two people left in the world. “You’re alright. You’re okay. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Shh, shh, I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But you’re going to be okay.”

I don’t really believe him. But I like the sound of his promises.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Are…those…trousers?”

I look up from Tarzan of the Apes to see a girl of nine or ten years old. She’s blue-eyed, curly-haired, presumably British based upon her accent, dressed the same way I always used to be in a corseted gown that stops at her ankles and not a centimeter higher. She’s gawping at me with a blend of fascination and disgust. “Yes indeed,” I reply with a smile, kicking one leg up for emphasis. I fold the corner of a page to mark my place in my book. Ben and Joe are engrossed in a tennis match a few meters away, alternately grunting and cursing and cheering depending on how it’s going.

The little girl is still thoroughly befuddled. “But…but…why?”

“Because they’re comfortable. And easy to travel in. And they don’t blow around in the wind. And to tell you the truth, I don’t really think much about them at all anymore. They’re just clothes.”

“But…trousers on a lady are…rather indecent, aren’t they?” the little girl ventures, scrutinizing me. Her face is pinched with lines of mistrust. I catch a glimpse of what she will look like in ten years when she is finished with her studies and fit to be married off to some moneyed gentleman whom she may or may not happen to harbor any measurable affection for.

“Some people think so,” I reply conciliatorily. “I used to think that myself. But I’ve reconsidered that particular attitude. Sometimes attitudes require revisiting, isn’t that right?”

“Sure,” the girl mutters, still ogling my trousers, not sounding very confident.

“Florence!” the girl’s mother scolds as she swoops in and snatches up one of her daughter’s small, soft, unharmed hands. “Come along now.” The mother casts me a fearsome glare, as if I’d been caught trying to teach her child how to load a rifle or set stray cats on fire. I stare coolly back. I am overcome with a sudden compulsion to scream at her: What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know who I am? I’m the closest you will ever get to the royalty you idolize so goddamn much. You should be bending over backwards to make a good impression. You should be bending until your spine snaps in two.

But of course this woman—perhaps the wife of a British diplomat or baron or viscount or shipping tycoon—has no idea who I really am. And I don’t say anything as she leads her daughter away to continue their stroll along the promenades and discuss more appropriate matters, more meaningless ones. I recall how Mother was always prattling on about the vital importance of proper posture, etiquette, language, modesty, prayer, obedience. None of that had saved her. None of that had saved any of them.

“What was that about?” Ben asks me, stepping over the low net that surrounds the tennis court. He had evidently lost interest with the sport after suffering his third loss in thirty minutes. Fortunately, Joe was already ensnaring a new opponent: a Frenchman with black hair and a matching mustache and a penchant for talking as loudly and as dramatically as Joe, which I had not thought was possible. Ben sits down on the deck chair next to me and slides on a pair of sunglasses. It’s too chilly for short sleeves but mild enough for a light sweater or jacket to suffice. Ben’s jacket is black, his pants khaki-colored corduroy. I can’t see his eyes anymore, but I can still read him; the set of his mouth and brow and shoulders can say quite a lot, I’ve learned.

“Rich people business. You wouldn’t understand.”

Ben points to Tarzan of the Apes. “How on earth is that still keeping you occupied? You must have read it fifty times by now.”

“Only ten,” I say. “And there are still parts I don’t understand.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I flip through the rumpled, dogeared pages to find the words I’ve circled with a pen or pencil or whatever else I could find within arm’s reach when the need arose. “What’s a constellation?”

“Stars,” Ben replies with a smile, one of his kind, gentle smiles that I hadn’t known he was capable of until our night on the Trans-Siberian Railroad. “It’s a group of stars that form an image in the night sky, like the Big Dipper or Orion. What are some of the other ones? Pegasus, I think. Perseus.”

“Ah, I understand now. Sozvezdiye.”

“That’s the Russian word for constellation?”

“Yes indeed.”

“See? We’re both learning.”

“Except that you don’t have any need to improve upon your Russian since you’re leaving your employment with Sir Buchanan and starting a new life across the ocean.”

“There are plenty of Russians in New York City,” Ben objects. “I might still have some use for the language.”

I leaf briskly through Tarzan of the Apes. “What about quixotic?”

“Quixotic,” Ben repeats, pondering it. Joe and the Frenchman are now arguing emphatically about whether a serve was good or a fault. They shout back and forth across the tennis court in Italian, the only language they have in common. “That’s a difficult one to explain. A quixotic person is very idealistic and impractical. Unrealistic. Overly-romantic, maybe.” Then his eyebrows rise; he is amused, playful. “A bit like you were when we first met, actually.”

“Not anymore?”

“No,” he replies, more seriously. “Not so much anymore.”

“Quixotic,” I say, mostly to myself, committing it to memory. “Donkikhotskiy.”

“Quite the mouthful, isn’t it? Your language is ridiculous.”

“My language is older than yours by several thousand years.”

“I thought we’d already established that one’s age is not always a reliable indicator of their worth.”

“Cartography,” I ask next. “What does that mean? Something involving science? The study of mountains, maybe? Or volcanoes?”

“Close,” Ben says encouragingly. “It’s making and using maps.”

“Huh. I’m not sure we even have a word for that.”

“You do. It’s kartografiya.”

“Oh,” I laugh. “How original. I suppose my education was incomplete. There’s a big hole in the middle called ‘Anything Useful.’ It’s a graveyard where knowledge inessential for attracting a husband or birthing children goes to die.”

I’m joking, but at the same time I’m not. My words come out more bitterly than I mean for them to be, than I expect them to be. Ben doesn’t know what to say. He just watches me with his brow knit and his hair whipping in the wind. Below us the sea is murky and calm and sparking, the sun glinting off the crests of waves, gulls and scoters whirling and squawking in mid-autumn air.

“I’m sorry.” I use my scarf—the forest-green one we found in Moscow, the one with the bear stitched into it with silver thread, the very first thing I ever bought—to dab at my watering eyes. “I’ve been so…I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it. Raw, I guess. I feel all these different things so suddenly and so strongly, and I have no idea where they’re coming from. And then they’re gone and I feel something else. I’m immeasurable sad, and then I’m angry, and then I’m dedicated, and then I’m hopeful, and then I’m broken all over again.”

“I don’t know how the hell you’re up and walking around,” Ben says. “I was in pieces for a long time after Willis and Cecil died. And Louise, she was…you know, she was my favorite. She was the closest thing I had to a soulmate. But even then I had people to live for. If it had been all of them, if it had been my whole family…Frankie, Luther, Leo, Opal, Kathryn, August, Mum…” He swallows noisily and shakes his head. “I’d be lying on the floor of a padded room in a straitjacket somewhere.”

“I still have people to live for. A whole country full of them.”

“You are the single most indomitable person I’ve ever known,” Ben says, with something quiet and awed shimmering in his green eyes.

“Maybe you’ll find a few nice things to write about me in that internationally acclaimed article after all,” I tell him with a drawn smile.

“Maybe,” Ben replies warily.

On the tennis court, Joe is sweating hard and still losing. “Did you hear about what happened?” the Frenchman calls over to him in Italian as he serves. “To the former tsar’s family. To the Romanovs.”

“Of course,” Joe yells back, diving for the ball. He’s deliberately short, as if he’s hoping the subject will dissipate on its own like smoke if he doesn’t pay too much attention to it. “Horrible.”

“So horrible!” the Frenchman agrees with no indication of waning interest. The neon green tennis ball ping-pongs around the court. “I mean, Nicholas I can understand. Even the wife I can understand. They probably would have been tried and executed anyway, and they had plenty of opportunities to save their own skins if they hadn’t been so goddamn proud. But the kids? You can’t butcher a bunch of kids! Jesus Christ. What kind of world are we living in?”

Joe casts me a cautious glance. “Yes, it’s truly appalling…”

I don’t really hear his response; or I suppose I do hear it, I hear the sounds anyway, the shapes and slopes and shadows of Italian words, but I can’t process them. Ben looks at the tennis court and then back to me. My face must read like an open book, like a crisp white page with all manner of outbursts scribbled jaggedly in the margins. “I really need to learn Italian,” Ben says softly. And then he stands up and takes my hand. “Time for a walk.”

We roam the decks—first-class, second-class, third-class, making no distinctions between these liminal spaces that are perhaps more illustrative of the real world than I would like them to be—with Tarzan of the Apes hugged to my chest and Ben chain smoking his hand-rolled cigarettes. They’re cheaper that way than by the pack, Ben tells me, and he got in the habit of making them himself as a teenager and never grew out of it. It occurs to me that I very rarely see him buy anything; he gives me money to buy things, sure, and he must receive a paycheck from Sir Buchanan, along with a generous stipend to cover the expenses of our journey…but he wears the same clothes over and over and his tastes are dreadfully simple and he seemingly covets nothing except his impending expatriation to America.

“What’s he like?” I ask Ben as we walk. Without either my forethought or permission, I can feel my mouth twist with something like awkwardness, acquiescence, bashfulness. I bow my head to hide it. “David Windsor.”

Ben shrugs ambiguously. “You’ve met him.”

“I’ve met the Prince of Wales, yes. But only as a gracious host once or twice a year. I’ve danced with him at Christmas balls and watched him play polo. I don’t know who he is as a man.”

“Look…” Ben sighs in an enigmatic exhale of cigarette smoke. “I don’t really know. I don’t know the guy. I only know what I’ve heard.”

“And what have you heard?”

It’s bad. It must be bad for Ben to want to hide it. Finally, he answers: “That he’s…frivolous. He cares about polo and parties and little else. He drinks a lot. He’s never had much interest in his studies. Wait, that’s too generous of me, he’s hopeless in his studies. All of it, math, science, languages, writing, religion, art, it doesn’t matter. He spent eight terms at Oxford and left without a single academic accomplishment to speak of. And he hates reading.”

Somehow, that last part seems like a greater crime than all the rest put together. “But he’s been serving on the Western Front, he must be at least somewhat heroic!”

“He’s spent far more time on leave in Paris than on the battlefield,” Ben says. “And none in the trenches. Unless of course he was touring them for a photo opportunity. I suspect that’s how it is for most princes. That’s how it will be for your sons one day, if you choose to have them.”

“But Olga and Tati were real nurses,” I insist. “They saw everything, the very worst of it, the mangling and the sickness and the madness, they weren’t there for some photo opportunity—”

“Yes, and that was one of your parents’ very best decisions. I’ll give them credit when it is due. But your sisters were at a Red Cross hospital, miles and miles and miles from the danger. And they were brought home the second things got too tough for them.”

I frown at him with irritation but no wrath.

“What do you think happens when a normal nurse falls ill?” Ben asks, more gently now. “Or becomes exhausted or homesick? Or breaks down emotionally from the stress? Or is injured or abused by men who have become animals?”

“I suppose she carries on somehow,” I realize.

“Exactly. There is no leave in Paris for most of the world. There is no swift evacuation back to their family’s palace or a restorative cruise around the Mediterranean. There is painful, relentless struggling, and then there are the glimpses you catch of things like love, hope, peace, wonder. Things that you live for. But those glimpses are so brief, and life feels so fucking long.”

“What else?” I prod after a moment. “About the Prince of Wales. Is there more? There must be more. You look like there’s more.”

Ben nods but doesn’t speak. He surveys the frothing cobalt waves that collide with the ship and send sea spray up to mist our exposed skin: our faces, our wrists, our palms.

“You want me to be prepared, don’t you?” I say. “I think it’ll be easier if I’m prepared. Mother always tried to protect me from the imperfect parts of existence. Don’t treat me like that. You don’t want me to be some sheltered, self-absorbed idiot, so don’t treat me like one.”

“He has mistresses.”

My stomach plummets. I try to conceal it. “As in…a few mistresses?” I ask hopefully. “That’s not so bad. He is still a bachelor, after all. Papa once had a dalliance with a woman when he was a young man. Did I ever tell you that? Back when it appeared the families would never agree to a marriage between him and Mother. She was a ballerina named Mathilde, and she was very attractive and perfectly elegant, but Papa never loved her. You’d think Mother would have been hurt by it, would have been quite sensitive about it, maybe even would have harbored some perpetual disdain for ballerinas in general. But she never seemed bothered. That affair solidified Papa’s determination to marry Mother, it taught him that his thirst for her was something no other woman could quench. And he learned that he could commit himself to her without ever wondering if he was missing out on something else.”

Now Ben turns to me. He’s somber and sad and…something else too. Something I don’t know the word for. “No. A lot of mistresses.”

My face falls like sails without wind. “Oh.”

“He likes actresses and courtesans, experienced lovers. Glamorous women who can entertain him and won’t become bothersome or overly-attached. And he tires of them quickly, so the number is more or less impossible to ascertain.”

“And…is that…common? For men to grow bored with their women?” I ask this fully cognizant that there was a time not long ago when such a thought wouldn’t even have occurred to me.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh. Right. Please continue.”

“He’s forgiven for everything because he’s charming and rich and illustrious,” Ben intones bitterly, taking a drag off his cigarette. “And handsome, of course. You can’t forget handsome.”

“Is he cruel?” I ask, very quietly, afraid of the answer.

“No,” Ben says immediately. “No, I’ve never heard anything like that. I wouldn’t take you to him if I had. I’d stuff you in a trunk and ship you off to Manhattan first. You could work in a fish market or something.”

We exchange a short-lived smile. In the west, the sun is rapidly descending towards the glistening waves. We’ll be summoned for dinner soon. I’m hungry, I notice with dull shock like a rusty blade. It’s the first time I’ve felt real hunger in almost a week. What Ben said about the Prince of Wales being handsome enough to enchant his way out of criticism is still clanging around in my skull. As Ben and I watch each other in the fading daylight, I think: Royals, for all of our advantages, do not quite have a monopoly on beauty.

“I hope I’m not a disappointment to him. The Prince of Wales, I mean.” I wring my hands, readjust my scarf. It suddenly feels like it’s strangling me. “I’m not exciting or experienced or particularly glamorous. There’s nothing especially alluring about me. Everyone always agreed that Tatiana was the most beautiful Romanov daughter.”

“Well, maybe not everyone.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah right.”

Ben repeats, tapping his own chest: “Not everyone.”

And it hits me like a lightning strike, like a wave. In my mind is the echo of the sound of a book snapped shut. I knew it from the beginning, of course, or at least a part of me did: I knew it when he pulled me out of the doorway of that greenhouse in Tobolsk, when he braided my hair, when he slept chastely beside me in beds and tents and train compartments, when he kissed me and cradled my face with bloodstained palms somewhere in the desolate wilds between Saint Petersburg and Moscow, when he tried to defend me again and again from a world that was so cuttingly unforgiving. But now I know it in a way that is entirely unambiguous, unclouded. Here under the twilight sky and above the rocking of the Baltic Sea, I know it everywhere: in my hands, my mind, my blood, my soul, my dark cavernous cravings to uncover the mysteries that I am not supposed to be aware of.

I want him. I want him so goddamn badly.

Ben is oblivious. His hand closes around mine. “Come on. Let’s get ready for dinner.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s piano music unfurling through the first-class dining hall. We’re served filets of sole and roasted tri-color potatoes and green beans almondine, and I clean my plate. Ben beams in a way that reminds me of how Papa once took pride in our mundane childhood accomplishments, tied shoes and penned letters and hair brushed with a hundred strokes. He sits across the table in his black jacket with the glow of candlelight dancing across his face, looking at me often as Joe jabbers on about his new best friends, the French ambassador’s staff. We split a bottle of white wine three ways and eat apple cake topped with vanilla ice cream for dessert, and I am overcome with a soft, lightheaded wash of warmth and calmness, an acceptance of all that has happened and all that has yet to come. It is temporary, I suspect; but it is more welcome than thawing frost at the close of winter.

Joe must indeed be very taken with the Frenchmen, because after dinner he joins them for cigars and card games back in their quarters. Ben and I return to our respective rooms. I take a long, hot bath—the steam fogging up the air and the mirrors and my skull—and change into my nightgown. I’m slipping into bed, dragging the covers up over my shoulders, when I hear the bedroom door creak open. Ben appears in the doorway wearing green flannel pajamas and damp, disorderly hair.

“Hi,” I say in greeting.

“Hi.”

We stare at each other in a silence that should be awkward but isn’t.

Ben clears his throat. “I was just…um, well, I was thinking that I should check in and…um…I wanted to see if…maybe…” He starts over. “Do you want me to stay again? Like this morning?”

“Yes,” I reply simply.

He climbs into bed beside me and I burrow into him, inhaling his heat and cologne and soap and whispers of cigarette smoke. For a moment, I’m back in Papa’s study in the Winter Palace, and there’s snow falling soundlessly outside and the shelves are heavy with books and I don’t have a single care in the universe, let alone the world. And then I’m here with Ben again.

I run my fingers through his hair and gaze into his green eyes, and then suddenly my lips are on his, and we’re touching and kissing and biting teasingly at each other. I’m forever amazed by how gentle Ben is in these moments, not intense or guarded but sinuous, graceful, light. And then he tears away from me.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, jolting upright in bed and breathing heavily. “I mean, what is this? What the fuck is this?”

I pull myself into a sitting position and shrug. My hair is falling in my face, my words are hushed and guilty. “Nobody has to know.”

“Nobody has to know what?”

“It’s nothing serious,” I sputter. “It’s perfectly innocent, in fact. It’s not even a dalliance, it’s a harmless flirtation, it’s just…just…kissing, and embracing, and…and…well it’s not very scandalous at all compared to what the Prince of Wales has been up to, now is it?”

“No no no no no,” Ben moans, burying his face in his hands. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this. You’re, you know, you, and if you marry the Prince of Wales then you belong to him, and you can’t have any sort of past, you can’t even have the whisper of a past, and I’m fairly certain that impropriety with the future Princess of Wales would get me arrested or brutalized or banished to Australia or, or, or something…”

I glare at him. “You act like it’s such a travesty for me to be treated like property and then you go and do the same thing.”

“No,” Ben says again. He looks petrified.

I tuck my knees to my chest and link my arms around them and stare down ashamedly at the rumpled bedsheets. “I’m sorry, I suppose I misinterpreted things. I didn’t realize the idea would be so unappealing to you.”

“That is not the problem here!” Ben exclaims; and despite myself I smile. “Okay, let’s assume no one finds out. Let’s assume you don’t regret it later and hate me for it. Let’s assume I don’t get stripped of my income or spend the rest of my days in fucking Australia. All of that aside, you are in absolutely no condition to be making decisions like this.”

“I’m not a child, Ben.”

“You’re grieving and you’re confused and you’re lonely and…and…and this is…” He shakes his head incredulously. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to see me this way.”

“You’re no different than I am. You’re better than I am, actually.”

“You’ve had wine, a lot of wine, you don’t mean this.”

“You drank more than I did and you seem to have plenty of self-restraint.”

Ben leaps off the bed and paces across the room, back and forth, back and forth, one hand swiping the perspiration from his forehead. “You need to think about this,” he warns me. “You need to think about this a lot, and then you’ll change your mind once you’ve slept on it and really considered what you’re suggesting here.”

“And what if I don’t change my mind?”

“You will.” He strides with thunderous footsteps to the door and throws it open. “Think about it.”

All the fire roaring in my chest—desire and fury and defiance stacked in layers that are nearly inseparable—dies like smothered coals. “You’re leaving?” I ask, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Yes. For now.”

He seems so steady, so sure; but he won’t look me in the eye. And just as he’s about to disappear, something occurs to me. “Ben…don’t you need to think about it too?”

Ben hesitates in the open doorway. “No,” he says at last. “I already know what I want.”

Then he leaves and shuts the door behind him.

[troquantary]

Edward Cullen: That Boy Ain’t Right

So I was doing a reread of @therealvinelle 's collection of Twilight metas, as one does, and in "Edward, Denial, and a Human Girlfriend" she mentions that she doesn't believe Edward is sane. I thought, "ha, yeah, he's definitely not," and also, "but wait, what does that mean exactly, please say more about that." But since she's already inundated with asks, I've decided to use my own head-muscle and explore this idea. (TL;DR: I start out more or less organized, synthesize some points Vinelle has made across several posts (and have hopefully linked to them all where relevant but please tell me if not), touch a little on narcissism, then take a hard left into the negative effects of being a telepath.)

Just a couple things to note at the outset, though. Theses have been written already (probably) about Edward as an abuser. Edward being insane doesn't negate that at all; he's definitely an asshole and just...a disaster of a human being. (I find it more funny than anything, but YMMV.) I'm also going to try to avoid talking specifically about mental illness and how it relates (or doesn't relate) to abusive behavior -- that's territory I'm not really equipped to discuss, like at all. My starting point is "Edward has a deeply warped perception of reality," not "Edward has X disorder."

So: deeply warped perception of reality. The evidence? Goes behind a cut, because my one character trait is Verbose.

Vinelle provides a great example of it in the post linked above, which I'll just quote because she does words good: "[Edward] keeps acting like his romance with Bella is a romantic tragedy, and all the cast of Twilight are actors on a stage making it as sublime as possible." Edward's the one to pursue Bella, but he does so with the full belief, from the very beginning, that it will never last; Bella will "outgrow" him, go on her human way, and he can spend the rest of eternity brooding magnificently over his too-short romantic bliss. [Insert premature ejaculation joke.] Turning her is never an option, even though Alice, Noted Psychic, says that romancing Bella will either end with her dead (exsanguinated) or dead (vampire).

This framing, where he's a dark anti-hero in love with -- but never tainting! -- the pure maiden and eventually leaving her in a grand, tragic sacrifice to preserve her soul? It's fucking bonkers. Bella isn't a person to him in this scenario. As Vinelle points out, Bella's never really a person to him at all; he falls in love with his own mental construct, cherry-picking from what he observes of her behavior and her responses to his 20 (thousand) Questions to convince himself that she is the ideal woman.

Bella's not the only one who gets the projection/cardboard-cutout treatment. Edward sees everything and everyone through a highly particular, personalized lens. He filters his entire reality, which we all do to an extent, but the thing with Edward is that he starts with his conclusions and then only pays attention to the evidence that supports those conclusions. Often that evidence consists of what he admits in New Moon are only "surface" thoughts -- but recognizing that limitation doesn't keep him from taking those thoughts as representative of what people are. Edward then becomes absolutely convinced by his own "reasoning" and won't be swayed from what he has decided is Objectively True. It's obvious with Bella; it's also painfully obvious with Rosalie. (Vinelle explains this and brings up Edward's raging Madonna/Whore complex in the same post, so refer to that again -- she's right.)

He also catastrophizes. Everything. Bella's just vibing in her room, rereading Wuthering Heights for the 87th time? She's gonna be hit by a meteor, better sneak into her room while she sleeps. Bella's going to the beach with the filthy mundanes their human classmates? She's gonna fall in the ocean. Jasper's cannibal pals are stopping by for a visit, but know not to hunt in the area? DISASTER, DEFCON 1, ALSO FUCK YOU JASPER FOR EVEN EXISTING IN MY AND BELLA'S SPHERE YOU UNSPEAKABLE BURDEN. Edward must believe that Bella is vulnerable and in near-constant peril, to support the reality he has created in which he is the villain turned protector and maybe?? hero??? (!!!) for his beloved. So when the actual, James-shaped danger arrives, he goes berserk, snarling and flipping his shit and generally not helping the situation. His fantasy demands that Bella remain human, so instead of doing the very thing Alice, Noted Psychic, assures him will neutralize the threat (and not just a threat to Bella, either, but to Bella's family and any other human James might decide to include in the "game"), he vetoes it immediately, no discussion. Bella Must Not Turn, and he sticks to those guns despite James nearly reducing her to ground beef, despite leaving Bella catatonic with depression (but human! success!) in New Moon, despite Aro's order and his family's vote and, let's not forget, Bella's clearly and repeatedly stated desire to be a vampire. It's going to happen. But he doesn't accept it until Renesmee busts out of Bella like the Kool-Aid man and the poor girl's heart finally, unequivocally stops.

Sane people don't behave this way. I don't want to slap labels on Edward, but I can't help but note that he comes across as highly narcissistic. He's the only real person in his universe, the lone player among us NPCs. That probably has a lot to do with him being frozen in the mindset and maturity of a seventeen-year-old boy, but I think it's also just...him, on some fundamental level. His failure to connect with others and recognize them as full, independent beings with their own wants and priorities isn't like Bella's failure -- she's badly depressed. Edward is...something else, and I get the sense that his sanity has been steadily deteriorating over time. And a cursory google of narcissistic traits turns up some familiar-looking stuff. He's self-loathing, yes, but also grandiose; he hates himself for the monster he is (and hates most vampires besides Esme and Carlisle for their monstrosity, too) but still feels superior to humans, to the extent that he felt entitled to human blood and resented Carlisle for depriving him of his "proper" diet. He eventually returns to Carlisle, but he's far from content -- the beginning of Midnight Sun finds him in a state of ennui, bored and dismissive of (if not outright disgusted by) everyone around him, that has apparently persisted for years and years. He doesn't play the piano, he doesn't compose, he doesn't enjoy anything...at least until Bella comes along and then he becomes obsessed to a disturbing degree with her and his new, romantic tragedy spin on reality.

[Next-day edit: I’m not sure where else to fit this in, but the way Edward casually contemplates violence against people who have, at best, mildly annoyed him is...chilling. I have a hard time writing off his strategizing how to murder the entire Biology class as a result of bloodlust -- it’s so calculated, nothing like the blackout state of thirst Emmett describes when he encountered his own “singer,” and that is probably the default for when a vampire is extremely thirsty. But even ignoring the Biology class incident, Edward still does things like consider, with disturbing frequency, how he might grievously injure or kill Mike Newton, all because...Edward considers him his romantic rival (despite Bella barely giving the kid the time of day). He thinks about slapping Mike through a wall, which might be an amusing slapstick image, except as a vampire Edward’s actually capable of turning this boy’s skeleton to a fine powder. So it’s, y’know, kind of sick when you think about it.

But even worse than that, when Bella tells Edward about how she flirted with Jacob to get at that sweet, sweet vampire lore, Edward chuckles and then, after dropping Bella home, flippantly observes that now that the treaty’s broken, why not genocide? I’m not even kidding, it’s right there in Midnight Sun; he seriously thinks about the fact that he’d be technically justified now in wiping out the entire tribe because a teenager tried to impress a girl with a spooky story. That is fucked. Remember, Edward was there with Carlisle when the treaty was first established. He knows how remarkable it is that they even came to a truce in the first place, that it was only ever possible because Carlisle is...well, Carlisle, and that it marks a pretty significant moment in supernatural history. He doesn’t care; he doesn’t respect it, or he’d never think something like “Ha ha, if I went and killed them all, I wouldn’t even be wrong. I mean, I won’t do it, but I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be wrong.”

Again: not the thought process or behavior of a sane person. (Or a person that respects life in general -- sorry Carlisle, big L.)]

Finally, whether he's a narcissist or not, I think the fact that Edward has constant, unavoidable access to everyone's thoughts is a powerful contributing factor to his instability. He can tune out the mental noise to an extent, but he can't stop it -- so he comes to rely on it like another sense. This causes issues with disconnect and lack of empathy, of course, but there's another facet to this shit diamond: he's basically experiencing a ceaseless flow of intrusive thoughts. His narration in Midnight Sun suggests that he "hears" the words people think, can "see" what they visualize in their mind's eye, and can sense the emotional "tone" and intensity of their thoughts. Therefore, perceiving Jasper's thirst through his thoughts makes Edward more aware of his own, "doubling" the discomfort. This would be a lot to deal with even from just his immediate coven members, but Edward gets all of this pouring into his head like a firehose on a day-to-day basis because the Cullens live right alongside humans. I know Meyerpires have galaxy brains or whatever, but that's a ton to process.

Besides the compounding effect on his own thirst when he "feels" the thirst of others, Meyer never suggests that Edward has difficulty separating his own thoughts from other people's; even when he was newly turned, he recognized Carlisle's "voice" in his head as Carlisle's. That would create a whole different host of issues around identity, but it looks like Edward's escaped that particular torment. However, I can easily imagine that what he does experience is just shy of unbearable nonetheless, with an eroding effect on his sanity over decades. He can't sleep to escape it; he's on a dishwater diet and probably (like the rest of his family) experiencing a perpetual, low-grade physical discomfort due to his thirst never being fully satisfied; and he's around far more people than is the norm for vampires -- even discounting all the humans, his own coven is unusually large -- meaning more noise.

Honestly, it would be weirder if he were all there, considering.

And even though I feel like I lost a sense of structure around where I started ranting about telepathy, I've written like 1.5k words about Edward fucking Cullen and I think that's enough for one post.

[seita]

— live now: redlove | eijirou kirishima (m.)

pairing: eijirou kirishima/reader ft. katsuki bakugou.

genre: fluff, smut, pwp

wordcount: 𝟷𝟼𝟹𝟽

cw: cam couple!au, prohero!bakugou, established relationship

tags: voyeurism (bakugou’s pov), dirty talk, masturbation, humilation/degredation, begging, light praise, rough sex, doggy style, choking, hair pulling, light spanking, baku has a crush

note: i have no excuses for this lmao. i was originally gonna make this into a fic where bakugou joins u nd kiri but,,,i kind of want to make this like a series or something????

—  bakugou enjoys porn. especially live cam porn. he discovers the cam couple redlove and is immediately smitten.

blog navigation.

 next. the lottery: redlove ⇨

© all content belongs to seita 2020. do not modify or repost.    

Bakugou watched porn. Just like every other guy on the planet. He enjoyed it, especially since as a pro-hero, he didn’t have the opportunity to get into sustainable relationships. He was the #2 hero so finding himself someone who wanted him because he was Katsuki Bakugou and not Ground Zero was near impossible. 

So, he turned to porn. Sounds sad now that he thought about it but truthfully, he never thought twice about it. It was just the way things were. 

More specifically, he had an interest in cam porn. The live stream kind. He couldn’t quite pinpoint why that was ― there was just something alluring about watching porn live. 

Usually, he stuck to solo girl content, every once in a while he’d venture to the male side. It was only recently, however, that he discovered the booming community of couples cams. 

Watching couples have sex live was even more enticing than watching men and woman masturbate or watching amateur porn. It seemed so intimate, watching these couples together. Almost forbidden. 

And he was sure that was exactly what made him cum so hard every single time. He liked watching these couples have sex, feeling like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Many times, he’d stroke his cock to the idea of being humiliated by a couple as he watched them together. Filthy thoughts and words filtered into his mind, his eyes closed as he panted to the idea. They’d call him disgusting, a pig for getting hard watching ―  how only a slut would act as lewd as he did. Maybe they’d shame him; #2 pro hero Ground Zero a pathetic whore. 

It wasn’t until one night, he laid in bed browsing the couple’s livestreams on his favorite website, he discovered one couple that immediately caught his eye. The thumbnail showed a redheaded guy with spiky hair sitting on the edge of the bed with a pretty girl with marvelously smooth skin sat behind him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. The young man’s hair color must have been the inspiration behind their channel name: redlove. He could only assume they had just started the stream and were looking at comments when the picture set. 

The stream was titled “We had a long day”. Bakugou couldn’t help but scoff at such a title, it was hardly enticing. Most streams had things like ‘watch me squirt until i cry!!!’ or “he makes my pussy hurt so good” or some other cringy shit. He would have been tempted to scroll past but he couldn’t deny just how attractive the couple was. Not to say there weren’t attractive people doing cam porn, no he’d seen his fair share of beautiful women and handsome men. 

But redlove were stunning together. They looked like a perfect match, he could tell just by how you were holding him that just oozed affection for the redhead. 

Another thing that caught the blonde’s eye was the view count: most cammers had in the double digits ― 20 or 30 viewers. Every once in a while he’d catch a particularly popular cammer and see a few hundred but it had never exceeded 200. So the live view count, the number of people watching them at that exact moment, was currently displayed on redlove’s stream link had him baffled.

Edging on 800 viewers. Sitting at 782.

It was clear the two of you were immensely popular. There had to be a good reason. 

Curious and thoroughly intrigued, he tapped the screen of his phone to get into their stream. 

It took a moment to buffer, all the activity with the chat making it lag a bit. When it finally finished loading, Bakugou felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His cock was immediately hard, straining against his boxers.

It was clear the two of you had been streaming for a while, judging by the fucked out blissful look on your face. Sweat glistened on your skin in the illuminating light of your bedroom.

You were on your hands and knees, your redheaded boyfriend on his knees behind you on a messed up bed, a pillow nearby that Bakugou assumed had been used to prop your hips up at one point. Your hair was wrapped tightly in his fist, using it for leverage as he hammered his cock into what Bakugou could only imagine was an absolutely dripping wet cunt. 

The sounds you made were downright sinful, your lips swollen from no doubt kissing and biting. The redhead grunted suddenly, jerking you up onto your knees so your back was pressed against his chest. Bakugou couldn’t resist reaching down to palm his aching cock, throbbing and painful from neglect. 

Your boyfriend groaned, glancing at the camera, “Everyone’s got a good view of your little cunt now, huh?” he growled moving his grip from your hair to your throat, “You like that, I can feel you squeezing me at the thought of all these people watching your pussy stretch on my cock. You’re stuffed so fuckin’ full you can barely stand it, isn’t that right?”

Bakugou couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. The4 dominance the redhead exuded rivaled his own and the way you so easily fell submissively to him was beautiful. There was so much trust in you ― knowing your boyfriend would take good care of you. Bakugou’s heart ached ever so slightly at the idea ― it was clear your relationship was a good one. It was something the pro hero would never hope to have himself.

You didn’t respond, your eyes rolling back in your head before closing. Your mouth was open, no sounds escaping due to the tight grip the redhead had on your throat. Your head rolled back to rest on his shoulder, legs spread to let him fuck your hole with everything he had. Your weight was braced completely on him, your partner dutifully supporting your body as you let him have his way.

With his free hand, he palmed your breast, pinching your nipple harshly to make you keen. Bakugou felt his cock throb at the sound. It was so whiny, pathetic. You were so completely submissive and at the mercy of your boyfriend. And you were loving every second of it. 

Bakugou couldn’t deny he enjoyed witnessing it himself.

Your cunt was stretched wide, the HD camera giving spectacular quality to the way your juices dripped down the length plunging into your body. It dripped off of his balls and down your thighs. So fucking messy. 

The redhead’s cock was big, something Bakugou himself could even feel envious of despite his own well-endowed size. Your cunt was tight, no doubt requiring a good amount of preparation to take him. He wondered if you enjoyed the stinging burn of pain when you took the cock. The blonde made a mental note to check out your part streams later.

“Gonna...gonna cum,” you gasped, warning your boyfriend. 

He scoffed, sounding annoyed, “Do it then. I don’t give a shit.”

“Please, can’t!” you sobbed, finally opening your eyes to look up at him. He wore a cocky grin, knowing your pleasure laid in his hands. 

“Why?” he teased, abandoning his hold on your breast to travel down the soft skin of your stomach, pausing right above where you needed him, “You need me to touch your little clit, hm? Is that what it is?” 

You nodded desperately, grinding your hips down every time he sunk his cock into you, hoping to get more than you were being given, “Please!”

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss against your temple. The gesture was oddly soft and intimate in comparison to the harsh, punishing pace of his cock, “You had a long day. I’ll be nice. You better thank me for making this greedy little cunt cum.”

Finally, his fingers reached your swollen clit. A couple practiced circles over the bud had you tumbling over the edge. Bakugou gripped his cock through the material of his boxers as he watched you tremble and moan as the redhead fucked you through the high. 

Letting out a sob at the overstimulation when your boyfriend still didn’t stop when you came down, you choked out, “Th-Thank you!”

“Good girl,” your boyfriend grinned, letting you fall back into your original position with your face buried in the blankets. The redhead tossed his head back, gripping your hips as he fucked into you, chasing his own orgasm. He laid a few harsh slaps against your ass, making you whimper, flinching at the impact but not running from it. Bakugou could hear the sharp sound of his hand making contact with your skin. Now that you had cum, the redhead let himself go. 

And he did. Your boyfriend let out a groan of pleasure, announcing his release. He didn’t pull out, pouring his hot cum into your overstimulated cunt.

Bakugou’s cock throbbed once, twice before he was spilling a load of hot cum into his boxers. The white cum oozed through the fibers as his thighs trembled.

When he came back to himself, he looked at the screen to find you had curled up on your side with a dreamy smile aimed at your boyfriend, Bakugou couldn’t help but smile at the screen at how cute you looked. He moved towards the camera with a grin, having already pulled out.

“Thanks for watchin’!” that was all he said before the screen went dark and bold white letters flashed over the screen that said ‘this stream has ended.’

Bakugou’s attention moved to the chat, checking to see what was being talked about. 

The comment that caught his eye was, “Eijirou and ______ are literally the power couple of porn.”

Bakugou sighed. Eijirou and ______. 

The names of his new favorite cam couple. 

[shigarakis-cumdump]

Day 3: Aizawa x villain Y/N

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shigarakiscumdump/works

(If you like what you read, consider supporting me on Ao3!)

Kinktober 2021 masterlist here!

Title: Sneaky Link

Summary: Usually villains hate heroes. But pro hero Eraserhead caught your interest one day, and it looked like you caught his~ (you’re basically a sneaky link for Aizawa lol)

Cw: Implied blackmail, recording without consent 

Word Count: 1k

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*..✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Living a life in the shadows was draining. Sometimes you wish you could go to a coffee shop and meet a cute boy, or go shopping without people giving you terrified stares. Although you chose this life, sometimes you wish you didn’t. Being a villain wasn’t something you were necessarily proud of like some of the others, but there was no turning back. 

You’d always looked up to pro hero Eraserhead, even if you were a villain. He was just so cool and kept his composure no matter what situation he was in. You’d run into him a few times before and had the opportunity to fight him. Naturally, you know you would lose, but not without some important intel. Not for the mission at hand, but information about Eraser. When you were fighting him once, you accidentally rubbed up against him while he was capturing you, and you heard him groan in your ear. Whoever you told of course didn’t believe you, but you knew it was true. You just needed to do it again to show everyone that he wants you.

Finding Aizawa would be the difficult part. He was either teaching at UA or in the shadows while patrolling. You go out to roam the streets and actually find him rather quickly. He was perched atop a tall building, looking out over the city. 

“So this is how you always find me so quickly. Cheater.” You say, watching as he jerks his head back to see you. “Did I scare you, Eraser?” You tease, pulling your sweatshirt down. 

“You’re not wearing your usual outfit.” He clears his throat and shifts his sitting position. 

“Upset I don’t have that skin tight suit on anymore, hm? What a filthy hero I’m dealing with..” You sigh. You take a seat beside the curt man and let your eager hands roam up his thigh. “I’m sure you’re pent up..” your slender fingers trace over the outline of his dick through the dark colored pants. You take your other hand and stick your fingers in his mouth, waiting until he sucks down on them to pull your digits back out and bring your wet fingers down to his cock, pulling it out and revealing it to the chilly, fall air. “Let me please you.. I want to make you feel good, hero..” You look at him through lustful eyes.

“Is that how this works now?” He asks, taking your hand and bringing it to the tip of his cock, “Then be my guest, little villain. If you don’t do a good job, I’ll have to teach you how to fuck me properly. though.” You nod and grab his cock with both hands, pumping his whole length languidly while he takes in the view you’re giving him. “Where’d you get that slutty little outfit from?” He asks, picking at your clothing as if annoyed it’s even there to tempt him. 

“I got it for you, daddy~ Don’t you like it?” You ask naively. 

“Daddy loves it, you brat.” He unzips the sweatshirt you have on and is met with your favorite pink lacy bra that becomes his favorite pink lacy bra rather quickly. Aizawa nips at your tits with his forefinger and thumb, teasing it to make you whine for him like you always do. His cock is beet red after just a few lousy strokes from you, and he can’t get his mind off of busting a load onto those perky tits you flash in his face. Aizawa backs away from your skillful hands and pins your frail body down to the roof. “Push those beautiful puppies together for me, whore.” He slaps your boobs and watches them jiggle back at him. Aizawa continues stroking his length while you get yourself ready for him. “We shouldn’t be doing this, Y/N..” he says guiltily. But that guilt doesn’t stop him from spitting onto your tits and smearing his saliva all over them, leaving them shiny and sticky for his dick to easily slip into. 

“But you love using me like your little toy, don’t you?” You pant, licking your lips while you watch precum leak from Aizawa’s tip. 

“Fuck, you’re so bad for me..” Aizawa slips himself in between your tits, humping into them pathetically while his calloused hands brush through your hair and grip at the scalp. He pulls your head up and your lips sweep across his cockhead. You give little kitten licks to his tip, drinking up all the spit and pre that’s drenching it. 

“You taste so good, daddy,” you whimper, “want more..” 

“Daddy will give you, fuck, anything his baby wants, yeah?” You collect saliva in your mouth and spit all over his dick, taking as much into your mouth as possible. You bob your head up and down his length, moaning every time you feel him twitch and start to lose composure. “Shit, coming baby!” He grunts, restricting your movements so you can only swallow his dick further down your throat. His thick, hot ropes of cum shoot down the back of your throat and you take every last drop. 

“I didn’t waste any this time, daddy. Did I do good for you?”

“You always do such a good job for me, kitten~” He kisses the top of your head and wipes off your tits. You sit up and pull out your phone, putting it up to your ear.

“You believe me now, shitheads? I get his dick, and you all owe me $5.” 

“You were recording that?! Are you fucking crazy?”

“I am, but don’t you love crazy~?” You wink at him and look over the building, getting ready to leave. 

“Okay, open it now,” you hang up the phone, “That was fun, daddy, same time next week?” You jump off backwards from the roof and Aizawa runs to try and catch you, but as he leans over the edge, he watches you teleport through a portal and disappear. 

“Fuck..”