#OH AND THE HELMET FRONT IS FLAT TOO | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mythicalmisery · 8 days ago

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Biker AU: GhostxSoap

AO3

“Let me drive.” Soap knew it was a shot in the dark, but he gave it his best, trying to keep the whine out of his voice.

Ghost scoffed as he tugged his gloves snugly around his fingers before tossing a glance over his shoulder. “Right. It’s my bike, Johnny. Not my fault yours is in the shop.” The words were flat, and simple, but Soap didn’t miss the amusement lacing his tone as he reached for his own helmet. Bastard.

Soap grumbled, crossing his arms as Ghost fitted his own helmet on him, pulling the strap tight with an overdone show of care. “So, I don’t get to drive, didn’t get to pick where we went for dinner… is there anything I do get to decide?”

For a moment, Ghost paused, then turned, staring down at Soap. He put on a pensive look that looked almost genuine. Then he smirked.

“No,” he said, letting the word hang in the air before he flicked the visor down over Soap’s face, muffling his spew of curses.

“Yer such a fuckin’ wanker,” Soap muttered as he swung his leg over the back of the bike, lifting his hips to settle in behind Ghost. Both men were broad, built solidly from years of grueling training, and the bike gave a soft creak beneath their combined weight. He gripped Ghost’s waist as they rocked back into place. He felt Ghost shift a little, stabilizing the bike as he glanced over his shoulder, expression unreadable behind the helmet but with a tilt of his head that said, You ready, Sergeant?

Soap just gave him a tight squeeze, and they lurched forward, the engine’s roar vibrating between his knees. They pulled out onto the road, the rumble of the bike and the wind whipping around them drowning out the rest of the world. It was nearly three in the morning, and the streets were quiet, deserted save for the occasional glint of headlights far in the distance. The passing streetlights casting hazy orange halos over the pavement, forming long shadows across the road.

The cool late-summer air slid against them as they rode, and Soap leaned in, inhaling the faint scent of Ghost’s leather jacket mingled with the night air. He let his hands rest just a little looser on Ghost’s waist, fingers brushing over the curve of his hips as they picked up speed. An absurd idea struck him in that moment, and a grin slowly crept onto his face.

Just as they reached a long stretch of open road, Soap’s voice crackled through the comms in their helmets. “Ye know… we don’t have to report to base tomorrow. All night to ourselves.” His hands shifted, sliding over Ghost’s front and brushing against his abdomen. Just light enough to test him.

There was a long pause, and then Ghost’s voice came back, sounding far too casual for Soap’s liking. “That so? Didn’t realize.”

“Oh, piss off.” Soap let his head fall forward, the helmet bumping against Ghost’s back as he grinned. “Ye’ve been starin’ at my arse all night long like ye didn’t have it all planned out.”

“Whatever ya say, Johnny,” Ghost replied smoothly.

Soap clenched his jaw, leaning back a little as he narrowed his eyes at the back of Ghost’s helmet. If Ghost was going to be a stubborn bastard, Soap wasn’t against having to push harder.

“I think we might switch things up tonight.” Soap’s hands drifted lower as he spoke, his tone edged with that hint of menace that never failed to get Ghost’s attention. He gripped Ghost’s hip firmly, letting his fingers dig in just enough that he could feel the muscles tense under his hand.

“And what exactly were ya thinkin’, Sergeant?” Ghost asked, voice as cold and unbothered as ever, even as he flipped the turn signal on. The little blinking sound punctuated his words, an almost taunting rhythm to match Soap’s increasing frustration.

Soap leaned forward, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from Ghost’s back, close enough that his lips would’ve been just by his ear without the helmets. “I’m thinkin’ it’s time I take care of my Lieutenant, good an’ proper. Really is a damn shame, an arse like that goin’ to waste,” Soap replied, his voice low and teasing.

That got him. Ghost let out a low, breathy laugh. “Keep dreamin’, MacTavish.”

“Prick,” Soap muttered, sliding his hand from Ghost’s hip toward his belt buckle, fingers brushing against the cool metal. Ghost’s hand shot down at the action, grabbing his wrist, the grip unyielding.

“What do ya think you’re doin’?” Ghost demanded, his tone rougher now, a hint of warning laced through it.

“I’m gettin’ real tired of ye callin’ all the shots tonight,” Soap murmured, leaning in, voice practically a growl in Ghost’s comms. “We’re ‘bout twelve minutes from home. Think ye can last that long? Or do I finally get my way with ye?”

Ghost’s shoulders tensed, his grip on the handlebars tightening. “You’re bloody mental, Johnny. Tryin’ to get me to crash?,” he asked, but there was a strain there, an almost imperceptible tightness in his voice that sent a thrill down Soap’s spine.

“Don’t tell me Mr. In Control can’t compose himself now,” Soap taunted, lips quirking into a smug smile as he felt Ghost shift, his breathing just a touch unsteady as Soap massaged him over his boxers.

With a low grunt, Ghost flicked on the turn signal again, merging down an exit ramp. The streetlights casting flickering shadows over them. At least they were off the main road now, winding through the quieter, narrow streets where the speed was slower.

“If ya make us crash, I’ll kill ya,” Ghost warned, voice deadly serious.

“Oh, not before I get what I want.” Soap’s hand slipped under Ghost’s waistband, fingers cold against warm skin. He relished the way Ghost stiffened underneath his chest, his breath catching for a split second before he regained his composure. There it was. That crack in the calm facade. He just needed to keep pulling on that string and he’d have the man under him and begging in less than an hour.

Soap kept his hand moving, fingers working with the skill and precision of a man obsessed. The thought of getting back home and burying himself in a writhing Ghost nearly had him blowing a load in his own pants. It had been a solid five minutes, and Soap knew Ghost was close to unraveling, his breaths audible even through the comms, each rough exhale mixed with barely stifled curses.

Every time Soap’s hand reached the sensitive head of Ghost’s cock, the man’s body responded, muscles tensing, hips shifting minutely as he tried to keep his focus on the road. His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden crackle of Ghost’s voice in his ear.

“Oh… fuckin’ hell,” Ghost managed.

Soap glanced over his shoulder, eyes catching sight of what had Ghost’s attention. His grin widened as he spotted the car pulling onto their street ahead of them, headlights illuminating the distinctive blue and yellow checkered pattern of a patrol cruiser. Ghost was on edge, already halfway to his limit, and now with the presence of a cop… Soap felt a thrill shoot through him, pure adrenaline mixing with a touch of something else, something darker.

He renewed his efforts, his hand moving faster, his grip firmer. “Guess we’ve got a friend joining us, eh?” he murmured through the comms, practically vibrating with amusement. Ghost hissed in response, unable to suppress the shudder that ran through him as Soap picked up his pace.

“Bloody hell, Johnny… you’re gonna start a fuckin’ fire if ya keep that up,” Ghost grit out, his voice almost a growl.

“Oh, hush,” Soap murmured, his tone playful, teasing. “Just makin’ sure yer ready for our little audience. Don’t ye want to give ‘em a good show?” He felt Ghost’s glare even without seeing it.

“You’re insane,” Ghost grunted, but there was no mistaking the way his breath hitched. Soap could practically taste the tension radiating from him.

“Ye love it,” Soap shot back, punctuating his words with a firm, teasing squeeze. Without warning, he moved his free hand over Ghost’s, reaching for the throttle, twisting it to pick up speed. He wouldn’t have dared try a move so risky if he didn’t trust Ghost to keep them steady, but tonight he was feeling bold, feeling reckless.

“Slow the fuck down,” Ghost snapped, but Soap only chuckled, reveling in the way Ghost’s cock twitched, leaking precum onto his fist as they inched closer to the cop car ahead. Ghost was close—so close that Soap could practically feel it, and as the yellow traffic light came into view, Soap knew it was now or never. They came to a halt at the painted line on the road, pulling up beside the patrol car as the light turned red.

Through the comms, Ghost’s voice cut in, low and laced with barely contained panic. “Don’t ya dare think about movin’ your hand,” he growled.

Soap bit back a laugh, holding his body still, acting every bit the composed passenger even as he felt Ghost’s whole body locked tight like he was made of stone. But Soap didn’t let up, his hand continuing its steady work, every slight, subtle motion sending a shiver through Ghost that he was struggling to suppress.

The thrill of it was intoxicating—the danger of getting caught, the sight of the constable just feet away, completely unaware of what was happening inches from him. Ghost’s fear, the rare and delicious kind, was practically tangible, and Soap drank it in, savoring every second. Ghost and fear weren’t words that belonged together, not usually, and yet here he was, trying and failing to maintain control, every breath a struggle for composure.

“Yer enjoying this, aren’t ye?” Soap’s voice was a low whisper, teasing and dark as he kept his grip firm, fingers working the sensitive head of Ghost’s cock. Ghost’s grunts and muffled curses filtered through the comms as an answer, music to Soap’s ears, and he felt a surge of satisfaction.

“Come on, big boy, just let go for me,” he whispered, his tone gentle, coaxing. “Let me take care of ye for once.”

“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” Ghost growled back, his voice frayed, almost desperate, and Soap knew he’d finally broken through.

“Come on, Lt.,” Soap pleaded, his voice filled with a wicked promise. “Come for me.”

It took only a few more pumps before he felt Ghost freeze up, his cock twitching uncontrollably in Soap’s hand, and then the man broke, shuddering violently as his orgasm crashed over him. Breathy curses filled the comms, his voice raw and barely coherent as he came, spilling over Soap’s fist, leaving a sticky mess on the gas tank.

And just as Ghost was catching his breath, the cop glanced over, his eyes flicking from the gas tank to the two men, lingering for a split second on Soap’s hand before his gaze darted up, confusion dawning on his face.

For a moment, all three of them froze—Ghost still in the throes of his release, Soap grinning like the Cheshire Cat, and the poor officer, wide-eyed and utterly flustered as he registered what was unfolding before him.

The cop sputtered, clearly at a loss for words, his hand already moving to unbuckle his seatbelt. Ghost didn’t waste a second. He twisted the throttle, the light turning green just as he sped forward, leaving the copper behind them. Soap barely had time to react, leaning back, quickly flipping the license plate up with one hand, blocking it from any cameras or dash cams.

They roared down their street, taking a sharp turn into the quiet neighborhood. Ghost cut the lights, pulling into the driveway of their rental and parking the bike behind a wooden fence. The moment they stopped, Soap burst into laughter, the sound loud and uncontrolled, echoing in the silent night as he threw his head back.

Ghost shoved his helmet off, his face red, breathing still heavy as he glared at Soap with a mix of exasperation and something close to murderous intent. Without a word, he grabbed Soap by the front of his sweatshirt, yanking him up and pushing him roughly against the wall of the house, his eyes dark with fury.

“Ya think that was funny, do ya?” Ghost’s voice was a low, dangerous sound, his grip tight as he glared at Soap.

Soap’s laughter hadn’t quite died down, even as Ghost smacked the side of his helmet, his face inches from his own. “Aw, come on, Lt.,” Soap managed, grinning wide. “It was a brilliant idea. Admit it, you loved it when I made ye fall apa—.”

“That’ll do, Sergeant,” Ghost snapped, his voice gruff, barely keeping his composure. “Get in the fuckin’ house.”

Still chuckling, Soap shuffled toward the side door, his amusement finally settling as he reached the threshold. He cast a glance over his shoulder, his grin turning sly as he met Ghost’s intense stare. “Don’t be too long now, Lt.,” he drawled, letting his eyes drift down with an appreciative smirk. “I’ve got a date with that sweet arse of yers.”

Ghost let out a long sigh as he set his helmet down running a hand over his face, his shoulders sagging as the tension finally released. Soap watched him for a moment, the quiet satisfaction settling over him, feeling every inch the victor as he opened the door and slipped inside.

Ghost shook his head, watching him disappear into the house. He let out a rough, tired chuckle, muttering to himself as he followed.

“Bloody hell… fuck me.”

— — —

Ghost locked up his bike, turning to the house with a low exhale, anticipation simmering beneath his practiced calm. Leave it to Soap to have him feel like he was flipped upside down. The street outside was silent; the dark windows and the soft rustle of trees were the only company as he stepped inside. Tossing his jacket onto the bench, he called out for Johnny. No response. The quiet stretched, heavy and unusual, and Ghost stilled, listening.

He toed off his boots before he took a few slow steps down the hall, each one echoing softly in the silent house. Maybe Soap was in the shower. Just as he turned to head toward the master bath, his vision went black, something soft wrapping around his eyes. Instinct took over—his hands shot up, his body primed to break whatever bastard had dared ambush him. But then the sound of Soap’s familiar, cocky voice filtered through the tension in his chest.

“Easy there, Lt. It’s just me,” Soap murmured softly.

The iron grip in Ghost’s muscles softened slightly, but annoyance prickled up his spine at the man’s antics. “What the hell are ya doin’, Johnny?” he growled, stiffening as Soap’s hands tightened the knot at the back of his head, making sure the blindfold was secure.

“Just havin’ my way with ye, sir,” Soap replied, an edge of amusement in his voice.

Before Ghost could respond, he felt a firm shove from behind, sending him forward a few steps. His foot caught the corner of the doorframe with a dull thud which had him glaring in Soap’s direction through the fabric.

A low chuckle sounded behind him, close enough that Ghost could feel the warmth of Soap’s breath against his neck. “Aw, come on, I’ll make it feel better, Si,” Soap taunted, his words sliding over Ghost’s irritation and morphing it into something else entirely.

Grudgingly, Ghost let Soap guide him further into the bedroom, each step feeling heavier, every shift sharpening the building tension. The floor beneath his feet shifted to a thick rug, and he knew he was standing at the edge of the bed now. He could feel Soap flitting about around him, leaving Ghost suspended in anticipation, his senses tuned to every tiny sound. The creak of the bed, the soft rustle of fabric, the nearly inaudible thud as Soap set something down nearby.

Ghost’s skin prickled as Soap’s hands finally settled on his waist, strong and steady, pulling him close. Ghost allowed himself a moment to sink into the touch, feeling that uncharacteristic vulnerability settle deep in his gut. It had taken time—longer than he cared to admit—to reach this place with Soap, to trust him enough to allow himself to let go. Despite being a complete doorknob, Soap understood the severity of Ghost letting him in and the trust he put in his sergeant wholeheartedly.

Soap’s voice broke through his thoughts, low and intimate by his ear. “Ye ready, Simon?”Ghost took a slow, deliberate breath, his hand briefly brushing Soap’s, fingers pressing for a moment in silent affirmation. “Aye,” he replied, his voice hushed and weighted.

A chaste kiss landed on his neck, soft but lingering, the warmth of it grounding him, and then Soap was gone. Before he could brace himself, Soap grabbed his shoulders, turning him around and pushing him back with more force than he had expected. He fell onto the bed, the mattress creaking as their combined weights settled and Soap loomed over him. That familiar sense of anxiety started to build as Ghost waited for Soap’s next move.

He can hear Soap’s hand as it brushed past his head, reaching for something lying on the bed next to him. Ghost can’t help but flinch at the cold bite of metal as it wrapped around his left wrist. Handcuffs.

Soap’s face was close, his breath ghosting over Ghost’s skin, his voice a low murmur that seemed to thread through the quiet room and wrap around Ghost and his thudding heartbeat.

“Yer all mine tonight, Simon,” Soap whispered, a smile in his tone. “I can do whatever I want to ye… and ye’ll thank me for it, won’t ye?”

The soft click of the cuff around Ghost’s wrist had him shivering. His breathing hitched, his senses heightened by the blindfold, every shift in the bed magnified, every touch amplified.

“Yes,” he murmured, the word barely leaving his lips before Soap tightened his grip, reaching for Ghost’s other hand.

“Yes, what?” Soap’s voice took on a firm edge, and Ghost felt the chain of the cuffs loop around the headboard, effectively locking him in place.

“Yes, sir,” he gritted out, his jaw tightening at the pressure of the cuffs.

There was a satisfied hum from Soap, a silent acknowledgment of Ghost’s submission, and then his lips were on him, light and teasing and frustratingly not enough. Ghost knows Soap was going to drag this out all night long, milk it for all he can while he has the chance. Ghost groaned as Soap pushed his hips down onto his, his legs spreading instinctively to allow his sergeant more access. He opened to Soap’s kiss, allowing himself to melt into the contact, the blindfold making the sensation sharper, more vivid. His body leaned up to deepen the kiss, to chase the heat of Soap’s mouth.

Soap continued his movements, the friction of Ghost’s jeans rubbing against his cock had it gradually coming back to life after their little joy ride not even thirty minutes ago. Soap let out a low groan as he pulled away for them to catch their breath, swollen lips hovering over Ghosts. Soap pulled back, his hands tracing down Ghost’s chest, fingers splaying over his abs, teasing the sensitive skin under his shirt.

"God, ye torture me, Simon,” he rumbled out, the sounds of their eager breaths the only noise throughout the dark room. A shiver ran through Ghost, his body arching slightly to meet Soap’s, grunting as the other pressed him back down with all his weight. He was completely at Soap’s mercy, and as much as he hated giving up control, he couldn’t deny the raw thrill of it.

"Always denyin’ what's rightfully mine." He doesn't wait for a response, capturing Ghost's mouth like it belonged to him, biting and nipping as his hands roamed the body beneath him.

Ghost needed out of his clothes. Now.

Soap took his, excruciatingly, sweet time as he worked Ghost up just by rubbing and grinding alone. Ignoring any efforts on Ghost’s end to move things along. Bastard. He eventually took mercy as his hands slipped to the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly, the fabric dragging against his skin as his fingers traced the lines of his abs.

Soap’s mouth descended on him, lips tracing over his jaw and down his neck, stopping to nip at the pulse racing there. His tongue quickly followed as it danced over his Adam’s apple. Each touch felt like fire, every mark left a brand that Ghost could feel searing into his skin. His chest heaved, his hands straining slightly against the cuffs as Soap’s lips trailed lower, latching onto a sensitive spot just above his collarbone where the fabric of his shirt had bunched up. Ghost felt the edge of his teeth and let out a sharp gasp, the pleasure mixed with a sting that sent another thrill down his spine.

"How attached are ye to this shirt?" He asked with a smirk that Ghost could perfectly imagine.

"Not very,” Ghost replied.

“Perfect,” Soap states.

Before Ghost could respond, the man gripped the neckline of his shirt, pulling with strength that had Ghost feeling dizzy. The distinct sound of fabric ripping, the cool air hitting his chest as Soap tore his shirt had him melting into the bed. Ghost’s breath stilled, his body tingling under Soap’s hungry gaze.

Soap continued his journey with no more obstacles in the way, working his way down Ghost’s chest while taking a detour to pay special attention to his nipples. The scent of Soap surrounded him, earthy and warm, laced with the musk that was so intoxicatingly him it sent a rush of heat to his skin. His tongue circled Ghost’s nipple before sucking the bud between his teeth, biting gently enough to have him arching his back at the sting. Soap continued to push Ghost down into the mattress every time he squirmed beneath him, torn between wanting to escape and needing more.

“Ye like my mouth on ye Simon?” Soap asked, voice rough as his mouth continued across Ghost’s chest and moved onto his other nipple, assaulting it just the same.

“Yes,” Ghost hissed, his voice ragged. His muscles tensed as Soap bit down lightly, each scrape of his teeth followed by the soothing touch of his tongue igniting Ghost’s skin.

Soap’s grin was practically audible as he replied, “So do I.” He dragged his mouth lower, tracing the defined ridges of Ghost’s abs, his hands sliding down his flank, thumbs teasing along the waistband of his jeans. Ghost knew the man’s goal was to work him up so much he would beg, but the stubborn bastard in him wasn’t going to break so early on. He wouldn’t give Soap the satisfaction.

Ghost’s stomach con-caved with each deep breath as Soap’s lips continued their affront to his torso. Tongue outlining Ghost’s Adonis belt as he jerkily pulled off the confining jeans along with his boxers. The cool air on his heated skin had Ghost audibly groaning. His cock was already at half mast and well on its way to being painfully hard.

Soap nips his way down till he’s leaving marks on Ghost’s inner thighs, the skin sensitive and pale, letting the burst blood vessels paint across them. Ghost held back the slight tremble of his body as Soap’s warm breath danced across him, so close to his erection while ignoring it.

“Ye want somethin’, Lt.?” Soap asked, arousal practically dripping from his voice.

“Johnny…” Ghost warned as he tugged on the cuffs.

Soap’s hands began to slide down the sides of his thighs, gripping them hard as he licked a hot stripe up Ghost’s cock, leaving the other man gasping.

“Thought I told ye to call me Sir,” Soap scolded.

It takes everything in Ghost not to scoff at Soap’s demand. His entire body resists the idea of referring to his subordinate as Sir, which is exactly why Soap finds it so hot. He already did it once tonight, but the younger man just couldn’t be satisfied with a one-off.

Soap sighed at Ghost’s silence, mocking disappointment a juxtaposition to the wicked grin spread across his face. “Since ye clearly don’t know how to act right now, I’m just gonnae have to take somethin’ else, Simon.”

Ghost’s brows furrowed under the blindfold at the man’s words. His mind raced through what he could mean as he felt the bed dip as Soap leaned off of it. He must have found what he was looking for as he quickly re-settled between Ghost’s spread thighs.

“Should’ve just listened to me, Ghostie,” Soap smugly stated.

His confusion quickly dissipated as he felt the familiar foam slide over his ears. Ghost nearly laughed at Soap’s shitty pun. He was now handcuffed, blindfolded, and deaf thanks to the noise-cancelling ear muffs Soap dug out of his sniper bag. They weren’t one hundred percent soundproof, but were enough to block out the sounds of one man in a quiet house. That was now practically two and a half senses Soap had taken away from him, never allowing him to know his next move.

With a few more teasing touches, Ghost felt the bed jostle as Soap shimmied his way down. His heart thumped in anticipation at whatever Soap was going to do next. His hands slid under him, lifting him with a firm grip on his ass, spreading his cheeks open.

‘Fuck me’ is all Ghost can think before he feels Soap’s face pressing into his ass. He’s not sure if the strangled noise managed to make its way out of his throat as Soap buries himself. His hips lifted as Soap circled over the ring of muscles with his tongue, flitting over it gently before diving in. Soap sucked, kissed, and everything in between that had Ghost’s eyes rolling behind the blindfold.

He gasped, hands clenching to fists above the cuffs as he writhed beneath Soap’s unrelenting tongue. He desperately wanted to run his hands through that stupid mohawk he had come to love over time. It doesn’t take long before Ghost can feel himself relaxing for him, opening up from how badly he needs the other man inside him. His cock was now at full mast, red and leaking where it lay against his stomach.

Ghost tried to hold in the whine as Soap pulled back, unable to make out the muffled words he was speaking to him. It was probably for the best. Soap had a way of saying the most obscene things just to see the embarrassed flush rise to Ghost’s pale face.

He groaned as he felt Soap’s hands bracket his torso, his face lowering over his. Soap took Ghost’s mouth into his with no hesitation, biting his lips and sinking his tongue between them. It was sloppy, on purpose, Soap giving him all of his mouth that was just buried in Ghost’s ass while not giving a single fuck.

Ghost’s breath came in sharp, shallow pulls as he tried to regain control, his heels digging into the mattress in a futile attempt to ground himself. He could feel Soap where he sat on Ghost’s stomach, the fact that he was still fully clothed was not lost on him. He didn’t know what the man was doing, he couldn’t feel him moving around, just perched on top of him like they had all the time in the world. He could’ve been taking photos of him for all he knew and the idea sent a confusing surge of heat through his body.

It was a few more seconds of waiting before Ghost jerked, the feeling of fingers brushing against his hole. They clearly had lube on them, Soap spreading it around before he slipped a finger in, testing. At least the teasing bastard had the decency to warm it up in his hands first. Although it was a valiant effort from his tongue, Ghost still wasn’t stretched enough to take on someone of Soap’s size.

He rolled his hips in a poor attempt to take Soap in further, egging him on to add another finger already. A barely whispered, “Come on, Johnny,” left his lips. The headphones were a blessing at this point; he was too mortified to listen to his own resolve crumbling from another man’s fingers alone.

Soap drank in his pleas, swallowing Ghost’s moan with his lips as he slid another finger in next to his middle finger. He slowly pumped them in and out until his first knuckle reached the entrance, scissoring his fingers open to stretch the relaxed muscles. The friction of Soap’s pants rubbing against the back of his thighs as he pumped his fingers into Ghost had him letting out punched-out moans against his will. Ghost was ready and Soap came to the same conclusion as he pulled his fingers out, the sudden emptiness making his stomach cramp up as he reflexively clenched.

He sensed Soap moving above him, unbuckling his pants and pulling himself free. God did Ghost want to see him. As much as Soap loved seeing Ghost needy, nothing compared to the eager devotion that could shine across Soap’s face.

Ghost sucked in a breath of air as he felt Soap slide his hands up the back of his thighs, gripping onto the back of his knees as he slowly pushed them in the direction of Ghost’s face. He was nearly folded in half before he felt something prodding at his hole, bracing himself as Soap distracted him with his mouth on his neck.

Ghost could feel the barely-held-back frenzy building under Soap’s skin as he gently entered him. Inch by inch he carved his way into him, never too fast as if he was made of porcelain. Despite all the assurances he could ever give, Soap was always careful not to hurt Simon in the beginning. Never wanting to overwhelm and break all the trust he worked so hard for. Ghost could admire him for that, mainly because the gentle-natured man lasted about thirty seconds before he was pounding him into the mattress.

True to his nature, Soap slowly began to build up his rhythm as he bottomed out and pulled back, getting Ghost used to the intrusion. The push and pull had a moan from deep within his throat dragged out of him, prompting Ghost to bite his lip to shut himself up. He bit so hard he could feel his lip split beneath his canine, the rush of metal flooding his mouth. Soap sought it out like a shark, lurching forward to lick and suck until there were no traces of it left.

Soap's grip on Ghost's jaw tightened, angling his face up with a forceful tenderness that had Ghost's mind spinning. The blindfold rendered him sightless, but the way Soap held him made him feel utterly exposed. Ghost could only imagine what he looked like—his face flushed, his lips parted and wet, and streaks of blood smeared across his face that had him feeling feral.

Soap’s hips snapped against him with a rhythm that was as relentless as it was intoxicating. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure rocketing through Ghost’s body, leaving him struggling for air and desperate. The cuffs above his head rattled uselessly as he pulled against them again and again, ignoring the fiery protest of his raw wrists. He knew they were likely on their way to bleeding now, the skin nearly broken, but the pain barely registered over the all-consuming need to touch Soap. He wanted to bury his fingers in Soap’s hair, rake them down his back, and hold him close until there wasn’t an inch between them.

A particularly hard thrust had knocked the air out of Ghost’s lungs and had him arching involuntarily. He could still barely make out Soap’s voice, talking him through it despite not being able to hear him. Ghost groaned in response, the sound vibrating through his chest, equal parts frustration and surrender. The noise in the room was obscene—the wet, slick sounds of their bodies meeting, the creak of the bed frame under their combined weight, and the dull thunk of the headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall. Ghost almost told Soap to slow down or their landlord was going to keep their deposit when they saw the hole he was aiming to make in the wall.

“Johnny,” he rasped, his voice shredded and raw. He turned his head toward the feel of Soap’s ragged breathing, wanting—needing—more.

His words were only met by soft lips ghosting over his cheeks. Ghost growled low in his throat, but the frustrated plea he meant to spit out melted into a broken gasp as Soap adjusted his angle, driving deeper and hitting the spot that turned his mind to static. He bucked against the mattress, his body acting on instinct as stars burst behind his blindfolded vision. He could tell by Soap’s frantic thrusts he was reaching his end soon as well.

"Johnny... let me see ya," Ghost had whined.

Soap's rhythm faltered for a fraction of a second at Ghost's words, the desperation in his voice. He had gotten exactly what he wanted.

"Fuckin' hell, Simon," Soap growled, his voice thick with both strain and affection. His hand, already slick with sweat and Ghost’s arousal from where it pooled on his lower stomach, wrapped itself firmly around Ghost’s cock, drawing out a moan that echoed around them. With his other hand, Soap tugged at the knot of the blindfold, ripping it away along with the headphones that had muffled the world beyond Ghost’s pounding heartbeat.

The moment the fabric fell away, Ghost gasped, the sudden influx of light and sound hitting him like a shockwave. His wide eyes blinked rapidly, adjusting to the dim glow of the room as the steady creak of the bed and the slap of skin against skin flooded his senses. The first thing he saw was Soap's face—flushed, damp with sweat, and utterly satisfied. Those dark blue eyes burned with an unrelenting fire, locked on Ghost with an intensity that had his heart stuttering.

The sight was too much. Combined with the feeling of Soap’s hand pumping his cock in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, Ghost felt like he was teetering on the edge of oblivion. He choked on a moan, his body arching up into Soap’s touch as his wrists pulled fruitlessly against the cuffs. The helplessness, the sheer overwhelm of it all, mixed with the raw passion in Soap’s gaze, was more than he could bear. Maybe the blindfold was actually a mercy.

“Christ, Simon,” Soap groaned, his voice hitching with his own rising desperation. His thrusts grew more erratic, each one deeper, harder, as if he were trying to fuse them together entirely. "Ye look... God, ye look so fuckin’ perfect like this. All mine, yeah?”

Ghost could only nod frantically, his ability to form words completely obliterated. His breath hitched as Soap leaned down, his hand still working Ghost's cock in tandem with the roll of his hips. Their foreheads pressed together, their sweat mingling while Soap’s breath fanned over Ghost’s lips, hot and uneven.

“Johnny,” Ghost gasped, his voice trembling as his body tensed. He was so close, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in his core. “I—fuck, I’m—”

“I know. That’s it," Soap purred, leaning down until his breath ghosted over Ghost's ear. He shifted his grip on Ghost’s cock, his thumb swiping over the sensitive head in a way that had Ghost crying out, the sound raw and unrestrained. “Come on, Simon. Let me hear ye, yeah? I want to hear how much ye fuckin’ need me.”

Ghost wanted to snap back, to tell Soap to shut the hell up, but the only sound that came out was a guttural groan that bordered on a whimper. It was humiliating, how easily Soap unraveled him, but the humiliation was just another thread in the web of trapping him under Soap’s control.

“Fuck me, Lieutenant. Make me come, Sir,” Ghost whispered into Soap’s ears. His final act of submission, calling Soap by his own rank had the last tethers in the man’s brain snapping.

“Oh, fuck…,” Soap gasped out. It took only three more thrusts before Ghost’s body seized, every muscle locking as his release hit him with the force of a tidal wave. He came hard, his vision whiting out for a moment as pleasure ripped through him, hot and all-consuming. Soap's name fell from his lips in a broken groan, his release spilling over Soap's hand and streaking across their stomachs.

The sight of Ghost falling apart beneath him was Soap's undoing. With a hoarse shout, his hips stuttered, and he buried himself deep one last time as his own release crashed over him. He trembled above Ghost, his breath ragged and uneven, before collapsing onto him, their slick, sweaty bodies pressed together in the aftermath.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were their labored breaths and the faint creak of the mattress as they shifted against each other. Soap finally raised his head, his hand coming up to brush damp hair away from Ghost’s forehead. His lips quirked into a small, satisfied smile as he took in the utterly wrecked man beneath him.

"Ye good, love?" he murmured, his voice soft and affectionate now, a stark contrast to the commanding tone from earlier.

Ghost let out a breathless chuckle, his arms tugging at the cuffs still secured to the headboard. "Would be better if I wasn’t still chained up, ya bastard.”

Soap grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Ghost's lips. "Aye, I’ll set ye free… eventually."

#ghostsoap #ghostxsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #biker au

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ywpd-translations · 4 months ago

Text

Ride 784: The first day's mountain

Pag 1

3: We're passing through the riverside road

4: I see it

6: Kaka

7: Ah!!

8: Teh!

9: It's the first day's

Pag 2

1: “mountain”!!

Pag 3

2: As we “promised”!!

Pag 4

3: It's the “first day's mountain stage”!!

4: A year ago

6: Manami-kun said it after the finish line, on the third and last day of the Inter High, when both of us were all worn out and barely still on our bikes

Pag 5

1: But having our race at the end on the final stage is too much pressure

2: Next year, if we both have the chance to run in the Inter High....

3: …. yeah

4: Let's race for the mountain stage on the first day

Yeah

5: Like Toudou-san and Makishima-san last year

Onoda!!

Manami-san!!

Pag 6

1: Manami!!

Manami-san!!

2: Onoda!!

3: He collapsed!!

Manami!! Take off his helmet

It's okay, I caught him

Onodaa!!

Onoda-san

Do we have a towel?

Danchiku, water!!

4: Next year... the mountain stage on the first day.... yeah

5: Got it....!!

Pag 7

3: When you run along a river....

4: the water only flows if there's a difference in elevation, either uphill or downhill!!

5: Here it's definitely uphill!!

Even if it looks like a flat at first glance, it's gradually climbing!!

Pag 8

1: Toward that mountain!!

Reading the map, it says that it's 5km until the base of the mountain!!

2: 5km!!

3: Don't lose sight of it like last year!!

Yes!! Sorry!!

4: Hold on tight!!

5: 'Cause I'll carry you all the way to the foot of the mountain!!

Pag 9

1: Thank you!!

2: “Positioning”....!!

3: When going from a flat to a climb you need to “position” yourself

Each team accelerates from the flats in order to bring their climbers to a good position

4: It's the so called “mountain's launching pad”!!

5: There will be a difference of several hundred meters in the first stage between a climber who was launched near the front of the group and a climber who was made to run up from the back of the group

Pag 10

1: Bring Onoda to the best possible position, Naruko!!

Oh-

Sohoku is moving up!!

Pag 11

1: -ruaaaagh

Ugh!! Sohoku's Naruko is so fast!!

2: I get what you're tryin to say, Hotshot!!

I'll take him!! Definitely!!

3: That's why I left the first result to Kabu!!

4: On that winter day, with an apologetic face

5: Ah....

6: Ah- uhm, I have something to tell you, but

Onoda-kun, who told us like it was difficult to say....

Pag 12

1: Ah the stove? You can just turn it off, we're the last ones

Yeah, please. Woah, look outside, it's snowing

Seriously? It must be cold

2: That's not it!!

3: Th-th- this morning... I got a text

4: What was that, an acceptance letter?

The proficiency exam?

5: It's a reply to the text I sent....

6: Three months ago!!

7: Uhm... really, I was worried that back when we made that promise it was right after the race and we were tired, so I thought maybe he had forgotten

Three months?

It was a long wait

So I sent him a text to ask him if he remembers?

Pag 13

1: And I received it this morning

Must be the proficiency test

Shut up!!

What are you whispering idiot

“Back when”, when was it?

No idea

2:He said only one word, “of course”

4: So, uhm... this time

5: Is it okay if I run for the first day's mountain stage during this summer's Inter High?

7: Is that so? Kakaka

Onoda-kun's eyes, like he couldn't contain his excitement...

Pag 14

1: I haven't forgotten it!!

2: I can't forget it!!

3: Onoda!!

Onoda-kun!!

Pag 15

1: 2km left until the foot of the mountain!!

2: Do your beeest....!!

Aren't they climbing at an amazing speed!? Each team is getting in line!!

Yeah, you're right!!

3: Every team is trying to “position” themselves for their climbers!!

“Position”!?

4: Also, look closely

Right now, the cyclist in the second position in the ranks

Pag 16

1: is the one who will race in the mountain stage!!

Pag 18

1: Oi, are you kidding me? Hakogaku is sending Manami?

From the first day!?

Manami is in second place

2: He's the “final boss”....!!

3: My dream of getting the red bib has been destroyed even before reaching the foot of the mountain....!!

4: Oi, look over there, that's not all!!

For Sohoku....

5: Naruko is pulling the “King of the mountain”!!

Wa- we're done for!! Completely!! My mountain prize!!

Pag 19

3: Manami-kun!!

4: Sakamichi-kun!!

Pag 20

1: It's time for our promise!!

We're almost at the foot of the mountain!!

#yowamushi pedal #yowapeda #yowamushi pedal translations #yowapeda manga #yowamushi pedal manga #yowamushi pedal spoilers #ride 784 #im sorry i meant to post yesterday but i completely forgot ;A;#ahhhhhh ive been looking forward to thiiiis #please gimme a low stakes battle between Onoda and Manami!!! They deserve it!! They promised each other!!#I dont care who would win (even tho i hope manami tbh) i just want them to have fun while racing eo ;A;#is that so much to ask watanabe!!! please let them have this #i hope nothing happens and they really can do this :')#i mean it seems like midosuji also plans on participating but its okay #and if kiji wants to have a go too that fine to #the important thing is that both manami and onoda are there #also lemme have my imanaru moment bc #why are they literally so boyfriends coded wtf agsfdsgdcaskdf #like literally whispering to each other when onoda says he needs to tell them something???#naruko literally reading imaizumi's mind??? please theyre boyfirends okay #this chapter is pushing me to write yet another imanaru #and also a sansaka why not im not gonna lie #i love this so muuuuuuch #i need more im so happy #1st day's mountain stage my beloved

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clu-ven · 2 years ago

Text

A Curious Mind

summary: Hunter has always treated you slightly different and Omega is determined to find out why

word count: 2.1k

!reader goes by she/her pronouns!

The bright suns of Plurax make you wince, your arm instinctively coming up to shield your eyes. Shuffling out of the Marauder, you’re about to follow Echo down the steps when a hand suddenly appears in front of you.

“Oh!” you abruptly stop, almost colliding with it. Looking over to identify the owner of the hand, Hunter comes into view, an amused smile playing at his lips.

Already on the ground below, he stretches his gloved hand up to you, offering some support as you exit. You give him a grateful smile “Thanks Sarge”.

Slipping your hand into his, Hunter gives you a small, reassuring squeeze and you continue your descent down.

You’re not sure why you were so surprised by the action, after all, this isn’t a rare occurrence. In fact, it’s the opposite. Whether you have to jump a few feet from a ship or simply walk down a landing platform, Hunter always offers you his hand.

Every. Single. Time.

Once your feet reach the ground, he nods his head and reluctantly lets his hand fall from yours. His grip on his helmet, placed neatly underneath his other arm tightens for a moment as he wonders if he should have said more to you.

Oblivious to Hunter’s internal worries, you walk over to the rest of the batch and listen to Tech’s recap of the plan.

Turning back to the ship, Hunter taps the command panel and watches as the Marauder begins to close. Sensing eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder to the rest of the batch, only to realise none of them are paying much attention to him.

Casting his gaze downwards, his eyes meet Omega’s, who peers up at him curiously.

“Why do you always do that?” she asks.

“So we won’t get raided,” he shrugs as if the answer is obvious “or worse, if someone sees a ship like this unlocked, they’ll steal it and get a few thousands credits for it, especially with the amount of upgrades it has”.

“What? No, not that” Omega rolls her eyes, returning Hunter’s ‘that should be obvious’ tone.

When Omega says your name, Hunter’s eyes go wide, his posture becoming stiff as she elaborates “You always help her off the ship… why?”. His eyes flick over to you as Omega talks, hoping you didn’t hear her say your name.

Thankfully you’re too busy listening to Tech, who’s explaining your part of the mission to you.

“Just to be nice, I guess” he mumbles his response, trying to keep his voice low.

“But you don’t do it for Wrecker or Tech or Echo… hey, you don’t do that for me either!” she exclaims, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.

Hunter shakes his head, his mind turning to mush as he tries to think of an easy explanation “Well, that’s because you don’t need help getting off the ship”.

It’s like he can see the cogs turning in Omega’s head, already cringing at his answer as she questions “... but she needs help? She can’t get off the ship if you don’t hold her hand?”.

Oh Kriff.

“Well, no, that’s not what I meant-” he starts but Omega quickly talks over him. “Is she not good with balance? Is it like how Wrecker doesn’t like heights?”.

Before Hunter can form a response, Wrecker loudly interrupts them, the mere mention of his fear getting his full attention.

“Heights?!” Wrecker repeats, drawing everyone’s focus to Hunter and Omega. Throwing his head back, Wrecker lets out a whine “Oh please tell me this mission doesn’t involve heights”.

“Plurax is a relatively flat planet,” Tech interjects, his eyes still fixed on his datapad “and considering our main objective is to extract the bacta pods found in the small medical facility, I doubt heights will be involved”.

Wrecker lets out a sigh of relief, his shoulders deflating. “Phew, you almost got me that time, Hunter” he chuckles.

Hunter nods, hoping to quickly brush past this entire situation. “Right, well let’s get this over and done with” taking his helmet from underneath his arm, Hunter places it on his head.

“But what about my quest-” Omega starts but Hunter cuts her off, acutely aware that you as well as the others are still listening “Later, Omega. All that matters right now is the mission”. With a sigh, she nods her head.

***

After successfully retrieving the bacta pods, the Marauder is quiet… for once. The hum of the ship speeding through hyperspace fills the silence as everyone gets some much needed rest.

Peering out of her room, Omega holds on to Lula the tooka doll as she scans the bunks. Wrecker sleeps in one, his arm obscuring his face and thankfully muffling his snores. On the other bunk, Tech is fast asleep and judging by the pile of blankets on the upper bunk, you’re asleep up there.

Tip-toeing past, Echo comes into view. He’s seated at the table, head resting on his arm as he mumbles in his sleep. Continuing on her journey, Hunter is the last person for Omega to see, his seated form visible when she approaches the cockpit. Slowly, she nears him.

From the corner of his eye, Hunter notices Omega, subtly watching as she quietly walks forward. “You should be asleep” Hunter’s voice cuts through the silence, making Omega stop in her tracks.

She sighs, giving up her attempt to sneak “But I can’t, I’m not tired”. Hopping up on the seat beside him, Omega keeps Lula close to her, curling up on the chair.

Hunter doesn’t reply. He knows how hard it is to go from being on high alert on a mission to being told to get some rest, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

He remembers the first few missions he ever went on and how hard it was to rest, his senses too overwhelmed to even comprehend the idea of sleep.

“You did it again, y’know” Omega says, pulling his attention back to her.

“What?” Hunter has a suspicious feeling he knows what she’s talking about but he hopes if he feigns some kind of ignorance then hopefully she’ll drop it.

“You helped her back onto the ship,” she explains, some sarcasm in her voice as she teases “when we were leaving Plurax… she must have really bad balance if you have to help her all the time”.

Head dipping down, Hunter’s hair obscures his face. “Omega,” he groans “she doesn't have balance problems, it’s just… look, it’s better if you let this go, ok?”.

“But why?” she drops her legs down, leaving them dangle freely.

“It’s… complicated”.

“How?” she presses, shrugging as she mumbles “I’m just curious”.

“Yeah, too curious,” Hunter says with an affectionate scoff and shake of his head.

Trying to simplify it, Omega begins listing out “Earlier you said that you do it to be nice but you only do it for her, nobody else! She doesn’t need you to do it since she doesn’t actually have any balance problems, hmmm and it’s pretty obvious you don’t like it when people point it out”. Hunter grimaces the more Omega goes on.

Thinking out loud, she furrows her brow “I wonder if she notices, I mean it’s pretty obvious so she must have by now…maybe I should ask her”.

“What? No!“ Hunter is quick to sit on the edge of his seat, facing Omega fully “You can’t do that, that’s a direct order”. Despite his pleading look, Omega simply raises an eyebrow, knowing she’s got him right where she wants him.

“Okay, I won’t ask her,” she complies before adding “but you have to tell me why!”.

Hunter sighs. A part of him is impressed, equally proud of her determination as well as cursing it. Sighing, he avoids her eye contact as he tries to explain.

“Well, since she’s not… uh, a clone… I just want to make sure… that, um… that she feels welcome” yes, Hunter is making this up as he goes. It’s true, of course but not his main reason.

Omega is not convinced, her face the epitome of disappointment. Not giving in, she replies “Yeah, that’s nice and all, Hunter but I don’t think that’s why”.

Hunter’s body deflates, putting his face in his hands. Even if he wants to, he doesn’t think he can get the words out. This is something he’s never had to verbalise before nor is it something he’s had to admit to anybody.

With his face still covered, he hears Omega’s voice “Can I tell you my theory?”.

He doesn’t reply and yet Omega continues “I think you like her”. Hunter can hear her smile in her tone, removing his hands to confirm his suspicions.

Watching for his reaction, Omega beams up at him. “And I mean like like her” she adds with the wiggle of her eyebrows.

Hunter keeps his face still, unsure how to react.

“I mean, it’s not a bad thing if you do,” she shrugs, offering some reassurance “I think it’s kinda cute, especially since she like likes you too”.

He freezes.

What?

Judging by the stunned look on Hunter’s face, Omega explains “I overheard her saying it to Echo, she said something about her heart racing whenever you’re around and being paranoid over it. I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing at first but every time you do something nice for her, she gets all lovey-dovey so I think it’s a good thing”.

“Lovey-dovey?” Hunter scrunches up his face, not quite believing what his sister is saying.

“Yeah, like this” clutching her hands together, Omega tries her best to bat her eyelashes as she lets out a comically loud sigh before giving Hunter a goofy smile.

With a grin tugging at his lips, he dismisses “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her do that before”.

“That’s because you always look away!” she exclaims “ooh, I’ll have to add that to the list; you’re really bad at keeping eye contact with her”.

He rolls his eyes but the idea that maybe, just maybe you like him too distracts Hunter from properly deflecting Omega’s addition to her list. Even the idea of their being some hope that you feel the same way is enough to send Hunter’s head spinning.

Yawning, Omega hops down from her seat “I’m just saying, it would be a shame if you both like like each other but never tell one another”.

Hunter stays quiet, though he knows she’s right. “Anyways, I’ll try to get some sleep, night Hunter” giving him one last smile, Omega leaves him alone with his thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Hunter leans back in his seat, resting one of his legs by the command panel as he looks out at the whirling blue lights of hyperspace. Hunter closes his eyes, trying to centre himself. Only you could daze him as much as this and make it feel so damn exciting.

Were the signs that you liked him back always there? For a guy with heightened senses, he presumed he would have picked up on it… but Omega is right, he doesn’t exactly hold eye contact with you. And whenever he hears the loud beating of a heart when you’re near, he hurriedly assumes it’s his own.

Speaking of his senses, he can tell Omega is still there, hovering by the doorway. He waits a few seconds, giving her the time to speak but she doesn’t.

Hunter knows where this is going, presuming she’ll either ask him to carry her back to bed or try to convince him to get her a snack. He takes his time opening his eyes again, turning his upper body to look at her.

Hunter can feel his stomach drop. His body automatically freezing as if you won’t see him if he doesn’t move.

You give him an equally bewildered look, a twist of anxiety in your gut. “Can we talk?” you ask, the words coming out quieter than expected.

Hunter has one main question on his mind: how much have you heard? And yet he doesn’t ask that question, instead blurting out “But I thought you were sleeping?”.

Is that a question? Or a statement? Hunter has no idea, his brain utterly scattered.

You smile nervously. “I was getting ready to go to sleep,” you reveal “I was just in the refresher”.

Pointing to the door to the refresher, Hunter’s heart lurches at how close it is to the cockpit, knowing you’ve definitely heard everything.

Clearing his throat, Hunter nods “Yeah, let’s talk”. It’s better to talk this through now, while everyone else is asleep.

He isn’t sure how this will go, still doubtful that you could actually like him back. But there’s only one way to find out. Hunter gives you a small smile as you sit where Omega was minutes ago. Once you’re comfortably seated, Hunter takes a deep breath and begins…

#I haven't proof read this so apologies if it's kinda choppy #the bad batch hunter x you #star wars tbb #bad batch hunter #hunter tbb #hunter x reader #hunter x you #the bad batch hunter #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter x you #the bad batch reader insert #the bad batch fanfiction #sergeant hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x you

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ninyard · 3 months ago

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Do you have any HCs for Kayleigh?? I always wonder about the pre-AFTG series story (and the big players).

There’s brief stuff in the EC abt Tetsuji & Kayleigh. but other than that it’s pretty blank?

Also the detail abt exy becoming popular partially via a manga ? I want the missing chapter when Tetsuji reacts to that 😭😭

Oh Kayleigh and Tetsuji!!!!!!!! I picture her so clearly in University in Dublin in her final year of Sports Management or whatever course she did, writing her thesis on mixed gender sports or the invention of new sports and sitting down with her thesis lecturer with this idea. Kayleigh finding a mentor in this man, or woman, and saying to them I want to do something bold, something amazing. She's on the Lacrosse team in UCD. She plays on as many of the teams that she can without jeopardising her studies.

Kayleigh moving to Japan for her masters, and meeting Tetsuji, and she sees herself in him, this glint in his eyes that says he needs to be destined for more. Them sitting across from each other in the library with books about sports and the invention of different things and Tetsuji looks at a sport like Lacrosse and says it's missing something. I think it could be better. And they spitball these ideas back and forth. Should it be on ice, bigger teams, smaller teams? Should it be outdoors or indoors? Is it violence? Is it violence that it's missing?

Kayleigh talking to her mom, sending letters to Ireland, making expensive phone calls in the middle of the night all the way across the world, begging her to send her VHS tapes of as many hurling games as she could find - her mother complaining about how expensive they'd be to ship to Japan, but she agrees anyway. Kayleigh finding as many books as she can about Irish sport and the history of it all. It's a couple of weeks before she get the package at her door, and she calls Tetsuji when he's in the middle of a lecture and tells him to come over. There in front of her is four, five, six tapes of All Ireland final matches, and they sit down in front of the TV with their notebooks in front of them.

They don't write anything after the first match, Tetsuji staring at the screen like he's taking it all in, Kayleigh staring at him with a smile on her face like this is what he was waiting to see. 70 minutes go by and she switches the tape out for another one, and then another, and another, and they stay up until the sun rises just taking notes and watching. Brainstorming. Kayleigh explains the rules to him. They draw pictures, and there's a million failed ideas that don't work, like a flat racquet more similar to a hurley than a lacrosse stick, or helmets more similar to a cricket helmet than an american football one. No armor, more armor, too much armor.

Them finding each other after class, and proposing this idea for their dissertation, their master's thesis, their final project, and getting a ridiculous look. Getting shut down, getting told it's ridiculous. So they do what they were supposed to do; make it fucking happen anyway.

They spend all the savings that they have, and Tetsuji contacts his family, and they get things shipped over to Japan - hurling helmets, hockey gear, lacrosse sticks. All these mish-mash element that creates the idea thats been living inside their heads. They have 10 different types of balls, a tennis ball, a cricket ball, a baseball, all these different options, and the two of them find out the schedule of all the pitches and fields and courts on campus and try it everywhere. It's messy, but it's exciting, and invigorating. They have their bulging notebooks on the ground, and every rule and idea they have, every thing that feels right or wrong, they write it down. They're taping weights around the lacrosse sticks to see if it feels better, padding out their gear with cardboard and duct tape. There's something missing, still. They try it on ice, and its too unbalanced and sloppy, but the first time Tetsuji shoots a ball at the plexiglass wall, and it rebounds right into Kayleigh's net, they both look at each other like that's it. That's what we've been missing. They jump on top of each other and get scolded for falling on the ice and screaming in the rink.

They figure out how much it would cost for them to rent out the unused college soccer pitch for the summer, and find ten of their friends and classmates and explain the rules as best they can. It's expensive, buying the gear for them all, figuring out how to surround the soccer pitch in plexiglass that's strong enough to not topple over from the weight of a person. They spend that summer finessing the rules, and finessing the positions, and teaching their friends how to play. By September, Tetsuji invites his family to watch, and Kayleigh invites their lecturers to watch, and there they stand. The first ever game of Exy.

It's not perfect - a goal falls over, the floor of the pitch isn't quite working, because they keep stumbling over their own feet when they run, but it's a brilliant thing to watch; something new, and unique, and never been done before. Kayleigh's team beats Tetsuji's team, and for a while they don't hear much. But their friends keep playing, they keep contacting people, making phonecalls to manufacturers and sports clubs.

I'm just thinking about those first few years where Kayleigh and Tetsuji probably spent every waking moment together just figuring it out. Their dorm rooms or apartments full of crap, different balls and equipment. Her bedroom wall covered in drawing and scraps of paper and ideas. Them spending most of their time on the phone with each other when they're not together in person. Thinking about them creating presentations and pitches and just trying to get their silly little idea of the ground, waiting for someone to take a chance on them, waiting for all the different sports committees and companies to call them back. A million "Sorry, no thank you!" emails and a million "It's just not something we can help you with" letters and phone calls. Until they get that one, then those two, those three words that say fucking go for it. The four words that say I believe in this.

I think about Kayleigh and Tetsuji running off of redbull and adrenaline, and how happy they would've felt when that first game finished and they saw something in each others eyes. Before their passion got killed by the reality, by the Moriyama's, by the world pushing them back again and again and again. But more of their classmates get involved. Somebody asked "What is it that you kids have built on the soccer field?" and then it's in a local paper. It's letters sent back to Ireland signed off in Japanese saying I can't wait to tell you what I've been working on.

Yeah. Yeah I have a lot of thoughts about Kayleigh. I have some images of her and Tetsuji in my head. Just a few!

#literally giddy just thinking about them tbh #also idfk how you invent a sport dont come for me #kayleigh day #tetsuji moriyama #aftg #all for the game #mine #ask

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zomboivex · 2 months ago

Note

Hello hello hello,

May I humbly request Sho (my babygirl) taking the PC for a ride on his motorbike? And then when they get where they gotta be maybe he made food for them and they have a little picnic under the stars 👉👈

Thank you for having the patience of a god. I will now sprinkle upon you a date with Sho under the stars.

Reader x Sho

General Fluff

1k words (no spell or grammar check- we do full blown drafts here)

ஓ๑♡๑ஓ

“What are you up to, lazy bones?”

Your thumb brushes the screen to hit send, flipping back against the plushness of your bed. Eyes falling up to the ceiling with a dramatic sigh wrenching out from you. In truth, you had been incredibly bored the last few days. And the fact that no one had seemed to go out of their way to interact with you had driven you up a wall. Truly maddening.

A ding from your phone and your eyes fell to the screen. Oh. He messaged back quickly. A bit of the boredom now leaving your eyes as you excitedly read the words across your screen.

“Just about to take Bonnie for a ride. Wanna come with?”

A moment to collect yourself. You didn’t want to come across as too eager to hang out. That would be totally lame on your part. So you let a few minutes pass by- not long enough for your texting partner to up and leave. But enough to make you not seem as desperate for attention.

“Rly? That would b rad.” Send.

Apparently Sho didn’t seem to care if he seemed eager. His message back prompt enough.

“Meet me at the garage.”

Sitting abruptly from your bed, you’d go to check yourself in the mirror. After all, you didn’t want to look like a total slob. Your inspection passing before throwing on a Jean jacket and mussing your own hair so it didn’t look too flat. And then prompt and quick footsteps from your room down the creaky wooden steps. Through the halls of the cathedral’s chapel- stained glass shining from the light outside. And then out the door. The air cool, inwardly glad you grabbed the jacket. Being on Bonnie would only make things chillier.

Vagastrom wasn’t terribly far from where you stayed. Not as far as Jabberwock- which felt as if it were on the outskirts of the Academy. Or Obscuary, which was hidden behind that gloomy forest. Or Sinostra, an oasis in the middle of an aired desert. Your brisk pace slowing to a more meandering one as you quickly shot a text to Sho.

“Omw. Just passing the main hall.”

Another quick response, “Take ur time.”

At this, you found your pace quickening. Sure, Sho said to take your time but- how could you possibly keep him waiting any longer? Your legs carrying you all the way to Vagastrom through the car park and then to the garage. The familiar scent of gas and oil hitting your nostrils, scrunching up briefly from the assault of scents.

Eyes would peer around the room, suddenly your nerves hitting you as your legs feel like jello. You were too fast, it seemed. Sho wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t here. Your emotions causing you to briefly deflate.

A hand on your shoulder, nearly jumping from your skin in surprise. “Didn’t think you’d sprint to get here.” The words teasing. Your expression going from surprise to mild- albeit playful- annoyance.

“Sprint? Hardly.” The words leaving in mock frustration before you could no longer hold back your giggles.

“I’m just teasing.” Sho responded back, hand falling from your shoulder to now rest by his side. The other holding a bag. “I just fed Bonnie so we’re good to go.” His stride long before stopping in front of the familiar bike. A hand patting the cold exterior. “She’s eager to go.”

That said, the Vagastrom ghoul would mount said bike, throwing a helmet on and motioning for you to do the same. You had grabbed one of the spare helmets, securing it nicely before getting onto the bike and wrapping your arms around the firm waist of your riding companion.

Not much was spoken as Sho would hit the gas and speed you both from the garage. The wind whipping at your jean jacket and helmet. Your adventure taking you around campus in speeds you normally don’t get to travel. And just a further out until you had reached what was seemingly a field. Sho parking Bonnie and slipping off. His hands offering to help you to your own feet. Then a gentle pat to his bike.

The spot you had arrived to was unfamiliar to you. Having never been to this part of campus.

“Where… are we?” You asked tentatively, your hands shoving into your pockets as Sho seemed too busy about the bike before grabbing the bag he initially had.

“Darkwick Academy.” He answered.

You rolled your eyes.

“Where, in Darkwick Academy?” You prompted further, hoping to not get another half-assed answer.

“Just a bit away from Mortkranken.”

Oh. You weren’t sure why you had expected a different answer. But you wouldn’t dwell on it. Instead, you would look at the rolling fields of green. Breeze gentle as your hands moved up to remove the helmet. Hair messy but not in a way that was flattering like before. This earned a laugh from Sho as he would reach over to brush fingers through your hair to help tame it.

“So-“ you spoke, playfully swatting the hand away when your hair was a bit more manageable, “What are we doing here?”

“Hmm? It’s not obvious?” The Vagastrom silverette tilted his head in confusion. As if you had asked the most oblivious question in the world. “We’re gonna eat.” He hoisted up the bag. “Made some bourbon chicken.”

You gave him a slow blink before a laugh escaped from you. “Alright. Sure.” Going with the flow as you’d follow Sho from Bonnie to the grass. No real fancy set up as you two sat down and watched the clouds float on by.

The food, in of itself, was delicious. But that was hardly a surprise. Sho was an excellent cook. The way the sauce on the chicken soaked into the meat- the tenderness of it all. Then there was the rice and black beans- perfectly seasoned. The warmth it brought your belly and the fullness it gave you.

Casual conversations filled the air as you both discussed your time at Darkwick, hopes and aspirations for the future- and just generally shooting the shit. Laughed filling the air before the blue sky began to morph into orange and pink hues. Then purples and finally darkened as stars began to fill the sky. Neither of you had realized just how much time has passed in your conversation- unbroken in your shared time together.

The air had started to grow chilly and you found yourself unconsciously scooting closer towards Sho. A large arm wrapping around your shoulder and tugging you close. Head now resting on his own shoulder. Both of your eyes up at the night sky.

Maybe it was because Darkwick was on an anomalous island. Normally the light pollution caused the sky to look dreary. Lightened. But… here…? The full galaxy felt like it was on display tonight. Splatters of far distant lights scattered on the sky. The surrounding sound now a low hum of crickets.

“You know-“ you began.

“I know.” Sho responded. Whatever you had to say, he was aware of it. A squeezed side hug. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

You rolled your eyes. “You have no idea what I was even gonna say.” A laugh but you didn’t seem like you were actually annoyed.

“Hmm… let me guess-“ his words veering into teasing again. “You’ve fallen so madly in love with me.”

Your cheeks dusted pink.

“Bingo.”

“W-well!” You began to stammer out, “I wouldn’t say it like that!”

“Then how would you say it?”

“Just that you’ve become like…. super important to me. That’s all.”

“That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve become super important to me, too.”

#tokyo debunker #tdb #sho haizono #vagastrom #sho x reader #sorry I took so long #sometimes I struggle writing for certain characters but I try my best #tkdb #vexiswritinghere #vexanswersasks

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just-prime · 7 months ago

Text

Tales of Squandered Potential

Oh hello again everyone who follows me for my Star Wars ranting!

So! Tales of the Empire. The Hat Man is at it again.

Episodes 1-3 : The Path of Boredom

As expected, all of the Morgan stuff was not my thing. She was boring in Ahsoka, she was boring here. The entirety of the three episodes just hammered home "this lady is angry" in a way that felt overdone because there is no arc. There's no growth, no interest, no nothing. It all just feels like Filoni trying to retroactively make his one dimensional character that gets killed off in the stupidest way possible feel super badass. However because we know that she gets killed in the stupidest way possible, everything falls flat and none of it feels earned. It also doesn't actually answer any of the many many questions that Ahsoka raised about her. She's just there, standing in front of a fire. That's all she does.

Thrawn is there for all of about two seconds, and every moment of it is painful, because here's the thing. WE KNOW WHAT THRAWN WAS UP TO AT THIS TIME!!! We have the book that explains all of Thrawn's many exploits as an admiral. This is only more evidence for the idea that Filoni has never actually picked up any of the canon Thrawn books. Which we kinda already knew, but this is all but confirmation. As I've previously said, and will continue saying, Filoni needs to contextualize Thrawn as a 100% big bad otherwise his Heir to the Empire fanfilm won't actually feel earned, so he is systematically destroying any and all nuance that Thrawn has had to make sure that new viewers only ever see him as an unredeemable evil.

And I know that there are a lot of you out there who are holding out for the possibility that this is all a misdirect by Thrawn! That this is all part of his grand plan to go back and help the Ascendency, and that he's lying to everyone about his intentions. But the sad truth is that Filoni doesn't give a rats ass about anything other than cartoonishly evil Thrawn which means we're never getting Eli, or Karyn, or Hammerly or any of the characters from the six fantastic canon books that Timothy Zahn so lovingly created. That was made very clear with Filoni's prioritization of Admiral Pellaeon, who for those who don't know is actually in the new canon Thrawn books too! He wasn't just left behind in Legends, Zahn brought him back into canon too! But again, being the Legends fanboy that he is, Filoni doesn't care about where Pellaeon should be canonically, so instead he's just shoehorned into the episode for no other reason then Filoni likes him.

Episodes 4-6 : The Barriss Content

Soooooo, why didn't Barriss get a full fucking season to herself??? I get the idea behind the 15 minute episodes, but it really makes it hard to tell any sort of cohesive story. It works far better as a snapshot of a couple of days in someone's life. So unfortunately, while I did enjoy them, Barriss's episodes felt really rushed and I found it really hard to tell when things took place. How long was she at the Inquisitor training center? Was it a day? Was it a month? Really would have been interested in actually seeing the inner workings but it all has to get brushed over in favor of her becoming an Inquisitor. A seemingly intentionally not named Inquisitor which makes me feel like they've run out of early Inquisitor names. Unless there's a trial period before you get a proper number? I don't know it was just one of those things that niggled at me. Another thing that niggled at me (which was also mentioned by the wonderful artist @stealingpotatoes, go give her art some love) is that her design is kinda boring as fuck? Like, you have Birdy-Mc-Skullface right there with such a neat design and yet all Barriss gets is a motorcycle helmet with very slight voice modulation.

But I digress. The fact that Barriss commits herself to the Inquisitorium via a ritualized fight to the death, and then goes "wait, the red light saber wielding, all black wearing, Darth Vader serving inquisitors aren't here to help people?" before immediately bailing is so funny to me. This girl cannot for the life of her commit herself to an organization without becoming disillusioned within 1-3 business days.

I'm not sure how I feel about it all being about Lyn? I was very much rooting for her to totally die in the ice shafts instead of what felt like a very last minute redemption arc?

Though speaking of the last episode...HOLY SHIT OLD BARRISS IS FUCKING HOT. *coughs* Excuse me. Anyway. I would have loved to see more of what happened in between eps 5 and 6. Seeing how she and the jedi kid escaped the planet, and where the two of them did after than in the very hostile Empire would have been a facinating story watch play out. Also, who is this female friend that Barriss is referring to when she sends the child away? Is it Ahsoka??? If it is...WHY WOULD YOU NOT SHOW US THAT REUNION??? Like I get the whole point of this is to set up Barriss to make the jump to live action like every single other Filoni character is curseddestined to do, but also you've had people waiting years to find out what happened to Barriss and it feels like they burned their biggest story possibility on a throwaway reference. Did she find Ahsoka? Did Ahsoka find her? When did they find each other? Was it pre-Rebellion? Was it after Ahsoka was already functioning as Fulcrum? Given that we now know the Fulcrum name originated from Anakin, did Barriss recognize the name and seek this mystery person out? I don't know it just feels again like more wasted potential.

Final Thoughts

Fuck this animation is good now! Can we get a new writer?

Like, even for the shit I was annoyed by, the entire show just looks fabulous. It makes me really really wish that ANYONE other than Filoni could make content in this style. Let the writers of Jedi: Fallen Order and Survivor do a Merrin episode or a baby Cal episode. Or the people doing The Acolyte, let them do Tales of the High Republic! Let anyone other than Filoni have a chance to create within the world of Star Wars animated content.

#tv rant #as always my ask box is open #i really do love talking about this #so if you've got thoughts you want to share or questions for me #i am always more than happy to respond #dave filoni critical #tales of the empire #rambles #morgan elsbeth #thrawn #barriss offee #star wars

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year ago

Note

Request: Steve & El being siblings in front of Hopper. Steve and his younger sisters as he refers to them (El, Max & Erica) being ridiculous together. Max teaching them how to skateboard. Steve teaching El how to take care of her hair & they do martial arts classes together. Erica & Steve being space & rock nerds together. Just Steve & his lil sister's confusing the hell out of their respective parents by referring to Steve as their older brother, once the Sinclair parents, Hop & Susan Hargrove realize who their daughters are referring too its hard for them to not find it both hilarious & charming that Steve is the one their girls go too for comfort.

MY LOVE!!! I didn't quite get ALL of that request in here, but I got the FEELING of it all I think. I love that Steve probably acts like he's just being a good babysitter but these three are ready to kill someone for him in a heartbeat. Erica genuinely loves him more than Lucas, that's what I feel in my heart. Enjoy some cute big brother Steve moments! - Mickala ❤️

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

“Okay, what are the rules?” Steve asked the car full of girls.

He didn’t have to look behind him to know that Erica was rolling her eyes.

“My only rule is to not break any more bones,” Max said from the passenger seat.

“That’s not entirely-”

“We have to wear our helmets and pads the whole time,” El said from directly behind him.

“Thank you, El. And?” He put the car in park, staring out at the empty skate park in front of them.

“And stay where you can see us at all times. Check in every ten minutes,” Erica sighed.

“Alright, have fun, don’t hurt yourselves, don’t talk to strangers!” Steve exclaimed.

They all got out of the car and grabbed their boards and protective gear from the trunk, taking a few moments to get ready.

Max was giving them some basic tips for getting started, how to balance when standing still and when moving, and how to take it slow.

Steve set a towel out on the hood of his car and sat on it, watching them all make their way to the flat area for beginners.

He smiled to himself as he watched Max adjust them on their boards, making sure their stance was going to keep them balanced.

As tough as Max was on the surface, she was a soft marshmallow on the inside, especially when it came to El and Erica. Steve loved to watch her share her passions, to show true happiness when so much of her life had been just getting by.

“Steve! I’m doing it!” Erica’s voice rang out.

“I see! Lookin’ great!” he yelled back.

He heard a car pull into the parking lot, but didn’t turn to see who it was. It was most likely a parent with their kid or maybe a couple teenagers with nothing better to do.

He didn’t expect Max’s mom to sit next to him on the hood of his car.

“She said she was coming here with her big brother and I was a little worried that her medications needed to be adjusted again. I’m certainly glad that it’s you,” Susan said.

“Oh,” Steve smiled. “Yeah. She wanted to show El and Erica how to get going. It seems to be going well already.”

He felt Susan’s eyes on him as he kept watching the progress the girls were making.

“You work at Family Video still right?” she asked out of nowhere.

“Oh, yes ma’am. Today’s my day off.”

He finally turned to see her nodding, taking in her nurse’s uniform and the dark circles under her eyes.

“They’re lucky to have you, Steve.”

“I dunno about-”

“They are. Thank you,” she said sincerely before smiling at him and standing up. “Tell Maxine I’ll be pulling another double. She’s welcome to stay with El again.”

“Sure thing.”

He watched as Susan got in her car and left, frowning slightly at the fact that Max would be alone again. Well, not alone. Not if she stayed with El.

He knew Susan didn’t have a choice, had to pay the bills somehow and couldn’t just not work. But it hurt him to know Max’s life was so similar to his in that his parents were never around either.

At least she had good friends.

And she had him.

—----------------------------

Steve was half asleep when the doorbell rang.

It was late, much too late for anyone who would ring the doorbell to be there.

He yawned as he made his way to the door, hoping it would be quick.

“El?”

El was standing on his porch, small cosmetic bag in her hands.

“Steve, I need help.”

“Come in,” he gestured for her to come in, checking behind her for something or someone to be following her.

Of all of them, El was the most likely to be able to defend herself, so he wasn’t sure why she was seeking his help.

He turned to see her sitting on the couch, already taking things out of her bag.

A hairbrush, some rubber bands, a headband, and a ribbon.

“What exactly do you need help with?” Steve asked as he sat down next to her on the couch.

“I need to know how to braid my hair. Max usually does it for me, sometimes Will, but I do not know how to do it myself.”

“And you thought that I could help with that? Why not ask Max to show you?”

“Because she is not a very good teacher when it comes to these things. She just knows how to do it but does not know how to show me. So can you?”

Steve couldn’t possibly say no to her big eyes looking at him like that. She wasn’t even doing it the way the other kids did when they just wanted to bribe him into saying yes. This was just El.

“Yeah. But a comb would be much better for parting your hair. Let me go get one,” he said, trying to shake off any exhaustion he was feeling before.

It was a long process.

El was incredibly smart, but sometimes the simplest thing to someone else would be extremely difficult for her, and her frustration would make it even harder.

But Steve had patience, especially when it came to El.

“Close! You just want to try to do it a little tighter so it doesn’t fall out while you put the band at the bottom,” he smiled at her encouragingly. “Feel how I’m tugging just a little bit tighter while braiding over here?” El nodded. “Try to do that on that side.”

El started over, and Steve could tell this time would be the time she got it right.

“There you go! It’s perfect!” he jumped up and took her hands in his, pulling her off the couch so they could jump up and down in excitement.

“I did it!” she laughed.

“Next lesson: french braiding,” Steve said when they both calmed down.

“The braiding is in a different language?” El asked, confused.

“No, honey, it’s just a different style. It’s a bit harder, but if you practice regular braids more, you’ll be able to do it no problem.”

“Oh, okay!” El beamed at him. “I should go home now.”

He glanced at the clock and frowned.

“It’s close to midnight. Does Hop know you’re here?”

El shook her head.

“He’s working. Joyce said it was okay though. I told her I was seeing my big brother and she did not mind,” El said casually, like the words wouldn’t completely shake Steve at his foundation.

“I’ll drive you home. Don’t want you taking your bike this late,” Steve sighed.

“You look tired.”

Steve startled, but relaxed quickly. Of course, El would notice that.

“I just haven’t slept well lately.”

“Is it because Robin and Eddie are gone?”

“Maybe,” Steve squinted at her. “I’ll take you home and then try to get some sleep before my shift tomorrow.”

“I can sleep in the guest room. Maybe it will help you sleep to have someone in the house,” El suggested, as if it wasn’t a big deal that she offered or that she clearly knew Steve’s problem was that he was alone in this house.

“Only if you call and let Joyce know first.”

Once El was settled in the guest room, Steve got in his own bed and closed his eyes.

It was the best sleep he’d had in days.

—-------------------------

Erica’s birthday party had been mostly family and her best friends from school, but for some reason, she’d invited Steve.

Not just invited, insisted that he attend.

So he did. He switched shifts with Robin for it and everything.

He went to Macy’s to buy her the skirt she’d wanted for months, ended up buying matching shoes, too.

She’d loved them, of course, as he knew she would.

But he got her a third gift, something he didn’t want to give to her in front of everyone. Something that meant a lot more.

He’d asked the Sinclairs if he could stay for a bit after the party, explained to them that the real present he got her couldn’t be given until the sun had fully set.

“Oh, of course, Steve! She likes you more than any of us anyway. Keep her busy while we finish cleaning up!” Mrs. Sinclair exclaimed.

So after everyone left, after Erica was sorting through her gifts and organizing them, after the night set in completely, Steve sat down next to her.

“Hey, littlest Sinclair.”

“Hey, biggest Harrington.”

“I’m…the only Harrington?”

She snorted, but didn’t respond.

Steve cleared his throat, not wanting to stay on something that confused him for too long. Erica would run with it if she thought she could tease him more.

“I got you another gift. You have to come outside, though.”

Erica stared at him.

“If I have to go outside, I don’t think I’ll like it very much,” she said with a raised brow.

“Trust me.”

She sighed and set down the purse she got from her cousin, standing up from her spot on the floor and gesturing for Steve to lead the way.

They went to the backyard, finally stopping where her telescope was set up. She’d gotten the telescope last Christmas, and often had meteor shower parties with Steve and El.

“Alright. So. Find Ursa Minor.” He waited until she gave him a thumbs up. “Now find Kochab.”

She’d been working on mapping constellations since she got the telescope, and had focused on Ursa Major and Ursa Minor. She’d gotten pretty good at locating a lot of things.

“So a bit to the left and a little up, there’s a star. And it’s probably already millions of years old, and will probably be around for millions more. But for right now, that star is named E.S. and was adopted in your name,” Steve pulled the certificate from his pocket.

He’d already found the star a week ago during one of his visits, or at least what he thought was the star. It was close enough anyway.

She pulled away from the telescope and looked at Steve with her mouth wide open.

“What?”

“Sorry it’s not a very creative name. I knew you’d hate if I named it Erica, and I didn’t wanna come up with something even worse.”

“You got me a star?”

The light from the moon was enough to see the tears forming in her eyes, and Steve instantly felt some gathering in his own.

“Well, someone who’s gonna change the world as much as you needs a permanent place in the galaxy, don’t you think?”

Erica fell into him, wrapping her arms around his middle. His shirt was already wet with tears, but he refused to comment on it, knew she would hate it if he did.

“You’re the best big brother,” she whispered, probably trying to hide her emotions.

“You’re the best little sister,” he whispered back.

#steve harrington #erica sinclair #max mayfield #eleven hopper #stranger things #ficlet #request

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dickarchivist · 19 days ago

Text

I've got you

Clone OC Banshee × GN-Reader

Word Count: 727

Prompt: "back hugs" from @littlemissmanga and "comfort fic for nonverbal reader" from @nika6q

Song: Get You The Moon by Kina (feat. Snøw)

Rating: PG, but as always Minors DNI 🔞

Contents and Warnings: hurt/comfort, light swearing, Banshee kicks a door down in the name of love.

Summary: It's been a long time since Banshee's been home, and the stress of life has you overwhelmed at the worst possible time: right when Banshee gets home.

Author's Notes: another Banshee POV!!! Some hurt/comfort this day. Sorry it's so short, and not at all what I've been saying I'd write next, but at least it's something.

Taglist: @returnofthepineapple @wizardofrozz @eclec-tech @dystopicjumpsuit @clonethirstingisreal @wings-and-beskar @multi-fan-dom-madness @starrylothcat @n0vqni @sev-on-kamino @mythical-illustrator @523rdrebel @littlemissmanga @atomickidsoul @moonwreckd

"Hey Ban~ Today is day 43 of our tragic separation, you're millions of miles away, and it's not fair. So today at work..."

"Day 55 of "No Banshee hugs for me". Seriously, when are you coming home? I miss you. Anyway, my Tooka came back from the vet today- oh right, I adopted a tooka kitten yesterday, I bet you can't guess what I named him-"

"Day 97, Rai told me you miss me. I just... I wish I could hear it from you. I know, I know it's not easy, I know you don't talk, I just-- I'd do anything to have you with me, just so I could understand that you miss me..."

"Day 122... I wish you'd come home..."

I've been listening to your recordings every day since I was deployed. All 132 of them. Every single day since we left, you sent me a diary of your day, stars I can't tell you how much I needed every single one of those. Running through battle fire, hearing you laugh about what "Banbino" was doing. I can't believe you named your tooka after me.

I've thought about you every second of the days. How your hair is tossed in the morning, how you scrunch your nose at how I make Caf... don't be mad, but I still haven't learned how to make it proper. The way your voice sounds and feels when you put my hands on your throat and chest, so I can feel every way you say you love me... I've thought about being with you again since the second I turned to leave 132 days ago.

So why am I stuck behind your front door? I can't even raise my hand to knock. Can't even enter the code to your flat... it's my number, you told me that so long ago now... I've been keeping track, I know it's your day off, I know you're just right behind this damn door so why can't I open it!? Come on Banshee! Open the door! Open the damn door, they're right on the other side, just open--

I... I heard that. Did you fall? Are you hurt? No, no don't be hurt I'm so bad at medical. C'mon, karkin' door open! Remind me to fix your locks, I'll replace them, I swear. Oh fuck, the hinges too, I uh... I kicked a little too hard, I think...

"Ban...?" You're crying... why... why are you crying?

When you hold your arms out to me, I dont even take a full step forward before you recoil and cover your face with a racking sob. I don't stop moving. I can't, you need me. I get to one knee behind you and gently rub your back, but it only makes you curl in on yourself more... what can I do for you?

Carefully I sit behind you, and collect you up in my arms, your back pressed to my chest. With my helmet off, I put my head on your shoulder, "I've got you, Cyare... I'm here."

You sound like me a moment, trying to talk, trying to force words. I shush you, leaning my head on yours and swaying softly. Eventually, you turn around, and bury your face in my neck. When I hum, you start to relax in my arms, and eventually, I can't help the little chuckle in my throat. You're snoring... Stars I love you.

It's another hour before you wake up. I moved us to your bed, and had since changed into the civvies you'd gotten me. Softer clothes, I figured you'd like it more than my hard armor...

"Banshee? You're... you're really home? I'm s-sorry, I'm sorry for-- I-I was just- I was so--" your blush when I press my lips to yours, it's so warm I could feel it on my own skin.

"I... it's okay, y-you don't ha-have to expl-pl-plain." Your eyes shine at the sound of my voice... I wish I could talk better, I'd speak for you all the time. "I've g-got you, Cyare."

You nod and set your head back on my chest. As I hum again, you join in, mumbling the words under your breath when you feel up to it. Take your time, Cyare. I know how hard it is to talk, I'm not going anywhere.

#from the archivist #grave squad clones #404th clones #clone oc banshee #clone oc banshee x reader #banshee x reader #banshee x you #oc x you #clone oc x reader #oc x reader

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yiga-hellhole · 4 months ago

Text

TFTK 23&24

His forces gathered, Zant plots his next move. The Triforce of Power is within reach now, and he will need little more than a Blade to retrieve it.

hiiii everyone. since i've added the prologue (which will be getting its own promo image.. eventually...) the chapter counts are a bit out of wack so this update is both. the update has been up on ao3 for a bit but artfight season made me a little slow on the visual art side! but no longer! SOOO excited to bring you all this update!

once again thank you to the lovely @bulgariansumo and @orfeolookback for betareading!!!

CW this chapter for body horror, graphic violence, mutilation

ao3 mirror

As the days at the Bulblin settlement went on, so did their army grow. Those who stayed at the encampment as visitors spread the word home, and as perilous as it was to spread the information of the deceptively alive lieutenants, Zant had permitted it gladly. After all, Hyrule was much too busy celebrating victory to pay any mind to those fractured tribes, now without a cause to unite under. Oh, what little did they know!

Very much united under a cause, Zant had gathered commanders from their haphazard bands in the new Chief’s tent – Earl Eydra, second daughter of the late Hallra, also accompanied by Lord Banayu, spokesman of the Bokoblin tribes. His very own Ghirahim, of course, stood right beside him, etching away at a map that Zant gingerly brushed his fingertips along.

The Valley of Seers. Zant had never seen it, but Ghirahim had twice over. Being meticulous as ever, he had of course committed every second of footage to memory, and translated every measurement and possible point of interest onto paper.

Negotiations followed as usual. Instead of being a silent bystander who offered his knowledge only when an interruption was permitted, Zant took an active role. He stood at the front of the map, all his pegs and baubles at his disposal, and commandeered it as though his movements would shift the fabric of reality itself. Intel was exchanged for commands ‘round the strategy table. One bokoblin stood by the side of one particularly dull-looking, flat-faced hound man, relaying information through a different tongue in hushed whispers. The dimwitted lug nodded hard, his floppy ears wiggling with the effort. Ghirahim wondered if brute strength among dolts like those would be enough to win them this battle.

But he supposed that’s what he and Zant were for.

Ghirahim quickly returned to sketching his map. Zant was catching up to him, his brow increasingly furrowed by what he saw. “Is it not possible that, at this point, Sorceress Lana is instead taking residence in the Temple of Souls?” asked Zant, seeming perturbed by the inhospitable sights of the Valley.

“We find it unlikely, Sire,” hissed a Hyrulean soldier from across the tent, bearing a voice far slimier than a human would suggest.

This out-of-place figure soon turned out to be perfectly where he should be. He grimaced, his hands tightening in claws. The metal on his gauntlets melted to black, then to skin, then to dark brown fur over clawed, spindly paws. Helmet and pauldrons similarly fused to his flesh, until it became his flesh itself. The plumed feather on his helmet ripped into two, twitching to each side of his head to form ears. Finally, his cloak unfurled into a pair of ink-black bat wings, quivering and flapping with relief of freedom. Now revealed, the Ache perched its hands on the edge of the table and leered at his General with great anticipation.

Only to have the gloved hand of his Lieutenant smashed indignantly in his face.

“You will not speak unless permitted,” snarled Ghirahim, baring his teeth at this defiance. “Now you may continue.”

The lesser demon whined, rubbing its wrinkled snout. It gulped down any other sniffles and spoke. “Egh… Th-... The Temple is currently being used as a jail. Lieutenants Yuga and Wizzro are held prisoner there, awaiting prosecution, Sire.”

Zant perked up almost pleasantly. “Is that so? I expected them to have been executed by now. Well, that saves me some time and effort.”

Before Ghirahim could frown too hard at his statement, Zant disturbed him even further. “Perhaps Hyrule noticed that right now, for Yuga, being alive is enough of a punishment. But that will have to wait until later. Tell me of our battlefield.”

The team of scouts relayed their findings. Having eyes in the skies once again worked thoroughly in their favor; the whole of the Valley had been surveyed in practically no time at all. On a dark, cloudy night, the hides of their demon forces would be noticed by none. And to their luck, as Zant expected, their target was scarcely guarded. A handful of outposts, at most, with hardly five hundred men huddled about in total. A disaster to encounter in formation, but pathetic when spread thin across the entire territory. Even better, with Ganon’s defeat, Hyrule had sent its guests across time home in a teary goodbye. Left in this realm were only the Princess, her Knight, her General, and the Sorceress. In other words, Lana was thoroughly unprepared for any sort of siege.

“How awfully convenient,” said Ghirahim, bringing a hand skeptically to his face. “I’d almost think this is a trap.”

Zant snickered under his breath, arranging pawns wherever the little tippy-taps of batty fingers told him where outposts sat. “On the contrary, Ghirahim. It makes perfect sense. What enemies does Hyrule expect to have left, that they cannot confidently tackle in isolated groups?”

Pawns thwacked decisively in place. “It’s clear to me. Tell me, Lord Eydra, have you heard anything, at all, from our neighbors further out into the sands?”

Eydra shook her head, her horns clacking and bangles jingling. “None at all, Sir. Not a peep from ‘em since ‘ey’ve gone and blown up a couple weeks ago.”

Ah, that whole incident. So he was not suspected of having caused the moon crash in the desert. At least, not by these people. Ghirahim restrained his expression and turned to him. “So they’re leaving the Gerudo alone. That means…”

“The ones who birthed their nemesis? Who conspired against Hyrule’s throne? That ought to have been their first order to persecute. Yet they are not. Most definitely, Hyrule is laying low. Staying out of trouble as it rebuilds, I’ll wager,” Zant smiled, flicking Ghirahim’s finger as he pointed it at the map. “Oh, my blade. Taking the Valley will be a breeze. And the Triforce with it.”

That was when a slight snort caught their attention. Lord Banayu stuck his snout over the table and made himself heard. “Respectfully, Sire. If it will be such a ‘breeze’, as you say… I don’t see why our starting numbers are to be so small,” he asked, tapping a thick-nailed finger at a group of pawns on the map. “We ought to clear them out as quickly as possible.”

“On the contrary. I intend to deceive her.”

Brows raised around the room.

Their collective confusion only served to make Zant grin more. “If we go all out from the start as you suggest, Lord Banayu, the Sorceress will cry to the Palace before we can even reach her dwelling. If we give her the idea she can win on her own… She will spell her own doom, and we will decimate her at the last second.”

As his fellow conspirator stood there, palms upturned in an inviting gesture and his ego swelling to burst, Ghirahim clicked his tongue. “A bit of a cowardly move.”

Earl Eydra, once hesitant, now nodded along to Ghirahim’s words. “Aye. Your old boss never would have bothered with such mind games.”

“And that’s precisely why he is dead and I remain standing,” Zant stated bluntly, unflinchingly, his hands folded behind his back. “Any further questions?”

–

Their march would be a long one, rife with delays and detours. They simply could not risk their procession being spotted by any opposing force; tension in Eldin, in particular, ran wild, with clades once squashed now once again vying for territory. But the Valley was right around the corner. Zant’s forces had set up their camp (the one he was in, at least), just past the hills that separated the rain-shadowed grasslands of the south with the green hills of the north. Beyond the tallest of those hills, the Valley was in sight.

That was where Ghirahim and Zant then stood, overlooking that promised land. It was strange seeing the place free from Cia’s influence. Where the sky was once swirling and ominously crimson, it was no different from the dark blue veil of the horizon now. They would gather no intel just standing there, watching from afar. Zant likely just wanted to brood.

Speak of the devil, there he went, and said, “just between us, Ghirahim.”

Ghirahim perked up, not looking at him just yet. “My. I’m privy to your secrets, now?”

Zant frowned a little. “I’ve none more to keep from you. Either way… We will be the only ones to face Lana tomorrow. I’ve played up our strengths to our men, but they will only be taking care of her fodder. That being said, we cannot underestimate the Sorceress whatsoever.”

“Oh? We’ve taken care of her just fine before,” Ghirahim noted, idly turning a dagger in his hand to check it for nicks.

Shaking his head, Zant looked down the hills. “And yet I believe she’s stronger than she lets on. In fact, I think she might be older than this land itself.”

“Impossible,” Ghirahim frowned, dismissing the dagger with a snap of his fingers. “I’ve never heard of her until I arrived here, and I’ve lived eons before Hyrule came to be.”

Zant stepped up to loom over him, eyes narrowing. “You’re not listening. I meant this land.”

Whenever Zant was being vague like this, he’d usually think he caught onto some mystery or other. Ghirahim saw no point in delaying the inevitable and sighed. “This again… Fine, prattle away.”

At once, the shadow over his eyes faded, replaced by a manic glint. Ghirahim almost spotted a smile when Zant turned away from him. “I was doing some digging before we entered this phase of the assault,” because naturally, he had. “Of course, I wasn't the first to be curious about the nature of this world. I stumbled upon it in the Sorceress’ library – the bizarre ways of timekeeping in this area, the oddities in the landscape; it did not escape the notice of scholars in this time.”

Ghirahim put his hands on his sides, fully prepared to stand there for another hour or two. “And, I take it, they came to a similar conclusion?”

“Indeed. At some point, the different branches of time must have converged, and their landscapes with it. We saw it in Faron Woods, and the Master Sword’s pedestal, deep within,” he said, his gestures leaving light trails behind his hands. Odd runes shaped into approximate images of the locations he named, but could hardly take shape before he clawed them to smoke and turned insistently to Ghirahim. “Which, in and of itself, was a duplicate! An empty husk!”

When he thought on it, he recalled that the Master Sword of this era had been stored in a different temple, right in the middle of Lake Dumoria, southwest of Faron Woods. Yet, a pedestal remained in Faron, the one they saw for themselves. Did the sealing place change? Ghirahim realized any question he asked might leak into another hour, so he simply nodded. “As you say.”

“Think about it, Ghirahim. For Lana – for me, to have command over allies and monsters of the past, all of these worlds must have once existed. Otherwise, we would have to reach across realities, a power befitting only a God. And I, not yet, have recognized such power, neither in her or in myself.”

Suddenly, Zant turned around, giving himself room to pace about frantically. “But for them to merge in the first place… This would explain why the magicks she uses are unknown to us both. They must have been born from divine force, to be uniquely wielded by Cialana, with the Triforce of Power as its conduit. It must have been her to merge these worlds.”

Ghirahim frowned, cocking his head. “... Right. And, you don’t suppose this god-like power could have perished with Cia?”

Turning back to look at the Valley, Zant’s expression lightened by an uncharacteristic degree. “I wholeheartedly admit I haven’t the slightest clue. Let us not risk finding out.”

Bemused by his attitude, Ghirahim sidled up next to him, deciding to give him attitude by bending at the hip and leaned into his field of vision. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

Zant grinned. “I’ve combed a fair share through this magic. It requires vocal commands first and foremost. When we come to face her, silence her,” he said, reaching to cup Ghirahim’s chin in his fingers. He tilted him back upright, guiding their eyes to meet. “Cut her tongue out if you must.”

Ghirahim returned a smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Zant seemed content with this exchange, though the thumb stroking across the Sword Spirit’s chin and the eyes latching onto him for a moment made it seem like he’d wished for more. But the open air always made Zant uneasy, and Ghirahim knew this. So when the former did indeed step away, the latter was only mildly disappointed. “If all that is clear to you,” Zant said, “I’m going to do something I should have done a long time ago. When my usurpation comes to fruition, I’ll be far too busy for it.”

The allure of bloodshed putting him in a bit of a mood, Ghirahim turned to him with a croon. “And what might that be?”

With thorough nonchalance, Zant then proceeded to kick off his shoes. Toes wriggling in the grass, he promptly set off almost gleefully, as if mere seconds prior they hadn’t discussed a violent coup.

“You’re a looney,” Ghirahim said, watching him wade through the plains. “You’re sick in the head.”

“And you are functionally immortal,” Zant quipped back. He climbed up on the roots of a gnarled cedar nearby, his hand resting on its bark. “Confident as I am in our victory, I’m grabbing my little shreds of joy where I can get them. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Ears piqued at the sound of some insect, Zant’s eyes scanned the green expanse before him. When spotting what he was looking for, he didn’t so much as prowl for it as he hopped down from his vantage point, shambled towards it, and launched himself into the grass with a slapdash vault.

“As I thought,” he exclaimed, struggling to keep the object of his interest trapped in his cupped hands. “I haven’t seen this species yet!”

It was a miracle he’d even caught the damned thing. How could he think about such frivolous things now? Ghirahim stood and shook his head in sheer disbelief, but felt compelled to follow him either way. Just in case, (and it was likely), Zant’s lack of self-preservation had remained even as his plans were unfolding successfully, and he somehow managed to slip and crack his head on a rock, or some such nonsense. A little nest of grass denting below him, Zant sat in the meadows, the brittle strands of his hair waving along in the wind with the sea of green. He cradled a bottle with the cricket carefully in one hand and consulted his field journal in the other, a smile on his face as he noticed Ghirahim beside him.

So calm he was, the night before a crucial, all-deciding siege. Normally, mortals would pace before a war, even the mightiest of generals anxious in the face of death. Lacking sleep, decreased appetites, heart rates skyrocketing, and pleasantries ‘round the camp dwindling to an all-consuming air of dread. Consuming all but Ghirahim, at least. Battle was his purpose, his joy. Nerves were just about the last thing on his mind.

And now, beside him, there was a man studying wildflowers like it was just another day. Ghirahim found himself jarred by just how much he understood him, then. So, an odd, tickling weight rolling about in his core, he kneeled beside him and watched along.

—

The night of their assault arrived quietly. A deep black sky, with stars shimmering like the facets of an onyx, served as the hiding blanket for hundreds of demons. On foot, the first wave of their army marched to the hills circling the Valley. Without Cia’s influence, the Valley appeared that much more tranquil. Heather grasses and saplings reared their heads timidly above healing soil, not knowing they’d have been better off staying below. In the epicenter of the Valley, hovering above a fog-stained cliff, was the Sorceress’ altar. Like swarms of ants, the alerted soldiers rushed their way to their posts, all eyes aimed at the hills where they would meet their match. Down the dozens of staircases, they ran, clinging themselves to every corner they could think to fortify, and then, lay in wait.

Beside Ghirahim, Zant was calm. He was without helmet, and would remain that way, it seemed. When Lana broke it back in the Gerudo Desert, it must have been gone for good. They had been spotted by a band of Hyrulean scouts much earlier, whose horses kicked up a concealing cloud of dust as they galloped to warn their commander of the impending ambush. But they would not know all – beyond the hills, many more Blins were waiting, and their aerial troops remained undetected.

How eerily this first stretch of the battle resembled Zant’s exact plans.

In this initial quiet, before Zant could raise his hand and release the floodgates on their troops, Ghirahim pondered just how strange a situation he was in. Once again, he was at war, taking commands from a man other than his Master. For Cia, it had been the promise of Demise that had strung him along sufficiently enough to tolerate it. But Zant… By all means, he should hate this man. And he did, in a way, but the anger he felt no longer needed a vengeful release.

They had shared a bed again. Hands wrapped lovingly, yet fiercely around his waist, his wrists, his throat, as if grasping onto his hilt. Ever since Zant had used part of him to behead the late Bulblin Earl, he’d been drunk on the feeling of being wielded. So he didn’t care anymore, how treacherous it felt to have a part of him presently thrumming in Zant’s zealous grip. He sensed death in the eyes of the man who wielded his so-precious shard, and like the starved hunting dog he was, he wanted to chase after it. There was blood to be spilled, power to be taken. As any legendary blade, Ghirahim lusted for his name to be chronicled. In the past, he had scarcely been remembered. This changed today.

Zant marched onward, and onward, and onward. Eyes set on nothing but his goal, he waded his way through the crowd as if it hadn't existed at all. Any soldiers that dared close in on him were repelled instantly by an unseen force, and those that did manage to push past, met their end by the instinctive lash of Ghirahim’s blades. The Demon trailed his false king like a shadow, as thoroughly under his dominion as all of darkness had ever been. His scimitar swung over his shoulder, he hadn’t drawn it even once, depending instead on his Blade to guard him differently. Their passage left a scar on the battlefield, of dead meat and soil. That was how they combed through the Valley, cleaving the crowd as they traversed the scattered islands that would lead them to their prize.

The only thing to shake Zant out of his enduring resolve was the first display of the Sorceress’ magic. A pale blue light appeared ‘round the corner of the Altar’s gates. From it, swinging its pincers fiercely, came a towering Gohma, scuttling its way directly to the pair of commanders.

Zant instantly zipped himself behind his lieutenant. A light, encouraging tap on his shoulder and a whisper, caught Ghirahim’s attention.

“Buy me some time.”

So he did. Ghirahim swerved around to the raging creature’s legs, jabbing his swords into its joints, to little more avail than slowing it down. Out of earshot, Zant had hissed an incantation, and though he hadn’t followed its words, Ghirahim knew the spell had been cast from the eerie chill that traveled to his every extremity. Piercing past the droning arcane hum from earlier, a screech and the flapping of wings prompted Ghirahim to get out of dodge as soon as he could. Once he had joined Zant’s side again, he could see a King Helmaroc, pecking the Gohma to bits.

They intended to slip past this distraction, but Lana wouldn't let them. Cyan lights broke past nearly every corner of the battlefield, massive shadows raining down from pillars of light. More and more monsters poured forth, pulled from corners of the past even Ghirahim could recognize. And though Zant made his best efforts by summoning beasts to their defense, Ghirahim yanked him out of focus before he could rip open his fourth portal. When he pulled back, the glove he’d covered Zant’s mouth with was smeared with blood.

Panting, wiping the thin streams of crimson that poured from his eyes and nostrils, Zant never took his eyes off the altar.

“This… This is incredible, Ghirahim,” he stammered, a mad grin on his face. “I can’t keep up.”

Ghirahim ducked behind him with a grin and ran through the first soldier who dared to approach. “Singing praises of our enemy now?”

Now, Zant drew his scimitar, hacking it into an ambushing Hyrulean in one clean swing. As Ghirahim faintly shivered with delight, Zant berated him. “Fool! Of course I do! That is the power I covet, that I deserve,” Zant snarled through his teeth, fending off soldiers by the dozen. His speech, his violence, equal in cold execution. “I was unflinchingly loyal to his cause, to him, and yet, Ganon kept everything to himself. Now that I have it all within my grasp… How can I not fawn over it?”

“You can save your fawning for when it’s actually within your hands, you lunatic,” pulled from his basking, Ghirahim bit back, spying trouble as the pair guarded each other's flanks. The monsters Zant couldn't keep up with were catching up. “And, for when we are not under the threat of these beasts! Collect yourself, and go!”

“No… No, not yet,” Zant yelled, flinching when an enemy blade bounced off his wards. “We are to mask ourselves in the chaos of these giants, and when we’ve kicked up enough dust… We will go straight to her.”

As if hearing of this plan, a last-ditch effort exploded from the north. The stone bridge connecting the Altar to the rest of the valley had collapsed.

Zant saw this and hardly batted an eye. Their troops, however, seemed far more alarmed. Bridge after bridge crumbled into the depths, some with their men still traversing, plummeting right along. The setback left their army with fewer and fewer routes to advance. Hyrulean and Blin numbers were almost even now, Ghirahim reckoned from their vantage point. And as their side was funneled back out through the remaining bridges, Ghirahim looked behind him.

Zant nodded. Taking a page out of the Hyruleans’ book, Ghirahim raised his fingers to the sky, and set loose a trail of diamond sparks. Strings of light whistled and twisted high, high up above, red and flashy among Lana’s still-bleeding portals. The reaction was almost immediate. Rushing forth from the hills, Blins cascaded onto the battlefield and rushed through the bridges still left intact. What was once intended for the escape of the invading forces, now simply funneled in more. Men were pushed off the bridges and trampled in the footfall, while a select few managed to die a dignified death amidst the senseless crowd.

Above them, the stars in the night sky seemed to flicker. A deluge of airborne demons rushed by them, undetected until crossing the threshold of the altar’s pale moonlit stone. Hyrulean soldiers were lifted off the ground, others eviscerated on the spot, all while a desperate few hacked and slashed with wild abandon in an attempt to defend themselves.

Chaos. Exactly what they were looking for. Another Gohma, almost fallen into the abyss, clambered back onto the cliff’s edge and made for the pair of commanders. Just as its pincer was about to bore into them, Zant grabbed onto Ghirahim’s wrist and pulled him into the shadows.

When they reappeared, Ghirahim looked around to find himself in the altar’s inner room, strewn with bookcases of which the contents were largely toppled. But before anything else caught his eye, there stood the Sorceress, hunched desperately before a scrying orb. She whipped around the second Zant’s transportation magic rustled behind her.

“Hello, Lana,” Zant said pleasantly. Lana glared back, placing one hand back on the crystal ball. The sight made Zant smile. “Oh, please. Do you think your precious Hyrule will be here in time? Who do you think they’ll send? A few little platoons? Clearly, they’ve already given you what they could afford. And those men are not holding out very well out there.”

His words were emphasized by the sounds of clashing outside. Soldiers yelling, screaming, the sound of arms hitting armor and lifeless bodies hitting the ground.

“This will take a minute, at most. Hold still, if you’d please.”

For a moment, Lana looked afraid, deathly so. But her courage gathered itself remarkably quickly, giving her the strength to turn around and shield her crystal ball behind herself. “ ‘Hold still’? Who do you think you are, you creep!?” she yelled. “How dare you come into this sanctuary and defile it, just as we worked so hard to recover it!”

Zant grinned at her, squinting his eyes the slightest bit. “That’s a funny thing to accuse me of, considering the dynamic here. Either way… Ghirahim, if you will.”

At once, Ghirahim launched himself at the Sorceress. The first slice of his sword she just barely managed to step back from, but not without drawing the slightest bit of blood from her collar. In response, Lana strengthened her wards – a shimmering layer of pale, iridescent blue flashed in view to cover her body.

But the barrier would not save her from what was to come. As Lana became duly occupied with defending herself against the Sword Spirit’s merciless attacks, Zant began weaving his spell.

The first sentence was enough to make her flinch, but the second sent her into full-blown alarm. In her urgency, she ceased simply defending and instead attempted to push back against Ghirahim. She intended to break past him at all costs, and put an end to the words pouring from the Twilight King. Try as she might, though the whacks of thunder from her spellbook jittered Ghirahim down to the teeth, he would not let her gain even an inch on him. They were at a thorough standstill – one incapable of drawing blood, the other, finding a weakness but finding her enemy’s will too strong to overpower. All the while Zant kept chanting, and chanting, and chanting, the world around them not silenced, but rather, the three of them cast in a muffling cloak of darkness. But soon, Ghirahim would lose. Annihilation, his most precious weapon, failed him when he needed it most, and wouldn’t reward his wicked strikes with more than a nick past his opponent’s clothing. She truly was strong. Just a few more thundershocks and he would be brought to his knees, and with his Blade out of commission, Zant would not be able to defend himself against her.

He had to knock that grimoire out of her hand. The makeshift wards on her body protected her from the cutting edge of his sword, but the impact of his swings could still knock her off balance.

Ghirahim didn't get the chance to just yet, though. Their sprawling army of demons found her little hideout. The lot of them crawled along the windows, claws dragging and fists pounding on the barriers. Were they to break through, the enemy commander would be overtaken in seconds.

Lana realized this too. She withdrew instantly, her grimoire snapped shut, and made for the only spot in the wall unoccupied by bookcases. She, of course, ran straight through. Had Ghirahim’s intuition not stopped him, he would have smacked face-first into it. One hand bracing against the stone barrier, he realized it would need a key phrase to grant him passage.

Or, as per Zant’s stroke of simple genius, simply blow the wall to smithereens. Powder-turned stone and pebbles blasting outward around him, Ghirahim burst through the rubble and sprinted after the first sight of cyan he could catch. Bouncing against the walls, masking her every direction in this endless maze, Lana recited her counter-incantation.

Behind him, Zant laughed at the challenge, weaving his spell longer and longer. Ahead of him, Lana’s rapid footsteps kept his prey drive red-hot.

Run, run, but there’s no hiding from me. Along the floor, the thrum of Ghirahim’s core showed him the path the Sorceress had taken. He remembered these hallways perhaps better than she was aware of and, wagering a lucky guess at her meandering trajectory, he cut a few corners. He rammed solidly into her at the intersection. Just as he wanted, the grimoire went flying, and he placed himself between her and its landing spot.

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t render her powerless. But she did become weaker. The lightning she flung behind her as they resumed her chase was enough to hurt him, but not to slow him down. The little drops of blood he’d drawn that disappointed him before now worked as an irresistible lure, second to his expert dowsing. He could hear her breath, her heartbeat, and almost, every panicked thought as she tried to stall for enough time to think of a better plan than simply running and chanting with her heaving breath. Such was the power of that delectable fear! He had to have it. Closer, and closer, and closer he drew, his once graceful run now turning into a desperate, bestial sprint. She, the poor thing, was slowing, immortal in soul but human in guise. When even her last ditch effort, the casting of a lightning bolt point blank at his core, didn’t work, her desperation buckled her. Hands clawed, Ghirahim swiped for her.

At long last, he’d grabbed her, her arms locked in his elbows. Lana struggled fiercely, but no matter the power she borrowed, she couldn’t break free from steel of this caliber. How lucky she was, that his daggers couldn’t pierce her! Grappling fresh blood like this made him feel positively starved.

Even then, he wouldn’t have been able to play for very long. Zant had carefully followed his blade, his every step haunted by the all-consuming echo of his voice. As that voice grew closer, the world became still around them. Colder. Twin breaths turned to foggy clouds as the pair of locked combatants panted, their eyes each glued on the hallway before them. Shadows poured around the corner, only to be drowned out by a pale blue light, hovering around the Twilight King like an aura. His eyes, normally golden, now carried that same ethereal hue. When he extended his hand, there was a cavity in his palm, the void of which made Ghirahim’s core spin just looking at it.

Lana struggled again, until she steeled herself. The incantations she’d failed to recite in their scuffle came back to the forefront of her mind, the first words passing her lips. Just one glance from Zant, and Ghirahim moved instinctually. He rushed his hand to her face, and stuck the point of his dagger against her tongue. Of course, none would think to place wards there. The Sorceress shrieked, but every movement of her head sliced deeper into her cheek, her lips, the inside of her mouth. Ghirahim shushing in her ear, she froze wide-eyed, her chest heaving up and down rapidly in breathing. Like a rabbit on a butchery table.

One more sentence and Lana began to writhe, groaning in pain. Zant stood before them, palm upturned. It was almost done – Ghirahim could feel it. It was practically in their hands. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the face hovering above them. All else disappeared. Not even the blood, that precious ambrosia that trickled from his dagger down his glove, could shake him from his mesmerization.

With those last words, the skies went dark. The rim of light once encircling Zant burst outward into shards, leaving only an endless dark that splattered across the walls like paint. It left them in a void; cold, and deafened, and unfeeling, just the three of them locked inside. Just the three of them, and the little golden triangle hovering between them. Lana wept in terror, in regret, in pain, while her two adversaries made no sound at all. For just a moment, childlike wonder sparkled in Zant’s eyes, before that little bit of innocent hope was throttled by an overwhelming flame of greed and vengeance. From having their treasure dance above his palm, he suddenly seized it, snatching it out of the air.

With a deafening roar, like the sound of a mighty river rushing by overhead, the shadowy expanse around them imploded in on itself. Every inch of its fabric tore rapidly to one point: below Zant’s feet, sucked into his shadow. When the light returned to the hall again, there stood Zant, the same man as before.

The triforce now glowed on his palm.

But past that gently humming light, another sound caught their attention, now that the veil was lifted. War horns, far unlike theirs. Lana had stalled for enough time.

The second the both of them turned to the sound, Lana wrenched herself free. Though claws tore into her arms, and the dagger sliced through the corner of her mouth, she stumbled from Ghirahim’s grip and made for the light at the end of the hallway.

“Ghirahim-ili, how unlike you… Ah, well. I say let her run. She will be useless without this, anyhow,” he giggled, admiring the back of his hand.

But Ghirahim knew better. Eyes set on the desperately shambling woman, he aimed for her, hand outstretched, and snapped his fingers. A trio of daggers glistened in the light as they soared through the hallway, and thwacked into her back. Then he ripped back around, bound for his general in a steadfast march before the man could praise him – and it was a look of praise that colored his face – and snatched him by the wrist.

Yet Zant shook himself loose. His eyes blazed with unparalleled drive and fury. He glared down the still-stumbling Sorceress from afar, before clenching his fists. A throat-rending cackle ripped loose from him as his head was encased in shadows. Shrouded he was, then he was not, as particles of blackness burst outward to reveal a new sight.

Zant’s helmet. Once again perched on his shoulders, but entirely different. A wicked snarl was encased in the metal, and a finned collar encircled the reptilian face. At the peak of it all, a crown of horns declared him king. Now, Zant accepted Ghirahim’s so-hastily offered hand, and blinked the both of them outside the altar.

After just that split second, Ghirahim was jarred to find himself floating, high, high above the Valley, Zant’s fingers still lacing around his’. With a raise of his hand, and his triumphant, wet giggling still holding, he forced Lana’s portals to a close. One more wiggle of his fingers… that was all it took, and one by one, their troops disappeared from the battlefield.

Before Lana’s body could hit the ground, the two invaders were gone. Her efforts had been for naught. When the Hyrulean reinforcements finally crossed the foothills, the Valley was empty.

#ghirazant #ghirahim #zant #lana #lana hyrule warriors #hyrule warriors #loz fanfic #tftk #beararts #bearwrites

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bentleysbeetle · 4 months ago

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Hey Beetle, my front tyre is flat and I'm out of miracles for the day. The guy from the repair shop wants to charge me £47 to change both tyres, because they don't have the same brand as my back one in stock. Now, I think I can get away with cycling with two different tyres, but it would be better if I found a repair shop with the same tyres instead. What do the cards say? Would really appreciate the input.

@totally-a-sheep

//Beetle secretary again: I am still translating seeing as Beetle has not un-become a cat since last reading//

Oh no!!! Hi Luc!! That sounds tough, I got my tarot cards as quick as I could!!! I'm doing a simple read for you, 3 cards. The 1st one is the past, the 2nd one is the present and the 3rd one is the future.

First you got the two of swords!! They have their points up so that probably means 2 punctured tires!!! but you actually got it upside down, so that means before you had two NOT punctured tires. Which I think is true. Right?

UM. THE SECOND ONE IS DEATH. THAT MEANS YOU ARE DYING D: Maybe... Oh gosh..... Maybe you had an accident when your tire went flat and now you have a concussion and you're going to die :( I'm so sorry Luc I love you so much I'm gonna miss you

Okay uhhh... In better news, there is a knight with a wand, and he's on a horse! But he's upside down though... Ummm... I think he means travel, since he's on a horse, and the wand could mean it's a magical journey? So you are going to NOT have magical travel. You will have very little travel, and the travel you will have is bad. So whatever your intuition is telling you to do about this: DO THE OPPOSITE!! OR ELSE YOUR BIKE WILL BE HORRIBLE! and maybe you'll continue dying!!!! :(

Um... Please don't die!!! Wear 3 helmets maybe?? I love you! :(

//Serious reading under the cut!//

//Alright. Let's get on with it Luc, here's your more serious answer.

A two of swords in reverse usually means suspicion. It's like, lack of trust, treachery (my booklet mentions in partnerships specifically), and you know, be careful of people looking out to manipulate you. This one fell out as I was shuffling the deck, FACE UP. It was the only card to do this. I think this is a sign. Your tire going flat was NOT a coincidence. This? This was SABOTAGE. By SOMEONE YOU TRUST!

The second card. Oh my god okay it's a lot different than it sounds. It signifies change, things ending and beginning, hindsight, it represents opportunities, the card represents a necessary end to something. Your tire was meant to go flat, Luc. Because now? Now you have all these opportunities. You could have a dual tired bike, like some cursed version of a penny-farthing, you could get brand new fancy tires, or you could go back to usual! The world is your oyster, and this is your sign to make Oysters Rockefeller. Or Oyster Omelette. Whatever squeezes your lemon. This is the start of a new tire era, Luc.

Okay, I wasn't TOO off with the travel stuff, because the knight of wands represents creativity and progress! However, in reverse it represents... Falsehood, and lack of progress >:O! The knight of wands is someone who will talk a lot about a project, but do nothing about it! He's a representation of judging people by their actions, and not their words. Now, I'm taking this as a sign that you should probably be a bit wary of the people from the various repair shops. This first guy for example, why didn't he give you a discount because he didn't have your brand of tires in stock? That's not *your* fault! Covering a small expense like that is totally a worthy investment, after all next time you need a tire change you'd know that guy has your back! Instead you have to pay more?? Consider your options here! Consider your options and go to someone who actually sounds trustworthy! Hope this helps <333

#Beetle does tarot

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roseofhybrids · 1 year ago

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He he he hoo hoo hoo I can get the higher quality screencaps now, time to mess with the levels

The mineshaft We have some human skulls and rib cages (I count at least 3 of each), shovel, lantern, supply box, Indiana Jones hats, cloth roll. Your normal every day mine stuff. Oh, and the weird growths, of course. I thought this was like the red vines we saw in the manor, but these seem to be coming forward and off the rocks a lot more while the ones at the manor seemed to stick flat. They remind a lot of deer antlers.

Next we have the goobers in the cathedral Lottsa pillars, unlit candles, some sort of beam or bench knocked over in the back, a pile of furniture I can't quite make out (one in the front maybe a piano?), and a barrel. Your normal every day church stuff.

N getting dragged to hell hard to make out much in this. Looks to be more bones and goo. I recall someone saying the object N is grabbing looks like Uzi's hat. Hard to say for sure, but the size and texture does seem to match.

The outside of the cathedral Complete with a gravestone/pillar with a pickaxe and miner's helmet, chained up dingoes, and a giant lab space for rent sign. A few ends and nulls written on the skull and stone.

Nori's door, before and after (presumably) Tessa slams it shut. There's no other humans we know of around the place. And I believe that shape in the bottom left is her bow. Not much else to say about these ones. It's too dark to actually see anything inside the room. Though, I will say that the lighter edges we see along the frame when it's open seems a little strange. Like there might be something solid blocking the doorway.

More of the cathedral Another pillar (love those), some sort of entrance in the back, looks like a staircase to the right. Also, Uzi has yellow hand lights

N helping Uzi up Nothing to see after adjustment other than floor

ow Not much the adjustment tells us here either, just get a slightly better view of N getting his fingers broken

It is worth noting that her hand is back to purple here. But in the scene where her hands are yellow, she is not holding the crucifix.

So either the yellow was temporary / comes and goes. Or it turns yellow after the last shot and the scene we saw earlier in the trailer comes later in the actual episode.

I'd thought that maybe that shot of them turning came right after the hand crushing, but you can't see the staircase in that shot. That and the wooden ladder-like supports don't match up with the single one we see in the scene where her hand is yellow.

#murder drones #trailer #md episode 7 #md episode 8 #trailer analysis

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agent-cupcake · 2 years ago

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Raptus Regaliter

A powerful friend helped me edit this. Fangs to her <3

Pairing: Zenos yae Galvus x f!Miqo'te WoL Reader

Synopsis: Alternate option for what happens after the cutscenes "The Time Between the Seconds" where you wind up in Imperial custody. Although a more accurate description would be: Zenos beats you up and then fucks you.

Warnings: explicit smut, violence, noncon, blood [lots of blood and violence]

Tags: size difference, choking, forced orgasm

Word Count: 13.1k

Notes: Look I know it's been a long time since I posted but please forgive me I'm giving you Zenos's massive cock as an apology.

There was nothing to make you profoundly regret every single one of your previous decisions like waking up bound, gagged, soaking wet, and with an unreasonably furious headache. Presumably—although you were a bit fuzzy on the details given the whole unconsciousness thing—the latter was from taking the hilt of a sword to the skull. Being wet had come from the bucket of cold water used to shock you awake before your march through what you could only assume was the Imperial-occupied Doma Castle.

“On your best behavior, savage,” the soldier holding your bound arm growled as he jerked you to an abrupt stop. His voice was twice muffled, once by his helmet and again by the sack pinning your ears flat against your head. In front of you, somebody opened another door.

Handcuffed, woozy, gagged, blind, and stripped of both your armor and your weapons, you had no idea what sort of misbehavior he expected. It was almost more than you could manage to stumble along as he pushed you forward. He released your elbow at the last second, letting you lurch forward and onto your knees. Instinct had your hands flying forward to catch yourself, but the only thing that did was cause the metal cuffs keeping them behind your back to tighten painfully. The smooth, cool marble floor hit hard. Red hot, aching pain radiated from the back of your head all the way down your spine and to your tail, chased upward by the jarring zing of falling onto your knees.

A rough hand on your shoulder jerked you upright and, with an unceremonious whip of canvas, the man pulled the sack off of your head. You squinted into the light, which was blessedly dim, waiting for your eyes to adjust to the sight of the two soldiers. They both wore full sets of armor, devaluing them into nothing more than faceless, nameless instruments of Garlemald. Why they had bothered with the bag in the first place was beyond you, it wasn’t as if you were familiar enough with this place to know your location from just a few halls. Scare tactic? Humiliation? As if being marched through the palace in nothing more than your underclothes wasn’t bad enough.

“Attempt to escape and your life is forfeit, savage,” the first soldier looming above you said, his hand threateningly resting on his sword.

“I’d like to see you try,” you said in response, although that’s not what came out around the mouthful of gag. Which was probably for the best. Despite the botched attempt at bravado, you didn’t really mean it. There was a chance you could take them and steal their weapons, but then you’d have to fight your way out of an Imperial infested stronghold without any clue of how to get out wearing nothing other than a tanktop and shorts.

Rather than respond, both soldiers gave a sharp Imperial salute, looking behind you.

Oh.

Knowing, and dreading, what you would find, you hobbled around to look behind yourself. The room wasn’t the torture dungeon you feared, but a lavish space with fine dark marble floor and ornate walls. Details were of little importance, your attention was focused only on the towering figure who stood at the far end with his back to you. Even though he wasn’t wearing his hulking Imperial armor, his size and long blond hair were too distinct for you to mistake him for anyone else.

Zenos. Seeing him triggered a rush of gut-twisting anxiety, fear, and helplessness. It overwrote your discomfort and fatigue entirely. Even shackled and disoriented, you clumsily struggled to get to your feet. Whether you meant to run or to fight, you didn’t know.

“On your knees, savage. You will show respect,” the soldier who had first spoken spat, forcing you back down with an elbow to the stomach and a heavy hand on your shoulder. You hit the floor for a second time with a muffled grunt, your body painfully tense. He cleared his throat, saluting again and raising his voice. “The prisoner, my lord.”

Zenos looked behind himself, giving you a flash of empty blue, before looking away. “Remove her shackles,” he ordered in a bored tone.

“Yes, my lord!”

The soldier behind you crouched down, pulling out a key. “Try anything,” he warned softly, “and you’ll regret it.”

You couldn’t see his face, but you could imagine the glare that accompanied the threat. And if it were just the two of them, you might have been formulating a plan of attack for the second you were freed. Surely you could take them. The real trouble stood at the other end of the room. So you swallowed your pride and nodded to show you understood. He unlocked the handcuffs, freeing your hands to pull the gag out of your mouth and toss it aside. Harsh red lines circled your wrists where the metal had cut deep indents into them.

“I will speak to the prisoner alone,” Zenos said, his back still turned. “See that we are not disturbed.”

With two more crisp salutes and cries of, “Yes, my lord,” the soldiers fled, sliding the door shut behind themselves.

As soon as the door was shut, you got to your feet. Zenos remained silent. Utterly motionless, his back to you. The casual dismissiveness was likely meant to flaunt his power, but you were glad for the chance to collect yourself in peace. He couldn’t see you wince as you straightened out and took stock of your body. Everything hurt, at least a little, but your head was the worst of it.

As the silence dragged on, you waited for Zenos to say something. He didn’t.

A fear tactic? A test?

Trying not to let it get to you, you focused on your surroundings. The room must have been for religious ceremonies at one point. You were pretty sure the far wall that Zenos was so distracted by, painted and decorated with symbols and iconography of the Doman kami, was a shrine. There were shelves for incense and to hang prayers, although that was all gone. Whatever furniture that might have once given the room comfort had also been removed, leaving it hollow and cold.

More importantly, the room lacked windows, leaving you unable to guess the time. It made you sick to think that you had been unconscious for very long. Your friends had to have been worried. Or, worse, they hadn’t gotten away. It was all so stupid. You shouldn’t have gone along with Yugiri in the first place, you should have done everything you could to stop her from the suicide mission. Your memories were cloudy and chaotic, but you recalled the fight, and Zenos’s missive, and the rescue. Everything would have been fine, but one of the Imperial soldiers had gone for Yugiri before Gosetsu got to her. You acted thoughtlessly, recklessly. All you got for your so-called heroism was the hilt of a sword to the head.

Smoothing your hands over your wet hair, and shaking out your ears, you considered how to play this.

Attacking was out. The room was empty, nothing for you to use as an improvised weapon. There was no way you would be able to win against Zenos in these conditions. Your captors had given you water when you woke up, but it had been at least twelve hours since you’d eaten and your only sleep had been from getting knocked out. It didn’t put you at a disadvantage entirely, but that was only if you were going against normal opponents. Running wasn’t much better. If Zenos had a mind to chase you, you knew firsthand how absurdly fast he could move.

That meant talking, didn’t it? Or trying to. If you were worth keeping alive and he requested you directly, that meant something. What had Zenos told you the night before? Whatever was meant by the time between the seconds was beyond you, but you understood his command to live. His odd display of sentiment seemed like leverage you could use, if only you knew how.

If only.

If Alphinaud were here, he would already have made his opening gambit to argue his way out of this. Estinien would be able to rely on his brute strength and talent to get out of here. Even Thancred would have already rattled off some sarcastic comment or joke to establish his confidence in a situation like this. You weren’t sure what you were meant to do, which approach suited you best. As the silence dragged on, however, you began to think that maybe saying nothing was worse.

“What magnificent creatures could have been given life by the prayers left at this altar, I wonder,” Zenos said, his voice quiet enough that you could barely hear him. “So much power, all wasted.” He sighed. Before you could respond, although you weren’t entirely sure he was talking to you, Zenos turned his head to address you directly. “I am disappointed in you.”

He turned in full, giving you a clear look at him without his helmet or the haze of rain.

So young. And with his long blond hair, kohl-lined baby blues, and angular features, Zenos possessed a disquieting sort of beauty, almost feminine in harsh contrast with his towering frame and the danger that rolled off of him in nearly tangible waves. While it was true that he was less bulky without the Imperial armor, the slightly more casual—assuming you could call a military coat worn on top of his shoulders like a cape with the sleeves hanging limp behind him casual—outfit only accentuated his figure. For several reasons, you weren’t sure that was a good thing.

“What?” you asked.

“I allowed you to go free, and yet you attacked like an ill-mannered dog the moment I turned my back, spitting upon the gift of my generosity,” he said. “Had you accepted the opportunity I so graciously offered, you would not be here.”

You opened your mouth to object before thinking better of it, clenching your fists to ground yourself so you could speak in a more measured tone. “I had no choice.”

Zenos didn’t visibly react to your answer, considering it with the same cool inscrutability. “You had a choice. You chose incorrectly. But if you are to be here regardless, I see no reason to deny my,” he paused, pulling in a breath through his teeth as he gave you a decidedly uncomfortable once over, “interest in you, hero.”

More aware than ever of your state of undress, nervous flutters battered the inside of your stomach, some intoxicating combination of fear and anticipation. Animal instinct told you to turn around and run no matter the cost, it screamed and scrambled in its panic to get away from him. Twice now he had beat you half to death, and that was while you were armed and rested. But there was another instinct that desperately longed to charge headfirst into the danger, to ease your discomfort through the traditional method. That is, with your fists.

“Did Yugiri… did everybody else escape?” you asked.

Zenos remained silent, his expression giving nothing away. His eyes were really blue. Soft, beautiful blue. And entirely, utterly empty.

Setting your shoulders, you forced yourself to hold eye contact, to prove that you weren’t afraid. “How long have I been here?”

More silence, broken only by the sound of Zenos’s footsteps as he began to approach you, walking in an arc rather than directly towards you. Circling like a wolf. All the while, his eyes didn’t waver. Even from across the room, he was physically imposing.

“Why did you summon me?” you pushed, a hint of desperation in your voice. Fear. You adjusted your stance in an attempt to orient yourself a little better. There really was no comfortable way to stand when you were so underdressed, no way to hide how vulnerable you felt.

He wasn’t going to answer. That wasn’t how this worked. Zenos yae Galvus wasn’t the type of man who was content to simply talk things out.

“You want information, right? About the rebellion,” you said, forcing yourself to sound strong. “Well it’s a waste of your time, I won’t tell you anything.”

At first, you thought he was going to ignore you again.

“There’s no need for that,” Zenos finally responded, taking another step. His expression remained completely impassive. It gave you the eerie sensation that, even without the helmet, he was still masked. “I do not concern myself with the petty antics of dead men. The savages of this desolate nation will continue to eat their own. I will not interfere unless she fails once more.”

You took a half step back, pursing your lips as you tried to glean some deeper understanding from his words. “So what do you want from me?” you asked.

“I mean to quit this wretched place. You will entertain me until my ship arrives.”

Your stomach flipped nervously, but you ignored the feeling, focusing on the far more pressing matter. “And after that?”

“I seek a greater prize elsewhere.”

That wasn’t what you asked, but that meant he intended to leave. Your ears perked up with the slightest bit of hope. “So you’ll let me go?”

That question sparked some emotion in Zenos’s empty eyes, they met yours with more focus. Curiosity, maybe. “I will not raise a hand to detain you any further, whether or not that means escape is your choice.”

“Swear it?”

Zenos didn’t respond, his gaze lowering until you realized it was following the nervous movements of your tail as it twitched back and forth. You froze, forcing it to straighten out with a bitter thought about every time you had been told to get better control over your ears and tail, how easily they betrayed your emotions. That wasn’t normally a problem.

“How surprising it was to learn that the hero of the savages would be one like you. More beast than woman. Even among the savages, yours is a lowly lot. Feral poachers, whores, and societal outcasts who lack discipline—nay, lack humanity.”

It took extra effort to keep your tail from flicking, but you held your shoulders up and your tail in place, refusing to be ruffled by his insult. Lots of people had echoed similar sentiments, unable to think that a runt Keeper could be any sort of hero. Besides, it was almost flattering that Zenos would bother knowing enough about Miqo’te to insult you in the first place.

Very, very flattering.

“People tell a lot of stories about your humanity too,” you said in what you hoped was a casual enough tone, even managing a smile. “Good thing we know better, right?”

Figuring out what he thought about your attempt to catch him off guard was impossible, Zenos’s expression didn’t change. It didn’t seem to anger him. So that was good. Or bad.

“Well then, my fellow beast, tell me,” he said, “why do you hold yourself back when we fight? I have been told of your exploits, of how you pitilessly slay your enemies without discrimination. And yet, I haven’t had the privilege to face the great warrior who has fought eikons and fell dragons. You are distracted. Reactive. Unfit for a proper fight. What will it take, I wonder, for you to bring your full might and mastery to bear?”

You frowned before catching yourself, trying to keep your expression composed. As if you didn’t already feel weak and impotent. Even most of your allies weren’t aware of the extent to which the business with the dragons had drained you. Your strength was coming back, but not nearly to where you were before. Every time you thought you were ready to really, truly rejoin the fray, you found yourself lacking. You wanted to think it didn’t bother you but right then, disarmed and weakened and having to crane your neck to look up at the tyrannical horror known as Zenos yae Galvus with the memory of your defeat painfully fresh, it bothered you a lot.

But you couldn’t let him know that.

“I can only conclude that I’ve yet to do enough to properly stoke the flames of your outrage,” Zenos said when you didn’t respond. “How fortuitous that your foolish aspirations and my duty conflict so spectacularly. I will steal from you those you wish to protect, raze the land you so pitifully try to defend, and extinguish the flame of rebellion you have lit for the misguided malcontents who think to defy Imperial rule.” With each promise, his voice raised from its calculated drawl with excited fervor. “Such is my mission—as per His Radiance’s wishes. Then, when you are ready to bring your all, you will come to me as a creature driven only by righteous vengeance and unadulterated fury.”

Zenos exhaled shakily, closing his eyes momentarily as if to calm himself. When they reopened, you were overcome with a fresh flood of icy cold dread. He didn’t look as crazy as his words indicated. There was a very measured sincere sanity to what he told you. That was more frightening than his cruelty, somehow.

“And if I refuse?” you asked. “I’m not the only one with a score to settle.”

“You are the only one who is worthy,” Zenos told you. “We stand at the precipice of a new era of power. Those who lack the resolve to ascend are but ants beneath my boot. You would feel the same—were you not bound by the manacles of duty.”

A prince lecturing you about the confining nature of duty. It would be funny if you weren’t so uncomfortable.

“But enough of this talk,” Zenos continued, his voice raising. “Entertain me. Show me the beast whose fury accomplished what so few else have, who bared her fangs when most would consider themselves beaten.”

“What?” you asked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Did he mean for you to attack him? “No, I don’t-” The fist buried in your stomach cut off whatever righteously indignant denial you intended, replacing it with a viscerally low grunt. Zenos held you in place by your shoulder, keeping you from flying away with the force of his attack. Keeping you curled around his arm, unable to even remember how to breathe, your entire body only existing in a state of breathless pain.

“Then I shall draw her out myself,” he said, his low words tinny and distant.

Zenos pulled his arm back, letting you crumple. You tried to stay on your knees, to maintain a shred of dignity, but you had barely hit the ground before you collapsed sideways. His heavy boot landed on your side, keeping you from getting up. Despite his already unreasonable height advantage over most people, his boots were heeled. Such a cruel, gratuitous choice struck you as almost tragically unfair. The edge of the heel dug into the soft flesh right above your hip, his foot long enough that his toe could put pressure on your ribs. Pressing down just enough to make you squirm, Zenos rocked you back and forth, forcing you to pay attention. If he stepped down with all of his weight, he would crush your insides into nothing more than a sticky mush. Wheezing in pain, you squinted up at him with streaming eyes. From here, he looked half eikon himself. A monstrously tall, malicious being of pure intent.

“I find torture to be tedious. There is, I allow, some artistry in it, but very little sport,” Zenos said. “To endure the mewling and whining of the weak and defeated is… grating.”

He kicked you, catching your ribs at a bad angle and sending you rolling away. The world exploded anew, condensed down to nothing more than the agony of where his boot struck. But you recognized, on some level, that he was holding back. He wasn’t trying to break you. More than that, you were durable. That attack might have grievously injured some people, but you were harder to break. Good at taking a beating, you knew that long before you ever took up a weapon, back when the bigger kids would break their hands hitting you before you would give up. Some people had a pretty singing voice or could paint nice pictures, you could survive all manner of fatal beatings.

Focus on breathing, you reminded yourself. In, and out. Focus on the rapid, thunderous beat of your heart, on the blood pumping through your veins.

Endure. You could endure this.

“However, I must acknowledge that it has its uses,” Zenos continued. “Pain is a tool, and one that serves me quite well on occasion. After all, it is unjust, is it not? To be subjected to pain and humiliation for no reason other than the pleasure of another—how easily it draws out the truest nature of man, stripping away the unimportant trivialities they cling to in favor of something worthwhile. Stimulating, even beautiful. But it is a delicate thing. Too much, and the prey loses their will to fight. Too little, and they feel no need to retaliate.”

Gritting your teeth, you got your arms beneath yourself. When he hit you, you’d accidentally bitten down on the soft flesh on the inside of your cheek. You had to spit out a mouthful of blood onto the pristine marble floor, coughing lightly to clear your lungs before wiping your mouth with a shaking hand. Holding back a grimace, you got to your knees, watching Zenos to ensure he didn’t rush you as you unsteadily stood up.

“I understand you are not inspired by selfish gain—such is the insipid conceit of the dutiful. But now I have seen your potential to rise above your mundane calling. Your facade has slipped, hero. Be it today or another, I mean to strip you of it entirely.”

His words rolled over you like water, a counter beat to the pounding of your heart, the roar of blood in your ears. You could feel the way energy coursed through your veins, easing all of your petty pains as you considered your next move. This wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t exactly torture either, the expression Zenos wore was too animated, his words shockingly friendly when compared to the way he had spoken to you previously. This meant something else to him.

Finally, you met his eyes, your stomach clenching unpleasantly at the sight. While you had been trying to sort out your thoughts, Zenos had been watching you intently. As predator, as appraiser, and opponent. What was he thinking when he stared at you so intently? You couldn’t even begin to guess. On the one hand, he seemed to be nothing more than a force of evil. On the other, you got the impression that the enjoyment he derived from this was pure.

“I am surprised you have stayed your hand thus far,” Zenos said. “Is it wisdom? Weakness?”

“Give me a sword and find out.”

Part of you expected anger, or annoyance. Instead, Zenos smiled. Although the expression mimicked the joy of any other person, his eyes narrowing and lips curling with amusement, it was wrong. Unsettling.

When he came at you, you were prepared, dodging to the side with the intention to get your back away from the wall. Zenos pivoted to cut you off, his white coat flaring like wings behind him. A hard kick to your shin sent you careening forward. Zenos grabbed you by a fistful of your loose hair, dragging you towards him as you fell. Gravity did the rest, driving his raised knee into your stomach.

Air burst out of your lungs like bellows, your body going limp. As if you were nothing more than a ragdoll, Zenos raised his leg higher to push you back upward. You saw his fist coming at the last second, reactively dodging and causing it to glance off of your cheekbone. In some ways, your lack of height was beneficial. The awkward angle of his punch pushed you further up, momentum sending you a few fulms back before collapsing onto your ass. Your tailbone connected hard with the floor, sharp pain zipping up your torso.

Without hesitation, you lurched onto your feet, no longer concerned with self preservation so much as answering the call of bucketfuls of energy dumping into your veins.

“A pitiful start,” Zenos remarked, his tone returning to that bored drawl.

He attacked again, moving way too fast for somebody so huge. Your dodge was messy, you stumbled over his outstretched foot and presented an easy opening for him to take advantage of. Your hip first, aligned as it was with his knee. Something cracked, you had no idea if it was the complaining of metal or bone. Then your chest, his forearm striking like an iron bar right beneath your collarbones. The coup de grâce was a hard punch directly to your kidney.

The world blurred and blackened as furious, blinding agony engulfed you entirely. Exquisite in its malice, pain was all that could possibly exist in that moment.

There was no thought when you were overcome so completely by your need to get away, driven by the primal instinct of an animal. Tanking another punch to the ribs, you grabbed his arm, the one he was holding you with, pulling at it like a bar. Zenos couldn’t shake you off fast enough, not before you could bite on the first available patch of vulnerability you could find. Right above where the leather of his glove ended and below the elbow. Gods bless his lack of armor, you could feel your sharp canines pierce the fabric of his shirt, digging right into his skin.

He swatted you away with a head turning backhand, sending you back until you slammed against the wall. At the very least, it kept you from falling again, giving you something to steady yourself against. Quickened by the fresh burst of energy gifted through pain, you quickly assessed your wounds. No broken bones. Probably no internal damage. Your face was the most distracting of the pain, his backhand had reduced the entire cheek to an unmanageable blaze of feverish skin.

Opening your streaming eyes and blinking your vision clear, you realized that your bite must have caught a vein in his arm, bringing along a spray of blood when he shook you off. Scarlet droplets stained the ornate white collar of his coat, soaking into the light colored fabric of your clothes. Even though you were unable to catch your breath and liable to collapse from the pain at any minute, you felt a pang of victory. When was the last time anybody had drawn his blood?

Zenos looked confused, almost. That passed quickly, his eyes focused on you with a predatory gleam. “Well, well.” He shrugged the coat from his shoulders without a thought given to how expensive the garment must have been. “More beast than woman indeed. Mayhap you should be muzzled.”

The stomp of his boot on the floor was all the warning you got, but you were able to spin out of his reach when he lunged at you, ducking beneath his sweeping fist.

“Better,” he remarked, following it up with a low swipe of his left arm and then a direct right. “But it won’t be enough.” Ignoring the taunt, you dodged his next cluster of attacks by a hair's breadth, the air tickling your sweaty skin. Zenos didn’t continue to rush you like you expected, straightening out and turning as you circled him.

He was baiting you into attacking. You knew that because, if you were the one with the upper hand, you would have done the same.

Realizing you weren’t going to take initiative, Zenos came at you again. This time, you were given no reprieve from his flurry of punches. Most of them were feints. Testing you? Teasing you? No. Tiring you out. You tried to step backward to catch your breath, but you didn’t move fast enough. He grabbed your arm before you were out of reach, wrenching you back towards him.

With a grotesque pop, your shoulder gave out. You ignored it, knowing the sort of sick trick he was about to pull, and forced yourself to orient to the change of momentum. Following it, you jumped. Your bare foot connected satisfyingly with his unarmored hip. Your other foot connected with his stomach, meeting the resistance of some type of protective shirt. You used that leverage to get away, twisting your arm out of his loosened grip. Pain lanced down that arm all the way down to your knuckles, the shoulder screaming in protest. As far as aerials went, it was horribly awkward in the limited space, and you barely managed to stick the landing. But it got you out of his reach.

“Clever girl,” Zenos praised you. He didn’t approach you again, merely watching you with that same disquieting smile. The lanterns on the far wall lit the gold of his hair into a halo, the rapturous depictions of kami rearing up behind him. “You enjoy this as much as I do.”

Panting and dizzy, you met his gaze, too immersed to feel shame. Unlike base predators that took eye contact as a sign of aggression, Zenos seemed to invite your attention. There was a sense of lucidity to him now, contrasting with your hazy thoughts. In your blurry emerald limbo, there existed only the absolute and physical. Pain and exertion and living and yourself and your opponent. The racing of your heart and the flow of blood through your veins, the taste of it in your throat and on your tongue.

“Oh yes,” he continued, his voice lowering. “That look in your eye belies the ideals you so fervently espouse.”

Either his tone or the words themselves—something about what Zenos said affected you in a way you would never admit in any realm outside of the fog of senseless frenzy. You could still taste his blood, feel the bruises he’d printed around your arm when he grabbed you. He was right in some ways. You wanted to fight him, to win. Not for any grand cause or because of the evil he had committed, but because you were compelled by the heat of the moment, by your own desire.

But you couldn’t. This was for his entertainment. His enjoyment. Zenos spoke as if there was some deeper meaning to this, but that was all talk. Words to lend virtue to violence.

You knew all about that.

Instinct kept you from breaking stance when Zenos rushed you again. Feet apart, knees bent, ready to move, to dodge. That was all you could do. Avoid his attacks until you couldn’t anymore. There was no running, no fighting. With its shoulder out of place, your left arm was borderline useless.

And it worked, for a time. Zenos attacked and you dodged, the two of you were practically dancing together. And it was, in a way, invigorating. You saw the same feeling on his face.

The moment of perfect invulnerability ended too soon. You misjudged where his fist was aimed and overcorrected, giving him an opening to clip the back of your heel with the hard edge of his boot. The tendon gave out and, yelping, you toppled forward. Rather than letting you fall where you were, Zenos grabbed you by the back of the neck.

“Caught you,” he teased. You struggled violently, freeing yourself and whirling around to hit him with your uninjured arm, moving right into place for his other fist to connect with your face. Blood exploded from your nose. You didn’t even feel it at first, just the overwhelming sense of disbelieving shock.

Grabbing your arm, Zenos tossed you into the center of the room, throwing you around like you were nothing. To him, you probably were.

You fell with a soundless, breathless cry, rolling to try and mitigate further damage before coming to a stop, dizzy and aching. All you could taste was blood, it was still gushing from your nose, painting the front of your sweaty undershirt in bright red.

“Again,” Zenos demanded, excited.

Panting hard, you tried to get to your feet, watching him with watering eyes. But the tendon he’d kicked gave out, pain incapacitating that entire leg when you put pressure on it.

“Is that it?” he mocked. With loud footsteps, he approached you slowly, as if to give you time to escape, but it was setting in finally that you were helpless. In every sense.

Yellow light had warmed the greens and reds of the room into a sort of unreality, your tear-glazed vision fading on the edges and sharpening in the center, your entire existence heightening to a pinpoint of the moment. Fear cast a dark shadow, but the absurdity and oversaturation of dramatics gave you a measure of recklessness, a retreat from your fear and anger.

“On your feet, hero.”

“Why?” you asked, your voice muffled by your bloody nose. It didn’t feel broken, at least. Zenos wasn’t trying to seriously hurt you, this was all just a game. A diversion. Biting your tongue to keep from making any noise, you took the opportunity to push your shoulder back into place. Nausea flooded through your stomach at the pain, but you choked it down. You would be fine.

“Why indeed,” he said softly. “You enjoy this too, do you not?”

You breathed out shakily, blood running into your mouth. The mental barrier that accounted for things like safety and morality was all but disintegrated by adrenaline and exhaustion.

“So stand,” Zenos insisted, his voice threateningly soft. He spoke so low, you could practically feel his voice. “Now.”

It didn’t matter one way or the other. Every choice he had offered was a falsehood, a chance for him to observe your reaction. Zenos wasn’t playing the role of predator or prey, he was taking on the role of ethologist. He wanted you to react, to struggle and fight and feed into his lust for violence.

“No,” you said, looking up at him with your jaw set in place. It wasn’t exactly the strong rejection you were aiming for, stuffed up by the blood that was finally slowing down. Everything was painted with the stuff, soon to become sticky and rusty. All the same, you felt a rush of pleasure at saying it, at denying him something he explicitly asked for. “Do what you will, I-I don’t care. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last, so wha-whatever you expect to get from this… It’s pointless. Compared to what I’ve faced… the horrors in this world… you’re… you’re insignificant.”

Zenos’s eyes narrowed and you met them with a raised chin. Part of that was because of the bloody nose, but most of it was out of stubborn defiance. The idea that you had gotten under his skin, even a little, filled you with hot satisfaction, almost enough to cancel out the pain.

And you expected retribution, maybe a part of you hoped for it. But instead of stooping down or kicking you or anything else that you expected, his arm swept forward so he could grab a handful of your loose hair, dragging you back up onto your knees. It hurt, of course it hurt, but the pain shot down right down your spine, and your verbal response, what should have been a cry of pain, was a loud moan.

Zenos froze. You did too, not even trying to escape the hand threaded into your hair. The silence physically pressed into you, broken only by your harsh breathing as you waited for him to say something. Part of you hoped he hadn’t heard it, or that he’d misinterpret the sound. It wasn’t your fault, it was a mixture of everything and you couldn’t help it, it had nothing to do with him, of course it didn’t. Just that the intensity and the helplessness and the way reality had dulled while your senses sharpened so acutely had worn away at your reasonable, rational mind, passion becoming indistinguishable.

Excuses. The frailty of youthful weakness had warped you, playing adventurer hero now didn’t change anything.

“Is this why you behave with such insolence?” Zenos asked softly.

A new type of fear and humiliation gripped your insides, keeping you silent. Instead, you thought to pry at his hand, trying to make him let go. But another sharp tug made you whimper, and you stopped.

“How very… unexpected.” Zenos dropped your hair and you immediately tried to escape, your sweaty, bloody palms slapping on the stone floor as you tried to lurch onto your feet.

What you didn’t expect, really truly genuinely didn’t expect, was to feel his hand close around your neck before you could make it even a step past him, pushing you until you hit the wall and up. Up until your feet were off the ground, up until your panicked eyes could directly meet his, up until he could stand close enough that you felt the heat of his body. Paint scratched your bare shoulders, reminding you of where you were: crushed helplessly between a shrine for somebody else’s gods and the man who would see them all destroyed.

Mad with panic, you grabbed onto his arm to keep from suffocating entirely, bracing yourself between him and the wall to relieve some of the pressure on your throat, your feet—raised at least two fulms off of the floor—kicking ineffectually. They would have an easier time knocking a hole in the wall than managing to hurt Zenos in any meaningful way. You lashed out with your free hand as well, hitting his chest, his arm. When you tried to claw at his exposed face, Zenos just raised his chin to keep it out of your limited reach. When you went for his hair, his hand tightened enough that the world blinked dark, his other hand pressing against your sore hip. Before you could pass out, he let up slightly. You choked, gasping, twitching pitifully.

“Is this all it takes to incapacitate you, hero?” Zenos mocked. “You have faced worse, have you not?”

Already the world seemed to be closing in, getting darker. You had wasted too much energy panicking. Although even if you hadn’t, you probably would have had an easier time moving mountains than prying Zenos’s hand from your neck.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering and eyes burning into yours. “How pathetic.”

Your reaction to the insult, the one you did your utmost to hide from him, must have come through in some capacity. And he had to have been watching and waiting for it, because Zenos’s smile deepened to a truly devious expression.

“I should have known that you would have… unnatural tastes.”

Your face screwed up in disgust and you tried, with waning strength, to pry his fingers off of your neck. It was pointless. His body was blazing heat and impossibly solid, his face close enough that you could see the color in his cheeks, the inky dark brush of his eyelashes over sweet baby blue each time he blinked.

Even that, your entire world, slowly darkened, all of your pitiful choking noises cutting off.

“Don’t swoon,” he said irritably, like it was your own fault. But he did step forward so you could hold onto him. Pride demanded you refuse the offer, but survival won out. You clung to Zenos, easing the pressure off of your neck. The cruelty wasn’t lost on you, even in your frazzled state. He did nothing to help support you other than the hand around your neck. It forced you into dependency, your bare thighs chafing uncomfortably against his armored waist and your arms clinging to his broad shoulders, but it was still better than passing out.

Zenos watched with empty eyes while you, once again, tried to catch your breath. It was difficult, you were overly aware of the weight of his gaze. And the position wasn’t intimate in any sane way. It would be as easy as breathing for him to snap your neck, and you doubted anybody would label the look he gave you as lustful, but your body reacted to his proximity all the same. Not as a combatant, but as a woman. The hot, confused, nervous weight of being so near him scared you more than any threat of violence. It was a sickening sensation, blurring the pain with the onslaught of energy that had kept you going thus far. And it wasn’t your fault. Your passions so rarely had the opportunity to get twisted in this way when you were fighting monsters and eikons and crazy old men. Monsters had no right to be attractive, your brain lacked the wisdom to filter danger from lust, or violence from passion.

“Put me down,” you demanded, your voice hoarse.

“I am not loath to indulge you in such a way,” Zenos said, speaking as if he hadn’t heard you. “While you are too small for my taste, you are not entirely without appeal. You will not be easily broken either.”

You shook your head in panic, your stomach twisting into knots. Even as you choked on the smell and taste of blood, you could smell him too. It must have been his hair, amber clove and vanilla. “I-I don’t know what you think you’re-”

“And to claim the hero of the savages for myself,” he continued, cutting you off with amusement breaking through his tone. “It is not an unpleasant thought.

“No,” you told him emphatically, injecting every bit of strength and acid you could into the word.

“No?” Zenos repeated in a deadly soft voice, his head tilting as he considered your rejection. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. “Did you not grant me permission to do as I wished?”

You gasped harshly when his hand dropped between your legs, almost glad for the way his other hand restricted your ability to make any louder noise as his fingers pressed right between your thighs. Everything, even breathing, hurt your battered and exhausted body—assuming you could get a proper breath with his grip cutting off your airway—but that pain only made things worse, made you more sensitized. With nothing more than the thin pair of shorts and even thinner panties, you knew he could feel the heat.

“If this is, as you say, insignificant, why should you reject me?” Zenos asked.

The use of your own words against you was like a slap in the face. They had been spoken in a moment of contrary bravado, but you realized now how stupid they had been.

“Stop it,” you demanded in a crushed voice, fixing him with what you hoped was a properly angry glare. When you squirmed to escape, all it did was grind you against his hand.

“Have you shared your body with another before?” His fingers curled, pressing a little harder against your clothed pussy. By the Twelve, his hand was nearly double the size of yours.

“Stop!”

Without any other warning, Zenos pulled his hand away so he could shove it past the waistband of your shorts and panties. They weren’t meant to stretch that much, the fabric complaining against the stress. But you weren’t as concerned with that as you were with the shock of one of his fingers dipping inward, slipping between your outer lips. His calloused fingertip searched for a moment, drawn inward by smooth, slick flesh to your entrance. You hissed sharply, your thighs clenching around his waist.

“As I thought. You’re dripping for me, my beast.” While passion burned in his low voice, Zenos didn’t look pleased with the revelation. You couldn’t tell what he felt, or thought, only that you didn’t like it. “For the pain I’ve given you, the thrilling rush of violence we’ve enjoyed together. In this, we are of the same mind.”

“We’re not!” you insisted breathlessly. To punctuate the rejection, your body bucked clumsily, a desperate bid to displace his hand, senseless panic about what was happening well and truly setting in. It was predictably ineffectual. Without any other options, you pushed against his shoulders to move further up the wall, to get away from his touch. His hand just followed you, that finger drawing forward to press against your clit. A shiver ran through your body, fizzling out in your head. “Ss-stop this. You’re-you’re disgusting.”

“Finally!” Zenos exclaimed, his voice raising with manic glee. “That is the look I crave. I wonder, hero, will you hate me for exposing your true nature, or will you finally admit to what you are?”

Not waiting for an answer, he pulled his hand away so he could push your shorts and underwear down. The fabric strained loudly, painfully taut between your thighs and stopped by the obstruction of his body. But it was enough to make space for his hand. You tried to fight him, pulling at his arm desperately, but your attempts were pointless, Zenos just squeezed your throat a little tighter. Not enough to cut off your air completely, but enough to make you gasp and wheeze, enough to make you unable to anything as he pressed two fingers against the fluttering muscles of your entrance. You glared at him through squinted, teary eyes, giving up on the hand around your neck to pry at the one between your legs.

Zenos smiled. “Hate, then. Very well.”

With that, he drove two fingers into your pussy. They were big, and two was more than you could have been prepared for. But you were wet, and even if it hurt, he was easily able to work them in deep, his callouses scraping against your sensitive inner walls. You choked, a pained hiss leaving from between your teeth.

“Not a virgin then,” he said. “A pity. ”

When Zenos pulled his fingers out, you could feel the way your cunt worked around them as if trying to suck him back in despite the discomfort. Your hips twitched forward in a suggestive way. A little sound left your mouth when his fingers curled slightly, a sound that you didn’t want to think was pleasure but certainly wasn’t pain or discomfort.

“Mm. Consider yourself lucky, beast. I don’t often waste my time pandering to the whims of others, but I want you to remember this well. Your lust, your fear, your pain, your rage—I will have it all. I will take from you what no one else has.”

You shook your head, but, all too easily, your body turned against you. He thrust his fingers back in with a sloppy sound and you choked out a moan, your pussy squeezing his fingers as they pulled out.

Sickened by your response, by his words, you lashed out again. Zenos wasn’t expecting it this time, and you caught his cheek with your nails. Four shallow red lines marked his flawless ivory cheekbone, cut short when he used his grip on your neck to pull you forward and slam you hard against the wall, painfully knocking your head against it as he began to fingerfuck you in earnest.

Something cracked upon impact and, in the dizzy lurch of agony sweeping red hot behind your eyes, you thought for sure that you had just broken your skull.

But even the pain wasn’t enough of a distraction to let you ignore the fingers buried deep in your cunt. Zenos was cruel, pushing them deep enough that you could feel the leather of his fingerless glove each time. A helpless, nearly inaudible noise left your mouth.

Zenos exhaled sharply through his nose, although that was the only indication you got that he was affected by any of this. Rougher now, while you were still trying to get over the agonizing throbbing starting at the back of your head and working all the way down your body. Already he was setting a too-fast pace that had you rocking up and down against the wall, held in place by his hand and the grip you had on his shoulders. When you braved to look at him through wet eyelashes, the emptiness of his eyes struck you anew. Excitement, sure. Maybe even a sort of hunger. But not enjoyment or engagement. Not ‘need’ in the lustful sense.

“There is something… curious about lust born not of desire, but of violence. How similar the two can be, yet how different,” Zenos mused, unconcerned with the turmoil in your head, unconcerned with the act itself. You gasped and jerked and twitched with every thrust, but he wasn’t affected.

If murdering innocents wasn’t enough to get his heart rate up, chokeslamming you to the wall and fingerfucking you wasn’t likely to either. That bitter thought didn’t do much to curb your body’s reaction. Every pass was better than the last, his long fingers scratching an itch within you that you simply couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried. His other hand squeezed your windpipe ever so slightly at random intervals, keeping you from being able to breathe, to form a coherent thought. It kept you sensitized, entreated by each intoxicating rush of oxygen.

“I myself am not immune to its effects, but… that is agreeable to you, beast, is it not?”

There wasn’t much within you left to focus on Zenos’s words. All you could think was that you were going to come if he didn’t stop. He kept curling his fingers as he pulled them out, dragging his calloused fingertips—intentionally or not—against your g-spot. Not to mention how deep he could go. It was literal fingerfucking. You knew you were dripping past his knuckles and probably onto the leather of his glove. There was no resistance against his fingers, nothing to keep him from being rough, to twist and scissor them in a way that made your legs kick and back arch.

Foul. It was all foul, and Zenos enjoyed watching your conflict. If not with lust, then with great interest. You squeezed your eyes shut, turning your face as far from him as you could given the hand around your throat. You wouldn’t come. You didn’t enjoy this.

“Ah, ah, ah. Eyes on me, beast,” Zenos said, his hand squeezing your throat and fingers thrusting into you sharply, mercilessly adding a third. It made you squeal, a sound you couldn’t remember having made before. “Are you listening, hero? I will not repeat myself. You will look me in the eye while you come on my hand.”

You meant to object, but all you got out was a whine. The sound was choked and pathetic and obscene, adding to the obscene, sloppy noises created by each thrust of his fingers. Nobody would believe you were unwilling, not when you were so wet, not when your pussy clamped down around his fingers at the dark threat, and not when you were squirming like a woman possessed. Air had become a privilege and all you could taste was blood and you were sore in a dozen different places and none of that mattered.

Soundlessly begging with bloody lips, you did what Zenos said and met his eyes, feeling the inevitable twist and blaze of pleasure in your core as your body tightened. It looked like he knew, his eyes widening in excitement and body crushing you to the wall a little harder, his fingers setting a faster pace. Most men wouldn’t be able to maintain such a savage pace. Then again, you doubted most women would be able to find pleasure in such brutality. It was violent and painful and miserably cruel and every time his fingers moved you saw stars.

“Come now, beast. I don’t have all day.”

Zenos’s voice was low, intimate. You felt it more than you heard it, the sound going right to your pussy. That was all it took. Burning with self hatred and disgust and a bestial sort of lust that bordered delirium, you shuddered apart, pleasure rolling through you and easing every ache, every discomfort, even dread was dulled by the overwhelming sensation. Cruel eyes watched you get off to his abuse, you met Zenos’s gaze as you relented to the pleasure of his violence. Blue, cool and empty and absolute, ravaged your mind.

All too quickly, it was over, and you were back in the miserable heat and disgust of the situation. Trembling and feeling the creeping nausea return, you told him to stop in a broken voice, wincing as your body began to painfully reject the overstimulation. Zenos did, and you almost didn’t like that either because when he pulled his fingers out of you, he did so slowly, ensuring you could feel it, that he could see the way you shivered at the overstimulation when he brushed past your g-spot.

“Look at me,” Zenos demanded. You hadn’t been aware you had closed your eyes but you opened them quickly, glaring at the man as intently as you could. And Zenos had the gall to laugh, genuine delight dancing in his eyes. “A stirring sight, to be sure.”

You spat blood.

The glob of red saliva missed from how quickly he moved, hitting his shirt instead. Zenos dropped you with visible disgust, stepping back so you could fall to the floor. You didn’t feel the pain, although it must have been quite jarring. Like a panicking animal, you scrambled around his legs, desperate to get away.

“It is too late for that,” Zenos said, stopping your escape by stepping on your leg. It forced your hips flat on the cool floor, the rest of your body following suit.

“Stop!”

Zenos ignored you, removing his boot as he crouched down behind you only to replace it with a knee settled heavily on the back of your leg, the metal edge of his armor pressing painfully into the soft flesh. He made quick work getting rid of the scrap remains of your underwear and shorts, tossing them aside and leaving no room for interpretation as to what was about to happen. Although the noticeable bulge made that point well enough.

“Here now, beast,” he teased, his voice warm with amusement. “Heel.”

“Gah-no,” you cried, ignoring the pain and lashing out, desperate to get out from under him. “Let me go!”

Rather than argue, Zenos grabbed one of your ears. Instinctually, your body went stiff to spare itself. In combat, you kept your sensitive, delicate ears protected, but now they were completely exposed. Afraid of what he might do, you didn’t resist as he pulled you back, forcing you to sit upright on your knees.

“I understand the deformities of the beast savages are prone to exceptional sensitivity,” he said, pinching the delicate tip of your ear between his fingers to feel the fur. “Is that true?”

You grit your teeth, fresh tears forming in your eyes. “Let me g-” Zenos cut you off, taking advantage of your open mouth to shove his fingers past your lips. They were the ones that had been inside of you, that had made you come. Your mouth filled with the salty, heady flavor. It mixed unpleasantly with the tangy taste of blood. Using his fingers like a hook on the inside of your cheek, Zenos turned your head sideways to make you look at him.

His eyebrow quirked expectantly. “Clean up your mess.”

Oh.

Embarrassment welled up in your chest and part of you wanted to bite him, but Zenos pulled on your ear again. Of the two horrors, you picked the lesser and obediently closed your lips around his fingers, sucking them clean. You had no idea how much of it was about sexual gratification. When he pushed them deeper and made you choke, he just looked amused. Curious about your reaction, maybe. The amount of dispassionate control he had over the situation when you could barely think right was terrifying.

When Zenos decided you had done enough, he pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a deluge of bloody saliva, wiping them off on your sweaty tank top.

You might have felt relief when he released your ear, but it was followed by the suggestive clink of metal as he undid his belt, leather sliding against itself, and you tensed up, your breathing picking up speed. Between the panic and blood and choking and hyperventilation, you felt as if you hadn't gotten a full breath in hours.

“You can’t do this,” you said, putting as much steel into your voice as possible. It trembled along with the rest of your body.

Zenos didn’t bother responding. His belt dropped to the floor. You didn’t want to look back as you heard fabric being pushed aside, but you couldn’t help the impulse, twisting around to get a glimpse of him over your shoulder. Very little of Zenos’s body was revealed, only what was necessary. The bottom of a well muscled abdomen, a trail of blond hair, and his dick, the flushed head bobbing as he stroked himself fully hard. Zenos touched himself in a way that seemed to purposefully flaunt his body. As indifferent as he acted, the man was obviously vain. That wasn’t much of a concern right then. In his own hand, his cock was proportional, but considering you had felt those fingers inside of you already, proportional was synonymous with no way this was going to work.

“Take pride in inspiring my lust,” he told you with the faintest trace of a smile. “It’s not often that I feel compelled to satiate my base urges for any reason other than convenience. But this… I shall enjoy this.”

You jerked forward in an attempt to dislodge your leg, your sweaty palms slapping against the marble floor as you dragged yourself forward. Zenos calmly grabbed you by the tail to force you back into place. For the first time, he made you scream, the unexpected pain and shock zipping all the way up your spine to your pounding head.

“Stop!” you demanded, attempting to twist around only to be knocked down to your elbows when he released your tail in favor of getting his hands around your hips to pull you into place. He seemed utterly unconcerned with you, preoccupied with your body instead.

The time for playing had, at long last, ended.

“Spread your legs,” Zenos ordered, unnervingly dispassionate.

You didn’t, not even sure if you could will your body to expose itself like that.

Zenos wordlessly grabbed your tail again, using it to lift your back into a painful arch. Even with your thighs clamped together, the position forcibly exposed your bare ass and pussy to his eyes. The only way to hide would be to risk breaking your tail. He didn’t give you time to decide which was worse, his flat palm landing against your ass with a horribly loud smack. The slap was hard enough to make you yelp, hard enough to send your body lurching forward. Zenos patiently pulled you back into place by the tail, shooting fresh scores of pain up your spine. Red hot fire spread across your skin, you’d probably have a hand-shaped imprint there. The pain, however, was minor in comparison to the shock of being spanked. Like you were a disobedient child. And your body, the traitor, shuddered with the pain and humiliation.

“Ah—ff-fine,” you said, spreading your legs before he could hit you again, squeezing your eyes shut against the embarrassment. Wordlessly, Zenos’s fingertips lightly traced over the hand-shaped mark, almost gentle. And then he spanked you again. Harder, a little lower than the first, targeting the very top of your thigh as well. Your shout was hoarse and choked. And still, he said nothing.

Maintaining a firm hold on your tail to keep your back arched as high as possible, Zenos pushed his cock between your folds. You were so wet that it slipped, bumping against your clit in a way that made you shiver. With the same calculated patience, he pulled back and aligned the thick head with your entrance, pressing into you. There was some give, but even though he had prepared you with his thick fingers, this was different. Your body acted instinctively to protect itself, you couldn’t help it.

“Zenos, st—ah-” Your words cut off with a girlish yelp as he finally forced the head of his cock past the flinching muscles of your entrance. Your pussy clamped down hard around him, trying to keep him out, but that had the opposite effect. Given Zenos’s silent stoicism so far, hearing his little groan made the hairs on the back of your sweaty neck stand on end. It was wrong.

“Can you not feel how your body begs—nay, weeps for mine, beast?” he asked with muted fervor, exchanging your tail for a handful of your loose hair.

“N-nn-oh, stop,” you choked out, your hands scrambling for purchase on the smooth floor.

“No,” he said. The single, inflectionless word was worse than almost anything else he could have said, damning in its simplicity. There was nothing you could do to stop this. It was going to happen. Zenos let go of your hair and lifted you by the hips to mitigate the size discrepancy, it pushed him a little deeper, aided by how wet you were.

“Ss-stop!” you demanded again, your voice raised in panic when he kept pushing. Beyond the initial stretch, there was resistance. No matter how wet you were, you didn’t want this. That didn’t so much as give him pause. Zenos sighed, twisting your hips to ease his way. You drew up painfully tense, your breathing harsh and fast. The tension made it worse, made the uncomfortable stretch that much more obvious. “Stopstopstop—” you practically chanted, but there was nothing you could do, Zenos had complete control over the position. Over you.

“Does it hurt?” he asked mockingly, curling down over you. “Do you ache?”

A broken sound left your mouth, something like a sob. “Too much,” you got out through gritted teeth. “It won’t fit.”

“‘Tis your own fault,” Zenos said. “Mayhap if you weren’t such a runtish creature…” The disdain in his voice was utterly uncalled for. It wasn’t your size that was the problem, he was too much for anybody to reasonably take.

Without warning, he swept you up by the backs of your thighs, folding you against himself as he sat back. Gravity dragged you down further onto his cock, and a few upward thrusts of his hips did the rest. You were unable to do anything other than take it, the position left you without any room to struggle. The natural resistance of your body, the simple matter of size, only delayed the inevitable. With a terrible ripping sensation and a final few hard, shallow thrusts, you were fully seated on his cock. There was no relief or distraction you could find. There was nothing other than the pinching, pounding, splitting ache of being too full. The problem wasn’t just the length, his cock was too thick, greedily forcing your body to accommodate his own.

Zenos sighed in satisfaction. Above you, behind you, inside of you, all around you.

“There,” he said, the singular, satisfied word rumbling against your back. His armor scraped roughly against your bare shoulders, but even without it there would be no intimacy to this position. Now that you had sunk down his cock, your head didn’t so much as make it up to his chin. You may as well have been nothing more than a doll in comparison.

Unconcerned with your panting, trembling, pained reaction, Zenos leisurely rolled his hips. You could have sworn you felt his cock twitch inside of you. You wondered if he could feel your heartbeat like you could, pulsing against him. So deep, selfishly, cruelly deep. You whimpered despite your best attempts to stay silent when he rolled his hips again. It was, in a way, almost nice of him to be giving you a moment to adjust. You would have expected Zenos to fuck you violently, vicious and bloody. But he seemed content to take his time. It was hard to imagine it was for your sake, but he wasn’t reacting like it was for his own either.

Your breath caught when he began pulling out. It was what you wanted, but it still hurt, forcing you to feel the way your pussy unconsciously squeezed around him, your agonizingly raw walls fluttering in pain. Desperate to escape the splitting pain before he could fill you again, your body bunched up in an attempt to get away, but Zenos easily held you in place, his hips slamming upward. You wailed, thrashing helplessly against his hold.

“Quiet now, beast,” he warned in a low voice, “lest you wish for all to know how readily you take my cock.”

That dark threat kept you from making too loud of a noise in response to the next too-hard thrust, just a whimpery grunt from the strain it put on your body. The only benefit was that he couldn’t force you down all the way onto his cock each time in this position. A small mercy, considering how uncomfortably full you were anyway.

But you knew what would happen.

It didn’t stop aching, but you were more than aware that your body was easing into it. Submitting to him. Squeezing his cock, providing a fresh wave of lubrication, your hips tilting forward to match his. Rough sex wasn’t new to you, the only thing that set Zenos apart was his size. And the glaring fact that you didn’t want this. But, in any other circumstance, the manhandling and raw strength he casually displayed was something you liked. Even if your cognitive mind chanted that you didn’t want this, your body was stupid. It got confused about getting punched in the face, let alone being fucked.

“Ah, I knew you would come around,” Zenos said, a smile in his voice. Holding your legs with his arms allowed one of his hands to sneak down, dropping to feel where your pussy was stretching around him. The stimulation made you shudder, your hips bucking forward.

“Don’t,” you hissed, tensing up all over again. But Zenos didn’t seem to be listening, groaning at the way his touch made your pussy squeeze him, the rush of fresh arousal it brought to smooth his way. “Stop!” you whined, trying to writhe away from him.

He ignored you, his rough fingers continuing to tease you, making you squirm and jerk and tighten around his cock again.

“From now on,” Zenos said softly, “every time you allow another man to fuck you, I will be the one you think of. Be it with lust, hate, despair—your body will crave mine.”

Even if they were nothing more than hot air and overconfidence, his words made you moan. You wanted to be brave, to say something to shut him down like you had before, to insist that this didn’t feel good. It was so frustratingly unfair, so evil. Physical pain had never been able to weaken you into giving up, but a taste of pleasure could?

His fingers trailed up further. When they found your neglected clit, you choked, your body jerking against his hold. Zenos rewarded your reaction with a hard thrust and, for the first time, the sound you let out was without the slightest hint of pain, an open obscenity of pleasure.

Zenos groaned in turn, holding you tighter, his thrusts becoming more focused. The way he touched your clit was excessively good. Considering how much pain he had caused, it should have been impossible to think you could come from this. But you already had. And, in the absence of the adrenaline that had kept you alert while he was beating you up, there was a hollow within you. Hollow morals, hollow self preservation. Pleasure so easily filled the gaps in your empty mind, coiling up hot and tense inside of you with each thrust.

So full, so deep. Every time his hips thrust upwards your body was pushed into his touch against your clit. The thick head of his cock hit in a way that made choke back moans and gasps, driving so deep you could have sworn you’d feel him just by pressing against your abdomen. And then there was the pressure. The fullness. Full of him. Whenever your cunt squeezed with pleasure, it hurt. And it felt good.

“It’s almost too easy,” Zenos said, his voice finally showing the strain of pleasure and exertion. “You will come for me again, will you not?”

The moan you couldn’t bite back was meant to be denial. It wasn’t.

“Savor it,” Zenos said, even softer. “No other man will fulfill you as I do.”

By the twelve, his voice filled you like smoke, swirling in your head, inundating your entire body. It was all Zenos. The sweet scent of his hair, the solid strength of his body as he held you, as he fucked you. His cock. Gods, it reached places inside of you that you weren’t even aware of before then. The drag of calloused fingertips on your clit. You could hate him but right then you were practically choking on your pleasure, on the intoxication of it all.

And then you were coming, your pussy clamping down around his cock and your body going painfully tense. Behind you, Zenos grunted, and you met that with a helpless moan, shuddering apart, liquid heat making everything right for a few lovely moments.

Reality reclaimed you quickly. Sweaty, aching, bloody, trembling, and breathless.

“Ss-no-oh more,” you gasped out, your body shying away as pleasurable release became overstimulated horror and nausea. To your surprise, he did, holding your shaking body in place while you both caught your breath. After a moment of agonizing stillness, Zenos lifted you up and off of him, letting you fall onto the floor in a pile of awkward limbs, panting and trembling and reeling. Firm hands flipped you onto your back. The cold floor was uncomfortable against your bare shoulders, and painfully hard.

As you had several times before in far less disadvantageous situations, you stared up at Zenos. Behind him, the kami memorialized on the wall seemed to shiver in the warm yellow light, their painted visages watching the desecration of their shrine. Zenos’s hulking figure covered your view of the sun kami, his golden hair making him out to be a mockery of the divine.

He was still hard, his erection shining with red-tinged slick. The sight echoed the throbbing pain inside of you, inciting a fresh wave of panicked defensiveness. Before you could try and get away, Zenos grabbed your legs, callously hauling you up so your thighs could lay over his, your legs propped up against his torso.

“What’re-”

“Alas, our time together is running short. I can no longer entertain your needs.”

With one hand holding you in place by the bruised neck, he used the other to stroke himself, measuring his cock against your abdomen to gauge how deep he was going. The sight was dizzying. No wonder there was blood. The weight was startling as well, the pure overwhelming physical difference between the two of you. It all made your head spin. Your own arousal smeared in a pinkish stain across your skin as you squirmed, your pussy squeezing painfully around nothing. Zenos ignored your reaction, appraising the sight with an unreadable expression before his eyes dragged upward.

Throughout all of this, you had retained your undershirt and bra. The fabric was bunched up to your waist, drenched with sweat. Nearly translucent. He said that you were appealing earlier, but the way he looked at you didn’t betray any sort of attraction, nor disgust. Just interest, curiosity.

“‘Tis a shame we haven’t the opportunity to truly savor this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his expression remaining composed. “Your body is,” he let out a breath through his teeth, his eyes dragging further down, “uniquely gratifying.”

The praise, such as it was, made your pussy clench down around nothing, sending hot waves of pain throughout your lower half. And he intended for more. Gods have mercy.

“Nn-no more” you said hoarsely. “Anything else, I ca-ah-” You yelped when he grabbed you by the waist, effortlessly lifting you despite the way you thrashed. One of your kicks nearly landed, but he pulled out of the way at the last second.

Wordlessly, Zenos slapped you across the face. It wasn’t the hardest you’d ever been slapped, but the point wasn’t to hurt you. It was meant to stun you, to humiliate you. And it worked. The shock made you fall still, your face blazing. He used your compliance to work his cock into you. The inexorable stretch surprised you all over again. Impossibly hard, unyielding.

“You’ve naught else to offer, beast,” Zenos said, sliding you all the way down. You choked, shuddered, not wanting to watch him but unable to look away. Zenos’s eyes fluttered shut, chin tilting back with the faintest expression of pleasure. Almost serene. “Not yet. This is but a prelude of what’s to come.”

He rolled his hips once, twice before the trance was broken, and he looked at you, watching your reaction as he pulled you off of him, as you tensed and shuddered and grit your teeth against the pain as he thrust back into your pussy with a sloppy, filthy slap of skin. The position, the way he was holding you, the control he had over your body—it was borderline masturbatory. He was using you as somebody would use an object. Unlike before, he could thrust to the hilt every time. Too deep, skin slapping skin, his cock forcing your body to make space where there was none.

Despite the throbbing ache, you were wet enough to ease his way. You moaned brokenly, half sobbing. You couldn’t do anything other than take it. Zenos didn’t seem overly concerned with you anyway, focused on using your body to reach his own end.

You yelped when his hand closed around your bruised, sore neck again, your eyes meeting his in new panic. Zenos didn’t look at you like a lover, or even with overt pleasure. His eyes were wide and excited, his lips stretched in something like a smile. Insanity and bliss.

“Tell me, has any other man known you in this way?” Zenos asked, his voice unraveled into joyous breathlessness. “Known your thirst for pleasure through violence, for depravity through blood?”

“No!” you responded quickly, forcing the word out despite the pressure on your throat in the hopes he’d let up.

“This passion… it is new to me as well.”

“Zenos, please s-slo-” Your plea broke apart when he released your throat to grab your waist again, twisting your hips. Even through the pain, you could feel the way it changed the angle in which he entered you, and the raw echo of pleasure.

“The great eikon-slayer… would beg?” he asked. He was insane. He was insane and he was going to fuck you to death while smiling that insane smile. You whined, trying to get his hands to loosen enough for you to squirm away. For all the good it did. He wasn’t even fucking you, just sliding you up and down his cock with the unbreakable grip he had on your waist. “Go on then, beast. Beg.”

“N-no, Zenos, ss-stop.”

“Endure the pain,” he told you. And then, a moment later, “You are worthy of it.”

You whined, a sound that became a wail when he twisted your hips again. Everything was too loud, the ugly noise of skin slapping skin echoing off of the walls, your ragged breathing, and your heart thundering like an engine. It was more than you could take to hear Zenos moan too, low in his chest, his hips finally meeting yours as he grew closer to his own end.

You only realized Zenos didn’t intend to pull out at the point that his hips were stuttering, his hands holding onto you tight enough that his thumbs could touch, each uneven stroke pushing his cock as deep as possible.

“Nn-No, you ca-can’t,” you said, fresh tears in your eyes.

“You will take my seed,” Zenos said, openly wearing his pleasure at your reaction as he stared down at you. “Be grateful.”

It wasn’t any more or less miserable than all that had already happened, but the facsimile of intimacy made you whimper. So cruel. Zenos watched you as he came, his eyes half-lidded and hazy. His fingers dug bruises into your waist. Your entire body jolted with each uneven thrust, your cunt squeezing his cock as if you wanted this. And you could have sworn you felt his cum against your painfully raw inner walls as he came. He didn’t waste any of it, not pulling out until he was entirely finished.

Zenos let you fall onto the floor, his breathing heavy as he sat back. You curled your legs inward, wincing at the mess oozing out of you. There was no part of you that wasn’t painful and messy. Covered in blood and sweat and bruises, half naked, and utterly exhausted. Unlike you, Zenos didn’t look all that much worse for wear. Nothing that couldn’t be easily fixed. Sparing no moment for sentimentality of any kind, he fixed his clothes. There was nothing you could do about your own.

“You will forgive me,” Zenos said, his voice low and husky. “In my enthusiasm… mayhap I went too far.”

There was nothing to make you profoundly regret every single one of your previous decisions like looking into the empty blue eyes of your enemy feeling a mixture of blood and cum ooze out of you. Unsure if you could trust your voice, you just glared at him. His lips curled with the slightest promise of amusement.

“Yes, it is a shame our time was so limited,” he said, standing up. “But we both have more important matters to attend to.”

He stooped down to grab his coat on the way out. It was sprinkled with dried blood. You hoped it was ruined.

“I’ll kill you, you know,” you said when he was at the door. Your voice was hoarse and ruined, but the words were clear enough. You meant them too. Not even out of malice, it just seemed so strikingly obvious. “Unless you kill me now.”

Zenos hesitated and, for a second, you wondered if he was actually going to do it. “Go lick your wounds,” he finally said. Once the door was open, he paused again, speaking without turning around. “Until we meet again, my beast.”

#zenos yae galvus #zenos yae galvus x reader #zenos x wol #zenos yae galvus x wol #ffxiv zenos #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #my writing #not sfw #noncon //#i'm five ten but my personality four eleven

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