#all fours and only stands up on two legs when it's angry? even though i have NEVER seen zangoose depicted on all fours | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

foggyfrogss · 7 months

Text

⋆ HIEMAL ₊˚.

tf! Sukuna x f! Reader | Warnings: MDNI, Sexual Content, Mentions of SA

Chapter Four - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - Masterlist | ᴡᴏʀᴅs: 6.4ᴋ - Discord 18+

All you can ground yourself on is the shrilling ringing in your ears. The thundering beats of your heart fall in step within the background of it.

A trembling deep breath finds its way into the depths of your chest, expanding your aching lungs. You’re flinching a bit from the suddenness. The pain is deep, bouncing through your body in echoing waves.

You’re unsure if it’s the growing anxiety from finding his piercing eyes or if it’s the pain that’s began to make itself known. The numbness has worn off, slowly revealing the intensity. Either way, you’re clutching your fists, squeezing them into balls. Even your fingers had began to shake.

His presence, though usually comforting, intimidated you. The usual comforting fire he emitted had burned hot; angry and red. Suffocating you with the sheer thickness of it. A phantom wave of heat rushes over you when you see the way his dark eyes glint from the fire.

You see red. The dark orbs he held flashed bloodily.

It was frighteningly unfamiliar.

Though you were bare and felt the heat of the fire next to you radiating into your abused skin, chills prickled your arms. Goosebumps decorating your skin in a speckled manner.

“Let’s get this over with,” you hear the sweet, but tired, voice of Aiko break your thoughts. She’s suddenly next to you, holding a damp cloth to your skin to soak up the remaining blood.

Sukuna stands at the edge of the room, watching the two of you. You can feel his gaze as it bores into your figure on the floor.

It’s when you feel the sharp sting of Aiko beginning her stitching you’re gasping. You feel her hand grasp your arm to still you, preventing you from jerking further, “I know it hurts but please sit still.” You nod, following her orders to the best of your ability. She hadn’t even put the needle through your skin yet, only applying pressure.

Sukuna suddenly begins walking towards the two of you, towering over. She immediately stops her movements as she looks up.

The wave of thick tensions follows his form, swallowing you. Your chest expands as you take in a deep, pained breath.

“Leave us,” he says to Aiko. Voice stony, he holds his large fists at his sides. She’s looking up at him, confusion on her bruised face. “I haven’t even began to-“ Sukuna cuts her off.

“Leave us. I will not say it again.”

Your eyes are wide at his sudden brashness. His tone of voice raises to show his annoyance.

Aiko is shocked as well, now intimidated. Any normal person could sense it by the way she reacts. Her eyes are wide, eyebrows furrowed together anxiously as her fingers begin to shake.

He holds her in a cold stare.

Any normal person would cower under the gaze of this man… So she leaves in a hurry. The tension of the room grows unbearably thick as she scurries out.

Silence remains in place of Aiko, floating in between the two of you now.

“Any reason you ordered my servant to leave my arm gaping open?”

It was your turn to exhibit your vexation.

Sukuna does not answer you.

A thud of his knees pressing into the floor sounds as he kneels to sit before you. His legs cross over one another.

“Answer me,” you demand, voice stern.

A grunt comes from his lips as he presses a large hand directly onto your open wound.

It’s sudden, causing you to hiss from the jab of pain. Yet, it grows warm. Your arm radiating in a comforting feeling, swallowing the pain and turning it to bliss. It makes you sigh, leaning into his touch.

What had he done?

Your eyes flicker from his face, glancing to your wounded arm.

You find no evidence of what Michizane had done.

Sukuna had seemingly healed you, leaving your skin smooth and free of abuse. You felt no trace of pain anywhere within you.

It left you frustrated, not understanding what he had just done; it was exactly like he’d done before… healing himself. Yet, he’d done it to you.

How was he able to do that?

His hand remains on your arm, holding you in his warm grasp. Long fingers hook around your upper arm. His thumb rubs into your skin, comforting you in his own way.

“What the hell did you do?” You ask, voice quiet. A frown is etched into your features. The man had much to explain and his silence began to irk you beyond compare.

“It’s of no concern to you,” he grunts out, now releasing your arm from his hold. “What?” You ask, annoyed. How dare he-

“He touched you,” he says, cutting off your thoughts. You’re looking him in the eyes now, finding his dark gaze. Your heart thumps anxiously, banging in your chest. “I come to you,” he begins, “only to find your kenin gathering snow at the gate to melt for your wounds.”

You’re looking him in the eyes now, determining what to say next.

“You reek of another man who I forbid from touching you.”

You subconsciously wrap your arms around your torso and breasts, hiding yourself. It was an attempt at comfort, after finding your bared upper body overwhelming in this moment.

In your mind you questioned if Sukuna was angry with you, rather than the man who’d hurt you. The way he spoke made it difficult to understand. His accusing tone made your body run cold.

The man sat before you; silent.

He sits his elbow on his knee, resting his chin on his balled fist.

Was he observing you?

“As if it was my choice,” you finally add in response to his words. One of Sukuna’s eyebrows raise, intrigue painted across his features. “So you’re saying he forced himself onto you?”

His question makes you take in a deep breath, dreading answering it.

Of course he had… how else would you have ended up the way you did? Bloody and bruised, what else could have happened?

To be fair, Sukuna was not a mind reader. He had only just arrived.

You release your breath, whispering an answer, “Yes.”

He’s sat straight once more, hands in his lap.

It’s as if the demeanor of the room had completely shifted, though still unbearably thick with a foggy tension.

You watch as the hostility forms upon his face, covering his usual stoicism. His pink brows are furrowed together, matching his deep frown. As you trail your eyes from his frown, you see his jaw clench. The sharpness of it making it painfully obvious.

His eyes look the same.

Sukuna was pissed.

“Ryomen,” you release, unwrapping your right arm from your body to extend a hand towards him, “talk to me before you act.” Your hand grasps at the fabric of his kimono. Still not used to your suddenly healed body, you feel the slight ghost of pain in your arms and wrists as you pull yourself to him. He’s too large to budge.

You close the distance between the two of you, leaving but a foot of room between your upper bodies. You’re standing on your knees in an attempt to match his eye level. Being looked down upon was the last thing you wanted in this moment.

Thankfully he had slouched his posture as he sat, which made it easier.

Both of your hands now sat on his large shoulders, feeling how tense they were. Sure, they were always stone-like, but now… you could feel the anger radiating from it.

“He did not touch me like you think,” you whisper. Your voice is trembling just a bit, exposing your anxiousness. “He only pushed me against a wall and threw me into a table… he struck Aiko across the face-“ his sudden deep breath cuts you off. Sukuna closes his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

His silence worries you.

Though Sukuna wasn’t a man of many words, he spoke well through his actions and expressions. You understood him, reading him like a book you’ve read a million times over.

The last thing you want is for Sukuna to kill the man, making your life more difficult than it already is. Your father would have you killed along with Sukuna; you were sure of it. That’s if… your father could manage to catch Sukuna.

Marrying Michizane was the last of your worries in this moment.

“I’m completely fine now. No pain or signs of what he had done.”

“That is not the point,” he spits.

You’re silent as he takes his right hand to hold the side of your face, completely engulfing your cheek. He’s warm.

“That pathetic excuse of a shogun touched what is mine,” he tells you. His thumb rubs the patch of skin under your eye. “I told you if he-“

“You are to do no such thing,” you cut him off, knowing what he was beginning to say. You refuse to have Sukuna release his brutality onto Suguwara. “It will only make my situation worse,” you add.

You take your right hand that had rested on his shoulder to hold his face, echoing his hand with yours. “I am strong,” it’s a form of plea, a begging tone, “please leave it be.” Your begging doesn’t go unnoticed as Sukuna sighs, showing he understands.

Though deep down you know Ryomen Sukuna will hold the urge to kill. It’s his nature.

“I’ll tell my father tomorrow. Just leave it be,” you further add. Sukuna gives you one firm nod. You don’t miss the glint of defeat that flashes in his usual bouldered eyes.

In the corner of your eye, you find his free hand in his lap clenching. White stretches across the expanse of his large knuckles.

In one swift movement, he’s grabbed a hold of you and pulled you into his lap. Large arms engulfing your body into a cage-like embrace.

A cage you never want to be freed from.

Instantly you are radiating with content, soaking in the warmth of his body and presence. It leaves you sighing, breathing in his earthy, addictive scent.

“He will never lay a hand on you again,” he says, voice muffled as his face presses into the top of your head. Sukuna’s breath is warm as he speaks into you. His fingers latch onto you, holding you in place; scared that you’d leave. “I won’t let him,” you’re telling him, moving to meet his gaze. He’s looking down at you, a possessive look within his eyes.

You were his.

But was he yours?

The sudden thought troubles you, causing your eyebrows to push together.

You take your hand to hold his face once more, feeling the smoothness of his skin against it.

You’re looking at him. Truly looking at him. In your gaze you drink in his presence, admiring his exquisitely sharp features. The orange glow of the irori soaks into his face, giving him a dreamy and gentle demeanor. Flawless he is, you tell yourself as your eyes drop from his eyes to his full lips.

The sudden urge to become closer makes you pull him down to you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss.

It’s soft, moving your lips slowly against his own. No sense of eagerness behind it. It’s perfect, feeling how he matches your rhythm with his own. His large hand unlatches from your body to hold your face once more, long fingers holding the back of your head. A thumb rests on your cheek.

He pulls you closer to him.

Your hand moves from his jaw to his hair, raking through it as you tilt your head to give better access to his lips.

He’s taking the opening. Tongue making its entrance as it meets with your own.

You kiss a bit more heavily for only a few moments before you pull away, taking in a needed breath.

You’re placing both of your palms against his face, holding it. He holds the wrist of your right hand in his grasp, placing his other hand on your exposed side. The warmth of it radiating into the curve of your body.

The pushing urge to praise him grows within you.

Confidence surges and you open your mouth to speak, releasing the first thing that comes, “you are…” you’re trailing off as your voice is just above a whisper. The silence of the room makes it difficult to speak you find.

“You are perfect,” you utter.

He stares at you from beneath his lashes, eyes hooded with the intoxicating look of lust. Of course a single kiss would rouse him.

Your heart flips in your chest when you see the way his lips curl into a playful smirk, showing his enjoyment. Your praise fuels him.

A faint blush grows on your heated cheeks as you become flustered.

He leans his cheek into the hand he holds, chuckling deeply. The sound of it rattles your brain beautifully. A small smile growing on your lips.

“What a joy it is to have such an alluring creature like yourself in the palm of my hand,” he says to you jokingly, though you know it isn’t. You were wrapped around him, willing to complete any request he desired. The heat of your face grows when you meet his hungry eyes once more.

It’s ironic, you find. His face in the palm of your hand.

Sukuna moves to press his lips into your palm, placing a soft kiss. It makes your heart thump.

He is yours.

It’s all you wanted, being here with him; rather than keeping him from bloodying the house with Michizane… which you knew you wouldn’t be able to do.

You push the image from your mind as you come back to reality. You’re wrapping your arms around Sukuna’s neck, embracing him. The side of your face rests against his own.

This was the first time you’d actually ever shown this type of intimacy. It was exhilarating, feeling him this close in this way; even after what you’d already done together in the past.

You can feel the erratic mess of your heart in your chest. It’s beating feeling as if a war had gone off inside of you. You were sure Sukuna could feel or even hear it. A swirling feeling of your stomach fluttering to life hits when you feel his large hands pressing into your exposed back. The skin on skin contact felt incredible.

In the back of your mind, picking through the many thoughts you hold… you think of the times you’d catch yourself admiring him. Out of the corner of your eye, when he wasn’t looking, etc… you always admired him. The feeling of an intensely deep fondness stitching itself within your heart as the years age on. Fondness growing into a tender warmth; a deep affection.

All in coordinate with a hue of pink.

In moments where your attention didn’t call for him, you found yourself thinking of him anyways.

You are in love with Ryomen Sukuna.

You had been for a while.

From the child you’d known all those years ago until now… you knew you always wanted- no, needed him by you.

“I will- We will find a way out of this,” you tell him, holding the back of his head as you lean into him. His hands slide from your back to tighten his arms around you further. “I only want you,” it comes out as a whisper, muffled a bit as you’re hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Every fiber in your body aches with the intensity of your yearning.

All you hear is the grumble of his deep voice as he acknowledges your words.

A part of you feels as though your attempts may be all for nothing. Freedom from Michizane’s grasp felt far; out of reach. When the snow melts, you’ll be wedded by the words of your mother. Your mother’s face comes to mind, and you wonder how she’d react to the events that happened only hours ago. She would probably stay out of it, keeping herself from any source of issue. All she did was keep to herself anyways.

How could you possibly escape such a situation?

“Do you think we should leave?” You ask, voice muffled into the skin of his neck. The sound of the fire crackling is all you hear as you await a response.

“If you mean the village- No. It is not safe out there,” he tells you, “you are safest here.”

Perhaps he is right, considering you were not a fighter. You weren’t sure what resided beyond the village. Your life was here, all you knew was here.

Though as you think to yourself what he could possibly mean, you’re recalling the ghost sensation of your past wounds. The strange aching feeling of simply nothing telling you just enough… Things you couldn’t possibly explain lived beyond. Aligning along the lines of cursed energy and techniques, things you were taught little of but just enough to know.

Intrigued you were, it was best to stay oblivious.

“I understand,” you whisper.

“Just let me kill him.”

You’re pulling back to look at the man once more. The sudden words that had slipped from his lips make your eyes widen. His dark eyes grab ahold of yours. Your hands grip onto his kimono; frustrated. “I told you-“ Sukuna’s deep chuckle cuts you off, “I respect your wishes. Only a tease.” The stuck up smirk that forms on his lips only makes you look away, refusing to look at such idiocy.

Of course he’d joke about it. His dark humor at times concerned you but you knew it was only a jest… you hoped.

You are relieved to know he does respect you.

His respect for others is scarce, leaving you to question at times.

“I do not want you sleeping here tonight. Have your-“ you instantly cut him off, frowning. “Her name is Aiko,” you interject, knowing he was about to label her as your slave. “Have her prepare you a bag,” he basically orders. You raise an eyebrow, giving him a confused look. “Where are we going?” You’re asking him, feeling him now pull away from you. “You’re to go back with me,” Sukuna says, grabbing the fabric of your kimono. He starts to help you cover your upper body, sliding your sleeves over your shoulders and tying it closed.

You’re silent for a moment as you realize he means his home.

“Alright,” you say.

Aiko had assisted you moments later. Quietly she guided you back to your quarters to layer you up for the walk across the village.

Sukuna sits in the corner of your room as he watches his black haori be placed upon your shoulders. A smug curl of his lips appears, but you don’t see it.

It felt as if the last few hours had not even happened, which should be a good thing. Though you were concerned it didn’t bother you like you thought it would. Any normal person would still be shaken up, locked away in silence to recover.

Perhaps Sukuna’s healing reached your mind as well.

You’re slowly following behind the man as the two of you walk towards his home. The crunching of the snow fills your ears. Wind brushes by you, sending chills down your spine. As your right foot presses into the soft snow, you’re glancing around at the stillness of the village. It was late, all the homes were dark and smoke rose from the stacks on the roofs.

A cloud of steam comes from your lips when you exhale. The sound of it gains Sukuna’s attention. Over his shoulder he glances, looking down in question. “I’m fine,” you assure, giving him a nod. It was just deathly cold.

“Not much farther,” he tells you.

You nod, looking around. The darkness of night makes it difficult to see where you are. Usually you were very good at making your way through your village.

Within a few minutes, you’re approaching his home. The darkness telling you it was cold inside, which you dreaded. You knew he’d be quick to light the fire.

Aiko had packed a thick blanket with your things, which you were grateful for. On your last visit here you’d recalled not seeing much for warmth inside. Only a bare futon in the corner.

Is this how all men were?

As you enter, you’re placing your bag down at your feet. A bit of snow falls from your shoes as you look down, the light from the lantern Sukuna lit giving you access to see.

The clicking of flint fills your ears. You find that Sukuna is already starting the Irori, which you are grateful for.

You take a seat beside him like you had earlier this morning. It really felt as if you hadn’t left at all. How crazy it was for all of the things that had happened to happen in such a short amount of time.

“I should have just stayed here and not returned home,” you break the silence. As the room fills with the warm light of the fire, Sukuna turns his head towards you. “You had to,” he says, in which you nod; defeated. “A shame it is to be treated like a child, even at the age I am now.”

Sukuna hums after you speak, finally sitting as the fire roars to life. You can feel the heat of it grow on you, warming you slowly. It makes you sigh.

The silence is comforting. It’s what naturally comes from Sukuna, being a man of not many words.

Your chest suddenly clenches, aching for the sensation of something warmer.

With a deep breath, you’re removing your hands from the warmth of his haori that’s wrapped around you. Reaching for him your fingers latch onto his clothing, gaining his attention. “Ryomen,” you’re purring, looking up at him with intensity. Your voice comes out as a form of begging.

You’re watching as his eyes flicker towards you, his eyelashes fluttering a bit as he blinks.

Almost instantly his demeanor shifts from curiousness to desire. His eyebrows move together to show determination.

“Careful,” he warns, placing one of his large hands on the back of your neck. It’s pulling you closer to him. His lips hover over yours.

Sukuna says your name, though it’s so quiet you barely register it. You can feel the warmth of his breath as it fans over your needy lips. The heartbeat in your ears roars to life as he closes the distance.

He’s kissing you softly at first, as if to savor your lips like he would never taste them again. It’s soft for a few more moments before he further deepens it, tilting your head to give access for his tongue.

In an instant, anything and everything is sucked into the abyss. The only thing that matters is the carnality that manifests within the both of you. Heat growing and combining.

His hand tightens its grasp on the back of your neck and you feel the way his large fingers twitch in your scalp. It makes you whimper into his mouth, feeling his need through just his touch. Warm and inviting, desire vibrates through you viciously.

Your hands are pulling at his clothing, unwrapping it from his broad shoulders. He does the same to you. Cold air makes itself known on your once again bare upper body. The fabric of your haori and kimono crumbles at your waist.

He then takes control, pushing your back onto the floor behind you. His large figure hovers over you. You’re soaking up the lustful gaze he pours onto you, breathing heavily.

You still couldn’t believe such an ethereal being such as him chose you.

His hand finds your cheek, holding it softly. As he gazes down, a thumb runs over your swollen lips. “It’s just us,” he tells you, glancing from your lips, your chest, and back to your eyes.

His words make your heart thump heavily, making you take in a shaky deep breath. The deepness of it makes your chest raise, which causes Sukuna to glance once more. His eyes devour the sight of your breasts.

It was just the two of you.

You’re nodding in response to his words, unable to speak. You lean into the hand on your face.

The sudden feeling of his heated lips against your chilled collarbone has you gasping, arching your chest into him. He takes his other hand to place on your right breast, brushing a large thumb over your pebbled nipple.

“Ah!” You’re releasing in a breathy gasp.

It drives Sukuna mad.

“You can be louder than that.”

The sound of his muffled, lust filled voice sends you into orbit. It’s intoxicating, causing your legs to move together. Yet, you realize his body is between them. You’re arching your aching core against him, feeling him press just as eagerly into you.

His hardness is obvious as it slides against you, making you moan without shame.

Your cheeks felt as if they’d bit lit on fire, an outcome of the arousal that swims inside of you. Inebriated off of just him.

“Just like that,” he growls, kissing the skin under your jawline. It has you leaning your head back, giving him more room to explore. The wet feeling of his tongue presses into your skin as he licks a stripe across your jawline, stopping at your lips. You’re taking in a shaky breath.

He’s pressing a soft, sweet kiss to them while he chuckles.

Your hands are gripped onto his large arms, feeling the way his biceps tense under your touch.

“I-“ you are unable to continue, feeling his fingers pinch at your nipple. Electricity runs from the sensation straight to your core. It ignites as it flushes through you, burning you alive. You’re bucking into him once more, earning an animalistic growl from him.

“The only thing I want to hear from your lips are-“ his voice is right at your ear as he presses his large clothed cock into your core once more, earning a high pitched gasp. “That’s what I want to hear.”

All the layers become unbearable.

He’s then untying your kimono.

As he sits on his knees, you watch as he unwraps himself from his own clothing. The marvelous sight of his sculpted body comes into view, illuminated by the orange hues of the fire. You’re practically drooling as the starvation hits you, eyeing him as if he were a fine meal.

Before your eyes can travel to his lower body, he’s pressing back into you. The underside of his shaft slides against your now bare core.

“Sh-shit,” you curse, panting. You’re reaching for him, placing one of your hands against his chest.

Eagerness eats away at you as you place your other hand on the curve of his waist. Your fingers press into his skin, feeling his warmth beneath your touch. You wanted to be closer.

His skin is soft, hot to the touch. You felt like you were touching fire itself.

“You are painfully beautiful,” you hear him tell you. “It infuriates me that other men look at you.”

As he speaks you feel the tip of his erection press against your entrance. The way it slides in just a bit tells you there was no need for preparation.

Just the tip of his cock has you on edge, biting your bottom lip while the pleasure soars through you. You’re tightening your thighs around him, bucking your hips a bit; he slides further into you due to your movements.

“You are mine.”

He’s sliding into you fully with no issue. Your walls hugging around his enormous length.

The tip of his dick presses deep into you, stopping as he bottoms out. It’s still sore you feel, not recovered from the first time yet. Though it’s aching, it doesn’t feel awful; it’s all but awful.

You’re silent while he speaks.

“The thought of that trash-“ you muffle his words as you slide your hand from his chest to his mouth. Your palm covers his lips, getting him to lock his eyes with yours. “It’s okay,” you say, moving your body against his.

Sukuna begins moving as well, slowly pulling out a bit to thrust back in. You’re whimpering as your fingers tremble against his lips.

“If he ever touches you again,” he says into your hand. His lips press a meaningful kiss to your palm, sharp eyes casting down at you.

“There will be nothing left of him.”

He bucks into you.

You’re throwing your head back, moaning again. You keep your eyes from fluttering close from the pleasure and you see the way he takes your fingers into his mouth. Index and middle, it sits in the wet warmth.

He’s holding that smug look you always found exciting. It’s a rarity seeing him express anything other than the stoniness he usually holds.

Teeth bite down on your digits firmly, but not enough to hurt. It’s enough to excite you further, fueling the flame inside of you.

Suddenly you’re gasping, feeling the sharp snap of his pelvis as it slams into you. Your hands fall to your sides, finding his forearms to hold onto. He’s holding your hips firmly as he leans back and sits on his knees. Your hips are angled perfectly as he drives into you in a frantic rhythm. Each thrust elicits a moan from your throat. They’re strangled and airy, showing your inner turmoil.

Through your hooded eyes you watch the way his body moves while he pounds into you. His muscles ripple under his skin beautifully.

You scan your eyes to his face, seeing the way his lips are parted in a blissed expression. His eyes are hooded also, pink lashes hiding his hungry gaze.

Sukuna studies the area where your bodies are combined.

He’s drunk off of you.

It’s painfully good.

“P-Please,” you’re calling out, digging your nails into his skin. He grunts from your action. His eyes flicker up to yours.

“Please,” you fully beg with no issue, closing your eyes from the intense stimulation.

The tip of his dick kisses your cervix another time, which makes you wince with a jump. Your teeth clench together, hissing silently at the soreness.

Sukuna stops immediately, peering down at you in concern. The tight grip he held on your hips lightens as he rubs his hands up and down your sides.

“I’m still not used to this,” you tell him.

You’re breathing heavily, trying to catch your breath. Sukuna’s chest heaves a bit too. A light shade of pink flushed across his cheeks.

“I got carried away,” he admits, pulling himself from you.

The sudden emptiness is troubling, making your face twist uncomfortably.

“You are just overwhelmingly alluring,” he adds. His hands rub into the skin of your waist, casting his warm gaze down. “It’s hard to hold myself back with you.”

You nod, understanding his words though they make you blush uncontrollably.

“It’s only been a day or so, you’re still sore so perhaps we should-“ you cut him off when you realize what he’s insisting. You’re too worked up, refusing to stop now.

You’re sitting up, placing your hands on his chest to push him onto his back. The sudden boldness causes a warm feeling to swirl to life inside of you.

“I am not finished,” you whisper.

Sukuna is absolutely beautiful laying under you like he is now.

You see the shocked but crazed look he holds in his eyes. It’s almost proud, but it’s definitely hungry. Hungry for you.

“Finish then,” he spits.

You’re now at a loss, unsure of what to do.

Sure, you knew women sometimes topped men from artwork you’ve seen in the past but now that you’re here… you feel the panic settle inside of you. A frown forms on your lips when you place your hands on his stomach.

He’s chuckling, now holding your hips like he was before. “I’ll be honest,” he starts, “I don’t think I can contain myself seeing you fall apart on top of me.”

He’s lifting your hips, angling his dick to poke at your entrance once more.

When you’re sliding down onto it, he’s taking a deep breath in. Your thighs squeeze at his sides. Sukuna’s eyes close for a few seconds, opening them again to show his cracking restraint.

“Try,” you challenge, voice raspy.

You’re trying your first movement, which is grinding your hips forward. It works, you notice. Almost instantly the veins in Sukuna’s neck bulge when you slide back and forth, not lifting your hips up.

The friction of your bodies combining gives a bit of pleasure to your clit, which makes you clench your teeth.

It’s slow, feeling his length dragging in and out of you in the position you’re in. You can feel all of him. Every inch is savored.

The grip he has on you tightens, pressing your core firmer to him. You watch as his nostrils flare, jaw clenching.

“You are so tight,” he praises. You quicken your hips a bit, pressing your hands against his chiseled abdomen as you steady yourself. His abs ripple under your touch.

Your breasts bounce from your movements. Sukuna watches them in awe, glancing from your eyes, lips, breasts, and further down. He stops on where you’re combined, a concentrated look in his eyes.

You’re arching your back from the sudden pleasure. The pad of his thumb swirling over your swollen clit as you ride him. As you arch, it angles your body perfectly for his cock to continuously press the sweet spot inside of you.

It has you closing your eyes completely, furrowing your brows. It’s a lot, but you take it. You’d take anything this man gives you.

“Good,” he purrs, squeezing his hand on your hip as he gives your clit attention. “Good girl.”

His praises make you moan. “Mm-“ you breathe out.

Quickly, you feel the buildup in your gut. The warmth threatening to spill as your grinding becomes uneven.

Sukuna notices this and begins to thrust from beneath you, continuing the pace so your orgasm isn’t disturbed.

You see the way his jaw clenches, showing he’s close. His grunts become deeper and heavier.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you feel the euphoria take over. A white light prickles your vision as you close your eyes once more.

You’re shaking as you suddenly moan, loud and shamelessly.

“Ride it out,” he urges. His honeyed voice is deep with a grumble. It helps you through it.

The waves of pleasure slow as does your movements.

When you completely stop you can feel the beating of your heart in your ears. You’re panting for air, trying to catch your breath as exhaustion begins to take over. You were spent.

As you glance down at the large man under you… you see the hooded gaze he throws back at you, signaling his exhaustions as well.

“Did you…?” You’re suddenly asking him, unsure of if he came or not. You were too distracted in your cloud of pleasure to notice.

Sukuna’s eyebrow raises, a small smirk growing on his lips. A sigh escapes his lips before he speaks.

“That’s enough for now,” he tells you, lifting you off of him. The feeling of him leaving your body has you shuddering, making you blush a bit.

He’s already wrapping something around you, which you notice is the black haori.

“Is everything okay?” You’re asking him, watching as he adds fuel to the fire. His bare back shields you from the fire, casting a shadow over you.

You reach to touch him, placing a flat hand on his back. His muscles tense under your touch.

“You’ve been through enough tonight. I don’t want to push you at all.”

His back still faces you, hiding his face as he speaks.

A small smile grows on your lips as you understand what he’s saying. His words warm you, showing you the deepness of his care. Though you’re healed, you can still feel the heaviness of your mind. A lot had happened.

Sukuna then turns to face you once he’s finished feeding the fire. A soft look stretches across his features as he looks down at you. “It’s late,” his hand brushes some hair out of your face, “let me make your bed. You need to rest.”

He slips his kimono back around him once he stands, tying it at his waist.

He’s walking to the other side of the room, grabbing something. You’re in a tired daze, unsure of what it was.

It’s suddenly offered in front of you, showing it’s a clay cup filled with water. “Drink,” he orders, placing it in your hands. You do as he says.

“Are you hungry?” He asks you as he’s walking away. In the corner of the room he lays out blankets; which isn’t much. He also adds the one Aiko packed.

The heavy feeling of your tired eyelids hits as you yawn, staring at the fire in front of you.

You shake your head, content with eating in the morning. “I’m fine, thank you.” Once the cup you hold is empty, you place it on the ground beside you.

After a few moments, you feel Sukuna lifting you up. His large hands taking hold of your body as he carries you to the futon.

You’re absolutely exhausted, feeling the sudden softness of blankets engulf you as you’re laid atop them. Sukuna’s scent surrounds you, leaving a smile on your face as you relax into it.

Sukuna’s strong arm pulls you towards his body, holding you tightly against him. A blanket casts over your body.

It’s silent for a few minutes.

“I won’t let anything happen to you again,” Sukuna tells you. You don’t respond, holding your face into the warmth of his chest. All you feel and smell is him.

It’s all you need.

Against your cheek you can feel his heart beating. Such an intimate, comforting feeling.

You feel his hand hold the back of your head, keeping you close to him.

While you fade into sleep, you’re thinking of it all. You’re thinking of Sukuna and how you wish he was in Michizane’s place. You wished that man didn’t exist. His striking blue eyes haunting you even now, without even having to see them in person.

Pushing the thought of him from your mind, you think of the man currently wrapped around you. He never seems to leave your thoughts.

You want to tell him how you truly felt so badly.

You wanted him to know that you were truly his.

Yet, you feel it’s much too early to declare such a serious thing. The last thing you wanted was to overwhelm him; scaring him off.

Only yesterday did you finally come close as you did.

From all the years you’d known Sukuna, emotions were not something he handled well. You were always patient with him when it came to anything regarding that matter.

Just before you’re falling into spell of sleep, you’re reaching up to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” you express in a soft voice. Your hand is brushing through his pink hair, massaging his scalp. He’s leaning into your touch, closing his eyes.

As you fade into darkness, you’re able to catch the image of Sukuna removing your hand from his hair, placing a kiss to your palm.

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darlingbabyboo · 1 year

Text

I saw this and wrote it in, like, 30 minutes (which means I didn't even double check it lol)!!! Anyways, Mikey has a bit of a unique way of dealing with his son and food (and the reader is called mom and referred to as a wife).

Fatherly Love

The rumours true: the best way to a man's heart is food. At least, it's true for your boys.

It's common for your son and his father to connect with food. Whether they're watching a movie, playing in the park (or with Manjiro's motorcycle, which you swear will bring you to a heart attack). When they're together and food's not in one of their hands, you'd think that something was wrong or some alien doppelganger had taken and replaced them.

Maybe you should have observed their interactions a bit closer, because while both boys instinct is food in my mouth right now, your son's only four, and naivety is also a big problem for him.

You lean against the doorway and watch your son and Manjiro with one part amusement and a bigger annoyance.

"Okay bud, you know the routine by now, right?" Manjiro says solemnly. Your son, Kenji, returns the solemn look (though, the effect is a bit lessened with his big doe eyes).

"So," Your husband claps his hand and grabs your son's bowl, "I'm sorry bud, but this is the way that things gotta be."

Kenji nods furiously, "I know papa! I don't wanna have any poison in my tummy!"

Manjiro nods, acting like he's actually doing something instead of taking advantage of his young son's innocence., "yep, I've gotta do my part to protect you. I'm glad you understand."

"I do!" Kenji exclaims. Your son wraps his pudgy hands around his father's pant-clad legs and watches his father in wonder.

His father who opens his mouth and takes a big bite out of his son's taiyaki, leaving behind only the tail. You feel one of your vein's burst. It's a miracle that you're still standing after all the ridiculous things that you've been put through.

"Manjiro," You yell. For a minute, you reconsider getting angry when he turns his eyes to you. You're still so hopelessly in love with him. Then, you look at the tail in your son's hands and the anger is already running through yout blood. "What's is wrong with you. Our son needs to eat if he's supposed to grow!"

You move from the doorway to in front of Manjiro and your son. Standing in front of them, Mikey pouts up at you. You wonder where it said that you were going to get two children instead of one after Kenji came into you and your husband's life. "It's not like that." Your husband whines, "I'm just making sure that Kenji stays safe."

"Yeah, papa says 'at he needs to eat all my food so 'at I stay safe." Kenji rushes to defend his father.

You shake your head, your poor naive stupid son. You cross your arms, "Kenji, your father's lying to get your food. There's no poison."

Your son whips his head to Manjiro and drops his jaw, "papa, what???" His bottom lip starts to tremble, "you a liar." He whispers with so much heartbreak that you feel bad for barely containing your laughter. Your son doesn't use the word liar often and is unused to saying it. It's a little funny how he he stumbled through the word to direct his anger at his father.

Manjiro winces at his son's accusation and rubs the back of his neck, "well..."

You roll your eyes and lean to pat your son's head. "Let's get ice cream Kenny, without your liar of a father."

"What!" Mikey exclaims. You ignore him pick up your son.

You stick out your tongue, "you get what you get you liar."

#manjiro x reader #manjiro fluff #manjiro x y/n #tokrev manjiro #manjiro sano #mikey x reader #mikey fluff #mikey x y/n #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers scenarios #tokyo revengers x reader

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miceonpluto · 1 year

Text

Anomaly 888

Part 1 Part 2

Next part is finally out!! Biggest thank you to my best friend and editor Leeks, this fic wouldn’t be nearly as good without her help🫶🏾Little translation not for characterization purposes, “sin duda” in this context means “without a doubt” not “definitely” as google translate will lead you to believe hehe Let me know what you guys think PLEASE feel free to go insane in the comments its so fun. Also let me know if you wanna be on my tag list for this fic!! Okay now enjoy hehe

3.2k words

••●── 🕸️⋅🕷⋅🕸️ ──●••

“Miguel don’t you think you went a liiiiiitle too far?” A woman’s voice said from somewhere above you.

“If little anomalía here hadn’t tried to run away I wouldn’t have needed to snatch her like that.” You recognized that voice from earlier. It was the same smooth baritone that taunted you while they took you from your home. His name is Miguel?

“She passed out dude. You could’ve at least tried to explain before you brought her here.” The woman's voice was much closer this time, it sounded as if she were right next to your ear. You groggily opened your eyes and all you saw was red. Where even was here? Your head spun and you groaned as you tried to stand on numb legs, so numb that you had to lean against the wall for support. Once you felt stable enough, you stood up straighter and looked around. A small lady in pink heart glasses and a white trench coat suddenly hovered above your nose, she was so close that you had to cross your eyes to properly look at her. “Oh you’re awake! Hiii~” She chirped. You recoiled and hit the wall behind you and just as quickly as she appeared, she was back outside of the glass.

You hadn’t realized how confining this room was until then, all four walls were so close that you couldn’t fully outstretch your arms in any direction. “Where am I!” You shouted to the two blurry silhouettes that stood behind the red walls. “Jess, she’s awake.” The deep voice you now know belonged to a man named Miguel called out and a third person walked up, now there were two people and…a pixie? All ogling you like you were a caged animal at the zoo. The tallest one walked closer and tapped the glass twice with his knuckles and the frosted glass became transparent. You could see each person clearly, a black woman with a sleek red jacket stood in front of the cell, gently caressing her round stomach. The little pixie with glasses sat on her shoulder with her legs crossed, she tilted her head and smiled at you when she caught your eye. Next to the two of them, was him. His previously red eyes were now brown and looking down at you indifferently. You took note of his large biceps, now feeling a little better about how easy it was for him to take you away. He was wearing a skin tight suit that reminded you of SpiderWoman’s back home, he even had a similar spider stretching across his broad figure, though his design was a bit different. He had his hands on his hips and quirked his brow when you furrowed your own and shouted at him.

“Who the hell are you!? How’d you get in my room?! Why were you going through my stuff?! You abducted me!” You felt your blood boil as you got more and more angry at the absurdity of the situation. You glared at him and his slightly irritated stare only angered you more. “Are you done?” He asked, visibly unamused. “I-“ You started to speak again but he cut you off.

“Great. I’m Miguel O’Hara. My accomplice here is Jess,” The dark skinned woman nodded at you.

“The other is Lyla, my artificial intelligence companion.” Miguel continued.

“Awwwww you think I’m your companion?” Lyla crooned.

“Shut it. I’m being professional.” Miguel snapped and Lyla giggled in response. He rolled his eyes and continued.

“I’m only going over this once.” He said and took a deep breath, “You’re in Nueva York in the year 2099, this is my universe. I’m this city’s one and only Spider-Man. You belong to earth888, you’re here because your SpiderWoman reported you as a potential anomaly. There can only be one, and only one spider in each universe and for some reason, yours had two, you being the second. Your very existence could disrupt the canon and cause a multiversal collapse so I took you from your universe.” He rambled off so fast and with so much information it made you lightheaded. Multiverse? What does he mean my SpiderWoman? The audience of three could tell you were dazed by the info dump and Miguel sighed. He pinched his brow and pressed a few buttons on the watch he was wearing and the red walls that surrounded you began to slowly recede into the floor below.

“You just need to see it for yourself.” He said as he reached for your wrist. You jerked it back, “See what? Where are you taking me?” You demanded to know. He grabbed your wrist and slipped a white band on it. “What is this?!”

“A day pass. It’ll keep your atoms from glitching out and killing you.” He sighed as Lyla teased him. “I told you to give her the debrief in her room.” She hovered over to him and poked his cheek.

That reminded you, “Hey! How’d you get in my room?!”

“I followed you.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Your spider led you to me.”

“She…” You hesitated, “She wouldn’t do that! If you really are from another universe, how’d you get into mine?”

“With this.” Miguel held up his watch, its little monitor beeped and flashed quietly.

“What is it?”

“None of your business.” He said condescendingly.

“Except for the fact that it is because it’s the entire reason you were able to abduct me and bring me to wherever the hell I am now!” Your voice raised at the end of your sentence.

“All in a day’s work.” He completely blew you off, thwipped a web onto your shoulder and pulled you along with him.

“You don’t have to leash her like a dog Miguel.” Jess scoffed while walking along his other side.

“Maybe if she didn’t yap like one I wouldn’t have to.” He quipped. The four of you walked out of the dim room and down a long hallway. The chatter of many many voices began to get louder the further you walked, the bright light from the end made you squint and you had to blink a few times to adjust to your new surroundings. When they did, you were absolutely floored.

The hallway had opened up to a gigantic building that seemed to go up forever. Hundreds of spider people of every shape and size could be seen in every direction. Some swinging from the support beams, some standing and talking on the walkways that ran along the wall and up towards the ceiling, a lot of them greeted Miguel as you walked past. Other people stopped and stared at you being pulled along behind him, and you suddenly became very aware of how ridiculous you looked being led around like an animal. You quickened your steps so you could stay at Miguel’s side and give the web enough slack to hopefully be hidden. He looked down at you and began to speak. “Everyone here is a spider from their perspective universe. In each universe, they’re the only one. But here…” He stopped and looked around, “here they’re not. They have others like them.” You looked up at him and when his eyes met yours, you could see a glimmer of sadness sparkling somewhere beneath the surface. “I started this organization to unite the multiverses and keep everything in order so when people like you pop up, it’s my job to look into it.”

“But…I was just trying to help.” You said.

He sighed, “We all are.” He held his watch up to a keypad on a large gray door and it beeped and shone green. His voice hardened as he continued, “But that’s not your job.” The doors slowly opened and the four of you stepped inside.

“So I should just let people get robbed? Killed? Even if there’s something I can do to stop it?”

“There’s nothing you could do to stop it anyways. You couldn’t even catch the robber on 64th yesterday.”

“But-Hey! How’d you know about that?!”

Miguel ran his hand down his face. “I was there. Your spider was the robber and the woman she “stole” from was her girlfriend. They picked up her purse right after you left.”

You twiddled your fingers and tried to come up with a good excuse. “Well at least I got her purse. And the robber was…I was just having an off day.” You played with the hem of your sleeve and looked at the ground.

He stepped in front of you and looked at you earnestly. “We can’t afford to have off days.”

You hummed, not sure what to say next. He gently tugged at the web, urging you to follow him to a wall of labeled storage lockers. He stopped at one labeled Anomaly 888. “If you were there when that happened…” you thought out loud, “You stole my suit!”

“I confiscated it.” He said without looking down and typed in the code for the locker. A888. Pretty on the nose. Inside was the duffle bag from the night before, Miguel took it out and handed it to Jess, who had already sat down in front of the many large monitors in the center of the room.

“Run diagnostics on this stuff. Scan every page and have her suit analyzed.” He said while unzipping the bag and pulling your suit out. You were relieved to see it was in perfect condition. Jess nodded and laid your things out on a large table while Lyla began to scan your suit with her phone.

“I have some things to take care of, I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He said and pulled you with him, you took one long, sad look at your suit before the doors shut behind you. You tried to memorize the path you took to get to the office. Left, left, left, then a right. There’s a bathroom, and a restaurant is around the second corner. Your stomach growled. Whatever’s in there smelled so good. “You hungry?” Miguel cocked his head towards the restaurant. “You heard that? Over all these people?” You asked, feeling your face flush.

“I hear everything.” He said with a subtle smile and led you to the menu.

“Hey boss! What’ll it be?” A spiderman in a white suit wearing a chef's hat bounced up to the counter and leaned on the counter.

“Just a coffee for me. And whatever she wants.” Miguel said, gesturing to you.

“Ooooh~ who’s the lady? I haven’t seen her around here before.” The chef sang.

“Oh! I’m-“ you started to introduce yourself but Miguel cut you off.

“She’s not staying.”

The chef seemed to get the memo and asked “Well Miss Not Staying, what can I getcha?” He asked with a wink.

“I’ll just have a turkey sandwich please.” The chef disappeared into the kitchen and came back with your orders surprisingly quick. You and Miguel thanked him and continued on your way to the office.

Right, left, right. He led you through two intricately carved metal doors and flipped a switch when they closed behind you. Evening light flooded the room as the large window blinds rolled themselves up. His office was gorgeously furnished, bookshelves lined three of the walls, all completely stacked with stacks of books, papers, magazines, notebooks, and various other trinkets. Huge potted plants lined the perimeter of a cozy looking blue couch that sat up against the other free wall. Above the couch were various picture frames, filled with what looked like children’s drawings. A grand mahogany desk and plush arm chair sat in the middle of the room on top of an extravagant rug. The desk itself was pretty bare, save for a single picture frame and a long rectangle that ran horizontally along the far side of the desks perimeter. “This is beautiful.” You said breathlessly. “Infinite universes, infinite spidermen, one of them is bound to be an interior designer.” He said and sipped his coffee. You began to walk towards the couch but you stepped on a little toy car and fell backwards. Miguel pulled the web on your shoulder up and set you back on your feet. “Thanks.” You exhaled. He hummed in response. You looked down and carefully tiptoed over colorful blocks and little dolls strewn about the floor. You sat in the middle of the couch while Miguel got settled in at his desk. “Do you have kids?” He froze and looked up at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. Grief? Anger maybe? “What?” He asked with an edge that made you uneasy. “I just assumed…because of the toys on the floor and stuff.” You said, almost apologetically.

“Oh.” He said flatly and peered down at the toys. “Those are Mayday’s toys. Peter B’s daughter.”

You nodded your head and looked around the room awkwardly while taking the occasional bite of your sandwich.

He pressed a button on the desk rectangle and a large floating screen hummed to life above a keyboard that was being projected onto the wood. He began typing furiously and you sank further into the couch as boredom began to set in. “Why am I even here?”

He glanced at you briefly then diverted his attention back to the screen. “Would you rather be back in solitary?” You shook your head. “Then cállate. Stop complaining.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, “I can't let you out of my sight until I figure out what to do with you.”

“So I have to sit here and wait for you to be finished?”

“Dios mío!“ He snatched a random book off of the shelf next to you and plopped it in your lap.

An Extensive History of the Discovery and Exploration of the Multiverse. You flipped through the thick book and scanned the tiny words. It could have been an interesting read if it wasn’t full of scientific words that hadn’t yet been invented in your timeline. You tried to lay on your side to get more comfortable, but the web connecting you and Miguel tugged his hand down. “Sorry.” You muttered as he scowled at you and snapped the string off of him.

Soon the sun had fully set and the bright lights of the city illuminated the office. You’d pretended to be sleep for the past hour, you kept your breathing steady and occasionally peaked to see if he was getting tired too. You could tell Miguel was trying to fight off sleep by the drowsy droop of his eyes and hunch of his back. He yawned and his sharp canines gleamed. Your breath hitched at the sight of them and you tried to keep your breathing consistent. That quick glimpse of his fangs reminded you what could go wrong if you messed this up. He shut off his computer and placed the picture frame on his desk face down. “Buenas noches mi chiquita.” He said softly. Who was he talking to? You wondered, but caught yourself before you let your mind wander any further. You needed to focus. You kept your eyes closed and waited until his breathing had leveled out to open them again. When it did, you peered over at him. His arms were crossed and he was leaned back comfortably in his chair. You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you had worked up the courage to slowly stand up and wrap Miguel’s discarded web around your wrist so it wouldn’t drag along the floor behind you. You tip toed your way towards the door, making sure to not to disturb any of the toys that tripped you earlier.

You held your breath as you cracked open the office door painstakingly slowly and slipped out as soon as the gap was big enough for you to do so. You closed it behind you and as soon as it clicked shut, you took off. The compound was eerily still and quiet, the lively atmosphere had been drained from the walls and all that was left was the quiet echo of your footsteps and shallow breaths. You passed the restaurant from earlier so you knew you were going in the right direction. You skidded to a stop once you made it to an intersection. You came right left right on the way here so now…you looked down either hallway and bit your lip unsure of which way to go. You shook your head and decided to go left, since you were coming from the opposite direction. “Right then left”, you whispered to yourself when you came upon two more intersections and sprinted through the empty building until you made it back to the familiar storage room doors. “Damn it.” You hissed once you realized you didn’t have a watch to open the doors. Upon closer inspection, you saw one door was left slightly ajar, you tried to get a good grip with your fingertips on the edge and pry it open but to no avail.

There wasn’t enough space for you to get a solid hold on it. You stood there anxiously until you remembered the web wrapped around your wrist. Perfect. You yanked the other end off of your shoulder and slung it onto the door. It stuck! You took a few steps back and pulled as hard as you could. It didn’t budge. You turned around and pulled the string over your shoulder and trudged forward, slowly the door gave way and you internally rejoiced once you finally got it open wide enough for you to get inside. You wrapped the web back around your wrist and felt your way along the wall to find the lockers. There was barely enough light for you to see the labels engraved on them but you eventually found yours. You tapped the keypad and its faint blue light shone bright enough for you to see the letters and numbers on it. A888. You typed in the password and the locker popped open. You reached inside and found the duffle bag. The zipper was way louder than you expected it to be and you winced as it broke the silence. Your suit was neatly folded inside and you quickly put it on and put the straps of the duffle bag on your shoulders as if it were a backpack. Time to go. You weren’t really sure what direction would lead you out and away but you didn’t have time to think about that. You picked a random direction to go and you started swinging across the pillars with your borrowed web.

••●── 🕸️⋅🕷⋅🕸️ ──●••

Miguel opened one eye and scanned the room. You were gone. “Lyla.” He whispered. She flickered to life on the desk below and yawned. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Has ev-What? What do you mean, you don’t even sleep? Why the hell are you yawning?” She shrugged, “I like to pretend.”

He rolled his eyes. “Has everyone evacuated?” Lyla scrolled through her phone and gave him a thumbs up.

“Activate discrete lockdown.”

“Done.” She said as she followed him across the room. “Are you sure you can catch her? You’ve given her quite the head start.”

Miguel cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of the office.

“Sin duda.”

••●── 🕸️⋅🕷⋅🕸️ ──●••

Thanks again for reading!!

Tag list @mynameiswilliamblake

#miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel spiderman #miguel spider man 2099 #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel atsv

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spacemonkeysalsa · 3 months

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Appetites

(Angst and fluff and smut)

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

Read Chapter Two on Ao3

Read Chapter Three on Ao3

Read Chapter Four on Ao3

Read Chapter Five on Ao3

Read Chapter Six on Ao3

Read Chapter Seven on Ao3

Read Chapter Eight on Ao3

Read Chapter Nine on Ao3

Read Chapter Ten on Ao3

Read Chapter Eleven on Ao3

Read Chapter Twelve on Ao3

Read Chapter Thirteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fourteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Fifteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Sixteen on Ao3

Read Chapter Seventeen on Ao3

or read Chapter Seventeen below the cut

Alice was correct in that Aurelia was awake, and had even ventured out of her chambers. It was initially Astarion’s hope that maybe she’d gone hunting and finally done something to slake the hunger that must be an unmanageable beast in her stomach by now. But he knew she wouldn’t, and he quickly traced the scent of burning that tieflings sometimes left in the air to the ballroom, then to the passageway that led into the attic.

He found her kneeling, with her back to him just out of a shaft of moonlight, and he wondered if she’d been there when it was still sunlight, and if she had watched it change from something dangerous to her, to something harmless, and still hadn’t moved.

The clothing she wore was similar to the simple garb that Alice had found for Isolde, and the same size, though it fit Aurelia better. His tiefling sister looked bizarre to him like this, wearing a casual tunic and leggings, her hair in a loose braid at the back of her neck. He realized he’d never seen her wear anything that hadn’t been picked out for her… their old master took pleasure in dressing her up, a little doll, so she looked like a cowering imitation of him with devil’s horns.

The fabric was thin and her bright red skin and raised scars were not entirely obscured through her clothing. Her scars were angry when he’d seen them before. Like they were healing all over again. He felt the pain in his own and knew they must be the same. Awakened again, red, and swollen. Ugly. But, healing, hopefully.The marks were nearly identical, save a few Infernal phrases, if Isolde’s comments were accurate, which he strongly suspected they were.

She flicked her tail around to touch the moonlight coming through the ruined ceiling. “So many of the gods hate us,” Aurelia’s voice dripped, “a victim once told me that the moon doesn’t have its own light, it just reflects a little bit of the sun onto the night. Do you think it’s Selûne who shields us from Lathander wrath? Do you think she could forgive us?”

No. Astarion didn’t think any of that, but to say so right now wouldn’t cheer her up, or himself. “Tomorrow morning, if you like, you could try partaking in just a little of my blood. See if I can extend my protection to you and allow you to stand in the sun. It works for my spawn. No idea if that’s a requirement. We can find out together, if you’re willing to experiment.”

If she was cheered by this thought, she didn’t show it with anything more than a slight twitch of her tail. Slowly, she scooted around without standing up, so that she could tilt her horned head back and look up at him.

“I don’t blame you,” Aurelia’s eyes still blazed, not unlike a spawns’, but she wasn’t enthralled any longer, so he imagined it was all the fire of the hells. “I can’t say that I would have done the same thing in your place, because I wouldn’t have. Not if you gave me a thousand years. But, only because I’d be too afraid.”

He waited a moment to see if she wanted to say anything else about it, but when she remained silent, he took that to mean it was his turn. This was as good a place as any to start, and he almost felt comfortable as he admitted, “I think that’s why I brought you back. I think. I’m still working it out. I have a habit of… acting without thinking.”

“Really?” Aurelia asked flatly.

“Without thinking enough,” he amended. “Certainly, without taking note of what I was thinking, to examine later with…. objectivity.”

“We haven’t had to do a lot of thinking,” Aurelia noted, “or—it was better when we didn’t bother. Easier.”

“So much easier,” Astarion agreed with a heavy sigh, one of the most painful things he’d had to admit to himself over the last five years was that some part of him did miss how uncomplicated it was to never have to make decisions. Small part. “But, when I brought you back—well, first of all, you are not my favorite. But, I do like you. And you’re the least likely to immediately attack me.”

“That’s definitely true.” Aurelia reached a hand across her chest and massaged her opposite shoulder, as far down her back as she could, face twinged with discomfort. “But why bother with any of us? You were rid of us. Don’t pretend like that wasn’t a relief.”

“Oh, it was a huge relief,” Astarion didn’t even consider trying to deny it, because he thought Aurelia would understand. “I didn’t relish it, but once you were all gone… I would never have to think about any of you again. I’d had so much experience just moving on after guilt and loss, and I thought for once it could be for my own good. Really. Murdering my past was magnificent. And it was what I wanted. At the time. What I still want—well,” that was where he hit a chasm, the part he couldn’t quite work out yet. As much as he wanted to let the past die, Shadowheart’s little visit had forced him to reconcile that there was a difference between not allowing the past to dictate the future, and obliterating it completely. Maybe, somewhere deep down, a part of him had already been working that out. “I can’t change what I became. What two hundred years of torment made and unmade me. And, I don’t even want to,” was that true? Did he like what he’d become? He accepted it. “But, as my glorious, profane ascension rolls forward and eternity faces me, I find that…” there was no dignified way to put this, and so he didn’t want to say it. Couldn’t say it. Found his mouth physically shut for him by some unseen and unknowable force. He suspected Shar wasn’t helping the situation.

At least he was here. At least he was talking. At least it hurt. Pain was better than nothing. Than what Shar wanted.

Aurelia’s red pinpoint eyes were stuck in the middle distance, her mouth fixed into a frown. It was the expression of someone who was thinking of themselves, and barely listening. Probably for the best. In spite of his mental rehearsals, Astarion wasn’t sure he was really saying what he meant, and certainly wasn’t doing so to any desired effect beyond wounding himself to let Shar’s influence bleed out.

He could only hope Aurelia would be satisfied enough with what he offered that they could both move on.

The tiefling sighed in a way that conveyed the purest fear and uncertainty. “You gave me one of the nice rooms,” she gestured down through the rotted attic and back towards the well maintained part of the palace proper.

“Our old quarters have been converted to storage,” Astarion shrugged, “you can’t burn down a single room in a home without damaging the structure as a whole.”

“This place feels very empty. Do you not have spawn of your own now?”

He should have anticipated that question, but he hadn’t. “Just one.”

Aurelia frowned at that, “you said it’s been five years? Will you make more?”

“I don’t know,” he didn’t know so many things, and that was why he didn’t really want to have this conversation. But, it needed to happen. He’d brought her here, for a purpose, even if he was still working out what that was. A vampire spawn who didn’t have to obey him. Why was that such an appealing idea? It shouldn’t have been. “Probably not.”

“It felt like five years,” Aurelia admitted. “I thought I’d lose track of time in the hells, but I never did.”

“You were in the hells, then?” he tried to sound surprised, but his tone wasn’t convincing. Of course. He’d known that.

“You sent us all to the nine hells, yes,” Aurelia wasn’t going to let him get away with passivity.

“I think perhaps you might just blame me a little, dear sister.”

“A touch,” Aurelia sighed. “It wasn’t worse than before, at least. There was pain, and fear and tedium. But, the hunger was gone.” It would be back now, “no more need to go out and gather victims, or play false. I never saw the master. You would never bring him back, would you?”

Gods above, what a question. It sent Astarion’s mind reeling. Why would she ever even think of such a thing? “To kill him a second time? That would be satisfying.” He sometimes boiled at the knowledge that he hadn’t been able to kill his master up close, with his own hands—it felt like he’d cheated himself out of something he desperately needed. He let the anger caress his heart.

Aurelia gave him a look, and then he realized his slight to her. To all of them. “His death was the only satisfying one that day,” he didn’t have to try to sound sincere. “As much as I did want to… get rid of all of it. I’m not—” but he was a monster, so he couldn’t bring himself to say something just because he wanted it to be true. “If there had been another way, I would have taken it.”

Her fiery eyes undulated like embers, and he watched her breathe out a little emotion. “Did you mean it, when you said I could use that scroll on anyone I like?”

“Why ever not?” Astarion had no idea what else to do with it. Practicality dictated that he should just keep it somewhere safe until it was needed, but the practical answer was also the boring one.

“I need to think about it,” she stood up. “Perhaps I’ll sleep on it, before I make my choice. I’m a bit run down.”

Astarion walked her back to her rooms, considering the amount of sleep that she’d gotten, versus the amount of sleep she probably needed to even begin to recover from several years in hell—maybe more than either of them realized, as time didn’t quite work the same way between the planes. Aurelia may not have had a close brush with Shar’s mantle, but she probably needed to purge a little emotion all the same. The weight of the hells couldn’t possibly be preferable. She didn’t look like she’d gotten much out of their conversation though. She just looked tired.

“Goodnight,” he bid her.

“I’ll be up a while yet,” she said, in spite of her exhaustion. “We aren’t done,” Aurelia warned him.

“No, we aren’t.” Astarion agreed.

That had been a shot of pain and shame that he didn’t enjoy, but at least they had gotten through it. It was a conversation they needed to start, after all.

And, it had given him the reprieve from Shar’s influence that he would need in order to talk to someone else who was weighed down by the Lady of Loss.

Astarion decided that the plan wasn’t to stop Isolde from leaving, necessarily, though he hoped he could convince her to stay longer. Something about utter emptiness put her ignorance of their shared history between them into perspective. Yes, indeed, it was horrible that he had probably murdered and gorged himself on the blood of several of her loved ones. But, gods, was he ever just perfectly equipped to move past it for both of their sakes? She could stay. It wouldn’t even be that much longer, probably.

But, if she did go, that was still fine. The more important goal was to simply ensure that she wasn’t in despair, and ready to throw herself to Shadowheart’s acolytes.

Under no circumstances could he let anything slip about how he might've massacred her family. Surely, that would play right into Shar’s hands. Yes. What a very practical reason not to tell her the one thing that would shame him the most. So convenient.

He found her crying, which seemed a bad start.

“Oh,” she started, turning away.

He hadn’t knocked. He should have knocked. She only needed a few seconds to fully compose herself. He could have given her that before barging in on her.

Isolde sat at the little vanity in the corner of the room, a few items spread out as though she was trying to decide what to take and what to leave there. He was pleased to see that some of them were small valuables she’d clearly found around the palace. He’d hoped she would steal from him, and she seemed to have rather good taste without being too greedy. Charming combination.

When she didn’t protest his intrusion, he shut the door, and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Sure enough, Shar’s miasma clung to her, thick and heady. He still had it too, but it was subtle after his frank talk with Aurelia.

They were lucky. Astarion had heard of other Chosen of Shar for whom the influence of the Lady of Loss was not so easily shaken. Their very presence oppressed so completely with that sense of endless nothing, that it was difficult to speak, and impossible to carry on a coherent conversation.

Still, Astarion did feel a lingering sense of numbness. In contrast, Isolde was mired in absence. Even as she tried to look at him, she kept slipping, sending her mind away to a void rather than endure him.

He had to bring her back, and he knew just how to start. Astarion tried very hard to only apologize when he was actually sorry, and so it didn’t happen all that often. “Isolde, I’m sorry.”

Though she had managed to wipe her tears away and school her face into a placid smile upon his intrusion, and though she seemed very calm at first, these words cracked through her instantly. Her breath hitched, and for a moment she looked fearful and hurt, but mostly there was a dawning confusion, something she clearly had to force a little as she added in a shaking voice, “you’ve done me no wrong, my lord.”

“I’ve upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” Isolde smiled broadly, it was convincing. That emptiness probably did have her convinced that she was alright, until he looked at her eyes. It would have been so easy to let her get away with it—or, to let her let him get away with it.

“I meant to upset you,” he pressed and she opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it a moment later, regarding him like she didn’t entirely understand what she was seeing. “I gladly allowed myself to be distracted by other—admittedly important—matters, so that I could avoid you, in hopes that you would simply leave and I would never have to explain myself.”

Isolde’s expression hardened just a touch, it suited her better than he would have imagined; a ruddy glimmer of anger. “I’m taking too long,” she concluded, tone choked. “You want me to hurry—”

“That is not what I’m doing,” Astarion could see how she got there, but had to fight to keep the gravel out of his voice. “I don’t—I know it’s what you should do, but it isn’t what I want.”

Her shoulders fell and she contemplated her hands, suddenly guarded and he thought he knew why. “I won’t turn you. I may not create any other spawn, ever again.”

Isolde interrupted her own shocked reaction by asking quickly, “Alice? Is she—”

“Oh, Alice is fine,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “She manages the hunger better than a vampire twenty times her age and seems excited to spend eternity reading every book ever written. But—I’m done. You made me realize something the other day, when you asked about those scars, and I… I can’t go on pretending it’s a gift, any longer. My predecessor—I tried to romanticize it. It’s just a way to fucking cope.”

At the sudden rush of pity in her eyes, he had to look away.

“I shouldn’t have pried,” Isolde murmured.

“But you did, and I thought about things I have tried to avoid thinking about for some time. None of that—none of this is your fault. You deserve better.”

She did seem moved by this, but not in the way he’d expected. She had one full lip pinched between her teeth, and took a long moment to skewer him with an examining look. Fearful.

“What?”

Quietly she said, “You sound angry.”

“That’s just because I’m furious. But, it’s nothing to do with anyone who still has a beating heart. Just old wounds. Scar tissue.” This was the explaining himself part that he had been so eager to avoid. It wasn’t so bad, actually. He didn’t like her feeling sorry for him, but as long as he was measured about the moments he actually looked into her sensuous black eyes, he could weather it. And it was certainly better than letting her be lured to the House of Grief in a futile search for comfort.

“There were seven of us. I was the second. And bound to each of us, a thousand souls. All of us were meant to be consumed in the ritual, but I fought, and I traded places with him.” His chest felt split open as it was, he couldn't say his name. He held out his hands, “so, this is what I purchased for seven thousand seven doomed souls.” Seven thousand and eight, perhaps. “Sunlight, a reflection, the appetites and arousals of mortal flesh intact… I don’t hunger like I used to. All the advantages of a true vampire without having to become one.”

“Purchased from who?” Isolde did have a knack for asking the question right at the heart of the matter.

“Archdevil Mephistopheles,” Astarion waited for her reaction, not entirely sure why, but he didn't expect her to be horrified, though that would have been a rational response.

She did look grave, but not surprised. “Gods, Astarion,” she shook her head.

“I am not arrogant enough to believe that immortality can ever be truly indefinite. Someone like me has one of two logical conclusions. I either find a way to light a divine spark and ascend further, to true godhood, or I die. Eventually. Probably ignominiously, probably violently—I’m sure I will make the whole thing very dramatic, as I know what awaits me.” He shrugged, “I have never been ambitious. Mephistopheles’ maw is all I have to look forward to, once I am done enjoying this plane to its fullest extent.”

Isolde was still shaking her head, but her brow was twisted in concern, not lowered in skepticism. “I’m so sorry.”

“Those scars aren't just a reminder of two centuries of torment. Of what I have lost. They are also a reminder that my soul, imbued with the power and the suffering of seven thousand and seven others, is almost certainly something Mephistopheles was always intent on consuming himself.”

Isolde’s eyes were wet again, but he couldn't tear himself away this time. He watched her as her breathing grew shallow and she processed what he was saying.

“Well. Perhaps, seven thousand and six,” he grimaced. “That's the other thing I should mention, in case you do decide to stay a while longer. And I hope you will.” He cleared his throat, “so—as I recently came into possession of scrolls of true resurrection, you might recall—I brought one of my spawn siblings back from the dead. One of seven.”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it was apparent from her baffled, wide-eyed expression that this was far from it. “Naturally.” She blinked.

Astarion fought off a twinge of a smile at the corner of his mouth. A sure sign that Shar’s oppression was lifting. “I don't know what it means. I can’t predict how it might change things. I think I am only just beginning to understand why I did it.”

Isolde’s already raised eyebrows lifted even closer to her hairline. “And?”

“Also, maybe something to do with you. Tangentially.” Astarion frowned, “the night we met, I said that one appeal of spawn is that they have to do as I say. The other appeal, that I didn't want to speak about, is company.” Simple, sad, and still a little difficult to admit. “Immortal life is a long time, if you're lucky. And, although the sense of superiority can get you through a lot—I rather wonder if it wouldn't…” he mulled his choice of words over for a few moments, “help, to not be the only one having to get through it.”

“Your sibling understands, better than anyone,” Isolde’s tone was still grave, “but… aren't they horribly angry with you?”

“Probably,” Astarion shrugged. “I believe she’s as filled with rage as she can possibly be. But, dearest sister has a very high tolerance for abuse. That rage doesn't manifest itself in the kind of spectacular violence that say…. I would visit on her, if she gave me away to the devil.”

“But you brought her back. She came back.”

“Think that counts for something?” Astarion wondered quietly, more to himself. He knew Aurelia too well to suspect she would return purely for revenge, but he would never make the mistake of thinking she would be grateful.

“The other scroll?”

“A welcome back present for Aurelia,” He'd done that on reflex, but it felt more right than ever.

“Does she go straight back to Mephistopheles when she dies?”

“I imagine so, yes.” But it wasn't certain. How could it be? Even having gone through with the ritual, Astarion still didn't entirely understand all the nuances.

Isolde seemed to run out of questions. Her gaze was fixed on him, and for a moment he wondered if she finally saw him for a monster. But, no, she wasn't recoiling. She wasn't even judging him.

She did look quite at a loss for words though.

Fair enough.

“Please, stay. You are welcome here.” Astarion knew there wouldn’t be much more he could offer her. He didn’t know if these earnest feelings would be enough to overcome the emptiness that Shar force fed them both. But, he didn’t have anything more. “If you do decide to leave, promise me that you will stay far away from the House of Grief. They are veritable carrion.”

Isolde’s overwhelmed expression softened as he spoke. She took a moment before she responded. “Well. I am rather curious to meet your sister.”

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #ascended astarion #appetites #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction

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littlesniggy · 1 year

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Seduction Part Seven

Well, this is the last part of the Seduction series. I'm still not back with writing but I really wanted to finish this story because it kept bothering me. I had so many different ideas how to finish this but I liked this one best. I can warn you ahead, no happy ending.

Please enjoy!

Warning: ns.fw, 18+, sm.ut, older man x younger woman, no happy ending, swearing, p in v Pairing: Sakazuki x female reader Word count: 3.7k Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

It’s been a couple of months since you showed up at his house, wounded and maybe even near death. Ever since then Sakazuki knew that something needed to change but he couldn’t quite figure out what exactly. Sure, it all needed to start with you no longer coming to his house and risk his career. He was honestly amazed at your skills to blend in and conceal yourself when you came to Marineford but still, the risk was too high.

Secondly, he needed to distance himself emotionally and physically from you. Since he was the fleet admiral and basically spent all his time at Marineford you were the one coming to see him. He couldn’t describe it any differently, but he’s gotten used to you; to your presence, to your body, to your personality… and that was also something that needed to change. He was the fleet admiral, for fuck’s sake! He had no business getting comfortable around you!

The only way to get out of this dilemma was to end once and for all.

He took a deep breath from his cigar, his back leaning against the wall behind him, and turned his head to look at your sleeping form. Your back was turned towards him and his blanket only covering the lower half of your body. He noticed some angry red handprints on the side of your stomach where his hand had heated up just the tiniest bit last night.

He let the ash drop into and ashtray standing next to his futon before he sucked on the cigar once again, letting the white smoke escape from his mouth. He looked up at the clock on the wall. He still had three hours before he needed to be at work. Three hours to figure out how to proceed from now on. Though he already had a plan that has been manifesting in the back of his mind for quite some time now…

His attention was drawn back to you when you turned around with a soft sigh, inching closer to his warm body. Sakazuki twisted his face a little at your peaceful and blissfully unaware behavior. You shouldn’t feel comfortable around him. You shouldn’t feel safe around him! But here you were, sleeping soundly next to your supposed enemy.

He puffed again on his cigar, his other hand grabbing one of your locks between his fingers and absentmindedly playing with your hair.

You were woken up by a tickling feeling on your cheek and the smell of something burning. Groggily, you opened your eyes and were first met with a very big and very muscular thigh next to you. Your gaze followed the leg, the curve of an equally muscular ass, and up the torso until you were met with a familiar pair of harsh eyes that were studying you as well.

“Morning.” You mumbled after a while, receiving no response from the fleet admiral. Instead, he lifted his cigar up to his lips to puff on the toxic stick. He also let go of your hair and instead casually placed it on his stomach.

You sighed and sat up but winced at various body parts that were more than sore from last night. Next to you, you heard an amused huff at your reaction and you shot him a glare from over your shoulder.

“You should be glad you’re a devil fruit user. Otherwise, I’d fuck you up just the same.” You mumbled under your breath and started inspecting your body for any major bruises.

“I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t change a thing, Y/n.” he mocked.

Another half-hearted glare in his direction only made him shake his head with the tiniest of grins and you decided to not press it any further.

Your eyes widened at the angry red imprint on your side that looked suspiciously like his hand. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t burn me to death just because you got too excited.” You reprimanded him annoyed but he ignored your comment. Instead, he placed his free hand on the other side without the handprint and let it heat up as well.

“Fuck!” you hissed and jerked away from him, climbing onto his lap to get away from his hot hand. “Are you crazy?!” You turned around to look at him, straddling his lap with your legs and an angry look on your face. Sakazuki tilted his head to the side, his hand finding your side once again but he refrained from heating it up again.

“Maybe that was a hint for you to leave.” Pissed, you wanted to get up and really just leave as he had “suggested” but you felt the weight of his hand holding you down on his lap, commanding you to stay where you were. So, you didn’t move.

He lifted his cigar back up to his lips but before he put it between his lips you reached out and grabbed his wrist. Confused, he looked at you. Your hand slowly let go and instead took the cigar between your fingers and took it out of his hand. Sakazuki let you and watched as you instead put it between your own lips and puffed on it. The taste was not really pleasant and you twisted your mouth in slight disgust.

“How can you willingly smoke this?” you ask. Sakazuki didn’t reply and reached for the cigar again but you pulled your hand away. With a challenging look you moved the cigar towards his bare chest, stopping only inches from his skin. The fleet admiral didn’t stop you but his expression hardened.

“I want you to think hard about your next move.”

“Wouldn’t it only be fair if I got to burn you as well?” you replied, the burning end of the cigar still hovering over his chest.

“Life isn’t fair.”

You swallowed, contemplating on the possible outcomes. You really wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine but there was still his hand on your hip, dangerously warm.

You sighed and removed the cigar from his chest and stubbed the cigar out in the ashtray.

Sakazuki hummed contently and put his other hand on your hip as well, caressing your warm skin with his calloused palms. You looked up at him and put your hands on his chest, slightly moving them up and down before your placed them on his shoulders.

You lifted your body up and pressed it against his, your breasts being squished between your two bodies. Your head leaned forward and you started to follow his chest tattoo with your lips. Sakazuki’s hands slightly traced your back and butt, squeezing it now and then.

You panted against his skin, pressing your body closer against his. Your mouth moved up his chest, over his collarbone and to his strong neck. You breathed in his musk. Paired with his gentle massaging your butt your felt how your core got wet and your body heated.

You whimpered against his skin when his hands started massaging the back of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh and inching closer to your hot core.

Your kisses on his neck go more heated in return and you started letting your teeth graze over the sensitive skin on his neck and your heard him take in a sharp breath as a response.

You stretched your body a little bit more to reach his ear, your warm breath ghosting over the shell of it. Your hands moved over his chest, his stomach and grazed against his stiff member. “You like that?” you whisper into his ear. He could hear your grin in your voice.

“Don’t get too cocky.” He growled and gave you a sharp slap on your butt.

You gasped in surprise. Your body started to rub against his, your hard nipples appreciating the friction. Sakazuki grabbed both your ass cheeks and spread them apart, then resumed to kneading them, this time stronger.

His beard scraped against your face as you started kissing his jawline. You felt his jaw tense the closer you got to his mouth and also his hands stopped caressing your ass. Uncertain, you stopped and looked up at him, his face extremely close. Your body longed for him and you had the urge to feel his lips on yours. And why would it be wrong? You’ve had sex plenty of times before so what was one kiss? But back in your mind you knew that a kiss could be much more intimate than simple sex. It’s been an unspoken rule between the two of you that there was no kissing involved. Kissing was something reserved for lovers and your were….fuck buddies. But still…

Your lips moved closer to his, feeling his breath against your skin. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of permission.

“Don’t.” he mumbled, his lips almost brushing against yours. The smell of the cigar on his breath is fogging your mind and his voice is somewhere in the distance.

He should push you away. He is the older one and he has a responsibility not to behave like a horny teenager. You shouldn’t kiss him. You shouldn’t want to kiss him. But here you were, mere inches away from his own lips, your eyes longing but also unsure. He can see the internal fight you’re currently having with yourself and he hopes the reasonable voice in your mind will win – because he knows he won’t stop you.

“Why not?” you hear yourself ask, your lips inching closer to his until they brush against each other. Your lips are parted and you’re waiting for his response. But he doesn’t speak.

This is the sign for your to throw all remaining doubts over board.

You place your lips against his; they’re firm and warm yet inviting and surprisingly gentle. Your heart starts hammering in your chest and there are a million butterflies going rampant in your stomach.

You are hesitant when you start moving your lips against his, thrown off guard when you notice that Sakazuki is not reciprocating the kiss. Your heart sinks into your stomach; what’s going on? Doesn’t he want this?

You open your eyes and look right into his harsh eyes which are staring right back at you. Oh no! Your body runs. Is this bad? This must be bad!

You want to retreat from his lips, the horror plastered all over your face. You know you messed up. You know you should’ve listened to the small voice in your head! He told you not to! He will be mad at you! He will yell at you! He will-

His firm lips capture yours in an intense kiss that takes your breath away. His hands press you against his body, his nails digging into your skin, while his lips move against yours.

You are completely thrown off guard by his sudden action and are stunned.

You hear yourself whimper when his gently nibbles on your bottom lip and you start moving your lips in tandem to his.

His lips move precise and purposefully against yours; there is no unnecessary movement, no sloppy tongue. You try to get your tongue between his lips but he won’t let you. But that’s fine. Your body is on fire and you let him feel how horny you are by grabbing his wrist and leading his hand between your legs where your dripping pussy desperately waits for his touch.

His fingers brush against your wet core and he growls against your mouth excited. His thick fingers rub against your folds before he inserts two. Your core clenches around his digits and you moan pleased, moving your hips against his fingers.

Sakazuki places his lips against your neck close to your ear.

“Fucking slut.” He growls and inserts a third finger, spreading you to his liking. You moan again, your fingers finding support on his shoulders and your nails dig into his skin und his skin breaks and a little bit of blood starts running down his chest.

“Shit!” you hiss, felling how your orgasm is rapidly approaching. You want to push him away, trying to remove his hand from between your legs to prolong the nearing climax but Sakazuki won’t let you. The fleet admiral grabs both your wrists with his free hand and pulls them above your head while his other hand pistoles in and out of your dripping pussy, wet sounds mixing in with your unhinged moans.

“Fuck!” you curse, throwing your head back and pressing your eyes shut. Your mouth hangs open as you desperately gasp for air, face red and sweaty, a few strands of hair clinging to your skin.

“C-cumming!” you moan, biting your lip in anticipation of your orgasm.

Sakazuki leans forward, his teeth nibbling at your jaw.

“As if I’d let you cum.” His voice is dangerously sadistic and your brain processes his words not fast enough. Otherwise, you could’ve prepared for his fingers retreating from your pussy, leaving you hanging and frustrated.

Your eyes snap open and your head shoots forward. Angrily but also desperately you glare at him.

“Don’t stop!” you pant, your arms wriggling in his iron grip. Sakazuki lifts his free hand that is covered in your juice and holds it in front of your lips. “Suck.” He orders and you open your mouth willingly. You taste yourself on your tongue as it swirls around his digits, licking up every last drop of your slick.

With an audible plop he retreats his fingers from your mouth before wiping them dry on your breasts.

“Please….!” You look at him desperately, wiggling your ass a little to maybe encourage him. Sakazuki leans forward and kisses your lips hard and longing, even biting at your lips again until he suddenly turns and brings you underneath him, his hand still holding your wrists but now pressing them into the futon below you.

“Please what?” he asks, his eyes boring into your own, making you feel small and vulnerable underneath his big man.

“Fuck me.” You press out, adrenaline rushing through your veins. His grip around your wrists tightens and a displeased look is on his face.

“Please, fuck me, Sakazuki sama.” You breathe out, knowing exactly what he wants to hear. The fleet admiral smirks at you before letting go of your wrists and grabbing your hips tightly, lifting them up until your body is aligned with his dick. You look up at him, your position kind of awkward because of the angle you’re lying on the futon.

Sakazuki looks at you for a moment, then he presses the tip of his dick into your dripping core and then pressing further and further, stretching you almost uncomfortably until he is completely buried inside you. A long and guttural moan is pressed out of your lungs and you grab the pillow behind you for support.

He thinks about giving you time to adjust but then decides against it, coming to the conclusion that he’s already spoiled you enough. He starts with slow but intense thrusts, letting you feel every inch of his hard cock; and you love it. Your eyes are pressed shut, enjoying what he is doing to you. His fingers are gripping your hips hard, pulling you closer with each thrust.

Your legs are stretched wide apart to fit him in between them and you are generally unable to move, let alone move away from him if you wanted.

Sakazuki leans forward, pressing your lower body closer to you upper to get a better angle. He picks up his pace, his hand moving from your hip to your tits and squeezing them in the process. Another moan leaves your mouth and you arch your body against his touch, trying to move against his thrusts but it’s just not possible so you let him manhandle you.

His hand moves from your tits to your throat and he closes it tightly around your neck, squeezing your windpipe shut. You try to gasp for air but to no avail, your hands instinctively claw at his larger on to loosen his grip but he is unforgiving.

Not long after does the lack of oxygen go to your head and you feel high. His dick inside of you feels more intense and Sakazuki seems to notice it as well since he slows down and lets you once again feel every inch of his hard dick which keeps rubbing against your walls.

You open your eyes to look up at him, his lips slightly parted but otherwise having himself under control. Your lips form the word ‘air’ and you hope that he grants you the much-needed breath of oxygen. Sakazuki waits a little longer until panic starts to settle in, then he loosens his grip and you take in a long and deep breath of air but let it out right away through another loud moan he draws from you when he changes angles again in his dick presses against your special spot.

“Shit!” he hisses when you tighten around him and his grip around your throat tightens reflexively again. You watch him close his eyes for a moment while he starts pounding into you before he opens them again to look at you.

You watch your breasts move in tandem to his thrusts and how his massive dick is forced in and out of your cunt over and over again.

Soon, this familiar tingling inside of you makes itself known again and you know that you’re close.

Your legs twitch at the feeling that becomes more and more intense with watch thrusts, your body tenses and relaxes to cope with how quickly your orgasm is approaching. Sakazuki notices it as well. For a moment he considers denying you this one as well but he does not have unlimited time and he knows you need to leave soon.

“You wanna cum?” he asks, stopping his thrusts for a moment, his dick still buried deep inside of you. Your walls are clenching around him, trying to force him to move but he doesn’t budge. His hand lets go of your throat and instead he places it right next to your head on the futon.

Your eyes are red and watery due to the lack of oxygen but you know exactly what you want.

“Please let me cum, Sakazuki sama.” You whisper, biting your lip seductively. The fleet admiral presses his lips into a thin line and his hand clenches into a fist when he starts ramming himself into you, pressing you even further into the mattress while he fucks you into oblivion.

You almost scream at this onslaught of his member and your orgasm hits you hard. Your whole body tenses, your toes curl, and your back arches from the futon. You throw your head back and let out one last long and loud moan while you cum hard around the older man.

Sakazuki grunts in response, feeling how your pussy is trying to milk him and he is tempted to just let you squeeze him dry but he can’t do that.

The small voice in his head forces him to pull out at the last moment before he unloads on your stomach and your tits, his cum covering you almost completely.

He keeps his eyes closed for a moment to compose himself again, then he looks down at your wrecked form.

“Fucking brat.”

He wa already fully dressed and ready to go when you came out of the bathroom after getting rid of all the evidence of your morning session.

He threw your clothes right at you, urging you to hurry since he had to go. You silently got dressed without complaint and then stood before him.

“You’re not getting a goodbye kiss.” Sakazuki simply said and you huffed. “Why would I want that?” you retorted but internally not being completely against it.

“Good. Just so we’re clear. This will never happen again.” He said and you rolled your eyes. You already knew this spiel and he always caved when you came back.

“Sure. Whatever you say.” You turned around and walked towards the window. For a moment, you contemplated turning around one last time but decided against it. Instead, you just lifted your hand and gave a half-hearted wave goodbye. Then, you were gone.

Sakazuki watched you disappear, not moving for a moment as if he was frozen in place. Then, he reaches for the den den-den-mushi on the cupboard.

“Borsalino, there might be a rouge pirate at Marineford.”

The marine caught you by surprise and you were completely unprepared. You tried to get away from them but there were simply too many and you had to surrender. Now, you were led towards the big navy headquarter with its prison cells underneath the building, ready to be shipped off to Impeldown.

First, you had no idea why and how they found you but realization hit pretty quickly when you heard admiral Kizaru speak into his den-den-mushi.

“You were right, Sakazuki. There was a rouge pirate running about Marineford.”

Of course, you thought to yourself with a bitter smile on your lips. Would’ve been too good to be true.

“Do I wanna know why you knew there was a pirate running around HQ like this?” Borsalino sat on Sakazuki’s sofa in his office while the fleet admiral stood at the door, looking at the endless ocean.

“You don’t need to know, Borsalino.” Sakazuki simply replied and with that the conversation was over for him.

He felt weirdly dissatisfied but he dismissed it with the fact that he would simply miss having sex with you. This whole situation between you two was purely physical, nothing more. The kiss this morning was simply a slip-up and he just got carried away. It would never happen again. He would never see you ever again. Was it the right thing to have you locked up for the rest of your life?

Yes, absolutely. There was nothing wrong about locking up a criminal. He had his fun but if he kept this going this whole situation would simply cloud his mind and he couldn’t let that happen.

Was it selfish to lock you up for the rest of your life?

Probably. But Sakazuki has never been known for being particularly selfless.

He was the fleet admiral, after all. He didn’t get this job by being considerate but by being ruthless. And he would not change just for some good pussy.

__________________________________________________

Thank you for reading and staying with me all these years! I hope you enjoyed this whole story and I'm sorry not really for the not so happy ending. It just seemed right and fit Akainu's personality. He just seems like the type of guy who puts the marines over everything else.

Well, thanks a lot again!

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#one piece #op #op Sakazuki #op akainu #Sakazuki x reader #Akainu x reader #female reader #op x female reader #one piece x female reader #betrayal #akainu #akainue scenario #seduction #ns.fw #sm.ut #older man x younger woman #Sakazuki is a pos

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llaberration · 5 months

Text

Coyne's Chronicles: Shadow over Yfiria - Chapter 1

[[Remember to read the prologue first!]]

“Keep your grubby mits to yourself, beggar,” the words were delivered harshly, and followed up by a stinging slap against his outstretched palm. Coyne withdrew it swiftly, sucking on the sore fingers and glaring after the three soldiers as they marched away, laughing, presumably at how strong and clever they were.

He had only asked them for one copper coin. If they had paid him, or just moved on as though he weren't there, he would have left them alone.

Just for that slap, he was going to rob them.

Drawing himself to his feet once they were out of sight, the mimic dodged into the woods, and began taking a short cut through the trees, aiming to cut them off a mile along the path.

Just as his destination was coming into view, a harsh, unexpected sound from the bushes nearby caused him to abruptly dodge to one side and duck down in a bramble patch on the off chance that it was dangerous. There were hungry bears, territorial wolves, and victims of the plague roaming about after all, and he had no desire for an encounter with any of those things.

After a moment of quiet and nothing pursuing him, Coyne considered the sound. It had been a groan... but not like a human groan, this had been a huge sound, that rumbled through the ground below him and filled the air with almost tangible anguish.

Letting out a puzzled little snort, Coyne waited a moment longer, to ensure an attack was not to follow, then extracted himself from the brambles, trying not to tear his already ragged clothes, and went to peep through the thick shrubbery surrounding the source of the sound.

There, in a clearing among the trees, lay a huge, scaled form. Glittering black and gold scales coated a slender, elegant shape that was simultaneously bound with well toned muscle. A large, pointed head with glittering golden horns sat at the end of an almost serpentine neck, which was dotted with a ridge of sharp golden quills. Two long, delicate wings in black and purple lay heavily by the creature's sides, and it had four powerful legs, each one tipped with a deadly, clawed hand.

It had been years since Coyne had seen a dragon soaring the skies but he certainly recognised one when he saw it. Most had been killed for their scales, or ground up into medicine, but here was one, large as life. This one was not well though. The mimic could see a wound on its hip that looked painful and infected. Its scales had lost their lustre, and seemed to hang slightly baggy on its body.

This creature had been badly hurt, and was almost certainly facing death's door, if not quite ready to knock yet.

Hearing the soldiers on the path nearby, Coyne had a thought.

Dodging forwards, he leaned towards the dragon's head and whispered into one of its long ears. “If you can fight... I can bring you a meal.”

A bright purple eye shot open and swivelled to him, observing.

For a moment, a chill of icy cold terror swelled in his belly, and Coyne almost fled on instinct, but the creature gave a single nod.

Coyne understood, and gestured with a hand. “They will be coming from here,” he said, then darted off into the bushes towards the road.

He waited for the soldiers, letting their voices draw closer. He watched as they reached him and passed by, talking loudly about how much they hated patrols. As the third passed right beside his hiding spot, he reached out, using a deft grip to pluck the man's sword right from its scabbard.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, standing and waving it, “Catch me if you can scumbags!” and he dashed into the woods.

The undergrowth beat at him from all sides as he heard the three men crashing after him, their angry shouts and curses filling the air. He was a fool! What was he DOING?! His heart thudded thickly as he raced through the rough scrub, circling around the clearing, still shouting so they would follow him directly into the space rather than around it.

He did not even see what happened next.

The three men crashed through the bushes into the clearing, then there was a roar, a bit of shouting, and silence.

Coyne waited where he had stopped in the bushes, panting. He should wait a little. He didn't want to see the dragon eating... perhaps he would leave it a while, wanting to play it safe. He looked at the sword he had stolen, his only reward at this point, and saw it was made only of normal steel. There was a tiny ruby set into the base of the hilt, with a small amount of gold around it, and he quickly set to work picking that out with his teeth and nails before scouring the rest of the sword for anything of value before dropping it with a sigh, not much, but a start.

After catching his breath, he dusted himself off, wondering if enough time had passed, then silently crept up a tree to peer into the clearing from a relatively safe vantage point.

The dragon lay, stretched out, its slender middle looking a lot fuller than before. It looked as though the creature was sleeping.

Coyne looked around hopefully for a pile of discarded armour and weapons but quickly realised there was nothing.

Had the thing just horked them down, armour clad, armed to the teeth and fighting?

Coyne huffed. He had been expecting to gain at least a bit of coin for his troubles, but now it looked like his prize was nothing. If he did not do better than this, he would certainly run out of time.

Coyne leaned back in the branches of the tree with a tired sigh, letting his sore eyes close. He should move, there was no wisdom in staying so close to a large and dangerous predator. It was strange though, as his time slowly counted down and his body grew more tired, he began to feel almost like a human again.

Not properly, as he had no genuine memories of the life that he had lived before this one. The merger that had happened between the wizard and the mimic had left him as a new being, with the memories of neither, and abilities that did not really belong in any school of magic. He truly was a monster. And he was growing almost comfortable with the idea of his time running out.

Perhaps it was because he had been experiencing his body tiring and shutting itself down for so long, but he was starting to wonder if a long rest would be such a terrible thing.

“Are you going to come down here? Or are you just going to stay in that tree?”

Coyne's stringy form tensed up, so much so that he almost flopped off his branch. He caught himself though with his legs dangling, and hauled his body back up to peer down at the clearing.

The dragon remained still, it had barely moved, but its eyes were open now, glowing softly up at him, as though they could see straight through the dimness and the foliage.

“Depends...” said Coyne slowly, rolling the word, extending it. “Are you going to eat me if I do?”

“If I intended to eat you, I would have done so when you first appeared before me. Come down here. Tell me what you are.”

Coyne paused, considering this. It was true that he had been close enough to the dragon for it to kill him and it had not done so. It had eaten well now, so perhaps it would have no interest in a scraggly meal like him.

He scritched at his heavy iron wristbands for a moment before thoughtfully dropping down to the ground and sneaking forwards through the bushes, stopping on the edge of the clearing opposite the dragon in a crouch, and quietly watching it, ready to flee.

“You do not trust me,” observed the dragon, moving its head slightly on the leaf covered ground.

“You're a dragon,” replied Coyne with a shrug, as though his response should have been obvious, his eye roving along the black and gold body. He reckoned it was about thirty five feet long, perhaps a few more including the tail's full length, but its body was slender, much more so than the red or green dragons he had seen before. This one was more angular, with a pointed face, and a muzzle full of sharp, glittering teeth. As he watched, a long tongue flicked out, as gold in colour as the edging on the scales, and licked over the side of the dragon's mouth, where a smear of blood remained. A little instinct in him made Coyne's eyes dilate slightly at the sight of the gold, but he knew this was no precious metal, and held himself firmly in check. “I know not to trust dragons.”

“That is something a man would say.”

“It is something anyone with an edible liver would say. But I... am no man.”

“I can see that.”

Coyne let out a little huff, spotting a boot that must have been flung off in the fray, he reached out and delicately drew it to himself across the floor, not making any sudden movements. He lifted the thing and began to examine its buckles, disappointed to find them to be tin. He dropped the boot and looked back to the dragon, which was silently watching him, its eyes glowing with little swirls of steamy light. He was certain it was working some kind of magic to figure out what he was, and honestly, he wished it the best of luck. Many had tried.

“So what exactly are you?” it said after a time, the glow fading. “I can see what you are not. That leaves me wondering how something as old as I cannot have seen one of your kind before. Are you new? Born of the war? I can see you are not fae... nor are you a spirit...”

“No... no I was not born of the war. I am from long before that,” Coyne sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I... I know what I am made from, but I know not what I am.”

The dragon raised its head slightly at this, and gave a light tilt. “Explain?”

Coyne shrugged, pushing his hands about in the dirt, searching for any dropped change, a nervous habit. “A wizard cursed to everlasting life entered a dungeon in search of riches or knowledge, as they do. There, he encountered a mimic stronger than himself... and as they do, the mimic consumed him. The curse of undying however, was far more powerful than either of them... it consumed both and I was born. I came to be as you see me now. Lying on the floor of a dungeon, fully equipped with knowledge of the world as inherited from the wizard and mimic both, but the memories of neither. With magic created from the union that belongs in neither the human arts, nor the world of monsters.”

The dragon watched him, visibly intrigued. “And I see the world of man has not been kind to you.”

Coyne scoffed a little. “What remains of the world of man now after decades of war? Desperation and decay. That is all that remains. I scrape from the gutters and steal days of life from their purses, but there is no living to be done here any more.”

The dragon seemed to smile slightly, its eyes tilting at the corners, and its broad mouth twitching. “I see you do not align yourself with them.”

Coyne shook his head, “I need them to live. I need their coin. There is a price I must pay for each day that I live. The coin was plentiful once. I was... different then. More powerful, more capable...” he held up his arms sadly, prodding the wiry bicep and jabbing at his ribs, exposed by clothes that were barely hanging onto life. “These days of war have whittled away the time I can afford.”

“And is that why you led the soldiers to me? You were hoping I would leave their belonging for you to pick through like some kind of carrion beast?”

Coyne gave a half nod, but his eyes were narrow. “One of them struck me when I asked him for a copper, so there was also that. But yes. I was hoping to profit a coin or two for my trouble. I see now I chose the wrong creature for that, did I not?”

The dragon chuckled. “You did. Had you picked a Mire, Sea or Sky dragon... you would have had your pickings of their metals. However... I am different.” The dragon seemed pleased to have gotten onto the subject of itself. Coyne had always been told that dragons were vain. It looked to be true now as it seemed positively delighted by this subject change.

“I am a Cave dragon. I think humans call us... Black dragons? We digest metal. It strengthens our scales, tougher than any other variety of dragon,” to punctuate the proud claim, it flicked its long, whiplike tail, which caused the aforementioned metallic scales to scrape together, creating an almost musical tone.

“I... assumed as much,” sighed Coyne. “And I see the world of man has not been exactly forgiving to you either.” He shot a look towards the creature's injured hip, then immediately backed up a few paces as the dragon's face changed immediately to a look of hatred.

“Men,” it spat. “Men are fools. They have slaughtered and enslaved us freely since the start of this idiotic war. Stealing our breath for weapons, our scales for armour, our organs for medicine...” the voice had a hissing, threatening undertone now, and the eyes were glowing once more as it turned its head to glare at the open wound in its thigh. “They take things not owed to them to spill blood over pettiness and lies.”

“They didn't quite manage to take you though. Did they?” said Coyne, a sly smile crossing his face.

“They did not,” agreed the creature, calming slightly at the complimentary tone in his voice. “They shot me down as I attempted to fly past that idiotic wall they have built across the land. I escaped but....it has been an inconvenience.” The purple eyes slid slowly over to him, narrowing lazily. “Perhaps... we can be of use to each other here...”

Coyne leaned in slightly, interested. After all, he had nothing to lose. “In what way?”

“I need someone other than a dragon to remove the debris from this wound. It is forged from pressure hardened wood of a sacred oak. Dragons... or any fae may not touch such a thing. If I attempt to remove it myself, I will receive severe burns to any part I use to do so.” The creature fixed Coyne with a stare, “You however, would not be affected.”

Coyne chewed his tongue slightly as he took this information in. “And... what do I get?”

“In return I will pay you with the scraps of the meal you brought me. I estimate about five gold coins and a few trinkets.”

Coyne licked his lips. Five gold coins was the best part of a month. He could do a lot with that much time. But he still did not entirely trust this creature. It was a dragon after all. Dragons had agendas. That was the second thing he had learned about them. They were vain was the first, and they always had agendas was the second.

The mimic drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the ground. Help a dragon... gain a few gold. The dragon seemed tired and weak, even after a good meal... it was talking with confidence but had little strength to back it up. Perhaps this time was worth the risk. “Alright...” he said, after a few minutes, through which the dragon waited patiently and politely. “I will clean your wounds in exchange for the coin,” he said, nodding. “If...” he held up a finger. “You give me your word that you will not try to hurt me.”

“I have no reason to harm you. You are not a man.”

Coyne chewed his lip a little, “Your word then?”

“I give you my word,” said the dragon, lifting one gold-clawed hand into the air and waving a finger in a swirling motion, creating a little twirling pattern in the air made of smoky purple light.

Satisfied the dragon was bound to its word, Coyne stood up, and came forwards. He tried to stand straight, but as his body had tired as his time ran out, he had found it harder and harder to do so. He walked with something of a stoop, and his sore legs shuffled more than walked at this speed. “Alright let me see here...” he said, kneeling down beside the wound, and examining it, the dim light not helpful, but not impossible for him to see in.

The wound proved to be long and deep, a vast gash cut all along the creature's thigh and into the hip, splitting scales and ripping them out. The edges of the flesh were rounded and sore, showing it had been this way for some time, trying to heal.

He delicately slipped a hand to the sides of the cut and pressed it open to get a better look, careful of the sharp metallic edges of the broken scales. His touch was gentle, but he saw the creature's claws dig into the ground as he performed his examination. This wound was visibly causing the beast agony.

Inside the gash, he could easily see the shaft of an enormous spear... no... an arrow... one so huge it could only have been fired from a siege weapon, turned from a single piece of wood and snapped off where it protruded. The rest of the shaft, along with the tip remained buried deep. “I see it indeed...” he said softly, touching the wood with the lightest of fingers. “It is deep... I can draw it out... but it will hurt.” He warned.

“Do it. The swifter you can make it, the better.”

“Alright... I'm not the man I used to be but...” Coyne straightened up and reached into the opening to grasp the end of the weapon, a good, firm hold, not wanting to lose his grip halfway through. “Alright... here we go...” he took a breath, tensing himself up, and heaving evenly backwards, the way the arrow had entered, so that the only flesh it would tear was that which was already damaged.

As the mimic tugged, the dragon's claws gouged deeply into the earth, the huge head swung upwards in a terrible roar that shook the ground, and caused birds to scatter from the trees all around them.

Feeling the object come free, Coyne was quick to make himself scarce as well, darting off into the bushes as the dragon turned in angry circles, huffing furious, growling breaths. He waited in a thick berry bush, watching the creature, hoping that if he was patient, it would calm.

He was right, after a few moments of turning and panting like a dog, the dragon lay down again as though its legs had given up their last strength, and it let out a little groan. Coyne slowly emerged from the bushes again, cautious, “Do you need me to check for splinters now that the worst is gone?”

The dragon glanced at him, still grinding its sharp, metallic teeth in pain, then gave a nod.

The mimic returned, and resumed his task.

It was a lot more delicate now. The arrow had emerged with relative ease and not done too much damage to the flesh along the way, but the wood had been untreated, probably intentionally, so it had left little slivers of itself riddled into the flesh.

Coyne worked quickly to pluck them out, his slender fingers adept and his eyes sharp, he cleared the wound of shards and the odd chunk of broken scale as he did so. He realised, as he worked, that the blood oozing from the flesh was not simply red like that of a man, but tinted with oily little swirls of metal... gold and silver twisting through it, but as liquid as any of the blood.

When he was finally satisfied with his work, he stepped back, “How's that?” he asked.

“Much better...” the dragon gave a quiet sigh of relief. “I can feel the sacred oak is gone... now it can heal.”

Coyne nodded, moving off to wipe his bloodied hands on the leaves of a bush.

The dragon watched him, its head tilting again, as though studying him. “You are a strange creature.” It observed thoughtfully.

“Thanks, I try,” replied Coyne, a little sarcastic in his tone.

“You do not belong in the world of man...”

“I know that. But the world of monsters won't have me. Believe me, I tried that too. All they see is just another human who would destroy them... or who could potentially be lunch. At least in the world of man I can pass among them unseen and steal freely.”

The dragon gave a nod, “I see. I see.”

Coyne finished cleaning his hands, and settled in the bushes opposite the dragon once more, looking expectant.

“Of course. You want your payment.” The dragon sat up, “Very well.”

What followed was an unpleasant churning sound, and the huge creature regurgitating a pile of armour. Everything metal the knights had been carrying, washed clean of any sign they had been occupied. Any fur or leather strapping was gone, but the fittings remained.

“Your scraps.”

Coyne was not bothered by the slightly condescending tone the dragon used as it said that, and came forwards. He had scraped coins from dirt and gutter, dug precious stones from the rock in which they formed and stolen from the filthiest of people. Acid washed dragon puke was hardly the worst thing he had ever seen.

He worked quickly as the dragon moved away from the pile to lie down once more and watch him.

He shifted aside the armours, as those were made of nothing but normal alloys and held no value for him. The smaller pieces were what he was after. He quickly found the five gold coins and wiped them on his ragged trousers before flicking them into his mouth one by one, forcing them down despite their broadness. He was well practised at it now. Normally he would have taken time to enjoy them, the shape, the taste... but he felt self conscious with the dragon watching him so he made it fast.

Among the heap there was also two rings, a worn silver pendant, a few silver and copper coins, and a pair of copper dice. He choked these all down quickly, rummaged through the rest for anything else, then straightened up, ready to move on.

“You consume the treasures. Why?” The dragon was looking curious once more.

“That's how I add them to my total,” he said, “I'm a mimic... the gold is counted only once it is within me.”

“You carry the total of your wealth inside your body?”

“Sort of...” Coyne sighed, gesturing to his middle, “It doesn't stay in this form, it passes into my other form. This one is just better for running away if something happens...”

“You have another form? Will you show me?” there was a look of genuine curiosity on the massive creature's face.

Coyne looked around nervously. He did not like transforming. It was dangerous, left him vulnerable, but the dragon was arguably more dangerous than anything in these woods and still did not seem to want to harm him so perhaps he could humour it. “Alright... only for a moment though...”

He drew his breath and straightened up before folding himself down, wrapping his arms tight around himself as he curled into a neat little ball. Then his flesh changed. Creaking and shifting as it became hard, dark wood. His iron wristbands shifted outwards, moving to edge his shape as he became nothing but a chest. Not a particularly grandiose one either, just a normal, slightly tired wood chest, fitted at the edges with somewhat rusted and pockmarked iron bands, and a neat little lock in the front.

“There you go,” he said, the edge of the chest shifting slightly as he spoke. “Just a chest outside. Like any other mimic.”

“And... this is where you keep your treasure?”

“Yes. The form gets bigger and grander when I am wealthy, to hold the haul... but... as it is...” he opened up just slightly, so the dragon could see the glitter of the few coins and trinkets within, but not the rest of his mimic body. The new additions were not visible yet, and the dragon raised a claw, taking a breath as if to ask, but Coyne sensed the question before it came. “They're still in my other form. It'll be dawn before they pass over and the day's fee is deducted.”

“How interesting...” said the dragon, sitting back. “And are you done with the rest of that armour?”

Coyne shifted back to his human form, stretching his arms and legs as he did so, glad of the feeling of gold shifting in his belly. “I have no use for tin or steel,” he confirmed, moving back to settle once more in the bushes. It actually felt pleasant to have held a conversation with someone for once but he felt he'd have to move off soon. He had been granted precious additional time from that gold, maybe he could try and travel back towards the southern side of the continent? Things were supposed to be safer, if more militarised on the other side of the wall they had built, so maybe he could do better for himself over there.

The dragon leaned forwards to draw the metals back to himself, swallowing them down.

Coyne watched, interested to see how easily the slender form was able to stretch to fit the broad chest plates with no difficulty. He smiled a bit, spotting a couple of buckles the dragon had missed, and brushing them clean of dirt, “Catch,” he called, flicking them into the air, and blinking in awe as the creature's head shot out at incredible speed to snatch the metal right out of its flight.

They shared a chuckle as the dragon wiped its mouth awkwardly, and sensing a silence coming on, Coyne rubbed his head, scruffing his unkempt auburn hair to the side. “Is your leg feeling better now?”

The dragon nodded, “It is still sore. But the wound will heal...” he stretched the leg in question out, grimacing as the wound shifted, showing his teeth, which Coyne now spotted properly for the first time, looked as though they were made of all different metals, glittering in the dim light.

The mimic snapped his fingers as a thought struck him suddenly, drawing a glance from the dragon. “Wait. I'll be back,” he said, turning, and disappearing into the bushes.

He hurried through the woods, searching for something. In his walk to cut the soldiers off... he had definitely spotted some of...

There it was! He grinned as he saw the thin, upright shape of the Maiden's Touch plant, green with thick, purple edged leaves. He quickly gathered the plant, leaves, berries, everything, and found a nice smooth rock that fitted in his palm.

He hurried back through the woods to the dragon, carrying this, and set it down carefully on a flat stone in the clearing.

“What are you... doing?” the dragon looked puzzled.

Coyne did not answer at first, quickly stripping the leaves from the stems with deft hands, he tossed the stems aside and began to use the rock to grind the leaves and berries together into a paste. He paused after a moment, looking around until he spotted a more common Spindleweed that grew everywhere, and pulled some from the ground, extracting the roots and adding it to the mix after dusting the mud free.“Mankind is not a smart race,” he started to explain as he worked. “Really not. But one thing you have to give them credit for is using everything the land offers them.” He had learned a lot about keeping himself in one piece and relatively pain free in the dangerous, war torn world. This was one such trick.

Once he had mashed everything up thoroughly, he scraped it together into his hands and approached the dragon, “May I see the wound again? This will not hurt like the last time.”

The dragon eyed him and the purple mixture, but seemed more curious than worried, so it extended the leg for him, and Coyne moved forwards.

He opened the wound with delicate fingers once more, and pressed the mixture into it, carefully filling the gaping hole, ensuring it covered every surface, then moving back. “Give it a little time,” he said, wiping his hands on his trousers, “You'll see.”

They sat for a short while, the dragon asking persistent questions about his forms. How the gold was passed between them, how tough they each were, how much each form could contain, what other powers did he possess if any... the creature seemed overly interested in him, but Coyne had to admit that something like him did not come along every day so even something as vain as a dragon might put talking about itself on hold to learn about him. He did not dare ask questions back, knowing nothing about this creature and not sure if he wanted to. Dragons made dangerous company, he knew that, and he was already testing his luck by being around one this long. He could feel his common sense tugging at him to make a move and vacate this area.

Probably some twenty minutes later, the dragon extended the injured leg, and did not grimace. The movement was easier, not as stiff. “You have worked some kind of magic on me,” it said, with a chuckle.

Coyne waved his still purple stained hands dismissively. “It was no magic. Maiden's Touch cleans a wound, keeps it clear of infection, and Spindleweed root is good for easing strained muscles.”

The dragon let out a little chuckle. “What an intriguing little creature you are. You cannot be killed and yet you know fear, and healing.”

Coyne shrugged, “I can still be hurt. Just because I can't die from anything doesn't mean I cannot experience pain and injury. I can still be maimed.”

“Indeed indeed,” the dragon said, still looking amused, then slowly standing, extending its wings.

Coyne looked up in awe at the beautiful wings, scaled and elegant, with delicate black and purple flesh stretched between the long fingers. “But I have rested too long. I must keep moving. I can ill afford to remain this close to man during the daytime.”

Coyne moved back a little, to allow the dragon some space as it stretched the huge wings. “Well... thank you for the coin,” he said, nodding a little.

The dragon finished stretching, and looked at him, a slightly sly glint in its purple eye as it spoke, “And thank you. However,” it paused to stretch out its long neck, twisting side to side with creaks as the tired muscles objected. “I am not yet done with you...”

Coyne was caught entirely off guard as the creature moved. That same lightening speed it had used to snatch the buckles out of the air was suddenly on full display to him as the head shot forwards, the jaws opening wide, showing off a powerful maw of wet, golden flesh, studded with what looked like hundreds of sharp, pointed teeth made from every metal he could imagine and then some.

His stunned brain only got a snapshot of that image before his face was pressed directly against the golden flesh.

Powerful dragony hands gripped his skinny body, holding his arms to his sides as he spluttered and squirmed in shock.

A thunderous swallow made his ears pop, and the ruthlessly efficient throat opened up before him, the flesh shining golden as far as he could see, shifting like liquid metal. He shouted, trying to kick or squirm backwards, but all of his words were cut off as the flesh was pushed against his face in another swallow.

He was disorientated as the huge head flipped upwards, using his own weight to flick him deeper more easily, and Coyne felt terror grip his heart as he recalled seeing those armour chest plates bulging down the throat. He doubted his skinny form was half as broad as those.

Another flick and powerful swallow, and the muscles had entirely gripped him, the flesh cool to the touch but not cold, and getting warmer as he moved down.

He let out a frightened shout, trying to free his arms to push back, his mind treating him to horrifying images of sitting in a pit of acid being constantly eaten away, unable to die but unable to help himself.

He tried to call out, wrenching his face from the flesh to shout, “You said you didn't wish to harm me! You gave your word!” He was rewarded with only a rumbling chuckle before another swallow shoved him deeper. He let out a despairing cry as he was squeezed firmly, and found himself sliding into a close, golden chamber.

He fumbled around, trying to stay upright as his legs were piled down ontop of him, shoving and pushing as he attempted to stay out of the acid.

But there was no acid.

Instead, his hands came into contact with many hard, round, somethings.

He blinked, pausing to grip one and lifting it up.

It was a gold coin.

He lifted another, identical to the first.

“What... is this...?”

He yelped, and dropped the coins as a force shifted against him from outside, a powerful touch from clawed fingers. “Well. It is not a belly, of that you can be certain.”

“But... I don't understand...” Coyne said, his voice quavering.

“You are in my crop, where I keep whatever I have hoarded between trips to my home. Do not be afraid, it is safe.”

Coyne shivered, pressing his hands against the golden flesh of the walls. “Why have you done this. You said you wouldn't harm me...”

“And I do not intend to. I am hiring you.”

“You're... what?”

“I am hiring you. As doctor, lurer of men, coinpurse and treasurer.”

Coyne took this in, rolling the job titles through his mouth, and wiping some of the slime from his face with an equally slimy sleeve. “Huh?” he finally said helplessly.

“You are coming with me. I could use an assistant. You've shown yourself to be capable. Dragons are frowned upon for taking ordinary men as assistants, but you are no man. And finding monsters as eloquent and skilled as you is rare.”

“But... what if I...”

“Don't want to?” asked the dragon with another chuckle. “Look around you. I am offering you free access to a dragon's hoard... consume all you wish... you can return it to me on request, and will always have more than enough for your next day's fee without my even noticing the loss...”

Coyne lifted one of the coins again, examining it, running his sharp little canine teeth over the edge. It was real gold alright. “But... I do not wish to be a prisoner...”

“You are not a prisoner.”

“Then why did you trap me here?!”

“Because you cannot fly, and certainly will not keep up with me on those skinny legs.”

Coyne paused. The dragon had a good point. “Can't I think on this?”

“Of course. Rest, have some gold, we will talk when I land to rest for the day. If you still wish to be freed. I will free you.”

“Oh... okay...” Coyne said weakly, a little overwhelmed.

He didn't have time to lament his situation though, as he was suddenly jostled by the dragon taking off, the gold in the crop shifting around him as the muscles all set to their task and the ground beneath them disappeared.

Soon enough, the powerful strokes of the wings settled into a regular pattern, and Coyne found himself cradled in a hammock of gold and powerful flesh. He touched here and there, exploring his surroundings. He found the flesh a lot warmer at the back of the crop, furthest from where he had arrived, and turned himself so that his upper body was facing that way as he settled among the coins. There was just room for him to lie, though it was cramped among the treasure, and he was certain the skinny creature must be finding him heavy.

Before too long, the intoxicating smell of the gold pierced his thoughts, and he lifted one coin, examining it with a a curious eye. It was certainly real gold, not from this region but worth the same. Being in debt to a dragon... one who had just recently eaten him seemed like a terrible idea but... he was so hungry. He sighed as his self control wavered, slipping the coin into his mouth, tasting it, exploring the shape of it with his tongue, then swallowing it quickly.

He followed with another, and a third. Before he knew it, he was gorging himself on the coins, a desperate instinct to gain as much time back as he could seizing him. He had been so close to the edge for so long that self control took second place to self preservation, and before he knew it, he had worked his way through a king's ransom.

For the first time in all but forever, his stomach was full. The coins could not click around as he moved, because they were too packed together.

He let out a regretful little groan and curled up against the soft flesh, closing his sore eyes and letting himself rest.

To Be Continued!

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So it begins. The first bit, originally uploaded to DA August 9th 202, I am playing catch up here because I have been trying to get my head around Tumbr for such a long time. Most of the currently posted parts of the story are on DA, but I'm uploading them all here to get caught up. It's a long story, so let me know what you think!

#extreme cuddling #nonfatal vore #safe vore #soft vore #sfw vore

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aulel-process · 10 months

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More on 3:10 to Yuma...

"First we get a picture of utter powerlessness. Dan (Christian Bale) is a rancher who has played by the rules his whole life, and now thugs from the bank are burning down his barn. A Union Army veteran, he had part of his leg shot off in the Civil War, so when the bad guys come in the middle of the night, he can't fight them. With no time to attach his wooden leg, he can only hop around. He has two sons and a wife (Gretchen Mol), and in a week, all four are going to be without a home.

Cut to an image of absolute power. Wade (Russell Crowe) is a well-known and flamboyant outlaw, with a loyal and ruthless gang, and we first meet him as he's robbing a Pinkerton coach carrying the fortunes of the Southern Pacific Railroad. The Pinkertons are armed with Gatling guns, but he robs them and kills them all, save for their leader (Peter Fonda), whom he keeps alive just to let him suffer. Wade is decisive, and his ruthlessness commands respect from everyone, while Dan's virtue is losing him the respect of his eldest son (Logan Lerman) and the affection of his wife.

Like Clark Gable, Crowe has a manly vibe that makes any guy standing next to him look as though he might as well be wearing a dress. That seems to stack the deck against Bale when fate throws Dan and Wade, good and bad, powerful and powerless, together.

...

Wade is a man who seizes life on his own terms, and as such he seems like a much bigger person than Fonda's angry Pinkerton, or the railroad man (Dallas Roberts), or even Dan. Dan's son, who comes along from the ride, can't help but be fascinated by Wade's stories of easy women and wild living in Dodge City. Through the son's eyes, the movie invites a comparison between the outlaw and Dan, who together provide the boy with two possible courses, or philosophical propositions. In between flare-ups of action, the best scenes are those in which Wade needles Dan, his moral opposite: "Your conscience is sensitive, Dan. It's not my favorite part of you."

As the outlaw, Crowe radiates the absolute discernment and self-assurance of a gifted bad man, but Bale holds the screen by being less impressed by him than anyone in the film - or in the theater. He plays Dan as a good guy who's good not because it's the easiest way to get along and avoid trouble but because his principles are unbendable. And so we watch him rise in stature." ( 1 )

It's been a long time since I saw 3:10 to Yuma, so many of the details are hazy... I just remember being impressed by how plausible the ending was... that somehow in the course of the journey, Dan, without any outward displays of power, doesn't morally win /against/ Wade, but rather wins him over... there's some bakudeku in this... I suppose I have my favorite tropes...

#bakudeku #3:10 to Yuma

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rogueshadeaux · 11 months

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Chapter Twenty-Four — Burden Borne

How much bloodshed? How many people would have to die so their graves could be the foundation of peace? How many more was I supposed to be able to stomach, to see as permissible? Why was there a fucking allowed amount in the first place?

4.7k words | 16 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death, injuries, natural disaster, murder, testing condoned by the US Government

“We’ll call you with results as soon as we get them,” the doctor said as the nurse rushed off with the skin biopsy. Dr. Sims nodded, thanking her for her time as she finished dressing another new set of stitches and snapping off thick surgery gloves, disappearing past the curtain and out the door.

Dad was pacing now, his shadow casting across the floor again and again as he passed by the open window. Brent was in his chair, steering clear of his stomps lest he wished to be bulldozed over. Dr. Sims double checked the new set of stitches on my leg, shaking his head slightly.

No one would talk, and I think that’s what scared me the most about this. I’d just found out Augustine had some mystery power when we fought, something Dad and Dr. Sims weren’t even familiar with, and no one would say anything! It felt like I was attending my own wake, like my fate was already out of my hands.

Dad was the first to break. “You ever heard of anything like this?” He asked Dr. Sims.

Dr. Sims stood, helping me cover my leg back up with the blanket. “A power that can negate someone’s healing? No.”

Dad went right back to pacing. “I didn’t even know tar could be a power,” he muttered.

“I’ve…heard rumors,” Dr. Sims said, moving back to his computer and scrolling through it a bit. “But nothing like this.”

“What do we do?” Dad demanded.

I could see how Dr. Sims tensed even with his back turned, how he hesitated for a moment before saying to Dad, “I want to get samples before jumping to any conclusions. I know someone who could help, but not without that tar.”

Dad glanced over at me — only for a moment, though. It seemed like he couldn’t stomach looking at me for too long. “I can’t go right now,” He said pointedly.

Dr. Sims logged out of the mini-laptop and closed in, turning in place. “I’ll go back to Salmon Bay, see if I can find anything.” He was already shrugging on his jacket by the time Dad agreed. “I’ll call you if the doctors get back to me before I return,”

Dr. Sims then turned to regard both Brent and I. “If either of you can think of anything else, tell your father.”

He left on hurried goodbyes, leaving the three of us in an awkward and tense silence.

Dad wouldn’t stop pacing, and Brent refused to look me in the eye. Both seemed angry, though I wasn’t really sure why — well, no, I knew why Brent was. He was up in arms because I had the gall to give a fuck about him enough to try and keep Augustine from making him malleable. All I knew was I couldn’t stand being in the room much longer. “Dad?”

He only hummed in response. “D’you think it’s okay if I take that bath?”

I got final confirmation from the doctor that it was okay so long as I didn’t get that hole in my neck wet, and left the two of them to ruminate on their issues, giving myself the time to worry about my own.

I wasn’t prepared to face my reflection and see that’s what I looked like. I felt like I was more bandage and bruise than human; so many parts of my skin lit up blue, like I rolled around in spilled ink. My back was steeped in iodine and littered with black stitches, the skin around the slice on my side was bright red. My neck was even a little bit swollen on the left of it where that ball of concrete hit it. I couldn’t stomach looking at myself for long. It was just another reminder of how wrong everything was.

The shallow water soothed my aches, thank god, but all that did was clear up enough room for my nerves to take hold. All I could think about was my fear. Why wouldn’t I heal, what was wrong with me? The water slid off of my legs with a laze to it, my powers working against gravity. It reminded me of that dress of water in my…dream? Hallucination? Purgatory? I didn’t know what it was. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to know, because that’d be some confirmation of whether Mom was real or not. I wanted her to be real, I wanted her to be there — but that’d also mean something would have to happen to me if I was to ever meet her again. And now that I was a broken Conduit…

It felt like too much of a possibility, returning to her.

But fuck, I’d give anything to make that hug real. To make those reassurances real. I just wanted my Mom, was that so bad? I just needed someone to tell me things were going to be okay.

I broke down thinking about how gentle she was, how I missed out on a lifetime of that. Hallucination or not, I was homesick for a place I couldn’t return to.

I didn’t come back out of the bathroom for an hour, but it didn’t matter — neither of them changed places. Dad was still as a statue now, leaned against the wall and looking out of the window at Seattle, but otherwise nothing changed.

Well, that wasn’t true. The television program ended to show the mid-morning news, and I froze in the middle of braiding my hair to look at what was on it.

Elliott Bay was flooded, boats misplaced and docks completely shredded, the roofs of some shacks at the ends of piers floating freely in the flood. There were flashes of businesses partially underwater in West Seattle, of people in Queen Anne sitting atop their roofs waiting to be rescued. Downtown wasn’t spared; the base of the Space Needle was a pool, a few unlucky people in hi-vis coats wading through the polluted murk. The stream cut to a simulated chart of the flooding, captioned Christmas Eve Tsunami 2036.

“What happened?” I asked, moving towards the wall the television was mounted on. Slowly, as the ache was already permeating my body again. I might have to live in water just to make it through this healing process painlessly. I finished buttoning the spare soft flannel Dad gave me in place of a pajama shirt, staring at the simulation as ten foot tall waters overtook the map.

Dad cursed behind me, and before I knew it, the television was off, him holding the wired remote like it was an IED. He looked at me, bug-eyed, and said, “Jean—”

Why was he so freaked out? “Was there a tsunami?” I asked, like it wasn’t painfully obvious. The west was littered with fault lines, there were three in the Portland area alone — was there an actual, big earthquake this time? Did it flood Seattle?

Brent was white as a ghost when I glanced back at him, making me pause. “Did…did someone get hurt?” I asked. Tsunamis can go both ways, right? Did the reservation get flooded?

They both stayed looking at me like that, like they expected me to break, and I could feel realization settle into the ache between my shoulder blades as I thought about Christmas Eve. About how the last thing I did was summon a huge wave to wipe Augustine and the Archangel soldiers off of the earth. I wasn’t there to pull it back like I did the whirlpool, to control how the tides would fall.

Oh God. There was no earthquake, otherwise the news would have said so. There was just a tsunami, and I had an idea where it came from. “Did…” I choked out. “Did I…”

Dad slowly laid the remote back on the bed. “It’s not your fault,” He began, confirming everything I needed to know. Everything except one thing.

“How many people died?” I whispered.

Dad shook his head lightly. “Jeanie—”

I was already starting for the remote before he could say more, but he didn’t fight to stop me. Guess he knew I was going to find out regardless, and decided it’d be better to deal with the fallout than the fight.

I didn’t need to turn the volume high. I didn’t even really need to try and search for the answer; it was there clear as day on the screen, 134 CONFIRMED DEAD, Over 3,000 INJURED.

One hundred and thirty four dead.

“No,” I muttered, my uninjured hand shooting to my mouth. Oh my god, I did this. I killed all these people before Christmas. “No, no, no.”

I didn’t feel the ground rushing towards me until Brent snatched me from the air, his hold pressing into my injured side and making me yelp. None of that mattered. I deserved every bit of pain, I deserved to hurt. I didn’t deserve for Brent to catch me from my collapse and help lower me to the ground as I began sobbing, nor did I deserve Dad coming around the bed to take me from his arms. How was I supposed to act like being treated well was okay when over a hundred people were dead from what I’ve done?

I was deaf to Dad’s reassurances, barely able to see his figure past the blur of my tears — his figure on the television, I mean. There was layman footage of him pulling back a wave, just enough to make the rush an ebb before disappearing into the water again.

The only reason people were alive was because of Dad. The only reason I was, was because of Dad. How much more reckless was I going to get? “I killed those people,” I whispered, aghast.

“Jean, you weren’t there, you were gone before—“ Dad started, but I cut him off with my head shaking.

“No, no.” I sobbed.

“This isn’t your fault—“

“Stop lying to me!” I demanded on a screech that sounded inhuman. I couldn’t do this anymore! My entire life was a fucking lie, he didn’t tell me the truth when I asked what happened to Mom’s brother — I couldn’t stomach another something sugared in half-truths to help me swallow it down. He hadn’t even told me about this, and he had time to!

It was my water, my tsunami, that did this. “I did this,” I sobbed.

Was this what Augustine was trying to protect Mom from? Feeling like she was a monster because of what her powers could do?

I watched the sun set over a distressed city, all cried out. The flooding seemed to have receded mostly, if that segment was to be believed, but that didn’t mitigate the damage. The destroyed homes, the destroyed lives. My power could kill so easily, and I didn’t even stop to care about anyone else when I was freezing.

I didn’t think at all. That was the issue — I didn’t think.

“—anything, Jean?” Dad’s voice broke through my thoughts.

“Hm?” I hummed, looking up. Dad and Brent were standing in the middle of some kind of delegation, Dad with his coat on.

“I said: did you want anything from the cafeteria downstairs?” Dad repeated.

I just shook my head, looking back out the window. How the hell was I supposed to eat when my stomach felt like this?

There was some more muttering but none of it really reached my ears. Footsteps, the door closing—

And then someone sitting on my bed.

I looked over to Dad just as he finished taking off his coat, and asked, “Where’s Brent?”

“Figured he could get his own food,” Dad shrugged, tossing his coat onto the seat of the chair. “Wanted to talk to you, too.”

Oh, great.

I dropped my eyes, raising my one hand to meet my other so I could pick at the PICC. “Jean,” he called gently. “None of what happened is your fault.”

“How is it not, Dad?” I whispered. I wanted to put fire behind the demand but I could barely even raise my voice.

“You weren’t…” he hesitated. “Aware for it. You didn’t intentionally push those tidal waves into Seattle.”

I might as well have.

Dad waited a while longer, probably for me to say something, and sighed when I didn’t. “You shouldn’t blame yourself for this. You were trying to protect yourself — and Brent — and you did. You know how proud I am about that? You know how many times I had to fight Augustine before—“

“It shouldn’t be at the expense of other people,” I interrupted. “I was trying to stop Augustine from killing the Akomish and I just killed way more people than she would have if I stood by,”

“But you didn’t,” Dad said pointedly. “You didn’t just stand by. I think that matters more.”

“Yeah, tell that to everyone who lost family on fucking Christmas.” I snipped.

“You’re not gonna be the hero to everyone,” Dad continued. Thank God he didn’t chastise me for cursing, I think I would have lost it if he did. “No matter what you do, someone’s going to see you as a bad guy. They did me—”

“You didn’t kill over a hundred people!” I cut him off, lifting my head to meet his eyes. “You kept me from doing more damage! You don’t get t-to sit there and act like it wasn’t a bad thing! You know it’s bad — that’s why you didn't mention mom killing her brother, and you wouldn’t have even told me about the tsunami if I didn’t see it! You know it’s something to be ashamed of,”

There were times, when Dad would engage us in our little arguments and debates, that he’d turn on the stoic lawyer thing and we’d definitely lose the fight. There was just something about arguing emotions versus logic against a person that made you talk yourself into a corner. He wouldn’t be emotionless, mind you — he’d validate points that we made, empathize. But it always felt like he was trying to teach us to not let our emotions be the only thing that drove us.

Dad dropped the bloodsucker facade for this fight. His eyes softened at the tears pooling in mine, and he bit on his cheek so hard it looked painful. “You’d just gone through hell, Jean, I didn’t want to make it any harder for you—”

“You can’t use that as an excuse,” I cut him off. “I asked you about Mom and Uncle Brent days ago. You promised no more lies and the next day you lied!”

“I didn’t lie,” He stated simply. “Your uncle died because of a gang war. That’s true.”

Oh my fucking god. I ground my teeth once I realized what he did, the bastard. “You used your stupid little perjury loopholes on me?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant—”

“It was, Dad, it was very relevant!” I scoffed.

Dad leaned forward slightly. “And you would have wanted to know that? You would have wanted to know your Mom killed her brother by accident and it haunted her for the rest of her life? Your mom was on anti-psychotics because of the damage it did to her. She’d sob about it at least once a week. Augustine used that fact to get her to do her bidding, brainwashed your mother into being her perfect little sniper. Your mom deserved to be known for more than that, for better than that.”

“I would have thought that either way,” I insisted. “I would have forgiven almost anything she did, but you — you didn’t tell me, and now it feels like I can’t even trust you to give me the chance to choose.” I motioned towards the television. “You didn’t tell me what happened so that I could — so that I’d just know—”

“You needed to rest and heal before worrying about anything like that—”

I pointed to my broken arm slung in a cast, at the way the purple of its plastic almost faded away into the purple of my bruising. “That would have taken weeks! You know it’s something I should feel bad about, and that’s why you didn’t tell me. So I wouldn’t be ashamed of how I killed people.”

“You did not kill them.” Dad insisted, stressing every word. “It’s not your fault.”

“I caused the tsunami. I wasn’t in control, I didn’t think. That’s enough,”

Dad grabbed my other hand when I went to drop it, and it took everything in me not to pull away. “You were…you were dying, Jean. When we found you in the Sound a few days after you disappeared, you were in this mass that left you barely warm enough to have a heartbeat. If it wasn’t for the Sound doing that, you would have died. You can’t blame yourself for not having control when you were about to die.”

“You don’t understand,” I finally decided, looking away. Back outside of that window, back to the skyline of Seattle. How many of them blamed me for what happened?

Dad inhaled, and for a moment, stayed quiet. I knew he was probably just building another argument, something I wasn’t going to relate to at all. Something I wasn’t going to accept. Then he spoke, and what he said caught me off guard: “Do you know how many Akomish died because of Augustine?”

I looked up slowly, eyebrows raising. “Huh?”

“When you went over the Seattle Uprising in school, did they mention how many Akomish died?” he repeated. I shook my head. “Forty-eight. One hundred and thirteen were interrogated, stuffed with fucking concrete, and almost half of them died.” He sighed. “When Augustine got there after your mom and Eugene broke out, I’d just got my first power. I had it for probably fifteen minutes, max. She thought the guy I got smoke from told me about her plan — the breakout and the DUP funding, all that. When I told her all he gave me was his power…she didn’t believe me. She thought I was covering for him, that I was making fun of her, and I…I didn’t show her I had powers. I could have tried. I could have done something, anything…but I froze. I watched her put concrete in Betty’s legs and I did nothing. She went through the reservation interrogating people, sticking concrete in them all, and by the time I came back with her power so I could undo it, almost fifty people had passed. I could have kept everyone from dying, and I didn’t.

“And you want to know something else? I’ve killed.” He stated plainly, admitting to the crime. “I’ve had to, to survive. To keep you safe, like in that alley. But I’ve also…I’ve done it because I wanted to. That anger your mom felt enough of to hunt down drug dealers? I’ve experienced it. I followed through with it.”

I could feel the blood rush from my face. Dad’s killed people too?

“I’ve been on both sides. At fault inadvertently, and directly involved. I’ve been in a middle ground where it had to happen. I understand. And I have enough experience to know that, what you did? Is not your fault. You weren’t out of control, you didn’t do it selfishly. You were dying and you did what you could. There’ll…there’ll be death in fights like this. Archangel is out hunting for blood, and fights like this sometimes can only be won with loss. But you cannot blame yourself for every loss that happens. You couldn’t prevent any of them, you shouldn’t have to carry that burden.”

War isn’t won in battles, but bloodshed, Augustine had said.

I stayed silent, sitting there for what felt like forever, picking at the cuticles on the hand connected to my broken arm. “Do you regret it?” I finally whispered, unable to look up.

“What?”

“Killing someone,” I clarified, meeting his eyes. “It…do you regret it?”

Inhaling, he nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why?” I asked, still nearly silent. “Why did you…”

Dad swallowed hard, and he seemed to be so far away as he thought about why. “I don’t want to justify what I did,” he started, “I can’t. It was wrong. I was on a warpath and didn’t care about anything but revenge. But I swear, I regret it. It’s haunted me since. It’s not something you can just forget, no matter how hard you try. And I regret not being honest with you. I shouldn’t have white lied my way out of explaining what happened with your mom, I’m sorry.”

I nodded, not opening my mouth to spit out some form of it’s okay because it definitely wasn’t. I didn’t feel like it was, at least. All I could keep thinking about were the casualties.

Dad squeezed my hand gently, and said, “You should eat. They’re wanting to give you an antibiotic to prevent infections and you can’t have those without food,”

“Yeah,” I muttered, “Okay.”

Brent didn’t seem like he was holding onto his anger anymore, at least. Thank God — I wasn’t sure if I could take any more fighting. He wouldn’t really meet my eyes either though, even when we were facing each other as night came, trying to fall asleep.

That was harder than it needed to be: sleeping in a hospital. Every noise seemed to carry further than possible through the halls; every machine beep, every patient’s cough, every nurse’s footsteps. My eyes may have been closed but it sure felt like my brain stayed awake through it all — which is why it was so easy to pick up on the hushed voices on the other side of the curtain.

“—hell do you think it is?” Dad finished.

“Don’t know,” Dr. Sims muttered back.

“You said you’ve heard of this shit as a power before?”

“Tar? Yeah. Way back in the day, DARPA caught this woman that worked for the First Sons, some scientist. Had tar powers. She was one of the first Conduits they started experimenting on before the DUP became a separate thing from the DoD.”

Only about twenty percent of that made sense to me.

I quietly rolled over to face the curtain that separated me from Dad and Dr. Sims, whose silhouettes were cast against the blue wall from the light of the bathroom. Dad was holding up a long tube of something, Dr. Sims standing across from him, arms crossed.

“DARPA? Like, the government?” Dad asked.

Dr. Sims’ shadow nodded. “Yeah. Turns out, they were funding the First Sons, probably the whole reason Empire City happened in the first place. The tar had mind-control abilities, and they were using it for some sort of revival of the MK-ULTRA project. Killed her over a whistleblower before the media could investigate and swept it all under the rug,”

“Jesus,” Dad breathed out.

“You’ve missed a lot the past sixteen years,” Dr. Sims laughed mirthlessly under his breath. “There’s a lot of shit the public doesn’t know. The First Sons even used this stuff to get people to attack MacGrath during the Quarantine. Made people sick too,”

Dad’s hand lowered. “And this stuff’s in my daughter? Is that why she won’t heal?”

“That’s the thing,” Dr. Sims took the tube back. “I don’t know if it’s the same, or some mutated version from the experiments, or what. I know nothing about this stuff at all.”

Dad’s next breath was shaky. “Fuck,” his head shook. “I’m scared, man. This is Abbs all over again.”

“You don’t know that, D—”

“She stopped healing first.” Dad interrupted — almost painfully. “You remember! The healing went first, and then the speed, and then the fuckin’—” he cut off when his voice caught. “I thought there was something wrong with her. I thought something about her flipped. If the same thing’s happening to Jean? That — it means it might not have been a coincidence.”

“You think it might run in the family?”

“I don’t know.” Dad tilted his head back slightly, like he was trying to keep bile from appearing. “I don’t know if I think it’s hereditary, or if…if someone maybe did something to Abbs.”

“Del, you don’t know if that’s—“

Dad’s hand swung wildly in my direction. “My kid’s got forty-six stitches! Her arm’s broken! Only other time I’ve seen a Conduit like this is when Abbs’ c-section scar got infected. We don’t get infections, we don’t get stitches. I don’t know if it’s something hereditary, or because of that shit, but I don’t like that it’s happening again.”

I blinked out of my sleep then. Mom…stopped healing, too? That was where her sickness started?

Dr. Sims hummed gently. “I’m worried too, but remember the exact same thing is happening to those old DUP agents.”

“Yeah — ‘cause they’re forced Conduits! Jean’s prime—”

“We can’t make any assumptions until we know more about what’s going on.”

Dad’s hands came up to run through his hair, and I could hear him sigh deeply. “So then what do we do?”

“I could run a microarray on her, see if it’s genetic. I’d want Brent’s as a base sample too.”

“And if it’s not that?” Dad demanded.

Dr. Sims hesitated for a moment. “I…know someone that could help us,” he began. “Someone that’s seen this stuff in action. Might have some connections, too. But…” he drew off. “You’re not gonna like it.”

The shadow of Dad’s head cocked to the side in curiosity, and they were silent for a full ten seconds before Dad’s head snapped straight again and he said, “No. Absolutely not.”

“Del, listen—”

“Not happening. Do you not remember last time?”

“That was almost eighteen years ago—”

“And it hasn’t been long enough! You weren’t there, man. He’s weird! I got this speech that didn’t make sense and he — the fucker wouldn’t even meet me after everything—”

“You’re still holding on to that?”

“He’s not even a Conduit!” Dad hissed on a whisper that was bordering a regular voice. The closest he could get to yelling. “He has no business being involved is this—”

“He is the closest we will ever get to talking to Cole MacGrath,” Dr. Sims interrupted. His silhouette raised the tube and shook it at Dad slightly. “You wanna know what this is? You wanna help Jean? He’s the only one that can help. Him, or the government — and you and I both know how that would go.”

Dad’s hands came up, and while I couldn’t really tell what he was doing, I knew he was probably pressing his palms into his eyes like he always did when he was frustrated. But then his head raised and looked my way, and my breath froze. Did he know I was eavesdropping?

No, he didn’t. Looking towards where I was seemed to be the last cannonball that broke down the wall of his objection, because he sighed, entirely complicit and absolutely unwillingly, “Fine. Okay. How do we get in contact with him? I haven’t talked to him since that shit with Wolfe,”

“We’ve got a system. He likes to stay off the radar, but he’s not too hard to find.” Dr. Sims tucked the tube away in his pocket, saying “Take out your phone,” while doing so.

Dad did, the click of him unlocking it echoing off of the sterile walls. “Okay, now what?”

Dr. Sims held out his hand, and that twinkling sound that always accompanied his power came back. It wasn’t like Dad’s; Dad’s had the underlying tone of TV static, where Dr. Sims’ almost sounded like what I imagined wizard magic would sound like. Their side of the curtain lit up, making me squint in discomfort at the sudden light change, and by the time the sound ended and the brightness dimmed, Dad was in the middle of cursing. “Eugene — fuck — I didn’t mean now—”

“I can only catch his signal when I concentrate on it,” Dr. Sims shrugged. “Otherwise it’s scrambled.”

“Yeah, okay, but I’d have liked to have slept before dealing with him,” Dad grumbled, the hand holding his phone coming up to his ear. I could barely hear the ringing that came from the receiver; it sang once, twice, and then was picked up, Dad sighing as the voice on the other side answered.

“Zeke Dunbar?” Dad asked. “This is Delsin Rowe.” His body turned slightly in place so he could look where he knew I was, a final reminder of why he needed to call. “I need your help.”

#infamous erosion #infamous second son #infamous #delsin rowe #Eugene Sims #Fetch Walker #Sucker Punch Productions #I'm trying to add things to hide the other tags #Do not read any more of these tags for spoiler reasons #Finally. FINALLY. I GET TO TAG THIS NEXT ONE!!!#Zeke Dunbar #'oh cool a second son fic--' SIKE MOTHERFUCKERS THIS IS A ZEKE DUNBAR FANFICTION (/s)#ZEKE! ZEKE! ZEKE! ZEKE!#This is my PSA: catch up on your inFAMOUS 1 and inFAMOUS 2 lore. We're going back to our roots #I am collecting original characters like Pokemon. Am I possibly doing too much? yeah. Will it stop me? No

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omniblades-and-stars · 9 months

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Nilea listened to that crazy woman's incessant, flirtatious chattering and talk about human pubic hair with a great deal of disdain. She waited a very long time, probably close to an hour, to even try to move. Until then, she maintained the ruse that she was still unconscious.

Fucking techfiend mercenaries and their tricks.

Frankly, she was jealous that her omni-tool couldn't do that. Of course, this only served to make her more angry at the smallish human woman. The gall to kidnap her and use her own spacecraft to do it? Nilea was going to fucking strangle the bitch. And then take her omni-tool.

When they approached the mass relay, Nilea seized on her chance. The woman seemed distracted, and she wasn't even wearing heavy armor. It would be so easy to just sneak up while she had her nose buried in that datapad of hers.

"That's not gonna work on me, hon."

Nilea froze, save for the very irritated flanging of her mandibles. She slowly looked up to see that the bounty hunter had the barrel of her sidearm tilted at an angle, to one of the parts of her head that wasn't covered in hard plates.

Not that it mattered at such close range, but it was obvious that this human was careful. And knowledgeable.

The pair stared at each other for an eternity, caught in the rictus of distrust and pure hatred. Nilea wasn't going to be the first to move, she didn't like the idea that her brains might soon decorate the deck.

The mercenary waved her gun towards the back, "Well go on then, scooch back. You can sit on the bed for all I care. You try to sneak up on me again though, I'll just hit you with overloads until we get to where we're goin'." Still, Nilea didn't move. "You got cotton in your ears? I said move, damn it!" The woman rolled her wide brown eyes and shifted like she was going to stand up.

Nilea didn't like that one bit. She sat up with a lurch and then propelled herself back with her feet until she was firmly back against the far wall. She glared hotly at the woman, unable to stop the angry vocalizations from rumbling out, though she spoke no words.

The woman planted her feet on the deck and draped her arms casually over her knees as she leaned forward, gun still very much in hand. "I don't expect you to be nice, but here's ground rules: One, don't fucking touch me. Two, you can talk, scream, cuss, I don't care. Three, if you gotta relieve yourself, just tell me you're going. Left your hands up front for a reason. Nothing in the restroom for you to use as a weapon, I already checked. Four, if you get hungry, tell me. I saw you got nutrient paste, I also brought dextro food," the mercenary took a deep breath, pausing her rapid list. "And five, don't fucking touch me. We clear?"

"Very."

The bounty hunter flashed her a very disarming smile, "Perfect. Now that's out of the way, I was readin'." She spun to the side, so that Nilea was in her periphery and propped her legs back up on the co-pilot’s seat. Her datapad was back in her hand, and the only reason that you would know that anything had happened was that she still had her pistol held in her other hand, resting in her lap.

The bounty hunter's omni-tool started beeping again, and she just ignored it.

"You going to get that?" Nilea sneered, assuming it was whatever asshole they were flying to right now.

"Nope."

Nilea sat in uncomfortable silence for what felt like decades, but was probably closer to half an hour. She clicked her tongue against her teeth, "Where are you taking me, bounty hunter?"

"Gellix."

If Nilea expected the name of the planet to enlighten her, she was disappointed to find that it had not. She leaned the back of her head against the wall. Kidnapped by a tiny human, and being taken, presumably, straight to Cerberus by said human. This bounty hunter didn't seem the type to work with Cerberus, but if one followed the threads of logic, clearly, she did. Fucking terrorists.

"Do you have a name?" Calling her bounty hunter any time she needed to speak was going to get old, quickly.

The woman turned again, lowering the datapad so she could look into Nilea’s eyes, "Call me Jimothy!" The way she said it made it sound like a joke, but if it was, Nilea didn't get it.

Nilea just stared at her blankly, unsure if she was joking or not.

"Girl, I'm fuckin’ with you. Name's Lou."

Oh, Nilea was going to strangle the shit out of her. And she was going to enjoy it.

#wip #pass the knife #out of context lou posting #out of context nilea posting #daisy screaming into the void #i just love my girls so much

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maevethewerepuppy · 1 year

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Puppy HRT - Part 3: Realizations and Choices

“What have you done to me?!” I yelled, storming into Kara’s room when I heard her stream finish. I was angry, anxious, scared and confused, having found strange audiofiles on my phone for the first time. She raised an eyebrow at me, looking across my semi-nude body. All I had on was my black hoodie, the one piece of clothing she hadn’t yet managed to train me out of since I was put on the pup behaviours file nearly a month ago.

My legs were wobbly, and it was clear it was taking an enormous amount of effort just to remain standing after weeks of crawling around on all fours. My throat was raw and sore from crying for the last two hours since the start of Kara’s stream. We’d been spending a lot more time together recently, the small living room and TV set up seeing more use in the last bit than in the nearly two years we’d been living together combines. But I always found myself growing more and more anxious the during the time we weren’t together, like a growing anxiety attack that was building up and could only be alleviated by being close to her. But when I nearly broke down at the start of her stream, something in my mind clicked that this wasn’t normal. I had nearly panicked more, searching through pages upon pages of internet forums and information before finally realizing my experiences matched up with someone’s descriptions on a forum for those undergoing Canine Hormone Replacement Therapy.

Learning that had caused me to dig even deeper. Starting to research the effects of CHRT, learning about the hypnotic files available to owners, legal rights removal, etc. The physical effects, like a more rapid onset of female secondary sexual characteristics, the growth of more fur-like pubic hair, and rapid hair growth, all of which I was experiencing at a rapid pace, but also things that had yet to happen to me, like colour-blindness, increased smell awareness, loss of fine motor control on extremities like fingers… Seeing that all had caused me to start frantically searching through my phone to find any trace of the hypnotic files, and somehow my panicked brain was able to overcome the conditioning in order to see the files in my playlist for the first time… Though I couldn’t bring myself to remove them. That would’ve required more willpower than I had available to my fragile self.

“What? What’s wrong puppy?” She asked, tone sweet and kind. There it was again, that trigger word. Puppy. That tingle that shot down my spine to my tai- No, I’m not a dog! But damn that always felt so good. So easy to just melt the concerns away. But I needed to focus, to stay strong. She couldn’t get away with this!

“W… What are you doing to me?” I asked again, my voice a bit shakier, “I found… Weird dog hypnosis files on my phone, and you’ve been behaving weird lately! Why!?”

Her mock confusion grew into what seemed to be a more genuine form, “What are you talking about? I thought-”

“That I’d be okay with you messing with my head?! That you could get away with humiliating me?!” I shouted, cutting her off mid-sentence as my anger came back with the dissipation of the weird mindfuckery. My voice was getting panicky, and tears started to roll down my cheeks as I stared at her. Concern growing across her face as she saw how bad of a state I was in.

“Hey, hey come here,” she said, standing up and gently guiding me to her soft bed. I didn’t have the energy to pull away or try to resist the comfort trigger. It was something my body and mind desperately needed. I let her pull me down, her sitting cross-legged on the bed and pulling my head into her lap as I laid out.

“I thought I was helping you with your transition. Didn’t you sign up for the CHRT program? What’s going on?” Her voice was quiet and soft, with her hand running gently through my hair to soothe me. It did help, though the anxiety that had built up was not fully assuaged by it.

“No…? I just wanted normal HRT. I didn’t… Sign up to become a dog, or whatever? I just want to be a girl, a normal girl…”

“I… That’s not what your paperwork said.”

“It… It’s not?”

“No pup, it was the full CHRT process paperwork. Did you not look at any of the brochures? Did your doctor not explain any of this to you?”

I shook my head, explaining to her that I’d been zoned out for most of that discussion and with my research into the HRT process extensively before ever starting I thought I didn’t need to see any of it.

“Well… Sounds like you are in an unfortunate situation. I’m sorry for sneaking those files onto your phone,” she started, her voice still so calming and smooth, “But we’re a month in now. It’s going to be hard to undo the training you’ve already started, but it’s technically possible. And if you stopped your medication right now, you’d probably be okay and go back to your normal body.”

That… Was a terrifying thought. I knew it was right, but for how long I had to fight to get started on HRT, how much depression and self-loathing came with my body… It was still hard to think about going back. But Kara hadn’t stopped talking yet.

“But… We could always continue it.” I opened my mouth to protest that, but she shushed me and carried on, “I know, you didn’t intend to become a dog. I know this isn’t what you wanted now from the start but think about it. I haven’t seen you as happy as you’ve been in the last few weeks. Ever since you really started to get that puppy behaviour in. Watching you trying to sneakily chew on the couch cushions, feeling you pressing into my hand when I rub your head… Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy that?”

I couldn’t deny it. That was all true. It’d been nice to feel my teeth rubbing against the pillows on the couch, and the petting and attention I was getting from Kara was so pleasurable. Being able to just… Relax and feel safe around her.

“And… what, you’d just… adopt me or something? I wouldn’t be able to pay rent or bills or anything…” I asked, reminding her that I did offer some support on all that, and becoming a dependant on that might be harder for her to get by on.

However, she just gave a small laugh, “You’d be surprised at how much money my fans throw at me, Hay. I could easily cover all that and not have any issues buying the special food, medications, gear and training you’ll need. Of course, I’m not going to force that on you. If you are going to become my dog, that’s going to be your choice. Granted, probably the last one you’d make, since dogs don’t get rights. They must trust their owners to make the right choices for them. But you can trust me, right?”

Something in my heart stirred at that. Here I was, laying in my beautiful roommate’s arms. The one I had a crush on when I moved in but had accepted that she’d likely never be into someone like me. The one who’d been slipping secret hypnosis files into my phone because she thought it’d help me with my transition. Yeah, she had been using it to get me out more and to go along with her ideas and cuddles but… Was that really the worst thing in the world? But giving up all my rights, my life… What life though? The life where my family disowned me when I came out? The life I had to fight so hard through school against all the bullying and harassment just to survive? Was that really something I wanted to hold onto?

Plus there was the whole thing where I’d need to get off the CHRT medications and then fight to get back onto the regular HRT process, which would likely take a while longer. And I’d need to deal with all the depressive thoughts and social isolation that came with not passing.

I wrestled with the idea for a while in my head, losing track of the time slightly as we just sat there, her hand running through my hair. My mind turning over and over, trying to decide what I wanted, what I needed. But eventually, it felt like I came to the right answer, the right choice.

“Please… Make me your puppy.”

#pet pl4y #puppygirl #bd/sm pet #puppyposting #pet pl@y #hypnokink #dumb puppy #creative writing #kink story #kink writing

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