#is speaking foreign languages a kink

[hisbucky]

Eddie: Hey, how did that phrase go? What doesn't kill you... Buck: "Was mich nicht umbringt, macht mich stärker." – what doesn't kill me makes me stronger. That's the original one by Nietzsche. Eddie, strained: Didn't know you speak German. That's good to know.

[kihyunsflavor]

Cold shoulder

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x f!reader

Summary: You are married to Feyd-Rautha, but on his birthday Margot Fenring follows him in the hallways to lure him into her chambers.

Warnings: smut, heartbreak, angst, pet names, breeding kink, manipulation (not reader)

word count: 4.6k

Author's note: English is not my first language. Feedback is very much appreciated <3

A cold breeze grazes your skin as the door to your shared chambers opens, sending a shiver down your spine. He enters with heavy steps and your breath stops for a moment when you catch a foreign feminine scent in the air. You immediately know.

"I'm back, wife," Feyd Rautha says, slowly approaching where you stand. You don't respond. A painful lump forms in your throat as your emotions are all over the place. Big hands gently grab your waist from behind. The scent of the woman still lingers on his skin. It tightens your chest and turns your stomach. You have never felt so sick before. She had her hands on him and he allowed it.

You don't want to believe your own thoughts, wishing this reality wasn't true. She had taken him from you. Your beloved husband, the person you love more than anyone else, with whom you share everything. He is the center of your world.

You turn to face him. "You're back late..." you say, your voice steady but your lower lip quivering.

For a split second, his expression wavers, confirming your suspicions. Feyd starts to speak, but you cut him off. "Don't bother lying. I can smell her on you."

His eyes widen, a hint of guilt flickering across his face, an emotion you've never seen from him before.

"I didn't want to. The witch invaded my mind," he attempts to explain. But you can't believe him. Not after this. He humiliated you, made you feel worthless.

His hand reaches for your cheek but you push it way. „Don‘t touch me.“

Oh how could he betray you like this? How could he share such an intimate moment with another woman?

„I can't believe you did this," you sway, your voice trembling with dissapointment. Tears well up in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. He's not worth your tears. Not a single one.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. His words pierce your heart, shattering it into pieces.

It kills you.

The room falls into a heavy silence. His eyes plead with you, his hands twitching as if wanting to pull you close. The very thought makes you cringe.

"I never want to see you again," you say as you move past him. He reaches out for you, but you're too quick. Just before disappearing into the dark corridor, you look back at him. "It hurts - so much."

With that, you're gone.

Feyd doesn't follow. He knows he destroyed everything.

You move into a new section of the Harkonnen residence, consisting of a bedroom and a study, far away from your husband. All your belongings and clothes are brought in by your servants to help you settle into your new quarters. You hear whispers among the servants about Feyd's initial anger, refusing to let them move your belongings. Eventually, he seemed to give in and just let them continue, which was unusual for someone like him who rarely yielded so easily. But you pay it no mind, trying to forget about him. He did this to himself.

The first few nights are horrible. You struggle to sleep, feeling alone and haunted by nightmares of him. Each time you see a black veiled woman, luring him into her chambers. When you wake up, your clothes cling to your sweaty skin. You brush your hair back from your face and scan the dimly lit room. It is pretty similar to your old chambers but you've tried to make it feel different with some interior changes.

You hadn't yet discovered who the Bene Gesserit was that had been with your husband, but you were determined to find out.

With your family's influential name, you planned to write to your sister, hoping she could uncover the truth for you.

The days go by slowly, and to your relief you don't see Feyd at all. The pain of looking into his eyes would be too much to bear. Your heart was broken and would take a long time to heal.

You'd never known love before, never had any real crushes growing up. But then, you were sent to marry the na-Baron of Giedi Prime. You hadn't objected, obediently following your father's wishes. Meeting Feyd changed everything. He ignited a passion within you, made you feel enchanted and yearning for him.

Even if he was cold at first, Feyd proved to be a devoted husband. Drawn to your beautiful appearance and your kind but brave soul, it didn't take him long to warm up to you. You could tell he had fallen for you too.

The wedding night marked the peak of your feelings for him, deepening your love. You were nervous he might handle you roughly, especially since it was your first time, so you had asked him not to hurt you. „That‘s what concubines are for. I'd never hurt my wife,“ Feyd had assured you then, having already dismissed his concubines prior to the wedding.

But in the end, his words proved to be a lie. He had kept his promise until now, when he let the Bene Gesserit woman touch him.

It was hard to believe Feyd had done something like this. Loyalty and trust were values he held in high regard. He always looked down on those who lacked loyalty; it was a matter of honor to him.

And now here you are, sitting alone at the table to eat your dinner. You had instructed your servants to bring your meals to your chambers from now on, because there was no chance you'd dine with your husband. Even if he came to fetch you himself, you wouldn't budge an inch. But Feyd hasn't come. Days have passed since you left him, and he still hasn't shown his face, which you're really relieved about.

He knew you well, knew that you needed space, but this time it was different. He couldn't just apologize and gift you something to make amends. This time, there was nothing for you to forgive him for. And if the Bene Gesserit were to get pregnant before you, his actual wife, it would be unbearable.

The thought fills you with anger and jealousy. You wouldn't allow this to happen. You should be the only one to give him an heir.

As you return to your room after a brief stroll through your section, you're surprised to find several packages awaiting you. Despite your reservations, Feyd has still chosen to send gifts. Walking over to inspect them, a servant appears at your side, bowing slightly.

"Na-Baroness, the na-Baron has sent some gifts for you. He hopes you will accept them," the servant explains. Your gaze drifts over the variously sized boxes, and a sigh escapes your lips. "We will send them back. All of them," you declare after a moment. "But let me have a look first." Kneeling down, you carefully open each package, mindful not to damage anything.

Among them are dresses, exquisitely crafted and likely from your home planet. Another holds a perfume you adore, also from your planet. Then there are the traditional Harkonnen jewelry, reserved only for the Baron and his family. You can't help but chuckle at Feyd's selection.

Once you've examined everything, the servants gather the gifts along with your message: Don't ever insult me like this again

Even if this was just the beginning of his attempts to seek forgiveness, Feyd's gesture of sending mere gifts felt somewhat childish.

Days later, you decide to attend the fight held in the Harkonnen arena, knowing full well that Feyd would be present. However, you choose to sit in a secluded area, far removed from his presence.

Your attire consists of a dark red silk dress, a change from your usual colors as the na-Baroness, which typically align with the Harkonnen house's black with silver or red accents. Your jewelry, crafted from rare opal from your home planet, catches the light, accentuating your eyes and lending a radiant glow to your appearance.

Accompanied by two of your favorite servants, you make your way to a seating area. As you settle in, a pair of glasses are provided, allowing you a clearer view of the participants in the fighting circle below.

Slowly, you navigate through the crowd, observing the excitement of the people of Giedi Prime for the fight. Your gaze shifts upward, focusing on the Baron seated high above the arena, his imposing presence making you feel unease. He emanates a terrifying and volatile energy that unsettles you every time.

Continuing on, you reach the spot where the na-Baron and you usually sit. Feyd stands alone in his black suit, his gaze fixed on you. He had waited until you noticed him.

Feeling a twinge in your stomach, you deliberately drop your glasses with controlled movements, concealing the effect his presence has on you. Redirecting your attention to the fighters entering the arena, you're grateful for something to distract you.

Yet, his image replays in your mind. His eyes betray a hint of sadness, dark circles evident beneath his pale complexion. But he had brought this upon himself.

If he hadn't allowed the Bene Gesserit to touch him, you would have been there beside him as always, watching the fight unfold, with his hand possessively resting on your thigh.

Even after a week apart, the pain remains just the same.

The fight was not big spectacle, but it was enough for the crowd. You swiftly retreat to your chambers, after receiving the sign from a servant that the Baron had left. Casting one last glance at Feyd's area, you see his back turned to you. He's likely leaving as well, and you really have no desire to encounter him in the hallways

When you wake up two days later, you notice a basket of fresh fruits sitting on your table. Approaching the gift, you find a small card attached to the handle. Opening it slowly, you read Feyd's handwriting: Please accept these valuable fruits. Feyd.

You stare at the words for a moment, then shift your gaze to the basket. Inside, you see a variety of fruits, many of which are from your own planet and are your favorites —a fact Feyd surely knew. Yet, despite the apparent gesture, you still feel slighted by the simplicity of the gift.

With a dismissive gesture, you instruct the servants to take the basket away. "Share it among the others and send the same message to the na-Baron as before," you command, retreating to your bedroom.

An upcoming event required your presence as husband and wife, na-Baron and na-Baroness. Three days beforehand, you already felt nauseous and contemplated skipping it altogether. However, the Baron's potential anger left you with no choice but to attend.

As the special day approaches, you pace nervously around the room. The prospect of having to play the role of Feyd's wife again fills you with dread. Despite the difficulty, you resign yourself to the task, knowing you must suppress your true emotions and maintain a facade of affection, hiding behind a gentle smile.

In the morning, you receive a package from Feyd, containing a dress intended for the upcoming gathering. The garment, adorned in Harkonnen colors, is tailored to complement his own attire, ensuring a flawless appearance as a couple.

As the servants begin to prepare you for the event, they dress you, adorn you with jewelry, and style your hair elegantly. Avoiding the mirror as much as possible, you can't help but feel a bit of discomfort at the sight of the dress, which reminds you too much of him. The idea that it signifies your connection to him is unsettling, especially since his betrayal with another woman. Prior to that, you had cherished moments when he selected dresses for you or had jewelry crafted from your birthstone.

Once you're ready, you steal a quick glance at your reflection, observing how the dress accentuates your figure. Despite looking beautiful, the nausea persists. You so badly wish to just remain secluded in your chambers, away from him.

Two servants accompany you as you make your way to the grand halls where your husband awaits in front of the towering doors. You catch a glimpse of him, dressed in all black and feel the familiar pain in your chest. It's as if your lungs are pulling themselves together, stealing the air from you.

His gaze is sweeping over you and a faint grin tugs at his lips, but he stops himself quickly. "Good morning, wife," Feyd says, with his deep raspy voice and offers his arm to you. He seems content to see your face up close after two weeks. You halt before him, meeting his towering figure with a glare that could pierce steel. He recognizes the expression, but doesn't show any reaction. You hook your arm into his, taking a deep breath before walking into the grand hall together.

As the event unfolds, nobels from across the galaxy mingle, their voices a symphony of polite conversation. Among them stands the imposing figure of the Baron, his presence commanding attention.

You stand next to Feyd, occasionally engaging in some small talk with others. Despite the pain and betrayal that lingers in between you, you play the roles with practiced ease, upholding the appearance of a happy couple. Yet inside, you feel dull.

In a moment alone, Feyd wraps his arm around your waist. "Let's talk later, wife." He says and gazes into your eyes. You lower your head, staring at his chest and offering no response until he pulls you closer to his body. Slowly, you raise your head and to meet his gaze.

"No, I don't think so," You reply, placing a hand on his chest in an attempt to push him away. But he holds firm, studying your eyes in an attempt to understand your emotions.

"There's nothing to explain, na-Baron," you hiss, putting some distance between the two of you. "I don't want to hear anything. And stop sending me gifts!"

Feyd blinks at your response and takes a step forward. "Just let me finish my sentence. Things have happened that I regret deeply, but I need you to understand why," he begins to explain, but you shake your head. Tears well up in your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek to suppress a whimper. "No, no…" Your lips quiver as you respond with a weak voice. "Even just thinking about it hurts me too much." With those final words, you turn on your heel and walk away. Glancing briefly at the Baron to ensure he's occupied, you slip out of the grand hall and return to your chambers.

Your heart races, nearly pounding out of your chest. Feyd's scent made you dizzy, made you longing for him, but you refuse to succumb. You were not one to give in quickly, not even to his beautiful blue eyes. His lips had twitched, after you had raised your head to look at him - his love always displayed so openly for you, unlike his usual expressionless demeanor. And despite everything, you still love him too, but the thought of going back to him, fills you with disgust and pain. He's the one who made you feel this way.

It was not a good night, and the days that followed were just as bleak. The dull ache persisted, and you drift through each day like a ghost. Emptiness pervades every moment, blurring the world around you into a haze. And despite showing not a single emotion to the world, you feel the pain, longing for the warmth of connection that is lost.

After a week had passed since the event, the reply from your older sister finally arrived. You hastily open it, eager to learn whether the Bene Gesserit woman was pregnant. You understood the ways of the Bene Gesserit and didn't object to them, except in this case, where one woman dared to interfere in your marriage. It was all about control.

Since you weren't part of the sisterhood, they needed to ensure a child was born from Feyd that they could raise according to their teachings. However, if they had approached you with a deal for your own child to become a Bene Gesserit, you might not have disagreed.

But this time, you were determined to stand in their way. She wasn't worthy enough to bear your husband's child, especially considering you weren't even pregnant yourself yet.

With trembling hands, you open the scroll and begin to read the message.

Dear sister,

I am deeply troubled by the news you've shared with me. I did not expect this from the na-Baron. But don't worry too much, as I have located the Bene Gesserit. Her name is Margot Fenring, the wife of Count Fenring, the Emperor's advisor. Unfortunately, I couldn't find out why the sisterhood chose her, and I haven't received any updates on a possible pregnancy. Rest assured, I will inform you immediately once I learn more.

With all my love,

Your sister

You stare at the message, sighing heavily. Margot Fenring was a well-known figure in the galaxy, particularly admired for her beauty. Her hair was of a golden blonde with grey-green eyes and attractive figure. However, you weren't concerned about feeling inferior to her; you knew your own beauty had captivated Feyd from the moment he had laid his eyes on you.

The burning question on your mind wasn't why the revered mother had chosen her to seduce Feyd, but rather why she had to intervene at all, and whether she was now carrying his child.

The waiting was unbearable in a situation like this.

A knock sounds on your door, as you put the roll in the drawer of your desk. Curious, you turn around, wondering who could be seeking your attention. Apart from your husband and his two family members, you didn't know anyone else.

With caution, you open the door, only to be met with the sight of Feyd-Rautha. Disappointment flashes across your face, and you sigh, almost closing the door on him again. But Feyd has other plans, his hand holding the door open and making his way into your chambers. Surprised, you walk back a few steps and stare at him. "What are you doing?" you ask, confusion evident in your tone. He doesn't respond, maintaining a cold stare that sends a shiver down your spine. He appears angry or, at the very least, annoyed by your behavior.

As the back of your knees touch your bed, he stops in front of you. "This time, you will listen, wife, or I will tie you to the bed. You can't run away from me every time," Feyd says with a deep, raspy voice. You blink up at him, uncertain of what to do. Part of you wants to escape the uncomfortable situation and to avoid listening to him. But in this moment, he holds full control over you.

A cold finger grazes your jawline softly, lifting your head up. He comes closer, his breath tingling on your skin. "You better listen carefully now. I will explain everything that has happened. Alright?" he tells you, and all you can do is nod your head obediently.

"On this day while I was on my way back to you, I noticed a woman following me. I questioned her about her presence in the area, and she began to manipulate my mind. With a mere blink, I found myself in the witch's room, unable to recall anything except for her whispers in my head," Feyd explains seriously, maintaining eye contact with you.

"She then used the voice on me and forced me to place my hand in a box while holding a sharp object coated with poison to my neck. After passing her test, she continued to use the voice on me throughout the whole time. I couldn't do anything else than listen to her. I tried to break free many times and every time a picture of you flashed in my mind, she redirected my attention back to her," he continues, his eyes darkening as he recounts the experience. You can see the distress he's in as he speaks.

Slowly, your hand raises to cup his cheek, offering comfort. He leans into your touch, visibly relaxing. "Do you know why she came to you?" you inquire, once his nerves are calmed. He nods vaguely. "I am the one who will inherit the title as Baron next, and since you are not a Bene Gesserit, they sent one of them to find out my weakness."

His answer sinks in, and you agree. "That's what I was thinking as well."

Feyd's hands gently cup your face as he leans closer. "I missed you so much, little mouse," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You close your eyes, relishing the sensation of his touch, which you've missed dearly.

"What if she is pregnant?" concern creeps into your voice. Feyd meets your gaze, his eyes filled with determination. "Don't worry, my dear. She won't live to give birth to it, if we receive word that she's carrying a baby," he assures you. "You are the only woman who will give me an heir," he adds with a smirk.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "I should have listened earlier. I just couldn't bear it. Nothing made sense anymore," you whisper, your lips brushing against his cheek. He hums in reply, pressing his lips to yours in a long-awaited kiss.

It turns into a heavy makeout session. With tender care, he guides you onto the bed, slowly undressing you as if savoring every moment of intimacy. As he moistens his fingers with his tongue and begins to pump them inside of you, a soft moan escapes your lips, reveling in the sensation of his touch.

Your body arches with pleasure as he prepares you for him, each movement sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you. "Feels so good," you murmur, lost in the sensation. Feyd's grin widens as he leans over you, his touch both tender and tantalizing.

When he decides you're ready, he withdraws his fingers, eliciting a soft whine of longing from you. "It's alright, my little mouse. I will give you what you want," he shushes. As he frees himself from his pants, your hand instinctively reaches for him, eager to feel his hardness in your grasp.

A low groan escapes him at your touch, but he gently removes your hand, his own need evident in his impatient tone. "Not now," He says, his voice thick with lust. "I can't wait any longer to be inside you." With a sense of urgency, he positions himself between your legs, ready to claim you completely.

He gazes down at you with love and care. "You won’t be able to walk tomorrow," he warns with a sly grin, teasing as he lets the tip of his arousal slide between your heated folds before thrusting inside you.

Once fully sheathed within your tight walls, he leans over you, his arms caging your head to support his weight. In this position, he is able to see your face much better. "I will make you forget everything that pained you these past weeks. You are mine," he growls possessively with his lips attached to the sensitive skin of your neck as his hips begin to move in a rhythmic thrust.

At first, his movements are slow and deliberate, punctuated by tender kisses, until you relax completely under his touch and he increases the pace. Your legs are lifted up over his shoulders, allowing him to penetrate even deeper, luring whimpers of pleasure from you as your nails dig into the porcelain skin of his back.

"So tight. Taking me so well, little mouse," he praises softly near your ear, sending shivers down your spine. Your walls contract around him, gripping him tighter, causing him to groan in pleasure. "Stop it, I'm not going to last if you keep tightening up like this," he warns you, his head falling back in pleasure.

But the sensation feels too good to stop, and you beg him to just come inside you with your voice hazy with desire. Feyd's eyes sparkle at your pleads. "Touch yourself," He orders, encouraging you.

It doens't take long for you to reach your climax, gripping his shoulders for support and screaming his name. He watches your face intently, praising you. "Yes that's it, good girl. Come on my cock."

Without letting you fully come down from your high, he starts to thrust deeper. “Going to fill you up now, you want that?” You whine at his words, nodding impatiently. “You'll look beautiful with my baby inside of you, all big and swollen.” His words drive you insane and with each thrust, he pushes you both closer.

With a final thrust, he releases himself inside you, bringing you to another climax as the room fills with both of your cries of pleasure.

"Afterwards, he takes good care of you, cleaning your sensitive skin with a wet cloth and ensuring you're comfortable in bed. His arms find their way around your body, pulling you closer.

"I haven't slept well since you left," he admits, nuzzling his face into your neck. You chuckle at the sensation because it tickles.

"I also slept horribly," you respond, your hand caressing the back of his neck. But tonight, you sleep better than you have in weeks, knowing your husband is right there beside you, and you never want to let go again.

Fortunately, it's only a week later when another message from your sister reaches you. As you read through it with full concentration, a lump forms in your throat due to the wave of emotions that washes over you.

"She's not pregnant," you inform Feyd, who stands before you. His eyes visibly brighten with relief and he moves closer to embrace you tightly. No words are needed, you can feel each other's emotions clearly.

"Don't worry, my dear. I'll deal with the punishment for the Bene Gesserit," Feyd assures you after a while of holding each other. His anger still simmers, just as intense as the night Margot Fenring used the voice on him. He won't let it slide easily.

You find comfort in knowing that Feyd will handle the situation, likely with the help of his uncle, the Baron. But for now, you push aside all thoughts of pain, focusing on the relief of the moment.

On the same day, after rearranging the last few items in your shared chamber, which you hastily moved back into, a gleaming blade catches your eye. Your husband possesses a collection of blades in various sizes and styles, but you recognize this one as his favorite - the one he always carries with him. You approach the desk and study the blade intently.

Suddenly, strong arms wrap around your body, and you gasp quietly in surprise. "This one is for you," Feyd whispers behind you. Your eyes remain fixed on the knife, his words sinking in.

This blade holds significant importance to him, having accompanied your husband since his childhood when he first learned to fight. It's a profound gesture of trust and affection that he would gift it to you now. Despite the Harkonnen's reputation for brutality and coldness, they occasionally reveal their emotions to those they love. This blade serves as a metaphor, symbolizing Feyd's gift of his heart to you forever.

[lorelune]

(minors dni || jing yuan x reader || wc: ~1.6k || tw: smut, mommy kink @ jing yuan, afab reader with no gendered language used, light choking, some internalized shame for reader)

you slip up.

it’s an accident— really. it is. you don’t mean to say it.

you’re not in your right mind notably. jing yuan has eaten you out to completion so many times that you've lost count. your thighs ache from the innumerable marks he’s left. his mouth still tastes like you as he kisses you.

he's fucking you now, though. slow and deep. each thrust is like a punch to your insides. it’s overwhelming. it’s too much— way too much, but the idea of stopping has you tearing up and begging for more of him, rather than less. harder. deeper. so you’ll ache for days.

jing yuan delivers— he always does. he looks so pleased as he fucks you, breathing heavily himself, nearly purring from on top of you about your state. the tone of his words hits you, makes you wetter and tighter around him. the content of his words, however is lost on you. you’re too gone. your mind is mush. you nod when he tells you too, when he tells you what you are. tells you who you belong to, who you wouldn’t dare leave—

you’re good. he says you are, you think. you’re his good, sweet things so you nod and raise your legs when he asks you. he throws your ankles over each of his shoulders, kissing your ankles. its sweet. you’re so well-cared for.

he unsheathes himself, and teases your hole with his tip. honey gaze sliding to meet yours through the haze.

"you want this, don't you?"

"uh-huh." you feel like you're floating. like you're going to die if he doesn't put his cock back inside of you. you nod dumbly, vigariously.

he hums, pleased, "you want this so badly, don't you?"

"i d-do—"

you do, you do, you do. you try and press closer; the angle is wrong for it. you whine and strain regardless because you need him, you need him—

he hushes you when you struggle, petting over your cheeks with a warm look in his eye. so sweet to you, caring, attuned and attentive like always and it's fucking ruining you.

"can you say please?" he says cheekily.

you know he's not expecting your response. you aren't either.

"p-please, mommy."

your own voice is foreign in your ears. jing yuan's eyes widen, enough to give you pause in your state. you lag, then fucking realize what you just said—

(a moniker for a kink that you keep tucked away in your most shame-filled pornography pile. a list of rotting links containing beautiful women with shapely chests taking care of a fragile little thing, cooing and kind and condescending in a way that makes you feel literally insane. every time you dare to indulge, you cum on yours fingers or against your vibrator so hard you nearly black out. then cry. or both at the same time.)

horror overtakes you. the reverie, the spell of lust and arousal feels broken as you tune into jing yuan's expression. he's. processing. clearly.

you fucked up.

you start stuttering out apologies, voice still shaking with breathlessness with fear churning into it. embarrassment and shame stick to your ribs and you can feel your voice tremble, rapidly approaching the precipice of full on tears.

before you can slink away and hide in the en suite for the rest of your life, jing yuan is grabbing your hips, dragging you back into place. pushing you down so you can't squirm away, or squirm much at all. he stares at you, tilting his head. fluffy hair falls in a halo around his cheeks, his ribbon having been tossed aside hours ago.

without speaking, he cups your cheek in one hand and pets you with his thumb. the way one would a tiny kitten. you lean into the touch without thinking, and before you can continue to spiral and feel like death about accidentally calling your partner a name you reserve for your own light night maturbatory session, one that you can only let yourself muffle into a pillow that you bite between your teeth—

jing yuan says, "do you like that?"

"... l-like what?"

he chooses his words carefully, but his tone is still so gentle, "me, being your mommy."

you're going to die. "jing yuan—" you bury your face in your hands. "you're trying to kill me."

"not at all. just clarifying." he leans closer. folding you in half. his soft, ample chest is up against yours. "do you like the idea of being my baby, dear?"

he coos it. talks down to you in his tone and rubs along your lower lash line as he does. he doesn't let you turn away or escape the question. even as your stomach churns.

you sniffle. "i— um—"

"remember to be honest." he grip drifts, and he massages over your sternum. the pressure makes you feel light-headed and floaty all over. "i'd hate to have to put you over my knee so soon. just tell mommy how you feel?"

he's going to fucking kill you.

he squeezes around your throat. his cock (still hard, maybe even harder, purpling-tip) brushes up against your clit.

you come.

he's not even inside you and you come with a sound that's something between a sob and his name, and your vision speckles at the edges. you grab his shoulder, blindly, squeezing and searching because oh my fucking god— your brain must be coming out of your ears as your cunt flutters around nothing, your legs twitch against jing yuan's shoulder.

he shushes you as you come. the high is too much, it's all too much, but he's cradling you within the sensation so well that it's okay. everything's okay and the sensation is so horribly relieving that you do cry, properly, within a few heaving breaths.

jing yuan's good to you as you do. you can't see the hint of mischief in his eyes, but it's there as he pets down your chest, you waist and hips. eventually, to your cunt, where he places a wide, scalding hand over your navel.

"i need an answer, baby." he says 'baby' in such a tone that you nearly come again.

"i like it," the words fly from your mouth and you nod, over and over. "i like it so much, i like you so much, please, please, please—"

jing yuan chuckles richly, rubbing over the apples of his cheeks.

"isn't my baby so sweet." he presses his thumb between your lips, then down on your tongue. you drool around it. "you'll be good for mommy then?"

"uh-h-huh." it comes out garbled.

jing yuan looks amused. shame and arousal burn in your gut and you feel so empty.

"can you say it for me?"

you don't even hesitate. "i c-can be good for m-mommy."

"can you now?" jing yuan's laughs, lighter and sweet and genuinely with a maternal ring and you're going to die.

"i can!"

jing yuan pulls back, just enough to reach between your and position his cock so it's notched against your cunt. you sob with the content, clinging to him.

"so sweet." he tells you as he pushes into you. it's too slow for how stretched and wet you are. you need more, but he doesn't give it to you, even as you whine and gasp for it. instead, he holds your jaw, one handed with a silken grin. "dear, i know best. take what i give you now, hm? let me take care of you how you like."

you might actually literally die. you've given the man too much power.

when he bottoms out, he presses against the bruises he made earlier. scrapping against your sweet spot, moving a languid pace that normally, on a regular day, you'd goad him out of. you'd flutter your lashes and speak your own repertoire of sweet words to have him fuck you stupid and filthy and reverent into these same sheets.

now, though? you can't. the only thought in your mind is being good. for mommy, who kisses down your throat and over your chest. who hoists you just right so you're folded in half while he fucks you. the two of you can't be closer than this, and that vulnerability has always terrified you. but in your current state? when you're just being good and letting him care and push you as he sees fit?

it's all okay. it feels so good, you come again. maybe twice more. it's a slow roll that crashes over you and you take it. you take whatever he gives you because it's okay to and you want it.

by the time jing yuan's comes with a broken moan of his own into your neck, you feel cored out. broken in a good way, with your parts slowly being reassembled into a new image. ego death, maybe. or you're being dramatic and jing yuan (mommy, he said he'd be your mommy, what does that mean—) simply fucked you so well that you don't have a coherent thought left. who is to say.

jing yuan rolls you, so you're tucked in his side, beneath his chin.

he exhales, a shaking fragile thing.

"s-so," you own voice scratches from your throat. "should we talk about that—?"

he hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead, cajoling your— lower? "later. enjoy it, dear. can you keep being good for awhile long?"

fuck post-nut clarity. you're immediately back in the depths of whatever budding thing you're actualizing. you nod. cheek pillowed against jing yuan.

he pets your hair and you breath, hot and slow against his chest. the thump of his heart calms you.

as you doze, you hear him laugh, faintly. hopelessly fond like he always seems to be with you, but there's a sweeter edge to it. something new that makes you feel perfectly warm and too hot all at once.

but it's like he said, isn't it? there's time to talk later. question. sort. whatever thing is being awakened can be parsed through after a cat nap.

with cum leaking from between your thighs, and jing yuan's peaked nipples just inches from your face, you drift and enjoy. just like mommy asked you to.

[b1rds3ye]

Cod men with an so that has a kink for their gear/uniform …thats all

Anon you are SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE at this rate my obsession for people in uniform is unhealthy but it IS WHAT IT IS ✌️(only price and gaz for this one tho, my brain just ain’t braining for ghost and soap 😩😩)

In Uniform

Characters: Captain John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Word Count: 1.4 (~700 each)

Genre: Fluff, Smut 18+/MDNI, established relationship

Warning: Smut, 18+/MDNI, No overly dom/sub themes I don’t think? riding + worship (Price), thigh riding (Gaz), if I miss anything, let me know

A/N: This is the spiciest I've ever written (it pales in comparison to the filth I read but reading vs writing is a whole different story WRITING THIS WAS SO HARD ARGH-)

Captain John Price

Price is not blind. For the sake of professionalism, he doesn’t comment on it, but he can’t help but feel smug when he notices how your eyes trace his chest rig. How it looks almost too small with how it hugs to his chest, the straps that wrap over his shoulders emphasising his thick arms and broad torso. How the extra gear he has to equip gives his already large chest more volume

He will never sacrifice practicality and comfort over visuals on a mission… but if he knows he should just be wandering around base he may just tighten the straps of his gear a little more than usual just so it hugs his form better when he meets you. Just because he’s in a stable relationship with you and a high ranking soldier doesn’t mean the captain can’t have some fun and a little ego boost!

Still, Price is reluctant to test the extents of your uniform kink. His uniforms are often filthy and he can’t imagine anything more repulsive than some crusty blood of the enemy staining the pure haven that is your shared bed. Even after they’re cleaned, there’s a lingering concern that they’re not clean enough

But if there’s anything that John is weak to, it’s you with your hopeful eyes and sweet smile. He’ll triple clean his uniform and he’s ready to for it to join the confines of your bedroom

Even under you, Price prides himself on his restraint. He hasn’t lost the image of a commanding captain, still fully dressed save for the fly of his cargos pulled down just enough to free his cock that is now buried in you. The rough fabric of his cargos leave a pleasant burn against your bare thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the pleasant burn of John stretching you out. You want to move your hips faster, to have him hit the parts you know he can hit perfectly. But no, this night will be slow, cherishing the delicious sight below you.

You shift slightly and you whine at the impossible fullness from within. Distracting yourself from the intoxicating pain you drag your hands along his chest rig. Prying and slipping your fingers into every crevice and bend of straps and pockets, they twitch as an odd aftershock washes through your body. Under your palms John’s chest lifts with every heavy breath. Pressing them flat against his stomach as it deflates, you exhale with him as your relaxing body adjusts to him filling up your every crevice.

John’s hand creeps up to curl around one of your wrists. The plastic coating of his gloves offers a foreign coolness that has your body jolting and you whine as goosebumps coat your burning body.

“Didn’t know you had such a thing for men in uniform,” he simpered, his other hand down to rest on your hip. He idly massages at the plush skin, fingers digging deep down into the layer of muscle. Tilting into his touch, you try and contort yourself to get his hand a little closer to where you’re most sensitive, just that little bit more but he doesn’t relent, his moustache and beard now slightly curved as he watches you with amusement.

“Only you,” you whisper and his next breath is hefty and rugged, accompanied with a satisfied hum that reverberates through his entire being.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Only me.”

You pull your hands back up to his chest rig, you slip your fingers under the securing straps and take a firm grip. Hands dangerously close to his throat, John’s Adam apple instinctively bobs in anticipation.

“Getting handsy, are we?”

“Just need a bit more,” you mutter absentmindedly. You stare at him with blown out eyes. “Can I?”

“Do as you wish.”

Using your grip on his rig, you pull your hips further, feeling him deeper, harder. His hands immediately find purchase on your hips to steady you as you tremor at the new sensation. He only moves with you, his hips offering the faintest of encouragement as he slightly drives them up into you. Once you manage to set a rhythm above him the captain sounds near unrecognisable as he stifles a groan with every tug against his gear.

“Fuck. Just like that, darling.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Kyle is attentive to you, so he is aware of how your eyes scan his body when he walks past. He never thought that his uniform was particularly attractive or attention-grabbing since literally everyone else wears it, but he’s glowing upon noticing that he can entrance you over what’s merely his day-to-day gear

In low stakes situations, this man is teasing you to hell and back. Not directly though, he’ll never explicitly say he knows you have a thing for his uniform, but just before a mission he’ll have you double checking if his chest rig and gear are firmly secured to his body. Of course, they won’t be, and he’ll ask you to tighten the straps, discreetly flexing the respective body parts all the while

Now you can tell when Kyle’s horny. Instead of immediately shedding his gear to wash up and relax with you, he’ll only get rid of weaponry and any contents in his various pockets but the gear and uniform stays on in a (not so) discreet attempt of getting you just as riled up as he is

“Shit, you look so good.”

You let out a halfhearted laugh that morphs into a sigh as you grind your hips against his thigh. Through the flimsy fabric of your underwear, you swear you can feel everything against you. Each individual fibre of his cargo pants, the ridges of the seams. Even through the fabric you can feel the soft swells of his muscular thigh that you’re seated on.

“You should take a look at yourself,” you praise breathlessly.

Even with clothes on, Kyle looked hot as hell. Still in his gear, it made the slivers of his skin that revealed themselves all the more tantalising. His half-unbuttoned shirt revealing skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Sleeves haphazardly shoved up the arm to reveal his lean forearms, veins pulsating with lust as they hold onto your hips like a lifeline.

“Caught you staring earlier,” he mutters. With those godly arms he wraps them around your back, forcing you to lean into him, sweaty forehead against his.

“Thought you were worried about me, but it was really you I should have been worried about.”

His words are lost on you and he only smirks as your hips move forward and back and forward again with reckless abandon. Each drag of your hips getting more exaggerated, more forceful as you strain against Kyle’s arms that selfishly pull you taut to him.

“Let me… move, dammit,” you huff as you struggle to move in his hold.

“What? Is it bad that I want to be close with the love of my life?” he offers an innocent laugh but his eyes are still trained down to where your hips rhythmically meet his thigh with sinful movements.

Grinding your hips, you grunt unexpectedly as a pointed intrusion brushes against your clothed sex, nipping at where it was most sensitive. Christ, Kyle must’ve forgotten to take out a spare magazine in his cargo pockets. The edge of its hard metal giving a delicious contrast against his thick, clothed muscle, you experiment, trying a new angle to brush your most sensitive areas with his leftover weaponry.

It sends a wave of electricity through your body that has you jerking a knee up, one that brushes against Kyle’s hard on and he whines. His embrace only tightens as he tries to silence himself with his face buried in your chest.

“Shit- do that again,” his words are muffled against your skin, echoing through your rib cage.

With the next roll of your hips you pull your knee up once again. The stimulation against his dick has him instinctively flexing his thighs, and you tremble at the extra firmness in between your legs, the sensation evoking a sound of pure sin from you.

Kyle rolls his head to the side to rest on your shoulder, his ragged breaths burning against the crook of your neck.

“Please- fuck - do it again, love.”

You didn’t have to be told twice.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[eskumii]

yandere!incel!tomura shigaraki + foreigner!darling who can't speak japanese

TITLE: " RENT-A-GF " — navi.

NOTES: nsfw (18+ only) below the cut (non-con!! somnophilia!!) reminder: this is merely fantasy, i don't condone. will prob proofread someday lol. enjoy!

PAIRING: yandere!incel!shigaraki tomura x foreinger!reader

GENRE/AU: shigaraki is rlly misogynistic and delusional, age gap (you're older), reader is a substitute english teacher who got kidnapped by bwad gwuys and is now... yeah

CHARACTERS: shigaraki tomura (21), reader (24)

let's be for real: shigaraki was born to be an incel.

and incel!shigaraki is shamelessly self-aware of this, indeed. when he's not out terrorizing innocent citizens with his villainous coups, he takes to the internet to fulfill his insatiable need for an adrenaline rush. gorey video games and brutal death metal makes him light up in glee, but sometimes it's just not enough.

so, instead, he's a frequent on the dark web, diligently scouring sites that specialize in obscure female porn collectives that cater to his twisted kinks. incel!shigaraki glowers at the pictures of stupid, slutty women who prance around in sexy lingerie, but still gets a hard-on because he wishes he had a woman who would do that for him and him only.

and what shigaraki wants, he gets. on another sweaty night in his dark bedroom, he's boredly clicking through the hundreds of entries of women who are being sold for, what he thinks, too high of a price. not that money would ever be a problem for him; if he felt compelled to, he could just kidnap the girl he wanted all over again. so, no, it's not the price—it's what he thinks they're worth based on his attraction to them.

and, so far, all of them are worthless.

you see, the conundrum is that incel!shigaraki has a thing for foreign girls. don't ask why, he doesn't know. maybe he finds it cute that they're so clueless about his culture and language, and he's the one who'll control the narrative that rules their ignorance. maybe it's so cute how they wear their perpetual confusion on their face at all times, like a bratty kid who can't navigate the world without mommy or daddy by their side.

of course, though, women could hardly do anything on their own anyway. every time he came across one they'd wail and cry as he grabbed them by the hair and threatened to kill them if they didn't shut the hell up. they'd beg for their lives or scream for someone to save them, but it would only piss him off more at how useless and brainless they tended to be. he just couldn't help but decay them—they were so noisy and whiny, it wasn't his fault.

obviously, shigaraki has neither patience nor experience with women. in fact, he can probably count with two fingers how many times he's had a non-violent interaction with a woman in his entire lifetime. the mere thought of this drives his insecurities to the brink of rage, but it's not his fault women are so unbelievably tasteless in their choice of men. it's their fault he has to go to such lengths to find a decent woman worthy of his presence.

but imagine his delight when he happens upon a listing of you, an immediately attractive foreign woman who used to be an english substitute teacher of all things. he clicks through your pictures with a renewed vigor, his interest piqued as he studies your unique features. eagerly, he scours through your posted information and it turns out that you happen to be exactly the kind of woman he's looking for.

it's a done deal. the transaction takes less than a few minutes and incel!shigaraki couldn't be more pleased with how smoothly it went. he'll have to leave a good review later on, when and if the woman he's just bought has satisfied him.

it takes just one night before shigaraki finds you literally dropped off at his doorstep like an amazon prime package. you’ve clearly been pampered with the way you’re clad in a skimpy maid outfit; your nails, hair, and makeup are all dolled to perfection. you look exactly like you did in the pictures.

and clearly you're wise beyond your years. you don't speak much because of the obvious language barrier, but you do seem to understand a bit of elementary japanese. shigaraki is delighted by your small mutterings of broken japanese—it’s unbelievably cute. sometimes he'll force you to speak in japanese just because he loves watching you struggle with your limited vocabulary.

incel!shigaraki gets attached to you. you're very attractive in his eyes, and he's completely ecstatic that you're all his. a woman he can do whatever he wants with, and no one would dare question him. the immense power trip sends him over the edge.

that being said, the first couple of weeks are still rather... awkward. you're not happy about being in the situation you're in, but you're smart enough to keep that to yourself. you don't fuss when shigaraki orders you to fetch him liquor or tidy up his filthy room, nor do you complain when he commands you to cuddle with him or keep him company while he plays video games.

"[name], c'mere," he'd bark at you, eyes still glued to the tv screen.

"be a good girl and keep my lap warm, hm?"

he'll force you to wear cute lingerie sets like he's seen the women on porn sites do. somehow you look so much better though, and it feels as though you're teasing him with the way you bend over so much while cleaning. the outline of your pussy through the small fabric that stretches over it has him horny in a matter of seconds. you're such a tease, aren't you ashamed? you just can't seem to stay in line.

however, despite all your obvious sexual innuendos towards him, shigaraki gets no relief. he's resorted to jacking off whenever you go to sleep but no matter how hard or how much he cums, there's an itch that can't be scratched with masturbation alone. and the way you're so shy around him is adorable, sure, but your little playing-hard-to-get act wasn't cutting it anymore.

the remedy? incel!shigaraki starts slipping sleeping pills into your food and drinks.

and it doesn't take long for shigaraki to develop a routine of visiting you while you're sleeping. partly to check up on you and assure himself of your presence, but mostly to creep around the edges of the bed and feel you up. you sleep so soundly that you don't even twitch when he fondles your soft breasts or runs his spindly fingers over your curves.

he almost doesn't want to disturb you; you look so peaceful, totally different than the frightened little faces you muster when you're awake. but the bothersome tightness stretching his boxers taut against its stitches makes it hard to resist his urges. anyway, you're simply doing the only thing a woman is good for: using your body to please him.

his breath is hot and heavy, laced with lust and selfish perversion as he defiles you to get himself off. some nights he just sits and admires your beauty, caressing your face with clumsy, inexperienced fingertips. some nights your shirt is pulled up so he can marvel at how nicely your breasts sit in whatever color bra he forced you to wear.

other nights his cock is nestled between them, thrusting like his life depends on it, chasing that euphoric high he gets when he finally spills his seed across your hardening nipples. and other nights shigaraki is even more daring—cute pajama pants and panties below your knees, face buried between your thighs as he explores every inch of your sweet cunt. he knows it's wrong, but so what? he's a villian, that's what makes it feel so right.

when you make faces in your sleep, he's filled with so much genuine affection—it's almost as if you're telling him he's doing a good job. you love it, don't you? he so desperately wants to hear you cry his name in that precious accent of yours and run your hands through his hair as you lavish your praise upon him for making you cream so many times.

he can't keep his eyes off you. so soft and compliant. you're so pretty while he's stuffing his cock into you and relentlessly flicking your little clit, not stopping even when he feels you clench around him like a vice as you orgasm over and over. not stopping even though you're drooling all over the linen sheets and he's came twice already.

"that's right... y-you gonna cum again? you gonna—ngh—cum all over my cock, you dumb whore?"

shigaraki watches with glassy, intrigued eyes as you squirm ever so slightly, face warped into one of undeniable pleasure as he ravages your gushing pussy. you're such a good girl for him, letting him use you as he wishes.

you're the woman he's chosen to give his virginity to. he's so happy and content that when he cums inside of you for the third time, he doesn't pull out. instead, shigaraki gently maneuvers your body so he can spoon you from behind, whispering tender "i love you's" as if he knows what that means. absently grinding his hips because your warmth is so comforting around his sticky, softening dick.

as much as shigaraki wants to stay and pound you into the mattress all night, the sleeping medication doesn't last forever. not to mention the mess you've made; the sheets are completely ruined and your clothes are strewn about on the floor, long forgotten. it's hot in your room and it stinks of his cum and sweat, but it doesn't really matter. the only thing on his mind is you and how he'll ruin you again tomorrow night.

for now, though, he rewards you for being so good by cleaning you up, smirking whenever you unconsciously nuzzle up to his touch. when your clothes are back on, he plants a tender kiss on your forehead and admires your flushed face from the shadows of your bedside. when the sun begins to rise and you stir in your ignorance, he'll sneak out and act as if nothing ever happened.

incel!shigaraki who doesn't deny that you're just another stupid slutty woman, but you're the only woman he'll ever want to cum inside of. when he returns to his room, he remembers to pull up your archived listing on his computer and dazedly taps away at his keyboard.

"10/10 recommend"

[pricegouge]

assassin anon again! There's a sword 🗡️ emoji. If it's not taken I will have it!

Still obsessed with papochka. Poor daughter!reader who's been raised isolated from pretty much anyone else. Only a nanny/tutor who aren't even around since she's an adult now. She can count on one hand how many times she's seen Nik. She's so sheltered she's afraid to leave home.

She has an accident. Something like falling off her horse or falling down the stairs. Either way she breaks a leg and maybe a wrist or something else.

Nik comes to check on her and she's just instantly attached to him. Super clingy and weepy because she's in pain and her Papochka is finally around taking care of her. And oh man will Nik take care of her. Why not just sleep in his bed with him? That way he can be close by if she needs something. Don't mind if she wakes up to him grinding against her.

*emerges from the google doc like i'm rising from the fucking dead* it's the fact that you have no idea what you did to me when you hit send that keeps killing me lmao.

this screamed princess locked away in a tower vibes to me so i hope you don't mind i made it into an extremely poorly defined medieval/fantasy au and then proceeded to completely out myself as a complete slut for fantasy and spend seven thousand words just having fun with it 🙄

anyway, i imagine nik as some lesser lord. maybe just a landed knight even, granted some run down keep out in the middle of nowhere, plenty of land, as a thank you from his liege lord after an act of valor.

cw: f!reader. incest, skirting awful close with grooming. power imbalance/reader is very sheltered. period appropriate terms for pussy (sorry. i tried to make it as sexy as possible but sometimes it really makes or breaks the scene), virginity kink, multiple orgasms. touch starvation. minor character death, one of which is hinted at foul play but it's only mentioned in one line. please lmk if i missed anything. MDNI

it's easy to get himself a wife once he has a keep, harder to hold her. i can see her fading away after years spent in such isolation, growing more and more melancholy and distant until one day she just. well. the wounds on her wrists, it's hard to imagine such a gentile lady doing something like that, but it must have been what happened? surely?

she never gave him a son, but he's left with the daughter. you're a sweet little gurgling thing he doesn't know what to do with, especially not when duty calls and he's needed elsewhere again. so he gets a handmaid - of sorts. in truth he doesn't quite know what she is, her language one he's not overly familiar with, but she was hard at work in his lord's scullery when he found her and it was a simple matter to ask for another favor, really, even if she wails the whole time. 

war's war, a hard thing to pull away from when you've proven yourself as well as nikolai. harder still when your liege is a greedy man. he's rarely home, misses much of your growth. but his travels take him far and wide and he learns to speak the language of the handmaid, a good thing considering it's what you come to speak, his own daughter's tongue foreign to him. so far removed. like your mama, really, but where his wife had faded in isolation, you appear to thrive.

hard to miss something you never had, he supposes, but if that were true, he shouldn't miss you, not when he hardly even knows you, not when you don't even call him papa in the proper language. but he misses you like he misses his hearth - warm embrace and scent of home. he's ashamed to admit it, but it heats his blood some nights, when the loneliness of the road weighs on him. he's only a man and you've grown quick, as far as he can tell. one minute clutching the maid's skirts and the next helping her in the kitchen, grain enmeshed in the coarse weave of your sleeves. you're a lady, of some fashion - at least when compared to how he grew up - but you're content with this simple life, happy with the dirt under your fingernails. and what man could want for more? a simple woman at home to welcome him with soft arms and the scent of bread?

though he does want more for you, wants to spoil you like the proper little lady you are, his printsessa, so graceful, but ladies come with courts, whole teams of servants at your beck and call to feed you properly, brush your hair and bathe you. 

stable hands to teach you riding, shoe your horses for you.

more cocks in the roost.

you're the light of his life, his sweet dochka, so he can't be blamed for growing covetous. illiberal. it's unwise, will make you an undesirable match later in life when you can't do the things most ladies are supposed to, but there's nothing for it except to keep you squirreled away at home, no one to talk to besides your sweet maid who keeps you unlearned and simple, helpless even to speak with the rabble when you are permitted to walk to town on your maid's arm. 

helpless even to know you need help, until your maid grows too old to take you, too frail to feed herself. nikolai's away for that bit, returns some months later to find you beside yourself, hysterical. stir crazy. he's just grateful the old baba was clever enough to tell you how to dispose of her body - though you didn't do a very good job, the shallow grave you'd dug empty when he finds it under a tree in the east pasture. wolves, likely. he'll have to take care of them before he leaves again. 

it ends up being his longest stay at home in nearly twenty years. a good thing, too, because you need the time almost as much as he does, nerves unwinding under his care after so many months alone. you care for him too, when he lets you, singing to him by the fire until he nods off, thoughts too sluggish to keep up with the translation, your strange foreign tales washing over him until it's just sounds, just the lovely lilt of your voice. you're like a little bird. his little bird, so sweet.

he wants to keep you, clip your feathers, but he can't maintain them from half across the kingdom and there's no one at home to do it for him, so he has to trust you - for now.

the horse frightens you, and he tells you it well should, though it's no destrier, the gentle palfrey shirking from his own mount with flared nostrils and agitated huffs. she's a docile little thing usually, barely even knows how to canter. he teaches you how to take care of her and you pout about the added chores, but there's no denying the excitement he sees in your eyes when you realize the autonomy he's given you. he dampens it with a word of caution.

"remember, radnaja, town holds no friends for you. without your maid, no one will understand you, and an unchaperoned lady will draw many an unwanted glance. you must only travel in the event of an emergency."

there's more peeping, some half-hearted arguments. he doesn't know how the commoners have received you in the past, but you give in easily enough so it can't be a great loss. at least, not enough to outweigh your eagerness to please him, thinking it will make him stay.

you've only just settled when the next call to arms comes and he has to listen to you weep all night, keeping him awake when he really needs the rest. there's no soothing you, no matter how many times he reiterates that you'll be okay, that he's fixed everything, set you up with a year's worth of grains and root veggies in the cellar, and deliveries of cured meats. you know how to milk the goats, how to slit their kids' throats come winter. he doesn't understand why you're so upset, but then, he didn't understand your mother either.

he starts to, though, in the long months that follow; the loneliness that eats at him. at night he hears the trill of your voice in his ear, feels your plush hips in his palms, your weight familiar after too many times helping you onto your horse. he's not a good man, nor a proud one. after long days of trudging and battle, he doesn't fight it - succumbs to the quickest, easiest fantasy; more fleshed out now than ever before. the little woman he's got at home. it's like fuel within him, a flame that only gets hotter the longer it burns. he stokes it daily and it feeds him in turn, makes him bloodthirsty, efficient. there's talk of granting him a larger keep by the end of it.

lace, silks. he pictures you in dresses that tie in the back, maids swarming around you like gnats to keep you primped and pretty. he'd swat them away and lace you up himself if he had his way, grunting with how tightly he pulls your stays. in his thoughts you're already a proper lady, one of those simpering little helpless things who gather around to welcome the lords home. he dreams of seeing you waiting for him at the field gate as he rides home, hair all plated and pretty. like church bells, calling him home, hastening his trip. sometimes he even sleeps in the saddle, the leagues flying underfoot. he's never been this eager to be home, but the years add up; and he aches, just wants to hear you sing to him, too see if you'll be good to your papa and rub his sore knee.

perhaps that's why he doesn't notice the horse at first.

he'd crossed the border onto his own land some miles back, driving his heel hard into the flank of his mount. pines whip past in an endless sea, but he knows the path well, a game trail he himself has carved. his horse notices the other before he does, slowing to a trot and trumpeting. odd. a hardened beast, the destrier did not often feint, but nikolai spots the issue after a quick glance around.

poor creature, eager at the first sight of tail. must be as hard up as him.

dismounting, nikolai tuts to see your reins untethered and calls for you, voice stern as he begins his lecture about the importance of hobbling your mount.

but you never come. not so much as a twig snaps in answer, his own echo all that greets him.

he doesn't panic. not yet. he ties your horse to his own and sets off again, pace much slower for the benefit of your fat little palfrey, keeping his ears strained as he continues to call for you.

your horse's trail is easy to follow, the soft old girl having eaten her way across the fields. the worry sets in the more the path winds, long miles looping over his acreage. aimless. where were you while your sweet little beast was roaming?

he finds you as the sun sets, weather beaten and weary. you can't put weight on your leg and you yelp when he tries to pull you up with a steady grip on your upper arm, but your voice is too creaky to explain why, face twisting in pain with tears that don't fall - the streaks down your pretty face long dried. you shriek when he throws you over your horse's back, though, screams raw and jagged as he rides hard for home.

the first night is the hardest, long hours spent fighting his own exhaustion as he tries to ply you with much needed food and water. you can't move from the bed, can't help yourself even enough to hold the spoon of broth, and he can see why in the mottling on your chest when your smock falls loose enough to show where the delicate bone there should arch. you scream when he hitches your skirts up, his hands too heavy against the deep bruising which runs high on your thigh, perfect ring of a hoofmark dotting dangerously close to your hip.

he's seen men die of complications from such wounds, knows how close you came to the death sentence that is a broken hip.

you try to follow him in the morning, too delirious to understand that he needs to fetch a physician. he ends up having to tie you to the bed, a poor attempt to keep you from injuring yourself further. he leaves you with water and soup, one hand left untied so you could reach it, while the other was bound to your chest, keeping your arm in place. in theory, you could untie yourself, though the knots are so tightly bound he doesn't have to worry. still, when he returns he finds your nails frayed and bloody, the jute rope on its last thread.

they cannot tell if your leg is broken, keep prodding at it with bony old gnarled fingers which he thinks about snapping, if only to remind them what they're looking for. the process makes you sob and shake and cling, your one good arm reaching back to hold him close as the other remains bound to your chest. he sits flush behind you the whole while, cradling you between his thighs. holding the wood they place between your teeth in place, he rocks you whenever able. a pathetic attempt to soothe. and he blames the tears that stain his cheeks on you. transfer from how tightly he holds you, surely.

you sleep after they leave, the tincture they'd given leaving you pliant and soft. even still you cling to him when he settles beside you, careful of the sling that holds you together. he should give you space, let you sleep, but the thought leaves his limbs leaded, too heavy to abide when he tries to pull away. he squired as a boy. they said it was an honor for one so base-born, but he knows now it was only a testament to his size, his strength. even then there was no hiding it, plucked from the village by a passing lord who knew a weapon when he saw one, dressed it up as an honor. he'd play at knighthood when his master was otherwise occupied, stealing away with bits of armor and swords. the first time he'd donned mail, it had nearly made him buckle under the burden, his body unused to the weight. he feels like that now. untried.

you gurgle when he peppers kisses along your hairline. he'd left you completely alone, unwatched. unguarded. he's lucky to have found you alive at all. if he'd been longer in coming, if he'd died in the cause -.

you cuddle closer, snuffling after more kisses. it eases something in his chest, some tightly wound spring he's unaccustomed to feeling, here in the safety of his own home. his next kiss lands lower, the bridge of your nose, then another high on your cheek. your lips part, a soft sound calling to him and he melts into you as much as he can without causing further harm, lips soft against your own.

his sweet, little bird. clipped wing, still singing.

—

thoughts come wispy, barely connected. spiderweb threads which weave in and out of consciousness. there's pain still, but it's lesser somehow. dulled around the edges. you vaguely remember being fed some sticky solution, the bite of it as it slipped down your throat. it had reminded you of the grain alcohol your father sometimes brought home, the stuff you would sneak sips of after he'd started snoring in his chair. it left you loose the same way. easy, passive.

but this didn't help the ache in that same way, the hollow chasm in your chest you've lived with ever since nana passed. it yawns now, needy and desperate. you whimper as you roll, searching, expecting nothing -

and find the warm musculature of another body.

despite your wishes, it's hard to resist the urge to spring up, shrieking, but you manage. instead you turn slowly, fearfully, and nearly sob in relief at the sight of your father's sleeping moue. it's strange, how quickly the lingering effects of your medicine seem to clear. physically, you remain languid, but you've not felt more alert since his last visit, the first time you sat astride your pretty pony and felt for the first time, some modicum of control. this is different, but the effect is the same, leaves your very veins singing with excitement, the tallest tree in the forest, recently struck from the heavens and burning from the inside. you want to consume him with yourself, divine retribution for leaving you alone. more so, you want him to already be with you - an owl at home in the hollowed knot of your chest when you were engulfed.

but he sleeps too peacefully, strong brow obscured by the strands of hair which have escaped his severe style. thick arms encase you, heavy in rest. comforting. you enjoy it as long as he lets you, fingers growing bolder as the morning stretches on, tracing up over his furry forearm, smoothing the folds of his shirt where it rides up to his elbow. he doesn't stink like you'd expect, melt water crisp. he must have washed the filth of the road off while you'd slept, and you can't help but luxuriate in it, craning your neck up to nudge against his throat until he grumbles and snuggles deeper, returning the favor. you play with the thick, gold chain he wears and lay it flat as you can manage against his broad chest, intimate your knuckles with the coarse stubble of his jaw. he wakes when you push his hair back into place, catching your wrist in his big paw so quickly that it makes you jump, crying out when the sharp pain cuts through your hunger.

his grip turns soothing instantly, "shh, shh, malýshka, settle."

"you scared me," you pout, and then pout some more when he levels you with a warning look, rather unearned.

"and you scared me," he counters, kissing the inside of your wrist. his lips are hot against your skin, a relief from the chill of the early spring air. you tuck it back under the blanket when he releases you, the heat built under the cover more than enough to keep you warm; although you realize as your palm settles over the rough spun linen that you've been stripped to your chemise and briefly marvel at that possibility. he emits heat like the hearth, fresh fed. mornings are usually a frigid affair, the coals having guttered, leaving you shivering. but in your father's arms you are content. lazy. happy to sink your fingers into the fur of his belly where his shirt rides up and stave off the frost.

until he tries to squirm away.

"father, please," you whine, grasping for him.

slumping back beside you, he groans, hand over his eyes as if he can't even look at you. "i'll not go far, radnaja."

"just another moment, please? you're so warm."

he grunts when you try to wriggle closer, heavy hand falling on your belly. "and you're needy."

unfair, all things considered, but you don't think it's worth mentioning as much, so you settle for reminding him you're hurt.

"and last time i was home, hm? were you hurt then as well?"

teasing, but you don't find it so funny. "can a heart not hurt?"

he doesn't seem to know what to say to that, instead huffs once more, breath warm against your face, and rolls away, slipping your grasp easily. his tunic is loose, untied at the collar. you've never noticed how hairy he is, pelt a deep contrast to the chain. it's good work, you think - not that you're overly familiar with the intricacies of fine metalcraft, but you've never seen anything like it, thick links so packed and tight it more closely resembled his mail than a proper piece of jewelry. you wondered where he'd acquired it, knew full well the smithy in town could never manage such finery. it was hard not to be a bit jealous, though the nature of it surprised you.

in all your nana's stories, such gifts were only given by loved ones.

~~~

he cooks potatoes and rashers of ham for breakfast. fresh ham, must've brought it with him when he returned. you lay on the bed and salivate, fingers itching. restless and impatient by turns. your nana would have taken a switch to your knuckles if she found you abed while your father cooked, but he seems unbothered by the work, if unpracticed. he lingers when he brings your plate, torn. you try to scoot up the cot to give him space, imply invitation, but he turns away when he sees you wince with the movement, settling at the table where the cold spring light is transmuted, glowing golden as it filters through the horn slats which pane the windows.

your nana's stories have never mentioned beautiful men, at least none like him - burly, old; more bear than man. you've no way with words, but you think you could write new stories, better, paint his hard, weathered body in a kinder light. if only he'd sit still.

"if you leave again, i'll die."

chewing, he eyes you over, the bulky shape of your awkward arm visible through the woolen blanket. that is not what to what you refer. "da. appears you are stuck with me for a while."

there's no hiding the excitement in your voice, not that you're socialized enough to know you should try. "you'll stay?"

another bite, fatty slice. he tears at it like a stray dog, tendons of his neck flexing as he works the piece between sharp teeth. "no choice."

it's not quite what you want to hear, but it soothes you nonetheless, a soft counterpoint to the ache that's slowly rebuilding in your leg. "what will you do if you're summoned again?"

he just shrugs, imparts some saying in his language, no doubt wise. "tell them to 'piss off,' i suppose."

"and after? when i'm healed?" if you heal.

blunt fingers drum on the table. he eyes you like a problem to be solved. "after, i leave."

he's unexpectedly sympathetic when you cry, cooing as he crawls onto the bed beside you. he speaks words that sound reassuring, but they aren't all in your shared tongue and you can only sniffle, holding onto him for all you're worth. you tell him you don't want him to leave, but he just nods, curling around you as best he can. you don't tell him that he jostles you too much, keep your grimace under tight control, the ache of the movement worth the comfort of his care.

despite the pain, you gather you can't have broken your leg when he lifts them gingerly, folds his own up under yours until the tops of his thighs rest under your rump. he's still gentle when he lowers you legs overtop his own, palm heavy and warm he slides it up your tender leg to palm at your hip, drag you closer into the wall of his chest. he's on your good side, knows it; pulls you so close your shoulder gets wedged into your side, pushing your breasts together. you brace his chest instinctively with the fingers of your uselessly bound arm when he leans over you, lips chapped and hot against your hairline as he keeps murmuring, language a tangled knot you can't unwind.

it's not what you're focused on, regardless.

your father is a large man, large enough that he'd single handedly skewed your perception of how a man should look. it wasn't until you were grown, standing next to the blacksmith while he fashioned some lock for nana that you'd realized it. the largest man in town, and you still came up to his chin - though he was admittedly slightly broader than your father. you'd come to appreciate your father's stature on his last visit, the ease with which he'd help lift you into your saddle, the way his height loomed over you making you feel safe, secure. here, now, his broad chest blocking out the room as he leans over you, heavy weight braced on an arm which flexes deliciously as he ducks to peck kisses across your face, you feel a little faint, the ghost of his hands on your hips making you ache to your core - that hollow pit, low in your belly, an emptiness that surpassed hunger, rivaled even that loneliness that's made a home in your chest.

it would eat you soon, if not fed.

"father, please. it hurts," you warble like a baby bird, maw agape. expectant.

he doesn't feed you, eats from you, instead. takes more, mouth hot and open against your own. you wonder if he's just as hollow. "i know, devochka, but you'll be better soon, hm? just need to let your papa take care of you, yes? need -."

"no." you whine when he pulls away, chase his lips as he sits back above you, out of reach. you forget to elaborate until he arches a brow at you, waiting. "not that… not there. here."

desideration has weight, caves your tummy when his eyes follow the path of your good hand low into the cradle of where he's got your legs hitched. he leans back further, bears his weight full on his side so his big paw can climb over the hills of your body, slip south like so many raids. when he presses, applies force, the sharpness of your hunger shocks you, breath going ragged. it draws his attention, dark eyes snapping up to your face so he can track how your lips part when he does it again, the way your eyes go slightly unfocused. it's strange, how he can stoke the fire within you while somehow also making you feel as close to quenched as you ever have.

it scares you. "should you get the doctor again?" something perilously close to anger curls his lip, sets you floundering beneath him, afraid to have disappointed. "sorry, it's only -."

"i have you, malýshka. papa will make it better."

this time when he lowers himself over you, he lets you take his weight, hand staying put on your belly. his other arm curls under your neck, props you up so he can return to his biting kisses, the ones that let him drink soft noises from your lips and feed you with his heavy huffs. you've never kissed like this before, his quick pecks normally placed on the corner of your mouth, or the divot above your lips. nana only ever kissed your cheeks, sweet things which had unfortunately grown sloppy with her age, often left you amused, if mildly disgusted. these are sloppy kisses too, his tongue hot and wet as it slips over your teeth. you imagine biting into it, an undercooked slice of meat, the hot flow of his lifesblood over your jowls. when your stomach flips, it is not with disgust.

you don't realize he's worked your skirt up over your hips with slow, clutching fingers until you feel them on your skin, calloused and warm above the thatch of hair that covers your woman's place. "father?" you whine and he tsks at you, tongue very nearly clicking on your own teeth with how close he stays.

"call me papa, radnaja. about time you learned to speak proper."

it feels good on your tongue, the soft pops as your lips brush against his. must sound good to him as well, for he doesn't wait to hear your question once you've spoken it, mouth returning to yours with a renewed hunger.

"papa, please, what are you -?"

his fingers are too rough when he hikes your good leg further over his hip, baring your flower. you yelp but he just eats that, too, breath turning ragged as it fans across your lips when his palm returns to cup your woman's place. even grabbing his wrist does no good, your fingers like brittle little branches which he shakes off with ease.

"told you, malýshka. papa's gonna make it better, hm? know what you need."

"but nana said not to touch there, not when i'm hungry."

you worry you've misspoken when he leans away from you, brow knitted. "hungry?"

"when i'm empty -," you start, try again more confidently when you wrangle his hand back up to that achy spot, low in your tummy. "when it hurts."

embarrassment blooms as he releases a shaky laugh, palm splayed wide over your belly. you try to wriggle from under him, but the arm tucked beneath your neck pulls you back, bicep bulging as he keeps you in place with a quiet shh. "your nana was right, dochka, and what a good girl you've been to have listened. but do you know why she said not to touch?" he shakes his head when you do, vaguely patronizing. "of course not, milaya, tak khorosho. she was protecting your maidenhead. do you know what that is?" this time when you shake your head, you're rewarded with a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth, his hand pressing against your belly until you squirm again. "that's your gift, sweet girl. for your husband. but until you give it to him, do you know who it belongs to?"

you've never noticed how dark his eyes are, almost black. his grin is vicious when you shake your head again.

"to your papa, glupaya devchonka, so i'll touch you there if i please."

this time it's your head that follows after his, bobbing along absently as he nods encouragingly. your hand covers his as best it can, pushes it down toward the apex of your thighs - your gift. he said he knew what to do and you're eager, the ache worse than ever.

"that's right, little one. i've got you. papa will make it better, hm? fill you up." that last is a growl against your lips. a threat. he hikes your leg impossibly higher and tells you to hold it there, hip aching slightly. it's like he knows, thumb digging cruelly into the taut tendon that stems from your core as he palms one of your cheeks and spreads you for his inspection, fingers slotting embarrassingly along your seam. but he seems unbothered, and you suppress the whine that builds in your chest, heat flushing up your neck.

"ty by posmotrel na eto…" feather light, calloused pads trail up and over your flower. "such a pretty little thing."

your stomach leaps, his compliments far too rare. "th- thank you, papa."

dipping further, he sighs when he finds your dew hidden amongst your petals. "ought to thank you," he mutters, then steals your breath with another kiss, swallowing your gasp as his fingers pull up, brush over something which makes you jolt so hard your chest aches.

"wha - what -?"

he just coos. "shshsh. have to be still, malýshka. don't want you getting hurt again."

it seems inevitable. the whole process - too big, too much.

he's going to leave again.

"papa, please…"

"i know, i'll help." and maybe he does, in a way, but he's only ever made things worse, too; so when he works you over, panting heavily against your cheek as his fingers stroke that hard pearl he's found until you're a writhing mess he has to lean on to keep still, you aren't surprised when the tears fall, overwhelmed and scared. he kisses them away, touch still wringing slow, lazy shudders from you until your breath comes ragged, stomach heaving with toomuchsomuchnotenoughstillnotfull.

he waits until you're hiccupping to fold your knee up to your chest, hips hitching impossibly closer under yours. his breeches are roughspun, the suede placket soaked and sticky when it slots up under your cunt. embarrassment cuts through the haze of your pleasure when you realize it's your own juices, tips you over that edge of panic you'd been riding.

must be, he doesn't care. he calls you 'milaya,' asks if you can take more. you shake your head and he just huffs in amusement, hand already reaching past your cunt to unfasten his stays.

"father, no!" you shriek, pushing at his chest as much as you're able. he ignores you until you slip your bad leg off his own, trying to pull away despite the pain.

"ostorozhnyy!" he barks, settling you back into place. "where do you think you're going?"

nonsensically, you sob, "nowhere!"

"certainly seemed like -."

"i don't want you to go!"

you know little of battle, experience limited to the tales your nana would tell, and those more focused on the outcome than the practice. still, you're reminded of a bow when he stalls, tension in his poise, drawn tight. he looms over you, impossibly big. blocks out everything else, no getting past him. "radnaja," he hedges and your neck creaks with how quickly you turn away from him, try to hide your face in your broken shoulder. of course, he follows, elbow cracking when it catches his weight so he can lean over you, press his nose hard into your cheek. "milaya, look at me. look." his fingers are soft against your jaw, turning you back towards him with the utmost care. "i'll not leave you again. where i go, you follow, hm?"

unable to meet his eyes, your voice aches as it rips through your raw throat. "you promise?"

he doesn't, not until you look at him properly and he's rewarded you with a kiss between the eyes. but he repeats it when his manhood strokes your petals, uses it to settle you like one would a horse, voice low and soft, a constant murmur used to ground you as he carves a place for himself, kissing away the tears that come when the tight pinch finally gives.

it's a litany, his own hymn to counter the prayer he pulls from you. he's gentle, despite the way his chest heaves. you're reminded of how he trains sometimes, alone and shirtless in the yard. he laughs when you yank at his tunic, and nods, sitting up enough to pull it over his head in one fluid motion. when he settles, he's lower, face level with your chest. it allows him to sit deeper within you, fill you properly, as he said. his promises finally peter out when he draws your first breathy gasp, different now from the pained noises you'd been letting slip. his hand follows yours when it flutters from his hip, falls to that achy spot.

"still hurt, malýshka?" he looks just as hungry as you, just as consumed. when words fail you, he drags his hand up your chest and splits the panels of your chemise, exposing your chest as best he can despite your sling and groans when he finds your nipples pebbled.

first one, then the other, he inspects each breast with roughened hands, wide palms molding over them, fingers pinching until you whine. he soothes the ache with his rough tongue, lowering his head until he can pull the closest breast into his mouth, jaw hinged wide as if he wished to swallow you whole. his mouth is hot, wet. he suckles, drawing tenderness to the surface which he extorts with teeth and tongue, an alternating attack with no rhythm and no way to prepare yourself. you'd never known your chest could feel like this. you'd never known you could feel like this, hot all over yet shivering as if spring had receded, ebbed until the frozen tundra of winter battered the keep walls. chasing the feeling, you try to mimic his movement, rocking your hips down against his own and snaking your good hand up your chest, managing to worm your fingers under your sling before he snags your wrist and scolds you.

"can't have you hurting yourself more, radnaja. have to be careful."

"but i -?"

"i know. feels good, hm? but it will feel better here," he assures, dragging your hand back down, low - lower, until your fingers frame that pearl of flesh he'd found before. "remember how papa did it? show me what you've learned."

not much, it seems. you're uncoordinated, sloppy, too overwhelmed to find a proper rhythm. it's more intense with him inside you, causes you to flinch away from your own touch. you get distracted, too, reach past your pearl to spread your petals and frame where he's speared you. your fingers come away sticky and slick and you seize around him when you find blood.

you're not sure where it comes from. some long dead instinct, unearthed by fear and the novelty of his comforting presence. you call him papochka in a quavering voice and he makes a sound like he's wounded, reaching blindly for your hand to lick off the blood between broken fragments of sentences, odd threads of your combined languages twining into some semblance of a blanket he uses to soothe you. you think you hear something about your gift, that it just means you've been good for him. you don't catch much beyond that, thoughts whiting out as his own fingers return to your core. there's no flinching away from him.

he's not as cruel this time, lets you wind down without any interruption beyond the way he hikes back up your frame, cock slipping free so he can press open mouth kisses to your cheek. he's still talking, grasp of english steadier now. just needed papa to do it. can't even do it yourself, can you? papochka's got you, don't worry.

but he moves despite his words, letting your leg slip from the cradle of his elbow as he gets his knees under himself and straddles your sore leg. he's careful not to put any weight on it, instead leaning on the back of your other thigh until it folds back up toward your side, same as before.

"is this good, milaya? does it hurt?"

you shake your head adamantly. "no, papa. i'm fine."

he calls you a good girl, but you whine anyway when he tells you you're going to give him one more. he hushes you even as he pushes back in, his head falling back with a groan as this new position finally allows him to sink all the way to the root, and you know instantly why this last turn was necessary, that tight knot in your belly winding impossibly tighter.

as if he knows too, his palm splays over your belly again, fingers digging into your soft flesh. "gonna fill you up, printsessa. just like you wanted. ready?"

the term leaves you breathless, not having heard it since you were little, perched on his knee. technically, you don't know what it means, but it's similar enough to your own language that you don't need his translation, and it leaves you feeling just as spoiled and loved as it always has. you nod, and nearly get shuttled up the bed with how hard he thrusts into you. he murmurs something you don't catch, hand wrapping around your leg to keep you in place. when he begins to move again, it's much slower, a deep grind that has your jaw working uselessly.

papa groans. "not even going to fucking need it, am i? feels that good?"

you don't really know what he's asking, just bob your head along as his thrusts rock you minutely.

"use your words, malýshka."

and you would, if you were capable of them, but he's not fighting fair, making you desperate with shallow little grinds, keeping that word locked back up behind his sharp teeth. hair has fallen into his face, loose strands which cling to his temples and hang over his eyes. it does not obscure the hunger there.

"yes, papochka."

it's not clear how he manages to keep himself restrained. not when he growls like an animal, grips your thigh with bruising force. but his thrusts are languid, deep, and his other hand is gentle when it cradles the base of your skull, thumb keeping your jaw tilted high so he can see how your throat works hard for each breath. he complicates the process further by leaning over you, slotting his lips with yours so he can swallow each noise he pulls, licking along your teeth with enough force you're worried you taste blood.

or maybe it's just the remnants of your gift.

no man would want you now, not even if your father managed to pull together a decent dowry. you'd be stuck with him forever, stuck in this dilapidated keep while he -.

he must feel the panic in your pulse. "promise, printsessa."

this time it works, the knot wrapping so tight it snaps, a taut chain that lets you fall when it gives, leaves you to clatter to the ground, stiff and fragile, until your father scoops up the pieces, collects you in strong arms as he finishes, fills you up just like he promised, buried so deep inside that you know you'll always feel it.

it's then you find he burns, too, his seed so hot within you that you imagine it would sear if not for how tempered you are to your own fire. you gutter out together, the bellows of his breaths too strong to keep you kindling. it's sweltering beneath him, the sweat of his back steaming in the crisp morning air. he kisses you when he's caught his breath, heedless of the fact you hadn't yet. your protests get swallowed up, same as the unadlylike grunt you emit when he slips out. he pulls away at that, seemingly just to laugh at the displeased look on your face when, for one mortifying moment, you think you've started your moonblood and you scramble to see.

a wide palm on your good shoulder stops you, keeps you in place. "you're okay, printsessa. i've got it. stay put."

his joints creak when he climbs from the bed and you're distracted from the shock of cold air by the vision he makes, all heavy muscles and dark, wiry hair. he'd brought home a bear skin once, many years ago. it still warmed your bed upstairs, though you liked this bear better. this bed.

when he returns, papa wipes a cold, wet cloth over your woman's place, coos when you jolt in discomfort. he places a kiss there when he's done and scolds you for trying to squirm away. as if you're the improper one.

you get tucked up next to him again once he's decided you're clean enough and you luxuriate in his embrace for as long as he allows, too afraid to ask any of the questions running through your head lest he get annoyed, change his mind, decide he needs to leave right then, actually, or -.

he kisses the crown of your head. heavy, lingering. you feel his lips move against your scalp when he speaks. "i'm expecting to be rewarded with a better keep soon. further south."

worry sinks like a stone to the pit of your stomach, tears a hole through the bottom, creates an endless chasm in your bowels you will never fill, not even if you lived to the end of time. papa does his best to soothe the worry by tilting your chin up, kissing you softly on the lips. he retreats to peer at you when he finds you lifeless and stiff in his arms and sighs heavily, almost fondly.

"you'll be coming with me, radnaja."

"really!?" you're not sure you've ever heard your voice so elated, a childishness to your tone that leaves you embarrassed, cheeks heated.

papa only laughs. "promised, didn't i?"

"well, yes, but -."

"you'll be my little printsessa, my proper lady. moya zhena, my wife. would you like that?"

there's no helping the way your eyes widen in wonder. "your wife? how?"

"it's not unusual for a man to take a wife while off fighting. a matter of honor, if she's got a little malýshka of her own." his hand finds your belly again, rubs proprietarily heavy circles there. "no one need know where i found you, only that it did. and it would be an easy ruse, what with your broken russian."

ordinarily, the thought of having disappointed him with your foreign language would make you flinch, but you're too caught up in the picture he paints, the pair of you dressed in modest finery as he leads you around some pretty new home, you dangling from his arm. "but what of me? your daughter? surly people will wonder?"

he just tuts, faux serious. "well you can imagine my heartache, returning to an empty home. that shallow grave out in the east pasture. no wonder the baba fled, probably thought i'd blame her for my daughter's death. a widower, no children. who could blame me for finding a pretty little thing to take south with me?"

divider by @/adornedwithlight

[notyourhetloki]

good for you (Daemon x Hightower!Reader)

Reader: she/her (Fem!Reader)

/NSFW Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader/

A/N: Hello hello hello! I present to you my newest obsession… another morally grey character yaaayy but for real, I love this show so much and I hope you like the premise of this fic! I must admit that this is not an original idea but I hope it's different enough from the other fics I saw… anyway! Requests will be open soon (and this time I mean it) ok byee xoxo Also, I used this site to translate my Valyrian texts, and all Valyrian dialogue will be written in bold.

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), age gap, reader is described as shorter than him, reader has long hair, praise kink, masturbation, handjobs, the timeline doesn't make any sense sorry, Daemon is not married.

Word Count: 4.8k

—

You were only twelve when you first met the Rogue Prince, the uncle of your best friend Rhaenyra. He asked for your name and when you told him, he immediately scoffed.

You were a Hightower, youngest daughter of the Hand, Otto Hightower. Daemon did not care for that, holding a strong grudge for your father that naturally extended to you and your family.

But Rhaenyra loved you, you were inseparable and no amount of prejudice could change that. Trying to separate you both was of no use, Daemon realized... so he coped.

You and Rhaenyra were studying at the library, she insisted on teaching you Valyrian but you were struggling a bit with the pronunciation. "Ziry iksos iā gevie tubis." (It's a beautiful day.) You repeated, and after your second attempt, you heard a foreign voice coming from behind you.

"Ȳdra daor sesīr sylugon, riña. Ao sagon quba rȳ ziry." (Don't even try, girl. You're bad at it.) It was Daemon, strolling in your direction.

"Uncle! Don't be mean!" Rhaenyra exclaimed, putting one of her arms around you as you both turned to look at the man.

You managed to understand most of his words and did not appreciate them. "Doesn't hurt to practice, my prince. I'm still learning after all..." He scoffed once more.

"It's time for your lessons, niece. And I wouldn't like to have your little friend around." The prince said without much regard for you. He tutored Rhaenyra in Valyrian, but this time she objected to it.

"Please, uncle! Let (y/n) stay for the lessons! She is learning as well..."

With much insistence, he complied... but he did not seem happy.

Because your father was busy with the king and tending to his favorite daughter, Alicent, he never cared enough to know about these tutoring sessions. So a year went by and you still accompanied Rhaenyra in her lessons, for Daemon's dislike.

He would make sure to choose the most complicated texts, dense with words he knew you wouldn't know. But to his dismay, you would only get better and better. Your almost perfect pronunciation caught him off guard one day, taunting him in a sarcastic tone.

"Skoros tembyr kessa sagon hembar, ñuha dārilaros?" (What book shall be next, my prince?) Your soft-spoken words made his blood boil in anger, not liking to admit you were getting good at the language. A Hightower... speaking Valyrian... that was absurd.

But with time Daemon grew accustomed to it, challenging you with new texts and harshly correcting you once you made an error. You were making progress, and deep down that satisfied him.

Another year would pass... and another. Your tutorship with Daemon only served one purpose: to show off to him. He began to enjoy your witty responses and overall demeanor, scolding you if you missed a lesson. He would never admit it, but he grew fond of you.

And he would make your life a living hell because of it.

One night, on your 15th birthday, you couldn't sleep. Escaping from your chambers, you moved swiftly to the library once more in search of more Valyrian texts. You wanted to impress your tutor, prove yourself to him, and you would make big efforts in order for that to happen.

"Skoro syt issi ao kesīr?" (Why are you here?) A familiar growly voice echoed through the empty halls. Daemon was hiding in the shadows, standing still in between shelves.

You responded in Valyrian, proud of your clear pronunciation. "I could not sleep."

The prince took slow steps towards you, the lit fires from torches illuminating his angled face. He looked intimidating, but you weren't scared of him. You were intrigued, fascinated by his nature... even though he clearly disliked you, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

"A young girl such as yourself shouldn't be wandering around the castle at this hour. What will daddy do if he finds out?" Slowly getting closer, Daemon taunted you with his words. Your heart hammered in your chest, too nervous at the fact you were alone with him for the first time.

"He won't." You retorted. He was at arms reach now, looking you in the eyes, hands behind his back.

"Be careful, Hightower. You don't want to get into trouble, do you?" His sarcastic tone and the way he called you by your last name made you extremely angry.

"I'm just here to get a book. Any recommendations, my prince?" You retorted harshly. Completely eloquent in the language, you made Daemon stand in shock, defeated.

"You really turned out to be good, didn't you, girl?" His voice a mere whisper, staring at you as you felt your heart skip a beat. He had finally acknowledged you somehow, and that was a victory you would cling to.

"I got something for you." Daemon continued, not caring to speak in Valyrian anymore. He turned around and reached for a book up on a shelf and handed it to you. It was a storybook, perhaps fictional.

"A children's book?" You asked in confusion. "My Valyrian is not so basic, my prince."

"You will see this is no basic book, Hightower. The Valyrian in it is quite complex." You looked through the pages and admittedly, it was quite a difficult read.

"Rhaenyra has spoken the language since she was an infant and still hasn't read this book." You looked at him in alarm, not knowing what to make of his words. "Take it as a challenge... Hightower."

And after those last words, he marched out of the library, leaving you alone.

You managed to read the book in one week with much research, and you were feeling exceptionally proud. But when the time came to have your tutoring session, Daemon was nowhere to be found. Rumors had begun circling the Red Keep, saying that he had been exiled or that he was fighting in a war... you couldn't know for sure.

It was true you felt a certain unease around the prince, he made sure you knew how much he despised your family and belittled you at any opportunity... but you couldn't help but feel a little enthralled by him. He was a handsome, intelligent man with a bad temper, and deep down you craved his attention. So for him to disappear like that was, indeed, quite an unfortunate event for you.

────୨ৎ────

Years had passed and you had just come of age. Turmoil had risen inside the Red Keep, and when you heard the news, you felt your breath hitch.

Prince Daemon had returned from the war victorious, and the king was very content. Rhaenyra couldn't hide her excitement and neither could you, giggling with your friend about her uncle's expected return.

You didn't see him for the first few days, not until you crossed paths in a secluded hall. His white hair was short then, wearing red and black clothing as he seemed lost in thought... but when he saw you, he immediately stopped his walk.

The way he looked at you... he examined every inch of your body, slowly making his way up towards your face. It made you feel things you couldn't quite decipher, made heat spread through your whole body.

"My prince." You bowed and then proceeded to maintain eye contact, but it was proven to be quite difficult.

"Hightower." He wasn't accustomed to saying your first name and you were used to it at that point, but the way he called you always felt like an insult.

"I'd like to congratulate you on your victory." You offered, and he slightly lowered his head in response.

"You've changed." The change in language caught you off guard, suddenly aware of your past tutoring sessions, you would make sure to show him you hadn't forgotten. "You've... grown. You're not a little girl anymore, (y/n)."

Your name finally coming out of his lips like that made you shiver. Trying to ignore the heat growing inside, you looked at his face in awe. His intense eyes pierced through you, his parted mouth breathed deep slow breaths. He looked predatory, and that made you spiral into feelings you had never felt before.

"You barely changed my prince, aside from the hair. It looks hideous." You dared to say, trying to provoke him in some way... and it worked. He lowly chuckled, the sides of his mouth forming a grin you were sure you had never seen before. It made your heart skip a beat.

Before Daemon could respond, your father Otto walked in from behind him. "Daughter?"

The prince didn't even turn around to greet your father, instead, he gave you one final look and kept walking, passing by your side.

You sighed, not knowing you were holding a breath. "Yes, father?"

"Why were you talking to... him?" He tried to maintain composure, but you knew he deeply disliked Daemon just as much as the prince disliked him.

"I was congratulating him." You didn't lie.

"Please, (y/n), try to maintain distance from him. That man is certain danger and I don't want him corrupting your mind with foolish conversation. Understand?" Otto said while holding the sides of your arms gently, voice full of worry.

"Yes, father." You assured him... but it wasn't a promise.

He looked at you and sighed in relief, taking a moment before speaking what he had in mind.

"Soon you'll be wed to a good lord and you'll make me very proud, my child. The time has come, I'll begin preparing your courtship tomorrow."

You stood in horror, eyes watering at his terrifying words. "But, dad-"

"Please do not contest, (y/n). You're already a woman, you must get married soon. Now, off you go... I have many tasks to tend to."

────୨ৎ────

You didn't tell anyone, not even Rhaenyra, but that night you planned on fleeing.

Gathering some clothes, food and water, you sneaked out of your chambers and managed to get into the stable. As you were about to get on your horse, you heard his voice.

"Where do you think you're going, Hightower?" Daemon was right behind you, his voice startling you. Quickly turning around, you angrily confronted him.

"You followed me?" Confusion took over you, not knowing what to make of that situation.

"You are easy to follow. Stealth is not your strongest ally." He was just trying to irritate you at that point, and you couldn't help but shout at him. "Why?!"

"I was interested in knowing why the daughter of the Hand was trying to flee the castle? Perhaps you're a little traitor, that wouldn't surprise me." His words cut deep within you, making you boil with rage.

"I'm not a traitor! I just don't want to marry an ugly old lord and doom my life forever! And be sure, my prince, I'm not going to let that happen." You rose on your horse swiftly but Daemon was quicker, getting a hold of the reins and holding the animal in place.

"Get down. Now." His stern and severe demeanor sent chills down your spine, but you weren't going to give up so easily.

"Pardon me, my prince, but I must remind you that you don't own me."

Daemon didn't enjoy that, even though he appreciated your wits. He took a deep breath and continued. "Get down now, girl. Or you'll regret making this stupid decision."

You knew he was right, you were going to regret it. In reality, you were terrified... you had nowhere to go and the Red Keep had been your home since you could remember. There was no escaping your fate, and that brought tears to your eyes.

You slowly descended your horse, trying to hide the tears falling down your face. Daemon promptly turned you towards him, directing his hands to hold the sides of your arms and holding you in place. He squeezed lightly, the pressure of his touch grounding you.

When you finally made eye contact, the prince had a certain fury in his eyes. "Your cunt of a father wouldn't dare to sell you to an ugly old lord." Daemon whispered, mostly to himself. He was towering over you, incredibly close and intimate... you stuttered on your next words.

"You of all people know well of what my father is capable of."

He looked fierce, enraged as he clenched his jaw. A sudden wave of incredible anger washed over Daemon, but he wouldn't dare to acknowledge his feelings.

"Go to bed, Hightower. It's late already." Was what Daemon said before distancing himself, the ghost of his touch remaining for a few moments. "Search me tomorrow night in the library, I'll be waiting." And with that, he was gone.

You embraced yourself, trying to mimic the pressure of his grasp. The ghost of his hands lingered as you realized, he had never touched you before.

That night you went to bed crying.

────୨ৎ────

You put on a pretty dress just for the night, and you weren't quite sure why. Your excuse was that you had to be a good student and respect the presence of your tutor, but inside you knew... you just wanted to look good for him.

After descending the stairs to the library, you found Daemon already waiting for you.

"At least you’re on time." His voice reverberated in the room, dominating it with his presence.

"My prince… I brought something for you" You offered, closing some distance between you. When you showed him the object you brought, he immediately recognized it. It was the book he had given you as a challenge, many years ago.

"This book... did you manage to read it?" Daemon looked at you with curious eyes.

"Countless times, I already know the meaning of every word in it." Your proudness stamped on your expression.

A grin appeared on his face, he seemed very pleased. "Sȳz riña." (Good girl.) He hissed.

The words had a surprising effect on you, heat spread all over your body... especially in between your legs. Feeling your face turning red, you rapidly turned around and leaned on a shelf, your back facing the prince.

You heard him chuckle lightly and realized he was moving closer, standing right behind you. He moved one strand of your hair that was falling in front of your shoulder and pulled it back gently, the light sudden touch sent shivers down your spine.

Heat was pooling at your core, breathing was quick and erratic... it was useless to deny the effect he had on you.

Deamon whispered in your ear, his deep voice holding you in place. "But there are still many things to learn, Hightower." Moving another strand of hair, he continued. "I could teach you so many things..."

His last words felt like venom spreading through your body, and you were curious to know his intentions.

"Like what, my prince?" You said softly, innocently.

"Whatever you'd like." Another whisper, this time even closer. His lips barely touched your ear, and you shivered.

The possibilities were endless, he could teach you anything, right? So you finally turned to face him, his tall frame towering over you... he was especially close.

"I-I’m… I would… I would like to know more informal language. Words not often used in the texts." You tried to maintain a silent tone of voice, due to the nature of the encounter... and because you suddenly felt extremely shy in his presence.

Daemon smiled, matching your tone while bringing his hands behind his back. "I see… do you have specific words in mind?"

"Hm… insults like… scoundrel or bastard or…" You couldn't bring yourself to say it, but you knew what type of words you truly wanted to learn... you just hoped the prince understood what you meant.

"Or...?" He pressed with an amused expression.

"T-The word you usually use to refer to my father." Offering in defeat, you looked at your feet in shame.

Another chuckle came from the man's mouth, you could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "You mean... cunt?"

You looked up at him, he had a terrible grin splatted on his face. You nodded, confirming his suspicion.

He stood victorious while staring at you with much intensity, head turned to the side like a puppy. "Very well."

────୨ৎ────

You couldn't shake that feeling away, the feeling of being surrounded by Daemon. His brief touches lingered on your skin even after they were gone, desire burning away at your core.

The way he spoke to you, saying such dirty words in Valyrian and expecting you to enunciate them right... you repeated them again and again just to make sure you were correct, and he seemed to be enjoying himself way too much.

You left the lesson with a scarlet red face, embarrassed at the things he made you say... but with heat between your thighs.

The next night you were expected to meet at the library once again to continue your studies, but you had other plans in mind.

That heat was too much to bear, imagination running wild leaving you distracted throughout the whole next day. You needed release.

So when the time came for your encounter, you decided not to go. Instead, you stripped bare and hopped on your bed. You put a pillow between your thighs and started to ride it, seeking sweet relief.

In the meantime, Daemon was growing impatient... so he decided to go after you. He was irritated at your absence and wanted to scold you for it.

But after what he saw when he slowly opened the doors to your chambers, he was left speechless.

You had your back facing him, bouncing on top of a pillow and moaning softly. Your bare back and ass were a delight for his eyes, hair loose and following your movements.

Daemon sat on an armchair directly behind you and continued watching and admiring the view, his growing erection tight in his trousers.

You were almost there, tension building up and tightening your core. You couldn't hold yourself back, all of your mind was taken by visions of him. "D-Daemon... Daemon..."

The prince couldn't help but chuckle, ecstatic at the sound of his name coming from your mouth. An exceptional and welcome surprise that left his mouth agape.

His laugh caught you off guard, making you turn with a shriek. You pulled the covers to hide your chest but he had already seen too much, making you turn red with shame.

"W-What are you doing here?!" You breathlessly said, trying not to scream. No one could see you in that situation, especially with Daemon in your room.

"So that's what you've been up to... a good reason to skip lessons indeed." His predatory eyes stared at your exposed legs, traveling up to meet your eyes. "Touching yourself... thinking about me... how indecent."

"I wasn't- I was not touching myself!" You protested, hiding yourself in shame.

"Oh, alright. You were humping a pillow... serves the same purpose, does it not?" Daemon mocked you, gesturing at the pillow you abandoned next to your legs. "Probably made a mess..."

"Why are you in my chambers?!" You deflected, not wanting to admit your doings.

"I just wanted to confirm the reason why you decided to avert your lesson tonight." He lifted his hands in defeat. "But I see you have more important matters to tend to."

As the prince lifted his hands, you were able to catch a glimpse of his crotch. He was hard, you could see the bulge of his member through his pants.

Daemon caught you staring and gave you a vicious smile. "See something you like, Hightower?"

You swallowed as your mouth started to water, fantasies of him running wild inside your head. You wanted him, and apparently, he wanted you just as much.

"For someone who used to despise me, you seem very content to see me." You decided to taunt him. Even though you were ashamed of being caught in such a manner, you wanted to get what you could from that situation.

"I don't despise you." Daemon admitted. "You irritate me, yes, and your father is a cunt, but..." He seemed to consider carefully his next words. "you were always my favorite."

Electricity ran over your body, a wave of shock immobilizing you. His words... hearing him say you were his favorite filled you with pride. But you didn't feel completely victorious, but curious at best.

“You never treated me as your favorite.” You retorted, remembering the times he would scold you and insult you during lessons.

“Let me make up to you then..." Daemon looked especially predatory, eyes fixated on your body... he was up to no good. "come sit on my lap.”

You softly gasped, surprised at his command. Of course, you wouldn't obey him so easily... but your body betrayed you, wetness pooling between your thighs at the thought of getting on top of him.

“I’m not one of your whores, Daemon.” His name rolled out of your tongue mistakenly, and you soon regretted it when you saw the prince's expression.

“If I wanted to take you as a whore I would have done so ages ago. I had plenty of opportunities.” His stern tone of voice made you shiver once again. He was right, he did have many opportunities... maybe he just needed to know that you desired him.

So you decided to show him how you truly felt.

Slowly, you got up from the bed, letting the blanket that hid your body fall to the floor. Carefully you approached the prince, who observed you in awe.

"Come straddle my thigh, dear. It will feel much better than a pillow..." Daemon muttered, patting his left thigh as an invitation.

You gladly obeyed, mounting on his thigh like a pony with your face facing his. Daemon could already feel your wetness through the fabric of his pants and that made him smile.

"So eager for me, aren't you?" He brushed his rough hand on your cheek, then neck, then one of your breasts. You moaned softly at his touch, never imagining Daemon could be so gentle. His other hand stayed behind your back, grounding you. "Move now, ride me."

And you did as you were told, starting to grind on his upper leg. The friction felt delicious on your pearl, heat building up at your core. You moaned and moaned, not able to maintain eye contact. It felt like too much, a sense of satisfaction and shame ruling at the same time.

"Ñuha gevie riña..." (My beautiful girl...) Said Daemon while exploring your body with his hand. "Ao sagon sīr sȳz syt nyke." (You're so good for me.)

His praise went straight to your sex, you wanted to hear more... wanted to be a good girl for him.

"D-Daemon." You moaned softly, and he couldn't resist any longer. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, he pulled you into a rough, bruising kiss. Your tongues danced in each other's mouths as you tried your best to maintain rhythm.

You took the opportunity to feel his hard member, still trapped in his trousers. He groaned in your mouth, pulling back slightly to speak into your parted lips. "You enjoy my praises, girl? Would you like to hear more?"

"Y-Yes... please..." You finally looked at his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. His hair was disheveled, lips plush from kissing... he looked so good.

"Take my cock out." He ordered, and like a good girl, you obeyed.

Freeing his member from the layers of fabric, you realized how big he was. Soon your imagination started to go places, fantasizing about how it must feel to have him inside you.

"Now stroke me... like this." His big hand cupped yours and made its way around his cock, guiding you on how to pleasure him.

Soon you found a rhythm, grinding on his thigh while stroking him, and you soon found yourself close to orgasm once more.

"Good girl, just like that." He would say, and with every thrust of your hips you felt it growing, the energy that built up inside you.

"Daemon... Daemon..." You pleaded while looking him in the eyes, knowing how close you were just then.

"Come for me, dear... come for me, (y/n)." Your name coming from his lips was what you needed to finish. Waves of pleasure washed over you as your climax reached its peak. You shouted his name and soon realized how loud you were being, face red in shame and bliss.

Daemon held you in place, anchoring you as you recovered from your high. Your breaths were still frantic, and soon your dizziness started to fade.

"Are you well?" He asked, you nodded. "Go onto your knees, then." His direction was clear, but you didn't know the reason for such a command.

You slowly made your way onto your knees, slotting yourself between his open legs, the mess you made on his thigh in full display now.

His member was close to your face then, and you couldn't hold yourself back. Enveloping your hand around his cock once more, you looked up at Daemon's face before you started to stroke him.

His mouth was slightly agape as he was deeply breathing, almost panting at the sight of you. "What an obedient girl you are for me, (y/n)." Again, the sound of your name made you feel things.

"I-I just..." You felt like confessing, emotions taking over you. "I just want to be good for you, my prince..."

Daemon smiled wickedly, stroking your cheek gently as he leaned down to face you. "Open your mouth, then." You immediately complied, tongue darting out obscenely as you maintained eye contact. "Oh my..."

His thumb traveled to your mouth and pressed on your tongue, you instinctively sucked the digit and he hummed in approval.

"That's my girl... now, keep moving." Your hand worked fiercely on his member, but the friction slowed you down... until you had an idea.

You stopped for a moment and Daemon looked at you in disapproval, but you quickly made your way into your sex. You smeared your wetness into your palm and only then continued to stroke him, coating his member with your slick.

"Ha..." Daemon let out an approving sound, then chuckled darkly in satisfaction. "Vaogenka riña..." (Dirty girl...)

You smiled slyly at him before opening your mouth again, showing him how ready you were.

"So needy, huh?" He teased, making you blush fiercely. "So eager to swallow my seed..."

And with that, he finished with a groan. Strings of his cum made their way into your tongue and chin, and you swallowed his taste like you'd been starving.

"Sȳz riña... sȳz riña." (Good girl... good girl.) Daemon panted, caressing your hair and smiling at you.

"Kirimvose, ñuha dārilaros." (Thank you, my prince.) You whispered, leaning up and joining your lips into a kiss. It was slow, passionate and he could taste himself in your tongue.

"Hmm." You whimpered into his mouth as his hands made their way to your ass, grabbing at the soft skin of your cheeks there.

Daemon pulled back slightly, only enough so he could talk into your lips. "I'll fully take your maidenhood, one day... hear those sweet sounds you make while buried deep inside your cunt."

His obscene words made you gasp, heat spreading inside your core again, To even imagine that... made you feel hot all over.

"You'd have to wed me before that happens." You teased, but Daemon had a serious look on his face.

"I'll see what I can do." Was his response, and a sense of urgency hit you like a brick. Did he actually mean that?

Marrying Daemon... the prince, your tutor, your best friend's uncle! Not even in your wildest dreams you had thought of that possibility, but now...

No, you couldn't have your hopes up. He was only taunting you, right? That was what you thought.

────୨ৎ────

You would never forget the somber expression on your father's face when he told you the news. You were officially bestowed to Prince Daemon, as per the request of the king himself.

"You asked your brother for my hand in marriage?!" You exclaimed in shock, questioning the man you would soon call 'husband'.

"Would your father accept me if I didn't?" Daemon said calmly, contrasting your agitated self.

You were still a bit stunned at the news but deep down felt a happiness you couldn't hold back, smiling at Daemon with true contentment.

He grinned back at you, lifting his hand to hold your chin gently. "Aderī kesā sagon ñuha ābrazȳrys." (Soon you will be my wife.)

Lowering himself to your height, he kissed you slow and tender. When you finally let go of each other, you whispered to him. "Se kesā sagon ñuha valzȳrys." (And you will be my husband.)

—

[cyberrose2001]

Optimus Prime (TFP) and Megatron (TFA) with a human s/o that dirty talks to them in other languages (headcannons pls)

TFP Optimus and TFA Megatron with s/o who talks dirty in other languages (hcs)

Hi! Thanks for requesting! I hope this is what you were after. I left specific languages out so you can insert your own as you please… enjoy! <3

Warnings: GN reader, human reader, nsfw headcanons, general smut, dirty talk.

Word count: 477

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

TFP Optimus

- Optimus often finds beauty in everything; his spark especially has a soft spot for written and spoken languages, being an ex-archivist, after all. When you revealed to him that you could speak several other languages, he was rather impressed.

- He’d sat with you for hours, and his inner love for learning sparked once again as you taught him small phrases and words. Optimus soaked it all in and studied your languages in his spare time, loving your infectious smile when he said ‘I love you’ in one of them.

- When it came to the bedroom, your usual activities started normally, Optimus being on top of you, showering you with kisses and praises.

- While he was slowly grinding his spike into you, you pulled his helm down to whisper something purely erotic into his ear.

- Optimus was initially confused, used to being spoken to in English while in berth, but the words clicked over in his processor, and then he realised you said, ‘Fuck me until you break me’.

- Those words broke something in him, a hidden language kink that he had no idea was hiding within him.

- He finds it outrageously attractive, to the point where he has never wanted to fuck you so hard until all that comes out of your pretty mouth is foreign words.

- From that point on, if you ever wanted to get absolutely railed by Optimus, all you had to do was whisper the most dirtiest things that would make anyone who could speak the language swoon.

TFA Megatron

- When Megatron first heard you speak in a language other than English, he was surprised but not entirely impressed.

- Like, big whoop, you can speak another language, not as impressive as the feats that he has accomplished himself.

- Still, he at least tries to brush aside his ego and applaud you for being somewhat different to most other humans he’s encountered.

- Then again, you’re in a relationship with the bastard, so that’s an impressive feat in itself.

- His opinion changed for the better once while he was fucking you face down on the berth, holding your ass up while he leaned his entire weight over your back.

- While his helm was close enough, you turned your head to the side and moaned, ‘Please fuck me deeper; your spike feels so good inside me’ in your native tongue.

- He sputtered and slowed down, “Wait, what did you just say?”

- He won’t lie; he found it incredibly hot, despite having no idea what you just said, but he got the general sentiment from the tone of voice you spoke in. Desperate and pleading, exactly how he likes you.

- He then proceeded to fuck you into the headboard, curious to see what other profanities he could draw from your drooling lips.

[willowser-but-nsfw]

[ nsfw ] — smut (18+) ; soft fantasy bakugou ; implied arranged marriage ; a lil' bit breeding kink-y ; some perceptions surrounding virginity that i only added because of the genre/setting (medieval fantasy-ish) and not because it aligns with my personal views ; reader and bkg do not speak the same language — but they are learning ; reader and bkg are both a little bit drunk, but very much consenting ; i invented a language for katsuki's people because i am hopeless.

[ wc ] — 4k+

[ ficmas ] — this is my silly little fic for the lovely, lovely @odieoats !! i hope that you enjoy it !! — but, most importantly, i hope that your holidays are treating you well and with love and that your new year be warm and welcoming 🧚‍♂️✨️🎁

It's Midwinter.

Shortest day and longest night of the year, Yagi tells you, and therefore cause for a feast. Never in all your life have you consumed as much mead as you have within the short three months since you've been married, and yet still you have not grown accustomed to it; the honeyed taste, yes, but not to the warm, woozy feeling that takes root between your ears.

One moment you are admiring the many gifts that adorn the great evergreen in the middle of camp, and the next you are cross-eyed, struggling to find the top of the tree and the carefully carved sun that reigns in favor of the Allfather. It's just so tall, you muse, stretching so far into the heavens that one could worry its beauty and grandeur might cause offense to their Gods. 

A hand is at your shoulder, then, to steady you. “Are you well, Chieftess?” 

Chieftess: another novelty with which to grow accustomed.

In the firelight, Yagi’s features are sharpened, shadows long and dark with worry. Frightening is the down-curve of his brow as he stares carefully into your eyes—so tall, you muse—but he must only find your drunkenness, as a smile softens his thin face.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” you return it with ease, cheeks warm, and bring up the small, well-bundled plant in your hands. “It looks as if there’s no place for what my husband has given me.”

“Ah,” carefully, he takes it by the stem and holds it up high to better see, the contrast of its white berries crisp against the night sky. “And do you know where our Chieftain has gone?”

Like slow-falling snow, his words settle in your mind, the flurry of them gathering until the meaning is new and clear. You spin a slippery heel over the snow, looking across the encampment to where you'd last seen your husband: before, he was locked into a fierce embrace with Midoriya, too proud to turn down the invitation to wrestle, but now only his shield-brothers remain, arranged in a circle as they dance and chant and pound their heavy fists against their bare chests. Among the lot of them, you watch on for the ashen mess of his hair, the familiarity of the scars he bears, the drunken, crooked grin that comes so rarely—but Katsuki is not among them.

"I—" you breathe, dizzy, suddenly, as your eyes jump from warm-body to warm-body in search of him. With the fires roaring, the camp is aglow and clouding your vision in an amber haze, and you don't realize you've begun to spin until a firm hand steadies you again.

“Mistletoe,” your Elder murmurs in translation, drawing you from the honeyed-hold. Giant that he is, finding an open branch on the tree poses no issue, and he hangs your gift with a care that melts a nameless tension; still, their traditions are foreign, another language you struggle to interpret. “It says that Young Bakugou is…giving you great love and…asking for your fertility.”

"Fertility?" Such heat flushes your face that you wonder if it could be steaming, and the waver in your voice makes him laugh.

"A common thing wanted of a claimed man," Yagi chimes, voice like mischief as he bows his head to take his leave. Off somewhere behind you is where his gaze falls and freezes, where it thaws and warms with admiration. Your Elder nods, and when you turn to follow his lead, you see why such seasons could come and go in his eyes. "The night will be long, Chieftess, and one should not spend Midwinter alone."

Katsuki stands at the worn-end of the trodden camp trail with shoulders back and squared, covered by the grand furs of his cloak; a God already watching on. It must be the mead that has made him so crystalline and easy to see through, as there's not a hint of hesitation in his gaze as it darkens and lids, as he slowly pulls the material from his broad back in a gesture that seems all too inviting.

And then he is turning, leaving the young night and its celebration for the sanctity of your shared tent.

You are left within the heat of the fire, all too aware, then, of how it has slipped beneath your furs with such a smoldering intensity; the Elder's revelation has a fever starting in your belly and sweat breaking across your skin.

It has been six days since you've last laid with your husband.

A full fortnight had passed before your marriage was consummated, for no other reason than that you were untouched and afraid. Before knowing him as you do now, Bakugou Katsuki came across as little more than a brute, one that seemed likely to hold you down and ravage you as he so pleased, as your mother had tried to warn you, and yet the night of your wedding, he sat across the pillows and told you that he, too, was just as untouched.

Standoffish and a bit shy, more drawn to actions than words as there were not many the two of you shared. Midoriya has been a constant presence, always dragged one way or another so that he may translate the more difficult words Katsuki is most unfamiliar with. Some nights you can hear them near the hearth, the voice of your husband low as he tries in earnest to learn all that he wishes to say to you. 

To enter his manhood with one he so loved is considered a great honor, as Yagi had told you, and to hear him sounding at words in the dark that are so foreign to him, to know that he was just as pure as you, to learn that you were not a thing to be ravaged, but to be cared for; love-making after that seemed only natural.

You watch the firelight dance against the canvas of the tent, wild and without caution, hindered only by your shadow as you approach. Katsuki's boots lay at the entrance—one on its side and the other upright—and despite the snow and ice covering the ground, you shed your own right beside his.

If he hears you enter—and you're sure he must, the savage beat of your heart at the very least, something attuned to his ear only—he offers nothing; instead, his head is back, leaned over the edge of the round, steel tub that sits across from the hearth. Even from where you stand, the steam wisping above the water is visible, causing you to shiver as you begin to undress; if there is one thing you will always have with a Chieftain of Dragons, it’s a boiling bath.

The rustle of your furs finally captures him and Katsuki raises his head just to turn it, to peer over his shoulder at you with one bright red eye. Slow, he blinks, the heat of his gaze searing over your body as it becomes bare to him, lingering on the few, faded burns that sit at your hips from when last you were together. 

Virginal and green as he once was, your husband did not—and still does not—lack enthusiasm whenever he is tangled up within you; the ache you’ve been nursing in your lower belly in the recent days seems to have subsided, though you wonder if it is only your rapidly building arousal that has dissolved pain to pleasure. One broad hand breaks the surface of the water to rise and trace over your forearm, and Katsuki looks at you as if you are a deity to worship—and you find you couldn’t care less about any lingering soreness.

"May I join you?" 

Already he’s begun to make room for you, but he hums in assent, nodding. "Yes." 

At your hiss of surprise from the temperature of the water, a crooked grin breaks across his face and he leans forward, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he presses his mouth into the soft skin below your belly button. Not to kiss but just to soothe, laving you with a drunken affection. 

When you can finally stand it, Katsuki pulls you into his lap, slotting your legs around his hips with such ease that you need not ask the Gods if he was made for you or you for him; one and the same, you are, neither existing without your shared heart. Its beat flourishes, spreading to the points of your fingers and the pit of your stomach and the thick of your neck. Only now do your bones thaw, made warm from the water and the lingering dregs of mead and his love, from the home he has made your own.

You kiss away the natural crease of his brow, following down the marks of war that scar his cheeks, his neck. It earns you a small grunt and he eventually turns, overwhelmed, then, by your attention to his intimate details.

“Thank you,” you tell him softly, “for the gift. I didn’t—” guilt rushes through you like a winter wind, returning with a bite for all that you still have to learn of his people. Your people. “I didn’t think to find one for you.”

“No need for gift.” He murmurs, into your skin like a secret.

A frown he doesn’t see deepens your lips, and you run your now wet hands through the strands of hair at the base of his spine, dampening them. “I would have liked to give you one.”

“No need for gift.” Katsuki repeats, pinching you beneath the water until you are squirming against him, until you can argue no longer. His hands grow bold, mapping you carefully, adding every crease and curve to what he already knows of your body. 

You speak up when he cups your bottom, before either of you can get too lost. “Yagi tells me it’s a symbol of love, your mistletoe.”

It does little to distract him; the fine point of his nose drags up the column of your throat, breath tickling just under your ear. “...yes.”

“And…fertility.”

Katsuki’s head pops up then, eyebrow raised. “Hah?”

“For—” you pause, thinking, “—having children.”

A common thing wanted of a claimed man, Yagi told you, but in the slow burning light of the hearth, your husband’s face pinkens and he glances away, instead watching his hands below the water. It’s something you know is expected, though it remains a conversation yet to be had, perhaps when you know the words, the both of you; in the meantime, you’ll continue to learn his sensitivities and delights, to teach him yours—all that there is left to know, at least.

“Yes,” he murmurs, fitting his thumbs back into the grooves he’s left on your hips, what of his hands he’s engraved in your skin. Despiste the claim it marks on you, Katsuki frowns, watching you carefully as his fingers move in slow, firm circles. “Pain here?”

“No,” you smile, to this man that you thought would ruin you. “No pain.”

Warmed, he spreads beneath you easily, shifting you along with him as he presses where you are soft to where he is hard. The pressure surprises you both despite the heady weight circulating throughout the tent, and Katsuki exhales like he wants his breath to move through you. 

"For love," he speaks to your heart, the devotion molded in his image. "And…what is it?"

You snort, pressing your lips into his hairline. "And fertility."

He is silent for a long moment, thinking in your tongue, before planting kiss after kiss along your chest, your collarbones, the hollow of your throat. "'n givin' babies."

A true laugh startles out of you, shaking you both with its sincerity, but Katsuki only continues to sigh into your skin, his hands moving to the dip of your waist, up the stretch of your spine and back, walking every last mile of your distance. 

There's a soft tickle from where his mouth trails and you think he means to make you squirm again, but you soon realize he is murmuring —"...engitt vakvaniki?"—though you think the words are more for him than yourself; a reiteration, some kind of assurance that you've outgrown the intimate soreness he once gave you.

"No," you breathe again, quietly. "No pain."

It's all the promise he needs: Katsuki's grip tightens, meaningful, and then he is pushing and pulling you over him until the stars are shooting through your every nerve. A haze develops in the soft bicolor of both his eyes, and you can see him fighting to find you through the clouds as you follow the silent commands of his hunger.

Desire leads you; top to bottom, back and forth, head to base. Against your chest, you can feel the slight part of his mouth, the flare of his nostrils as the lap of the water grows. One of his arms slowly winds behind your waist as you gasp, the swollen tip of him catching your most sensitive spot, tenderness making you both groan.

You lose yourself to the movement, dragging just behind Katsuki's stifled, narrow upward thrusts. Wide as the tub may be, it's nothing to having him underneath you amidst his thick, woolen blankets, but the seedlings of lust are growing, blooming, into something with roots you don't want to unearth just yet.

Fingers tangle in your hair, angling your head down towards him so that he can press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your lips; full of bite and teeth, revealing what little control he has over the animal of his body, just as wild and without caution as the fires that blaze in a dragon's honor.

But—his attention to the water is lost and its heat is steadily fading, smothered out by the winter winds slipping between the flaps of your tent. A shudder wracks your spine, but despite the rough hand that trails up to cup your breast, their stiff peak isn't from Katsuki's touch.

Voice low, you pull back just enough to fit the gruff of his name, stopping him mere seconds from sucking your soft, pebbled skin into his mouth.

His eyes dart up to your face, half-lidded. "Hah?"

If he wasn't so cute, you might prove a stronger willed woman; a light kiss to his nose has him scrunching it, and a light kiss to his lips has him surging, welcoming the wet dip of your tongue into his mouth.

Only when the frost creeps further in are you able to steady yourself, now swollen and bitten. "I'm cold."

As if finding himself after ages lost, Katsuki leans back, seemingly surprised, to peer down into the water, glaring at it like it's betrayed him in some way. With a lip between his teeth, his attention shifts from you to the nest of furs you've been bedding in this season, and it's not long before his arms are tightening around your body.

"No, wait—!"

He rises at once, laughing meanly in your ear as you struggle to cling to him; in return, you bite his lobe and snort into his cheeks as he hurries across the tent. Cradling the back of your head as if you were a child, as if you were something more special than you are, Katsuki lays you down amongst the wool and feathers, eager to slot himself behind you.

A shiver tears through even him, has him burying his face into your neck as he pulls the blanket up around your heads. It only takes a moment for his hands to heat, for his heat to spread, to have you loose and wide open once again; hips against your backside, your husband hikes your leg up, tucking your foot behind his thigh so that you are bared for the fever of his touch.

"Need no gift," the words are lost to your gasp, when the too-light pad of his fingers swirl where you are tender and slick. "No-thing but you."

And then the thick weight of him is gliding over your core, teasing, before he can no longer stand to be without you; a plead falls from his mouth as he guides himself into you, needy and wanton against your temple. Surrounded by his love and touch and sounds and entwined in such a way has your stomach tight with want, and with every inch Katsuki pulls out and pushes back in, you angle your hips so that he is seated as deep as your body will allow. 

"Katsuki," you gasp at how he carves himself into your nave, arching your back and groping blindly at his body.

One of his hands finds your cheeks and he seizes them, turning your face so that he may press his lips into yours. "Fuck," he hisses, capturing a rhythm that rattles you both. "Var in svo—good. Fuck, s'good."

You can only wordlessly agree, settling for a noise he eagerly drinks down. Only once he's certain your head will not fall away from him does his hand return to the seam of your body, pads of his fingers stroking you and the mess already leaking down your thighs. When your lips part, he hums in appreciation and presses down further, as if your pleasure is feeding his own.

The wet sound of skin against skin grows, a drumbeat to the song you both sing as your fires rage; sweat builds in all your creases and curves, dampens your hairline and his as you fall prey to a savagery you once feared—and now have come to crave.

Katsuki groans into your mouth, worship in a language you do know. The rough drag of him in and out of your heat never ceases and beneath your touch, he starts to tremble, too deep into something neither of you can stand.

"Ah," he props himself up on an elbow, fingers digging into the fat of your hips so that he may pull you to meet his every thrust. You look back over your shoulder at him, core pulsing at how his head has fallen slack, with mouth open and eyes shut as he fucks himself into a euphoria he only finds with you.

You make a weak attempt at his name, lost in the throes of your own pleasure, and wait for the hot spill of him inside of you, but—you are all at once empty.

"I—shit," a hand is fisted into his own hair like he's trying to hold back his tide, to keep it low for now. His skin gleams in the firelight, a God wrapped in gold.

Chest heaving, he shuffles around your leg, finding the home between your thighs as he presses a weak trail of kisses down your chest, down your sternum and to your stomach. You know where he's going; at the mere thought of how he drank from you the last time you were together, your core clenches, something that doesn't go unnoticed by him as his crooked smile is pressed into your skin.

It's an act that still has you a bit shy, and as the furs shift and the cold clings to the droplets lingering on your skin, you shiver. Katsuki struggles a bit to bunch himself up beneath the blanket, so that he and you may stay covered, and the stars are still burning in your veins, in your nerves, and so you pull at his shoulders.

"Later," you can't help but to laugh when he frowns. "When it's not so cold."

Words you know to be little, childish insults tumble from his lips, foreign, as he crawls back up the expanse of your body. You tug a bit harshly on his hair and his lips curl, the brat, mischievous and taunting with a bite to your cheek.

"Baby," he grumbles, although smiling.

You mean to nip back at him, but Katsuki pulls one of your legs over his shoulders and your attention is drawn to his body now that it sits in plain view. Scars that color him, that bear proof to the strength he's grown; such a body like his seems carved from marble, and your heart softens at every memory of his unfouded shyness.

A God at your center, heart shared. Katsuki looks upon you just as you look upon him and the honey-mead warms in your belly, drips down your spine with the weight of all the love you hold for him—and he for you.

You tell him quietly, as he bows his head to spit where he means to join you. "Ig siggna vik."

Though the words fit odd inside your mouth, their shape is known to him; he glances up as if in awe, and his answer is a breathless exhale of your name as he slips inside you once again. His face goes directly to your neck, already trembling hands slipping up to hold your face so that you are always close, so that his breath is yours and your moans are his.

"Var in svo hott," he tells you again; it's so good, a common phrase that has your threads wearing thin.

It's take little time before he is falling back into the same bruising pace, chasing the high you're eager to grant him. You fist a hand in his hair as his teeth sink into your skin, as he bullies into the sweet spot that has your stars aligning, has them shining behind the lids you can't help but to close.

"Fuck," you breathe, arching into him. "Katsuki—Gods—"

Your vulgarity has his breath pitching and exhaling sharply and he stops, only for one long, horrible moment, before he can't bear it.

"Fu—sorry," he breaks, the sound so fragile on his tongue. It's not a word you've ever heard from him and your chest tightens at the thought of him asking Midoriya for it. "Sorry, sorry."

With a desperate moan, he's sitting back on his knees, brow crumpling as his eyes are forced shut. "Oh, I—" and his hold finds the dip of your waist, grip tight enough to steal your breath so that he can pull you up into him as he cums. Deep and hard, shoulders shaking as he tenses over you, groaning on such a low sound that your own tide nearly crests.

The sight of your husband—Chieftain of Dragon's, the warlord that won you from the hands of your father, that loves you as winter loves the wind—reduced to ashes at your heat, trembling on the breeze as he twitches and spills inside of you; wild is your desire, without caution.

Katsuki only takes the time to press a sloppy kiss into your cheeks, to push back the damp hair that has fallen into your face before his hands are re-molding to your hips. Though you are more than slick enough, still he leans back to spit into the space between you, spreading the wetness as he circles you again with the pad of his thumb.

And then you are following not far behind him: it's the pressure around your tenderness and the deep sink of him inside you and the eyes rolling back into his head as he fucks through his own sensitivity. Your cries mingle, him at the sudden flutter of your walls, and you at the honeyed-bliss that he gives you.

"I—fuck," he pants, running a hand up your stomach as your trembling slows into delayed, sporadic aftershock. You feel him kick inside of you at the sight and you laugh despite your sudden weariness. "I love you."

Though he is flushed in you and the firelight, his cheeks brighten, if possible, like such an admission is yet another display of his idle bashfulness. You smile and his own grows in return, crooked and dazzling, and you open your arms for him to slump down onto you.

Katsuki does, but it's not long before he is reaching to toss the wool off his back, murmuring, "hot," into your ear—and then because he is a terror, he hisses, "baby," too, like an overgrown child. 

There are other words he whispers into your skin, some you know and some you don't. Some you'll come to learn, some he'll share with you, this language that will tell him all you cannot. You're not worried, however, at either his understanding or yours, with a love as true as stars in the sky, like white berries—crisp—against even the longest and darkest nights.

[tootoomanycats]

Boiling Over

Suguru Geto x Personal Chef Smut

Pairing:

Pent Up Geto Cult Leader x OC Fem

(can also be read as reader insert)

Word Count: 3,576 words

Summary: Geto realizes that his new cook has started to put disgusting notions into his daughters heads. After tucking the girls to bed, he finds holding the lid on his anger challenging and complex. It is time to have a talk with this vile monkey; only things don’t go according to plan.

Warnings:

Language usage refers to non-sorcery users such as monkeys and animals and uses verbiage degrading non-users' ideology. (It's Geto; I am only trying to stick to how I think he would internally speak about us muggle folk.)

Enemies arguing to unexpected smut.

Mentions of premature ejaculation. (we make sure he knows he’s still wanted)

Minor mention of a potential eating disorder for Geto.

Author Notes:

Hello Everyone! I promise I am still working on rewriting Performances, but I had to stop because my brain would not let me get any sleep until I got this little one-shot out and edited. I never planned on writing any JJK content, but this is my lesson in never saying never. Honestly, I don't know if this will be a stand-alone one-shot or if it will develop into a short story. Either way, I hope you'll like it! As always if you like what you have read please remember that fanfic writers live off of likes, comments and reblogs- we wont admit it but we all have praise kinks.

Have you watered your writer today?

Each long stride only allowed more anger to fill his lungs. That disgusting, foul-breathed cretan. How dare she encourage such thoughts in their minds? To speak of this dementedly wicked world like the Garden of Eden, like it was something worth protecting. When creatures like her ruined its oasis, this was just more evidence that only further proved every reason to go through with the plan to wipe them out of existence.

Silence filled the long, winding corridors in the late hour—only the soft shuffles of his steps to be heard. The time spent wandering, stewing in the whirlpool of thoughts, was unknown. Be it subconsciously or with intention, he came to stand before the kitchen door. Finger paints covered the wood in various colors and shapes and crudely drawn animals. No doubt, the artistic freedom given to the girls by that damn woman. Another distraction put in front of them that should instead be spent studying and growing more substantial for the future, his future. Fingers massaged at his temple, and that damn under-eye twitch was back.

Before turning to continue on the walk of rage, a faint light shined from under the door. The source’s inconsistent flickering made it obvious it was a flame light, not the usual overhead bulbs. A shadow was moving about, its lines from under the door jam shifting around. Was someone trying to find a late-night snack? Curiosity got the better of him as the door cracked open, the well-oiled hinges making no noise to give away his presence. There, at the kitchen island, sat the bane of his existence. A single candle was her only light source as she made notes in a thick-bound journal. Books littered across the counter’s surface that she was scanning between.

After spending two hours tossing and turning in bed, Hope had given up on sleep finding her tonight. What time would have been spent dreaming was now used to research and plan instead. In the short time since coming to the estate, she realized how out of her depth she was. Growing up on a farm had taught her many valuable tidbits that rolled over into the new career of personal cook. Sadly, though, most of the knowledge of common fruits and vegetation was useless now due to being on foreign soil. Not to mention, all the meals commonly made here were a complete novelty to her. All day, the worry of not knowing a simple dish to make for the girls if one got sick filled her head.

She felt lucky that it was still summer, but fall and winter would soon come, so it was best to start studying basic soup stocks and how to preserve them now. Just as exhaustion began to creep its way up her spine, the face of that egotistical man came to mind. She groaned, remembering how he had already refused everything but the boiled, unseasoned chicken breast. A previous warning of how picky her new boss was had first been brushed off, but now she only saw it as something more concerning. When inquired, the girls only looked at each other before explaining how their father seemed to struggle with food. Something about how things always seemed to taste putrid: Hope made a mental note to inquire if there were meals that would not be so vehemently refused going forward.

“I see I am not alone in burning the late-night oil.” Geto had to hold in the smug smirk at watching Hope almost jump out of her skin when making his presence known. Stepping closer to the kitchen island, his eyes scanned its counter’s contents. Multiple subjects filled the open pages, text outlining photos and drawings of local flora and fauna in Japan, while another explained cultural customs entwined with particular meals. “Homework?” he asked, keeping the tone of the question light, almost teasing. Anger still simmered just below the surface, the lid of feigned equanimity keeping it in check.

She quickly closed the notebook, gathered the books, and walked backward while responding. “Just menu planning and figuring out what to plant in the garden first.” Mirroring his strained smile, she still tried to calm the racing of her heart from being caught off guard by his presence. “W-What has you up so late?” Gulping when the evident anger in his eyes seemed to be barely masked by the smile on his lips. With each step he took further into the space, she took one back-feigning needing to put the books back in their place, on the opposite end of the island. Something deep and primal warned not to turn her back to him.

Hands going back into their usual hiding place in the sleeves of his haori, he stopped where she had just been sitting. Magnanimous in allowing the useless cook her space. “I just tucked the girls into bed. They were having difficulty falling asleep, and I couldn’t figure out why for a while until they started asking some peculiar questions.” Geto tilted his head, the candle’s light only illuminating one half of his face while the other became shrouded in the darkness of the night. Even in the dimly lit space, the fear on her face was clear as day. Teeth ground together as realization dawned on him; at first, he had chalked up what she had told his daughters as common monkey ignorance. But now, in the fearful response of shirking away from him, it became apparent that she knew exactly what she had done.

“Oh? What kinds of questions?” Hope’s palms began to sweat, making it hard to hold the books. She had no shame in introducing the importance of protecting living things, nor held abasement in teaching how the circle of life affected everyone, including Nanako and Mimiko. However, this did not make her oblivious to the potential backlash of such actions. Placing the books down on the edge of the counter before straightening her posture; if she were to be fired or threatened, then he would have to do it while seeing her head held high.

What was once a simmering pot now started to boil. It was one thing to play stupid with him, but it was another thing entirely to look proud while doing it. Taking a step forward, he spoke sternly, “Yes. It seems they have these ideas suddenly.” Another step. “Notions I have taught them that will not be allowed in the future I am creating. You wouldn't happen to know where they got those from, would you?” He now stood only a few short strides from her and the corner she had put herself in. Watching as she stood taller with each step, even puffing her chest out. She was brave; he would give her that. Bravely stupid.

Hope’s eyes dropped down from where he now stood to the books before her. With a deep breath, she calmly spoke the answer he was trying to pull from her. “Yes, I had asked them what vegetables would be best to grow in the garden earlier today. As it turns out, they didn't know, and neither did I. So I found a book, and the three of us took turns reading and learning.” Wetting her mouth, she continued before glancing up to see the anger on his face build. “The girls started to have more philosophical questions on which I gave my opinions on.” Fear spread through her bones as he quickly walked into the small space that was left between them. Turning to face the outrage on his face, back facing the island as her hands held onto its edge for the needed stability of what was to come.

“Who are you to fill their minds with such disgusting notions?” The pot's lid danced over the boiling rage held within. The candlelight illuminated both of them clearly, making it possible to watch as shock filled her face at his statement.

At first, her jaw hung open until the feeling of offense had her back to defend herself. “You may think it disgusting, Your Radiance, but like it or not, the reality is that those girls are starting to realize that not everything in this world is horrible. There are things worth enjoying now, not just when you create some theoretical future.” Though her words rang with strength, her body responded in alarm at watching the monster before her shift through so many emotions.

“They are my children! And much too young to be curious about such things.” The lid crashed to the ground as the emotions finally boiled over the pot’s opening. His voice had raised before quieting back down.

“They are growing girls, just three years shy of being teenagers! How can you not see that they are becoming curious about the world around them? Both have questions, yet you refuse to acknowledge it.”

Wrath filled his eyes, his usually fake pacifying expression vanishing to show the true nature of his feelings as he crowded her further with a sneer, twisting his lips. “Oh? What questions would be so important that they would go to a vile monkey for answers instead of me?” His tone was dangerous, threatening, and low.

She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise; he did not expect such rage to be mirrored back. “I may be a monkey, but at least they feel safe enough to tell me when they like a boy.” Shock started filling his face as she took the chance to be the one now leaning in. “Tell me, how do you plan to explain to them that you will cause the death of their crush?”

Her eyes flicked back and forth between his; he was so close that she could feel the heat of his breath across her nose. Blood thrummed in her veins at how hard her heart pounded. The butcher-block wood creaked under her white knuckle grip, and her back pressed firmly against the counter as he further cornered her in. If this is how she died, then so be it; it will have been worth it to have finally shoved reality into the maniac's face.

Large palms and long arms became caged bars around her, nails scratching groves into the woodgrain. “A crush is a trivial thing.” He leaned further, pressing his chest forward, forcing her spine to bow back uncomfortably. The stiff lip of the wood now bit painfully into her haunches. Delicate fingers gripped the front of his gojogesa, desperate to have any control of how he continued contorting her upper body. His head tilted to whisper into her ear, “They will learn that a monkey’s place is beneath them.”

Geto hated weaklings and abhorred their very existence. It was revulsion, not excitement, that caused the fluttering in his stomach when their cheeks brushed. Loathing how it should have been disgust, not pleasure when her breasts pressed against his chest with each shuddered breath she took. He should have felt repulsed when realizing how perfect the closeness of their height was and how easy it would be to connect further.

It’s because of the years of celibacy that she was so sensitive, Hope told herself. Why else would such a monster cause the sensation of pooling hot honey to form in her belly? How, when Geto shifted his weight to press the muscle of his hips against hers, a whimper caught in her throat that pride refused to let out.

It must have been the lack of touch for so long that had her eyes fluttering shut when he nuzzled his nose into her temple. Monsters did not fathom such intimate affection. Monsters would not wrap such large hands around the back of her neck, gripping the corded muscles of her throat in such a dizzying way. She would not lift onto the counter and widen the distance of her thighs for a beast to slot between them so perfectly. Surely, such a creature would not brace his other hand around the center of her back to press further for contact. The sensation of the growl emanating from its lungs shooting to her core.

It was because his nose had become accustomed to the disinfectant spray that he was so sensitive to her smell. Internally berating himself for nuzzling into the hairline above the cook’s ear, lemon verbena, and citrus mixed pleasantly among the uplifting notes of her scent. Geto couldn’t refrain from pressing firmer into her hairline, gulping in deep breaths of Hope’s scent. The grip on the back of her neck tightened further; confirmation of the creature’s ability to still breathe came in how she tried and failed to hold back a second low moan.

His own response vibrated from how feminine hands gripped the thick fabric on his back and along his rib cage. Cursing at the way, soft, long legs dragged upward along the sides of his hips before wrapping around to press him closer. Silk robe falling open from the movement to show matching panties. It was unbelievable how quickly his cock hardened, straining against the white cloth of his momohiki. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, even with the five layers of Buddhist robes between them. How many years had it been since he had touched himself, let alone such a tempting, vile animal?

Hope bit her bottom lip at the delicious pressure against her core. If she hadn’t been so swept up in the moment’s intensity, she might have been embarrassed about the wet spot that could be felt already in her underwear. Skin growing hot as her body craved more contact and friction. The hands that previously gripped his clothes now reached up to thread into the long tendrils of the brutes hair. Fingernails scraped against his scalp before grasping firmly to pull the face away from hiding against her cheek. The strangled gasp he made caused her walls to flutter; what other noises would this monster of a man make?

The site that greeted her was breathtaking: flushed cheeks, eyes wide with shock and pleasure, and an oh-so-tempting pout to kiss. Gone were the fake smiles, disgusted glares, and angry scowls. Now what stood before her was a desperate mess of a man whose cock was so hard it could be felt through the many layers of clothing. She felt relief from the sight before her; a previous worry that he was toying with her was dissipated. No one would be able to deny his desire from how hard he was breathing, his own hands clinging to her like a lifeline.

Suguru was a man who had faced his fair share of dangerous and terrifying situations in his lifetime. He prided himself on keeping calm and making calculated choices during high-stress moments. So panic began to set in when he found moving from this frozen position impossible. The way her hands had gripped his hair, forcing them to hold eye contact, had his cock throbbing. Panic rose higher from the sensation. She kept glancing at his lips; this wasn’t good. Willing his lungs to work and throat to open, a quiet but hoarse word came out. “No.”

It was Hope’s turn to pout. Her legs locked tighter around him. In reality, he could break free from her so easily; the fact that he wasn’t just proved how much his body languished for contact. Her eyes pleaded as she took in his image, memorizing it and burning it into her mind. “Please.” she quietly asked in return. Hips rocked gently against his to help emphasize her ask. All movement paused at hearing an odd sound. Her brow furrowed in question at the noise he made suddenly, his face contorting to one that could be described as painful. Had she hurt him just now?

Geto eyes shut as the sudden climax continued quivering through him. Its shame was felt running down his stomach, legs, and clothing. He refused to look, to see her expression once she realized what had just occurred.

Hope's concern grew as he stayed still and closed off, contrasting how he clung to her a moment ago. The grip in his hair melted into gentle touches on his cheek, cupping his face to see if she could coax him to look at her. Hormones and endorphins craving the intimacy once more. When his eyes still refused to open, she scanned more of him to find the source of the sudden change. That’s when she spotted it; instantly, it all made sense. The relatively sizable wet spot formed on his clothes was proof of what occurred. Warmth spread to her cheeks as sinful thoughts began to race in her mind, the desire for more growing. Biting her bottom lip, she murmured-

“Again.”

His eyes sprung open wide, disbelief shaping the expression. Their eyes met as he processed her expression of hunger. The gentle touch of her hands on his cheek shifted to clasping the side of his face in place. Hips tilted as she pressed her core to where the wet spot lay on him. His mouth was agape in shock at the feeling of being nuzzled along his jawbone, the sensation trailing a line to his ear where a whisper was pressed against its shell. “I want another one, please.” The ask was sweet and sincere, even begging. Words failed him as a hand gently guided his own from the counter across the warmth of a plush thigh to someplace much hotter. A palpation hit his ribcage when feeling thin satin fabric, saturated and slick, shuttering when Hopes’s fingers encouraged his own to press more firmly against the spot. Her resounding whine brought him back from the out-of-body experience.

The overwhelming rage from before shifted into something much more savage and ravenous. Years of repressed urges bled to the surface; sturdy fingers gripped into the base of her hair like a handle to be pulled back from him, the movement forcing her skull to tilt up. It felt impossible to catch any breath as it heaved erratically between the groaning and growls, responding to how desperate legs clung to him. Any previous control had spilled from the pot that now boiled over. Another hand raised to cup her face with the same tenderness she had shown him just moments ago, watching how her eyes repeated their glances to his lips again. Finally, he leaned in.

“Shhh, I know where she hid the cookies from earlier.” Multiple footsteps could be heard getting closer and closer outside the door. Mimiko and Nanako both telling the other to be quiet, annoying the other with each repeated response given back and forth.

Hope and Geto’s eyes widened as the reality of their situation quickly sunk in. Her mouth opened and closed like the koi fish in the pond outside, and before she could say a word, the maniac was gone. Her brain struggled to process his disappearance, the movement inhuman in its speed. The limbs that once were held up against the other body flopped from no longer having something to grip onto. As the kitchen door slowly opened, she scrambled off the counter and ripped open one of the fridge doors to hide her overtly flushed face. Praying that its cold air would help calm down her heart rate. She was panicking as she quickly fixed the front of her silk robe back in its proper place.

Hidden outside the kitchen’s veranda, Geto stood in horror as the events that had just transpired replayed in his mind. Dismay that the truth about who started the whole situation was him. What was worse was that as hard as he tried to feel the disgust he so proudly touted for her kind, he could only feel how hard he was--again. Realization dawned on him of how dangerous the cook was as he shifted Hopes’s title from monkey to succubus.

[justallihere]

20 Questions for the Writers Tag Game!

I was tagged by @widebrimmedhatsblog

1. Total number of AO3 works

8!

2. Total AO3 word count

291,174

3. Fandoms I've written for

The only thing I've ever really published that's been popular is The Empyrean. I have a couple ACOTAR ideas but they've never seen the light of day

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

storm in the quiet (5,357)

simmer (609)

invisible in a violet sea (515)

violence in my veins (499)

somehow i still love you more (499)

5. Do I respond to comments?

....sometimes. Generally no because I'm really horrible at making time for it. But know that I read them all over and over again!! I'm trying to be better

6. What has the angstiest ending?

Everything that's currently posted has a happy ending. Storm in the quiet has the most angst overall, and some people might find the ending angsty but I don't think it is lol

7. What has the happiest ending?

Probably somehow i still love you more. Just Xaden and Violet and their baby, living their happy lives 😌

8. Have I received hate?

Not really! A couple people here and there who I think either didn't get the point of some of my work or it wasn't their thing and they told me about it anyway, but no outright hate

9. Do I write smut? And what kind?

Yes. Anything with a praise kink basically

10. Do I write crossovers?

Nope.

11. Have I ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of!

12. Have I ever had a fic translated?

Not yet! Maybe someday someone will want to.

13. Have I ever co-written a fic?

I have not. I'm so particular about my writing I don't know how it would go for me lol

14. What is my all time favorite ship?

For the Empyrean, Riorgail are my babies 🥰

15. A WIP I'll never finish?

Uh I started a Violet/Aaric fic set during Iron Flame that I don't think I'll ever pick back up

16. Writing strengths?

Dialogue and probably descriptions? I love taking the time to describe what the characters are seeing and feeling

17. Writing weaknesses?

Any type of action/fight scene. I hate it so much

18. Do I like foreign language dialogue?

A lot of untranslated dialogue when I'm reading takes me out of the story because I have to keep translating it myself. As far as writing, I don't really write it because I don't speak other languages besides English, so I wouldn't want to get it wrong

19. First fandom I wrote for?

I think it was PJO way back in the day? It never got published

20. Favorite fic I've written?

storm in the quiet. It's so long but it's really been a labor of love and the response I've gotten to it isn't something I'll ever forget. It's been an incredible experience sharing it with everyone 💕

I don't have anyone to tag so if you want to participate please do!!!

[chorizoa]

Entrail of faith — König x f!reader

part 2!!!!!!!! part 2 part 2 part 2!!!

pt.1 is here

I would like to state that I'm literally just throwing myself into this and letting the thoughts blurb; so if it seems messy, loose, or unorganized its bc I am trying my best :) sorry in advance for anything that may seem plot-holey, geographically incorrect, etc. please feel free to comment on my use of language, setting, wtv— I love feedback and want you guys to enjoy it!!!

this one is also a bit longer tee-hee, and also more revoling around you!

cw: more of konig being a stalker, more talk of kidnap and the like, very brief mention of a daddy kink/use of daddy as a title (its more of a sugar baby kinda way, but hes also just gross), he wants to take full advantage of you, he is very nasty but he loves you so :3

no sex.. yet.

You were a smart girl, but maybe if you were a smarter girl, you wouldn't find yourself staring at an empty message log— thumbs dancing over the screen while you gnaw, and gnaw, and gnaw at that pretty lower lip.

It's insane of you, you think. Giving salt to the interest of a stranger, a man who was clearly dangerous— could so obviously kill you given the chance— one you'd caught glances of during your shifts, always seeming to show up only when you work.. But— Christ.

  The years had not been kind, and being a girl settling into her early twenties, a totally foreign land to start a new life in— not a single soul to keep her warm— well, it embeds a certain sense of desperation. Perfect for men like König. Who, of course, could barely handle a woman under any legitimate means.

Inexperience dripped off of you like a waning ooze, glistening with incompetence for what you could be experiencing— a misted perfume that engulfed you, an aura that "spooked" most anyone anywhere near your age. It kept you at lengthy reach from others, and plastic toys had become your only solace in the pariah'ed life you've lived.

Not him, though, it drew him in— and he could taste it on his tongue, swirl it against his gums and swallow like the loveliest shot of Jager. You would be his favorite spirit to indulge in, and all you needed to do was speak.

He already knew your name, of course he did; so when you texted him— confirming that, yes, this was the cute girl from the diner, and frivolously providing your sweet name in your fluster— it didn't surprise him, but it did make him purr with satisfaction. You were so much closer now, so much easier to bend to his will than you could imagine.

Retirement wouldn't be too bad, it seemed.

Perfect, actually, when he really thought about it. Enough savings in the bank to keep him comfortable until he died of old age, or took an unexpected bullet in the neck; and with the added addition of you? Oh, he was going to bask in heaven's light every night. God had sent him his very own angel— maybe he'd pray, just to say thanks.

He wasn't worried about you not liking him— no, not a bit. It wasn't a choice in his mind, either you liked him, or you didn't… and what he had in mind for if you didn't — well.. it was a particularly nasty thing, and he certainly wasn't bringing it up in therapy. Lest he enjoy the comfort of a solitary, padded room with a jacket to match his confinement— maybe even a damp cell, if they felt so generous.

He was going to have you, whether he had to chain you up in his basement, chain you to his bed post, adorn you with a proximity collar— it didn't. matter.

He was going to have you, and you would have him— a smart girl like you would understand, right? He only wants what's best for you.

That's why he followed you home tonight. Silly girl, don't you know you should take the trolley? There's so many bad, scary men out here— you're lucky he watches your every step, and memorizes the direct path to your home from the shadows, someone could hurt you, sweet girl— and he'd have to make a mess, just for you.

He even watched as you poised your fingers to text him, that sharp sight was a blessing— and observing you as you gnaw at your bottom lip until it swelled was stored into a deep, dark part of his mind for later. Ever still, he found it so amusing how oblivious you were— you should really scan your surroundings more.

Though, when he made it to your home— he found a deep frown tugging at him. Oh, this simply would not do. This was not the place to be for his princess, his darling girl— no, not at all.

This rundown complex was much too grimy for one as stunning as you, everything paled in comparison to you— of course it did, nothing mattered like you— but this was just.. sad, nobody as lovely as you deserved to be so impoverished. The dappled foundation, the assumed stench of cigarettes that must cling to the walls within— he had to get you out of there, and fast.

He almost considered marching in right then, ripping you from the safety of your supposed "home"— but he knew better of it. You needed to be won delicately, you were so sweet, but wracked with nerves like a stumbling fawn— one wrong move, a step too quick, and you'd bolt— he could smell fear, and you held it like a cross to bear. That didn't keep him from feeling angry, however.

He was going to pray, offer thanks, but not anymore. No gracious lord would allow such divinity to suffer like this— no self-proclaimed "God of Man" would allow their subject to wallow in such filth. His sweet girl, he was going to give you much more— so much more than this. He would do what God had failed to. He would help you to understand the divinity of man— and what he had to offer. Father was roiling in his grave at the sacrilege.

That was a nice piece to chew on as he walked back to his car— of course he parked elsewhere, home was much too far to walk from— stuck in a wish-washy daydream of you worshipping him, kneeled at his feet and devoted just as you should be. He'd make it better, he'd make it all better, you need only give him time.

— What are you doing tomorrow night, maus?

He texts, already churning with ideas. Most of them are to capture you, of course, but we've established this— we can't do this. However, he is on the more mundane side of things, wondering how he can somehow pay your rent for a few months— or atleast until he can coax you out of that fucking hellscape in the worst part of town. Regardless, totally normal, gentleman-like, things.

— I work a shift from 17:30-21:00 tmrw night :( but I'll be free after work!!

You're even cute with the way you text, so fitting of you— it makes him chuckle, especially with how quickly you'd replied. In his mind, you're hovering over the phone, jumping at every notification in hopes of it being him.

— No worries, little one, I'd like for you to get your rest. Maybe I could walk you home tomorrow, get to know each other?

He's as articulate as ever, feeling as if you'd appreciate his use of grammar and pronunciation— he hopes you read books, he'd buy you a million books, make you read to him while he bounced you on his knee— maybe you'd call him daddy, if he spoiled you enough. He had so many plans for you, it almost made his head hurt, though his cock absorbed most of his rushing blood.

— That would be lovely :)

It would be, wouldn't it? He'd already walked you home now, you just hadn't known it (you'd never know,) and he'd be able to spend tomorrow evening staring at you the whole time— hence why he memorized the path, and for.. other reasons; but those weren't currently relevant, now were they?

— Good. See you then, Engel.

He could see you now, punching these little nicknames into a poorly guided translator— the blush smattering across your soft little cheeks, your eyes creasing as you couldn't help that smile— God, even the small things about you made his palms itch. He was so excited to have you, hold you, touch and use you when he got close enough. It wouldn't be long now.

He was always so good at planning things.

-

The following evening was a rampage. A festival, perhaps, had ripped through the small town— something about music, either way, the streets were eruptive with fervor.

You, just starting out here, are not well accustomed to this area's cultures— and when the café becomes swamped? Well, you're definitely fritzing for some form of substance. Anything to keep a smile on your face while grown adults trash your place of work, and the surrounding area, in a drunken wake. For crying out loud, you barely knew the language here, and people tend to forget any English instruction they've had once a fiery drink hits their system.

Austria. It'd be the death of you.

Forced to close early due to the mess— much to the dismay of drunk, middle-aged men looking for something greasy to fill their maws— the last hour of your day was spent putting a rag to the wall, the floors, the windows; anything your mind could think of, it had to be cleaned. Tired was an understatement, and 'aching' could not be a severe enough adjective for the sensation settling in your joints.

Maybe if you were a more aggressive person, you'd take it out on your manager. Take a bottle of bleach and splash it in his eyes, maybe a bit of strangulation— that was always on the forefront of your concious— and especially now, as he stood outside and lackadaisically sweeped at the "dirty" corner the building sat on. The lazy fuck, can't even make a proper payroll— the bleach sounded a bit more enticing.

You of course shove these thoughts into the supply closet, along with all the other cleaning products that had been collected from their strewn about positions across the diner. It was almost time to go home, maybe ten minutes or so— and you were getting paid for your last hour, come hell or high water. Rent didn't pay itself, and you almost wish you hadn't treated yourself last night to delivery with that tip König slipped to you— could've been handy.

If only you knew how he was itching to have you practically keep his wallet, you'd find out soon anyways.

You stood behind the bar, leaned into it with a placid expression on your face— slumped and tired, and there was no taming your hair. You partially wanted to cancel the little walk you had so eagerly agreed too, but thought better of it— exhaustion ate at you, however, almost in an irritable sense. The urge to cancel just got stronger, and stronger.

Until he was spotted down the street, that almost completely soured your mood— had not the very sight of him set your pulse to palpitate uncomfortably quick. You took a minute to really observe him, at least from a far. He was giant, no doubt about it— regardless of your size or shape, he dwarfed you, and he didn't have to be up close and personal to tell.

His face was mostly obscured, little black mask hanging across his features— this time around though, no sunglasses to hide his eyes— you were fluttering with excitement at the thought of someone's eyes, Jesus, you're kinda weird. Desperate girl, aren't you?

Regardless, he seemed a bit more.. exposing of himself— and, he was here before the agreed time, like an actual fucking man would do.

Huh, maybe the big giant wasn't a bad choice.

Maybe you just didn't know him well enough.

— Schatz! Nice to see you..

He was warm, inviting. If you didn't have sense in your head, you'd climb into his strong-looking arms, beg him to carry you home like a whiny child— of course, you didn't. Only offering him a smile, and taking his arm as he offered it— the sight making your heart stir a little more.

— Nice to see you too, König. I hope it wasn't too much trouble getting here, I know it's a mess out here right now.

You laugh, but you feel almost guilty for making him come all this way. Yes, he offered, yes, he came here anyways— but Innsbruck during a music festival wasn't exactly.. controlled, and he didn't seem to be the type to like crowds. Something you understood, and sensed very quickly.

— Nonsense, even more of a reason for me to accompany you, little one. Keep you safe.

He gives your arm a squeeze with his free hand, it's soft, gentle— so unexpected from hands that looked as if they could rip your throat out. A frisson of heat creeped it's way up your spine. You'd never been the type to depend on someone, or need someone— but hearing him speak that way.. it was definitely flipping some form of switch inside you.

— You're very kind.

You hum in response, taking a step closer to him as you walked— and he kept his eyes on you the whole time, the route burned into his mind. Though, your phrase did not fall on deaf ears— and he had to keep himself from shoving his tongue down your throat right there— you cannot say things like that to him, you are too good and pure.

— To you, at the very least.

— Why's that?

— Why not?

Banter could be good for the soul, and you almost felt desperate when he looked down to you— eyes creasing from what could only be a smirk. You felt flustered under his gaze, small and compact, but.. safe. Watched over, and protected.

Something about his eyes, his demeanor— the way he so graciously walked you along and made sure you didn't step on a single crack or bump in the sidewalk— it tip, tip, tipped you over into a fuzzy headspace you hadn't felt before. Something small, something compact, something malleable.

— Dunno. Men aren't usually kind.

— Boys, then. You are much too beautiful to be handled by a boy.

You cocked a brow at his statement, an amused chuckle leaving your tired lips. He was a strange man, no doubt caring, but even you could tell he harbored things— kept himself from saying and doing things that might be taken incorrectly, or be downright abhorrent. You should be afraid of him, you should run for the hills and scream for help, you should sense the predator who already has his claws dug deep into your skin. 

But you don't, and you don't think you ever would.

Call it string theory, call it hope, call it desperation or an offered entrail— but you placed faith in him, praying that he wouldn't make decorations of your guts— because something more spoke to you, something outside of the two of you held you together steadfast. Mother had always told you to heed universal implications.

— Are you from around here, König?

— Nein, places like this..? eh, not my style. The mountains are much quieter, prettier.

Just how far had this guy traveled? Innsbruck had mountains, yeah, but it wasn't the most secluded of places— quiet didnt exist here. You had to gauge that maybe he blew in from Salzburg, it got less noisy and more rocky the further you went along the North chain. Either way, it was clear to you now that he wasn't just strolling about, he definitely had an agenda.

— Mm. Quite right, starting to regret settling down in such a busy area. I've always enjoyed the quiet.

— Agreed.. What brings you to Austria, Maus?

A good question, a fine one. You didn't know, you got a lump sum from a dead relative— and took off running. America never suited you, and the country was falling to ruins; what would you have stayed for?

— Something refreshing.

— ..And that is..?

— Sights, sounds, self-recognition- I'm unsure, but it's better than home.

He seemed to understand that, a knowing hum vibrating through the berth of his chest. He curled your arm closer to his body, your hip brushing against him as he took an even, slow pace— clearly difficult for him, but you could only move so fast.

The closeness felt nice in that moment, like it was unnecessary to share words— just enough had been said. It was a different sensation flowing through you. Yes, to be frank, you'd been lusting over him since he gave you his number— a little attention can go a long way— but it was different. That feeling of safety was blanketed with another— familiarity.

— Any family, libeling?

— Estranged, haven't spoken to them in years.

Another knowing hum, but it was followed by an amused sound— a chuckle. If the melancholy of the fact hadn't been refreshed, the sound would've made you pounce like a starved animal. He was attractive as all hell— and you didn't even need to see his full face.

— What's funny?

You try not to sound offended, you aren't, not really. Though, his amusement is of interest to you.

— Nothing, I assure you. It just seems that you and I are very similar. You are an interesting little thing.

— Ha! I'm as face value as they come, I promise you that.

— Don't be so humble, it's unnecessary for a lovely girl like you. I'll be the judge of that.

It was almost as if he was scolding you, but you brushed it off with an amused huff of air— leaning into his shoulder as he walked you along. You could stop his heart with such a thing, you saw him so much differently than others, didn't you? What a rare girl you were.

He wound an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. He was surprised by his own boldness, but the energy you held was so.. comforting, something in his core shook at the sensation— like a blockage finally being relieved. It could only get sweeter when you returned the gentle grasp, slipping an arm over his slender back.

— I.. this made my night better. Thank you.

You blushy little angel, of course, of course, anything for you. Oh, he needed to give you the world. He'd start a war for you— his very own Helen of Troy.

— Of course, sweet girl. Need to make sure you get home safe and happy, ja?

You laugh and squeeze his side, and he's pushing down another round of nasty thoughts like burning tequila. You have him chomping at the bit for every artifice of your affection.

— Such a gentleman..

— As I was raised to be, Schatz.

It burns him when he has to drop you off at that complex.. again. He wants nothing more than to take you home, invite you to a bed much-too-big, suffocate you in thread counts your wallet couldn't fathom— but it was much too soon, and you were much too angelic for him to ever want to spook you.

It burns you in turn, looking up at him with a shy smile. You want to invite him in, have him over for the night— but it seems you both agree on the terms of "much too soon", and you can't help but feel insecure at the.. state.. of your livingspace. It's nothing lavish, and it's moorish— maybe some other time.

— We should do this again.. I enjoyed this.

— I agree, liebling. Let me know when you work next, hm? Or maybe when you're free, I'll come visit you.

He made you feel as blushy as a school-girl, like you were a gift wrapped in fine bows just for him.

— I'll send you my schedule.

— Guten Mädchen.. I'll see you later then.

And, as if the gods had their hands on your shoulders, he leaned in— pulling his mask down just enough to kiss the top of your head before swiftly moving it back into place, and giving your cheek a quick brush with his thumb. Your skin was on fire, that cheek was never getting washed again.

Good fucking God, coming undone at the smallest touch, are we?

— Goodnight-! Get home safe..

He was already halfway down the block, damn, he's fast.

You're already getting obsessed, damn, he's good.

[theviceadmiralswife]

Your story! Chapter Kizaru - duties

Salute recruits and soldiers on this windy Sunday ⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️🌊⚓️

Here is a little story a bit dirty and smut for our birthday boy Borsalino so enjoy !!!

Your story works on the mainframe that YOU dear reader have been transported to the OP universe ... what a hoot..!!! You 21. Century shortly woman amongst tall men and monsters. In a world thats familar yet so foreign.

Your current home new Marineford; your status employed for Kizaru!!!

..honestly how could you end up in such a mess???

What mess? Your current position?? Under Kizarus desk.. your his assistant, your job was also known as Kizarus babysitter and his personal fucktoy. Yes your job was to be both his secretary keeping him on track in his work and his cock in you whenever it pleased the admiral.

So what was your current mess pleasing one of his many kinks... you suck on his big toe, but worse of all for the past 5 minutes Sakazuki was in Kizarus office on one of his rants/ pre mission meeting. And while the fleet admiral barks in his harsh language; what he expects Kizaru to do..., well Kizaru sits there with his usual slow and smug grin an aloof expression on his face, while in reality moving his toe in your mouth.

Your suppress a groan as Kizaru shifted his toe once more, pushing against your tongue, you understand exactly and let your tongue slide against his toe all while hiding under his desk away from Sakazukis eyes. Trying desperately not to make a sound.

SAKAZUKI :" WHERE THE HECK IS Y/N ..? SHE'S YOUR BLOODY SECRETARY!"

Kizaru grins slowly:" ~ ooh yes that she is...~".

Sakazuki rolls his eyes his face crunched up displeased, Kizaru just smirks right back at him like sunshine:" ~Aaah yeeeess. I send her to the archives, she needs to fetch a very special file you knoow~".

-under his desk at the same time, as he speaks, he moves his toe in your mouth, exploring it to the fullest. You didn't see what was going and with Kizaru toe fucking your mouth, your mind to occupied to notice what was going on and concentrating on not to make a sound.

All you hear is an angry grunt from Sakazuki " FOR GODS SAKE BORSALINO KEEP YOUR COCK DOWN AND STOP FUCKING Y/N IN YOUR HEAD... FOCUS ON KILLING UTA!"

With that the fleet admiral left, slamming Kizarus office door so hard the whole wall shook.

Kizaru:" ~ ooh he is mad...he needs to relax~!"

You clumsy bang your head under Kizarus desk and groan muffled.

Y/n :" ouch.."

Kizaru pulls his toe out of your mouth dragging it through your lips.

Kizaru:" ...don't you think so y/n... you did well hiding my young lady.. oooh..please me more okayyy!~"!.

You nod catching your breath quickly, before Kizaru smirking devilish presses his foot into your cheek. You put both hands on his ankle rubbing up and down a bit as you kiss and lick his sole and toes.

Kizarus eyes light up with a dangerous glint he lifts his other foot tapping your shoulder. You peel off his loafer. Kizaru would hum looking at you like he's looking into your soul while at the same time has a 1000 yrd stare, head in the clouds.

You take a few panting breaths as Kizaru puts both his feet onto your shoulders, keeping you in subservient position.

You alternate between kissing, sucking and licking his left and right foot, making sure that your hands caress and massage his legs.

Worshipping Kizarus legs and other body parts was one of the duties bestoed upon you and it certainly it was thrilling to you, given the fact that these legs could kick at the speed of light. You squirm a bit.

Kizaru enjoys your dedication as your tongue drags across the sole of his left foot giving it a soft bite.

He groans leaning his head back closing his eyes:" You are such a good girl young lady!"

He leans his head back closing his eyes and enjoys the attention:" ~oooh my~ young lady...mnnh"

You nibble and suck on his toes while your nails dragged across his other leg to his foot massaging the bare sole.

Kizaru hums deeply, as he opened the zipper of his pants on auto pilot, his lengthy, veiny cock springing free , from such restraining clothes.

As kinky as Kizaru is he stares at you as his long fingers start to pump his cock, knowing full well what effect it had on you.

Sucking on his toe you moan as you observe Kizaru begin to pleasure himself. You squirm and you feel your panties getting wet with arousal fluid.

Kizaru grins lewd and arrogantly:" oooh~ young lady your eyes are begging so beautifullyyy... want daddy's cock in you ..noo?~"

As he says that he teasingly pulls his foreskin down exposing his mushroom tip.

You whimper needy.

Kizaru chuckles amused, moving his toe in your mouth once more:" ~ oh young lady... don't you dare to come just yet....beg more..mnhh~"

Your cheeks blush deep red you feel the heat and lust rising lust. As you release Kizarus toe a string of saliva connected it to your lip.

Kizaru groans at the sight of you on your knees hot and bothered:" ~oooh look at you young ladyy~...mmmhh... crawl to daddy and beg for my balls good girl~"

You pant already like a bitch in heat:" Yes..sir". You crawl subservient to him which causes Kizaru to coo a drawn out ~ooooh~, his cock already twitching between his fingers, he swiftly pushes his pants down a bit to free his nutsack.

Your hands slide up his thighs, as you scoot closer between his long legs. You look up at him cheeks pink in desire, your lips part lustfully and wet your breathing pur erotic:" At your service my admiral !".

Kizaru grabs your hair and without hesitation pushes your face into his crotch. He chuckles bemused at your face:" ~Be a good assistant and suck your admirals balls! And be extra noisy okayyy!~"

You nod licking over his balls before sucking them into your mouth, you moan loudly your mouth filled. Kizaru groans :"~oooh young lady! Soo good!~"

He guides your hand to his cock , you drag your tongue across his shaft and spit on his tip letting your tongue dance around it for a moment.

Your hand begins to pump his cock now lubricated with your saliva.

Kizaru groans grabbing your hair and pressing your head back into his balls for you to suck on. You breath ragged through your nose as your mouth is filled with the soft flesh of Kizarus family jewels. You move your tongue against his balls as your pace increased...so did the speed and intensity of your pumps as your hand slides up and down Kizarus hard cock.

Based on his humming, turning to deep groans you knew you got Kizaru worked up fast.

His office was filled with your moans and ever increasing breathing and some wet noises from the oral pleasure you gave the yellow admiral.

Licking up his cock once more you work yourself in a frenzy.

Moans and whimpers leaving your mouth as you got more and more aroused and more eager in your actions.

Kizaru moans:" ~such a naughtyyyyy assistant ~". His fingers released your hair...before you even blinked you were engulfed in yellow light. Suddenly you found yourself on Kizarus desk, on your back, his hand pulling your head up abd backwards. You blink...as you realise..of course Kizaru used his glint glint power to teleport you onto his desk.

You felt dizzy from the speed of his actions but had no time to process what was going on before Kizaru prods your lips open with his cock. His long fingers wrap around your throat so he feels how deeply he fucks your mouth.

He coos once more with a superior tone:" ~mmnnhh naughty assistant of mine.. soo eager..~"

You moan barely able to breath through your nose :" Mnhgg..nnng"

Kizaru smirks down at your blushing face the way you drool as his member slips in and out of your mouth in a steady pace.

He runs his hand down your body, pulling up your skirt and your panties aside. His finger slips in your core deep causes ingredients you to buck up your hips, moaning loud with his cock in your mouth.

Kizaru puts on his dopey happy go lucky face:" ~ oooh my oh my.. young lady you certainly are wet~". Kizaru pulls his finger out caressing your slick folds after this he lick his finger all the while moving his member in and out of your mouth and throat his pace increasing.

You whine and whimper between a few muffled gags.

As your hands reach out to touch him he places your hand down at your core :" ~ Pleasure your pretty pussy for your admiral my little assistant!~". He ordered it and you obeyed letting your fingers circle and rub your clit as fast as you were horny and desperate.

Kizaru smirks his hand resting still on your throat so he feels himself deep throat fucking you, his breathing comes out ragged and harsh. He grabs one of your breasts kneading it with his large hand.

He groans deeply :" aaah~ mnnng...just like that young lady~"

His hips rock faster more urgently. You gag and moan chockingon his lengthy dick:" Ki...zwa ...wu!". You rub your clit faster and faster racing to your climax.

Kizaru moans:"~ oooooh naughty young lady..ooh mnhg ..thats it.. come for your admiral...ooh yees~"

His hand kneading your breast faster as his thrusts become rough making tears shoot into your eyes and drool uncontrollable.

You fingers work your pussy in a frenzy that drives you straight to your orgasm the jolt of tingly lust exploded and you climax and you squirt whimpering.

Kizaru cooed in astonishment:"~ ooooh my~ young lady you went off like fireworks ..so pretty!~"

His hips would slam into your face driving his slick member in deep and fast, the sight of you so shamelessly squirting over his desk got him riled up to the edge. Kizarus groaning and breathing increased to a fast crescendo as he nearing his release.

Your muffled moans increase so doss the ragged breathing...and then Kizaru went in deep..

He groans almost growls he can't help himself to pump his slightly bitter tasting seed down your throat and in your mouth.

He chuckles as he pulls out and looses some cum that lands on your face.

Kizaru hums satisfied at the sight of you dripping wet between your legs and his seed smeared on your face.

You moan loudly free from his cock. Ylu lick up some of his cum as Kizaru watches you intently:" Wow admiral my pleasure to be at your service!"

Kizaru grins devilish and aloof in one facial expression:" mmmh ~ young lady you did take daddy's cock very well..I make sure to fill up all your lovely holes after missing okayy! After all thats your duties ~".

[kyndredravenstories]

Eyes of Infinity: Delirium Chapter 8

Hello, I have been posting my work on AO3 and recently decided to venture here to Tumblr. Please note: This story is 18+. No minors. Please read tags carefully. Link to AO3 below but I will also be posting the chapters here.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/53564641/chapters/149000791#workskin

Pairing: Sylus/Female MC with some elements of Xavier/Female MC

Genre: Romance, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Adventure, Smut, Porn with Big Plot and Big Feelings

Content Warning (For the entire fic): Explicit sexual content, spoilers and alterations to existing lore and cards/memories/tender moments/secret times, size kink, size difference, vaginal sex, cunnilingus, anal sex, fingering, all kinds of fingering, elements of consensual somno, dom!Sylus, jealousy, possessive!Sylus, Mephisto stalking, typical game violence, battle and combat

Summary: To love him meant stepping over the threshold and crossing into darkness. To be with him meant accepting the lure of the shadows. And to protect him from betrayal meant sacrifice. I knew not how, only that I would not let time sever our paths ever again.

Previous Chapters: Ch 1 / Ch 2 / Ch 3 / Ch 4 / Ch 5 / Ch 6 / Ch 7

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"You should know that I adore you," Sylus murmurs, the red in his eyes languid and his voice a tender caress. "There is no love purer than mine."

In the wake of the words, I'm left stupefied.

I could have expected a whole nebula of variations to how he perceived our current -- whatever this was -- but...love?

My heart lurches in my chest. Sylus's answer matches my deepest darkest yearning, but I hesitate. I grab his forearms and pull him closer. My hands settle on his cheeks, and I search his face. He looks back at me without a mask or filter. His gaze remains soft and open, his lips tipped up in a gentle smile.

"Sylus," I breathe slowly, "how can you say something like that so easily?"

"Speaking truth is never difficult," he huffs.

I reach down and pinch myself, suddenly wondering if I've passed out in the mansion somewhere and have indulged too much in dreams. It hurts, which means I'm here and this is as real as real gets. I think.

"Is there a reason I should hide it?"

Only a few! The primary one being that he is the Sylus of N109. Isn't he concerned that admitting something like this is going to make things much more dangerous for him? That caring for someone might make him vulnerable? Again, I search his face. And again, I see no hesitation. I realize, then, that he is truly, absolutely, unequivocally unafraid. I stare at him in wonder. Truly, I have never known anyone like him. A man who is not afraid of anything. A man with enough power to shape his own reality. 

When I don't answer his question, he takes his turn to search my face -- maybe even my thoughts -- with those hyper-perceptive eyes and intellect. Apparently, his rummaging yields more than mine. He raises a brow.

"Why so anxious? Don't worry. I'm not in the mood to reveal our relationship to anyone anytime soon."

Relationship. Adoration. Love. The words repeat in my head over and over, but they might as well be in a foreign language. I stare at him like he's grown another head. Of course, it's not so terribly far fetched that he might care for me after the closeness we've shared, but how? Why? When did this happen? How did all of this go from some crazy sex in a hotel to the start of an entanglement? Still reeling, I give Sylus a critical look. Is this man even capable of having a normal bond with someone? What does normal even mean for him, and do our definitions of the word match up?

This is a man who sits on the throne of N109, owns a jet, a yacht, and an armory bigger than the Association's. I've seen him go to shootouts for breakfast then stop by a café for brunch. He's overthrown other rulers. His organization is at the heart of all of the most controversial, dangerous, and unethical research I have ever heard or read about. He's blown up buildings and torn down mountains of organized crime. He's quite possibly the most powerful and most unpredictable man I'll ever meet in my lifetime.

Yet he's telling me he loves me.

And that we're in a relationship.

I'm silent as I try to gather the scattered marbles of my thoughts back into their jar. All the while, Sylus doesn't say a word. He doesn't rush me or press me for an answer. When his cell phone rings, he picks it up and steps some distance away, giving me the space I need to figure out where exactly I stand in all of this. Somehow, I don't think that will happen quickly or easily. We've just met. I hardly know him. There are times he terrifies me, and there are times when I can't breathe around him. I've learned nothing of his past or who he really is. I know even less about his powers and their true nature. I don't know why he wanted to Resonate with me so much in the beginning. I don't know why he's taken such an interest in me, either.

He's a complete enigma.

But, you love him.

And suddenly, I know that I do.

Absolutely. Unequivocally.

Denying it would be pointless.

My heart as heavy as a sinking anchor, I look at his rugged profile as he speaks over the phone. Straightening my legs, I hop off the bike and start walking towards him, dragging that same heart on my sleeve right behind me. As I do, snow begins to fall from the sky above. It settles in his silver hair and dusts his jacket. His voice drifts to me on the wind. Familiar now, like a favorite cup of hot chocolate on a freezing winter night. The hue of his eyes shimmers in the flickering of the metropolis around us, and I finally admit that his eyes are the most beautiful crimson that I've ever seen. 

I admit that adore him, too.

His arrogance, his confidence, his gentleness, and -- yes -- even his controlled savagery.

I clutch at the jacket over my heart.

When did this happen?

How did this happen?

At last, my journey ends at his side. With a click, Sylus hangs up his call. I reach out my hand to him as he turns to face me. He glances at my outstretched hand then at me.

"What is it?" he asks, reaching out to join our hands together.

The moment I feel his palm against mine, I thread our fingers and yank him forward towards me. His eyes widen, but he lets me pull on him. He even stumbles. This King, who trusts no one and can cause devastation with the snap of his fingers, let's me do as I please.

Mildly overwhelmed, I brush strands of snow-dusted hair from his temple. With my other hand, I reach up and touch his cheek, my thumb stroking from right to left along his parted lips. That devilish mouth quirks up into an impish smirk. But, I'm not done yet. I want to keep touching him. Feathery soft, my hand smoothes against his chin. He closes his eyes, leaning into my touch as if it's the most pleasurable thing in this world. My heart thunders in my ears, faster and faster. Adoration, was it? Yes. That's what this feels like.

Reverently touching something I fear will vanish if I take too long to blink.

It's easy for him to disappear. So far, he's reappeared right at my side every time, but will it always be so? Or will he one day turn to mist and never come to me again? My jaw clenches tight. I let the fear surge through me and don't shy away from it this time. It's par for course, I suppose. A natural part of loving and adoring this man.

And I'm too far gone to go back now.

The moment I stop struggling against the shackles of this feeling, something shifts between us. It's like he senses it. Knows that I've finally given in. The corner of his mouth twitches and he grabs my wrist. With his eyes still alight with mirth and levity, he brings my hand to his mouth and softly bites my palm. I shiver, electricity bursting from my wrist to my shoulder. Without breaking eye contact, he kisses it and says "So? Have you and your pride come to a consensus?"

"We have," I humor him.

"And what's the verdict?" He pulls me forward this time by our joined hands, and I fall into his arms. "If it has anything to do with me letting you escape, you're out of luck. Whatever I hold in my hand is mine, sweetie. That includes you."

Our lips meet in a fevered kiss, and as the snow falls around us, I surrender to his passion. Escape is the last thing on my mind. My fear lingers in the ambience. Something as wonderful as this can't be destined for destruction, can it? I've seen enough darkness and tragedy in my life. Surely, it's time to see some happiness. If I have to fight for it -- if I have to bleed for it -- then I will. It's as simple as that. No other option exists because there is no way in hell that I will let this man disappear to a place that I can't follow.

We break away, and I wrap my arms around his waist. "I love you," I tell him, the words turning into white mist along with my breath. "It's completely insane. We haven't even gone on a date."

"If you want to do something mundane, we can," Sylus says, chuckling when I give him a frustrated glare. He hugs me just a little tighter. "But first, you need to go back to the light and recover. Heal. You can't do that here in the darkness."

"Is that why you're sending me away?" I pout.

He tilts his head. "Servants and fools are sent away. You are neither."

"Then, I want to stay."

"No."

I pull back, my hands sliding to my hips. "Sylus."

"Ellara."

We stare each other down.

"I can help you," I insist. "I know I'm not as strong as you, but I'm far from useless in a fight. My Resonance can help."

Something about that particular phrase triggers his impatience. He frowns and rubs a spot between his brows with a sigh.

"Go home with your knight, Ellara. Lick your wounds. Fight your Wanderers. Stay away from all this."

He starts to turn his back to me, and my anger flares. I grab a handful of his jacket and pull as hard as I can. "Don't you dismiss me like I'm one of your underlings," I growl at him. "If I want to stay, I damn well will."

When I turn him around, my temper loses its steam. The look on his face stops me in my tracks. It's not anger. Or frustration. It's something more, but I can't quite--

"I almost lost you," he murmurs, his fingers falling to my shoulder like the snow, gliding across my jacket and settling on my arm. "I don't...ever..." A muscle clenches in his jaw, and he stops speaking. His phone rings again, the sound breaking me out of my trance. He takes the call, leaving me to stew in a mess of emotions.

"Boss, he's here," a familiar voice says. Kieran?

"Early, as expected," Sylus nods. His tone is all business again, his eyes empty.

"He ripped through the first two waves in a single go. You sure he's got a Limiter?"

"Send in the Altered units."

"How many, Boss-man?" a more muffled voice asks. Luke this time.

"All of them."

"Yes, Boss."

"If that doesn't push him, we'll have to take more drastic measures." Those empty eyes slide to me. Inadvertently, I take a step back, realizing that they must be talking about Xavier. "We'll be there soon. Keep him busy until we arrive."

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The Lost Isles in Sector 354XF-N1 is a place lost to time. Even with the overpopulation in N109, this ten or so acres of wasteland is as barren as a desert. Only blackened rusty ruins remain after a series of particularly nasty Metaflux storms and Wanderer attacks. In the center stands the skeleton of a sprawling research facility, now twisted into a hideous sculpture of shattered glass, mold, dust, and filth.

Once, a massive lab stood here, a radiant beacon of success and progressive thinking. At least, on the outside. Within, Ever Group hoarded some of its deadliest projects. After it was destroyed in the storms, a cloud of toxins and chemical waste spilled forth, killing hundreds and turning the others into monsters and Abominations. The trees died; the rivers dried up, and the soil was poisoned for the foreseeable future. 

No human could live here, and after the tragedy that befell the citizens of this place, no one wanted to try. 

It's the perfect kind of place to stage a battle without collateral damage. 

Nearly a week past, the Boss had given clear direction. Take the samples of LUMINIS currently in the Vault, go to the Lost Isles, and attract all the Wanderers possible to these coordinates. Prepare the Altered Wanderer units as backup. Then, do anything and everything to push the Target to his limits. Pain, mutilation, mind-breaking illusions -- anything was fair game except taking his life. As long as the twins could break his Limiter, the means and methods are up to their discretion.

This night, Kieran and Luke thrill at the prospect. It's been ages, it seems, since the Boss let them loose. Thus far, the instructions are not a challenge to follow.

LUMINIS.

Truly, it's a wondrous concoction.

When Kieran takes the onyx vial out of its long glass case and pours it on the ground in the Lost Isles in various places and altitudes, he roughly knows what to expect.

Don't touch it, first and foremost.

Second, each location it is used in will summon a Dominante level or above Wanderer. Keep spraying and eventually the Metaflux build-up will summon Subservants to go with it. In a few hours, the place will be teaming with Wanderers and Abominations. Eventually, a Protofield will generate and dump the whole area into an even larger shell of chaos. It will take the Target all of his skill to escape.

Kieran was thorough, if nothing else. After using three full philters of LUMINIS and saturating the Lost Isles with the toxin, he jumps to the tallest ruin of a radio tower and watches the proceedings from above. Luke joins him shortly, having completed his own task. They lean against each other as Mephisto comes flying out of the darkness.

"It's done, Boss," Luke tells the crow. Their target will arrive soon, and the entertainment will begin. "Your hands are clean, right?" Luke asks his twin.

Kieran holds them up. "They are. But, I'm kinda curious what it feels like."

"You're demented," Luke chuckles, though Kieran senses he is curious as well. "You saw what it can do," he reminds his twin. Kieran nods. He still remembers that girl and her screaming in the shower with the Boss. The stuff had spilled all over her, slipping past the skin and snaking into her nerves and Evol channels. Miracle she wasn't dead, really, though she'd screamed loud enough to make him think she'd surely kick the bucket.

Poor naïve little bird trapped in a golden cage. Does she know yet that her Evol has been paralyzed? Does she know she might never Resonate again? Has the Boss told her?

"If a weak little thing like her can survive that much of it, then..." Luke plays with a philter, popping open the lid. Kieran catches his wrist to stop him.

"Not now, Luke. After we're done here."

They don't have to loiter long in boredom. The Target shows up several hours earlier than instructed just in time for the LUMINIS to start taking effect. The ground shakes as though multiple earthquakes are happening simultaneously. Roars, growls, and unearthly shrieks fill the air. Wanderers of all shapes and sizes materialize from thin air, their glowing red eyes hungering for blood. Some amble around on two legs, some on four. Some have arms. Others have webbing, fins, or claws. Each glows with its own aura from its Protocore, illuminating the viscous darkness ever present in the N109. But, none can compare to the moment when the Target reaches his destination and unleashes his own golden brilliance.

With flashes, arcs, and spectacular bursts of light more blinding than the sun, the Target eliminates his enemies. The more he cuts down, the more appear. The farther he moves into the bowels of the Lost Isles, the more he is surrounded by monsters. Yet, he is undaunted. He breaks through all the ranks, laying waste to Dominantes as though they are nothing but the weakest obstacle. Over the phone, the Boss instructs to release the Altered, and Luke and Kieran have no choice but to obey. They unleash the experimental units, and it seems that all hell breaks loose. The Altered have no concept of hierarchy. They do not see themselves as Subservants or Dominantes. They only yearn to watch the world burn and to feast on all the lives they encounter along their path.

There's four. No, five, if Luke counts the newest unit the Boss recently acquired. They amble towards the light like moths, sensing the Target's powerful Evol and moaning in hunger. Luke and Kieran watch their progress eagerly, curious to see how this powerful Hunter will fare against these engineered abominations. The Limiter is glowing red around his neck, but he isn't desperate enough. Not yet.

Behind them, the air explodes with heat and Evol as the Boss appears with the girl by his side. Luke notes her pallor and the way she still favors her right leg over her left. The way she moves her left arm is awkward still. He recalls how she worried for him, the experience still mystifying him entirely.

"Report," the Boss demands.

"He can still be pushed," Kieran says. "The Limiter is activated, but not broken."

"Sylus," the girl says, growing even paler as she walks to the edge of the building. "Why are you doing this to him?" She turns an angry glare to the Boss. "Please, let him go."

"He is free to come or go," the Boss grins. "Nothing is holding him here."

"Does he know where I am?" she cuts in. When she's about to say something else, the building rumbles beneath them.

"The Altered have reached the Target," Luke observes. The battle below explodes in light and Metaflux. The Target jumps from one Wanderer to the next, executing a flurry of blinding slashes, cuts, and twists. Stabbing, knifing, burning, eviscerating. He moves with the same speed as the Boss; when he needs to dodge or ambush, he shifts his body to different locations using his Evol. The Altered howl and throw blast after blast of Metaflux towards him. He flickers past every single one. Using a lull to his advantage, he runs up the side of one of their massive bodies and rams his blade into its head. With a haunting cry of fury which echoes through the ruins, the first Altered falls to the Target's skill.  

"Altered?" the girl's eyes grow wide in her small face. She reminds Kieran of an owl like this. "Not the thing you had me try to fight when we first met..." She turns to the Boss. "Sylus, please stop this."

The Boss remains stoic. "No, Ellara. That collar must break."

The second Altered falls. Then the third and fourth. The fifth puts up the biggest fight and causes the most destruction. With its deadly breath of fire, it sets everything around ablaze like a spray of napalm. Ruins burn and boil in the flames. Glass squeals and melts. And still, the Target fights on without stopping. He parries the monster's clumsy swings and jumps over the fireballs flying from its maw. As soon as he can manage it, the Target lunges forward and summons a long spear made of light. With a mighty swing, he stabs it into the monster's heart. 

Luke steadies the girl when the building shakes again. Kieran tilts his head at his twin, struggling to understand why he would do so without explicit orders. His attention is quickly diverted, though, when a series of deafening explosions blast through several blocks below. Ruins of buildings and homes collapse into rubble as colossal fulminations of light blind all of them. Luke, Kieran, the girl, and even the Boss have to shield their eyes as the darkness of the N109 is burned away momentarily.

Silence.

And then a voice followed by a razor sharp blade at Kieran's throat.

"Move," is the low decree, given in a voice that hardly sounds human.

Kieran opens his eyes to see the Target standing before him and Luke, his blade a whisper from slitting open flesh. Golden hair spills over glowing bright blue eyes. The Target is wearing a pitch black Hunter's uniform. Around his neck, the Limiter is cracked and shuddering, flickering with red and blue light. A beat, and then the collar shatters, falling to pieces with a dying gasp.

"Xavier!" the girl calls, her voice filled to the brim with relief.

"I won't ask again," the Target threatens.

"Let him through," the Boss commands. With that, Luke and Kieran's chains are lifted. They move aside, allowing the Target to pass by them.

The girl limps towards her Knight. When she is close enough, he pulls her against him, cradling her head with his hand as he embraces her. Blood blooms on his sleeve and around his waist. There's a large spot of it on his back. His clothes are tattered and singed; even some of his golden hair is covered in red. Yet his balance and posture are unaffected. He stands firm.

"Xavier, are you alright? Are you hurt? I'm so sorry."

When he pulls back to look at her, the Target's face has changed. The madness has receeded, along with his murderous intent. His bright eyes take in her body, checking for injuries or damage. When he's satisfied, he guides her to stand behind him and raises his blade. Immediately, Luke and Kieran prepare for combat. It's the girl's voice that stops them from lunging.

"Wait! Sylus, please...this is enough."

The Boss stands still, his eyes observing the girl and the Target. He isn't pleased. There's a shadow looming over his expression, and the air around him drops in temperature. 

"Take her and get out," he says with razor sharp finality. "Before I change my mind."

"Wait, what?" the girl starts to protest, but the Target cuts her off. He lifts her into his arms even as she struggles. "Wait, Sylus!"

A final azure glare at the Boss with eyes that promise death before -- in a single blinding flash -- both the girl and the Target vanish into the night.

[averagepsychouser]

Songs that actually remind me of fallout companions characters in no particular order. The themes vary pretty wildly.

Arcade: Starting off with Danke Schoen (I listen specifically to the Wayne Newton version on Spotify) which is a thank you to an old love for all the good memories. This song fits the general motif of goodbyes to the past that Arcade’s character is struck through with, and it was translated into an English version from a foreign language (like auld lang syne).

Benny: In very Benny fashion, Luck Be A Lady by Frank Sinatra. It starts off slow but quickly speeds up, and of course the lyrics all sound like things he would say. Naturally the song is about gambling and the fickle nature of luck. Also, it is annoyingly catchy.

Vulpes: Basic, I know, but A Well Respected Man by The Kinks is definitely like him. While the song is originally a satire about the middle class in Britain, it speaks of a monotonous life with darker undertones in the background. Understandably, a spy is going to need to live a monotonous life like this in order to maintain his figure as an upstanding member of whatever society he’s infiltrating. Vulpes, right?

Boone: I Don’t Want To See Tomorrow by Nat King Cole (Holy shit fallout show reference). Yeah yeah yeah, sadman deadwife stuff, I get it, but this song really does seem like him. The lyrics are pretty damn depressing, talking about how life without a love is a life not worth living. It’s very slow and deliberately paced, and hauntingly mournful.

Cass: Here’s a surface level song, and I know her only character trait isn’t drinking, but Poor Little Critter on the Road by The Knitters, X, and Dave Alvin fits. Essentially its about having a good time drinking and living life chaotically.

Ulysses: Going back to somber songs, Buffalo Soldier by Bob Marley & The Wailers. The song is about African American cavalry troops fighting in the American Indian Wars and their struggle for survival, and I think it can reflect onto Ulysses very well. Some lyrics that are so, so, so much like him are “If you know your history/Then you would know where you’re coming from” followed by “Then you wouldn’t have to ask me/Who the heck do I think I am?”

I’ll prolly repost with more songs later idk

[shmowder]

I have no intention of stealing the show from squirrel anon (if you're reading this, I'm always happy for your ideas about Yulia, luv u <3), but since today we have a fair of unprecedented generosity I want to add something from myself. I have a weak spot in the form of using foreign words in speech and accents. Which characters could use this as a seduction tactic? I'm not hinting at anything, but Andrey could very well purr in Italian I assume.

🧡 anon

That invitation to share ideas was meant for everyone, not just squirrel anon, dw you're more than welcome here!

Andrey, the self-proclaimed renaissance man, will purr in any language in takes for you to part your legs and make space for himself in-between.

He'd recite French poetry in your ear before switching to Italian and whispering absolute filth about how he plans to take you like no man before him ever did, like no man before him ever will.

He will ruin you for every else, you will never be satisfied with another lover after laying with him, mark his words.

It's easy to forget how smart he is, quick to learn and adapt to new language. That man will spend one night with you, hear you slip up and say a word in a different language–maybe your mother tongue—and spend the rest of the week studying it in his free time. Picking up just enough words and general understanding to confidentiality talk dirty to you with it in bed.

He can be a romantic as much as he can be crude. Calling you his muse, his eurydice or even his slut.

Andrey is not afraid of deliberately targeting your kinks. Noticing the way your breath slows down when his voice gets lower.

The way he enraptures you whole by purring a different language against your neck, reciting foreign poems while leaving hickeys down your collarbone, sucking against your senses skin. As seductive as the devil in all of his earned confidence and seamless charm.

-

Aglaya is another character that comes to mind. Inquisitors need to be resourceful and knowledgeable, picking up a foreign language or five must have been mandatory in her training. They're problem solvers, they must be ready to sent wherever they are needed.

She was simply sharing one of her favourite poems with you, a fitting one for the current trial she's facing. It was in a foreign tongue, yet she smoothly recited it, a crisp pronunciation on the first try.

The effect it had on you, however subtle, doesn't pass her by. In a split second she puts two and two together, while 99.9% assured in her conclusion, she still tries to test her theory.

Taking one, two, three steps forward, invading your personal space just enough, tiptoeing the line of intimacy. She asks if you'd like to hear another piece from the same poet, your eager nod confirms her suspicions.

Aglaya adds that the content of this poem is rather sexual, it wouldn't be appropriate for her to speak it out loud in a cathedral now, would it?

So why don't you get closer, allow her to whisper it in your ear. Feel her lips brush against your earlobe, her warm breath tickling your neck for a second, her arm securely wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place by her side.

You're breathless after this one simple act. It's fascinating to her how intense your reaction is to mere foreign words.

The price of the next poem is a kiss. Let her cup your face and indulge in the taste of your lips for her heart's content, pour all of her usually stifled emotions into it.

For the one after that, she asks to feel your heartbeat, to lay her hand against your chest, directly atop your ribcage, and listen to the fragle organ pumping blood. You feel her hands roaming up and down your body.

It gets her off, don't worry about it.

Now how about the two of you move this to her private residence?