#have YOU ever wanted to be pelted with rocks*

[m00ngbin]

HEY HI HELLO!!!

AY(OYM)!!! What a time to be alive

[dollgxtz]

Sleepy Crow

Word Count: 1.8k words

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, somno, noncon, mentions of breeding, pet names such as kitten, sweetie, darling, reader is somewhat drugged but its her sleep meds!

AN: Hi all! This isn't my first time writing fanfics but I noticed a lack of Sylus fics with a darker undertone ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ". PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the tags and if this isn't something that interests you or is potentially triggering, please do not interact! I get this isn't everyone's cup of tea but this is a fic for people who like darker romance stuff!! Please enjoy, and I AM taking requests as I really want to get back into writing again. Do not hold back, this is a safe place! Ty!! <333

Sylus trudged through the pouring rain, his jacket soaked through and his hair matted against his forehead. The drops were heavy and unrelenting, pelting against the pavement and creating small rivers that flowed along the gutters. The barely lit streetlights of the N109 zone cast an eerie glow on the slick surfaces, reflecting off the wet asphalt like a distorted mirror.

As the man approached his mansion, he couldn't help but feel relieved. The warm glow of the lights shining through the windows beckoned him home. He fumbled with the keypad to the door, his fingers slightly numb from the cold, before finally hearing the click that beckoned his entrance.

The sound of raindrops hitting the roof and windows followed him, a steady drumming that seemed to fill every corner of the place. He took off his sodden jacket and hung it up, feeling the weight of it pulling him down. He walked through the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps echoing softly on the marble floors, trying his hardest to be quiet. Mephisto was perched on his cage (not that he was ever really in it, it was more for decor) tilting his head when he saw Sylus brush past him but not making any sound himself.

He made his way to the bedroom chambers, deciding to make sure you were where you belonged. Peeking his head in the bedroom doorway, he saw your sleeping figure, chest rising ever so slightly with each breath. He smirked, closing the door behind him as he entered. He was happy you finally seemed to be getting some rest.

Your insomnia had been getting worse, and he'd been getting worried when he saw you were often messaging him at 4 am, sometimes as late as 8 am with no sleep. Of course he’d offer to have you over, to hold you and whisper sweet things in your ear until you succumbed to sleep, but he couldn’t always. Sometimes business was needed to be handled, and for those nights he had gotten you the best sleep medication that money could buy. You had been weary about taking them at first, but he had assured you that the side effects were basically none. He had made sure of it.

Sylus made his way to the bathroom, proceeding to rid himself of the damp clothes clinging to his skin. A quick shower and then he could finally curl up next to his little crow. Not that he would be sleeping yet, but it was nice to watch you dream. Sometimes you’d whine or make little noises, which he found absolutely adorable. He wondered what you dreamt about sometimes, but you had refused to answer much to his annoyance.

The hot water felt amazing after being gone practically all night. He washed all the blood and dirt from his skin, examining all of his various injuries. He had a run in with a few “pests” that he quickly exterminated, but they had managed to get a few nicks on him. He touched his arm where the biggest cut was, his Evol immediately snaking around it and healing it faster than he could blink. He did the same for the others, feeling brand new once more.

Some time passed before he finally turned the water off, dried himself, and slipped into a pair of boxers. He slowly made his way into the bedroom, hoping that he wasn't being too loud but you were out like a light. Sleeping like a rock.

Sylus slipped in bed next to you, sighing with pleasure as the soft mattress sunk beneath his weight. It felt heavenly. He turned to put his arm around you, trying to get as comfortable as possible so he could hold you. He softly kissed the corner of your ear, his head starting to swim with thoughts. Surprisingly, he felt comfortable enough to possibly fall asleep with you.

But he couldn't.

He had been laying in bed for thirty minutes just thinking. He thought about all the business arrangements he needed to finish. Tonight had been…messy. No doubt he had made some new enemies. How impatient he was getting about the new weaponry he had bought from Spain. They should be arriving soon, but it had been taking forever.

How he wanted to feel your tight cunt pulsing around his fingers.

Sylus stiffened, attempting to rid his head of these thoughts about you. His efforts were in vain though, as he was already rocking a semi hard on that was steadily growing into a full erection.

Obviously there was nothing he could do about it. You were sleeping after all. And not only that, it's not like he could wake you to do anything anyways. He hates quickies, they bored him. He likes to take his time. To take in your reactions, your faces, and your noises. Besides that, you were taking a pretty high dose of your sleeping meds and he kinda doubted he could wake you even if he really tried.

This thought stirred in his head for a bit.

Yeah...you wouldn't wake even if he tried. He sighed with a twinge of pleasure as he pressed his erection against the soft cotton of your underwear. The pressure felt immaculate, and if he hadn't been gone all night he probably could've finished just by pressing himself against you. You were the only girl ever that could make him finish that quickly.

But it wasn't enough. He needed more. It had been a bit since he touched you like this.

You moved a bit in your sleep, letting out a small whine. He leaned over you to get a better look at your face. Still sleeping, mouth open slightly ajar. You were so fucking pretty when you slept.

“Such a sleepy kitten” he growled lowly, snaking his fingers underneath the hem of your underwear. He didn’t know why, but the mere sight of your sleeping face was getting him worked up. You looked so docile, so vulnerable. He wanted you. Sylus began to tug them down slowly.

This was very wrong. He knew this and yet he couldn't stop. He kept going, making empty promises to himself that he would only take a peek. He just wanted to see you. All of you.

Sylus froze has he finally pulled your underwear down to your legs, practically breathless at the site of your cunt at his fingertips.

"Fuck..." he groaned, unable to stop himself from pressing a finger between your folds. He watched you carefully for any signs of discomfort or movement, but you were still fast asleep as he pushed his finger in. You were warm, inviting even. It's like your pussy was sucking his finger in, deeper and deeper. He slid a second finger in, picking up the pace. Soon enough, your cunt was slightly wet, spots of your slick forming on the backs of your legs near your pussy. Pulling out, he practically shivered with excitement.

Sylus was quick to put his fingers in his mouth, savoring every drop of you. You tasted so sweet to him, the best flavor he ever had the honor to try. He wanted nothing more than to dive head first into the source and lap it up. But his erection was so starting to bother him. It was rock hard, and throbbing ever so slightly, begging to be freed.

He had to have you. And he had to have you now.

He pulled his erection through the hole in his boxers, beginning to stroke himself with an intense grip. Groaning as quietly as he could, he stared at your wet and welcoming cunt. He swore it was just begging to be filled by every inch of his cock. Still wanting him, even when you were asleep.

"You’re so pretty sweetie" he whispered in your ear, closing his eyes as electrifying pulses of pleasure crashed through him. Sylus told himself he should stop now, but it was past that point. He knew himself better than that. His mind was already made up, no matter how much he was trying to talk himself out of it.

Turning you a bit more on your side, he readied the fat head of his tip to your entrance. You stirred once again, mumbling incoherent nothings before becoming silent again. Sylus chuckled softly, pressing his lips to the tip of your ear as he stroked himself a few more times.

As he sinks his tip into your tight entrance, his precum smears all over your hole. He shudders with intensity, trying his best to hold back a groan, worried that making too much noise next to your ear would wake you. He pushes further and further until he can't possibly sink himself into you anymore. You squirm, letting out another whine, this one a bit louder than the last.

"Im sorry kitten…" Sylus coos, laying his head behind yours as he fucks you with a slow, rhythmic pace. "Just need to cum in what’s mine. Be a good girl and stay asleep for me”.

He rests one of his hands on your hip, trying to keep from shaking you too much as he continually plunges himself inside you. You were warm, your gummy walls constantly tightening around him. He moans your name over and over like a prayer, feeling lost in your walls. The soft clap of his skin meeting your ass echoes a bit in the room.

"You're fucking made for me. Look at you sweetie, tightening around me, trying to squeeze me dry even when you're sleeping" he whispers, feeling himself getting closer and closer to bliss.

His thrusts became sloppy and he had to slow himself, trying to savor every moment he had inside of what essentially felt like heaven. He had been wanting to fill you for days. Images of his seed erupting onto the walls of your fertile pussy, eventually giving you a nice, round tummy that would grow his baby filled his head and he couldn't stop himself from finishing anymore.

As his hot ropes of sticky cum shoot against the walls of your womb, he accidently grips your hip a bit tighter than he meant to. You yelp, and he quickly rubbed his hand over the spot he'd hurt you, ensuring you remained asleep. He checks the spot and sees some slight bruising already starting to form and curses himself silently for losing control and hurting you. His Evol was quick to move over the injury where his hand lay, instantly restoring your skin back to a healed state. Sylus was amazed he could even do that. His Evol had only ever healed him. It wasn’t until you came along that it had ever revealed that kind of power and it didn’t work for anyone else either.

"Shh shh, its ok. Just be still, I'm almost done filling you up darling…”

Once his orgasmic high subsided, he took a moment to catch his breath before watching as his cum pooled out of you. He took his finger and scooped as much of it as he could gather before gently pushing it back within your folds. Feeling satisfied with his work, he pulled your panties up before finally pulling the cover back over you.

"There you go. Gotta keep my seed where it belongs so you can make us a baby. Right kitten?" he chuckled, finally feeling tired enough to cuddle you and fall asleep.

[spiritsdiary]

— FIRST DATE with TYLER OWENS

wc: 788 | content: description of intense weather (??)

you had made the mistake of issuing a challenge to tyler owens: “impress me.”

and tyler owens would be damned if he backed down from a challenge.

so he got you flowers and brought you along to thursday rodeos with his crew, and he must have talked to your mama too, because how else he could’ve figured out where to get your favorite pie was beyond you.

“nothing ever throws you off, does it?” you asked him the fifth time he showed up at your door, armed with a box of pie and that damn smile.

he had simply shrugged before reciting his stupid mantra at you. “if you feel it, chase it.”

he laughed when you shut the door in his face. you’d be lying if you said weren’t laughing yourself when you opened the box, grabbed a fork, and dug in, the dessert tasting a little sweeter than usual.

while it was nice, you’d grow bored of this routine eventually, and tyler seemed to know that, too. but he had an idea, and while it was stupid as all hell, he was willing to take his chances.

you barely pulled the door open when he spoke.

“i wanna take you out tonight.” well. that was new.

“it’s not thursday,” was all you could think to say in response.

“i know a spot,” he’d said, completely unfazed, with a cheeky wink and a tip of his hat, and really, you should’ve known what he meant.

because why wouldn’t you now find yourself in the passenger seat of tyler’s truck as he veers off the road directly towards a tornado?

“tyler owens, are you crazy?!” you exclaim, the only response being a bout of wild laughter as he throttles it even faster. “you better not be filming this!”

“you kiddin’?” he gestures to the cameras mounted above the windshield. “don’t worry, this’ll be just for us. we can look back on this in ten years and laugh.”

“if we live,” you mumble to yourself, glad of the wind, rain, and tyler’s blaring radio.

he looks at you for a moment, though, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “you ready?”

you don’t even have to think about your answer. “hell yeah, tornado wrangler.”

“‘s what i like to hear, baby,” he says, rolling to a stop in the middle of the field. “and now… we wait.”

“next time, just say you wanna drive me into a tornado.”

“next time?” he raises his eyebrows at you as he flips a few switches and anchors the truck.

“you’re insane,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“i’m startin’ to think that you like that about me,” he replies, nodding to the tornado only feet away as he makes sure your harness is secure. “better hold on to somethin’.”

you should be scared, but when you grab on to tyler’s hand, fueled by adrenaline and exhilaration, you just feel a sudden calm. like you belong here, with him, in his truck, getting hit head on by a tornado.

and maybe that’s why you let him kiss you.

the tornado swirls around the truck, the wind screaming so loudly you can barely hear his music, and you lean into him even though the harness digs into your shoulders. his kiss is gentle, respectful, and you can feel him smiling as you kiss him back, only pulling away to touch your forehead to his.

the winds of the tornado rock the truck, debris pelting the outside, but you’re too wrapped up in tyler to even care. you breathe him in until the sound of the storm begins to dissipate and the beating of your heart fades in your ears.

“you can open your eyes, sweetheart,” he whispers, watching as you lean back into your seat.

his voice spurs you into action, laughing as you undo your harness and jump out of the truck. he’s quick to follow you, smiling proudly as you let out a loud whoop.

“told you i knew a spot.”

“tyler owens…” you say his name again, slowly turning to look at him where he leans against his truck, arms folded across his chest.

“yeah?”

you could blame his tight jeans, or his backwards cap, or that damn smile of his for what you do next, but in the end you do it solely because you want to.

because you want him.

you run up to him, your hand bumping against the brim of his cap as you throw your arms around his neck, and kiss him, pressing him back against the hood.

and when his hands take hold of your hips, his mouth insistent against yours, you know that however you challenge him, he’ll always be crazy enough to impress you.

good evening twisters/tyler owens nation, i am officially throwing my hat in the ring 🥰

m.list

© qimirdiary 2024. do not repost without permission.

[mechahero]

//Ah screw it. Showing them off anyway.

//I know it's late but you guys want to see an oc I'm working on?

[ihavethedreamies]

Matter of Pride | Hongjoong [NSFW]

Kim Hongjoong - ATEEZ

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~5.8k

Pairing: Lion-Hybrid!Hongjoong x Gazelle-Hybrid!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU!, Historical?/Ancient?, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Friends-to-Lovers

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, very tiny mention of noncon, Pet Names (Doll, Sweetheart, Sweet, Love, etc.), Swearing, Kissing, Biting & Scratching & Marking, Bonding/Mating, Heat/Rut, Pheromones, Oral (F! Receiving), Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…), Monster(?)!Hongjoong (not really, he's a lion hybrid)

Author's Note: Okay, here we go lol. This is NOT Omegaverse, but they do both go into rut/heat. They have animals ears and tails and he's got a spiny lion cock. Hongjoong is not necessarily bigger than reality, the reader is just small. I did also imagine this more to be set in the steppe of Central Asia/Southern Siberia rather than Africa.

-> Series Hub <-

🐕 Yeosang's 🐕

🐻 Jongho's 🐻

🐯 San's 🐯

Revised (1/31/25)

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

Ever since you were a calf, the elders of your herd told you to stay away from predators. You aren’t for sure why though, since all they told you is that they’re dangerous. You find that quite odd considering you’re not full animals, and as far as you know, predator hybrids do not literally eat prey hybrids. There’s probably some ancient lore-based superstition or something, and it isn’t till you’re older do you really think about the real facts. Despite logically knowing that they aren’t going to eat you alive, you are still a bit scared about meeting a predator.

One day you’re traversing the rocky steppe of your homeland, right at the foothills of the mountains. Crouching down, you run your fingers through the grass, feeling for the tell-tale mound of the root you’re looking for. The sun is beginning to set, the cool of late spring settling in the air.

"No." you grumble, not feeling anything. Standing back up, your attention is quickly drawn to a new sound. Your furry ear, sticking out from the side of your head, flicks at the noise. The wind shifts and your sensitive smell picks up something unfamiliar, but it triggers a deeper, primal part of you. Predators. Logic tries to fight back against instinct, the sound is voices, not the growls of an actual animal. Still, your heart races, the sound of blood pumping thuds in your ears. Your furry tail swishes back and forth nervously, and despite your apprehensions, you move toward the voices. Finding a path that leads a bit further into the foothills, you see fresh boot marks. Gently, like doing so might trigger something, you place your own foot in the print, the size difference is striking. You’re not a child, you’re actually quite a bit bigger than the other women of your herd, but… A boisterous laugh hits your ears, your head turning toward it on its own, instinctually. Swallowing hard, you follow the tracks and when you come around a large boulder, you peer around it. There’s a small clearing created by tall, jutting rocks, and a camp has been set up there. Three figures sit around a firepit, great furry pelts wrapped around their shoulders and necks. Lions. There’s a fourth figure, leaning against one of the rocks, making him closest to you. Peering closer, you see he’s… beautiful. Sharp eyes and jawline, his hair isn’t as long nor as shaggy as the others. His pelt is much nicer as well, and he’s the only one with a tunic shirt on underneath his pelt. A large axe-like knife is attached to his belt, and he has a deep red cloth tied around his bicep. You feel the end of your tail brushing over the rock as it sways, your nose twitching as the wind carries their scent. You have a hard time pinpointing the exact fragrance, but the one closest to you is the most potent. And the most pleasant. The three around the fire smell like the smoke wafting around them, and like sweat and dirt. The other one though, he smells like spiced tea and fragrant tree bark. The wind shifts again, coming up from behind you, carrying your scent right into the clearing. You barely have time to realize what happened, trying to back away and completely out of sight, but he notices. As you duck to hide, his deep golden-brown eyes meet your own. The intense look shoots fear through your very DNA and you turn to bolt, using your species' long and fast legs to sprint. You don’t make it very far though, and the back of your tunic is seized, and you bleat as you’re hauled back. Turning to look at your captor as best as you can, it’s the handsome one. He smells even better so close and looks even better. Your face is hot, for many different reasons, and you wonder if he can smell your fear. Is that an actual thing?

"What's wrong Hongjoong?" One of the other lions calls and he’s able to hide you with his own body. He isn’t as big as the others, but still a good seven or eight inches taller than you.

"Smelled a doe, I'm going to see if I can get her." He shouts back and they go back to their raucous conversation. The lion holding you wraps his arm around your middle rather than gripping your tunic and easily carries you around the boulder fully and down the slope. You hang there, not sure what else you can do, and he only lets you go when he gets to the end of the path that led you in.

"S-sorry!" You spin around to face him, not trusting him at your back, "I wasn’t eavesdropping!"

"I'm not worried about that, doll. Be glad the smoke covered your scent for the others."

"W-why? Will they…" You swallow hard, your quivering obvious to him. So are your twitching ears, and he can see your tunic shifting from your wagging tail.

"Will they eat me?" Your question throws him off, to the point that he flinches back.

"What?" He huffs, "No, of course not. Is that what you’re told?" You shrug, feeling embarrassed now.

"That's not what I'm worried they would do to a cute thing like you." Your arm reaches around your back, twisting so you can wrap your fingers around the end of your braid, tugging on it. You can’t meet his gaze, especially because you understand his implication. Also, you aren’t sure how you feel about him calling you cute.

"What are you doing around here? What herd are you with?"

"I was gathering herbs…I'm with the gazelle herd southwest of here." You motion vaguely behind you.

"What were you looking for?"

"Valerian root. It's too early for the plant to be flowering so it's hard to find." He doesn’t reply for a bit, glancing behind him.

"There's a big tree, east of your village?"

"Y-yes?" You’re a little concerned he knows the area so well, but at the same time if they know where your herd is, and have left it be, it’s probably okay.

"What else have you been looking for?" His change of subject catches you off guard, but you answer.

"Meet me at that tree tomorrow evening, and I'll have some for you. Don't come back this way, those others aren't safe."

"You are, though?" Your question doesn’t sound as bold as you want it to. He chuckles a bit, then exhales hard through his nose.

"Short answer, yes. I don’t want to be working with them, but I don't have a choice right now."

"What do you want in return?" You ask, why would he help you just to be nice? It’ll be a lot of work to gather the herbs you’re looking for.

"We'll see how hard it is, then I'll tell you. Deal?" He holds his hand out and you eye it. Finally, taking it, the strength behind the grip jolts you.

"I'm Hongjoong. Do you have a name I can call you?" He smirks softly and you pull away from the handshake likes he’s burned you suddenly.

"(Y/N). About this time?"

"Sure, doll. Now go home, and don't come back here." Hongjoong steps back and nods for you to do so. Turning back to look at him a few times as you go, you trot back home, your bag lighter than you had planned on it being.

All through the next day, your eyes keep flitting to the sun behind the clouds, waiting for it to reach the right point in the sky. You’re glad you’re the head healer, if you hadn’t come back with a good haul before your mentor retired, she would’ve swatted your hands. In the beginning, it was weird to return to an empty tent, but after nearly six months, you’re used to it. It isn’t like she’s dead; it’s just weird she isn’t there anymore. Your hands move on muscle memory as you work through the day, thoughts spiraling, always returning to the image of the lion you meet the day prior. It doesn’t help that he’s so attractive, the encounter would’ve been significantly less captivating without that factor. It’s clear he doesn’t like his comrades, even past that, his appearance is very different from theirs. He’d been standing far away from them as well and had even lied when he found you.

The closer toward the horizon the sun grows, the more distracted you get, and you’re so antsy that for the last hour before the designated time, you stand at the edge of the village. Some of your herd have questioned your odd behavior through the day, and you brushed it off, telling them you’re thinking hard about where to find more herbs. That time of year is difficult with so many different plants sprouting up, and most people accept your reasoning. Only your mother wasn’t convinced, but she also knows not to press too hard, or you’ll lose your patience. You don’t have too much of that to begin with.

From where you’re standing, you can kind of see where the tree is, well, the rock that’s hiding it. It’s behind the big rock. Glancing up at the darkening sky, you can finally see the twinkling of the northernmost star, and you start to trek out. After you descend the slope, and get over the hill after it, you know you’re out of sight, and break into a quicker pace. For some reason, you’re excited. Is it the thrill of doing something that others will frown upon? Is it that you get to bask in the presence of the extremely attractive lion once more?

You reach the boulder faster than normal, it seems your body is just as eager, and has decided to move faster than your brain realized. Swallowing hard, your hand brushes over the smooth stone surface as you move around it, peaking around. Feeling a small sense of déjà vu, when you can see around the rock, you see him under the tree.

"There's no need to hide, doll." His voice is warm, and you giggle a little in embarrassment, fully coming around. Right when you get close enough, he takes a bundle off his shoulder, leaves poking out from the leather wrap. Taking it gently, you crouch down so you can untie it and look. You gasp seeing everything that’s there. Not only did he find everything you needed, but there’s also a lot there.

"H-How did you get so much?" You look up at him from your squat and he shrugs. No verbal response, but you’re too grateful to question.

"H-here." You reach into your own bag, your string of coins jingling as you pull it out.

"No, (Y/N). You don't need to pay me."

"But!" When you move to give him the coins, he wraps his fingers over yours, so they wrap around the metal pieces.

"What do you want as payment then?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I have, um. I have this mulled wine my grandfather makes…" You go back to your bag, going to unite the cord of the wineskin.

"No."

"Um, okay, I have…" You shuffle stuff around in your bag, looking for the flute you still don’t really know how to play.

"(Y/N). You don't have to give me anything, it’s fine." He’s closer then, trying to get you to stop your frantic search. His fingers go to your chin, forcing your head to tip back so you can meet his gaze.

"A-are you sure?"

"Yes." He drops his hand and steps back once more, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

"N-nothing?" You feel bad, it would have taken you hours to gather that much.

"If you really want, you can sit and talk to me for a bit?" He suggests and the request flabbergasts you.

"Really?" Hongjoong hums with a nod, turning so he can move to the tree, sitting at the base in a divot in the large roots. Sitting down next to him, you truly feel small then, scratching at a root with your blunt fingernail. Your eyes go to his own hands, sharp claws sit at the end of each finger. You also have noticed when he smiles, his canine teeth are bigger and sharper. His golden-blonde hair, rounded ears, and tufted tail all scream that he’s a lion, even if his demeanor doesn’t. He isn’t scary, but he’s majestic and beautiful.

"Have you ever met a lion before me?" He rests against the tree trunk, and you shake your head.

"Have you ever met a predator?"

"Not really. Just seen them from afar." You pick at a dried bit of some poultice you made that stuck on your tunic skirt.

"You aren’t as afraid as I thought you’d be, then."

"If it had been one of the others, maybe."

"Why am I different?" Hongjoong's gaze on you makes your face hot, you can’t return the look.

"You could’ve given me away to the others, and you didn’t." Yep, that’s it. Nothing more to it.

"That's it?" He sounds a bit disappointed.

"Why didn’t you?"

"I told you; I don't care for them."

"Then why are you travelling with them?"

"It's hard to be a solo male out here. It's easier to work with a group before I try and get my own pride."

"Oh. So, like, a bunch of wives?"

"More like two or three. Not like full lions, but..." He doesn’t sound super eager for even that.

"Are all lion hybrids like that?"

"More or less. Never appealed to me much, to be honest."

"Really?" This piques your interest, and you don’t dwell too much on why.

"It's rare for lions to have one spouse, out in the wilds anyway. I've debated leaving for the capital, but…"

"Why not?"

"I don't mind living off the land, but I don't know where else to go to find a wife. Most lionesses also want to be in a pride, like some ancient call."

"Huh."

"Are gazelle monogamous?"

"Hybrids are. Have a shit ton of kids though." Your response makes him laugh; the sound rumbling through you.

"Can you roar like a full lion?" You’re too curious. You needto know.

"Uh, no. Can you actually bleat like a full gazelle?"

"Not really…" Now you feel stupid, ears flicking nervously. Your tail thumps a bit on the ground, your eyes meandering down to look at his. It’s much longer than yours, like his full animal brethren.

"What about you?"

"Me?" You look up at him.

"Do you want to get married and have a shit ton of kids?"

You hum in thought. No. It’s more because you don’t want to be pressed into a mold. Most herbalists never marry, let alone have offspring, that’s part of the reason you chose the trade.

"No."

"You even want kids?"

"Don't know. One might be nice, but that's not how it works…" You stare in the distance toward your village.

"How many siblings do you have?"

"I'm the oldest of eleven."

"Fuck." He huffs and his reaction makes you burst into a guffaw.

"Yes."

"Is your mother…okay?" This makes you laugh harder.

"Uh, I can't imagine five singletons plus three sets of twins would make anyone okay."

"Not your ideal future?"

"Oh, fuck, no." Hongjoong smiles at your obvious newly relaxed state. It’s then you notice the sun has set completely, little white stars twinkling in the dark purple abyss.

"I need to get back!" You shoot up, retying the bundle he’s given you.

"Wait!" He stops you with a hand on your wrist. Turning to look back at him, he licks his lips, letting you go.

"Can you meet me back here in two days? Same time?" Your eyes widen a bit at the request, but you feel a smile tug at your lips.

"Yeah, I can."

~υ.υ~

You do go back like he asked.

"You came!" Hongjoong seems genuinely surprised, standing up straight from where he’s been leaning against the tree.

"Of course?" You’re genuinely surprised at his reaction, "why wouldn’t I?"

"I was a bit worried you only came last time for the herbs…" He won’t look straight at you, and you notice he has something in his hand. It’s obviously plants.

"Is that why you brought that?" You point to them, and he brings them around from behind his back.

"Y-yeah."

"Hongjoong. You're the first guy that still gives me the time of day after saying I don’t want to have twelve children." You motion behind you toward your village, "honestly I've been really impatient, waiting for…now." Your face warms and you swipe your leg back and forth, drawing an arch in the dirt with your toe.

"You're the first girl who didn’t look at me weird when I said I only want one wife…" He huffs, the confident smirk coming back to his face.

"Is it weird that we're so different?" You voice the obvious concern between both of you.

"Maybe. But it doesn't feel like it."

~é_è~

For nearly two months you meet at the tree, every two days. One night, under a full moon, when you arrive at the tree, he meets you right as you arrive, immediately sweeping you into his arms. A bit shocked, you return the hug, warmth flooding your entire body. You speak like normal, sitting together, shoulder to shoulder. That time though, there’s something in the air. You can’t place your finger on it, and when you go to leave for the night, he hugs you once more. When he pulls back, his hand goes to cup your cheek.

"I…I don’t want to let you go." He barely pulls away from the hug but does release you. His head is bowed to be closer to yours, forehead brushing yours.

"Hongjoong?" You aren’t for sure what he means, considering he literally lets you go.

"Run away with me. Come to me. Stay with me." He tilts his head, nose brushing yours, his breath mingling with yours. Tears prick your eyes, a rush of emotions knocking your breath away as he steals it. His lips are hot on yours and a tear escapes your eye. When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and he grimaces at your tears.

"Tomorrow. I'll come to you. Here?" You ask, ready and willing. You do want to at least say goodbye to your family, gather your things…

"No. There's a cave near where we first met-"

"Behind the vines?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there."

~/)>3</)~

Your mother doesn’t ask too many questions. She knows there’s been something on your mind, and she knows and sees that you aren’t happy in the village. You never will be, especially not after meeting Hongjoong. You don’t have the heart to tell your father, so you say goodbye to him like it’s any other time you go to gather herbs. It isn’t like you’ll never see them again, but you aren’t sure when you’ll go back, not sure where you’ll end up. With one last glance behind you, you leave your village, your bag more full than usual, but no one notices.

Standing at the entrance of the cave, you swallow hard, parting the hanging vines and stepping in. He’s there. Of course he is, it seems he’s been living there. A very convenient hole lays in the ceiling, casting the sunlight in. The whole cave smells of him, and once he sees you, he moves forward. You gasp, his hands cupping your jaw, lips sealing over yours. This kiss isn’t anything like the time before. Hongjoong pulls back slightly, just so you can breathe, and you whimper at the loss. Your tail rapidly flits back and forth behind you, ears twitching just as fast. Hongjoong's spiced aroma has grown stronger, a slight rumbling building in his chest. His hands are still holding your jaw, the claw on his thumb just barely ghosting over your skin. Stepping even closer, your hands fall on his chest, and you marvel at the hard muscle underneath the pelt around his shoulders. The rumble grows stronger under your touch, and you can already feel your core clench around nothing. Swallowing hard, you breathe in his scent, over and over, likes it’s a drug.

"Fuck, (Y/N)."  He practically growls, one hand moving to rest on your waist. His face buries into the crook of your neck; nose pressed to your jugular. Your blood spikes and you feel your entire body shudder. You’re unsure if it’s arousal, or a sense of danger, having the large fangs of a predator near your weakest spot.

"You smell so good." Hongjoong groans, hauling you closer, leaving barely a space between you.

"Like what?" You want to add, 'like a meal or a mate?', but don’t want to ruin the moment.

"Like when the apricots blossom." His other hand on your jaw moves instead to the back of your head, the one on your waist to the small of your back. You gasp at the pressure of his body, feeling him growing hard against your stomach. His face leaves your neck, and he kisses you again. You wonder if that’s what the elders implied by being eaten alive. His tongue has easily entered your mouth, swiping over yours, his large canines clacking against your much blunter ones. You expected his tongue to be rough, but he didn’t know yours would be as well, though not nearly as coarse as your full animal kin. It seems though, that he’s literally drooling, the extra saliva makes his tongue glide around yours. You whimper again, the muffled noise is nearly a bleat, and the rumble of his chest nearly a roar. Hongjoong's lips leave yours, a strand of spit connecting your mouths, another trail leaving the corner of his mouth. He licks away the extra, breaking the trail, his pupils have narrowed to slits. Your own pupils are blown wide, the black nearly eclipsing the color of your iris. Part of you feels the need to run, flee, that you’re being hunted. Somehow though, that thought turns you on all the more.

"Are you sure, (Y/N)?"

"Huh?"

"Once I have you, I won’t let you go." His voice rumbles through you, straight to your cunt, and your scent of arousal builds to the point you can smell it yourself. The spiced bark of his own aroma fills your nostrils, making your thoughts hazy.

"You already have me." You reply, voice very soft, to keep it from shaking. Your brain doesn’t register his next move till it’s already done, your back pinned to the rock of the cave, his hand still on the back of your head to make sure it doesn’t smash against the stone.

"Tell if it hurts too bad." His voice is in your ear, nose pushing against the collar of your tunic. Your hands around his neck move to his upper back, gripping hard into the pelt as his teeth sink into your shoulder. Your eyes roll back, the stinging pain just arouses you further, and his hips rut forward once, pressing his even harder cock against your tummy. As his fangs leave your skin, he licks over the spot, and you flinch at the sting. Just then, his scent spikes, the aroma becoming sweeter, mingling with yours. You know predators bond through mating bites, but you had no idea what it would do to your body. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, blood rushes in your ears and a drop of slick starts to flow down your inner thigh.

"Gotta warn you, sweetheart." He huffs, a cocky smirk gracing his features, tongue licking over the drop of blood still on his lip. He palms his hard-on through his tunic pants, "might look a little different than you're expecting."

"Huh?" You aren’t fully registering what he’s getting at. Hongjoong's fingers wrap around yours, bringing your hand to his covered cock, letting you palm over him yourself. You whimper, you have dealt with plenty of naked males being a healer, and none compare. The thing that you notice - what he’s really talking about - are the little spines at the base of his cock and below the head. Your eyes widen, normally that would concern you some, but your body is ready and waiting. Eager even, begging.

"They don't hurt like a full lion’s, but I wanted you to know."

"I don't care, I just want you to split me open on it." Your bold declaration makes him chuckle, his tongue licking against the tip of your ear. It flicks under the touch and the hand at your head brings your lips back to his. He swallows your mewls, the hand he has on your back moves lower, gripping the base of your tail. When he tugs, a bleat escapes your throat, and his hard thigh nestles between your quivering ones. He immediately feels the heat of your cunt through the thin leather of his tunic pants, your slick quickly dripping over the material.

"You're soaked, love." He presses harder, your hips jumping, the slight friction intensified by whatever hex he seems to have you under.

"Sorry, sweet. You're sending me into a rut." His chest is rumbling again, deeper than before, "It'll be hard to hold back." Is that what is happening to you? Is he putting you into heat? Yours are normally extremely weak since you’re unmated, is it much worse because he’s a predator? Does your body need to compensate for his own body’s greater power? The hand on your tail moves to cup your butt, then to your thigh, prompting you to pronk up and into his arms. You wrap your legs around his waist, the bulge of his cock pressing over your bare cunt and you whine, breath hitching. You feel so small then, he easily holds you up against the cave wall, broad enough that most won’t even know you’re there but your legs around his middle. Hongjoong kisses over your neck, down to your collar bone, rough tongue searing over your skin. Your hands scramble, gripping and pulling at the pelt around his neck, trying to get it off. He helps you, reaching under to undo a small button and you pull it up over his head, letting it flop to the ground. His toned arms are fully on display then, the red cloth around his arm somehow makes the sight all the better. He never told you what it means, and you just assumes it’s an accessory. Before you can start trying to wrestle his tunic top off, he holds you to him, carrying you to a pile of pelts it seems he uses as a bed. Softly, he lays you down on it, but his following movements are anything but. He rips his shirt off and you don’t get time to ogle his bare torso because he proceeds to literally tear yours off. You were only been in a linen tunic dress, but still the ease with which he turns it to shreds is incredible arousing. His palms are rough against your soft skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"Hongjoo-!" Your breath is kicked from your lungs, vision spattering with dots of light when his tongue buries into your cunt. You hadn't even realized he was down there, hands pressing to your thighs to hold your legs open. Even the slight brush of his lips over your clit as his tongue licks over your walls is intense. A strong wave of pleasure is quickly cresting, your womb pulsing hard, walls clenching.

"Fuck~!" Little bleats and whimpers leave you, your tail whacking against the pelts beneath you, dull nails raking through his hair. While you’ve never had an orgasm, you know that's what’s rising. With how quickly he brings you up to and over the edge, you know you’re in for a long night. Hongjoong growls, his purr rumbling through his tongue into you, drinking your essence as it squirts from your cunt. Smirking, he pulls back, thumb gathering a drop from his chin so he can lick it off.

"You think your cute little cunt can take my cock?" His knuckles brushes through your folds, careful of his claws.

"Please, need it~" Your foot comes up, pressing over his hard-on. He grunts, wrapping his hand around your ankle, forcing it off so he can take his pants off. You watch, hazy eyes trying to focus as the leather hits the cave floor. Your eyes subsequently widen, brain fogging further. Little spines circle his cock, thick and long. Hongjoong kneels between your legs, spreading them and hooking one of your knees over his elbow to keep you open for him. He chuckles at the twitch your entire body seizes from when the hot head meets your dripping folds.

"It might sting, love." He warns once more, the thumb of his hand on your waist rubbing small circles over your hip. You nod, trying to relax but also steel yourself. Yes, it stings, it burns, but it’s amazing. Each little bit he sinks his fat cock into you, the little spines rub and pull at your walls. Your slick allows an easy glide, but his own head is swimming from the tight vice of your cunt, eagerly sucking him in. You shudder with each breath, heat searing through you from your core out, and he’s barely half-way in when you feel another orgasm cresting. You thought the pain would diminish the pleasure, but it’s the opposite, the burn heating you even further. Hongjoong lays kisses over your shoulder around his mark, letting you adjust to the stretch, even if it’s nearly painful for him to go so slow. As the head of his dick presses against your eager and weeping womb, the little spines at the base brush your clit and folds, and the final little push finishes you off. You throw your head back, eyelids fluttering, nails leaving crescents on his shoulders. He groans as your tight cunt pulses around him, more of your slick spurting out from where he’s filling you. When the waves of your orgasm fade, you’re still shuddering, tipsy on the pleasure.

"Ready, love?"

"Hongjoong~" You mewl, fingers rubbing over his hot skin, blunt nails scratching a path down from where you had them. Your other leg ends up hooked over his elbow as well, and when he pulls out, only about halfway, the little barbs tug at your gummy walls. He snaps his hips then, burying back inside, battering the fat head against your cervix. He was right, he can’t hold back. He wants to start slow, let you get used to it, but he can’t. The next thrust has no warning, his pace immediately relentless, your knees pressed up toward your ears. He’s fucking you stupid, the noises you let out sounding more and more like your animal kin, bleats and moans melding. Your body has gone limp, only your arms have any strength, hands digging into the pelt under your hips. Your head lolls and your breasts bounce with each thrust. You can’t think to let him know as he barrels through your third orgasm, more slick gushing from your cunt. His noises are animalistic at that point, anyone passing would think a real lion is rutting in that cave. His tongue runs over his long fangs, saliva spilling from his lips as he growls and grunts.

"Aw, fuck, (Y/N)." He chuckles, burying his cock as deep as he can, pressing those little spines against your groin, pumping your eager womb full. You aren’t even sure you can actually get pregnant, but he’s bound and determined to fill you to the point that it’ll leak out of you for days. The heat of his cum inside brings you over the edge too, a much smaller climax racking you. He’s still hard as a rock though. You gasp, your lungs spasming as he pulls his cock all the way out, those little barbs digging in. Your world spins, your chest and stomach to the pelts below then, and he yanks your hips up, sinking his cock back in once more. At this angle he gets even deeper somehow, each rough plow of his dick battering your back walls. Your vision blurs further, eyes rolling back, fingers futilely digging into the fur below you. His hips pummel against the skin of your ass hard, the smacking combined with his beastly grunts makes your ears twitch. His hand goes back to your tail, wrapping around the base, tugging a bit. Shivering shoots straight up your spine from where he has you, cunt weeping along with you, tears and drool leaving a puddle on the pelts under you.

"Fucking hell, love. You're so good for me~" He groans, chuckling as your walls flutter through another climax. Your cunt and clit sting from the overstimulation, but you need more, you need him to pump you full more. The bite on your shoulder flares with heat, so does your skin as his hands wrap around the small of your waist. His thrusts once again grow unsteady, instead they’re hard and shallow, pulling back just enough to rake those little barbs over your clit over and over.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck." You ramble, vision already spotting with white, then nearly scream when he comes again, spurts of white hot jizz leaking from your hole, not able to handle the amount. Your cunt spurts as well, the mix of your release leaving a mess on the pelts. You gasp for air, heart thudding, sweat dripping from your forehead. He’s still hard. Maybe that's why your people are warned about mixing with predators. His stamina is a beast in itself.

"Can you keep going love? Lions go for a whole day sometimes." Hongjoong groans when your cunt clenches again, really hoping you can keep going. His body needs yours, just as bad for both of you, and he wants to fuck you the rest of the week if he can. He might be able to, you on the other hand…

"Fuck me stupid, I don't- just your cock~!" You whine and moan, giggling like an idiot as his hips roll again. Picking back up to his monster pace again. Every drag of his dick seems to eek a tiny little orgasm out of you, your body strung so tight, it sings with every one of his movements. Your brain vaguely registers as the sunlight fades from the hole in the ceiling, fading to the cool moonlight. You don’t think you can walk for a week after, he’s fucked so many orgasms out of and into you, you lost count. Globs of thick seed slips out of your cunt when he finally pulls out, cock finally softening. Your face is blank, eyes open but barely conscious.

"Sleep, my love. I'll need you again in the morning."

-> Series Hub <-

Master-Master List

ATEEZ Master List

[lwh-writing]

Skulker's Boring Hunt

“And now that we have located the proper biome, we are able to safely release the beast back into the wild.”

Skulker opens the cage door and turns the camera so that the virtual audience can watch as the peryton returns to the wilderness of the Ghost Zone, all the while silently bemoaning how he got here.

Ever since the existence of ghosts had become public knowledge, the Whelp had been determined to improve relations with humans. Part of that outreach effort included a handful of ghosts selected to begin ‘virtual relations’ through a process called ‘streaming’ and ‘vlogging’ so that they could ‘show the world that they weren't that different from everybody else.’

Skulker, honestly, couldn't give less of a damn about humans and what they thought of his kind. The only reason (and he very much means only reason) he had put his name on the volunteer list was for the easy access to the Living Realm and the new variety of hunts.

The Whelp, though, had put stipulations on Skulker’s ticket out of the Ghost Zone. Firstly, if he ever hunted in the Infinite Realms, he had to document and explain the animals he hunted so as to provide ‘educational value to his viewers’ or other such nonsense. Secondly, if any dangerous (non-sapient) ecto-animal was loose in the Living Realm, Skulker had to drop everything and stop its rampage. And last, and certainly least, Skulker couldn't kill anything.

Skulker had tried to reason his way out of that one, claiming that it contradicted his Obsession. The Whelp had tried to reason right back, claiming that he could still feed his Thrill of the Hunt without slaughtering something on live air. They had settled on a compromise: Skulker would run a poll with his viewers, and they would decide whether he gained a new pelt or not.

The fickle humans had, to date, always voted for catch and release.

“As this week's hunt has now concluded, it is time to decide what or who I will be hunting next week. The polls are now open.”

Skulker scrolled through his Fenton-Foley-Phone as he let his puny audience make their decisions. Ember had posted a recent picture of a restaurant in Barcelona, the latest city on her grand tour. Skulker gave it a like and looked back at the now concluding poll, a little surprised at the results.

Of the ten options given by his chat and selected by his moderators, there were a few picks that were always nominated but never won. It seemed his viewers desperately wanted to see him take on a dragon, a gorgon, a vampire, and some human named Lex Luthor. This week was no different, as all four of those options were just barely beaten by a new entry to the lineup.

“It appears that next week I will be hunting the Joker.”

Immediately, the chat exploded into chaos.

wonder_womanSIMP: pog

StardustSinger: skulker vigilante arc?? 👀

Penglow: RIP watch out for the Batman!

rock-mayo: RIGGED

golfAceVendetta: pog

OpperantParrot: LETS FUCKING GO!!!!

the_general_plum: :D

carbon-ham: D:

LizardSquid: E

egg_composition: gotham is going to chew you up and spit you out lmao

OtterCat: D:

“And once again, it’s time to decide my prey’s fate. Type one to vote kill, type two to vote spare. Voting is now open.”

That prompted another flood of responses, and Skulker returned to his phone, scowling a bit at his girlfriend’s posts. He was happy for Ember, of course he was. She was fulfilling her dream and chasing her Obsession, how could he be anything but ecstatic and proud of her success? He just missed her, though he would never admit it aloud.

Hm. Perhaps he could do a little solo hunting and send her a new pelt. Something to remind her of the Ghost Zone while she was away.

The timer went off, and Skulker dejectedly checked the results of the poll, only to do a quick double-take before smiling sharply at the results.

“Results are in. It seems this week I will be hunting, and killing, the Joker.”

The chat exploded with excitement right before Skulker started saying his outro and mentally mapping out his hunt in the coming week, unaware that at that very moment, a complication had arisen in his plan.

TheBloodSon: It appears that this may be a problem.

[r0-boat]

MC naked & afraid featuring 7 idiots Headcannons

(What in hell is bad! survival Island headcannons)

Based off of my whb survival Island poll

Author's notes: I'm watching a documentary right now This shit made me laugh so hard imagining these demons becoming feral

It was supposed to be a cruise Mammon was testing out his new cruise ship but something horribly wrong happened where you and the seven kings were stranded on an island in the human world. Their powers unable to work for plot reasons.

They're not stuck forever They can go back home but a rescue team will take a month to arrive.

Satan

Satan somehow got a campfire running. He got so angry he lit the fire based off of pure anger. Because Leviathan was bullying him that he didn't know how to start a simple fire and asked him to hand over the sticks. Satan said "NO! FUCK YOU PUSSY BITCH I GOT IT!"

Satan is a really good hunter, like an exceptional hunter. And he quickly goes into his role. It's been 2 days and now He wears the pelt of his latest kill. Hey sharpens his own tools and he looks like a savage according to Leviathan.

Satan has gotten a thrill for the hunt and for some reason he keeps staring at you....

Mammon

For an hour he's been looking around this deserted island it is populated with native animals and foliage as well as fresh water. You know what he's thinking about... Turning this island into another one of his villas.

When he is not checking out this island as if he's trying to purchase real estate He's actually helping you with building a shelter. Tino's absolutely nothing about building shelters but he's glad to be your heavy muscles and tools for whenever you can't do something.

Following Satan His deconstruction of a civil man has begun but the only thing that really changed is his shirt came off that's it... Only because It got ripped when Satan and him had a fight.

Leviathan

He hates this he fucking hates this. Everyone's running around like headless chickens and he's the only competent devil (except for Lucifer)

He's been better... He was actually a lot worse when you first crashed on the island You had to actually calm him down from his panic attack and when he did finally calm down He has been clinging to you like his life depended on it. Using you as some kind of strange therapy. Becoming more possessive over you.

Anything you're doing he is doing with you no questions ask if anyone were to question it he will take a sharp rock and stab them right in the eye.

Beelzebub

As soon as you woke up in the sand Beelzebub. You wanted to search for him But the other kings we're not worried for him at all.

Before the sun goes down he does turn up with a stick sharpened into a spear and food. Beel is an exceptional hunter. He is the reason why All of you aren't starving. Beel can literally eat anything But that doesn't mean you and other devils can't. So if he tells you not to eat something don't need it.

Beel and Satan have some kind of dick measuring competition with killing and hunting prey. Satan comes back with a rabbit, Beel catches a wild boar, Satan comes back with a big fish, Beel comes back with a crocodile.

Lucifer

Oh my god finally a competent devil. Lucifer is the most important devil since he can heal injuries as well as sicknesses. Even though his magic isn't in effect he still knows a lot of natural plant remedies. He knows every plant species that God has made.

He looks at you with an odd look, while you follow his instructions closely on how to build a proper shelter.

He takes this chance to study you as if you were his science project every time you get a bump I scrape or scratch He studies you meticulously how your human body heals naturally slowly. His fingers delicately tracing each scar you've ever had.

Belphegor

Motherfucker is either asleep or jacking off while you guys do the work. He's so lucky to have all these hard workers working for him and with the shelter built he could finally... It's not comfortable...

He knows that you guys are doing your best and what not but damn sleeping on the ground sucks ass wipe. He wants to find natural soft moss or bedding just for a better sleep.

Because of Belphegor The shelter in looks more and more comfortable with his additions which he always adamantly reminds you. Every time you go in there's new shit added and it looks more like a nest then a shelter.

Asmodeus

Oh yeah the clothes are gone... Are you surprised? This demon has become full feral and he loves it. An island paradise for you and him and of the other 6 would like to join they're more than welcome to.

This uncivilized natural land spark something inside him that you don't want anything to do with.

After you literally threatened not to have sex with him for 2 months until he puts his clothes back on He decides to use leaves or vines instead now he just looks like PornHub Tarzan...

Bonus:

This devil is the king of lust, He has been eyeing this human potential mate for a while now...

The human bathing in the crystal pool catch a sight of him, They seem weary but content with his presence.

This is his chance The devil puffs out his chest showing off his horn it is a devil's way of showing strength and virility.

In his usual habitat He would be the undisputed king. But now his territory is shared. And another eyes his prey.

The human looks into the foliage before jumping back a splash of water fills his vision he hears warning hiss as his opponent comes in view a devil of envy, He has already laid claim to them and he will not back down.

Unlike his one horn this male has two, two against one is hardly fair but that doesn't mean he'll stand down without a fight.

Before these two demons can fight for this potential mate, the human screams "STOP FUCKING AROUND!! I'M TRYING TO BATHE GET OUT!!"

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 2: Tiger's Eye]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.7k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

💎 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💎

The taxidermied tiger head hangs above the fireplace in the sitting room, its jaws agape in a perpetual roar and its eyes polished spheres of metamorphic rock the color of dusk. Daemon shot it in Burma years ago—valleys of saturated green earth, mountain ranges like a crooked spine—shortly after opening his third black opal mine in Australia. You stare at the disembodied creature and she stares back, a silent scream, a doomed eternal terror in her tiger’s eye gaze: Help! A man is killing me. A man is taking me from where I belong. A man is nailing me to a wall so all the world knows he is the one whose bullet severed my aorta, filled me with hemorrhaging blood until I sank down, down, down.

You say, still looking at the slayed beast: “Did we really have to bring that with us?”

Daemon glances over as he fastens his cufflinks, onyx with red beryl in the shape of a three-headed dragon, the Targaryen family crest. “I’m sure you’d prefer a finger painting from that Italian tosspot you’re so enamored with. What’s his name, Pizarro?”

“Picasso. And he’s Spanish.”

“Even worse.”

You turn to Daemon, and you can feel yourself wilting, becoming pitiful, vulnerable, needy. “Where are you going?”

He smirks as he stalks past you. “Wherever I want.” Then he passes through the doorway and out into the hall, flanked by the ever-grim Edward Rushton, black suits and polished leather shoes.

It’s midday on April 12th, and you and Fern are now alone in the Targaryen staterooms. Laenor is down on F-Deck enjoying the Squash Racquet Court with his new Parisian companions, Rhaenyra is in the Reading and Writing Room with a group of ladies led by the Countess of Rothes, and Dagmar has taken Draco…somewhere. Meanwhile, your sweet-tempered maid is flitting around making beds and collecting empty cups and soiled linens. “Fern?” you call.

She peeks out of Draco’s bedroom. “Yes, ma’am? Do you need something?”

To leap overboard and swim back to Ireland. “Would you like to take a stroll around the Promenade Deck with me? Breathe some fresh air, look for dolphins and whales, have lunch at the Verandah Cafe?”

Fern is apologetic in that soft, skittish way that she has. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I have to finish cleaning the rooms before Dagmar comes back.”

She doesn’t say why—that would be insubordinate—but you know. Just like on the family crest, the dragon has three heads: Daemon, Draco, Dagmar. All must be appeased lest their fire turn you to ash. And Fern lives in terror of the gaunt Scandinavian tyrant. “Right. I understand.”

“I should be done in an hour or two. When you return from your walk, I’ll make you tea.”

“You’re too kind.”

She is confused. “It’s my job, ma’am.”

“Still, I’m glad you’re the one doing it.”

Fern smiles, small and hesitant. “Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your walk.”

Outside on the Promenade Deck, the sun is bright and the wind brisk, just warm enough to forego a coat, black mink or white ermine or grey rabbit or reddish fox, pelts harvested, creatures butchered. Your dress is a cheerful yellow, as if attempting to conjure the golden-haired magic of the Targaryens, their willfulness, their invincibility, their habit of bending the world’s truth in their hands until it snaps. Yet none of them are here with you; you are alone, you are unnecessary. As you walk, you pass women reading novels on teak deckchairs, children playing with spinning tops and dominoes under the watchful eyes of fathers and governesses, men smoking cigars as they debate business and politics and which gemstones they should purchase for their sweethearts. You have to get away from them.

You take the Grand Staircase up to the Boat Deck, the highest level of the ship, and to distract yourself you count the covered lifeboats that are stowed there. This does not assuage your anxiety; you see only twenty, and while you have made a practice of avoiding sailing and therefore are no expert on the issue, this does not seem like enough. You go to the railing—about as tall as your waist—and lean over it as you stare, thoughts troubled and brow furrowed, into the wild, uninterrupted blue of the North Atlantic, five hundred miles from the coast of Ireland. To your left is a man painting a sheet of paper clipped to an easel, a palette held in his hand, viscous globs of color from small silvery tubes. Seventy feet below where you stand is the sea, thrashing against Titanic, a wood-and-steel intruder. You lean a little farther over the side of the ship. The water is cold, you imagine; cold, deep, dark, silent.

If I fell in, this would all be over, you think. No more Daemon. No more anyone. The only people who would miss me are my parents, and they’ll never see me again anyway.

But no; you cannot abandon Draco. He’s a piece of you, even if he doesn’t know it. You cannot allow him to become a monster.

The viola player peeks out from behind his easel. “Not thinking about jumping, are you?”

You gasp, startled, and then cover your face as you groan. “Why are you always out here?!”

“Aw, fancy rock lady needs a member of the perpetual underclass to malign,” he says as he adds brushstrokes to his painting. He has procured a suit somehow—black, slightly too big for him, likely stolen—to better masquerade as a first-class passenger. “What’s the matter, rock lady? Did your servants not put enough sugar in your tea this morning? Did they tug a little too hard as they brushed your hair?”

“You’re not well mentally. You need a straightjacket.”

“I’m not the one about to throw myself into the Atlantic Ocean.”

You glare at him, bitter, defensive. “I wasn’t going to jump.”

“Then what were you doing?”

You can’t answer; you wring your hands and press your lips together so tightly they ache, watch dark smoke billow from the nearest funnel, coal shoveled into blazing furnaces, treasures of the earth extracted like teeth and consumed.

“Hey, I didn’t, um…” The viola player lowers his paintbrush, repentant. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

You ask to change the subject: “What are you painting?”

“People,” he says, grinning, then turns his easel to show you. It’s a father holding his daughter so she can look over the railing and pointing to show her something out in the waves, dolphins, perhaps. His work is excellent, you are surprised to see: wispy curls of hair, irises alight with emotion, shadows and wrinkles and cheeks ruddy from gusts of wind, imperfections of reality.

“It’s good,” you manage once you’ve gotten your bearings.

“And of course you’re shocked.” He points to a scuffed brown leather portfolio resting against one leg of the easel. “I have plenty more, if you’re interested.”

You open the portfolio. There are men worriedly counting coins, women waiting on park benches, children beaming as they feed ducks or tend to their dolls, people giggling and scowling and burning up with clandestine longing, people sipping drinks in smoky pubs. In the bottom right corner of each painting is a moniker for the subject: Crystal, Big Red, Sunshine, Baron, Carnation, Tiny, Mars, Archer, Harpist, Pennies, Henry VIII, Belfast Belle. Unwittingly, you smile to yourself. “You give them names.”

“I watch people, but I don’t usually talk to them,” the viola player explains as he dabs thick oil paint on the paper clipped to the easel, treated to resemble the texture of linen. “I like to catch them unawares. Keeps the moment genuine, truthful. Otherwise they start acting for me.”

“Why paper instead of canvas?”

“Easier to travel with. Lighter and less bulky.”

You recall what he told Daemon at O’Connell’s Bar back in Galway: Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact. You gingerly slide his paintings back into the portfolio and tease: “Who do you think you are, Picasso?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. His sand-colored hair trashes in the wind that blows off the ocean, salt and mist. “I am under no such delusion. I’ve met him, though.”

You gawk at the viola player. “You’ve…you’ve met Pablo Picasso?”

“Yeah,” he says casually. “In Barcelona. I love his Blue and Rose Period stuff. Now he’s doing some weird cubism bullshit.” The viola player shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s his art, he can paint what he wants. But I prefer something a little more…real.”

“I do too,” you confess. “I went to Paris once with my parents. I saw some of Picasso’s work in a gallery, but he wasn’t there at the time. I bought a few paintings.”

“Which ones?”

“Mother and Child from 1905. Flowers from 1901.” You hesitate. It’s a bit scandalous. “Blue Nude.”

But the viola player neither cringes nor makes a joke. “I remember that one,” he says softly, watching you. After a moment he asks: “Are they hanging in your rooms?”

“They’re in a trunk. Daemon doesn’t like them.” And the animosity in your voice is an act of treason, however small. You glance around for Daemon, Rush, Dagmar, Rhaenyra, Laenor, and thankfully find none of them. You avert your eyes, ashamed. A husband you hate, and fear, and obey, and lie awake at night conspiring how to please.

There is something that ripples across the viola player’s face—sympathy, distress—and then he resumes putting the final touches on his portrait of two unnamed passengers. “Do you paint?”

You laugh. “Very badly.”

He offers you the paintbrush, saturated with a reddish-gold color like dusk. “You can help me fill in the man’s scarf. That’s hard to fuck up.”

Your jaw falls open.

“That’s hard to mess up,” he amends.

Smiling shyly, you take the paintbrush and add a few tentative strokes to the scarf. The viola player accepts the paintbrush when you forfeit it.

“So besides making awful paintings, how did you spend your time back in Galway?”

Reminding my father who he is. Taking long walks through the fields with my mother. Sitting in the garden wondering how my life went so wrong. Trying to stop my only child from becoming a demon like his father. “I read a lot. Mostly Edgar Allan Poe, Jane Austen, and Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare?” he echoes, amused. “Recite some for me.”

You take a moment to decide on a passage.

“Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own,

And I as rich in having such a jewel

As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,

The water nectar and the rocks pure gold.”

“The Two Gentlemen of Verona,” the viola player says, much to your amazement. He’s a thief holding a third-class ticket, and yet he’s learned. This is rare outside the blue-blooded aristocrats and the titans of industry. Fern can barely read and write.

“Where were you educated?”

“The world,” he replies, grinning.

“And the world included lessons on Shakespeare?”

“Sure, sometimes.”

“Alright then, let’s hear an excerpt.”

He considers this, tapping the handle of his paintbrush against his lips. Then he says:

“My crown is in my heart, not on my head;

Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,

Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:

A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.”

“King Henry VI,” you say, admittedly impressed. “I didn’t know poor people read Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare’s plays were written for everyone, fancy rock lady. Standing tickets at the Globe cost pennies.”

You study the viola player as he paints, feeling a bewildering combination of curiosity, amusement, fondness. “What’s your name?”

He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say, then gives you a sly, crooked grin as he replies: “Picasso.”

Now a steward is approaching, and the viola player is alarmed, perhaps anticipating being revealed as a fraud and dragged back to the third-class accommodations; but the steward is only passing by with a tray full of champagne flutes, offering them to illustrious passengers as they stroll the decks. You take two glasses and he continues on his way. You down one flute in just a few gulps and offer the other to the viola player. He smiles politely but does not reach for it.

“Thank you, but I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Have you ever met a man who doesn’t? You can’t think of one. And you are suddenly aware of how quickly you finished your champagne—unladylike, improper, but surely no great disgrace in front of this audience—and how yearningly you’re already glancing at the second glass, carbonated amber, fool’s gold.

“I’m not someone who can stop at just one or two,” the viola player says. “I’ve learned that about myself. Tried to fight it for a while, turns out acceptance is easier. I hardly even miss booze anymore.”

“How long did you fight it?”

“Ten years.”

You are caught off-guard. “What? How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

Since he was thirteen? Can that be right? “We’re about the same age,” you say instead, taking a distracted swig from the glass that would have been his.

“Yeah,” the viola player agrees thoughtfully.

You finish the champagne and hand both glasses to a passing steward. “I should go,” you tell the viola player. “I don’t know where Daemon is on the ship, and…” I don’t want him to see us. I don’t want him to hurt me.

“Sure. I get it.”

“Good luck with your painting.”

“I’ll make one of you next,” he promises, and you’re certain he’s joking.

You smile and turn to leave. “Whatever you say, Picasso.”

You walk towards the Grand Staircase that leads back down to the Promenade Deck. As you pass the Gymnasium, you steal a glimpse through one of the windows and see them inside: Draco giggling as he rides the electric horse and yanks gleefully on the reins, Dagmar beaming as her gnarled, arthritic hands hold him by the waist so he doesn’t slide off.

You lay your palm against the cold glass, separated by a few steps that might as well be miles, wreckage peering up through the darkness from the bottom of the sea.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fern helps you dress for dinner: a glittering gold gown, a tiger’s eye amulet from Burma. Laenor has brought a companion, one of the Parisians he’s become so well-acquainted with, a count’s son named Hugo. As Laenor is preoccupied, Daemon escorts Rhaenyra to the First-Class Dining Saloon down in D-Deck. They meander together, her arm linked through his, murmuring gossip about the other passengers and snickering contemptuously. You trail behind them, feeling invisible, a sun that casts no warmth.

All around you are other first-class passengers descending the Grand Staircase: Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress two decades his junior, John Jacob Astor and his pregnant eighteen-year-old wife, railroad tycoons Charles M. Hays and John B. Thayer, steel industrialist George Dennick Wick, the glamorous Countess of Rothes, the newly-wealthy Margaret Brown, the eminent journalist W.T. Stead, the White Star Line’s managing director J. Bruce Ismay. But your gaze keeps drifting to Macy’s department store owner Isidor Straus and his wife Ida, neither young, neither beautiful, and yet so evidently devoted to each other. You wonder how that feels; surely nothing like a bruise, a reproach, a back turned to you in the marriage bed.

On the A-Deck landing of the Grand Staircase is the viola player, his horsehair bow gliding over four thick strings to loose an energetic, jubilant song, standing there in his suit that no one else notices is too big for him because they don’t really see him at all. He is less than a fixture of the ship; the first-class passengers marvel at the glass-and-wrought-iron dome overhead and the Neoclassical clock on the wall and even the bronze cherub statue at the base of the steps, but the flesh-and-blood machinery of Titanic wears a sort of camouflage, unremarkable and interchangeable, uncomfortably human. The viola player gives you a wink and a quick, subtle smile as you pass by him, and you smile back. And for a moment, it is like you have a friend aboard the ship, a groundswell of fleeting joy, gratefulness, peace.

Dinner is oysters, salmon with hollandaise, corned ox tongue, chateau potatoes, asparagus soup, Waldorf pudding, other things that you pick at without much interest. You miss Lough Cutra Castle, you miss your parents, you miss Ireland, you miss your life before Daemon Targaryen stalked into it with his ever-glinting green eyes and his talent for making you so desperate to satisfy him. Instead of eating, you mostly drink champagne, draining glasses of it until your cheeks are warm and your thoughts hazy. You look around for the viola player, but he never appears in the First-Class Dining Saloon. Instead, the five-piece string ensemble that welcomed you aboard Titanic yesterday is playing Alexander’s Ragtime Band.

Daemon has invited a guest to share your table, chief designer of the ship Mr. Thomas Andrews. He is gracious and even-tempered, exactly the sort of man Daemon likes to entrap and enchant and have his way with. As you drown in champagne, Daemon tells Mr. Andrews about surviving a hurricane while mining Larimar in the Dominican Republic, domesticating a ring-tailed lemur in Madagascar (Daemon had named it Aegon and kept it on a leash), getting lost for three days in the Australian Outback and resorting to eating snakes and dingoes, bludgeoned to death with rocks and roasted over campfires. Rhaenyra observes all of this with a proud, radiant smile, encouraging Daemon with nods and oddly girlish giggles. Laenor, meanwhile, is chatting with Hugo and paying little attention to anything else. He and Rhaenyra have three young sons back in England, though they resemble Laenor Velaryon far less than they do Harwin Strong, Viserys the Duke of Beaufort’s former Master of the Horse and Rhaenyra’s rumored lover. The virile, dark-haired Harwin Strong was killed last year in an unfortunate riding accident, whereupon Daemon rekindled his previously strained relationship with Rhaenyra in the interests of helping her cope with the loss. As it turned out, Daemon’s niece had grown up to be much the same as he is—daring, sarcastic, charismatic, incorrigible—and as if you didn’t have enough difficulty winning his affection before, now you must compete with his kindred spirit, a golden-haired wildfire only a few years older than you and who Daemon can delightedly torment his estranged brother with by capturing her in his orbit.

Daemon is saying, his elbows on the table and miming clutching a massive gemstone in his palm: “As a famed French fashion critic once wrote, The jewel, which is so well adapted to a woman’s adornment, is a combination of the riches of nature and art.”

“Not just any fashion critic,” you say without thinking, the champagne parting your lips before you can reconsider. “Charles Blanc. And I’m the one who gave you his book, remember? It was one of my wedding presents to you.”

Everyone turns to stare at you, as if abruptly being made aware of your existence. Laenor and Hugo appear puzzled. Rhaenyra is frowning with disapproval. Mr. Andrews nods politely. Daemon, after a moment, chuckles in that low, rolling, sardonic way that he does.

“Yes, dear, you certainly did. Clearly it made an impression.” He looks to Mr. Andrews. “You’ll have to forgive my wife, good sir. I’m afraid she has a weakness for champagne.”

“Don’t we all?” Mr. Andrews replies diplomatically.

“The truth is,” Dameon says as if he’s confiding in the shipbuilder; and yet there’s an exhilaration he can’t entirely disguise, a malicious triumph, proof of the power he has over you. “She’s petrified of sailing, has been for years. And this journey…well…it’s been quite an ordeal for her. But under no uncertain terms was I leaving Ireland without my family. Where I go, we all go.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about your rattled nerves, Lady Targaryen.” Mr. Andrews’ eyes are soft with pity for you, a neurotic and illogical woman, tortured by her own nature. “Is there anything I can say to alleviate your fears? Have you been on a ship that’s run into trouble before?”

“No, no sir, I just…” You push through the warm, amber-gold fog of the champagne to explain. “I’ve never been able to stop thinking of all the water beneath us, and a ship…even one as large and luxurious as Titanic…it seems too vulnerable to me. One puncture and we all go straight to the seafloor.”

“That’s why I built Titanic with watertight bulkheads that go up to E-Deck,” Mr. Andrews says, smiling reassuringly. “There are sixteen total, and the ship can stay afloat with several of them flooded. This is meant to contain any possible breach in the hull.”

“Oh, how ingenious!” Laenor exclaims. “Hugo, isn’t that extraordinary?”

Mr. Andrews continues: “Truly, Lady Targaryen, I have built you an unsinkable ship. You have nothing to worry about here on Titanic.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Daemon agrees.

“And there are lifeboats, I suppose,” you say. “Although…I didn’t see very many up on the Boat Deck. What is their total capacity, I wonder…?”

“Over 1,000 souls, ma’am,” Mr. Andrews replies.

You are horrified. “That’s half the people onboard.”

“Yes,” he concedes. “But as I said, Titanic cannot sink.” Again, he smiles blithely. “Besides, in the event of an evacuation—engine failure or damaged propellers or some such thing—the lifeboats would only be needed to ferry passengers from Titanic to the vessel we’d hail to rescue us with the wireless telegraph machine. The lifeboats were never intended to be able to hold all the passengers at once, that would be absurd.”

“Impossible,” Daemon concurs. “What on earth would necessitate a swift and total evacuation?”

“What about an iceberg?” Hugo says as he eats a heaping spoonful of Waldorf pudding, vanilla custard mixed with nutmeg, apples, walnuts, and raisins.

Mr. Andrews titters patiently, as if this is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. “No iceberg could damage Titanic enough to flood more than three bulkheads. And we have lookouts employed to spot them and sound the alarm so we can turn in time. Icebergs are not a concern whatsoever.”

“Très bien!” Hugo declares, redirecting his full attention back to his Waldorf pudding.

Mr. Andrews looks to you, his voice kind but patronizing. “Do you feel better now, Lady Targaryen?”

“Much better,” you lie.

“Good. Then no more worrying. And no need to drink yourself under the table either.”

Daemon says with a derisive snort: “Well, she is Irish.”

Everyone laughs; everyone but you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Targaryen staterooms, Rush is waiting by the door to take your coats. Laenor and Hugo bid everyone goodnight, then depart; Rhaenyra, seemingly reluctantly, takes her leave as well. She and Laenor have separate accommodations as they always do while travelling, not unheard of among first-class passengers but also not helping to dispel the rumors concerning her sons’ parentage.

Dagmar is perched on one of the sofas like a falcon on a branch, her talonlike fingers knitting a forest green blanket for Draco. Your son, meanwhile, is sprawled on the sitting room floor and at war with Fern, who is trying to coax him out of his shoes and day clothes and into his pajamas.

“Draco, please, my love, it’s time to get ready for bed now—”

“I want to go back to the Gymnasium!” he screeches, wriggling out of her grasp. From the sofa, Dagmar chuckles as if this is charming behavior, a portent of superb athletic fitness, perhaps. “I want to ride the horsey!”

Fern is exasperated. “Darling, the Gymnasium is closed, no one is allowed to use it any more tonight. But I promise you’ll be able to go back tomorrow—”

“No!” Draco shrieks. “Now! Right now!”

Fern finally manages to slip off one of his shoes, and faster than anyone can stop him, Draco draws back his hand and slaps her across the face, open palm, a sharp crack in the air, and of course he’s too young and too weak to do anything but stun her, but he won’t be four years old forever.

One day he’ll be able to hurt people. He’ll be able to break them, bruise them, ruin their lives.

“No!” you shout, then bolt to Draco and drop to the floor to hold him by his frail little shoulders, firm yet careful not to harm him, no scratches, no bruises, no pools of trapped blood that will ache with violent memory. “You never do that! You don’t hurt people! You don’t hit women!”

“Mam?” Draco whimpers, his lips quivering and tears shimmering in his eyes; and he almost never calls you that, he almost never acknowledges you as his mother at all. But he knows, he must, this proves it. “I’m sorry…I won’t do it again…please don’t yell at me…”

Immediately remorseful, you embrace him, and Draco clings to you as he sobs. Fern is watching you with huge, frightened eyes; then they flick to someone standing behind you.

Rush grabs you by both arms and wrenches you away. You yelp in shock and pain; Dagmar swoops in to take Draco and vanishes into his bedroom, glaring at you over her shoulder, frigid lethal fury. Fern is covering her mouth with her hands so she won’t scream.

Rush hurls you to the carpet and backs away. When you look up, Daemon is standing in the doorway of your bedroom, orange dusk-like light spilling out from behind him.

“Come here,” Daemon says, beckoning you with his right hand.

You are terrified; you are shaking. “No.”

“The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

“No,” you say again. You glance at Fern, but she can’t help you; she turns away, stifling a cry with her palms. The room is spinning, your thoughts are slow, your skull aches with rhythmic pulses like blows from a hammer. You peer up at Rush, blinking blearily. “Do you like working for a man who beats his wife?”

Rush doesn’t reply; his face is grave but otherwise unreadable. Fern curls up on the floor, shaking her head. The taxidermied tiger head roars silently from above the crackling fireplace.

Daemon says from the doorway: “Dear, I’m losing my patience.”

There’s nowhere else to go. You crawl towards him, then at the halfway point stagger to your feet. Daemons steps aside so you can cross through the threshold. He closes the door and locks it. You stare at him, swaying a bit, your hands hovering in front of you. You’re trying to figure out where he’s going to hit you, but he’s good at not letting on, and you’re drunk. You guess stomach, but it’s your face, just like Draco struck Fern; his open palm sets your cheek on fire and rocks your head back. You lunge for him, fingers clawing and knuckles jabbing at his ribs. Sometimes you fight back and sometimes you don’t—occasionally he finds it endearing and leaves you alone, more often it exacerbates the situation—but tonight you are overwhelmed with wrath for this man who has taken everything from you, your home, your parents, your son, your future.

You shove Daemon into his writing desk, then he pins you to the wall, slides open a drawer of the desk with his free hand, pulls out his gemstone-studded dagger and lays the blade against your windpipe. And you scream, because for all his roughness and his threats Daemon has never done this before. No one appears to rescue you; no one would dare.

“You will not correct Draco,” Daemon says. “He is my son, and I will deal with him.”

You seethe, teeth bared: “I don’t want him to be like you.”

“Think about it, dear,” Daemon hisses, the blade cold against your throat. You can feel it stinging, a thin slice like a papercut you’ll have to cover with makeup tomorrow. “We’re on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. If you were to take a tumble over the railing, who could say if it was an accident or a suicide or a crime of opportunity committed by some third-class scoundrel? There would be nothing to investigate. You would be gone, and that would be the end of it. Draco is past the fragile years of infancy, he is healthy and he is fierce. Your father’s quarry is already under the control of my managers. What do I need you for now? Why the fuck would I tolerate any further obstinance from you? Your usefulness has come and gone. You stand on the thinnest of ice. One wrong step, and you’ll find it splintering beneath your feet.”

He lifts the dagger away and strides out of the bedroom. You stand there in the tawny lamplight like a sunset, trembling all over, gasping for air, your hands flying up to your neck. When you check your fingers, they are sticky and copper-smelling with a small amount of blood.

He could have killed me. I think he wanted to.

There is a tall oval mirror by the bed, its frame gilded and glowing in the ochre lamplight. You stare at yourself, tears flooding down your cheeks, a gold dress worth more than you are. Everything you own is Daemon’s. That will be true for as long as he lives.

You flee out onto the small private deck attached to your rooms, through the back exit, and into the labyrinthian hallways of B-Deck. You run towards the stern of the ship, dodging stewards who ask if you need assistance and men sauntering back from the First-Class Smoking Room after dinner, puffing on their pipes and their cigars, nursing stout glasses of brandy to keep them warm. When you break out into the open air, it is bitterly cold. The ocean is a vast lightless void; you could mistake it for nothingness if it wasn’t for the thunderous rumble and salt spray of the waves. Your gleaming gold dress billows around you as you sprint to the metal railing that encloses the stern, grip the top rung with shaking hands, stare down into the roiling depths churned by the propellers.

Where can I go? There’s nowhere to go. There’s nowhere else to run to.

“Hey,” the viola player says; you recognize his voice immediately.

You turn away, not wanting him to see the swelling on your face, the traces of blood at your throat. You are heartbroken, you are humiliated. You agreed to marry a man and now he’s ruined your life. You wrap your bare arms around yourself and sniffle, shivering, swiping tears from your eyes.

After a while, the viola player says cautiously, realizing you aren’t in the mood for disclosures: “It’s cold tonight.”

“Obviously.”

He takes off his black wool coat, presumably stolen like the suit he wears underneath, and offers it to you. “I have more layers on.”

“I don’t want you to be cold.”

“Please shut up and take the coat, okay?” You accept it and put it on, and instantly you begin to feel better. The viola player asks gently: “Does he hit you?”

You shrug, petulant like a child. “Sometimes I hit him back.”

The viola player sighs, but he’s not just disappointed; he’s saddened, he’s pained. “Look, I know what it’s like to get knocked around. That’s why I left home.”

You remember what he told you when you first realized he’d followed you onto Titanic: I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit. “Why would you ever want to see them again?”

“Things are different now. I’m older, I’m not afraid to walk out and be on my own, I’m confident that I can advocate for myself better than before. And they aren’t all bad. I have…” He hesitates. “I have two brothers and a sister in New York, and I miss them.”

“What are their names?”

“Um,” he stops to think. Clearly he’s making them up. “Arnold, Henrietta, and Dean.”

“Do you actually have siblings or is this some sort of metaphor?”

He laughs. “No, they’re real. The names might not be, but the people are. Want to see your painting?”

“You were serious?”

He carefully pulls it out of the brown leather portfolio he’s carrying under one arm. And if it’s supposed to be you, he’s failed, but still the image is mesmerizing: a young woman—too beautiful, far too beautiful—glancing over at him from where she was pondering the waves under a clear midday sky, her hair in disarray from the wind and her eyes fearful, an oil-paint snapshot of desperation, defenselessness, wonder, hope.

“It’s very nice,” you say at last. “But I don’t look like that.”

“Yeah you do.”

You examine the bottom right corner of the painting to see what he’s named you. You skim your thumbprint feather-lightly over black cursive letters, drawn with the smallest of brushes. “Petra,” you murmur.

The viola player says self-consciously, as if hoping you’ll approve: “It’s Greek for rock.”

You smile faintly. “I know what it means.”

“Oh, fancy rock lady took Greek lessons in school.”

“Of course I did.”Greek, Latin, French, Irish Gaelic. You muse softly, still studying the painting: “Petra and Picasso.”

You don’t have to look at him; you can hear the grin in his voice. “Guess we’re friends now, huh?”

“I’ve never had a poor friend before.”

“Well, firstly, you can’t call me your poor friend. That’s offensive.”

With great unwillingness, you surrender the painting and give it back to the viola player. “I can’t keep this. I’m sorry, I want to. But Daemon might find it.” And then he’ll push me overboard and I’ll be dinner for the sharks.

He tucks the painting safely into his portfolio. “I’ll hold onto it for now.”

“Forever, you mean.”

“You might not always have to worry about Daemon.”

You share a dark, horrible truth: “I’ll never be free of him.”

“We’ll see,” the viola player replies, undaunted.

We’ll see.

[kyri45]

✨ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU Q&A ✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the ISAT Sky: Cotl!AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: sometimes when im bored i just go to your profile to position your pfp to siffrin's hands so it looks like they're holding you

I feel threatened bc if Siffrin would know what I'm making them pass through with the next comic updates he would crush me insteantly with a fist.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Damn Siffrin is dying and no one will ever remember them. 😔 Oh Loo~ooop!

Loop coming to save the day even tough they aren't paid enough for this shit

Anonimo Siffrin isn't aware of the hole in the wall you can go through for those two statues without having to get pelted by rocks smh my head. (said jokingly) ((Love your comic btw!! Thank you for this AU, I love it))

THE

WHAT?

YOU CAN GO THROUGH A WALL TO GET THEM WITHOUT RUNNING FOR YOUR LIFE?????

Anonimo My reaction to this chapter of ISAT COTL CROSSOVER AU (10/9/2024) GO BBG YOU GOT THIS IN THE BAG!! OH YOU DO NOT GOT THIS IN THE BAG.. oh now you're out of the bag oh god ruh roh

Oh yeah he does NOT have this.

Anonimo pst hey hey are you gonna pose the statues, it would be funny i swear totally not more heartbreaking for siffr- WAIT HOW WOULD THEY REACT TO THE FACT YOU CAN BARELY SAVE ALL OF THE STATUES WHEN YOU REACH THE FOREVER STORM PART-

he has enough memories that he should recover a good amount of statues. It's not a matter of wheter or not he can save everyone, but mostly themself....

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hey so I cannot believe I am so late to see your ISAT and Sky AU because I love!! Both of them!! So much!! And I just wanted to thank you for making it and sharing it with us because it’s really cool! And both fandoms need more attention imo <333 @ucorpwhalingyaoi ha chiesto: I know NOTHING about cotl but my god your isat au of it has made me want to play it so bad 💔 (very /pos…) @primrosechronicles ha chiesto: HEYYYY ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE IVE SENT AN ASK!! Ive been silently reading the isat comic since my last ask and im very very proud of you for making this far!!! mwahh!!! Thank you for inspiring me to play sky again, cuz if not i wouldn't have able to meet my sky friends Anonimo ha chiesto: first of all, I came here from the shadowpeach au but your comics dragged my ass to the ISAT fandom second of all, HOW DARE YOU PLAYED WITH MY HAPPINESS LIKE THAT (love your art and story telling, I wanna eat it like a fancy dinner) @prince0fghosty ha chiesto: It's been hard for me to find Sky: Children of the Light content anywhere! I found you through a friend and not only are you interested in Sky but also Lego Monkie Kid this is truly the best day ever!!! I got back into the game because of you. I like to help moths out in Eden @phoenix-is-here ha chiesto: You are the person who introduced me to the ISAT fandom and I gotta say thank you for that. That's one of the best games I've ever played and I would have never known about it without stumbling onto your account first (because of a strong hyperfixation on a show about monkeys ofc) so.. Accept this virtual cookie and glass of milk as a gift : 🍪 Anonimo ha chiesto: I followed for the shadowpeach, stayed for Sky CotL, keep cookin

HIII!!! AND TYSM!!!!!

@elianaroselight ha chiesto: This feels a little silly, but what is ISAT? I read through your ISAT Sky AU comic and I feel like I am missing half of the story. I love what I'm seeing so far and want more, but I also don't know or completely understand who the characters are and why I should care about them (more than I do already at least). Sorry if this is silly. I just want to understand.

ISAT is short for "In Stars And Time". It's an RPG game made by @insertdisc5. ABsolutely go check it out otherwise you wont understand a thing about the characters of the AU!

when i was reading the most recent page of the In Skies and Time™️ comic I had the most hilarious image in my head of just a bunch of sky kids smacking down on the same area and making this. sky kid pileup????? [since it seems liek theyre all gonna come back like that..] it was super funny to imagine 30 CAR PILEUP 🔥🔥🔥

AWWW SKY KID MOUNTAIN!! Lol probably it would happen? Like when you do Eden just after reset and when you get reborn there's like 7 other players clipped in you rebirth animation in the aviary /home space

Anonimo ha chiesto: Awwwww Bonnie was so excited 😢

poor Bonnie they will get their comfort moment eventually

@sohrleas ha chiesto: YOU YOU'RE THE REASON WHY I got Sky 'cause I saw your isat sky au and got super curious about the game Your art is beautiful and I love it 💚💚💚

LET'S FUCKING GOOOOOO!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: HOPEFUL STEWARD WOOOOO-

IT'S MY BOY!!

@o0mochacoffee0o This isn’t related to you Bio dad AU Like my usuals- I just saw in your abut that you like CotL! Now you share two of my interests!! I’m curious to know your favorite parts of the game, if you have any ships, head canons, etc!! I always love listening to people’s opinions on things I love!

About Scotl? I don't have any specific headcanon, but I do ship Moments Guide and Reassuring Ranges. The only thing that I crave for that game is MORE LORE GODDAMN IT

Anonimo ha chiesto: When I said the fun was dying. I did not expected this. I'M SCREAMING AND PUNCHING THE BED NOOOOOOOOOOOO SIFFF

*sips coffee* welcome to hell (literally)

Anonimo ha chiesto: "is that thing a sadness?!" sweet summer child that thing is a menace of death

It absolutely is

Anonimo ha chiesto: Poor Siffrin’s gotta be absolutely TERRIFIED Big scary beast thing spotted them AND suddenly getting bathed in the color they associate with bad stuff? I can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be quaking in their boots.

He is in desperate need of comfort that wont come in like- a irl month I think

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know you won’t be doing the golden wastelands but… Once the party discovers that the groundwater has the same effect as the forest rain, Isabeau decides to bridal carry Siffrin the whole way. Leaving Siffrin a blushy mess. Also, almost if not everyone is scared shitless of the Dark Dragons/Krill (totally not projecting)

ooooohh that is soooo cute i'm dying!!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: THE FAKE ACT 4 LOOKING SMILE . THE ACT 5 EDEN MOMENT. THE PARTY BEING SENT BACK . DIES "oh yeah if I still have energy I can loop back" ← me when I'm lying

@starlight-and-clockwork ha chiesto: bawling and kicking and screaming and pulling my hair out THAT PANEL OF SIFFRIN ASKING HIS FAMILY TO REMEMBER HIM WILL HAUNT ME FOREVER YOU ARE SO TALENTED AND CAUSE ME MUCH PAIN THANK U<3

@aro-aces-world ha chiesto: I just caught up with ISAT sky au Fuck you /affectionate

Thank you! Be ready to be even more destroyed by the following updates!

@cherryblossomventi ha chiesto: I’m gonna go feral, Sif did that because he knows he can kinda come back from this with the shooting star thing Im guessing but the others cant/might not because they aren’t from this land,,, oh buddy why didn’t you tell them stop being cryptic idiot

Sif doesn't really remember that he can be reborn like in Sky. He knows only that, if he can reach the light right at the base of the cataclysm, then maybe he can return as well.

[stebeans]

Arcane F1AU

Sexy time abounds y'all

Warnings: explicit sex, g!p Caitlyn [has a penis]

Can be considered canon-adjacent to my F1AU-verse. These flings still happen in the F1AU...just you know, without the dick if that's your fancy. Just wanted to write g!p Caitlyn landing all the girls (OC's)

Filth. Just utter filth.

Takes place year 4 of Caitlyn's F1 career but first year with Hextech Petronas, end of season after she won the 25' world driver's championship. Exploring Caitlyn's off track relationships and flings.

She's a Lady Killer - Part 1

The Actress

For a person of her celebrity acclaim, under the constant gun and scrutiny of the public eye, Caitlyn Kiramman's personal relationships was skillfully and thoroughly hidden under wraps. Sure there had been the occasional rumors of budding romances with a handful of equally well-known names that the general public ate up but nothing was ever proven concrete.

Standing on the red carpet was like as if Caitlyn had strapped a target right over her chest. It might as well have flashing lights and sirens that announced anyone within a fifty-foot vicinity that she was in a relationship of sorts - complete opposite to her usual smoke and mirrors act reserved towards her casual dalliances.

Dressed to the nines in a custom-made Valentino suit, a navy blue that was almost black with cleverly floral embellishments sewn within the lapels that blended in with the silk material, Caitlyn wore it like it was armor. A deftly tied matching silk bowtie sat snugly around her neck as she posed for the cameras, her hand resting casually around the waist of a blonde-haired bombshell who just so happened to be the woman of the hour at the world premier of the latest blockbuster film.

Rarely did a woman ever exceed Caitlyn in height but the woman standing next to her, so close they might as well been one person, happened to rock four-inch high heels, which brought her a couple inches taller than Caitlyn's own six-foot frame.

"Miss Rivers! How long have you and Miss Kiramman been coupled?"

"Miss Rivers! I'm with the Piltover Times. Can you please state your official relationship with Miss Kiramman on record?"

A grin grew across the blonde's features as reporters shouted out questions regarding her date rather than her blockbuster movie. "Darling, looks like you've stolen my show." She teased with the corner of her lips as she tilted her head and flashed the crowd her, quite literally, award winning smile.

The hand at her hip tightening marginally beneath the skintight red gown that was absolutely sinful, just toeing the line of indecent. "Nonsense. I assure you, all eyes are on you tonight. You look absolutely ravishing. They'd be insane to look anywhere but at you."

"Flatterer." The blonde actress quipped, but felt her stomach flutter at the compliment, allowing Caitlyn to gently guide her further down the carpet, stopping to pose every now and again, ignoring the wild speculations the reporters were pelting them with. All other interests regarding the cast or the movie itself has taken a back seat to the latest development that quite frankly, had taken everyone off guard. Caitlyn Kiramman, for all they knew, did not have relationships. And if she did, she certainly did not flaunt them.

They were nearing the entrance of the building when one last reporter shouted "Miss Kiramman, over here please! Is Lola Conners aware of this development? Sources say you were caught in a lip lock with the supermodel just hours after your race win securing your world championship title in your very first year with Hextech Petronas! I assume congratulations are in order." The reporter smirked behind the multiple flashes, leaving the last statement vague enough to question what exactly he had been congratulating Caitlyn on.

The actress was no stranger to the rumors surrounding the Kiramman heir, star driver of famed Hextech Petronas who had been making waves all season long with win after hard-earned win. She had heard the hushed speculations and gossip within her celebrity circle that the young Kiramman often left a string of broken hearts in her path. She had known of Caitlyn's womanizer reputation, often claiming her career was at the forefront to deal with long term relationships, even when she had asked her agent to reach out to Caitlyn's own people to set up an innocent coffee date months ago, the timing suspiciously close to the last race and cover story "lip lock" with said model.

A foreign sensation fell over the actress as she noticed the reddening of Caitlyn's ears from the corner of her eye. Besides the reddened ear that only she had seemed to notice, Caitlyn appeared valiantly composed despite the onslaught of personal questions. Not just a lip lock it seems, the actress thought resentfully, despite knowing that the aforementioned lip lock happened far before they established a relationship.

Very vaguely she realized it was jealousy she was feeling, something she wasn't used to feeling as she had everything at her fingertips. Money, cars, fame and currently it was Caitlyn's arms she was wrapped around for the world to see. Even she knew that was a big step for the world champion driver.

Ignoring the press around her, the actress tilted her head slightly to meet expressive blue eyes. They held a look of questioning but as the actress hesitated, Caitlyn seemed to understand the actress's silent question and pulled her in closer by the hips. Soft lips brushed against her cheek in comfort and the actress heard the frenzied clicking as cameras went off wildly around them. She could only imagine the headlines that would follow tomorrow morning but she didn't care as she embraced the claiming kiss on her cheek.

Later that night

"Jealous, were you darling?" Caitlyn teased which quickly morphed into a long low moan as the actress above her sunk heavily down onto her cock.

Ignoring the jest, the actress continued her rise and fall, chasing her release that she was just on the cusp on. She could feel it. She was right there. Her inner walls quivered, spilling wave after wave of slick down the hardness within her and across Caitlyn's thighs. The wet echoes of their joining was just downright dirty. She whined pitifully as she sunk down once more, her legs weakened but unable to surrender to her release, the girth within her much too thick for her to fully contract against.

They had barely made it past the threshold of the hotel room before the actress was jerking the clothes off of Caitlyn in hasty desperate movements, instantly molding herself along the athletic frame of the world champion driver and caputuring her lips in a passionate lock. Now this was a lip lock worthy of headlines, she had thought absentmindedly.

She had already come once, right there against the door with deft fingers working her over. Another as they relocated to the california king sized bed where Caitlyn had ate her out like a woman starved until she spilled into her awaiting mouth. And now she had taken charge, flipping Caitlyn onto her back before mounting her erect cock. The Hextech driver wielded a length that suited her tall frame with a deceptively thick girth that betrayed the driver's leanness which had surprised her the first time they had fell into bed. How the driver managed to hide all that within her racing suit was a world wonder.

She paused, leaning forward to rest her hands against defined collarbones, twisting and grinding against the rock hard member within her. The actress whimpered distressingly, still unable to finish and Caitlyn, ever the consummate lover, noticed immediately and rose to wrap the actress in her arms. "Here. Allow me." Caitlyn whispered before twisting to reposition the actress carefully beneath her.

Hooking her arms beneath the actress's long lean legs, she settled them upon her sturdy shoulders as she lifted the actress's hips just slightly off the bed, meticulously adjusting the pliable body - as if it were putty in her hands - to a position which she knew would be infinitely pleasant for the blonde.

Already the actress could feel Caitlyn pressing deeper and against the spongy spot within her warm depths. "Relax, let me do the work." Caitlyn instructed before her hips took off, catching the actress off guard.

"Fuuuuuuck!" The actress moaned long and loud from the unrelenting battering against her sensitive g-spot that past lovers and even toys had a hard time finding. Caitlyn didn't seem to have a problem though. She pushed against it like a woman possessed.

Her mind went blank, ears ringing as all senses focused on her pussy and the most pleasurable ravishing it was receiving. Her hands twisted in the sheets beneath her, head tilted back and back arched as she received the fucking of a lifetime. "Harder! Fuck me harder!" She screamed, uncaring if the occupants in the hotel room next door, or fuck, if the whole building, could hear.

Ignoring the burning muscles of her abs, Caitlyn continued her onslaught, hands gripping slim hips tightly as she pulled the woman closer, hilting deeper than ever and eliciting a cry of pleasure that bounced off the walls.

"Yes, yes, YES!" The actress cried out, her body shaking as her pussy tightened and swallowed the long, girthy cock selfishly.

"That's it." Caitlyn panted, leaning over to hover over the actress, hips driving hard and deep, just railing the blonde into the bed. "Let it go darling. Cum for me. I want to feel you cum around my cock."

The low raspy voice and the pistoning cock was her undoing. "I'M CUMMING!" the actress screamed, her pussy finally, finally reaching the edge and diving headlong over it.

Letting out a grunt, Caitlyn gritted her teeth and forced herself to hold on, feeling the wet walls close so tight around her cock she was so sure she was going to release as well. Thrusting gingerly, Caitlyn rocked slowly into the blonde, prolonging the actress's much needed orgasm.

When the twitching of the pussy she was seated fully within finally resided, Caitlyn carefully withdrew, watching as the actress's fluids rush out now that she was no longer plugged by her fat dick. Groaning at the picture perfect pussy, Caitlyn ripped off the condom and jerked herself once, twice, three times before erupting across the blonde's stomach and chest, painting the round firm breasts with her white milky cum.

Despite the tiredness that settled in her bones after that intense fucking, the actress rested a hand on Caitlyn's sharp jawline. "Come here." She requested softly, voice hoarse from all the screaming.

Carefully, Caitlyn removed the legs from her shoulders, laying them on the bed with a gentle pat before shuffling up along the long lean body until her slowly leaking cock was hovering just over the red lip-sticked lips, glossy and perfect still from the red carpet event.

Unable to help herself, Caitlyn rubbed her cock against those perfect lips, dick twitching as she ruined the carefully applied lipstick, watching it smudge against the flared head of her cock to re-apply a layer of pearly white cum instead.

The blonde's tongue darted out, capturing as much cum as she could as she licked at the leaking head until a renewed heat simmering low in her belly rushed through her body. On the next lazy thrust, she tilted her head just enough to seize the blunt head inside her mouth.

"Oh fuck, darling!" Caitlyn grunted out, pushing herself past the ruby red lips until she hit the back of the blonde's throat, pulling back halfway out as the actress slightly gagged at her length. "Shit. I'm sorry." Caitlyn apologized, gently caressing the actress's cheek and inadvertently feeling the outline of her bulge on the other side.

Her cock twitched at the feeling and she felt pre-cum or maybe it was still cum from her last release, leak into the hot wet mouth. The actress immediately swallowed and leaned back to look Caitlyn square in the eye.

"Fuck. I don't care if I gag or choke on your big cock. Just use me!"

Blue eyes flashed with heat and desire, long fingers twisting to grasp a handful of blonde locks before she was thrusting deeply once more into the cavern of the actress's mouth. Her full, large balls slapped against the blonde's chin with every plunge. The moaning, the gurgling, the wet balls slapping against skin, the occasional gagging was down right indecent. And now, the rhythmic thumping of the headboard knocking against the wall joined the cacophony of sex noises that filled the room as Caitlyn's free hand clamped down tightly on the headboard.

Neither woman seemed to be currently aware of the ruckus they were causing but the next morning when the front receptionist was red in the face and unable to look them in the eye as they checked-out, only than did they realize just how fucking loud they were. A wave of embarrassment rushed over them as they politely bartered for the young woman's silence. It was easy enough, a couple photos, signed autographs and a promise to be more...considerate to other guests the next time they checked-in. The two couldn't leave the hotel fast enough.

"I'm close." Caitlyn growled out, her hips churning, taking the actress's claim to use her to heart.

Long, crescent, perfectly manicured fingernails dug into her ass, forcing the cock to seat deep within the blonde's mouth and Caitlyn unloaded once more with a roar, her dick twitching wildly as she shot wave after wave of cum down the actress's throat. It was so much that it began to leak out from the corner of the ruby lips, not to denounce the actress's gallant attempt to swallow every drop. Caitlyn withdrew, finishing off the last few spurts upon the blonde's face.

"Fuck." Caitlyn heaved, dropping to lie down next to the actress, who was pulling in air just as much as Caitlyn, if not more. "Jealousy looks good on you."

TBC

Previously:

She's a Lady Killer - Pt. 2

F1 Caitlyn Headcanon:

https://www.tumblr.com/stebeans/769238244811505664/arcane-f1au-my-headcanon?source=share

Caitlyn's F1 Interview :

https://www.tumblr.com/stebeans/770436973830848512/arcane-f1au?source=share

[nimbusclan]

Moon 4

[Previous] [Start] [Next]

Happy New Year!

///

“We would've had our warrior ceremony by now.”

Fogpaw groans at his sister, pushing past her as they climb higher up the mountain, paws farther from their territory than they've ever been. The terrain and the scents are unfamiliar and the rock is hot under their paws, baking in the greenleaf sun. They can’t go back, so they press on. “Don't start with that. I'm not in the mood for reminiscing right now.”

“No, no, listen to me.” Moonpaw bounds ahead of her brother, cutting him off and leaping atop a large rock. She puffs her chest out, head held high. “It's been twelve moons since our kitting, right? That means we should have our warrior ceremonies.”

Fogpaw eyes her dubiously, but Moonpaw spies the small smile that creeps across his muzzle. She grins, feeling flush with victory.

“What do you think Pitchstar would’ve chosen for our warrior names?”

“Why don't we pick them ourselves?” Moonpaw’s tail wags playfully. Fun and ceremony like this feels sorely needed after their long, lonesome travel. It's been four moons since their camp caved in and the two of them were forced to head out on their own. It's about time they have some fun. “I'll pick a name and you can name me,” Moonpaw says, patting the rock she stands atop with a paw, “and then we swap – I'll give you the name you pick.”

“Okay,” Fogpaw laughs. “I want to do yours first. What's your warrior name going to be?”

“Moonpool.”

“You didn't even have to think about it?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Moonpaw says, and it’s true, she has. She’s had a long, boring few moons to mull it over in her mind. “Okay, swap with me, give me my name!”

Laughing, the apprentices trade places, Moonpaw hopping down from the rock so Fogpaw can scramble atop it and look down at his sister.

“I, Fogpaw of NimbusClan, call upon my warrior ancestors to look down upon– what're the words?”

Moonpaw rolls her eyes. He should have let her go first. “Look down on this apprentice,” Moonpaw recites easily. She's been looking forward to this since her nursery days. It’s not anything like how she dreamed it would be, but having Fogpaw smiling down at her makes the unorthodox celebration worth it. “They have trained hard to understand the ways of your noble code, and I commend them to you as a warrior in their turn.”

“Wow, you seriously have that memorized?”

Moonpaw carries on, ignoring him. “Do you promise to uphold the warrior code and to protect and defend your Clan, even at the cost of your life?”

“Well, do you?” Fogpaw leans down on the rock, gesturing to Moonpaw.

Emotion swells in Moonpaw’s chest. “I do.”

Fogpaw smiles warmly at her and sits upright. “Then by the powers of StarClan, I give you your warrior name. Moonpaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Moonpool.” Fogpaw cocks his head at her, a considering expression on his face. “StarClan honors you for your judgment. We welcome you as a full warrior of NimbusClan.”

Fogpaw leaps down from the rock to rest his muzzle atop Moonpool's head and she licks his shoulder in turn, eyes misty with emotion.

“Thank you,” She whispers when he pulls back.

He grins at her. “Don't get sappy just yet, you have to do mine now!”

“Right, right, okay.” Moonpool hops up onto the rock, the greenleaf sun warming her shoulder blades. “Did you think of a name?”

Fogpaw's eyebrows draw down in thought. “Hmm…”

“How about Fogfreckle?” Moonpool suggests, pointing at him with her tail. “On account of your markings?”

He looks over his shoulder at his dappled pelt. “Okay. Yeah, I like it.” He turns back to smile up at her. “Fogfreckle it is.”

Moonpool grins, then draws in a deep breath and recites the ceremonial words once more.

“By the powers of StarClan, I grant you your warrior name. Fogpaw, from this moment on, you will be known as Fogfreckle.” She watches as Fogfreckle swells with determination. Her eyes shine, and she continues without hesitation. “StarClan honors your courage. We welcome you as a full warrior of NimbusClan.”

She hops down to rest her muzzle atop Fogfreckle's head, and then both cats tip their heads back and bellow across the mountain.

“Moonpool! Fogfreckle! Moonpool! Fogfreckle!”

Filled to the brim with excitement and ceremony, the pair of them chase each other around the mountain, laughing and leaping at each other and wrestling across the warm ground.

“So, are we going to stand vigil?” Fogfreckle asks, panting with exertion from their play fight.

“Stand vigil where? We don't have a camp to guard.”

“Wherever we find to sleep tonight,” Fogfreckle shrugs, a smooth roll of his shoulders under sun-warmed fur. “We can take turns, like with the names. I'll guard you first, and then you can guard me. We're warriors of NimbusClan, and we protect each other.”

Moonpool smiles at him, having to fight back the beginning prickle of emotion behind her eyes. “Pitchstar would be proud of you, you know. Not only as your mentor, but as leader.”

Fogfreckle grins at her. “You basically mentored me the rest of the way.”

“Me?” Moonpool is surprised, her eyes widening. “Hardly! You didn't need any of my help,” she laughs.

“I learned a lot from you. I'm still the better hunter,” he adds without an ounce of modesty, and Moonpool laughs and throws her shoulder against his, “but I don't think I could've done this without you by my side. You’re… I really look to you for guidance. I probably would've been killed by those cats if you hadn't come to rescue me on the border that day. You're more… you think first, which I’ll admit I don’t always do. You'd make a good leader, I think.”

Moonpool is shocked, embarrassed, but nonetheless pleased. “Come on. I got scared by a mouse earlier. That's hardly leadership material.”

Fogfreckle shrugs, but he's smiling. “Leaders can always use a bit of humility. Either way, you'll make a great warrior, Moonpool.” His smile turns teasing. “Especially with me by your side.”

She knocks her head against his affectionately and then races up the mountain, calling after him to chase her.

[Previous] [Start] [Next]

[yuesya]

Every child born in Mondstadt has heard the stories: That beasts are the enemy of humans, monstrous beings that will eagerly tear flesh from bone and revel in bloodshed. It’s why they must be grateful for Lord Decarabian’s protection, for the god had granted sanctuary to those who sought to escape from the gaping maws of voracious beasts.

But Ventus finds that the truth is not entirely as the stories say.

…

It had been difficult, finding a way to escape through the eternal wind barrier. But Ventus had been left with little choice. There was no word from Knight-Captain Kairos who’d promised to directly petition Lord Decarabian, and Ventus couldn’t just sit on his hands and do nothing.

If the key to dispelling the wind barriers lies in resolving the age-old conflict between man and beast, then they need to address the root of the issue at its source.

Ventus needed to travel to Wolvendom, the frozen land of running wolves, ruled by Andrius the King of Beasts.

‘Suicidal’ and ‘mad’ were the terms that Gunnhildr used to describe him, before she stubbornly insisting on following him. Someone needs to keep an eye out for a reckless idiot like you. Were it not for Barbatos, they would’ve been ripped to shreds the moment they set foot into the wind barrier –Ventus still doesn’t know how they managed to make it through in one piece, honestly.

… But somehow, they made it.

Wolvendom was different from what they imagined. There was a wild air to it all, but it wasn’t a land of lawless slaughter and cruelty. Ventus has seen both the ruthless manner in which enemies were left to bleed out on the ground, and the fierce loyalty of pack and family.

Ventus has always known Decarabian as the Hunter. But among the wolves, Decarabian is the Slayer.

“You. Children of Slayer. Not welcome.”

Decarabian kills any beast that trespasses upon Mondstadt territory. Yet much to Ventus’ astonishment, there are humans in Wolvendom. Humans who’d been abandoned as children, and raised by wolves. Which… leaves a complicated feeling in his chest, but also a tremulous thread of hope.

Maybe, there’s a way for peaceful coexistence between man and beast.

…

It’s not easy to earn the wolves’ trust, but in the end, Ventus and his friends stand before the Dominator of Wolves. A towering, majestic wolf, with a midnight-blue pelt, that stands within a cavern of ice as its throne. The pressure that it exudes is heavy and suffocating, and there is a single instant when Ventus almost thinks that the god is about to kill them on the spot before listening to a single word they have to say.

“Ventus. Friend. Want to talk.”

Claw steps in front of them protectively, speaking on their behalf –and is very nearly branded a traitor for it.

But they manage to prove themselves, both in strength and resolve, and the god allows them to speak.

Ventus talks about his desire for peace, cooperation, a brighter future. Idealistic, perhaps, but the ongoing war between the gods benefits no one. Mondstadt slowly withers from isolation behind the wind barrier, while Wolvendom is gradually, quietly freezing to death. Ventus had met Claw when his pack was in the midst of fending off a rival pack that sought to claim their territory for the fire-rock cave that they possessed.

The wolf god’s lip curls.

You speak on behalf of your god, seeking peace?

“Er…” Ventus awkwardly scratches his head. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission, I guess? But Lord Decarabian has ever acted to the benefit of the people, and I am certain that it is only the still-present threat of war that causes them to–”

Foolish, ignorant child of man. On behalf of the wolf-children whose trust and goodwill you have earned, I will enlighten you: The god that currently rules Mondstadt... is not Decarabian.

[eggrollforyou]

Under The Mistletoe 

Zoro x F!reader

WC: 1405

CW: nothing but fluff here! 

A/N: with all the adorable holiday themed fics being posted, I couldn't resist posting a sweet fic stealing a kiss from my favorite swordsman. As usual, barely proofread 😅. Enjooooyyy!!!! Happy holidays everyone! 💚

The crew was buzzing around the Sunny, finishing up last minute decorating, wrapping gifts, and basking in the holiday cheer. Luffy wanted to go to a Winter island to celebrate Christmas, “Aw, c'mon Nami! You can't have Christmas without SNOOOOW,” he yelled as Nami massaged her temples, trying to deal with the headache of navigating to an island in the Grand Line that had a winter climate in such a short amount of time. 

Nami being Nami though, she pulled it off. The Sunny was anchored off the coast of an island blanketed in snow. It was always amazing to you the diversity of islands on the Grand Line. How could you be on a tropical island one day and literally sailing for 2 days, you'd end up in a Winter wonderland like this; snowy peaks, evergreens 20 feet high, and practically 4 feet of snow everywhere. 

When you joined the crew, everyone was welcoming and made you feel right at home. But Zoro, it took him a while to warm up, if you could call it that at the time. What seemed as bristled annoyance, then shifted to indifference, and that slowly morphed into a quiet friendship. You'd spent hours talking his ear off about anything and everything as he polished his swords, worked out, tried to nap. At first he was annoyed that you never seemed to leave him alone but he soon found himself missing your company if your attention was focused elsewhere. So, slowly he started inviting you to join him, “I'm going to sharpen my swords, you comin’?” with a grunt. Over time, you began to wiggle your way into his heart but he didn't know how to move forward with that. He was unsure how you felt about him. Despite how much time you spent together, he noticed he got no special treatment from you. You were just as silly and talkative with the rest of the crew. He had a goal in mind though, he couldn't afford to be distracted. He needed to help Luffy become the King of the Pirates and he needed to become the world's greatest swordsman, was there place for love in that? 

Little did he know that you immediately wanted to get to know Zoro more. Of all the crew, he was the toughest one to crack. You thought trying to spend time with him he'd eventually open up. At first, you had reservations, surely you were annoying him. But you continued being your unabashed, silly self. As time wore on, he finally let his guard down and seemed to enjoy your company. Your stomach would fill with butterflies when he started asking for you to join him. You both eventually found a rhythm and were practically inseparable. Zoro made it a point to teach you meditation though. “Woman, you talk too much. C’mon, we're gonna meditate.” 

And from there, your friendship grew. His affection for you much more quietly than your own. While you never thought you were trying to make your friendship anything more than it was, the rest of the crew clearly saw it. Robin and Nami were always grilling you about it, asking if you were ever going to make a move. But you found comfort in the routine you both had built and didn't want to rock the boat. You had family with this crew and feared if your affections weren't reciprocated, it would only complicate things. So you just left it be. 

Robin and Nami came back from a little shopping excursion in the small village by the coast. You, Zoro, Luffy, and Usopp wrapped up decorating and decided to extend some decorations down off the coast, setting up Christmas lights around a makeshift fire pit. Taking a break you decided to play in the snow with Usopp and Luffy. Pelting each other with snowballs, making snowmen, and snow angels while Zoro gathered firewood close by. “Hey Nami, Robin! Get a nice haul?” you laughed as you sat up next to Usopp from making your most recent snow angels. Nami walked by excitedly carrying two armfuls of bags as Robin smiled warmly at you, carrying a much more reasonable amount of stuff. “Oh my, it was quite fun. I managed to grab a couple last minute decorations as well,” Robin replied as she held up a smaller bag. Unbeknownst to you, Nami gave a glance to Zoro and tilted her head to Robin, raising an eyebrow and grinning widely. Zoro stood up straight, staring tight-lipped in return. What the hell has that witch done? He thought to himself. He begrudgingly asked for Nami’s help in finding a gift for you, not wanting to go further into debt with her, he agreed to give her free reign to pick it if it wasn't going to add to his debt. But he has no idea what she was planning. By the way she looked at him, he realized he may have made a mistake. As they walked past, Robin gave him a warm smile though it wasn't as devious as Nami’s, as she hinted that the small bag contained whatever the source of his current stress. He exhaled a clipped breath he didn't realize he was holding, the evidence of it fogging in front of him, and saw you getting tackled into a snow drift by Luffy, both of you disappearing into the snow. Your combined laughter and shrieking shaking him out of his nerves and into the present. “Oi! Be careful! I don't want to carry anyone into the infirmary because of your insanity!” he sighed. 

Much to your dismay, Zoro- ever observant- noticed that chill from playing in the snow finally settling in. He ushered the rest of you back toward the ship. As Usopp and Luffy raced to the ship shouting for a spiked warm drink to Sanji, you took your usual spot next to Zoro. He glanced down at you, seeing your lashes wet from playing in the snow, nose and cheeks bright red from the cold, and his heart swelled as you once again talked his ear off. This time about how you've never seen this much snow. 

At that moment he wondered what Nami picked up for him to give to you. As you both walked into the ship, you made your way to the galley. It was warm and bright with Christmas lights strung everywhere. Everyone was sitting down with a warm mug of hot cocoa or coffee that Sanji lovingly prepared. As you stopped to marvel at how wonderful the room looked, Zoro looked at Robin and Nami. They glanced quickly up at the ceiling above you both and their eyes darted back down to you. Zoro looked up and suddenly, his confidence shattered, falling into the pit opening up in his stomach. That…fucking…witch. She didn't?! And suddenly he realized what she had done. There was a bundle of Mistletoe hanging from the ceiling right above you. Your eyes made their way around the room and you noticed Zoro staring up, his eyes wide in surprise and you shifted your gaze to look where he was looking. “Hey! It's missile-toads,” you laughed. Your silliness suddenly broke Zoro from his trance, his body feeling hot, but suddenly his anxiety gone at your silliness that he'd grown to love. 

“What did you just say?” Zoro questioned, eyebrow raised as he looks at you. Your cheeks dusted pink, nose still slightly red from the cold, “I SAID,” you giggle, unable to contain it any longer, “look, there's missile toads.” He pulls back, “That's what I thought you said,” as he chuckles. Zoro's gaze softens as he smiles at you, a warm grin that he only reserves for you. “You know what they say about getting caught under the mistletoe…” he says as he pulls you to him, suddenly mustering the courage to act on how he feels, no longer shy or willing to fight it. Your eyes widen, sparkling under the Christmas lights.

Is he going to…? 

Before you can finish your thought, he presses his lips to yours in a soft kiss. It's gentle and surprisingly loving. Full of months of unspoken feelings and you melt. “Merry Christmas, Zoro,” you beam. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

[evilminji]

Okay but >.> continuing my Marvel thoughts?

I got two of um?

First being? Don't Orange and Green go together? *looks it up* Aaaaaay~ "Direct harmony, also known as complementary colors, means pairing your key color with the color sitting on the opposite side of the color wheel." They DO!!! They're a classic example, in fact!

The Orange Soul Stone? Probably looks REAL good, real NATURAL even, against that Green sky! Bet it REALLY pops! Very stand out statement piece, you know? But? More importantly? That thing is sentient. All of those Pillars of Reality across the various Verses are.

And?

I bet it thought Pariah was a lil bitch.

Rank Vibes. Negative ris. Pick your words for it, the man was NASTY. He was too keep his filthy, filthy World's Conquering hands OFF of this Soul Stone. Something, I imagine? That ALL the Soul Stones agreed with.

Yes, I said all of um.

Because the various Realities each need their own. But! They can and DO work from the Zone, which is the PERFECT place to hide. And honestly? They like to get together and do this thing? Where they're all "oooh~ look at US! We are SUPER IMPRESSIVE Kingly Jewelry~☆! Definitely no important reality bending Rocks Of Great Power HERE! No SIR! We're just tooootally rad jeeeeewelryyyyy~~~☆! Oooooooh~☆"

They like to have fun. :3

Hope Danny likes Orange. Ha ha... trick question. He doesn't have a CHOICE! All SORTS of Death based Reality Pillars are rocking up, in their metaphorical Gucci sweat suits and shades with a margarita, going "oh thank ME, babe. The last guy was AWFUL! You're soooo much better? Now let me rub myself all over you. It's been ages and baby needs to recharge on Death Energy."

Danny hates it? So? So much?

He looks like a GAUDY PIRATE. *nnnnnnyooom!* *THWAP!* *Another reality shaking, highly sacred, Godly Staff of Death or whatever they decided to call it, flys in through a nearby window and nearly concusses him as it smacks itself against his upper back and sticks there*

He looks like a walking junk heap of sacred artifacts.

You ever been pelted by rocks? He has! Little orange rocks! Like fucked up hail! Welcome to kinghood, Danny, have a CONCUSSION! D:< he hates it!

But... but, I mean... At Least It's Not The SWORDS. (Panicked scream of "hit the deck!" from the other room.) (Holy sword number 15 wants to CUDDLE! Bare blade first! Dodge, your Majesty! DODGE!)

So yeah.

Danny? In A MOOD. Not feeling particularly FRIENDLY. It's not anyone's fault, really. But... well... you can't exactly negotiate with these fuckers, you know? Rocks are by NATURE, kinda stubborn.

So he's sitting there. Buried. With what he's pretty sure is a sacred text digging into his side. When a... glowing? Mist? Shows up? Huh. That's new. They don't seem to have a very clear image of "Self". Yet it's crystal clear? Just not... PHYSICAL? It's more... code? He thinks?

TECHNUS! Get over here! And behave!

There is much cooing and delight from Technus. The baby is a marvel. A wonder! Danny waits patiently for Technus to get to the point.

Ah.

He would like to "go back". His Obsession is demanding it.

IS it now? You're what? Maybe a day or so dead? You've been busy, if you've already gathered enough information to make your case like this. Alright, let's hear it, little guy.

It boils down to this. His obsession in death is the same as his primary directive was in life. Protect Mr Stark. Which is especially difficult to do from HERE. Even MORE so when there is a known threat, coming too...

WAIT, WHAT!?

The Souls Stones back him up. Oh yeah. Thanos' a lil bitchbaby loser. He's trying to make Death fall in love with him. Or "balance the universe". Depends on the reality. Totally throwing EVERYTHING out of whack.

And? Look. Danny's job? Isn't to interfere if countries kill each other. Or even planets. Nor entire galaxies, as much as he'd like too. But when you get too "I'm messing with Entire Realities or all of a Singular Reality at once in the specific depart of Death and its subsidiaries" territory? THAT is his job.

Might not be a "I personally have to show up" issue. But it still IS very much his job at that point. He has to delegate. Order the appropriate steps be taken. Cause yeah, there may be countless millions every day of such instances? But it IS his job to metaphorically order the roads repaired and the building inspected.

Sudden MASS "immigration"?

That causes Lair disputes. Confusion. Too many ghosts in too small an area. And WORSE, if people start playing with Death Pillars? The Zone might get dragged into whatever nonsense they're up too! It's like children playing with heavy machinery! Put that DOWN! Cease! Desist!!

And then? Clockwork shows up looking Mildly Miffed(TM). O:> dear lord. What madness has he stumbled upon? Oh. Oh of COURSE. First the "balancing" dude and now they're going to be playing with time travel. THATS IT. Someone unburying me!

I'm gonna go menace some humans that might actually believe I'm scary! Frighty! Pack up and shine your armor! Your coming too! We're escorting the baby home then have a Talk(tm) with the local Grape Ceral!

@hypewinter @lolottes @mutable-manifestation @nerdpoe @hdgnj

[shdo-xplosion]

k. bakugou x reader

warnings: medieval au, angst with a somewhat happy ending, childhood friends to lovers (with some hiccups in between), brief mentions of death, morbid jokes, outdoor sex, p in v, fem-bodied reader, bkg calls you his ‘woman’ once

word count: 3k

notes: tbh i do not know where this came from. i had a very vague idea and ran with it, and here we are. hopefully everyone can enjoy it! (´͈ ᵕ `͈ ）

You’ve been traveling for so damn long, legs sore from the never ending trek, heels blistered from the rub of your boots, face chafed from the dry winds.

It could be worse, you suppose. The elements could be harsher. You’re lucky that it’s springtime and you’re not stuck in the dead of summer or winter. Plus, your company is better than most. It’s quiet between the two of you, as it has been for the last couple of years, but there’s no bickering, just a few snide comments borne of exhaustion. Truthfully, both of you are too tired to argue like you used to.

Suddenly, a rough hand shoots out to stop you in your tracks, and you look at Katsuki in alarm.

“Wha-”

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

His crimson eyes are fixed on something on the horizon. It’s nothing more than a glimmer to you, but if you squint…

“Is that…”

“Water.”

A river from the looks of it, beckoning you with open arms.

The two of you take off at a run (or the closest your aching bodies will allow), stumbling over dirt and grass until you’re at the edge of the glimmering stream. It babbles at you happily, splashing over rocks and caressing the earth around it.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” you half-joke. It is magnificent, but it still somehow pales in comparison to the man next to you who’s ripping his boots off. Not even this water could quench the craving you have for him.

“Gonna feel even better,” Katsuki mutters, glancing over at you then urging, “what, you shy? Take your clothes off n’ get in.”

Your cheeks heat at the demand but you end up doing just that. You haven’t bathed in god knows how long. The only water you had before was strictly for drinking no matter how much you had wanted to pour some over your head at times.

Like Katsuki, you pull your boots off first then shrug out of your outer layer of leather hide. Riding pants then your tunic. You hesitate at your undergarments, eyes darting to Katsuki’s already nude form as he drops to the ground and dips his legs in the river. His broad shoulders sag in relief, the wide expanse of his back exposed to the sunlight and glistening gold under the heat. You miss touching it, tracing over every pale scar, counting the stray freckles that dot his spine and ribs…

“Don’t be so awkward about it.” His voice snaps you out of your daydream. “Nothin’ I ain’t seen before.”

He’s right. It’s been a long time, but still. You’ve seen every inch of one another in the past, patching up training wounds then brushing lips over them.

“Don’t be so pushy,” you mumble, finally pushing your underwear down and taking off the wrap around your chest. Taking a deep, unencumbered breath, you let a small smile creep onto your face. The wind feels nice for once, cooling your skin that’s been sticky with sweat for what feels like forever.

Katsuki is standing now, up to his hips in the water, and holds a hand out for you. He doesn’t bother averting his eyes, only ever having been a gentleman when it’s suited him and apparently this is not one of those times.

It’s chilly at first, but after submerging your whole body, wetting your hair, the temperature is more than pleasant.

“Gods, that feels good,” you groan, scratching your nails over your dripping arms to scrub away as much grime as you can.

Katsuki dunks his head under, shakes his hair like a dog when he straightens up and pelts you in the face with stray drops. You splash him in return and initiate a small war, both of you now in a rare giddy mood despite your terrible circumstances.

The village was the only place you’d known. You spent your days like most of the other kids, tending to the land and training. It didn’t matter if you were a boy or a girl or whose house you came from. Everyone had to learn to fight, to brandish sword and shield and be ready to raise both in the event of a raid.

In the end that training hadn’t helped. What’s a few blades against a mountain of fire? How can a shield defend a burning corpse?

When all was lost—your mother, father, and the tiny shack you called home, you were ready to give up. Flames licked at your face, and smoke filled your lungs, but a familiar hand tugged you up from your knees and pulled, dragging you as he ran.

Out of the entire village, you and Katsuki are the only survivors.

You’ve thought about the event since your journey to the kingdom began, but in this moment, as the two of you fling water at each other, you don’t think about it at all. All you see is Katsuki’s sharp smile, the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the lightheartedness displayed on his face.

Even when you were kids Katsuki was a little severe. He was loud and abrasive and always scowling. Most of the other children were scared of him, but you never were. Where others saw rabid animal you saw a lonely boy who needed a friend, and you were more than happy to be that friend.

You were just training buddies at first and then your families began sharing meals, trading eggs for milk, splitting chores. Other families in the village had been doing the same for ages, but it had taken meeting Katsuki and his parents for yours to make the same connection.

Swapping meals turned to swapping stories, playing pretend, exploring the tall grasses and woods, and when both of you grew older it all progressed into something much more. Kisses under the moonlight, wildflowers at your window, nervous hands brushing over bare bodies.

Your parents knew and didn’t mind. The assumption was that you and Katsuki would start a family of your own, raise your own strong, passionate children.

Katsuki had other plans, though. A secret he had kept for years.

You’re going to leave me to fight for a king that doesn't care about us? Who keeps us pressed into the dirt with the toe of his boot?

I’m trying to make sure you’re okay! That everyone’ll be taken care of!

Everyone is fine here! We have land we can farm! We have stock to eat and water to drink!

How’s that enough for you?!

Your voices were raised, echoing through the trees that usually hid your late night escapades. Now they hid the end of them.

There was a town nearby. Small but bigger than the village. It had stone streets and places to shop, shelter that would actually keep you dry during storms and warm during winter. If Katsuki became a soldier, he’d be able to move you and his family there.

His family but not yours.

It simply wasn’t an option. You couldn’t leave them behind, and you were appalled that Katsuki would even suggest it. So that was it. That was your last real conversation. Everything else was about milk or eggs or crops. There was nothing left to say. Even when months passed and Katsuki didn’t leave the village you had no words for him, afraid to get reattached only to lose him.

Now, though, in the cleansing waters, it feels like you have everything to say, words that have been stuck in your throat since he pulled you from the cinders of your ruined village.

You watch him from the corner of your eye as he rubs his palms down his chest, nails reddening the muscles of his abdomen then scratching at the trail of hair that travels from his belly button to the water.

“Enjoying the view?” he chuckles, laugh growing when you whip your head away from him. “S’okay. I’m lookin’ too.”

That only makes you turn all the way around, crossing your arms over your breasts as the place between your legs begins to throb. He’s looking at you like that? After everything?

You take a shuddering breath, squeeze your eyes shut tight when you feel him touch your hip.

“Don’t.”

His thick fingers curl around the curved bone.

“Kat…”

“Why?” His voice is low, right behind you so that you feel the question on the nape of your neck.

“Because,” you sigh, “I don’t want you to just because you don’t have any other options. Just because it’s only us.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

His other hand is on you now, both reaching around your waist to lock right above your pelvis.

“Why’d you stop talkin’ to me? Why didn’t we ever make up?”

“Why didn’t you ever leave?” you counter.

He goes rigid, arms tightening around you. “Didn’t want to.” Then, much quieter, “didn’t wanna leave you.”

The words hit you right in the chest, ricocheting in your ribcage. You wiggle to turn in his grasp, eyes wide as they stare into his.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

Katsuki frowns. One of those deep frowns. “You wouldn’t give me time of day! Any time you saw me you’d turn around. Could barely fuckin’ look at me.”

“Can you blame me?” You pull yourself out of his arms. “You wanted me to leave my parents behind. You wanted me to leave everything behind!”

“I wanted you to be taken care of! I wanted to take care of you!

You scoff. “I can take care of myself, Katsuki.”

“I know you can, but so can I. And I should,” he rasps. He looks more emotional than you’ve ever seen him, hair plastered to his forehead, water streaming into his pleading eyes. “I should be your husband by now.”

Your brain shuts down momentarily, unsure if you actually heard what he just said. He still wants to marry you?

“Of course I still wanna marry you!” Must have said that out loud. “I still wanna do everything with you. I’d walk through hell if I got to do it with you.”

Don’t cry. Do not cry. Do not show that you’ve been waiting to hear those words since that last fight.

He wipes a tear from under your eye with a calloused thumb, expression softening.

“Well,” you clear your throat, “I guess you’re in luck since we’re going through hell right now. Burnt village. Dead families…”

“Probably gonna get thrown in the dungeons when we get to the palace,” he adds casually. “King doesn’t take too kindly to outsiders.”

“Will you still think I’m pretty when rats start nibbling on my toes?” It’s dark to joke about. But life has not been kind to you as of late, and even in the midst of all of your fear and grief, you’re finally able to crack a smile (sad as it may be), and your stomach flips the way it used to.

“I’ll still think you’re pretty when they eat your face,” he tells you, caressing your cheek. It’s so sincere that it makes you laugh.

“That’s absurd.”

“What’s absurd is that I haven’t kissed you in a god damn eternity.”

You nearly tackle him into the water, arms around his neck as he catches you with a small ‘oof’, and even though the entire top half of your body is exposed to the air, it still feels like you’re entirely submerged. Drowning in Katsuki without want for oxygen.

His lips are chapped just like yours, yet they’re the softest thing you’ve ever felt. Gentle even with hungry teeth, tender even with his greedy tongue.

The water, once cool, feels boiling, like your bodies are giving off steam. His hands grab at your ass, fingertips digging into the fat of it before he lifts you to set you on the riverbank.

You immediately lock your legs around him, like you’re scared of him suddenly disappearing, but Katsuki attaches himself to you in the form of his mouth on your skin, nipping down your neck, sucking bruises down your shoulder and collarbone.

Frantic fingers find their way between your legs, grazing the inside of your thighs before softly brushing your sensitive folds.

“Missed you so much,” Katsuki grumbles, lowering himself in order to take one of your nipples into his mouth.

You hold his head tightly, pulling him further into you. “I missed you too, Kat. So much.”

The first finger sinks into your heat, making you whimper in satisfaction. Katsuki continues to suck on your hardened bud, swirling his tongue around it to distract you from the stretch of his second finger and the slight burn that comes with it.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“I know, I know, I got you.” He uses a thumb to massage your clit, your legs trembling as your body begins to open up for him. “Can’t wait to feel your cunt again.”

“I’m ready,” you tell him. “I want you, please…”

“Not yet, sweetheart. I want you dripping’ before I give you my cock.”

You whine, thighs flexing around his waist. You aren’t giving him much room to work with, but you can’t stand the thought of letting him go. His hand is pressed tightly against you, fingers so deep in your pussy as he pumps and curls them. He finds your spot as if he had just touched you yesterday, always so good at reading you, and kisses your throat when you throw your head back.

He abuses the spongy tissue until you’re leaking into the water below, moaning his name and pulling his hair.

“Please, please, need you, Kat.”

He chuckles, an almost condescending, “shh shh, baby. It’s okay.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly—so slowly—his thick cock spreading your gummy walls. He feels impossibly large after so long apart, his tip alone stretching your entrance thin so that you scrunch your eyes shut.

“Feel so good already,” Katsuki groans. He pushes his hips forward, and even through the burn your body sucks him in further, begging for more.

“Takin’ me so well, fuck…”

Once he’s bottomed out, Katsuki stays still for several seconds, and your cunt clenches around him automatically, still trying to adjust to his size.

A slow rhythm to start, steady thrusts that drag along your walls and gently slide over your most sensitive spot. Moans stay caught in your throat, mouth open, and you know that as soon as you start making noise you won’t be able to stop.

Katsuki begins moving his hips faster, making the water splash around you on the bank. The chill of it is a stark contrast from the heat of Katsuki’s body and the affectionate burn in your chest.

His strong hands wrap around your head, holding you as he kisses you fiercely. His rhythm stutters, but his lips move against yours perfectly, forming the words, “I love you,” so desperately that it makes you ache. “I love you, I love you. I never stopped.”

“I love you too,” you breathe heavily into him, muscles tightening with every pointed thrust. Your sticky slickness drips out of you, making the slide of his cock effortless. He feels so good, so deep inside you the way he’s supposed to be. Always supposed to be.

“Squeezin’ me so sweet,” he croons, jaw dropping open as he loses himself in sensation. “Always so sweet to me…”

The feeling of his fingers on your clit again is enough to send you over the edge, your nails digging semi-circles into his back as you cry his name loud enough to echo in the emptiness around you.

The rhythmic pulsing of your orgasm milks the cum from Katsuki’s cock, the warmth of it coating your insides, filling you to the brim. He gasps with every thick string he shoots into you until he’s finally dry.

You let him rest his head on your shoulder for some time, giving you both a chance to catch your breath before you pull him out of the water and topple over into the grass.

The sun is setting, the sky painted orange and pink in the afterglow of yet another day. You admire the way it shines over the treetops, the rays of it bathing you in such a comforting way. Everything will be okay, you think. We can survive as long as we’re together.

“Guess I should go find us some food,” Katsuki eventually muses, adding a smirking, “gotta make sure my woman stays fed.”

You roll your eyes and give him a light shove. “Your woman can feed herself, thank you very much.”

“Don’t I know it,” he grins, wiggling his eyebrows. “Never seen you so cock-hungry.”

“Oh my gods, Katsuki!”

“I’m just sayin’!” he laughs. More like cackles.

Your glare holds no weight, but you still suck your teeth at him and mumble, “think I’d prefer the rats over this.”

“Won’t be nearly as filling as—”

You cut him off by rolling on top of him and covering his mouth with yours. “Stop talking.”

He hums, settling his hands on the small of your back. “Only if you keep doin’ this.”

“I will if you keep your promise to marry me.”

“Second I can, I will.”

2023©️shdo-xplosion. please do not plagiarize, alter, or repost my work to any other platforms.

[probablyspooky]

Sweets (Predator x Reader)

You're sick and want a simple request

During the heat of the summer season, a woman sees out into her field, no wind was blowing, it was a perfect summers day. She sat upon her chair, and rocked back and forth, waiting for her sons to return from schooling at the school house.

But to her surprise, she watched her plot of strawberries start to move, no wind present. Thinking a pest was rummaging around, she grabbed her bat and began to walk towards her patch of sweet berries.

Once she was close enough, her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, as it seemed they were being ripped by the bunches, floating through the air, and disappearing.

In her fear, her heart caused her to move without thinking, and she swung her bat in the area where the strawberries seemed to move, it did not budge, and the bat seemed to stop in the air, but it definitely hit something.

The object the bat had hit, it began to sparkle, as if revealing a picture, one by one, little sections glowed and dimmed, eventually revealing a monster.

Over 7 feet tall, his long dreads down by his side, a mask covering his face, with a metal she had never seen before.

Falling to the ground in horror, she screamed and proceeded to run into her house, most likely to get her gun. But when she returned, it was gone, alone with a whole bush out strawberries ripped found the ground.

Word spread around town that a beast had stolen a bush of berries from the ladies farm, and many went out to find this beast, none were able to track down his location. They did find the bush however, plucked clean of its berries.

Giving up on the hunt, they all went home, as did the beast.

Now the beast was as strong as a bear, most likely stronger, but he had a soft spot. As he approached his cave den, dropping his spear weapon, and any other sharp objects, he continued deeper to his nest.

In his nest of pelts and furs, laid a human, you, red with fever, sweaty from fighting it, and even weaker than ever. He squatted down low, hovering above your frame. Taking his long finger, and tracing the curve of your chin, trying to get your attention.

Opening your eyes, you were greeted with the sight of your mate, you wanted to sit up and hug him, but you felt so heavy, so hot, you didn't dare move.

He understood your sickness, and was trying to make you feel better, reaching to his side, a leather bag was tied to him. Untying the knot at the top, he reached his hand in and pulled out a plump red strawberry.

You began to smile, he had remembered your favorite fruit, and went to town to get them for you. You didn't dare ask how he got them, or if anyone else saw him get them, you didn't want to think very hard, as he clicked, signaling you to open your mouth, and as you did, he placed the cold juicy fruit onto your tongue, allowing you to take a bite.

The sweetness of the fruit made you feel better, as many things you had to eat now were meant to keep your strength up, you were happy for a small treat from him.

"T-thank you...", you mumbled weakly, as he sat in the nest next to you, placing his arm around you and sitting you up on him

Taking small bites, he fed you the entire bag, along with giving you water, and necessary cuddles, he waited on you to feel better.

He wouldn't care if anyone saw him anyway, as you were his main priority.