#and have a cruel streak that only comes out occasional

[ineedyoutotellmeyouloveme]

there are house apologists but im actually a wilson apologist. yes king do whatever you want 🙏💪

[randomestdweller]

A/N: i think I’ve fallen victim to the A03 writers curse as I dropped my beautiful computer down the stairs early this week. Anyways I hope yall enjoy a nice slow burn because I was 3500 words in like “I STILL HAVEN’T ADDED THE SMUT.” I think I did dumbification justice here but lmk ofc. Anyways this will be on A03 soon enough.

Office hours

Warnings: Dumbification, DubCon, Power Imbalances, cruel Zhongli lowkey, Spanking, Degradation. Lmk if I missed anything ❤️

Make sure to study chapters 9-10, 13, and 14 in your Geography Book and come prepared to discuss your findings next class.

Yeah right, if only the reading was comprehensible! The paragraphs about climatology jumbled together before flying off the pages, toward different corners of your room.

You’d studied so hard that when you squinted your eyes, it didn’t provide you with a clearer look, but instead blurred further. Only when you blink rapidly would the fog temporarily dissipate from view. At this point, you were one eye rub away from convincing yourself that this was a visual impairment, not a school related mental breakdown.

And that wasn’t the worst of it, your hands had begun to cramp from gripping your highlighter or pen while you frantically tried to write to retain some of the knowledge. That’s when you knew things were going downhill.

And to the surprise of no one, that didn’t work.

What was once a well organized notebook was now filled with scribbles or yellow streaks— and occasionally tears— as you continued to hunch over your desk.

You were— are a good student. B average, nice scholarship, advanced placement, everything had been going nicely but a stupid geography had been your downfall.

You didn’t intend on doing anything related to the subject when you took the class, and you surely weren’t now that you had a taste of the stress, but you had signed up for the class with a bit of peer pressure from your friends.

It was easy they said, we’d see each other more they claimed. If you could go back in time, you would warn yourself that only the latter was true, and only for a while anyway.

The first day of class in the crowded auditorium, you’d secured a plush seat with your group of friends. You’d figure the class would be easy enough, you’d taken a handle full of history classes through high school and now college.It didn’t hurt that Professor Zhongli was easy on the eyes—and the ears. His deep, rumbling voice paired with sharp hazel eyes was enough to distract you. And then there was that long ponytail, somehow managing to look both professional and a little magical when it caught the light. Oh, and an empty ring finger.

Honestly, if the whole teaching thing didn’t work out for him, envisioning Zhongli as a model wasn’t hard.

Everything started out fine. The first quiz had been easy enough, based on the contents of the syllabus Mr Zhongli passed out on the first day of classes.

After that, the harder stuff started. Climatology, Geomorphology, Hydrology, every single horrific

topic, that you couldn’t comprehend. The first couple class days, you would joke around with your friends, listen to music, anything else but study in the designated time. Your teacher however, never said anything, never called on you to answer a question, read aloud, nothing. If you doubted before he knew your name, you were sure he didn’t know it now.

When the second test came around, you knew you’d made a grave mistake, not only by not taking the class seriously but actually signing up for the class in the first place. A fat F, circled in red ink, rested at the top of your paper. When your friends sports low to mid A’s and B’s, you knew something had to give. And apparently the solution was simpler than you’d thought, as written in neat handwriting below the F was a note.

Perhaps you should try sitting up front, away from potential distractions.

Maybe instead of blindly signing up for the class you should have looked his name up on ratemyprofessor, even now you wanted to leave a scathing review on his surprisingly perfect record.

The paper was promptly balled up and thrown into a small corner of your room, probably next to your syllabus.

How utterly ridiculous. If he could notice you getting distracted during his lecture, he could also realize that you had stopped talking to your friends in class a long time ago.

But that wasn’t the real problem anyways, and you knew it. His class was too hard. It was deadline after deadline after deadline, whether it be of assigned reading, essays, peer review, and God forbid you attempted the extra credit.

There was bonus work to boost your grade so

of course you didn’t expect the work to be easy but hard was a true gross understatement.

The directions were simple enough, do this, this, this, a little more of that, and this again. As expected of a college course, but how could you manage to do all of that if you couldn’t finish— let alone understand the work you were actually required to do.

Soon enough though, you tossed your pride aside and moved to the front of the class. And true to his advice, you had been able to comprehend more, not a lot more, but something was better than nothing.

And it seemed he noticed too, his eyes began to actually find yours in class and his smile seemed genuine too. A polite, encouraging grin that never ceased to make your efforts seem worth it.

The next test, however, reminded you of your standing in the class. A cursive D+ sat like a black hole on the front of your quiz packet. Progress like that was truly no progress at all.

If you hadn’t already wasted water crying during the test itself, you would have broken down when he returned the paper to you. Face down.

With the actual exam coming up, you knew you needed to see Mr Zhongli in person. Under no circumstances could you fail this class, even if it didn’t help you further your career you still couldn’t flunk it. Lest you want to lose your scholarship.

The bag crossed over your chest, felt extra heavy as you trekked to Zhongli’s office. Maybe it was the computer, or the spiral notebook, but most likely it was the 319 page Geography book buried somewhere inside it. The physical copy was paid for by your scholarship but the online copy was not and being the broke College student you were, it definitely was not affordable.

Your knuckles brushed against the oak door, below the golden name plate that read Dr Morax. The name seriously fit him, it sounded just as professional as he was.

After a firm come in you found yourself inside his medium sized office.

He gave you time to take in your surroundings, multiple diplomas of varying degrees and schools hung on the cream walls. The wooden desk that separated you two was an organized mess, numerous stacks of papers, some graded, some not. Other nicks nacks were neatly placed on the desk, the school mascot bobblehead, newton's cradle, a small wooden globe, the things usually expected to see on a teacher's desk. This room was definitely bigger than most professors work spaces than you had seen.

“Please take a seat,” Mr Zhongli motioned to one of the plush seats in front of his desk. His own position was relaxed as he leaned back in the chair, hands folded neatly on his lap, one of his long legs sat draped over another. His slim ponytail was draped over his white button down, so long that it almost reached down to the black slacks he wore.

“Nice of you to finally stop by.”

Now that felt underhanded. Your eyes snapped up to him ready to say something back, but the words died in your throat at his look. HIs gaze was half lidded while he sported a lopsided smile that bordered on a smirk.

“Finally?” You sank into the seat, dropping your satchel onto the hardwood floor beside you with a sigh.

“Oh yes, your grade in my class is far from satisfactory.” Zhongli’s grin became tight while he spoke. The once playful glint in his eyes was taken over by a serious demeanor. Professor Zhongli.

You shifted forward, crossing your own legs to mimic his attitude.

“Yes sir, I’m sure you figured that’s why I’m here,” your voice sounded a lot more pathetic than you expected it to. It reminded you of the one time in high school when you begged your PE teacher to let you skip the FitnessGram Pacer test.

Let’s just say the second worst grade you’ve ever gotten was gym.

“I do,” Zhongli drawled, he now placed his arms on the desk, one hand remaining still while another gripped a pencil, “but truly, I’m not sure there’s much I can do for you.”

That was not what you had wanted nor expected to hear and your face reflected that. The whole wide-eyed mouth open shabang.

Zhongli released a breathy laugh at your expression, "there's nothing I can do for you but I believe you could help yourself.”

The anger you felt at his first dig was now bubbling back up, with more force. How many times could someone slyly insult you in one sitting?

¨And how could I do that sir?” Zhongli matched your attitude, pushing himself fully under the desk. His expression remained pleasant though, a nice albeit thin smile stretched across his face.

¨You could start by actually paying attention in class.”

Really? Like you hadn't just moved your seat to sit in the front of the class, mind you, BY YOURSELF. And all he had to offer is that your focus was still waning, it was though, only because you had the sexiest teacher ever though. Not from lack of effort on your part, so it’s not like it was truly your fault to start with.

Zhongli patiently waited for you to begin a retort before cutting you off with a demeaning wave of his hand, ¨Yes, yes, you moved. Like you should have from the start, you don't get a high five for doing what is expected of you. What I’d like to know is why you still struggle in my class, it’s definitely not from lack of opportunity.”

¨I assign plenty of extra credit, so I’m assuming it's not that.” Zhongli’s eyes flickered down, no not to your hidden bust, but to an open planner on his desk, before they met yours again. ¨Perhaps you should consider dropping my class.”

That finally made you bristle, visibly too, your eyes widened again as you recoiled. His words might as well have physically struck you. Being a good student meant that most teachers never had to criticize you, let alone act so sharp. His Zhongli’s blunt statements hurt in a way only a prideful student like you could feel.

You needed to act unbothered and hopefully, get under his skin too. Fixing your face into something a bit more stoic you started again.

“Doesn’t it reflect badly on a Professor if they have failing students?” You found your nails to be more interesting than meeting Zhongli’s intense gaze, his eyes seemed alight from the fierce way he stared at you.

What you didn’t expect was a throaty laugh from him, that pulled you from your nail inspection.

“Students, yes. One singular student, not so much.”

Negotiations had definitely fallen through.

Outwitting people was something you were good at. One thing that hurts more than having your ego bruised is having it body slammed when you find out you're not as good at something as you believed yourself to be.

Reading your reaction Zhongli chuckled again, “oh dear, not the answer you wanted was it?”

Your eyes couldn’t lift from the floor now, but even that served as a constant reminder of the stage you were hoping to walk on. Before any of this happened.

Zhongli’s voice pierced the silence, “Well, I have some time to help you study now, is that fine with you?”

Really there was only one choice, but you contemplated both regardless. You needed his help to bring up your grade and hopefully pass the upcoming exam but also, you didn’t want him to belittle you any further.

Maybe you could study on your own. In high school you reviewed for biology tests using the Amoeba Sisters. Did they even have anything like that for geography though?

When you found the courage to meet Zhongli’s eyes again, now lounging in his chair with his hands braced behind his head. Your ears tinted pink when you saw his lips, still in a smirk but not as wide.

Maybe you could deal with his taunting for an hour or two. For your grade of course! Not because he was gorgeous or anything. Although it helped.

“Fine,” decided to lighten the mood a bit you added, “hopefully you’re better at this than in class.”

Zhongli let out a breathy laugh while he leaned further back in his chair to glance at the clock. “Perhaps, though you may find my teaching methods unconventional.”

“Oh?” You dug into your satchel to find your textbook, “how so?”

Zhongli crossed his arms in front of himself before releasing a thoughtful groan, one that had your pupils blow open a fraction wider. “How about I quiz you, and for each question you get wrong..”

His gaze flickered from the sky of contemplation to you, “I could use a more… tactical approach. Like consequence and reward.”

As his smirk seemed to stretch, the air in the office became heavier. You blinked, believing you were imagining his suggestive voice.

“Consequence?” It’s not like your grade could get much lower so what could he do to harm you?

The pause that followed was thick with unspoken meaning, you didn’t dare move either. You were frozen in the plush chair, pinned by Zhongli’s half lidded stare.

“For each wrong answer, I could bend you over my knee and spank you.”

You blinked, then blinked again. Did he really just say that so calmly? Like he asked you to make a batch of flashcards. Heat rose to your already rosey cheeks, and you quickly looked away, feeling your heartbeat just a bit faster.

“You can’t be serious!”

“What’s wrong with that? It’s a straightforward form of discipline, it may even work on you.” The way he said the word you sent a chill down your spine. The word felt heavier, like he was implying that even someone of your caliber could understand.

You swallowed, hard. But you didn’t stand up from the chair, nor did you threaten to report him. Instead you stayed seated and actually considered his suggestion.

“What if I get the answers right?”

You seemed to be endless entertainment to Zhongli as he laughed again before retorting, “as unlikely as that maybe, we can come up with a suitable reward if that happened.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you completely ignored the ruder side of this comment.

Zhongli leaned in slightly as he gestured to the study materials laid out on his desk, “shall we begin? Or are you not going to be attentive enough again?”

He was challenging you, skillfully he goaded you

into playing his game, to participate in something where you both knew you were likely to lose. Maybe it was the lack of sleep that caused you to act so desperate. If you told on him now, you could probably drop the class without it being on your record, but a deeper desire helped guide your answer.

“I can focus,” you said, a little sharper than you had intended, “what’s the first question?”

Zhongli reached for the discarded textbook on his desk, flipping to a random page towards the middle. His smirk deepened as he read over the line.

“This is something we went over in class rather recently. Describe the process of orographic precipitation.”

Before you could catch yourself, your face fell. Your mind had blanked on you. And given the cruel grin Zhongli bore, he knew you wouldn’t know the answer.

Even though you vaguely remembered the name written on the board in class, the words didn’t arrange themselves in your head for you to create a clear answer with.

“I don’t remember,” you quickly added before Zhongli could speak, “this isn’t fair, you knew I wouldn’t know this.”

“I just opened the book, I didn’t choose the page at all.” His smug tone was nothing to match the satisfacted grin proudly stretched across his face.

“I also just mentioned we went over this in class so maybe it’s not any fault of mine anyway.”

No use in arguing with him especially because you did somewhat recall him going over it.

“Next question.”

For five whole minutes, Zhongli asked you question after question. Each of which you got pitifully wrong. As time went on you itched for Zhongli to end this sadistic game, which he was no doubt dragging out. Maybe to humiliate you, or maybe to tally up each incorrect answer and actually hit you for each of them.

Your face began to blush at the possibility of him actually spanking you. He probably only said it to get under your skin and hopefully get better results. If that was the case, you’d be very disappointed but also relieved, you didn’t want to get hit that much.

“—paying attention.”

“Latitude!” You exclaimed before shrinking in on yourself. You knew for a fact that the answer to whatever question he asked that ended in paying attention was definitely not latitude and nor would an answer be so simple with him.

Suddenly Zhongli stood up, dropping the textbook closed back onto his desk. His expression was somewhat pleased but also very annoyed. Once he reached your side of the desk, he grasped your wrist, pulling you to your feet. And with a gentle yet steady hold, he guided you to his side where he once again sat down, only to look up at you expectantly.

Zhongli’s black trousers made it hard to see any depth in his pants, but from the visible bulge you could make an educated guess on how he was feeling.

“Must I spell everything out for you? Lower your pants and bend knees over my legs.”

Face falling again, you tried to ask why that was necessary before Zhongli cut in with a sigh.

“How will I know it truly hurts if I’m not hitting your skin?”

That was almost a logical explanation if it wasn’t so sadistic. Your face must have been bright red with embarrassment as you unbuttoned your slacks. His honey eyes tracked your every move, as you lowered the fabric down your legs, then stepped out of them all together.

Feeling a bit relieved at your choice of black underwear, and not your hot pink ones, you slowly draped yourself across Zhongli’s lap.

Only a few seconds ago, you were speculating on if Zhongli was actually hard or not but now you could tell he was as his erection poked your waist.

You could feel his heat from his palm warming your plush flesh as he rubbed small circles on your ass above your underwear.

Then came the first hit. A sharp pain stretched across both mounds of soft tissue, the ache rippled down your legs and to your toes. Rebelliously, you bit your lip to hide any noises of discomfort or the subtle pleasure.

“Oh? After being shown just how pathetic you are, you refuse to even take your punishment correctly?”

The hand Zhongli had used to hold you flush against his lap, slipped to your face and squeezed your nose shut. In shock, you opened your mouth to protest but before you could, a much harder slap landed against your ass. A loud cry of pain— definitely not pleasure, tumbled from your lips.

Heavy tears traveled down your face and wet Zhongli’s pants.

“Two hits and you’re already crying?” He softly kneaded the skin before slapping it again, “no matter, I assumed if you weren’t good at school you’d be good at this.”

“But I am good at school! It’s just your stupid class—.”

A slap rang out in the room as Zhongli delivered the harshest slap yet. This time he didn’t rub the skin, instead he lifted you off his lap and placed you on the cold hardwood floor of his office. The coolness soothed your burning bottom.

“You may surprise me yet with some skill.”

You took only a second to wipe your tears before you heard the sound of Zhongli removing his belt. Instinctively, self preservation won because you scrambled back, hitting your head on the edge of Zhongli’s desk in the process. But shockingly enough, he didn’t wrap it around his hand to hit you harder.

Instead he placed it on the desk as he worked on undoing his slacks button and zipper. Once he finished that, Zhongli reached into his pants to pull out his penis.

Truth be told, you weren’t a prude, you’d had sexual encounters before, none that went past giving or receiving oral sex but still. Zhongli’s dick was pretty too though, a thick underside vein ran from the scrotum to his tip. The head itself was flushed, apparently the blush he lacked on his face his cock made up for.

Still, the size itself was impressive, you couldn’t tell how long it was but at least your fist and a half.

From the angle you sat on the floor at, you couldn’t tell if he had any hair but you doubted a man as well kept as Zhongli would be anyways.

Suddenly his hands shot out and grabbed you under your arms, turning you around and placing him on his lap. In this position his thighs rested between yours.

“I had considered making you suck me off when you eventually did come to see me about your grade but to think you were such an… abysmal student, we’ll just do this for now.”

Zhongli lifted your ass before sliding your panties to the side and thumbing your clit.

“You couldn’t even take your punishment honorably, not that I expected you too anyways..”

Zhongli droned on as he rubbed same circles on your pearl. Though you hadn’t heard a single word he said, not that you had the capacity to do so anyhow, his fingers skillfully manipulated you to putty in the man’s hands. His middle finger slipped to your entrance as he began to lethargically massage your g-spot.

You had heard of that area but, you nor your previous partners had been able to stimulate it the same way Zhongli was now.

Reached a new height as he introduced another finger, further pressing into the velvety zone.

Maybe it was because you hadn’t been touched in so long that you came so quickly but it happened regardless. Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave as Zhongli allowed you to ride it out. The pleasure was kin to a hot shower (that you would definitely be taking once this was over with) after a long day. One of those showers that you sit in the tub and let the water trickle down from your hair to your toes.

Once the pleasure was over though, it was done completely. Zhongli removed his hands before pushing you down into the desk, half of your face buried into a stack of ungraded papers. His hand pressed down between your shoulder blades effectively pinning you to the wood.

You heard the chair roll behind you as Zhongli stood up, his penis slipping in between your folds.

“Now that you’ve had your pleasure, I will be taking mine.”

Without further warning, Zhongli began to pierce you, inch by inch he sunk deeper in your quim. He wasn’t rough, nor was he forceful as he pressed on. His hand still remained placed on your back but his other trailed down your side before grabbing your hip and pulling you back onto him. So now not only was he entering you, he was pulling you back to meet him halfway.

Your lower body ached at the intrusion, as low moans of pain and contentment left you. It felt weird to be filled up like this but also so natural. Now you hated not going further than oral sex with anyone else.

When Zhongli was completely inside you, he stopped moving to sigh, “truly made for this. If all were to fail, you could always sell yourself. I’m sure you’d make a nice sum of mora.”

Words of protest were turned into lewd moans as Zhongli began to grind into you, not not thrusting but slowly rolling his hips. Remembering your setting you bit your lip again, in hopes of not drawing unwanted attention.

“Don’t,” Zhongli began to pick up the pace, no longer rocking but instead coming all the way out before pounding back into you, hitting that special sponge inside you. “Everyone has already left for the day.”

Your gasp was turned into a high pitched moan as Zhongli rammed into you particularly hard. Him knowing that no one was there let you know just how in control of the situation Zhongli was, with that came a shocking revelation. He probably planned this all along.

You weren’t given anymore time to think about that possibility as Zhongli slightly lifted your chest from the desk. Now that one of his hands no longer had to hold you down, it wrapped around to toy with your nipple.

The harsh pulling on the soft nub brought out more yells from you as he didn’t relent of his intent to bully his way into your womb.

“Look at you,” Zhongli cooed, “drooling on yourself.”

Although his words were embarrassing, they didn’t register in your mind as you tried to bounce in tandem with his thrusts. At least you attempted to before his grip on your hip tightened in warning.

That hand also slipped to the front and sloppily rubbed your clit, leaving you to support your rocking weight on unsteady arms. The sound of his hips meeting your sore ass sent resounding sharp claps into different corners of the room.

It felt like hours upon hours of Zhongli’s grunting in your ear, the sudden sharp pain shooting up your spine from your butt, him pinching your sensitive nipple.

Now his movements were a bit choppy as, you assumed, Zhongli was close to reaching his orgasm. As opposed to traveling faster, his cock was going deeper, looking to bury its head in your cushiony womb. Merely seconds before him, you came. A second mind numbing euphoria, almost as rich as the last one covered you like a heated blanket. Your eyes squeezed closed as you were captured in bliss.

Just as sudden as it had started, it ended, as Zhongli emptied himself inside you. After a few seconds of his warm seed spurting inside you. The room was still hot with both of your gasps as Zhongli’s musky cologne permeated your senses from behind you.

Following your shared daze, he pulled out of you, allowing his semen to also drip onto the floor. You collapsed face first onto your geography textbook. Behind you, Zhongli’s leather seat creaked as he fell onto the chair. The sound of a draw opening made you aware enough to open your eye a little bit.

Zhongli's fingers came into view as he held a small tablet, “It’s a plan b.”

Opening your mouth to allow him to place the pill on your tongue you shut your eye again. You wanted the moment to never end, the nerve damaging pleasure you experienced tonight was truly life changing, but your momentary reprieve was ruined by the sound of Zhongli redoing his pants. In the midst of cleaning himself up, he rubbed up and down your back gently.

“You’re earned an A for the quarter by the way.”

~

Quick end note. Do you think Zhongli have a plan b implies that he’s done this before or that he prepared for you really well?

[eldritch-spouse]

The Servants

As has been tradition in Perdition (Hell) for many many centuries, every King and Queen of a Ring has at their disposal a close team of low-ranking/imp workers.

From said team, one lucky (or unlucky, it depends on how you see it) fiend has the honor of becoming said Icon's "head imp". A head imp is a demonlord's closest servant, most often a confidant, a personal assistant and even a friend at times. Their functions are varied and they have a great deal of responsibility on their shoulders.

So, who are they?

Rieba - Gluttony imp; Servant of Cero (5'0")

This imp was selected for two main factors. The first being her perfectly pallid coloration and the second being her four vastly symmetrical horns. In spite of the conditions taken into consideration for this being mostly physical, she's arguably the most professional and hardworking of the head imps- And she kind of has to be, when you consider her Lord's penchant for sisyphean perfectionism.

As a result of this, Rieba is also one of the most apathetic and cruel of the imps, constantly stressed and prone to snapping at others, putting them down the same way Cero sometimes takes out his frustrations on her. Although she smokes, the woman's true cope is a variety of foods foreign to Hell, she really likes puddings for some reason...

Beneath all that bitterness is someone who actually enjoys taking care of the people around her, and only wishes she was a little more appreciated.

Jayde - Greed imp; Servant of Zizz (4'9")

An imp that never really thought he'd get as close to the big man as he did. But then, in a ring full of people who would rather sleep all day than move a leg, an early bird go-getter like Jayde is bound to surpass plenty of competition. It felt like a blink passed from when he was a mere intern to when Zizz personally requested he be his head imp.

Jayde is a "simple" man. He likes watches. He likes sports, he enjoys grills- And occasionally his kleptomaniac streak possesses him to do really stupid things. Sometimes Zizz has to pluck personal items from the imp's pockets when he comes to deliver a message, and Jayde is thankful he doesn't seem particularly angered about it.

In spite of greedy types usually being very nefariously clever and selfish, Jayde is a pretty good sport to those he grows respect for and is a mildly possessive friend. That weakness for pretty girls will be the death of him one day however...

Roch - Sloth imp; Servant of Kalymir (3'9")

Possibly the tiniest sleepiest boy you've ever seen. And you're thinking... How in the fuck did this guy end up as Kalymir's head imp? Valid question. See, when most of your imps keep dying because you get angry enough to launch them at walls at high speeds or simply tear them asunder- There's not a very wide variety to choose from, is there? Rocco here is perfect for the job.

Not only is he smart enough to keep his outfit heavily padded (great for impact absorption), he's so small and pitiful that Kalymir honestly thinks it's beneath him to kill the sucker. Since he's not seen as a threat, he gets to live mostly unscathed, and does a half-decent job when he doesn't have to be startled awake by his Lord's braying.

Roch is a little man who likes to nap by fireplaces and is very tired of making laundry runs because of bloodstains.

Flints - Wrath imp; Servant of Livius (4'9")

Livius didn't have it easy in his early life. No one really knows anything about his family, and many are the rumors that he has none to begin with. What is known is that Flints has always sort of hovered around the Icon.

Being in Livius' life for a while now, this imp knows how to handle the demonlord better than anyone else, acting as a stabilizer, an anchor, and sometimes a rash wake up call to an otherwise very reckless ring leader. He's as much of a pain in the asshole as he is a manchild babysitter.

Flints is not your typical wrathful nutcase, his rage simmers always just beneath the skin, quiet and deadly. He has a habit of spending entire conversations uttering less than a few words. Although pretty cold and emotionally unavailable at first, he can warm up to very specific people quickly and you'll know he likes you when he touches you, or doesn't break your fingers for touching him without permission. That hat seems to be a family relic.

Eleri - Envy imp; Servant of Vorticia; (4'6")

Loud, vicious, prettier than thou- This imp rips and tears their way to the very top of Gluttony's imp ranks in their desire to have it all. And the Queen likes an ambitious sprout like that, it reminds Vorticia of her younger self, having to impose respect on others as she aged.

Eleri is a control freak who enjoys the finer things in life, but like many of their kind, can't help sink to gross lows for the sake of sweet, invaluable, coveted attention. Bouncing somewhere between too good for you and utterly fucking pathetic, not many people can juggle them properly.

Thankfully, unlike a certain large twisty demon, Eleri is much more preoccupied with changing things up visually than they are personality-wise. In fact, this imp seems to have a penchant for disguising themself and getting up to all sorts of shenanigans...

Lacai - Lust imp; Servant of Vesper (4'7")

Nena - Lust imp; Servant of Rinx (4'5")

You know these two already. Siblings raised by prideful parents to be the very best of the best Hell could offer. And really, there's nothing more impressive for an imp than to be in direct service of royalty! They've both excelled.

Although Nena is more organized than her brother, both are cherished by their respective Icons and engage in a healthy amount of sibling rivalry. Wherein Lacai is a lot less shameless about his needs and regularly feeds on any cute thing who looks his way twice (perhaps in no small amount due to Vesper's influence), Nena is a lot more discrete and seems to lose her bravado as soon as fondness buds.

Both have retained a curious fixation on bugs, which is expressed more so in Lacai- A lover of all insects but especially roly poly. Nena is fascinated with butterflies.

Tidbits about their dynamic:

These imps spend quite a bit of time together, as one can imagine. Whenever the Icons of Hell gather, so do their most important servants, so these seven here have known each other for a while.

Jayde and Rieba once had a bit of a "thing" going on. It never quite became an official relationship before it went down in flames. There's no bad blood, but sometimes moments alone between them become awkward;

Eleri is ruthless about mocking Lacai for the fact that his horns aren't as curved and long as theirs. Lacai will strangle them one day;

Nena and Rieba get along surprisingly well;

Flints has dislocated Lacai's arm for touching him more than once;

Jayde seems to treat Roch the same way he treats most other sloth demons, constantly trying to energize the smaller imp and get him to do things so he stays awake;

Roch has slept through entire fits of bickering between the six other imps several times before;

They bring card games to play in the waiting room when the demonlords are having meetings.

[kellachfromthewoods]

Villain Mark || Kellach Woods

(( BOLD always or almost always applies  | |   italics are situational or occasional ))

aggressive | arrogant | authoritarian | bitter | brutal | callous | cannibal | careless | cold | cold-hearted | compulsive | controlling | corrects others constantly | cowardly | critical | cruel | delusional | demanding | disillusioned | domineering | envious | emotionally stunted | greedy | grim | guarded | hard | harsh | hypocritical | impatient | impolite | intimidating | irritable | kidnapper | lazy | liar | lustful | materialistic | mean | merciless | messianic | mistrusting | murderer | narrow-minded | obsessive | opinionated | over-bearing | over-critical | over-emotional | over-thinking | patronizing | proud | remote | repressed | rigid | rules with an iron fist | ruthless | sarcastic | self-righteous | self-indulgent | serial killer | taciturn | torturer | touchy | traitorous | unsympathetic | unpredictable | uptight | vain | vengeful

As much as Kell is a funny ha-ha type character and that this is his genuine personality, his personal moral code and upbringing leads him to not consider much value in spoken life, which leads him to murder or torture as a solution to a problem far too easily.

He also has a mean streak if it comes to trying to prevent someone from throwing their lives away or attempting something he knows they don't have the skill to do so and come out unscathed. Of course, if you point out that neither does he, he'll soundly ignore it and go anyway, as he also does not consider his life worth much either.

The only thing that really redeems Kell from these traits, and that is a stretch, is that he takes no pleasure in these things. If he kills someone, it's because they are either an immediate threat or a provable future threat to him and his found family, even if they have drifted apart (outside of his husband, of course) of late. Even his brutality is calculated, as an intimidating enough show of force (such as throwing a beheaded Garlean at the troops) would hopefully make them surrender. It has never been said that Kell is logical in his decisions.

Tagged by: @furys-mercy

Tagging: ...i don't think i know anyone else who plays this game anymore

[magiclwritings]

It was utterly insane to him that Scorpius Malfoy was sharing a drink with him in that moment. What was even madder was the fact that he'd had to work to not see the seventeen year old he'd left at Hogwarts all those years ago. Now that he'd had his moment of hysterics. Well, he was still in a fit of sorts as he sat as it was. He looked like Draco. A damn near spitting image of the man and it made Al's stomach lurch just a little. Not because of who he resembled but the fact that he could still see the boy under the new defining features of a man. It felt like he was going to faint and he could barely focus on a damn thing that was coming out of his mouth.

Lily. Why hadn't she told him? His sister had her mean streaks in her but this was just cruel. Perhaps it hadn't been intentional and it wasn't like she knew Albus' schedule. He made damn sure of that but he thought that they'd gotten past this sort of thing. Because there was not a single way that this wasn't going to turn into a nightmare of some kind at some point. Didn't Scorpius know he'd shattered him? Didn't he care? The thoughts roared through his head like they'd run down cobblestone corridors and called them adventures. The more he explained what he'd been doing and where he'd been made Al even more numb. Mostly because all of that, he felt he couldn't do with him. After all of it. Tears were brimming against his water line and he begged Merlin not to let them fall.

Thankfully the bottle was back in his hand and Albus wasted no time in taking a good swig and then another. It burned and his eyes closed for just a moment, tears receding back to hell where they belonged as far as he was concerned. What was it he'd asked? To coexist? That was laughable and he'd nearly told him so. But Albus took another long drink from the bottle and sat it back between them. He stared at the blond for what felt like an eternity deciding what to say to all of that. Was he to congratulate him on thriving despite sacrificing them for it? Surely he didn't expect that and Albus was certainly not going to give it to him.

"Sure Scorpius." He settled on, because what else was there to say? They were adults, both settled into their careers or ventures and had their own lives. Al just happened to now live above Scorpius' means of living and that was just going to have to be alright. "I mean, there's no reason we can't." His tongue swiped his lower lip, tasting the alcohol left there and he felt his foot begin to tap just ever so. Albus forced a smile and gave another look around the place. The anger welling in his belly was going to get the better of him if he didn't get a handle on himself. Maybe he should just go, stay back at the Puddlemere dorms because seeking out the company of his significant other was absolutely off the plate with this one. How the hell was he going to explain that? The fact that that hadn't occurred to him until just now was wild.

"I usually only stay here on off weeks. I'll try and send word or just stay out of your way when I am home." Which was an utter lie. Al ran here every chance he got. It was the one place no one could ever seem to find him except for those he wanted to. Mostly Rose and Teddy, his siblings and other cousins occasionally. Maybe now that would have to be true. But why was he already trying to make accommodations for him? He'd cursed himself and leaned back in his chair. The view of this man was still playing tricks with him. He knew it wasn't the alcohol it was just that he thought he'd never see this, never hear him again. And while he was angry and hurt, he still found himself in awe of it, pissing him off all the more. "Your mum know you're back yet?" Not that he cared but he really just wanted to see if he was the last to know. And Al made a mental note to find Teddy later and beat the snot out of him. Or, at least try to for this.

Scorpius was surprised that Albus willingly came into the store without a fuss. Part of him expected the man behind him to cause a scene. He would deserve it. After all, Scorpius was the one who abandoned not only Albus but their entire friend group. He hadn’t told a single soul except for Teddy that he was leaving the country after he graduated. He watched Albus board the train with Rose, knowing their plans to meet up a few days later would never happen. Their plans to rent a small, cramped apartment together in the city would not occur. The dream of life after Hogwarts they had discussed wouldn’t become a reality. 

It wasn’t Albus’ fault that he left, but he knew the man well enough to know that he probably had blamed himself for it. He agonized and scrutinized every moment the two had shared in those last months, trying to pinpoint the exact moment Scorpius had pulled away. He wouldn’t find it. Scorpius had always been a good actor. 

“Thank you, I-” It started with a giggle. One that startled Scorpius into silence. Then Albus’ giggle turned into a full-blown hysterical fit of laughter that shook his shoulders. With wide eyes, Scorpius watched the man get it all out of his system. He waited patiently for Albus to settle. For a moment, Scorpius thought his presence here broke the man, and he felt guilty for not sending an owl to give him a head’s up, but Lily hadn’t told him which Scorpius, if he had to admit it, was banking on her inability to keep her mouth shut to do it for him. So, of course, this was the one time she wasn’t the biggest gossip within their friend group. Probably her way of punishing Scorpius for everything he had put them through. The funny thing was, he didn’t blame her. 

“Sure,” He said, tapping his finger against the table before standing up in one fluid motion. He walked to the counter, disappearing behind it before standing back up with a bottle of whisky. Scorpius made his way back to the table, twisting the lid off the bottle and placing it in the center. “No shot glasses, though, so we’ll have to share the bottle.” 

He gave Albus the first swig. Scorpius sat back down, leaning against the chair and crossing his leg over his knee. He wanted to tell Albus everything. Why he had left, how he had to lose everything to build a healthier version of himself, and that he did it all with the hope that they would find each other again and be able to start up with their thing again. But he couldn’t admit all of that now. Albus had somebody. Albus was in a serious relationship, according to Lily. He had torn Albus’ life apart when he left, and he didn’t want to tear it apart again by returning to it. 

“It’s not that exciting,” Scorpius's gaze dropped to the table, his shoulders shrugging. “Most of the time, I traveled to different countries, learning new potions and techniques. I spent most of my time volunteering to create potions for those in need. After all of these years away, I finally realized I had learned enough to come back and open a shop of my own.” Mostly truth. “It felt like I needed to grow roots somewhere, and this was the only place I thought of.” Scorpius leaned forward, taking the bottle. “Lily had told me you lived upstairs,” He explained, pausing to take a mouthful of the liquid. The burning sensation as he swallowed kept him steady. “I should have written you. Not about coming back, I mean, I should have done that, but I mean, I should have written you throughout the time I was gone, but I knew if you asked me to come home, I would have without a second thought and Albus, I know you don’t understand, but I needed to not be here. I needed to isolate myself and find myself out there. If I had stayed here, I would have dest-” Scorpius cut himself off abruptly, taking a swig from the bottle before passing it back to Albus. “Anyways, I don’t expect things to go back to how they were at school, but I hope we can find a way to coexist.”

[genshinarchives]

˗ˏˋ 👹 INFERNAL VENGEANCE 👹 ˎˊ˗

❀ ART BY PRINCE-LES ❀

❝ Have you come to this shrine to pray for revenge? Though I wouldn’t mind if you only came here to chat with me. It does get lonely sometimes. ❞

APPEARS IN

The Beginning (male various; fem!reader)

I’m a Villainess but I’m Not Evil! (Inazuma various; isekai; fem!reader)

PROFILE

The mysterious youkai of the abandoned Mikazuki Shrine, whose existence is mostly known in folklore. Although the blood of an evil youkai race runs in him, he’s not a malevolent being who kills indiscriminately; only the evildoers will face the retribution he delivers with his Onimaru Akame.

Full Name: Aragami (荒神) Muramasa (村昌)

Birth Name: Suishinshi (水心子)

Age: 1000+

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Height: 196.4 cm

Birthday: 8 October

Occupation: Assassin

Affiliation: Aragami Clan, Narukami Yondai Hitokiri, Tenkubashi Clinic

Ancestry: Aragami Clan

Region: Inazuma

Rarity: ✩✩✩✩✩

Model Type: Tall Male

Weapon: Sword

Vision: Cryo

Constellation: Vehemens Deus (Violent God)

Special Dish: “Otherwordly Delight” (has a chance of being obtained by cooking Sashimi Platter with Aragami Muramasa)

How to Obtain: Event Wish - No Man’s Dawn

Additional Titles: Dokugan Akuma (Yae Miko), Mazoku of the Demonic Mist, One-horned Oni, Youkai of Revenge

JP Voice Actor: Takashi Kondou

PERSONALITY

Having lived for many centuries, Muramasa possesses all the experience and knowledge of this world but hides his cunning behind an enigmatic mask.

When the Traveler first meets Muramasa, he is rather enigmatic. He is sarcastic and witty, sometimes to the point of cruelty as Paimon frequently points out. He tends to respond in a snide and sarcastic manner even to the most serious subjects, and loves to tease his companions. For instance, he occasionally teases Tsukuyomi about his dislike towards the Kamisato siblings, and will say something when either of them is within earshot such as “Oh Mikazuki-kun, stop acting like a tsundere towards Lord Ayato/Lady Ayaka.” In his story quest, Paimon states that she is often unsure of whether he’s being serious or not but Muramasa assures her that he’s “always serious”.

Despite his impish nature, his words are often well-founded and he uses his sarcasm to harshly express his disapproval. Other than amusement, Muramasa rarely lets his feelings show but occasionally loses his composure, resulting in abrupt emotional outbursts. The subject of his past is a sore spot for him as it reminds him of the people that he had lost to time. In this state, he becomes more irritable and violent which opposes the calm and collected front his companions are used to seeing.

If Muramasa is furiously yelling at someone and another asks what’s wrong, his emotions will flip like a switch; with a forced smile, he’ll act like nothing has happened. Beneath his lively demeanour, he’s a cold, cruel and ruthless individual who, with no apparent remorse, would cause the deaths of his clients’ targets even in the most brutal ways to get the job done. In spite of his cruel streak, he isn’t particularly sadistic nor is he truly fond of killing others - claiming to only do so because it’s his job. When a doushin lay defenceless on the ground after the Traveler had knocked him out in Muramasa’s story quest, Muramasa swiftly cut his life short, revealing that he never stops to consider the morality of killing an unconscious enemy. When Paimon questioned why he committed such an act, he explained that no witnesses are spared in his line of job.

Because he’s very adept at masking his deepest thoughts and feelings, he is able to see through others when they try to hide things but does not reveal their secrets until the time is right. This is also why he’s always several steps ahead, often posing as a difficult obstacle to overcome.

CHARACTER STORIES

As the offspring of a mazoku and a human, he has always been conflicted about his identity - is he a mazoku or a human? Nobody but himself knows the “right” answer.

Character Details

A fearsome assassin who wields his sword with the strength and speed of a demon. He is often spoken of in popular folklore, and the stage plays depict him as a six-eyed youkai capable of causing instant death when he swings his Onimaru Akame. Muramasa would sigh deeply every time he hears the exaggerated stories of him, finding the humans’ delusions ridiculous yet somewhat amusing.

“During ancient times, there once lived a six-eyed demon…”

“On the third night of every month, Chinju Forest would be enshrouded in a demonic mist that drains humans of their vitality…”

“When the bell of judgement tolls your name, your death has been decided.”

Not many know that the One-horned Oni is real and that he dwells on a small island off the coast of Tenshukaku. He spends his days in peaceful solitude as he awaits the arrival of a despairing human in the Mikazuki Shrine to hear their vengeful prayer.

“What a sad existence,” he would remark after they leave.

The moment night falls, he picks up his sword and cloaks himself in darkness. As the Youkai of Revenge, it’s his job to bring jinchū to the people who have wronged the victims. Yet again, he drenches his blade in the saccharine red that reinvigorates him.

Character Story 1

Roughly a thousand years ago, a remote Inazuman village saw the birth of a half-mazoku - the result of a love affair between a mazoku and a human.

His name is Suishinshi.

His human mother, wanting to protect him from the conflict between the youkai and the humans at the time, had chosen to hide his existence from the Aragami Clan, a clan of mazoku in Inazuma. She raised him with a great deal of love and care and taught him many things - reading, writing, manners, and she also encouraged him to further his creativity through books. He cherishes the time that he spends with her, desiring nothing more than these days to continue.

As Suishinshi grew older, he began to notice his mother’s obvious aging. He noticed this with the other villagers too; the children that would often play near his house as he watched them from the window have all matured into adults whilst he remained in the body of a young teenager, which puzzled him.

He was the same age as those children, yet why do they look much older than him?

“Why do I still look like a child compared to them? Aren’t we the same age?” he asked his mother one day.

“Sui… That’s because you’re part mazoku. Your youkai heritage has blessed you with a long lifespan,” she answered, smiling at him somewhat wistfully. Suishinshi thought that she looked sad because she would die before him. He didn’t understand that her sadness was directed towards him as she knew that once she has departed from this world, the days ahead of him will be full of strife - full of the pain he has to bear for having greater longevity than normal humans.

Suishinshi experienced his first loss in life when his mother died of old age. Before she passed away, she had contacted the Aragami Clan and informed them about Suishinshi, who was revealed to be the clan head’s half-brother. Since the lady of the clan was unable to conceive an heir with the head, Suishinshi was adopted as their son and later renamed to “Aragami Muramasa”.

Character Story 2

As the sole heir of the Aragami Clan, Muramasa underwent extremely harsh and rigorous training. His adoptive father had high expectations for him, wanting him to excel in martial arts and in all of his studies. Since Muramasa is a natural-born swordsman, he was able to master Hyōhō Niten Ichi-ryū, a two-sword - katana and wakizashi - kenjutsu technique that the Aragami Clan had invented, in just six months.

Muramasa grew up lacking friends, which wasn’t surprising given his status as the heir and him having mixed blood. The loneliness that came with the new name given to him was something that he struggled to get used to, and he missed the peaceful life he lived before he entered the Aragami Clan. However, he was able to seek solace in a human companion on the day the snow melted, allowing spring flowers to bloom.

His name is Aikawa Yuuto.

Yuuto is from the Aikawa family, a family of doctors as well as the direct descendants of Mikazuki-no-Kami, the God of Revenge who serves the Raiden Shogun as her retainer. Other than his late mother, Yuuto was the only human that didn’t scorn Muramasa for being part mazoku; they were able to set their differences aside and sealed their friendship under the blossoming sakura. Although Muramasa knew that he would outlive his friend, he didn’t mind.

The friendship that tied Muramasa and Yuuto together was unbreakable, as the passing days and conflicts that arose between them only strengthened their bond. Even so, the world decided to test their friendship when the Aragami Clan planned a coup against the Raiden Shogun. Muramasa was torn between following the mazoku as the heir and protecting the humans as the child of one; he was eventually forced to make a decision when he witnessed Yuuto about to meet the same end as the doushin that laid lifeless around him.

Before his adoptive father could swing his sword, Muramasa swiftly shot an arrow at the blade, causing him to miss Yuuto’s neck by an inch.

“Muramasa, what is the meaning of this?” his father demanded.

“Please let him go. He is my dearest friend… So please let him live,” Muramasa implored, “I will do as you say if you let me save my friend.”

There was a moment of silence as no one spoke. The clan head eventually relented and allowed his adoptive son to take Yuuto away so he could be healed. As Muramasa treated his wounds, Yuuto asked him why he didn’t just let him die back there.

“I’m human too, even if only a part of me is. I can’t let one of my own die when I have the ability to prevent their death,” Muramasa answered.

In the end, he decided to betray the clan he was supposed to lead and chose the people of Inazuma as his “country”. Through Yuuto, he exposed the Aragami Clan’s plan to overthrow the Raiden Shogunate and later witnessed Mikazuki bring an the end to the mazoku. With the Aragami Clan purged from existence, Aragami Muramasa now stands as the last of his kind.

Character Story 3

When the darkness that spewed forth from the cataclysmic event 500 years ago threatened to swallow Inazuma whole, Muramasa fought alongside the humans to defend their country. The Raiden Shogun had left Inazuma to fend for themselves, so it was up to the strong to protect the weak. Although everyone gave it their all, it was inevitable that the darkness would eventually overpower their forces.

However, Muramasa never dropped his swords in defeat. He pushed through, his determination to protect as many as he could driving him to fight endlessly. He believed with all his heart that he could save tens of thousands more lives, yet that ideal betrayed him as he was soon made to realise that not everyone can be saved.

“Just stake it on me.”

Muramasa stared at Yuuto with wide eyes.

“It will end in my death, but one life lost is better than tens of thousands lives lost.”

Yuuto had offered to act as a decoy in order to lure the rifthounds deep inside the cave he came across during one of their many battles, and the plan was to blow the cave up as soon as he was successful in drawing them inside. As the group prepared to execute the plan, Yuuto spoke with Muramasa for the last time.

“You know, I’ve never been able to get a good night’s sleep,” he said, chuckling, “But I bet I’ll sleep like a baby today.”

“… That’s not funny. Why would you sacrifice yourself?” Muramasa asked.

Yuuto cast his gaze to the sky.

“A few years ago, you chose the people of Inazuma as your country and sacrificed your family. It made me think… What is my country? I only realised now that it has always been beside me.” He then nudged Muramasa lightly, smiling at his surprised expression. “Muramasa. It’s you.”

The tears that threatened to fall burned Muramasa’s eyes. Even with his impending death, Yuuto managed to give his best friend one last smile before marching to his grave, brave of heart. To this day, Muramasa struggles to understand why Yuuto chose the obvious path to death instead of choosing to live for his “country”.

“Yuuto… If we weren’t friends, would you still be alive right now?” he asked, letting the wind carry his words beyond the thunderstorms.

Silence answered him.

Character Story 4

By the time Inazuma saw the light once again, Muramasa had no family to return to and no friends to walk under the cherry blossoms with. For the first time in his life, he was completely alone. He felt empty, but he knew his mother and Yuuto wouldn’t want him to think that life had become meaningless without them.

The happy memories he had created with them were his “eternity”, thus he must live on to keep them alive.

With nowhere else to go, Muramasa retreated to the abandoned Mikazuki Shrine on a small island off the coast of Tenshukaku. It had fallen into disrepair after Mikazuki went missing during the war against the darkness, but it didn’t bother him the slightest; in fact, he thought that it was the perfect place for an outcast like himself.

He began to live out his days in the shrine, only exposing himself to the sunlight to feed on the unfortunate nobushi and treasure hoarders that would occasionally stumble upon his home. Their dwindling numbers quickly caught the attention of the Tenryou Commission, and Takayuki then dispatched a group of doushin to investigate the Mikazuki Shrine. Muramasa was going to let them be until one of the doushin spotted him hiding in the tree and approached him aggressively. As he was already feeling irritated from his hunger, Muramasa reciprocated the hostility tenfold and ended up traumatising them during their encounter.

Takayuki was puzzled when the doushin he had dispatched returned with signs of psychological trauma. One of them persistently blabbered on about a man-eating, one-eyed devil, and rumours about the Mikazuki Shrine being haunted by an evil spirit soon circulated Narukami, eventually reaching the Guuji’s ears.

One day, Muramasa was paid a visit by someone unexpected. Yae Miko stood before him with her arms crossed and a knowing smile, which unnerved him.

“So you must be the man-eating, one-eyed devil everyone fears,” she uttered, gaze sweeping over the skulls sticking out of the ground, “One that respects the dead too.”

“Stop stalling and tell me the real reason you’re here,” he said.

“Oh, how cold of you. Does the concept of small talk not exist in your world?” She let out a laugh at his deadpan look. “Don’t mind me. I simply came here to rekindle my inspiration.”

“... What do you mean?”

“You’ll see very soon, Dokugan Akuma.”

Character Story 5

An elderly woman showed up on the steps of the shrine.

Muramasa watched her curiously from his perch as she threw some mora into the offering box, bowed twice and then clapped twice. He heard her whisper something about avenging her son’s death before she bowed once again to end the prayer. As she trotted away, he stared at her retreating figure, bewildered by her act of worship - but what puzzled him the most was her asking the “Youkai of Revenge” to avenge her late son.

Who exactly was she praying to?

Muramasa finally understood what Yae Miko meant by “inspiration” when a group of young adults visited the Mikazuki Shrine, each of them holding a copy of the same light novel. They were all talking animatedly about “Dokugan Akuma”… which was the name Yae Miko had called him by when she visited him at this shrine.

“Did you know that Mikazuki-no-Kami left a messenger at his shrine when he disappeared 500 years ago?”

“According to the light novel, an oni with one horn that goes by the name Dokugan Akuma lives here. He’s also known as the Youkai of Revenge!”

“It says that if you pray for revenge in the Mikazuki Shrine, he’ll get it for you. Wanna try it out?”

Muramasa let out an exasperated sigh; so Yae Miko used him as a reference for her new book.

Fine.

If she wants her publishing house to gain fame, then he’ll help her by making that new light novel of hers a reality.

He waited until the humans had left before leaving the shrine himself. He remembered the elderly woman that had prayed to him a while back and recalled her wish for him to avenge her late son. However, he didn’t know who exactly he should target and decided to conduct his own investigation by breaking into the Police Station and stealing the necessary documents. He easily overpowered the doushin that tried to stop him thanks to his mazoku blood and quickly grabbed what he needed before fleeing. Once he was in a secluded area, he stopped to read the documents…

… and what he discovered enraged him.

The elderly woman’s son, Tokisada, was one of the four heroes that prevented the rebellion against the Raiden Shogunate from damaging Inazuma further - but instead of rewarding the heroes, an officer from the Takatsukasa Clan forged a letter for the Tenryou Commissioner in which they were accused of being traitors. The four heroes were subsequently punished with death for their false transgressions.

Why?

Muramasa drew his tachi, Onimaru Akame.

Why are humans so selfish?

Muramasa trespassed into the residence of the Takatsukasa Clan.

If Yuuto swapped places with Tokisada, his friend would be the one to receive a death sentence for something that he never did.

Muramasa brutally cut down the samurai in his way, bearing one goal in mind: to get revenge.

… That night became known as the Scarlet Night.

The night Muramasa truly embraced his mazoku side and left a trail of corpses in his wake. He skewered the heart of the guilty officer, but he felt nothing - not even relief or satisfaction.

His deeds on the Scarlet Night gave rise to folklore and stage plays in his name. He then decided to erase himself from history and exist only in stories, accepting himself as neither human nor mazoku.

Good and Evil are simply labels that humans have created to establish their own moral compasses; in this world, you either kill or be killed, and that is the simple principle Muramasa continues to live by to this day.

Onimaru Akame

Onimaru Akame is the name of Muramasa’s tachi that’s famous for its snow-white blade. Muramasa stole the sword from a bladesmith of the Akame School some time after the Cataclysm, and in an attempt to get his sword back, the bladesmith fought Muramasa. The clash ended with the bladesmith mortally wounded and Muramasa going blind in his left eye, which he now covers with an eyepatch bearing the Aragami Clan’s kamon.

Exhausted and famished after the fight, Muramasa struggled to control his bloodthirst and ended up devouring the people of a small Inazuman village once he had put them all to sleep, the red mist released by his youkai magic allowing them to dream merrily together.

Vision

On one particular night, Muramasa spotted a young woman carrying a small bundle in her arms in the distance. Curious, he silently watched her place the bundle on the steps of the shrine he resides in and crouch down to stare at it. When he saw a tiny hand reach out for the woman, he realised that she’s a mother who’s about to abandon her baby.

“I’m sorry, Sasaki. This is the only way to keep you safe,” she said, smiling tearfully, “I’m sure that the youkai Mikazuki-no-Kami had left here will let you live.”

With those words, she rose to her feet and quickly ran away without sparing a glance back, fearing that her resolve would crumble under her maternal love for her child. Once she had disappeared from sight, Muramasa emerged from his hiding place to approach the baby, who immediately released gurgling noises when he came into view.

“So your name is Sasaki?” he asked, bending down to pick the baby up. Muramasa noticed how small and delicate he felt in his arms, and held him as gently as he could. The baby squealed in delight and made grabby motions towards Muramasa’s face; understanding what he wanted, the half-mazoku brought his face closer to him and allowed Sasaki to touch his cheeks.

“You don’t fear me,” Muramasa murmured, finding a newborn’s innocence endearing, “How about we add Kojiro to your name? Kojiro Sasaki… How warm you are.”

Was this how his own mother felt when she held his infant self?

Without him realising it, a single tear trailed down his cheek and landed on Sasaki, crystallising his longing for human affection in the form of a Cryo Vision.

So this is the weight of life.

VOICELINES ❀ COMBAT INFO ❀ OC MASTERLIST

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The former God of Magic resents The Mother for sticking him on Earth, and plans on causing as much havoc as he can to punish Her;

Version 2, Dark!Merlin

INTRO

(Version 1, Good!Merlin)

TW: A lot of emotional manipulation, a little violence, a lot of angst.

~

“You’re late.”

The woman’s well practiced blank mask falls into a scowl as she stares at Merlin with mistrust:

“Well, perhaps I was putting off coming to see you, no matter how necessary it is.”

The gang can see the bob of Merlin’s head as he lets out a low chuckle, and they have to stop themselves from recoiling; they’d never heard a noise like that from their young friend before, it sounded almost... cruel.

He lifts a hand to cover his heart as he says in faux offense:

“You wound me, sister. You didn’t want to see your favourite sibling?”

Everyone frowns in confusion, Merlin doesn’t have... siblings. That’s not even mentioning the fact that this woman barely seems human.

The woman doesn’t hide her slight disgust, taking a step back from Merlin and letting out a harsh breath:

“I came here to tell you that you need to hurry up. Time is running out.”

Merlin chuckles again, turning to the side and taking a few short paces, his hands held leisurely behind his back. The amusement on his face is disturbing, and Arthur gulps, not noticing the way Mordred is growing paler and paler by the second. Merlin doesn’t turn to look at the woman as he speaks, and his smirk stretches wider:

“But I’m having so much fun, Ava!”

The woman, Ava, huffs again, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. If the gang weren’t so semi-sure that Merlin wasn’t dangerous, they’d think she looked scared:

“Mother sent you here to complete a task. Get it done, and you can come home. Isn’t that what you want? To come home?”

Merlin’s smirk falls, and the snarl that the gang briefly see on his face before he whips around to face Ava takes their breath away. They barely notice the thunder, snapping in the distance in time with Merlin’s anger:

“Mother’s the one keeping me here in the first place. She could accept me back any time.”

Ava takes another step back, and Merlin tilts his head ever so slightly at the movement, but waits for her to speak:

“As punishment for your cruelty. She isn’t happy, you’re making a mess of things.”

Merlin chuckles again, tilting his head even further, and his words have an immediate chilling effect on the group hiding in the bushes:

“Well, if she insists on sending the God of Chaos to fix a problem, perhaps she should expect a little mess. Plus, I’m having more fun here than I’ve had in centuries. These humans... so gullible.-”

Ava shakes her head mournfully, but before she can say anything, Merlin continues, now pacing calmly around the clearing, waving his hands and grinning in his excitement:

“-I mean, they’re just so... easy. To play with, to manipulate. You know they all trust me? They all come running to naïve, innocent, loving little Merlin, spilling all their secrets as they go. Did you know, the drunkard is the son of a noble? “Fuck nobility” my arse, he is nobility.-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw and looks to the floor, ignoring the stares of Arthur and Leon, but before anything can be muttered, Merlin continues, listing their greatest secrets off on his fingers:

“-The gentle giant is terrified that someone’s going to find out that his preferences lie with men, which is ridiculous considering the way he stares at the aforementioned drunkard when he thinks no one but little old me is watching. The blacksmith, even years on, is terrified that his whore sister will never forgive him for... something or other, I wasn’t really paying attention. Camelot’s first, The King’s most trusted, has a debilitating fear of heights, and oh if it isn’t just hilarious to watch when he has to patrol the city walls. And then, there’s the-”

Ava rolls her mournful eyes and interrupts him:

“Your point, Em?”

Merlin laughs, fully and from the belly, but the sound doesn’t bring the gang joy like it normally does:

“My point, is that I’ve got these idiots wrapped around my finger. Mortals: the universe’s most fun toy. I haven’t even gotten to half of them yet. There’s the noble one, who thinks he holds my trust, the Druid boy, whose only redeeming feature is that he’s destined to kill the King Prat one day; believe me, if it weren’t for that I’d have killed the annoying little twerp years ago. Then there’s the King Prat’s magical sister, who is full of such terror. I play with her dreams some nights, force visions of pyres and hatred and destruction to play over and over in her mind. It’s rather amusing, watching her thrash and sweat and whimper in her sleep.-”

Arthur’s head had whipped around to Morgana when Merlin had mentioned her, but the tears streaming down her face and the way her hand was clamped tightly over her mouth stripped his anger from him. Which left him with no distraction, no way to ignore the simple fact of what was happening right now. Merlin was... not what they thought. He was powerful, he was using them. He was playing with them like puppets and pulling their strings this way and that, watching as they could do nothing but follow. Arthur didn’t know what to think, and he definitely didn’t notice the tears on his own cheeks.

Mordred was pale to the point of looking like he was about to faint and Lancelot had a deep frown on his face, tears in his eyes but not quite falling, not yet. This was... a misunderstanding. He... he knows Merlin, this is a trick, or a trap, he’ll explain later and everything will be just fine. He just has to... to trust him. Everything will be fine.

Gwaine keeps his gaze on the floor. A small part of him was feeling a little prideful that Percival liked him back, but the rest of him... had no room for anything but grief. He had suspected that Merlin had magic, but this was something else, this was... a whole new person. Did he ever really know Merlin? Did any of them? 

Elyan and Gwen sat pressed together tightly, though Gwen had one hand on Morgana’s shaking back, and her other was reaching around Elyan, gripping Leon’s shoulder tightly. Leon was just staring blankly at the scene in front of him, though anyone that knew him well enough would be able to see the tight clench of his jaw and the anger (and grief) in his eyes.

Ava interrupted Merlin’s gleeful ranting, the tears in her eyes a little more prominent as she took on a slightly more desperate tone:

“Please, Em, just... stop. They’re important, they have destinies, you can not destroy them or push them too far; this is cruel, even for you. This... you never used to be like this.”

Merlin turns around, facing away from his sister and giving the hidden group full view of his rage-filled face. His voice is quiet and clipped and angry as he asks:

“Oh?”

Another roll of thunder echoes through the clearing, closer this time, and fat droplets of rain fall harshly from the sky, mixing with the tears on everyone’s face. Ava sighs, tears overflowing as she gulps before answering, her voice shaking slightly as she takes a step towards Merlin:

“You’re meant to be the God of Magic, not Chaos. You were so... beautiful, balanced. You saw wonder in everything, every little spark of magic and every single prayer put a smile on your face. You loved humanity even more than Mother did. Now look at you, you’re tormenting them, torturing them. This isn’t you, Em, please. Help them, and things can go back to the way they were, help them and you can come home.”

The anger on Merlin’s face had only grown as she spoke, and each individual hidden in the bushes had to make a concerted effort to stop themselves from bolting. None of them had felt terror like it, and the fact that it was Merlin they were all so scared of... well, it didn’t help.

Lightening streaks across the sky and wind howls violently through the forest, calming only when Merlin shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, straightening his back and smirking slightly before he replies, still not turning around to face his sister:

“You’re right. I loved humanity, I was desperate to see them succeed. And then they butchered me. I gave them this universe to frolic in, and in return they call me a monster, a beast, they call me evil, they make nightmares out of me. I still listen to every little prayer, and do you know what I hear? I hear my people, my wonderful little creations, my creatures of magic, begging for mercy, begging for the pain to stop. The humanity I so used to love turned on them, began to burn them, out of spite and fear and hatred. I will not show them any more grace than they have showed me, I will give them exactly what they deserve, and that blonde idiot is at the top of my list of people who have to fucking pay. I won’t destroy him entirely, because ultimately I want my creatures to stop suffering, but I will break him. I will rip him apart piece by piece for what he has done to me.-”

The absolute fury in Merlin’s words, the hatred, translates to thunder in the sky and agony in Arthur’s chest. The King can barely breathe, muffling the sobs tearing from his mouth with both hands, both terrified of being discovered, and desperate to... to let Merlin punish him for the pain he has caused.

Leon settles a shaking hand on his shoulder, but Arthur doesn’t look his way, his blurry gaze focused on Merlin, now finally turning back to his sister:

“-You know, I’m this close to getting that big blonde idiot to fall in love with me. How pathetic is that?? All it took was a few touches here, a few lingering stares there, saving his life occasionally. The man is so pathetically starved for attention I imagine he’d fall for anyone who showed him the barest amount of affection. That is how I will break him.-”

The only thing stopping Arthur from sobbing aloud is Leon collapsing behind him, pulling the young King back into his chest and wrapping a tight arm around his torso, one hand clamped over his mouth as he mutters desperate reassurances into his ear. Morgana pulls Gwen close in a similar way when the servant’s cries grow harsher, her brother burying his face in her shoulder.

Lancelot barely notices Gwaine gripping his arm hard enough to leave bruises for weeks, or Percival pushing his forehead into Lance’s shoulder blade. All he can do is sit and stare at the ground, his breathing slow but shaky, tears streaming silently down his face as he rethinks everything he’s ever known.

Mordred sits on his own, rocking back and forth rhythmically as he tightens the clutch he has around his knees. Tears drip from his young cheeks, poisoning the ground beneath him as he struggles to consider his faith. His faith in magic, in Emrys, who was meant to be balanced and beautiful and giving. Emrys, who he now knew was twisted and angry and desperate for revenge.

All of their hearts are splitting, cracking down the middle.

“-It won’t be physical pain, no, that’ll be down to the Druid boy. He doesn’t want to kill Arthur now, but he will, one day, when I give him one final push. He’ll fall so far into the darkness there’ll be nothing of him left to save, and when he plunges his sword into The Pendragon’s chest, I’ll sit back and watch with a smile on my face, and Arthur will realise that the man he loves, the man who claimed to love him in return, hated him all along. Tricked him. I will watch the life drain from his eyes, and he will spend his last few moments on this world in every kind of agony imaginable, lost in the knowledge that I wanted him to suffer, that he is being punished for his sins.”

Ava shakes her head, silver tears dripping from her emerald eyes as she stares at the floor:

“Are Sir Mordred and the Lady Morgana not your creatures? Do you not wish to save at least them?”

Merlin chuckles darkly:

“I had faith in them once, but they made their decisions. They sided with a Pendragon over me. Mother may be fond of her precious Once and Future King, but to be fair, she’s fond of anything with a pulse, and I, for one, can not wait until she’s not quite so fond of him anymore.”

Ava gulps, taking a desperate step towards her amused brother, but before she can say anything, before she can make one last plea for mercy on humanity’s behalf, Merlin tilts his head, smirking dangerously:

“Do you think they’re scared?”

She halts in her tracks, blinking in confusion, and Merlin’s smile grows into a chuckle as he gestures behind him:

“The King and all his little friends, hidden in the bushes. Do you think they’re scared?” 

The gang barely have time to look up in shock before their bodies are moving, out of their control. They stand rigidly and walk single-file out from their hiding place, coming to stand in a line at the side of the clearing. Merlin hasn’t even looked at them, but his hand floats in the air, a sickly looking yellow mist swirling around his fingers as he tilts his head at his sister, staring in horror at The King, the knights, the Lady, and the servant.

Merlin drops his hand and they all fall to their knees, not even bothering to be brave as they sob. The angry God finally turns, and the serene smile on his face is chilling as he walks towards them, coming to stand in front of Lance and Mordred first. The two of them are the calmest, though calm in the way that they don’t really look... present. They stare blankly ahead, breathing shallow and tears still falling as Merlin crouches in front of them, gripping a chin in each hand and shaking their heads roughly. His voice comes out a whisper, the frown on his face looking more disappointed than anything:

“So much faith, so much trust. It’s a little pitiful, if I’m being honest.”

They don’t react to his words and he smirks before letting them go and standing, moving on to Elyan and Gwen, gripping the knight’s shoulder and saying with mocking sympathy in his voice:

“You were right, by the way,-”

He glances at a fully sobbing Gwen with disgust:

“-she’ll never forgive you, but she’ll never tell you that. You’ll just spend the rest of your life wondering why your relationship was never the same.”

Next, he shuffles over to Gwaine, not even bothering to see the siblings’ reactions as he passes Leon and Percival with a look of disinterest on his face. He leans down in front of the knight, running a soft hand through his hair, waiting for the man to relax slightly before gripping his hair harshly and yanking back, so he has to look up at him. Merlin gives him a blindingly cruel smile:

“You're grateful that Percival is just as in love with you as you are with him, but don’t think yourself too lucky. You’re a hypocrite and a drunk, and my dear old Percy has too much self respect to put himself through that. I’d go for a good tumble in the hay and give up while you’re ahead.”

Once again, he moves back, his sister having to look away in her grief, her empathy drowning her. The God comes to stand in front of Morgana, who is desperately trying to look brave but failing miserably:

“And you. You’re meant to be The Darkness, but I couldn’t very well have you outdo me, could I? Try your hardest, I’ll still be the end of you, and I wait with baited breath for the day you fall, and the day soon after that, when I get to kill you.”

She break down in tears again at that, horrified with the idea that she might one day be on the same end of morality and cruelty as this monster in front of her.

Merlin smirks before rolling his eyes and finally coming to stand in front of Arthur. The King calms his breathing just enough to look up at a smirking Merlin, his voice cracking and barely-there as he mutters:

“Please... Merlin, please...”

The smirk drops from Merlin’s face as he brings his hand up, the sickly yellow mist back again. Arthur rises from the floor, hands clutching at his throat as the air is drawn from his lungs. Merlin steps closer to his with a snarl, his free hand gripping Arthur’s chin like a vice, though his voice eerily calm as he murmurs:

“You. You and Uther were so desperate for a scape-goat, for a villain, for a monster. And you picked magic, you picked me. So stop being so fucking pathetic, I’m just playing the part you gave me to perfection. You picked the premise, I’m writing the ending.”

Ava finally speaks up, her voice loud, despite the waver:

“Brother please, this is... this is beyond cruelty, please just stop.”

Arthur is dropped, and The King can barely find it in himself to choke for air as Merlin turns back to his sister, the amused smirk back on his face:

“Why? None of them are going to remember in the morning anyway. I’ve had my fun, this has been cathartic, but I can’t have them ruining my plans. So run along now sister, tell Mother that her precious task is being completed, I’m just taking the scenic route.” 

She shakes her head in defeat, staring at the floor. She lifts her head, opening her mouth to make one last attempt, but she closes it, realising that there’s nothing she could possibly say to persuade him to suddenly have mercy, mercy that no one had ever shown him. She gulps, letting out a deep breath before shaking her head again and turning around, walking back into the trees, the way she came.

The God looks back to his puppets, shivering in time with their knotted strings, smirking once more before he clicks his fingers and everything goes dark.

~

Arthur wakes the next morning feeling oddly refreshed and surprisingly unannoyed at his idiot manservant’s lateness. He rolls his eyes at the bright sunshine glaring through his curtains, the sun certainly a lot higher in the sky than it should be at the time The King wakes, but oh well. Merlin has been chipper lately, and the warmth that Arthur feels in his chest at the younger man’s happiness makes him more likely to forgive him his tardiness.

As if thinking of him had summoned him (wishful thinking on Arthur’s part), Merlin bursts through the doors, not bothering to knock as per usual, a breakfast-laden tray in his arms and a cheeky grin on his face. Arthur rolls his eyes again, chucking a pillow at Merlin half-heartedly as he grumbles, also half-heartedly:

“You’re late.”

Merlin chuckles, setting the tray down on the table before jogging endearingly over to Arthur’s bedside, grabbing his hand and pulling him to stand upright:

“Something tells me you don’t mind all that much, Your Pratness.”

Arthur huffs, but only to stop himself from smiling, and resolutely ignores the way Merlin’s hand is still in his. The servant squeezes his palm softly, and Arthur gulps, pulling away and walking towards his meal, hoping the food would squash the butterflies in his stomach.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes, smiling to himself softly at a whole range of things: the good night’s rest he’d had, the bright sunshine, Merlin’s good mood, the sensation of Merlin’s hand in his own, Merlin’s dazzling smile, Merlin, Merlin, Merlin...

Merlin stares at his back as he goes, noting with a dangerously satisfied smirk the red blush of his ears.

The scenic route indeed.

~

THE END!!

Oops I made myself sad. Sorry to say but I hope this makes you sad too.

This was SUPER fun to write and I’m so glad I decided to do two versions😅

Link to the Good!Merlin version (much MUCH fluffier, I promise) at the top!!

[after-witch]

Office Hours [Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Secretary!Reader]

Title: Office Hours [Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Secretary!Reader]

Synopsis: He gave you the outfit. The blouse, the skirt, the nylons--the heels. A secretary’s unofficial uniform. You can’t help but feel mocked, in a way. Hurt. Was he being cruel on purpose, to make you think about your life before all this? 

Word Count: 2000ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped, some secretary adjacent kink material (tickling, spanking)

The mirror is streaked and dirty and you can only assume that it’s never been washed. Your captor certainly hasn’t washed it since you were taken, which was… weeks? Months? He doesn’t keep track of time, and he doesn’t do a lot of cleaning, or tidying, or much of anything in the way of keeping this room (his room, your room, he says) decently habitable. Even your occasional sweep of old food wrappers and cans stuffed into stray plastic bags earns you a sarcastic comment or shut-down; but if you’re going to be held captain by some rough villain, you decided, then the least he could do is keep the room from being rock-bottom filthy.

At least you’re not streaked with dirt. He does let you shower. Alone--sometimes. He likes to watch, so you’ve learned to shower at lightning speed. It all depends on his mood, and his mood is always volatile, shifting, unsure. Which brings you to your present predicament, staring in a dirty mirror in the bathroom of your kidnapper, dressed in an outfit that is both familiar and strange.

You pull your hair back and watch yourself silently as you pin it with a black clip. You don’t look like yourself anymore. At least not any version of yourself you conceived seeing before. Your eyes and lips are painted up--cheap stuff, you assume, given the quality and lack of a label. At least it wasn’t used. 

But your face--it’s different now. You’re anxious and tired all the time, no matter how much you sleep when he’s gone or how much he tells you he won’t hurt you (sometimes even as he’s hurting you). And it shows in your eyes and face and the way your shoulders slump, making the thin white fabric of your blouse wrinkle.

He gave you the outfit. The blouse, the skirt, the nylons--the heels. A secretary’s unofficial uniform. You can’t help but feel mocked, in a way. Hurt. Was he being cruel on purpose, to make you think about your life before all this?

All of the motions of the morning were familiar… sitting on the toilet lid and slipping on the nylons, ever so slowly so they don’t get a run. Buttoning up each button, retracing your fingers when you button up the wrong hole. Slipping into the skirt and wiggling your hips before sliding your feet into the heels--a size too small, they pinch--and appraising yourself in the mirror.

But you’re not getting ready to stride into your office; you’re not getting ready to prep your boss, a Hero that you are slowly realizing will likely never find you, on today’s meetings and missteps and PR campaigns. 

You’re about to walk out of a dingy bathroom into a dingy room and indulge in some sick fantasy for your captor, and the very thought of it makes you want to vomit. But vomiting would ruin your makeup, and you’ve already taken long enough in the bathroom. He’ll think you’re stalling on purpose (you are, sort of) and that won’t end well.

So you look in the mirror one last time and take a deep breath and turn away, leaving the minor sanctuary of the bathroom for the uncertainty of the bedroom.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to Shigaraki, who has--unusually--cleared off the old sofa pushed against the wall. It's normally covered in dirty clothes and trash, things he tosses and never throws away unless you spring into action; but it's clear now, save for Shigaraki, sitting on one end with his palms spread out on both thighs. Casual. Waiting. And for what?

"Come here," he says, voice low and scratchy.

You don't want to--your body feels like lead. But you see his fingers twitch and you feel a surge of adrenaline thrum through you, like a lightning bolt that forces your legs to move. They feel heavy, and it's a wonder that they don't drag. The heels are hard to walk in, he probably grabbed (stole) the first pair he saw at the store.

You stand in front of him and it's awkward and humiliating and the lead feeling has gone from your legs to your stomach, heavy and foreboding.

"Sit next to me," he orders.

And you do. Wooden. Stiff. You shift just an inch, so your thighs don't touch his.

He sighs and you feel yourself cringe. "Not like that."

It's hard, really, to know exactly what he wants all the time. It feels like you're walking a tightrope, miles high, unable to look down to see where your next step should be. And there's no net underneath to catch you, either.

"I... don't know how you want me to sit." You keep your voice even and neutral. It's better than protesting, better than whining. It keeps him calmer.

"Get--get comfortable." He huffs, but it's not mean. It’s just annoyed. You can work with that. You lean back against the couch and force your posture to relax. You uncurl your fingers and let them rest in your lap, a bit primly, but no longer white knuckled. You glance down at his hands, glance up at his face. It's hard to keep eye contact, so you focus on his hair. You wish he'd wash it.

"Now put your feet in my lap."

"What?" You do make eye contact now, incredulous. He's looking away from you, which is... something new. He likes to stare you down and threaten you with looks or twitches of his hands, but now, he almost looks embarrassed.

You don’t want to make him mad, so you slowly lift your legs and shift on the sofa, making it easier to slide your feet into his lap. You keep staring at his face, his cheeks now tinged a slight pink, if only to avoid looking down at your feet cradled in his lap. What if he's hard. It wouldn't be the first time you saw him sporting an erection. At least you weren't in the shower this time.

He suddenly slides a finger into the side of your heels and you force yourself to stay still as he pulls them off and tosses them on the ground. So much for the complete look, you think. He stares down at your nylon-clad feet for so long that you wonder if you did something wrong.

"What are you--"

Shigaraki slides his rough fingers haphazardly down your feet, and your breath hitches the second they make contact. Instantly, instinctively, you jerk your feet away from him. But he must have known it was coming, because he holds your foot firm in a nearly bruising grip while removing all but one finger trailing down your sole.

"I bet..." You breathe steady, in-out-in-out, watching as he drags his teeth on his too-chapped lips. "I bet this--" he digs in deeper with his nail as he says it, and you gasp--"is why that shitty Hero wanted you to wear stuff like this, huh? Sicko..."

You bite back a snarky reply, half because you know calling him a hypocrite will piss him off--and half because you know that if you try to say something, anything, right now that you'll end up breaking the very thin dam that's holding back your desire to laugh. He's gently scratching towards your toes now and it's killing you--it really, really, really fucking tickles.

"Tomu--" you start, then stop, because you can feel the laughter bubbling up inside you. It makes you feel helpless. You close your eyes and will the feeling of his finger to go away, but it doesn’t; it’s maddening, and you can feel your breath get faster and faster and it hitches--the dam bursting is a small cry at first, nearly a hiccup, and suddenly you’re kicking at him with your other foot and laughing, hard and low.

You thrash and mindlessly throw your weight around, kicking and flailing, but it doesn’t stop. It goes on and on and it’s horrible and it tickles until finally Shigaraki stops to grab your free flailing leg and hold it tight. 

It’s over, mercifully--or maybe not, as you feel the breath practically knocked out of you as he suddenly grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your stomach. You try to move--all thoughts of appeasing your captor thrown out in the last seconds--but he presses his thighs hard against your hips and you’re pinned in place.

You breathe, hard, and you feel sweat from exertion beginning to bead at your temples. For his part, Shigaraki reflects your own exhaustion, slightly panting, cheeks flushed but--you think, you feel, actually--not for the same reasons.

“What--what are you doing?” You say, blinking away tears that are now just as much from the cheap mascara as they are from Shigaraki’s previous ministrations. You keep your face angled to the side to avoid having your nose pressed into the sofa--and into a highly questionable old stain.

Shigaraki’s stares at your face for a minute, before reaching down with a finger and brushing away flecks of streaky mascara.

“You’re a bad secretary,” he says, his voice lilting with a strangely humorous tone that you’ve never heard before.

“What?” Should you be… insulted? Was he stalking you at work and criticizing you? You weren’t perfect--who was?--but you’d manage to boost your Hero’s presence in the media and never missed a deadline for submitting sneaky PR-laden editorials to the local paper.

His hand trails down, softly tracing against the back of your neck with two fingers. You shiver as he continues downward, gently tickling as slowly makes his way down your thin, slightly sweaty blouse.

“I said you’re a bad secretary.” He’s got two hands--two fingers, actually--of your hips and you’re briefly horrified at the thought that he might tickle you there before he yanks down your skirt zipper and pulls it down instead.

“Don’t!” You try to squirm, but he keeps you firmly set in place even as your skirt fabric bunches against him.

He ignores you, and instead shifts his weight so that he’s facing your legs and--you realize with increasing stress--your nylon-covered ass.

“To--Tomura!” You say, throwing out the name he’s forced you to call him, the name that sometimes gets him to take a step back when he’s crossing lines you want to keep secure as long as possible. “Let’s just... watch a movie or something!”

He tsks. It’s a firm, decisive sound that threatens to bring bile to your throat. “That’s Boss to you, sweetheart. You know better than that.” No, you don’t know--what is he getting at? You squirm again but you know it’s fruitless, you know you’re not going anywhere.

A fact that is made even more clear when you feel Shigaraki rolling down your nylons at the waist, revealing your soft skin, your bare ass, underneath.

“I told you what would happen if you didn’t--” he clears his throat, a gesture that makes you far more aware of the hardness pressing against you from under his pants--”If you didn’t finish your paperwork.”

“Tomu--” There’s pain, suddenly--he spanked you, firm and fast, and the knot in your stomach feels like it’s being pulled in a thousand different directions. “Boss,” you self-correct, feeling breathless. It’s a game, you think, a twisted game and you’re an unwilling player.

“Good girl,” he praises, and it does nothing but make you wish you could sink into the sofa, stains and all. “But it doesn’t make up for a sloppy job. You have a punishment coming.”

He slaps your ass again in a swift, hard motion, the tips of his four fingers striking your skin with a decisive pain. Then again. And again. And again. You’re sniffling now--it hurts and more than that, it’s humiliating. The weight of your embarrassment seems to settle on your waist along with Shigaraki, who seems content with making your cheeks--both sets--hot with shame.

“Boss… Boss,” you say, desperate, wiggling, thinking of anything to redirect him. “Can’t--Can’t I make up for it some other way?” It comes out before you can think about it, a cliché ingrained in your brain from porn and pop culture, and you wish you could take it back. You definitely--definitely--don’t want to follow up on that request.

You swear you can feel him get harder as the words leave your lips. He shifts on your waist and there’s a slight wetness there, sticking to your blouse and your back. He’s breathing heavy and if you were to look--you can’t, you won’t--you would see his face is just as disheveled as yours.

“Maybe,” he pants, “Maybe later. For now…”

You brace yourself in anticipation of the next strike. And the many more to come.

[jackobbit]

[Working for E.V.I.L. Written Lore #2]

Well, so much for ‘two days from now’ lmao

ANYWAYS, same thing as last time, but now I’m talking about Bloodmoon!! This post will contain backstory, behaviors, personality, fun fact, and more!

Hope y’all enjoy, Bloodmoons probably one of my fav characters to write for right now, so hopefully y’all like them too! :]

As always, I’m open to any questions or comments!

[To be shown next: Eclipse]

[Bloodmoon]

aka

[Swiss and Vacio]

[He/They, both individually and collectively]

Bloodmoon was hired one year prior to the events of the story, having been the only person in the world to either be desperate or stupid enough to apply to work at the E.V.I.L. Corporation. He was hired on the spot regardless of any behavior or demands simply because E.V.I.L. was that desperate for new personnel on their secret Star collection project.

Swiss (OG) can best be described as loud, abrasive, fight first ask questions later, and the type of person to say exactly what’s on their mind without any sort of filter.

Vacio (Adaptation) is much more calm and thoughtful, but still has the same violence streak as Swiss, albeit that his is more cruel and methodical rather than swift and sudden.

The both together are very self reliant and independent, though not from each other. They hate working with other team members and would much rather run off to do their own thing however they desire. They hate being told what to do, thus, they hate Eclipse. He also outright refuses to work with Solar Flare in the beginning, especially after being told that the reason Solar Flare exists in the first place is because of his own poor performance. They think that despite what their records say, that the two of them are the best at their jobs and that they only need themselves to get things done.

This version of Bloodmoon does have odd cravings for violence and blood, just like their canon counterparts. It’s not something the two always like, and if they could suddenly wish away those urges they just might do that. It’s not something the two easily admit out loud, though, out of a fear of coming off as less dangerous or ‘soft’.

Vacio is the voice of reason, but Swiss is the quick thinker. The two together? An absolute gremlin.

Dialog examples: (Vacio is in bold)

“Rip and tear! Rip and tear!” “Why do we need to work with this hunk of junk?! We’re the best at what we do!” “Brother we must buy that. We need to buy that. Yep- yep-yep-“ “Welcome to the job. Now leave.” “Brother, perhaps we should share our paycheck. With that rust bucket?! It’s not our fault they don’t pay him! No, but, they did help us. Hmmm… mmmmm… rrrr…. Fine.” “Little water mammal!! Pretty fish.” “I don’t remember asking, science man!! Fuck you!!” “The man upstairs will not be happy about this… Brother I’m scared.” “Lesson one Solar bot, you do your taxes by fist fighting the bank clerk! Watch!” “We must be stealthy, approach from the side instead.”

Behavior examples: Bloodmoon is ambidextrous, and tends to use every part of their body to complete a task all at once. They’re incredibly athletic and speedy, and can barely ever sit still. He’s almost always bouncing his leg or shifting his stance or fiddling with some object. When Swiss is speaking, a star is present in their left (our right) eye, when Vacio speaks, the opposite eye has a star present. When both speak, a star is present in both eyes. Additionally, their head can spin to reveal the face of whichever of the two is speaking, but it’s not a necessity for either to talk, neither is switching their hat around, but they like to do both things whenever they can.

Fun facts: Prior to being hired by E.V.I.L., Bloodmoon lived behind an Outback Steakhouse in a dumpster.

The only person who’s authority the two at least pretend to respect is that of The Boss, just so they don’t lose their job. They also both do genuinely fear him, but only to an extent.

They occasionally make stops to rob blood banks or hospitals during missions.

He has a knife collection! Although Swiss and Vacio tend to forget and then fight over whose knives are whose.

Every single paycheck they receive is blown entirely on silly stuff they don’t need, without exception. He’s horrible about impulse purchases.

He likes going to the aquarium! Swiss loves otters, and will outright happy cry at the sight of one. Vacio likes staring at the fish.

[Working for E.V.I.L. Written Lore #1]

The first post of its kind! Introducing, Solar Flare! Below the read more is their personality, backstory, fun facts, dialogue and behavior examples, and other such things!

Hope y’all like them! If you’ve got any questions or comments I’d love to hear it!

[To be shown next: Bloodmoon] [Will be posted in: 2 days]

[Solar Flare]

[They/Them]

While the Working for E.V.I.L. Au has no main character, Solar Flare might be the closest thing there is to one due to the fact that they are introduced to the world in tandem with the audience.

As stated prior, Solar Flare was created within one of E.V.I.L.’s many labs following a zero-turn-out hiring event. Eclipse oversaw the project, but did not help directly. Although Eclipse was the one to introduce Solar Flare to the corporation following their completion.

Solar Flare is very goal oriented, determined, logical, blunt, has a flat voice and tends to take things literally. Very ‘I’m a classic no-personality robot’ type ordeal. They also have a tendency to not know what common objects, expressions or sayings are/mean/do. Their programming really honed in on a focus towards following orders to a T and not doing much if nothing else aside from that.

However, against all odds, Solar Flare begins to develop personality with time. They pick up bits and pieces of information as they go, and slowly apply what they think feels right to themself. It takes time but emotional expression, a unique way of speaking and a personality form within them the longer they exist and work with their team.

Unfortunately, some of the things they learn along the way are either skewed or flat out incorrect because of who they learned those behaviors/sayings from. (Cough, Bloodmoon, cough cough)

Dialog examples: “Greetings. I am: Solar Flare. My goal is to: Obtain Stars.” “What purpose does stopping at: Burger King, serve to our mission?” “Eclipse is correct, I am not sentient. I do not have the capacity to make decisions for myself. Thus, I do not know how to spend this money, Bloodmoon.” “I do not understand, what entertainment do you receive from looking at aquatic animals behind glass?” “Apologies for the intrusion, but we will be taking this, have a nice day.” “I think that I would like to do that.”

Very short, straightforward, blunt and too the point!

Behavior examples: Solar Flare tends to speak most through their eyes. They have little to no body language and tend to stand rigid and still, their eyes give away what trace sparks of life and emotion they have. An example being the way in which they dart around following a state of confusion.

Fun facts: One of the first things Solar Flare picks up behavior wise is how to be polite, quickly adding terms such as ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to their lexicon despite doing so not serving any additional purpose to missions.

They can fly! They also have a little star design on their back, which hides away two little bars that can be grabbed to help them transport an additional person. Eclipse refuses to fly with Solar Flare, but with time, Bloodmoon is practically hanging off those bars 24/7.

Solar Flare is the second tallest of the cast, but is still much shorter than The Boss, who they haven’t met.

Solar Flare was not initially programmed with either free thinking or emotion in mind, thus, higher ups are certain that they are not sentient. Whether or not Solar Flare is sentient is something that is argued a lot internally within E.V.I.L., with the only two people being on Solar Flares side being Bloodmoon, but only after the two get to know them.

They can release steam and smoke from the air vents in both their mouth and chest, it helps their internal systems cool faster.

They eventually learn that they like music! Although they have no particular favorite genre.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding Part VI - Star Wars Time Travel AU

Part I - - - - -  Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V 

Anakin watched Obi-Wan through the stalks for several minutes. He could see him kneeling at the base of the waterfall, occasionally glancing around, as if searching for someone. Just when he was about to break and interrupt him, Obi-Wan stood and walked over. They sat together on the low bench, surrounded by the carefully cultivated colored fungi. 

“Obi-Wan...maybe we should talk about what’s going on with you. Whatever it is, I’m here for you.” Anakin offered hesitantly.

Obi-Wan tensed, hands clenching in his lap. 

“No.” 

“Master Windu and Bant both seemed to think this isn’t a drug thing. Please, let-”

“That wasn’t what I was saying no to.” 

Obi-Wan stood and began threading a path through the mushrooms, careful not to step on any of the smaller ones. Anakin was forced to follow directly in his footsteps, not wanting to risk damaging something Obi-Wan clearly seemed to care about, but wishing he could look at his Master’s face.

“Did I ever tell you about Bruck Chun?” Obi-Wan asked.

“No. Who’s Bruck?” Anakin responded with deliberate patience.

“He was an old crechemate of mine, quite gifted, though he had a temper. There have been times you remind me of him. We were rivals.” They were approaching the end of the alcove, a large stone overhang throwing them in to shadow.

“Were?”

“He died. When we were twelve.”

When they reached the rock face, Obi-Wan started climbing straight up. Anakin followed. Several clicks above the floor, Obi-Wan squeezed his way into a narrow crack, invisible from the floor below. Anakin followed. They awkwardly shuffled along the passage until Obi-Wan suddenly dropped out of sight. Anakin followed.

They landed in a hidden alcove. It was half lit by sunlight filtering in from cracks above, and half lit by the glow of mushrooms and crystals tenaciously embedded in the rock face around.

“Oh.” Anakin said softly. “Is this where you go when you visit the fountains to meditate?”

“No, I hadn’t been here in years.” Obi-Wan answered wistfully. “I started getting too big, didn’t want to damage the passageway too much. I figured some other younglings would stumble upon it someday like I did. I’m sorry. I avoided this room for the first year or two of your padawanship. By the time I even thought to share it, you had already grown so big...”

He sat down, legs stretched out in front. Anakin sat next to him, mirroring his position.

“I’m glad you’re sharing it with me now.” Anakin smiled reassuringly, but Obi-Wan was staring ahead blankly.  

The young knight swallowed nervously. “Did you...come here with Bruck?”

Obi-Wan let out a snort. “Gods, no! I hid here from him. Before we were rivals, he bullied me relentlessly.”

“And...this is the guy you said I remind you of?” Was he being insulted?

“At times. Math lessons, saber practice, none of that ever came easy to me. But you and him...you never even needed to study. And you do have a vicious streak, Anakin.”

Rather than try to argue in vain against the slight hurt, Anakin just asked, “How did he die?”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes. “He fell.” 

Anakin jerked in surprise, “Wait, you mean-”

“We were fighting at the top of the waterfall- it- he had nearly killed Bant. He was angry that we both had been chosen by Masters, and Xanatos used that to manipulate him into helping with an attack on the temple. Bruck was lashing out. He was a better swordsmen, but his anger made him unbalanced. I knocked him back. And he fell. I’ve forgotten a lot of details about him as a person, but I still remember his body at the bottom of the falls.”

"That’s...awful. I’m sorry.” Anakin said helplessly. He had known the bare basics of Xanatos’s fall, but clearly not the full story.

Obi-Wan sighed, leaning slightly to press their shoulders together. Anakin scootched over to try and provide a little extra silent comfort.

“I thought I had learned to live with my guilt over my part in what happened to him, but I suppose recent events have torn open old scars, so to speak.”

Anakin held his breath, Obi-Wan didn’t add anything else. 

“Obi-Wan” he tried to nudge gently. 

“Hmm?”

Anakin lost his patience, jumping up. “Master, please!” He half yelled, looming over his Master. A flash of fear crossed Obi-Wan’s expression as he looked up, which immediately halted the fit of rage. 

He knelt down penitently, “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I shouldn’t have yelled, but please, let me help. I won’t get mad like that again, I swear. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“You’re not.” Obi-Wan whispered, expression blank. He shuddered all over, fists clenching tightly.

“You’re NOT here for me!” Obi-Wan shouted, suddenly offended. “How can you POSSIBLY claim to be there for anyone after what you-” Obi-Wan seemed to choke on the words. He let out a strangled cry and pulled his knees up to his chest. Tears welled, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Anakin stared wide-eyed, cold all over. “This...this is about something I did. I don’t understand. You... told me a few hours that I’m dear to you, what...what could I have done since then to make you...I don’t understand.”

“You know what you did.” Obi-Wan let out. “And the fact that learning about it didn’t stop me from caring about you doesn’t help, it just makes the heartbreak a thousand times more painful.”

Anakin racked his brain wildly. This couldn’t be about his marriage with Padme, right? He told him this morning that he didn’t mind the sneaking off. There was only one screw-up big enough that could possibly warrant this severe a reaction, and only two people alive knew about that, both sworn to secrecy.

“The younglings,” Obi-Wan whispered. “You - you didn’t even spare the younglings.” Obi-wan looked gutted, terrified. 

Anakin felt like he had been dropped in ice water. This was- this was his worst fear- that Obi-Wan would learn about his darkest failing as a Jedi and be ashamed of him, angry at him, would abandon him. He had already made his judgement. How could he have even learned about about the Tuskens?

“Padme-” he breathed out. “Padme told-”

“No!” Obi-Wan denied desperately, lurching forward. “Padme would never betray you! I would never betray you! We both love you, Anakin. Please, some part of you must know that! You must!”

His master seemed frantic, fingernails digging painfully into Anakin’s arm.

“You love me?” Anakin asked brokenly, heart cracked open.

Obi-Wan let go of Anakin to curl in on himself again. He seemed very small. It hurt to look at.

“I think its safe to say at this point that there’s nothing you could, no betrayal or atrocity you could commit that would make me stop loving you. Despite what you’ve done, you’re my brother, my son- of course I love you. The fact that I led you to doubt my love for you might be my greatest failing, though there are so many its hard to really say.” Obi-Wan sounded utterly defeated.

Anakin’s heart was pounding. This was a nightmare and a childhood dream. Obi-Wan loved him unconditionally, but he knew about his slaughter of the Tusken's and was ashamed. This couldn’t be real. He can’t know.

“Palpatine-” Anakin tried to ask.

Obi-Wan growled. “I do not need to talk about how that power-hungry liar systematically worked to tear us apart. I want to know why you would-” he cut himself off again.

Palpatine told Obi-Wan- that was more than he could even begin to process.

"I’m sorry, Master. I’m so sorry for failing you.” The words came desperately tumbling out, “I was just- I was so angry about my mom’s death and-”

“Your mother’s death? You killed innocent children for the sake of your Mother?! I don’t- how could anyone possibly rationalize-” Obi-Wan hissed out, truly angry for the first time that day. He took a deep breath and pulled himself upright.

“Your mother’s death was a terrible tragedy and I will forever regret my role in it. I should have tried harder to free her, for her own sake. I was so afraid that if I pushed for permission with the council they would think I was failing you, and they would take you from me. I made- so many decisions out of attachment, out of fear of losing you, and in the end I hurt you so badly you couldn’t trust me. You didn’t trust me with the truth of your visions, so I gave you bad advice born of misunderstanding, and your mother died horribly. I- I can see how you would blame the Jedi for that, even if its not rational. I certainly understand why you would blame me for that, why you would hate me because of her death.”

Obi-Wan scrubbed at his face mercilessly, practically tearing skin in his haste to wipe away snot and tears.

“But why, if you were getting revenge, would you kill the children and not me?” “Why couldn’t you just kill me and be satisfied?” He finally looked straight at Anakin, asking like it was a real question.

Anakin was horrified. After a few false starts he finally choked out, “Master, I love you. I told you, you’re the closest thing I have to a father. You’re the last person I could ever kill.”

“The last person you could ever kill,” Obi-Wan echoed back, looking pained.

“Please, Master, tell me how to fix this. I want to make things right. How can I fix things?” Anakin begged.

“That’s not a fair question. You can’t unmurder people. You can’t put them back together like a- an engine or a droid- ”

“There has to be something I can do to make you forgive me!” Anakin said desperately. “You can’t just tell me you love me and then say I’m an irredeemable monster!”

“Well that’s an entirely different matter, though no less cruel to think about.”

He leaned into Anakin’s side once more, the press providing a hint of warmth even in the unshakable cold. “Anakin, it isn’t very rational or fair of me, but it wouldn’t really take that much to get me to forgive you. Kriff, if you just acted sorry for what you had done.” Obi-Wan sighed.

“If you told me that you regretted the lives you took and swore you were going to stop murdering, force help me, I’d probably take you back in an instant. All I ever wanted was to help you be the best version of yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” Anakin said immediately. “I’m so, so sorry for what I did. I lost control of myself because I was scared, and angry, and suffering and, and then I was so scared that you would hate me that I pretended it was ok, and I told myself that they deserved to die, but how could children ever deserve to die and please Master I’ll throw away my lightsaber just please, please don’t leave me, I need you, please-” and the rest of the words dissolved into large, ugly sobs.

Obi-Wan keened and pulled Anakin into his lap like he was a child again. Anakin scrabbled at his cloak, desperately trying to hold on. The terrible chill that had been haunting him slowly started to fade away as he was rocked back and forth. 

After a minute, Anakin got enough of a hold on himself to consider trying to stop blubbering like a crecheling on his Master’s robes. But he quickly realized that Obi-Wan was also crying, so instead threw his arms around the older man and let himself go.

An uncertain amount of time passed before they both slowed from heaving sobs, to dry hiccups, to quiet whimpers. Eventually they ended up laying in a heap, boneless but for their hold on each other. And finally, the cavern was more or less silent.

Anakin felt physically lighter, mind clear like he had just completed an extremely successful meditation session.

Without a word, they slowly shifted so they were leaning on the wall instead of sprawled on the ground. Obi-Wan pulled his robe off, first using it to wipe his face, then tenderly cleaning his Padwan’s. 

Anakin just chuckled. 

Obi-Wan threw the robe so it covered the two of them, which was a little gross, but that only made Anakin snort giddily. 

They sat there peacefully for sometime. The shadows from above started shifting, and Obi-Wan sighed, “I really should go eat something.”

Anakin sighed back at him in agreement. They both stretched in the small space, joints popping.

“Do you need to walk through the rest of the gardens first?” Anakin asked.

“No,” Obi-Wan replied, tenderly fussing with his kid’s hair and robes so they looked presentable. “This was...more than I could have hoped for.”

Anakin beamed, giving Obi-Wan one last quick hug before gesturing upwards. “Time to get back to the real world?” he joked with a hint of regret.

“Time to get back to the real world.” Obi-Wan repeated heavily.

Part VII

[dreamii-yume]

When you said しし (shishi) I thought about a piss kink... Mainly because I used to say 'shishi' instead of pee when I was younger

LOL I FORGOT TO ADD THE THIRD SHI—

ALSO— WHY does my brain work better ideas once there’s that one questionable kink in an ask (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾I don’t even know if this was a crumb idea or— aaaaa

Ruggie is just that skillful guy who knows a lot about what he’s doing, doesn’t matter what it is, he’ll learn and master it soon enough.

The act of distraction by talking about topics that he knew you would be interested in, that’s also a piece of cake. His voice and seemingly genuine interest in the conversation had you so lost that you didn’t even notice how constantly he kept pouring drinks in your cup. Just as you would finish a glass, he’d rile the conversation towards himself and muses as he saw your eyes sparkled, before you know it, there’s a new batch of drink in your cup once again. He had to stop himself from chuckling out loud every time you would cluelessly down one glass, excited of how this outcome can do for you. Soon enough though, you started reacting as the liquid you consume began building up inside you and visibly froze in your spot.

Ruggie glanced down to see you fidgeting with your thighs squishing against each other, that blush on your face made you look hot and cute at the same time. You were trying to find an opportunity to excuse yourself in the midst of Ruggie’s words, not wanting to seem rude to cut him off mid-sentence. Being the little shit that he is, he purposely prolonged his point of the conversation, observing how you were more focus on keeping your bladder in control rather than actually listening to him now. When he finally finished talking, you hastily stood up from your seat the moment he breaths in, giving him a shaky smile and excusing yourself to the toilet. It was so funny how you didn’t even wait for his answer and just dashed away, Ruggie wonders if you even know where the bathroom is here in Savanaclaw but he guessed that was the least of your worries at that point.

Of course, like the little lost bunny that you are, frantically searched without a plan with Ruggie just watching you from behind. You look like you’re on the verge of tears, closing your eyes from time to time as a way to control your shaking legs. He noticed how you purposely avoided asking for guidance, probably because you didn’t have enough willpower to stomach in the nervousness and your impatient bladder at the same time, but surprisingly, you went and tap a Savanaclaw dorm member’s shoulder for instructions. Now, this made Ruggie tensed up since being a Savanaclaw dorm member himself, he knew their responses would either be as aggressive as he’d imagine, or reasonably rational. Luckily, with your pitiful appearance alone, the Savanaclaw dorm member just instead back down and pointed to the designated bathroom you were looking for.

This made Ruggie sigh, relieved yet disappointed at the same time since his little enjoyment of watching you struggle like a new-born fawn is reaching its end. However, as he trails after your dashing figure, one little fun yet cruel idea came to mind and he isn’t quite sure whether to be disgusted with himself or to praise himself for it. But if he was going to commit in such morbid kind of enjoyment then might as well just partake in it to the fullest, right?

Reaching the toilets filled with different stalls, you found yourself sighing a breath of relief since no one seemed to be around, too distracted by the party going on outside. You walked over to one stall and open it, revealing a perfectly clean toilet and you almost saw it as your bright savior at that moment. However, once you were actually ready to step in inside, a hand snaked its way around your shoulder, startling half of your soul out of you. Your heart began beating so fast once again that you thought your bladder had given out from that shock.

“Hey there, (Y/N)~” His playful voice rang out and you immediately recognized him, the arm began wrapping itself around your neck this time, preventing you from moving away any further. “Fancy seeing you here~”

“R-Ruggie-senpai…” You whimpered out, tears on the side of your eyes as the sight of the toilet in front of you had only urged the temptation of your bladder to just burst. “P-Please let go, I-I need to-“

“Mm-hm! I know, why else would you be here then?” He said in a mocking way, yet is making no actual efforts to comply with what you requested. Instead, you squeaked as his other hand moved up your thigh, brushing his fingertips so gently to create goosebumps along the way. “I just…kinda want to help you out, y’know?”

“Eh!?” You widened your eyes, gasping as his hand reached your clothed flower and started rubbing against it.

“…Oh, you’re already a little wet down here…” Ruggie said, blinking as he rubbed circles around the wet patch of your underwear before smirking right back at you. ”I wonder if you just couldn’t hold yourself longer? You’re such a baby, aren’t you~?”

“N-No, I- Aah…!” You tried protesting and struggling out of his hold, yet he already has your head in an inescapable arm lock and resisting could more or less choke you. He slipped his hand inside, his cold hands making you squeak from a single touch and tried to close your thighs to deny access. “R-Ruggie-senpai…!”

You whined, but Ruggie only hummed in fascination as his fingers rubbed up and down your slit, gathering your slick juices. You tried struggling forward, but that only got you in a more awkward bending position, which oddly worked on his favor. You gasped a shaky breath as his fingers began experimenting on your folds, occasionally pulling on your labia apart and stimulating your insides. The pressure inside you increases and you could only widen your eyes at it, especially when one of his fingers had slipped inside of you as a test. “You’re soaking up, and reallyclenching down on my finger, (Y/N)…Can’t take it anymore?”

You began to sob, mostly out of embarrassment as your nails dug on his arm around your neck, airy moans unconsciously coming out of your mouth as he began to pump in and out of you. You tried your hardest not to burst at that moment, too ashamed to do it in a position and place like this when there was a ready-to-use toilet in front of you, but it was getting more and more difficult at every second. But try as you may though, you couldn’t really control some small streaks of urine to come out of you, especially as he added another finger in. With thrusts that was getting faster and deeper, teasing your bladder out of its constricted binds to just let every dirty liquid you have to just flow in a messy impact. You heard Ruggie chuckling from behind your ears, likely really enjoying his little play and how it was affecting you.

Then, as the cold surface of his thumb came in contact with your sensitive clit, that’s when the last bit of your persistence suddenly crumbles away. Your voice cracked at how sudden the action was and your walls close in on his fingers the tightest it ever had. “Aah!” You exclaimed as a little rub on your nub was all it took for you to break down just like that.

In the midst of his brutal finger-fucking, a surge of liquid came bursting out of you, the relief of your bladder finally being released from the insane pressure had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Streaks of yellowish liquid trailed down your thighs and stained your panties in an instant, squirting out messily on the floor as your legs shook. “Ah, there it goes!” Ruggie exclaimed but still lodged his fingers deep inside of you, as if curious to see how it flows out like this. It took a good five seconds for you to calm down on your high, there was so many emotions that came out of you; The relief, the pleasure, and soon, the humiliation, but most notably, the sudden exhaustion.

“Alright~ That’s a job well-done, (Y/N)~” Ruggie praised as he adjusted his hold on you as your legs were practically dying at this point. He pulled his fingers out that made you flinch and groan at the same time, and the next thing you knew, you were being hoisted up to the toilet. Sitting there listlessly, you finally saw your Hyena senior grinning smugly at you from ear to ear as if feigning innocence with that signature laugh of his. He looked down at your soaked panties and breath out. “Well, I can’t just leave you here like this, so be a good girl and wait for me inside this stall, okay?”

You groaned in response, not knowing what to actually say or even having enough energy to say anything at all. However, you squeaked as you noticed Ruggie was slowly slipping your ruined underwear off your legs and panicked. “You probably don’t need this anymore, right? I’ll bring you something else to wear so, just sit here and be pretty little thing that you are like always.” He said as he stood up, casually waving your panties around, causing more heat to spread in your face.

Of course, Ruggie noticed such thing and just grinned at your reaction, it’s really fun to mess with you like this. He stepped out of the stall and as he was about to close the door, he stopped and gave you one last look. “Oh, by the way-“ He called out, showing your piss-stained panties tangled on his fingers once again before chuckling. “This counts as a gift, right? Thanks, (Y/N)~”

Then, he finally closes the door, leaving you to contemplate on what the hell just happened.

Now I just need Jack to complete the “Helping-Darling-Pee” series and the Savanaclaw Watersports™ Event would be completed- Seriously, HOW did I end up doing this lol Yume's not even an extreme piss kink fan wtf ─=≡Σ((( つ＞＜)つ Happy fckin Birthday, Ruggie lol

[thecodekeeper]

12, 6, and 4 for the character flaws meme :>

When has their curiosity or thoughtlessness lead them to intruding over another’s boundries?

No. Never. Just ask @trickstercaptain​

Does your character have any prejudices?

Teague grew up in pirate society, in Madagascar with a mother who was one of the most feared female pirates of her time. Needless to say, he’s fairly liberal even for a pirate, but he’s not perfect. He definitely has some old-fashioned views of how men and (to a lesser extent) women should function within society, especially in regards to child-rearing. Now, before I continue. I want to point out that he’s aware that women come in different flavors. If anything, his sexism is largely directed at men. That said, Teague believes that women are much more equipped to be caregivers. A child can survive without a father but needs a good mother (note: I said “good” because a piss-poor mother is as good as nothing). On the other hand, a man is meant to be stoic, and take care of loved ones (financially because what even is emotional intelligence). It’s largely internalized sexism from his upbringing. Interestingly, if you asked Teague to describe this mindset he likely wouldn’t word it in such a way. But it’s clearly there. 

What’s the worst thing they’ve done out of pure malice or hatred?

This one is actually hard to figure. Despite Teague being Teague and Teague being a pirate he’s not necessarily malicious by nature- he’s a bastard just not a malicious one. The thing about Teague is that he doesn’t really hate people. You really have to do something extraordinarily cruel yourself before you’ll reach a point with him where it’s anything other than disgust. Heck, even with those he’d consider enemies such as Lawrence Norrington (James Norrington’s father) he’s not cruel. If anything, seeing as how he saves a young James from drowning and then DOESN’T kill his defeated father despite the latter most certainly wanting to kill him, you can ironically say he’s got a merciful streak of his own that (very occasionally) rears its head. 

The best way to sum this up is that putting aside the brawling, violent nature of pirate culture Teague is not someone who engages in violence for the sake of it.  There’s also something to be said for the fact that Teague will have probably killed you, or at the very least broken all ties, BEFORE he reached a point of hatred. 

[To clarify it’s not as if Teague doesn’t engage in petty violence. But he considers fist fights and other such things a form of...communication, I guess you’d call it. They’re just a commonplace thing that can be used to settle disputes.]

The only examples I can really think of are when someone has directly hurt someone that Teague cares about, and there’s a sort of surprising randomness to the attack as well. For example, Jack nearly got his hand chopped off by a pirate named Rusty Knickers. In another instance, Jack was nearly sold into slavery by a pirate named Captain Lucille Graven. In both cases Teague killed them. I don’t know if you could classify what he felt for them at that moment as hatred, but perhaps I simply have a strict definition of the word. 

[di-kut]

Fairy Dust

Pairing: Fem Reader x Ezra (Prospect) 

Word Count: 16k i kNOW

Rating: MA (Extremely explicit sex scenes I don’t know what else to tell ya)

Summary: While collecting rare gems on an unpopular prospecting planet you are both infected with a sex pollen. (Porn with a mild attempt at plot?) 

Warnings: Ok saddle up boys here we go Dirty talk, oral sex (m/f receiving), sex pollen, elements of dub con implied (although they do not do the do while under the influence!), non-established dom/sub dynamic, masturbation, orgasm denial, pharmaceutical drug use, saliva/cum play, nipple play, breath play, overstimulation (sorta), multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, clit slapping, unprotected sex, pleading, general kind of explicit sexual things 

A/N: This is 29 A4 pages of absolute porn. I really can’t make a single excuse for this. As always this started as something much smaller and got way WAY out of hand. There is lots of yearning and pining in this for a sex pollen fic, and also lots of sex so there’s that. Um pls be kind to me? 

The ground is soggy from the downpour. Your boots sink into the mud and stick. It’s hard going to climb out of the valley, even now, long after the rain has ended. You hike your case higher against you, have to pause and flex your hold around it. Heavy with a cargo which has made the whole descent worth every sodden footstep and fighting against the rain. A rare aquatic gem encased in a bloom which only surfaced during complete submersion. A field of water flowers, nothing but green swaying grass under the sun, suddenly appearing after the rain flooded the valley. The whole planet covered in flora which changed with the weather, almost terraformed with the climate.

The hill is steep, green except for the worn path of mud you had tracked into the grass on the way down it. The peak is near now, grass swaying lazily against a brilliant blue sky. The pod is over the rise, down in the next valley. You dig your feet into the sliding earth, feel it try to pull you back down the hill and into the gorge below, still filled with crystalline pools of clear water. No longer glistening with the purple heads of the gems, those are stowed in your cases. Enough to set you up for months. A year maybe. Rare enough that they will fetch a high price, high enough to have a holiday even. You smile at the thought, forget to check your steps and you shift your weight onto a patch of sliding mud. You stagger, yell, nearly drop. The earth beneath you keeps shifting down, pulls you with it. A hand catches your elbow, stops you from your inevitable fall back down the hill.

“Are you alright, Starlight?”

Ezra’s voice sounds distant through the earpiece. Crackles with static. Your heart is pounding, you can feel it sitting at the back of your throat. You twist your helmet around far enough to look at him and nod. He helps you right yourself, lets you hold onto his arm until you get your balance again.

You continue your climb. The hill wants to slide out from beneath you. Every footstep less steady than the last as you reach the top, the landscape more battered by the rain so close to the peak of the hill. But you don’t slip again, and Ezra is steady on his feet behind you. When you crest the top of the peak the sun emerges from the clouds still curled around the horizon, a halo of threatening grey, the cracking of thunder just audible, carried over the endless lulls of valleys and peaks. A surface of craters – each one filled with a forest, or a lake, or a jungle, on and on, disappearing into the distance. The storm seems far away, but the planet is not just unpopular for prospecting because the gems are hard to find. The weather systems fluctuate quickly, and change can happen in minutes. You eye the clouds with distrust, even as the valleys all around you are bathed in golden afternoon light.

Your breathing bounces around between your headsets, the echo of your own breathing reverberating back to you through the Ezra’s mouthpiece. He stops beside you, balances his case between his feet and sighs. Puts his hands on his hips and stares out with you. A beautiful planet, really, if you can forget the threat of the weather.

“One certainly does crave for the smell of dampened soil.”

“Ezra…” You warn.

“The atmosphere is perfectly breathable, I checked multiple times.”

“Don’t – ”

But he is lifting his arm and releasing the helmet. Movements sure and easy with his only remaining hand. He had been clumsy at it still, when you had first met him, just months after he had lost his right arm. But he no longer avoids your offers for help – doesn’t need them. He holds his helmet against his cocked hip and makes a show of sucking in a long breath. Turn his head to peer at you from the corner of his eye.

You sigh. “It might not be safe.”

“You shall have to take your helmet off, Starlight, without the assistance of our earpieces I cannot hear you.”

“I know you can hear me,” you mutter.

He chuckles at you and the sound curls the familiar sensation of tingling deep in the pit of your stomach. Ezra lets his eyes slip closed, a light breeze ruffling his hair, pushing it up and away from his face. Without the helmet you can see the shape of his profile, strong against the distant clouds. Skin glowing golden in the sunlight, blond streak almost white. You study the lines of his brow, the hook of his nose. Give yourself this moment while he is distracted to commit this memory of him to the same place you keep all precious memories of Ezra. Secret and deep. Almost let yourself think for a moment what it would be like if you took your helmet off too, if you gave in to him. But his eyes are fluttering open and you turn away.

You start the trek back down the other side of the slope. The pod is within sight now, nestled in against the tree line, facing out over a sodden field. Ezra is laughing at you, at your stubbornness. He calls something teasing you ignore, do not let the flood of colour rush to your cheeks. Concentrate on the squelching of your boots through the mud, and the sounds of his joining you as well, never far behind.

His voice marks a constant melody behind you, a soothing sound after almost two years. It’s deep and clear without the static of the helmet to interfere, rings out around you as he chatters. Content mostly just for you to listen, as he always is. The way down is easier than the way up had been, not so steep as the other side of the hill. Your case is heavy enough that you have to lean against its weight at steeper parts. The gloves of your suit are covered in mud from the extraction, so are the knees and fronts of your legs. You are glad a second trip won’t be required to make the journey worthwhile. Glad you will be able to wait out the departure safe from the rain and the storms from the inside of the pod. You glimpse at Ezra, can’t help the fond smile you don’t let him see. Think he was made for this, really, to be always exploring under the shine of the sun.

“We shouldn’t stay out here too long, Ezra.”

He has stopped at the base of one of the trees. Almost fifty metres from the pod. It’s not a tall tree, only Ezra’s height twice again, but its trunk is thick, broad enough that if you stood on either side of it your hands would not touch his. The bark is a smooth grey, covered over with glistening moss, still wet from the downpour. He’s close to it, staring up at something in the canopy above. His helmet pressed between his arm and his hip, the case hanging from his hand below. Small droplets of water occasionally fall from shuddering leaves, catch the light as the drop, the air filled with gems all around him.

“The flora of this planet truly renders one speechless.” He ignores your warning. “A blossoming kaleidoscopic gallery which changes with the weather.”

He places his case on the ground, then his helmet. Tilts his head at you to come closer. You step towards him, close the distance between you with sticky steps. He points up at something, whatever had caught his attention. You stop next to him and turn to see it. The canopy is not far above your heads, a dark leafy green shade from the blue of the sky. Drooping under the weight of the rainfall. Nestled in the green there are buds, yellow and small. They are what has captured Ezra, flowers unopened. Invisible when you had passed through hours before on your way from the pod, but now under the bloom of the sun they are opening. You stand together, shoulder to shoulder under the leaves, watching as dozens, hundreds of them appear above you. More of the local plants which change with the weather, just like your gems. Hidden away, something secret and magical. You can’t deny him this, this little piece of wonder in such a cruel world. Couldn’t deny him anything, not really. You will never tell him that, because the world is cruel, and has been cruel to you both. And you trust him. Know you will never find another partner like him. So it stays within you, locked away, with the little pieces of happiness you find with him. His smile, face turned towards the sun.

He’s watching you, when you turn. His skin golden in the sunlight. Magical himself. And then the blossoms open above you, not flowers after all. Petal-less buds which release a floating snow of yellow pollen which drifts through the air. Settles against his shoulders and into his hair. His smile is soft, changes when you catch his eye. He lifts his hand and knocks his fist  gently against your helmet.

“Rather like fairy dust,” he says quietly. Pinches some of it from where it’s settled on your suit and holds it up between you. Blows it away. The pollen in the air between you comes to life, from a drifting snow to a dance, twisting and writhing through the air on his breath. “Do you think it would heal our wounds, Starlight? Bless the paint which brushes our lives with luck as well?” His eyes glimmer, playfully conspiratorial. Drawing you in towards him, in the way Ezra has of making you feel a part of something. A confidant. “Shall we bottle some, do you think?”

“We’d need a lot.”

He laughs. “That we would.” He closes his eyes and inhales. Exhales. Makes the yellow clouds of pollen chase each other through the air. “The aroma is divine. You ought to smell it.”

You sigh. “Just because the atmosphere is breathable…”

“The helmets were merely to protect our persons from the deluge and keep us from discomfort.” He hikes his own helmet up on his hip as if to demonstrate. “I have not come to harm from the removal of my own.”

“Yet.”

You fidget for a moment, think about saying no. But you can’t, not when he is smiling at you like that, like maybe if you remove the helmet you can make him happy. Like you are someone important. He doesn’t hide his emotions like you, he wears them open and honest on his face and in his eyes. A trait so at odds with his profession. You think he might want you, sometimes, when he looks at you like this. But know him well enough to know he is a wanderer, and that craving your body, after weeks alone in space, is very different to wanting you forever. The way you might know you want him, if you would ever let yourself think about it.

So you place your case carefully between your feet as well and lift your hands to your helmet. It releases with a soft hiss of the pressure and a click and you pull it away. The air is cool and sharp. The soil smells of rain. Ezra is right. The smell of the pollen is incredible. Sweet and sharp and bright. Unlike anything you’ve ever smelt before. Intoxicating, almost. Even more after the staleness of the air in your helmet and in your pod. You can smell him as well, a more familiar smell through the pollen. His eyes are catching the sunlight, the brown shifting between shade and light, sometimes golden sometimes orange and sometimes almost black. More beautiful than the trees and the dancing yellow pollen and the gems in your cases.

“Wonders of the universe, hey?” Ezra murmurs. He’s studying your eyes as intensely as you are studying his.

You throat closes a little. He leans towards you and you shrug away from him. Turn your head to hide your blush. “We should get back to the pod.”

You pick up your helmet in one hand and your case in the other. Ezra is quiet the rest of the walk. Your hair becomes coated with a fine yellow dust, your eyelashes, the tip of your nose. It lands on your shoulders and sticks to the mud on your suit. You feel the gnawing of guilt in your stomach, know you were too quick to turn. Too sharp with him. You turn back several times, get so far as opening your mouth to apologise. But he is staring at the ground beneath his feet, brows furrowed. As he has been other times when you have broken away too soon, when there has been a moment building between you. Only for you to shut it down. Close yourself off.

The pod is cool inside. You brush off the worst of the pollen outside it in silence. Awful, unfamiliar silence. Step inside and remove your suits without a word. But the tension breaks when you giggle at the cloud of yellow which puffs into the air when Ezra shakes his head. He laughs with you, and you settle back into normal, fall into your easy routine. Ezra stores the gems away while you pack the suits, try to get the worst of the pollen off them by shaking them out the door. Pack them away. Dinner; protein bars and supplements and flasks of water. Ezra has a field guide up for the planet, is flicking through the local flora and telling you anything which catches his fancy, reads out descriptions with a melody they do not deserve. It lulls you, makes your stomach turn more than normal. You catch his eyes resting on your face or your body several times before he looks away. It makes your skin break out in goosebumps.

“Ah look,” he says, kicks his feet up onto the bunk. You are still wearing your undersuit, a thick warm lining, but Ezra has shucked his, is wearing only his compression clothing. Your eyes linger where his shirt has ridden up and reveals a sliver of skin over his hipbone. “Our magical tree outside. Not a remnant of some fairy civilisation I’m afraid, and rather well documented.”

You hum encouragingly, distracted.

“Wide trunk… short height… a wider family of flowering trees which covers the planet’s surface. Names after a botanist… species is known for its pink flowers – ”

“It’s flowers weren’t pink.”

“Let me finish, if you would be so kind. Known for its pink flower which do not pollinate, as the pollen is enclosed in a separate yellow bract rather than the sepals of the petals. The pollen is of renown – maybe we should have bottled it – due to its – ”

He cuts himself off. You are fiddling with the zip of your undersuit, still staring at the gap between his shirt and pants. It takes several long moments of silence for you to be able to draw your gaze away from his skin and up to his face. “Renown due to?”

He is gone pale. Stares blankly at his screen.

“Ezra?” You straighten. “Ezra, what’s wrong? The pollen, what is it?”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Is it poisonous?” You are oddly calm. Start running an inventory of the contents of your med kit, try to remember how long since you’d been exposed to it. “Ezra, are we in danger?”

“No,” he croaks. “It’s not poisonous.”

You deflate back against your bunk. Throw an empty protein bar packet in his direction and huff. Want to kick him in his shin for the dramatics. “You scared me. Don’t – ”

“It’s an aphrodisiac.”

You blink at him. “A… A what?”

“An aphrodisiac. It’s harvested for its high potency but it difficult to acquire because of the plant’s unique quality of blooming in certain conditions. The buds are only visible when exposed to extended periods of rainfall, and release pollen only under UV light.” He’s still reading the article aloud. His face slack in horror. “It contains hallucinogenic properties, and is known to create both psychological and physiological – ”

“Ezra, plain English, please.” You say. “So it’s – it’s what? We’re going to be horny?”

“Incomparably aroused.” He looks at you and then away again. Starts to flick through other articles with desperation. “It’s a hallucinogenic. It will not simply make us feel horny, we will be unable to think of anything else. It will make us feel things, phantom sensations, we will experience corporeal responses without other stimulation.”

You blanche. “Maybe it’s the wrong tree, maybe it’s – ”

“It’s not the wrong tree.”

“So what do we do?” You feel too hot, the space around you is suddenly too small and your undersuit too heavy. You think it must be a trick of your mind, but paranoia makes the flush worse.

Ezra clicks through article after article. He estimates you have maybe an hour before it takes effect, maybe less. The pollen was generally harvested, and the chemicals extracted to use as additives for drugs. There is next to nothing on direct inhalation. Not documented, not tested. He tells you it should only last a few hours – three to four. But you can feel your hands shaking, are only half listening. He’s speaking so quickly now, and you curl your feet onto the bed in front of you, wrap your arms around your knees. Was the flush from nerves or from the pollen? Were you shaking because of it as well? Ezra is still talking.

“What?” You say. Head shooting up.

“It does not seem to matter if you… if you finish. The effects of the pollen will not dissipate until it leaves your system.”

Your face colours. “Okay. Okay. Four hours though, that’s what you said.” You think you must look sick. You feel sick, as if all the blood has left you. “We’re both adults, we can just,” but you can’t even finish the sentence. Stare down at your knees.

Ezra makes a pained noise in the back of his throat.

.

It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to see. The walls around you have started to blur. The bright white lights in the pod are too much, hurt the space behind your eyes. You shuffle to the edge of the bed and swing your legs to the ground. Feel the buzzing in your hands and feet. The switch has never felt so far away, and yet the air around you keep compressing, the walls closing in. It hasn’t been anywhere near an hour. Twenty minutes at most and you feel like your mouth is full of wool and your head too. Ezra has turned on his side, his back to you, the quiet sound of his long deliberate breathing the only noise he makes. You finally reach the switch, grasp at it with shaking hands. Ezra turns over his good shoulder, and you catch the sight of his hair – wet and flattened to his head.

“Don’t – ”

But you already have the lights dimmed. Still bright enough to see, but not painful anymore. Ezra seems vivid even in the dim, like he’s brought into hyper-focus, safe and solid in the pulsating world around you. Without thinking you begin to shuffle towards him. Lick your lips. Think maybe it would be better to stay close to him. Would make you feel better.

“What are you doing?” He pushes himself up on his arm, half facing you. The prominent muscles of his neck straining at the twist.

“I – I – ” You shake your head. Try to clear it of the fuzzy feeling which has settled over your thoughts. Suck in a deep breath which doesn’t reach your lungs. “I don’t know.”

“It’s the pollen.” He’s short. You can hear the tension in his jaw. See the ticking of the muscle under the skin. It distracts you. He kicks his foot to get your attention. “Lie down. Over there.”

You listen without question; the commanding tone sends a lick of heat up your spine. Your knees buckle when they hit your bunk, and you fall against it, boneless. Suddenly weak. It’s so hot. You can feel sweat forming along your top lip, sink over your brow and into your hair. You push the strands away with shaking hands, shove it back off your face. It’s too hot in the pod. Your mouth is so dry. So hot. The undersuit, you’re still wearing it, and your compression clothes beneath. Ezra has lowered himself back to the mattress, stares at the wall ahead of him, but his whole body jerks when he hears the pull of your zip. You turn your head to the side to watch him, stare at his back. Watch his shoulders pull tight through his thin compression shirt, damp with sweat. Watch the muscle tense. Catch your tongue between your teeth. His neck is so tight you can see every dip, see the veins stand out beneath the skin.

You get the zip undone and start to wriggle your arms free. The cold air of the pod is a relief until Ezra groans, deep and pained. The sound shoots down your spine, sparks across your lower back and into your stomach. Makes your cunt pulse. You echo the sound back at him, feel your body temperature climb again, impossibly. You slump, half out of the suit, your skin feels like the crackle of static, alive and humming. You are on fire. Can feel your chest and stomach and the creases beneath your breasts growing slick with sweat. You shift in the suit, still halfway down your waist, and the inseam of the crotch catches against your underwear. Without thinking, without meaning to, you are bending your knees, digging the heels of your feet into the bed and pulling yourself down. Feel the thickness of the seam, too much and not enough all at once dig into you and your back curves. Relish in the feeling of friction, and the release which dribbles, stick and warm, down your slit.

You choke on another moan.

Ezra is so stiff he is almost shaking. Pulled so taut he might snap. You can’t take your eyes off him, watch the way his ragged breathing fills him and rushes out again. Like he’s been running. Sweat soaking through his shirt now, making it cling to him. His voice is cracked and hoarse. “Be quiet.”

You can’t help it. Another moan slips out before you can stop it, louder at the sound of his voice. You bend your knees again and work your hips against the inside of the suit. Become aware of how swollen your cunt is, tingling. Worse than tingling. Somehow better. Your legs are shaking, breath coming in fast pants. It’s too loud in the pod, bounces around and comes back to you. Makes you dimly embarrassed, a small place in the back of your mind is mortified. But you can’t concentrate on why, can’t hold any thought in your head long enough to remember why you shouldn’t give in. Can’t remember why you’re holding back from the throbbing need in the first place.

“Ezra.” It’s too breathy. Too soft. That’s what you want, you realise. The taste of his name in your mouth makes it fill, hot and wet. Ezra, Ezra, Ezra. “It’s hurting.”

“It’s the pollen.” His voice is tight. He turns his head enough that you can see a sliver of cheekbone. “A few hours, remember? Then it will be over.”

The pod is getting hotter. You are getting hotter. Your breasts ache, you feel your nipples hardening, feel them catch against the sweat drenched fabric of your singlet and it stings. Another throb, so long you think it won’t end, makes you whimper. And then. Wet. Not dribbling, leaking. Flowing. The suit is still tangled around your legs. Your hands are shaking so badly you have to kick at it to get it off, manage to catch it and have it twisted around one ankle. Finally kick it onto the floor. Your compression pants are slick, and you are vibrating. Weak. The heat is still growing even now the suit is gone, like you are on fire. You still haven’t looked away from Ezra.

“You were in it for longer,” you say. Barely get the words out. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. “You had – had – ” a barely stifled moan “ – had your helmet off. For so long. Why aren’t you like this?”

He swallows loud enough that you can hear it. “I am well practiced. This feeling is one I am quite used to concealing from you.” His voice is like honey. Fills your head and your mouth and your body with syrup. But the words. The words make you weak. Make you utter another quiet whimper. “The effects of the pollen will wear off in a few hours, Starlight.”

You have to put a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound which threatens to escape from it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You realise you can smell yourself. It makes you dizzy. And him. The sharp scent of his sweat on hot skin. Familiar. Unbearable. You kick your legs out, hit your head back against the bunk and fist your hands into the sheets. Struggle to hold on to the embarrassed part of your mind, feel it slipping away. Try to stop your hands from reaching between your legs at his confession.

“Ezra.” It’s almost a sob. “Ezra, please.”

“I ask of you only that you are quiet,” he says. Tight, pained. “Whatever you do to deal with – with this, just do it quietly. I can’t – it’s – ”

You have never heard him stumble before. Not with words. Never with words. You think sometimes that he must know them all, certainly knows many more than you. So much of your time together has been filled with his voice, wrapped in them, the way he rolls them in his mouth and holds them. But now he has none. And instead of being filled with his words, the space between your is hot and pulsing. Fills with other things. Aching.

You forget your embarrassment.

“We could, we could help each other.” You lick you lips. Pull yourself up onto your elbows with shaking arms. “We could deal with it together.”

“No.”

“Ezra!” It’s a petulant wail. His chest is heaving. The smell of him is everywhere, all around you. Mixing with the smell of you. “Please. Please, please, please.”

“I said be quiet.” He snarls at you. Full of venom. This is the Ezra he is with other prospectors. The Ezra that steals and kills. Cruel. Mean. The sting of tears in your eyes well and slip and fall. And still you feel your cunt weep with you.

“Do you… do you hate me?”

“No.”

“You do! Why else would you make me hurt like this?” A full sob works its way up your throat. Nearly chokes you. Makes your breathing stutter. “I only want you to touch me. You hate me so much you won’t even touch me.”

He says your name. Not Starlight. Says it with a bite which stings and clears your head long enough for you to finally wrench gaze away from him. You turn your head, press it against the cool wall of the pod nearest you. Close your eyes so tightly white bursts behind your lids and crushes your lashes against your cheeks. You try to breathe, but every mouthful is full of the taste of you both. You try to concentrate. And Ezra is panting as well, ragged and loud. Sounds closer, and you turn your head back to him, and realise your mistake. He has pushed himself back up onto his good arm and twisted to stare at you over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, face dripping with sweat, hair wet with it. Compression shirt almost transparent against the heaving mass of his chest. His mouth hangs open with his breath. You have to bite your lip, roll it into your mouth and dig your teeth into it hard enough to sting.

He is furious. “Do not speak to me as if I have no heart. It is because of my heart I am denying you.”

“Why?” You don’t understand him. “Why don’t you just – ”

“Stop.”

He twists fully now. Rolls onto his back. Your eyes follow his length, slip over his chest and stomach and – you think you might die. Think you will explode. His cock is tented in his compression pants. Even in the dim you can see the shape of it pressed against the grey fabric. The thickness of it. See the dark patch around the head where it leaks precum. Such a huge patch you think surely, truly, he must have already come. Know he hasn’t. You press your legs together with a strangled moan.

“Be quiet!” He squeezes and his eyes shut at the sound.

You writhe against the mattress. “All I want is for you to touch me Ezra, please, please, why don’t you want – ”

“Do you know how badly I crave you?” He cuts you off. “Do you know how often I have dreamt of you, like this, begging me to take you? How many times I have dreamt of fucking your cunt? Of the taste of you? God,” he makes a sound, half deranged. It might have been a laugh in a different time, a different place. “Have you any conception of the ways I have imagined having you? How many nights we have laid here while you sleep, and I bit my fist to stop myself from waking you while I come all over my hand?”

You heart must have stopped. Must have swollen until it was too large for your chest and been crushed. Outgrown its place. Blocked your lungs as well because you can’t breathe.

But he’s still going. Still talking.

“I have had to fuck my hand for months. Pretend it was your pussy. Or your mouth. Your pretty little mouth. And every night you are there, not four feet from me, oblivious and dreaming. I think of you licking up all my cum, cleaning it off my fingers. Fucking it straight down your throat. Fuck.” His words become lost in the deep groan which forces its way out of his mouth. His dick jumps in his pants. “Fuck.”

You are clenching around nothing, the tightness in your stomach and centre coiled so badly now it is painful. You pull your feet up nearer to you so you can lift your hips off the bed and grind them into nothing, into the air. Tears of frustration slip, never so frustrated before, so desperate and shaking. You hold the sheets tighter, know once you touch yourself you won’t be able to stop, but coming won’t help. The symptoms won’t stop until the pollen leaves your system. You drop your hips back to the bed with a harsh sound, something between a sob and a gasp. Ezra is breathless, groaning in response to every sound your make. You are so wet it has soaked through your compression pants, down around the crux of your thighs and into the seat of your underwear. Mixing with sweat. Sliding between your lips and your cheeks and making the drag of the fabric against you almost painful.

“Keep going. Ezra, please.”

“Don’t. Don’t make me… not fair.”

“Love your voice.” You twist. Jerk your hips forward against the bunk. “Could… could come to just your voice. Wouldn’t – wouldn’t even need to touch myself.”

The sound he makes is tormented. Guttural and deep. Sparks through you. “Fuck. Fuck. Shit. This is torture, it must be. Condemned for every lascivious thought I have had of you. Punished more my lewd cogitations. Every time I have pictured your pussy. Thought of what my dick would look like filling you up.” He chokes on the words. “I have imagined fucking you on every surface of this damnable pod. And the pod before that and the one before that.”

“Please Ezra. Please. I want you to fuck me. Anywhere, anywhere you want.”

You are looking him when he opens his eyes. He looks wild. Almost unhinged. He sucks his lips between his teeth and hisses when he rolls them back out. Is staring at the hardened buds beneath your drenched singlet. His breathing cracks, and for a moment, a second, you think he is going to break and move towards you.

“No.” It’s drawn out. Hard for him to say. He closes his eyes and faces the ceiling. “No. Do not make such requests of me. Not now. It’s not fair to ask me to take you now when you will surface from this haze and hate me for it. You will hate me for all of it.”

“I won’t.” Quiet. Timid. Desperate.

“You wish to hear my fantasies? Do you want to know what all of my fantasies of you have in common?” He waits. He is looking at you again, and he waits until you have focused on him. “In every way I have imagined you, in every way I have dreamed of taking you, you have wanted me as badly as I want you, Starlight.”

You can’t say anything. Your tongue is lead in your mouth. You are throbbing so relentlessly it’s almost impossible to think of anything else. The pain at the base of your stomach is growing, spreading, and you feel like your limbs are beginning to lock down. You have to roll onto your side and curl around yourself. More fluid moves at the action, leaking over your lips and thighs and soaking into the sheets below you. It somehow makes everything worse. It’s too much. So much. You are too full and not full enough. All you can think about is the feeling of him pushing inside you, tearing you apart, pounding into you as relentlessly as your cunt throbs for him. You sob again.

“I want you Ezra. I do, I do want you.”

“You would want anyone,” he spits. “It’s the pollen. You’ve been drugged.”

“But I want you! I always want you!”

“You think you do but you will live through this and then you will not want me anymore.” He turns over his good arm again and rolls onto his side. Faces away from you again. “This is torture enough for a lifetime of sins. I can’t – ”

You aren’t sure where the strength comes from, but you know you must move. Your body screams to move towards him, almost convinces you he will make the pain fade. You hold onto one thought, the sound of the pain in his voice, hold it tight as you can and roll yourself out of your bunk. He flinches away from you at the sounds of movement, and you almost forget yourself when you see his hips jerk involuntarily. Mouth-watering, knowing he must feel the need for you as desperately as you need for him. But you can’t. You burn the sound of his pleas across every thought you have and stumble to the corner of the pod, struggle to open the compartment with shaking hands, and when you do you drop the med kit on the floor. You are vibrating, and if you had thought you couldn’t see before then now it is blindness. You blunder through the kit, splaying its contents half onto the ground around it before you find the packet. A packet full of pills the size of pin heads, but powerful. Meant to be for adjusting to new planets time cycles. Getting back to Ezra’s bunk is easier than moving away from it, invisible strings inside you pulling you to him.

“Here,” you say. Voice hoarse like you’ve been screaming. Grates at your throat. “Ezra.”

“What?” He doesn’t turn.

“Sleeping pills. They… they can knock us out.”

He turns his head, just enough to see you. Up close he looks worse. Better, so much better. His pupils are blown so wide the brown around them is barely visible. His pillow drenched in sweat. His face is flushed, the back of his neck and ears and forehead are red. His mouth open in wet pants. You crumple, drop to your knees in front of him, or risk throwing yourself into the bed with him. You drop the pill on his pillow, think if you touch him you will snap and give in. He’s looking at you the same, like if you move wrong he will not be able to stop himself. You lift your pill to your lips.

“Wait – ” He says. “The pollen, the pills, we don’t – we don’t know if it’s safe.”

“Ezra.” You feel a hot tear slip down your cheek. Your singlet and your compression tights hurt your skin where they touch you. The cold of the floor is burning against your legs and hand. The air around you is almost too much. “I won’t get through this. It hurts too much.”

You swallow the pill before he can stop you.

He says something, but the sound of his voice is too much. You stumble off your knees and towards the wet room. Your control is stretched taut within you, about to snap. Kneeling next to his bunk you can smell more of him, see more. You get to the door and it takes your shaking hands two tries to get it open. You catch him slip his pill between his lips and swallow, and the flex of the muscles in his neck nearly has you trip over yourself to get back to him. But you slam the door closed between you. Slump immediately into a cold wall and slide down it until you’re crouched against the plastic floor. The wet room is tiny, nothing more than an insulated storage cupboard with a hose and shower nozzle. The pills are strong, you lean back against the wall, feel them mixing with the effects of the pollen so that the world swims before your eyes. You close your eyes. Try and count your breathing. You try to count three times and lose count every time. You can’t feel the floor beneath you. Can’t feel the wall behind you. The world is slipping so that it is only the fire of your muscles and the throbbing between your legs. Time warps into a tunnel, feel like you are suspended and falling through it at the same time.

There is no world around you when you finally shove the heel of your palms between your legs. Don’t care when you start moaning, writing against it. You couldn’t remember your own name if someone asked, where you were. Anything. Your knees drop out, one against the floor and the other shoved against the wall in the tight space. You head knocks hard against the wall behind you. You shove your other hand down, unwilling to stop rocking your hips into your palm until you can get the tips of your fingers down your compression pants and find your clit. The first roll over the bundle of nerves makes you scream. Forces it up out of some place in your stomach and up, up through your chest and throat. You do not ease yourself forward, you rub against the throbbing spot with enough force that your arm shakes from the effort. Stop long enough to pull the tights down your thighs so you can rub your clit and sink your fingers into your pulsing cunt at the same time. The knot in your stomach becomes unbearable. Your cunt spasms and clenches around your fingers, three of them, and still you feel empty, and yet somehow so full you are almost sick with it. Keening. Desperate. You are speaking, blabbering nonsense. Your hips jerk off the floor.

But there is no release.

You have no idea how long you lie there, rubbing yourself, fucking yourself with your fingers before you give up. Boneless and whimpering. Sobbing. You can feel how wet you are, feel it all over the floor beneath you and smeared up over your wrist. You drop your hands, the blackness closing around your peripheries enough to dull the burning. The sleeping pill clouds the last of your consciousness and you slip.

When you wake the first time it is sweating and with the dream taste of Ezra in your mouth. An imaginary taste you have conjured many times before this but made to feel so real by the pollen. You’re panting so fast they begin to run together, your body trembling and shaking. The wall of the wet room is hard and cold against your back. You don’t even have to touch yourself to come when the memories of your drug induced sleep return to you, the dream of Ezra’s cock heavy on your tongue and full to the back of your throat. Your release is so long and intense you slump further into the ground. Your forehead against the door. You are barely conscious of the shock tremors afterwards, of the jolting aftershocks of the pollen and dream induced orgasm. The place just below your stomach is still as tight as before.

You fade in and out, the sleeping pill enough to keep you under most of the time. You wake a few more times, coming or on the edge of it. Have slipped into a dark place where everything except the buzzing of your body does not exist. The pollen continues to conjure hallucinations, the feel of hands all over you, impossibly hot and rough, of being filled and fucked, again and again. Ezra. Always Ezra. Haunting you.

Hours after crawling into the wet room, your sweat has broken. Shivering, drenched and pressed against the cold walls in the tight space. You are dizzy, can taste the sourness of dehydration coating your mouth and the back of your throat. You yank the door open again, can’t walk, so you fumble on hands and knees to the water and raise a flask with shaking hands. Drink three of them. You get to your bunk and pull of your clothes – wet and dripping with cold sweat – throw them at the foot of your mattress. Defeated and exhausted when you pull the sheets over yourself. Cold. Ezra is quiet, a still ball on his bunk, still facing the wall. You wait until you see him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Let yourself give into the relief of exhaustion.

.

When you wake next it is to the sound of rain against the roof of the pod. There is a deep aching in your limbs and the muscles around your stomach, but no burn of satisfaction to ease the pain. You are still dehydrated. Eyelids like sandpaper against your eyes, so you don’t open them. You can barely roll over you are so stiff. The rain sounds heavy. Another torrential flood.

You drift for some time in the place between wakefulness and sleep. You can hear Ezra, awake and moving around the pod, bare feet against the floor. He stops near you and he pulls the sheet higher over your shoulder where it has slipped, covering your bare back from the cool air. Pulls a heavier blanket over you as well. You continue to wander, sometimes dreaming. Sometimes listening to the sounds of him moving about, the hose turn on in the wet room. Turn off again sometime later. Smell the soap when Ezra emerges and feel the waft or warm, steaming air against the top of your head. Not long after his hand is on your covered shoulder, gently shaking.

“Starlight.” He says. “You need to drink. Wake up.”

He waits until you start to move, wraps his arm beneath you to help you to sit. Holds up the blanket when it falls and tugs it tighter around your shoulders. Gives you water and a protein bar and leaves you. You stare at the things in your hands, then at his back. Feel like you are floating.

And then the day before begins to bleed into your thoughts like a poison, and as you wake the horror of embarrassment makes it impossible to sit still. You can’t look at Ezra, where he crouches with his back to you not three feet away. Digging through the med kit you had left on the floor. You force yourself to eat but the protein bar tastes like cardboard in your mouth. You are hyperaware of your nudity, feel small and exposed, and you pull the thin blanket around your shoulders as high around you neck as it will go. Think of Ezra opening the door to the wet room to find the mess you had undoubtedly left there. Think of yourself begging him to fuck you while he desperately refused. You feel sick.

He brings the med kit to you. You can’t look at him, can feel his eyes searching your face. He sighs and gently reaches for the blanket. You flinch before he can reach it and he drops his hand.

“I will not hurt you. I assure you.” He shows you his empty palm. “I only wish to ensure you are well. I need to check if you are still suffering any effects of the pollen.”

You shake your head, hold your hands against your chest beneath your shield of bedding. “I’m not.” Your voice is raw from screaming and then hours of sleep. You think he must hate you. Must hate you for being so weak.

“I need to check.” His voice is so gentle. So soft. “May I please have your hand?”

You do not move, can’t look at him. And then you slowly release your hold on yourself and worm one hand out through the blankets, careful to keep yourself covered and let him take you by the wrist. Lay your hand palm up on your lap. His fingers make your blood spark where they touch you and you wish he wouldn’t. Wish you hadn’t been so awful to him while he tried to refuse you. He clips a small device to your fingertip, warns you of the prick of it taking your blood. Checks your pulse, checks your temperature. When the device beeps he removes it and compares the reading with a small manual in the med kit.

“The pollen is out of your system.”

“How… how long has it been?”

“Nearly two days since we were infected.”

You look up in shock. He is staring at you, warm eyes soft and tired. Marred by the dark circles around them. His hair still damp from his shower. You burn red and look away again.

“Two days?”

“You’ve been unconscious for some time.” He packs everything away and moves. You glance at his back when he goes, watch a droplet of water from his hair drip a slow path along the back of his neck and disappear under his soft clean shirt. Images of the days before rise behind your eyes before you can stop them, memories of dreams. Memories of hallucinations and fantasies. Your stomach churns. “Do you need more water?”

You shake your head. “No.”

He nods and comes to sit opposite you on his own bunk, his arm braced across his knee. You try to hold his gaze but humiliation crawls its way up your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut. Keep remembering trying to convince him to fuck you through the effects of the pollen, remember the hazy, sordid details of everything you said to him. You don’t know how you will ever face him again, every be able to meet his eyes. Its all made so much worse by the memory of how badly you wanted him, a desperate need which tore you apart. Feelings which you had supressed and kept dormant before now refused to be ignored and you are full of guilt and affection, tearing you apart. Feel them push up against your heart when you look at him and twist.

“Ezra…”

You hear him sigh, lift your eyes to look at him. He’s smiling, soft and sweet and sad. “It’s quite alright, Starlight. We do not have to talk about it if you do not wish to.”

You fidget you fingers beneath the blanket. “I… I think.” You pause and swallow. “I think we have to talk about it, Ezra. I said – I said – ”

You wish you didn’t have to think about what you said, but you do. And Ezra’s words chase each other around and around in your mind and tangle inside your head. You can’t ignore those. Can’t ignore everything said between you and go back to the way things were. Can’t look at him without remembering the throbbing ache between your legs at the way his voice wrapped around his words and filled you up with fantasies of fucking you in the pod. You need to apologise to him.

Ezra shakes his head. “The pollen was very strong. It put us under extreme duress, and we acted against our natures.”

“Against our natures?” You stomach drops. You know you should not hurt so badly at the implication but your heart begins to crack. Of course he did not want to tell you those things.

“I quite understand.” He looks to his hand, clenched into a fist on his knee. “And you do not need to explain your words to me, I understand they were brought on by the pollen. I shall consider the things which you have said to me to be banished from my mind if,” he releases his clenched fist and inhales slowly, deliberately. “If you will extend to me the same courtesy.”

Your mind goes terrible, horribly blank. Your head begins to throb and you lift your hand to press against it, massage the tightness between your brows. Ezra wants to you forget it all, to forget the whole thing ever happened. Everything said between you was a terrible mistake, and it was, and he is giving you an out. You understand that much – no apology required, no rehash of the painful events. Ashamed when the burn of tears threatens behind your eyes. You should say yes, you think. You should agree to forget it and move on with your lives. But there is the awful feeling, a gnawing in your gut, that if you turned away from him this time it would be the last time. That the space between you would grow and grow until you could not find your way back together. And you owe him an apology.

“Ezra I… I don’t know if I can.” You pick at the blanket in your lap. “I don’t think I can just forget.”

He’s silent. Unnervingly silent.

“I have spent so much of our time together trying to forget.” You whisper. “I don’t want to forget anymore.”

He frowns. “What have you tried to forget before this?”

You shift in your spot. Glance at him and then away. “You know. You must know. All the times… all the time when we could have,” your nerves fill your throat and you have to pause. “Like before this. When we were outside. When you helped me up the hill. When you said – when you said we were seeing the wonders of the universe.” Every moment I could have told you I loved you. You can’t say it. “I can’t forget them anymore.”

Ezra is staring at you. You look to him, find his eyes, because he deserves you to look him in the eye while you say this to him. He deserves more than your cowardice – the cowardice you have given him for the better part of two years. His face is slack at your revelation and then crumples. Collapses in on himself. He looks like he’s in pain.

“These are moments you wish to forget?” His voice is hoarse.

“No! No, Ezra they aren’t!” And you realise what he has thought. “I… they are my favourite memories. But I can never let myself have them because – because – ” You suck in a shaking breath. “I’m not good with words like you. I don’t know.”

“Tell me. Try.”

He is leaning towards you, guarded. Hopeful, maybe. You feel your heart beating so hard you can barely concentrate. “Every time there is something between us, I try to crush it. Because – because I’m scared. But I save them all and I think about them later. I – I think about what you look like when you’re smiling in the sun, or what words you use when you’re happy. Or when you… when you look at me like how you looked at me under the trees outside.”

Ezra pushes himself from his bunk and crosses the space to you. Sits close enough to touch you, but he doesn’t. You are looking into his eyes and can’t look away now. Transfixed. He is so wide and open now. His eyes so warm. You did that, you think. And you swell with the pride of it. So you take a breath and continue.

“I’m scared one day you’ll leave me.” You confess. “Or if I… if I say anything then you will want me to go. And I can’t – I don’t want another partner. I just want you.” Your cheeks go brilliant red. And Ezra smiles, blooms, so bright it’s like looking at the sun. Your hands are shaking again. “I’m scared if I let myself feel everything all at once I might break. And I don’t want to break. And I don’t want to lose you. I want to – I want to have you forever.” You’re talking faster now, more urgent. Your voice drops almost to a whisper. “That’s why I try to forget them, every moment, and its chipping away at my heart Ezra, and I’m worried I won’t have any heart left. I think it…” You close your eyes. Breathe. In and out. Open them again and look at him. Really look at him, and let yourself be seen. All of you. The parts of you which you try to hide. “I think my heart already belongs to you.”

Ezra shifts again. His thigh presses against yours now, burning and hot. He twists his body towards you. Stares at you, his face crinkled in a blinding smile. “Your heart belongs to me?”

Your breath shakes on your exhale and you nod.

He inches closer. “I find myself without words, Starlight. Of course, it would be you that renders me speechless.”

You lean towards him again, pulled by his gravity. His body leans to yours. Not touching anywhere except along your thighs, still pushed together below you. But you grow towards each other, closer and closer, until you can feel the almost press of his body against yours. His face is so close you can see every line, every freckle and mark.

“Surely you know how I feel for you,” he says. His quiet words wash over your face, you could catch them on your tongue you are so close, but you do not, you hover. Just away. “You conceal your heart so well, but I have not concealed mine. Every word I spoke to you while under the influence of that pollen was true. I only wish I could have told them to you in some different way.”

Your heart kicks in your chest. “Ezra, I’m so sorry, I tried to make you – I said awful things when you told me you didn’t want – ”

He shushes you gently. Closes his eyes and shakes his head so minutely. “You did not act on them. I said far more depraved things to you.” He sighs softly. “I truly am sorry it had to happen that way.”

You hesitate. Nod and relax back towards him. He smiles so softly, opens his eyes.

“I dream not only of your body. Everything that I am is yours. The pieces left of me belong to you. Only to you, Starlight. They have for some time now.”

Ezra presses his forehead to yours, his hair tickling your skin. You let your eyes slip closed. Twist slightly and push back against him, rub your nose closer until his cheek brushes the tip of yours and you feel his eyelashes flutter on your skin. His lips close and open and trace the shape of a kiss ghosting against your mouth. Not quite touching. His hot breath mixing with yours. Less than a hair between you. You push you chin just enough to catch his bottom lip with your teeth, tug it down and let it go with a sigh. Lick against the imprint of the bite to soothe it.

He groans your name.

“Ezra,” you say into his mouth. Try to catch him in a kiss but he shifts and move away. Retreats from you so that his eyes can find yours.

“Are you sure?”

You carefully move your hands, touch them against his chest and move them up, lightly over his shirt. Clutch the back of his neck. “I don’t need pollen to want you, Ezra. I never have.”

He stares down at you, his eyes fill up everything around you, until he is everything. Just Ezra. Only Ezra. For a moment you are worries he doesn’t believe you but then he surges forward. Teeth and noses clash. His mouth hits yours hard enough to bruise, is hot and open. His tongue inside you, no building, no warning. He pushes against you and you let him, twist your hands into the damp hair at the nape of his neck and pull him to you. Tighter. Nearer. Can’t get him close enough. He yanks himself away and you gasp at the sudden loss. Remember to breathe. His arm readjusts its hold around you back and he shifts himself, uses his knee to shove your legs apart and move between them. You lift yourself off the bed to your knees and he pulls you forward again so that you fall into his lap, still wrapped in blankets. Brings his mouth back to yours. Kisses you until you’re dizzy.

He moves his mouth sideways, open and wet and drags it down your jaw to your neck and back up again. Panting. “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

He leans all his weight forward and tips you backwards. You fall against the bed, the blankets bunched under your back. Naked. He is staring, transfixed, between your legs. You try to close them, but he catches your knee, pushes his body into the space and forces them open. You burn, conscious of the dried mess which must still be there from the pollen.

“Don’t try and hide yourself from me, Starlight.” He is still staring at your cunt. Uses his torso to push against one of your legs and his arm to move the other. He forces your leg down by the inside of your knee, so slowly, until it touches the bed. Pushes it outwards slightly just to watch your pussy better. “And the other one.”

His hand stays on your knee, his eyes stay between your leg as you do as he says. Watches as the stretch makes your lips part and reveals the almost purple inner flesh of your pussy. He coos, and the sound changes to a groan when you flutter around nothing, a bead of fluid forming at your hole and then dribbling outwards. Your hips jerk at the sound and when your knees lift away from the bed Ezra holds the one he can with such forcefulness that you make a soft cry.

“Can I still touch you?” He asks. His voice surprisingly soft, at odds with the iron grip he has around your leg.

You nod.

You think he means your cunt. You think his hand will dig straight into you with the way he is staring at it. Hungrily. Instead he releases you knee, draws around it with just the tip of his fingers, a featherlight circle over the soft skin and then trails his hand along your thigh. Your hips lift when he approaches the crux of it, traces the crease between your centre and your thigh and then back up over your hipbone. Makes you whimper when he leaves you aching and untouched. He flattens his palm over it, grabs a handful of the flesh of your hip and kneads it gently, before releasing it, moving his flattened palm over the curve of your stomach. Feels it move with every shortened breath. Drifts up slowly and spreads his fingers over the shape of your ribs. Up again and beneath the crease of your breast.

“I imagine you all the time,” he says idly. His eyes look up finally, sees that you have twisted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes closed, trying to hold yourself together. “Look at me, Starlight. There’s a good girl. I imagine you often, when we are outside and you are covered by your suit, and I think of what you look like beneath it. Think about the shape of you when we are supposed to be harvesting our livelihoods.”

You keen. Writhe upwards and try to lift yourself towards him. He shushes you and flattens his palm over your sternum, long fingers push up between your breasts and his thumb and pinky hook beneath them. Not touching them. Forces you back to the mattress, keeps his hand on you and smiles as you gasp. Feels the vibrations of your moaning, exposed beneath him. He waits until you still and look back to him. Dark eyes watching you.

“Keep your legs open.” You realise you have pushed them up off the bed again. It makes you pink and splotchy over your chest and neck and face but you slowly, shakily part them again. Let them drop on either side of him. “You are more than I deserve, Starlight. More beautiful than I could have ever painted you in my mind’s eye.”

His hand moves again, up over your chest and along the lines of your collarbones. Out over your left shoulder and then down the length of your arm. Lets his fingers rest still at the velvety soft skin at the inside of your elbow and then follows the path of your veins through the skin to your wrist. Encloses his hand around yours and brushes his thumb over the pulse point at your wrist. Presses in and feels your blood sing in response. And then he lifts your arm up over your head and rests it above you. Presses it once into the mattress and fixes you with a look. Do not move it, he doesn’t have to say. He releases it again and this time his fingers trail the other side of your arm down and gently through your armpit and over your ribs to your other arm. You are already lifting it and he catches it to and finishes the motion for you. Holds your wrists together in one large hand. Surprises you by pushing up onto his knees and pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. Sweet. Chaste.

He pulls away. When your eyes flutter back open, he is close and smiling. “Starlight does not do justice to how bright you are,” he whispers gently. Presses a kiss to your temple. “There is no star in any galaxy which could pit itself against you and come out the victor. You would put them all to shame.”

Your eyes are wet. You have to swallow the lump in your throat. “Ezra.”

His mouth brushes your temple again. Your brow. The bridge of your nose and your cheekbone. Hovers hot and open over your mouth but when you move towards him he is gone, his mouth open along your jaw. He tongues the length of your neck, dipping into the pit at the centre of your clavicle. You lift off the bed again and his mouth moves down, finally to your breasts in wet kisses until he reaches your nipple. Looks up to catch your eyes when he gathers saliva in his mouth and licks it. Makes your toes curl into the sheets. He coats you until the bud is shining with wetness and then pulls away and blows on it, a gust of cold air, freezing against your wet flesh. You groan, both watch the way it grows hard and pebbled, the skin around it pulling together. Then his hot mouth is around it, burning after the coolness and you whine and arch into his mouth. Use the leverage of your knees on the bed to push yourself into him.

He releases you with an obscene noise, deliberately wet. Lays his cheek against your heaving breast so that your nipple is being brushed by the tip of his nose and smiles at you. Saccharine, like he hadn’t just been suckling at you. Like he wasn’t forcing you to stare at the painfully hard nipple between you. And then he moves and gives the same treatment to the other side. Warm and cold and hot. Until you are desperately trying to lift your hips against his stomach and roll your centre against him for any relief. Can feel the wetness dripping from you, running down your slit and back. Probably staining the already ruined sheets.

“Please Ezra,” you are panting. “Please.”

He chuckles and pulls away from your tits. Admires the two wet and hard peaks of them. Leans down to peck your right nipple so lightly you might not have felt it if he hadn’t just driven you to the point of overstimulation.  

“I am sensitive to your plight, my sweet Starlight. But I hope I cannot be expected to rush this. I have many months of painful imaginations to fuel this encounter and I want to enjoy you.”

He lowers his mouth to the centre of your breasts. The heaving, solid spot there and leaves another wet kiss there. And then licks a long, hot stripe through your middle and readjusts his one arm beneath your middle, and you lift to make room for it, his forearm completely covered to the elbow beneath the mass of your body. Has to wrap it up under your right thigh and pulls the leg up higher to your side, stretching you so far open your thighs shake in protest. Then resumes his path of kisses over your stomach and down. You are clenching viciously around nothing, hips jerking even though you try to still them. His chin tickles the hair at the top of your slit. His eyes look up at you, smile at you even though his mouth is open beneath your naval, his tongue making lazy circles against the skin.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Or I will lose my balance.”

You bite down on your lip. Can’t speak, because you can feel another desperate noise building at the back of your throat. You nod.

He finally returns his gaze to your neglected cunt. Watches your hole flutter and spasm at the attention, watches as it leaks more wetness out and as it sinks down your slit and your crack. Makes a patch of wet beneath you. He leans closer and breathes you in. Smells you. It makes your head spin, makes your face so red you have to close your because you can’t think. You feel his nose almost against you and then his breath, hot and his tongue wet, so close to your hole you jerk before you can stop. But he doesn’t enter you, instead just barely lets the tip of his tongue run the length of your inner lips, all the way to where they encase your clit, stopping agonisingly just before it. First one side and then the other. Almost the same feeling as his fingertips had been over the rest of your body. But so much more.

You choke his name and he wraps his lips around your clit. You think you might black out, the attention so much more intense after the neglect. You feel a sob work its way from the back of your throat, force your hips to stay flat on the bed, try not to clench your right thigh around his arm in case he falls. He alternates sucking you, drawing patterns with his tongue and sometimes, when you release more wetness, he will lick a long broad stroke up your whole length and moan with his mouth stretched around as much of you as he can. Gather you on his tongue and dribble it back over your clit and pull away just to watch it slide back down your pussy. And then his mouth will be on you again, relentless. You feel his teeth more than once, grazing, experimental nips. Never hard enough to sting but enough to make you clench at the promise of it. Makes you leak more.

He pulls away.

“I have dreamed of the taste of you many times, Starlight. It is one of my favourites, one which I will often indulge myself. Look at me.” You have to force your eyes open, heaving from the effort of breathing. Tilt your head down and the sight of him makes you clench again and cry out. His hair is a mess, his blonde streak stuck straight up, and his face coated from his nose to his chin in your juices. The pink of his lips gleaming with fluid. “I will lay in my bunk long after you are sleeping and I will conjure ways in my mind to imagine how you will taste. I will try not to look at you, but I always do. And my hand is never enough when I think of how perfect I know you are, and so close, always so close to me, that I can hear the gentle undulation of your breath. I like the imagine you like this, beneath me, coming for hours so I can taste you and imprint the memory of it forever in my mind.”

He ducks his head back and licks up your length again, gathers you up and works his cheeks to mix you with his own saliva in his mouth, and then leans over your clit. Dribbles it over your clit, lets it land on the bundle of nerves and the skin and hair around it. And then blows on it like he had on your nipples. You let out a shriek and your head falls back at the cold air. Makes you draw up deep in your belly. Pulling tighter and tighter. So close. So close.

“My other favourite is that you will sit on my face, allow me to let myself be of use to you, let you fuck yourself on my tongue and rub yourself against me until you come.”

“Ezra,” you can barely speak. “Ezra, I’m going – I’m – ”

Your thighs are shaking so badly it hurts. Your arms straining above your head.

“Come.”

He latches his mouth over you as you do. Finally puts his tongue inside you and his nose brushes against your clit. Laps at you as you finally break and release over his face. You see white burst behind your eyes. Your whole body shakes at the force of it. You sob, hot tears streaking down your face. But Ezra doesn’t stop his ministrations, fucks his tongue in and out of you the whole time and when you think you might finish he moves his mouth back to you clit and moans against it, the vibrations of the sound pulse through your cunt and you scream.

“Ezra, no, I can’t – I can’t – I won’t – ”

You break again, not sure if it’s a second orgasm or the first. So, so wet. You can feel your pussy weeping. It lasts somehow, impossibly, longer than the first. You are boneless when it ends. Legs jerking, shoulders twitching off the bunk. Ezra laps at you until it almost hurts and when you flinch, he pulls back. Kisses your clit gently and slowly extracts himself from beneath you. Eases your leg around his body and pushes your knees together so you are on your side with your back to him. Kisses your thigh, and then your hip. Your shoulder. Lowers himself onto the bunk behind you and wraps his one arm around you and tucks his knees up behind yours. Flush and warm against you. Cradles you through the aftershocks of the orgasm with soft kisses to your neck and shoulder.

You turn slowly. Feel like you’re moving through water. You twist to face him and nuzzle you face into his neck. Let his arm pull you closer and his leg wrap over yours. “I love you,” you say into his skin. “Ezra. I love you. So much.”

He kisses the crown of your head, his hand gathers your hair and brushes his thumb over your scalp. “I would pour all that I am into you if you would give me the chance. I have spent my life in the pursuit of collecting treasures and now I have found one which I wish to keep always for myself. I would hoard you away from the world. I would give you the world if you asked for it.” Another soft kiss. He hums against your head. “I love you, my Starlight. My beautiful girl.”

And you are content to lay there, listening to the rain outside and the sound of his breathing, laboured at first but evening out into a gentle rhythm. You let your eyes close, press yourself between his neck and the mattress and sigh against his skin. Feel him tighten his arm around you and press his mouth into your hair. He’s wearing clean underclothes. Smells of soap. You know you should move and clean yourself from days of sweat and cum but you can’t bring yourself to leave him.

You jolt when you feel him unwind his legs from yours, had almost fallen asleep against him. There’s an awkward moment of shuffling before he can get untangled enough to push himself to sitting. You moan, reach for him and he chuckles. Leans over you again so that he can press another lingering kiss to your shoulder. And then he pushes himself from the bed and pads away. Comes back with a small towel, damp with hot water and settles himself by your feet. Tells you to sleep with a gentle voice and begins to gently scrub your skin. Your feet, your ankles, up and around your calves. All the way up your legs to your centre, wiping away the sweat and then very gently the cum which is drying between your legs and over your thighs. Your hips jerk away from the action, still sore and oversensitive, but you settle and allow him to work. He rinses the towel and returns. Sits you up and rubs your torso and your arms. You are aching from coming and twitch at the rub of the sheets against your centre. But your nipples still pebble at his touch and he chuckles.

“Come now, Starlight. To the other bunk. The sheets are clean.”

He helps you to stand and catches you when your legs buckle. Seats you in his bunk, against the clean sheets and leaves to discard the towel. You can see the tent of his dick in his pants when he returns, another patch of precum on the clean fabric. Your mouth fills at the sight.

“Ezra,” you breathe. “Ezra. I want to – ”

You fidget. Can’t say it. Years of keeping your feelings bottled deeply within you make the habit a hard one to break. Suddenly shy even after he had just made you scream. Made you orgasm twice. He stands before you, cock at your eye level and you can’t look away. Tiredness fading, soreness fading into something else. You lick at your lips and he groans.

“Can I please, Ezra?” You look up at him. Shuffle yourself closer to the edge of the bunk, and closer to him. Back down at his cock and then to his eyes. Dark and hungry and watching your mouth. “You’re not the only one with fantasies.”

He lets out a pained noise and nods. Chest heaving. “Yes. Yes.”

You scoot forward and slowly, carefully brace your hands on his thighs. Watch his dick kick slightly at the contact. Squeeze the thick muscle in his legs and bring yourself closer to him. Glance up at his eyes once more and he is watching you. Transfixed. You graze the head of him through his pants with your nose and then your mouth. Soak up the choked groan he makes, let it fill you up. Press open mouthed kisses to the already wet fabric, make them loud so that he will hear them. Let your mouth fall open further and further until you can almost close it around him. Hum in quiet satisfaction. He’s big. Just the tip of him makes you shiver.

You pull away and reach for the waistband of his pants, slung low on his hips already, and pull it slowly down. Take your time watching as his smooth skin is revealed, the patch of thick, dark hair at the base of him, and then the length of his cock. Just enough that he comes over the top of his waistband. Stare at it, slack jawed and nervous. Eager. Your mouth watering. He is big, bigger than you had realised. You hear the slap of skin against the pod and look up. Ezra has braced his elbow and forearm against the low roof and is leaning towards you, seeking your mouth.

You grant it to him. Lick the slit at the tip of his dick and then around it. Make sure you look into his eyes when you open your mouth and suck him in. Pause while you work your jaw to accommodate for his thickness and test the heavy weight of him against your tongue, taste him. Feel against him and massage your tongue against the shape of the prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He groans, stutters his hips forward into your mouth. You slacken your jaw as best you can, have to open your mouth so wide to fit him you can feel it stretch at the corner of your lips. You pull back, try to relax, take him back in again. Watch the way his head tilts back and the soft shape of his stomach heaves under his shirt. You lift your hand to work at his base, easing it up over the path of your mouth to spread the mixture of saliva and pre-cum down to his base. Bob your mouth over as much of him as you can, relish the feeling of his stuttering hips trying not to choke you. Trying to allow you to set the pace.

You move your hand from his thigh, up around to his ass, dig your fingers into the firm muscle hard. You push him forward from behind, force his hips forward and his cock deeper into your mouth, almost into your throat. More than is comfortable, but it makes you hot and aching, the feeling of the thick head of him pushing into you so hard you can barely breathe. You push again when you feel him try to fight another jerk of his hips, use your hand to show him you want him to fuck into you, still your head when he gives in to the feeling of it and groans. Lets his head all back and sinks himself into your mouth. His whole cock pulses hard and you moan, as loud as you can, to make him feel it. His hips hold in your mouth, almost too long, almost stops your breathing for too long. And then he pulls out and thrusts in again and again and again.

He’s cursing softly, using your mouth, his thrusts becoming stronger and deeper. Hitting the back of your throat. It brings tears to your eyes. He pulls out, rests just the head of his dick inside your lips and the sight of him, of his dick hanging just over the waistband of his pants and his thermal shirt covering him while you sit before him naked makes you thrill. You swallow him down, so far back it stings your eyes and makes you choke on him, sputter.

His knees half buckle and he yanks himself away. His dick falls from your mouth with a wet noise and a trail of saliva connecting you. He stares at it, swearing and panting until the string of fluid breaks. You whine, reach forward, try to pull him back again but he twists away.

He is breathless. Heaving. “I need… but a moment to collect myself.”

“I don’t want you to collect yourself.” You push yourself up onto both knees and sit on your ankles. Grip the clean sheets on either side of you. “I want you to fuck my throat. Please Ezra, please.”

His dick jumps again. Leaks a steady track of precum down the underside of its length and you moan again, twitch in your spot and mourn the loss of tasting it. Of the feel of it running down your throat. He closes his eyes and breathes, his fingers gripping against the ceiling so hard his hand turns white at the knuckles.

“I want to taste your cum, Ezra.” You blink up at him. Tears of frustration in your eyes.

You reach for him again and this time he catches both your hands in his. Yanks you from the bed with a yelp and pulls you to your feet. Turns you both and shoves you back, lands you on your own sullied sheets. Your bare ass bounces against the covers and you scramble backwards. Ezra is kicking out of his sweats and tugging off his shirt. Joins you on the bed. Bronzed skin exposed and dick hard and pink and pointed upwards. Shining with your saliva. You pussy begins to leak again.

“I want to cum down your throat, my beautiful Starlight,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “I want to fuck your throat until you cry and I want you to drink down everything I have to give you.” He grabs your ankle and yanks it towards him. You slide across the covers. “But first I want to cum inside your pretty little pussy. Is that okay?”

You nod. Nod so fast you dizzy yourself with it. He sits back onto his feet and yanks your ankle again, shoves your legs apart with his hand. Then his hand is on your clit. He is not soft or gentle this time. He pinches the bundle of nerves hard enough to make your cry out in shock. His hand leaves you, spans the width of your chest and forces your back to the bed. Then he is at your clit again, drawing harsh circles around it which make you scream. He doesn’t stop, not even when you can barely breathe, except to scoop your own juices from where they leak and smear them across your lips and clit. His finger is inside you, fucking you, and then back out. His hand disappears and you blubber, crying and humping your hips towards nothing at the loss.

The light slap against your clit makes you yelp. Makes you jerk your whole body in surprise, and then utter a low moan, feel the dribble of wetness down your slit and over his fingers.

“You have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen, Starlight.” Ezra grits. Sweat beading at his forehead and dripping around the curve of his brow. “I could watch your spasming little cunt clench around nothing all day. I could rub you like this and see how much your pretty pussy wants my dick in it. I could not give it to you, just make you lie here for hours and watch you and every time you almost come I could stop.” You are uttering fast, breathy little moans. Feel your pussy sputter and more wetness ooze from it. Your thighs jumping. He slaps your clit again, the sting much harder this time. You think if he doesn’t stop you will come again without having him inside you and the thought makes you want to scream. “You like this, don’t you? You like hearing me say what I wish to do to you. You like me spanking your cunt.”

“Please, Ezra.” You’re blubbering. Shaking. “Please, please, please!”

His hand lifts away from you again and you cry out. It comes back, but not between your legs. His hand is on your hip, holding you down. You start to push against him, start to whine.

“How long?” He asks. His voice almost conversational.

You’re panting too hard to answer him. Can’t figure out what he means. “H-how… how long w-what?”

His fingertips dig into your skin. “How long have you wanted me to fuck you?”

You groan. Leak. Can’t think, can’t form any words. Everything is bright and buzzing around you, your clit throbbing. And he wants – he wants – you toss your head to the side, screw your face up, try to think.

“S-since Arla-7,” you gasp. “Arla-7.”

He goes still. His hand turns to stone, pressing into you so hard. You sob, loud and needy. But he doesn’t move at all, just sits there. You turn your head back and open your eyes, have trouble seeing him through the tears caught in your lashes. He is not how you expect him to look. He is no longer harsh and snarling and telling you what to do. His face is soft. His hand moves from your hip to brush a tear from your cheek and then cradle your face. Tender and sweet.

“So long?” He whispers. “Arla-7 was – ”

“Nearly two years ago.”

He groans and then is crowding you into the mattress. Looms over you, his weight skewed, so he has to slide his arm beneath your head to keep himself balance. You feel the weight of his dick rest against your lower stomach. Let out a whimper. He rubs himself slowly along you, catches himself between your wet lips and drags his dick between you. You lift your hips to help, seek out the tip of him. Realise his arm is shaking in exertion. You drop back to the bunk.

“Would it – would it be easier if we swapped?”

He blinks down at you. Then nods and rolls onto his side and the back, over his good shoulder. Uses his arm behind your neck to pull you up off the bunk and with him. You swing up and gingerly sit yourself next to him. Loop your leg over his hips and balance your hands on his shoulders. For a moment there is a settling feeling, something softer and more peaceful works its way between you. Ezra lifts his arm and pushes your hair from your face and he smiles at you. One of his rare, small smiles. Like you are the centre of the galaxy. Makes you feel like maybe you actually are starlight. You smile back, press your lips to his wrist.

He drops his hand, grabs himself and you feel the blunt head of his cock push up against you. You moan, test your weight back and forward slightly and start to sink slowly. Feel the stretch of him inside you, so, so big. You sink lower and have to stop, feel your thighs shaking, your eyes fill with tears. Then lower again and you feel him at the back of your throat. You still, both hands on his shoulders, quaking at the effort of just having him inside you. The burn of the stretch doesn’t stop, and holding yourself up hurts too, so you lower again, couldn’t go any faster even if you tried, the friction of his dick against your walls so intense from the tightness of the fit. He’s murmuring to you, telling you to breathe, asking if you are okay. You keep sinking, feel a sob break your lips as you finally, finally cover him completely. Sit your thighs over his hips.

He’s holding your hip, his thumb drawing light circles against you. Still talking, still saying something. Your brain has blacked out, completely shut off.

Slowly you start to swivel your hips, gently rocking forward and back again. Feeling the burn turn slowly to something easier, something better. His words of concern turn into words of encouragement. You lift yourself off him just slightly and drop again. Feel his moan reverberate through his whole body. Feel his dick twitch inside you. You lift again, further this time and drop slowly, start to feel your toes curl again, start to ride him properly. He shifts beneath you, starts to match your strokes. Follows your pace with every thrust of his hips. Gentle at first and then faster. The wet sound of slapping skin fills the pod, drowns out the sounds of the rain outside. When you can finally open your eyes Ezra is staring between you at where his dick disappears inside you, brow furrowed, face red and damp with sweat. You groan and he grunts beneath you, tightens his grip on your hip and steadies you. Holds you still. He braces his feet against the bed and starts to thrust into you. Each hit jolts your body, you feel the slap of him under your thighs, against your ass. Bouncing your whole body at every impact, moans turn to sharp cries as he fills you, pumping into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you pant with each thrust.

He’s out of breath. “Touch yourself.”

You do. You lean to one side so you can reach a hand between your bodies and rub at your clit. It makes you cry loudly and buck into your hand, back against his cock. He’s staring at your bouncing tits, down at his dick sinking into you. You rub vicious little circles around your clit so hard your arm is shaking.

“Where – ”

“I-in-inside me.” Your words break with every slap of his balls against your ass, sending you scooting forward on your knees. “Inside me. Please Ezra, please, safe – ”

He yanks your hips down over him, not humping anymore, almost vibrating. You watch him come undone beneath you. His jaw locks, neck bulges and tips back. Covered in sweat, slick with it. His chest heaving. You feel the hot pumping of his release inside you and tweak your clit, panting until you join him. Stars burst behind your eyes and you slump forward. Clenching so tightly around his dick you wonder how he fits. It only makes Ezra groan beneath you, surprisingly quiet when he comes. You slump into him.

You lay panting together, chests heaving and slipping, pressed against each other. His dick still inside you, your trembling thighs wrapped around his hips. You can’t think anything, except for his twitching length inside you, the last of his release mixing with yours and starting to swell at the place where you meet but trapped, because his cock fills you so completely that there is no room for anything else. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, drop completely into him. Feel his arm slowly lift and wrap over your shoulders. Hug you into him while he tries to catch his breath. When you gain enough sense to think anything it is that you must be in heaven with him. He is hot and alive beneath you. And in love with you. You sniffle and kiss his collarbone, hug your arms around him as best you can.

You must lie there for some time because you feel the sweat dry and cooling against your skin and Ezra tugs the meagre blanket over you both. You are boneless against him, happy at the feel of his warmth trapped beneath you and inside you. He tries to shift, and you feel him start to slide out of you. You tighten your thighs around his hips and squeeze your cunt around him with as much force as you can muster. He groans and stills. Hot breath fanning against your cheek.

“Stay,” you whisper. Face burning hot with embarrassment at this request. At admitting how good he feels, soft inside you. “Just for a little while.”

He hums and stills. Drops his hand to your hips and pushes you down further into his crotch. Lifts his hips a little to sheath himself inside you to the hilt. You groan into his neck.

“Who am I to deny you anything,” he says into your temple.

“Was – ”

He waits, and when you don’t continue. “Was what?”

“Was it…” You squirm, and still when you both groan at the feeling of your releases trickle out of you and trail down his dick and over his balls. You still before anymore can escape, red at how much you resent any of it leaving you. You suck in a deep breath. “Was it as good as you imagined it?”

“Better, Starlight. Better.” He brushes hair back over your shoulder, lets his hand linger on the skin and trace the length of your spine. You feel his smile when your skin lifts into goosebumps beneath his fingertips. “No phantom conjuring in my mind will ever compete with you.”

Your eyes well with tears and you are as usual left without words. So unlike Ezra. So you show him in your own way. You turn your head to press a kiss to the thick column of his throat. A chaste one first, and then open your mouth and breathe over the spot. Press another wet kiss to the same spot. You feel his dick, still inside you, jump.

“You are truly fortuitous we have made our fortunes worth on those aquatic gems.” His fingers trail further down your back. Lower. Ghost the bump at the base of your spine and lower still. Almost, almost touching. Glimpsing against the top of the crack of your ass and then retreating. Tracing over the swell of it and back over your hip. His breath his hot against your hair. “I do not think I could be convinced by anything to leave you. I have two years of craving to account for, my Starlight.”

. 

Permanent tags: @btillys​ @vercopaanir​

[captainmazzic]

Introducing Imperial Major-General Wyrren Harker, and former-Separatist-now-mercenary Falynn J’Kurra. Let’s get a little backstory going under the cut :D

Wyrren Harker is largely an insufferable man. Intelligent and ruthless, he has an obsession with always having the upper hand and of always being the one in control. Spoiled as a child but held to very high standards, he is driven and dedicated to his goals but extremely selfish, arrogant, and just a little vain. He is quite willing to manipulate and intimidate anyone he can to climb out on top, and this has made him more than a little domineering and short-tempered when things don’t quite go the way he envisioned. He is not often deliberately cruel, but his sadistic streak comes out in retaliation if he thinks he has been slighted or wronged. He is extremely confident in his abilities, and that occasionally can make him a little reckless. It also makes him very nearly fearless, and he rarely worries about backlash or the negative consequences of his actions. He is not totally without fear however, and when put in a position where he has no power or is helpless, he very literally has no idea what to do.

Wyrren was raised an only child in a hyper-pro-Republic, career military household. Both parents were higher-ranking officers in the Republic army, and their son got the finest education and training their money and privilege could buy. He graduated academy at the top of his class, climbed the ranks quickly throughout the Clone Wars, and was already one of the youngest officers to be promoted to Lieutenant Colonel by the time the Republic transitioned into the Galactic Empire. Like many in the upper echelons of the military, the change was seamless for him. He continued climbing the ranks, bolstered by affluence, staunch loyalty, and extensive connections. He was promoted to Major-General in 17 BBY, and was placed in charge of an IM-455 Imperial Modular Garrison, to be deployed on the foggy world of Nimat.

Nimat itself is sparsely populated, but its position made it of importance in securing the Imperial presence in the Outer Rim. Nimat is the primary access point of the Nimat Corridor in the Tharin Sector, along the Triellus Trade Route, one of the major trading hyperroutes through the Outer Rim.

Nimat is a dim planet with unusual topography. Much of the world is gently rolling lowlands, dotted with open forest, sluggish rivers, and shallow seas, all perpetually housed in a thick fog. There are occasional pieces of land, only a few dozen in number, that rise above the fog – all flat-topped plateaus ranging in size from a couple square kilometers to nearly 200 square kilometers. On these rare plateaus are the few spaceports and settlements that the planet has to offer. Every inch of these plateaus has been utilized for the tiny population, so the placement of the Imperial Garrison that our freshly-minted Major-General was to command was… tricky. It had to be placed nearly a hundred kilometers away from one of the more sizable spaceports, down among the lowlands and deep within the fog.

Wyrren wasn’t terribly happy with the arrangement, but the fragility of the already-overloaded plateaus and the restrictive topography of the planet prevented any other alternative aside from establishing an Orbital Garrison instead of a land-based one. But that would mean Wyrren would be forced to share commanding duties and power with an Admiral from the Imperial Navy, something he absolutely refused to do. So a land-based Modular Garrison it was, and that’s when all his troubles started…

Falynn J’Kurra is a former Separatist general and strategist from Annoo. He is private, aloof, and very patient, and rarely speaks unless necessary. His reserved and quiet nature often comes across as intimidation, as he has Resting Bitch Face™ and when he does speak his voice is gravelly and rough. But he is surprisingly even-keeled, and it takes a lot for him to actually get angry or raise his voice. Despite this, he does not abide anyone testing his limits and is uncompromising in his morals and tactics. Combined with his natural tendency to being a loner, this often results in a “my way or the highway” kind of mentality and it is difficult for him to take advice from others. This hard-line approach frequently caused him to be at odds with other Separatists while he was within their ranks, and he often went head-to-head with anyone who tried to force his hand – up to and including General Grievous and Count Dooku. Needless to say he was not often included in high-profile decisions or decisive battles. Which suited him just fine, as his focus is in the Outer Rim. His primary goal has always been the betterment and protection of his people, primarily against the Republic and the subsequent Empire. He was a primary associate of the revolutionary Ashaar Khorda on his homeworld. Falynn is an Annoo-dat, differentiated as a Ret or “Annoo-dat Blue” only by xenobiologists. (For reference, Adrestin is also an Annoo-dat, but by the time of the Galactic Empire the two species have long integrated their societies into one and do not differentiate amongst themselves). Being as they are a very long-lived species, Falynn actually remembers the conquering of his home planet of Gelefil by the Annoo-dat Prime and its subsequent renaming to Annoo. It doesn’t matter to him, however, as he is like most of his species and considers both Prime and Blue species of Annoo-dat to be one and the same.

After the Separatist Council was massacred on Mustafar and the Republic formed itself into the Empire, Falynn did not immediately seek out any of the fragmented Separatist holdout groups to join. Disillusioned and jaded, he turned to mercenary work instead, trusting more in his ability to get results on his own without any added people as a responsibility. During his new line of work, he would frequently encounter isolated Rebel cells (as the Alliance to Restore the Republic had not yet been formed), and would often take pay to strategize for them, or fight, or sabotage, or whatever else he happened to offer at the time. He would never fully align with the Rebel Alliance, however, as he has little desire to see the Republic restored back to its old position. He wants only for the Empire to fall, and firmly believes the galaxy would be better off without a centralized seat of power.

But he still helps Rebel cells if they have the credits to pay him, especially if it happens to be close to home. And it is one such Rebel cell on the planet of Nimat that hires him to sabotage a newly-established Imperial Garrison…

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

I FINALLY MANAGED TO POST lol. So here's that Imperial OC I mentioned I wanted to make based on Wesker from Resident Evil a few days ago. Plus the hardass merc. I'm happy. :D

[zevlors-tail]

Poly Villain Deku x Reader X Dabi HC’S

I’ll come back and title this something more creative when I think of a better name for it. These got pretty long...whoops- What do I even tag this as???

A/N: As per usual, all characters including the reader are aged up 21+ in this. First time writing for Dabi. Hope you enjoy my niche interests as much as I do!

***

-How this happened is beyond the three of you. You’re an unlikely pair match for sure; not even the three of you saw this coming. Although maybe you should have, considering how it happened?

-It all started when Deku dragged you into the mess that was the League of Villains. After you joined and got to know him better the two of you started dating.

-But at the same time, you got oddly close to Dabi without even really trying to. Maybe it was the fact that your personalities were a little similar, but you actually managed to get him to talk sometimes and the two of you ended up becoming unlikely friends.

-You and Dabi banter back and forth a lot playfully but there was always a sort of tension under the surface of your friendship that you never really talked about. Sometimes it would even lead to arguments between the two of you. You could be jokingly calling each other names one moment and then all of the sudden you might be right up in his face, quirk or weapon at your ready while his fingers are spouting blue flames.

-Izuku would often break it up before it turned into anything serious but he swears sometimes the two of you might kill each other. 

-Deku always got along fairly well with Dabi. And because of the chemistry between the three of you, you often get sent on missions or jobs together. Over the course of time, you slowly get to learn more about each other and discover little things that are unique to each of you. 

-For example, your personal hobby or past time that you entertained yourself with when you weren’t busy with the league. In Deku’s case it was the story behind the single emerald stud in his ear (he claims it was his mother’s). For Dabi...well. He was always somewhat mysterious, and you don’t get much out of him anyways, but he talk more often when he’s alone with the two of you, and that’s enough for now.

-The real start of it all though was when Deku got sent out on a solo job for a few days alone. As soon as he leaves, you’re left lonely and without even realizing it, you end up getting a little more cozy with Dabi than you probably should.

-After a lowkey night, accidentally falling asleep against him, and spending the night in his room, it hits you both that the unspoken tension you’re always feeling around each other is, in fact, because you have feelings for each other. Something just clicks and now you can’t not see it. Naturally this only makes things escalate. It gets so bad that Shigaraki has to step in and hold you back from obliterating Dabi while the latter is just laughing at you and your attempts to murder him.

-You try to ignore him for the rest of the time Deku is away. None of that matters when Deku comes back though because the second he does, Dabi is up in your space trying to stir shit up and pick a fight with you, and it works. Before your boyfriend can even put a stop to this one, you end up in a brawl with Dabi.

-It takes both Deku and Shigaraki to separate the two of you, but not before you got a good few hits on each other. Somehow though, when he’s got you pinned under him and his hand is at your throat menacingly, you feel some of the tension drain. If it wasn’t obvious before then, it’s obvious now. There are clearly feelings that neither of you want to talk about.

-Later when you’re alone with Deku, he’s the first to bring it up. He’s not an idiot; he can see you pining after Dabi clear as day. But rather than be offended or jealous, he suggests something else entirely that surprises the both of you, if you’re being honest. Why not date both of them?

-The relationship between the three of you is...unique to say the least. At first it’s more of you dating both of them at the same time and them tolerating each other, but over time they grow closer.

-You catch them on multiple occasions sharing food and taking naps together. Not that they’re cuddly, but the fact that they trust each other enough to sleep unguarded in the same room says a lot.

-Sometimes it’s only you and Deku spending time together, other times it’s only you and Dabi, and sometimes it’s all three of you. Date nights are frequent when you don’t have work to do and mostly consist of video games and food with a healthy side of cuddles.

-Games get extremely competitive. Mario Kart somehow always gets chosen and it’s nothing short of sheer chaotic violence. Compress and Twice have banged on your door multiple times and have yelled at the three of you to keep it down. You will not. Not then, not now, not ever. It’s all or nothing.

-You have a winning streak at first. Dabi’s coming in second, and Deku is...well, he’s straggling in 5th. Dabi is cursing up a storm, Deku is growling, and you’re just sitting there with a smug smile on your face as you fly through the finish line. “FUCK!” “Shit! Fourth!? This is bullshit!” “Ha! Fuck you both!” Dabi throws his controller and almost breaks the damn thing, and Deku looks like he’s about to smash his to pieces.

-”I’m gonna kick your fucking ass, Y/N!” His threat is not unwarranted, and before you know it he really is kicking your ass. And to make matters worse, Deku is slowly catching up to you as well. You end up coming in second, and you don’t get your winning streak back after that. Dabi’s a sore loser, so it really can’t be helped; he would have cheated by pushing you or Deku to the floor or not so subtly bumping into you on “accident”. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it...

-COD Zombies might also be a popular choice. It’s somehow less violent than Mario Kart but that still doesn’t stop the three of you from yelling out like you’re actually in a zombie apocalypse. “Y/N, get the door to the right!” “Then watch my back, Dabi!” Of course Deku volunteers to do so instead. “I got it, I won’t let them touch you.” 

-Cuddles aren’t your typical cuddles with your two boyfriends. Deku is particularly clingy and possessive when it comes to you, so he constantly has his arms around you whenever you allow. Dabi can’t really explain it, but seeing the two of you like that makes him feel the need to be involved, so then it turns into a sort of competition to see who can cling to you the most. It’s ridiculous, really.

-Most of the time it ends with the three of you crashing in Dabi’s bed with empty snack wrappers and pop cans littered around the room. You get sandwiched in the middle of Deku and Dabi; Deku likes when you snuggle up against him and bury your face in his shirt, and Dabi prefers holding you from behind. The funny thing about this is that Dabi usually isn’t cuddling you when you fall asleep, but you somehow wake up with his arms wrapped around you every single time, without fail.

-Small arguments happen from time to time, mostly between the two boys. It’s always over silly things, like who took the last slice of pizza or what game you’re going to play. Somehow it doesn’t surprise you that Dabi is always the one who starts them, and it’s equally as unsurprising that you’re always the go-to for making final decisions. “Don’t put this on me! Can’t you two figure it out?” “Yes!” “No.”

-Both Deku and Dabi can be insanely flirtatious when they want. Don’t be surprised if they make a bet on who can get you flustered the most. And neither of them back down from a challenge, so...take that as you will.

-When one isn’t around, you’ll always have the other to rely on. It’s hard to deal with sometimes, but the occasional solo job does happen. Dabi is more than willing to keep you warm when Deku’s not around and vise versa. If you happen to be the one who leaves on a job, you might come back to find them passed out on the floor together in an awkward mess of limbs and bedhead. 

-It’s funny, really; Dabi seems almost annoyed, like he’s trying to pull away from Deku who’s absolutely clinging to him for dear life. They’re both asleep, but still the same as ever.

-Jump on them. Please. It’s payback for all the shenanigans they’ve put you through.

-Assuming you joined in their small cuddle pile, one snuggles right up to you and the other just casually relaxes into you. The world just feels right again.

-It might be a mismatch, but it works somehow. It’s the best thing that the three of you have in this cruel world. But you can make it through as long as you have each other.

[strawbabysimp]

Adult Trio as Yanderes HCs

Chrollo

He's so lonely traveling around for jobs, it's an unstable life and he doesn't have any real motivation for doing what he does. But you? You were so interesting. He made obtaining you a sort of game, except this was a far more exhilarating game than he'd ever played before. It was a new sort of mission that required a different way of going about things and that sparked something in him. Something he had been missing and craving this entire time unknowingly.

You quickly became friends with the new charming man in town, he asked you out a few times and it was all going well. He brought you flowers and candies, showering you in expensive gifts that you didn't have to even do anything special to receive. You said he didn't have to do these things but he made it clear he was glad to do it.

It's a very gradual progression as he gets more and more possessive. He'll want you to wear everything he's given you, especially when you go out in public. The way he turns your head to meet his gaze even when you two aren't talking, as if your attention had to be directed at him for fear that your outside surroundings would somehow taint you.

When you bring up cutting your hair differently or trying a new look he's quick to panic, telling you in a breathy voice that that was a horrible idea and you were perfect just as you are. He wants to keep you the same as you've always been since he first met you, only allowing you to change to his wishes, never your own.

"You belong to me just as you are. Nothing will change that. I won't allow it to." His gaze is gentle but his words held an unspoken threat that both of you were very aware of. You were his rock. The only constant in his life and after gaining such a thing he would destroy anything that could possibly take that away.

You come along with him for all his jobs, no point fighting someone when there was no chance of getting away. You had to admit the life was somewhat entrancing; traveling around with a man quick to give you anything you so desired, only having eyes for you, a precious gift. He's never cruel, always so tentative, the darkness only fills his aura when directed at others for you could never do wrong in his eyes. The world was what was corrupt and ever-changing. He was a clear example of that.

Hisoka

Hisoka is the king of manipulation and while some part of you respected his skill, when it's directed at you it's an entirely different story. When it happens it just seems like jokes, small things he says that plant these cruel ideas in your mind, and they just keep building up. When you bring up his comments he laughs you off, saying if you are overthinking things perhaps there is a good reason for it. That was the start of it all.

Your idea of your friends was tainted, the way they smiled at you became a reminder of the horrible things Hisoka said a smile could hide. Your own family made you doubt your worth, thinking you'd never reach their standards. When you walked with Hisoka those harsh thoughts remained in your head but the presence of the magician made you happy, the way he had said you were perfect for him and that he didn't have expectations for you. He simply wanted you and everything you were willing to give. Only he didn't tell you he would have you give everything you had to offer and make it seem as if it was all your own choice.

You went on about your insecurities, voicing the fact that the world could be such a confusing and unfair place. It made him angry. The card would slip from his fingertips, blood rushing to the surface of your skin as the sharpened edge brought about a twinge of pain. Your eyes widen but a guilt fills your stomach. Hisoka had said you were perfect so why did he hurt you? He remains quiet as he walks towards you but his calm demeanor does nothing to calm your nerves. He explains in the sweetest voice a blood-thirsty man could provide - which was the equivalent of honey in vocal form for this gifted performer - that he was not mad at you but your words. To stop putting yourself down and instead direct your hate at the world. Your mind quickly twists things, Hisoka seeming to have had a sweet reaction. He wasn't mad at you. He loved you. He just wanted you to be happy and the fact you weren't stirred something in him. He cared and the world didn't.

He shows you off to the crowds like you're some divine thing. Something to be proud of. You're happy and he gives you a tender smile whenever he finds you in the stands of the arena. He'll dedicate the following bloodshed to you and call out in your direction his words of dedication. It was violent yet loving, a perfect description of the man who you cared for.

The death didn't stop at the stage, however. You'd find him coming home with clothes stained red from a person he never tells you the name of, going on about how he loves you so much sometimes he just can't help but express it. How he makes the last words those people mutter be your name as blood spills from their lips. You grimace. This isn't what you wanted. But what can you do? He loves you.

He lets you go out on your own, knowing you'll always come back. If you don't? That's not even a possibility at this point. Everything you are is his. You placed the very value of your existence in this beautiful man and he eats it up greedily. Without you, he'd starve. You didn't want to be cruel after he helped you accept the world as it is and yourself. The killing never stops but you do learn to accept it. Eventually, a smile finds its way onto your face as he drags a bloody finger across your cheek, leaving a red streak he kisses gently before dragging you to the shower to wash up with him. If the world is already cruel then isn't he just a byproduct? An adapter? Simply someone who has learned to love in a place where even love can't remain untarnished?

Illumi

You're getting kidnapped right off the bat. This man takes you the second he finds any sort of special interest in you as a person. He has this urge to protect you, the same as his own blood, that's not something he can just ignore. He won't be like his father. He won't allow you to rebel against his wishes or run off with another. He'll keep you to himself until you yearn for nothing more. Your cries fall on deaf ears as he looks on at you emotionlessly. This is for the best.

You'll be walking one day, there won't be many people around or none at all, and then he'll just appear. You hadn't met him before, he had wanted to study you to see if the two of you were compatible before he actually moved forward with his plans. One moment he's standing before you and the next you're out cold, a needle placed perfectly in your neck causing you to fall limp in his hold. He cradles you gently against him as he quickly makes his way to a secure home for the two of you. He wouldn't allow his family to have a taste of you. He didn't need their help. They always failed it seemed and he wouldn't have you suffer the same fate.

You wake up in a home straight out of your wildest dreams. You think you're still asleep as you first take in your surroundings. It's simply perfect. Your dream room. Your feet find the floor and as you put yourself upright a voice calls out to you asking if this setup pleases you or if you'd like something different. You're stunned and the ground beneath your feet suddenly feels all too real. The long-haired man comes to face you, his speed inhuman as he soon stands before you. You're scared and you're confused but the night before comes back to you and the explanation is clear. This man had taken you and it doesn't seem as if it had been the first time he laid eyes on you.

As time goes by he stays at your side, quietly observing you as you go about your day in the confines of the home. You'll walk to one room only to turn around and find him relaxed in a different spot only a few feet away. You were never out of his sight. You began to become curious about his intentions, why he was acting so nice - albeit a bit creepy - after taking you away like this. "My parents attempted to make the perfect family through what most would deem as cruelty. It didn't work out in their favor. I thought I had turned out quite nicely but they did not think the same. The closest thing to perfection for them is my brother but even he is not right yet. They treated him far... kinder than me you could say. Perhaps if I treat you even better you will be good for me."

With no way to escape, having witnessed this man's own abilities the first day of your "stay," you adapted to the situation. Becoming docile yet not overly submissive. You were still you and it seemed he was content with your occasional minor defiance and own personal wants or needs. It seemed he only wanted your presence and something about that was far easier to accept. He doesn't force you to do anything but rather encourages your interests and even becomes curious about them himself. While he wasn't much one to talk in the beginning he became more comfortable in your presence. You both had to adjust to the other despite him being the one in control of the situation.

Being with him is a reassuring thing, the little gleam in his eyes as you show him something new or express your gratitude over something he does/brings you has your heart beating loudly in your chest. You had begun to care for him. You missed the world and the new adventures and life you used to live but there was no fighting to be done. You knew what the result would be. In the back of your mind you knew this was wrong and an inhumane thing to do to another person but he seemed so tender with you. You watched him grow into himself and what's wrong with making the best out of a bad situation?