#and i have a vision for..red gem...

[whereishoney]

gem for gemweek! gem for gemweek!

first time officially drawing gem.. and i wanted to give her a cargo skirt. does it look like one? erm,. the vision is there though. and a dress shirt with an interesting neckline inspired by her hermitcraft skin heehee

oh yeah @dronepikachu for coming up with gemweek yaya

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can you write about the reader being either Ford or stans controversially young spouse? Like they're close to their 20s instead of their 60s

Ooh to be their controversially younger spouse what a dream I wish I could live lmao 🤣

Before you became Ford’s spouse, the man would always use the age gap between you two as the sole reason as to why you shouldn’t be together romantically, he’s sweating bullets and loosing sleep over it because it’s just so glaringly obvious to him that you shouldn’t.

However this was all just a cover up for the fact that he did indeed feel things for you in a romantic sense. You were great with Dipper and Mabel, encouraging their passions and even getting involved in them should they need someone to be dazzle in gems or go out into the woods to look for the supernatural.

You even got along with Stan, which was only an added bonus for Ford but still he kept reminding himself that he was far, far too old for you that he might as well have been old enough to be your father/ grandfather! Wasn’t that enough to disturb you?

He knew some people held a liking towards older people but believed it was more for their wisdom and life experience, not the romantic kind.

Apparently it wasn’t because Ford accidentally over heard a conversation between you and Wendy regarding his age;

Wendy: isn’t he too old for you?

You: negative, I love older men. Especially older men who are smart, a little socially awkward and plays dungeons, dungeons and more dungeons.

Wendy: …respect dude.

Needles to say after hearing that Ford’s face became as red as cherries and his worries regarding how you felt towards the age difference seemed to have dwindled slightly, but still he worried that others would view you as weird for being with a man more then twice your own age.

Sure there wasn’t many…worthy candidates to date in Gravity falls but surely he couldn’t be the only one worth your gaze? Mabel must’ve at least tried to set you up on more then one occasion, but according to her you just never seemed to jell with the people she set you up with, saying that you had a distant look in your eyes as though you could be anyone else then at the date.

When Mabel confronted you about it one day, you told her that you liked men a little older then you, Mabel then asked why but you only ruffled her hair and told her that she might see the vision one day. Ford was now being presented with more proof that you would be more then content with dating him, it was undeniable and he even indirectly heard it from your own mouth, so what else could he possibly be held back by?

Fear and rejection from society if they ever were to see you both in a romantic setting?

Then again you both lived in gravity Falls and there were things far weirder than an 20 year old dating a 60 -pushing 70- year old man. And thus began Ford’s new hypothesis; how to win over a 20 year old’s heart.

After you stated dating, you beating the other ladies and men off with a stick because that sexy silver fox was yours! FINALLY! It was your turn to have a sexy older man in your bed!

Other then that you loved being with Ford as no two days were the same, you could be going out with him to look for supernatural as a date, thankfully surviving when Ford got a little distracted by spouting facts on what was trying to kill you both and ending up sat on the porch of the mystery shack and laughing together afterwards.

Or be in his lab and watching him work while admiring how handsome he looked with greying hair and an aging face, but Ford would see it otherwise and become a little insecure and reserved.

‘Don’t you think it weird?’ He’d ask you one day.

‘About us?’ You didn’t have to hear him respond when you knew that Ford was still a little uncertain with your age difference still after seemingly accepting it. You sigh and walked over to him and sat on his lap, making him blush and his eyes widen as you hold his face between your hands.

‘Ford, sweetie I don’t care about what they think, I’m just glad that I got to be with you after pinning for so long. I understand this is new for you but all I ask is that you trust me,’ you kissed his nose softly, ‘and trust in our relationship, there’s nothing weird about it unless you make it weird.’ You add with a smile as Ford rested his head against you, his hands now resting comfortably on your waist.

‘You’re right my sweet,’ Ford said, ‘I’m just worried that you might find someone close to your age more appealing then some old man.’ You couldn’t help but chuckle as you leant further into him.

‘Who could I ever find more appealing than you mr sixer?’ You asked rhetorically, ‘you’re more than perfect the way you are and I’m the lucky bastard who gets to call you mine, so everyone else can stay jealous for all I care knowing I have the most perfect man ever.’ You add as you kissed his lips this time and smiling when Ford reciprocated it with his sweeter, soft kiss.

You probably have moments where you recall something Ford wouldn’t understand and Ford would reference something that was older than you, it’s funny regardless of how you looked at it.

Ford’s body still has aches and pains despite keeping himself healthier than Stanley and so you would help him during these times and coddle him lovingly, while reminding him that he needed to take it easy on himself once in a while.

Ford apologises for it but you only shut him up and remind him that he has nothing to apologise for.

You didn’t treat each other differently because of your ages, if anything you made Ford feel young again and Ford gifted you advice and made you feel just that little bit smarter, which boosted your confidence in yourself. It was a beautiful relationship that was pure and sweet it could give anyone cavities.

Stanley didn’t give a shit you were dating his brother, he knew you liked men above a certain age when you kept eye fucking Ford whenever he walked past you, or how Ford would look at you longingly when you weren’t looking . He saw this shit coming from a mile away as it wasn’t exactly subtle on either end and may have made a bet with Wendy about how soon you’d come to him to announce you were dating his brother.

Stanley won the bet much to Wendy’s dismay.

You saw Ford shirtless once and went apeshit much to his surprise because weren’t people your age into six packs and hairless upper bodies?

Nope, not you, you loved his tummy and body hair that you clung to his side and spent the afternoon kissing his scars and embarrassing tattoos he kept covered in turtlenecks while whispering reassurance that reminded him that you were attraction to him was more then surface level. Ford would return the favour when you had episodes of insecurity would remains you of such by comparing your every insecurity to something beautiful.

Acne? Constellations/ clusters of stars

Stretch marks? Lighting strikes

You’ve got a tummy and thick thighs? Didn’t you know that they(thick thighs) saved lives?!

Needless to say that you came out with a newfound love for yourself afterwards.

You constantly held his hand and kissed each finger to show that you didn’t care about anything but him and his wellbeing, it warmed Ford’s heart as he found to love himself a little more with your help, and in doing so he was able to show you love by kissing your cheek in greeting or making you breakfast in bed or draping his coat over your shoulders when he saw that you were cold.

It was sweet and innocent but still it was enough to have you smiling and feel loved, which is all Ford ever wanted you to feel while with him.

Ford’s love was chivalrous, stubborn and awkward, but you wouldn’t want it any other way as you wanted Ford just the way he was and thrived when you saw his eyes gleam with excitement as he makes a discovery, leading him to grasp your face and kiss you on the lips while holding you close to his chest as he explained what he had done; all the while you stared at him with awe and love because he was really attractive when he was talking about things he was passionate about.

Ford would then catch himself and apologise for rambling but you would kiss him on the cheek and ask him to continue, to which Ford happily obliged, now aware that you were staring at him as though he had hung the stars in the sky.

Ford would find himself looking at you in a similar fashion when you were going on about what you and Mabel did in town, and Ford couldn’t help but hone in on your smile, shining eyes and hand gestures that told him that you enjoyed the hijinks that had happened while wearing the sweater that Mabel made you the entire time.

You’d catch him staring intently at you and suddenly you’re flustered and playing with the sleeves of your bright and vibrant sweater. ‘It’s kinda corny isn’t it?’ You’d ask as Ford chuckles, reaching out to hold your hand reassuringly in his.

‘No, not at all my sweet, I in fact find your adventures with my niece and nephew endearing and sweet. So please continue to tell me how you drop kicked a gnome into Mabel’s leaf blower.’ Ford said and within seconds you were back to being bright and talkative about your adventures of fighting off gnomes, barf fairies and pulling Mabel away from fae traps.

You both were each others listeners and would remember anything and everything said because you actually liked to hear where the other got up to when apart from one another.

Bonus; you definitely have a spot in his journal where he goes in depth of your relationship before ending it with: ‘they’re someone I don’t think I could envision a future without, for they make me young again while loving me regardless of our differences in age and much more. Thank you for loving me y/n, even when I don’t think it’s deserved.’

[radiance1]

Witch au but Sam looks far too much like Martha Wayne than a lot of people are comfortable with.

I hear you ask, "but Sam is younger than her in this au" and I tell you that Martha Wayne had the genetic trait of looking younger than she actually was, a trait that was in her family for generations.

Thus, we have Sam who resembles Martha Wayne far too much, the philosopher's stone that makes her immortal, and a genetic trait that has Martha looking younger than she actually is and you get misunderstandings.

So, Sam was just minding her business trying to figure out what exactly for her castle to be anywhere that wasn't Amity Park when someone stepped onto her property and, getting a feel for them she realized that they don't seem to be magical in nature.

Also, scratch that, it was more than one person.

So, she decided to give them a... 'warm' welcome.

A group of people who believed in the supernatural decided to get together one day to explore the castle that spawned randomly one day in Gotham for shits and giggles. So there they were, stepping through the fog, barely able to see the ground let alone each other.

They had to solve a puzzle for the door to the castle to open in those conditions, which was weird but it was also the fun kind of weird so they weren't complaining about it. When they opened the door it was very dark, which made them second guess themselves for a second and then they decided to step in anyway.

They live in Gotham what's the chances of this castle being worse than what they go through weekly?

The door slammed shut behind them as soon as the last person stepped inside, leaving them in total darkness for a moment before candles lit themselves up and they saw the inside of the castle in its full glory.

It looked, very, very beautiful.

So beautiful in fact, that they almost missed the woman stood at the top of the stairs. She looked very, very beautiful and was wearing a dress that looked very expensive (think Blue Diamond from Steven Universe but black) with a red gem right in the middle of her chest.

The lady welcomed them into her castle, and suddenly they found their vision going back as the woman's sinister chuckle echoed all around them and they found themselves in separate rooms of the house.

Fun fact, this group of people were also streamers and streaming everything up to the point of Sam's entrance and then her magicking them all in different rooms. They also had a pretty good following, so safe to say the chats were going crazy over what just happened.

So, the various live streamers investigate the castle to find a way to escape before their assumed death, they solve various puzzles both with their own wit and the help of their chat that were magical in nature. The various puzzles and traps were, genuinely, very fun to solve, both for the chat and the streamers doing them.

All the streamers manage to meet up again, and boy are they genuinely thankful for the fact that-so far at least, this doesn't seem to actually be anything life threatening and just seemed to be a grand time all around.

Then they all headed down a hall together, and the chat just went absolutely ballistic when they saw a large portrait of the witch and another man standing together and smiling.

The chat never got a good look at her before the streamers got teleported to different rooms, but that painting?

It changed everything.

Because the woman standing in that picture-as pointed out by a chat member, looked an awful lot like Martha Wayne, and the man standing next to her? Thoms Wayne.

The streamers, obviously, think they've hit the jack pot because their viewer count is just going up and up because of this new information and also think they've hit some sort of scandal because, wasn't Martha Wayne dead?

Eventually, the find themselves sitting at the dining table with said woman who was silently drinking tea with a bunch of food sitting on the table in front of them. The woman smirked as she placed down her cup, asking if they enjoyed the various puzzles she laid out for them.

Everyone agrees, and the chat is exploding for them to ask if she's actually Martha Wayne.

She doesn't answer save for a cheeky smile and then suddenly they were standing outside of her castle and couldn't get back in.

Safe to say, reporters were flocking to ask various questions.

[anisangeldust]

Pretty when you cry 𝜗𝜚⋆

Summary: feelings are hard.

Pairing: young politician!Coriolanus x Fem!reader

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, Coriolanus is stressed and needs you, emotional vulnerability, mentions of parental loss, crying.

A/N: just some heart-achy fluff bc I’m in the mood to coddle someone rn🎀

Masculinity and Bravado were drilled into the brain of Panems president since the day he was born, festering like an infection, multiplying like an invasion, until all he could feel was shame for feeling.

So often he’d find himself teary eyed, chanting soliloquies of “Men don’t cry, you aren’t weak, crying makes you weak.” like mantras around his apartment, such nonsense that those superior used to undermine his naturally empathetic soul.

It wasn’t until many moons later that he crossed your sacred path, your mere presence a soothing compress on his aching heart. Little by little, you cleared his night skies from its once insurmountable peril, the darkness that had consumed his soul was no longer seeping through his core, instead it soaked through his eyes, salty drops of crystalline water flowing down his milky cheeks.

At the moment, he was being comforted by his ever so generous and loving wife. The emotions he buried so desperately were now flowing like a river in front of his own personal Aphrodite, a tsunami of emotions flooding his soul, lapping at the weak spots of his delicate being. Never would anyone describe Coriolanus Snow as vulnerable, but right now he was. Your tenderness akin to the mother he lost so long ago, and his trembling frame that of a little boy. This is love in its rawest form, the ability to express vulnerability without judgement, the thing Coriolanus so clearly craved his whole adolescence.

Heaven was breaking down in your arms, having a rough day and coming home to you, the woman he loved with every ounce of his being, to have you hold his face and tell him it was all going to be okay; your murmured words like a warm compress on his aching heart.

So often he reminded himself that he was allowed to have bad days, being president was draining, and the cracks in his mask were deepening, he could no longer hide from the flood, he had to just make sure he didn’t drown. Luckily you were his life boat. Despite all his hard work, sometimes the darkness prevails, dawning cloaks of false serendipity, only to shed its light and consume your dignity. The darkness that clouds his vision, creeps into the corners of his mind, dampens his thinking, the darkness only you can cut through. He beam of light, his saving grace.

Coriolanus was a blubbering mess, your fingers running in his platinum curls a reminder that he was safe, that he was going to be okay. Slowly, he lifted his head from your chest and sniffled.

“I don’t deserve you..” he murmured, eyes red and puffy from crying so hard.

“Shhh, just lay on me baby, it’s okay, I’ve got you” you cooed, pressing his face back into the soft fat of your chest. As to which he happily complied.

The muscles of his shirtless back were relaxed, melting into you and your warm embrace. He wrapped his arms around your middle and hugged you like you were going to disappear if he let go, you were his most precious gem, a beauty unmatched by the most divine beings, a goddess amongst men, and Coriolanus was your most devoted apostle.

Slowly, his breathing regained stability, his pink lips no longer quivering, chest no longer heaving. You peppered his teary cheeks with kisses as he calmed down slowly. His mind slipping form consciousness as he fell asleep.

“I love you” he croaked gently, voice rough and tone uneven, the most vulnerable state Coriolanus Snow could be in, the one reserved for you.

“I love you too baby boy, so much. Now sleep, it’ll all be okay” you mutter as he flutters his eyes closed and lays on you completely, your own personal weighted blanket.

Coriolanus was truly sculpted by the gods, how else would he be so pretty when he cries?

[harrywavycurly]

I’m dying to see Harry trying to help with wedding planning because god that just seems like it would be so overwhelming 😫

Hiii babes!! I hope you enjoy this! I agree it seems like it would be so overwhelming and he would do his best to help anyway he can!💖

-find all things for the Lonely series here✨

A/N: You’re worried that you won’t have centerpieces for your wedding but Harry is there to help fix it all, enjoy✨

You try your hardest to keep your facial expression polite so you don’t let your eyebrows rise too much or your eyes get too big and you make sure your smile doesn’t falter not even for a second as Malory, the lovely woman showing you some examples of centerpieces for the tables at your reception, places a giant floral arrangement that’s full of red roses that’s in a jeweled vase on the table in front of you. You want to give up, this is the fifth arrangement she’s shown you and you don’t know where she’s getting the inspiration from because you had told her what the theme or vibe of your wedding was a few weeks ago when you called to set this appointment up and she had assured you she understood but so far nothing was giving you that impression at all.

“Is your fiancé joining us?” Malory asks with a smile as she stands next to the table holding the hideous flower arrangement.

“Yes he-”

“Sorry I’m late sweetheart Gem needed my approval on her dress and it took ages longer than intended.” As if on queue Harry walks through the door of the little shop and you instantly feel like you could cry the moment his eyes lock with yours and his soothing voice fills your ears.

It’s moments like these that you’re thankful that Harry has known you for as long as he has because he knows what’s going on the moment he sees you and takes in your glassy eyes and the way you’re biting your bottom lip, so he briefly looks away from you so he can give Malory a warm smile as he walks over to her. “Hi I’m Harry the fiancé of this lovely woman over here and I’m just wondering if I could get a few moments with her? Haven’t seen her all day and I just-”

“Oh of course! Yes I’m Malory and I’ll just go get the next few arrangements ready.” She gives him a knowing look and a playful wink as she pats Harry on the arm before she turns and heads off towards the back leaving you and Harry alone in the front of the shop. The moment she is out of sight Harry is turning around and taking the few steps over to you so he’s standing in front of you wrapping his arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest while his lips press a kiss to the top of your head.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asks as he gives you a nice squeeze as you let out a deep sigh and close your eyes and let yourself get engulfed in the comfort that is just being with Harry, he’s always been able to wrap you up in his arms and make you forget about the world around you and you need that in this moment more than anything.

“They’re all ugly.” You mumble with your eyes still closed as your arms snake around his middle pulling him closer to you. Harry begins to run his hands up and down your back as he places a kiss to the side of your head. “We get married in nine months and we aren’t going to have any centerpieces.” You explain as you try to fight back to urge to just let out a frustrated sob because you didn’t think picking out a centerpiece would be difficult but it’s proving to be just that.

Now Harry isn’t going to lie and say he’s been the best at helping plan this wedding, he has left a lot of the details to you but does give his honest opinions when you ask for them but lately he’s been able to tell that the few wedding related tasks left have been a bit more daunting and he’s adamant on not letting you have a breakdown over something like a seating chart or flower arrangements. So when you asked him to come help pick centerpieces he didn’t hesitate to say yes, he knows what the vision is for the wedding and the reception and he knows that with the help of Jane, the wedding planner the two of you hired once you realized planning a wedding on your own wasn’t something you were cut out for, it shouldn’t be an issue to get exactly what you’re looking for. But going off of the way you’re practically clinging to him and on the brink of full on crying in the middle of this flower shop he is clearly mistaken. Harry decides in that moment when he feels your grip on him tighten as he hears you let out a shaky breath that he is going to make sure you leave this shop with a smile on your face.

“We are going to have centerpieces love don’t worry.” His voice is soft and soothing in your ear as he begins to ever so gently rock you back and forth a bit in his arms. “Let’s have a look at the options she’s shown you so far yeah?” You open your eyes and look up at him so your chin is resting on his chest and Harry looks down at you and gives you a reassuring smile as he leans down and places a quick kiss to your lips.

You reluctantly let go of him as he loosens his hold on you so you can turn around in his arms. His hands move to your shoulders as he walks a half step behind you as you lead him over to row of tables that hold the examples of centerpieces Malory has given you so far. As he stands there Harry can’t help but raise an eyebrow as he looks at them, he doesn’t know why the lovely shop owner would show these to you after you gave her the inspiration for the wedding because these don’t fit the theme at all so he can understand why you feel defeated and upset.

“This can’t be right.” You just shrug at Harry’s words as you look at the arrangements again trying to maybe find one you don’t dislike too much. “You told her where we are getting married and everything?” He asks and you nod because yes you told Malory all the details of your wedding.

“Yes and I think she even talked to Jane as well.” You answer and Harry is officially dumbfounded but he doesn’t have time to ask anything else before Malory walks in with another centerpiece in her hands and this one is no where close to what you’re looking for with all the bright pink and white flowers sticking out of a clear vase with a big pink tule bow wrapped around it. Harry feels your shoulders slump under his hands and even though he can’t see your face he knows you well enough to know you’re putting on your best fake smile as you look the arrangement over.

“This one can be done is different heights as well and we can add candles around it or-”

“I’m sorry Malory but are you sure these are for our wedding?” Harry doesn’t want to be rude but he also doesn’t want to look at anymore centerpieces that aren’t anywhere near what you want and he knows you’re too polite to say anything so he will happily do it for you. Malory turns her attention away from the arrangement and faces Harry with a slight look of concern on her face so Harry does what he does best and turns on the charm flashing her a smile that shows off his dimples as his gently squeezes your shoulders.

“I only ask because while these are just lovely arrangements,” she smiles and you see a slight blush take over her cheeks and you almost feel bad because you know how overwhelming Harry’s smile and slow and soothing tone can be especially when you’re not prepared for it. “They aren’t really the right fit for our wedding.” He explains with a warm smile and Malory looks away from Harry’s intense stare so she can turn and grab her clipboard off the table next to the last arrangement she brought out.

“Let’s see the notes I have for your wedding are classical glamorous romance with reds and pinks but also the classic touches of white-”

“Sorry for interrupting but whose wedding is that for? Because that’s not ours.” Harry asks in a soft tone as he continues to soothingly rub your shoulders, he knows you’re on edge because you don’t like this sort of thing and he’s aware you view this as a form of confrontation and you would rather just look at arrangements that you hate than tell Malory you don’t think these are meant for your wedding.

“Oh god I’m so sorry these are for the Gibbs wedding.” You feel your whole body relax as Malory admits the mistake because you now know it’s not that she doesn’t understand your vision for the wedding it’s just that she had the completely wrong wedding in mind.

“Ah that explains it then because we are the Styles wedding.” Harry states as Malory gives you an apologetic smile as she reaches for one of your hands.

“You must’ve been freaking out oh my goodness I’m so sorry.” You let out a sigh of relief making Malory chuckle as she gives your hand a squeeze. “Again I’m so sorry about this but let me just go grab your sheet and show you some examples that actually fit your wedding theme okay?” You just nod as she gives your hand one last squeeze before letting it go and heading off to the back to grab your sheet and start setting up some examples of centerpieces you’ll actually like.

“How do you do that?” Harry raises an eyebrow at you as you turn around so you’re looking up at him with a look of almost disbelief on your face because you really don’t get how he manages to just swoop in a save the day all the time.

“Do what?”

“You come in here and I’m on the verge of a breakdown and not even five minutes later is all fixed.”

“I just don’t like it when you’re upset.” He answers as he places a hand on the side of your face while he other one rests on your hip. “So I try to fix it as quickly as I can so if that means I have to tell Malory that she has to start over with the arrangements then so be it.” He explains with a shrug because for Harry it comes without any hesitation to do whatever he has to in order to make you feel better. That’s just how he’s been since the day you met all those years ago so he has no plans on stopping and if anything now he’s just willing to do even more to stop your tears because you’re going to be his wife soon and the idea of you being upset makes his heart sink to the bottom of his chest.

“I’m so happy it was just a little mixup.” Harry smiles as he watches you look genuinely more relaxed as you lean into his touch.

“Me too because I really didn’t want to have to fire her.” You roll your eyes making Harry raise an eyebrow at you. “What? You don’t think I’d do it?”

“You can’t fire her Harry because we haven’t hired her yet.” You state as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck. “This is like the test run and if we see something we like then Jane will handle setting it all up for the day of.” Harry just nods and you begin messing with the hair at the back of his neck.

“Well just for the record I’d happily fire her if I needed to.”

“Really?”

“There’s not a lot I wouldn’t do for you love.” You smile at his answer as he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead before he leans all the way down and places a sweet kiss to your lips. “I love you.” He mumbles against your lips before giving you one more little peck.

“I love you too” Harry can’t help but grin as he pulls away because he’ll never get tired of hearing those words leave your mouth.

“Okay now tell me does this fit your wedding more?” Harry’s hand drops from your face and your arms go from around his neck as Malory appears with one of the most beautiful arrangements you’ve ever seen in her hands. Harry smiles as he watches you walk over to the table she carefully sets it down on so you can get a closer look but he can tell by the smile on your face that you love it.

“This is gorgeous.” Your answer makes Malory smile as she goes to grab another example for the two of you to look at. “We might actually have centerpieces at our wedding.” Harry chuckles as you turn and stare at him with a giant smile on your face as you excitedly clap your hands and do your signature happy dance.

“Thank god because what’s a wedding without centerpieces?”

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

I’m not sure if this is where requests go, but can you do a platonic!yandere! Charles Xavier and Magneto with child reader? Maybe she’s around 13-14. She’s a decently strong mutant who can control shadows and has similar powers as Raven from DC? I don’t see a lot of platonic Charles and magneto. Maybe some headcanons and small snippets? Idk. Thank you!

THE SONG OF THE RAVEN.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Charles Xavier x Raven! Fem!reader x Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr. (Platonic Fic)

¿Request? Yes!

This is a Headcanon!

warnings ⸺ mdni! Dark themes, violence/death, blood, insolation, invasion of privacy, scars, delusion, Angst, ¿OOC Xavier and Magneto? Idk, fights, Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Gaslight, Mental Illness, Corruption, Isolation, Paranoia, Manipulation.

sinopsis ⸺ A young girl caught between two worlds: the war of a man obsessed with a cause and another who has a completely opposing vision. She desperately seeks to escape the fate that both are trying to impose on her. Amidst silent dinners and celebrations she never wanted, a solitary raven watches her from the shadows, a symbol of the freedom that always seems just out of reach.

A/N ── English is not my first language—Spanish — I didn’t know if you wanted me to do it together or separately. Just send me a message and I’ll make another one for you.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... met you in a disturbing and violent way, a storm of chaos surrounding you as you remained expressionless on the threshold of his door. The contrast between your cold determination and the horror of the blood covering you fascinated him immediately. He felt in you an internal storm as powerful as the one raging outside, a repressed power that he needed to comprehend and, more importantly, contain. The way the red gem on your forehead gleamed with darkness only intensified his desire to guide you, to be the only one capable of unleashing your true potential... to control you.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... perceives the fear in the hearts of those around you. He knows that the students and the other X-Men watch you cautiously, whispering about the dark energy that emanates from you, the shadow that always seems to follow you. But for him, that darkness is what makes you so fascinating, so special. While others retreat, Xavier moves closer. He uses his powers to silence those murmurs before they affect you, convinced that no one else, except him, can see the beauty in what you truly are. Every time his thoughts touch your mind, he feels your confusion, your internal struggle with the dark power within you. And that only reinforces his desire to keep you close, to have you trust only him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... insists on training you personally. He does not trust that anyone else understands the depth of your abilities as he does. His training sessions are intense, his mind enveloping yours as he guides you through the darkest corners of your powers. He assures you that only he can help you control it, to master it, and with each passing day, you feel more bound to his presence. You feel him, always in your mind, always near, watching you even when you think you are alone. Sometimes you wonder if he is protecting you or if he is caging something within you that he only wants to possess. But you dismiss those thoughts because, after all, he was the only one who took you in despite everything.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... obsessively cares for your well-being, to the point of seeing you as a daughter who needs to be watched at all times. He provides you with an isolated room, away from the other students, a place where you can be "safe," although you feel it is more like a prison disguised as protection. Every time you leave your room, his eyes seem to follow you, and his words are always filled with care: “It’s for your own good. I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed by the weight of your power.” But in his voice, there is always something more, a need to keep you safe... safe only for him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows he cannot allow the world to harm you, and in his twisted mind, that justifies any invasion, any manipulation. He follows you in dreams, watches over you through his powers even while you sleep, ensuring that no nightmare, no vestige of Trigon or your own darkness reaches you. Sometimes you feel his presence within your mind, a forced calm that leaves you uneasy, but when you try to confront him, he simply smiles at you kindly and says, "I just want you to be at peace, Y/N. I won’t let anything hurt you."

Yandere Charles Xavier who... sees in you more than a student. You are his creation, his project, his daughter in a sense deeper than anyone else could understand. He has shaped you, protected you from yourself and the world, and in his mind, only he has the right to be so close to your essence. Sometimes he talks to you about a future where no one else can hurt you, where he will be everything you need. And in those moments, you see in his eyes a glimmer of something disturbing, a need that goes beyond the mentor that everyone sees.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... has made the entire mansion a refuge for you, although it really feels more like a prison from which you cannot escape. The mental bond he has established with you is so strong that even if you wanted to leave, you would feel an invisible resistance. Charles has intertwined his mind with yours in such a way that it is impossible for you to imagine a world without him, and that dependence is exactly what he has desired all along. Because in his vision, absolute control over you is not something to be feared, but a demonstration of his love and care.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... knows that the dark power dwelling within you could destroy the world if not contained, and yet, he increasingly feels tempted to unleash it, to see you in your purest, most chaotic form. But he would only do it if that means he will be the only one capable of guiding you, of touching that part of you that no one else should know. The thought of losing you or your power at the hands of another is unbearable, and that leads him to make increasingly extreme decisions, justifying his actions as if they were for your own good. For Xavier, you are more than a powerful mutant. You are the center of his world, the living manifestation of everything he fears and everything he desires.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... begins to see with you the same dark and melancholic series that seem to attract you, those that reflect your own internal struggle. The hours you spend together in the mansion's living room are an attempt to understand you more deeply, and although the plots are often laden with fatalism and sadness, Charles watches them carefully, always studying your reactions. “I wonder if you see anything of yourself in these characters,” he comments one night, as a gloomy episode unfolds on the screen. He says it in a casual tone, but his interest is deeper, always trying to unravel the corners of your mind. You allow yourself a slight smile, a reflection of the dark sarcasm that sometimes dominates you. Charles remains silent, but his mind works frantically. He cannot help but feel fascinated, even more connected to you, by that dark side you share through the screen, knowing that only he can help you confront it… and control it.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... tensed the first time you spoke of Trigon. You mentioned him with a chilling calm, explaining how your destiny, according to your mother, was marked by his shadow. “He is my father,” you said one day in one of your mental sessions, while you were both immersed in that peaceful void that Xavier created for you. “And he is also my curse.” The words resonated in his mind with a weight he could not ignore. Charles felt a dull anger in the depths of his being, a resentment he did not expect toward an entity he had never known. Trigon. That malignant presence that had tried to claim you before he found you. "You are not a curse, my child" he replied, his voice firmer than usual, trying to maintain his composure while feeling something dark stir within him. “You are not your father, nor the destiny imposed on you. You are much more than they will ever understand.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt something dangerous when you mentioned your mother and your dimension, Azarath. It was a calm conversation at first, you talking about her with a mix of nostalgia and sadness, a mother who had tried to protect you, but also one who had allowed Trigon to leave his mark on you. Charles listened in silence, but with each word you spoke about her, he felt a growing resentment. She had brought you into this world of darkness, a girl who did not deserve to be subjected to that cursed fate, and no matter how hard she tried to protect you, she was the one who deliberately delivered you and put you at the mercy of Trigon. "She didn't really understand you, Y/N," Charles said one day, his voice laden with careful control, fearing to say something that would upset you, but with a latent fury that only you could perceive if you looked closely. “Not like I do. Not like those who truly want what is best for you.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... organized a small celebration on your fourteenth birthday, a day that should have been joyful, but he knew meant something very different for you. He watched your empty expression, your indifference toward the candles, the few gifts the students dared to give you. You discreetly stepped away from the celebration, seeking solitude. Charles followed you, his chair moving silently to the corner where you had taken refuge, away from the bustle. “I’m not celebrating this day, Charles,” you said, your voice laden with a coldness he could not ignore. “My birth was a curse. This day, in the future, will be the downfall of all humans in this dimension.” His eyes watched you with a mix of compassion and pain. The feeling of helplessness briefly overwhelmed him, but it was replaced with a fierce determination. “No, Y/N. It was not a curse,” he replied, moving closer. “Your birth is the arrival of a messiah to the earth, and nothing that happens will change my mind. You are free to be whoever you want to be, and I will help you see that. I… will always be here to remind you.” His warm, paternal hand touched yours, trying to make those words penetrate the darkest corner of your mind. “You are my daughter, and no destiny imposed by a foolish demon can change that. So let’s celebrate.”

Yandere Charles Xavier who... felt a mix of pride and relief as he saw how, year after year, you remained true to the X-Men, but more importantly, true to him. While the other students grew, forming deep friendships and even romances, you remained distant, always the solitary shadow doing what was necessary but not truly connecting with others. Charles noticed this, and although he pretended to worry about your loneliness, deep in his heart, he felt satisfied. He knew you had remained intact, far from the influences that could have pulled you away from his control. In his mind, that distance was proof of his success, of how he had shaped you to depend only on him.

Yandere Charles Xavier who... as he aged, felt pride every time he looked at you and saw that you remained his daughter, his creation. You were no longer the teenager who arrived at the mansion covered in blood and viscera, but you still did not allow anyone to affect you deeply. “You have grown so much,” he told you one afternoon, his voice soft but laden with a possessive love that had always been present. “Not just as an X-Men, but as a person. You have given me more than I could ever imagine. And I thank you… for staying by my side.” His eyes, now older, more tired, shone with pride that bordered on obsession. He knew you had overcome your demons, but he also knew it was because of him. And as long as he could keep you close, away from any other influence, he would be happy.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... found you in a dark alley after an uncontrollable explosion of power had left devastation around you. Your emotions had exploded after your arrival from Azarath, and Erik, seeing you surrounded by shadows, immediately felt a connection. “You are a mutant,” he affirmed, recognizing the immense power within you. But as he saw you more closely, his motivations began to mix. At first, he saw you as a tool for his cause, but the fragility of your emotions awakened in him a deep concern.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... took you under his protection with an obsessive intensity. Although he trained you hard, his desire for control was evident, convinced that only he could help you channel your power. “You are stronger than you think,” he would tell you in moments of greatest despair, but what he truly longed for was to mold you into someone who shared his struggle. For him, your potential was unlimited, but also a source of fear.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... obsessed over seeing you in the white suit you had brought from Azarath, interpreting it as a symbol of your purity. However, there was a dark desire within him: to see you covered in red, a color that for him represented fury, destiny, and his cause. Although his exterior seemed serene, in his mind, Erik struggled against the growing need to possess you, to protect you not only from others but from yourself.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... felt trapped between the desire to see you become a warrior and his paternal instinct that pushed him to protect you. Your demonic lineage generated both fear and admiration in him, and every time you showed signs of rejecting the path he had laid out for you, his frustration grew. “You can’t escape what you are,” he would tell you, although he knew those words hurt you deeply. What he didn’t understand was that your internal struggle went far beyond the war between mutants and humans.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... tried to isolate you from others, especially from those who showed you any kindness, like Charles. “They don’t understand you, kid” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But deep down, Erik feared that others could offer you the balance that he, in his obsession, denied you.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... wakes in the middle of the night to hear your frightened whispers. He knew you had nightmares, but he could not stand to see you in such a state of vulnerability. Not knowing how to comfort you without seeming weak, he stayed by your side, watching your tormented expressions. In the end, he would gently wake you, murmuring, “Nothing will happen to you while I’m here.” However, his need for control grew every time he saw you affected. He couldn’t bear the thought that something, not even in your dreams, could hurt you.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is surprised the first time he finds you watching a romantic series. “Why are you wasting your time with that?” he asks you, disdainful at first. However, over time, he begins to tolerate it only because he sees you more relaxed. He doesn’t admit it, but he secretly watches you, intrigued by how you can find peace in something so far removed from his reality. Although he despises those stories, he starts to buy them for you in an attempt to keep you entertained and close to him.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... begins to get angry when he notices that you are becoming friends with Pietro Maximoff. He is deeply bothered by the closeness you develop with his son, as he fears that his influence will pull you away from him. “Pietro is unstable,” he warns you, trying to sow doubt in your mind. But you can’t help feeling freer with Pietro, who understands your desire to escape better. Every time Erik sees Pietro make you laugh or when he talks to you about the freedom he feels when he runs, Erik becomes increasingly jealous, wishing to control every aspect of your life.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes furious every time you escape. Even though you try to do it discreetly, he always notices and takes it as a personal betrayal. “Where do you think you can go without me?” he asks you when he finds you, his voice filled with a mix of disappointment and possessiveness. Erik justifies himself by telling you that he only wants to protect you from the dangers of the outside world, but the truth is he cannot stand the thought of losing control over you. Every time you return, he locks you further in his world, believing he will keep you safe.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... listens carefully when you talk to him about Azarath and your father, although his expression hardens at the mention of Trigon. “Your father has no power here,” he assures you, as if his words could ward off the danger he represents. However, he cannot help but compare himself to Trigon in his mind. His desire to protect you intertwines with a dark satisfaction: he is the one who has pulled you from that world. Still, his disdain for the demonic seeps into his words, sometimes making you feel that Erik does not understand the depth of your internal conflict.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first gets annoyed when you refer to him as your mentor instead of your father. For Erik, the relationships of power and control are clear, and your resistance to see him in a paternal role confuses him. “I care for you as if you were my own daughter,” he says, trying to soften his tone, although what he really wants is for you to feel more dependent on him. However, little by little, he realizes that being your mentor also gives him a position of influence, shaping you in his way. And although he does not admit it, sometimes he would prefer that you did not see him as a father, as his feelings toward you become increasingly complex.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... becomes irritated when he sees you seek comfort in other mutants or in your memories of Azarath when you feel alone. For him, those connections are a threat, as he fears that any bond outside his influence will lead you to distance yourself from him. “They don’t understand what you can become,” he tells you, convinced that he is the only one who can help you reach your true potential. But every time he sees you embrace your past or connect with others, the need to isolate you intensifies.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... sometimes struggles with the desire to let you go and allow you to be independent, but that thought consumes him with jealousy. Every time you show glimpses of autonomy, his possessiveness increases. Although he respects your strength, his need to protect and control puts you in a constant cycle of tension. “You will always need my guidance,” he assures you, convinced that his presence in your life is indispensable. However, he does not realize that, despite his obsession with keeping you close, you see him only as a teacher, not as the omnipresent figure he aspires to be.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... at first saw you as a key piece in his fight for mutant supremacy. He trained you hard, wanting you to be his perfect weapon against humans. But over time, something changed. He no longer cared if you fought in his war; he wanted you to be his daughter. Now, instead of training you in combat, he teaches you to control your powers in ways that, according to him, will only make you stronger, but without putting you in danger. “You don’t need to risk yourself for a cause that no longer makes sense to you,” he tells you, ignoring your own desires to fight or make your own decisions. He only cares about keeping you close, protected, and under his control. He is no longer interested in the war; his only obsession is to keep you in his life, away from any conflict that could take you away from him.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has become addicted to the moments when he can feign paternal normality with you, like the dinners he organizes almost every night. He knows that his presence makes you uncomfortable, especially when he watches you with an intensity that makes you nervous, but for him, it is a ritual that reinforces the connection he believes he has with you. Every time you try to avoid those moments, he insists: “It’s important that we have dinner together, as a family.” Although his attempts to create a family atmosphere feel forced, you stay because you feel you have no other option. Every dinner is laden with awkward silences and glances that make you feel like you are under a microscope.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... is terrified to witness, for the first time, how Trigon attempts to possess you. It was an unexpected and terrifying moment, one that left him powerless in the face of a force he could not control with his magnetism. He watched you struggle against the influence of your demonic father, and for the first time in a long time, Erik felt a fear he had not felt since childhood: the fear of losing you, but in a much darker way than he had ever anticipated. When you managed to resist the possession, Erik took you by the shoulders, his eyes filled with a mix of panic and fury: “I won’t let that monster take you. Never.” Since then, he has redoubled his efforts to keep you close and under control, looking for any way to prevent Trigon from attempting something similar again, even if that means isolating you even more from the outside world.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... has never understood why you are reluctant to celebrate your birthday. For him, celebrations are important because they reinforce the idea of family and unity. But you have always avoided Erik marking that date, and each year you try to spend the day in silence or distracted by anything else. Despite your resistance, Erik always finds a way to get you a gift or prepare something special, even though he knows it makes you uncomfortable. “No matter what you think, this day is important,” he insists, ignoring your wishes. For him, celebrating your birthday is not just a symbolic gesture; it is an affirmation that you belong to him and that, even if you reject it, you cannot escape his influence or control.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who...feels increasingly obsessed with the idea of having a perfect family. Although at first he saw you as an ally in his war, now he sees you more as his daughter and less as a warrior. Every time you mention the possibility of fighting for mutants or exploring the outside world, he cuts you off with cold determination: “Your place is here with me. You no longer need to prove anything to anyone.” This only increases your frustration, but Erik seems more than willing to do anything to prevent you from exposing yourself to danger, even if it means cutting all your external connections.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... watches every movement of Y/N as she trains with her powers, controlling shadows with impressive skill, his eyes burning with a mix of pride and possession. Every time she makes progress in her control of her powers, he feels his own purpose renewed: to protect her from a world that does not understand her. He feels jealous of the attention she gives to Charles, but at the same time, he knows he needs her to see him as a paternal figure as well.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... takes her to therapy sessions to help her cope with her nightmares, creating a warm and welcoming environment. His approach is more understanding and emotional, and although he feels threatened by Erik's intensity, he strives to be the father that Y/N needs, even if it means yielding in some aspects to Erik's demands.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... cannot stand to see Y/N go on a mission with Charles or the other mutants. Although he knows it is part of her training, his protective instinct kicks in, and his scheming mind seeks ways to dissuade her. When he finds her talking to Charles about the mission, his voice hardens. “It’s not safe for you to go out; you could lose control and hurt yourself,” he warns her, his tone filled with concern and jealousy.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm the situation, reminding Erik that Y/N needs to have experiences and learn to defend herself. “You can’t always protect her, Erik. She needs to learn to face the world.” His tone is firm, but in his eyes, there is a spark of challenge. The rivalry between them intensifies, but both know that their ultimate goal is the same: to protect their little Raven who is so lost in life.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels helpless when Y/N expresses her desire not to celebrate her birthday, a day that is painful for her to remember due to her own traumas. However, upon seeing how Charles plans a small celebration, his anger erupts. “Why are we celebrating a day that represents her vulnerability?” he yells, even though inside he is torn by the idea that he cannot be the only one to make her happy.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... realizes the importance of this day for Reader and refuses to yield to Erik's doubts. “She deserves to enjoy her life, Erik. You can’t keep her in a bubble.” Although both fight for Reader's attention and affection, the celebration becomes a point of unity, combining their efforts for the well-being of the young girl.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels a pang of jealousy and frustration when Charles invites Y/n to the mansion to spend time with family and have dinner with the other X-Men. “Why are you bringing her here? She should be training, not sharing laughs with them,” he reproaches, his voice tense as he watches Y/n smile and interact with the others. Erik cannot help but feel excluded, fearing that by spending time with Charles and the X-Men, Y/n will drift away from him and his teachings.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to see the best in the situation, explaining to Erik that Y/n needs moments of normalcy and connection with others. “Erik, you can’t protect her from everything. It’s essential for her to learn to interact with her family and friends,” he says, trying to remain calm. However, he realizes that Charles's words only ignite Erik's anger further, who believes those moments are a dangerous distraction.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels even more upset when he learns that Charles is fostering a relationship between Reader and Pietro. “She doesn’t need a boyfriend, especially not that boy who will only hinder her development,” he tells him in a grave voice, raising an eyebrow at the complicity between the two. His scheming mind fills with jealousy, convinced that Pietro, with his carefree nature, could negatively influence his daughter, diverting her from the seriousness he believes her life should have.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... tries to calm Erik, reminding him that the bond between Y/n and Pietro could be beneficial for her development. “She needs friends her age, Erik. Who better than your son? You can’t be the only one in her life,” he insists, although the tension between them feels palpable. In reality, he does this to torment Erik and make Y/N want him more.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... feels irritated when he sees Y/n wearing battle clothes that he hasn’t chosen. He hated that she dressed in that dark attire. “Why are you dressing like that? You need to be ready for battle, not for a parade,” he tells her, frowning as he sees that Charles allows Y/n to wear whatever she wants. When she appears uncomfortable with her choice, Erik feels frustrated by the lack of control he has over his surroundings. “I don’t want you to feel vulnerable,” he says with concern, but his way of expressing it is possessive and almost demanding.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... intervenes, defending Y/n right to choose her own clothes. “She should feel comfortable and secure, Erik. Strength doesn’t just come from appearance, but from the confidence she has in herself,” he argues, trying to show him that possessiveness is not the answer. However, Erik feels overwhelmed by the desire to protect her, thinking that clothing should be an extension of that protection, not realizing that his approach may be making Y/n feel trapped.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... one night, upon seeing Y/N wake up startled from her nightmares, cannot help but feel a pang of pain. “I won’t allow them to trap you like they did me,” he murmurs, gently taking her hand. However, his possessive nature surfaces, and a flash of fear crosses his face at the thought that she might distance herself.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... encourages her to talk about her fears, using his telepathic abilities to connect with her in those mental landscapes. “You are not alone, my girl. We are here for you,” he tells her, his voice soft and reassuring. Their emotional connection strengthens in those moments of vulnerability, and although Erik struggles with his own instincts, he realizes that together they can offer her the protection she needs.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr who... joins Charles to defend Y/N from an external threat, forcing a collaboration that seemed impossible before. Both are aware that, although their methods differ, their love for her transcends any rivalry. “If we lose her, there will be no victory,” Erik says, his voice deep as he watches Charles nod, understanding him.

Yandere! Charles Xavier who... is also compelled to recognize the value of Erik's strength. “We need to join our forces if we want to protect her from the darkness that lurks,” he agrees, looking at Erik with a mix of respect and challenge. Together, they form a formidable front, balancing Erik's brute strength with Charles's cunning and knowledge, becoming two protective fathers seeking the best for Y/n.

Yandere! Erik Lehnsherr and Yandere! Charles Xavier who... finally find an understanding in their struggle to protect Y/n. The rivalry that once separated them becomes a bond that unites them, each complementing the other as they face the adversities of the outside world, with the Raven of freedom always present in their hearts.

A/N ── I don’t know much about Magneto (surprisingly), so I did what I could with him. Still, I wasn’t satisfied with his part, and that’s what worries me the most, but I think with a look at the comics, the movies, and watching a few videos, I’ll learn more about him.

I separated them because I think in Xavier’s case, Y/N would feel more drawn to his affection and appreciation, which is why she would remain loyal to him without wavering, which is different in Magneto’s case.

Raven is a character I really like, in several adaptations, except for two that I don’t like much mainly because of how they were written.

Feel free to ask me anything if you want. Just go to my profile and message me; I always read your ideas and requests.

Take a Bath!

[yeyinde]

WICKER PYRE | Dragon!Price x Reader

All things considered, you should have expected it. You know better than to make deals with dragons.

WARNINGS: 18+ | light smut—no descriptions of anatomy used for the reader; possessive undertones; dragon trickery; blink and you'll miss it Celtic Dragon mythology and folklore WORD COUNT: 1,5K NOTES: They tempted me with hellfire and pretty imagery, so. Here we are.

It smells of biochar, pyrolysis. The incendiary heat sparks to life around you; a thick, impenetrable wall of stifling warmth, and you blink through the haze, the heat mirage, that swims in front of your eyes, trying to clear the clouds from your vision. 

It's hot. 

Hellfire. Inferno. Absolute. 

Paradoxically, it edges into dry heat—wildfires: burning forests, charred logs, crumbling charcoal, ashes—but your skin is drenched in sweat; sticky, tacky. Hot springs. Lavascape. 

You're drowning in Phlegethon, hands clawing at molten skin to stay afloat. 

"Shush, shush—"

It's a wheezing rasp. A rumble that rebounds against the carverous, limestone walls and echoes in your ears. The vibrations of it rattle through your chest and dislodge the panic from between your ribs. 

"Easy, now."

Despite the smoked-cured softness of the voice above you, around you, in you, it booms through your marrow; the sudden shift of the plates. A tectonic shockwave that bludgeons into you. 

"Can't—" you start, words a desperate, aching whine. "Can't—John—it's so hot—!"

His answer is a grunt; a rolling, monstrous sound that shivers across your skin. It's easy, with his front pressed against your back, his words hissed into your crown, to forget that he isn't a man. That his body is made of the valleys: carved from chiselled andesite, graphite, and limestone. Coursing through his veins is ichor and brimstone, fed from the burning pyre inside his chest that blooms tuffs of smoke, and reeks of ash. 

He quiets you with another low pur, and feeds the tips of his steel claws into your flesh, anchoring you tight to his body.

And then you hear the fire-painted voice speak from between his nicotine fangs: "I know." 

And you suppose he would. 

Molten blood. Igneous skin. His voice is Pyroclastic: tephra falling from his heaving chest. 

With the exception of his pointed, angular claws, his hands almost look human. Almost. 

But when they grip your hips tight, the skin of his palms feels too thick. Too velveteen. Like the soft underbelly of a reptile.

Those claws hold you steady as he slides the full, burning length of himself into you. The blunt press of his cock splitting you apart, and the rasp of his knuckles, rough with blackened osteoderms protruding from his thick skin, makes you shiver. It feels like sandpaper when it prickles over your flesh. 

You try to gasp but the oxygen in the room is swallowed by the flames. Try to move but his weight on your body is a plutonic ash bed. A prison. 

Jewels and gems nip at your skin when you ramble to find purchase on the treasure trove of his nest, to find something to hold onto while your body is slowly consumed by the unrelenting heat of him stretching you into a shape you do not recognise. 

"Tryna run?" He mocks. "Thought you could handle it, mm? Wasn't that our deal? Do you know what happens to little humans who try to break their promises?"

You want to bite back something scathing, something dripping in venom and cruelty, but the words are ground into peat salt when he presses the full weight of himself onto you, using the momentum to snap his hips harder, faster, than he was before. 

(You swear, swear, you feel the white-hot tip of him digging harshly into your sternum.)

But he's merciful—to a degree—and his hand lifts, drops in front of your nose, claws gleaming in the flames that surround his den, his prison, his home. 

You take in the sight of his heat-scorched skin—a chromosphere of living magma: blistering red dusted with fine ash. It's pretty. Stunning. You're mesmerised by the ripples of fire running in thick rivulets beneath his carbonised pelt, and you know, then, why he's so sought after. Respected. Feared. 

(Who would try and run afoul around a man, a being, a beast, who has hellfire burning in his veins?)

The brief respite splinters when he shifts forward, pushing himself as deep into your body as he can possibly go, and the world around you lists sharply on its axis when he pulses, branding you from the inside out, turning your body into a magma chamber that only fits him—

You can't breathe—haven't been able to since you rocked up to the smouldering cavern on the side of a mountain, and demanded he make a deal with you. It's hard to acclimate to the carbon-rich air that thrums around you like a thick curtain of plasma, threatening to consume you whole. 

"Easy, now, pretty thing," he purrs again and the deep rumble that spills from his expansive chest seems to glue to each bone in your body, reverberating deep within your liquifying marrow.

His elbow falls, chin presses into your crown. He breathes you in, and the world around you shudders, and ripples like the glimmering sea of a heat haze. An optical illusion. A mirage. But one that flexes around you like water; moulding to your body, and filling in all the crevasses and canyons until the plasmic air clings to your skin. 

Smoke billows with his exhale. You scent charred tobacco leaves, brimstone, crushed granite, and burning rock—sharp and acrid. The smell sticks to the back of your throat and colours your lungs in a fine layer of rock dust.

The world around you shakes when he growls into your crown, nose pressed tight to your sweat-slicked skin. 

It feels like an earthquake rattling inside of you, shaking loose the paper-thin threads of sanity that keep you still beneath his bulk.

"Ah, John—"

His forearm slides closer to your gasping mouth, and you scent guncotton on his skin. Thick. Heady. It makes your head swim, and a fever bloom in your veins. 

"There," he huffs into your hair, and the plume of his voice heats the world around you by several degrees. "Now you have something to hold on to, love." 

His voice is pinched with something that sounds mockingly cruel, mordant, but there's a softness in the way he holds you close; a tenderness that biles the roughness of his hands, the sharp drag of his claws against your flesh. 

"Now," he continues, hand tightening on your skin hard enough to bruise your tremulous bones. "Be good, and let me fuck you." 

With that, he snaps forward until he's once buried to the hilt. Fangs prickle across your shoulder blade when he lowers his maw to your skin. Each heavy exhale through his nose leaves a scorching mark over your flesh until it's blistered and raw. 

He sets a brutal pace, and each time he sinks in deep, you feel something inside of you splinter, break. It's unlike anything, anything, you'd ever felt before—a liquid pleasure and pain that melts together into burning heat. It feels like euphoria and punishment in the same breath: an equilibrium of salvation and condemnation.   

Each growl that leaves his heaving chest shakes the cobwebs from between your ribs, and fills them with ash and smoke. It seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning you with each harsh stroke. 

(You forgot that he was poisonous—)

But it's too late. 

Lost in the delirious cloud of heat, ozone, and John, all you can do is wrap your tiny hands around the thick of his forearm, nails barely leaving a mark on his thick pelt, and cling to him as he takes what you offered with greedy claws, and gluttonous eyes, pounding you into his bed of furs, and stolen gems and gold. Treasure toppled to the ceiling of the cavern they warned you to stay away from. The precious clutch of a monster who protects his wares with fire and madness. Raining wrath and fury, white-hot rage and red-hot desperation, down on anyone who dares to get close. 

It's too much, too much, but you knew what you were getting into when you tried to barter with him.

("Let's make a deal—"

And he'd said, "you must be desperate. Don't you know what I am—"

His noctilucent eyes burned in the dark. 

Mocking. Cruel. Hungry.)

All you can do now is hope, somehow, that you make out in a single piece. That all your vibrating atoms stay whole; intact. That you don't lose yourself inside the madness of heat, and burning fire. 

That you'll make it out, alive.

—if, of course, he lets you go—

But those hopes are dashed when his molten tongue flickers out, laving a burning path across your neck. 

"You'll look so good in all my gold," he snarls, a thundershock right into your core. 

And then he sinks his fangs into your neck. 

You should have known from the start when he looked at you with hunger, rapacious greed in his keen, sharp eyes that you were not leaving his den again. 

(The most precious piece in his hoard.)

Your body is a wicker pyre made to be burned. From the charred ashes, something new will rise. A phoenix trapped in the paws of a beast who likes pretty, shiny things, and will never let go. 

(And really, what else did you expect when you decided to tempt a dragon?)

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarchs + Daughters (2)

Finally finished the damn part two. Been kinda busy here and there with my new job but lo and behold, the one yall asked for. Soon enough, yall find out why it took me a while writing this one for the two main guys I had to add here.

Part 1 - Part 2

Konrad Curze

A’right, I’ll open this one with the fact we all know that this man shouldn’t even be legally allowed to have children. I’m gonna be real for a hot second and admit that I stared at the screen for HOURS not knowing what to write because any poor little girl that is born from this guy will have the dubious privilege of being the most sheltered and hidden secret the Primarch ever kept close. With all those visions of death and inevitable doom mixed with the sudden power rush that fatherhood gave him, it left in its wake a perfect storm for this lunatic to develop a paranoid and obsessive need (NEED) to keep his daughter safe; something hard to achieve when he already knows the essence of his Legion. His fatalistic nature regarding his own future would suddenly clash violently with the Primarch’s new found protective stance concerning his child. It's almost sad to consider that this poor man GENUINELY wished to avoid becoming the monster his visions showed, but knowing that he’ll be balancing in the thin line of one day hurting his precious girl (or worse than that) it'll put him in the hard decision of having to let go of her eventually. He is no Perturabo, for that matter. In the rare and far away moments of lucidity, I can see Konrad choosing to protect the innocence and life of his child by trusting in the last person ANYONE might expect the Night Hunter would seek help: Vulkan. Honestly this is just plain sad, man.

Sanguinius

This is it! The golden boy, yall! We all know the kind of person Sanguinius is, but add a precious little daughter in the equation and all you get is the perfect example of textbook girl dad. No matter how busy this man is, somehow he’ll squish some playtime with his baby and enjoy every bit of it. Seriously, this guy acting like a dedicated father is worth being in a stockphoto image. His baby girl asks him to play tea party? Some astartes will find their Primarch hunched over, awkwardly holding a comically small cup between his thumb and index while his precious princess pretends to pour more tea for herself. The daughter of Sanguinius doesn't go a single day without knowing that her papa loves her a lot and when the man isn’t around, the Blood Angels Legion are close to keep her company to the point that even she calls them ‘big brothers’. No one is safe when she wants to play dress-up. The single problem I see with Sanguinius when raising his little girl is that he sins of being completely oblivious to the more mortal side of his daughter’s needs. He easily gets so wrapped up in his role of The Perfect Angel that he doesn’t realize his tiny princess has boundaries that are being constantly crossed, but since she feels the need to prove that she can be like her father, endures all those problems and refuses to seek help about anything. It becomes a kind of toxic mix considering how much Sanguinius is loved and adored by others, to the point that his daughter becomes like a coveted gem too by relation, making her need to prove her own ‘perfection’ an unconscious action the older she grows. I’m not even gonna touch with a ten feet pole the “fun fact” called the Red Thirst on this one because, let's be fair, that would require for me to write more than 3 pages with ONLY Sanguinius and his daughter in the spotlight and that’s only assuming his baby girl didn’t inherit it. I specialized in visual arts and marketing, not psychology jfc.

Ferrus Manus

It took me a while but after some investigating and more reading I can safely put this man in between the Papa-tier and ‘tough love’ guys. His practical mentality and belief of the strongest are (oddly enough) healthily separated from his parenting skills. This is one of the few Primarch that can see their daughter as an individual of their own and makes sure to be as present as possible in her life but the loyalty of this man to the Emperor is his own flaw. Not in the case that he’ll choose the Imperium before his little girl, but because it’ll put him in the dreading and guilty notion that he’ll always prioritize his daughter despite his oath to serve for the Great Crusade. Most of his brothers (except maybe Jaghatai and Konrad) just assume or don’t even think about the long term future of their daughters or simply presume that they will become a great part of the Imperium’s well oiled structure. Not exactly their fault since they never grew up with anything resembling normal. On the brighter and wholesome side (whiplash change!), this is a man who finds handmade gifts more meaningful and always makes sure to explain the reason behind them mostly out of the enjoyment of watching his little princess look so amazed at her papa’s skills. More often than not, Ferrus’ belief of the strongest would falter a little as he perceives the true fragile nature of his daughter and, even if she share the resilient blood of a Primarch, that isn’t enough to convince him that she isn’t vulnerable but instead of letting the worry fester, he’ll try to teach the girl the art of fighting. That’s where the ‘tough love’ kind of guy I mentioned comes out to light. He will not spare kind words during those moments of teaching, as he wishes for his princess to prevail any difficulty but he’ll make sure to always end any sort of training with “I love you so much that the idea of one day not being there to protect you, pains me beyond any form” to make sure that his harsh actions have a reason behind. Honestly, it's the kind of father-daughter relationship that possesses so many shades that makes its own drama novel. Good thing that uncle Fulgrim is always there to smooth the hard edges that may come in the future and makes up for the lack of spoiling the little girl deserves. Ferrus is not amused by it. Forgot to mention that the Primarch will be even more motivated to take off the metal of his hands, for he has yet to truly feel the warm and soft flesh of his baby’s hand. It's the one feeling he keeps missing and craves so much.

Angron

Oh man, another of the hard ones. Okay, if I managed with Konrad, I can tackle this bitch too. You need to comprehend that we are talking about a guy that has been so intimate with the meaning of pain that it's amazing he’ll be capable of ranging through other emotions that don’t involve fury into that combo too. That being said, this whole shitshow of being the father of a young girl can only be described as sad AND tragic. First off, Angron’s daughter wouldn’t even be allowed to leave her chambers at The Conqueror for obvious safety reasons and having her stay on Terra can’t be an option too, as Angron would rather be death than leave in a silver plate this one single pittance of good he helped to create under the light of the Emperor. That being said, any little girl born from Angron would be terribly isolated and one can’t even blame the Primarch for that as he, despite his disposition, finds his daughter as a genuine reflection of what he could never ever dream to have or be. That sometimes results in him feeling short and spontaneous moments of anger from the impotence of not being able to be close to his daughter, let alone console her with anything resembling compassion. This is a man that is horribly aware that he’s away from one sharp stab of the Nails to his brain to end up killing his little girl in one single swat of his hand. The moments of anything resembling fatherly love are few and very tense, for Angron has to constantly be focused on not letting the pain control his actions and that always looks as if he’s dismissing his child’s love language or actions. What else can I say that most people don’t know already? This is just a sad story waiting to end in tragedy and had it not been for how Sanguinius ended during the heresy, I can see The Great Angel taking Angron’s daughter under his care as the only consolation and promise to his corrupted brother before his demise. After becoming a Daemon Prince, Angron’s only genuine and foggy memory of his little girl is her crying while calling him with heavy despair. Goddamn I almost tear up with this one.

Roboute Guilliman

Look at my big nerd! One of the few guys that actually is humble enough to feel more human than any of his brothers… sometimes. I gotta say it, Roboute has the vibe of what happens when someone incredibly autistic suddenly becomes a parent; expect lots of books to try and be prepared for what entails to take care of a mortal baby. He’ll have a wholeass strict routine of activities and diets that you AND the baby must follow to ensure both of your health along with “fun facts” regarding a toddler’s development that half of the time lack the keyword ‘fun’ in there. Honestly, Euten will be a BLESSING sent, for she’ll be the one railing back the most extreme attempts of her adoptive son to try and raise his little princess like she was just another task of paperwork. Over all his quirks, the Primarch of the Ultramarines is absolutely trying his hardest to be a good father just as the one that raised him, but this is a man that half of the time ends up clumsily trying to spend time with his little girl only for it to backfire as he simply doesn’t understand how to entertain his daughter. Good thing the child will simply be happy to spend time with her papa despite his weird personality. More often than not, some of the astartes will see the young lady at her father’s chambers in a little booster chair beside him, doodling on some papers to pretend that she’s a big girl helping her papa with his very important job. It's probably the most adorable sight anyone can ever get the chance to see. Just like most of his brothers, Roboute isn’t that good at expressing his love towards his daughter with words, so he simply let his little princess be on his lap and hug her as if it will be the last time.

Mortarion

I’ve written enough of this man being a father that you all can get a wild idea of how he will be when confronted with parenthood. Even if he believes himself to be undeserving of anything resembling happiness thanks to his perception of being nothing but a tool of the Emperor, this guy will only need to see his precious little flower and feel like everything in the world can be forgotten, including his ever festering negative emotions. His daughter is the single light of love that he selfilish believes is his right after such torturous upbringing although that mentality rarely affects his princess, as he simply shows nothing but care and tenderness towards her. He may be a nervous trainwreck, fully aware that his Legion and himself aren’t exactly safe-hazardous, but that never has stopped him from doing his utmost best to protect the little girl from anything that may hurt her. Like most of his traitorous brothers, Mortarion would not hesitate to bring entire worlds into devastation if it meant that his family can be safe, even if that’ll end up making a terrible gap to grow between him and those he loves. It's quite terrible and sad to know that, unlike Fulgrim or Angron, Mortarion was the closest to his daughter and showered her with as much genuine love as he could in an attempt to avoid being anything like his supposed father (adopted or creator equally), so when he turned into a Daemon Prince, the festering and rotting resentment that consumes him sometimes simmers down when he remembers the laugh of joy his little princess often released when he would carry her up in his arms. Oh yes, some good ol’ gut-wrenching emotional damage, teehee.

I will not apologize for being a mean bitch by writing sad shit. XOXO

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Dagger? I hardly know her

Barbies:male!reader x Harry hook

Summary:reader gets kidnapped and hilarity ensues

Warning:kidnapping, knife kink (no blood), sex on the floor, mutal handies, degradation Harry receiving,spit kink?, I think that’s it but idk

Harry Hook is an asshole. Though, you weren't exactly pleasant to him either. Any chance you got you were insulting him. You couldn't remember how all this started. Maybe it was just the way he breathed that pissed you off. Maybe it was his stupid eyeliner. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed to be able to make you blush with just a look. Maybe it was fuck ass hook. Whatever it was, it made you want to shank him. First he has the audacity to speak to you. Now he has the audacity to kidnap you?

Sitting on the boards of Uma's ship, your arms tied behind you, you planned all the ways you'd kill Harry. You were locked in a cabin with a desk. There was a cushioned chair behind it. The desk was messy, nick nacks and papers skewed everywhere. The flooring was still the classic ship wooden floors. There was one porthole, covered with a red piece of fabric. The sun was beaming through the fabric, tinting the room with a red light. The was a rug thrown out on the floor. It reached back behind the desk and jutted out in front of you. It didn't reach the edges of the room, settling closer to the center. The door across from you opened, the sun making you squint. A man walked into the room. As he got closer you recognized him. Harry Fucking Hook. Harry stood next to you, leaning into your ear. He quietly whispered a hello. You called him every name you could think of in your head. You rolled your eyes and jerked your head away from him. Harry stood up, walking around to squat in front of you.

"Comfy?" Harry muttered, giving you a cocky smile. You glared at him, pressing your lips together.

"Kill yourself." You snapped, yanking on the restraints. Harry clicked his tongue. He stood up, staring down at you. Harry knocked his hook under your chin, making you look up at him. Harry smiled at you. You felt your face start to heat up. You yanked your face away from him. Harry sighed before turning and walking away.

You weren't sure how long you spent alone and tied up. The longer time went on the more you started to plot. You found a nail that was raised above the boards. You scooted over towards it, spinning around so your back was to it. You scraped the rope against the nail. It scratched your hands occasionally, but you wanted out. Your hands separated. You brought them in front of you, rubbing at the marks on your wrists. You stood up, your heart was beating quickly. You wondered if Harry would kill you if he found you. You doubted it though. You looked around and walked to the back of the desk. You rifled through the papers on the top. You looked through the nick nacks, trying to find something sharp. You opened the first drawer coming up with nothing except papers. You opened the second drawer and right on top of a book was a dagger. A blue gem set at the bottom of the handle. You almost thought it was a mirage. You quickly picked it up, closing the drawer. You made your way to the door. You tried to open it, the handle did not budge. You tried it again, no dice. You sighed. You'll have to wait until someone comes to the door. You surveyed the room. You were reminded of the porthole. You walked over, pulling the fabric up. You squinted covering your eyes. You looked out the glass once you regained your vision. You saw the ocean and near that a dock. If you could squeeze out the porthole, you could swim to the dock. You looked around the edge of the window, finding no latch. You stuck the dagger in the back of your waistband. You ran your fingers around the edge, looking for anything. Nothing.

You heard footsteps approaching the door. You quickly drew the dagger, silently hiding next to the door. As the door opened you grabbed the person by their shirt, slamming their back against the wall. You closed the door with your foot. You pressed the dagger to their face, finally meeting their eyes.

"Fuck you, Harry." You whispered. Harry grinned.

"God I wish you would." He muttered. You pulled him forward before slamming him into the wall again. Harry hit his head against the wall, he grinned at you. You glared at him, holding the knife closer to his face. Harry kept his eyes on you as he leaned forward. He stuck his tongue out slowly dragging it up the edge of the knife. You stared at him. You stored the dagger in the waistband of your pants again, tugging Harry against you. You kissed him roughly, nipping at his bottom lip. He returned the favor, dragging his hands over every inch he find. You gripped his shoulders, spinning you both around. You push on his shoulders, forcing him to him knees on the rug. You broke off the kiss staring down at him. His eyes were glazed over with lust. You pressed your palm to his cheek. You pulled your hand back before slapping him. His head shot to the side making him stare at the ground. Harry started giggling looking back up to you. You gripped his cheeks.

"Lay down." Harry listened, laying on his back. You straddled him grabbing both his wrists in one hand. You pulled them above his head before meeting his lips again. You dipped down under his chin, kissing down his neck. You realsed his wrists the drag your hands to his shirt. Harry worked on your shirt as you flung his away. He dropped your shirt in the same direction you did his. You kissed on his sternum before pulling back. You stared at him as he held onto your thighs. You ran your hands down his stomach finding the button of his pants. You quickly unfastened them. Harry met your pace, reaching for the hem of your pants too. You both slipped your hands past the other's hem of their underwear.

Harry groaned when you finally gripped him. You watched his eyes rolled back when you swiped over his slit. You moved your hand up and down slowly. Harry moaned and copied your movements. His pace was slower than yours. Dragging his hand up and down your length at a tantalizing speed. Harry had his eyes screwed shut and his jaw cleanched. He slid his thumb over your slit. You picked up your pace, him following your lead. His precum lubricating himself. You leaned down towards his ear.

"Whore." Harry moaned in response. Your hand met the pace of his breathing. His gasps becoming faster, you knew he was getting close. You pulled the daggger from the back of your waistband pressing it to his throat. His eyes rolled back and he closed them.

"Slut." You patted his cheek and gripped his chin. You tilted his face to the side. You spat on his cheek. You patted the other cheek making him look straight up again. Harry smirked before sticking his tongue out and liking at your spit.

"You're a filthy filthy cock slut, aren’t you?" Harry held eye contact with you as he came, moans falling off his lips with whispered curses. Your orgasm quickly followed his. You gently slid your hand off of him, not wanting to overstimulate him. Yet.  He moved his hand out of your underwear, pressing it to your stomach.You stood and rebuttoned your pants. Harry stayed glued to the floor, staring up at you with glazed eyes. You turned and left the room, locking it behind you.

[mikashisus]

EMPIRE OF BLOOD

01. when does a man become a monster

TAGLIST ! @https-sourlimes @ughscara @yourfavoritefreakyhan @wystiix

NOTES: first chapter yippee!! i actually adore this chapter and it'll be hard for me to have a new fav chapter after this. i think the only chapter that could one-up this one would be the ball chapter, which... will not come until wayyy later. i already wrote half of it. this whole fic has been written out of chronological order LMAOO

WC: 4.3k

masterlist | next

You were eleven years old when you first killed a man. 

The searing pain under your skin did nothing to help the immense shock you felt upon watching as the light left the man’s eyes. 

With shaky hands that were stained entirely in fresh, warm blood, you released him from your grip and watched as his lifeless body fell to the ground. His head lolled to the side, his neck almost completely detached from the rest of his body. 

The ghastly sight made you feel like you were about to vomit. You gagged, a few coughs following after before you wrapped your arms around your middle and hurled up your half eaten breakfast. More coughs followed and you wiped your lips with the hem of your ragged dress. 

A sense of panic welled within you as you realized what you had just done. You scrambled away from the dead body of a Mondstadt nobleman. A few helpless screams left your mouth, loud enough to alert a group of knights nearby. Your throat was burning, your screams coming out in hoarse chokes. 

Finally ripping your eyes away from the man’s maimed body, you stared down at your shaking hands. Your vision blurred as you tried to steady your breathing. It was to no avail. The air in your lungs felt thin, and your throat felt like it was closing up. Your lungs tightened, and it became increasingly harder to breathe. 

At the lack of oxygen, you panicked even more. One of your hands reached up to claw at your throat, leaving trails of crimson stains in its wake. 

A soothing voice pierced your ears amidst the loud ringing. 

“You are not alone. I am here. Breathe. In… and out…” 

You attempted to follow their instructions as best as you could. When your eyes opened, you finally caught sight of your savior— it was a green-clad figure. The voice made it hard to tell their identity, or perhaps they were just androgynous. The image of them was blurred from the tears gathering in your eyes, but you could briefly spot their lips pulling up into a kind smile. 

You glanced behind them at the dead body. The air in your lungs felt thin once more. You wanted to leave, to run far away and never have to see such an ungodly sight ever again. 

Fate had other plans as a comforting hand rested on your back. The androgynous figure was now gone, replaced with a dashing woman whose features were threatening in appearance only. Her pitch black eyes with crimson X’s in the center showed deep concern, accompanied by a frown. 

She gently wiped the tears from your eyes. You blinked rapidly as she did so, the sharpness of her nails just barely stabbing you in the eye. You were able to get a better look at her now that your vision was cleared. 

She was a most gorgeous woman, with fair skin and her hair a mix of black and white. She wore blood red lipstick that contrasted her skin tone. She wore a gray suit with black and crimson accents. The cuffs of her sleeves looked similar to swan feathers. A pin in the shape of a butterfly sat on her collarbone, the deep ruby red gems glowing like menacing eyes under the light of the moon. 

Her hands, also black like the night, were careful as they settled on your shoulders. Three of her nails on each hand were painted red. The other two were black. 

This woman appeared scary, but her comforting touch and her kind words were far from that. Just from her presence alone, you could tell that she was not a threat to you. She was not here to harm you or drag you into the knights’ custody. 

You could tell just from her expression and her aura. 

“Relax,” she whispered. 

Her voice was authoritative, commanding, but there was an underlying softness in the way she spoke to you— as if she knew how to handle children your age. She brushed the hair out of your eyes. 

“There is no need to cry anymore. There is no need to be afraid. You are safe.” 

The kind words of this strange woman surged through you right to your heart. Your lip trembled, and your eyes gathered with tears once more. You shuffled towards her kneeled body, grabbing onto the blazer of her gray suit with fervor. You dug your face into her hold, your cheek resting against her stomach. 

Sobs racked through your tiny body. She did not push you away like you expected. Instead, she knelt into a more comfortable position and gently patted your head as you cried. 

You did not want her to leave. You were desperately hoping that this was not a dream. If this was a dream, it was a cruel one. A child of your age needed a parent right now, and your young mind latched onto the only adult figure that cared enough to show you sympathy. 

“Shhh. It’s okay.” She shushed you. “I won’t be going anywhere.” 

You snuggled into her further. Despite your attempts to cling to the only adult figure that showed you mercy and comfort, she did not reciprocate affection like a parent usually would. She had the ability to calm your nerves and soothe your mind, but she did not seem capable enough to coddle you like a mother would to her newborn baby. 

She opted for little physical affection and let her words do the talking instead of her actions. 

It was very fatherly. Not like you would know; you never knew your father— or your mother, for that matter. 

“Come home with me.” She muttered. The words came out more like a statement, a demand, instead of a question. “I will raise you like a strict and unfeeling father.” 

That was how you ended up in a foreign nation’s orphanage, more commonly known as the House of the Hearth. 

The House wasn’t the best place. You came to find that many of the children were wackjobs— some more than others. But the orphanage was better than being thrown into jail for murdering a Mondstadt aristocrat. 

The woman—  Arlecchino, her name was —assured you that your background would be wiped clean. She promised you she would take care of everything regarding the matter of the aristocrat’s murder. You did not know whether to trust her judgment or not, but seeing as there was a roof over your head, food on your plate, and clean clothes at your disposal, you chose to trust her for now.

After all, this was the most attention you have received from an adult in your entire life. You never had more delicious food. In fact, you have never had this much food in your life. Instead of scrounging for scraps in alleyways and stealing more than a few apples from a vendor’s stall, you had three meals a day— including some snacks. 

You no longer had one article of clothing. Arlecchino gifted you with lavish dresses that your younger self could only dream of wearing in her wildest daydreams. You were finally able to wash your body regularly without relying on the nearest river. In fact, you had a whole bathroom with a pristine bathtub, a fluffy towel, and hair and body wash that completely cleaned your whole body. 

Instead of bunching up newspapers to sleep on and shivering in the brisk night breeze, you had a twin sized bed with comfy sheets and a bouncy mattress. Your pillow supported your head and neck, and you got a proper night’s sleep. 

It was like a dream come true. You wondered when this fantasy would end. Indeed it did end— but briefly. 

A few weeks after you settled in, Arlecchino came to have a chat with you. She ushered the other children out of the room and they obeyed without hesitation. She told you the first day she took you in to call her “Father,” to which you did so. But you couldn’t truly start addressing her as such when you did not know how a parent acted towards their child. It was something you would have to get acquainted with over time. 

Of course, she was not going to force you to do anything until you were ready. Except this… 

“This orphanage belongs to a Snezhnayan organization called the Fatui.” 

She did not sugar coat her words, and perhaps that was a greater mercy than lying straight to a child’s face. 

Your frown deepened. Ever so sharp, she caught the action. However, she said nothing. You let out a sigh and looked down at the polished marble flooring of the playroom. Your feet dangled off of the chair you were sitting on, not quite reaching the ground. You always were a bit smaller than your peers. 

Perhaps it had been because of your previous living conditions. 

A soft, “I see” left your lips. 

You knew all about the Fatui. They paraded around the streets of Mondstadt as if they owned the place. The talk of the town always gave you information you wished to know. By hiding in the shadows and listening in on conversations, you quickly learned that the Fatui had close dealings with Mondstadt. 

They were even close allies with impeccable trust five hundred years ago. The same could not be said today. 

Today, they used Mondstadt’s mistakes as leverage for their own gain. You had been tossed around one too many times by a snobby Fatuus that barked at you to “watch where you’re going” and threatened to throw you in jail.

Their threats were no more than harmless jokes in your eyes. You did not care about their words. You were more scared of the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius than you were of some high ranking Fatui officer. After all, what authority did a Snezhnayan officer have over a Knight in Mondstadt? 

Nothing; Unless they blamed someone else for their wrongdoings and chalked it up to being another one of Mondstadt’s mistakes, further getting their Harbingers or even their Queen involved. That would then lead to foreign affairs with paperwork and more work that had the Knights complaining about how much they hated the Fatui. 

“So you must be a Harbinger then.” 

Arlecchino was surprised by your ability to catch onto things quickly. She silently praised you in that regard. 

“Yes, I am.” She answered your rather rhetorical question. 

“I know what the House of the Hearth is,” you heard about it a few times in passing, “you take in children from all over and raise them to be foot soldiers and sleeper agents for your poor excuse for a Queen.” 

The way you spat out those words was commendable. Arlecchino couldn’t scold you for your raw display of distaste. After all, you were a child of Freedom. You were used to having free will and free speech. 

“I would rather work as one of those deplorable Knights than be a part of your organization.” 

Arlecchino decided she would let this one slide. You hadn’t become an official member of the House yet, so it was unfair to punish you for words of betrayal if you didn’t even officially belong to this organization. So… she let it get swept under the rug just this once. 

Next time, she wouldn’t be so forgetful… nor would she show any mercy. 

She opened her mouth, a deal ready on her lips, when you abruptly continued. “However… you have given me a bed to sleep on and healthy food with proper meals. You have given me a place to bathe and you even let me play with real toys. I suppose… living here wouldn’t be so bad.” 

You were only a child. She thought you were a bit more mature for your age before, but considering how you completely disregarded the House’s initial purpose, she now believed otherwise. 

You were looking forward to living in a real home with a real family. You did not consider that you were selling your soul to the devil— that you would be bound to this organization for the rest of your life. If you tried to leave, well… betrayal wasn’t taken lightly here. 

“If you stay,” Arlecchino began, her voice stern like usual, “you can never return to the life of freedom you once lived.” 

Was she giving you an out? It sure didn’t sound like it earlier. You searched her eyes, only to find nothing. She was adept at masking her emotions. 

A sigh left your lips. “I would take here over how I lived before. I had nothing.” 

“You had freedom—“ 

“How much of that did I really have if I was slowly dying before you found me?” You looked up at her, a hopeless expression dancing in your pupils. 

She reconsidered her thoughts once more. Maybe you were smarter than what she gave you credit for. 

With the deal sealed, she stood from her seat next to you and nodded curtly. “Alright,” you were now one of her children, “welcome to the House of the Hearth. From this day forward, I am officially your ‘Father.’” 

The other children in the House were more than excited to have a new sibling. However, you wanted nothing to do with them. 

To you, they were crazed animals with unusual interests and an unwavering loyalty to Arlecchino. Most of them, actually. Not all of the children saw her as their savior. 

Even so, you were not intending to make friends or get close enough to call anyone your sibling. You stayed in your corner, staring at the wall more often than not, and wondering why you chose to stay. 

It was not like you had anywhere else to go, though. You were a child, you could not support yourself in the real world yet. And if you were sent back to Mondstadt, who knew what would happen to you. You might not even make it that far out of Fontaine before getting killed. 

Based on the way you mutilated that aristocrat though, you might have a chance. But your option to leave was now severed. You were officially a member of the House. If you tried to leave, you would lose your life. That was one of the most important rules of the House: betrayal was punishable by death. 

Your legs dangled off the side of your twin sized bed. Gently knocking your feet together, you stared down at your flats. This was the first pair of shoes you ever owned, and Arlecchino had been the one to give them to you. 

White with black lace trimming and a small black bow on top. The design engraved into the sides of the shoe resembled that of a swan’s wings. The flats fit you perfectly, as if they were made for your feet only. 

A small smile graced your lips as you continued to study the shoes with a great deal of admiration. You would cherish these shoes with every ounce of care you had left in your heart. 

Two figures stood outside the doorway to the bedroom that you shared with three other girls. Arlecchino had her arms crossed over her chest as she watched you silently. You refused to talk to any of the children, and although the desire to be alone was something she greatly understood, she felt a small ounce of worry settle in her gut. 

If you did not make friends, then you would have no allies… and no allies in a world filled with threats coming at you from every angle meant you were completely alone with no one to help you in times of need. 

Problem children were a common occurrence in any family. You happened to be the newest one on her roster. Your refusal to just about everything was beginning to make her aggravated. She tolerated it the first two weeks because of your upbringing and severe trust issues, but now it was getting out of hand. 

Disobedient children had to be punished. 

“Stop staring daggers into the back of the poor girl’s head.” The pompous voice of her coworker entered her ears. 

Signora crossed her arms over her chest and sent you a sympathetic look. A sigh left her lips. “The poor girl. Another child abandoned by the Wind. If she harnesses that hatred and fuels it into revenge, she—“ 

Arlecchino let out a long sigh and briefly closed her eyes. “She has no need for revenge, Rosalyne. I am merely giving her a home. If she desires to be great, then I will make her great.” 

The blonde woman let out a scoff. “Why am I talking to you like you’re a proper parent? You’re not even twenty years old yet.” She waved Arlecchino off. “No matter. I shall talk to her.” 

With that, Signora sauntered her way into the bedroom. Arlecchino’s eye twitched involuntarily. The two did not get on like close friends, but Arlecchino still respected Signora greatly. She watched as the much older woman knelt down in front of you. 

Maybe her words could finally persuade you to make some friends. 

The sound of footsteps made you look up from your shoes. Your gaze met the icy cold eyes of a mature woman with long blonde hair that reached her knees, and rose colored lips. She wore a long, red and white dress that hugged her curves, with a slit on both sides, exposing her long legs. Her black heels clacked along the marble floor as she came to stand in front of you. 

A large, white coat with black fur lining the hood hung around her shoulders. She was elegant and poised in everything she did, even as she knelt down to be eye level with you. 

Her white earrings jingled at her movement, as did the chains on her winter coat. You did not know why she needed a winter coat when it was currently summer in Fontaine. Surely she had to be sweating right now. 

Her gloved hands came to rest in her lap delicately as a kind smile tugged at her lips. You found it to be somewhat genuine. A trace of uncertainty laid underneath, like she had not smiled in years. 

“My name is Rosalyne,” she spoke, her taunting voice entering your ears, “may I know yours?” 

You hesitated. What was this woman trying to do? Did she want information out of you? You did not have any to give. Why was she here? A friend of your Father’s perhaps? 

“(Name).” You muttered. 

The woman, Rosalyne, nodded. “That's a beautiful name. What does—“ 

“Why are you here?” Your brows narrowed. What was she trying to achieve? 

You barely knew her, and yet you could already read her like a book. She was not as kind as she seemed to be. She was holding up a mask, effortlessly hiding behind it. 

Rosalyne huffed, her annoyance apparent with the slight twitching of her eye. She simply smiled. You were willing to test her patience to see how long she could keep up the nice guy act. 

Instead of allowing her anger to take over, she took a deep breath. Her smile vanished, replaced with a frown that you assumed to be the real her. Her voice grew softer as she spoke.

“I was also born in Mondstadt.” That line alone grabbed your attention. “But I would not consider myself a child of the Wind like other Mondstadt natives.” 

There was a passion in her voice, along with a deep rooted hatred. Every word that left her lips pertaining to the Nation of Freedom was spat out as if she could not even stand the thought, let alone talk about, her home.

You did not love the people of Mondstadt. They treated you like a disease. But the Wind always favored you. You found yourself curling up on the soft grass near the tree in Windrise more often than not. You even considered Windrise your home for a time. 

The fresh breeze was refreshing. It cooled your skin and warmed your heart. It comforted you on nights where you could not stand to survive any longer. It wrapped its arms around you and gently shushed you when you cried. 

You did not love the people of Mondstadt… but you sure as hell loved the Wind and the scenery of your home. You missed the open fields and the jutted cliffs. You missed the wide, cloudless, starry sky and the outline of Celestia in the sky when the moon crossed behind it. 

You missed the afternoon breeze and the tolling of the bells on top of the cathedral. You missed dandelions, and picking fresh berries on sunny days. You would forever miss the atmosphere of the streets of the city, and the lively songs of the bards on each corner. 

But you would never miss the people— their words spat in your face and the way they wanted nothing to do with you. 

Unlike Rosalyne, you still considered yourself a child of the Wind. You thought of yourself as such because of your close connection and love for the Wind. You assumed she did not want to associate herself with the title because of some resentment she harbored towards the Anemo Archon and the people of Mondstadt. 

You were indifferent in your thoughts about the Anemo Archon. What did it matter that he did not rule Mondstadt personally? The people could take care of themselves just fine without the guidance of a god. So why did some harbor hatred towards him for his absence? 

To you, his absence was all you knew. Besides… didn’t he return every harvest season to bless the wine and the land? What more did the people want from him? 

He had always been an absent Archon, as far as you were concerned, and you would much rather have him be absent than be a helicopter parent like Inazuma’s Archon. 

“Do you miss Mondstadt?” you found yourself asking, out of pure curiosity. 

Rosalyne’s pretty gray eyes widened significantly, before she looked away from you. She stood up and took a seat next to you on the neatly made bed. She shimmied out of her winter coat and folded it delicately beside her. She placed her hands in her lap. 

“It has been quite a while since I returned,” she said. Her voice cracked a little, so fleeting you almost missed it. Her shoulders slacked. “But I wouldn’t say I miss it. I do miss the memories I made there… but that was a long time ago. Dwelling on the past won’t do me any good.” 

You looked up at her, studying her stoic expression. There was a hint of sadness that flashed in her eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came. She cleared her throat, regaining her composure. You noticed her shoulders tense once more. 

It seemed as long as she put up that mask, she could not fully relax. 

Her tone switched to one filled with affection. “I have something for you.” She dug through the pocket of her large winter coat and sent you a smug smile. “Close your eyes.” 

Instead of closing your eyes, you opted to turn your head away. You did not trust closing your eyes. The last time someone told you to… —no, you could not remember that now of all times. You wish you could forget it. 

“Hold out your hand.” 

You did as told. Something fluffy was placed into your hand, and you turned around to face her once more. Sitting in your hand was a wolf plush. It had gray fur and black beady eyes. Its tail was bushy, and its snout was long. 

A look of confusion crossed over your face as you looked up to meet Rosalyne’s gaze. A genuine smile rested on her lips as she placed a hand on your shoulder. 

“When your Father told me a child from Mondstadt arrived, I simply had to bring you a gift.” She told you, her voice dripping with affection akin to the kind a mother held for their child. “Since wolves are highly prominent to the nation, I decided on this rather than a Windwheel Aster.” 

Truthfully, you would have loved any gift she gave you.

This was the first time you were ever receiving a gift. To say it touched your heart had been an understatement, as your lip trembled and you broke out into uncontrollable sobs. Is this what it was like to be thought of in a good light? Is this what it was like to be cared for and loved? 

Rosalyne, who barely knew you for more than a half hour, had spent her own time and money on a gift for you when she did not know you yet. 

She panicked a little as you cried, her hands reaching out to grab your shoulders. You could hear her mumble “what should I do” under her breath a few times before she pulled you closer to her and patted you on the back. 

You eagerly wrapped your arms around her middle and dug your face into her side. Her whole body was oddly cold to the touch. A shiver ran down your spine from the severe drop in temperature of her body compared to Arlecchino’s extremely warm one. 

Her bare skin was even colder. The gap in the sides of her dress that revealed her fair skin made that clear. As soon as your arm touched her skin, you pulled it back to rest on the back of her dress. The freezing cold lingered on your own skin for a while after, chilling you to the bone. 

Her awkward pats on your head turned to slow strokes of her fingers through your hair, and her uneasy mutters turned to a soft hum of a lullaby from her lips. Her arms felt secure, like a warm fire in the middle of winter. 

She cradled you as if you were her own, and in a hushed tone, whispered resolutely, 

“We’ll show them. We’ll show them all.” 

© 2024 mikashisus. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[theminecraftbee]

I’m going with limited life because I have decided I like those team dynamics for this best but. okay. picture.

you’ve got the clocker pirates, who have an on-again off-again rivalry with the ties pirates. their crews were originally one large crew, but when the captain and her first mate got into a bad fight they split up. nowadays cleo and etho are basically back together but they’re still rivals if only for appearance’s sake. etho’s bounty is higher than cleo’s because he once mistakenly punched out a high-ranking marine and cleo has never let him live this down.

on the clocker pirates, cleo is captain and a devil fruit user with the stitch stitch fruit, a paramecia-type which allows her to stitch anything together, including, she learned after she was nearly killed, herself. scar and bdubs take turns as first mate, but it’s usually scar. neither of them have devil fruit powers but scar is weirdly good with animals and even neptunians to the point where that’s half his fighting style (the other half being Outright Lies), and bdubs has a weird half-charm that makes people like him for no discernible reason. they get into and out of Situations constantly through being impulsive fools but also DEEPLY CHARISMATIC impulsive fools.

on the ties pirates, etho is captain, and has the quiet quiet fruit, a paramecia-type which gives him control over silence. he’s gotten REALLY creative with what “silence” means for the sake of his powers but it also has an effect of making him seem WAY more intimidating than he actually is due to the eerie silence that follows him. skizz is first mate and has the dove dove fruit, a zoan-type that does what you think it does. impulse doesn’t have a devil fruit but is uncommonly strong just like, in general, and is probably subconsciously using hardening haki but don’t quote me on this I haven’t actually read past the timeskip yet I might be stupid. he helps repair both crews’ weaponry and ships as needed. tango is also a devil fruit user, of the bull bull fruit, also a zoan type. “bull” here is suspiciously like “ravager”. he is ALSO a mechanic which means that both ties and the clockers have a tendency towards wild and unconventional weaponry.

yes ties mocks the clockers about how they got almost all the devil fruit users and the clockers mock ties about how one wave will do them in it’s a bonding thing.

anyway outside of that dynamic: scott and martyn are fishmen, maybe out on their own to earn their fortunes away from the dangers of fishman island? the bad boys are obviously the bad boy pirates, I weighed the humor of making them like, biker-gang themed naval officers, but I don’t think they’d even be able to PRETEND to like law and order long enough to manage that, so they’re also pirates. pearl and bigb, though, I think I can go ahead and put in the navy. pearl, despite her intimidating and feared exterior, does actually still genuinely believe in “justice” and gets heartbroken frequently by the atrocities of the rest of the navy; bigb is much more jaded to the navy’s nature but wants very badly to still believe in “justice”. also undecided on pearl but bigb gets the frog frog fruit, of course, this IS limited life after all.

that’s all I have for now I am just rotating the funny pirates mostly,

hear me out. what if. a one piece au.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic feb 26 - bed - 1047words - cw: drinking—aka reg picking up a drunk james from the pub<3

for laurie @itsjaywalkers because she's a gem and also i was listening to wallows typing this out mwah

James wipes a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he straightens back up, belly hurting and cheeks straining as he claps Peter on the shoulder, laughing and shaking with his whole body.

His head feels pleasantly heavy and his vision is a little blurry, alcohol warming him up from the inside and James thinks Peter isn’t far off with the way the flush on his red cheeks starts spreading along his entire face as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Oh god,” James snickers, sucking in a much needed breath, chortling slightly on the way in which makes Peter send him a weird look and then in return makes James break into another fit of giggles. Everything is just so funny right now.

Peter joins right in, while simultaneously trying to take another sip of his nearly empty cup of beer, his laughter preventing him from actually swallowing. 

Predictably, he ends up coughing and James pounds him on the back with one hand as the other maintains a white knuckled grip on the round bar table to keep himself upright as he tries not to piss his pants from laughing.

Once Peter got himself back in order he clears his throat violently, warily eyeing his remaining beverage, “Shit, I don’t think I should finish that.”

James snorts, “That’s barely two gulps, Pete.”

His blonde friend groans, head sinking into his palms, “I think Benji might already have my head if I turn up back home like this.”

James turns solemn all the sudden, nodding in understanding and rubbing Peter’s back soothingly. Benji loves him though so it’ll be fine, James knows that, but he still wants to be there for Peter, obviously.

The other man grumbles something into his hands that James doesn’t catch over the music and loud noise of people.

“What was that?”

Peter’s head tilts back up, “What about you?”

James blinks, trying to decipher what his friend means through the alcohol clouding his brain.

Pete’s lips tug into a lopsided smirk, “How’re you gonna get home to your loverboy?”

“Oh,” James makes, understanding now. “Regulus said he’ll pick me up.”

“Mm,” Peter grunts into his cup, downing the flat beer, “Premium service.”

James feels himself turn a little more gooey where he’s draping his full weight onto the precariously wobbly bar table, and he sighs long and dreamily, “Yeah, he’s the best.”

“Hi, Regulus,” Peter says, head tipped to the side at a 90 degree angle.

“Yeah, obviously, Regulus, who else?” James makes, nose scrunching in confusion.

“Hello, Peter,” a voice says from behind him and James thinks he might nearly break a few cervical vertebraes in his haste to turn around.

“Baby,” James gasps when he sees Regulus standing there in all his beautiful glory. Head cocked to the side slightly, arms crossed and a mild scowl on his face. He’s in one of James’ grey printed hoodies and sporting some dark green and blue plaid pyjama bottoms that always make his butt look a little bigger, according to himself. James loves Regulus ass though, he loves that it’s perky and petite and perfectly bite-sized for when James is—

“I texted you,” Regulus says in lieu of greeting James, lips pursed into a pout James also would like to bite, “And I called four times.”

Another, softer gasp punches out of James and he fumbles for his phone in his jeans’ back pocket for a second, tapping the screen to see the missed calls and messages. 

James’ expression tips into a frown, a wounded noise coming from his chest as he shuffles closer with his head ducked, palms slowly reaching out to Regulus’ hips. “I’m so sorry, love,” James mumbles, tone apologetic and Regulus’ eyes narrow, “I swear I wasn’t ignoring you, I just didn’t hear.”

Regulus averts his eyes with a small tut, arms tightening where they’re crossed.

James can’t help but whine. The last thing he wants right now is for Regulus to be mad at him, “Baby, please, I promise.”

When Regulus doesn’t budge, James twirls one of his dark curls around his index, playing softly and contemplating giving into the urge of peppering his boyfriend’s face in kisses. He doesn’t want to make it worse though. 

James scrambles together all his might and tries navigating through the drunken haze of his brain and body, concentrating to remind himself what usually makes Regulus fold.

“We were just talking about you, too,” James tries. “Petey can confirm that.”

“Oh, I do not want to be dragged into this, thank you very much.”

James grumbles, rolling his eyes and simply winds his arms tighter around Regulus. It elicits a small inhale and yes, that’s good and it makes James tug his lower lip between his teeth, humming in satisfaction.

Regulus eyes snap back around to him, eyelids fluttering and James slips into a victorious grin. He leans closer and lets his lips brush over his boyfriends, inhaling that distinct citrus and bergamot smell of him, before he breathes needily, “Missed you so much, Reg.”

In the next second there are palms thumping against his pecs, punching a breath out of him before he’s reeled back in by the lapel of his flannel, Regulus glowering at him, cheeks flushed, “Ok, that’s officially enough of you, menace.”

James giggles and quickly squishes Regulus cheeks to plant a kiss on his slack mouth.

They bid their Goodbyes to Peter and make sure he’s got a cab that’ll bring him home safely and then James lets Regulus tug him out of the pub with their fingers intertwined.

Once they’re outside of the crowded space James can’t help himself when he snatches Regulus around the waist and squeezes him with a happy groan.

“James,” Regulus chides, voice tight and flustered, “Let go, we’re in the middle of a sidewalk.”

“But I love you so much,” James slurs into the space between the hoodie and Regulus’ exposed neck, nose nuzzling the skin contently.

Regulus sighs and James doesn’t have to look to see the smile playing at his rosy lips, “Let’s get you into bed.”

“Aw yeah, bed,” James snickers, reaching one hand around to grab at Regulus’ butt.

Regulus yelps and James ends up with a bruise on his ribcage that throbs softly once he cuddles up with Regulus under the sheets half an hour later.

[kittenofdoomage]

At Your Throat

THIS WORK IS ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST OR COPY MY STORIES. 18+ CONTENT AHEAD.

Summary: Temptation is hard to resist…

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: incubus!Steve Rogers x fem!reader x incubus!Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 5972

Warnings: dark!fic, angst, introverted!reader, dubious consent, enchantments, so much smut (somnophilia, implied invisible restraint, oral, fingering, tongue fucking, size kink, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, anal, manhandling, throat fucking, cum swallowing, squirting, double penetration, overstimulation, praise kink, dirty talk, begging, marking/bruising, rimming - I think that’s everything), ambiguous ending

The fair isn’t anything like you remembered from your childhood. When Lucy and Mark suggested going, you had initially been excited, but as the night wears on, it’s all bright lights and screaming kids, candy floss that’s too sickly sweet for your adult taste buds, and the worry that you’re going to step in something gross. It doesn’t help that you’re dateless, and your two best friends are still in that honeymoon phase where they don’t really register the amount of smooching they’re actually doing in public. Needless to say, you’re not sure they hear you when you say you’re going to explore on your own, with every intention of finding a quiet bench until they’re done with their fun.

The site is huge, big enough that you have to remember landmarks as you stroll. Beyond the ferris wheel, there’s a quieter spot between a wall and a merchandise stall where you find a cleanish spot, and you barely notice the woman at the stall as you sink to the floor. Your feet hurt, and you’re definitely regretting your decision not to bring a coat.

“Lost your friends?” the woman calls.

“Uh,” you shake your head, “no.”

“Taking a breather then,” she chuckles.

You smile politely - interacting with strangers has always made you uneasy. “Yeah, I guess.” She smiles back, busying herself with something out of sight. Dragging your gaze along the table, you realize she’s selling trinkets, though most of it looks like the back catalog of Hot Topic. You get to your feet and wander over, perusing the rings and pendants. “I didn’t know the fair had stalls like this.”

“There used to be more,” the woman sighs. “We’d sell all sorts of things but… well, times change.” She smiles wistfully, resting her fingers on the edge of the table. “I used to be the fortune teller here. People would always line up to see their future. Now, it seems everyone is terrified to ask.”

You could sympathize with that. A crystal ball would probably show you in an apartment with a thousand cats with the way your life was turning out. Your eyes stray to the stand of pendants, and something red catches the fluorescent flood lights in the distance. It’s a stone, a ruby maybe, an oval set in ornate silver, no bigger than a dime, hanging from a silver chain. In the very center of the stone, there’s a flaw, shaped almost like a lock.

The woman notices your trance, moving just into the edge of your peripheral vision. “Something took your fancy?” she asks curiously.

“It’s pretty,” you whisper, reaching out to touch the stone but drawing back at the last second. You can’t recall a single moment in your life you’ve ever wanted something this badly, not even as a kid. “How much is it?”

The woman smiles, but you don’t see it. “It’s a gift.”

There’s a little voice in your head warning you, yet you can’t imagine why. You ignore it, focusing instead on your desire to have the necklace. “Really?”

“Oh please, no one’s come by all night,” she scoffs. “It’s nice to talk to someone. Kids these days aren’t interested in this sort of stuff.”

“That’s very kind of you,” you murmur, though your eyes are still locked on the gem, rooted to the flaw in the middle. You don’t stop staring at it even when she lifts it from the stand, walking around the table to hold it out to you.

“Would you like to put it on?”

It feels like you’re moving automatically when you turn, moving when required so that she can fasten the locket at your throat. The silver is cool, heavier than you expected, but when you look in the mirror, it makes you smile. Jewelry isn’t usually your style, but this was subtle, classy, and probably went with everything.

Someone calls your name and it’s like you’ve been dragged back into reality. The woman moves off, disappearing through the back of the tent, and Lucy comes running up, red faced and breathless. “Where’d you go?!” she exclaims, grabbing your wrist. “Come on, Mark’s waiting for us by the ghost train.”

You grin and bear the rest of the evening, pretending to be frightened of the zombies and skeletons, almost sighing with relief when you could finally call an Uber home. Lucy attempts to coax you to a local bar but your social battery is done, and besides, you know you’re the third wheel and she’s just trying to make you feel better. They see you to the car, and wave you off, and you feel like you can breathe again once you’re away from the noise. The driver doesn’t speak the whole way - he’ll get five stars for that later.

Once you’re back in your apartment, you can shed the day, stripping down before climbing into the shower. The fair has left you feeling a little gross, but five minutes under a hot spray washes the feeling away, and you forget about the necklace until you’re staring at your foggy reflection in the mirror.

Maybe you should take it off before you sleep. It might break, or choke you. You reach for the clasp, and then your phone buzzes across your nightstand, distracting you. With the necklace on, you go to answer the text; it’s a photo from Lucy with a short line of text insisting you’re missing out. You smirk, necklace forgotten, and climb into bed, putting your phone on silent until the next morning.

The sounds of your apartment lull you to sleep. The heating comes on, and you kick off your pajama bottoms, squirming in the sheets as your dreams become more vivid. You can’t see anything, can’t move, but you can feel the warm hands on your skin, touching you, moving your clothing out of their way as they kiss every inch of you. You know there’s two of them, too many hands for one person, and after a little while, they start to talk to each other, soft murmurs of indistinguishable words.

A warm tongue slides through your folds and sends a shiver down your spine. Your dream lovers spread you open, easily manipulating you like a doll, and when the mouth on your cunt attacks your clit, you want to cry out for more. Another warm pair of lips surrounds your nipple, and you’re lost in the sensation, at their mercy but wholly content to be so.

You wake the next morning feeling like you’ve actually had several orgasms, and your panties are drenched. There’s a wet spot on the bed; your dreams were very good even if you can’t quite remember the details, so you change the sheets before work, rushing so you’re not late.

It’s hard to focus at work when you’re still thinking about your dream. You somehow get through the day, zoning out while typing, ignoring all your messages and emails for the time being. When you get home, all you can think about is going to bed, but you force yourself to stay up a little longer, eating dinner in front of Netflix until you can’t resist the call any longer. The sheets are a little chilly when you climb in; you warm up quickly and doze off contentedly.

You can open your eyes in this dream. The air is warm, and your blankets are gone, along with your pajama bottoms, and though you can’t see much in the darkness of your room, you can make out the figure that’s between your thighs. His hands are pushing them wide, and he pushes his nose right against the crotch of your panties, groaning against you. Your heart pounds as his tongue drags along your seam, reigniting the delicious thrill you’ve been craving all day.

The bed sinks with the weight of another, and a meaty hand grasps your jaw, forcing your head to turn. You strain your eyes to look up, coming face to face with a thick, erect cock, and you can barely see the face of its owner smiling down at you. He doesn’t say a word, tapping the tip of his generous manhood against your bottom lip, and your mouth opens automatically, granting him permission to use you.

There’s no rush as he rocks his hips, pushing more and more into your mouth. Finally, he says something, looking down at you like you’re a miracle with one hand on your cheek. “Good girl,” he praises, and you feel a pulse of something new in your core. His voice is syrupy thick, washing over you as you take more of his cock, eager to please him.

You’ve almost forgotten about the man between your legs, until his tongue is pressing right against your entrance. It thrusts into you, feeling deeper than you’re sure is possible, and you moan around the other, letting your eyes fall shut. The need to cum is unbearable, like a pressure right in your gut, building higher as the tongue inside you squirms deeper. You try to focus on what you’re doing, inching to move your hand and touch him, but no matter how hard you think on it, you can’t. Your climax is terrifyingly close, more intense than you’ve ever felt and just as you feel like you’re going to pass out, the man between your legs stops and withdraws.

A hollow ache follows as the build up fades, and this time you moan out of frustration. Both of them laugh, and then fingers caress your throbbing cunt, cupping it and kneading teasingly. You whine, desperate to move, but you can only take what they give and beg for no more.

Two fingers sink into you. An obscene squelch accompanies the penetration, and you moan again. The cock in your mouth plows deeper, brushing the back of your throat; you realize with shame that you’re enjoying this degradation, enjoying the rush of being their fucktoy. You crave whatever they want to do to you.

A third finger sinks in, moving back and forth alongside the others, and you can feel the pressure building again. The man’s tongue slides against your clit, increasing the thrust of his hand, making stars explode behind your closed eyelids. You’re certain you’re vibrating, and the one fucking your mouth picks up speed, edging deeper until you feel like he’s bulging your throat. The lack of oxygen heightens everything, and when you finally cum, it’s hard and messy, a literal out of body experience. You feel the cock in your mouth throb, the next second your nose is brushing against hair, and he’s cumming thick down your throat, forcing you to swallow.

It’s the most erotic dream you’ve ever had.

When you wake, you’re a mess, and the wet spot is even bigger than the morning before. You’re going to need to do laundry at this rate. Sluggishly, you drag yourself out of bed, readying yourself for the day while clinging to the details of your dream, surprised that it’s still so clear even when you’ve had your first cup of coffee. It takes another two to get through the morning, and you’re relieved when it’s lunch time.

Lucy calls halfway through your sandwich. You answer with a pleasant tone, but you can tell she’s concerned by her first words.

“I thought something had happened to you,” she scolds. “You haven’t answered for two days.”

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, one hand straying to the necklace at your throat, wondering how you’d forgotten it was there. “Did you enjoy your night out?”

“You missed some fun,” she sighs. “What are you doing tonight? I thought we could go see a movie or -”

“Oh, no, uh -” You panic, trying to think of an excuse. “It’s been a really heavy couple of days at work, I’m pretty beat.”

It’s obvious she’s disappointed. “You’re sure? You can pick the movie.”

“No, you go with Mark,” you urge. All you want to do is go home to bed. “I’ll only yawn all the way through.”

“Okay, well…” She trails off, and you wait, hoping she’s just going to end the call so you can finish your sandwich. “Just let me know when things calm down. I don’t see you much lately. I thought we had fun at the fair.”

“We did!” you lie, because you don’t really want her to feel bad. It’s not her fault you prefer staying indoors and away from people. “I promise, as soon as I’m feeling up to it, we’ll have a girls night or something.”

That seems to placate her. “Deal,” she laughs. “I’ll text you later.”

The call ends, and you eye the rest of your sandwich, wondering if you could leave work early if you cut your lunch short. After a few minutes of deliberation, you toss it, deciding to get something on the way home once you’ve gotten out of the office.

You don’t even try to convince yourself to stay up when you get home. The sun has only just set as you get into bed, daringly deciding to sleep naked for a change. Laying on your back, you feel the weight of the necklace against your chest, and you touch it, wondering if you should take it off just in case, but your eyelids are already heavy, and it means moving to the dresser…

You’re woken in pitch black by two fingers slowly sliding back and forth inside you, and you mewl needily, spreading your legs wide. The realization you can move is quickly shoved aside as a thumb begins to stroke your clit in small circles, and you know that they’ve been getting started for a while when you feel how wet you are.

One of them leans over you, hovering with his face centimeters from yours. You can see him clearly now; he’s blond, blue eyed, almost ethereally handsome, and he smiles before dipping his mouth to press it to your lips. The kiss surprises you for a second and then you react, kissing him back as he pushes his tongue against yours. He tastes sweet, addicting, pulling away after only a few seconds to leave you craving more.

“Bucky wants to have you first,” he murmurs, turning his gaze to the hungry eyes between your legs. He’s a little clearer now as your eyes adjust to the dark, and where the first man is light, Bucky is dark. The only similarities between them is their eerily blue eyes and their sheer size. You feel tiny underneath them, submissive to their whims, and your easy acceptance of that is a little shocking at first.

Bucky adds a third finger, keeping his thumb on your clit. You gasp and squirm, quickly finding yourself pinned by the blond. He uses one hand to hold you down and the other cups your breast, tweaking your nipple until it’s achingly hard. With the trio of sensations, you’re helpless to the ecstasy that overwhelms you, forced to ride it out until Bucky withdraws his hand.

“She’s as ready as she’s gonna get,” he murmurs, making a lewd display of licking his fingers clean. “You gotta taste her, Steve.”

Steve chuckles, gaze locked on you. “Later,” he promises, pinching your nipple and you whimper, unable to tear your eyes off of him.

The thick warm tip of a cock brushes your cunt. There’s a second of alarm when Bucky begins to thumb it in, and he’s big, maybe too big. You’re pinned by Steve’s weight, and Bucky’s hands press your thighs wide, feeding the first inch into your tight slick channel. “She’s fucking tight,” he hisses, moving his thumb to your clit.

You can’t form words, too lost in the pleasurable stretch as he enters you. He rocks back and forth, getting a little deeper every time, and then it’s like something pops and he slides balls deep, punching a cry out of your throat. Your whole body trembles at the sudden rush of sensation, and Bucky only waits a few seconds before he starts to move with shallow strokes. You feel like you’re thrown headfirst into bliss, barely registering Steve’s hands on your tits as Bucky fucks you.

If this is a dream, it’s the most vivid dream you’ve ever had. You can feel the heat coming off of them, every throb of the thick cock spearing you open, even their breath on your skin. Steve’s fingers are soft and calloused as they continue to toy with your breasts, and Bucky’s grip on your thighs is bruising. He gets faster and faster, grunting like an animal as you come undone around him, going limp and listless while he uses you.

Steve scoots down until he’s almost laying beside you, lips against the shell of your ear. “You’ve been such a good girl for us,” he purrs, trailing his fingertip around your nipple. “You want him to cum, honey?” You nod, feeling tears of desperation in the corners of your eyes. Steve smiles, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “Mmm, you wanna feel it, huh? Tell me, sweetness, say the words.”

“Please,” you keen as Bucky growls and pumps his hips faster. “Please cum inside me.”

“Oh, good girl,” Steve groans, turning his head to look at his counterpart. “You hear that, Buck? She wants you to cum deep, see if you can’t make her overflow.”

You feel like your brain is melting, like there’s nothing in the world but the carnal need infusing your veins. Bucky’s hips stutter, and he finally hits his peak, slamming into you one last time, hard enough to make you scream as he spills inside you. Every pulse of his climax echoes in your gut, and you shake your head from side to side, dizzy from pleasure. He relaxes, releasing your legs, and they hit the bed either side of him, forcing him to withdraw.

Steve’s still laying beside you, continuing to touch you. You’re sensitive all over, shivering as the warmth abandons you, and when his fingers move south, you’re not certain you can take anymore. “I can’t,” you gasp.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t believe you,” he dismisses, and his fingertip slides down until it’s touching your clit. From across the room, Bucky laughs, watching as your thighs part again. Steve’s touch is already reigniting the craving, and when he pulls you into his lap, you gasp as your slit comes flush with his bare cock. He’s bigger than Bucky, seeding doubt as he pulls your hips to grind your cunt against his length.

“She’s nervous,” Bucky comments, kneeling on the bed behind you.

“She can take it,” Steve urges. His hand catches your chin, and Bucky presses against you from behind. “She just needs a little help.”

Strong arms hook underneath your armpits, and you’re hauled up. Steve reaches down, holding the base of his cock with one hand, using the other to spread your delicate petals, making you whine when he brushes the throbbing head against you. The men share a look, and then Bucky lowers you down.

Your head falls back as Steve splits you open. Even with your previous orgasms and Bucky’s preparation, it takes work for him to get in, and you’re quivering when gravity takes over. You slide down until your body is flush with his, gasping for breath when it feels like he’s so deep he’ll break you, and Bucky’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Steve groans with deep satisfaction. “Made for this,” he mutters with awe, running his hands over your thighs. “Look at this little cunt, taking me so well.”

The second he moves, you shatter. You have no control; Bucky holds you up as Steve ruts into you from below, forcing you to accept every inch over and over, and you know that no real life experience could ever compare with this dream. You’ll surrender everything to these men if they ask, exist as their perfect little fucktoy, beg for more when they’re done.

You see stars when Steve fucks you through one orgasm into another. Bucky shifts, holding you easily with one muscled arm as he presses his fingers between your asscheeks. He chuckles when you tense, and Steve groans when he feels it too. “Mmm, another time,” Bucky murmurs hungrily. “Bet you’d take both of us at the same time, wouldn’t you, doll?”

It hasn’t really occurred to you before that moment but now you can’t stop thinking about it. Bucky’s fingers keep teasing, steadily stoking a new craving that makes your whole face hot. You want it. You’re sure you’ll beg for it.

Steve’s fingers bruise your thighs as he cums, dragging you down so hard you think he might break you. You feel swollen when he’s done, and you resist them at last, crashing down into your sheets.

When you wake, it’s an hour after your alarm should have gone off. There are bruises on your thighs, and you’re beginning to think that they aren’t just dreams. As you stand in front of the mirror, inspecting the marks that were obviously made by fingers, your gaze drifts to the necklace, still secure around your throat. You touch it, leaning forward, making the connection that the dreams only started after it came into your possession.

“That’s stupid,” you grumble, dismissing yourself. You’re going to be late for work, and though you’re tempted to call in sick, you get into the office with thirty seconds to spare and earn yourself a dressing down for not being at your desk ready to work on time.

By lunch, it’s apparent you don’t want to be there. You feign a headache and sit through another grilling, then you escape, returning home to your bed. It’s not even three in the afternoon, and you lie there for an hour, slowly frowning more and more as you stare at the ceiling and will yourself to sleep. Nothing happens, so you get up again, deciding to eat before trying again when it’s dark. You’ve never been able to sleep very well in the light, so you put it down to that and enjoy a couple of hours of Brooklyn Nine Nine with a sandwich.

Night falls, and you feel the familiar pull to bed. You yawn your way through your apartment, undressing without thinking before you climb onto the mattress, landing face down. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift, wondering if you’ll dream about them again. Halfway between awake and asleep, you register the bed dipping, but you’re out of it, and it takes soft fingers caressing your sex to make you realize they’re back. There’s an atmosphere of desperation about the way they’re touching you, and in seconds, the fingers are replaced, and Steve slides into you with one smooth stroke, moaning against the back of your neck.

You’re awake now, eyes open wide and fixed on Bucky’s smiling face as he takes up the space left on the bed. It’s not a dream; you’re beginning to understand that they’ve never been a figment of your imagination. Steve chuckles into your skin, wrapping his arm around your waist as he starts to thrust lazily, stirring every cell in your body. “That’s it,” he rumbles, “you’re getting it now.”

Bucky presses in close, sandwiching you between them. His fingers toy with your nipples, kissing away your sounds as Steve pounds into you from behind, pushing you towards the limit of what your cunt can endure. “You’re ours,” Bucky murmurs, as if you hadn’t understood the possessiveness in their touch, the hunger in the way they looked at you.

Still, your curiosity won’t be silenced. “W-what are you?” you gasp, struggling to form the words while Steve keeps up his punishing rhythm.

Fingertips brush over the necklace. It’s hot against your skin, and you keen quietly as Steve slows, grinding his cock deep until you’re sure you’re going to combust. “You chose this,” Bucky says softly. “You crave this.” He sighs, one hand cupping your breast. “You’re so good for us.”

There’s a deeper meaning behind his words, but you’re too far gone to think any further than the pleasure you crave. Bucky laughs under his breath and slides down the bed, lifting your thigh to expose you, humming at the sight of your pussy so stuffed full. His tongue darts out, brushing against your clit and you cry out, shuddering on the edge.

Steve withdraws abruptly, leaving behind a hollow ache that makes you reach for Bucky. He bats your hand away, and then you’re being manhandled onto your knees. Held upright with your back to Bucky’s chest, you gasp as his lips brush your ear and he grinds his cock between your ass cheeks.

“Tonight,” he breathes, voice full of desire, “you’re going to take us both.”

Your heart races, pounding so hard you can feel it in your bones. Steve smirks at you, resting against the headboard with one hand wrapped around his dick, and if you had a spare brain cell, you might have felt ashamed at the way you crawled to him, mouth open and ready to please him. He releases himself so you can take over, moaning as you wrap your lips around his cockhead, suckling needily.

You don’t really register what Bucky’s up to until his tongue traces your cunt. He grunts against you, opening you up slowly as you moan around Steve, getting more enthusiastic the more Bucky works his tongue into you. It still feels impossibly long, and when he suddenly abandons your slit and moves up, you freeze, realizing that he’s about to do something no one’s ever done.

He doesn’t rush. You move distractedly as the point tip of his tongue circles your tightest hole, gently testing as he applies pressure. It’s not unpleasant, odd, but enjoyable, and you slowly begin to relax into it. Steve slides his hand around the side of your head, thrusting his hips a little to encourage you, and splitting your attention between the two of them occupies every thought. Bucky’s tongue presses deeper, opening you up, and you break off from Steve to cry out in surprise. You find yourself quickly dragged back down by the blond, and he growls as he starts to fuck your mouth, leaving you dizzy and soaring as Bucky replaces his tongue with a thick wet digit, sliding it deep into your ass.

The penetration feels warm and unusual, and your pussy throbs with a need for attention. Your jaw is beginning to ache, and Steve somehow senses it, slowing as his attention moves to where Bucky has your ass filled with his finger. He smiles, nodding his head at the other male, and a second finger inches in, just as warm and slick as the first. You moan around the cock in your mouth, instinctively pushing back as Bucky fucks his fingers into you, abandoning slow in favor of taking you apart.

Steve doesn’t have to do much as you move with a little more vigor, taking him deep enough that your eyes roll back and it’s hard not to gag. “Oh fuck,” he drawls, tightening his hold on your hair. “Goddamn, you’re such a good girl…”

You’re not sure how you’re so close with just fingers. Where before there was apprehension, there’s now only the demand for more, and you push back onto Bucky again in a silence request. He nips at your asscheek, growling lightly. “You think you’re ready, doll?”

You nod, squeaking when you’re abruptly dragged off of Steve and hauled upright again. Bucky holds your arms behind your back, sinking his fingers into your ass easily this time. “P-please,” you beg, sobbing with the desire to feel more of what he’s offering.

He releases you, and you drop, ass in the air, cheek against the messed up sheets. Steve watches, amusement on his lips, eyes locked on your face to see your reaction when Bucky presses the tip of his cock against your clenching hole. The thought of lube races through your head when he starts to ease in; you don’t recall seeing any, but his cock is just as warm and wet as his fingers. The tip pops in and your eyes cross, a shuddering breath puffing out into cotton.

“I thought her pussy was tight,” Bucky groans, holding still. Your impatience gets the better of you, and you wriggle, trying to take more. You succeed, making him moan as more fills you. “Someone’s eager,” he comments, grabbing hold of your hips. “You want the whole thing, huh?”

You don’t get a chance to answer. He surges forward, sinking every inch into your forbidden depths and you scream, clenching tightly as the invasion makes your blood sing. It’s overwhelming, hot and thick, throbbing in your ass until you’re desperate for him to move. He doesn’t move, keeping you in place, and when you look at Steve, he’s watching you with a thoughtful expression.

“Pull her up,” he instructs. Bucky doesn’t think twice, and you’re suddenly upright again, forced to practically impale yourself on his thick length. Steve hums as he kneels in front of you, looking up at your twisted expression before he reaches for you. The first touch of his thumb against your clit makes you jerk in Bucky’s hold, and a shameful whimper escapes your lips. “Let’s see if you can cum with a fat cock in your ass,” Steve chuckles.

You know he’s going to get what he wants. Despite your achingly empty pussy, you’re hanging onto the edge, and it doesn’t take much to make you weep with ecstasy. Steve still doesn’t stop, working you harder and harder. “Please,” you sob, “I can’t -”

“You said that before,” he grunts, narrowing his eyes. “I can feel how close you are, honey.” His thumb presses harder, and your cries get louder. Bucky huffs against your shoulder, and then he begins to move too. The slow drag of his cock against your insides only adds to the pressure in your core, building to a terrifying crescendo. “Give it to her, Buck,” Steve growls. “She wants it.”

You’re drowning, gasping for breath, twitching, losing your fight. The battle is over when Steve sinks a finger into your dripping cunt, and seconds later, you’re drenching his wrist, cumming with such ferocity that you don’t make a sound. Bucky slows and stops, but he doesn’t withdraw, holding himself deep. “No more games,” he snaps at Steve, who rolls his eyes and pulls his hands away, walking closer on his knees until he can lift your legs.

Suddenly the solidity of the bed below you is gone. Something is holding you up, though you get only a few seconds to figure out what’s going on before Steve’s thumbing his cock into your sensitive and aching cunt. You gasp, eyes falling shut as he fills you, and finally, they’re both seated deep in your body - it feels more like becoming whole than it should.

They don’t wait long before they start to move. You don’t make a sound, quivering between them as they use you, so overly sensitive that one of them could brush your clit with a feather and you’d cum. Just the delicious slide of each cock inside you, in and out, in and out, grinding deep, is enough to keep the bliss ignited in your veins. It’s exquisite, like you were meant for this.

Bucky cums first, holding deep so you can feel every single burst of his seed inside you, and when he’s done, he starts thrusting again, still hard and throbbing despite his orgasm. Steve doesn’t even stop thrusting, making a mess of your already ruined cunt, chuckling when you look down at your bulging stomach. You’re not sure how many more loads you can take, but it seems they’re intent on finding out.

It feels like hours later when Steve cradles your face, wiping away the sweat that’s almost blinding you. “You wanted to know what we are,” he whispers, and it’s all you can do to nod. He sighs, brushing his fingers over the necklace at your throat, lips curling into a smile. “Incubi,” he says, so quietly you almost can’t hear it over the thump of your own heart. “You wear our stone. You called to us. So we are here.”

There are so many questions but your exhaustion silences them all. You drift off in their hold, still full of them, drunk on them.

You wake with a jump the next morning. Their touch - real, not imagined, you now understand - lingers on you, inside you, and you can’t stop thinking about it. Climbing into the shower, you wash away what they left behind, trying to make sense of it, to make sense of why you’re not freaking out. Two strange men have been in your apartment, in your room consistently every night, touching you, doing ungodly things to your body, and you aren’t the least bit frightened. They had told you what they were, why they were there, yet you aren’t scared of them, more of the deep rooted lust for them that’s burning through your mind.

Staring at your reflection in the mirror, you suddenly realize how wretched you look. Your gaze drops to the necklace, back to their words. It’s their talisman, their way of infecting you. Before you can second guess yourself, you tear it off, breaking the clasp, and it clatters when it hits the back of the sink and lands behind the faucet.

You don’t look at it again. After calling out from work, you spend the day alternating between fruitless searches online for anything like what you were experiencing, and pacing the floor outside the bathroom. The internet tells you these men are incubi, demons, and that their purpose is to feed from you during sex, among other things you hadn’t been able to stomach reading. You’re not sure how much stock to put in myths and legends on the internet.

The day crawls by. You order food, eat it in silence, flick through the various streaming services before turning the television off in frustration. No matter what you do, the thought of them is there, of the necklace sitting on the sink, of the pleasure they guaranteed you. You’ve never felt needed, felt wanted like they’ve made you feel in the last few days. You hunger for their touch like you’ll suffocate without it.

Day turns to night. You’re almost clawing at your skin. The craving for them is bone deep, the sort of desire that you should be terrified of, but mostly it’s driving you mad. You watch the clock, counting the seconds. The night gets older and you get weaker.

The bathroom door creaks when you open it. You tug on the light cord, and the fluorescent ceiling tube flickers to life. The necklace is right where you left it.

It’s not broken anymore.

You stare at it, fingers twitching when you finally reach to touch it. Their voices are in your head now, beckoning you, and you can’t block them out. The necklace is heavy in your hand, and the tiny warning you’d first felt at the fair is begging you to toss it out of the window. But the warning is not loud enough, not to override the desire drying out your mouth, and you sigh with relief as you fasten it back around your throat, closing your eyes at the familiar weight.

“We knew you’d make the right choice,” Steve murmurs.

You open your eyes. They’re both watching you from the doorway, reflecting in the mirror, and they look so, so hungry. The light flickers, and you smile your surrender as you turn to them, letting them pull you closer. Everything else falls away; it’s only you and them.

You’ll never take the necklace off again.

THANK YOU FOR READING, PLEASE CONSIDER REBLOGGING SO OTHERS CAN ENJOY IT 😁

[maximus-alex]

Tengen Estate X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Slight verbal abuse.

Entertainment district. Where Tengen once found himself again. Word came from Master Ubuyashiki that a demon was being kept safe here. It was a rumor and Master Ubuyashiki was sure to make that clear. But Tengen rather be safe than sorry.

Tengen walked around, his hair down as he wore a beautiful haori. White and red, gold trim that perfectly complimented his eyes.

He scoped the area. He didn't sense any demons so he didn't see much of a reason to stay. He was already on the hunt for a couple of days. So he simply would turn around, ears perking.

"Why haven't you met the quota y/n??" An angry woman slightly raised her voice at the female in front of her. "I know you're ugly but that means you have to work twice as hard!"

Tengen could feel his eyebrow twitch at the sound. His eyes turned to the noise, spotting a beautiful young lady. Around his age. Her face was heavily caked with makeup but he could easily see her eyes. A beautiful shade. It reminded him of gems. But not even gems could come close to how beautiful they were to him.

She bowed at the older woman and apologized.

He made his way over to the two and threw on a fake smile.

"My my... Isn't she a gem?" He calmly spoke. When in reality he wanted to throw hands at the woman for yelling at the clearly exhausted girl. "You don't mind if I..?"

The old lady was taken aback by how beautiful Tengen was himself. She nodded with such excitement as Tengen just threw her a bag of money.

"Shall we?" He asked, gently placing his hand on the young woman's lower back.

"He... With me?"  Y/n thought to herself. Her heart pounded as Tengen held her hand, they strolled over to the room and she slid the door closed. She didn't even notice that Tengen was speaking to her until he shook her shoulder. 

"HEY!" He shouted, crossing his arms. Y/n juped at how loud his voice suddenly got. "I asked you a question!" 

Y/n looked up at the tall figure. "I'm sorry, what was the question?" A slight stutter came from their voice. 

Tengen raised his eyebrow, glancing down at the woman below him. "I asked if you liked being here. I noticed that you look tired." His eyes then examined the woman's figure. "And skinny, which is not flashy, at all." Y/n's eyes widened a bit. After all of these years of being stuck in this hellhole did no one ever think to ask if she liked it here. 

Slowly, she shook her head. "No..I don't..." Her eyes glanced at the ground, she felt a pain shoot through her heart and pressure build up behind her eyes. Her chest ended up feeling like an anchor was attached to it. She held her hand over her heart.

Tengen's eyebrows furrowed with worry. His hand gently landed on her shoulder. "I can get you out of here. The money I gave to the old lady was basically enough to buy you." Y/n eyes widened. "He..basically bought me?" Y/n thought to herself. Tengen bent down to her level, looking into her eyes with such care in them. It looked so soft, enough to ake the most vicious person in the world nearly tear up. "Say the word and I'll do it."

After some thought, she didn't know this man. But there was no sign of harm anywhere in his aura. 

Within another second, she looked him in his maroon eyes and nodded. "Let's go."

A grin spread across Tengens lips. Without a second thought, he picked the woman up, tossing her over his shoulder and flung to his clothes off, revealing the demon slayer outfit underneath.

How did he..whatever, that didn't matter right now. What mattered was getting out of this district. 

"Come one, let's not waste another breath!" He shouted and jumped out the window. They were on the second story floor, it wasn't too tall in the air, but enough to cause a small scream fromm y/n as they landed on the floor. Eyes widened around them as they watched the scene of Tengen carrying the young girl out of the arc, hearing the yells from the lady who once owned y/n. 

Y/n slowly watched the city fade away from her vision as they ran into the nearby woods. She had no idea where they were going, but she was glad that they were gone.

After a minute, they ended up outside of an estate. It was beautiful. Lots of green scenery around it with trees that hung high over. 

Tengen put Y/n down, nearly slamming her down. Y/n stumbled, nearly falling before Tengen wrapped an arm around her waist. He chuckled and held her close, his body heat radiating off onto hers. It brought over a wave of comfort over Y/n, yet her heart still raced out of her chest. 

"Welcome to my wonderful estate. Quite flashy if i say so myself." He welcomed her inside.

The inside was as beautiful as the outside. Y/n eyes looked around and spotted three beeautiful women outside, they seemed like they were doing laundry, one hanging clothes as the other two washed.

Tengen smiled at the sight of his wives and guided Y/n to them in the backyard. "I'm home!" He smiled.

They all shot their heads towards him and smiled.

"Wait, who's that?" A woman with yellow bangs asked.

"A youg lady who was being mistreated. I figured she could stay with us until she feels safe enough to leave on her own." 

A woman with a black ponytail walked up to Y/n, gently grasping her hand with her own. "Welcome to the Tengen estate. What's your name?" Her eyes sparkled. They were soft and gentle, like a mothers.

"Y/n. Y/n L/n." 

"What a beautiful name." She smiled.

The same woman with yellow bangs walked up to Y/n with a wet rag. "We gotta get all this makeup off first!!" Without hesitation, she began to viciously wipe all of the caked up makeup. Once it was gone, all of the women gasped. A woman with blue eyes came running over.

"I had no idea you were so beautiful!!!" She shouted, holding Y/n's cheeks. "Are we keeping her?!"

Tengen chuckled. "Suma, calm down." He gently pat the top of her head. "Give her some time. She's been through a lot."

The women nodded and introduced themselves.

The weeks went by and Y/n slowly got closer to everyone. Eventually catching feelings for all of them. Tengen noticed this, he caught feelings for her. As well as the wives.

"Y/n," Tengen spoke, opening the door to the bedroom that you resided in. "Can the wives and I speak to you?" Y/n's heart slightly dropped, what if they were kicking her out? Were they tired of her? Y/n nodded and walked with him to where the wives sat. He gestured for her to sit down. For once, all of their faces were serious. A side y/n didn't get to see a lot. 

"Is everything okay?" Y/n glanced at everyone, making eyes with Tengen. 

He nodded. "WE WANT YOU TO-" Makio shouted before Tengen threw a hand over her mouth. Once he removed his hand, she apologized.

"Y/n, we were wondering if..." His voice trailed off, all of his wives and his hands joined in unison, clamping around each other. "If you'd like to join us in our marriage." His smile softened. Y/n heart raced, feeling her cheeks heat up. "We all feel really comfortable with you here and honestly," He chuckled. "It would be nice to have someone stay and take care of the home while we're out on missions. So if you'll have us. We'll be more than happy to have you."

A smile grew on all of their faces, soft looks all the way around.

Slowly, Y/n nodded. "I'd be more than happy to." Suma and Makio immediately stood up and practially jumped on Y/n, showering her in kisses all over her face. 

"Oh thank the gods!!" Cried Suma. "I was so worried you'd say no!!"

Y/n chuckled and blushed. "I dont see why not!" Her hands wrapped around their waists. 

Hinatsuru chuckled, helping Y/n up. Her hand gently held y/n's pink cheek, an adoring look in her purple eyes. "I'm so glad.."

"Yeah I don't see why not! We're all hot!" Makio shouted. A chuckle came from all of them. 

Tengen walked up to Y/n, replacing Hinatsuru's hand with is own. "Good...I'm glad." He leaned down and gently pressed his soft lips against Y/n's. His eyes closed as his heart raced. So did Y/n's, the only thing she was able to hear was her own heart beat as their lips danced together. He pulled away, only for y/n's head to be tilted towards Suma's, their lips connected for a couple of seconds. Next, Makio, the kiss grew more heated with every person, Makio slowly shoved her tongue in Y/n mouth. The second Makio's lips parted, Hinatsuru tilted y/n head towards her, their lips moved together, slowly, their tongues also danced around each other. This caused Y/n stomach to gain butterflies, the other two girls hand roaming around y/n body.

"Alright ladies, that's enough." Tengen chuckled. "How about we save this for the honeymoon?"

Hinatsuru slowly pulled away. "Sorry Lord Tengen..She's just so cute.. we couldn't help ourselves."

He smiled and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I know, trust me, it's taking a lot of willpower to not want to keep going." Tengen let out a low chuckled.

"I mean.." Y/n's voice trailed off.

"What's stopping us?"

[tassjis]

I want to talk about the Vault Gods and my design process

Each idol was drawn as though they were statues or altar peices, something of worship not necessarily what the gods look like but what the villagers would interpret their looks to be.

First I wanted to ensure that they looked like villagers, or have a villager template. The initial drafts has them with their arms together in a villager pose.

Each design had multiple aspects I gave them, a material, a gem, a minecraft mob, and an item

Idona The Malevolent, kill and sacrifice the marked to appease this god

The idol is designed after cinnabar a toxic red material with high levels of mercury.

Idonas item is the vault hunters altar with reference and designs inspired by Mayan and Aztec sacrificial alters.

They are designed to look like a bat and a Wolf with lots of sharp angles and shapes, with cultish and sacrifical undertones

The eyes are rubies, a gemstone that symbolises life force. They are cut with a 5 point star facet and bezel with means the eyes are also pentacles, there is also a hidden sacrificial knife in the eyes.

They say experience makes you wiser, but is it wise to give it up for treasure? Sacrifice your experience and knowledge to Tenos the Omniscient to be granted treasure beyond your wildest dreams.

Tenos is made of silver or iron, a pure metal that is reflective

Tenos has the enchanting table book, a potion of enchanting and xp balls

They are designed with a lot of softer rounder shapes compared to its counterparts and is based on a polar bear with angelic bird wings to give it a wise and pure vibe.

The eyes are sapphires, with a gemstone meaning of focus and inner vision. Tenos also is the one one to wear a gemstone accessory to give the allusion to a third eye.

Velara The Benevolent, sacrifice your health, sacrifice yourself to appease Velara, only then will you gain the riches

The idol is designed to look like oxidised copper. I wanted Valara to look like an old and ancient god from a forgotten religion, the kind where you find a forgotten statue in a forest overgrown with new life.

The like all the idols, it focuses on a theme relating to what you use to open the altars, so Valaras design is health or in this case life.

Velara has the fern and tall grass as its minecraft item.

Initially designed to be more rabbit like the design ended up becoming vague in animal and more bug like.

The eyes on Valara are emeralds that symbolise rebirth and growth.

Wendarr The Timekeeper, you only have limited time, will you sacrifice some of it to this god for riches?

Wendarr is a brass idol, a very common metal for clocks and timepieces to be made from.

Wendarr is designed to look the most like a villager with wings similar to that of DaVincis flying machine.

Unlike the other gods, Wendarr did not receive a minecraft item as I felt the minecraft clock did not fit the ancient and old aesthetic. Instead, they received an hourglass and an alluded clock face in the background, and some rococo inspired designs in the foreground.

The eyes are made of topaz, which apparently stands for manifesting clarity and astrology?

Anyway that's my thought process and some small details about each God and my designs.

[yaeggravate]

Arlecchino is the White/Black Swan

she has swan motives all over her design; from her hair to her accessories. even her blackened hands could be a nod to the movie black swan (2010).

the ballerina playing odette usually wears a white feather headpiece that pretty much always looks like this. the shape is similar to arlecchino's swept bangs.

black swans have black wings with broad white wing tips; arlecchino's hair is cropped to match this exactly only with the colors swapped. it's like she has the wing of a black swan on the right side of her face and the wing of a white swan on the left.

arlecchino has strange red and black gems on her outfit; these look strikingly similar to the black swan's eye make up from the movie black swan.

the white and black swan from swan lake have french names: odette and odile. arlecchino is from fontaine which is basically fantasy france. i don't think she's lying about this since the developers confirmed this in the livestream.

Lyney: That was how "Father" (Otets), who you might know as The Knave, approached recruiting us back then, too...

swan lake is a russian ballet, which is interesting because they called arlecchino "otets" in the game, which is russian for father. probably just a funny coincidence but otets is pronounced similar to odette.

odile is described as fiery, dangerous and deceptive; the opposite of odette who is graceful like flowing water.

About the Knave: A wolf in sheep's clothing. To exert a higher level of control over people, she puts on a graceful and cordial front. Most of those who have seen her true, crazy self… have gone poof.

this is in line with the wanderer's voiceline about her and from what we've seen from her behavior in the archon quest. arlecchino is also confirmed to have a pyro vision.

odette and odile are usually played by the same ballerina; they are simultaneously the hero and the villain. as you know, harbingers have dual or more identities. the white/black swan fits this theme.

odile is the name of a saint who was blind and was often depicted carrying a pair of eyes on a book. arlecchino has crossed out eyes, and has two accessories resembling eyes stuck on her clothing as seen above.

swans are known to be viciously protective of their young. and well, from the fontaine siblings' character stories we can tell arlecchino is no different.

also just for fun compare arlecchino's possible constellation (the hand of glory) to the black swan's hands