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pin-k-ink · 4 months

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feral // kyoutani kentarou

tw ⇢ possessive!kyoutani, sexual tension, teasing, dirty talk, making out, begging, fingering, biting, cunnilingus, overstimulation, name calling, mild degradation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, mentions of masturbation, semi public sex

wc ⇢ 11.5k

a/n: this was for the sweetheart that asked for some kyoutani smut. i’m sorry i accidentally deleted your request ;_;

You never knew what to expect when Kyoutani Kentarou stomped into the room, his perpetual scowl etched deeply across his face.

From the moment he had joined the Aoba Johsai volleyball team in his first year, the hot-headed wing spiker had been a ticking time bomb of aggression just waiting to explode. Despite Coach Mizoguchi and the upperclassmen's efforts to rein him in, Kyoutani seemed to take perverse pleasure in disrupting practice with his outbursts and insubordinate behavior.

Which was why you, as the team's manager, often found yourself being summoned to deal with the fallout of his latest tantrum.

"He's done it again," Yahaba groaned one afternoon, shoulders slumped in exasperation. "Kyoutani started mouthing off during the hitting drills and it escalated into a full-blown brawl with Watari."

You bit back a sigh, feeling a headache already forming. Ever since the newly-minted captain had instituted "disciplinary punishments" for the unruly wing spiker, you'd been the one tasked with monitoring his compliance.

The punishments ranged from tedious chores like cleaning the gym to studying in the library after practice - essentially anything to constructively wear down Kyoutani's endless reserves of pent-up aggression. At least, in theory.

Because in reality, getting the tempestuous third-year to actually apply himself to the remedial tasks proved an uphill battle of wills every single time. You could already envision the confrontation awaiting when you attempted to corral him later.

Sure enough, Kyoutani was his usual prickly self when you finally tracked him down in one of the empty classrooms later. He was slouched low in a rickety desk chair, booted feet propped up and arms crossed like a petulant child as you entered.

"I know, I know...library study time again," he grumbled without even looking up. "When are you jailers gonna get some new material?"

You refused to rise to the bait of his surliness, instead simply fetching one of the textbooks from the pile on the teacher's desk.

"As many times as it takes for you to learn some self-control, Kyoutani-san," you replied calmly. "Now open up to chapter nine and start reading."

A muscle ticked visibly in his clenched jaw as he dragged his glower up to finally meet your steady gaze. You braced yourself for the usual torrent of insolent pushback that always followed these disciplinary sessions.

But this time...something seemed to flicker and fracture in Kyoutani's stony glare the longer your silent staredown stretched. You watched as his narrowed eyes gradually widened, tracked the way his throat bobbed slightly on a subconscious swallow.

Was it a trick of the light, or did his cheeks appear just the faintest shades pinker beneath that oppressive scowl of his?

The surly wing spiker seemed to catch himself after a beat too long, blinking rapidly as he scrubbed one hand over his face with a low grumble.

"Whatever...let's just get this over with," he muttered, snatching up his pencil and cracking open the textbook with far less resistance than usual.

An odd, perplexed furrow creased your brow at his uncharacteristic acquiescence. But rather than pry into the bizarre shift of behavior, you simply took your customary seat near the front and opened your own bookbag to pass the tutoring time in productive quiet.

Out of the corner of your periphery, you periodically caught glimpses of Kyoutani's hand dragging through his disheveled fringe in what looked like agitation. His nostrils would flare slightly, lips pressed into a flat line of concentration - or perhaps constipation judging by his pinched expression.

More than once you opened your mouth, a gentle reminder on the tip of your tongue to urge him to stop stalling and simply get on with his assigned reading for once.

But each time the words wilted before they could form as your eyes traced the taut, corded lines of muscle shifting beneath his rolled-up shirtsleeves. Watched the play of tendons flexing along the powerful column of his throat as he swallowed again in apparent... agitation?

An infinitesimal spark of heat you hadn't noticed before seemed to smolder behind Kyoutani's russet stare whenever his gaze would instinctively, unconsciously dart over to follow you shifting position in your seat.

It was...unnerving to be studied in such an abruptly intense manner by someone as volatile as the hotheaded spiker. You couldn't deny the fine prickle of unease slowly blossoming beneath your breastbone the longer that strange silent observation stretched out between you.

But still...you couldn't bring yourself to shatter the weighted quiet crackling with some indefinable new tension, either.

Over the next few tutoring sessions, Kyoutani's newly mercurial behavior only seemed to intensify further. His moods would careen wildly between sullen aloofness one minute, only to have his gaze practically scorching a trail over your movements the very next.

You couldn't deny the spark of inexplicable heat that bloomed low in your belly whenever you'd catch him tracking you with that piercing stare - slightly hooded and inscrutable in a way that sent confusing little shivers racing beneath your skin.

During one study hall, you made the questionable decision to bend at the waist and retrieve your pencil case from your bag on the floor. When you straightened again, textbook cradled in the opposite arm, you found Kyoutani's intense focus locked onto the new vantage you'd inadvertently offered.

His eyes snapped up instantly when he registered your upright position once more, but not before you caught the faintest hint of pink staining those sharp cheekbones. The wing spiker startled like a kid caught snatching sweets before dropping his stare guiltily to the desktop.

You could have sworn you glimpsed his throat working in a harsh swallow, chest expanding on a sharp inhale. And all at once the simmering tension in the small classroom took on an unmistakably suggestive edge you couldn't ignore.

Flustered heat flooded your own features as the implications crashed over you in a dizzying rush. Was it possible Kyoutani had just been...

No, you firmly shut down that inappropriate trail of thought before it could start sparking more indecent ideas. With some deliberate throat-clearing, you shifted your weight and pointedly avoided looking in the disgruntled spiker's direction once more.

The next few minutes stretched out in a weighted hush that felt thick enough to drown in. Until finally Kyoutani gruffly broke the silence by slamming his pencil down and shoving his chair back from the desk with a screech of wood on tile.

"This stupid babysitting shit was supposed to help control my temper, right?" he growled in a voice made thick and gravel-rough by...something you couldn't put a name to.

You blinked up at him with a bemused frown. "Well...yes? That was the inten--"

"Hasn't worked for shit," Kyoutani snapped before you could finish, suddenly on his feet and radiating wild, jagged energy. "Don't think locking me up with homework is gonna solve jack if you wanna stop me losing my shit."

With that brusque declaration hanging in the air, he abruptly slung his bag over one shoulder and stalked for the door without a backwards glance. His motives, as usual, were utterly inscrutable.

You could only sit and gape after the wing spiker's tense departure, feeling utterly poleaxed and more than a little flustered by whatever fresh maelstrom of emotions seemed to have been roiling just beneath Kyoutani's surface this entire time.

Over the next few weeks, his outbursts and disruptive antics only continued unchecked - racking up infraction after infraction at an alarming rate. At this juncture, even Yahaba was at a loss for how to proceed in curbing his unruly teammate's behavior.

"None of these punishments seem to be taking," the captain sighed in exhaustion one afternoon as you watched Kyoutani storm out after his latest raging display. "If anything, it's like he's been acting out more just to wind up with extra sentences of study time."

Your brow furrowed as you absorbed his observations alongside your own disjointed suspicions regarding Kyoutani's volatile state. Because the more you mulled it over, the more it seemed like the surly third-year almost...enjoyed receiving those private punishments with you as his monitor.

A troubling thought began to form, one you hesitantly brought up when seeking Yahaba's counsel on how to proceed.

"Captain...is there any possibility the reason he's been even more disruptive is...well, because of me?"

Yahaba's brow arched quizzically. "What, like he has a crush on you or something? HA! Yeah right, that would require Kyoutani being capable of feeling anything other than rage and spite."

You smiled wanly, though the jeering laughter didn't quite manage to fully dispel those nagging uncertainties from taking root further. Because now that the idea had been verbalized, however ludicrous, you couldn't seem to dislodge it entirely from your wavering thoughts.

And over the subsequent days and weeks, the theory only mushroomed into something far more tangible and visceral to dismiss.

The rising charged tension between you and Kyoutani felt nearly palpable, manifesting in a series of escalating encounters and near-misses that left you feeling perpetually off-kilter and frayed.

A terse bathroom encounter in which the sound of running taps from the sinks had drowned out his arrival, only for you to turn around and find Kyoutani looming in the open doorway with that searing gaze roving over you in one long, heated assessment. The sleeves of your fitted shirt had ridden up around your forearms, leaving slightly disheveled and flushed from the exertion of scrubbing away stubborn floor scuffs. Kyoutani's jaw had tightened perceptibly as he drank in your relatively undone state, nostrils flaring like a predator catching the scent of prey.

Before either of you could address the weighted tension strangling the cramped room, the boisterous arrival of more teammates behind him sent Kyoutani abruptly about-facing and stalking away as if you'd burned him.

Or the time he'd caught you in the gym storeroom struggling to haul a bulky rack of withered volleyballs to the wash basin across the cramped space. Without prompting, Kyoutani had pivoted on that eerily feline tread of his to crowd up behind you - the sudden brand of his muscular frame searing into your back as his larger hands came around to grip the cumbersome rack on either side of yours.

"Lemme do that for you," he growled in that sandpaper rasp that raised goosebumps all along the nape of your neck.

Dazed by the sudden smoldering proximity, you could only offer a jerky nod of assent before allowing your grip to slacken completely. Kyoutani took the bulk of the weight without visible strain, tendons cording and flexing beneath the bronzed pulls of his powerful forearms as he leveraged the rack into steady motion. All while making sure to prowl at a distinctly leisurely pace just behind your rigid posture, hemming you in against the low countertop's edge and those matte metal surfaces still radiating day-old warmth...

You sucked in a sharp breath at the unsubtle glide of his hips brushing yours on each laborious step closer to your destination. Heat prickled all along the back of your thighs from the continual drag of his solid girth framing you in from behind. And when Kyoutani finally pivoted and deposited the rack aside near the industrial sinks, the sudden dissolving of that searing full-body press had you feeling oddly untethered. As if every undefended inch of your back now tingled with feverish sensitivity in the absence of his caging presence.

That roiling, choking tension between you only mounted further with each drawn-out entanglement. Like an ember being stoked brighter with every suggestive encounter into something perilously close to a raging wildfire neither of you seemed capable of reigning in anymore.

More than once, you found yourself trapped in Kyoutani's orbit - confronted with the stark reality of his potent physicality in a way so raw and overwhelming you could scarcely meet the fiery simmer of his gaze without feeling immolated from within.

During one disastrous laundry-folding session, he'd casually sauntered over to help sort through some equipment bags in typical brooding silence. Only to promptly get into a tug-of-war over some knotted laces ensnaring a pair of his shorts, arms straining and tendons cording as he braced his feet for leverage against you during the awkward tussle.

All it took was one particularly stubborn yank for the ensnarled fabric to finally give way, bunching beneath Kyoutani's grip and abruptly exposing his navel, lower abdomen, and the unmistakable vee of defined musculature all the way down to...

You barely registered the warning growl rumbling up from his chest as you instinctively devoured every salt-slicked, flexing inch of revealed skin with a ravenous stare you simply couldn't tear away from for the life of you. The blaze of heat and illicit want that rendered you momentarily insensate to anything but that breathtaking physicality sprawled temptingly before you in ways you'd only ever allowed yourself to imagine in the deepest throes of restless nights...

A sharp, smarting sting across the back of your knuckles finally dispelled the lust-drunk haze fogging your thoughts. You flinched back to reality with a full-body start, blinking rapidly as your unbound hair swung across your rapidly flushing features. Kyoutani loomed over you with his spine locked ramrod straight—the abortive swing of his arm suggested he'd lashed out to strike your wandering grip back from continuing to map out any more dangerous undiscovered territory between you.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" The caustic rasp of his voice had you hunching your shoulders guiltily. Even still, you sensed the molten undertones of restrained...something else twining through those growled words like smoke and sinew.

Before you could stammer any hasty apologies about spacing out, Kyoutani snatched the tangle of laces and abruptly spun on his heel to stalk off in a tension-cloaked fury prickling with even more restless static charge than before.

All you could do was watch the broad, powerful lines of his retreating shoulders and back through a sheen of dazed longing - the echoes of that momentary, inappropriate eyeful both searing itself irrevocably into your hindbrain and kindling even more hapless embers of temptation to eventually set you both aflame once and for all...

The bubbling cauldron of charged tension could only contain itself for so long before something finally had to give. With each passing practice and tutoring session, you could feel Kyoutani's smoldering stare singeing into you from across the gym or classroom like twin laser-focused beams of sheer yearning.

It was getting harder and harder to deny or ignore the blatant implication of that ravenously intent study. Or to turn a blind eye to the way his nostrils would subtly flare with each inhale whenever you moved within proximity - as if scenting the ambient notes of your shampoo and perfume and committing every last tantalizing nuance to carnal memory.

But while Kyoutani's molten preoccupations with you seemed to steadily eclipse any remaining threads of restraint each day, you were embroiled in your own fraying internal war as well. One that collided and detonated in spectacular fashion the afternoon Watari, ever the friendly jokester, sidled up beside you with one of his patented sunny grins as you wiped down the front court railings between drills.

"Looking a little flushed there, y/n-chan!" The libero chirped in that effervescent rasp that always made you smile no matter how disgruntled you might be feeling. "Tough practice really giving you a workout today, huh?"

Offering him a beatific smile in return, you playfully swatted at his arm with the damp towel clutched in your hands.

"Something like that," you chuckled lightly. "More like dealing with Coach's endless notations wearing me down instead of the floor burns!"

Watari's nose scrunched up jovially as he fell into familiar banter alongside you, completely at ease in a way you'd always envied whenever spent in Kyoutani's mercurial presence. Where that hotheaded third-year simmered with sullen ferocity and roiling embers of something painfully unspoken, Watari danced and joked with the bubbly lightness you'd always wished you could nurture more of yourself these days.

Still snickering over his latest teasing rejoinder, you bent to set the grimy towel aside so you could collect up the rest of the cleaning supplies. Which was when you caught sight of Kyoutani across the gymnasium out of your periphery - utterly immobile and watching you both with razored focus. Specifically trained on the studiedly casual way Watari had shifted in close beside you as your laughter and camaraderie echoed bright across the high-ceilinged stretch of hardwood.

Even from a distance, you couldn't miss the acute line of tension visibly furling Kyoutani's shoulders back to an unmistakable knot of outward bristle. Nor the way his pupils had contracted to piercing pinpricks against the molten outrage visibly dilating the rest of his features into an unmistakable mask of lightning about to strike.

The visceral menace and scalding possessiveness painted across Kyoutani's chiseled contours in that instant nearly stole your ability to draw breath entirely. His heavy footfalls slammed across the courts like rolling thunderclaps as the wing spiker stormed in your direction - focused solely upon the perceived impunity of Watari now hemming you into the corner between the lockers and railing with his easy affability and casual flirting.

Before either you or the oblivious libero could register, Kyoutani's powerful bulk had shoved directly in between your joined proximities - effectively severing the personable bond with all the grace and discretion of a wildfire scalding across a drought. In the ensuing disoriented tumble of limbs and shocked exclamations, you reeled back against the hard concrete barrier with your heart in your throat.

Watari gaped up at Kyoutani from where he'd abruptly bounced off the larger wing spiker's chest in stunned bewilderment. But rather than acknowledging his sputtering indignation, the steely focus of Kyoutani's dismantling glower simply tracked past him to zero in on your flushed features and shallow pants with all the remorseless hunger of an apex predator locking onto its coveted prey at last.

"You and me," he growled in a register so choked and molten it had your core clenching paradoxically. "Practice rooms. Now."

Without sparing you or the libero another breath of regard, Kyoutani spun on his heel and stalked off towards the secluded annex classrooms appropriated for private coaching sessions. His thighs visibly bulged and flexed with each devouring stride beneath the clinging fabric as he sliced through anyone else standing in the way.

You had only enough time to gape haplessly after that possessed, potent display while gulping down the desperate rushes of fight-or-flight adrenaline roaring to molten life within your veins. When you finally managed to tear your gaze away to meet Watari's utterly befuddled stare, an unspoken acknowledgment seemed to pass between you...

Whatever feverish breaking point Kyoutani was hurtling towards with each escalating orbit around you, the rough wing spiker now seemed all but inevitable to combust beyond any hope of restraint or decorum in the very near future. All you could do was wait for the fateful encounter to run its cataclysmic course - and pray the raging fires burning between you weren't permanently extinguished in the aftermath of whatever reckoning was about to go down.

The remainder of practice passed in a disconcerting blur after Kyoutani's abrupt departure - your every sense now attuned to any subtle vibrations suggesting whatever powderkeg confrontation might be occurring behind those closed classroom doors.

More than once you startled and spun at the muffled dull thud of impact - fists against drywall or flesh, imagination running lurid as you pictured the broiling savagery the unstable spiker might be indulging with no prying eyes around. Just as often, the sound of that graveled baritone rasping indecipherable rejoinders through the baffling barrier had you involuntarily canting closer in hopes of gleaning any telling inflections.

But the only insights you managed to unearth from those fruitless listenings involved the dizzying blooms of heat blossoming low in your belly at every growled timbre. As if Kyoutani's voice alone contained hypnotic power to weaken your knees and dissolve your restraint to pliant surrender with each fervent rasp caressing your senses.

You had to shake yourself forcibly on multiple occasions from the spiraling descent into wanton reverie - cheeks flushed hot with shamed arousal that only intensified with every subsequent unraveling daydream of finally having that raw, aggression-laced physicality caged against your own trembling frame.

By the time Coach Mizoguchi finally called for dismissal, you felt wrung-out and frazzled in a way that had nothing to do with the actual physical exertions of the day's training regimen and everything to do with the tempestuous undercurrents still simmering unresolved and attended to. As you gathered your sparse possessions and tried valiantly not to betray the roiling unease gnawing away at your composure, the hair on the back of your neck abruptly lifted in forewarning.

Spinning towards the periphery coaching rooms, you glimpsed the door to the private conference area creaking open with ominous lethality. Kyoutani's hulking silhouette emerged first, striding forth on legs that seemed to devour the distance between you in a handful of prowling strides. His shoulders were locked at that telltale width suggesting every sinewy inch of musculature remained coiled at maximum tension beneath his untamed fury.

He did not acknowledge you in any overt sense. But the razor-line of his focus never once wavered or deviated from its scorching assessment of your increasingly flustered state. Conflicting desires warred within you - the unmistakable siren's call of curiosity demanding you crane to glimpse any evidence of fallout on Kyoutani's harsh visage from that impassioned seclusion just endured. While the more prudent, self-protective voices shouted to simply avoid any further incendiary provocations altogether and retreat while you still stood a chance of surviving with faculties intact.

All you could do was stand rooted, pathetic indecision eroding your footing beneath that steadily intensifying glare. It wasn't until he reached the limits of the doorframe that Kyoutani finally skated the tip of his incendiary stare higher - zeroing in on the only other occupant in the small staging room off the main gym with an unmistakable flare of possessive dismissal radiating from every taut line of his frame.

"We're done here," he growled in a voice that shredded past his gritted teeth. The words did not come across as a polite pleasantry despite their innocuous arrangement.

Coach Mizoguchi spared his volatile wing spiker the briefest of wary sidelong looks before nodding curtly and making his retreat without argument. Something about Kyoutani's present demeanor clearly cautioned against offering even the mildest pushback under any circumstances.

Once you were alone in that enclosed space together - just you and the barely-tamed wildfire of Kyoutani's focus steadily searing away any remaining vestiges of common sense or distance - the pressure in the air seemed to intensify tenfold. Each rasping exhalation you struggled to reign in only drew your shared aromas that much more intimately between your shared gravities. Sharp musk and residual adrenaline, floral body products and salted skin in a sinuously provocative melange that awakened whole new layers of yearning inside you.

When Kyoutani's gaze finally cut back to pin you in place with that familiar, bone-searing intensity, you felt your breath exit in a breathless rush of inevitability. Of acceptance that this tinderbox between you had finally reached its volatile crescendo...and all either of you could do now was let the raging fires sweep everything inevitably in their path to sweet, boneless ruination.

"So..." Kyoutani growled in that same perilous, shrapnel-laced rasp that seemed to slice right through your attempts at feigning composure. "You and the libero have been getting pretty damn cozy lately."

It wasn't phrased as an actual question despite the slight lilt tugging at the end - more an unmistakable statement of accusation loaded with displeasure. That scorching stare of his branded every trembling twitch reshaping your features as confusion swiftly curdled to realization, then a frisson of indignant defiance in the span of a few molten heartbeats.

"I-I'm sorry, what?" You stammered uselessly, desperate to stall for time against whatever rapidly escalating confrontation seemed to be unfolding from out of nowhere. "Watari and I are just...we've always been friends, Kyoutani. Teammates. Where is this even coming from?"

Another gravelly snarl ripped from the depths of his broad chest as those piercing amber irises visibly ignited with further outrage. Before you could so much as draw your next sharp intake, Kyoutani had bridged the remaining scant distance separating you in three devouring strides until you could taste the charged pheromones of him on the air.

"Don't play dumb with me," he bit out in a seething growl that had your pulse kicking up to gallop beneath your hammering ribcage. The heat of his overall presence radiated off Kyoutani in almost tangible waves now, caressing over your feverish skin in electric ribbons that raised every nerve ending to rapturous awakening.

"We both know that ain't the way you look at a damn friend or teammate, little girl."

The derisive, wrecked emphasis he laced onto that last endearment practically detonated in the shockwave between you like physical force. You reeled beneath the implication's stark insult as Kyoutani leaned down until you were forced to crane your neck back at an aching angle just to maintain that searing eye contact.

God he was huge like this - all dense, unyielding muscle and flexed potentials arrayed in towering apogee before you. It would be so easy for those larger-than-life hands and brutally-calloused grips to seize your pliant, undefended softness in a fit of unchecked possession and dominating fervor.

To simply wrench you up against that fever-warm expanse of carved musculature and scorching male intensity smothering against you in tsunamic waves with only the barest exertion from his end, utterly overpowering any feeble resistance through sheer liquid physicality alone...

A shuddering whimper threatened to break free from the shredded rags of your serenity as the next blazing pass of Kyoutani's hooded stare left no ambiguities about the forbidden directions your imagination had whited out into. He could clearly see every sordid desire and burst of need his provocation had stoked to incandescent life swirling naked across your features, eyes burning hotter at each outward tell you instinctively broadcasted.

"So why don't you just admit what we both already know?" He practically crooned in a rumbling, velvet-drenched baritone that skirted lower into sheer sin dipped in audible lust. "How it's been driving you half out of your mind watching me while trying to pretend you're not eye-fucking every goddamn inch of what you want all over--"

"Kyoutani!" The rebuked burst forth before you could think to reclaim your composure from the brink of unraveling completely.

Whether it was hearing him speak those incendiary confessions and temptations aloud after weeks spent wallowing in the swirling riptides of desire, or simply the overpowering proximity of his outrageous physicality spearing its way through the last remnants of your restraint, something finally reached terminal saturation point inside you.

He thrived off the scalding reproach dripping from your ragged tone, judging by the triumphant way his lips peeled back in a savagely amused smirk framing teeth. When he straightened to his towering height once more, the arrogance etched into his features promised whole new levels of molten ruination lying in wait. Just as promised.

"Ah, there's that fire I've been waiting to see blaze up completely, neh pretty girl?"

Another dark, indecently pleased rumble vibrated that drugged cadence of his as Kyoutani reached out with one of those huge, unforgivably strong hands. Before you had time to so much as register defensive retreat, his calloused knuckles were already skating over the feverish jut of your cheekbones - rough leather textures branding trails of molten possession across your bemused features in the most overtly intimate overture yet shared between you.

The breath fled your constricting lungs on a whimper you couldn't begin to bite back or deflect. And with that single unhesitating transgression uttered through touch alone, the last tattered remnants of propriety and restraint simply dissolved away to ash and embers without a whisper of struggle.

Whatever cliff you'd careened towards together finally loomed ahead in all its breathtaking plummet - with only the embrace of depravity and scorching rapture waiting to catch your ruination below.

All that remained was choosing just which of you would claim the dubious distinction of surrendering control first between your burning gravities.

You barely registered the breathless sound spilling from your parted lips as those wicked fingers continued their blazing path across the arcs of your features. Mapping out every thrilling plane and hollow with the attentive diligence of an artisan devotee committing their muse to raptured memory.

The intensity blazing behind Kyoutani's stare as he drank in your bemused surrender robbed you of any remaining pretense towards control or retreat. Only naked yearning swirled in those blazing amber depths now - an unmistakable harbinger of the molten intentions he meant to put into scorching motion whether you rallied resistance or not.

"I've wondered over and over what it might take to finally shatter that fragile little act of yours," he rasped in a voice gone low and viscous with sin audible. "Made myself half out of my goddamn mind imagining all the wicked ways I'd have to work at stripping away every last shred of propriety before I could get a real taste of the filthy little minx hiding underneath."

The stark, unabashed confession detonated through your wavering restraints with the force of a bunker buster. You could only gape up at Kyoutani, utterly transfixed and stripped raw beneath the intensity of his rapacious scrutiny as he prowled ever closer into your orbit.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice the way you couldn't fucking tear your hungry stare off me in the locker rooms?" A harsh growl rumbled up from somewhere deep in his chest as he caged you fully against the wall with that dense, radiating physicality made to tower over you. "Every time I caught those pretty eyes dragging over every new slick inch of skin bared to you...shit, it was like watching a bitch in heat struggling against her own depraved appetite while fooling precisely nobody but herself."

The scathing vulgarity landed like a physical slap, forcibly severing away the last threads of protest or propriety that might have remained with one brutal swing. Heat flooded your features at the stark, unrepentant filth painting his wrecked confessions with darker, more feral strokes of sin.

And yet you couldn't summon even the most token objection in the face of that viscerally potent onslaught. Kyoutani's words simply resonated in your hindbrains with hypnotic potency - voicing every forbidden craving and depraved imaginings precisely as you'd struggled to deny them to yourself all this time.

"Well now you've got what you always wanted, pretty," the unstable spiker purred with perverse delight as he closed those last few molten inches separating you. His massive frame dwarfed your slight stature utterly, the scorching brand of his body searing into each awakening nerve ending through the thin layers separating you now. "A chance to get up close and personal with the big scary Mad Dog you've been eye-fucking into oblivion behind everyone's backs."

That guttural endearment landed like a detonation right between your ribs, simultaneously stoking fresh embers of mortified outrage even as it awakened a deeper, more primal thrill of debasement in your core. You could practically feel every ounce of restraint fraying away as the turbulent storm of Kyoutani's focus intensified around you with each panted breath shared.

In one smooth inhalation, the powerful line of his carved jawline descended until Kyoutani's ruination-laced exhales caressed directly over the scorching blush staining your cheeks in intimate provocation.

"So what's it gonna be, pet?" He crooned directly against the feverish hollow of your parted lips - metallic rasp scraping your senses raw as his tongue peeked out to taste the trembling give there in shameless preview. "You gonna finally take exactly what that greedy little body of yours has been desperate for me to give? Or does the thought of finally surrendering to those depraved hungers terrify you even more than that repressed bitch behind your eyes lets on..."

You only had a split-second warning of Kyoutani's intentions before he decisively slanted his mouth over yours in a punishing glide of possession uninvited. The shredded whimper that tried to punch its way free was instantly muffled, absorbed and redirected back into your shared inferno with every subsequent devouring press of his lips and questing lashes of tongue.

Despite his savagery and overt dominance, there was an undeniable artfulness to the way Kyoutani worked at ruinously unmaking you bit by bit. His large hands easily captured your jaw and the nape of your neck to keep you splayed before him, utterly helpless beneath the scorching onslaught of his hunger as he plundered your senses with wicked precision.

Slick velvet textures tangled and retreated, only to delve deeper again on a lingering glide of utterly filthy temptation. The sweltering pressure of his body pinning you rigid to the solid surface at your back didn't allow for even the thinnest margin of escape or reprieve. Only total, rapturous surrender to being consumed by that unholy smolder of passion Kyoutani unleashed without mercy or faltering.

A broken, obscene keen vibrated up from somewhere deep in your throat as you instinctively arched and bucked beneath the exquisite lavishing focus of his attentions despite yourself. The electrifying drag of his callused knuckles trailing down over the exposed rise of your torso sent lightning pulses of unadulterated bliss hurtling through your overstimulated senses.

Every illicit slide of Kyoutani's merciless ministrations only stoked the smoldering inferno of depravity blazing to incandescent life between you. Until there was nothing left of higher cognitive processing beyond naked instinct to experience and indulge the blinding ecstasy of craving finally granted satiation without reservation.

When his large hands dropped lower still to cup and knead the pliant mounds of your ass underneath your skirt, the ragged groan that tore loose from Kyoutani's lips sounded as if torn straight from the depths of his chest. His blunt fingertips dug in with a punishing squeeze that sent molten pleasure arcing up through your core like a livewire, eliciting a high-pitched whimper of need and want and desperation to plead for more of those sinful caresses.

"Fuck yeah," Kyoutani purred against the bruised, glistening give of your mouth - a wicked smirk curling at the corners of his lips when he registered how your hips bucked instinctively to meet the molten roll of his pelvis against your own. "Just like that, pet. Show me exactly how much you want it. Need it. Need me."

The ragged, unguarded plea of his graveled baritone sent another electric jolt arcing through your veins, stoking the fever-bright flames of passion roaring between you to near-uncontrollable proportions. Kyoutani's tongue dragged against the plush swell of your bottom lip in a deliberate taunt, a warning, a threat as he pulled away just far enough to sear his gaze over the fever-dazed contours of your upturned face.

"I bet you taste as filthy as you look right now, pretty." That wrecked, husky rasp raked its claws over the shivering expanse of your skin like a physical touch. "How 'bout we find out for ourselves just how sweet a girl's honey-soaked cunt can get when she's dripping with need for her Mad Dog, hmm?"

Before you could react to that carnal challenge, Kyoutani's powerful arms swept beneath the curve of your backside - hauling you up with a sharp hiss of exertion against the rippling musculature of his abdomen until you had no choice but to lock your legs around his narrow hips for stability. The sudden friction of your panty-clad center grinding against his thick arousal through the barrier sent a frisson of white-hot need skittering up your spine.

Even still, Kyoutani seemed insistent upon pressing his advantage - crowding in until you could feel the wall's concrete solidity digging into your shoulderblades and the fever-warm press of his chest molded against yours. One massive hand remained locked around the nape of your neck, holding your face mere breaths away from the scorching proximity of his own as the other curled under the curve of your ass to support your weight effortlessly.

"Look at me," Kyoutani growled as he tightened his grip around the vulnerable column of your throat - not so much as applying pressure, but making his possession unmistakably clear regardless. His piercing irises had narrowed to slits of molten intensity as they raked over every flustered angle and fevered flush of your features in turn.

"I want those pretty eyes on me while I show you exactly how I mean to devour every last filthy inch of your cunt. How I'll make you scream and claw and beg for me while I fuck that tight little hole full of cum until it's dripping down your thighs. That's the only way this ends, kitten. With my dick buried balls-deep inside you and my teeth sinking into that soft throat of yours, claiming every single last inch of what belongs to me."

A full-body shudder wracked through you at the savage, indecent filth spewing from Kyoutani's lips, even as a fresh rush of heat flooded through your already soaked center at his depraved promise. His lips curled in a cruel parody of a smile as his hips shifted against yours - grinding the prominent bulge of his cock against the slick seam of your thighs and groin in a single, ruthless thrust that sent your eyes rolling back in their sockets.

"Now that's a pretty sight," Kyoutani rasped in a voice gone low and guttural with lust. "You really do get off on the way I talk to you, don't you pet? Fuck. The way you're writhing and bucking like a bitch in heat just to rub that soaked cunt against my dick has me half-crazy."

His tongue licked a searing trail across the seam of your lips in another blatant taunt, a teasing prelude of what was about to follow as Kyoutani's hand slid from its punishing grip on your neck. You felt his blunt fingertips trace over the fever-slicked planes of your torso in a feather-light graze - only to suddenly dip lower with purpose, skating the sensitive expanse of your exposed navel and lower still.

A strangled, broken sound ripped free from the depths of your chest as those thick fingers skated over the lace-trimmed gusset of your panties - searing their presence into the soaked folds hidden beneath with a sinuous drag of pressure and friction that had your back bowing against the wall.

"God, just look at how much you're gushing," Kyoutani purred with a sinful glint blazing behind his molten stare as he continued to stroke along your slit through the thin barrier. The fabric quickly became sodden under his persistent touch, a testament to just how much the depraved, vulgar filth of his words had stoked the fires of need blazing hotter within you both.

"All that honey pouring out for me just to soak these panties even more," he continued with a smirk, the pad of his index finger suddenly catching and circling the swollen nub of your clit until a sob punched free from your constricting throat. "What a sweet, dirty little whore I've caught for myself, neh? All it took was a few nasty words and promises of my dick to get you writhing like a bitch in heat begging to be bred. Fuuuck."

The ragged groan that wrenched itself free from Kyoutani's chest resonated directly through your quivering frame, sending fresh shocks of pleasure careening through your nerve endings and heightening the already-sweltering fever blazing between you. His hips jerked against the cradle of your thighs in a harsh grind, the searing imprint of his erection branding through your damp panties until the fabric threatened to tear with the force.

"Do you know how many times I've jerked off to thoughts of this pretty pussy just like this?" Kyoutani continued in that ruined, gravelly rasp that scraped your senses raw with every uttered syllable. "Imagining my face buried between these thighs and licking up every last drop of your sweetness while you writhe and squirm and scream. It's the only thing I've thought about every time I've gotten my fist wrapped around my dick - picturing just how fucking good it would feel to make you beg for it."

Before you could process the full impact of those sordid, scalding confessions, the fingers tormenting your slick folds and swollen clit abruptly slipped beneath the elastic hem of your panties. Your mouth fell open on a wordless cry of shock and need as Kyoutani's broad fingertips delved between your swollen petals - gliding through the soaked folds and probing at the entrance to your core with the same ruthless, focused determination he exhibited on the court.

"Gonna make you mine, kitten," he groaned in a voice that had become nothing but a guttural rasp, primal and rough and hungry in a way that had your entire frame seizing and arching. "I've been dying to sink my dick inside this cunt ever since I joined the team. So wet. So goddamn warm and tight. Shit."

Your vision went hazy and black around the edges as Kyoutani sank one long digit fully into your clenching heat - the sudden invasion forcing your walls to stretch and accommodate the intrusion while simultaneously stoking the firestorm of need building towards unbearable levels inside you. He barely gave you the time to register the fullness before Kyoutani withdrew to sink a second digit inside, the stretch and burn of such a sudden breach ripping a high-pitched moan free from the depths of your chest.

The way his lips twisted and curled back from his teeth as Kyoutani began to pump those fingers inside you at an unforgiving pace sent a new shiver coursing through your overstimulated system. His hooded gaze drank in each twitch and buck of your hips against his punishing thrusts, clearly reveling in the sight of your flushed features contorted in agonized ecstasy as he continued his merciless assault.

"There you go, kitten," Kyoutani crooned against the shell of your ear - his ragged exhales sending fresh waves of gooseflesh prickling across your feverish skin. "Let me hear how good it feels, little girl. I want you screaming so loud every last asshole who ever looked at what's mine gets it drilled into their skulls that only one man gets to enjoy this gorgeous, filthy cunt and that's me. I'm the one who owns this sweet little body, and every last drop of pleasure I'm about to wring out of you."

His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a muffled snarl, the sting of the bite and sudden suction sending another rush of molten need pulsing through your core. Those wicked digits continued to plunder your cunt without pause, curling and dragging against the swollen walls of your channel with a ruthless rhythm meant to destroy and unmake you utterly.

"You're mine now, kitten," Kyoutani practically snarled the words against your damp flesh - his tongue tracing the throbbing pulse point and sucking harder still to raise a dark, vivid bruise. "And I'm gonna take care of this greedy pussy in all the ways no one else ever could."

A keening sob broke free from the depths of your lungs as a particularly forceful thrust sent the head of his palm grinding against the swollen bud of your clit, setting off a cascade reaction that had you thrashing and clawing against the hard expanse of his chest. Your thighs clamped tighter around Kyoutani's trim hips, desperate for more friction and depth and pressure as you chased the cresting edge of bliss rapidly coiling tighter and tighter inside you.

"So fucking good," Kyoutani practically moaned the praise, his features contorting with an agonized, feral need that somehow ratcheted the inferno burning between you even higher. "Come for me, kitten. Show me exactly what this dripping cunt needs. Who it belongs to."

That commanding growl was the final straw - sending your already-tenuous restraint crashing to ruin in the blistering wake of your release. His name spilled from your lips in a broken sob, fingers scrabbling at his flexed biceps as you clung to him like a lifeline amidst the white-hot waves of euphoria washing over you.

But Kyoutani showed no mercy - only continuing his relentless stroking and curling against the spasming clench of your walls until the last aftershocks had shuddered through your trembling limbs. The entire time, his intense focus never wavered from your flushed features, drinking in each breathless gasp and whimper with an almost reverential air.

"Fucking hell, look at how goddamn pretty you are like this," Kyoutani murmured almost to himself - the awe-tinged reverence of his voice at odds with the savage, lust-drunk glaze burning in his heavy-lidded gaze. "Never seen anything so perfect. So goddamn beautiful."

The raw emotion threading through his graveled baritone hit you with the force of a tidal wave - stoking the embers of desire reignited anew to an inferno blazing between you once more. A new shiver rippled over your skin as the calloused pads of Kyoutani's fingertips continued their feather-light tracing over the flushed, sensitive expanse of your cheekbones.

"I want to see you come apart like that for the rest of my damn life," he rasped - the possessive heat blazing behind his molten amber irises scorching every inch of you with its intensity. "And I'm about to spend the rest of this night making sure you understand exactly how serious I am about keeping this pussy for myself. Gonna fuck you until you can't walk straight. Until the only thing you can remember is my name and the feeling of my dick buried so deep inside you can't think about anything else but this moment right now."

The sheer hunger and desperation behind Kyoutani's growled vows was almost too much to process, let alone absorb in its entirety. Your breath escaped in a sharp hiss as his fingers abruptly withdrew from your hypersensitive cunt with a wet sound that made you flush all over. Before you could think to protest or react, Kyoutani's large hands dropped to the curve of your ass - palming and kneading the plush mounds with an appreciative grunt as he held you firmly in place.

"Now let's see just how much of that filthy honey this pussy can give me," he said - a low, husky growl that seemed to vibrate against every exposed inch of your skin as Kyoutani slowly lowered himself to his knees.

"Kentarou!"

His name exploded from your lips in a strangled gasp as his hands hooked the thin elastic band of your panties - yanking them down and off your trembling legs with an impatient efficiency. Before you could process the next course of his intentions, Kyoutani was hauling one of your legs over his shoulder, leaving the rest of your lower body exposed to the searing blaze of his unguarded scrutiny.

"Fuck me," Kyoutani groaned, the expletive falling from his lips with such fervent reverence it was nearly obscene. The heat radiating from his penetrating stare alone was enough to set your senses ablaze - let alone the molten slide of his palms gliding up the backs of your bare thighs and gripping at the plump swell of your ass.

"I'm not sure whether I wanna eat your cunt first and taste all that sweet honey you gave me," he practically crooned as his thumbs skated the outer seam of your labia, spreading the swollen, puffy lips with deliberate slowness that had you bucking and whining. "Or if I wanna just bury my cock inside you and watch the way this pretty pussy sucks me in deep."

Another broken, pleading whimper punched free from your lungs at the graphic imagery his words painted, stoking the flames of need raging hotter between you both with each passing moment. His calloused fingertips were already gliding back down towards the apex of your thighs, seeking out the source of your renewed slickness with an air of uncompromising focus.

"Either way," Kyoutani continued with a smug smirk twisting his lips as he traced the delicate petals of your sex - spreading and dipping shallowly just past the swollen rim to test the give and resistance there. "I'm about to get every last drop of that sweetness."

The strangled moan that burst from the depths of your chest sounded alien and broken to your own ears - a keening sound of utter debauched want and need that seemed to resonate in your very bones. Kyoutani's smirk twisted to a full, toothy grin as he watched you tremble and writhe against the wall, clearly savoring the sight of your overstimulated body struggling to withstand the sensual torture of his ministrations.

"Look at me." The growled command was underscored with an edge of unmistakable dominance that sent a new shiver racing over your skin. His fingertips continued their torturous swirling around the sensitive opening of your core, teasing the stretched entrance with a maddeningly shallow rhythm that only served to stoke the fires of need blazing inside you further.

When you could do nothing but continue to buck and whimper and mewl beneath his relentless, merciless torment, Kyoutani's other hand abruptly left its position on your ass - snapping a sharp smack against one of your asscheeks that sent a frisson of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your frame.

"I said look at me, pretty." His lips curled back to flash a canine in a feral smile as Kyoutani watched your expression contort with the delicious pain-pleasure of his punishment. "I want those pretty eyes locked on me when I finally bury my face in that soaking cunt."

The next broken, desperate sob ripped free from the depths of your lungs, even as a new wave of wetness flooded from your slit. You couldn't tear your fever-glazed gaze away from the smoldering intensity of his piercing irises, even as he slowly shifted to press a soft kiss against the inner thigh resting atop his broad shoulder.

"There we go," Kyoutani murmured with a satisfied sigh - the heat of his breath ghosting over the soaked folds of your cunt. "I want to watch every expression that passes over your face while I fuck this cunt with my tongue. While I make you beg for my dick."

Before you could manage a coherent response, the flat of his tongue suddenly delved between the swollen petals - the slick texture rasping and curling in a way that had you writhing and keening against the wall. Your hands reached down to tangle in the short hairs at the crown of his skull, seeking purchase as Kyoutani began to lavish a punishingly thorough oral assault upon your center.

Every flick, suck, and curl of his tongue had you reeling - a sensory onslaught that robbed you of the ability to breathe or process anything beyond the exquisite, sinful pleasure of his touch. Every time you managed to claw your way back towards the surface, his fingers would sink inside your dripping core to thrust and curl against the tight channel, ripping a broken sob free from your chest.

"Fuck," Kyoutani swore with a ragged groan, his mouth still pressed flush against the soaked folds - the vibration of his voice sending another shiver rippling through you. "You taste like heaven. Shit. Never tasted a sweeter cunt. Could get drunk on this."

A strangled moan tore from your throat as Kyoutani's lips abruptly latched around your throbbing clit, suckling with just the right amount of pressure and suction to have you bucking and clawing against the wall. His fingers continued to pump and curl in a punishing rhythm that threatened to unravel you utterly, all the while maintaining his merciless devouring of your soaking cunt.

Your breath punched from your lungs on a ragged gasp as Kyoutani's mouth abruptly shifted focus, his lips parting around the stretched rim of your entrance before delving deep in a single thrust. The sensation of his tongue stroking and curling deep within your clenching heat was enough to send sparks exploding behind your eyes, a fresh wave of heat washing over your senses and dragging you back towards the precipice of climax.

"Please," the broken sob ripped itself free from the depths of your chest, your voice barely recognizable under the weight of the lust and need pouring through every syllable. "I can't. I'm gonna. God. I need--"

Your babbled pleas seemed to spur Kyoutani into even more frenzied motion, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to drive you higher and higher. He drank down the fresh gush of slick released from your folds, growling against the soaked petals as his teeth scraped against the swollen folds in a way that had a violent shudder rippling through your entire frame.

"I know what you need," Kyoutani groaned as his fingers pumped and curled faster still, setting a relentless pace that had your vision blurring at the edges. "You need me. Need this."

The next high-pitched whimper that spilled free was muffled as Kyoutani surged upright - sealing his mouth over yours in a bruising glide of possession. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the flavor sharp and intoxicating and filthy in a way that only ratcheted the fires of lust blazing between you even higher.

"Gonna fuck you right now," he snarled against the abused swell of your bottom lip - his teeth grazing over the throbbing flesh before sucking it between his own in a fresh taunt. "I can't wait anymore, pretty. Can't. I have to be inside you. Now."

With one fluid motion, Kyoutani's hands left your overheated skin and dropped to his waistband, the metallic rasp of a zipper being drawn and fabric shifting audible even over the harsh, panting breaths escaping from both of your mouths. You barely had a moment to register the absence of his warmth and bulk before the hard, searing pressure of his pelvis crashed into yours, pinning you back against the wall in an inescapable cage of muscle and flesh and need.

Your lips parted in a fresh sob of ecstasy and anticipation, only for the sound to be swallowed and consumed by the fierce, unyielding crush of Kyoutani's mouth on yours once more. The blunt tip of his thick erection suddenly notched against the swollen folds, gliding along the slick seam of your cunt in a tantalizing stroke that had both of you moaning into the other's mouth.

"Please," you keened against his lips, hips arching to grind yourself along the length of his pulsing shaft and soak the velvety skin with your arousal. "Need you. Please, please, please. Need you so badly."

"God fucking damn, I love it when you beg," Kyoutani snarled with an almost vicious edge to the graveled cadence of his voice, the thick head of his cock finally catching and beginning to sink past the tight clench of your entrance. "That's it. Beg me for it. Plead for my cock to fill up this greedy cunt."

The words dissolved into a strangled groan as he sank deeper and deeper, the searing friction of his girth stretching you open further than you'd ever felt before. Kyoutani's teeth caught the swell of your bottom lip, worrying and tugging until the sting sent an electric jolt arcing directly to your core.

"You're so tight, pretty girl," he panted, his breaths coming in rough, guttural pants as he continued his gradual, excruciating pace. "Fuck. So wet. And so goddamn warm. Shit. I knew you'd feel perfect."

His arms flexed and locked against the wall, bracketing you in the cage of his massive form as Kyoutani finally buried his cock to the hilt inside your soaking heat. For a few moments, the two of you simply stayed locked together, bodies trembling and breaths mingling as you adjusted to the fullness stretching your core.

But even in the haze of lust clouding your senses, you could sense the strain vibrating through the muscles locked beneath your clutching fingertips - the way Kyoutani's jaw ground and teeth clenched against the primal urge to pound into your clenching channel. His features had twisted into an almost agonized mask, the dark slashes of his brows knitted tightly together as he focused his efforts on maintaining control.

"Kentarou," you breathed his name in a low moan - the single syllable practically dripping with unadulterated want and need and desperation. You felt the way his powerful body shuddered and twitched in response, the involuntary buck of his hips sending a fresh jolt of pleasure-pain rocketing through you both.

"Fuck," he hissed against the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the throbbing vein there in a hot glide that only heightened the feverish sensations rippling through you. "I know. God, I know, pretty. But I need to hold still for just a moment longer. Because once I start moving, I'm not stopping. Not until I've fucked this sweet pussy and marked every inch of it as mine."

The possessive edge threading through his gravelly baritone sent another shiver cascading through you, the molten tension building within your core reaching a fever pitch as you struggled to hold still and absorb the overwhelming sensation of his throbbing length sheathed fully inside you.

"I'm the one who owns this pussy," Kyoutani groaned as he rocked his hips against yours, grinding his pelvis into your own until his balls pressed against the swell of your ass. "Me, and no one else. Isn't that right, pretty girl? Say it."

The ragged moan that tumbled from your parted lips was all the answer he needed, even before the words finally spilled free.

"Yes," you cried out, nails scoring along the ridged expanse of his muscled back - the sensation seeming to drive Kyoutani closer to the edge as his entire body went rigid and trembling with the effort to hold still. "Yours. I'm yours. All yours. Please. Just fuck me."

Any remaining shred of restraint abruptly disintegrated at your breathless, desperate entreaty - sending Kyoutani's hips crashing into yours in a single, brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs. The searing friction and drag of his thick cock filling you again and again was unlike anything you'd ever experienced, the sheer force and power behind his movements threatening to shatter your sanity.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted in a raw, hoarse growl - the sound seeming to reverberate in his chest as his hands shifted to grip your ass tighter, angling you to meet his relentless plundering thrusts. "Gonna. Fuck. Gonna breed this sweet cunt until it's dripping with my cum."

The lewd, depraved filth spilling from his mouth sent another violent shudder coursing through your frame, your hips rising to meet the punishing pace he'd set without faltering. The friction and force behind his strokes were just on the cusp of painful, driving you towards the precipice of your release in a ruthless, inexorable tide that left no room for thought or logic or sense.

All that remained was the mind-numbing sensation of him stretching and filling you, again and again - a ceaseless, consuming rhythm that promised to shatter and remake you entirely.

"You take me so well," Kyoutani's voice rasped directly into your ear, the hot press of his sweat-slicked torso molding into your own until you could barely distinguish where his body ended and yours began. "Like you were fucking made for my cock. For me. So good. Such a perfect little slut."

His next thrust had your vision going hazy and black, the thick head of his dick grinding and pumping into a spot that sent fresh lightning pulses of pleasure-pain arcing up your spine. Another strangled scream tore itself free from the depths of your lungs - the only coherent sounds capable of escaping past the frantic, panting breaths escaping from between your swollen lips.

"Fuck, you look so good like this, beautiful," Kyoutani crooned the praise, his voice barely a thread above a guttural snarl. "Bent over for me and begging to be fucked and bred like a bitch in heat."

His tongue traced the curve of your ear in a sinful, teasing sweep, sending another frisson of need shuddering through your overheated frame. A ragged, sobbing moan clawed its way free from your throat as he continued the torturous torment of his hips slamming into your own - each thrust sinking deeper and harder until you couldn't tell if the sounds filling the air were your own or Kyoutani's.

"Tell me how much you need it, pretty," Kyoutani growled, the sharp scrape of his canines against the vulnerable column of your throat sending a new shudder coursing through you. "How much you love taking this cock and letting me fuck this filthy little pussy however I want. How much you want me to breed this gorgeous cunt until I've filled you up with my cum."

His hand had slipped between your bodies at some point during the relentless assault, calloused fingertips tracing over the slippery, swollen folds until they settled over the swollen bud of your clit. Every stroke and flick sent another shockwave of pleasure careening through you - driving you towards the precipice with the same single-minded focus that characterized every action and movement on the court.

"Say it," he demanded in a husky rasp that scraped your senses raw - his pace becoming ever-faster, ever-harder, ever-more-relentless until it was impossible to process the sensory overload.

"Kentarou," the plea broke from your throat in a raw sob, the only sound capable of passing through your swollen lips. Your head lolled against his broad shoulder as his fingers began to circle your clit with an increased pressure and tempo, driving you towards the inevitable fall with every pump and grind and thrust of his cock buried within your cunt.

"Let me hear you say it," Kyoutani snarled, his hips stuttering and jerking as the punishing pace became ever-more-frantic, ever-more-erratic, ever-more-wild. His teeth sank into the curve of your throat with a fresh growl, the sting of his canines ripping another strangled cry from your lungs as the crest of pleasure rapidly coiled tighter and tighter within you.

"Tell me you're mine."

The words were punctuated by a single, brutal thrust that had your vision whiting out, your back bowing against the wall and legs seizing around Kyoutani's trim waist. His name tore itself free from the depths of your throat in a wild, feral scream that shattered the relative quiet of the empty gym. Your nails scored across the clothed expanse of his back as every muscle and tendon in your body drew tight and taut with the overwhelming flood of euphoria sweeping over you.

"There we go," he rumbled against your throat, the vibration of his voice sending fresh sparks careening along your nerves. "There's my sweet girl. Fuck. Feels so fucking good when you come all over my cock like that."

Another guttural moan was torn free from the depths of his chest as his hands clamped around the curve of your hips, holding you steady as he continued to pound into your quivering, slick channel. His grip was iron-clad, the bruising force behind each stroke and thrust sending fresh shocks of pleasure-pain ricocheting through your already-overstimulated system.

"You feel too fucking good," Kyoutani snarled against your neck, the ragged edge to his voice and the way his hips were stuttering and losing their rhythm indicating he was rapidly approaching the brink of his own release. "Shit. Gonna make me cum."

His fingers returned to your clit with a renewed focus, the rough texture of his callouses grinding into the sensitive bundle of nerves in a way that had you crying and writhing beneath the assault. Every part of you was aflame, a fever-bright inferno burning through your veins and threatening to consume you whole.

"Gonna breed this cunt full, pretty," Kyoutani swore against the hollow of your throat, the guttural rasp to his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Pump you full until you can feel every drop spilling out of your slutty little hole. Fuck. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Your only response was a low, broken moan, the sound seeming to spur Kyoutani's hips into an even more punishing, frenzied pace that threatened to break you in half. The way his cock was dragging against the spasming clench of your walls was an exquisite brand of torture - the friction and depth and force behind his thrusts pushing you beyond the point of sanity or reason.

"Fuck, look at how much you're gushing all over my dick," he practically purred the depraved observation, the filthy words falling from his lips as effortlessly as the sweat pouring off his brow. "Such a sweet, filthy little slut for me. Only me."

Another broken, wordless cry ripped free from your lungs as his fingertips redoubled their efforts on your hypersensitive clit, sending sparks and bolts of electricity crackling along your nerve endings and searing directly to your core. It was impossible to process the magnitude of the sensations he was wringing from you, each fresh stroke and touch threatening to send you tumbling over the edge yet again.

"I know you're close," Kyoutani growled, his features twisting into a feral grin as his tongue traced the delicate shell of your ear in a maddening taunt. "Can't wait to feel this perfect pussy clamping down on my dick when I breed you full. You'd like that, wouldn't you, beautiful?"

The words were punctuated by another harsh buck of his hips, the searing, velvety drag of his thick length dragging against the hypersensitive walls of your core in a way that threatened to rip the air from your lungs. Before you could even muster a coherent response, his teeth sank into the curve of your shoulder with a possessive snarl - the sharp pain-pleasure of his canines scraping against your skin sending another rush of molten need flooding from your cunt.

"Cum with me," Kyoutani's voice had gone husky and rough with desire, the ragged edge to his breathless pants betraying the effort it took to maintain the brutal, unforgiving pace he'd set. His fingers continued their relentless swirling and circling over the sensitive bud of your clit, driving you towards the precipice in a way that threatened to steal the last shreds of coherency from your mind.

"Please, please, please," the pleas tumbled from your swollen, parted lips in a ceaseless mantra, each syllable falling free as quickly as your breath punched from your lungs with every thrust and grind. You couldn't even register the words or sounds escaping from your throat, the only coherent thought that registered was the need to fall into the white-hot abyss of bliss looming ahead.

"God, fuck," Kyoutani groaned against the curve of your shoulder, the muscles of his powerful arms and back locking tight and tense as his entire frame seized and trembled. His next thrust sent the head of his throbbing cock grinding against the hyper-sensitive spot buried deep within you, the added stimulation pushing you over the edge once more.

"Cum for me," he snarled, his hips slamming into yours one last time before the searing, wet rush of his release flooded your clenching walls. A broken sob clawed its way from your throat as the molten heat pulsing and throbbing against the swollen, sensitized walls sent you tumbling into the white-hot waves of release, drowning beneath the overwhelming tidal surge crashing through you both.

For several long moments, neither of you moved - frozen in place as the tremors wracking your frames slowly eased. Kyoutani's hands were still clenched around the curve of your hips, keeping your lower body trapped flush against his own while his cock continued to pulse and twitch within your core. His breath ghosted over the sweat-slicked skin of your neck in heavy, panting exhales, the rapid rise and fall of his broad chest matching the erratic tempo of your own.

"Shit," Kyoutani grunted, his voice raspy and raw, almost hoarse in a way that made a fresh shiver ripple through you. "Fucking hell, pretty girl. I think you just drained my damn balls dry."

Your breath left in a high-pitched wheeze as he abruptly stepped back, his cock slipping free from the dripping, overstimulated channel. Before you could think to register the sudden emptiness, his fingers had already dipped between the soaked, swollen folds, circling and teasing and taunting the still-quivering entrance.

"Look at all this cum leaking out of your pretty pussy," he practically crooned the words, the dark edge to his voice making it clear exactly what he was planning to do. "We can't have any of this going to waste, now can we? That'd be such a shame. When I've gone to all the trouble of filling you up just the way you needed."

Before you could summon the wherewithal to reply, Kyoutani had already dropped to his knees, his shoulders and broad back flexing as his hands guided your trembling legs to rest atop them. The heated blaze of his gaze swept over the flushed, swollen folds of your center - drinking in the sight of his thick, pearly essence mixing with the slickness still clinging to the tender petals.

"Now let's see how many times I can make you cum for me, kitten."

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani smut #kyoutani x reader #kyoutani x reader smut #haikyuu kyoutani

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it-happened-one-fic · 2 months

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One Thing At A Time - Leona

Author Notes: I wrote this so fast, I can't even lie. I honestly just put on Leona's playlist and boom, this happened. Anyway, I though it would be fitting to post a Leona fic (one top of the Vampire AU update) since tomorrow (or maybe today in some time zones) is Leona's birthday! As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader/ sfw/ fluff/ romance/ flirtation

Word count: 1343

It was honestly a miracle that Leona hadn’t thrown you off his bed yet, considering you were sitting next to him and pushing on his shoulders like a pushy child. Completely ignoring the way he stubbornly kept his eyes closed as he did his very best to ignore you and instead nap.

“Look, you just do your part for the presentation, and I’ll be out of your hair. Easy as that,” You coaxed without even the slightest bit of subtlety as you leaned over, all but cooing at him and finally succeeding in getting him to open one annoyed eye that slid over so that he was glowering at where you looked down at him with a winning smile on your face.

“Who let you in here?” His words were growled, but you merely continued to smile, shaking your head amusedly as you refused to tell him that it was, in fact, Ruggie who’d let you in and had even laughingly wished you luck.

But it wasn’t like you could sell out your partner in crime, and, knowing Leona, he already had a pretty good idea of who was at fault.

Plus, even if Ruggie hadn’t let you in, you probably would’ve waltzed right in anyway. Such was your relationship with Leona, after all. If he could march into Ramshackle dorm and nap on your couch, then you could come into his room and harass him.

“Come on, it won’t even be that bad. Most of the work is done anyway! All you have to do is show up, stand there, and look pretty,” You smiled at him brightly, earning yourself a glare in response as he finally sat up. His motions causing you to scoot backwards slightly.

He barely glanced back at you as he spoke, “Why is it always you that shows up to ruin my plans?”

You watched as he ran a hand through his slightly tangled hair as he continued, not even bothering to pause for you to respond to his previous question, “All I wanted was to nap, but you-”

He paused, pointedly looking back at where you sat. Not feeling guilty in the slightest as you all but beamed at him, causing him to roll his eyes as he continued, “-Simply can’t leave well enough alone.”

You blinked slightly at his words, recognizing the warning signs as he turned to face you fully, and you realized a little bit too late that you were a little bit too close to him to be totally safe as he smirked, “An herbivore like you should know better than to waltz into a lion’s den.”

You crossed your arms though, not quailing the slightest bit and even snorting at him slightly, “Oh, please. As if I haven’t been here plenty of times without having any issues.”

He twisted, planting his hand on the mattress in an almost final manner as he shook his head, his tail whipping around behind him in an almost ominous fashion, “You usually don’t interrupt my nap.”

Despite his words, there was no bite there. In fact, the best description for his tone was threateningly playful. But even then you felt yourself start to edge backwards as your confidence that there would be little to no recompense to your actions failed you even as you shook your head, “I do usually pester you without any issues, though.”

He snorted at your words, and you chanced a smile only to feel your final hopes flag as soon as he spoke, “Looks like you went too far today, though, Herbivore.”

You hardly even had a chance to try and make a dive off the bed with a shriek as you got tackled in a chaotic torrent of Leona, you, and a veritable pile of incredibly soft blankets.

But then, Leona was a prince, so he probably could afford ridiculously expensive sheets if he wanted to.

You let your head flop against the unfairly comfortable bed in defeat before you looked back up to see a far too smug Leona grinning at you from where his head now rested on your stomach. His arms locked around your waist like a vise-grip that you knew you couldn’t break.

“Little dramatic for one nap interruption, don’t you think?” You reached down and pushed at his smug face as you scolded him. Frowning down at him even as he remained wholly unbudged, only turning his head so that your hand rested against his cheek rather than the front of his face.

“You knew better,” He didn’t even bother to sound guilty as you shoved against him. In fact, he sounded just as smug as he looked. But both of you already knew how this was going to go.

You flopped backwards again, looking up at the ceiling as sarcasm filled your words, “Fine then, Your Highness, what is the punishment for my grave disrespect to your exalted person?”

He snorted at your sarcastic tone, and you felt yourself grin despite the position you were in.

His grip on you shifted, and you felt him relax against you, using your stomach as a pillow as he let himself flop fully, no longer holding his weight off you and causing you to cough slightly at the sudden heaviness, “You’ll stay put and behave for once.”

You smacked at his head weakly, and you could all but feel him smile against your stomach as you spoke, “Leona... Too heavy…. You're crushing me.”

He huffed out a laugh, his shaking shoulders jostling you slightly before he adjusted himself once more, and you felt yourself relax once more as he spoke in an amused tone from where he continued to use you as a pillow, “Remind me to have Jack start training you. You couldn’t get any more feeble.”

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on your arms as you looked down at the prince who currently held you captive, “Not willing to train me yourself, Your Highness?”

He didn’t even move, apparently far too comfortable to rise to the challenge, “Not worth it.”

You felt yourself grin as you reached over and poked him, all but cooing out your words, “Worried I’ll get too strong for you?”

He outright snorted at your words, his hot breath blowing across you before he squeezed you slightly in retaliation to your teasing, “Hardly.”

You gazed at him for a moment in silent amusement, half-wondering exactly how you’d gotten to be this comfortable with the Savanaclaw housewarden.

To say the two of you had come far from your first meeting would be the understatement of the century. If you’d been told then that you’d been dating this man, of all people, you probably would have called whoever had told you that insane.

But he hardly seemed as fearsome now as he had then.

At this point, your relationship might as well be a masterclass in the fact that first impressions didn’t mean everything, though they certainly were important. Because here you were toying with Leona’s hair rather than fearing him attacking you.

Though he had just tackled you, so perhaps your initial impression hadn’t been entirely off.

You sighed slightly, watching as he smiled at the sensation of your fingers sliding through his hair and fondly rubbing his head before you shook your head, “I hope you know you're still not getting out of that presentation.”

He let out a huff and, miraculously enough, let go of you with one arm long enough to grab your hand in his as he opened his eyes to look at you. Pressing his thumb against the center of your hand as the rest of his fingers curled around your wrist “Don’t rush me, Herbivore.”

The growl had returned to his voice, but you just grinned, knowing perfectly well that it was in no way threatening or even a warning.

You nodded though, almost shaking your head fondly at the young man that continued to maintain his hold on you even now, “Fine, one thing at a time then. Cuddles first and presentation later.”

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ninibeingdelulu · 3 months

Text

"I'm right here"

plot- an argument with depressed geto CLICK ME

"I can't believe you're being like this!"

Suguru's voice cracked with frustrated accusation, slamming his textbook down with enough force to make you flinch.

"It's like you're purposefully trying to drive a wedge between Satoru and me just because you're jealous!"

You felt your hands ball into fists at your sides as that familiar spike of molten defensiveness surged through your veins.

How dare he diminish your concerns so callously after everything you'd been through together? As if your feelings were some trite, immature flight of fancy rather than the genuine loneliness you'd been grappling with lately.

"Jealous?" you scoffed, tossing your pencil aside with a heated glare.

"You really think I'm that petty? That this is just me throwing some pathetic tantrum over not getting enough attention from Wunderkind Geto?"

Suguru opened his mouth - undoubtedly to fire back with another biting remark - but you barreled forward, finally allowing the dam holding back weeks of bottled resentment to burst open.

No more mincing words or letting things fester until they'd reached this ugly, toxic fever pitch.

"I'm worried about you, jackass!"

You shoved off the couch, gesturing wildly as the torrent of pent-up emotions flooded free in a tumultuous rush.

"That's all I've wanted from the start! For you to actually let me in about what's been eating you up so badly lately that you've become a total goddamn stranger!"

Suguru seemed to visibly deflate somewhat under the brunt force of your outburst. But that brief hesitation was rapidly replaced by the familiar stubborn set of his squared jaw and narrowed onyx gaze which indicated the imminent eruption of his own fiery temper.

"Oh, so now you're my therapist?" he sneered, bracing his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward in your direction with acerbic challenge.

"Sorry I've been such an inconvenience while busting my ass trying to actually secure my future instead of wasting time with teenage melodrama!"

You shook your head in disbelief, throwing your hands up as another harsh bark of laughter cut through the tension like a serrated blade.

"Un-fucking-believable...Is that seriously what you think this is about? Me being petty over you 'wasting time' with dumb high school bullshit?!"

Suguru simply glowered in stony silence, the muscle in his clenched jaw visibly twitching.

Waiting for you to either continue your tirade or offer more proof of your apparent delusions over the state of things between you.

Well, if he wanted you to spell out the tangled knot of anguish and confused longing festering in your chest with stark clarity...Then so be it.

"I'm in love with you, you arrogant prick!"

The confession exploded out of you with enough volcanic force to make you immediately slap a hand over your mouth.

Yet once uncorked, there was no recapturing the deluge as it raged on, raw and unfettered.

"And it's been ripping me apart watching you spiral so far down in this pit of darkness without letting anyone in to try and pull you back out!"

Suguru looked as though he'd been struck across the face.

All residual ire seeping away into slack-jawed shock and visceral vulnerability cracking those steely exterior walls you'd slammed against so fruitlessly in the past.

His throat bobbed in an audible gulp, those intense obsidian eyes you used to lose yourself in now swimming with a thousand different conflicting emotions roiling in their tumultuous depths.

The sudden, stark silence stretching between you was enough to buffer even the frantic hammering of your pulse thundering past your ears.

The fear of obliterating one of the most important relationships of your life in that combustive outpouring constricted around your throat like a vise of pure dread.

Then, after what felt like an eternity...Suguru's expression shifted again.

His features settling into an almost haunted kind of resignation piercing directly into your very soul. When he spoke, his typically unflappable baritone emerged cracking and subdued - the most naked glimpse you'd ever witnessed of what laid beneath the surface he fought so vigilantly to repress.

"I...I know..." he confessed in a gust of breath barely above a whisper.

One shaky hand scrubbed over his face, refusing to meet your wide-eyed stare. "Fuck, I've known how you felt and I-I kept pushing you away so I wouldn't hurt you more by—"

The strangled catch in his throat cut off whatever fragile truth seemed to be teetering on the precipice of being laid bare between you.

Suguru's free hand balled into a fist clenching the material of his pants until his knuckles bored white while haunted shadows flickered across his downturned visage.

Never before had you witnessed him look so...utterly wrecked. So excruciatingly human under the weight of inner demons you'd never known to be lurking underneath it all.

Not until they'd already carved out pieces of him you might never get the chance to recover.

But you couldn't allow either of you to retreat into that isolating darkness anymore. Not after clawing your way this deep into the open wounds between you both.

Too many regrets were already trailing behind in your wake...

The deafening silence hung thick and palpable in the wake of Suguru's shattered admission.

You could practically taste the roiling torrent of unspoken truths and anguished vulnerability thrashing violently just beneath the surface he was struggling so viscerally to repress.

You knew with every fiber of your being that if you didn't reach out in this pivotal moment, the fragile threads binding you both together risked snapping under the immense strain.

And you refused to let that happen - even if it meant wading blindly into the shadowy depths of whatever demons were currently carving him hollow from the inside.

Tentatively, you bridged the couch cushions separating you and laid your palm overtop that trembling fist clenched with white-knuckled force against his thigh.

Suguru flinched slightly at the contact, but didn't immediately recoil away. Emboldened by that microscopic victory, you gently pried his fingers open to lace them through your own in silent invitation.

"Suguru..." you murmured, injecting as much tender reassurance into his name as humanly possible.

"Whatever it is causing you so much pain...you don't have to keep shouldering it alone anymore. I'm right here, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

His jaw clenched spasmodically, those turbulent eyes still steadfastly averted from meeting your concerned gaze.

You could see the muscle twitching in his cheek from the sheer force he was exerting to keep that impenetrable mask locked firmly in place.

But you refused to relent, rubbing the pad of your thumb soothingly across his knuckles in hopes of coaxing him to simply breathe. To open himself up even a sliver after all this time...

"Please," you implored, daring to shuffle closer until your thighs were a hairsbreadth from touching.

Until that painfully unguarded expression was directly in your line of vision, begging to be witnessed without judgment or reprimand.

"Let me help carry this for you, 'Guru. You've been alone with this anguish for too long..."

Finally, finally , some of that tightly wound tension began leeching from his hunched shoulders as if the words had sliced through some of those invisible restraints shackling him down.

Suguru raised his other hand to rake shakily through his tousled raven locks, unravelling before your very eyes.

When his gaze at last lifted to lock with yours, the sight of those inky pools swimming with so much naked, harrowing vulnerability physically winded you.

"I'm so afraid..." he confessed in a ragged whisper thick with shame and trepidation.

His hand convulsed where you clutched it in your lap as if the admission had torn open a fresh, gaping wound inside.

"I've convinced myself I have this grand purpose to dedicate myself to completely, but there's a part of me that wonders if it's all been an excuse...a distraction from facing how truly lost and messed up I've become."

Tears glistened in those haunted obsidian depths and your heart shattered at the sight of Suguru's meticulously constructed walls crumbling before your eyes.

The instinctive need to pull him into your embrace and chase those demons away was near overpowering.

Yet you resisted, allowing him to unfurl at his own pace without outside influence. Simply being the steady presence and supportive tether he so clearly needed more than he'd realized.

"Everyone told me I was destined for greatness after awakening to my talents...That I possessed a gift entrusted to rectify this curse plaguing our kind."

Suguru's voice had descended into a hoarse, halting murmur as the floodgates burst completely open.

Each gravelly syllable etched in anguish carved into his very marrow.

"But deep down, I've always been so goddamn afraid of failing. Of disappointing everyone and being seen as the fraud I've convinced myself I must be for harboring any weakness or-or..."

His words finally failed, fading into a ragged exhalation torn from his very core as he lifted his imploring gaze beseechingly to yours.

"God, why am I like this? Why does any of this matter when all I've wanted is to open my eyes and see you smiling back at me without all this bullshit driving us apart?"

Your throat constricted wordlessly, scorching tears blurring your vision at the utter desolation contorting Suguru's features into the most wrenching expression imaginable.

Here was the strongest, most indomitable person in your life bearing the very depths of his shattered soul before you in total surrender.

And you instantly knew in that pivotal, crystalline moment - there was nowhere else you could ever fathom being that wasn't by his side.

Providing the steadfast strength and acceptance for those fragmented pieces until he felt whole enough to stand on his own once more.

There would be more tears, more shards to sift through together in confronting this pervasive darkness slowly consuming him from the inside out.

But the first painful, cathartic step had been taken. And you fully intended to never allow Suguru to slip backward into that isolating abyss ever again.

So you did the only thing left to reassure him he wasn't alone in this monumental fight for his very sense of self and purpose.

You surged forward and pulled him into your fiercely protective embrace - cradling his shuddering form flush against your chest as his own quiet sobs finally shook loose in heartrending waves.

"I'm here...I'm right here, 'Guru..." you whispered over and over into the downy strands of ebony hair tickling your lips.

"We're going to get through this, I swear it..."

Your shared tears and ragged breaths mingled achingly between your twined bodies as a new, mended path forward gradually unfurled with each passing heartbeat.

From the ashes of everything you thought you'd understood about him and the conflicted world he inhabited...

Bound now by the decision to walk whatever darkened road stretched ahead completely united in purpose and love at long last laid bare - come what may.

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sturnsiolos0 · 7 months

Text

Unrequited-Chris Sturniolo

You were no fool.

You knew that beneath the layers of cool charisma and calculated charm, Chris was incapable of true emotions. And yet, despite all of his faults - there was something about him that simply drew you in.

Perhaps it was the fact that apparently, you were the only one so painfully aware of such behaviours that made him all the more tempting to you. It seemed that to everyone else, Chris could do no wrong, but you saw through the lies, this false character he presented himself as.

You often wondered if that made what you were doing with him all the more terrible; Hooking up with him behind closed doors. Maybe it wouldn't seem so terrible if it was not one-sided, or if he was capable of displaying true emotion beside the satisfaction of bestowing dominance over you. It would seem even less terrible if you didn't enjoy what he did.

But how could you not when those nimble fingers would dance across your skin, igniting icy flame in their wake? Or when that smirk would rest perfectly on his face as he watched you writhe beneath him? To love Chris was a conscious sin, and most definitely a sure-fire way to break your own heart, but when he would give just enough to whisper sweet nothings in your ears, you found that you didn't much care about the inevitable fallout.

Especially now, stood before his towering frame. Chris leans against the counter, as proud and casually in command as ever, casting a neutral eye over your naked form in the center of the room.

A table is between you two, hip-high and dark mahogany, polished to a gleam until it reflected the dull lighting of the room. He nods towards it, eyes never leaving yours, and there is no need for you to voice your thoughts aloud as he answers your question.

"Come around. Lay yourself face-down on the table, display yourself to me, baby." He murmurs, voice like honey.

And of course, you obey, bare feet padding against the cool floor as you circle the table, daring to lift your hand and trace your fingertips along the smooth surface edge of the wood, your eyes dropping to follow. Stood in line with Chris, turned to the side, you cast a peek at him from the corner of your eye to see his face before turning to face the table fully. Slowly, as if the silence in the room was seeping into your movements, you lean forwards, closing the distance between you and the lacquered tabletop until the soft flesh of your torso, your breasts, are pressed firmly against the cold wood.

Your cheek rests on the surface, head tilted the side as you gaze absently at the room that surrounds you, your breathing remaining slow in spite of the thrumming of your heart and the mounting anticipation coiling within the pits of your stomach. Everything is cool - the slick table that supports your weight, the air that bites your exposed skin, the fingertips that are now ghosting your spine, leaving a torrent of shudders to rupture in their wake as he traces each vertebrae.

Chris starts low, at the dip in your back before gliding up the arch, sailing between your shoulder blades, before finding the delicate discs of your neck, brushing away the stray strands of hair that tickle your sensitive skin. His touch shifts, adjusting until he's gripping softly, palm pressed against the back of your neck whilst his fingertips rest on one side of your throat and his thumb on the other. He's still, as he usually is, and your breathing grows shallow despite the lack of pressure he applies.

His fingers flex, delicate fingertips digging deeper for a moment and drawing an uncontrollable gasp to slip past your parted lips before retracing their steps to retreat back down your spine.

Chris never kissed you. It was an unspeakable rule between you, that displays of affection were not to be confused with the pure physical desire he showed you, and yet, over the course of whatever it was between you, you had found him to betray his own rules. His touches lingered for longer, explored more of your body, and though he never left you unsatisfied, he seemed - in his own way - to be paying particular attention towards trying to ensure your pleasure.

His touch continues it's descent, tracing the curve of your ass before pausing. Your breath stutters to a halt as anticipation swells, and you steel yourself with a hard bite to your lower lip. Suddenly, fingers delve between your legs, fingertips seeking out your thrumming clit as the heel of his hand grinds against your entrance. Little more than a breathless whimper escapes you as his nimble fingers brush and circle your clit, dragging through your wet folds to tease at your entrance for only a second before his middle finger sinks deep into you, his index finger returning to your clit to draw forth more liquid arousal.

Chris's ring finger joins the other within your pussy after a few thrusts, and when obscene squelches fill the air with each thrust of his fingers, he pulls away. Tongue bitten hard to hold back your protests, your eyes clench tight as you envision the sights that are paired with the sounds emitting from behind you.

The click of a metal belt buckle unfastening, the swift drag of metal teeth as a zipper was undone, the rustle of the material dropping to pool at his feet. One hand rests at your hip, the cold bite of metal from his ring seeping into your hot skin, before the tip of his cock is suddenly brushing up against your slick folds before finding your entrance. You muse that it is perhaps the warmest part of Chris that you've ever felt, but with each velvet inch of his length that slowly fills you, you find it harder and harder to focus on anything else except for the deliciously intense pressure.

His skin grazes the backs of your trembling thighs as Chris buries the rest of his cock deep inside of your pussy, walls clenching and throbbing in earnest as he stretches you until your panting breath fogs the surface of the table. "Jesus Christ," He moans, his jaw slackened and open.

You dare to thrust backwards, grinding hard against his hips, and gain the satisfaction, however temporary, of hearing his grunt of pleasured surprise. Both hands now grip at your hips, a warning, holding you still against the edge of the table, and you fight a losing battle against the smirk painting itself across your flushed face.

"Careful now, you know not to get too ahead of yourself." He grits, before leaning in close, his torso a mere fraction of an inch from brushing your naked back as he breathes in your ear. "Especially when you're beneath me like this."

Chris delivers the first thrust whilst still draped over your frame, reveling in the close-up view of your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his cock filling you. He's quick to straighten back up, favouring to tower over you as he begins to settle into his preferred pace; an achingly slow withdrawal of his length to savour the drag of your tight walls, followed by a sharp thrust to the hilt, filling you so entirely and deeply that you could do little more than gasp and moan wantonly.

With each roll of his hips, you found your own twitching to reciprocate, but his grip kept you pinned firmly to the table. Bruises would most certainly form, but you didn't care, the bite of the wood was a tempting contrast of pain to the waves of pleasure he filled you with. Your toes, numb against the cool stone, curl tight, your legs giving out as they spasm uncontrollably.

"Chris-" You whisper, yelping when he delivers a particularly harsh thrust in response. "Please..."

Whether or not he does so in response to your plea, or simply because his pleasure dictated him to, Chris's pace increases, settling on speed over fully withdrawing. He remains buried deep within your throbbing pussy, his pounding becoming borderline-desperate as his length twitches, once, twice, before suddenly his hips stutter to a halt, his entire cock sheathed by your clenching walls as he swells and releases, white-hot fluids filling you.

"Come on baby, it's time for you to let go." He coaxes, voice barely controlled as his cock continues to twitch. His grip dares to slacken, and he reaches between your trembling body and the hard mahogany to find your desperate clit, throbbing for his touch that you so eagerly accept.

His touch draws forth needy mewls and whines, fingertips toying with the swollen bud of nerves, and it only takes a few expert flicks and touches before you're clenching tight around him, pussy spasming as your climax crashes over you like a bolt of lightening. You are only distantly aware of your own moan, high in pitch and awash in euphoria as it echoes through the room, but when you finally come to your senses, it's to Chris's gentle voice and the light caress of the backs of his fingers against your crimson cheek, the heavy stone of his ring like a bite of ice to your heated flesh.

"You did very well, you always do so well."

And, it was in this act, the soft praise and the angelic touches, that you knew the reason why you kept coming back to Chris.

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets smut #sturniolos #sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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thus-spoke-lo · 1 year

Text

cw: NSFW/18+; gn!reader; oral sex (m receiving); dacryphilia; Doffy-typical degradation, a little dubcon if you squint

“My poor little pet, is that really all you can take?”

Doflamingo cocks his head and gives you a snide grin as he watches you struggle to bob your head up and down his length, your tongue pressed firmly against him, stroking the thick vein that runs along the underside. He taps the side of your cheek—once, twice, a harder slap the third time—as he laughs. “You certainly overestimated yourself, didn’t you? Little pet seems to be all talk as usual.”

You choke on the indignity and humiliation almost more than his cock, whimpering as you struggle to take more of him, spit dribbling out of your mouth and pooling in his lap, dripping down his heavy balls, as you sputter and retch. You reach a shaking hand up to stroke the rest of his intimidating length, trying to make up for what your throat simply won’t take, but he grabs your wrist and holds it tightly.

“You said you wanted to take it all—so take it all.” He places his hand on the back of your head, pushing you down further and further until all you can feel, all you can taste, all you can breathe is him. “I don’t accept excuses.”

He holds you there as you whine through your nose, and he throbs and pulses against the back of your throat the more you struggle, thrusting up into your stuffed mouth with a fierce cruelty. Deep, wanton moans echo in the room as he fucks into you, your jaw aching as sheets of saliva flow past your swollen lips, dampening the expensive upholstery of the couch underneath him. You frantically tap at his steel-corded thigh as you start to feel suffocated from his girth and from shame, and he slows his thrusts, the strong hand on the back of your head suddenly grasping a tuft of your hair and pulling you off him, long strings of your spit still connecting you to him—even in defeat, you still cannot escape him.

Doflamingo yanks you backwards until your spine is ramrod straight, and he starts to run his free hand along his pulsing shaft, a lecherous grin growing wider as he watches you pant and heave, saliva coating your chin and dripping down your neck. The indignant tearstains on your cheeks are chased now by torrents of heaving sobs—of embarrassment, of fear, of disgrace—and you try to blink away the stinging streams that flow from your reddened eyes as you stare at your own reflection in his sunglasses. You’re a pathetic, drooling mess…just the way he wants you.

“Don’t act so ashamed, my darling,” he groans softly, condescension threaded through every word while he quickly jerks himself off. “You’re so pretty when you cry for me.”

The long fingers tangled in your hair tighten, and the flushed head of his cock throbs more and more with every urgent stroke, until he tilts his pelvis forward so he meets your lips and he utters through sharp, heaving breaths: “Open.”

You open your mouth wide, tongue lolling out as if by instinct, and he shoves the reddened tip inside. With a long, low growl and few last strokes, he paints the inside of your waiting mouth with thick ropes of his spend, enough that it spills over your tongue and drips out of the sides of your mouth and down your chin. As you gag on the overflowing mouthful, trying to swallow every drop like he expects, he tilts your head up towards him with his thumb and forefinger, leaning down to meet your gaze, his face so close his warm breath ghosts your skin. “And what do we say when you’re given a gift?”

You lick your lips and gasp for breath. “Thank you, sir.”

He laughs with a patronizing ease, and a soft moan trails after it as he takes a moment to look you over, feeling his still-twitching hardness leaking a bit more at the sight—his enchanting little plaything kneeling before him, eyes glazed over with vulgar lust, ruined to perfection as always.

“That’s my good pet,” Doflamingo coos as he leans down and pulls you up onto him, purposefully making a show of settling your bare ass against the wet, sloppy mess you’d left all over his lap. He holds you close against him, and you rest your head on his broad chest, over where you’d expect his heart to be if he had one, and he wipes away your lingering tears with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re getting better with practice, you know,” he murmurs, almost soothingly, as he kisses the top of your head. His lips trail down, leaving soft kisses along your neck, and his tongue caresses the shell of your ear, before he sinks his teeth into it just hard enough to make you yelp and squirm against his softening cock. “But make no mistake—you will take it all eventually. Just be grateful that I’m a patient man.”

#i am so very very normal about him i swear i am #doflamingo smut #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo donquixote x reader #one piece smut #lo writes

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angel-with-paper-wings · 6 months

Text

The Magician’s Prelude

This is a gift for @erik-carierre posted with permission! Many thanks for your feedback and support!!

Summary: Erik’s morning routine while working as a magician in Russia prior to his recruitment by Nadir. Based on Kay!Erik.

Cover art and title by @erik-carierre

Content warnings: PTSD-like trauma flashbacks, bloody/gory imagery, slightly graphic descriptions of violence, body negativity (Erik is an angsty teenager)

Now on AO3 here!

Blood. There is always blood.

It oozes around the shards of mirror buried in the skin of my hands…it drips in thick crimson blobs onto the bundle of golden fur…it spatters in hot torrents against my chest and sticks to the open buttons of my shirt…

And it is there again that night. In the rooftop garden, I stand paralyzed staring at the gap in the crumbled balustrade. My chest feels hollow—I cannot breathe, I cannot scream—all I can do is watch as the gap yawns before me, pulling me closer. Against my will, I peer over the edge to view the sight I know is there.

I wish I could blink. I long for even the tiniest respite from what lay before me, but all I can do is look. Her body is small amidst the shattered rubble, her thin delicate limbs laying at odd angles, her soft barley hair matted with flecks of blood and gore. And her eyes…her pale eyes snuffed of all fire that had once bubbled inside of her like smoldering lava. They stare blankly up at my unmasked face, looking but not seeing.

All she ever wanted was to look at me…and now all I can do is look. Look at what I have done.

I awakened with a jolt, my eyes flying open and clenching the thin woolen blanket to my chest. One skeletal hand flew up to my face, and only once I felt the smooth hardness of the mask did I relax. After a moment of composure, I opened my aching jaw and heaved out a sigh of annoyance. The nightmares were as persistent as they had always been.

I sat up in bed and fumbled to light the oil lamp on the nightstand. I had no difficulty getting prepared in complete darkness, but I simply preferred not to after a night of haunting visions. A small clock beside the lamp told me it was early in the morning—earlier than I typically rose, but I was already resigned to the fact that I wouldn’t be sleeping any more if I tried.

I flung the woolen blanket to the side and felt the floor creak beneath my bare feet. The inn’s modest wooden room was comfortable enough for my needs: a bed with sheets, a chamber pot, a pitcher and washbasin, and most valuable of all, privacy. There had been a mirror, but I removed it soon after arriving.

I yanked off my nightshirt, letting the room’s warm air graze the scars slashed across my back. Russia had intriguingly hot summers; the books I had read as a boy only bothered to describe the harshness of the winter months, so I confess to being slightly bemused upon my arrival three years ago to a city with a climate only moderately cooler than the one I had left behind in Italy.

Her twisted body flashed before me again, the broken masonry wet and crimson from the split in her skull… I closed my eyes and angrily shoved the image back into the shadows of my mind. No. No more thoughts of that place. I poured water from the pitcher into the washbasin and dunked in a bar of perfumed soap. Once it had worked up a lather, I soaked a clean cloth and derisively began to wash myself.

The dawn of my body’s maturity had proven to be a dismal affair. It took my bones the full extent of my nineteen years to finally cease their growing, leaving me wretchedly gaunt and pitifully covered in pasty yellow skin. I had the strength of a man twice my age and triple my weight, but my frame still refused to resemble anything but a corpse. In my frustration, I scrubbed harder at my own flesh, attempting to cleanse it of its rotten color. But it remained as it always had, pulled tight over my arms to display veins and tendons, with the only thickness found in the old silvery scars adorning my wrists and hands.

Once I had scoured myself raw, I slung the cloth over the rack of the washstand to dry and stared down into the bottom of the basin. Silence screamed in my ears and my stomach twisted with dread. I turned my head to glance at the door behind me; the lock was securely in place, but the familiar prickle of eyes stung my skin all the same.

With trembling fingers, I removed the mask. Warm air rolled across my bare skin like a caress, or what I imagined a caress to feel like. I set the white sculpted shard aside on the stand, and after a heavy sigh, I bent over the basin and scooped handfuls of water over my head, scrubbing the soap’s lather deep into my thick black waves of hair. Droplets ran down the edges of my face, as if even they were afraid to touch the horror that was there. But I forced them to touch it, rubbing the water into the cracks and distorted furrows of my skin, smearing it around the protruding bones and into my eyes’ sunken pits. I braced myself with a grimace before carefully wiping the dried mucus away from the edge of the hole that was my nose.

The torture ended when I finally buried my repulsiveness in a towel. I held the soft cloth against my face as my other hand reached for the mask, slipping it back into place with a relieved sigh. I squeezed my dark hair free of water, then picked up a comb and worked it through the curls until they attained sufficient softness. I laid the towel and comb to the side and stepped over to the tiny wardrobe, withdrawing one of many black satin shirts and slipping it on. After dressing myself, I left my room and slinked down the stairs as a soundless shadow.

The empty tavern on the first floor simmered with the savory scent of shchi. This early in the morning, the only other soul awake was the ancient innkeeper preparing the first meal of the day. I scattered a handful of kopecks onto the bar, letting the clattering sound echo into the kitchen. A minute later, the shawled woman doddered forward and set a steaming bowl of cabbage soup and a chunk of crusty bread before me. No words or glances were exchanged, no questions were asked, as was our routine.

I suspected she found me strange—indeed, I have yet to encounter a soul who didn’t—but she seemed to tolerate me well enough. After her defective coal stove found itself repaired the day following my arrival, I was able to convince her to let me use her inn’s far room as a flat for several months. Unlike my fellow tenants, I paid precisely on time, never returned drunk or belligerent, and there was no risk of women being snuck into my bed. After all, what woman would be desperate enough to lay with a corpse, regardless of the payment offered to her?

With this bitterness lingering in my head, I ate my meal quickly and slipped out into the morning’s haze. It was a rare day; the air was pleasantly cool and the clouds had chosen to don a color besides their usual dismal grey. I assured myself that no one was watching before I lifted my head to admire the way the branches of trees cast their dark silhouettes against the paling sky.

The western quarter of Nizhny Novgorod was largely deserted, making it easy to dart through the city’s shadows unseen in my black attire. Once the day hit its sweltering peak, the cobbled streets would resemble the Volga river with rushing currents of wealthy merchants and colorful travelers from Europe and India and Persia. By that time, I would be waiting for them in my magician’s tent, where they would be shown more wonders than their feeble minds could possibly comprehend.

I rounded a corner and walked along the silent boulevard, until the trees bordering the street gave way to a wrought-iron fence. Beyond the fence, majestically imposing against the northwest horizon, stood the blinding white structure of the Spassky Cathedral. Pink wisps of sunrise stretched across the sky and barely kissed the golden spire atop its great dark cupola.

As I so often did on clear mornings like this one, I felt compelled to stop and gaze up at the splendid piece of architecture. My eyes danced over its fine pillars and elegant façade, admiring the expert carving and delighting in the exquisite use of symmetry and proportion. I had snuck inside once in the dead of night to glimpse its interior—what beauty! It lacked the scale of greater cathedrals, but in golden grandeur it did not disappoint.

There was a time when I had imagined building such great works myself. Beneath the creaky bed back at the inn lay several journals filled with sketches of the spectacular monuments I saw when I closed my eyes. The pages overflowed with details of magnificent marble façades and great towering pavilions, gilded figures in copper and bronze, ornate mosaics with details that dazzled the imagination. My architectural creations would be shrines of worship, not to any one god but to all forces that stirred the spirit and awakened man’s deepest emotions—art, geometry, magic, and most of all music. Oh, how I missed music.

Often this fantasy crossed my mind, and with every day and every kopeck in my purse, it seemed less and less like a child’s dream. After all, I was still very much in my youth…perhaps that day was still to come.

Once I had admired all I could bear, I tucked my masked face back down between my narrow shoulders and trudged off through the neighborhood of shops and teahouses. A smattering of humans were beginning to converge on the street that I walked: small groups of traders bickering in foreign tongues and leading wooden carts filled with wares to sell. Like me, they trampled up the soggy road to the shadow of the large red and yellow stone building, beyond which lay a great courtyard overlooking the bank of the Oka. It was here in the summer months that the great Markaryev Fair was held, where tradesmen and entertainers alike earned their gold.

I proceeded underneath the building’s archway and entered the city’s courtyard. Vendors were already busy erecting tents and unloading their goods in designated sections around the square. Past cotton bales and crates of tea and spices, I spotted the oval shape of the familiar black yurt tucked in its corner, untouched as always. I never worried about the tent’s safety during my absence, for a rumor of a deadly curse had found its way amongst the traders that effectively warded off potential burglars.

As I walked, a warm breeze wafted through the market’s open air, carrying a strain of musical notes to my ears. My heart jumped and I whipped my head towards the sound. On the other side of the courtyard sauntered a muzhik fiddler, beard scraggly and legs stumbling as if drunk, the bow screeching as it was dragged across the rusty strings. A couple passing by threw a few coins into the hat that lay at his feet.

Under the mask, my lips pulled back in a snarl. How dare these fools reward such a tuneless, insolent mockery of music! That drunken bastard did not deserve the right to place his filthy hands on an instrument and spoil its sacred beauty for the whole city to hear. My bony form seethed beneath its black clothing, but I successfully fought back my fervid rage and stomped off towards the yurt. I clenched my shaking hands at my sides, imagining the feeling of the man’s throat beneath my fingers; a sharp snap from his neck and those dreadful notes would finally fall silent.

A crunch against the stones. The heavy tumble of rubble against the ground dampens the sound of her skull cracking open…

I entered the dark tent and pulled the fabric flaps closed behind me, blessedly muffling the horrid noises. A deep breath steadied my hands, and with practiced precision I navigated the small space and lit candles tucked in little red lanterns, banishing the darkness and revealing the blood-red of the yurt’s interior. Swooping red curtains hung from the concave ceiling; samples of shyrdak hangings formed the walls, weaving in swirls of black and gold into the otherwise scarlet room. I kicked off my shoes and felt the luxurious softness of the thick Persian rugs buried beneath velvet cushions.

I ignited the small charcoal stove to boil water in the samovar for tea. While it brewed, I reclined back against the cushions and turned my attention to the long wooden box tucked near the back of the tent: the trick casket. My fingers deftly pranced over the mechanism to open the box, and I withdrew the materials for my magician’s performance: decks of cards, stacks of silver coins, hand-carved trick dice. I arranged them all in neat rows upon the central rug with a small grin.

I struck another match and lit a few sticks of incense to flood the space with their heady, sweet fragrance. I had learned over time that it was beneficial for the minds of my audience to be stripped of their defenses—that way, they found my tricks more dazzling and dropped more rubles into my bony hand. Sometimes this state of enchantment would make them too bold, and bring out their insatiable nature that they otherwise hid from their gods during prayer in the temples and cathedrals. They became ravenous, foolishly curious; they would grope for my mask and demand to see what lay beneath…

All she wanted was to see me.

My hands curled upon themselves, extinguishing the match’s flame between my fingertips. The wretched visions played through my mind again and numbed the burn on my skin.

A mirror shard clenched between the tips of tweezers…bloody hands furiously digging at the grassy dirt…the heavy clunk of a knife’s hilt as the belt dropped to the floor… It was difficult to understand why I remembered certain details so clearly, while others merely faded into murky shadows.

Over the course of three years, the girl’s living face had become fuzzy in my memory. Indeed, I had only dared to look at her a handful of times while living with the master stonemason. Every time I did, my chest would fill with an uncomfortable constricting sensation, and I would be forced to look away or else stop breathing altogether. Her eyes had a heat that scorched all the way to my soul. She was fire—bold, passionate, all-consuming—and I knew better than to risk being burned. Or perhaps I was afraid.

But it was the moment I finally gave her what she pleaded for, the moment I ripped off the mask—her expression of pure horror, anguish and primal fear, grief for love she had never truly felt. That image would always remain in my memory perfectly in focus.

I slowly opened my hand, and I stared down at the two spots of black soot left upon the pale skin of my thumb and forefinger. Temporary scars, easily washed away. That’s all these dreams were to me…but still the pain they carried hurt more than the deep wounds left on my body.

With a harsh huff, I flicked the remnants of the match away and reached over to the samovar to pour myself a cup of tea. The earthy liquid seared down my throat and revived my senses, kicking the brooding memories away in favor of my present enterprise. Outside my tent, I heard the growing clamour of the fair coming to life—my audience awaited me.

A familiar pang prodded at my heart. Was this all? Would this pitiful life, shrouded away in a performer’s tent, forever be my purpose? In my heart, I longed to use my skills to create the majesty that filled my mind: grand palaces, ingenious machines, symphonies without equal. If I had to be confined to mindless magic tricks for greedy imbeciles, then they would be the best magic tricks ever conceived. In a way, I thought to myself scornfully, I had not left that traveling fair…perhaps I never would. But at least things were different now. I was my own master, and no one would ever cage me again.

As the incense swirled its sickly-sweet aroma through the air, I slipped further back into my tent and drew a sheer red curtain across my masked form. I laid back in my trick coffin and heard several soft clicks as the mechanism closed the lid and cloaked me in darkness—the one place I have ever truly belonged.

Long ago, I had accepted my place as prince of darkness, and I would reign over my realm with proud finesse. So let them in now, the merchants and peasants from all corners of the world. Let them think they are the kings and I am their fool. Let them believe they know what it is like to be afraid.

Let them in, and let them look.

#poto #phantom of the opera #susan kay phantom #my writing #fanfiction #poto fanfiction #erik poto #erik phantom

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aspenstarflare · 1 year

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Time for round three of Clone wars headcanons:

-Cody definitely carries around all of Obi-wan’s favorite types of tea on the Negotiator, and definitely always keeps two tea bags on his utility belt during campaigns in case Obi-wan needs tea and lost his own. (The extra one is for him so he can drink Tea with Obi-wan at the fire)

-It’s canon that Obi-wan always loses his lightsaber and that Cody always gives him it back, but in the background Anakin and Ahsoka have definitely been keeping count how many times Cody handed Obi-wan his lightsaber and threaten to tell the entire GAR anytime they want to blackmail Obi-wan.

-Kix and Rex definitely had to beg Ahsoka to wear her season 3 - 5 outfit, maybe even chase her around the Resolute to get her to wear just something slightly more protective. They did try pushing the agenda of amrour later but they pushed their luck and Ahsoka threatened to go back to the tube top she had from the clone war movie to season 2.

-When Obi-wan’s men in the 212th are injured he personally makes sure to have Tea parties with his injured men to cheer them up and give them something to do in the med bay, making sure to remember the favorites of each solider to make them feel a special as Obi-wan always reminds them they very much are.

-Children, no matter which planet, absolutely adore clones, especially ones of the 501st who are close with Ahsoka (because the kids see that they’re absolute softies from how they interact with her), the children will follow the clones around, asking them mountains of questions and begging them to play games with them. One time on a snowy planet some children in a village the 501st was stationed at, charge Ahsoka and the torrent company with snowballs, leading to a village wide snowball fight between the troopers, Anakin and Ahsoka vs. the towns children (and even some adults). The town’s children for the rest of the time the 501st is there, take time to memorize all their names, play with them, share their hot chocolates with them, and give them little presents (bracelets, necklaces, little nicknack stuff like that) to the troopers to keep to remember them. The 501st cherishes the presents from their little friends and always make sure to keep them on them.

- Ahsoka definitely loves climbing on her brothers like trees rather it be to wrestle for fun, climb on their shoulders, and get a free piggy back ride, she does it whenever she can. After or during campaigns she gets really tired on, during hikes to rendezvous point where she’s exhausted on she simply climbs onto the nearest brother’s back on and dozes off. No one ever bothers to complain about it because a. She’s super light and b. the trooper that gets to carry her for the rest of the hike gets to feel the comfort knowing their commander is well and safe with them and trusts them enough to rely on them for safety when she’s asleep.

-Boil and Waxer have walked in on Obi-wan and Cody cuddling before and snapped a picture, and have been provided a lifetime supply of chocolate (curtsey of Obi-wan) in order to keep their mouths shut.

-Ahsoka and Fives have made it their lives mission to prank Echo, Rex, and Anakin as much as possible. Once gluing pink glitter all over Anakin’s hair, earning them refresher duty for a month.

-Ahsoka sometimes goes on hunts when they are on planets with the right kind of animals and environments, taking a batch of clones with her just in case any droids show up. The first time she did this on a mission, she murdered a large animal with her bare hands and teeth, Jesse passed out when he saw all the blood on her face and everyone was horrified. Everyone was excited to eat something other than rations for once but the clones that went with Ahsoka were horrified how she easily and bloodily she murdered a animal with just her teeth.

#ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #codywan #clone wars #anakin and ahsoka #anakin is a father to ahsoka and the 501st #captain rex #arc trooper fives #obiwan kenobi #commander cody #waxer and boil #arc trooper echo #clone medic kix #obi wan’s tea addiction #obi wan’s lightsaber losing hypocrisy #children adore clones are I absolutely love it #ahsoka the feral Togruta #ahsoka is a sister to the clones

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staycalmandhugaclone · 9 months

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Identity Pt 4

Part (4) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I owe loads of responses and I'm sorry! I got the writing bug and any spare time I've had in front of a computer, I just wanted to write! Quick answer to the most common question, though: Yeah, the implication is that the contact is her dad - that'll be touched on a bit more later, though, and I'll try to actually be a good tumblr person and respond to everyone's lovely comments this week now that I've purged this chapter out!

Huge preemptive warning before even getting to the real warnings! This is one of those particularly dark chapters that may be too intense for some readers. If that's the case, I'm more than happy to make a summary for continuity's sake; just please take caution to read the tags

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

WC: 3,231

Fire tore through my nose and throat, body wrenching forward with violent coughs that sent pain shooting down my side, but the movement stopped short, chest held fast to something behind me – no… beneath me? I couldn’t think beyond the desperate need for air, head shaking as though it might rid my eyes and nose of the liquid still dripping down my face as my jaw gaped around choked gasps. The distorted hum of unfamiliar voices resonated nearby, pausing mere seconds before another torrent of icy water crashed over me, robbing me of what pitiful taste of air I’d fought so hard to gain and sending me back down that spiral of panicked suffocation, diaphragm convulsing uselessly beneath that torturous burn of drowning.

Something locked around my jaw, forcing my gaze toward the blurred colors that surely hid an unknown face and drawing a startled grunt of pain from me. I could almost hear words, confident at least that they were male before my attacker released me harshly enough to slam my already throbbing head against whatever lay beneath it. I’d only just realized my wrists were bound behind me when another frigid wave was thrown at me, again leaving me sputtering for breath.

“… a patient man…” That voice growled, mind finally grasping some meager bit of clarity. “I suggest you answer my questions before things get really unpleasant.” Wheezing, I quickly looked about us for some hint as to what was happening, but the dark cell offered no clues toward who he was or where he’d taken me. I think I was tied to a chair leaning back at a precarious angle, but I couldn’t move enough to check before he grabbed me again, fingers burring into my already bruised jaw.

“Eyes on me, yuh damn rat.” He grumbled. Without conscious thought, I realized some part of me expected to find a grizzled, old man covered in scars, eyes full of enraged contempt, but that’s not who stood beside me. He appeared to barely be in his thirties, white shirt marred with sweat and blood and stains I tried not to look too closely at lest I see something far worse. Years of drinking left is stomach distended and his skin blotchy, and what light may once have filled pale, green eyes had long since abandoned him. There was no anger fueling his actions, no obvious cause for him to seek retribution from long held vendetta. This was his job, and he’d simply lost the will to be bothered by the horrors it forced him to do.

“Ah. Guess yuh weren’t really awake yet, were yuh?” He hummed more to himself than to me, “Concussions can be tricky like that…” With a deep sigh, he stepped back, hand dropping absently away from me. “Let’s start over, then.” The way he rubbed his hand over his face, the weariness dragging against his movements, it felt so painfully displaced against the way my heart raced.

“Who ordered the hit?” Lost, I could only stare at him, thoughts far too muddled beneath fear and confusion to fathom a response. “How about we start with something easier?” He muttered, though he still reached for something behind me. I heard the click of a button followed by the rush of water through pipework overhead, and the terror that gripped me was visceral, body shaking too hard to manage even a broken gasp, limbs wrenching against the shackles about my wrists and ankles.

The vague sensation of pain each movement sent tearing through my left side didn’t matter, nor the growing understanding that there had been an explosion; that everyone near the podium must have been caught in the blast, and I couldn’t begin to guess the extent of my own injuries even as I recalled the horrifying images of those far less fortunate. That knowledge, that pain, none of it mattered in the face of where I now lay: trapped before this stranger who owed me no loyalties and sought only to force answers from me that I could never give.

“Where are yuh from?” I wondered if the hint of a slur in his voice was from mere disinterest, or if he’d already begun numbing himself with some bottle stashed amidst the grime-streaked walls. “Not gonna tell me your name, either, I assume?” My jaw ground shut, gaze turning blindly to the dark ceiling above us. He offered no further warning before clicking another button to unleash the next rush of water. I managed to keep most of it from flooding my mouth, but the pressure forced enough up my nose to send me into another fit of strangled coughs.

“You’re with the Republic, yeah? Some kinda spy or something? What’s that fancy swamp planet…” He seemed to think it over for several seconds before remembering. “Naboo! You from Naboo?” Breath shattering between clattering teeth, I kept my attention turned pointedly away from him, clinging to some distant memory that it was better to remain silent during an interrogation; that even shouted curses yielded more easily to breaking than simply never speaking at all, and then I had to come to terms with that simple fact that that’s exactly what this was: an interrogation.

How long had it been since the gala? Was I still on the same planet? Was I on a planet at all? I didn’t want to acknowledge what the answers to those questions might mean; didn’t want to let myself listen for the rumble of engines or hum or air recyclers. It was easier not to know.

A tsk sounded from the man beside me, and I had to fight not to let my expression crumble beneath that fear.

“A’right.” I wanted to slap him for the disinterest in that breathy sigh, anger drawing my lips into a scowl. Again, there was no warning. A dark sack was pulled roughly over my face. I had just enough time to gasp before that water began to pour down. My chest bucked with violent fits, fighting to force some sliver of air through the endless onslaught, but it wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

The was a moment when that determination first faltered beneath the weight of a panic no amount of logic could hope to supersede; a fleeting breadth of understanding just how alone I was, how little I meant, and how hopeless even the denial that forbade me from listening for engines truly was, because regardless my dreams and nightmares, regardless the sincerity of my intentions or the purpose I once believed drove me through moments when I wanted nothing more than to shatter, the simple reality was that death didn’t care and all I’d done would amount to nothing. There was no promise of one more chance, no reason swaying whether I lived or died, no thought beyond a bone-deep, primal terror, and not a damn thing I could do to change any of it.

Powerless, I laid beneath the flow of soured water, body thrashing uselessly as the man just stood there, watching; waiting. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sensation of that sack about my face constricting with each failed gasp overwhelmed every memory I’d ever made, forsook every imagined possibility of a future, dispelled whatever higher knowledge supposedly separated sentience from feral beasts, and I knew he was utterly impartial to all of it as my lungs burned, spine wrenching against restraints that offered no leeway. The weakness that crept up my limbs was a strange thing. I barely noticed it beneath the new form of darkness overtaking me, yet some whisper of frustration balked at how quickly my muscles began to fail, how deafening my heartbeat became as those frantic coughs faded beneath wet gurgles.

Still, there was some futile sense of denial, a disbelief promising me that he wouldn’t actually let me die; that this was merely some sick form of intimidation meant to break me, and I knew exactly how foolish that thought was as the water flooded my lungs.

Agony filled my chest, my head. Fire burned my sinuses and left my throat raw as my torso convulsed in violent coughs even as I strained for breath, begging my own body to grant me some small taste of air. It felt like waking; like I’d been asleep for ages, mind hazed beneath that fog of confusion.

“..ere yuh are… Come on back.” Was that voice familiar? I vaguely thought it shouldn’t be despite how my eyes automatically travelled toward it, unable yet to make out anything beyond a blurred shaped. “Can you tell me your name?” Were his words slurring, or was my hearing merely faltering beneath that disorientating weariness eager to drag me back into unconsciousness? I knew that question, though – it had long since become ingrained into my psyche from years of asking. What’s your name? What’s the date? Where are we, right now? Where…

My lips stumbled around an initial attempt at forming an answer but managed only a choked whimper beneath a hurt that left even strangled gasps crippling. That moment of physical hinderance was enough to grant the very beginnings of a clarity that threatened to break me as some distorted mockery of sensation slowly began to return; glimpses of soiled walls, the scent of putrid water, pain lancing through joints held fast about the hard surface beneath me, through flesh left raw and torn from how violently my body had struggled against restraints still binding my wrists and ankles, looped about my chest and stomach, and the fear that stole through me was like nothing I’d ever known.

In an instant, my heart began to race, the rhythm far too quick to not be a danger in itself, but I could spare no thought toward something so mundane as a heart attack as my every muscle began to convulse, the icy obstruction of adrenaline flooding my veins as logic and rationale faltered in the wake of memories.

“Damn… figured it’d figured take longer ‘en that.” He mumbled, and I froze at the bundle of still dripping cloth hanging from his hand, unable to either tear my gaze away nor stomach the sight of it. “‘ere’s how this works,” he started, utterly unmoved by how my body shied from him as he reached toward me with that cursed fabric. “Ain’t gotta go through any of that again if you don’t want to.” The way my every cell screamed against the feeling of that mask being pulled even halfway down my face left me thrashing anew, numb to any damage sustained from how desperately I found myself flailing against my bounds. “Just gotta answer my questions, an’ it all stops.”

There was no thought; no memory even of how to think as the first drops of water danced atop my forehead. My every muscle tightened, body wrenching away with more force than it could take. Something cracked. I didn’t feel it. My teeth ground together even as my jaw strained to open, to drag as much of that precious, stale air into my lungs as I could.

“Who are yuh working with?” Rage. There was no suffocating torrent of liquid. It was barely a splash, but he knew exactly how little work he needed to do to rend me into that hysterical frenzy that so effortlessly robbed me of all but my most ancient, primal instinct, and I loathed him for how quickly it worked, lips wrenching back into a snarl.

The next gush held none of that earlier restraint. Water filled my mouth and flooded my nose, instantly sending me into ragged, gagging coughs, body jerking in an effort to at least lean onto my side that I might rid my airway of that burning, frigid certainty of drowning.

“Who orchestrated the explosion?” I thought of the mercenary as another surge of water poured over me just long enough to leave me gasping.

How do I free him!

“Who was the target?” I don’t know if there were words in whatever scream I felt tearing through my throat, but he waited mere seconds, unmoved by my choked cries.

Tell me.

“Who placed the bombs?” His emotionless voice reverberated through the darkness, lifting the mask just clear of my lips after each question before dragging it back down in the wake of answers that left him wanting, and I could only flail atop that unyielding surface as he unleashed that frigid water again and again.

I thought of the hatred in my brother’s eyes as my mind flickered at the edges of suffocation.

“Who ordered the hit?”

Did I deserve this?

“Who’s behind the assassination attempt?”

Why didn’t he just kill me?

“Tell me who ordered the hit.”

Kill me.

“Who were you sent to kill?”

Kill me kill me kill me

“Who placed the bombs?”

His earlier boredom was beginning to turn impatient. My body barely managed to struggle anymore. Didn’t matter.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I wanted that darkness. Yearned for it… because anything was better than this endless torture, hours and seconds and years of drowning with no hope of it ever stopping, no sense of time, no sense of self.

“Who-”

The sudden flurry of sounds meant nothing. I’d long since lost any grasp on reality, more certain that I was already dead than I was that those harsh, broken wheezes voiced my own, failing attempts at breath. I don’t know when that sack had been removed nor what muttered pleas tumbled listlessly from numb lips. Flashes of grey and white armor held no meaning, nor did whispered words blaring through speakers, though I remembered some fleeting thought toward the futility of whispering into a mic.

Movement. It didn’t feel like that perceived sense of endlessly falling preceding loss of consciousness… It felt like… running? My eyelids bat against the illusion painted atop the black cloth I was so sure awaited me the instant I managed to truly see. It wasn’t until I tried to move that that madness returned. No restraints held my arms trapped behind me. No unyielding board pressed painfully into my back. I was held only by the arms looped beneath my knees and shoulders, and the instant I understood that, I fought with every hint of strength granted to me by that panic-induced insanity.

I couldn’t hear anything above the chorus of sudden shouts, focus trained solely on freeing myself of that near embrace. I’d barely begun to thrash before feeling the floor rise up to meet me, body instantly kicking out to distance myself from my captor until my heels slid useless atop muck-coated stone, doing nothing more than pressing my back more firmly into the wall behind me.

“…” Muffled words lost beneath the pounding of my heart and the rasp of air catching in too-moist lungs fluttering with hyperventilated breaths stolen between wet coughs. I tried to draw my arms between myself and the figure kneeling before me, but could barely convince my hands to twitch, flared fingers trembling mere inches above the ground.

“…! …ack! Come on, kid; come back!” His voice finally broke through that frenzy, and my eyes locked on his, every muscle freezing beyond that persistent shiver I couldn’t begin to quell. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if I’d break again. My brows drew weakly together, thoughts too frantic to more than stare at him for several seconds.

“…W… Wol…” His shoulders sank at my stammered attempt to call his name.

“Right here, kid.” It was such a strange thing to hear the gentleness in his voice, but that lingering sense of wrong drew me further from the shattered recess of my mind, vaguely noting the four figures posted around us, and I didn’t need to see their helms to know who they were, that they had their weapons trained on the corridors stretching out at either side of me, ready to fire at the faintest hint of a threat. They’d found me… This was real… So, why couldn’t I free myself of that relentless fear, that deafening need to run, to find some dark corner and hide?

“I need to get you out of here.” He explained, words purposefully slowed in a way I should have taken offense to. In that moment, however, that slowness was the only reason I could make sense of them. Get out… They were going to get me out of here… but my body revolted from the very thought of letting him touch me again, of letting anyone touch…

“You can hold on to me, or I can carry you, but we can’t stay here.” I wanted to shout at that familiar, cold logic, the silent apology nestled in his hushed statement, frustration spiking at the weakness preventing my hands from clasping over my ears regardless how useless I knew the gesture to be.

“Hey – hey, look at me.” The guilt tainting his command made me want to scream even as my eyes automatically flicked back to his, some distant thought finally realizing he’d forgone protocol in favor of letting me see his face, helmet abandoned on the ground beside him. My name left his lips in a whisper, head ducking slightly to draw my unsteady gaze back toward him.

“We need to move.” My jaw tensed with curses and pleas and senseless shouts, despite my inability to hold enough breath to manage more than a stammered whimper, chest still seizing with half coughs from the phantom sensation of flooded lungs.

“Do you want me to sedate you?” He barely murmured the quiet offer, head ducking toward me. Did I… I thought of that blissful emptiness… that escape from this fear, from the pain of wounds I couldn’t remember sustaining, from the anger wrought by my own inability to force some semblance of control over myself, and, with a sob, I nodded. His expression darkened, but he said nothing as he returned the gesture.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and the tremble seizing through me redoubled, terror spiking at the threat of subjecting myself to that darkness. “You’re going to be alright, kid… Just close your eyes.” He promised… I’d never doubted him before… not like this… but how could I possibly believe him? I knew he could see how frightened I was, how lost I was in that fear; I knew he was counting every second wasted trying to guide me through this, how each of those seconds redoubled the risk of being caught, but he said nothing as I struggled to find myself through that panic, and he wasted no time when I finally managed to force my eyes shut.

The instant I felt the prick of needles, my body balked, managing to jump mere inches away, but his touch was already there, hand delicately catching my cheek as those fleeting reserves of strength abandoned me, muscles quickly going limp against him.

“Alright… I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” A final shiver darted down my spine as the warmth of his breath danced across my scalp, barely noting how carefully he eased me back into his arms, but the distant familiarity of finding myself nestled against him, of tasting his scent in my every stammered gasp even as I felt my mind begin to slip away was a comfort I clung to until even that faded.

Next Chapter

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68 notes · View notes

ficklefics · 7 months

Text

Obsessed - Part 4: Mind and Again

Your life with Jeremiah is faultless. Perfect. And yet that voice persists in the distant part of your mind: Something is wrong.

SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

PART 3

Requested by @vayereliyanin

Warnings: Self harm, Implied torture and brainwashing, Stalking, Nudity

Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Milk. A pinch of salt.

Whisk. Whisk. Whisk until the batter’s smooth.

A pan on the hob. Gentle heat. Be careful not to burn yourself. A ladle and a half. Let it coat the pan evenly. Wait. Flip. Wait. Slide it onto the plate and cover.

Pan. Ladle. Wait. Flip. Wait.

The pattern was simple. The pattern was good. It was easy to follow. No need to deviate. No need to think. It was Sunday morning and on Sunday mornings we have crepes.

The mixing bowl was empty by the time the door opened behind you. A cool hand on your waist and a kiss on your cheek in greeting.

“Good morning, sweetness.” You smiled at the pet name, at Jeremiah.

“Good morning.” Allowing yourself only a moment to lean into his touch, you pulled away. “Help me with my apron?”

His hands deftly untied the bow at your back, lifted the apron over your head and discarded it to the side. It was those simple moments that you loved most, the gentle acts of service that were so characteristic of him. You picked up the crepes and turned with them in your hands. He was smiling at you, practically glowing with love. He took the plate and carried it to the table, freeing you to bring the jar of homemade raspberry compote. He sat at the head, with you to his right, and let you shift the crepe from the top of the pile onto his plate, offering him the jar and a spoon.

“Thank you my dear.” You served yourself and began eating, knowing he wouldn’t start before you were a few bites in. He was so patient, so generous. You ate in a companionable silence. It was only after finishing his plate that he spoke: “Delicious as always.” He rested a hand on yours, holding it tight. “I must go to work now, but I’ll see you this evening. If you behave, I may even bring you a gift.” You couldn’t hide the excitement on your face. You never went without, never wanted for anything, but the idea of something special, of some kind of treat, set your heart fluttering. “If you behave, of course.” Suddenly he was serious. The grip on his hand just a little too strong. But you didn’t flinch. You simply nodded, pulling back your grin to a more restrained smile. You knew Jeremiah meant well. That he only cared for keeping you safe, protecting you. That sometimes that desire overcame him and made him go too far. It wasn’t his fault.

“Of course.” He stood and gave you a kiss on the forehead. “I hope you have a good day, love.” He smiled at that.

The dishes were cleaned, the floors swept, chores all done. There were still a few hours before Jeremiah would be home from work.

More than enough time for a relaxing bath.

Water gushed from the tap in a steaming torrent. You dripped in essential oils, lit candles, poured bubble bath until the bath was a luxury of foam and lavender. You slipped from your jeans, your blouse, left them neatly folded on the counter. Twisted your hair up and away from the nape of your neck. Climbed in and sunk into ecstasy.

A whole hour in peace and relaxation. When the water began to prick goosebumps along your skin, you stood and stepped out, wrapping the thick towelling robe around your body. You left the bathroom into the bedroom and sat at the dressing table to stare at your reflection. Damp hair hung around your face in tangles. Loose like this, it failed to hide the marks on your temples. They had always been there. Birth marks, you were sure. Almost symmetrical. Red spots, almost like abrasions. But not. Birth marks. They were birth marks. Almost unconsciously, a hand drifted under to the base of your skull, to the thin ridge that wound its way from ear to ear. The line was so narrow you almost forgot about it in the day to day. Almost. An accident with hair straighteners when you were younger and more reckless. An accident. That was all.

You shook yourself away and reached for your hairdryer and brush. The routine of blow-drying and styling was well-practiced, almost robotic. By the end of it every unsightly thing was hidden away and there wasn’t a hair out of place. There never was.

Wake up. Monday. Oatmeal. Write the shopping list. Pasta. Sleep.

Wake up. Tuesday. Omelettes. Stock the pantry. Steak. Sleep.

Wake up. Wednesday. Croissants. Clean the bathrooms. Soup. Sleep.

Wake up. Thursday. Scrambled eggs. Wash the floors. Fish. Sleep.

Wake up. Friday. French toast. Read. Chicken. Sleep.

Wake up. Saturday. Croque monsieur. Spend time together. Sushi. Sleep.

Wake up. Sunday. Crepes. Clean the kitchen. Roast beef. Sleep.

Wake up.

You were not a restless sleeper. You closed your eyes at 11pm and woke up at 6am. Like clockwork. So why were your eyes wide open and staring after you had lain down.

In the dark, the ceiling almost seemed to swirl. Or maybe it was your brain. Spots darker and brighter, inflating and shrinking, twisting and turning around each other in strange patterns. You couldn’t stop watching though you longed for your eyes to close and morning to come.

Jeremiah’s body next to yours was still. Sometimes you joked to yourself that, when he was asleep, he was indistinguishable to a corpse. Only the very slight rise and fall of his chest proved that he was still alive.

Just lay still. Don’t let him know you’re awake.

You weren’t sure why the thought of Jeremiah realising you weren’t sleeping as normal was so terrifying to you. Surely the man who loved you would be worried for your insomnia. A hazy memory of sleeping pills rose to the surface of your mind. A time when you had been plagued by sleeplessness, when… when…

And as soon as it had appeared, the memory was gone. Almost like a dream. Perhaps it was. Perhaps you were already asleep.

Flour. Sugar. Eggs. Eggs. Eggs. Milk. A pinch of salt.

Whisk. Whisk. Whisk until the batter’s smooth.

Whisk. Whisk. Eggshells. Whisk. Not smooth.

A pan on the hob. Gentle heat. Hotter. A bright flame. Fascinating colours flickering against the metal. Careful. Touch it.

It hurts. Hurts. Sensation. Hold onto it. You don’t feel anymore. But you feel this. He takes this from you. The pain. Take it back. Feel it. Hurt. Hurt.

You don’t realise you’re screaming until your hand is being pulled away and forced under a cool stream of running water. Jeremiah is at your side, hushing you, brushing away the sobs, holding your trembling form against his body. Holding you tight so you won’t slip away.

He murmurs comforting words as he sits you down and soothes the burns with a salve. The sensitive and fragile skin of your hand is now red and raw, blistering at spots. It twitches in his grasp. You haven’t spoken. You’re not sure what you’re meant to say. What you’re supposed to say. This doesn’t happen, it shouldn’t happen.

It happened.

Jeremiah was talking, but more to himself than you.

“Easy to fix, just a simple problem. Something I didn’t notice the first time. Not to worry, you’ll be good as new.”

The first time. Good as new.

Good as new.

He walked away, came back, gave you a glass of cloudy water. Under the intensity of his gaze, you drank it all.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” He helped you up from the seat, down the corridor. Changed your clothes for pyjamas and tucked you under the silken sheets. He stroked your hair as your mind grew hazy. “I’ll make you right as rain, my sweet. You’ll be yourself.”

Darkness. A single bright light. Was this death? Had you died?

No. Death couldn’t be this painful.

But it could definitely be this lonely.

All that you had was that voice in your head. The voice that was yours, and yet not yours. Screaming at you. You weren’t sure what for.

She couldn’t help you. There was nothing to be helped. This was it.

The bathwater was tepid. You couldn’t remember how long you had been soaking in it, but your fingertips had shrivelled in the damp. You were staring at the door. At the brighter spot of paint, newer than the rest of it. The slight gouges near the handle, the painted over screw holes. There had never been a lock there. You were sure of it. There was no need to lock each other out. So why…

The thought was disrupted by a jolt of pain that shot through your head. You winced, resisting the urge to cry out. Scrambling, almost panicking, you threw yourself from the bath and escaped to the bedroom, still naked and dripping water on the plush carpet. You gripped the dressing table, knuckles white. In the mirror your cheeks were pale. The birth marks darker. Stress? Must be. Stress. What stress? What was there in this life to stress you? Every day was the same, nothing ever unexpected, nothing to scare you or surprise you. So why did you feel so afraid?

The sound of the door handle turning made you spin around, heart pounding in your chest and brain pounding in your skull.

Jeremiah closed the door behind him with a click. His pale eyes took you in, stood there, exposed. An unnameable shiver ran up your spine.

“Isn’t this a surprise.” Was it surprise in his voice? Or something else?

“Jeremiah. I was just getting changed. I didn’t realise you were home.” You walked slowly towards the hook on the bathroom door where a silken robe hung. You reached for it, eager for the protection it offered.

“Wait.” You froze mid-movement. He stalked towards you. Stalked? That was the word that came to mind? Why? Now he was beside you. A cold hand rested on your skin, tracing the contours of your body, a path of goosebumps appearing in its wake. This was unusual. Jeremiah was not a physical man. Affectionate, sure, but he had never expressed interest in anything further than that. It wasn’t a problem for you. You couldn’t remember the last time you had wanted someone to touch you. This sensation was unfamiliar. Distant. Unwelcome.

He cradled the back of your head. It almost felt as though his fingers were probing the scar that sat there. He examined your face, eyes giving away nothing. You could never know what he was thinking. When he kissed you, you wanted it to feel like love. And it did, in a way. It felt like his love. Like possession. Like ownership. Like… like…

Before you could find the word, he pulled away. A gentler kiss on the forehead. “Get dressed. It’s almost time for dinner.”

What day was it? Tuesday. Stock the pantry.

Stock. Stock the pantry.

You didn’t.

You wandered. Wandered the halls like a ghost. Unending. Lost. You could taste blood in your mouth. When you touched your tongue, your saliva was clear. You felt like Theseus in the labyrinth. Bound by an invisible string, drawn to doom. Searching for something you couldn’t remember. These doors were so familiar yet so, so distant. Like a dream. Like a nightmare.

You had stopped in front of one. It opened to reveal a security room. Nobody there. Nobody watching the wall of screens showing the view of the cameras that were watching you. You took a shaky step over the threshold. The door closed behind you. The screens approached and engulfed your vision. That voice in the back of your mind was even louder now.

There was a phone. Jeremiah didn’t have phones. You didn’t need them. Everyone you needed to speak to was here. So why was there a phone?

You reached for it. Dialled a number. The number. Listened to the ringing.

A bored voice. “GCPD.”

“Hello.” The word almost became trapped in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you spoke to anyone else.

“Hello? Ma’am, this is a priority number. What do you want?”

“My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” It was important to say. You weren’t sure why.

The voice swore, then there was a clatter, and shouting. Then another voice, one that was familiar.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yes. I- I don’t-”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at home.” Were you? Were you at home? Or was this place something else, something more insidious? Something was very, very wrong.

“Look, hold on. Just don’t hang up. We’re going to find you. Just… Just hold on.”

You were still holding the phone when the building shook with footsteps. Still holding the phone when the door slammed open. Still holding the phone when the familiar face of a man you didn’t recognise appeared beside you.

“It’s okay, (Y/N). You’re safe now.”

“Was I in danger?”

Yes. Yes, you were.

This apartment was small. Bedroom, toilet, living area and kitchen combined. Barred windows that barely opened. 3 bolts and 4 chains on the door. Police in the hallway and outside the building day and night. It was more of a prison than the maze had ever been. But you finally felt free. You hadn’t realised you’d felt trapped.

Your mind was starting to piece things together. Your other life, your real life, was still a haze, but it was within reach. And every day Jeremiah was further away.

Did you miss him? You felt his absence. You weren’t sure it was the same thing.

But he was never that far, not really. The marks on your temples – those you now knew to be electrical burns – were fading, but still sore. The scar – from surgery – easy to ignore, but still present.

And when you looked out of your window, you felt him watching you. You never saw him. Never a glimpse of dark hair, of leather gloves, of pale, pale skin.

But he would never be gone.

MASTERLIST

#gotham #jeremiah valeska #jeremiah x reader #jeremiah valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska/reader #gotham x reader #gotham/reader #reader insert

40 notes · View notes

it-happened-one-fic · 8 months

Text

Rivals - Jamil

Author Notes: This fic was almost wholly inspired by how annoyed I got with Jamil while doing those fights in the Ignihyde chapter where you don't get to select your cards and just have to deal with what the game hands you. He was awful in those. I've always sort of liked the idea of Jamil and the prefect snipping back and forth at one another, so this was sort of fun to write. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ fluff/ flirtation (kinda?? I guess???)/ Reader and Jamil bicker/ Spoilers for Scarabia and Pomefiore chapters

Word count: 1807 words

You didn’t know exactly how you’d reached this point, but you were here now, and you certainly weren’t backing down.

The problem at hand was quite simple really, and it even had a name you could put to it.

Jamil. Jamil was the problem. Because at some point, the two of you had become rivals.

Looking back, you were fairly certain it stemmed from the entire Scarabia incident during winter break. It was strange how you’d been able to forgive the other overblot victims for their crimes with only a few biting comments. But something about what Jamil had done had rubbed you the wrong way.

Oh, it was true; you completely understood his thinking and longing for recognition. And you even felt he deserved to be recognized for his many talents.

But the fact that he, not anyone else, had been the one to drag you into that whole debacle was what really upset you.

With all of the other overblots, it had been Crowley, your friends, or even your own feelings that had caused you to become embroiled in another dorm's drama.

But the situation with Scarabia, had been different. Jamil was the one who’d brought you to Scarabia and he was the reason you’d ended up involved.

Locked up, being worked to the bone, and eventually escaping before returning with help in the form of the Octatrio. It wasn’t an experience you would forget.

You had, to a degree, forgiven Jamil since it was true that he was dealing with years of stress and buried feelings. But you would always wonder what on earth had caused him to decide to hold you hostage when you wouldn’t have discovered his little plot if he hadn’t dragged you into the situation.

It made very little sense for such an otherwise intelligent young man to make such an obvious mistake. It was almost like he’d simply wanted you to be there for some unknown reason.

And now you’d reached this odd relationship with Jamil, filled with snide remarks and the determination to one-up each other.

If you had to put a name on your dynamic with Scarabia’s vice-housewarden, then ‘frenemies’ would be the closest thing to accuracy that you could think of. Because you didn’t hate Jamil, but you certainly did bicker with him enough for the two of you to easily be categorized as foes.

And it went both ways. You weren’t the only one who held irritation towards the other one.

Jamil hadn’t backed down in the slightest when it came to your interactions. And at this point, the relationship had swelled out of control.

And it had all started so simply too. Shortly after winter break had ended, you’d been paired to work with Jamil in a magical application test that involved defense and attack from the pair opposite you. Namely, Ruggie and Azul.

You didn’t think you’d ever forget the smug look Jamil had cast your way, “Don’t worry. Everything will go smoothly.”

Smoothly, the assuredly attractive fool had said. Perhaps it would have gone smoothly if he and Grim had both listened a bit more to your suggestions.

A tiny part of you regretted that you’d snapped at him as you shoved your soaked hair out of your face. It wasn’t truly his fault.

Grim had been underfoot when he’d panicked and had definitely worsened the situation, causing Jamil to stumble over the yowling feline and pitched directly over into you.

You’d both landed hard on the ground, turned muddy by Azul’s torrent of water magic, and you’d looked at the young man sprawled across your lap with a huff of not entirely fair venom, “Smoothly, huh?”

Those words had been like a nail in the coffin that had been the potentially budding friendship between you and Jamil. Since then, all of your interactions had been almost exclusively filled with biting comments and impressive levels of snarkiness.

It was true that it wasn’t an entirely irrevocable situation. After all, Jamil had protected you during Vil’s overblot, and you’d saved him from bugs countless times now without ever having made a single comment on his fear.

But it was also true that there was little to no love lost between you and the Scarabia vice-housewarden.

Which was why you were surprised when it had been Jamil who had darted so quickly with such a panicked expression across the potionology classroom solely to put up a barrier between you and a potion that had gone explosively wrong in your pot.

You’d been tugged impossibly close to the young man as he made some form of magical shield that blocked both the explosion and the gooey liquid that steamed on its surface before sliding down into a gruesome pile on the floor.

As always, Crewel reacted in record time as he caused the offensive mass to simply disappear before whirling on your fellow potion-maker, demanding to know what had happened since it apparently had to be something to do with the flow of his magic.

You stepped backwards, exhaling a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding before looking up at the young man who was watching your classmate get chewed out by your shared teacher, “Thank you.”

Your voice came out surprisingly quiet and was met with a half shrug and a noncommittal, “Don’t mention it.” The young man glanced over, giving your person a quick scan that you’d seen him give Kalim numerous times when he was checking for injuries.

“Viper,” Crewel’s voice was sharp as ever and had both your and Jamil’s attention snapping over to him.

The teacher sighed, brushing his two-toned hair back as he eyed the young man next to you, “Good work. If you hadn’t reacted quite so quickly, I fear Y/n may have suffered great injury.”

Jamil inclined his head, having stiffened slightly as soon as the classroom’s attention had fallen on him.

“If you would, walk them to the infirmary, they will still need a check-up simply for safety reasons. Inhaling the fumes could cause them to pass out so…”

There was no need for Crewel to finish since Jamil was already nodding, efficient as ever as he grabbed your hand and agreed to do as requested, “Of course.”

A single glance was thrown your way before he pulled you along after him, out the door and down the hall, with him leading the way.

His grip was tight, you noticed, as you let him tug you along in silence as what had just occurred slowly settled in your mind. Perhaps Ace was right and you were danger-prone…. But then you really felt like the exploding potion would count more as bad luck. It wasn’t like you’d caused it after all.

“If you start to feel dizzy, let me know,” Jamil’s words snapped you out of our silent reverie, causing you to look towards him with slight surprise.

His words made sense, but…. Well, Jamil was seldom quite so gentle. Especially not with you.

“I… Yeah,” You faltered slightly, not sure of what to say to him. To be honest, you wanted to thank him again, but you also didn’t want to start parroting the exact same words.

Past that, your mind was a garbled mess of slowly fading shock and confusion as to Jamil’s actions.

It wasn’t really that odd that Jamil had stepped in to protect you. It wasn’t like he was so horrible or that the relationship between you two had become so vitriolic that he would wish you harm. It was odd that he’d looked so desperate when he’d run across the room, though.

And you wouldn’t have even known that was the case if his cauldron hadn’t been right in your line of sight when the explosion had happened.

You felt yourself get pulled to a stop and glanced over to see the young man in question looking at you worriedly, “Y/n… Are you alright?”

You blinked, startled, before you realized that being zoned out right after having a potion whose fumes might cause you to pass out explode right in front of you probably was concerning.

“Oh, yeah… I guess I’m still just a little shocked from the potion’s explosion,” You frowned as you thought back to the potionology classroom once more, “Do you reckon my partner’s okay? Professor Crewel didn’t send him to get checked up….”

Jamil snorted at your soft words, giving your arm a tiny tug as he started leading you towards the infirmary once more, “I wouldn’t worry about him. You should worry more about yourself.”

He glanced back at you, a glint in his grey eyes, “You are the one who nearly got hurt after all, not them.”

It was a step back into his usual commentary. Snarking at you about your innate ability to get yourself into risky situations. After all was deemed well, he’d probably be scolding you just like he had right after Vil’s overblot.

He let out a sigh as you looked at where his hand was still gripping yours, pondering why he was still holding your hand since you were obviously perfectly capable of walking and still lucid.

“We’re here,” He gestured to the door that was coming up on your left side, a smooth smirk working its way onto his face. “Try not to get into any more trouble in there, hm?”

And there was the smug tone you knew. The one that reared its head only when you were around, and he wasn’t putting on his old act of subservience. Two things that coincided to an almost suspicious degree.

“Sure.” You chirped out your reply before holding up your hand that he still held clasped in his hand, “But why are you still holding my hand?”

His eyes widened at the sight of your hand in his, and you grinned in triumph. You’d been right. He’d totally forgotten he’d been holding your hand.

He dropped your hand like it was on fire before realizing how incriminating that was and leaning forward, “Can't have you getting me in trouble for not taking proper care of the patient.”

His words only made you grin more because while they would be a fine comeback from most people; they were sloppy coming from him. Which meant one glorious truth. He was flustered.

So you did what you did best and fired back, leaning closer to him so that you were a mere hair’s breadth away, “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Crewel you took wonderful care of me, Jamil.”

He made a face at you before stepping away, “Just take better care of yourself. I might not be there next time.”

He turned on his heel, walking away and leaving you standing there frowning to yourself thoughtfully. Because it was odd to have your rival be quite so concerned for your well-being.

Wasn’t it?

107 notes · View notes

perhaps-in-anotherdream · 1 year

Text

[CN] Victor’s Luolan Date (Eng Translation)

“It appears I’ve already found the rose from the legend, one that will never wither.”

⌚Warning⌚ This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 楼兰之约, that is yet to be released on the global server! ♡

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

【Subbed Video】

[Anika's Notes]: tbh ig the VAs were told to soften their voice 10x than usual for this event LOL. The amount of nonverbal sounds—— 😩 also, since Tumblr wants to reduce my workload LOL and won’t allow more than 30 pics, PLS DO WATCH the video for the god-tier voice acting, new bgs, the bgms and sprite alterations too~💕

youtube

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【Transcript Version】

【Chapter 1】

Victor: If you keep crying for any longer, your eyes might become swollen.

MC: [sobbing] The ending was simply too unfair. Who can resist crying…

Through the hazy veil of tears, I see the lights in the living room flicker on.

The time-traveling drama I’ve been following all summer aired its series finale tonight. Victor even joined me in watching the web series together after getting off work.

We were chatting about the storyline just fine, until the final scene when my tears began streaming down uncontrollably––

Upon returning to the present day, the heroine enters Luolan once again, only to discover that the once prosperous city has eroded into the long river of time.

But the rose that the Prince of Luolan had carved outside the palace walls still blossoms on the crumbling ruins, quietly awaiting her for a thousand years.

Victor places a towel, radiating warm steam, over my eyes, gradually soothing my emotions.

MC: Don’t you find it beautiful?

Victor: Carving a rose into a stone is quite romantic. I can understand why you like it.

MC: I see absolutely no hint of being moved on your face…

He slightly furrows his brows in response to what sounded like an odd statement to him.

Victor: You’re not expecting us both to cuddle up and cry our eyes off, are you?

A rather peculiar image flashes through my mind, and I can’t help but burst into laughter.

Victor: Crying one moment and laughing the next. Your emotions are truly fickle.

MC: Precisely. Compared with my vivid and overt emotional display, this audience member’s emotions are too composed.

Victor: The selling point of all time-travel dramas mostly revolves around the theme that love can transcend time and space, with endings that can either be joyful or sorrowful.

Victor: This ending was predictable.

MC: But this series is adapted from the legend of the last prince of Loulan!

MC: Additionally, in the last century, a foreign explorer claimed to have seen flower-shaped carved patterns on the stone tiles at the Luolan ruins.

Victor listens quietly, then turns his gaze to me after a brief pause.

Victor: So, is this why you want to visit the Loulan ruins?

MC: Well, it’s not the sole reason. The legend of Luolan’s overnight disappearance has been widely known as a mystical tale. I was originally–– hang on, how did you know I wanted to go there?

The answer to my question is a document he hands to me. Upon closer look, I realize it’s actually the official permit granting access to enter the Luolan ruins.

MC: Why do you have this document too?

Victor: …dummy, it’s yours. Could they have sent it to the wrong person?

I flip through a few pages, and sure enough, find my full name written in the applicant’s box.

MC: I had just woken up when I filled in the address… I guess I subconsciously thought it would be safer to have it sent to you?

Victor: Sweet talker.

He raps my head.

Victor: But I heard that it’s no longer open for public visits.

MC: Yes, indeed~ Currently, only teams on scientific expeditions or those with permits are allowed in.

MC: The conditions for obtaining the permit are so incredibly stringent. I even tried leveraging all my connections, but still couldn’t succeed!

Hearing my words, he gives me a sidelong glance but doesn’t interrupt my unceasing torrent of complacent monologue.

MC: Luckily, I was able to negotiate a documentary collaboration with the local government and received an invitation for sightseeing~ I even signed multiple agreements to protect cultural relics.

Victor: No wonder a certain dummy’s tail is raised high into the sky; it indeed was no easy feat. However––

Victor: [sulking] You just said you had leveraged all your connections. How come I don’t remember myself being among those connections you leveraged?

MC: Because this was meant to be my Qixi Festival surprise for you…

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 2】

Victor: Is this abrupt emergency break also a part of the surprise?

He pinches up the coffee-spattered shirt clinging to his body and stares at me sitting in the driver’s seat, lost for words.

MC: That pit just now was really too tricky…!

Just a few short hours ago, we landed at Luolan Airport. However, upon arrival, we were informed by the airline that our checked luggage had been delayed in the transit city and wouldn’t be delivered until two days later.

To avoid delaying our itinerary, we agreed to deal with the matter of collecting them on our way back. With that settled, I confidently got into the driver’s seat of the RV, and alongside Victor, embarked on a self-driven journey into the desert.

Yet, as expected, things aren’t as uncomplicated as I initially thought.

Looking at his shirt– practically soaked through and with coffee still dripping from it– I promptly grab some tissues and wipe it off for him.

The next second, my gaze suddenly falls upon the carry-on suitcase on the luggage rack. My eyes light up, leading me to pause in my actions.

MC: Why not take it off and wash it immediately? Although, while waiting for the clothes to dry, it seems like you’ll have to either be completely naked––

Unsurprisingly, as I deliberately prolong the final note, his reaction of furrowing his brows is true to my expectations.

MC: Or you could wear the couple’s outfit I packed inside the carry-on luggage for taking photos~

Victor: It seems like occasionally; one can still count on––

However, as soon as I take out two sets of lavish Western Region attire, his voice ceases to be heard.

The gold-plated ornaments chime with a delicate tinkling sound, aggravating the crease between his brows.

Victor: What are these?

MC: Compared to my dancer’s attire, yours is actually a collaboration with the museum, an exact 1:1 replica of the half-sleeved garment worn by the Prince of Loulan back in the day~

Victor: So?

Seeing that he is unmoved, I extend my hand and point to the sign denoting the “uninhabited area” by the roadside.

MC: There’s no place to purchase clothes around here. If you don’t change soon, that coffee stain won’t come off. And then, regardless of what outfit you wear on the return trip, it’ll end up on the news––

MC: 《The CEO of LFG’s Grand Cosplay Elevates Airport Fashion》 or 《The CEO of LFG Spotted in Stained Shirt - Speculations of Bankruptcy》. Your choice?

After quite a while, he compromises with a sigh, taking the clothes from me and walking towards the bathroom at the back of the RV.

Not long after, the sound of water seems to quiet down. In anticipation, I turn my head––

The soft crimson robe barely conceals the glimpses of sculpted and muscular contours underneath, complemented by intricate gold ornaments that adorn him with an air of regal nobility and grace.

Faced with my unblinking gaze fixated on him, he displays a somewhat unnatural expression, which is rarely seen on his face.

Victor: Why aren’t you changing?

MC: [still busy gaping] What?

Victor: Why am I the only one wearing the couple’s outfit?

MC: Okay, okay, I’ll “accompany” you.

Watching the awkward expression on his face, I can’t contain my laughter and let out a chuckle. Just before his gaze can shoot my way, I hurriedly grab my attire and head to the bathroom.

The desert weather is always fluctuating and unpredictable. Right after I finish changing my clothes, I notice a sudden sandstorm brewing outside the window.

Seemingly catching a sound, his gaze lingers on me for a brief moment, and an almost imperceptible tenderness crests on the arches of his brows.

With the scope visibility diminished, Victor assumes control of the steering wheel, deftly maintaining a steady distance from the swirling sand and wind.

After who knows how long, we finally spot a single-story house coming into view at the end of the yellow sand. Brimming with excitement, I tap the navigation icon to zoom in and get a closer look.

MC: It’s the cultural relics preservation station!

—

Initially, our intention was only to charge the RV. But with the yellow sand swirling around, we find ourselves invited by the stationed personnel, Maizi, to come inside and rest for a bit.

Just as we step inside, a dense mass of sand and stones outside the window surges forward, closing in rapidly.

The sandstorm has begun.

Thoughts of how an entire kingdom was once buried under this very sand spring to mind, and an instinctive fear begins to loom large within me.

The delicate brick house trembles subtly amidst the raging wind, and at this moment, a crisp sound resounds in my ears.

Several pairs of shimmering gold-plated earrings illuminate my dusky field of view. Taking note of my reaction, Maizi places them in front of me.

Maizi: Don’t be scared. Here, we’ve been wearing these kinds of earrings since childhood. They’re like protective charms for children in the desert.

As Maizi speaks, she turns slightly and shows me her earrings. The luster has dimmed a touch, suggesting she’s been wearing them for a long time.

Maizi: These are the ones I made for my kids. If you don’t mind, would you guys like to choose two pairs?

MC: Thank you, but it’s alright.

With a hint of bashfulness, I gesture with my hand and point at Victor’s ears.

MC: Besides, my boyfriend doesn’t have ear piercings.

Maizi: It’s no problem. My eldest son doesn’t have ear piercings either.

With a smile, Maizi offers me a pair of clip-on earrings.

Maizi: Consider them as a wish for your safety and well-being. Take them.

—

As the sandstorm eases up, not wanting to impose any longer, we say our goodbyes and ultimately accept the two pairs of earrings before returning to the RV.

Perhaps due to how terrifyingly unnerving the sandstorm was, Victor doesn’t refuse when I offer to help him wear the clip-on earrings after he’s put the earrings on me.

I take up the clip-on earring and carefully trace my finger over his earlobe to figure out its placement. However, after spending a good amount of time, I still don’t find the ideal position I’m entirely satisfied with.

Victor: Still not done?

MC: Have a little patience. I don’t seem to recall rushing you when you gifted me earrings for the first time~

–

[Tidbits]: AHHH YESSS the call back to their first “kiss” kiss date– “Dazzling Date” 🥺

–

At long last, I find the right spot and fasten the clip. Following this, I can’t help myself and imitate the past actions in my memories, gently cradling his face and leaning in to take a closer look.

The glistening golden pieces dance softly. However, in the next second, a subtle blush at the corner of his eyes captures my attention.

Seeing this, I mischievously continue leaning closer and closer to him. As I catch a momentary hitch in his steady breathing, I deliberately reach out to stroke his earlobe.

MC: Oh gosh, could you be allergic to metal? The corners of your eyes have turned red. Maybe I should take them off…

Before the words fully leave my mouth, I find myself abruptly pulled into his arms.

Victor: They’re on just fine, don’t mess with them.

His arms tighten around me a little more, and I obediently nestle into his embrace, letting the cocoon of safety enfold me.

The swirling underlying tension caused by the dreadful weather finally dissipates, akin to feathers drifting in the air. As drowsiness slowly sweeps over me, I register the sound of my last question being put into words.

MC: Victor, what if we can’t find the remains? What should we do then?

Victor: If we don’t find them this time, we will come back next time.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 3】

[Anika’s Notes]: While I’ll talk about this later, just wanted to say— that the way we get a mere glimpse into how extreme level of PTSD this man has given MC from the main story like— I’m counting fingers for the number of times she got nightmares when he isn’t next to her— (⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠)

—

A man sits in solitude beneath the palace walls, gazing towards the east for a long, long time.

He has probably repeated the act of carving a million times before. It seems as if the carving knife in his hand has a soul of its own now, each stroke finding its mark with precision, etching deep scars.

Fresh blood trickles down along the blade’s edge, staining the rose with a blood-red hue. Yet, he appears unresponsive to the pain, persistently carving stroke after stroke.

Only when the red headscarf is lifted by the wind does a familiar face emerge before my eyes.

MC: Victor!

I reach out in a panic to touch him, but a sudden onslaught of sand and wind surges forth, engulfing him in the blink of an eye.

–

Startled awake from the nightmare, I instinctively reach my hand to my side, only to find nothing but an empty space.

Victor is not in the car.

Amidst the boundless silence, a distant chime of camel bells suddenly reaches me. Compelled by the sound, I push open the car door––

The sandstorm has ceased at some point, revealing a sky that’s now crystal clear and brilliantly bright.

The curtain of dusk hangs low, but the luminous moon has already ascended in the vault of the heavens, radiating its brilliance alongside the sun.

Among the endless sand dunes, Victor, attired in exquisite garments, guides a pure white camel through the terrain, advancing his way through the light.

Stretching behind him, across the infinite expanse of Lop Desert, stands several silent, solitary, and enigmatic remnants of ancient civilizations.

The breeze dances by, causing his knuckles to gently clasp the upper garment brushing against his grave and stern visage, setting the accessories on his splendid attire to chime with delicate, tinkling sounds.

Perhaps dazzled by the light, he squints his slender eyes and immediately spots my presence. He appears slightly taken aback, but then quickens his stride as he approaches my direction.

In the boundless landscape, with each step he takes toward me, I feel as if he is crossing through a thousand years to reach me.

The scene from the dream resurfaces in my mind once again, and before I can even fully comprehend it, I’m already sprinting toward him with large strides.

I practically crash into his arms.

Victor: [breathes sharply] Running so fast––

Seeing that I’m breathless and staring fixedly at him without even blinking my eyes, he freezes for a moment. Then, as if realizing something, he envelops me in his arms.

Victor: The Luolan ruins we are heading to are in that direction. We can’t drive there, so I borrowed a camel from Maizi for transportation.

Victor: It was released to wander in the desert, and I needed to go and guide it back myself. You seemed to be sleeping so soundly, so I didn’t wake you up.

His words are extremely slowed, spoken one at a time. Listening to him, rather than an explanation, it sounds more like he is comforting me.

MC: You weren’t here just now and… I had this strange dream.

With his questioning eyes upon me, I feel compelled to respond honestly.

MC: I dreamt that you turned into the Prince of Loulan and were swept away by the sand...

Victor: [sighs with infinite indulgence and helplessness] …

MC: You find this amusing?

Hearing my grumbling, he finally can’t hold back a muffled chuckle, drawing his arms around me a little tighter.

Victor: Have you confirmed it now? – that I haven’t been swept away by the sand?

MC: Who knows, maybe you had gotten swept away! And it was this camel that rescued you and brought you back.

I huff angrily and bicker with him, effectively dispelling the uneasiness that the nightmare had triggered.

However, the camel seems to have caught on something, suddenly swaying its head and coming closer to me.

Momentarily taken aback, I then laugh in spite of myself and reach out to pat it. This gesture seems to act as a signal of some sort, prompting it to obediently lower itself to the ground.

MC: Huh, could it be that I have a natural talent for taming camels?

Victor: It’s more likely a stroke of luck.

As he speaks, he nimbly mounts the camel’s saddle and reaches out to hug me, lifting me up onto it alongside him.

The camel stands up in due course and suddenly leaps into the air, prompting me to let out a subconscious cry of exclamation.

MC: Whoa!

Victor: Hold onto me firmly and sit tight.

After he tugs on the reins, the camel pivots to change its direction and heads toward the ruins.

Probably due to Victor’s presence, I swiftly adapt to the bumpy ride. I even begin swaying my ornaments to create a pleasant sound, echoing in harmony with the camel’s bells.

MC: I feel like I’m a dancer being offered to the Prince of Luolan~

Victor: How come I’m not aware of any dynasty where a prince would rush out of the palace to welcome a dancer?

His teasing leaves me momentarily dumbfounded. It takes me quite a while before I open my mouth to speak, unwilling to resign myself.

MC: I never said the Prince of Luolan is you.

For an instant, Victor seems to stiffen up. When he speaks again, his tone takes on a slight rigidity.

Victor: [sulking] Who is he, then?

MC: …that’s not the important point!

MC: The important point is that you’re the Mr. Husband of my dreams– whom I’ve long set my heart on, and now you’re stealing me away to elope.

Victor: Childish.

A gentle tap lands on my head, and as I tilt my head up, I find myself ensnared by the light of his tender eyes.

MC: You clearly look really happy~

He doesn’t banter any further and only gives a tug on the reins, prompting the camel’s steps to become a bit brisker.

Receding into the distance amid the boundless expanse swept by the northern breeze, the glory and decline, the prosperity and withering of ancient Luolan have long frozen into eternal slumber.

MC: How wonderful!

Victor: What’s got you so moved again?

MC: The weather has cleared, which is wonderful. We’re heading to the ruins without any hiccups, which is also wonderful. But the most wonderful thing is having you by my side, chatting about all sorts of nonsense.

MC: No matter what, everything is wonderful as long as Victor is around.

The jingling tinkle of camel bells accompanies his gentle laughter close to my ears.

Victor: It’s only possible with a certain dummy around.

As the outlines of the ruins become distinct, I turn my head back in exhilaration.

MC: Even if I have to turn this place upside down, I’ll find that stone-carved rose!

His gaze lingers briefly on my arms waving around in excitement, and then he arches an eyebrow.

Victor: It appears crucial for me to remind you that you signed agreements for the preservation of cultural relics. If you do turn this place upside down––

Victor: I won’t be able to save you, even if I were to sell LFG.

—

•─────⋅◍♡◍⋅─────•

—

【Chapter 4】

MC: …it’s all completely weathered away.

As I look at the historical ruins of the ancient kingdom before my eyes, which have gradually been devoured into nothingness by the endless expanse of yellow sand, I can’t resist pouting my lips.

MC: Locating the ruins of the imperial palace itself is akin to a far-fetched tale, let alone finding the stone-carved rose.

Victor: Why are you so hung up on that legend?

MC: Just a bit of anticipation, you know. After all, you see, If I were in that position, I’d surely leave behind some traces for you.

MC: The speculation is that the woman in the tales possessed an Evol similar to yours, which led her to go there. But, due to certain factors, she had no choice but to leave.

Victor: It won’t be the same.

He softly counters my statement, his gaze filled with seriousness.

MC: Hm?

Victor: With me, those factors you mentioned won’t come into existence.

A warm and fuzzy feeling suddenly envelopes my heart. I grin, drawing closer to him.

MC: Guess there’s no way around it. It seems I have no choice but to concede that the legend is, indeed, bogus.

He pauses for a moment, and his lips twitch. But in the end, he doesn’t say anything. Soon, a glimmer of a smile sparkles in his eyes, and immediately after, he tightly clasps my hand.

—

While I’m still in the midst of my puzzlement, a sudden glaring sunlight makes me reflexively squint my eyes. And then, a hot and humid breeze, carrying an exotic fragrance, hits me in the next moment.

After struggling to open my eyes, I curiously peer in the direction of the light, only to find myself frozen right where I’m standing––

Before my eyes lay a quaint-style courtyard adorned with fragrant blossoms. A flowing river winds its way through, its glistening waves reflecting in the sunlight with water that is clear and pristine, hosting schools of fish swimming within.

Compared to me who is filled with utter incredulity, Victor’s expression remains unchanged as if the current sight before us holds no element of astonishment for him.

Could this be a mirage? Puzzled, I gingerly brush the river’s water with the tips of my toes. The cool sensation of the flowing stream leaves me bewildered, prompting me to lift my gaze to the person next to me.

MC: Victor, am I dreaming again?

Victor: Just earlier, didn’t a certain someone say that she wanted me to take her away to elope?

He smiles as he looks at me, and in his eyes, the magnificent beauty and grand scenery of an ancient landscape are reflected.

The lofty dome of the circular palace hall is embellished with ceramic glazed tiles on its overhanging eaves, each detail unmistakably declaring the opulent and prestigious nature of this place.

Atop the roof stands a wooden pagoda reminiscent of those unique to ancient Luolan, and a lush canopy of greenery veils the gray-red palace walls I’ve seen in the drama.

A somewhat daring conjecture surfaces in my mind.

MC: This wouldn’t be the Imperial Palace of Luolan, is it?

Seeing the originator of all this noncommittally raise an eyebrow, I feel my heart tighten and rush to examine him thoroughly, circling around him.

MC: [anxiously, PTSD x2] A-are you feeling any discomfort?

Victor: [?? laughs helplessly. *screams* DO YOU SEE HOW BADLY YOU GAVE HER AND US MAIN STORY PTSD––] Dummy. I’m not that fragile.

Victor: As long as we manage to sidestep the butterfly effect and avoid impacting the course of history––

Probably noticing that I’m tensely staring into his eyes again, he slips my restless hand into his palm and gives it a gentle squeeze.

Victor: Don’t be so anxious. There won’t be anyone else here for the time being.

Hearing him say this, I poke my head out and gaze at the rare and magnificent view that lay before me.

MC: So, can we take photos?

Victor: Ask your phone.

But I soon realize that my phone is entirely frozen on the lock screen interface and is refusing to respond whatsoever, leaving me with no choice but to resentfully lower my hand.

MC: The phone says it’s not possible…

Victor: That being the case, simply keep your eyes wide open and commit it to your memory.

I let him lead me toward the depths of the courtyard, and along the way, we see the flowers bloom all the more luxuriantly. Unwittingly, I find myself mesmerized by the vista.

It’s not until a glazed table adorned with delicacies and fine wines appears amidst the blossoms that I stop in my tracks in astonishment.

–– Everything unfolding before my eyes is gradually starting to align with the scenes from the time-travel drama in my memories.

MC: It turns out that the drama is actually so detailed. It seems that I, who diligently watched every episode without exception, am about to become a walking encyclopedia of Luolan––

From the garden on the other side of the wall, there suddenly comes voices of conversation. I hastily hush and excitedly prick up my ears to listen to their dispute.

However, all that reaches my ears are unfamiliar and garbled sounds, and soon I start feeling my head beginning to spin a little. Once the women have walked farther away, I find I’m already frowning without even realizing it.

Victor: Looks like a certain encyclopedia trained through time-travel dramas is really just a half-filled bucket of water sloshing around.

MC: Says who!

–

[Anika’s tidbits]: HAHA as you guys know, I’ve long stopped explaining the thousands of idioms and intricate phrases Li Zeyan writers use unless they’re absolutely necessary/ crucial– or else my translation notes would be bigger than the content itself LOL– and this is one of those and it’s one of my favs 😂 the full idiom phrase is “一桶水不响，半桶水晃荡” – it literally means while a full bucket of water doesn’t make noise as it is heavy and stable, a half-filled bucket sloshes around– i.e. those wisest among us prefer being quiet and are self-confident, while those who are in the less wise/ smarter group often try to compensate their lack of knowledge/ understanding by asserting that they do~ 💀

–

Displeased with his jest, I swiftly focus my gaze on a copper utensil.

MC: Believe it or not, this was designed for storing spices, and it’s a very rare and expensive item.

I open the lid as I speak, and sure enough, a strong and fragrant aroma assails my nostrils. I can’t help but lift my chin complacently.

Victor: [laughs indulgently] Alright, I underestimated a certain dummy.

I vaguely feel that the aroma is somewhat familiar, so I lean in to take a whiff, and a powerful fragrance of mugwort instantly invades the tip of my nose.

MC: [sneezes] Ah-choo!

I rub my nose and look up, only to find that I have blown most of the scented powder onto Victor’s body, causing his figure to be coated with a drizzle of white.

The next second, he narrows his eyes and swiftly scoops me behind him. The smell of bone-chilling danger subtly spreads through the air.

MC: You’re not angry––?

Victor: Hush.

Looking in the direction of his gaze, I instantly become dumbstruck where I’m standing.

A massive leopard is peering at us from beneath the poplar tree, its face obscured by the shade of the tree, its pupils gleaming with an eerie and chilly light.

MC: L-Leopard…

Victor: [smiling] I’m familiar with it.

Despite being faced with a ferocious beast, this man actually still has the mood to crack jokes!

MC: But according to historical accounts, this should be one of those leopards raised in captivity by the royals and aristocrats. It’s probably quite docile… it wouldn’t eat us, right?

Victor: [still smiling] Being raised in captivity doesn’t mean it has lost its ability to hunt.

Seeing the leopard arch its back, fear grips me so hard that I cling tightly to his arm.

MC: Do we still have a chance to slip away secretly?

Victor: [still smiling] We’ve already made direct eye contact within its territory. Stay calm for now.

Pressing my hand against my wildly thudding heart, I raise my gaze to see it take a whiff of the air and then proceed to saunter leisurely in our direction.

After a while, it approaches Victor and sniffs gently. My heart leaps to my throat, but leaving me stupefied, it actually lays down, its shape reminiscent of a fluffy cushion. It even nuzzles him affectionately with its head.

What follows is a fuzzy ticklish sensation, and I stare in startled shock as the leopard’s tail merrily swishes against my lower leg.

MC: …didn’t we just make eye contact with it? Yet you’ve actually managed to tame it?

I cast an incredulous glance at Victor, while he is staring at the incense burner with furrowed brows.

Victor: This scented powder probably isn’t intended for human application.

The enormous creature rolls over, laying bare its soft belly, exceedingly similar to the way Pudding behaves coquettishly after sucking on catnip.

Victor: It might not necessarily be us who drew it here. This fragrance is not just on me.

It’s only now that I realize a subtle aroma of mugwort is also lingering in the air. Following the fragrance, my eyes land on one side of the path lined with densely grown nepeta herbs. I immediately heave a sigh of relief.

At this moment, the leopard flexes its limbs in an inviting gesture, signaling for Victor to pet it. As I watch his rare expression of being at a loss for what to do, I can’t help but break into laughter.

Victor: [laughs helplessly] …look at what good deed you’ve done!

MC: Being approached by an imperial leopard is a rare blessing that can never be obtained even if one beseeched it.

–

[Anika’s tidbits]: ANOTHER ONE OF MY MOST FAV PHRASES EVER! The term MC uses here is 求都求不来 (qiu dui qui bu lai), which is a play on this phrase: 可遇不可求 (ke yu bu ke qui), which means “can only be obtained (serendipitously) but not be sought after” – which paints the perfect imagery for “destiny, sth/sb being destined for someone”~ and a very important thing to note, which I’ll come back to later. 🥺

–

Likely attributed to my overly bright gloating, Victor curls his fingers as he pinches up a small amount of the scented powder, which he then dabs on my face.

Sure enough, the leopard turns around and nuzzles against me. Seeing that I’m not putting up any resistance, it then straightens itself up and buries me completely in its soft fur.

MC: …ngh, Victor! Save me!

Victor: Nope. This “rare blessing that can never be obtained even if one beseeched it” is now being given to you.

Nudged by the leopard, I’m prompted to draw a few steps back, and as I let out a startled cry and tumble backward, I find myself landing in a soft embrace.

Amused, Victor pats the leopard on the head, and it obediently sits back down on the ground, reminiscent of a docile house kitten.

–

Even as he enfolds me in his arms and sits us both down on the grassy lawn, I remain a bit indignant.

MC: Why does it only listen to you! We both clearly have the same scent.

At this moment, I happen to glimpse at the golden silk embroidery on his clothes shimmering in the sunlight. I then contemplatively look at my own dress, which is somewhat plain.

Victor: You don’t think it’s because of the clothes, do you?

MC: …who can say, perhaps its owner has clothes identical to yours.

Victor: Well, a certain someone must be thinking to herself, “Had I known earlier, I would’ve chosen a fancy princess gown for myself.”

Seeing me choked silly by his spot-on guess of my thoughts, he studies me with even more and more interest.

Victor: [IN THE MOST DOTING AND ADORABLE VOICE EVER] But however you slice it, a certain dummy still looks like a certain dummy.

Disgruntled, I lean closer to the water’s surface to check my reflection. A pouty face suddenly jumps out at me, which indeed is in disharmony with the dancer’s attire.

However, when I turn around and notice the wine cups on the table, an idea immediately strikes me.

I pick up a cup and lean in to bring it to his lips, working hard to make my voice sound soft and enticing as I speak.

MC: Your Highness~

He pauses for a brief moment, almost imperceptibly, before swiftly locking eyes with me.

Victor: There’s no wine in the cup.

MC: …you spoilsport!

Huffing, I sit up straight from his arms and shoot him a glare.

MC: Isn’t it because I’m afraid that if I spill the wine just like I sneezed earlier, it could result in altering the details of the history!

Victor, however, lightly quirks the corners of his lips, pours the glass to the brim with wine, and once again draws me closer to his side.

Victor: What did you want to do to me? Go on.

MC: You…

Before I can fully comprehend why he is being so cooperative at this moment, I feel a gentle force gripping my chin up.

I find myself falling into those serenely deep and unceasingly approaching pupils, and my breathing becomes rapid, beyond my control.

Victor: Weren’t you quite bold just a moment ago?

Victor: Seeing how you’re being so tentative like this, do you want me to teach you how one should drink this wine?

My slightly trembling hand is gently lifted by him with an irresistible force, and the small wine cup is soon raised to the level of my eyebrows and then even higher.

His fingers trace a slow path from my wrist to the palm of my hand, making the wine in the cup ripple, mirroring the swaying of my heart in tandem.

Just as his waywardly mischievous fingers are about to enter between the crevices of mine, he applies a slight pressure. The teetering fine liquid finally spills out, and the cool sensation quietly trickles down my forearm.

Along with the soft sensation, a rush of warmth suddenly washes over me. I stare wide-eyed, completely unguarded, and am rooted to the spot.

That pair of deep eyes, which has been fixed on me all along, makes it clear that he has no intention whatsoever of letting me go.

The scorching tip of his tongue gently licks and sucks on the continuously dripping nectar-like fine liquid, sending a wave of tingling shivers coursing throughout my entire body.

The incessantly rising, delicate sensation of itchiness makes me a bit restless. I have the urge to escape, yet simultaneously, I can’t help myself from pandering to it.

He looks at me with slightly half-lidded eyes, his lips curling up into a triumphant arc of someone getting their way.

Victor: Have you learned it now, dummy?

MC: !

I suddenly snap back to my senses and hastily pull my hand back, tossing the ceramic glazed cup back onto the table as if I were holding a hot potato.

MC: W-What am I learning this for…

Victor: Clearly, it was a certain someone who started it first––

Before the words even leave his mouth, I notice a skylark swooping down. Seeing this, he swiftly pulls me to the side to dodge.

While I’m still amidst my puzzlement, a black shadow suddenly flashes before my eyes. Much to my astonishment, the leopard has scampered into the air to catch the bird.

“Clang” –– the table is abruptly turned upside down by it, sending fruits and vegetables tumbling and leaving the cups and dishes in a complete disarray.

When I see him calmly looking at the spilled wine, as if he’d already foreseen it, I realize where his confidence in pouring the wine earlier came from.

And also, the uniqueness of this “trip.”

Looking up at this world that doesn’t belong to me, I can’t bear to tear my eyes away from the courtyard blooming with vibrant and luxuriant flowers––

The abounding blossoms of crimson pomegranate adorn the trees, while the light purple clovers form dense clusters, and the red lotus stretches wantonly by the riverbank…

MC: I’m still finding it hard to believe that I’m able to see the ancient Luolan with my own eyes…

Victor: So, have you found what you were searching for?

At his reminder, I belatedly recall the original purpose that I had cast to the back of my mind.

After casting a surveying glance all around, I don’t find that rosy color I was expecting to see and can only gaze at him with a sense of bitterness.

Victor: During this period, roses hadn’t been cultivated yet.

As if he can sense what I’m thinking, he explains in a calm tone.

MC: So that means, the stone-carved rose doesn’t exist either… Since you knew this all along, why did you go through such great pains to bring me here?

Victor: Compared to simply answering you whether the legend is true or false, bringing you here to see for yourself is more just.

Victor: In this boundless universe, there will always be a kind of beauty worthy of a certain dummy’s pure yearning.

Only at this moment do I realize that this voyage across time and space is precisely his answer.

MC: You… don’t you think it was quite naïve of me?

Victor: I do. But it’s also a precious trait of a certain dummy, and I think I can help you maintain it in moderation.

My heart suddenly turns into a mush. I settle my gaze on the edge of his lips before lifting my head and kissing him.

The aroma of wine and fragrance of flowers gradually fade away, and I find myself drenched only in his pleasant scent. Amidst our closely interwoven breaths, time seems to slow to a crawl, stretching ever so slowly.

It’s not until the familiar dryness lingers around the tip of my nose that I slowly open my eyes, slightly gasping for breath. What greets my eyes is the view of the endless sand dunes.

Apt to the occasion, my phone starts vibrating and powers up automatically. Only ten minutes have passed.

I feel as if I have just woken up from a dream. I gaze at Victor in a trance, and the rose-colored kiss mark on his lips enters my field of view, making me unable to help the smile spreading across my face.

MC: It appears I’ve already found the rose from the legend, one that will never wither.

In those eyes, brimming with unending tenderness, I see him lowering himself——

Victor: Then, allow it to bloom for a little while longer.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

[Anika’s Analysis & Ramblings]

twitter thread link: ♡

—

#DUMB. I CALL DUMB. THE SHOCK AND CONSTANT PAINED FEELINGS THIS BROUGHT BACK—#DO NOT EVER FREAKIN' DARE CALL ME A DUMMY WHEN YOU'RE THE BIGGEST DUMMY AND LOVE-BRAIN IN THE UNIVERSE #HE IS JUST UGGHHHH i empathize with MC so much like if i were her i too would keep this silly man under 24 hour surveillance like!!!!#mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc #mr love victor #mr love queen's choice #李泽言 #恋与制作人 #love and producer #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc translations

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eldritchelfwriter · 1 month

Text

Chapter 18 of Shadowheart Begins now out

Shadowheart is the first to awaken.

She can hear activity around the camp, as the others get ready to head out. She and Florwyn will not be joining them.

When they returned from the storm, Florwyn went straight to bed, exhausted, and Shadowheart had requested (well, simply told the others, in truth), that she and Florwyn have a day off to recover.

And so, while everyone else gears up to leave, the sorcerer still sleeps peacefully beside her, her white hair tinged with pale blues mussed about her face, her soft lips slightly parted.

Shadowheart observes every breath, each slight flutter of her eyelashes, every soft sigh intently, as if each could be Florwyn’s last.

Everything about her feels imbued with deeper meaning, now that Shadowheart knows the full story of Florwyn’s life before her escape. Now that she knows how close Florwyn had been to being trapped forever, powerful enough to free herself but made to believe her imprisonment was for everyone else’s good.

No wonder she has understood so easily what Shadowheart has been going through; they have both escaped traps made of lies by the very thinnest of threads.

Florwyn’s eyelids suddenly flutter open and she smiles, seeing Shadowheart watching her.

“Good morning,” Shadowheart whispers, heartened beyond words to see her smiling, feeling emotional for reasons she can’t articulate.

“Good morning,” Florwyn whispers back, her smile widening as her eyes flick to Shadowheart’s throat, where the necklace Florwyn had made for her is now proudly on display. She reaches for Shadowheart lazily, tangling their arms and legs together, and kisses her sleepily.

“You still smell like rain,” Florwyn murmurs.

“That’s a good smell, I hope?” Shadowheart asks, forcing a smile past the torrent of emotion coursing through her. The feel of Florwyn’s limbs around her sets an ache in her chest and through her whole body.

She missed this. Florwyn in her arms, happy. Being touched, being kissed by her.

“Oh, definitely,” the sorcerer breathes, closing her eyes to rest some more.

And Shadowheart continues to watch her, finding that a lump is forming in her throat for some reason, to see Florwyn happy and smiling at last. The storm is over, in every sense of the word. Everything is back to normal.

“Shadowheart,” Florwyn says after a while, her eyes still closed, not sounding sleepy any more. “Is everyone gone?”

“Yes, except for Isobel and Aylin.”

The aasimar had returned while they had been out last night.

“I see,” Florwyn says hesitantly. “And their tent is quite far away, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“I only ask because … I think I need to consult a healer, the very best there is,” she says in a soft, silken voice, immediately evoking the playful overtones that often accompany their lovemaking.

“Well Isobel is too far away, so I suppose you’ll have to settle for me instead,” Shadowheart jokes, making an effort to match Florwyn’s tone.

Florwyn’s eyes snap open and she sees something in Shadowheart’s face that makes her reach up to touch it. “Shadowheart? What’s wrong?”

Shadowheart inwardly berates herself for having somehow given herself away. She should be happy. Happy for Florwyn, happy for them both.

“Nothing,” Shadowheart says through the lump in her throat, looking away. “I’m fine. We’re both fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend, for me,” Florwyn says, looking at Shadowheart with concern. Shadowheart cannot meet those pale eyes that always seem to see right through her. “If you’re not feeling it, that’s all right, Shadowheart.”

“I do, want to.”

Shadowheart is whispering, for some reason.

“Hmm,” Florwyn murmurs, gently lifting Shadowheart’s chin so that she is forced to look at her. “The pretend is only for our roleplay, my love, not for our real thoughts and feelings. And I can see you’re upset. Can you tell me why?”

Shadowheart closes her eyes against those penetrating pale ones that know her so well, and takes a deep breath before answering.

“I missed you,” she says softly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

She hears Florwyn’s intake of breath, and opens her eyes, which are beginning to burn with tears...

#baldurs gate fanfiction #shadowheart #baldurs gate shadowheart #shadowheart fanfic #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 shadowheart #shadowheart bg3 #baldur's gate 3 shadowheart #shadowheart fic #stormheart #shadowheart x florwyn #shadowheart x tav #shadowheart x female tav

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cherry4ecstasy · 13 days

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The real meaning of vampirism.

(A reading from the point of view of a mortal nestled in the arms of a vampire lord)

🦇¶Whether or not a vampire retains any memory from its former life, its emotional attachments wither as once pure feelings become twisted by undeath.¶🦇

Angst.

Losing myself in his stiff, marble-like embrace, I wish only to quiet the ceaseless torrent of paranoid thoughts that swarm his mind.

His arms, cold as stone, might offer a brief reprieve from the agony of knowing what he truly is, what he has become. My heart aches with a grief I can never express, a sorrow born not just from what I feel for him but for the cruel fate that shaped him into this hollow, haunted figure.

Cazador Szarr was not born a monster. He was cursed to become one.

The weight of that curse is evident in every calculated movement, every smile that never quite touches his eyes. His emotions, once perhaps rich and complex, have withered under the relentless strain of immortality. I know that somewhere, deep beneath that cold exterior, there was once a spark of humanity; now twisted into something unrecognizable.

Being undead doesn’t just strip away life, it distorts your very soul. What once was friendship becomes jealousy, love becomes obsession, desire turns to possession and beauty shifts into lust.

I have to remind myself that his cruelty is not the result of some sadistic game he enjoys playing.

No, it’s simply who he is now.

His emotions, like everything else, have decayed, leaving behind nothing but twisted shadows of what once was. To expect warmth or tenderness from him would be to ask the sun to shine in the dead of night. He is a product of centuries of loss, of a life that can never be reclaimed, and in that realization lies the tragedy of my feelings for him.

Despite knowing all this, I still long for him. I long for that cold embrace, for a fleeting moment of stillness where I could pretend that beneath the monster, there is something, anything, of the man he once was.

And right now, in his crushing embrace, there is no heartbeat to match my own, no warmth to cling to; only the cold void that fills the space where life once thrived.

The silence between us is deafening, an emptiness in perfect, chilling harmony with the fragility of my weak, mortal body. His nails brush through my hair, each movement precise and deliberate, but the tenderness is overshadowed by the sharp, lingering sting beneath my scalp. Pain flows through me, but I stay still, letting it root deeper, because this is the closest I will ever be to him.

As I look into his eyes, gleaming red like embers that never truly die out, my tears fall without restraint. They are warm, alive, in stark contrast to the frozen depths of his gaze.

If only those salty drops, filled with the essence of my vitality, could somehow wash away his eternal damnation. My sorrow wells up not only for what he has lost, but for the terrible truth that nothing in this world, not even my love, can lift the curse that binds him.

I will never be his sun, for my light would reduce him to ashes. But still, I ache to be something, anything, in his world of perpetual night; a small place of warmth, where my fleeting mortality might offer him a taste of what it is to live again. Perhaps in the brief brush of my fragile life against his immortality, there could be some small solace for him, even if it is fleeting, even if it is hopeless.

His beauty is unlike anything else, so unnatural yet deadly charming. He is my favourite painting come to life, a work of dark art perfected beyond mortal comprehension. His black hair, sleek and lustrous, falls like liquid night over his broad shoulders, a cascade of shadows that only heightens his mystery. It frames his face perfectly, parting just enough to reveal the tips of his elven ears and the gleam of silver piercings that catch the dim light, adding a touch of cold elegance.

His pale skin is flawless, like marble brought to life, each feature chiselled with such precision it feels unreal, as if sculpted by the hand of a master artist who knew no limits. The sharp angles of his jawline, the high, aristocratic cheekbones, the curve of his lips; they all speak of an otherworldly perfection that haunts my every thought. He is a living statue, a vision of untouchable grace, and I can’t help but yearn to be as perfect as him.

Yet, I know that beneath that perfection lies the curse, the darkness that twists beauty into something cold and unreachable. But still, I am drawn to him, captivated by his deadly allure, willing to lose myself in that darkness if it means being near him.

Entangled in the heavy silence of the night, the occasional howl of the wind and the distant hoot of an owl are the only witnesses to this moment. His cold, undead lips brush against my forehead in a gesture that feels both reassuring and possessive. It's a quiet reminder, unspoken but understood, that I belong to him and him alone. No words pass between us, because none are needed. In this stillness, we share something deeper than speech; a connection forged through the burden of survival that weighs on both of us.

For him, it's the endless existence that strips away the warmth of life, leaving only the icy necessity of control. For me, it’s the fragile, fleeting mortality I cling to, even as I feel myself drawn deeper into his world. Together, we are bound by the quiet, eternal struggle against the loneliness that haunts us both. In this moment, we are neither predator nor prey, just two souls navigating the shadows of an existence that no one else can understand.

Under the nocturnal sun, I search for a word to describe this complex relationship. A bond that defies the simplicity of love, or even obsession. It is more like a rare flower, one that only blooms in the dark hours, hidden from the world and nourished by shadows. It thrives in the quiet, unseen spaces between us, delicate yet resilient, beautiful yet dangerous. A love tainted by survival, where tenderness and terror intertwine, feeding off each other in a way that is as intoxicating as it is destructive.

Perhaps there is no word for something so paradoxical.

It is simply us.

((Paintings, Schiele - The embrace; Munch - Love and angst))

#bg3 #bg3 cazador szarr #bg3 cazador #cazador szarr #bg3 writing #bg3 vampire #vampirism

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hard-boiled-criminal · 11 days

Text

A Witch Adrift

Chapter 4 - There Should be a Word for the Specific Feeling of Uneasiness Caused by the Uncanny Valley Phenomenon

< Ch 3 | Ch 5 >

>Ch 1<

Masterlist

Ao3 Mirror

The next morning you’re woken up to the sound of Grim screaming. “The ghosts are back! Hey, (y/n), up and at ‘em!”

You slowly sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes to see Grim at the edge of the bed with his fur all puffed out, facing off against the same three ghosts from last night. ‘I swear to god if I’m gonna be woken up by a battle with these ghosts everyday, I’m gonna exorcise them myself.’ Not bothering to get out of bed, you simply pick Grim up once again and aim him at the, ironically, bone-thin ghost. “Grim, just use flamethrower.”

A torrent of blue flames left Grim’s mouth, blasting the ghost dead-on. He didn’t even bother complaining about being commanded this time. Perhaps the ghosts were still worn out from the battle the previous night because it only took a few hits from Grim’s magic fire before they conceded. This time however, after defeating the ghosts, they stuck around.

‘Of course you can’t exorcise ghosts with fire. Then again, this world doesn’t go by pokemon rules; at least, I don’t think it does… Maybe you need a psychic or something? If magic exists, then psychics should also exist, right?’ You sighed. Of course nothing was ever simple.

“So, I hear you’ll be living here from now on?” One of the ghosts spoke to you. “Hope you like pranks as much as we do! Hya ha ha!” With a laugh, the three ghosts faded out of sight, leaving only you and Grim in the room, wide awake.

“We gotta get rid of those things for good!” Grim complained, clearly unhappy with being scared awake, as would anyone.

You mumbled an agreement as you slid out of bed and set Grim down on the ground. You winced as you stood up, a horrible pain shooting through your feet and legs. You took a moment to take in your appearance staring back at you from the mirror above the fireplace. You looked just as bad as you felt. For the first time you were actually taking in just how disheveled you were. You had soot and dirt smeared across your face and clothes, the odd leaf or blade of grass in various places. You were still wearing the ceremonial clothes from yesterday; the hem of the robe was torn, frayed, and singed, speckled with small holes where the fire had completely burned through. Your pants, on the other hand, were much worse off, thoroughly burnt, with most of the cloth below the knee completely gone, the remaining parts stuck to your shins. Now, you could see the extent of your injuries.

Physically, you felt so much worse this morning than last night, probably since the adrenaline was temporarily numbing the pain yesterday. You grimaced upon seeing the ugly sight of your abused legs, the skin of your shins not covered in stuck fabric were littered with first and second degree burns. Luckily, you weren’t standing in Grim’s fire long enough to get any third-degree burns. It seems that magically produced fire doesn’t need to reach extremely high temperatures to turn blue–probably the only reason you weren’t practically burned alive. Your hands didn’t make it out scott-free either. Your palms were rubbed raw in places from when you made the poor choice to try out parkour, not to mention the prevalent ache in both your shoulders. Perhaps you should have asked Crowley for some bandages.

You reach down to peel the pants away from your shins, the texture of the burnt fabric irritating your skin. You grab at the burnt end of a piece and begin to pull but flinch back at the sharp pain. You stared at the cloth, eyes wide and perturbed. The pants were synthetic or semi-synthetic. The fire had made patches of the fabric melt and fuse with your skin. There was no way you were going to be able to remove all the fabric without severely hurting yourself and permanently scarring your legs. Luckily, it wasn’t the entirety of that pants that melted, only coin-sized chunks scattered around the circumference of your lower left leg. You stand up, close your eyes, and take a breath. Lips pursed, you slightly open your eyes, head tilted back to face the ceiling.

“Congratulations, me, for doing such a good job at taking care of ourselves… We really should’ve paid more attention to ourselves and asked Crowley for immediate medical attention last night.”

“Good morning, (y/n)!” Speak of the devil, Crowley just walked into your room. You don’t know how he figured out which room you were in, but you were going to assume it was because of magic. “Did you sleep well?”

Seeing as you didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, you’d say you slept reasonably well, all things considered, but now wasn’t the time for that. About to say as such and bring up your need for medical attention, Grim answered before you could speak, “Not at all! When I sprawled out on the bed, the mattress fell right through the frame!” Grim was bristling. “Exactly how ramshackle is this dorm? And worse yet, we got woken up by ghosts!”

Crowley looked from Grim to you, seemingly to ask if this cat was simply being dramatic. You shrugged, “I mean, he’s not wrong, but also–”

“Well, I suppose this dorm is a little run down, but nothing a little elbow grease cannot fix, I’m sure!” Crowley didn’t allow you time to say anything as he promptly walked out the door. “Come along now, I’ve brought you breakfast and such.”

“A-ah, wait–” You quickly put your shoes back on, lest you risk stepping on the stray nail to add to your list of injuries, before you and Grim followed Crowley downstairs to the lounge, a single take-out box and can of tuna waiting on the coffee table. Grim’s eyes lit up, almost as bright as his ear flames, when he saw the tuna waiting for him. You tried to keep the grimace off your face with each step down the stairs you took, a spike of pain shooting through your legs with each one.

“Thank you, Mr. Crowley, but–”

“Tunaaa!!!” Grim leapt down half the flight of stairs in one jump, rushing to grab the tuna.

It was times like these that made him seem like a regular cat. A magical talking cat, yes, but still a cat nonetheless. Shaking your head in mirth, you continue, “Thank you, Mr. Crowley.”

“Think nothing of it, (y/n)-san,” Crowley said with what seemed like pride. “My, I truly am too kind.” You were sure that if he actually had feathers, they would all be puffed up.

Your eyes were honed in on the food on the table, your stomach rumbling at the thought of eating. Maybe it’d be fine to eat first. You slowly sat down on the striped couch, wincing at the short moment of increased stress on your legs. You relaxed again once all your weight was off your legs, a long breath of relief leaving your lungs, having not realized you had been holding your breath for a little while from the pain. Whether Crowley noticed or not, he kept silent as you began to eat your breakfast of a few simple pancakes and some syrup on the side if you so wished to have it.

About halfway through, Crowley cleared his throat, causing you to look up at him. He sat in a rocking chair that you hadn’t noticed before, placed on the opposite side of the coffee table. He held a decently sized cloth bag in his hands and set it down next to him.

“I have brought you a few sets of clothes, as well as other basic necessities, as you have requested.”

“Oh, um, thank you, Mr. Crowley,” you said after quickly swallowing your mouthful of food. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. Now, about the contract. Seeing as classes won’t start for a few more days, how about we go to my office and meet with a few other teachers to draft up your contract? Or, perhaps we should visit the infirmary first,” Crowley glanced down at your legs.*

“Oh, okay,” You weren’t expecting him to take action so quickly, especially not bring up your abysmal state before you did; he seemed the type to put things off and push them onto other people for them to do instead. “Can I finish breakfast first?”

“Of course.”

Grim had already long finished his tuna before you polished off your own breakfast. Quietly thanking Crowley again with a nod, you picked up the bag and went back upstairs to the room you claimed. You placed the bag on your bed and carefully removed its contents. Crowley had provided you with three sets of clothes, which looked to be two school uniforms and a basic white t-shirt and track pants, complete with a set of coveralls. ‘I suppose it would make sense for the only clothes he had on hand to be school uniforms.’ Besides those, you found basic toiletries, a toothbrush and toothpaste, multiple pairs of socks, towels, and the like. You grabbed one of the uniforms, a towel, and the toiletries and walked down the hall to the dorm bathroom you had stumbled across last night when looking for a place to sleep. You placed your things down on the long bench across from the row of showers before heading over to start the water, hoping to give it a little time to warm up. Standing to the side to not get wet, you twisted the shower knob… Nothing. In case this one might have simply been a fluke, you tried the other showers, one by one, but to no avail. It seemed the dorm had no running water.

“Well, shit.”

You grabbed your things and went back to your room. Hoping that Crowley could take you to someplace else to shower (you didn’t expect him to know how to turn the water back on, so that option was out for now), you packed your items back into the now empty bag and headed back downstairs.

“Um, Mr. Crowley?” You quietly spoke from atop the stairs, drawing Crowley’s attention from the thick book he was flipping through.

“(Y/n)-san, why are you back so soon, and still not cleaned up?”

“Um, well, about that; it seems there’s no running water. There wouldn’t happen to be anywhere else I could shower, would there?” You asked sheepishly.

“Oh, I suppose that does make sense,” Crowley put his hand up to his chin and nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, well, I suppose there is the gymnasium locker room. It’s a bit of a walk from here, but it will do. Now,” he stood up and magicked his book away to who knows where, “let us be off!”

You didn’t get the chance to look around last night, but now, in the daylight you could take in the campus as you followed Crowley. First you passed by what looked to be a botanical garden, enclosed within a giant glass dome. If you had time (and were injury-free), you’d love to walk around in it. Passing what you assumed was the tool and storage shed for the garden, you crossed a bridge across a small ravine with a river running through the bottom. You walked by a tall, curved wall; the only thing you could see past it was a small point, probably the top of whatever building the wall was protecting. Going up a steep flight of stairs, which wasn’t kind on your legs at all, you saw a clocktower, but turned left at a hairpin turn before reaching it. Going up one more flight of stairs, you passed one more building on your left before making it to Main Street, which was more than twice as wide as the paths you had been walking down up to this point. At the end of the street to the left was a large, elaborate metal gate, the main entrance to the campus, no doubt. To the right, you couldn’t see much, as the path curved and whatever was beyond was obscured by trees. Across from you, where Crowley was headed towards, was a fairly large building.

“This is the gymnasium,” Crowley spoke over his shoulder to you. “The locker rooms are only accessible from the inside, so do follow me.” He led you through the open interior of the gymnasium, showing you to a door on the right towards the back of the building. “Here we are. I shall be waiting out here for you, so do be quick,” he said as he ushered you towards the door.

“Okay, um, thank you. I’ll try to be quick,” you wasted no time and headed in, looking for the showers. Luckily, this locker room had separate shower stalls, all with walls and doors as opposed to just curtains, along with a decent amount of space.

You hung your bag on one of the hooks against the wall by the door, far enough away from the showerhead to keep from being wet. You placed your toiletries atop the small bench on the wall to your right. Now you had only to undress yourself. You slowly and carefully peeled off your clothes, starting with the robe, which slid off your shoulders quite easily. You placed it on the bench next to your soaps; it would probably get wet, but it was ruined anyway, so there wasn’t much point in trying to keep it safe. Plus, you weren’t about to stuff it in the bag with your clean clothes. You then carefully removed your upper garments, of which the only problem you had was the slight pain in your shoulders. You could now see your stomach, where a dark bruise spanning the width of your midriff had formed. Your shoes and socks were next: you wrapped the shirt and socks with the robe on the bench, but the shoes were placed against the wall under your bag.

And now the part you were dreading the most. You hadn’t checked if your burned pants had fused with your thighs earlier, whether by blood or by heat, and you wouldn’t know until you removed them. You were in the clear until you reached the end of the pant legs, the parts that had been burned the most, as you had noticed earlier that morning. Unfortunately, if you didn’t want to hurt yourself more, you’d have to rip the cloth apart, leaving the parts fused to your skin alone. You undressed yourself as much as you could, leaving only the left pant leg on before you sat on the bench and began your work, carefully ripping around your injuries as best as possible. It took a good few minutes, but you were now left with a few scraps of cloth stuck to your leg.

“Now, that that’s taken care of,” you stood up, heading towards the shower knob, “let’s see… I’m pretty sure that in the case of burns you’re supposed to only use cool water…great.”

You turned the knob and, unlike at your dorm, the water came rushing out from the head right away. Staying out of the stream, you held your hand under the water and adjusted the temperature to be a bit cooler than room temperature. Reluctantly, you stepped under the water, hissing through clenched teeth in both shock from the temperature and from the discomfort of it no-quite-gently pelting against your wounds. Going through a basic shower routine, the first thing to actually give you a sense of familiarity in this place, you made sure to gently and carefully wash your burns, not exactly sure how to treat them. Even with how light you kept your touch, each brush of your fingers against the burns and blisters hurt, making you clench your jaw tightly every time.

Keeping the shower quick, you hurried to dry off, save for your legs (you didn’t want to touch your worst burns any more than necessary), you dressed in the fresh uniform, rolling the pant legs up to above your knees. The only part of your previous clothes that you wore were the shoes, everything else now being placed in the bag alongside your towel and soaps.

Hefting your bag onto your non-dominant shoulder, you headed out of the showers, glancing at your reflection in one of the mirrors on the way out. You still looked exhausted and a bit gaunt, but all the soot and grime was gone now. Deeming your appearance good enough, you exited the locker room and saw Crowley sitting on a chair–you don’t know where he got that from as it certainly wasn’t there before–and reading the same book he had at the dorm. Upon hearing the door open he looked up at you, his gaze lingering on your legs.

“Hmm, yes, a trip to the infirmary is most definitely in order,” he nodded to himself and stood up, the book disappearing once again and the chair floating across the gym, presumably to wherever he got it from. “Let us not delay any longer.”

Silent, you followed him back out to mainstreet, this time going up the path towards the huge castle that you were most likely in yesterday. As you walked you made note of a seemingly unnecessary archway standing above a branching path to the left that looked like it led to a tower and a coliseum.

And then you saw them: Seven statues, all on pedestals. From a distance, you couldn’t make out the figures, and you weren’t expecting to recognize them once closer.

But you did.

“Oh, you must be wondering about these statues, yes?” Crowley asked you, having caught you looking at them with wide eyes. “These are the Great Seven, the most influential and powerful figures throughout history. How about I regale you with their stories as we walk? Hmm?”

“Oh, no need,” you dismissed. “I think I already have a pretty good idea of who they are.” ‘I can’t believe Disney managed to branch their franchise across time and space. How does one even attempt to do that?’

“Shall we start with–wait, what do you mean ‘you already have a good idea?’” Crowley was about to start a story but quickly doubled back in disbelief at your response. “How could you already know? Did you not say that you are not from this world?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know how this is possible, but these figures are all characters from a movie franchise back in my world,” you explained. ‘Wait, should I have said that? Well, I hope this information doesn’t snowball into something with dire consequences, like breaking the time-space continuum, but it’s too late now… I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

“Well, that is quite interesting, even if unexpected. Perhaps their stories were transported into your world, just as you were to ours,” Crowley’s thoughts slipped out from his mouth; perhaps this man had little more going on in his brain than you initially thought.

“I do have one question though.”

“Yes? And what would that be?”

“Why do the plaques say their titles, but not their names?”

A moment of silence passes. Afraid you said something wrong or offensive, you opened your mouth to apologize, but Crowley broke the silence first.

“Come again?” Crowley looked shocked, or at least as shocked as he could with his mask on.

Now feeling perturbed yourself, you hesitantly repeat your question. A quiet uneasiness spreads through your body at the silence that follows once more.

“Did I…did I say something wrong?” you meekly asked.

“Hmm, what? Oh, oh no, not at all,” Crowley assuaged your concern. “To answer your question though, we use their titles out of respect for them and their deeds and accomplishments, “Crowley explained quickly. “Now, no more time for dilly-dallying; we must be off.” With a swish of his coat, Crowley started back on the path towards the castle. “Hmm, yes, I’ll have to discuss this with…” Crowley mumbled, his voice getting too quiet to make out his words at the end.

The feeling of a specific kind of uneasiness, almost the same kind you get from things with an uncanny valley feeling, welled up inside you. The feeling that something isn’t quite right. Whatever you said affected Crowley for reasons unknown to you. At that moment, you felt as if you had made an irreversible decision, one that would forever change the course of your life here.

A/N: Heyyyy, so, long time no see. As of 9/22/23, I’ve edited the previous chapters and changed some very minor details and such, so it’ll hopefully read better now. If you began reading this fic after said date, then ignore that; you’ve already read the edited version. For the people who have continued to comment on my work, I wanna say thank you. Your kind words motivate me much more than you can imagine. I’ve written out the outlines for the next chapter or two or three, depending on if I decide to merge them or not, so hopefully I’ll get those done soon.

*I’m changing the timeline a wee bit to make room because with all the extra stuff I put in, cramming it all into one day was just unreasonable. Also, what kind of school has orientation and move-in day the night before the first day of class? Especially if the students don’t even know what dorm they’re going into before orientation? Yes, there’s magic and stuff, but still.

Next Chapter >

#twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia x reader #malleus x reader #a witch adrift

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