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ladamedusoif · 11 months ago

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Tempered in the Fire - Part Three

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3. Follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications for updates.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit; 18+ MDNI (chapter; series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; references to violence; references to infertility; references to spousal abandonment; strong language; period-typical misogyny; references to and non-explicit descriptions of past experiences of psychological abuse, sexual assault and non-consensual sex, and of domestic violence; abusive and derogatory language; smut; PiV sex; fingering; technical infidelity; angst.

Use of the Irish language with translations as needed.

Important A/N: In one section of this chapter, Reader recalls exactly how badly treated she was by her husband before he left. This means brief discussion of psychological, physical, and sexual abuse. I have tried to handle these issues as sensitively as possible and without gratuitous detail or description. (I am writing as a survivor of emotional abuse, and I want to express my gratitude for the vital advice and support of other incredible survivors, including of other forms of abuse experienced by Reader in this story).

Further A/N at the end of this chapter.

Taglist: @grogusmum, @insomniamamma, @yourcoolauntie, @tessa-quayle, @julesonrecord, @agentjackdaniels, @iamskyereads, @trulybetty, @pedrostories, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @katareyoudrilling, @perennialdoll247, @joeldjarin, @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @tieronecrush, @javierisms, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @rhoorl, @red-red-rogue, @survivingandenduring, @khindahra, @love-the-abyss, @fictionismyreality, @imaswellkid, @gracie7209, @lahoozaherr, @s-u-t, @its-nebuleuse, @novemberrain221, @schnarfer

(FYI taglists haven't really been working for me of late so please do follow my writing blog if you want to stay up to date!)

Réaltín snickers as you tie her up hastily outside your little cottage, adrenaline coursing through your body. It doesn’t take long to throw a few things in your leather saddle bags: some clothes, your sewing kit and a supply of fabric, the money tucked under your mattress. It’s not much, but it might be enough to get you out of here before he comes looking.

You wrap your best shawl around your shoulders and go outside to check on your little milk cow, safe in her stall. She blinks her big brown eyes at you, kind and trusting, and you rub her muzzle affectionately.

Cáit, your nearest neighbour, peers through the window when she hears Réaltín trotting up the lane. She’s waiting at the door before you’ve pulled up, sensing all is not well. You spill out your excuses.

“It’s family matters. All happened very suddenly. I can’t say more, but I’ll be back as soon as I can - will you look in on my cow, make sure she’s fed? You can have whatever milk she’ll give you, of course.”

Cáit nods, though she seems a little sceptical. “You’re sure you’re alright, a stór [sweetheart/treasure]?”

You bring the shawl around your head and mount Réaltín again. “I am. Thanks, Cáit. I’ll see you soon.”

It’s only when you’re halfway to your parents’ smallholding that you realise you can’t stay there, either. In your panic and haste you hadn’t thought it through. If Searlas wanted to find you, it would be the first place he came looking.

Dusk closes in, and slate grey clouds gather overhead. The heavens open and your tears start to fall as you bring Réaltín to a halt on a quiet lane.

Gró stirs his little bowl of vegetable and barley stew, lifting out pieces of carrot on his wooden spoon before dropping them back in the bowl and giggling at the satisfying plop they make.

His father shakes his head. “Ná bí ag súgradh le do bhéile.” [Don’t play with your meal.]

The little boy is the first to spot the horse arriving out of the darkness, pointing to the window. Din looks out cautiously, dark eyes surveying the small area outside the cottage illuminated by the candlelight coming from within.

Nothing.

The knock on the door is hesitant, and Din silently gestures to his son to stay put as he answers.

She’s soaked to the skin, red woollen shawl weighed down with rain, eyes reddened and fear written all over her face.

It is all Din can do to stop himself reaching out and pulling her close to him, to comfort and reassure her, to make sure she is alright. Instead, he simply stands back and beckons her inside.

She babbles her explanation: the errant husband returned, in the army, her worry that he would seek her out.

“I’m so sorry, Din, I… I just didn’t know where else to go.”

She’s shaking, and he doesn’t know if it’s the cold rain or her panic that’s doing it.

Before Din can speak, Gró has materialised at her side, and reaches up for her hand. His big eyes look up at her with the kind of affection Din has only ever seen the boy show to him, and at times to Peigí.

She looks from Gró to his father and back again. And then she breaks down.

“There isn’t much left, I’m afraid. But you’re welcome to it.”

Din looks from the cooking pot to you, sitting in a chair by the hearth with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as your shawl and outer bodice dry out.

“If you’re sure?”

He nods and ladles the stew into a bowl. You accept it gratefully, realising that it had been many hours since you last ate. It is a simple meal and all the better for it, the steaming broth warming your bones and the vegetables and barley filling your empty stomach.

Din sits in the other chair and scoops Gró up into his lap. The little boy smiles in your direction as you eat, and you notice he’s wearing the little shirt you made for him. You summon up the words, speaking hesitantly.

“An mhaith leat do léine, Gró?” [Do you like your shirt, Gró?]

His enormous eyes light up and he nods enthusiastically, turning round to look up at his father and laughing delightedly at hearing you speak his language. Din ruffles his son’s fair hair and smiles at you.

“Thank you for mine, too. You didn’t have to. I’ll make sure you’re properly paid.”

You nod towards the bowl of stew. “This is payment enough. Once my things are dry I’ll get going. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you out. I panicked, and -“

Gró sighs and nestles in against Din’s broad chest, trying to keep his eyes open but losing the battle against sleep. Din stands, carefully shifting the little boy in his arms and gesturing with a tilt of his head towards the loft.

“Stay.”

“I’ve already outstayed my welcome, Din, I don’t know what I was -“

“Stay.” He repeats the word, half-order, half-plea, as he stands at the foot of the makeshift wooden ladder leading up into the loft.

You nod, watching as the blacksmith expertly ascends with his son in his strong arms, a lantern in one hand. Din is wearing a sort of woollen jumper over his old shirt, and you can’t help but notice the stretch of the knitted fabric across his broad back and shoulders, the way it draws the eye to the muscles of his chest.

An unexpected wave of pleasure ripples through you. You shake your head, as if trying to rid your body of the feeling.

While Din tucks Gró in, quietly humming to him, you rinse the bowls from dinner and tidy up the main room of the cottage. There’s what looks like a settle bed against one wall, and what you presume is Din’s bed against the other, near the back window: a basic frame, simple bedclothes, a trunk at the foot of the bed.

“So you’ll stay?”

You turn to face Din, speaking in hushed tones as he descends the ladder. “I will stay for tonight.”

He looks at you, dark eyes hooded and serious. “You should stay as long as you need to. You are afraid of him, and I presume with good reason.”

“He might not even come looking for me. He’s gone so long, after all. But -“ You pause as the traumatic memories of the past swirl in your mind. “But him reappearing like this, and in uniform… He is not a good man.”

Din tilts his head and looks at you. You are grateful that he doesn’t pry further. “I can keep you safe here. He’ll never know.”

Before you can protest, he’s crossing the room and pulling out the rectangular, boxy bed frame from underneath the settle and rummaging in a small cupboard for blankets and pillows. “You can sleep here, if you’d like. Or in my bed, over there. Either way, I’ll sleep in the back store, or the forge.”

“Absolutely not. That back little room is too cold, too small. And the forge is no fit place for someone to sleep.” You help him arrange the bedding for the settle bed. “I grew up sharing a one-roomed cottage with my entire family, Din. This is no hardship at all, nothing irregular, as long as you don’t mind.”

He shakes his head and retrieves a half-burned candle from the mantle above the hearth, lighting it from the small lantern before handing you the lamp. Din leaves you to get ready for bed, taking the candle and going to change in the back store so that you have privacy. He calls out to you, checking that he can come back into the main room.

“Come ahead, Din.”

Tucked into the settle bed, you can barely make out his silhouette as he comes into the room. His solitary candle illuminates his strong profile as he gets into his own, wooden-framed bed across the room.

“Are you comfortable? Warm enough?” His voice, soft and low, carries in the quiet.

“I am. Thank you for this. I am so grateful.”

“Sleep well.”

Lights extinguished, you can hear Din shift in his bed and his breathing enter a slower, steady rhythm as sleep descends.

You lie awake in the dark, thoughts racing. So Searlas had fought for something - for his king’s shilling, no doubt, and they were only too desperate for men to fight in the wars against France. Searlas had spat bile and vitriol in ‘98 about the United Irishmen and the Defenders, the groups that had led the rebellion, blaming dangerous French ideas of liberty, equality and fraternity for poisoning people’s minds.

It made sense, now, that he’d have abandoned you to take up arms against those ideas. But you knew Searlas too well for it to be a moral crusade, or a stand taken on principle. Most likely, he’d spent the intervening five years doing as little as possible for as much reward, and probably whoring his way around Europe.

You try to push him out of your mind as you seek sleep, your brain seeking comforting thoughts and images until it settles on the recent memory of a pair of sparkling brown eyes, looking at you in the firelight.

Searlas’s hand is rough around your arm, and you know you’ll have a bruise there tomorrow. He drags you away from the fair and along the back road from the village, muttering abuse as you jog along trying to keep up with him.

“I saw you talking to him. The way you looked at him, the way you whored yourself around him. Filthy slut that you are.”

“Searlas, he’s my second cousin, I haven’t seen him in years…he’s family, I was talking to family!”

He pulls you harder to him before knocking you, deliberately, into the thorny hedgerow that runs along the dirt road.

“Watch yourself. You should be more careful of your footing. Stupid bitch.” He hauls you up and pushes you roughly along the road.

“When we get home, I’ll show you what happens when you act like a common whore in front of the whole place.”

“Searlas, please, please don’t, not again…”

“You’re a fat, useless, barren slut.” He spits the word at you. “And you’ll take your punishment from your husband.”

You have learned since the first time he “punished” you this way that crying out, or crying at all, only prolongs the agony. So you try to will your mind out of your body as your husband pulls your legs apart and pins down your arms, spitting insults as he forces himself on you.

You are not really here. You are in the back field, in springtime, with wildflowers in bloom. You are looking at the slate-grey sea, wind whipping at your face and hair. You are not really here, not really at the mercy of this cruel and violent man.

Sometimes, you try to focus on the words of the songs of liberty you know, the poems that sing of a dream of freedom.

You are not really here. You are free.

You wake with a start and for an instant you can’t remember where you are. A sickening panic thrums through your body and the sides of the settle bed feel like they’re closing in on you.

You sit up and turn your head only to be greeted by a pair of big dark eyes, staring intently at you over the edge of the bed. Gró smiles widely and begins chattering away, unaware that your addled brain is unable to keep up.

Din’s broad figure emerges from the back room, carrying a pot that he places on the metal crane over the fire, to warm its contents. He tuts when he realises that Gró is by your bed.

“Ná bac léi,” he says, somewhat sternly. “Tá sí an-tuirseach.” [Don’t disturb her, she’s very tired.]

Gró turns and reveals your head and shoulders, visible over the edge of the settle bed.

“You’re awake. I’m sorry, I hope he didn’t wake you. He’s young, he is curious.”

You shake your head and reach for your shawl, wrapping it about you. “Not at all. I… I woke by myself.”

Din beckons to his son and leads him by the hand in the direction of the door that opens onto the forge. “We’ll leave you for a bit. There’s some warm water in that pot over the hearth, if you want to wash. And a basin and rags, on the table.”

“Thank you, Din. I’ll be glad to make some breakfast once I’m dressed.”

He inclines his head towards you and carries the little boy into the forge.

While Din works and Gró helps out around the forge, you busy yourself with cleaning, mending, and preparing meals for your hosts, by way of a thank you for their kindness. The cottage is well-kept and tidy - an indicator of Din’s meticulous nature, you muse - and doesn’t require more than a little dusting and sweeping to get it ship-shape again once you’ve pushed the settle bed back under the seat.

The midday meal is simple - floury potatoes, piled high in a bowl, and served with butter, milk, and a little salt for Din. Gró eyes up the fresh pot of jam you had brought in your saddle bags, but his father’s wagging finger dissuades him as he eats his own little bowl of potatoes. Sitting at the wooden table, sharing the meal with them and listening to the chatter between father and son, you feel that familiar pang of loss, of yearning for what might have been.

You distract yourself by thinking about the evening meal.

“I can stay and make something for the supper, later,” you announce, as Din lifts his head and meets your gaze with those penetrating dark eyes. “And then I’ll leave you. I can’t abuse your hospitality any more than I already have.”

The blacksmith shakes his head as he peels another potato and dips it in the golden-white liquid in his bowl. “At least wait until you know it’s safe to return.”

You know, deep down, that it’s still too soon to know. But you also know that the smith and his son are already just about able to feed two people, let alone three.

Din turns to his son and ruffles his hair as Gró closes his eyes in delight. He whispers to him and the little boy grins before hopping off his chair and racing out to the back field, whooping and laughing to himself.

His father stands up and begins to help you clear away the empty dishes.

“You - you were unsettled in your sleep, last night.”

You keep wiping down the table. “Was I?”

You can feel Din looking at you. “You were. And this morning. You sounded upset.”

“Probably just a bad dream.”

Din sighs and hesitates before asking the obvious question. “Was it about him?”

“It was.”

Tension crackles in the turf-scented air of the cottage. For an instant you think about telling him everything: every fist, every bruise, every torn garment, every time your husband used and violated you in spite of your protests.

The image of Din wrapping you up in his strong, protective embrace floats into your mind, unbidden.

He breathes deeply. “He hurt you.”

“He did.” You finally look at the blacksmith, whose soft, compassionate expression comes as a surprise. “I felt more of his fist than his lips, I suppose you might say. But that was better than -”

You inhale sharply, summoning as much courage as you can bear. It is difficult to know how Din will react. But there’s something in your gut that tells you he can be trusted, unquestioningly.

“It was better than the alternative. When he…forced himself. On…on me.”

You stare down at the floor and feel heat rising in your cheeks. You have never told another soul about this, and are unsure why you’ve unexpectedly chosen this stoic man to be the first to know.

The silence hangs heavy between you, broken only by the sounds of your breathing and the crackle of the hearth.

When he eventually speaks, Din chooses his words carefully. “You have to stay out of reach of a man like that. If you could even call him a man.”

He picks up his leather apron and the grey fabric he uses to cover his nose and mouth while he works, and opens the door into the forge, pausing for a moment as he looks back at you.

“Stay. Please. Until you know you’re safe from harm.”

You wake before him the next morning, stealing out of the settle bed to dress in the back room, before quietly putting on water to boil for breakfast and freshening up. There is still some milk in its heavy, lidded container and you pour it into an earthenware jug before setting it on the table.

You hear a stirring from the other side of the room as Din lifts his head from the pillow and yawns, somewhat startled at the sight of you. You bite back a giggle at his skew-whiff bed head, the wavy brown strands sticking up this way and that as his eyes adjust to the light.

He smiles and shakes his head when he realises you’ve prepared breakfast.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I was awake, and I wanted to. I have to find some way to return your hospitality, after all.”

Din discreetly reaches for the pair of breeches folded neatly near the end of the bed, and you instinctively turn away as he slips them on before getting out of bed and climbing the ladder to the room above, where Gró is already happily babbling away to himself.

The blacksmith and his son head to the forge after eating, after you refused their offers of help with clearing up after the meal. As you wash the dishes in a stoneware basin, using some of the leftover hot water, you find yourself slipping, once again, into a fantasy of this being your life: this happy, safe domesticity, away from harm and mistreatment.

The memory of the soft smile that had appeared on Din’s face that morning, when he saw you preparing their meal, enters your mind. You close your eyes, a rush of warmth and something like desire coursing through you.

“No.”

His eyes, now, warm and kind and so inviting as they looked at you. The glimpse of tanned skin under his nightshirt.

“No. It cannot be. No.”

You open your eyes and delve deeper into the tepid water, scrubbing the plates and mugs clean and resolving to leave today - just as soon as you could be certain no danger awaited you at home.

At mid-morning, the sudden sound of a woman’s voice inside the cottage is almost enough to make you drop the bundle of clothes you’re carrying inside from the washing line.

She’s small, with an unruly mop of wild auburn curls, and a demeanour that indicates her wiles and toughness.

Peigí. It seems strange to see her here, away from her yard full of half-mended carts and spares.

She doesn’t spot you at first, too busy hauling in a milk can and a couple of baskets filled with random packages wrapped in brown paper. Food, you guessed.

“Only me, lads! Came by with milk and a few bits and pieces I have going spare after calling into the village, I know a growing little chap who’ll eat them right up, so he will. D’you know they changed the coterie of redcoat bastards at the barracks, Din? And one of them’s a local lad, fecked off and left his wife there a few years ago and now he’s back and he’s going mad looking for her and -"

The woman finally looks up and sees you standing near the hearth.

“Oh. Oh, lord bless us and save us!”

“Hello, Peigí. I’m sorry, did I give you a fright?”

She rounds the table to get a closer look at you. “God almighty, girleen, it is you!” She pauses and takes a step back, concern written on her expressive face. “Did… did you know about, er, him? Reappearing, that is?”

You nod. “That’s why I’m here. And by the sounds of it, that was the right thing to do.”

She turns her head quickly towards the door that leads to the forge, as if half-considering whether to summon Din to find out what, exactly, the wife of the prodigal soldier is doing lying low in his house.

“You’re not… ye aren’t… you and himself, are you…”

It’s pretty clear what Peigí is thinking, and you can’t exactly blame her. An anxious wave crashes through you, as you realise that your choice of hideout may well lead the community at large to suspect impropriety - on your part, of course.

“No. And if anyone else suggests that, kindly correct them on my behalf.” You put the bundle of clothes on the table and fold your arms. “I had nowhere else to go that he wouldn’t suspect. I came here in a panic. Din and Gró took me in and fed me.”

Peigí lifts the baskets onto the table, a sympathetic expression on her face. “Well, your instincts were right. Your husband - not that he should really claim the title, given how long he’s been gone - has been out to your smallholding looking for you, and to your parents’ place, and he’s been asking around for you.”

She takes a few of the packages out and arranges them into little piles. “Look, I don’t know your business but I’m guessing you have a good reason not to want to see him again, for being so frightened that you’d flee your own home. So you can trust me, I won’t say a word.” The earnestness of her expression and the kindness in her eyes tells you that she means it.

“Thank you, Peigí. I’d intended to go home later today, I can’t outstay my welcome, but…”

“But I’d give it another little while,” she finishes. “Until he decides you’re not worth the bother.”

The door from the forge opens and Din’s broad silhouette appears, face still covered with the grey cloth. “Peigí?”

“The one and same, Din. Brought you and that lovely little lad some bits and pieces. Now, where’s my darling boy?”

On cue, Gró tears in from the forge, little bare feet racing across the flagstone floor to greet Peigí with a tight hug as she sweeps him up into her arms. He immediately starts chattering away to her, pointing from his shirt to you excitedly.

“Well, aren’t you a lucky little chap, having new friends to make you clothes and everything!” She swivels around to face Din, his son playing with Peigí’s curls. “You don’t need to explain why she’s here, the poor girl. And she should stay put, in my opinion. Provided that’s alright with her hosts, of course.”

“What have you heard?” Din’s voice is cautious.

“Only that he’s been sniffing around the place and asking questions. Nobody knows she’s out here, though.” She ruffles Gró’s mop of fair hair. “You know me, Din, I know everyone and I hear everything. And I’ll be out here quick as anything, the minute I know it’s alright for her to go home. That alright with you, girleen?”

“If it’s alright with Din.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “It’s fine with us. We will keep you safe.”

Peigí looks from you to Din and back again, eyes narrowed and one eyebrow arched, before setting Gró back down on the ground.

“Right so, I’ll be off. See you next week, Din - if not before.”

You keep telling yourself that you’ll soon be able to go home. But, with every day that passes over the course of the next week without a visit from Peigí, a new, more uncomfortable feeling grows inside you.

I don’t want to leave here.

You settle into a comforting, reassuring routine: a little housekeeping and cooking, mending and sewing, playing with Gró, occasionally helping Din with checking the list of items left for repair. Gró alerts you if anyone comes down the lane to the forge, giving you time to scramble up the ladder to the attic and hide. It’s not that you expect Searlas himself - more that you fear he’ll find out if anyone from the locality spots you in the cottage.

You notice Din smiling more, these last few days. Sometimes, you catch him looking at you, eyes kind and warm. And he, in turn, has caught you looking at him.

By night, you sit by the fire together for a little while: you with your mending or knitting, talking, sometimes - and more you than him - but sometimes simply being in a companionable silence that doesn’t demand interruption.

This evening, he descends the ladder from Gró’s sleeping attic, candlestick in hand, and sets the light back on the mantel. The flickering flame throws shadows here and there, the brighter light of the fire illuminating Din’s profile against the whitewashed walls.

He joins you, sitting in one of the sugán chairs in front of the fire. He silently watches you, taking in your nimble fingers as you darn a pair of socks by firelight.

“You have a nice voice,” you say quietly, not even looking up from your work.

“I…” He seems a little taken aback. “Are you making fun of me?”

You look up, surprised and a little hurt that he’d think that of you. “Of course not! I heard you singing to the little lad and it was nice. It’s a compliment, Din.”

He looks sullenly into the fire. You reach over to pat his arm, to offer a little more reassurance and kindness, but he pulls away suddenly as if your fingertips were aflame. You jerk back your hand just as quickly. Had you broken some sort of rule?

“I’m sorry, Din, I didn’t mean to - I meant no harm.” You cast your eyes down again towards the stockings.

“It’s only that I’m not used to it.”

You look up quizzically. “Not used to compliments?”

He meets your eyes and huffs a laugh. “Well, that’s true too. But I mean I am not used to being touched. At least, not by anyone other than my boy.” He looks away again. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Let’s call it evens, then, will we?” You yawn softly and let the darning rest in your lap. “I think it might be time for bed.”

You go through the evening routine established with quiet ease over the past few days: packing away your darning while Din smothers the fire and pulls out the box-like bed frame of the settle bed for you, setting out the few meagre cups and plates for breakfast on the sturdy wooden table while he retrieves pillow and blankets for your bed.

“There might just be enough jam for Gró to have for breakfast,” you tell him, peering into the bottom of the last jar you’d given them. Din stands beside you at the table and smiles.

“He makes light work of it, I’m afraid.”

You shrug and place the jar on the table, resting your hands lightly on the edge. “I’m glad. It’s nice to make a child so happy in this world.”

For a moment, there’s no sound except the occasional crackle of the candles and the rain beating its steady rhythm against the walls and windows of the little cottage.

Din rests his own broad, calloused hands on the table. With trembling fingers, he places his right hand gently on the back of your left.

He doesn’t look directly at you, instead stealing the odd glance as he tries to gauge your reaction. You turn your hand over so that your palm is touching his, letting your fingers intertwine with his long, thick digits as you softly squeeze his hand and turn to look at him.

His hands are still shaking a little, but his impossibly dark eyes are warm and wanting as they look intently into yours.

He moves a step closer. He brings the back of your hand to his lips. You exhale a little, a breath tinged with pleasure and surprise, and your fingers seek out the rough stubble on his jaw. He lets go of your hand, gently, and traces his fingertips across your cheek with surprising delicateness.

His kiss is a little awkward, at first, as if he’s afraid you might disappear entirely as soon as your lips meet. When you lean in and reciprocate, though, he responds in kind: strong arms pulling you close as he kisses you hungrily, moaning into your mouth as you wrap your arms around him.

And then it’s over.

He breaks away, breathing shaky, body almost trembling, face turned away from you.

“No. We can’t. You’re… you’re married, it’s not the way to - I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laid a finger on you.”

You walk quickly to the settle bed, keeping your back turned to Din. “I’ll go in the morning. I’ve exploited your kindness for far too long as it is.”

His own bed creaks a little as Din sits on it and sighs. “You won’t be safe. I can protect you, here.”

“I’m a married woman, Din, remember?” You fling a pillow down onto the straw-filled mattress in frustration. “So I shouldn’t need you to protect me. And I’d obviously only be a temptation. A harlot.”

You pick up your nightshirt and shawl and cross to the door that leads to the tiny back room, so that you can change for bed. You keep your face turned away and your eyes trained on the flagstone floor. That way, at least, he won’t see your tears.

“The thing is, Din,” you say quietly, as you pause in front of the simple wooden door, “over the last few days - in all the time I’ve known you, indeed - you’ve been more husband to me than he ever was, in the ways that really mattered.”

“Mo chuisle.” [My darling]

His voice, soft but pleading, cuts through the stillness like a prayer. When you turn to face him, he’s standing by the side of his bed, big dark eyes threatening tears of his own, beautiful hands twisting and rubbing nervously together. You’ve never seen him like this.

“Say it again.” You move towards him, shawl wrapped around your upper body.

“Mo chuisle.” He takes your hand and you instinctively move closer, leaning in to feel the warmth of his broad chest. Slowly, cautiously, Din’s strong arms reach around your body to hold you to him.

You stay like that for a few moments, listening to his heart beating, learning the notes of his scent: fire and metal. His large hand caresses the back of your head, his lips find your cheek with soft, lingering kisses.

“Let me keep you safe, mo chuisle. Here, with us.”

You look into his dark eyes, mapping the laughter lines around them and the contours of his nose, his mouth, his strong jaw.

When you first met Din, you weren’t sure if he was a handsome man or a striking one. You were wrong on both counts.

He was a beautiful one.

He holds your gaze for a few seconds, before your lips meet his again. Slow caresses give way to more urgent, hungry kisses, your hands holding Din’s face as he holds you tight, feeling the softness and contours of your body under the layers of wool and cotton in your garments.

You stay like that for a little while, lips and tongues blissfully moving together and hands roaming over each other’s body, exploring these strange and enticing new territories.

Din trembles under your gentle touches, the feeling of someone else’s tender caresses almost overwhelming after so long alone. For the first time in your life, you know what it is to be held and cherished with care as he holds you, seeks out your softness and your warmth, presses his lips experimentally to the fragile skin of your neck and décolletage, and sighs with pleasure.

His mouth moves gradually lower, and you loosen the neck of your blouse and undo your light wool bodice to grant him greater access. Those long, thick fingers, marked and calloused by his trade, trace the line of your breasts under your short linen stays.

“Oh.” He exhales the word, closing his eyes as his fingertips press lightly into the soft flesh.

“Din…”

Din’s dark eyes flick open and meet yours, his sadness palpable. “I’m sorry, mo chuisle, I’ll stop.”

You murmur a silent prayer that he won’t think less of you for what you say next.

“Din…don’t stop. I - I want to. I want you. I want you to have me. Please.”

He flushes and looks away, still holding you close.

You speak softly but firmly. “I know that’s very forward of me, Din, but…” You run your fingers idly through his hair and he leans into your touch. “Why did you turn away?”

“Because I’ll be a disappointment to you.” His eyes meet yours again, dark and sad.

“It has been a…long time.” He looks embarrassed, colour flushing his cheeks. “I…I’ve lain with, well…once or twice…but I…It wasn’t like this. It wasn’t -”

“If you don’t want to, you know that’s perfectly fine.”

“I want to. I want you.” He pulls you tight to him once more, and brings his hand to your breasts, gently kneading the flesh and slipping a fingertip here and there under your light stays as he sucks your neck and pulls your bodice open all the more.

“I won’t hurt you, my darling,” he murmurs.

“Oh, Din, I know. You never could. Let me undress for you, a stór, hmmm?”

Din looks on as you discard your bodice and your skirts, followed by your woollen stockings. You undo your short stays, leaving you as naked as you’ve ever been in front of another human being for a very long time: just your pale, light shift, undone over the décolletage and stopping just at mid-calf, the outline of your body entirely evident in the simple, thin undergarment.

His dark eyes appraise you, mouth slightly open. The width and curve of your hips. The thickness of your thighs. The little protruding pooch of your belly. The line of your shoulders. The gorgeous weight of your heavy bosom.

“Oh, mo Dhia.” [My god]

Din hastily takes off his knitted pullover and undoes his breeches and stockings, and soon he, like you, is standing barefoot on the flagstone floor, dressed in just the creamy-coloured linen of his undershirt. He closes the short distance between you, caresses your cheek with one hand and reaches for the other, holding it gently.

“Please take me to bed, Din.”

It’s strange, at first, to nestle beside him in his bed, to smile at each other and giggle quietly as you map each other’s bodies with roving fingers, curious lips, and wandering eyes.

You are no virgin. But this has some of the sweetness and curiosity of a first time, or at least how you had once hoped a first time would be. On your wedding night, Searlas took your virginity and shattered your romantic delusions, adding insult to injury by checking the sheets to see if you’d bled.

It’s different tonight, here in the blacksmith’s bed. You are both a little awkward, a bit hesitant from your years alone, the time spent seeking a kind of release in your own hands, the years that passed without as much as a loving touch from someone else.

The feel of another now, at last, sets you trembling. Din’s breath hitches when you caress him through the thin linen of his undershirt, and when you reach under his shirt and wrap your fingers around his cock he moans so loudly that you have to put a hand over his mouth, for fear of waking the little boy soundly asleep on the floor above.

You stroke him for a little while, hand still gently pressed over his lips to stem the flow of grunts and moans that threaten to spill out.

“I’ll stay quiet if I’m kissing you, mo chuisle,” he whispers against your hand.

You smile and move your palm away, and Din swiftly finds your mouth again as his hands grope your breasts. It’s exquisite torment - the sheer pleasure of his strong, broad hands being on you, his soft, warm mouth meeting yours, while the ache between your legs grows more and more insistent.

You take his hand and gently guide it under your chemise and between your folds. Din’s eyes widen.

“Ever touched a woman here?”

He shakes his head.

“Would you like me to teach you?”

A slow, entranced nod of agreement.

You bring his long, thick pointer and middle fingers to the sensitive little nub you’ve learned to massage when you needed release in your years alone, guiding Din’s motions as you teach him what you like. What you need.

He’s a quick learner, enraptured by the little whines his fingers start to pull out of you and the way your hips buck in response to the careful touch of his hand. He reaches for your breasts with his free hand, fondling them with endearingly clumsy enthusiasm while he continues to finger you.

“You’re wet,” he grunts into the side of your neck, fingers now tracing around your entrance as he explores you for the first time.

“For you,” you whisper, close to coming. “Because I want you to have me.”

Din’s kiss tips you over the edge and you whine against his broad chest as pleasure courses through your body. He looks astonished.

“Good?”

“So good, Din,” and you return his kiss, still stroking his cock. “You learn fast, a stór.”

His eyes are dark with desire and want as he plays with the hem of your chemise, hitching it up over your thighs.

“Can I have you, mo chuisle?” His voice is hushed, reverent, almost; his face open and genuine as he gazes into your eyes.

You nod and sit up, casting off your shift before helping him out of his shirt. Your fingers trace over the marks and scars on his body, lips pressing lightly to them, to the strong, beautiful muscles of his arms and torso, to the side of his neck.

With his pointer finger, Din draws soft lines and circles down your breasts and around your nipples, before gently bringing his warm, plush lips to each one in turn. Strong arms wrap around you and ease you down onto your back as his mouth continues to explore your body. He strokes his cock and moans softly as your hips buck up towards him, marvelling at the way you are responding to his touch.

He is a beautiful sight, nestled between your legs: broad body above yours, hands and lips exploring you, eyes blown completely dark with desire, and hard cock pressing against your core. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down for a long, deep kiss.

There is no moment of doubt in your mind, no worry about how this lovemaking is “wrong”, by virtue of the legal status that still binds you to a man who never held up his end of the bargain, nor had any intention of doing so.

Nothing in your life, you realise as you reach down to help guide Din inside you, has ever felt so right.

He takes you slowly, gently, biting his lip as he sinks into you and bottoms out with a groan he desperately tries to suppress as he adjusts to the feel of your wet, warm pussy.

He opens his eyes and caresses your cheek, smiling softly. “Mo cailín álainn. [My lovely girl.] Is this - do you like this?”

The feeling of his heavy cock pressing, filling, stretching you so beautifully is a revelation, a far cry from the pain and abuse that characterised your previous experiences. Suddenly, you understand why other young couples you’d known had been so desperate to go to bed together.

“It’s just perfect, a stór. And for you, is this - does it feel good for you?”

Din breathes your name and closes his eyes for a moment. “So very, very good, mo chuisle.” With a gentle kiss, he begins to move his hips as you whine softly at the gorgeous sensation. He moves slowly, at first, his sheer pleasure as he drags his cock in and out of you written all over his face and in every pant and whispered gasp of your name that issues from his soft lips.

Your knees hitch instinctively, your body acting on your innate need to take him even deeper inside of you. Din’s broad, calloused right hand finds its way to your hip, making you cry out as his fingers sink into the soft flesh, while his left eagerly gropes and massages your tits.

“That’s it, darling,” you purr into his ear, urging him on as he starts to fuck you harder and faster. “Yes - yes, Din, there - that’s…oh, god…” His eyes widen as he watches your head rolling back in ecstasy. He buries his face against the velvet skin of your neck, kissing and licking and nipping you until you’re stifling your moans against his dark, wavy locks.

“My good, good girl,” he whispers, moving his lips to your tits and muffling his grunts and groans against your body as his rhythm starts to stutter and falter. He’s close. “Where, love?”

“Inside me,” you hiss, “finish inside me.”

He comes hard, moaning into his pillow as he spills his release deep within you. You trail your fingers through Din’s damp, mussed-up hair and kiss the side of his head, over and over, until he pulls out and flops back beside you.

You turn to face him, chuckling softly at how wrecked he looks. “You’re very good at that, you know. Not bad for a man who thought he was going to disappoint me.”

Din grins, wraps an arm around you, and pulls you in for a long, slow kiss.

Dawn reaches its gentle rays into the little cottage and finds two lovers still tangled together, naked beneath the blankets.

Din wakes you with kisses: to your lips, your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. You nuzzle against him, still basking in the warm glow created the night before.

There’s a certain sadness in his kind eyes. Regret?

“What is it, Din?”

He looks at you, reluctant. “I just wish you were mine, mo chuisle.”

In that instant the warm glow is gone, replaced by stark cold. He’s right. You’re not really his. You can’t be.

But, says a little voice inside you, you are. What else are you, if not his?

You kiss his cheek and reach for his hand. “I am yours, Din. Don’t you remember what I said last night? I’m yours - and you are mine - in all the ways that truly matter.”

Further A/N: With thanks to @agentjackdaniels for her astute observation a long time back about the similarity between mo chuisle and mesh'la!

A settle bed was a common piece of furniture in eighteenth and nineteenth-century Ireland. Essentially, it was a kind of high-backed bench with a deep base that could be pulled out to act as a spare bed. A sugán chair is a traditional Irish form of domestic chair with a woven straw seat and wooden frame.

#tempered in the fire fic #din djarin au #blacksmith!din djarin #blacksmith!din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #historical AU #the mandalorian AU #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories

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beautifulpersonpeach · 2 years ago

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It’s impossible to not love jikook.

Their chemistry is so natural, so effortless, so comfortable. Whatever brain cell Jungkook has you know Jimin shares it. They complement each other in their physical athleticism, in their easygoing / mischievous / crackhead personalities, in their competitiveness, in even how they relate to the other five members.

I’m yet to watch the full RUN episode, I’ve only seen some clips some friends have sent me while I run to a work lunch, but now I’ve got this silly smile on my face because two men I love, Jimin and Jungkook, exist on the same planet I do.

In other news, HYBE is giving a masterclass in class compared to the dumpster fire that is SM right now, though at this point with how deplorable SM’s management have behaved recently, that’s not even saying much. The latest HYBE financials confirm what I’ve said in my last few posts on HYBE’s corporate news i.e. HYBE not neglecting BTS and how BTS continues to be the primary revenue driver even on ‘hiatus’ (I think I recall @guacamoli-avocadorado sending an ask on this. HYBE’s latest filings are available on their website so you can confirm, but I’m sure there are also screengrabs all over Twitter at this point. Just FYI 💜.) It’s also confirmed Jimin will release PJM1 in March.

For the other anon who just sent in an ask on the downside of this SM deal for HYBE - HYBE has already gotten their pound of flesh in terms of LSM’s stake (consensus view is the injunction is in his favour), a validation of the business mode HYBE developed years ago that SM now wants to replicate in their SM 3.0 plan, and SM’s management has single-handedly done most of the damage to their brand already. But then again, they’d damaged their brand years ago when several of their own artists filed lawsuits detailing extreme physical abuse, when the company was fined for fraud several times, when the ceo wound up on Interpol’s most wanted list, when SM bought Woolim Entertainment to shelf Infinite and every other talent under that agency, etc. It didn’t stop the wider k-pop fandom/industry from developing selective blindness and amnesia to all this though, neither did it stop SM from continuing verifiably corrupt dealings. So despite this latest embarrassment only being more so because of international eyes on this mess, expect the status quo from the wider k-pop space to remain by year-end. HYBE will maintain a notable equity interest they can monetize later, and likely some influence on management decisions.

Back to jikook, I’m so excited for what they both will get up to this year. Jungkook said he isn’t working on anything right now, but that guy has been writing finished songs since 2016 at least, already has a vision for his solo debut (multiple MVs, possibly for each song on the album, choreography, possibly including drumming performances in videos or live, likely a new slew of collaborators, etc), plus it’s only February. As 2023 has shown us so far, a lot can change in very little time, so I’m not worried about JK at all. He’s taking a breather, something very necessary for creatives (much less introverted creatives), and he’s been working full time for 10 years.

Jimin will bring sauce and heat and tears in his new album. I have zero doubts. Prepare your bank accounts and stay hydrated. 💜

#jikook #Jimin #park jimin #Jungkook #jeon jungkook #Hybe #sm entertainment #K-pop

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sukka-week · 1 year ago

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~ Details & Rules ~

The most important rule is to have some Sukka fun! But here's a few guidelines to help us all have a good time

1) First and foremost, to submit a work for Sukka Week, please tag @sukka-week in your post.

You can also use the #sukkaweek and #sukkaweek2023 tags on your post, but the best way for me to see your submission is to @ this blog (and keep in mind that this blog has a hypen; there's another another blog without a hyphen so just watch out for that).

2) Sukka (romantic relationship between Sokka and Suki) should be the primary ship in your work.

Including other ships in your work is totally fine, but they shouldn’t break Sukka.

For the purposes of this event, poly ships that contain Sokka and Suki don’t count as Sukka. Stories where Sokka and/or Suki are in another relationship towards the beginning but Sukka is endgame are okay! However, the work should contain more Sukka than it does the other ship(s).

3) It's okay for the work to focus primarily on Sokka or Suki as independent people, as long as Sukka appears somewhere (and fits the criteria above).

For example, if I wanted to write a fic that's mostly about Suki's character development after the war, and Sokka appears in less than half the story, but they're still a couple and they think about each other/write to each other/visit each other once in a while, then that still fits for this event!

Or, if I wanted to draw a picture of a grown-up Sokka and a grown-up Foo Foo Cuddlypoops charging into battle, and I put Suki's face in the background with big pink heart eyes, that would also fit for this event!

4) Please tag all your content appropriately!

This includes mature or potentially triggering content like NSFW and violence, as well as content like additional ships.

5) Yes, NSFW content is allowed.

Intimate content should be consensual in nature, and please make sure to follow the guidelines of whatever platform is hosting your work.

As an FYI, this blog will use the tag #spicysukkaweek for any NSFW content in case you’d like to block these types of works.

6) Submissions should be previously unpublished.

One of the goals of this events is to inspire people to create brand-spankin’-new Sukka works! If you would like this blog to promote your existing works, I’m happy to do so during the lead-up weeks prior to the actual event week. Feel free to shoot me an ask or DM with a link.

That said, unpublished chapters to pre-existing works are okay! As are works that are cross-posted to simultaneously-occurring events.

7) If possible, it would be helpful to provide descriptions of visual or audio content.

e.g., image descriptions for fanart, edits, gifs, etc. and transcripts for audio content. I will do my best to remember to provide these descriptions when reblogging if they haven’t been included already.

8) Any kind of creative work goes!

We're not limited to fics and digital drawings! Want to create a new Sukka-Wild-West-AU-themed playlist? Please do! (I'd seriously love to hear what that sounds like.) Got inspired to do some Family-themed incorrect quotes? Have at it! Want to do a podfic of an existing Sukka story that gives you Battle Lovers vibes? That would be beautiful! (With the original author's permission, of course.) Don't feel like you have to write seven different 5k-word one-shots to participate in Sukka Week. (I'll try to take my own advice here, too. ;))

Any questions, comments, or concerns, don’t hesitate to reach out to this blog or Mod Myargalargan (@the-power-of-stuff) via ask or private message.

And let's have some fun!

#sukka #ship weeks #atla ship weeks #fandom events #atla fandom events #sokka x suki #suki x sokka #rules #guidelines #event details #sukkaweek #sukka week #sukkaweek2023 #sukka week 2023

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sio-writes · 2 years ago

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Sacrifice Chapter 4

<<Chapter 3

<Chapter 1 (Ch 1 is in second-person POV just fyi!)

Tags for this chapter: NSFW, kind-of rough sex? (it's all consensual!)

"Dark…under…or is it wonder? Yonder?" The script is too curly and extraneous to make out the word. With a defeated groan, I stop my hands from tearing the note in half, instead slapping it on the desk and tossing my head down after it.

It's been an hour and I'm no closer to deciphering these notes. Aurelius can't even read it-- his own handwriting!-- and left me to decipher his notes alone.

It's a festival, he told me that much, and I saw several words beginning with 'f' that may have been 'festival' as well. A solstice celebration, thrown at the full moon to bring in spring. Being a god, Aurelius is expected to bring it in, and has made more than enough notes in preparation, but gods be damned if I can't read any of them.

I've gathered that he's made to approve all stalls and vendors, as well as the arrangement of the physical stands, and the few notes I've been able to decipher all tell me he's woefully behind.

The library is all I can stand right now, the maze that is this house has too many twists and turns for me to even begin to parse which way is up. Am I sitting upside-down right now? Is the floor going to sink out from under me when I step out the door? Who knows! Everyone except me, apparently!

So I'm stuck trying to sound my way through month's worth of papers and plans, with nowhere to go and no end in sight. And I'd asked for this, begged for something to do. I'd gotten so restless that I'd begun rearranging the books in the library, only for the house to spit them back onto the floor until I'd returned them to their original place. I've been cleaning and re-cleaning for days waiting for something to happen, and the library is pristine, not a speck of dust to be found.

I still don't have my own room, and I wish I did. A place I could retreat to. But Aurelius is adamant I stay here until then. He comes and goes, doing whatever a god of the woods does with his day. I'd asked once, trying to make conversation after the night of the thunderstorm, but he told me I didn't have to worry about it. That it was his burden to bear.

I sleep in here nearly every night, as well. It's only been a handful of days since the thunderstorm, and I had thought allowing me into his nest of a bed had been some unspoken permission. The house leads me to his room every time I ask her to lead me, but no matter if I sleep by his side or on the other side of the room, I always wake up in the library. The house cannot move me, not to my knowledge, so it must be Aurelius himself picking me up and removing me from his bed.

It's been cold dismissal after cold dismissal. I have nothing to do, nowhere to go. Am I just supposed to sit here, waiting for him to return?

Footsteps shake the stairway and Aurelius' head rises, branching antlers first, from the floor. Whether he's stepping in from the ever-changing hallway, or coming up through the stairs, he always makes a racket. He doesn't need to, but there was one incident where he simply appeared from the shadows in the dead of night and it nearly stopped my heart. Ever since, he always makes his presence known.

Aurelius stalks across the room, his footsteps heavy and wet. He shakes himself like a dog and a torrent of snow falls to the floor, which melts in seconds.

I want to ask him what he does, I want to be involved in his comings and goings. But it's not my place, apparently.

A hand falls heavy on my head, ruffling my hair. "Has my doe made any progress?"

I blow a raspberry and my head falls to the desk with a thunk. Aurelius laughs quietly, picking up my head the same way I'd hold a fruit in my hand, and leans over my shoulder.

"Are you bored? Would you like something else to occupy yourself?" He speaks low and soft, his voice like honey over my skin. I know what he implies, and it sends a pleasant shiver up my spine. As much as I'd enjoy that, I feel laying with him will only make me more restless.

Pushing away from the desk, I blurt out, "I need to get out." And I regret saying it, but the walls of this room feel smaller and smaller with each passing day.

Aurelius hums, a hand coming to his jaw. "Have you not been outside? I know that's a necessity with humans."

I begin to respond, to say I don't know what I'm allowed or barred from doing here, that he hasn't told me anything and totes me around only when he sees fit, but I think better of it, and my jaw closes with a click.

Taking my silence for astonishment or possibly realization, he laughs again. He ruffles my hair, and I feel like a child. "The house will lead you outside, my doe."

We exit down the stairs, the same spiraling staircase we came in through, after passing through a grand entry hall of gold and silver.

The same pall of mist that cut off my vision in the forest is keeping me from seeing more than a stone's throw away. I can make out the barn, and the beginning's of a fence in the distance, but we're too far away to hear any animals.

We step out from the shade of the house and into the daylight. The warmth is instant, as is the humidity, and I have to shield my eyes from the reflection of the sun off the fog. Aurelius leads me towards the barn. It's large, like one I'd see on an estate, with multiple stories and a loft. I bet there are horses inside.

Aurelius rests a hand between my shoulder blades and says, "If you want something to do, I suppose you can tend to the animals."

I glance up at him. "Do you normally tend to them?"

He shakes his head. "They don't require it."

I purse my lips. Then why have me do it? Well, I suppose I asked for something to do. But I'd rather do something with a purpose. Wash the clothes I wear, or make something. I despised embroidery when my mother made me do it, but I'd gladly pick up a hoop now if it would whittle away the hours spent in that house of mirrors.

But what kind of animal doesn't require care? A dead one, usually.

We walk towards the barn, and I'm no less frustrated with Aurelius' cryptic answers than I was before.

Next to the barn is the fence I saw, dotted with the blobby forms of pigs, and beyond is another barn, smaller than the first. There's enough field here to house hundreds of animals, and even more beyond the clearing.

As my eyes scan the animals appearing through the mist, they land on a blob of black. I think it impossible, until I hear a familiar bleat.

"Mortimer!" I cry, rushing to the black blob of fur in the distance. The light catches on his curled horns and shiny coat, much healthier than when he left me. There's a red collar, loose around his neck, and a small bell hanging off the bottom. It jingles when he whips his head to see me, and he bleats again. He jumps into the air and kicks his back legs out, running up to greet me. I throw my arms around his neck, tears stinging my nose.

"Mortimer," I run a hand over his glossy fur, and shake him lightly by the curling horns. Each touch sends a small plume of gold dust into the air, resembling the magic from the forest. He's chewing happily on the grass, there's not a scratch on him, and he actually seems to have gained some weight.

All around me are animals of varying sizes. Goats, pigs, chickens, cats, and dogs, all appearing through the mist like a bad omen.

I turn back to Aurelius, who's still several yards away, slowly catching up to us.

I grin wide and raise my voice, "All these are yours?"

"In a way," he says once he reaches me. "Their bodies are all I require for any magical exchange, so their essence I retain here."

"That's…" I trail off, glancing at the hundreds of animals in the field. So many years of sacrifices, but these animals haven't aged a day. I wonder how many other villages he's served, how many humans have called on him. Aurelius bends down, and Mortimer shifts in my grip. He turns his head away from us, and I pat his flank to comfort him. He's uneasy, moreso as Aurelius comes closer, eyes shifting down to the floor. They're afraid of him.

"Why animals?" I ask.

Aurelius tilts his head. "Animals?"

"For…offerings. You always demand animals."

He shrugs, a very human-like expression. "When humans first came to my forest, I asked for greater offerings. But your meat isn't very appetizing. The fear sours the blood."

He melts part way into the ground, his head drawing nearer, his posture is mimicking my seated position. "I've also never met a human that's kept me entertained." He gently lays a hand on Mortimer, petting him. "They're always too busy cowering, or begging for some favor."

I furrow my brow, smoothing a hand over Mortimer's fur. What sets me apart from the rest, then? Aurelius sometimes treats me like a pet, but I'm a human, he must know this. Will he get bored of me, too?

"Animals are simpler," he says, voice quiet. "The magic requested in the rituals is not demanding enough for human sacrifice, and animals are much sweeter to eat."

I've never heard him speak this much in one go. At least, not so honestly. His usual cadence is cryptic, or a non-answer that he leaves me to parse on my own. He's easier to deal with out here. Is it the animals? He is a forest god, after all, it would make sense if he had an affinity for them.

I may be pushing my luck, but we haven't spent time together like this since our first meeting. And I don't think he'd lie to me, if he's even able. "How many humans have you brought?"

He acts like he's about to shake his head, then thinks better of it. "You are the first I've brought into my home."

I scrunch my face. "Those fae in the wood said…"

Our attention is caught by the sharp whistle of a flute, and we both turn our heads to the noise.

It's a herd of satyrs, colored various levels of pink and pastel blue. They approach as a group, their all-pink leader wearing a gilded golden crown. A few hold lyres or pan flutes, and others have flowers in their hair. None are wearing clothes, save for the leader with a sash of vines over one shoulder.

Aurelius brushes his snout against my head, his form of a kiss, and stands. "One moment, my sweet doe."

He steps away from me to meet the satyrs, offering a greeting I can't hear. They all bow at the waist in front of him, and they remind me of a herd of sheep in front of a towering shepard.

I'm curious, though, so I creep up behind Aurelius, making sure to stay out of sight of most of the herd. I keep my head down, but I can feel a few interested eyes on me as I step behind Aurelius.

"We seek an audience with you this festival," The lead satyr says, their voice high pitched and airy, almost melodic.

Aurelius huffs through his nose at the same time his hand reaches down and pats me on the arm in acknowledgement. "And what will you offer?"

The pink leader makes a hand motion, and several satyrs holding sacks of grain lift them up. Even standing upright, none of them make eye contact with Aurelius, not even the pink leader. All their eyes are downcast, averted to the ground.

I glance back and forth between the group and him, a question forming on my lips, when a blue head pops out from the side of the group and focuses in on me.

They separate from the group, eyes trained on me. They're mainly pink with blue spots like ink droplets over their body, and bright, golden eyes.

"What a pretty human," they say, looking me up and down. "Who are you?"

I open my mouth to respond with my name, but think better of it. When my jaw clicks shut, the satyr's eyes glitter with mirth.

"Oh, you know better, don't you? Too smart for the likes of me!"

I look to the group still speaking to Aurelius, and back to the individual. "What're you doing here?"

"I'll tell you for a kiss," they tease, falling into giggles at my wide-eyed expression. "We are here for the festival! The grand Seer wishes for better, so we come with an offering. Where will you be?"

"With--" I stop myself again before I say his name. "With my lord." I gesture up to Aurelius, but the satyr doesn't follow my hand, keeping his gaze firmly on me.

"Do you have a nice dress to wear? We make the loveliest clothing made by the finest of silk worms."

"N-no, no thank you…"

They push, "Oh come now, don't be so shy, I'm only asking for your benefit! You look like you could use some cheering up, my dear!"

"I, uh--" They're not listening to me, I can't get a word in edgewise.

"Yes, yes, come with me, let me show you--"

"I said no!" In a rush, I push the satyr away. They stumble back, face falling open in shock as their basket falls to the ground.

The commotion pauses the negotiations, and Aurelius turns to us. "Is something the matter?"

I start, "It's-- no!" I gesture to the satyr that's picking up their basket. "They wouldn't leave me alone!" Nothing will get done if I keep quiet. I'm out here because I said something, I'm talking with Aurelius because I spoke up.

Aurelius crouches low, level with the blue spotted satyr, and growls a warning. "You're bothering her."

The lead satyr with the golden crown goes wide-eyed at the ground. They usher the spotted one back, knocking them upside the head, and they all offer hasty bows. "Forgive us, my lord, we all--"

"Leave us," he waves them off, and they scurry away into the tree line. He turns his attention to me. Aurelius picks me up with one great arm, cradling me against his chest. His free hand reaches up and brushes over my head.

"You are unharmed?"

"Fine, I'm fine," I say, pushing his hand away. It returns to stroke a long line down my face.

His head turns to the place where the satyrs disappeared. "You have to be sturdy, otherwise the folk will steal you away."

I'm reminded of the large creature that saved me from the three fae on our way here, and I snort. "I'll be on my guard."

"Good," he says, licking a short note up my cheek. "No human of mine will be tricked."

Setting me on the ground, Aurelius considers me. His head stays low, and he sniffs my shoulder, one long inhale followed by a rumbling growl. He rests his hands heavy on my shoulders, forcing me to sit on the ground, as he continues running his snout over my chest, under my neck, down my arms to my hands.

I've been using the soap the house provides me, the scented honey and milk, quite frequently now. I'd rationed it at first, but it never seems to run low, so I've begun applying it all over my body. It's a luxury we could never afford at home, and I adore the scent. It seems Aurelius enjoys it as well.

"You continue to wear my clothes," he says, licking a long stripe up my neck.

"I-I don't have any of my own," I say, grasping at his form, looking for any purchase at all and finding only silky shadow.

Aurelius rears up, head cocking to one side. His eye sockets ripple like dark waters, and I get the feeling he's looking me over. "You're not doing this to please me?"

I feel like I've done something wrong, but there's no point in trying to lie. "No. I only have the single dress you brought me in." And it barely qualifies as such anymore. Between multiple washings, walking and sleeping in it, the sturdy material already has several holes along the hem as well as multiple stains I can't seem to wash out.

I've taken to wearing Aurelius' large shirts as dresses. Any pants are far too large, and I've seen no shoes laying about. The shirts stop just below my thighs, and in any other world I'd be humiliated at the scandal, but the only one to see me so far is Aurelius. And personally, I think he'd rather have me naked.

Aurelius cocks his head, the motion very bird-like. "You would like more clothes?"

"I…" I start, the atmosphere taking a harsh turn from heated to casual. Right now, all I want is for him to keep touching me. But if this is my only chance… "I would like more of my own clothes, yes."

He sits back completely, and before I can stand, he's already walking away from me. The air is cool despite the warmth of the sun, and I quickly pick myself up and chase after him.

"Where are you going?"

"Market," he says, holding up a long claw. "You did want to leave the house."

His tone is accusing, and I feel the need to defend myself. "There's nothing wrong with the house!"

He waves me off. "You're my responsibility, come, let us go."

I don't know what to think. One second he's all over me, the next we're prepping for a fae market I've never heard of. Surely he wanted to continue? Am I that unappealing in his clothing? I must be, because he tells me to change into my worn down kirtle when we reach the house.

I fish it off the drying line, and fit it over my form.

I've gained some weight since coming here, the plentiful food and lack of work has turned me into a pampered human-housecat. But I can no longer count my ribs or see my hipbones, and my face is no longer gaunt like my brother's had been on his deathbed. Even my hair, usually flatter than dirt, has obtained a sheen and is beginning to form curls again.

The kirtle is not yet a tight fit, but it soon will be if I keep eating and lazing about.

***

Teleporting through the shadows is nothing like the portal I stepped through to arrive here. Darkness envelops me like a blanket tucked too tight. It's cold and wet, and I can't see my hand in front of my face. In fact, I don't think I have a body at all. I try to reach for Aurelius and find I'm alone in this storm, the wind in my ears, the cold in my bones.

And then it's over, my heart beating wildly and my gut churning.

Aurelius drops us in front of a huge cave entrance on the side of a mountain, tall and wide enough to fit a manor in the mouth. The inside is dark, I can't see a thing past where the sun cuts across the rock. Aurelius starts forward without warning and I follow quickly behind.

The entrance leads to a staircase, no less than twenty men across that leads down into the mountain. The darkness at the entrance must have been some kind of magic, because inlaid in the ceiling is glowing crystals of every color, lighting our way down. Some are as small as my hand, others big enough to take up the library. They sparkle with magic, lighting our way down almost like sunlight.

Aurelius keeps a few steps ahead of me, the multi-colored lights completely absorbed by the black of his clothing. He's in a smaller form-- shorter than me, in pants and a doublet, with funnily enough a hood that pops up from the neck. His skull has shrunk to that of a rabbit, if the rabbit were the size of a bear. I don't know where he got these smaller clothes, and I wish I'd known before asking him to bring me all the way out here.

We walk what feels like several stories down, and I'm hoping this place isn't like the house, that these stairs are the only ones we'll take, or else I'm going to need a bath after this. Would Aurelius join me in a bath if I asked him? Does he even need to bathe? Would he want to see the soap I use on my body?

I sigh though my nose. Probably not. I'm still a bit strung up from earlier, I can feel it like electricity in my veins, waiting to burst out.

I'm too distracted by my thoughts that I run right into Aurelius at the bottom of the stairs.

"My lord, I'm sorry!" I step back.

Aurelius doesn't respond, only holds out his hand. "I will not lose you in this market. Stay close."

I grab his hand, so much smaller than I'm used to, with blunted nails instead of a long singular claw. He's no less warm, but I miss the size, how he could envelop me.

I thought the market would be inside some kind of cave system, but if it is, then the mountain has been cracked open. Sunlight streams in from above, illuminating the hundreds of sprawling stalls and buildings crammed into the bowl of the open cave. Splitting the market in half is a river, as wide as the street with several bridges to either side.

There's as many colored stalls and buildings here as there were crystals in the walls. There's doors built high into the mountain so only someone with wings can access it. Multiple storied buildings made of ice, or single slabs of gemstones, or huge branching trees. As we step in the streets, I see smaller stalls, roofing only reaching up to my waist, doors a child would struggle to fit an arm into. Flitting in the water are creatures I could only dream of, diving in and out of shops inside the water itself.

"If we're fetching clothes, would I be able to purchase some other items?"

Aurelius' hood turns to me, the rabbit skull tilting slightly. "Have you not asked the house?"

"She hasn't understood what I'm asking for."

Not for lack of trying, of course. The house and I have a method of communication all our own now, but it is very much a developing thing. I speak to the air, and she attempts to help me. The library would be useful if I knew how to read well enough, and she's been kind enough to find me books with large print and easy words. But I asked for a comb so I could plait my hair back, and I received several domed shells, pieces of a beehive, and a handful of sticks.

I've also been eating with my hands much of my time here. I'm not unused to that, but I would like to eat my food while it's still hot. And Aurelius hasn't been present with me for my meals, so it would make sense that he doesn't know.

He leads me through the winding streets by the hand. I see cinnamon buns the size of my head, I smell cooking meat and a stall toting shiny jewelry far too small for my fingers. There's so much to look at that my head spins wildly back and forth with each step.

All around us are fae. Some are similar to the ones from the forest, or the satyrs from earlier. Theu walk on two legs and are covered in scales, fur, or hide. There are fae that walk on all four, so close in appearance to an animal that I mistake them for one until they point to wares with a paw, or shake their head and a plume of golden magic shimmers down from their fur. There's short, walking trees and tiny fairies that could land in my palm. Forms made of elements, or cloaked in shadow like Aurelius, so many shapes and sizes that my head is spinning barely five minutes into the market.

"There," Aurelius says, pointing over the steam. This hand is dark like the shadows, with blunted nails instead of one long claw. A child's hand, almost, small as the one I'm holding.

We cross the bridge over the water, and end up at a covered stand. There's a sign above the open walk-in that I can't read, but Aurelius leads us inside.

The sun filtering through the fabric casts the whole stall in a warm glow, assisted by several glowing gems lining the top of the structure.

The shopkeeper is a selkie, I recognize her features from the books-- tanned skin, all black eyes, rounded nose, long black hair pulled into an intricate braid over her shoulder. She's wearing a sleeveless shirt with a large fur coat thrown over her shoulders.

The stand is fabric, all fabric. Folded on shelves, in giant rolls against the wall, scraps in bins and so much more. Reds and golds, greens and blues, even fabric that changes color when I hold it to the light. It's all gorgeous, woven brocades and pressed silks, it's something high court wear would be made of. I pick up a simple bolt of undyed fabric, no pattern, no embellishments, and it's the nicest thing I've ever held. I can't afford any of this. I gather a few more bolts in my hands, hoping it isn't too much and approach the shopkeep.

From my stilted readings in the library, I've confirmed a few things about interacting with the fair folk. Not giving out true names is the biggest, and the other is that everything is a transaction. It can be a physical item, like money, or food. Or it can be intangible like knowledge, words, or memories.

I don't have any money, and I didn't want to steal from Aurelius' home. I only know a handful of words, and I'd like to keep them to myself until I learn more. That leaves me with memories to trade. The few sources I found mentioned that the more clear the memory the more valuable it is, and I have plenty of those that I can live without.

The first time my mother struck me, the first sick animal I was made to slaughter, the stench of death when burying my parents and brother. I would gladly put those memories away forever if I could.

I couldn't find anything about how the actual transaction took place, so I wrote down the memories as best as I could on a slip of paper. I pull one out at random from my pocket, and hand it to the selkie shopkeep.

"I want this," I hold up the bolts of silk in my hand. "For that." I motion to the paper. There's a few extra bolts of the nicer fabric in my arm that I'm willing to trade away, and tucked in the middle are the fabrics I believe I can afford. They looked the cheapest, at least.

The selkie woman eyes the paper, her face falling into confusion. She chances a glance at Aurelius, but quickly looks away. Holding the paper in her fingers, she gingerly opens it and frowns at my writing. She rotates the note, realization dawning on her face, before it quickly crumples into disgust. The paper ignites in her hands and burns to ash before it hits the floor.

"This is no good here," she says, nose twitching.

"I--" I stutter, looking from the shopkeep to the ashes collecting on the carpet. "I-I, um."

She sighs heavily, arms coming up to cross over her chest, and even without pupils I can see she's rolling her eyes. Her gaze lands on the floor in front of Aurelius, and she holds out one hand.

"My lord?"

As if I don't exist, Aurelius turns back to the shopkeep and flips his wrist, where a crystal flower sits in his palm. The selkie's black eyes go wide, and she snatches it out of his hand.

"Take the whole store for all I care!" She says excitedly, holding the flower like a precious gift. She turns away from us and opens a box, gently setting the flower inside.

I look between the shopkeep and Aurelius again, confused and more than a bit embarrassed. If Aurelius was going to pay, why didn't he say so? Why did he let me humiliate myself like a child?

I need to be independent here, I need to speak up for myself. But I'm well aware that I'm out of my depths. I can barely read, what use could I be here?

We step out of the stall, more fabric than I could ever need in my arms, when Aurelius pulls me aside to a small break in the crowd. The flow of creatures parts for us like water around a rock, at least one arm's span on either side.

Aurelius gestures to my fabrics with his hands, and I hand him one off the top.

"What did you give her?"

"A favor," he says as he stuffs the fabric into his cloak. It disappears in the shadows, and the cloak lays flat against his frame again.

"That sounds dangerous."

Under the hood, I see his mouth open on a smile, and he chuckles low. "She will never use it, if she knows what's good for her. If the favor is beneath me, I will be insulted that she wasted my time, and have every reason to kill her. And if it is too inconvenient or I am forced to admit my own fault I could become angry and, well, she should have thought of that before calling upon me."

"You have…quite the reputation, my lord."

He growls at a fae behind me that must have stepped too close, and I chew on my lip when they squeak and step around us. I don't like being made to feel like a child, but having such a powerful god as my coin purse is a heady feeling. I can afford anything I want here.

"I have lived for many years," Aurelius says, tucking the last bolt of fabric into his cloak. "It is difficult not to garner a reputation."

I fold my arms over my chest, watching the crowd move around us.

"How can I repay you, my lord?"

The rabbit skull, so unfamiliar than the deer I'm used to, tilts to the side in a way I've seen so many times, the two images ha e a hard time combining in my mind.

"I'll think of something," he says vaguely, grabbing my hand and leading us down the street once more.

Should I be more worried that this exchange remains open? Should I lay down rules for the exchange before he calls in whatever favor he wants of me?

But our day isn't over yet. There's more trades to be made. And

We stop at a human wares stand, run by a small fae with wings. They remind me of the ones that kidnapped me in the forest, if they were shrunk down to a child's size. I hide behind Aurelius, who only chuckles and pushes me forward.

Laid out on the stand is dozens of mismatched sets of human wares. Combs, hair pins, cloth scraps, and buttons. So many buttons. There's no order to the scattering of mostly junk on the table, no separation between what's broken and what works.

I pick up a ring with a cracked gemstone in it, and set it back down when something clicks into place.

It's all things taken from human homes, stolen. I try not to think about this as I pick up what I've been missing, and I try not to think about what I owe Aurelius in the end as I hand him a comb, a hand mirror, as well as several forks, spoons, and knives. I also grab some buttons for the clothing I'll be making, and I spot a small metallic tin of needles and spools of thread.

The fae seems more than happy to hand over the metal, attempting to shove more into my hands and into my basket. I tamp down the rush of shame as Aurelius produces a small flower to hand to the shopowner before we exit.

As I hand individual items for Aurelius to tuck away, I hold back the sigh forming in my chest.

This place is beautiful, the most beautiful I've ever seen. I've never been in a market inside a cracked mountain, or bargained with fae that deal in favors instead of money. But I

"Stay," Aurelius says, patting my shoulder with one hand. Before I can say anything otherwise, he melts into the ground and disappears.

The crowd closes in around me, the natural flow returning to the folk walking it. I suppose the bubble effect was only for Aurelius.

The sigh I was holding back escapes, tinted with additional annoyance. I'm not a pet, and he continues to treat me like one. I'm a human, and he's disregarding me.

Suddenly, I'm yanked by the arm, nearly falling over my feet as I'm dragged away by the stall. I go to scream for help, but think better of it when I see I've been absconded by a human.

He has warm brown skin, upturned eyes glittering with mirth, and a straight nose. His wavy black hair is just long enough to be tucked behind his ears, ears that contain several gold hoops and a small chain. He's wearing the nicest doublet and pant set I've ever seen-- with gold threads!-- and he smiles at me like he's in on a secret.

"Oh, I--" I look back at Aurelius examining another stand, and I move to call out to him, but the man covers my mouth. His hand is warm and soft, and I want to trust him.

"It's just a bit of fun, yeah? Let the old master worry over you for a bit." He pats my arm reassuringly.

I want to argue, but Aurelius told me to stay. Like an animal. Maybe I need to show him that I'm not a dog.

The man smiles at me, his grin wide. "You're the god's new mate."

"Ky--" he cuts me off by pressing his fingers to my lips, and my face burns with shame. I almost gave him my name. That's twice today. He winks at me and lowers his fingers.

"Call me Gregory."

"You can call me, um," I look around, frowning. The only thing around us is the market. "Stall?"

Gregory barks a laugh. "That's terrible. Pick something similar to your own name, that way you'll respond to it, and you can reuse it."

I think for a moment. "Kaitlyn."

"That's perfect. So Kaitlyn, what can I do for you?"

"Um," I frown again. This is another test.

Everything is an exchange here. If I acknowledge that I need help, he may come to me for a favor in the future. "Nothing. I don't need anything."

Gregory claps his hands together "Wonderful start! I'm impressed."

At my confused expression, he lets out another laugh. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm not fae, so I have no interest in tricking you or bargaining."

We take a sharp right, directly into the heart of the market, past more shop owners shouting their wares. He points out the shops with the best teas, or the nicest incense. He tells me of the magic items we pass by, rings and bracers and boots.

Gregory leads me past another stall full of glass vials filled with various liquids. "So, how'd you get picked up by the living shadow?"

I flush. "I sacrificed my best goat, and uh, he brought me here." He doesn't need to know the details.

Gregory gives me a wary look as he steers me to a stall of fabric closer to the cotton I'm used to. "You asked to come here and he brought you?"

I examine that stall, and the next that's full of colorful fruit. "Not exactly. My home was falling apart, I had no food. He saved me."

Gregory whistles low, impressed. "That's an awful big change for someone you can't look at."

My face scrunches in confusion. And at my silence, Gregory's eyes narrow.

"How?" he asks, incredulous. "How do you push past the fear?"

"He's not that frightening." He's a little awkward and very entitled, but not frightening.

Gregory continues to stare at me, mouth parted, eyes narrowed, puzzling something out in my face, until something clicks into place.

"You don't experience it," he says, voice filled with awe.

Again, my face scrunches in confusion.

Gregory pushes air through his lips. "It's…" His face twists in concentration, lower lip pushed out. "Blithe explained it to me once, something to do with the lord's magic, or his aura, something like that. Can't look at his face. Even the animals abide by it. Looking at him at all--have you ever jumped off a high place? That feeling of falling? It feels like that. You get cold, and you want to run as far away as possible. The highest I ever got was halfway before I started crying. You don't feel that?"

I shake my head again. I suppose I experienced it, once, when I first laid eyes on him, but it faded quickly and was replaced with fascination.

Gregory's eyes widen. "Wow, that's great he didn't kill you."

"Is that…what he usually does?"

He shrugs. "Never met anyone-- fae or human, who could look at him and not run away screaming." A glint comes into his eyes. "What's he look like?"

"Oh, um," I rub the back of my neck with my hand. I don't think Aurelius would like it if I revealed his face. "It changes. When he shifts forms."

"Wow," he says, sounding genuinely awed.

We both turn to the sound of wood shattering followed by shouting and a few cut off screams. Something is storming through the stalls, throwing debris in the air and making shoppers run away screaming. And it's coming straight for us.

Gregory chuckles and releases my arm. "Ah, there he is."

He's ripped away from me in a flash, and tackled to the ground by a dark figure in a familiar shadowed cloak.

Gregory holds up his hands and stutters. "E-Easy, your grace! I was just--"

"You think you can speak to me," Aurelius says, jaw parted and dripping with saliva. He's back to his usual size, his skull sharp and dangerous. The crowd parts for us, everyone looking away, and I don't know what makes me more uncomfortable. The thought of their stares, or acting as if we don't exist.

Gregory continues to stammer excuses, and Aurelius' maw only opens as is to bite him.

"Stop it!" I shout, pushing on Aureius' arm. "Stop it right now!"

And, through some miracle, his great head turns to me, angular and fox-like, and lowers down to my level.

"He stole you."

"I walked away!" I don't know why I'm defending Gregory. Maybe because he's the only human I've met here, maybe because it helps me feel like a person again.

"I told you to stay put."

"And I'm not a dog!"

The head snaps back to Gregory, looming over him. "You'll do well to remember your place."

Aurelius climbs off of Gregory and towards me. Gregory scrambles away on all fours and into the crowd, just as Aurelius' head fills my view.

"We are leaving," he says, reaching out one long hand and dissolving us into the ground.

Darkness surrounds me and I'm back in the storm. The winds are angry, whipping about my face and hair, and there's thunder rolling overhead.

But in an instant we're dumped underneath the house, and I start to dry heave. I haven't eaten since this morning so thankfully nothing comes up, and I feel Aurelius' hand steady over my back. He waits until I stand up to walk up the staircase, saying nothing.

We enter and he's quiet on the stairs, silent through the winding rooms and twisting halls. My heart still thrums away in my chest, though not from the exertion. He's angry with me, and I'm unsure of what that means. Arguments simmer in my blood, waiting to burst forth at the smallest chance. He ordered me to stay, and I disobeyed, but I'm not an animal. I won't just do as he says because he orders it.

He shows me to the library, and we step inside. My nervousness is at it's peak, and I fiddle with my hands as I step towards the center of the room.

"Aurelius, I--"

"No." he hold up a hand. "Do not speak. Unless you're going to apologize."

My jaw drops. "Apologize?!"

"Yes." He crosses his arms. "For disobeying me."

I throw my bag to the ground. "You're crazy!"

"I'm trying to keep you safe."

"From my own people?!"

In an instant I'm on my back, Aurelius' claws holding down my arms. He looms over me like he did Gregory, face close to mine, his aura weighing down the atmosphere and pressing against my skin.

"Do you understand what could have happened to you?"

And at that, my anger boils over. "No! Because you don't tell me anything! You leave me here, alone, with no explanation!"

I don't care if he's got me pinned down, if standing up for myself is what keeps me from being eaten up by this plane, then Aurelius is no exception. My heart thrums away in my chest, telling me to run. But part of me wants him to chase me.

"I told you not to worry about that," he snaps. His hands on my arms tighten, not enough to cut into skin, but enough to threaten it, and I stutter. I like him above me like this. I like when he growls and threatens me. Not other people, but me.

"Don't tell me what to worry about," I fire back, and he growls again, the sound shooting directly to my loins.

"You are mine," he says. "You are not leaving."

My heart beats in agreement, wetness between my legs, and I squeeze my thighs together to avoid the fact that I want him to touch me. The fight only excites me, spurs me on to anger him more. "You can't stop me!"

At first I believe he growls again, but it's choppy uneven, and I realize he's laughing. It's a dark sound, it shakes the house, tosses books off the shelves and rattles the windows. It has fear and arousal twisting inside my gut like snakes, and overwhelming my anger is a deep, powerful need. My pussy feels empty, hot and empty, and I need him to fill it.

"You have no idea what I can do," he says, leaning down to press his snout to my belly and dragging a long inhale.

Aurelius rolls me over, pulling me back on my knees and pressing my head to the ground with one hand. He flips my dress-- which is actually his shirt-- around my waist and drags a heavy fingertip through the slick between my thighs.

"I could smell this through my own clothing," he hums, giving me no warning before breaching my pussy with one large finger. The sensation of him rubbing the inside makes me moan aloud, and my hands scramble at the floorboards trying to find purchase.

His claw digs into my skin as he adds another finger. "Stay."

The stretch burns, but resolves quickly. It's not enough and I groan, pushing my hips back to take him deeper into me. I want to hurt. "Make me!"

After he removes his fingers I make a show of attempting to crawl away, only for him to pull me back by the hips with one hand. I yelp, "Let me go!" as I scratch at the ground again, but his hand stays firm as he lines up his cock with my pussy and he pushes up to the hilt in one swift movement.

It burns, I wasn't ready. But gods does it feel good. I groan aloud at how full I feel, how he's splitting me apart. The hand on my hip tenses up, the other trailing up my spine and twisting in my hair, pulling at my scalp. Aurelius leans forward, his voice low,twisting my head to the side to growl in my ear. "You ran from me."

He pulls out and thrusts in hard, ripping a groan from my mouth. His cock feels bigger than I remember, and this angle has it hitting different spots in me, making lights go off behind my closed eyes. I grunt as he starts at a punishing pace, the sounds of his hips hitting my skin echoing through the room.

"Yeah, I did!" I bite out, gasping as he adjusts his grip and my nipples drag along the smooth floor. "And I'll do it again!"

The burn fades, leaving raw, unfiltered sensation that shoots up my back. I want to reach back and grab at him, not to push away but to dig my nails into his skin. Pleasure so intense I didn't think was possible reaches from the tips of my toes to the hair currently twists in his grasp.

His growl shakes the house, a warning and damnation all in one, but I don't care. Anything to get him to do this to me.

"You belong to me," he says, punctuating his statement with a hard thrust. The floorboards slide against my cheek and a groan rasps out of my throat in place of a response. The claws around my waist and tangled in my hair are a clear signal to obey that some deep part of me wants to rail against. No one can tell me what to do, not after I finally found my voice.

Aurelius sits up, the cold air against my skin making me break out in goosebumps. "I will keep you here, forever," he says, almost reverently, in complete contrast to the snap of his hips against my bare ass.

"Liar," I hiss, and he speeds his thrusts and brushes a place in me that makes me squeak. This is just what I needed, a chance to forget, to pretend. My pussy aches, empty each time he pulls back, and filled to the brim when he thrusts in. I'm sucked into the back and forth, the current of sensation dripping down my spine and lighting my body on fire. I feel alive.

Somehow I mange to respond. "I'd find a way to go."

And I know-- I know I don't want to leave. Deep down, I don't see myself anywhere else. I really do want to stay here live in this eternal summer full of magic, with a god who cares for me in his own, odd ways. But the truth doesn't get my face pushed into the floor.

He leans back over me. "I will lock you up in our home until you learn your lesson."

A laugh bubbles up in my chest, filling my mouth until it bursts forth, and I'm cackling like a woman gone mad. A lesson? What lesson? That I'm stuck with him forever, that I can't leave? I already know! I laugh harder, and I swear it shakes the books on the shelves.

Aurelius licks my ear, shifting his hips to hit me deep. "Do you not fear me? Do you want to incur the wrath of a god?

I open my mouth to scream Yes, when my pleasure peaks and my orgasm hits me like a blow to the face.

My back arches and my toes curl as lines of feeling overload my senses. Aurelius barks a short roar in my ear and his cock twitches, spilling inside me. His hands tighten, claws breaking the skin above my hip and twisting strands out of my hair.

I am living. I feel like I'm here for a reason now, and not brought to be a pet. I wouldn't mind being some form of bedslave if it gave me something to do. If this could be my every day, I'd gladly accept it.

With barely enough time to collect myself, Aurelius is pulling out of me and leaving me on the floor. He lifts me up from the waist and sets me on shaking feet. I turn around to face him, and I see that every item we found at the market is piled on the floor.

This is where he was sending everything. Of course.

Aurelius stands upright, the same face I've come to think of as my favorite on display. Reaching out a hand, he smooths down my hair, more patting it than stroking, and then down to cup my face.

"I…" he starts to say.

But I rub at the mark no doubt on my cheek, attempting to turn my eyes as far to the side as they'll reach in an attempt to view my own face. Aurelius sees something in my expression, and his hand leaves me. He backs away, without a word, melting into the floor until even his antlers are gone.

He's left me in the room alone.

I should hope this earns me the right to be upset at him, because I bloody-well am! He left without a goodbye, or a thank you, or even apologizing--!

I plant my hands on my hips, and look at the mess of items he left here for me. At least I have something to do now.

Chapter 5 >>

#my writing #sacrifice #nsfw.#teratophillia #exophillia #god x human #monster fucker #monster lover #monster boyfriend #i'm so worried all i do is write the same characters over and over again #also i wrote at least 1/4 of this absolutely faded #so please tell me if things don't make sense #Dubcon.

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sarcasticfoxy · 1 year ago

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Fic/Art Give Away

As I have now gotten 99 followers I will do fic or art give away if you want to join send me ask and I will add you to the list which I will then randomly generate to find winner :3.

Rules:

To enter, like this post AND leave an ask with whatever plot/ idea you’d like to request along with the preferred genre and pairing. If you win, I will contact you to go over details.

FYI: I reserve the right to not entertain certain plots if they possess non-consensual acts/overly violent/emotionally cruel content.

You guys will have 20/08/23

#give away #follower give away #sarcasticfoxy speaks

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throne-for-queens · 4 months ago

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****sorry Sandra, we are really misusing your platform to argue. I won't engage with them anymore after this, I promise.

you know what? You are right. You kinda ate that... to a point.

Fuck no I wouldn't want to have a relationship like this.

But to precise, tell me why would a parasocial relationship HAVE TO be toxic? In my book, if you are the slightest invested, which means even go look up the lyrics on genius and go through his discography, you are in a parasocial relationships. Fyi, this is a definition: Parasocial relationships are one-sided relationships, where one person extends emotional energy, interest and time, and the other party, the persona, is completely unaware of the other's EXISTENCE. He definetly does not know about mine, tell me boy/girl, does he know about yours? I don't think so. In other words, to me, if you are a fan, you are in a parasocial relationship. Which would make us in the same boat:)

and, I personally I avoid smut and fanfic like the fucking plague. Not shaming anybody (we are on Tumblr afterall) but If I want to get off, there are other place I go to and that's not Wattpad. So when you talk about "ultimate lover boy image built through wattpad dreams" I know the heck not you ain't talking about ME, but you wouldn't know. You were assuming. I am not a romantic type either, so rom-coms don't strike a chord for me, just to be clear.

Lastly I'll add this: I think they deserve eachother, at the moment. Does he deserve better? YES AND YES, but also he's not doing much to go get it. She became his comfort zone, he's familiar with dysfunction as you said. I believe every consensual couple that exist currently deserve eachother (this does not mean any potential abuse or manipulation is excused). She is too yet to have ONE single functional healthy relationship. He always creates Chaos in his life+ She seeks Chaos in her life= A recipe for disaster. I think they are eachothers "karma" and not in the twin flame romantic sense they have been pushing.

Peace out. After this you can say whatever, please you can have the last word, it's all yours.

Like the previous post, everyone has a right to their opinion. Please be respectful ❤️

#machine gun kelly #colson baker #est19xx #megan fox

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jinkieswouldyoulookatthis · 1 year ago

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"Oh, and FYI, three of the cheerleaders are legal. Guess which ones." -Dean (4x13)

Funny how pointing out who is at/above the legal age of consent is turned into attraction to underage girls (or guys, whatever).

Like, is it kinda scuzzy for a 30 year old (Dean's age in this ep) to be contemplating sex with 18 year olds? Yes. But, the fact that they are 18 means that they aren't "underage" and it would, in fact, be legal to engage in consensual sex with them.

But y'all wanna know a gross fact? The age of consent in Indiana, the state where the high school in After School Special was supposed to be, is only 16. SIXTEEN!!! If the show had been going off of the actual age of consent in that area, then a lot more than three of the cheerleaders would have been "legal."

Dean's ideas of how to be a man were heavily influenced by the tv and movies he watched growing up and, surprising absolutely no one, those shows and movies had some fucked up ideas about sex in them. It was a normalized thing that men lusted after younger women and that cheerleaders, twins, and porn stars were all viewed as typical fantasies for men. I get that a lot has changed in the last couple of decades, but it's actually not weird that Dean notices these things. Maybe it's weird that he says anything about it, is clueless that it's now (at the time of the episode) viewed as creepy, but Dean was questionably socialized. AND, Dean doesn't actually act on this scandalous knowledge, it just seems to be the possibility that he finds exciting, something that he only seems to mention to Sam. And I honestly think that he says some of this stuff because he kinda enjoys creeping out his brother. It's part of their dynamic.

And also, if 18 is too young to consent to sex in fiction then maybe we need to revisit our actual consent laws that put the age two years younger than that in way too many states.

#dean winchester

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bunisher · 6 months ago

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here’s a reminder that my asks are open if you would like to send me a prompt for writing a drabble/mini fic (<1k)! i have not done them before, but want to give it a go.

submission rules/disclaimers below

ships i mainly write for:

• fratt (obviously)

• spideydevil

• punspider

• my beloved triad from hell / spundevil (frankmattpeter)

• parksborn (disclaimer: none of my stuff is published/fin but i have fics for them!)

disclaimer: i am most comfortable with these ships, but that does not mean i will not write yours! so feel free to ask if you’re curious!

i am open to:

• writing your rare pair (ex: karendinah, wintercastle, frankmicro, foggybrett, frankfoggy, dexmatt)

• writing x male or enby reader (disclaimer: i have never done it before!)

• writing your oc (disclaimer: only if the relationship is not cis/het. i am queer and trans and my comfort zone is writing queer and/or trans stories. there are many other writers who will do write cis/het stuff for your oc, i’m just not that guy, sorry!)

• writing sapphic/wlw ships (i was queer prior to my transitioning and am comfortable writing women, but not cishet relationships or basically me ((x reader / x you)) as the woman. hope this makes sense)

• writing non-romance, slice of life, queer platonic relationships, solo character stuff, etc

• writing your headcanons (ex: demiromantic frank, non-binary foggy, peter is allergic to cats, brett knows matt is daredevil)

• writing smut (kink inclusive, i will tell you if it’s not something i’m comfy with)

• writing ‘dark’ topics / dead doves (disclaimer: i will post these on ao3 and link from here. i am not trying to get my blog taken down)

• writing that one thing you can’t stop thinking about

disclaimer: prompts may take me some time. my finished work may not be great, or may be ooc, but i will do my best! i am trying to push my boundaries as a writer. this is for fun.

ships i will not write for:

• kastle

• karedevil

• mattfoggy (disclaimer: as the romantic pairing, i am ok if it is platonic)

• mattfisk

• x woman reader (there are other authors for this)

• x you (skill issue)

• cis/het (disclaimer: i may be open to if it is frankmaria or mattelektra, depending on the prompt)

squicks & triggers (things i will NOT write so do not ask):

• any mcu!peter (i am also anti irondad/spiderson, fyi) and raimiverse!peter (he’s bland to me, sorry)

• anything that is “found family” parental related (ex: frank & amy)

• anything with the defenders romantically (i just haven’t watched/read them enough)

• non-con, dub-con, underage, anything that is not an enthusiastic yes and risk aware consensual

• racism, homophobia, ableism, hate crimes, etc

disclaimer: this list is non-exhaustive and i may have forgotten something, but i will let you know if your prompt is something i am not comfortable with writing. i may choose to not do your prompt for whatever reason, but i will always tell you.

#asks open #send prompts #prompt request #ao3 author #bun.txt #/writing stuff

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voxvulpina · 3 years ago

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Hello, fellow anti-sessrinner here and I have a bone to pick with the way you worded one of your answers in your last couple of asks, this sentence right here: “You can't expect a 10 year old to look at a romanticised portrayal of a grown man getting with a 14 year old or of siblings screwing or whatever sick shit proshippers are into.”

You do realize anti Sessrins are not like regular antis and run the gamut from your standard fandom antis to outright proshippers don’t you? I happen to be the latter of the (same sex and consensual adults only) of the two and I resent the fact that my shipping preferences are being put in the same category as the outright criminal lolicons and pedos. First of all there is absolutely a group of us out there (me and my friends in particular) who are caught in the middle of general shipping discourse. We’re generally pro-ship in most ways on a variety of subjects such as dubcon, non-con, toxic dynamics and yes, incest, but we absolutely draw the line at ships that depict pedophilia and/or child grooming and hate that we’re being associated with the loli and shots crowd. The difference between our ships and theirs is that at least our ships are actually legal and are between two adults with an equal power dynamic while they’re consuming literal child porn.

Also shipping problematic content such as incest and whatnot at least has nothing to say about what type of person you are, someone with maybe a weird and little gross fetish to most regular people okay, but as soon as you touch anything with a child in it you’re automatically a pedo suspect, and me and my kind would prefer not being lumped in with the actual criminals thanks.

The proshipping vs anti debates aren’t so black and white like either side makes it out to be, there absolutely are some of those stuck in the middle who feel like we don’t completely belong in either side. Running in proship circles means we risk having to see child porn and being associated with pedos when a lot of us are just proship for anything and everything that’s NOT pedo/grooming content.

Regardless all of us anti-sessrins are here for one thing and one thing only: We believe fiction affects reality when it comes to the minds of impressionable young children and don’t want the romantization of pedophilic grooming dynamics being normalized and aimed at their age demographic This shit is actually very serious and dangerous so let’s not muddy the issue with talk of petty general shipping politics.

Also FYI, the hardest of hardcore of the raisins have come after Inucest shippers as well (I’m not personally one, my brother/brother ships lie in other fandoms but I do have friends of mine who have been attacked) remember that 10k stalk list that put people on it for simply headcanoning Sesshomaru as gay? Like it or not we’re all in this together as a fandom against Sessrin and Yashahime as a whole.

Look, Anon, nothing you've written changes the fact that incest - yes, fictional incest too - is sick and gross. Let's imagine for a second that, instead of taking the pedo route with SessRin, HNY had gone with InuSess. I'm pretty sure we HNY Antis would be exactly where we are now, protesting about young viewers being made to watch a positive depiction of an incestuous relationship.

As far as I'm aware, the entire reason Antis in this fandom have no issue with InuSess shippers is that they KNOW their ship is problematic. They don't pretend otherwise and tag it accordingly. Antis in this fandom, myself included, aren't that fussed with what people support in fanon, as long as we're not jumpscared or made to run headlong into problematic content. People can absolutely ship InuSess or whatever, but please don't ask me to pretend it's not gross. You really resent the fact I called sibling incest "sick"? I mean, isn't it? You disagree on the fact that incestuous relationships are sick? You said "at least they're legal", but I believe intimate sibling relationships are in fact a criminal offence in most places ☠️

#anti sessrin #anti yashahime

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sukka-week · 2 years ago

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DETAILS & RULES

Now that the prompts are out, let's finally get some event details down!

Ultimately we all just want to have fun and enjoy new content for one of our favorite ships. But here are some guidelines to help make sure everyone has a good time during Sukka Week.

1) Sukka (romantic relationship between Sokka and Suki) should be the primary ship in your work.

Including other ships in your work is totally fine, but they shouldn’t break Sukka.

2) Please tag all your content appropriately!

This includes mature or potentially triggering content like NSFW and violence, as well as content like additional ships.

3) Yes, NSFW content is allowed.

Intimate content should be consensual in nature, and please make sure to follow the guidelines of whatever platform is hosting your work.

As an FYI, this blog will use the tag #spicysukkaweek for any NSFW content in case you’d like to block these types of works.

4) Submissions should be previously unpublished.

One of the goals of this events is to inspire people to create brand-spankin'-new Sukka works! If you would like this blog to promote your existing works, I'm happy to do so during the lead-up weeks prior to the actual event week. Feel free to shoot me an ask or DM with a link!

That said, unpublished chapters to pre-existing works are okay! As are works that are cross-posted to simultaneously-occuring events.

5) If possible, it would be helpful to provide descriptions of visual or audio content.

If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please don’t hesitate to reach out to this blog or Mod Myargalargan (@the-power-of-stuff) via ask or private message.

#sukka #sokka x suki #suki x sokka #sukkaweek #sukkaweek2022 #sukka week #sukka week 2022 #rules #guidelines #event details #mod post

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snarkwrites · 3 years ago

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ssw | embry call; you don’t have to be gentle. | mature.

NOTES:

So... This is the final part to the little mini story with Embry and Merisa... For now. Mayhaps I’ll revisit them from time to time, who knows. If you’re still with me after that downer of a cliffhanger ending yesterday, I’m happy -surprised, but oh so happy, and I truly hope you enjoy this because I enjoyed writing this.

I had to fight myself tooth and nail NOT to turn this into an alpha/omega + imprinting thing, btw. But I managed not to.

PROMPTS:

Prompts used for these six sexy words one shots are either taken from [here] or [here] at my choosing. I don’t take requests for characters / prompts for these but... If you just want to send me requests, I do take headcanon requests, fluff and filth alphabet letters. [ request rules / fandoms here ]

The prompts I used here are as follows: Claim me. Mark me. Own me + You don’t have to be gentle.

FANDOM/CHARACTER:

Twilight, Embry Call x Imprint!OFC, Merisa.

OTHER PARTS:

For those of you who want to see them... This whole series kinda turned into my own self indulgent thing, tbh? Anyway:

[ he looks down. she looks up. ] | [ let me take care of you ] | [ everything about her turns me on ] | [ when he says your name ] | [ when whispered words leave you breathless ]

WARNINGS:

{NSFW CONTENT. NO MINORS.} consensual but unprotected sex between two adults, oral sex - male giving, biting / marking, body fluids & that’s pretty much it.

Minors, this was not written for you. You shouldn’t be reading it. If you are and you stumble upon something upsetting or that you can’t handle after being clearly warned here... That’s on you, lovelies. Not me. Nobody made you keep reading.

TAGGING:

@kyleoreillysknee is the only person on my Twilight tag list. If you’d like to be added to it, ( I’m gonna be writing more for them most likely, I’ve been feeling it lately, idk mannn..) please let me know or add yourself to the doc linked below. If you’re not on my taglists, you won’t be tagged, fyi.

OTHER STUFF:

[ faq | feel free to send me stuff | sfw masterlist | nsfw masterlist no minors. | taglist doc ]

I haven’t seen Embry in a little over two weeks, since the night of the carnival. I still can’t get my head around what he showed me and what I now know but I do know one thing… Not seeing him has been really, really hard for me.

I’d almost given up on it, if I’m being totally honest. I had to fight the urge to go to him almost daily. I kept telling myself if he wanted to see me, he’d come to me. That I’d probably messed everything up with my reaction.

If I hadn’t before that, going overboard with the flirting.

My grandmother’s voice cut through my thoughts and I looked up from the television set. Pausing the episode of General Hospital I had recorded to see what she wanted or needed. Managing my best smile even though lately, that’s the last thing I’ve felt like doing lately.

“Don’t you get tired of laying around here, moping?” she asked as she stepped into the room. Shaking her head as she grabbed the remote and used it to turn off the little television. “Get out there. Go do something. I don’t care what it is, mermaid.”

I pouted at her, letting my mouth drop open as I pretended to be shocked and hurt by her suggestion. “Are you seriously telling me you don’t love me anymore?”

“You know that’s not true. That’s not what I said at all.” my grandmother sat down. I gave a soft laugh and spoke up. “I know, I was kidding. I just… I haven’t been in the mood lately.” I shrugged it off as if it were nothing.

“If you’re moping over that bum in Seattle, mermaid, he’s not worth a second more of your time and energy.”

“Oh. Trust me, I know. This has nothing to do with that. I’m just kind of… Resting.” my original thought pattern was maybe if I offered up the few injuries and aches I had left up for an excuse, she wouldn’t push for anything more than that.

Because it’s been a little over two weeks and I still can’t fully process what happened that night. Or how badly my lack of an actual reaction and how easily I gave in and let him bring me home might have made a mess of everything. I didn’t even try to push him into talking about everything. Explaining what it all meant.

I didn’t know how I’d even begin to explain anything to my grandmother without sounding like I was losing my goddamn mind if I’m being perfectly honest.

“In order to rest, one needs to actually do something first. What’s really going on, hm?” my grandmother wouldn’t be my grandmother if she didn’t push on regardless. I sighed and shrugged. “ I’m just dealing with everything that happened.”

“Mhm?” she was trying to get me to keep talking but I went quiet. Sighing. Telling her it was stupid and most likely, I was just fully comprehending my mother’s death. Which wasn’t a lie. My memory was almost fully back now. I could remember everything. Including the fact that the years leading up to her death, she and I had a very strained relationship… Because like my grandmother and I tried to do so many times with her over the years whenever she’d get all wrapped up in the actual worst kind of man or circumstance, she was trying to steer me away from Greg and rather than listen to her, knowing she had more experience in life than I did, I chose to isolate myself. I chose to tell her time and again that I was an adult and that Greg wasn’t all the men she’d gotten entangled with during my childhood. So the last few months I could’ve been mending fences and reconnecting with her were spent in tension filled occasional check in texts or calls instead.

Like mother, like daughter. That thought came bitterly and it hurt like hell to acknowledge. Because my mom went to her grave with the relationship between her and my grandmother totally unresolved. Because like she attempted with me about Greg, my grandmother tried and tried again with my mother and her choices. Only interfering one time. And that one time was because it was a question of my safety. And this cost my grandmother a relationship with my mother because nothing was the same after that summer.

I explained all of this to my grandmother and as I finished, she hugged me and sighed. “You can’t hold this in for the rest of your life, mermaid. But I know that is only a large part of whatever has you so down… and given that I haven’t seen a certain mechanic around at all in nearly three weeks, I’m going to assume that things didn’t go well on your date?”

“Oh, they went… Right up to the point where I proceeded to get impatient, want what I want and push the line…” - a half truth was better than nothing.. Because if I hadn’t laid it all on the line, he wouldn’t have felt so bad about keeping what he had to keep from me.

,, stop doing that. You can’t be blamed for everything. You were shocked. You’re still trying to figure out how to react to what you know… But if you wait too long..” the thought came and like usual, I tried to shove it down again.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that I went overboard. I told him how I felt. I poured it on entirely too thick and I probably scared him off.” - taking the blame was infinitely easier than explaining the full truth to my grandmother. How did I even begin to tell her what I knew? And on top of that, the fact remained that I wasn’t supposed to tell. And if you’re not his imprint, you’re not even meant to know to begin with.” that thought surfaced.

And it hit me. When he showed me the wolf side that night, he’d been telling me so much more than that.

And my reaction?

While a natural one, probably wasn’t the best one to go with. I should’ve at least made him fucking talk to me. Explain everything. I should’ve pushed for him to tell me everything instead of agreeing to come home that night.

“Fuck.” I buried my face in my hands.

Why couldn’t I have realized that tidbit say, almost three weeks ago? Before it was probably too late to try and fix everything?

“Language, mermaid.”

“Oh, trust me, grandma. This is definitely a situation worth the F bomb.” I muttered, shaking my head as I laughed at my own stupidity.

“Maybe it can be fixed?”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“You say you’ve realized how short life is thanks to your mother dying and nearly losing your own. All I’m hearing is that you haven’t learned anything, mermaid. How will you know if you don’t try?”

I took a deep breath. Mulling over what she said because honestly, she wasn’t wrong…

And then, before I could stop myself, I was standing. Bolting down the hall and into my old bedroom. The first thing I did was take an actual shower. Then I threw on that sundress. And before I could change my mind or talk myself out of it, I bolted out the door, right past where my grandmother sat, watching her soaps. She called out after me, “I won’t wait up, mermaid.”

I didn’t stop running until I stood on his front porch. Banging on the door.

“Open the door you stubborn ass man. Open the door and listen to me.”

Not a sound.

Not even a hint that he might be home.

I sighed and stared at the door for a few seconds.

Sitting down on the wooden bench to the left of it. Laughing at myself because naturally, I’d finally stop dragging my feet and do something to fix this if I could and he wouldn’t be home.

“I am such a fucking idiot, I swear to God.” I sighed, resting my head on the top of my knees.

I sat like that for a few minutes. Then I heard a motorcycle approaching in the distance. And the fight or flight kicked in all over again. But I fought back against it. Rooted to where I sat.

Determined.

Watching his motorcycle get closer to his house. My heart about to beat right out of my chest. But underneath the excitement.. Calm. Like I was doing the right thing, even if it did turn out to be too late.

The motorcycle came to a stop in his driveway. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I knew the second he did because his entire body tensed. His eyes darted around in every direction before finally settling on me. Intent. A little stunned, from what I could tell.

“So..” I called out, going quiet shortly after because I just didn’t know what to say. I had no idea where to even start.

“What are you doing here?” Embry asked the question quietly. Not in an angry or annoyed way, but more or less in a tone of defeat. Like he’d given up on me coming around ever again. “You saw what I am…” he went quiet. Up the stairs in the blink of an eye.

Towering over me. Keeping his distance but I could tell he wanted to be closer. I knew I wanted him closer. Every part of me was literally crying out for it. I needed him.

Wolf form and all, Embry Call is the man I love.

“And I don’t care, actually.” I admitted after a long and heavy pause. “I mean, I care.. But the fact that you happen to transform under the light of the moon doesn’t bother me. It’s.. Gonna take some getting used to.”

He blinked in shock as he processed what I’d just said. As soon as it sank in, he stepped closer. Filling the space between us. His hips pinning my lower body between his body and the wall my back was pressed firmly against. He raised a hand, resting it palm down against the wall as he stared down at me. Quiet.

“I know it’s probably too late and I should’ve.. I don’t know, I should’ve done literally anything but what I did the night you showed me the wolf but.. I’m losing my goddamn mind, okay? I.. I can’t think about anything else. I was really in love with you, okay? And I still am. And damn it, when you absolutely shut down and refused to let me…” my words were cut off by a thick digit pressing against my lips to silence me.

He swallowed hard, his eyes leaving mine and settling on my lips. “Wait.. you love me..” he muttered in a daze. Bringing his eyes back up to settle on mine. His body molding completely against mine as he leaned in closer.

“What part of that did you miss? Because I’ll happily say it. Over and over. Until it gets through your stubborn rock skull. This whole you turning into a wolf thing is.. Look. It’s a lot, okay? But it’s not too much. Not when I need you and I love you... I know what I want. And I’m not leaving until we’ve at least talked.”

“What do you want, huh?” Embry asked. Staring down at me expectantly. Waiting on an answer.

“You. I want you. Wolf and all.” I answered quietly, my gaze dropping. Settling on worn floorboards beneath my dirty and bare feet. Embry followed my gaze down and snickered quietly to himself.

“Woman, where the fuck are your shoes?” he glanced up at me, shaking his head. Grumbling about the fact that I wasn’t wearing any shoes. And I knew him well enough to know that this was Embry, stalling. Because he didn’t know what to say or do.

“Look. I came down here on a mission. I didn’t have time to stop and grab shoes, damn it.”

“Baby, why..” Embry chuckled, the beginnings of a grin forming on his face as he guided my face up so that I had no choice but to look at him. “ I know you came down here on a mission but seriously? There’s broken glass in the road.”

“I’m pretty tough. I mean.. I did live through a pretty wicked car accident.” I bit my lip, staring up at his mouth helplessly. Swallowing hard and getting wet when one glance into his eyes clearly revealed that yes, he’d caught me doing so.

“Yeah, don’t remind me about that, okay? I don’t even wanna..think about that night again.” he went quiet. Ghosting his free hand up and down my side before letting it rest against my hip. Using his grip to pull me against him. I melted into him with zero thought or hesitation. And then, I happened to put my full weight down on my left foot and promptly swear to myself quietly. “Son of a bitch. Ouch.” I raised my foot and the light glistened off of a practically microscopic shard of glass lodged in the skin.

Wordlessly, Embry scooped me up. Carrying me into his house. Sitting me down on his sofa. My eyes darted around the place, smiling softly to myself at all the pictures and the way it felt almost equally as cozy and like home as my grandmother’s little house did.

And before I could stop myself, I was imagining a future with him. Something I hadn’t dared ever do before. Something that suddenly occurred to me, I wanted.

Embry walked back into the living room with peroxide, a wash rag and tweezers and I pouted, shaking my head. “This can wait.” I protested. Tried to pull my foot away, but Embry got a firm grip on it, resting it between his thighs. Holding it still as he looked down at it, inspecting it closely until he found the tiny glass shard.

“Okay, look at me.” Embry guided my gaze up to meet his. Then he looked down. “Don’t stop looking at me, okay? And do not move your foot. Stop moving, Merisa or I’m never gonna get this out, baby.” Embry muttered in an even and firm tone. Stopping to look up at me with one of the most commanding looks I’d ever seen him give.

“It’s..” I hissed as the tweezers scraped over my skin, grimacing. Gritting my teeth because apparently, it was dug in there deep. “It’s fine. It can totally wait, c’mon.”

The way he’s called me baby twice now.

I don’t dare get my hopes up, do I?

The splinter of glass came free and I unclenched myself. It hadn’t hurt that bad at all.

“Was that so bad?” he asked. Staring at me.

I shook my head.

My eyes were lost in his all over again. And the tension was back. Heavy. Filled with things we needed to say.

“Embry.” I muttered after a long and heavy silence. Embry looked up at me, biting his lip. “Yeah?”

“When I told you that I’m yours and all you have to do is try, I meant that, okay? I don’t say things I don’t mean. And all of this.. I mean… Forget it. According to the legends, if you imprint, it won’t matter anyway…” I trailed off because I realized that I’d come all the way down here on a barely thought out whim. In the hope that maybe he’d been trying to tell me so much more than simply the fact that he turned into a wolf at will.

My anxiety was starting to kick in now and I had no idea what to do or say. I didn’t even begin to know where to start. There was so much I wanted to say. So much I needed to get out.

“It will if I imprinted on you.” Embry muttered after a few seconds. Staring down at my foot in his lap intently. Taking a few long and shaky breaths. Waiting.

Now it was my turn to be shocked.

Because that’s what I’d been hoping he was trying to tell me when I bolted all the way down here in a rush earlier. But I’d braced myself to hear everything but that.

“Wait..” I trailed off. My mouth opened and closed as I raised a hand, tousling my hair and pushing it out of my eyes.

,, You were right. He told you what he was that night. He showed you because you were his imprint.” my brain was practically taunting me.

“You sound like that’s a bad thing.” I was confused.

“It’s not. I just… I never thought it would happen. Kind of convinced myself that I’d rather know I love the person I was with without that side of me coming into play…” Embry trailed off.

“Oh.” I started to stand. Thinking that he meant something entirely different than what he was getting at. I was at the front door when he pressed against me from behind. His hand covered mine. Lowering it down from the doorknob.

“Don’t go. Just.. Let me get this out.” he muttered quietly against the shell of my ear as he turned me around to face him. Putting my back against the front door with a soft smack.

“I have been driving myself crazy. I’ve been trying to tell myself that it was just the imprint. But it’s not just that. I love you. I need you, okay? I just.. I don’t want you to think that genetics are the only reason I’m with you. I wanted to take time and like.. Prove that.” Embry fidgeted a little, raising a hand to drag it through his hair. Resting that hand against my face. Dragging his thumb over my skin as he softly pressed his forehead against mine.

When his mouth met mine this time it was deep and slow. Clumsy. Needy. His hands were wandering all over me. Finally stopping to rest across my ass. Pulling me up his body.

“I know it’s not just genetics, okay? I trust you.” I answered as we pulled apart to breathe. My arms wrapped around his neck, my fingers tangling up in his hair. Using my grip to pull his mouth back against mine all over again. “I love you too. And I want to see where this goes. We can figure this out as we go. I just.. I know what I want.” I gazed at him as the kiss broke a second time and we pulled apart, panting for our next breaths. Trying to pull ourselves together.

He grinned bright at my words and I smiled too. Snuggling myself against him.

“I do too.” he answered after a second or two of little pecks and soft kisses peppered on my face and Embry touching me anywhere he could get his hands. Stepping over to the sofa and sitting down. I wrapped my legs around his waist. He pulled me as close as he could get me. Making me barely catch a whimper as I rubbed right against the way his cock strained and pushed at the jeans he was wearing. When I did it a second time on my own free will, Embry groaned. Bucking himself up into me. Fingers digging into my ass. Guiding me over the bulge before either of us really stopped to think it over or calm ourselves down.

And honestly, I didn’t want to.

Every single time I rubbed against him, I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter. Whimpering and whining. Begging. I wound up pressed against the sofa, Embry’s body settling between my legs to keep them spread. He gave a quiet growl as he stared down at me and settled in, pressing into me completely. Pinning me beneath him. But barely pressing his full weight into me, almost as if he thought he’d break me or I was made of glass.

“ You don’t have to be gentle.” I muttered as my lips danced over his neck, leaving little marks behind. He sucked in a sharp breath, gazing at me as if wanting to be absolutely sure I was okay. That I wanted to go farther.

As if I intended to stop him.

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” Embry muttered, his words coming out in labored pants.

“You won’t.” I mumbled, letting out a gasp as rough,warm hands slipped up the bottom of my little yellow dress. His palm settling against my aching wet sex. Massaging me through soaked panties. My fingers dug into the couch and his shoulder as I rocked myself up into him.

His mouth crashed against mine hungrily and his hand started to move faster. Pressing against my dripping core. The little friction it gave was just enough to make me want more. Just as I started to rock against his hand a little faster, breath catching in my throat, he started to slow down. “Easy, baby. Not yet.” he coaxed, making me pout up at him. His thumb rolled over the outline of my lips and I closed them around it, sucking. Making him growl out “Fuck.” as he bucked himself right against me. His nose pressed against my neck as he breathed in deep. My fingers dug into the cushion on the sofa just a little more. His hand settled against my cunt again, cupping. Rubbing slow and careful. So slow that the ache settled between my thighs doubled. And the more I tried to rock myself faster against his moving hand, the more he pressed his hips down into mine to attempt to keep me still. When he stopped again just as I started to get just a little closer to orgasm, I whined. Begging.

His mouth buried in mine, swallowing up the sounds. He moved his hand, growling when it came away wet. “You smell so fucking sweet. I wonder...” he mumbled lazily against my lips as the kiss came to a gradual stop, “If you taste as sweet.” gazing down at me with a hungry look in lust shot dark brown eyes as he licked his lips. I could feel my cheeks heating up. My thighs were so slick they slipped off one another if they brushed together. Embry worked my dress up over my hips. Pulling me up to finish pulling it off. Leaving me in only the pair of red panties I was wearing. He pulled away to stare. A hungry look in his eyes as they moved over my body.

My fingers curled in the hem of a thin gray tank top he was wearing and I started to work it up, letting it hit the floor of the living room once I’d pulled it over his head. He slipped off the couch, standing in front of me. His hand lowered to the waistband of his jeans after he’d kicked off heavy soled boots, letting them settle on wooden floors with a soft thump. He unfastened and unzipped his jeans, letting them hit the floor around his ankles at which point he kicked them free.

My eyes widened as I could see the size of the bulge strained against a pair of dark gray boxer briefs. ,, is he even going to fit?” the thought came, accompanied by a fresh rush of slick as it coated my panties and slicked up the insides of my thighs even more. He was lowering himself back down again, hovering over me. His forehead resting against mine as he muttered quietly, “Don’t let me hurt you.”

“Baby..” I started to argue that I knew he wouldn’t, but he shook his head and repeated himself firmly. I nodded, agreeing to let him know. He settled himself on top of me gingerly, again being too careful. Not wanting to press into me too much. But I wanted friction. I wanted to feel his body engulfing mine. Hard muscles against my soft skin. I grabbed a hold of his hips, pulling him down on top of me even more. He rutted himself against me with a low hungry growl that hung in the air between us, only drowned out by the sounds of his mouth as it worked over my body. Starting at my throat. Working down. His hands roamed up my sides, pushing my breasts together and his mouth latched on. Licking,kissing and sucking. Making me whimper his name and rock myself up into him, the ache building. Throbbing.

By the time his mouth was down to my navel, he was reaching between us, the silent rip of fabric as my favorite red panties came away, tossed to the floor of his living room; torn. I raised my hand, tugging impatiently at the waistband of his boxers and rather than deny me, he obliged, raising to his knees. Slipping off the couch to let his boxers settle on the floor. His cock sprang free, standing at attention. I swallowed hard as my eyes settled on his thick,veiny member, a quiet gasp filling the air.

He positioned himself over me again. Gingerly. Desperate to feel skin against skin completely, I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him down on top of my completely. A moan escaped my throat as soon as I felt his cock teasing at my dripping entrance. His hands were all over me, ghosting my sides. Finally settling on my hips. Rocking me over his thick,veiny length as he stared down at me, dazed.

Leaning in to whisper against the shell of my ear, “Love the way your body fits against mine, baby.” as I nodded, let my lips brush the side of his neck, latching onto skin as I tried to leave a mark, “Me too.” I muttered, gazing up at him with a soft smile. Rough hands caressed my cheek, skimming down the side of my body and Embry’s mouth danced down my neck. Teeth scraping against soft skin before locking around it. Tugging until I felt a mark forming. I moaned out, rocking myself up into him. One of my hands drifting up to tangle in his hair and tug at it, trying to pull his mouth against mine one more time, despite knowing one kiss is obviously not ever going to be enough when it comes to him.

He started to let his mouth roam over my bare body, sending goosebumps raising all over me as I felt his warm,wet tongue drag slowly over my skin. Trailing a lazy circle around my navel as he moved himself down my body. Settling between my legs, putting a leg over each shoulder as he met my gaze again. Licking his lips hungrily. Bucking against the couch in anticipation and practically growling when he glanced down and saw my thighs glistening with slick. His tongue rolled up my inner thigh, sloppy. Warm and wet and determined to lick me clean. My hand tangled in the hair on top of his head and my other hand gripped the couch as the warmth of his breath tickled bare skin. His nose bumped against my pelvic mound and I bit my lip, my back arching as his tongue circled my clit, working the throbbing bundle of nerves. The way he had my legs over his shoulder angled my hips. When his tongue buried deep in my pussy, I moaned out. Begging for more.

“Baby, ah, oh fuck.. Oh. Mmm. Right there.” I moaned out, gripping his hair and the couch tighter. Digging my heels into his back, making him bury his tongue inside my dripping sex deeper. “That feels so good, fuck.” I moaned out, rocking my hips up for him.

“Good girl. Move your hips. Fuck. You’re dripping.” Embry growled, leaving a more harsh bite against the inside of my thigh, right next to my crotch. A bite so deep I could feel the stinging bruise even after he’d backed away, glancing up at me tenderly just to make sure I was okay only to find me moaning, my head falling back as I licked my lips.

My stomach coiled and my body tensed as I started to race right into an orgasm that I knew would leave me shaking. Embry started to slow down and my eyes popped open, locking on him and the way he was positioned between my thighs below. Pouting. Begging him not to slow down. Begging him to let me let go. He rose up a little, making his way back up my body after lowering my legs. Wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. Grabbing hold of my jaw as his mouth crashed against mine and he rocked himself against me, letting his cock drag right between my throbbing folds every single time he moved.

I gripped his jaw, making him lock eyes with me. His pupils were shot and the lust filled look in his eyes when they met mine had me whimpering his name. “C’mon… Please?” I begged breathlessly, another well timed rock against me with his cock grazing between my folds and the tip sinking in drew a breathy moan out of me that shattered the silence of the room. “Embry, please. Now.”

“Now, huh?” Embry responded in a husky whisper, his lips latching onto my neck. Sucking another mark into my skin. “Don’t let me hurt you. Because I know I’m going to get carried away, baby, I.. you just feel so damn good.” Embry gasped out as he started to bury himself inside me deep. Going still once I was impaled on his thick,veiny member. Pressing little soft kisses against my warm skin as he let me adjust to the way he stretched and overfilled me. After a few seconds, the feeling of being stretched almost too much subsided and I started to slowly rock my hips into him. Whimpering and moaning as he started to drive into me slow and deep. Nearly pulling out completely with each thrust just to bury himself deep inside all over again. When my stomach coiled all over again, I rocked my hips faster. Trying to chase the orgasm he’d been denying me. Embry’s hands gripped my hips, slowing them almost to a grinding halt and I whimpered, begging.

“Not yet, baby.” he muttered. Raising to his knees. Bringing my legs up to my chest. Both hands on my hips as he pumped me up and down on his cock until I was moaning his name over and over, clinging to him when he came to a complete stop. Frustrated as hell because I’d been so close and Embry stopped again. A tear of frustration trickled down my cheek and Embry caught it with his finger. Licking his lips as he muttered quietly, “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you, okay? Let go for me. C’mon, baby..” he started to pump himself in and out harder, faster.. The smack of skin against skin shattering the quiet. “C’mon. Let go, baby.” as he pushed me back against the couch, pinning me all over again. His hips smacking against mine erratically, the sound echoing off the walls. “That’s it.” he growled as I clenched around him, dangerously close to my orgasm shattering through, “Fuck. you’re so tight. Wet...Fuck, baby.”

My orgasm ripped through me, leaving me a dripping,whimpering mess, clinging to him. Trying to catch my breath. My hips meeting his as best as I could as I let him fuck me through the high of it. My nails caught in his skin and raked down his back, pulling a moan out of him as he buried his mouth against mine, muttering quietly, “You feel so so good. So good, baby. Don’t..” he groaned as his thrusts became sloppier. Slower in a desperate attempt to keep himself from getting off, “Ah, oh god. Mmm.” his hands gripped my hips tight, slamming me up and down on his cock as he bottomed out, striking against my throbbing,sensitive spot, pulling a loud whimper out of me in the process. “Baby.” he panted, locking eyes with me, “I’m so close. So close, fuck.”

“Don’t stop. Embry, please.” my back arched as his thrusts got even sloppier. Faster. So hard they were almost bruising each time his hips slammed against mine mid-thrust. “You sure?” he muttered against the shell of my ear, glancing down at me.

“Embry, fuck. Ah, fuck. Baby, don’t stop. Feels so good baby. Mmm, yeah.” I moaned out, my back arching away from the bed, my chest dragging over his as I clung to him. Trying to rock my hips urgently to keep him moving. Blinded by lust. My nails digging into his shoulder and dragging down his back lightly. Pulling a growl out of him that was swallowed by the hungry crash of our mouths against each others as his hips sputtered and I felt his cock throbbing. Emptying. Filling me full.

After it was over, he planted soft kisses all over my face and neck and I pulled him down on top of me. He flipped us so that he was the one laying below, his arms locking around my body to hold me in place on top of him as I crashed my mouth against his all over again.

His eyes settled on the bites and nips he left behind and he grimaced, gingerly dragging his finger over the deepest one on the side of my neck. “I told you not to let me hurt you.”

“If it hurt, Embry, I would’ve told you. I’m not made of glass, baby.”

He eyed me, almost as if he were afraid I was just saying it. I gave a soft giggle and after wiggling around a little to get comfortable, I rubbed my nose against his, making him laugh. Stare up at me in awe only to burst into laughter when I settled on the couch next to him, purring in content, “I am.. Definitely going to get used to this. Mhm, yes I am.” through a sleepy yawn.

“Me too, babe.” Embry pulled me closer, letting my head rest against his chest. An arm wrapped around me tight after pressing his lips against my forehead...

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makeste · 5 years ago

Text

BnHA Chapter 267: My Name Is

Previously on BnHA: Hawks stabbed Twice in the back of the head. Twice stabbed another guy in the back of the head. Everyone’s just running around stabbing or being stabbed. I should probably clarify that Twice actually died, because this is a shounen manga, so sometimes you have to clarify that this particular stabbing was actually fatal. Not just one of those flesh wound stabbings. Anyway so it was super sad, and now Dabi’s gonna face off with the sexy scarred murderous Hawks, and Toga and Compress are also going to be feeling a bit stabby after all this probably, and so that’s the general mood here I guess. I kind of need a break now so I’m wondering if we’re gonna cut to any of the kids. Because if we stick around Horikoshi may actually have to give us Dabi flashbacks. God forbid.

Today on BnHA: Tokoyami has a flashback to when Hawks told him he’s weak to being set on fire. This terrible thought weighs on his mind as he and the other lads and lasses of U.A.’s child soldier vanguard are escorted away from the battle via Fatgum and his absolute goat of a quirk. Dabi is all “:D you killed Twice, I’m gonna set you on fire repeatedly now” and Hawks is all “ffff no that’s my weakness also WHO ARE YOU” and WE GET SOME HAWKS FLASHBACKS?! and then Dabi is all “:DDDDDD [CENSORED]” and it’s literally fucking censored fuck my life. but also !!! because he actually fucking said it, though?? He really went and revealed it just like that?? And now Hawks knows, and he’s all shocked, and Dabi goes to kill him afterwards but TOKOYAMI IS ALL “ON YOUR LEFT!!!!” and OH SHIT. Also Endeavor saves Miruko so DOUBLE OH SHIT. Oh my god. I’m sorry this summary is all over the place but I can barely type a coherent sentence now so just TAKE THESE EXCLAMATION POINTS AND GO!!! SPREAD THE WORD. BE FREE.

everyone before we begin I would just like to tell you about my discovery this week. I learned that when I type the word “Dabi” on my phone the next word that the keyboard predicts is “flashbacks.” google keyboard is on to me. so now the FBI and the CIA and whoever else google is selling all my data to all know. I can only imagine. “she seems to spend an inordinate amount of time talking about ‘Dabi flashbacks.’ what’s a Dabi.” I’ll tell you what a Dabi is. it’s a guy whose fucking flashbacks we never fucking get that’s what

anyway so let’s read this chapter whose spoiler tags have already been filling up my dashboard, which is always a good sign. who will die this week? Horikoshi please have mercy on us in light of recent real life global events. maybe you can just have everyone abruptly decide that they are all done fighting and want to go home

-- GOD BLESS US EVERYONE

who could have known, years ago when the very first mangaka was drawing the very first color page, that this medium would one day soar to such great heights. who could have imagined that we would one day be witness to this masterwork, this magnificent fucking triumph of a colored manga page. holy shit. I will cherish this always

for real you all think I’m joking but I genuinely don’t want to scroll down lol. let’s just stay with Miruko forever. where it is safe. and sexy. goddammit

OH SURE, THEY GIVE US HAWKS FLASHBACKS

anyways but lol

guys. we’ve been over this. fire is everyone’s weakness. just. I’m not quite sure people like Hawks and Kamui Woods actually grasp that. do they think normal people catch on fire and they’re just “oh, this is actually all right.” also, side note kids, please don’t use this answer if this ever comes up during a job interview

wow

what a gamechanging plan of action. don’t catch on fire. Toko write that down

WOW

you guys. YOU GUYS. IT GOT BETTER

who could have known, years ago when the very first mangaka was drawing the very first gag panel, that this format would one day ascend to such lofty summits. who could have envisaged that we would one day behold such a showpiece, such a grand fucking slam of a joke panel in a shounen manga

anyway Horikoshi sure does love his English portmanteaus. I’m kind of stunned by how great this is you guys. but getting back to more serious observations, all I can say is thank fucking god somebody is actually thinking of the children! nothing terrible had better happen to them or I swear!!

so Fatgum is explaining that the plan was to have them use their respective quirks to help take out a bunch of bad guys at once, and that the grown-ups will now proceed to rope them all in and capture them. and dammit, I was trying to avoid having to post the panel because it takes forever if I post a lot of them, but I just noticed Mt. Lady over there stomping fools in the background and so now I have no choice

A+ chapter so far you guys. 5 stars. keep it up

one-and-a-half year-old Kaminari Denki has already fallen asleep. he wishes he could live there. I wish I had the words to adequately convey how utterly delighted I have been by this entire “everyone rides around in Fatgum’s belly” mini-arc, which is now my favorite part of the entire series (as always with the exception of “Dear Midoriya I’m really sorry”)

and I also just really love the timing of it?? right after the “here’s that angst you ordered” emotional sobfest of the last chapter, we’re taking a quick break to cut back to the Fatgum Express (excuse me, Fataxi) just to keep things from getting too heavy. this is such an important balance to strike. please don’t let this arc get too dark, Horikoshi

oh shit

right, Dabi?? but I’ve had an entire week to process my feelings about it and I’m more or less good now! how are you

not particularly great, then

and also, fuck. so Horikoshi was gracious enough not to show Twice’s murdered body even though he confirmed he was indeed killed (so apologies to anyone who was still holding out hope. it sucks but at least we’ve got closure). first he cuts off the bottom of the panel, and then he has Dabi literally cremate him on the fucking spot. there’s really going to be nothing left at all of him or any of the clones. I’m just gonna sit here and try not to think about that or else I’ll get sad all over again

anyway, so also Hawks’s wings have been totally incinerated now it looks like, and he’s just barely yeeting himself out of the way with whatever he’s got left

boy this is getting rough

love how Horikoshi is avoiding showing Dabi’s face!! that was sarcasm by the way because I don’t love it! he pulls this shit all the time with Bakugou too! show us their emotions dammit!

anyway. how kind of Dabi to stomp out Hawks’s flames for him like that. you see. they’re still friends

HOLY SHIT

APPARENTLY IT IS??? I GUESS WE ALL GRIEVE DIFFERENTLY LMAO. SOME PEOPLE GET SAD AND CRY AND OTHERS JUST GET REALLY SCARY AND CRAZY

like. not to nitpick or anything, but your tear glands are actually located above your eyes. maybe he means his tear ducts. also I’m not a doctor or anything and I can barely name like three bones actually so maybe I should just shut up!

anyways though, out of courtesy let’s just take Dabi at his word that grinning like a deranged lunatic is a perfectly normal response to watching your friend get murdered by your sexy archenemy. who is to say

and what exactly is your dream again? to make Stain’s will a reality or something like that? so purging the world of false heroes I guess?

DAMMIT DABI FIRE IS HIS WEAKNESS

most people would at least scream, wouldn’t they? Hawks??? does that not hurt??!

DSFKJSL:DKGHLSDKGHL

no!! I won’t be fooled!! Horikoshi and Dabi flashbacks is like Wile E. Coyote and painting a fake tunnel onto a cliffside! don’t be conned by his deceitful forced perspective!

LOL YOU SEE

apparently this man really will do anything to keep us from getting a Dabi flashback, even if that means giving us Hawks flashbacks instead lmao. WELL SHOOT. OH DARN. POOR US. WE’LL JUST HAVE TO SETTLE try not to look too happy guys he can sense satisfaction

anyway so here’s baby Hawks

okay, so -- does fandom still hate Hawks. like, I haven’t checked the bnha tag much since this weekend so I don’t know if the general consensus is still “yeah he’s cancelled” or if we’re cooling down at all yet? anyway so I apologize if liking Hawks is still A Wrong Thing To Do, but just fyi he’s still adopted and I haven’t unadopted him and I love him unconditionally even though he’s in timeout. and so now that Baby Hawks has appeared to rival all other Baby Characters (BABY YODA WATCH YOUR SIX!!) with his lil wings and his Endeavor plush and his quiet lil nodding head, I just need you all to know that I would die for him without hesitation and that’s just how it is friends

(ETA: also, jesus christ. “Keigo-kun, you can say goodbye to your name from now on!" I’m surprised they didn’t assign him a fucking number. what the fuck. time for some grueling training, lab rat #184. better get ready. jesus. he’s like 7.)

sdlkfjLSDGHOSIDFOIOOIIO

THE MAN THAT -- WHAT. WELL HOT DAMN, TAKAMI THEORISTS! GO ON AND GIVE YOURSELVES A BIG PAT ON THE BACK. YOU EARNED IT.

snap. gotta calm down. too much hype all of a sudden. easy does it

OH ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT’S IT??

noooo go back. fuck

and how the hell do you still have eyebrows, Hawks. how are you still even alive, let alone sexy. is fire your weakness?? is it really??! WELCOME TO BNHA THE MANGA WHERE ANYONE CAN SURVIVE ANYTHING. EXCEPT FOR BEING KILLED OFF-SCREEN AFTER WEEKS AND WEEKS OF BUILDUP

WHAT THE MONUMENTAL FUCK

HORIKOSHI WHERE ARE YOU I’M READY AND WILLING TO VIOLATE SOCIAL DISTANCING RIGHT NOW TO PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE SO COME ON

what the fuck. is this a Tarantino movie. or an Eminem song. anyway but we all know what he actually said though so let’s just scroll down and see how Hawks is going to take the news

oh my. I suddenly understand Dabi’s “grinning like a lunatic” reaction to witnessing a tragedy now. ohhhhhh that’s the good angst right there

so now Dabi says that if he wasn’t Hawks’s target in the beginning, then Hawks “would’ve been done for from the start”? ...what. lol what. am I just too tired to understand this you guys. I’m so confused

okay well I still have no fucking clue what that all meant but on the next panel he’s saying that Hawks shouldn’t have been focusing on Tomura or the League

is he suggesting that he has the power to bring down the hero system by revealing that he, the son of Endeavor, was made into a villain? am I reading into this right?

holy moses. I can’t believe this is really happening. this plotline is finally on the move oh my god I can’t even I’m getting way too excited I can’t??

HEY WHAT

well it matters to me you big melodramatic jerk!! don’t even pretend like you’re really gonna do it. I have zero fear of Hawks actually dying right now, not after that. there is way too much plot attached to him, gtfo with this fakeout shit

but more importantly, why the fuck are we cutting to Gigantomachia now oh shit. don’t tell me Fatgum got the babies out of there just in time

FUCK ME I NEARLY SCREAMED OUT LOUD

HE CAN BE ACTIVATED BY THE RECORDING OF AFO!! SOMEONE HAS THE FUCKING ON SWITCH IN THEIR HANDS OH SHIT, THERE’S THE DISASTER WE WERE ALL FUCKING WAITING FOR RIGHT THERE

WE’RE CUTTING BACK TO MIRUKO NOW??? CAN THIS CHAPTER GET ANY MORE HYPE MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS

let the bodies hit the floor let the bodies hit the floor let the bodies hit the floor let the bodies hit the [deep breath] FLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO --

OH NO!?

okay like any reasonable person I am very concerned by the implications of this. and yet a part of me just wants to focus entirely on the “AM I GETTING TIRED AFTER LOSING AN ARM AND A SHITLOAD OF BLOOD AND FIGHTING FIVE NOUMUS ALL BY MYSELF FOR LIKE AN HOUR? ...NAH.” you’re absolutely right Miruko that would be ridiculous

ARE YOU SERIOUS

either she’s about to die and she knows it, or SHE WAS JUST TOYING WITH THEM WHAAAAT. I genuinely don’t even know which it is?? but it better not be the former and it absolutely is the latter though

GOSH DARN THAT MIRUKO

THERE SHE GOES. MY CZARINA

excuse me did this guy just fucking impale her

SHE ONLY HAS THE ONE GOOD HAND LEFT LIKE CAN YOU PLEASE. can you fucking not, though?! and also I forgot that being impaled through the torso is another thing in this series that’s actually fatal. well fuck

(ETA: also he ripped out her hair!! look here you piece of shit I’m gonna --)

lmao but yeah, somehow

Horikoshi. if you kill off your one cool strong top ten female hero character. just so you know. I will. ...you know what, just don’t do it, how about that. just don’t

ohhhhhh I might be about to get really mad you guys. we’ll see. we’lllllll see

SON OF A BITCH

GODDAMMIT, OBVIOUSLY TOMURA CAN’T FUCKING DIE SO WHY DON’T YOU FUCK OFF WITH THIS ENTIRE SCENARIO YOU’RE PRESENTING TO US RIGHT NOW HORIKOSHI, HOW ABOUT THAT. fuck everything I can’t believe chapter 267 page 16 was the last page of the entire manga you guys. tell me I’m reading way too much into this

ffffff

you literally had the perfect chapter. Fataxi!! Baby Hawks!! censored Touya reveals!! why would you go and. ...

I knew it was a mistake reading past that amazing color page you guys

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH MY GOD I DIDN’T SCREAM BUT I SAID “HA HA!” OUT LOUD?!

-- AND AGAIN!!!!!

YOU WANT SOME??? YOU WANT SOME?!?!

FUCK YES. EXCUSE ME WHILE I CRACK OPEN THE WINDOW AND SHOUT SOME EARNEST “WOOOOOOO!!”S DOWN UNTO THE CONFUSED STREETS BELOW

y’all. I was this close to cancelling every damn thing. you don’t even know. my god I think I was grinding my teeth there

“you know what this manga has had quite enough of as of last week? tragic deaths! you know what it has not had nearly enough of? dramatic last minute saves! you know what it hasn’t had any of? TOKOYAMI VERSUS DABI, A.K.A. YOUR NEW FAVORITE MATCH-UP OF ALL TIME, YOU’RE FUCKING WELCOME.” geez. calm down Horikoshi. be cool man be cool

you guys. it was almost perfect, and then it wasn’t, and then it very much was. my god. how did I not see that Tokoyami save coming with all that buildup in hindsight. clearly he saw the fire on page four and was all “oh no! his weakness”

only thing is. it’s yours too, bud. :/ don’t think I’ve forgotten how this all played out during the forest arc. and meanwhile on top of that we’ve got Gigantomachia about to have the rudest of awakenings. goddammit. why is everything so dangerous and so awesome thanks I love it but geez

#bnha 267 #dabi #hawks #tokoyami fumikage #miruko #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste spoiler recap #makeste reads bnha #plot twist he wasn't actually revealing his name in that panel #he was just unleashing a tirade of vicious cursing #that's why hawks looks so shocked afterwards #really touya #this is a kid's manga

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