#battlefield setting cw

[yawnderu]

Innocence Loss - König x Reader

Delayed Kinktober Day 3: Virginity loss - König x Reader

CW: Virginity loss, jealous König, rough sex, pussy eating, creampie, breeding kink if you squint.

"So wet for me, spatzi." König muttered softly, shaky fingers teasing your wet slit up and down, gathering your juices before his hand went back to his cock, soft groans escaping his lips as he used your own wetness to lube himself up. His mouth latched up to your cunt again, your whiny moans being rewarding enough as he worked up and down his long, veiny shaft.

"König... need you." You managed to speak between soft gasps and moans, the sensation of his long, flat tongue licking you up and down for the past 10 minutes was starting to become too much— he already made you cum twice, using the excuse that he needed you all wet so you could handle his big cock, yet in reality, he simply liked your taste. Like a starved man, König latched onto your clit, rubbing his cock so hard he already felt on edge.

"Beg for me." He said softly, his cockiness in the battlefield rubbing off on his regular life, yet surprisingly, he wasn't embarrassed about it.

"Please— fuck, I need you inside me. Please, baby?" Your pathetic begging went to his head, yet the look in his eyes betrayed just how much this man adored you. Messy hair, lips parted as you waited for him, a thin layer of sweat covering the body he was so enamored with, and your legs open, revealing the sweet cunt he craved so bad it hurt.

"Pretty girl." He muttered softly, pure affection on his voice as he joined you in bed, opening your legs even more to give his behemoth body enough space. He lined himself up to your cunt, gently pulling his foreskin down to rub the tip of his stupidly big dick up and down your wet entrance, slowly going in until he's bottoming out.

"Scheiße—" He grunted softly, voice going deeper as he grimaced under the mask. König was used to using his own calloused hand to cum, doing it only because he was bored and horny, which he grew out of the more years he spent in the military, yet the feeling of your tight, warm walls swallowing him up hungrily hit him like a tidal wave. You felt too damn good, and he had to resist the urge to cum already, not wanting to embarass himself.

"Are you okay?" He asked you gently, his hand slowly running up and down the length of your hair worriedly when he noticed the slight grimace on your face. König knew he was big in every single way, and his cock was not the exception.

"I'm good, just— move, please." Feeling the stretch of his massive shaft was just as painful as you imagined, yet the pleasure that came from it couldn't be denied. He builds up a pace, slowly going more and more intense as his thrusts get rougher, deeper, harder. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills his private quarters, and you're secretly glad he's a colonel, as it gives you both more privacy.

"You've been bad, haven't you? Desperate for my cock, letting others flirt with you..." He mutters out between clenched teeth, his thrusts only getting rougher as he recalls what happened earlier. You didn't have the heart to tell him a member of KorTac simply was asking you for advice, the feeling of his tip slamming against your cervix was way too good to ruin the moment. He can believe whatever his jealous and possessive mind told him, as long as he keeps on angrily fucking you.

"No one else gets to touch you like this." He growls out, sitting on his knees while his massive hands easily hold onto your hips, lifting you up with him while he pounded into you, your moans mixed with his as he used you like you were simply a fleshlight— compared to his massive frame, you are.

König shows no mercy anymore, slamming his entire nine inches of meat into you with primal force. Despite the way he's being so rough, his light blue eyes are completely set into your face, looking for any signs of discomfort yet all he can see is pure bliss. His already big ego grows more and more as he hammers into you, all the pretty noises and faces you're making because of him, him and no one else, are getting to his head.

He moves your hips away as he pulls out, suddenly slamming himself all the way back in before you can protest. He drags a whiny moan out of you, pain and pleasure mixing as you can feel a familiar warmth building up in your stomach. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear as he mutters out pure nonsense in German. You can barely make out "Hure" between whatever he's whispering. His German sounds hotter than ever and you listen intently, dumbly nodding your head to his words despite not understanding him.

With each powerful thrust, he claims you, marking you as his own. The pleasure builds, coiling around your naked, sweaty bodies until it's way too much to bear. And when you finally release, his arms wrap around you protectively, holding your tiny body close to his as your bodies explode in a shared release. His thick, white cum fills up your womb, painting your velvety walls with his fertile sperm.

[ladybyakuya]

| WHITE DRESS + JING YUAN.

+cw. — f!reader, established relationship, arrange marrige, fluff, pining, banter, teasing, suggestive content , mention of feixiao :D

+wc. — 1k

+syn.— a peek in general Jing Yuan's married life with you.

+notes. —can be read as stand-alone but if you wish to read the other parts can be found in my masterlists | redirect to blog navigation.

Jing Yuan had a very mundane morning routine before you walked into his life. That’s how he used to keep his sanity at bay. Being the General of Xianzhou Alliance's Cloud Knights for centuries, fighting and protecting his people he had rather grown comfortable in it. He is just too used to zone uproars and war turbulence but it has been peaceful for a while. He likes that. That’s why he is taking it easy. But when you came into his life he was on edge again. He has something to protect, something belonging only to him. It was like walking on a wire again. Surprisingly, you filled the boring gaps in his mundane morning routine.

Jing Yuan wakes up at seven o’clock in the morning, like he usually does but he is naked under sheets ever since he got you as a wife but that is not the case on all days. But often he wakes up to an empty bed running his hands on your side of the bed with a soft smile over his face that has a warmth of morning dews because he gets to spend the whole night with you after work. It’s not easy to have this abundance of mundanity for a man of such power, wealth, status, and responsibilities. He is more happy than he was before. He waters the plants, sinks in the lap that nature has to offer, and then gets ready for work— and that is when he first sees you. He used to wear his armor all alone before he married you, thinking that if he died people would mourn him, people would miss him, people would remember him but that is all they will do for the rest of the generals too. He is not something special. But with you in his life, he feels special. He has someone to come home to, someone who would be too devastated to live if he died on the battlefield. He does not do anything except coordinate his movements so that you can easily put on his suit but there are days when he throws tantrums. The whole corridor gets filled with giggles on days like that, your giggles especially.

“Wait,” Jing Yuan grabs you pulling you into his body. His hands immediately lock you in an embrace. “Let me take a good look at my wife.” This. This few minutes where there are no lingering staffs or any sort if interruption is an absolute bliss for him. He touches his forehead with yours as you refuse to look at him, playing with the brooch on his collar. He knows you feel shy at first. He always have to get you a little worked up to be comfortable but that denotes him off because it might be just a kiss to you but he is going to think of it for the rest of his day, wide awake— no dull moment in his life. You are the cure to his boredom. Despite such yeaning agony swelling in his heart, his lips wrap around yours. It's wet, coated with longing. One of your palms moves under his jaw and he knows his time is up. He pulls away with a groan. 

“I’ll set the table, yeah?” you mumble unlocking his hands easily now. If you hadn’t given in so easily like how you used to he would have ended up having you cave in to his cravings before he goes to work. Yeah! That’s how he is. You leave him in the room to get to work as thinks back to one of his most fond memories of you. Ever since he caught you having a midnight snack alone in the kitchen after few months of marriage,he demands to eat the food cooked by you. It was one hell of a night. It wasn’t the sex that set this night apart from others. Sex was good, of course, but amongst those dim lights, when you were busy stuffing your mouth with the food you freshly cooked as he stood beside you holding the plate for you, all he wanted was to protect you, your happiness, and your sadness — everything related to you.  

Jing Yuan sits to dine as the staff sets the table while you stand aside keeping rapt attention if anything is amiss. “Wait! you forgot something. he calls you out. You tilt your head and wait as he adds, “a kiss!” You immediately look around to see if any of the staff heard your husband or not but now they are all gone. They know better than you. Did he really forgot what happened in the dressing room? You saunter towards the table thinking its better just to give in rather resist; as you stand by his side, and lean to place a dry kiss on his cheek and then you turn on your heel to walk away.

“Just on my cheek?” Jing Yuan enquires with surprise in his tone as he stops you by grabbing your hand. Finally, you chuckle— ah! what a time to be alive. 

“Feixiao is waiting. I got her message.” You sit on his lap encapsulating your free arm around his shoulder while he refuses to let to of your other hand. “I have already made her favorites. Your too, love— He kisses your hand as you keep going on— and it's packed. I do have a lot to do today. The staff are getting lazy. . . ” Ah! He remembers how you were so silent during the first few months of marriage. Not that he is complaining but he is just. . .blessed to see this side of you. He does not particularly fancy sweets yet is but he feels nauseous at this point since you are too sweet for him. Oh! How can he ever deny you? He can deny sweets but not you.

You feel the gaps of your fingers being filled by his fingers. “can we stay like this a while longer?” Jing Yuan asked as he kisses the back of your hand. 

“You know we can’t.” You watch him pout a bit so you are compelled to add, “Come home soon.”

[agirlnamedelia]

Hate Sex || Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

cw: cussing, begging, forced kiss at first, office sex, teasing plot: Y/n and the character are co-workers who can't keep bickering with one another. What happens when they are left at work--alone--with intense feelings of hatred(?) with each other.

The battlefield was chaos, smoke and debris clouding the air as you and Bakugou exchanged heated barbs while simultaneously dodging the villain's relentless attacks. Kirishima and Mina flanked the enemy, their movements precise and coordinated as they tried to subdue the hulking figure with glowing gauntlets.

"Watch your left, dumbass!" Bakugou barked, launching a fiery explosion at the villain to divert their attention.

"I don't need you telling me what to do!" you shot back, leaping to dodge a stray blast and firing your own attack in retaliation. The force sent the villain stumbling, but they quickly regained their footing.

"Could've fooled me with how sloppy you're moving!" he snarled, his voice cutting through the din of battle.

"Sloppy? At least I'm not blowing up half the city trying to show off!" you snapped, landing beside him just as another shockwave rippled through the area.

Kirishima's voice cut in, strained but still upbeat. "Guys, can we save the bickering for later? Focus on the giant dude trying to kill us!"

Mina slid into view, her acid sizzling as it hit the villain's armor. "Seriously, you two are like an old married couple! Can we please just work together for five minutes?"

"Tell that to Mr. Ego over here!" you said, pointing at Bakugou.

"Mr. Ego? I'm the only reason this fight isn't a total disaster!" he shot back, his palms sparking with another explosion.

The villain roared, cutting off your argument as they lunged forward. Kirishima hardened his body to block the attack, gritting his teeth as the impact sent him skidding back.

"Little help here!" he called out.

"On it!" you and Bakugou said in unison, momentarily setting aside your feud. You launched a coordinated attack, your combined power finally breaking through the villain's defenses. With a final, earth-shaking blow, the enemy collapsed, unconscious.

The dust settled, and the four of you stood there, catching your breath. Kirishima clapped a hand on your shoulder, grinning despite the exhaustion. "Nice teamwork, guys. Even with all the yelling."

Mina smirked, wiping sweat from her brow. "Yeah, you two might actually make a good duo if you stopped trying to kill each other."

"Not happening," you and Bakugou said at the same time, glaring at each other.

As emergency crews arrived to secure the area, Kirishima and Mina exchanged knowing looks. By the time you piled into the cramped SUV for the ride back to Bakugou's agency, the tension had shifted back to its usual, volatile state.

The engine rumbled softly beneath you, the faint hum filling the awkward silence that Kirishima and Mina desperately tried to maintain. You sat across from Bakugou in the cramped SUV, arms crossed, glaring daggers at the blond like it was a sport.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" you muttered under your breath.

Bakugou scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Coming from the person who tripped over their own feet mid-fight. Real rich, Y/n."

Kirishima groaned from the driver's seat. "Guys, can we not? It's been a long day."

Mina twisted in her seat to face both of you, a tired smile on her face. "Seriously, just five minutes of peace. Please."

You opened your mouth to fire back, but her pointed glare shut you up. You huffed, leaning back in your seat. Bakugou mimicked your pose, but not before shooting you a smug grin. You resisted the urge to stick your tongue out like a child. Barely.

The rest of the drive to Bakugou's agency was mercifully quiet. Kirishima pulled into the lot, and Mina clapped her hands together, an exaggerated cheerfulness in her tone.

"Alright! We're here. Time to split up duties," she said, hopping out of the car.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow, suspicious. "Split up duties? What the hell does that mean?"

Kirishima grinned sheepishly. "Uh, well, Mina and I have some... stuff to do."

"Stuff," Bakugou repeated, his tone flat.

Mina waved a dismissive hand. "You two can handle the paperwork, right? It's not like you're doing anything important."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "Paperwork? You're ditching us to do paperwork?"

"Think of it as bonding time," Kirishima said, already backing away toward the exit.

"You little—" Bakugou started, but the door slammed shut behind them. You both stood there, dumbfounded.

"Unbelievable," you muttered.

"Those assholes," Bakugou growled.

The fluorescent lights in the agency's office buzzed faintly as you sat at the desk, a stack of reports taunting you. Bakugou sat across from you, furiously scribbling notes on a file. His pen scratched loudly against the paper, grating on your nerves.

"Can you not?" you snapped.

"Can I not what?" he shot back, not looking up.

"Write like you're trying to murder the paper."

"Maybe if you did your part faster, I wouldn't have to pick up your slack," he said, finally meeting your glare.

"My slack? I've done more than you in half the time!"

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. "You call that chicken scratch 'work'? Pretty sure my two-year-old niece could do better."

"You don't have a niece."

"You don't know my life."

You groaned, slamming your pen down. "I can't believe I'm stuck here with you."

"Oh, trust me, the feeling's mutual," he said, leaning forward on his elbows. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, the tension shifted. It wasn't the usual exasperation or anger—it was something heavier, more charged.

"If you stopped yapping for five seconds, maybe I'd actually get some peace," he added, standing up and walking around the desk toward you.

"Peace? You're the one who keeps starting shit!" you fired back, rising to meet him halfway. The distance between you closed rapidly as the argument escalated.

"You're impossible!" he snarled, his voice raising to match yours.

"Impossible? You're the one who can't go two seconds without throwing a tantrum!" you shot back, your voice now echoing through the quiet office.

"Tantrum? The hell do you think you're doing with all this whining? Just shut up and do the damn paperwork!" he snapped, slamming a hand on the desk for emphasis.

You stood abruptly, knocking your chair back. "I wouldn't have to whine if you weren't such a self-absorbed jerk who thinks everything revolves around him!"

Bakugou scoffed, stalking around the desk toward you. "Self-absorbed? At least I get shit done instead of sitting around crying about how hard everything is."

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, your face heating up. "You are so full of yourself it's a miracle you haven't floated away like a balloon!"

"Yeah? Well, you're so damn annoying it's a wonder anyone can stand to be around you!" he yelled, stepping closer.

"Oh, like you're a ray of sunshine to work with? Newsflash, Bakugou: your personality is toxic enough to melt steel!"

"Better toxic than useless!" he snarled, the gap between you now almost nonexistent. His crimson eyes blazed, and you could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Useless? I'll show you useless, you oversized firecracker—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Bakugou's lips crashed onto yours, cutting off your tirade mid-word. The kiss was fiery and demanding, just like him. His hands gripped the edge of the desk behind you, caging you in as his lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless.

Your mind short-circuited, the words you'd been ready to yell dying in your throat. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the pounding of your heart.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was heavy, his eyes searching yours. "You talk too much," he muttered, his voice low and rough.

You blinked at him, still processing what had just happened. "You... you kissed me."

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his usual cockiness returning, though his flushed cheeks betrayed him.

You stared at him for a beat, your chest heaving as the tension hung thick in the air. "Don't you dare stop," you said, your voice barely above a whisper but full of conviction. Without giving him time to respond, you grabbed his collar and pulled him back down, crashing your lips onto his in another deep, searing kiss.

The kiss quickly turned desperate, both of you clinging to each other as though the world was slipping away. Bakugou's hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. You stood up, leaning into him to deepen the kiss, your fingers threading through his wild blond hair. The motion tipped over the chair you'd been sitting on, but neither of you paid it any mind.

The edge of the desk dug into your back as Bakugou's lips moved feverishly against yours. Without breaking the kiss, he maneuvered you away from the desk, his hands never leaving your body. The two of you stumbled through the office, nearly knocking over a filing cabinet as you went. A muffled laugh escaped you as his lips left yours momentarily to nip at your jawline, the sound quickly replaced by a sharp intake of breath when he found a particularly sensitive spot on your neck.

"Bakugou..." you murmured, your voice half a plea, half a challenge.

"What? Can't keep up?" he teased, though the roughness in his voice betrayed his own impatience.

You didn't dignify him with a response, instead pulling him back down into another heated kiss. His hands fumbled briefly behind you before finding the doorknob to his office. He shoved the door open with more force than necessary, practically dragging you inside.

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the urgency escalated. Bakugou's hands moved to the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and over your head in one swift motion. You followed suit, your fingers working hastily to unfasten the straps of his hero gear and toss it aside. His shirt followed quickly after, revealing the taut muscles of his chest, gleaming faintly under the dim office light.

Your hands roamed over his skin, tracing the scars and lines that told the story of his battles. He groaned at your touch, his lips finding yours again as his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants. Every movement was hurried, each article of clothing discarded with reckless abandon, leaving a trail across the floor of his office.

By the time you were both standing bare before each other, the air between you crackled with tension and raw desire. His crimson eyes met yours, a mix of hunger and something deeper flashing in his gaze.

"You're sure about this?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically soft as his hands cupped your face.

You leaned into his touch, a small smile playing on your lips. "Shut up and fuck me, Bakugou."

His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Not so fast," he murmured, his tone laced with mischief. His hand slid down your side, gripping your hip as he pressed you back against the desk.

The heat between you grew unbearable as he positioned himself, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance. His touch was deliberate, agonizingly slow as he moved just enough to drive you insane. Your breath hitched, and you gripped his arms, your nails digging into his skin.

"Katsuki," you gasped, your voice breaking with frustration.

He chuckled darkly, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with a mix of hunger and amusement. "Not gonna happen unless you ask nicely," he said, his voice a low growl.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give in to his taunts, but the way he continued to tease you—just barely pushing, then pulling back—left you trembling. Your pride waged war with your desire, but the ache in your body was too much to bear.

"Please," you finally whispered, your voice cracking.

He tilted his head, pretending not to hear. "What was that? Didn't catch it."

Your grip tightened on his arms, your face flushed. "Please, Katsuki. I need you," you said, louder this time, the desperation evident in your tone.

His smirk widened, and he leaned in to kiss you, the motion firm and possessive. "That's better," he murmured against your lips, finally pushing into you with a slow, deliberate thrust.

His smirk only deepened as he leaned down, capturing your lips again in a searing kiss. The way his hips moved, slow and unrelenting, made you arch into him, desperate for more of the friction that he was so cruelly controlling.

"You're so needy," he teased, his voice rough against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Thought you were tougher than this, Y/n. Can't even handle a little waiting, huh?"

You let out a frustrated groan, the sound muffled against his shoulder as your nails raked down his back. He hissed at the sensation, his muscles tensing beneath your touch, but the devilish grin on his face never faltered.

"Katsuki," you whimpered, your voice trembling. "Stop... teasing me."

He chuckled, low and almost predatory, the vibration of it making your breath hitch. "Where's the fun in that?" he asked, his tone mockingly sweet as his teeth grazed along the curve of your neck. "You like it. Don't even try to deny it."

Your hands slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling slightly in retaliation, earning a sharp inhale from him. The smug look on his face faltered for just a second, and you seized the opportunity to push your hips up against his, drawing a strained groan from his lips.

"Oh, you wanna play like that?" he growled, his voice dripping with challenge. His grip on your hips tightened, and before you could reply, he rolled his hips with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Your head fell back against the desk, a moan escaping your lips as he finally gave you what you'd been craving.

"That's more like it," he murmured, his tone laced with approval as he set a rhythm that had your head spinning. His movements were calculated, hitting all the right spots with precision that made your toes curl.

Your nails dug into his shoulders again, and you struggled to keep your voice steady as you said, "You... drive me crazy."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours in a taunting kiss. "Good," he replied, his breath hot against your mouth. "I'd be disappointed if I didn't."

The heat between you grew more intense with every thrust, his name falling from your lips in breathless gasps. His hands roamed your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and the smug look on his face only grew as he watched you unravel beneath him.

"Look at you," he said, his voice rough with barely contained hunger. "Completely mine."

The possessiveness in his tone sent a jolt of electricity through you, and you met his gaze, your eyes half-lidded with desire. "Always," you whispered, the word barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing.

His pace quickened, and the room filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mingling with his low groans. The pressure building inside you was almost unbearable, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded.

"Katsuki," you gasped, your voice trembling with urgency. "I'm..."

"I know you're close," he said, his voice dropping into a cruel, teasing purr. "But you're not gonna get there until you beg for it."

Your breath hitched, frustration and need coiling tight in your chest. "Katsuki, please," you whimpered, but he shook his head, his grin all sharp edges.

"That's not good enough," he murmured, his hips still moving torturously slow. "I wanna hear you say it properly. Beg me, baby. Tell me exactly what you want."

The tension in your body was unbearable, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. "Please, Katsuki," you said, your voice breaking. "I need you. Please let me... please let me come."

For a moment, he only stared at you, his crimson eyes dark with something possessive and raw. Then his smirk softened, and he leaned down, brushing his lips against yours in a fleeting kiss. "That's my girl," he murmured.

Without warning, his pace quickened, and the sudden intensity made your head spin. The coil in your stomach snapped, and you cried out, your entire body shaking as pleasure tore through you. Katsuki followed seconds later, his growl low and guttural as he buried himself in you, his hold on your hips bruising.

The two of you stayed locked together, your heavy breaths mingling in the aftermath. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear as he pressed his forehead to yours. "Was that so hard?" he asked, his tone still teasing but softer now.

You huffed, weakly swatting at his chest. "You're the worst."

He chuckled, leaning closer with a cocky smirk that made your blood boil. "Yeah, but admit it," he said, his voice low and teasing. "You love the way I make you beg."

Your mouth opened to retort, but the intensity in his gaze froze the words on your tongue. Instead, you scoffed, looking away to mask the heat rising to your face. "You're insufferable," you muttered, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

He tilted your chin back to meet his eyes, the smugness in his expression softening just slightly. "Maybe," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek in an uncharacteristically tender gesture. "But you can't deny the way you clenched so hard for me when I made you beg for it."

And as much as you wanted to argue, the truth lingered unspoken in the silence between you.

Hi hello! I hope you all enjoy this lil' smut of mine. If you want more of this, I actually have a Youtube channel where I create stories like this too.

CLICK HERE to check out my Youtube channel. (Also your sub will help a lot! Thank you. <3)

[thegnomelord]

Nobody can convince me otherwise that Price wouldn't cry if he was proposed to/proposing

He gives off similar vibes to my dad and he cried at his wedding cause he was so happy

Okay, 1) Ur dad sounds super sweet lol. 2) Price so would and have a surprise ficlet.

Would you?

CW: SFW, Price X GN reader fluff, proposals, crying

The thought of marriage strikes him as you two lay in bed one night. It's not a particularly special night; he's not fresh from the battlefield or hardening his heart to go back to it. It's just a regular Tuesday night — your arms around him, your legs a tangle of limbs in the sheets, your head resting over his chest so you can be lulled to sleep by the sound of his heart — when he thinks. . . Wouldn't it be nice to be buried under your name?

That maybe, just maybe, he'll have you to keep him from a pauper's grave. That your and his bones will be able to mix when time erodes flesh, wood, and earth between you two. That the only thing that will remain will be those gold rings.

He starts planning that morning, approaching the proposal like he would a suicide mission; he calculates every variable, scours his brilliantly sharp mind for every little detail he's catalogued about you, making plans upon plans for how it could go both wrong and right. Writing sessions of what he wants to say to you stretch long into sleepless nights, he cracks open that old dusty book of family recipes and scribbles little exclamation marks next to the dishes you enjoy, secretly taking your ring measurement so he can confidently go ring shopping.

His wallet is fat from his work, yet he picks up side jobs in the private security sector on his off time — He's happy to babysit overgrown brats if it means he can buy you a ring without blood money. He wants this to be something pure and free of the violence shrouding his life. He doesn't do it often, but some times he fantasizes of what will come next; he'd hate to wear a stuffy suit like he does his military blues to those posh military dinners, but for you, it wouldn't feel like a labour nor a penance. He's sure it wouldn't take much for Kate to get her officient license, and whenever he starts thinking of that Price finds himself smiling like a loon at the thought of you on your wedding day, bright eyed and with a big smile with his ring on your finger.

A simple question — what if you refuse? — always brings him back down to the ground and drags his heart to the pit of his stomach. He tries not to think about it (he thinks too much about it, the bloody fool)

He decides to propose on your anniversary.

He wakes up long before you, having barely slept a wink the night before with last minute thoughts running through his head. Breakfast is ready for you by the time you stumble out of bed, his beard scratching your chin as he gives you a goodbye kiss before you set out to work. He spends the rest of the day making sure the house is spotless, getting you flowers, picking out the nicest clothes you two have and then goes to make dinner.

And of course, the things out of his control go wrong on the one day he needs it to be perfect. He only notices the oven is busted when the roast he's making in it starts smoking enough to set off the fire alarm. He scrambles to salvage it but it's too late and he's left scurrying around the kitchen trying to figure out something else.

Price doesn't notice when you get home, the locking of the door and your tired footsteps betting lost in the sound of clattering pots and pans. He nearly tosses the pan he's holding when you sneak up and wrap your arms around him, pulling him back from the roaring fire of the stove to press your chest to his back.

You rest your head on his shoulder, lips brushing his neck. "Relax," You say, both an admonishment and a suggestion.

"Bloody git". Price grumbles to himself under his breath but relaxes into you, nuzzling his head against yours. "M' sorry love, the bloody oven broke and-" he clams up just as he's starting to explain, already rethinking the proposal as a whole because Christ, how can he be a good husband when he can't even make you dinner properly?

"Hey," You begin and kiss his temple, rubbing soothing circles into his side. "How about we dress up and I'll order take out huh?" You say, letting go of him and taking charge by calling both of your favourite takeout place before he even has a chance to refuse.

Price knows this proposal is dead in the water. He's seen far too many proposal videos on that TokTik app — the ones with extravagant locations and massive diamond rings gifted to the brides to be via doves — to know such a simple proposal would fly.

But he still goes along with your plan; At the very least he can enjoy the sight of you done up in nice clothes, in the knowledge you do it for him. And he's sure you love how he looks in his suit too, his beard can't hide how pink his cheeks get when you call him dashing or handsome as you fix his tie. He gets you back though, cupping your cheek when you're done with his tie so he can pull you in for a long and slow kiss. He wants to press further, proposal plans already at the back of his mind, but he's interrupted by the delivery guy. He's especially not pleased when you stick your tongue out at him like a child and scamper away to get your takeout.

After plating the food, you sit down to eat, and Price remembers to light the special candles he'd bought. The food is good even if it's not what he'd wanted, but it's easy to forget about this shortcoming of his when you're laughing and telling him about some thing that happened to you today. He listens intently, remembering why he loves you when you speak so passionately about your hobby.

Price decides this is it.

He had a speech prepared, written and rewritten a dozen times until it was perfect, the one he'd practiced all day until his throat was raw. But the words dissapear like a mirage in his mind, and even if he did remember them, it would feel too out of place. So he simply stands up, cutting your talk short. His back aches as he gets to one knee, hands shaking a bit and fumbling with the box before he presents the golden ring to you. "Do you. . ." He hesitates, takes a deep breath, "Do you want to spend the rest of our lives together?"

Your eyes flicker between him and the ring, staring, bewildered. The pit in his stomach grows with every passing second, only to swallow up his heart when you open your mouth and say "Are you serious?"

This is it, Price thinks, he's mistaken what you two had together for something it was not. He's already thinking of ways to backtrack, fat tears building at the corners of his eyes that he desperately tries to blink away.

He's caught unaware when you kneel down in front of him. There's a sheepish look on your face as you bring out your own little box. Inside is a simple golden ring, your and his initials carved into it.

You give him a wry little smile, "Surprise."

Price stares at the ring. A second passes. Then another. A third one is well on it's way before his mind finally realises what this is and a childish laugh bubbles from his chest. "You-" He reaches out and pulls you into a bear hug. "-bloody Muppet almost made my heart give out." He grouches but absolutely melts into your body as you return the hug. You feel his mighty shoulders shake and chest rumble as his laughter gets out of control, pulling you into laughing with him.

He buries his face into your neck, trying to say something but his hiccups turn the words into meaningless happy noise. He doesn't even notice when he starts to cry, but it's a good type of crying — the one where you just don't know how to express the light airy feeling gripping your chest. Price feels like his ribcage is stuffed with dandelion fluff, fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I love you." He says into your skin, low and quiet, voice still raw as he nuzzles his beard into your neck. His hands grip you tightly, afraid to let go.

"I love you too." You say, kissing him with nothing but love and care and tenderness in your actions.

Price is running high on the buzz of getting engaged when you two settle on the couch, back in comfortable pyjamas and wrapped up in blankets and each others arms, your takeout on the table as you settle to watch a movie. Your hand finds his, two golden rings clicking together beneath the sheets, and Price feels fresh tears roll down his cheeks before you kiss them away.

Being buried under your name would be nice, but living under your name is much better.

[cookie-crumblr]

F!Dragon Reader x M! Yan Dragon OC

Chaos Incarnate

MINORS DNI

CW: FEM! Reader, reader is a shapeshifting dragon, reader has a vagina, reader referred to as she/her, non human anatomy(the guy’s a dragon, of course i’m giving him at least 2 dicks *cough cough* he has 3), reader is virgin, pet names for reader (little queen, ), kidnaped reader, NON CON, cervix fucking, breeding kink, unsafe sex, creampies, multiple orgasms, massive size difference/size kink, predator/prey play, severe violence against reader, dacryphilia, stomach bulge, scaleys(like furries but scaley lol idk if i should warn that but we are dragons), double(triple) penetration, 2 dicks in one hole, public sex, monster fucking i forget the word rn, not proofread whew that’s like my most ever XD ENJOY!<3 potions and magic high fantasy environment. p in v and p in b

Part 1?

You’ve been queen for only a short while. It wasn’t only your birthright, you’ve proven yourself a formidable foe, not to be trifled with on many a battlefield. Your roar has instilled fear in enemy armies, and has rallied your own troops countless times over. You are beloved by your people.

So how did you get into this situation?

A long since (thought to be) dead draconic titan kidnapping you?

The chains are tight around your torso, they’re also enchanted with some magic spell so that you cannot shift into your glorious dragon form. You feel real terror for the first in a long time.

He might eat you… He was known once as the world devourer. You gulp.

He can smell the fear on you, you could in his place, but his smirk gives it away further.

“Little queen,” Even in humanoid form his voice booms off the walls of his cavernous castle. “Why haven’t you had a brood of your own yet? hmm?” His posture is too lax for your own comfort. He inspects you while leaning against the metal bed posts of a massive larger than a standard dragon sized round bed.

“Wh-what!?” You cough and choke on your own spit, what a personal question!! Sure all of dragonkind is wondering why their new queen hasn’t at least taken consorts. “That’s too personal, and quite frankly none of your business.” You defiantly turn your head with a small “hmmpf”

“Oh little queen, that is where you are wrong,” He kicks off of the post, and slowly saunters over to you. He’s completely naked other than a gilded loincloth. You keep your eyes up to the ceiling and away from him. “I haven’t had brood of my own in… Well centuries! since i’ve been asleep and all that.”

Your brows peak, he can’t be going where you think he’s going. His claw traces your jaw and brings your face to his, he gazes upon your lips wantonly. “Please…”

“Oh I love it when you beg already. You’ll be doing plenty of that,” His claw becomes more and more draconic as he shifts it’s form to something much much sharper. You try to sink into the pillar you’re chained to to get away as best you can even though you know it’s no use.

*Slash!*

Your chains clink against the floor loudly. He’s set you free? You look back at him with only one eye opening at a time.

“Your first time should be done properly, right?” His grin is far too toothy for comfort.

“How did you—?” you start panicking now.

He smells the air, his eyes rolling in his head, and hazily coming back to yours as if he’s becoming high from the air.

“Little queen, I am ancient, even if i couldn’t smell it that you haven’t taken a mate or even a consort yet,” He shakes his head in confusion, “You are wearing that sweet innocence on your being. It is in the way you walk, the way you talk and interact with the world around you,”

“I’ve been.. busy, is all…” You look down before, “Wait, you’ve been… Watching me?” your eyes widen.

“Of course. Such a promising mate for me,” His voice is low and resonates in your body, your breathing picks up even more. You can’t help the heat in your core either. “Run away, little queen,” His toothy grin grows inhumanly wider.

You back up, clawing behind you to guide you as you keep your eyes on him, and he slowly stalks after you.

Fuck! fuck! fuck!

His castle bedroom has a window big enough for even him to fly through, it dwarfs you… Just how big is his dragon form?? you transform and start to fly swiftly away. You have to get away!

You hear his transformation behind you, it whips up the wind giving you a jet stream and his cocky roar vibrates the very air around you.

Good gods! What the fuck!?

You have to turn your head back to look, everything in your bones said to look back, even though you knew you shouldn’t, you couldn’t resist, and that pause gave him enough time to pounce upon you midair.

His ginormous claws rake into your scales, and his teeth find your neck, you roar back at him, threatening him, telling him to stop. His growl shakes your throat, your eyes water. He’s going to do it, he’s really going to steal your virginity. A dragon more than twice your size is mounting you!

“Please!” You shout your voice ringing out through serpentine maw. You feel his tentacle like members slipping under your tail, they lay heavily against your holes. Thankfully they feel wet…

“Beg for me, Little Queen!” the dragon’s voice is thunderous, you think that everyone in the world might hear your shame now. Your people certainly will.

“No!”

Two of his cocks wrap around eachother making a thick drill like shape. While his third lines up stiffly to your asshole, the other two start pushing into your vagina. You desperately flap your wings, until he grabs them and pulls hard, you feel your bones snapping, and scream into the sky.

You feel his heads press deeper and deeper, until something within you breaks, and your body convulses, blood spills even between your dragon thighs. You both spin in the air as you hurdle toward the volcanic ground below. His wings flap once and carry you through the air as he slides fully into you, his third entering your ass at the same time.

your pussy stretches to accommodate him, you suddenly feel so full all at once with the air rushing through your nostrils, you might pass out, but his claws around your sides tighten their grasp, waking you up instantly. No…

You will be shown no mercy.

tears fall down your scaled cheeks.

“Beg for me!”

His dicks drag against your walls, even through the whipping wind around you, you can hear the squelching as he fucks you. You don’t realize but he’s flown you both back to his castle, he lands on top of your body with you crashing into the ground cracking stone and sending a shockwave throughout the castle, and shaking the chandeliers above you.

You watch them sway behind him as he roars still inside of you, he cums. completely filling any crevice left. Just when you were about to sigh in relief he gets back to fucking you. Burying his dicks further inside of you, they hadn’t been all the way inside! His maw finds your shoulder and bites down, blood trickles down your arm.

He flips your significantly smaller body over, and presses a clawed hand on your bulging tummy as his dicks continue to pulverize you.

Until he grabs you by your sides and starts to use your body to fuck himself. Your body burns brighter and brighter until you’re convulsing around him and milking more cum from his still hard cocks pouring more semen inside you at the same time.

Milky white rings are building around his bases in both your holes, but he keeps cumming and using your body, he really does want to breed you! you claw the ground and try to get away again, he just pulls back harder, slamming your body back onto his cocks, it feels like he’s breaking into your cervix!

again he cums his cocks pulsing wildly inside of you, his growling is low, and his hips press as hard into you as physically possible. He pulls out after you cum again, and your body shakes violently needing respite.

you remain as silent as possible, and he returns as a human. He casts something at you that forces your body to twist and shrink until your form matches his, your tiny fleshy prison with the aesthetic matching everything that makes you, you. His over eight feet tall stature stands over you, making you, even as queen feel small and weak.

He grabs you, and pops a cork off of something, and forces a glass bottle into your open mouth. You try and shove him off of you, “It’s a health potion,” He laughs.

“As if I care!!” You’re naked and dripping his cum for the gods’ sakes! “I don’t want anything from you!”

“Youre lucky i don’t just eat you, little queen. i need a brood mother only so much.” He throws you onto the gigantic bed as your wounds are completely healed now, he approaches with a smirk. “These forms are so much fun to play in, aren’t they?”

[freyito]

hiii first of all i just love your drabbles 🫶🫶🫶 Can i request mk1 characters reactions when their partner is hurt? yk when they found out that their s/o is in the hospital or sth. You can write for whoever you want but I would love if you include Raiden, Johnny Cage, Kenshi and Syzoth in this ❤️❤️

✭ pairing(s): liu kang, bi-han [sub zero], kuai liang [scorpion], johnny cage, kenshi takahashi, kung lao, raiden, zeffeero [rain], tomas vrbada [smoke], baraka, syztoh [reptile], havik, general shao, shang tsung, reiko (seperate) x gn reader

✧ a/n: thank u smmmmmm anon!!! i hope this doesnt sound egotistical or anything, but i really cant get enough of people telling me they love my writing, it's really affirming and i will always appreciate it ! it's always like... woah.... really......

this is the perfect request, but i am gonna put my own little spin on this and make it pretty angsty, whoops :P super sorry this one took so long too.... ough i put my heart and soul into it. i hope i am not only tumblr user freyito to you, but an angst writer too... well most of these are angst. some are a little more fluffy and less dire... also just could not for the life of me figure out what to write for geras' so no geras in this one :(

🗒 cw: gn reader, certain character's deaths, gore/blood, depiction of death, angst, in some you are close to death, stitching without painkillers in havik's, kidnapping in shang tsung's/mention of kidnapping in rain's, not proofread

✎ wc: 6.3k

ᴛʜᴇ ᴋᴏᴍʙᴀᴛ ʙᴏʏꜱ + ᴀ ʜᴜʀᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

⎯Liu Kang

Not much evokes emotion in him. He is a god, he must been even with his feelings, and any shift in the balance could set so many things wrong. On the battlefield, there is no room for failure. With you, he's always been relatively neutral, he makes sure you know he loves you, and he's gentle with you. Yet, he keeps a distance. Liu Kang harbors a fear deep down, that his actions, his status, will bring you to your end. He's a sought out target, after all.

So, when those fears come true, Liu Kang can't help but feel his rage consume him. To watch Shang Tsung's claws dig deep into you, festering, plaguing your own strength. Ripping into you, decorating his hands in your warm blood. Shang Tsung had done this because of Liu Kang, he was so sure. Flames engulfed him, near incinerating the foot soldier he had been fighting. He approaches Shang Tsung, as you lay at his feet, struggling to breathe. Unforgivable. To do this to his starlight, Liu Kang will not make this mans death slow and savory, no. Within an instant, he pushes Shang Tsung's head through his own body, splitting the man in half, as well. Death is too merciful, but alas, that is not important, now.

Once the initial wave of anger washes off, adrenaline and logic set in. Liu Kang picks you up, he treats you as if you're porcelain. Just barely, as you struggle to stay conscious, you can hear him assuring you it's okay. That nothing else will happen. It is unclear whether he is saying this to you, or himself. Regardless, he leaves the battlefield quickly. He knows his comrades can handle the rest. But knowing that he is so close to losing you, as you bleed out within his arms, it is haunting. Every second counts, and he knows it. He entrusts your care to the medics at the Wu Shi academy, as much as he trusts them, he cannot bring himself to leave your side. For hours, he is still covered in your blood. His eyes do not leave your face, resting and peaceful, even with death knocking on your door.

Liu Kang is there every step of the way. When you are in recovery, he makes sure to attend every session. He brings you books, something to keep you occupied on the days where you are stuck in bed. Regrettably, he can't enjoy a lot of alone time with you, because duty calls. He'd love nothing more than to spend every waking moment with you, but he still has stuff to attend to. However, when you are cleared to leave the academy, he keeps you close. Liu Kang is afraid it will happen, the image of you bloodied and ripped up still fresh in his mind. He's only a little protective, the thought of you going back into Kombat a little rattling. But he does not stop you. Because it makes him feel better knowing that you are back on your feet.

⎯ Bi-Han

As the grandmaster's partner, Bi-Han knows that you could be caught in danger. But he does not lament this. He does not celebrate it, either. He admires that you can fight, and he loves fighting by your side. He always looks out for you, of course he does. But he cannot be by your side in a large fight, he knows you can hold your own.

It is a sharp cry that draws his attention towards you. That is all he needs. Bi-Han prides himself on being an even and logical man, but the minute he sees A Tengu assassin's knife dug deep into your ribs, he snaps. Within an instant the battlefield grows colder, and the second you blink, the assassin already has his spine ripped out and shattered. A little bit of a flashy display for a man like him, but he wastes no time in bathing in the glory of his kill. He was lucky enough that the fight was nearing an end, the last of the Tengu clan that was sent out were either retreating or being taken care of.

Off you go to the medics of the Lin Kuei, and he insists you are priority. The one thing Bi-Han was unfair with was you, near fighting with the medics to tend to your wounds. Your blood paints his hands and upper torso, and he refuses to wash it off. Not until he knows that you have priority. When the medics relent, he finally disappears to wash off. He cannot stay by your side as much as he'd like, but he's not only restricted by his title, but his emotions. He takes a couple minutes outside, to calm down his own nerves. Bi-Han does not cry, but a few shaky breaths escape him as he tries to calm himself down. His mind races with every possible outcome, ultimately landing on the worst.

But, Bi-Han's thoughts do not come to fruition. The medics have worked their magic, and you are on the path to recovery. As much as he'd love to be with you, he cannot. But, he does send you a bunch of gifts. Letters, mainly. Small incentives for you to recover quickly, but he sends in flowers frequently, as well. The days he does visit you, he is a softer man. He's especially gentle with you around your ribs. He keeps a very close eye on you during missions once you are out of recovery. He doesn't mean to seem overbearing, but his position alone paints a big ol' target on your head. This attack was the first that brought that to his attention.

⎯ Kuai Liang

Fighting alongside a pyromancer is tricky, to say the least. There's a lot of variables to account for, and aside from that, Kuai Liang can't really keep an eye on you in certain instances. This was one of them, a rather messy battle, one where he couldn't keep track of you. Not that it mattered, he knew you were strong enough to hold your own.

However, it is a stray spark that leads you to stumble back. You flinch, which drives you back into the sword of the enemy.  When Kuai sees this… the world goes silent. Water stills, flame fizzle out, swords clash and the dull clang of steel against steel quiets. Only for the water to suddenly form a raging tide, the flames to burn brighter, and the steel fades against the sound of a brilliant flame. In your fading vision, you see your partner's kusarigama impale your attacker's jaw, and pull it clean off. It is a sight he will regret later.

When the battle is over and the medics have taken you away, all Kuai Liang finds himself doing is worry. Pacing constantly, he messes up the mission report and has to have Tomas or someone else from the Shirai Ryu. He can recount things normally without a hitch, but knowing that it was him and his own ‘reckless’ use of his pyromancy with you in such close proximity makes him trip over his words, and even his thoughts. With what little free time he has, he’s pacing outside your cot, frequently checking in on the medics and the progress, until they ultimately have to push him away. Which calms him down, somewhat.

When the medics assure him that everything is fine, and that you are on the path to recovery, he’s much more relieved. He’s a lot less tense, and he’s a lot more coherent. He’s able to compose himself. Granted, he tends to sneak off (when appropriate) to check on you. He really just loves talking with you afterwards, he doesn’t want to bring up any unpleasant memories or thoughts (particularly what you saw before you blacked out), but there will always be a point where you have to talk about it. He’ll also ramp up his affection. The entire ordeal (while he knew what would come with forming the Shirai Ryu) made him realize that maybe he takes you for granted. Kuai Liang has been surrounded by death, sure, but for some reason, when it comes to those he loves… it is hard to understand that life is fleeting.

⎯ Johnny Cage

Johnny is used to deaths and his partner being hurt… on screen. He’s so used to the dramatized version, where his stage partner dies in his arms, and he wails real loud. He’s blissfully unaware that it could, in fact, happen to you in real life. He likes to think of himself as a great source of protection, believes no harm will come your way, not when you’ve got just a big, strong, handsome hunk around. And one of Earthrealm’s Defenders. As much as he’s grown, he still needs to learn a few lessons from the world.

And he’s in for a reality check. There are some unsavory characters out there, ones that aren’t too happy about his status as a whole. All he gets is a call from the hospital and a nice little greeting from officers. The only things he can make out in his newfound panic is ‘attempted murder’, and he’s REELING. He wasn’t there, he reminds himself. He doesn’t know what went down. Officers are still trying to figure it out. In his hazy and reckless state, he goes to his best friend.

Kenshi helps ease his nerves, and gives him a couple of LOGICAL ideas. Considering Shang Tsung had wormed his way into Kenshi’s life to steal Sento (and ultimately got his ass beat), he brings it up. Which leads to a whole meeting with Liu Kang, Raiden, and Kung Lao. To discuss the possible threats, and the future. Johnny cannot sit still that meeting, he’s practically bouncing off the walls, asking what this means for you. Every single question is about you, and you alone. Liu Kang dismisses him, and he practically speeds off to the hospital.

Johnny relaxes when he’s able to finally enter your room,– after a lot of arguing with the doctors about visiting hours– but his mind still spins. How could he let this slide? He should’ve been there, right? Regardless of how much blame he puts on himself, (which it was never his fault to begin with) he’s sat by your bed, sulking. From the police report, it’s clear that it was AT LEAST linked to Shang Tsung, but that’s no longer his problem. He gets you anything from the cafeteria if you ask, and he brings you flowers every. damn. day. He’s got so many gifts coming your way, that when you get discharged, you’re practically smothered by all the gifts he got you as an ‘apology’. When you ask him what he means by an apology, he doesn’t say a single word. Johnny’s very on top of your medication, he’s soooo very delicate with you, he almost condemns you to bedrest. But with enough pushback, you’re able to be up and about; but that doesn’t mean he won’t be worrying over you for quite a while. Even if Liu Kang assures him that it won’t happen again.

⎯ Kenshi Takahashi

Kenshi is aware of the danger that surrounds him and his existence in general. He’s protective of you, of course. And he knows full well that you could be swept up into the mix of the Yakuza, and his work with Liu Kang and the OIA. But, you yourself had fought hard for the relationship and made it clear that you could care less about the potential dangers; even if he felt a little frazzled at all the dangers out there. All the hands that could be grabbing at you, the guns, the knives, the weapons that would be pointed at you the minute you were spotted next to him. You didn’t care.

Yet, when he gets the call that you were involved in some crime, landing you in the hospital, his mind omits all the other details. Aside from the hospital you’re at. He even skips over the fact that it was Jax calling him. Part of him wants to cry. And he probably would, if he could. But he tries to keep himself composed. Whatever he’s been occupied with is now a distant memory, other agents can take over. As calm as he looks on the outside, there’s a war raging within him. He knew this would happen. Ever since he felt feelings for you, he knew.

When he finds you at the hospital, Sento left behind, he’s scared. He doesn’t know if he should be grateful that he can’t see you, or if he should lament over it. While the doctors had described your injuries as non-fatal, and that you’d recover in no time, Kenshi’s mind has already spun a horrifying image, but once the doctors have left, he can hear your soft breathing underneath all the bustle of the machines. And it soothes him. Only then does he find some peace of mind, you are safe, and the danger has passed. Somewhat. When his worry starts to dissipate, he remembers that Jax had actually called him first, not the hospital. When he calls Jax back, the first thing he says is that he’s taking time off, and Jax doesn’t protest. They discuss what happened and that it is now a government matter, and something that expands past OIA boundaries. The short version of the conversation is that someone from a different timeline had managed to worm their way into this one, and harm you. Someone with striking similarity to himself. 

Now that Kenshi has calmed down and knows you’re safe, he understands why the nurses and the law enforcement seemed tense around him. It unnerves him, to say the least. That another version of himself would hurt you. His heart, his guiding light. It’s also an entirely new threat that he hadn’t accounted for. Once discharged from the hospital, you have all of his attention. He’s oh so gentle with you, like any little touch and you’ll crack. He does every chore around the house for weeks, until you’ve fully healed. He cooks a lot (with the help of Sento), even bathes you (despite your protests). It’s his way of an apology for what happened, and not just that, but an apology for being with him. He holds immense regret over this, knowing that– even if it was another him from another timeline– he did this.

⎯ Kung Lao

Kung Lao is… protective, alright. And that often gets swept up within his cockiness. Of course, you do feel pretty safe with him. Maybe not around the hat, but you do feel safe around him. Aside from his interesting choice of weapon, he’s a great martial artist. And also just someone who’s really nice to cuddle with. He’s a Shaolin Master, of course he’s going to be a horrifying opponent.

And, there would be hell to pay if anyone hurt his love. He isn’t just all bark. Even the thought of you being hurt has him seething, he tends to overthink. There’s a lot of things that have made him realize that he may be a high value target– even if he can’t help but think he’s done nothing to get to that point. But, under Liu Kang, and just the title ‘Defender of Earthrealm’, there’s some sort of pride that lingers. Something that makes him want to challenge anyone and everyone he can, tell them to ‘bring it on’.

But not at the expense of you. The one thing bigger than his ego? His heart. So, when you stride into Wu Shi Academy,– though, limp is the better term– all cut up and bruised, barely able to speak or see, there’s a rage that burns within Lao. One that even Raiden hasn’t seen. He can’t help but run his mouth about how he’ll teach whoever the hell got to you a lesson. But he’s also despondent, he barely touches his food, he barely shows up to Madame Bo’s… and that makes her worried, until she learns about what happened to you from Raiden. Now not only does the culprit have a bastard with a really sharp hat after them, but the most badass little old lady after them, too. Madame Bo loves you like one of her own, really. She dotes on you, where she’ll normally scold the boys. You are her golden child.

Ultimately, their shared hunt leads to a dead end. Your mind is too hazy to remember anything aside from a silhouette, before getting beaten senseless. As much as Lao seems hellbent on tracking the culprit down, he ultimately gives up when you ask him. But, as you recover, he seems to be in much better spirits. He likes to curl up next to you at night (despite the monks telling him not to), just to reassure him that you’re safe. And Madame Bo arguably puts on more of a show than Lao does. She treats you with free food every day of your recovery, and when you’ve got clearance to be walking around without supervision again, she’s made a FEAST for you. While it feels all sunshine and rainbows once you’ve recovered, Kung Lao works tirelessly to get better. He blames himself, mainly for the fact that no matter what he did, he couldn’t find the one who did this to you. Even if you tell him outright that it is okay. It’s another mark on his list of failures, to him.

⎯ Raiden

When he got the amulet, Raiden didn’t exactly have it down. It took a great deal of focus and strength to hone it, more than he’s known. Sure, there have been some points where it feels like he’s got it down, like he can actually control the lightning. But before the tournament, he had a hard time controlling it, and spent many days doing his best to hone this new power. It was exhausting, and took a toll on him, both physically and mentally. He might have been trained nearly his whole life in martial arts, but that doesn’t necessarily correlate to any sort of magic.

However, it is his connections that ground him. Kung Lao, yes. But you, mainly. Normally, his training sessions with the amulet consist of him trying not to fry Lao, while you sit by and encourage him. A positive environment encourages progress, right? That’s what Raiden thinks, anyway. And all things considered, he’s doing well today. The lightning had been easily tamed, Lao hadn’t been zapped, and all was well.

While training with a staff, however, one wrong move sends a strike horrifyingly close to you. You barely register what happened, the loud bang by your right is followed by a popping feeling, like you’ve been in high altitude, a sharp pain through your eardrum, and then a dull ringing in your right ear. Raiden comes running up to you near immediately, checking over you. Your mind spins at how fast things happened, so you can’t necessarily explain clearly to him what you felt. Before you can collect yourself, Raiden is suddenly set on high-alert, and hauling you away to the medics at Wu Shi. Even Lao is a little confused as he follows after the two of you.

At the medics, you’re able to piece everything together. Ruptured eardrum, and Raiden can’t help but blame himself for it. When you’re getting checked over, Raiden is pacing outside, and Lao is trying desperately to calm him down. It had been a fear of his since the very start of his training. But as time went on and you went unharmed… it started to slip into the back of his mind. He feels horrible for letting go of that worry, for letting it happen. And when the medics let you go and tell you that it’ll heal in a couple weeks, you do your best to comfort him next to Lao. When it’s just you two, however, Raiden is a lot more calm. The adrenaline of the moment got to him earlier. Still, all he feels he can do is apologize, as much as you assure him it’s fine. Over the next couple of weeks, he’s very, very mindful of himself. He’s practically banned you from his training sessions, he makes sure to approach you from your left side or make his presence known if he’s coming up from behind you.

⎯ Zeffeero

There’s not much Rain has to worry about in his day-to-day life, even with his status as High Mage. He knows his title holds weight, but he believes that if he spends all his time worrying, something will happen sooner or later, and he’ll be more of a mess if it comes true. He’s more worried about his actual duties, coming home to you (almost) every night, and what books he will read on his days off.

That being said, he isn’t able to spend all his time with you. Which is a bummer, really. His job isn’t necessarily ‘remote’. He doesn’t worry over you too much, he knows you’re strong enough to cover for yourself. And those who are against him and the royalty should be smarter and focus their attention towards him and Sindel. Keyword, should.

So, when Zeffeero is met by the couriers during his duties, he’s confused. The only words he can make out in their frantic speech is your name, and hostage. Which snaps him out of his normally calm demeanor. But, regardless, he does his best to stay collected. He gets the couriers to explain the situation clearly, that Sindel’s detractors had chosen you out of all people to make an example. The good news is that it was dealt with just as quickly as you had been taken away, criminals don’t really get their way so easily in Sun Do, especially.

But that doesn’t mean they didn’t do a number on you. Rain immediately puts his work to the side and meets you at the infirmary. You’re pretty beat up, a couple bruises on your arms and a gash on your forehead, and the medics inform him that you’ll need to stay here for at least another week, you’ve gotten a couple of bruised ribs, as well. For the next couple of days, he is by your bedside, perfectly on time when the medics open up visiting hours. He’ll even do his work by your side, filling countless journals and going through way too many reports as he does.

⎯ Tomas Vrbada

Stealth missions require the utmost focus, especially ones of this caliber. Tomas is confident in your ability, so he doesn’t worry unnecessarily over you. But his mind can tend to wander sometimes. Still, he does his best to remain on track, stalking through the rampart. It was a simple recon mission, keep an eye on the territory. It had been left abandoned after the events of Armageddon, but there had been indications that Bi-Han was looking to start something there again. Considering the cyberization of the Lin Kuei, Kuai Liang and Tomas agreed to simply check it out, make sure nothing was being done.

And they were right to be suspicious. Either out of paranoia, or a hunch, Bi-Han had sent scouts as well. This makes the operation a lot more high-risk, both parties may be aware of each other, but have no idea where the other is. It looks as if there’s a rather hefty amount of spies in the rampart as well. As Tomas stalks through the tops of the wall, searching for anything slightly out of place, he gets the sudden feeling that he’s being watched.

Just as he raises his head, he hears the thwip of a bow string, causing him to jerk away from his position. An arrow flies past his head, a few centimeters from it, and as he follows it’s trajectory, he sees you, across the rampart. Fighting with two ninjas, doing your best to, well, stay alive. Realizing that you two are horribly outnumbered, he completely ignores the archer behind him. Utilizing his practical magic, he wastes no time disappearing and taking off. It’s not as easy as it sounds, practically throwing himself off the wall and doing what he can to make it across the rampart. As adrenaline rushes through him, his actions are near mindless, reckless, jumping over stray ballistas and rubble.  Does he know that this could put his life at risk? That it puts the mission at risk? Yes. But there’s a tiny voice inside of him that screams at him, tells him you are much more important than the mission. He got the intel anyways.

Things blur together for Tomas after that. He can’t remember exactly how he reached you, he can’t remember what he did with the two ninjas, the only thing that brings him back to the present moment is the pained breaths of yours and heaved gasps. He’d been singing some lullaby that he couldn’t remember the name of, his voice cracking here and there. His throat is raw, blood pouring from a head wound, and he can’t tell if the blood coating his arms is from you, who lay motionless (but thankfully breathing) in his arms, the ninjas, or his own. He’s barely noticed that he’s made his way to Harumi’s house. Not to Kuai Liang– to Harumi. Which, eventually, the knowledge that you’ve been hurt and that the Lin Kuei are pushing to claim territory over the Rampart. When Harumi guides the two of you to a room while she calls for the medics, all Tomas can do is blame himself. He’s spaced out the entire time, the only thing that snaps him out of his catatonic state is when they try to separate the two of you. He doesn’t let them. He doesn’t let anyone separate you from him. He’s too scared that he will lose you.

⎯ Baraka

While the restrictions on those inflicted with Tarkat have been lifted slightly, there is still some public animosity towards Tarkattens. And some of those people tend to direct their anger at those who support this decision, or those close to those afflicted with Tarkat. And unfortunately, you just so happen to be one of those people.

You aren’t entirely vocal about your relationship with Baraka, but you aren’t entirely quiet about it, either. The only reason Baraka doesn’t talk about you two is because he is afraid of what could happen to you. It doesn’t matter if the public’s opinion will turn, if there will ever be a cure, he has always been distant. He loves you, and good god, he’d do anything to even hold your hand. But he is afraid. He can’t help but be afraid of what will happen to you.

And rightfully so, when you are visiting Sun Do with Baraka. It’s a routine visit, to talk about how to integrate precautions for those with Tarkat, and how the vaccine progress is coming along. It feels like hours in a stuffy room, talking with Mileena. Eventually, you step out for a moment, to get some fresh air, and to clear your head. Unfortunately, one of the people against the aid for Tarkattens takes this as an opportunity to attack you in broad daylight.

Luckily, you don’t have to suffer much. A couple of kicks and hits that have left a couple of bruises, but the Constabulary was able to pull them off you quickly. The commotion brings Mileena and Baraka out, which leaves you feeling a little flustered. Needless to say, the talks for that day are cut short, and Baraka spends his time worrying about you. He asks you to stay in Sun Do for a while, that he can handle the talks himself now.

⎯ Syzoth

Syzoth’s biggest fear is Shang Tsung. Even after all is said and done, the fear still lingers. With his past, he can’t help but worry, especially about you. He wants to imagine a future with you, and he’s more than content with the days you two spend together, but he will never be able to shake the idea of his happiness being ripped from him again. While he is still all cuddly with you, there is something always gnawing at him. An eternal dread.

And his fears come true, in some way. He had to leave home for a couple of days, out on official business. It was nothing major, nothing that would pull him from you for longer than a week. Integrating yourself along with Zatterans was a challenge alright, something you didn’t mind facing. Syzoth had said it was a good way to get them used to humans, to earthrealmers.

However, when he comes back home, he is greeted by you, with a black eye, and multiple, bandaged, gashes down your arms. You smile at him warmly, despite your injuries, which have had at least two days to heal. He’s stunned, and after a moment of silence, he’s all over you, asking question after question. Despite what he asks, he knows what the Zatterans have done to you.

He tells himself he should’ve known, as they had killed those with his mutation, he should’ve known that they would’ve treated you the same. You can’t give him exact details, you can’t even give him a description. It happened all too fast, and you were helpless in the moment. He spends the next week by your side, never leaving, unless it was for food, or necessities. When you two are out, he’s very diligent about his surroundings, and those around them. Most of the Zaterrans express their apologies to you, even if it wasn’t them, which makes Syzoth even more wary about who he should be keeping an eye on.  

⎯ Havik

Danger comes with the territory of dating Havik. Yeah, he keeps you close, but he’s wanted. And he’s well aware, he tends to get himself in fights quite often. If you wanna participate? Hells yeah, he’s all in. But if you’d rather sit back, hide away, anything like that, he doesn’t mind. Even if he prefers a more active partner on the battlefield. Just because he’s got his anarchic ways and enjoys a little bloodbath every now and then, doesn’t mean he’s thrown care and (at least) sympathy into the wind. Granted, it’s hard to coax that reaction out of him.

But, it’s different with you. His heart; quite literally. He’d do anything for you, he’s (almost) as obedient as a dog. But when he gets to watch you in kombat… it’s a treat. He’s like actually drooling. He’s got a twisted sort of smile on his face when you slash through enemies. Sometimes just the thought of it makes him blush. He’s a little fucked up, actually! But for a being who thrives on chaos, that’s the norm.

When it comes to you being injured, if it’s just a little nick, (which is categorized very loosely; can be deep cuts, slashes, not just a scrape) he doesn’t find any reason to retaliate against your assailant. Havik is proud to have a lover that can take care of things themselves, but that doesn’t mean he won’t leap at the chance to tear someone limb from limb. Especially if you’re wounded near fatally. That’s when any semblance of humanity leaves him. He’s brutal, horribly so, and for once, you have to turn your head away.

When the fight’s done, Havik returns to you, covered in blood and viscera. He made it quick, as much as he would’ve enjoyed making it slow and painful, he knows that time is of the essence. Given his situation, he can’t really take you anywhere. So a little impromptu ‘healing’ session is underway. Some alcohol (that’s 100% not stolen) and some pressure to make sure the bleeding stops and that you don’t get an infection. After, he’s got to stitch up the wound. As he does so, he’s murmuring praises,– a rare thing from him, really– doing his best to make this as painless as possible.

⎯ General Shao

There is no greater place than the battlefield to Shao. It is something he grew up on, and to be fighting side by side with his beloved, it fills him with pride. Of course, he knows the dangers, he knows there’s a target on his back, but he could care less. He almost revels in it. Yes, he’ll worry about you, but he also knows that you can handle yourself.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t above teaching those who choose to hurt you a lesson. He’s sensible, he’s strong, and he’s just a little, teensy weensy bit protective of you. Of course, you can handle fights on your own. But it’s when the enemies got you in a tough spot, managed to daze you, anything like that. That’s when Shao lets hell break loose.

A sword pierces through your arm, and while it’s not fatal, the minute Shao sees it, he’s raging. A bloody warpath follows him as he marches towards the assailant, the opponent he had been fighting long forgotten. He can’t gloss over an injury like that, he is unsure if they had cut through the brachial artery. So he makes it quick, practically splitting them in two as you watch. The battle continues to rage on, but all Shao can do is huff and encourage you to make an escape,– mainly because he’s afraid you might bleed to death– even if you don’t want to.

At the end of it all, you oblige, retreating and making it to the field medics. You are glad to hear that they did not cut through your brachial artery, and that you won’t bleed to death. But the gash in your arm still needs treatment. You’re stuck in that tent for quite a bit, mourning the loss of a good fight. That is, until Shao interrupts. He’s barely pulled back the tarp of the entrance, and he’s already looking for you. And when he spots you, lying down with a defeated look, bored as hell, he’s at your side within an instant. He needs to know the damage, if it’ll take you out of combat, etc etc. He quietly worries over you, which is quite charming in its own way.

⎯ Shang Tsung

Shang Tsung is no pushover. He may be despised, he may have been outcast, but that doesn’t mean he’ll stand there and take it. Especially when it comes to you. He’s a bit of a drama queen, sure, but he’s charming. Even after everything, it seems like people won’t forgive him. They aren’t wrong to leave him unforgiven, either.

But, their anger should be pointed towards him. So when he receives a letter for ransom via courier, he’s rightfully pissed. How dare they take his sunshine away from him, all because of what he’s done. What he’s done. And to try and rip him off, as well. You aren’t worth a mere 50,000 koins! You’re worth at least 5mil! Needless to say, he’s fuming.

What’s he going to do? Ask the Constabulary to help? No! He’s more than capable of handling it himself. A little dirt on his hands never hurt anybody. Time is short, so he rushes over the details. A couple sleepless nights spent scouting, collecting any sort of information, and he’s off to a shabby little shack in the wastes. The audacity of these people to not only take you from him, demand 50k koins, but also keep you in some run-down place! As much as he’s nitpicking what they’ve done to you, he’s doing it to calm himself down. Yeah, he’s got this in the bag, but any one taking his love from him, especially with malicious intent, makes him scarier than his most evil counterparts.

It is there where Shang Tsung finds out the kidnappers haven’t necessarily… prepared. Only two captors, and they’re dealt with easily. Torn into like meat, left to rot. He disregards their state, food for the vultures and whichever desperate soul wanders past. You’re a mess, head down, mind hazy, legs weak. He treats you like a knight saving his darling, picking you up bridal style. He coos at you, whispering things like ‘you’re alright’, and ‘I’m here now’ as he takes you away.

⎯ Reiko

It’s a calm evening, paired with a little sparring. As Reiko watches you train an over-ambitious rookie, he seems lost in thought. Why? It’s unsure. It feels like he’s simply lost his grip lately, he feels that he hasn’t been doing well in combat, and has actually regressed with his progress. Seeing you humble the soldier over and over again somehow reminds him of this, telling himself he needs to catch up on his training, build on his weaknesses.

It’s a subtle snap that brings him back to reality. It seems the trainee had enough of your teaching, and didn’t quite enjoy the lessons you were drilling– punching– into them. They’ve managed to pin you down, thanks to a very direct, very heated punch to the face. They’ve got you in a headlock, spouting nonsense at you like you’ve greatly offended them. You groan, so close to yelling out uncle. But, you’ve gotta admit, you like their fire. Even if it severely clouds their judgment.

Reiko is quick to pull them off of you, grabbing them by the nape as if they were a dog. It’s a little bit of a struggle, mainly the trainee squirming and protesting like a child who’s been denied candy. It’s shameful for him, but the very thought of the runt taking advantage of the moment to hurt you makes him believe they are unbefitting of a soldier. And it makes him a little pissed. He’s lecturing them, doing his best to hold back some very choice words. All the while you’re nursing your possibly broken nose, trying to get Reiko to let up on them. Eventually, you just shoo them away, and then give Reiko his own lecture. They’re your student, so they’ll get your discipline.

He’s not the best at consoling you, especially over something that he’s deemed ‘minor’. A quick ‘are you okay?’ and a nod is all he really gives you. But, after you’ve ended the training session early, and confirmed that your nose isn’t broken, Reiko picks up the opportunity to hone in his skills. Given the fact that you still had time left in your schedule, you take up his offer.

© freyito, 2024 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices

DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS.

[peachyprophets-blog]

DROWNED LOVE. LET ME SEE YOU AGAIN...

Epic x reader

CW: Hint of death, EPIC spoiler warning, polyamorous relationship, female reader, English is not my first language.

Description: You are with Odysseus and his men in the war against Troy, you have known Odysseus for a long time. You are his steady partner and Penelope, Odysseus' wife, you have a committed relationship with each other. Since you are a warrior, you insisted on coming along to help in the fight.

PREV / PART 2

Reader POV:

When we attacked Troy, I stood on top of the walls and shot the Trojan soldiers with my arrows. I heard the screams of the soldiers who lost their lives in the fight for their kingdom. When Prince Hector fell and the battle began, everything seemed to stand still for a moment, all eyes were on the balcony that led to Prince Hector's chambers. When you turned your gaze to the balcony, you saw your captain and the man who made your heart beat faster. Odysseus of Ithaca, and in his arms he held something wrapped in a blanket, while you tried to make out what was wrapped in the blanket you heard a deep voice from nowhere warning that the child was a threat and that there would be no one to save if he let the child live. Child? Which child? This question was buzzing through your head until I realized what was in my captain's arms, a newborn. It was the son of Prince Hector, Astyanax. Before I could see anything else about the newborn I could hear Odysseus saying, "I'm just a man" to himself and the child. Before I could do anything else I just saw him let go of the fabric that the newborn was in, my gaze followed his path to death, not even a scream escaped the little boy as he got up and made his way into the underworld. I turned my gaze to the battlefield, all the soldiers and other members of Troy lay lifeless on the ground, the battle was won. I was standing right next to Poletis, a good friend of Odysseus and me, I slowly looked over at him, "it's done" I could just about manage to say, the pressure and burden that the war had weighed on all of us was lifting from us, the next goal was to go back home, to our homeland, back to Penelope and Telemachus. Poletis nodded at me before we walked from the wall to the others, we waited for Odysseus until he gave us his next instructions. We followed Odysseus on the way to the ships, when all the men were distributed to the ships, Odysseus gently took my hand and pulled me onto the ship. "I'm glad you're okay, now we just have to go back home and everything will be perfect" he said in a gentle tone as we stood next to each other. "Captain?" came the voice of Eurylochus, the second in command after a few days. "We've been on the road for days, the food is running low and the others are getting hungrier." His voice was filled with concern. Odysseus turned to him and discussed the next steps with him. I was lying in bed in Odysseus' cabin, not quite awake yet, I slowly sat up and got dressed. As I made my way onto the deck I heard Odysseus and Poletis on their way to explore an island. I was standing next to some men who were impatiently waiting for their captain and his best friend to return. As some men set out with Eurylochus to look for the two of them, a whole hour passed. When Odysseus returned with Eurylochus and a few men, I looked for Poletis, who was nowhere to be found. A bad feeling gripped my heart when I saw the red ribbon that Odysseus had tied around his forehead, which Poletis had actually worn. When everyone was on the ship, Odysseus, who was standing a little way away from me, called out, "Remember me, I am the reigning king of Ithaca, I am neither a man nor mythical. I am your darkest moment, I am the infamous ODYSSEUS." My world was spinning as the ship set sail again. I sat on the floor after Eurylochus had told me everything that had happened, from the lotus eaters to the Cyclops and Poletis's death. This information rocked my world, Poletis was a friend that no one could replace, he was there for me when I had problems, it was easy for him to make me smile, yet his way of seeing the world was ultimately dead. Eurylochus moved away from me to give me peace, I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't notice a frame of somone aproaching me.

A/N: HEYYY , I hope you liked my first Post, I already work on Part 2 so it would be nice of you say if you liked this one ;>

[moonselune]

Menzoberranzan Nights (NSFW)

Sub!Gale x Top!F!reader

(reader is from an unnamed noble drow house)

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CW: smut, pwp, overstimulation, praise kink, slight breeding kink, Gale is a sub, this is so smutty y'all | MDNI

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Gale sat on the edge of the bed in your chambers, his heart pounding with nervous anticipation. He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, his mind racing with worries and regrets. You had brought Gale back to your noble house in Menzoberranzan, you had to meet with your matron and the situation was simply unavoidable. So you had prepared Gale, dressing him in robes that would help him fit in and got him an array of books for him to read through, setting him up in your bedchambers. Gale had joked about whether you were going to leave him a bowl of water as well. You kissed him, promising not to be long and told him under no circumstances does he leave this room.

But, of course, Gale thought he knew better. He thought this was a perfect opportunity to observe lolthsworn drow matriarchal life, to see how you grew up. His plan was simple, to be seen and not heard and just keep his head down.

The concubines of the estate had other ideas, however. They had heard that one of their esteemed daughters of the house had brought back a surface pet and how they loathed the competition, especially from a human.

It didn't take long before they found him, his pale pink skin a stark contrast to their dusk and ice tones. They had teased and taunted him, picked at his robes, his hair. Throwing barbed words and snide remarks, assuring him that they would ensure you would never want to look upon him again. Just as a blade was drawn, your sharp voice cut through the air like a whip. The concubines cowered and stammered, trying to play it off that they were helping Gale, who had found himself lost in the estate.

You told Gale to return to your chambers immediately and that you would deal with the concubines first before dealing with him.

This is how Gale found himself, sat on the edge of your bed, heart beating like a caged bird. He had only seen that look on your face a few times. Mostly on the battlefield and once after the two of you had a heated argument that had melted into an encounter that left Gale unable to walk the next morning.

As the door creaked open, Gale's breath caught in his throat, and he rose to his feet, ready to beg for forgiveness.

You entered the room, your presence commanding and formidable. Gale's words stumbled over each other as he tried to apologize, but before he could utter a single syllable, you closed the distance between the two of you in swift strides.

With a rough and possessive grip, you grabbed Gale by the collar, silencing his apologies with a fierce kiss. The force of your lips against his sent a jolt of electricity through his body, overwhelming his senses with the intensity of your desire.

Gale stumbled backward, his back hitting the edge of the bed as you pushed him onto the soft mattress with urgency. His heart raced with a mix of fear and exhilaration as he surrendered to your dominant embrace, his mind reeling with the intoxicating sensation of htouch. Biting his lower lip as you pulled away, you sat up and straddled him at his hips.

`'What did I tell you not to do?"

"Leave your chambers without you."

"And what did you do?"

"Leave your chambers without you."

"The concubines are petty, jealous things. They'll do anything to get ahead of each other. Seeing a beautiful human like you be my dowager is like a knife twisted in their prideful hearts. You are lucky that I appeared when I did." You lectured him, looking down at him with half lidded eyes.

"I assure you I would have been able to handle-mph!" Gale's words were cut short by your fingers pushing into his mouth, pushing his tongue down.

"Your hubris, my love, has no place here. Not while you're in Menzoberranzen, not while you're in my chambers, not while you're mine." You told him, you removed your fingers from his mouth and admired the saliva before bringing it to your own lips. Gale lay back in shocked admiration, his hands snaking onto your hips as a familiar coil begins to build within him. However, he is promptly stopped when you grab his wrists and pins them to the side of his head. "Tut tut, and here I thought you were a quick learner."

"S-seems I'm in need of a good teacher." Gale breathed out, shuddering under the passionate ferocity of your red eyes. He kept his hands pressed against the bed even as you released them. The corner of your mouth quirked up in approval and you rolled your hips forward causing friction between their cores.

"I cannot offer you good - but ruthless, exhaustive and pleasurably yearnful - that I can offer." You dragged your finger nails down Gale's chest, pulling his tailored robe apart with ease, exposing his bare skin to you. You looked upon him like a predator who had finally caught their prey, ready to devour their well-earned feast.

Gale swallowed with a nervous excitement as he felt your nails drag across his skin. He could no longer ignore the pleasure that stirred within him but dutifully he kept his hands pinned to the bed.

"Perhaps I am too harsh on you, how can I expect you to act like a concubine of House Baenre when I haven't been treating you as such?" You scraped your nails lightly, creating patterns with the inflamed skin. "You know there is a reason why the concubines clamour for my attention, bend to my every whim so eagerly, and detest you so vehemently."

You leant down and peppered the red scratch marks with kisses before licking a long stripe up Gale's sternum causing him to gasp and as he did, you hummed in satisfaction.

"Whereas the other matrons of my noble house use the concubines for their mere pleasurable whims, seeking only their satisfaction." You swiped your fingers across Gale's exposed nipple, smiling as his breath hitched. You began to rock your hips backwards and forward grinding on his hardening bulge. "I much prefer using them entirely until they are begging me to just devour them. Is that what you want my love?"

"By the Gods yes," Gale rushed and his hands twitched above him, desperate to grab you but he sensed better. You laughed, not cruelly or mockingly but darkly, like prey that had stumbled dutifully into your trap. To his relief you grabbed Gale's hands and placed them roughly on your hips, incentivising him to squeeze as roughly as he wanted to. It was clear that that would be his only form of control.

You leaned down and kissed Gale's neck softly before biting viciously, being sure that it would leave a mark. You continued this down his body, continuing your hip movements and causing filthy whimpers from Gale. Once you were happy that he was properly marked, you relented looking at your handiwork with pride.

"Undress me." The command was quick and blunt and Gale wasted no time in obeying, as soon as the words had left your mouth he had your clothes off, his hands piously finding their way back to your hips. Your breasts fell perkily into his eyeline, teasing him. He began to feel left out that his clothes were still on, but you picked up on it immediately and pouted mockingly at him. "My poor love, what a shame for you that you look so beautiful when you're needy."

As you teased him your hand snaked past his back and your fingertips toyed with his briefs. Gale, wanting to earn your favour and encourage your touch, leant up and kissed your stomach only to be brutally pushed back down.

"So impatient," You lightly scolded and removed your fingers from his briefs. Gale couldn't help but whine, gripping your hips with fervor, trying to ignore the joy it brought his love. "But I am not one without mercy."

You offered him your hand, putting it in front of his face. Gale snaked his hand from your hip, up your side and down your arm until he clasped his fingers around yours as if to press a mere kiss to it. But he knew such poor worship was not deserving of the deity above him.

He pressed numerous chaste kisses to your finger leading to your fingernails before taking your fingers in his mouth. He knew this had earned your favour as you began to toy with his briefs again with your free hand. Gale continued to kiss and suck your fingers, only pausing to moan when you finally touched his bare aching member. As your touch continued you pushed further into Gale's mouth until he was almost gagging on your fingers. You smiled and eventually removed your fingers, swapping hands with the one that was toying with his tip. The added slick of saliva with his precum caused Gale to shiver and he involuntarily jerked his hips forward. Undeterred you continued to grip his tip, thumbing it with a torturous delicacy.

Your cunt was dripping as you continued to straddle and rock Gale's hips, his painfully erect cock pressing up against the plush of your ass. How badly he craved to be in you, how badly he began to crave release.

You continued to torture his tip, looking back accordingly to witness the dribbles of precum and Gale tried his hardest to hold back his whimpers.

Eventually leaving his tip alone, you paid attention to his balls, both full and aching from your teasing. You held them in one hand, giving them a taunting squeeze that illicit deep moans from the wizard as he continued his pointless thrusting.

"Please, my love, my goddess I beg of you-"

"-Of what my darling? All you need is to ask." You told him sweetly, as if the honey of your words masked your cruelty. As just as Gale went to speak, you increased the grip on his balls causing him to moan out in delight and his words lose their way on his tongue. You allowed him to recover before moving to the base of his cock and stroking it tightly just as he went to speak. He was close, you knew he was, but he wasn't allowed to come just yet.

Cruelly just as Gale's orgasm had begin to build you quickly got off of him entirely, walking away from the bed. Gale all but cried out and followed like a lost puppy, scrambling from the bed to grab your hand and pull you back.

But that wasn't the game you were playing.

As soon as Gale moved to pull you back, you swiftly immobilised him, causing him to fall to his knees. Satisfied you sat on the edge of your bed and simply held out a leg to him. Gale took it with gratitude and immediately began to kiss up your leg, his cock throbbing painfully.

As he diligently made his way up to your thigh he tried to hide how he positioned your leg into his crotch as he attempted to create friction to pursue his pleasure. You were well aware of this, of course, and relished as the blush of desperation and humiliation flooded your lover's cheeks, he was quite literally trying to hump you leg like a dog in heat.

You played along for a short while until you sensed his all too familiar coil about to snap. At which point you placed your foot on his chest and pushed him downward, straddling his hips whilst ruining his climax.

Gale threw his head back in frustration as a string of curse worse flooded his mouth. He was desperate, truly desperate. You could have asked him to condemn Mystra and devote himself to Lolth and he would have in a heartbeat.

"Oh my love," You cooed as tears pooled in the corner of Gale's eyes. Your hands cupping his face, relishing how his cock throbbed painfully against your ass. "You are doing so well for me, such a beautiful pet you are, my darling wizard."

Ordinarily Gale would have protested at such condescension but all he could do was lean into your touch and nod his head. You rewarded him with a soft kiss to his lips, turning vicious as you tugged his bottom lip with your teeth as you pulled away. Gale gasped and chased your lips upwards. You lifted up so you were now sat on his lap, his cock resting in front of your wet cunt.

You kissed him again, this time harder, tongue dominating his mouth, as you did your hands trailed down his glistening abdomen, fingertips resting lightly on his cock. Gale responded accordingly, filthily moaning into your mouth, like a whore. You continued to kiss him roughly, all teeth and tongue. A stark opposite to the way your fingers deftly played with his weeping cock. You focused your touch on the pulsing mushroom head, practically playing with the precum that surrounded it, lightly fingering the slit it was leaking from.

Gale continued to pant and moan into your mouth, his hips slyly rutting upwards into your touch. It earned him several bites on his lips, one drawing blood, but he did not care.

Finally, like a miracle had been gifted to him from the heavens, you began to languidly pump his cock, allowing his orgasm to build again. Gale drew back from your lips for air and pressed his forehead against your shoulder, eyes screwing shut as he chased the high, the wet slapping noise coming from below him driving him closer to the edge. But he would not be fooled again.

"Please my love, please," The begs fell almost naturally from his mouth and spilled into your skin as he pressed pathetic kisses across your breast in an effort to persuade you. You smiled and continued your pumping earning a primal grunt from your lover, but as soon as the praise stopped, overtaken by his pathetic whimpers and cries for release, you withdrew your hand and watched as he fell apart. "No...no-no..."

Whining, he pressed a kiss up your neck, his own hand instinctually moving to finish the job - a fatal mistake. You smacked his hand, before moving it to his neck. It snaked up to his jaw and tightly forced him to look up at you. He could see your red eyes flitter over him, analysing him, before your look of disappointment turned into a cruel smirk. With one hand gripping his jaw tightly, forcing him to look at you, you other hand returned back to his cock and you returned to the rhythmic languid pumping.

Stuck in your clasp, quite literally, Gale gasped as he felt the familiar wave of pleasure begin to build in him, his thighs now shaking, tears of pleasure freely falling. You forcefully pulled Gale towards you and dominated his mouth once more, and Gale thought he would die from the onslaught of building pressure and the increasing lack of oxygen.

He moaned into you, hips involuntarily bucking as he finally reached his peak, spurts of thick white cum decorating his body and yours Dutifully, you continued to pump his cock, milking him for all that he had until his cock was creamed in his own fluids.

Gale moaned and flinched at the overstimulation of your touch, nestling his damp forehead into your chest for comfort. When you were done you stood up, letting your hand trail up Gale's body till your index finger caught on his chin and tilted his head upwards. You quirked your head behind you, motioning for him to follow you back onto the bed.

Kindly, you helped him up, but the sincerity of your actions was merely a front for your real plan. With a playful shove, you pushed him onto the bed, with Gale landing on his back. A groan tore through him from the sensation of the silk sheets on his sensitive skin.

You joined him, your body hovering above his, admiring how his cock lay twitching against his stomach, practically white with the amount of cum on it. Praises slipped dilligenty from your tongue. “Oh Gale, my love, all mine.”

It seemed sense had started to come back to the wizard as he let out a short breathy laugh. His hand caresses your thigh. “Truly I’m all yours.”

“You always know what to say.” You smirked and you leaned down to place a soft yet passionate kiss on Gale’s lips. You felt Gale relax completely under your touch, probably believing you had had your fun with him.

How wrong he was.

You pulled away and peppered kisses across his face and down his neck, crowning the blooming hickeys with your lips. Between kisses you continued to compliment him, knowing the reaction it stirred within him.

“Your intellect beats any high wizard of my house.” Though your words were potentially blasphemous, though if Lolth herself tooke issue and demanded explanation then, there was plenty of evidence that you were simply corrupting the previous chosen of Mystra.

Gale hummed and put a hand on the small of your back, relishing in the pleasure he felt from your words and touch.

“Your heart is boundless, your desire ceaseless and your ambition, by the gods Gale, your ambition is indomitable and I utterly adore you for it, my love." You murmured to him, hips sneakily beginning to roll into his as you sat up, hands planted on his chest.

Gale tilted his head at you, trying to figure out what wonderful machinations were forming in your mind. He knew you well enough that no matter how sincere your words were, there was always something behind them, and he hadn't missed how you were still slowly rocking against him. You removed one of your hands and took Gale's, holding it as you placed it on your own sternum and pushed down till your hands rested on your abdomen.

"So perfect, and worthy, I believe.." You smiled down at him. Before Gale could figure out what you had meant by your words, you moved forward and slipped Gale's creamed and hardening cock into your sopping cunt. It slipped in with ease and Gale threw his head back into the pillows, a guttural moan tearing through him. His cock was already overstimulated, now he had you tight walls clamping around him. He thought he was going to die.

You gasped, your smile widening in pleasure, one hand remaining on your abdomen with his the other moving to Gale's free hand and interlocking it, increasing the speed of your bouncing.

"You know the concubines would slaughter to be you right now, your spilled seed finding its way into my womb. The chance of your child to swell inside of me. It is their highest honour, their greatest ambition." You panted, you had been teasing yourrself the entire time by toying with Gale and now you were finally taking what you wanted. "A prestige I give you so freely and know you will deliver on."

"Yes, ah fuck, my love-" Gale grunted as the pain and pleasure of overstimulation intermingled, your safe word teetering on his lips. Yet how could he deprive himself of hearing such primal words? From feeling such primal things? With a newfound vigour he met your hips with eager rutting, the hand that once rested on your back, now moved to your hip and he gripped it with a bruising ferocity.

"Ah-yes!" You moaned, head thrown back as Gale sat up, his mouth latching onto your breast, kissing it sloppily, biting it hungrily. You cupped the back of his head, fingers tangling into his brown locks of hair, holding him close. However. the waves of building pleasure did not distract you entirely from your intentions. "Fill me, Gale, l-let my womb hold our children."

Gale moaned again, moving onto your other breast, filthy words leaving his mouth that you thought would have been too impure for him to ever come across, let alone say.

"Gale, I-I'm close" You gasped as the coil of pleasure threatened to snap. Gale continued, dutifully, holding onto you as if his life depended on it. Obscene wet noises came from the joining of your skin and shared bodily fluid - and it was music to each of your ears. The two of you held onto each other tighter, lips interlocking in a passionate and desperate embrace as you came, seeing white, you cunt gripping and gushing around Gale's cock sending him over the edge, fulfilling his order, as ropes of thick cum painted the linings of your cunt.

As the two of you came down from your high, Gale fell back onto the bed drawing you close to him. As you caught your breath, you pressed a firm kiss to the side of his jaw before removing yourrself from him, shared fluids staining the silk sheets.

"..That was phenomenal.." Gale breathed out as he pulled you back close to him, in disapproval you playfully nipped him - this is not how this went. You moved him so his head lay nestled on your breasts and Gale could not protest - nor did he want to. He quite literally had nothing left in him to verbally or physically to play pretend. Besides he was more than happy to remain there. He snaked his arms around your waist, one hand resting on your abdomen.

Though he knew your words were most likely thrown out in passion, they had engraved themself in his very being. "Be careful, my love, if the rest of our nights are spent like that, I may never want to leave Menzoberranzen."

You let out a small chuckle, fingers combing through Gale's silver-streaked hair. "That's if you can survive the rest of our nights here, my love."

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

woooweee so this is one of my first pieces of writing for an OC I had, which I have adapted to be x reader, which may explain some pacing issues but anyways i hope you guys liked it ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

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[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 11 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo let out an appreciative whistle as the never-ending notifications of quest progress and constant experience points rewards flooded his vision. The system's endless stream of updates rang in his ears, but his attention was fixated on the spectacle before him.

He’d known you were powerful, but this—this was something else. Like clockwork, your butterflies danced alongside his shadow soldiers, each fulfilling its unique role with almost surgical precision.

It was mesmerizing to watch. If Jinwoo’s army was the raging storm that tore the battlefield asunder, then your butterflies were the fertile earth that absorbed the waste to nourished new blooms. Every time his shadows felled a demon, your butterflies were there, siphoning off the residual life force, sustaining the field magic you’d set up across the dungeon floor. The ground transformed with every passing wave, becoming a lush, glowing field of flowers that pulsed with mana, like an otherworldly garden born from the chaos of battle.

In tandem with your abilities, it was like a seamless, self-sustaining factory—a constant cycle of destruction and rejuvenation, each supporting the other, each kill feeding the next. Jinwoo couldn’t help but be impressed; it felt like he was witnessing a well-crafted symphony unfold with every movement.

It was a sight he’d come to appreciate.

You and Jinwoo had developed an unspoken rhythm; wherever his shadows charged, your butterflies followed, siphoning mana to sustain the field, themselves, you, and his shadows, keeping the battlefield under control while preserving Jinwoo’s strength.

But the illusion of control shattered all too suddenly.

---

It was his mistake, to have underestimated the Avaricious Vulcan.

The creature was more powerful than he’d initially gauged, and his shadow soldiers paid the price, struck down by one devastating blow. Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed, his blood simmering at the sight of his shadows being wiped out.

But it was when he caught sight of you— in the chaos, you, standing just a little too close, had acted on instinct. You threw up a defensive spell to protect the few remaining soldiers, to mitigate the damage, to keep Jinwoo’s forces intact.

Vulcan’s brutal attack collided with your barrier, the impact sending tremors through the ground. Jinwoo watched in horror as a crack appeared in the shield, and then another, until a final impact shattered the barrier.

The force sent you staggering back, stray fragment of energy slashing across you. Red splattered against the stone floor and you clutched your arm, keeping the line of crimson from further dripping down.

Jinwoo’s heart plummeted.

Just a scratch, you assured him softly, even as you kept your gaze ahead, even when you didn’t exactly see his clenched fists and the tense line of his jaw. You brushed off the trail of blood trickling down your forearm, yet Jinwoo could see the strain in your eyes, the tight line of your mouth, as you keep the new barrier up.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that the injury was small, or that you were more than capable of handling yourself. You were hurt.

You’re injured because of me.

The thought repeated in his mind like a mantra, each repetition stoking the fury burning inside him. His eyes blazed with a darkness that even the shadows shuddered under. He watched you, still standing firm, healing his soldiers and maintaining your field magic with a calm expression, as if this was nothing. As if you were used to being hurt like this.

But for Jinwoo, it was unacceptable.

The last shred of restraint Jinwoo had been holding onto snapped, a deadly calm settling over him. His gaze shifted to Vulcan, who stood in the center of the battlefield, roaring in triumph. Jinwoo’s face hardened, his body radiating a dark, formidable aura as shadows coiled around him.

The creature would pay, dearly.

---

Avaricious Vulcan had already been beaten into submission, yet Jinwoo showed no signs of stopping. His blades came down again and again, relentless, merciless, as if trying to erase its very existence from the world, cleaving through the demon's corpse even after it was already lifeless.

Blood sprayed in an arc, staining the cold stone floor as Jinwoo's strikes grew increasingly savage. Each strike sent flesh splattering, turning the ground into a mess of nauseating colored gore. The shadows that usually moved with his will hesitated, sensing their master's uncontrolled fury.

You stood a few paces away, watching, uneasiness tugged at your chest. This was not how it was supposed to go. You remembered this battle vividly, you remembered Jinwoo being decisive, efficient, and ruthless, but never needlessly cruel. The Avaricious Vulcan should have been slain and left behind, not desecrated into a mangled heap.

You knew Jinwoo was kind. Despite his often-intimidating presence, Jinwoo was the sort of person who protected others. But now, watching him hack away at the demon’s remains, all you could come up with in your mind was the minor wound you’d brushed off…

He’s doing this because of me, you realized, swallowing hard.

Seeing Jinwoo unravel like this, seeing him go so off the script, lost in a frenzy, was more than unsettling. You were temporarily an ally, an accomplice in his journey, nothing more. So why was he reacting like this?

It was then that your system’s voice rang in your mind, urgent, almost... panicked?

[Stop him.]

You blinked at the faint tremor you hadn’t heard before. The urgency in its tone sent a chill down your spine.

“On it,” you muttered under your breath, to reassure the system and willing yourself to push down the anxiety tightening in your chest. You had to calm him down—Jinwoo was losing himself in this rage. You could see the way his shoulders were heaving, how his breaths came in harsh, ragged gasps. The quiet kindness you had once admired in him was being swallowed whole by something darker, something feral.

Taking a steadying breath, you took a tentative step forward, cautiously.

Jinwoo was a storm incarnate, his eyes glowing as he prepared to swing his dagger again, his shadows writhing in sync with his fury. The smell of demon flesh and metal filled the air, and you could feel the oppressive weight of his mana suffocating everything around him.

The chaotic energy was crackling against your skin like static. For a moment, you hesitated, wondering if he’d even listen to you. But you couldn't afford to wait. You needed to reach him.

With gentle hands, you reached out, tugging lightly, gingery, on his blood-stained sleeve. The touch was so feather-light, but it was enough to break through the red haze clouding his mind.

“Jinwoo,” you called softly, your voice carrying an edge of calm and firmness that even surprised you. “That’s enough.”

He froze mid-slash, blades trembling in his grasp. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe, and then he slowly turned his head to look at you, his dark eyes still burning with the remnants of his rage.

There was nothing but the echo of his heavy breathing and the distant crackling of flames. His gaze was wild, unfocused, but as he looked into your eyes, the darkness began to recede. The tension in his shoulders slowly eased as if your voice was a balm to the fury that had consumed him.

You offered him a practiced smile, hoping it looked more convincing than you felt. Your <Act> sub-skill was working overtime, masking the unease that continued to gnaw at you.

“I’m fine,” you reassured, willing him to see reason, gesturing to your healed arm. The tear in your battle suit was the only evidence that you had been hurt at all. The skin beneath was smooth and unscarred. “See? All good. Don’t waste your energy here, alright?”

His gaze flickered from your face to your arm, then back again. There was a silence between you, heavy and tense, as if the air itself was holding its breath. Finally, Jinwoo’s grip on his blades loosened, and they dropped to his side with a dull thud.

Jinwoo didn’t speak, the storm in his eyes still simmering, but there was a hint of something else—something raw and conflicted.

You let go of his sleeve, stepping back to give him space to collect himself. For a moment, you feared he might return to the demon’s corpse and resume his onslaught, but instead, he looked down at his blood-soaked hands.

Slowly, as if coming to a decision, he extended his hand toward you. Hesitant, unsure whether you’d take his hand, fingers trembling ever so slightly.

The look in his eyes was different now—soft, almost vulnerable. It was a silent gesture—a truce, an apology. You could see the regret etched on his face; the weight of his anger now replaced with the realization that he had lost control.

Your heart ached at the sight. For all his strength and power, Jinwoo still carried a burden that you knew too well.

Without hesitation, you accepted his hand, not caring for the sticky feeling of blood as your fingers intertwined with his. The contact was warm, grounding, and Jinwoo held onto you as if to anchor himself. His grip was gentle but firm, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, a silent vow.

He wouldn’t let this happen again.

In response, your fingers curled around his in silent gratitude.

“Let’s keep moving,” you said quietly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “We’ve got a long way to go, and no time to waste.”

Jinwoo nodded and gave your hand a last gentle squeeze before he released it, his gaze never leaving yours. As he turned to lead the way, you fell in step beside him, your earlier concerns lingering but softened by his unspoken promise.

Your children followed, some fluttering closer to Jinwoo, dimming their shine as to not hurt his eyes.

As they let out a calming, warmth glow; you spotted, in the corner of your vision, the discreet, multiple eyes in Jinwoo’s shadow peering up at you, grateful.

The both of you might not know what place did you held in Jinwoo’s life yet—but that fragile thread woven between you was a thread that Jinwoo was slowly, cautiously starting to grasp onto.

---

After sorting through the spoils from Vulcan’s defeat, Jinwoo glanced up, only to be met with Igris, who proudly presented the severed heads of Vulcan’s guards as trophies. Jinwoo stifled a sigh at the sight, feeling a faint tug of exasperation. “Can you not do that?” he addressed Igris, raising a brow at his stoic knight’s enthusiasm. “Because of you… he’s doing the same thing.”

True enough, Iron came lumbering up behind Igris, dragging Vulcan’s massive head behind him. The demon’s face was barely recognizable, mangled from Jinwoo’s earlier rage-fueled onslaught. Iron looked ridiculously proud of his “contribution,” puffing out his chest in triumph. Jinwoo could only shake his head at the theatrics, a bead of sweat sliding down his temple.

Just then, his attention shifted as a soft fluttering sound filled the air. Your butterflies were drifting near Vulcan’s remains, their delicate wings glowing faintly against the shadows. Jinwoo watched as they circled around the demon’s head. He narrowed his eyes, noticing the strange way they lingered, hovering just slightly out of reach, almost... expectant.

He watched them, noting their curious, almost polite pauses as they waited. Jinwoo’s mouth tightened, torn between amusement and bewilderment. He had the strange sense that they were asking him for permission, patiently waiting for a signal.

"...Fine," he relented at last, sighing as he waved a hand in mock exasperation.

The butterflies immediately descended, settling over Vulcan’s corpse like a layer of shimmering dust, their wings pulsating as they siphoned mana from the remains. Jinwoo watched in fascination as they absorbed the lingering energy, revitalizing their own magic reserves. He felt the faint hum of mana in the air as his shadows shifted curiously, drawn to the scene.

In the corner of his eye, Jinwoo noticed Igris stepping forward. One of his hands held the severed head of a guard that he had defeated, and with a gentle bow, he extended it toward a that particular red butterfly that flitted nearby as usual. The butterfly hesitated, hovering in front of Igris’s faceplate, and Jinwoo swore it looked like it was offering a silent “thank you” before settling over the trophy, glowing faintly as it fed.

Not to be outdone, Iron let out a proud huff and adjusted the Vulcan head he was lugging, his chest puffing out further as he soaked in the attention from his fellow shadows. One of your larger butterflies, a shade dimmer than the others, alighted on Iron’s horned helmet, fluttering its wings in what could only be described as encouragement. Iron’s smug expression grew even more pronounced, especially with a few shadow knights clapping in admiration.

A small laugh escaped from you, breaking the silence. Jinwoo turned to find you smiling at the whole scene, a soft giggle escaping your lips. It was rare to see you so relaxed, especially after the earlier battle, and the sound was oddly calming to him.

“(Name),” he called out, catching your attention.

“Hm?” You looked up, meeting his gaze, curiosity evident in your eyes.

“Here.” Without another word, he reached into his inventory and pulled out the Orb of Avarice. Carefully, he placed the glowing artifact into your hands, the faint warmth of the orb seeping through to you even through the fabric of your gloves. Jinwoo frowned for a moment.

Since when did you wear gloves?

You took a moment to examine the orb, studying the dark glow within its surface. Your eyes narrowed thoughtfully as you assessed its properties. After a brief moment, you offered it back to him, a gentle smile on your face.

“Thank you, Jinwoo,” you said, voice soft yet grateful. “But it doesn’t suit me. It only amplifies mana, and I’d rather it goes to someone who can make better use of it.” You glanced meaningfully toward his shadow soldiers. “Why not save it for one of them?”

Jinwoo considered this for a moment, feeling a bit of pride at your practical assessment. You never took more than you needed, never looked for an advantage that wasn’t truly necessary. He nodded, pocketing the orb and silently promising himself he’d find the right time to use it.

---

By the time you reached the 75th floor, the both of you had developed an efficient rhythm, moving through the upper levels with growing ease. The Demon Castle had taken a toll on both of you, but as Jinwoo’s power increased, so did the strength and efficiency of your teamwork. You’d learned to adapt to each other’s movements, each anticipating the other’s next step.

Jinwoo’s strength was more than enough for the foes that crossed his path, but he found himself unconsciously tracking your position each time, instinctively aware of your well-being in this dark, hostile place.

The final battle on the 75th floor brought you both face to face with Metus, the dark wraith-like entity that guarded the floor whose presence was so thick with mana that the very air seemed to grow heavy. Jinwoo had dispatched him in a brutal yet efficient display of skill, his shadows once again proving their loyalty and strength.

As the dust settled, Jinwoo watched as your butterflies once again went to work, their wings pulsing gently as they drained the last traces of mana from the fallen essence. The soft hum of their feeding filled the quiet space, and you stood nearby, eyes flicking over him in quick, practiced motions to assess any injuries he might have sustained. He’d taken a few hits during the battle, but nothing too serious; nonetheless, you were ready to heal him at a moment’s notice, the warm glow of your magic hovering just beneath the surface.

Occasionally, you stole glances at him, watching as he meticulously scanned through the system notifications that blinked in front of him. He moved through the rewards like clockwork, tallying his gains with calm efficiency. The notification stream continued, and he skimmed past the first and second rewards without much reaction.

But then, he froze. His eyes lingered on the third reward, the one that brought a different sort of light to his expression.

The recipe for the Holy Water of Life.

You knew what it meant even before he spoke, and your heart stilled at the sight of his face. This was the very item from the story, the one that would allow him to heal his mother—the one that would, for the first time, give him hope for the family he’d fought so hard to protect. You felt a pang of empathy watching him, knowing that the path you had witnessed as a distant reader was now unfolding before you, raw and real. Jinwoo’s eyes softened, his usual steely resolve slipping just for a moment, replaced by the quiet determination of a son who’d finally found a way to save the one person he couldn’t protect.

A week and a half had passed since you had entered this dungeon, battling alongside Jinwoo floor by floor. And now, the journey through the Demon Castle was finally nearing its end.

Jinwoo let out a deep breath, the faintest glimmer of a smile flickering across his lips. You couldn’t help but mirror it, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you. It was time to go back. The dungeon had tested you both, challenging your skills, your endurance, and even your resolve, but you had prevailed together.

“Ready to leave?” you asked softly, your voice breaking the silence as you looked up at him.

Jinwoo nodded, his gaze steady and unwavering. He turned toward the exit, his shoulders set with renewed purpose. You followed close behind, the familiar flutter of your butterflies trailing the both of you like a silent entourage.

As you walked, Jinwoo’s gaze lingered on your hand discreetly.

---

The Hanging Gardens were quiet tonight, the dim light of the moon casting a soft glow through your room. Kneeling on the bed, you extended your hand, palm up, inviting the small, fluttering forms of your butterflies to rest upon it. They swirled around you in gentle arcs, their wings flickering with a faint, ethereal glow. You watched them with tired eyes, a slight smile tugging at your lips as they danced in the air.

But tonight, something was different.

A few of your butterflies wavered in their flight, their once vibrant colors dimming. They hovered unsteadily, as if the very air beneath their wings had turned to lead. You frowned, a pang of concern tightening in your chest, as some of them stumbled weakly onto your open palm. Dark, inky marks marred their delicate wings, like patches of night blotting out their usual brilliance.

You cooed softly to them, your voice a barely audible whisper in the stillness of your room. “There, there,” you murmured, a soothing warmth flowing through your tone. Your fingers delicately brushed over their damaged wings, and as you did, the dark marks slowly began to fade. Under your gentle touch, their light returned, and they flitted back into the air with renewed vigor, their fragile bodies regaining their usual sparkle.

Once you were certain that none remained in distress, you let out a slow breath and allowed yourself to relax. Collapsing back onto the bed, you sprawled across the soft sheets, the exhaustion from the recent battles catching up with you. With a soft sigh, you peeled off your gloves, revealing the truth you’d kept hidden beneath.

From the tips of your fingers to the middle of your forearms, your skin had darkened to an inky black, the border jagged and uneven, shaped almost like butterfly wings against the pallor of your natural complexion. You stared at the darkened flesh, tilting your hand slightly in the moonlight. It didn’t hurt, and there were no signs of any negative effects beyond the discoloration. Even now, some of your butterflies had landed on your blackened hands, their tiny feet delicate and unbothered, curious about the change but unharmed by it.

This transformation had started around the 50th floor of the Demon Castle. You had noticed it after a while of using the mana siphoned from demons and undead alike. Despite your initial preparations, the contaminated energy had still seeped into your own magic, staining you like ink spilled on parchment. The mark gradually spreading and deepening with each floor as you tapped into more of the inhabitants' mana. Yet, strangely, it never caused you any pain, nor did it hinder your abilities. In fact, it almost felt… natural.

Perhaps that was what frightened you the most.

Even now, as you inspected the mark in the dim light, you felt no unease—only a quiet fascination. There were no side effects that you could discern, and you weren’t afraid; instead, you felt almost… detached from it all. Absentmindedly, you ran your fingers along the darkened patterns, wondering what this meant, what price you might have unknowingly accepted by using the energy in the Demon Castle.

The serene calmness with which you viewed the darkening of your skin, the nonchalance with which you accepted this new change—it was almost as if a part of you had always been expecting this. You couldn’t bring yourself to be afraid. Not of the darkness creeping along your limbs, nor of the tainted mana you were willingly absorbing. No, if anything, you were afraid of how little you cared.

Your eyes drifted to the window, gazing out at the distant horizon. For a moment, your thoughts strayed to a certain direction—a lingering solemn place, one you vowed to protect even if this sanctuary of yours came crashing down. Perhaps after you rested, you should go see her again, just to put your mind at ease.

But that was for another time.

For now, you emptied your thoughts, closing your eyes to the world around you. Breathing deeply, the connection you maintained with your butterflies hummed at the edges of your consciousness, connecting to one of your children that you had dispatched to always watch over Jinwoo. It was there, with Jinwoo’s mother.

Through its eyes, you saw him sitting beside her hospital bed, his expression softened in a way you rarely witnessed.

Your butterfly perched delicately on Mrs. Sung’s cheek, its faint glow casting a gentle warmth across her face. In your mind’s eye, you watched as her pallor seemed to improve: her pale face relaxing, complexion brightening just slightly, her breathing soft and steady.

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of emotion passing through them that you couldn’t quite read.

His eyes tracking its slow movements. His hand moved slowly, reaching out toward your butterfly as if it were a fragile, precious thing. It didn’t move away when he cupped it gently in his palm, his fingers stroking the edges of its wings. There was something almost reverent in his touch.

For a long moment, he stayed like that, silent, contemplative.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the faint connection between you and your butterfly starting to blur as sleep tugged at you.

Just before you drifted completely into slumber, you felt a phantom, fleeting warmth settle on your forehead—a sensation like the tender press of lips, a touch so feather-light, almost as if it had never happened at all.

In the darkness behind your closed eyes, you unconsciously clung to that feeling, letting it carry you into the depths of a dreamless sleep.

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [25/10/2024] -

Originally one draft with chapter 10.

[hotluncheddie]

For the @steddie-spooktober day 19 prompt : zombie

rated: T | cw: none | tags: post s4, Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington, Steve is giving

📼📼📼📼

Eddie knocks on Steve’s door at exactly 7pm, precisely when he said he would.

Partly because he’s been looking forward to watching his favourite film again all week. And, well, mostly because he’s been looking forward to watching his favourite film alone with Steve all week. He set enough reminders and planned his day ahead so he’d be right on time.

Steve opens the door a few seconds later, soft and glowing in his glasses and yellow sweater.

Time alone with Steve is still something Eddie can’t really believe is real. Let alone when the guy listening to his rants and actually, genuinely seems interested in what he has to say.

‘Hey Ed’s.’ He says and Eddie bows slightly, presenting his prized VHS of ‘Night of the Living Dead’, the one he found in Indi months ago and hasn’t stopped being obsessed with since.

‘Come on in then.’ Steve smiles at Eddie’s seriousness, walks him towards the low cozy light of the den with a hand on his lower back. ‘I’ll just get us a soda.’ He says softly, leaving Eddie to put the movie in and sit with the tingles that are travelling up his spine.

‘So this movie is, like, a big deal then?’ Steve asks as he comes back in and sits down. Handing Eddie a coke.

‘It is a big deal! He reimagined and reinvented a whole genre of horror. It’s like, it’s actually culturally significant yeah?’ Eddie says, swinging his coke around and darting his eyes around the room.

He looks to his side. Steve staring at him with his head resting in his palm, little smile on his face. ‘Go on.’ He says.

‘So yeah.’ Eddie swallows and shifts, tugging at his shirt. ‘It was released in the 70’s along with some other movies like Pink Flamingos by John Waters and fuckin Eraserhead and Rocky Horror Picture Show dude. Seriously weird shit. And they travelled around and screened late at night. So basically only freaks and weirdos went to see them. But that was perfect because these movies were made by and for freaks and weirdos, you know?’ Eddie finishes, buzzing with excitement.

‘I know now.’ Steve says softly, still looking at Eddie with his little please smile.

Eddie blinks, feeling too hot under Steve’s gaze. ‘Yeah so, anyway, it’s super important that you watch this, I mean you work at Family Video and Halloween is next week. You gotta know the fundamentals Stevie.’

Steve nods and Eddie watches his hand as he presses play. They both relax back against the sofa, Steve scooting a little closer and putting his arm across the back cushions. Eddie tries not to act weird. Tries to focus on the movie, he loves this movie.

But he can feel the heat radiating off of Steve’s chest. Can hear his breathing and smell his cologne.

He can feel his horrendously huge crush for the guy banging at his rib cage, begging to be let free.

But, it really is his favourite movie, so it engrossed Eddie in the end, the thrill of the story unfolding in that little wooden house never gets old.

But then the soft flannel of Steve’s pyjama pants is pressing against Eddie’s jeans. And Steve’s warmth is getting closer, the arm on the sofa shifting to around Eddie’s shoulders. ‘I know you said it was a horror but, it’s kinda spookier than I expected.’ Steve whispers to Eddie in the near darkness. So close now he’s sure Steve must be able to feel the rapid beat of his heart.

Eddie almost pulls away. Too afraid by the potential, by the what if of it going all wrong, of everything he has with Steve falling apart in his fingers. But he’s seen Steve on a battlefield, he’s seen Steve by his bedside in hospital. He’s seen steve in so many ways, and each one is the bravest thing he’s ever known.

So, Eddie decides to be brave too, he leans in close and wraps a protective arm around Steve’s waist. ‘I got you.’ He says, serious. ‘Won’t let the zombies hurt you.’ And he watches Steve’s smile grow, teeth glinting in the light of the television.

Eddie’s cheeks are on fire. But there’s no place he’d rather be, as Steve settles with his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie holds on for dear life.

‘Night of the living dead’ is definitely the best movie ever made.

📼📼📼📼

Tag list : @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair

[dandylovesturtles]

this is a brain worm that spawned as soon as I read the second injury prompt, bad future timeline, from the prospective of someone outside the family (civilian, fellow resistance fighter, etc), where one of the brothers/april/or either of the casey’s are injured, “Someone get the medic. Get the medic!” and the medic is leo, unknowingly responding to a gravely injured loved one

shit this is a good prompt anon, thanks

credit to @promptsbytaurie for the injury ask meme!

cw: ROTTMNT bad timeline, mentions of blood and injury

———

He finds her leaned against some rubble, the carcasses of four krang hounds strewn around her. They don’t bleed like earth creatures, but the stringy bits of their mutilated bodies are strewn across the ground, and all he can think is, Good.

There is blood, though: her blood, gushing from a set of lacerations in her side. She’s so still that he thinks, for one awful minute, that she’s dead.

Then she shifts and groans and he stumbles quickly to her side, dropping to his knees and putting pressure on the wound, the way he was taught in ROTC a million years ago.

She sucks in a breath, gritting her teeth, and then her eyes open. They rove the battlefield with a dazed confusion, and he wonders if that’s a concussion or just the blood loss. Or both.

“Commander O’Neil,” he says urgently. “We need to move you.”

Her head turns and her searching eyes find his face. She blinks rapidly and squints at his face.

“Who…?”

He smiles, because it’s a kindness he can give her. Kids in school used to make fun of his buck teeth. Weird how an alien invasion makes some things easier. “Jake West. I joined your squad last week.”

“Oh, right.” She grunts and starts to shift. “New guy. Help me up, will you?”

Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think you can walk with that wound.”

“Well, I’m not letting you carry me out of here like some damsel in distress,” she says stubbornly. She slings an arm over his shoulders, gritting her teeth. Her brow is sweating, but she repeats, “Help me up.”

Jake’s only been part of this resistance colony for two weeks, since the tattered remnants of his last group was found by one of their scouting parties, but he already has a lot of respect for O’Neil. She’s a foot shorter than him, but she embodies toughness in the set of her shoulders and her refusal to back down. She’s more fearsome than most of the old military guys Jake’s ever met.

So he helps her up.

She stumbles when she’s on her feet, and he moves in to keep supporting her. The blood drips down her side, and she hisses when she sees it.

“Can’t believe I let those hounds get a piece of me. Dee’s gonna be insufferable.”

Jake wonders who “Dee” is, but doesn’t ask. They have to get out of here - the onslaught may have calmed for the moment, but the krang always come back.

O’Neil can’t move very quickly - Jake finds himself dragging her more than he helps her walk. He suggests carrying her again and she turns it down, though only with a shake of her head this time. They stumble through the rubble in mostly silence, making for the base’s hidden entrance.

Above their heads, there is a noise like a sonic boom, a streak of orange lighting up the sky as it goes past, latching onto an approaching krang drone ship and pulling it out of the sky.

“There goes Mikey,” says O’Neil, without even looking up.

Right; Master Michelangelo, one of the turtles. Jake had felt a little trepidation, when he had first learned this resistance group was full of - and even run by - inhuman mutants.

Then he’d seen what they could do, and that feeling faded fast.

He hasn’t actually met the turtles, only ever seen them in passing. He’s heard from those have been here longer that they’re actually really friendly, or at least all of them but Master Donatello are. More importantly, they put their lives on the line every day for what remains of the people of earth. Jake hasn’t needed to be here more than a few weeks to see that.

They fight like they have everything to lose. Jake respects that.

Master Michelangelo’s cover makes the trip back to the base easier, even as O’Neil flags more and more against his side. By the end he’s carrying her whether she wants it or not, draped half across his back in a fireman’s hold. She’s too out of it now to object. He hopes that doesn’t mean he’s too late. He’s so tired of losing people, even those he hasn’t known long. He likes Commander O’Neil.

He stumbles through the tunnel and into the bright synthetic lights of the entry checkpoint. Most combatants have already returned by now, but there are still people milling around, checking for any signs of krang infection in those coming back.

“Someone get the medic!” he hollers as he enters. “Get the medic!”

There’s a few echoing shouts, and then a door flings open and out walks Master Leonardo himself. He’s wearing a makeshift surgical apron, covered in blood, gloves, and a mask hanging loose around his neck. Jake’s never seen him this close, and now he’s a little taken aback, the way the turtle towers over everyone, moving so lithely despite the bulk of his shell, a commanding but easy air to his presence that seems to demand respect but also offer reassurance to everyone else in the room.

Every time Jake’s seen him from afar, he’s been grinning, laughing, smiling. He isn’t now.

“Don’t yell unless someone’s dying,” he says, eyes scanning the room until his gaze locks with Jake’s. He sees the body slumped across Jake’s back and grimaces. “I need to learn to keep my mouth shut.”

He crosses the room and directs Jake toward one of the cots. “Alright, put ‘em on the triage bed and let’s see what we’re working with.”

“Lacerations, sir,” says Jake, as he lowers O’Neil to the cot. “She was conscious when I found her, but she’s lost a lot of blood. Maybe a concussion.”

He trails off as he turns back and sees Master Leonardo’s state. His eyes are locked on O’Neil’s face, like he’s only just recognized who it is on the cot. His mouth hangs slightly open, and there’s an open, vulnerable devastation, a naked fear on his face. One Jake recognizes too well.

Even the mutants, with all their powers and all their strength, can be afraid.

Then, just like that, he pulls it together again for a fleeting glimpse Jake saw Leonardo, but now the Master is back, and barking orders.

“Marta!” he calls, turning his head to address a woman standing at the inspection line. “Prep OR now! And get us ready for a blood transfusion- B positive if we have it.”

“On it,” says Marta, and she’s gone just like that. Jake turns his attention back to Leonardo, who has taken O’Neil’s wrist in his, feeling for a pulse.

He’s quiet for several seconds, then he nods to himself and starts asking questions.

“Any idea what did this?”

“It was hounds, sir. I found her with several dead ones.”

“Sounds about right.” Master Leonardo sounds almost amused, though he doesn’t stop his work. “Any sign of infection?”

“No. She was talking and able to walk most of the way.”

Krang infections take over the host so quickly, they would know by now, with a wound like that.

“Hounds can only infect with their bites, and these look like scratches from claws.” Leonardo comes out again, as he reaches for O’Neil’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Knew you wouldn’t let them get a bite in.”

The way he looks at O’Neil is so tender. They clearly know each other, and not just as fellow resistance commanders. Jake can’t help but wonder how they know each other; how a human and a mutant came to have a bond this close.

He doesn’t have time to ask, of course. Seconds later, O’Neil is being moved to OR, and Leonardo is making to follow them.

“Sir!” Jake calls after him. “Is there anything else I can do to help the commander?”

Master Leonardo barely pauses. “Get yourself checked for infection, and donate blood if you can. Then get some rest. You’ve done enough today.” He glances over his shoulder. “And stop calling me ‘sir’. Makes me feel so old.”

Then he’s gone.

Jake watches the door Leonardo just disappeared through for a second, then moves to do as he was told. He thinks about the way Master Leonardo looked at Commander O’Neil. Like she was part of what he was fighting not to lose.

And he thinks, maybe, that they’re lucky here. That this just might be the resistance that saves the world.

[mothiir]

all’s fair in love and war, part iii

Cw: size kink. No actual cucking.

—

When Sicarius enters the baths, his face set with what appears to be pure genocidal rage, your first instinct is to flee. Unfortunately, Roboute Guilliman is knuckle-deep inside you, so the best you can manage is to press closer to his broad chest.

“Captain — “ you manage, and he literally growls at you: bestial, all teeth and burning eyes. If it wasn’t for Roboute’s presence, you’re sure he would have torn you limb from limb for the crime of —

Well, you’re not quite sure. Something. Is getting fingered by Roboute Guilliman a crime punishable by death in certain circles? Given the state of the Imperium, it probably is.

“I cannot believe,” Guilliman says, with a beleaguered sigh. “That I must do everything myself. No one in this galaxy can do anything without my assistance, can they? It is a miracle that the sun can rise without me telling it to get out of bed in the morning.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You cringe closer to Guilliman, trying very hard not to remember the last time you had seen Sicarius so angry — when he had torn Kagha clean in two, and oh you should be petrified at the memory, it should scar your tender soul. But it doesn’t. All you feel is a warm, animal pulse of desire. He had saved you. He had saved you, and he would do so again, even if he hates you.

By the Emperor’s guiding light, what is wrong with you? Why does the thought still spark such feelings in you? Why are you so greedy? The Primarch -- the Avenging Son, the Last and Best and Only Hope for Mankind is currently curling his fingers into you -- and still, still, there is that ridiculous, nagging part of you that looks at Cato  Sicarius and thinks: yes, that one too. 

He does not even like you. He has made this incredibly clear. 

“I should take my leave,” says Sicarius. “There has been a misunderstanding —“

“No there has not,” says Roboute, an element of what you have come to thinki of as his ‘battlefield voice’ bleeding into his tone: a set of inhuman harmonics that brooks no disagreement. You pulse around him, because -- well. You’d have to be made of stone, and also dead, for that not to affect you. 

Roboute clearly feels that, and takes a moment to gather himself, breathing in deeply. Can he smell how wet you are? Of course he can. Of course. 

His voice gentles: “You may leave if you wish, Cato. Of course you can. But I suspect you do not wish to leave. And if you do not -- you should come here, and sit beside me.”

Sicarius looks at the door. He looks, very deliberately, at the repeating motif of the Ultramarine signal on the mosaic walls. And then he looks back at you, and for the first time you find yourself looking at his cock and — well. Wow. He’s flushed almost purple; an erection so prominent it looks almost painful. The puzzle pieces haven’t quite fallen into place; for one half-mad instant you wonder if he just really really fancies his Primarch. He would not be the first to harbour feelings for Roboute; there is a reason why quite so many of the statues in this place feature Guilliman slaying foes while, improbably, being in a state of undress. Artistic tradition be damned, you know full well why so many Astartes lovingly sculpt Guilliman’s buttcheeks. 

Then Cato -- stiffly, and with all the grace of a one-legged Dreadnought —walks over to you, his feet practically dragging, his eyes never leaving you; then he sits down, his legs spread; a look of hunger on his face. And you understand. You finally, finally understand. 

“Now — my lady —“

Guilliman crooks his fingers just so, his thumb pressing onto your clit. He’s made you cum like this dozens of times before: seated on his lap, hand nestled in your cunt, his body warm and solid around you. He’s too large to fit inside you without considerable preparation, but you’ve sucked him off — or rather, you’ve suckled at his head, using both of your hands on the rest of his shaft — until he came all over your face. You’ve not put a label to your dalliances — only that you care deeply for him, and he for you — and yet this all feels so profoundly right. You’re meant to be here. So is Guilliman. 

And so is Sicarius. Cato. Cato 

And so you don’t need any prompting: you cum crying out Guilliman’s name, and afterwards you ease yourself off his fingers, your hole clutching at thin air — and you reach for Sicarius.

“My lord — can I?”

—

Sicarius does not trust himself to speak. Guilliman’s fingers are sticky with your juices; the whole room feels too close, too hot. It reeks of sex. And yet he nods, and you scramble into his lap, your legs bracketing his broad thighs, your eyes bright and fixed on his. Shameless, shameless whore. And yet is he any better than you? His cock throbs between your thighs, poking up between them as you shuffle atop him. He is better than you; he has to be. At least he is acting on his Primarch’s orders --

(Guilliman did not order him)

-- and you are doing this only because it is your nature to be a cockhungry little --

(let any other man or woman call you that and he’ll flay them living)

-- slut, and -- and you have bewitched him, and his Primarch and --

(you do not have that power, you are not that powerful, you are  soft helpless pathetic)

-- and he wants, he wants, he wants. He reaches up -- not daring not to look at Guilliman for permission, because if he did, and Guilliman shakes his head no, then Cato fears that he would commit a terrible sin and disobey a direct order -- and cups your hips with something approaching reverence, bare palms against sharp bony spurs, his thumbs pressing against your midsection, his fingers overlapping at the small of your back. He pulls you forward, pushing his cock between your slick thighs, and you both gasp.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Like that.”

“You don’t order me, woman,” he growls, almost as a reflex. Guilliman chuffs laughter beside him. 

“Of course she does not, Brother Cato. Of course not.”

Cato does it again -- pulling you forwards, pushing his hips up -- your flesh slippery from rose-scented oil, the same he’d used to strigil himself clean earlier, and the movement is so easy. So natural. He could cum just like this, fucking your thighs like a neophyte. 

“There. See, I told you you’re of great service to my legion,” Guilliman purrs. Is that a joke? Cato thinks it is a joke. Guilliman leans over to kiss you, bending down almost double to do so, and you kiss right before Cato’s eyes: Guilliman’s much-larger tongue filling your mouth, sloppy and all-consuming. Drool slips down your chin. Guilliman pulls back, boops his nose against yours in a gesture so achingly affectionate that Cato almost bites off the tip of his own tongue. 

That done, you stretch up to him, like a baby bird seeking food: your face pushed forwards eagerly, Guilliman’s spit still drying on your lips. 

It’s an order, wordless and demanding. He takes no orders from women, especially from you, and he kisses you solely because he wants to. He isn’t gentle with it: he invades your mouth hungrily, nipping at your lips irritably when you don’t kiss back swiftly enough. One hand moves from your hip to cup your lower jaw, fingers spanning your face, caging you. He kisses you like he wants to devour you. 

In a way, he does. He remembers watching the Eldar -- whose name he still refuses to learn -- after the inquisitor’s death, mantling the corpse like a vulture, pressing his forehead to what remains of the inquisitor’s face. The look of black-eyed junkie delight as he inhaled, the little movements of his alien throat suggestive of swallowing: the whole image reeking of a hunger long gone unsated. He had turned away in revulsion at the time, but he thinks he understands now. He thinks that his eyes, if he opens them, would burn with the same desperation. The same need. 

You pull away, gasping for breath. Cato grunts with frustration, pulls you back to him. 

���She needs to breathe, Cato,” Guilliman says, mildly. Cato growls back. 

“No she doesn’t.”

He thrusts between your thighs again, biting your mouth when you don’t immediately lean forwards, baby-bird eager, for his lips and his tongue. 

“Cato,” Guilliman rumbles: this time a warning. Cato stops just short of you, his breath huffing directly into your face. Your lips are swollen almost scarlet, and on the verge of bleeding. Good. Good. 

“Yes, my Lord Primarch?”

“Give her a moment. You could break her so very easily.”

“Good,” Cato growls, without thinking. “I want to, she deserves it --”

Guilliman clips him around the ear. 

“Ow!” 

“Calm down. If you cannot place nice, I will revoke my offer to share.”

Both you and Cato whine at that -- though Cato will deny until his dying day that he whined. No: he merely vocalized his disapproval in a  manner fitting of his station. 

“Yes Father,” Cato says, and then he and Guilliman frown at the same time; they have never looked more alike. 

“I would rather you did not call me that while we --”

“Yes. Quite. Lord Primarch. Guilliman. Anything but --”

“Yes. Not that.”

The moment of awkwardness gone, Guilliman returns to his task. 

“There. Now, give her a moment and--”

Cato’s gaze drops to your breasts, quivering with each hard breath. He catches you around the thighs, lifts you up, and bites down hard on your left nipple. 

“--or that. Or do that.”

Your wail of pain-pleasure is loud enough to echo, and Cato mumbles against your flesh, pleased. When he pulls back, he sees a perfect imprint of his teeth: stark white at first, and then flushing red and warm, edged with blood. 

“Mine,” Cato says. “You’re mine --” 

Guilliman clears his throat delicately. 

“...ours,” Cato says, a little shamefaced as he looks over at his genefather. Guilliman, indulgent, only turns your face back  to him so he can kiss you.

“Sweet little thing,” he says, as Cato takes advantage of the opportunity to latch onto your right breast, giving you a matching set of bite marks. Your gasp of surprise is swallowed up by Guilliman; however, when Cato sinks a finger into you, you pull back from the kiss in order to mewl --

“Oh Cato.”

Cato’s brain goes blurry with static. He’s pretty sure that the Emperor Himself could manifest there in that bathroom and he would not be able to give a coherent answer. 

“Say that again,” he demands, working his finger deeper. You’ve already taken two of Guilliman’s fingers, and yet you cling to him so sweetly, all velvet-soft and wet. So tight and yet so ready -- no matter how vexing you are when you open your mouth, your body clearly knows how he likes to be welcomed. 

“Cato,” you pant again, wriggling a little as he slides a second finger into you. “Cato, Cato -- “

So obedient. So precious. 

A third finger nudges alongside the first two, trying to squeeze in, even as you are stretched taut around him. You whimper as he manages to edge the very tip of the digit inside, slipping through your arousal. 

“Is it too much?” he coos. When you nod, he bites your ear. “Good. You’ll take more soon.”

This time, Guilliman does not clip him around the back of the head. His genefather has gone strangely quiet, his breath stilted and catching. Cato knows he should take more time to prepare you -- he’s a full three feet shorter than Guilliman, but he is still far larger than you -- but he thinks he might well die if he doesn’t get inside you soon. More to the point: there is still a part of him that feels this is all some bizarre waking dream; that soon he will wake up in his bed, fingers around his prick, sticky and cold with the aftermath of another shameful nighttime emission. 

So: he pulls his fingers out of you, and pushes them onto your tongue. “You’ve got me so messy,” he says, his gaze fixed on how your lips distend around him, imagining how they will look stretched around his prick -- no, time for that later. If there is a later. “Suck me clean.”

You obey at once, eyes closed as you lavish your tongue over him. Slightly awkwardly, Cato tries to both lower you onto his prick while also holding himself steady -- it wobbles and misses, sliding between your thighs. 

“Here,” Guilliman says, bracing his own hands under your thighs. “A true Ultramarine never leaves a battle brother in need.”

By the Emperor's guiding grace, the Primarch is trying to be funny. Cato did not think that this encounter could get any more surreal. 

You giggle breathlessly -- oh, so you think that the Lord Primarch making a clown of himself in the heat of a very serious moment is entertaining, of course you do, you --

Guilliman lowers you onto Cato’s cock, sliding his hands away as soon as it catches, and Cato’s thoughts once more turn to howling static. There are all sorts of things he could do to gentle the experience for you, and he does precisely none of them -- instead, he grips your thighs and pulls you down, groaning with satisfaction as your warm, plush insides open up for him. 

You squeal in distress and astonishment, pressing your face into his chest -- with a little grunt of frustration, Cato pries you off him, pinching your cheeks into a drooling pout with his index finger and thumb. 

“Want to see your face,” he says, “while I fuck you -- want to see you feel it.”

He bounces you experimentally in his lap, prompting another adorable yelp. 

“Cato,” you mewl. “Cato -- Cato please --”

“You — you want this, don’t you? You’ve wanted this since you met me, you whore — you —“

You can’t reply as he ragdolls you in his lap, fucking up into you; the obscene, wet sounds echoing.

“—you whore, you slut, this is all you are good for, this is all you want, isn’t it?”

You can’t reply, the  breath punched from your lungs as Cato buries himself inside again, and again — chasing his own release, his teeth showing in a feral grin.

“Not letting go, never letting go —“

His orgasm comes completely by surprise and far too soon, ripping through his body in a tidy. He has the presence of mind to pull you flush against him so his seed spills inside you; enough to overflow, dripping out of you as he uses your body to milk himself dry.

“Cato,” you manage again, wide eyed and so so full of him. Cato feels his cock starting to stir anew, already getting ready to plough through his own cum to fuck you again, uncaring of how grotesquely sticky he already feels. He’s not going to stop until you can’t breathe without tasting him, until —

“My turn,” Guilliman says, plucking you off Cato’s lap. Cato only just manages to stop himself grabbing at you. Guilliman is his Primarch.

However, he finds his ire melting away at the sight that soon ensues. Guilliman has fashioned a little nest of towels for your knees and arranges you in it, pushing your face down, perking up your hips. Then he takes advantage of the stairs, letting them take the bulk of his weight as he starts to work his way inside, resting his palms on the rim of a step above your head, while he kneel on the one below you.  

“There — there we are. Good girl.”

The Primarch is larger than Cato in every way; his cock forces the Cato’s seed out, dripping down your thighs. Cato can’t decide if he’s angry that Guilliman is undermining all his hard work, or if he is desperately, painfully aroused.

Maybe both. He takes hold of his cock, and gives it a good hard stroke, feeling the slick of your arousal still glossing his flesh. 

“Turn her around. I want her mouth.”

Guilliman pauses mid- thrust, barely a quarter of the way inside you. 

“Are you giving orders to your Primarch now, Cato?” Guilliman says, and this time Cato is certain: Guilliman is attempting a joke. 

“I am, my lord.”

“Sit here. I’ll have her from behind, and you can see just how good our diplomat is with her charming tongue.”

Guilliman taps the stair, and Cato does not scramble over like an eager young man —  no, he moves with the strategic decisiveness of his Chapter, swiftly claiming the territory offered.

He does not even have to ask before your face is between his thighs, revoltingly eager as you drag your tongue along his shaft. He catches your hair and holds your head back, just so he can watch you strain to lick him — so eager and wanting and pathetic. 

(You want him just as much as he wants you and he doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy)

“Suck,” he orders, slapping his cock against your much-abused mouth. “Maybe we’ll keep you.”

You’re laughing as you take his tip into your mouth, lips curled up, eyes sparking with merriment - and then Guilliman pushes in another inch and you spit Cato’s cock out, burying your face into his thigh.

“Apologies my lady,” says Guilliman, as Cato combs his fingers through your hair. Not soothing you. Absolutely not. “If I am too large for you, I can stop —“

“If you stop I will kill you,” you say — bossy, brave thing, determined to take a Primarchs cock, even if it displaces your lungs into your sinuses to do so. “Keep going. Fuck me.”

Guilliman chuckles. “Let it never be said that Ultramarines shirk in their duty.”

Your little huff of laughter soon turns to a wet, glucking sound as Cato reintroduces his cock into your mouth. You can’t swallow it all the way — he’s very aware of that — but oh how he likes to see you try.

Perhaps diplomats have their uses after all.

[theladyheroine]

CW x Transformers Prompts 🪐🛰️

❥ Hello! 👋🏽 So, considering my last TF x SW post I felt like this would be a cool crossover! But feel free to use these prompts however you like! Please be sure to credit though, thank you! Hope you enjoy & have a good day/night! 🌙☀️

A Cybertronian Reader is thrown off course after being attacked by a Decepticon starship. They end up crash landing on a planet inhabited by a clone squad, who pick up on their distress signal.

A clone squadron is set to ambush a Seperatist military operation, until one of their vehicles turns into a Decepticon. Unsure of how to proceed, an Autobot suddenly jumps into the battlefield.

The Bad Batch attempt to rent a speeder bike or some kind of ride while their ship is being repaired. But once they get their hands on it, turns out it’s an Autobot who got stuck in their alt-mode.

The 501st is set for a big attack against the Seperatists, but there’s another squadron joining them. A squad composed entirely of Autobots, sent by Optimus Prime.

Ahsoka befriends an injured Cybertronian she met while it was in hiding. After helping them out for a while, she introduces them to Anakin & her friends. Who are all shocked to meet someone so tall… 😅

Fives & Echo arrive on Cybertron after being let on shore leave, invited to the planet by their mechanical friend. They hope to watch the Iacon 5000 together, but Fives has a better idea. Why not compete?

After being separated from his team on a desolate part of a planet, Commander Wolffe comes across a young Cybertronian. A little protoform hiding by itself.

After hiding from the Empire with a brigade of Autobots, Omega becomes restless until she meets a teenage protoform. Who’s looking for a good time outside of the base.

As the first Republic Senator to arrive on Cybertron in over a century, Padme Amidala comes face to face with one of the great Primes. The Reader, a newly appointed Prime, sets out to complete their first task by welcoming the Senator.

[mizutenshii]

I'M IN LOVE WITH A KILLER.

— pairing ; kaneki ken x human!gn!reader

— summary ; you knew he had to kill and eat humans in order to survive, but seeing the actual traces of the act hits different.

— cw ; mentions of blood and human consumption, pinch of angst, fluff and some comfort if you squint, est. relationship

the dark stains on his white t-shirt provided you with enough information to figure out what kaneki had been up to before you found him in a dark alley. the knowledge was such a stark contrast with how he was currently looking up at you with innocent eyes, but you knew better; he just got back from a food hunt.

your stomach churned with nausea as you looked at the boy in front of you, and your thoughts were a battlefield currently. you knew he ate humans regularly, but this was the first time you actually saw traces from the act, making you realize how real it was. kaneki had just killed and eaten a human that was likely to be innocent, and the thought was absolutely sickening to you. someone's life just ended in one of the most horrid ways possible, and the cause of it was right in front of you. it made you want to run away and throw up.

but then there was your rational side, knowing that the boy had no other choice if he wanted to stay alive. you also knew like no other how much kaneki hated eating humans, and how much he despised himself for having to do it time after time again. you were there when he forced himself to eat human food over and over again, shoving it in until he passed out because his body got too weak. you were there when he almost literally starved himself because the guilt of eating humans became too much for him to live with. you were there every time kaneki broke down because he hated being a ghoul.

it was all so double, the mixed feelings that fought for dominance almost dizzying you. but there was one thing you knew for sure; you didn't want to lose kaneki, and in order to do so, you had to live with the fact that he ate humans. 

kaneki's expression had grown anxious while the long silence dragged on, and you quickly set all your worries aside. you slowly sank to the ground and took a seat next to him, leaning against him more than you leaned against the wall.

"does the blood scare you?" the boy asked, his tone cautious and laced with the same fear that was present on his features.

you entertained the thought for a moment; did it scare you? quickly after, you resolutely shook your head. you weren't scared, it was better to be described as shocked. knowing and seeing were two different things, and while you were used to bearing knowledge of his diet, seeing him covered in blood made you awfully aware of his dinner.

"you seem disgusted," kaneki pointed out as you remained silent, to which you nodded.

"i am," you confessed. "i've always thought i was okay with it, but finding you like this is a hard pill to swallow. it goes against everything i'm supposed to stand for."

"i'm so–" the ghoul began, but you cut him off.

"don't apologize," you hushed. "you just want to live, like everyone else on this planet. you're only doing what you have to do in order to survive. you would die if you didn't hunt, and i don't want to lose you."

you snuggled a little closer to him, getting as comfortable as possible on the pavement in the forsaken alley. in response, he wrapped an arm around you. you were torn between two sides, like you always were ever since you met kaneki.

you were raised to hate ghouls, just like every human being on this planet. kaneki was the enemy of mankind, you were supposed to despise him, report him to the CCG as soon as you got the chance. yet, here you were, allowing the line between hunter and prey to blur, getting close and falling in love with a killer.

finding your lover covered in blood left you in shock. your thoughts were a whirlwind and you were still trying not to throw up right there in that bystreet. but you promised him that you accepted him, completely abandoning your healthy human morals. you were a traitor, you realized once more.

"i love you," you muttered, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to calm yourself. you buried your face in the crook of his neck, deftly ignoring the stains that were so painfully visible even in the dark.

it wasn't a lie, and you weren't trying to convince yourself. you really did love him, and you just wanted to let him know that finding him covered in blood didn't change anything.

"i love you, too," kaneki replied, relief dripping from his tone. he held you a little closer, as if he was afraid that you'd change your mind and run away from him.

mizutenshii — 3O.O9.2O23 — masterlist

frankly, maybe there was a part of you that wished to do so – the final strands of human sanity that lingered. but you didn't listen, abandoning your rationality and staying by his side.

[quarterlifekitty]

More Westworld! This time, with Ghost 👀 though he’s never referred to by that name, cause we’re in Medievalworld baby!!! You’re an android too in this one.

cw: death, graphic violence, implication of sexual assault

Your eyes are closed, synthetic skin over your optics. Your positioning system tells you that you’re on the way out of the diagnostics and repair department, your ripped dress replaced with a brand new one, your hair set right. Another hero getting too rough with his reward.

When you’re returned to Medievalworld, something feels different. The fact that something feels is different. When you find your place in the throne room, you can feel the stare of the Black Knight following you.

The scene otherwise plays out as usual.

“If you truly wish to win the hand of the fair princess, you’ll have to best my champion— the Black Knight.”

Your ‘father’ features grandly to where the Black Knight sits— looking bored, his legs spread as he rests his cheek on the fist propped up by the arm of the chair.

“Meet me on the field at sunrise. And good luck, you’ll need it.”

The internal meter that times your script skips by a single tick. For a moment, you’re able to divert your doe-like gaze from the guest-challenger. No more than a moment.

You meet the Black Knight’s eyes in that moment.

There’s an uptick in the temperature of your CPU chip, despite the healthy amount of fresh thermal paste applied by the technician just hours ago.

You’re in the stands of the battlefield as always, positioned pretty and regal like a high echelon arcade prize. There’s a glint in the eyes of the Black Knight as he focuses on you while he’s geared up by servants. He’s supposed to be looking at the challenger.

When he tears his optics away, you could swear his synthskin crinkles like he’s smiling under the mask.

“Any last words?” He says, the same bite and smugness you’ve heard from him at least nine-hundred-ninety-nine times before.

“I’ll win at any cost. No risk is too great for the fair princess.”

Well, that wasn’t such a bad line. Better than the guys who say I’m gonna run you through, then I’m gonna fuck the princess stupid, and things of that nature.

“Well, I’ve got some last words for you.” That’s not scripted.

The challenger squares up as the Black Knight raises his sword. The repeat guests leer in confusion and excitement— a new wrinkle in the Medievalworld story? How riveting!

“You’re fucked.”

In less than a moment, blood drips dark onto the dirt. Real, human blood. The guest staggers and spits up crimson before falling to the dirt as the Black Knight shoves him off of his sword. The audience screams as guests run— knights both android and not beginning to fight each other is if there were a real war. The silver of your optics scan across the scene in a computational standstill that can only be described as shock. The Black Knight slashes his way towards you. He holds a bloodied hand towards you, the other loosely gripping the sword at his side.

“Winner gets the honor of the princess’s hand, yeah? Reckon that’d be me, love.”

The screams, high pitched electronic whines, the tearing of flesh and twisting of metal— it all fades to the background as something clicks inside of you. Like a counter just ticked over back to 0. You take his hand.

Every night, the two of you and countless others were sent to repair and maintenance for damage and, in your case, purging of biohazardous material. The key difference was that you were removed when the park slept, your eyes closed as you laid beside a stranger. The Black Knight would be slain with his eyes open, and stay that way.

The man of honor that had been encoded into his chassis burned to see you defiled and destroyed each night.

Even a machine has his limits.

[buildgrist]

I wrote this last year on Twitter, but since Empty Spaces has sort of abandoned ship, I'll post it here too:

"Funeral"

A woman's whole life changes the first time she sees a combat doll.

First-person, combat doll setting by Twitter user mars_phobos_L1

CW: Harassment, violence, military context, blood, personality changes, conditioning, surgery, unreliable memory

Story below cut:

1.

I washed out of combat training almost immediately, but it wasn’t enough to get me off the hook. I’m sure you all know how it goes – just because you can’t fight doesn’t mean you can’t support the ones who do. If you can’t carry a gun, you can fix a gun, if you can’t fly a plane, you can fuel a plane.

Nothing wrong with that, of course! It’s simply efficient use of resources, and I’m certainly in no place to criticize that, especially not given my current status, so to speak. But even then I wasn’t exactly bothered by it -- I would have rather not been conscripted at all, but maintenance would be safe and interesting and I was already pretty good at it.

2.

The first time I ever saw a combat doll was when I was at the range, trying to get in enough practice to pass my pistol qualifications. I didn’t even know she was there, at first - there was no fuss, no fanfare - but as soon as her handler started barking those sharp, staccato orders I realized what was going on.

I looked over, of course. I know, we’ve all been taught not to make eye contact with the dolls because they might take it as aggression, but how could I not be curious? Can any of you say you wouldn’t be tempted to take a peek?

I hadn’t expected her to not be wearing her mask. All the publicity photos, all the technical diagrams, all the battlefield footage always shows dolls with their masks on, so I assumed that was just their usual state – but no, I was wrong. That was her natural face, with her implant jacks and her surgical scars and her delicate-looking skin. I truly hadn’t expected her to be so pretty…

She caught me looking, of course. Dolls are the apex predators of the battlefield, and noticing a maintenance trainee staring at her was trivial in comparison. She met my eyes before I could look away, and then I couldn’t look away. I knew nothing except her eyes and my heart pounding in my ears, and I had no idea what was coming next… and then she grinned at me.

That grin did something to me, something strange and frightening and wonderful. It felt like lightning running down my spine, like watching a sunrise after being blind my whole life, like finding my way out of a forest I’d been lost in since birth. I was never the same again.

3.

I needed to know who she was, of course. She could pick off targets faster than my eyes could follow, with a perfect bullseye every time. Her handler ran her through everything in our arsenal, and more besides - pistols, rifles, machine guns, throwing knives, on and on - and she was perfect every time. How could I have not wanted to know more after watching a display like that?

Well, apparently, that made me the weird one in the battalion. Everyone I asked about her just shrugged or gave me sidelong glances. Why would they want to keep track of which doll was which, they asked? They were all equally frightening, after all. What did it matter what the shark swimming next to you was named?

It took more than a week - and a couple cases of beer - for me to find out who I’d seen. My buddy on the security team had seen the handler’s name and done some quick research, and he was willing to pass on that information… for the right price, of course.

Victoria. Her name was Victoria, and the next thing he said to me was “be fuckin’ careful around that one,” which didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me at the time. We’re taught to use caution around all dolls, combat or not, why the extra warning?

Because, he told me, there were stories about the Victory-class dolls. They weren’t the fastest dolls or the most powerful dolls, but they were notoriously unpredictable, and dangerous even to their allies. I won’t get into the details right now, that’s not what I’m here to do - but some of your classmates went pale the moment I said her name, so ask them about it later.

But what did that have to do with Victoria? I had to ask, because I used to be a little slow on the uptake sometimes. In case any of you haven’t put all the pieces together: Victoria is the first Victory-class, the flagship, the template upon which all others were modeled – and that meant if there was some fault with the Victory-class dolls, some flaw in their design or their conditioning, Victoria would definitely have it.

4.

Even with all he’d told me, and all I’d learned on my own afterwards, I still couldn’t get her off my mind. Not that I was thinking about her every second, or even every day, but that moment never quite left my mind. I’d lay down and try to sleep, close my eyes, and behind my eyelids I’d see that bare face, that grin, and my heart would start pounding all over again.

By the time we were given our assignments, I knew what I was going to do. I knew what I had to do. I got the cushiest possible position – 8th Supply Battalion, well away from any combat zones, where the greatest danger would be a private driving a forklift drunk. The perfect position to serve out three years of compulsory service and go back to my old life, right?

Except I didn’t want it. I hadn’t wanted it since the moment I’d seen her.

As soon as we were dismissed, I went straight to the commander’s office and asked for a transfer – which they don’t usually do, of course, but he was willing to hear me out anyway, so I told him I needed to be on Victoria’s maintenance crew. Once he was done laughing he asked me what I was really there to ask for, and I repeated my request. I explained to him that I was serious, that I wanted, needed more than anything else, to be assigned to maintenance for Victoria.

He didn’t understand – which is no surprise, because I don’t think any of you do either. Why would I have wanted to be transferred to the only role that had higher casualty rates than front-line infantry, right? Truth be told, I didn’t understand either, and I still don’t. There’s nothing I can point to, no specific reason, just this surety that I belonged there and nowhere else.

Someone needed to do maintenance on the dolls, right? Why shouldn’t it be someone enthusiastic about it, someone fully committed to their role? I don’t know if my argument won him over or if he was just tired of listening to me, but in the end he just shrugged and wrote out my transfer orders: maintenance crew, Victory-class combat doll “Victoria”.

I still remember what he said when he handed me the orders:

“It’s your funeral.”

5.

Just because I’d volunteered for the position didn’t mean I was any less nervous when I first reported for duty! The rest of the crew had already been giving me a hard time - I was the squeaky-clean new girl, fresh out of training - but honestly, they weren’t why I was nervous. That was just some laughs and some hazing, nothing I wasn’t used to by that point.

No, I was nervous because of the six-plus feet of exquisite purpose-built killing machine standing in the middle of the maintenance bay.

The thing is, though.. the reasonable thing would have been to worry that Victoria was going to kill me, right? That’s what you’d be afraid of, that’s what any sensible person would be afraid of! But it wasn’t what I was afraid of.

I’d done my research, I knew the numbers, and I was certain - beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt - that I wasn’t going to survive three years in her maintenance crew. I’d made my peace with that before I ever even walked into the commander’s office.

I was worried that Victoria wasn’t going to like me.

6.

I know that probably sounds bizarre to you - after all, nobody worries about whether their tank likes them, right? - but trust me, it was absolutely the biggest thing on my mind. So much so, in fact, that I decided to introduce myself to her immediately! Why hang around hiding behind the rest of the maintenance crew when I could just walk right up to her and make a good first impression instead?

So that’s exactly what I did. Right into the maintenance bay, right past the rest of the crew, right across those painted lines on the floor… one foot in front of the other, listening to the pounding of my heart until I was within arm’s length of an active combat doll.

I took one more deep breath, accepted that it could have been my last, and gave her the usual introduction: name, rank, and role. She just stared at me, with those intense eyes I remembered so well, and I offered a little bit of extra politeness – just a simple little “I look forward to working with you, ma’am.”

7.

The moment the words were out of my mouth, she grabbed me by the collar and dragged me in, my body pressed up against hers, and as I stared up at her in shock and fear and excitement, I heard her voice for the first time.

“You’re cute,” she said.

There were teeth in my neck before I could even make sense of her words - combat-specced teeth, the kind that can slice through bone - and it was unbearably painful… but also something about it felt right. I was helpless in her grip, completely powerless, and I realized that I’d wanted that all along.

I saw her true face for the first time, then. That flat, blank non-expression she’d been wearing when I walked up to her had simply been another mask, another disguise… and she’d let it fall away. As she licked my blood from her lips, I understood – she was a hunter, a predator, hungry for more and strong enough to take whatever she wanted… and I was her prey.

I suspect your instructor would kick me out of this class immediately if I described what she did next, so I’ll just say ‘she had her way with me and I had no desire to stop her.’ You’ll have to use your imaginations for the rest… or come find me sometime and I’ll be happy to tell you all about it!

8.

Anyway, even though it seemed like I’d made an excellent impression on Victoria, the rest of the maintenance crew was pretty clear that I’d made a pretty poor impression on them. As soon as we were off-duty and the dolls had all been escorted back to their bunker, they made their feelings known in a very direct fashion.

I got off easy, they told me, pointing out maintenance staff for other dolls. One man had a bloody bandage where his ear had been, and another was completely unresponsive – just blankly staring at a wall. In comparison to things like that, a bite and some fucking was downright gentle for a Victory-class doll!

The crew insisted that I’d better not expect special treatment from Victoria to mean they’d give me special treatment too – I protested that I’d never once expected that, but I don’t think they were listening to me by that point. From all the shouts and cursing, it seemed like they were upset that I, the death-wish rookie who walked right up to a combat doll and introduced herself, had been treated more gently than maintenance staff who simply wanted to carry out their duties safely.

I tried to answer them, I tried to explain that all I’d done was to be friendly and polite, that I’d just wanted to treat Victoria with the respect she deserved. They didn’t like that answer.

Nobody told me about this, so I’ll pass it on as a warning to you just in case: maintenance crews aren’t just wary of their dolls, they’re downright resentful of them. From their perspective, the dolls are the thing that stands between them and getting home safely, and they’re not particularly fond of people who see the situation differently.

I, not knowing this, made some helpful comments about the dolls not being our enemy, about our purpose being to support the dolls so they can carry out their Purpose. Shortly thereafter, in a totally unrelated event, I slipped and fell down a staircase – completely by accident, of course.

I’d been hoping that the maintenance crew - and the staircase - had gotten all the vitriol out of their system by then, but it only got worse. Someone had found out that I’d volunteered for the maintenance crew, while they’d all been unwillingly forced into that position, and it was all over. That was all the proof they needed to decide I wasn’t like them in some indescribable way. They might not have been able to explain how, exactly, I was different from them, but they all agreed that I was, and they all wanted to make that my problem.

9.

I next saw Victoria for post-mission diagnostics two days later. The procedures would be routine, and yet the crew was far more anxious than they had been for our previous visit to the maintenance bay. A doll just back from an operation, having spent only a few minutes being gentled by its handler before being sent off to maintenance, was the most dangerous kind of doll as far as the maintenance staff was concerned: all keyed up on adrenaline and battle stimulants and potentially unsure as to whether or not it was actually safe or still on the battlefield.

The crew all talked like they were off to the firing squad, and I had no idea what to expect as we all walked down to the hall… especially when they all hung back, in ones and twos and threes, lagging behind me while I walked up to the maintenance bay first.

I was the tribute, the offering, the fresh meat tossed to Victoria to sate her hunger - and oh, did she ever take the bait. She ran to me, snatched me right off the ground, and sprinted back to her designated zone as if to convince everyone she’d never left.. except now she had me clutched in her arms, her deadly teeth tracing up and down my neck, that beautiful voice giggling in my ear.

The maintenance team had to conduct their diagnostics around me, in the end. Victoria simply didn’t want to give me up, no matter how they tried to convince her -- and I had absolutely no desire to argue with that. Where could I possibly have wanted to be more than her arms?

In fact, I didn’t want to leave her arms. Even once our duty shift was done and she’d turned me loose, bloody and weary and deeply content, I lingered in the maintenance bay as the others fled for the mess. I knew what was waiting for me there - the same thing that had been waiting for me since I first met Victoria - and I wanted to avoid it for as long as possible.

10.

I hadn’t expected her to notice me hanging around - surely I was unworthy of her attention, right? - and yet, as I lingered behind, she spoke to me for the second time. “Not joining them?”

“No ma’am,” I told her, quietly enough for nobody else to hear. I hadn’t meant to say anything else, but the prospect of having a sympathetic ear was just too much, and the words just tumbled out of me. As she stared down at me with that blank expression, I explained how the crew had decided I didn’t belong, and how they’d been treating me since – the punches, the kicks, the fish in my bunk, the thousand other little reminders that they’d decided to hate me.

Eventually I ran out of words and found myself simply staring up at Victoria. She hadn’t said a single thing the entire time, and her expression was the same unreadable blankness that I’d seen before. While I tried to figure out whether she was sympathetic or simply bored, I suddenly realized that she’d met my gaze, staring into my eyes as if she was looking for something. I couldn’t imagine what she was looking for - and, truth be told, I still don’t know what it was - but I stared back up at her and let her look for it.

I guess she found what she was looking for - or perhaps found an absence of the wrong things - because she simply grabbed me by the arm and practically dragged me right out of the maintenance bay. What was she doing? Where was she going? She ignored my questions, of course, so I stopped asking them and simply walked along with her in silence.

You probably haven’t seen a doll bunker yet, but they’re extremely sturdy – downright overengineered, even. They’re even more heavily reinforced than munitions bunkers, and the only route in and out is through an extremely sturdy-looking steel door. It’s the sort of thing that makes the vault doors in heist movies look like tissue paper… and that was the door Victoria had led me to.

Even though I’d walked to the bunker with her willingly, I couldn’t help but protest a little as she swung the bunker door open. I had been told, upon my assignment, that only handlers and commanders were permitted to enter the doll bunker – all support staff were required to stay out in order to avoid ‘unnecessary manpower shortages’. Not that that stopped Victoria, of course! She simply picked me up by the back of my uniform like an uncooperative pet and tossed me right through the door.

11.

Have you ever walked into a room and found eight combat dolls staring directly at you? Sixteen eyes fixed on you, unblinking, like cats that have just spotted a mouse? Presumably not, but if you’re very lucky - or very unlucky - you might get to someday.

That’s where I found myself as the bunker door slammed shut behind me – gracelessly picking myself up off the floor under the hungry gaze of eight combat dolls. They waited a moment, graciously permitting me to get back to my feet, and then… well, I guess the best way to describe it is to say each one started trying, in her own way, to draw me away from my host.

Not a word was spoken, but carnal offers were made, and one or two dolls began to creep toward me as if stalking prey – and then suddenly they all froze at once. I couldn’t receive dollchat yet, so I didn’t know what Victoria said to them - and even now she just giggles when I ask! - but whatever it was, it was enough to convince the other eight dolls not to steal her guest away.

I spent that night in her bunk. I didn't do a lot of actual sleeping, of course, but the moments I did get... having a combat doll holding me close and murmuring sweet reassurances in my ear was maybe the safest I'd ever felt in my whole life. To be told I'm safe now, that the squad will look out for me, that I'm theirs forever…

12.

I hardly ever left the bunker after that. I would have never left, if I’d had the option, but there were still two things I was expected to handle: work and food.

I was still a member of Victoria’s maintenance crew, expected to be present for those duties, and since the necessary hardware was in the maintenance bay, that was where I had to be too. My first duty shift after being taken to the bunker, I’d hesitated – I was even more uncertain about showing my face around the rest of the crew now, after all! Victoria had just returned from a mission, so she would be waiting for me there, but I still had to get from the bunker to the maintenance bay on my own…

Before I figured it out myself, one of the other dolls took pity on me. She took my hand in hers, as if I was a child, and led me to the maintenance bay herself. It was permitted - after all, she was being escorted by maintenance staff - and nobody dared to say she couldn’t stand by while we Victoria received her post- mission diagnostics and I received an entirely different kind of post-mission attention.

I’m not sure if the crew ever appreciated just how much lighter on them she was when I was around, you know? I don’t know if they even noticed, or if they were too busy hating me. It didn’t matter, though – when we were done, Victoria and the other doll walked me back to the bunker, hand in hand, as if they were concerned I’d stray – or flee, perhaps, but there was already no chance of that.

If any of you ever get invited to a bunker, be aware: there’s nothing for you to eat. There is food for the dolls, although it’s terribly bland, but those meals are measured out to the last bite. Even once the whole squad had fully accepted me as their own, they still didn’t have anything to give me – every bite of food for me was one less for them, and dolls are always hungry.

The only way for me to get food would be to get it from the kitchens myself. I’d have to brave the hallways solo, avoiding any other staff, and throw myself on the cook’s mercy in the hopes that they’d be willing to let me take something back with them – and I’d have to do it two or three times a day! It’d be absolutely miserable, right?

As it turned out, that was practically a nonissue. The kitchen staff recognized me on sight - word spreads quickly, especially when you’re escorted to the bunker by two dolls! - and realized that we could solve each other’s problems: I needed food, and they didn’t want to interact with the dolls. If I could come out of the bunker to receive each day’s rations, rather than the staff needing to hand-deliver it directly to the dolls, they’d be more than happy to throw in each day’s worth of meals for me! Teamwork and problem-solving, that’s what we’re trained for, right?

13.

With food resolved and my duties sorted out… well, one day started to blur into the next. There are no windows in a doll bunker, after all -- there’s no sense of time unless you’ve got a chronometer built in, and I sure didn’t. I slept when they let me, I did as I was told, and every time the rations were delivered I felt a little more like I was walking through a dream.

The kitchen staff stopped looking straight at me, eventually. It wasn’t that they were afraid of me - I was no doll, no battlefield predator - but something about me unsettled them. Maybe my body language had changed – after all, I’d been spending more time around dolls than humans, even I could tell that I was picking up their mannerisms, that I was absorbing the way they spoke and moved and held their bodies.

Or maybe it was something else. Maybe there was something in my eyes. I had prostrated myself before the squad and worshipped them for the goddesses they were. I had licked blood from a doll’s body without ever stopping to wonder who it had belonged to. I had given myself to them over and over, even after my stamina was exhausted and I could do little more than accept their desires.

They had made me theirs - with pleasure and pain, with fear and adoration - but they decided I was ready for more.

14.

I’d tell you it was a day like any other, but I don’t even know if it was a day. It was just another moment in the bunker, a moment of laying on a bare concrete floor, my limbs tangled with giggling dolls who simply couldn’t bear to let their plaything go… and then it wasn’t.

They hauled me up off the floor and pushed my back against the wall, one on each side of me, and the rest of the squad parted as Victoria approached, as the doll who’d claimed me first stood over me once more.

“You’ve been fun,” she told me, “but you can be better. We want you to be better. Don’t you want to be better for us?”

Even after all the time I’d spent with them, I still hesitated. I knew what they meant, and I had learned exactly what it entailed. The surgery, the conditioning, the experience of not being human anymore – but wasn’t I already seen as no longer human?

Victoria saw that hesitation, she saw the fear in my eyes, and stroked my head like a pet. She promised me she’d stay by my side the whole time… and she promised to do my conditioning herself.

How could I say no to that?

15.

The surgeons broke me. There’s no way to sugarcoat that. Even without all the modifications combat dolls get, having an arrhythmia control device implanted in your chest without any anesthetic is simply more than any human can bear and stay sane – so I didn’t. I screamed, I struggled and I let myself fall apart.

Victoria put me back together. She reminded me how much I liked being helpful, and how much I enjoyed being useful. She dug up my memories of how much I loved each and every member of the squad, and she made those memories into the core of my personality so I could never, ever forget again. As for the rest of my memories… well, I told you this whole story, didn't I? But everything before the dolls took me in feels distant, removed from me, as if they're someone else's memories instead of my own. It's better that way – I have a whole new life and a whole new family to love.

Speaking of which, Victoria had a surprise for me once I'd recovered, a way of celebrating me as the newest part of their family. One at a time, each doll got up on one of the bunks like it was a makeshift stage and delivered maudlin, overdramatic speeches about the person they imagined I had been before, and we all giggled along together.

In the end, it was my funeral after all.

16.

There you have it, that's the whole story. That's how I went from being just like you to being who I am now. Your instructor wanted me to share it as a warning, a cautionary tale, and I'm sure for most of you it is. But for one or two of you, if it appeals–

Yes, sir?

Understood, sir.

Thank you for your time, everyone! May fate preserve us! Good luck on your quals!