#it is a solid metal beast and I love and fear it

[urdreamydoodles]

loved your x-men x omega kid mutant reader can you do a part 2 but with hank, colossus, Emma, Kurt, rogue, and gambit

X-Men x Kid!Reader (Part.2)

Their relationship with you—a omega-level mutant (Part.2)

After being abandoned by your parents due to your dangerous omega-level mutation, you arrive at the Xavier Institute, where a X-Man take you under their wing. They help you navigate the overwhelming potential of your powers, becoming mentors and parental figures as they guide you toward self-acceptance and control.

Characters: Hank McCoy, Colossus, Emma Frost, Kurt Wagner, Rogue, Remy LeBeau (+ my personal addition: Wanda Maximoff, Laura Kinney & Bobby Drake)

Thanks, glad you liked it ♡ And you asked therefore I deliver, hope you love it! — Love, Marie, your friendly marvel fangirl

Hank McCoy (Beast)

When you first arrive at the mansion, you expect to be met with fear or, at the very least, hesitation. After all, that’s what your own parents showed you the moment your mutation manifested. But Hank McCoy is different. The moment he sees you—standing small and uncertain in the foyer, your dangerous power tightly coiled within you—he greets you with a wide smile. His blue fur contrasts with the warm, fatherly energy radiating from him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like you’re something to be feared.

Hank’s reaction to your omega-level mutation isn’t one of intimidation, but fascination. He wants to know everything about it—not just how it works, but how you feel about it. He sits with you, cross-legged in his library, listening patiently as you explain the fear and confusion you carry. His sharp intellect is only matched by his compassion, and he tells you that your mutation, like all gifts, can be harnessed for good.

As the weeks pass, Hank takes on more than the role of a mentor—he becomes a father figure. He’s patient when you accidentally lose control of your powers, and his gentle, reassuring voice never wavers when you apologize. He teaches you more than just science and literature (though you spend countless hours in his lab, tinkering with gadgets and discussing equations that make your head spin), but he also teaches you how to trust yourself. You realize that beneath his towering intellect and beastly appearance, Hank has experienced his own battles with self-acceptance.

In those moments where you feel overwhelmed by your mutation’s dangerous potential, Hank is the one who grounds you. He teaches you breathing exercises, how to center your thoughts, and reminds you that you are not defined by the destructive aspects of your power. He always emphasizes your potential to create and heal. Over time, you learn to admire the way he’s mastered his own transformation into something powerful and kind, and you aspire to do the same.

One day, after a particularly rough session where you nearly lost control, you find yourself sitting with him in the lab, head in your hands. He places a large, gentle hand on your shoulder and says, “You are far stronger than you realize. And not just because of your powers.” Those words stick with you, and for the first time, you begin to believe that maybe he’s right.

Piotr Rasputin (Colossus)

When you first meet Piotr, you’re terrified. Not of him, but of yourself. The adults around you seem constantly wary, as if the wrong word or move could send you into a catastrophic spiral. But when Piotr looks at you, he doesn’t see a threat. He sees a scared child who needs someone to believe in them. His calm demeanor and towering metal form should be intimidating, but instead, he kneels down to your level, his eyes soft and warm.

He doesn’t say much at first. Piotr is a man of few words, but his actions speak volumes. He’s always nearby, quietly watching over you, making sure you feel safe in this new, unfamiliar place. You notice that he doesn’t flinch when your powers flare up—he simply stands firm, as solid as a mountain, reassuring you with his presence alone.

As you spend more time together, Piotr becomes something of a gentle giant in your life. He treats you with such care, like a delicate flower that needs protection, but never with pity. When you accidentally lose control, he’s the one who steps in, not with fear, but with understanding. He transforms into his metal form, allowing your energy to crash against him without harm. “It is okay,” he says in his thick Russian accent, his voice steady. “You are not a monster. You are just learning.”

Over time, Piotr becomes like a father to you, though he never pushes the role on you. It’s in the small things—the way he always makes sure you eat, the way he invites you to sit with him while he paints in the garden, the way he calls you маленький друг (little friend) with such tenderness. His quiet strength gives you something to lean on, and his patient, steady nature helps you feel grounded.

Piotr encourages you to find creative outlets for your power, much like he channels his emotions through his art. Sometimes, he sets up a canvas for you next to his, and though you’re nowhere near as talented, the way he praises your efforts makes you feel proud. His belief in you never wavers, even on the days when you doubt yourself.

The bond you share with Piotr isn’t one of grand gestures, but small, steady moments of kindness and understanding. In his presence, you feel less like a danger to the world and more like a person who is still growing, still learning. He shows you that strength isn’t just about control—it’s about knowing when to be gentle, and when to forgive yourself.

Emma Frost

The first time you meet Emma Frost, you’re immediately struck by her confidence. She exudes an air of authority that makes you feel small, but not in a way that diminishes you. It’s clear from the moment she lays eyes on you that she knows exactly what you are—an omega-level mutant with a dangerous mutation—and yet, there’s no fear in her eyes. Only curiosity, and perhaps a little bit of something else you can’t quite place.

Emma doesn’t sugarcoat things. She tells you straight up that your power is dangerous, and that learning control won’t be easy. But there’s something in the way she says it that makes you feel like she’s offering you a challenge, rather than a warning. And, for some reason, you want to rise to meet it. She doesn’t coddle you like some of the others; she expects you to be strong, to push yourself, and in her own way, she’s telling you she believes you can handle it.

Your relationship with Emma is complex. She’s not the nurturing type, at least not in the way most people expect. Instead, she’s fiercely protective in a way that makes you feel powerful, not weak. When you have doubts about your abilities, she’s the first to shut them down, reminding you that you’re an omega-level mutant for a reason. “The world will try to tell you what you can’t do,” she says one day, her voice sharp and precise. “Don’t ever let them. You decide what you’re capable of.”

At first, you’re intimidated by her, and that’s exactly how she likes it. Emma teaches you to embrace the power within you, not to fear it. She drills into you the importance of control, but not because you’re dangerous—because you’re capable. She wants you to understand that your mutation is a gift, not a curse, and she’s determined to make sure you see that, too.

As time goes on, you realize that Emma’s tough exterior hides a deep well of care. She may not show it in obvious ways, but every sharp word, every push to be better, is because she wants you to succeed. She doesn’t allow you to wallow in self-pity or fear, and in her own way, she becomes the mother figure you never expected. She teaches you how to stand tall, to take control of your narrative, and to never let anyone make you feel less than what you are.

One day, after a particularly grueling session where you finally manage to control your power in a way you never thought possible, she looks at you with something resembling pride in her eyes. “Well done,” she says, her voice cool and composed, but you can feel the weight behind the words. Coming from Emma Frost, that means everything.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

When you first arrive at the mansion, Kurt is the first person to approach you. He’s not like the others—he doesn’t move cautiously or tiptoe around you like you’re some volatile bomb waiting to go off. Instead, he teleports right in front of you with a playful grin and a flash of blue fur. “Guten Tag! You must be our new student.” His tail sways as he regards you, his eyes warm and welcoming, and for a moment, you almost forget the danger inside you.

At first, you don’t know what to make of him. He’s playful and lighthearted, yet somehow, you can tell that he understands the heaviness in your heart. Kurt never treats you like you’re something to be feared, which is so different from the way your parents acted. He takes your hand, introduces you to the other kids, and makes sure that you never feel like an outsider. His teleportation tricks make you laugh, and in a world where you’ve felt isolated by your dangerous powers, laughter feels like a rare gift.

As you spend more time with him, Kurt becomes something like an older brother—or maybe even a father, though his playful nature makes it hard to think of him that way at first. He’s patient, but he never tries to smother you with concern. Instead, he teaches you how to balance the weight of your power with a sense of hope. When you struggle with control, he’s always there, not just to comfort you but to help you find the joy in your abilities.

One evening, after a long day of training where you almost lost control, Kurt sits beside you in the chapel he’s created at the mansion. You can sense that his faith is important to him, and though he never pushes it on you, his quiet prayers bring you peace. “You are not a danger, mein Kind,” he says softly, his hand resting on your shoulder. “You are a blessing. Even when the world feels dark, you are not alone.” It’s the first time you realize that Kurt sees more in you than just your mutation—he sees your heart.

Over time, you grow closer to him. Kurt teaches you not only how to manage your powers, but how to believe in yourself. He encourages you to embrace the good in the world, even when it feels overshadowed by your fear of losing control. He teaches you to laugh, to play, and to find joy in the smallest things. And when you falter, when your powers flare and you feel overwhelmed, Kurt is always there with a kind word and a teleportation trick that makes everything feel lighter.

Rogue (Anna-Marie)

When you first meet Rogue, she looks at you with a kind of understanding that surprises you. She knows what it’s like to have a power that’s dangerous, one that pushes people away. You don’t have to explain the fear in your eyes—she sees it, because she’s lived it. “Hey, sugar,” she says softly, her Southern accent warm and inviting. “Don’t worry, I know what it’s like to be scared of what you can do.”

At first, Rogue is cautious around you, not because she’s afraid of you, but because she’s learned to be careful with her own powers. But she never makes you feel like you’re too dangerous to be near. Instead, she shows you that even with abilities that can hurt others, you can still find connection and love. She tells you about her own struggles with her mutation, how she’s learned to live with the isolation, and how she’s found family in the X-Men.

It doesn’t take long for you to see Rogue as a mother figure. She’s fiercely protective of you, and she teaches you to be strong, even when the world feels like it’s against you. She understands when you have bad days, when the weight of your mutation feels like too much to bear. “You’re tougher than you think, darlin’,” she tells you, her gloved hand resting gently on your shoulder. “You’ve got a power, sure, but you’ve also got a heart. Don’t forget that.”

As the months pass, Rogue becomes the person you turn to when you need comfort. She knows how to pull you out of your darkest moments, sometimes with a tough-love approach, but always with care. She never lets you wallow in self-pity for long, pushing you to see the strength inside yourself. When you accidentally let your powers slip, she’s the first one to remind you that it’s okay to make mistakes. “Ain’t nobody perfect,” she says, her green eyes sparkling with determination. “What matters is that you keep tryin’.”

Rogue’s tough exterior hides a deep well of love, and you come to rely on her more than you expected. She doesn’t sugarcoat things—she’ll tell you when you’re being too hard on yourself or when you’re letting fear control you. But she always does it with your best interests at heart. In her, you find not just a mentor, but someone who sees the good in you, even when you can’t see it yourself.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Your first impression of Remy is that he’s a little too smooth for his own good. He saunters into the room with his usual swagger, flashing a mischievous smile that makes you immediately suspicious. But there’s something about him that puts you at ease, too. Maybe it’s the way he calls you petite, or the way he doesn’t treat you like you’re fragile. Instead, he talks to you like you’re just another one of the X-Men, not some ticking time bomb waiting to go off.

“Don’t worry, chérie,” he says the first time you meet. “Ain’t nobody here scared of ya. We all got somethin’ we don’t like about ourselves. But that don’t mean we ain’t family, non?” His Cajun drawl is light, but his words carry weight, and you find yourself slowly starting to trust him.

Remy isn’t the type to hover over you or offer unsolicited advice, but he has a way of being there when you need him most. He’s the first to notice when you’re feeling overwhelmed by your powers, and he’ll distract you with a card trick or some ridiculous story from his past. “Life’s all about balance, petite,” he tells you one day, flicking a charged card in your direction before catching it mid-air. “You gotta learn how to take the good with the bad. Ain’t nobody perfect, but that don’t mean we stop tryin’, eh?”

As time goes on, Remy becomes like a father figure to you—though he’s more of the laid-back, cool dad type. He teaches you to loosen up, to stop being so hard on yourself. When you mess up, he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. “Everybody loses control sometimes,” he says with a shrug. “What matters is what you do after.” He teaches you how to find joy in the little things, whether it’s a good meal or a game of cards, and his easygoing nature helps you relax in ways you didn’t think were possible.

But there’s more to Remy than just charm and clever words. When things get tough—when you feel like your mutation is too much to handle—he’s there with quiet, steady support. He may not say much, but the way he’s always around when you need him speaks volumes. He’ll sit with you in silence, letting you work through your emotions without pushing you. And when you’re ready, he’ll offer a bit of wisdom wrapped in his usual playful tone, but you know he means every word.

Over time, you come to trust Remy completely. He teaches you that life isn’t just about controlling your powers—it’s about living with them, accepting that sometimes things will go wrong, but that doesn’t define who you are. In him, you find a balance between strength and vulnerability, and though he may act like he’s carefree, you know that he cares deeply for you.

Wanda Maximoff (Scarlet Witch)

When you first meet Wanda Maximoff, her presence is almost overwhelming. There’s something ethereal about her—an intensity that both draws you in and makes you nervous. She knows power. She understands what it’s like to have abilities that can warp reality, that can tip the balance of everything if you’re not careful. And yet, when she looks at you, her eyes are soft, her smile warm. She doesn’t see you as dangerous. She sees a young mutant who, like her, needs guidance.

Wanda’s first reaction to you is understanding—an understanding so deep that it surprises you. She doesn’t shy away from discussing how hard it can be to live with a power that could spiral out of control. “It’s not about being afraid of what you can do,” she tells you, her voice low and calm. “It’s about learning how to be with your power, how to trust yourself. That’s the hardest part.”

She takes you under her wing without hesitation, and as you spend more time with her, you realize how much she truly understands your struggles. Wanda never sugarcoats things—she’s open about her own past, her own mistakes, and how she’s still learning to forgive herself. In those first few weeks, she teaches you not only about control, but about acceptance. She wants you to understand that your mutation is part of you, but it doesn’t define you. “You’re more than just your powers,” she says softly one day. “You are who you choose to be.”

As the bond between you deepens, Wanda becomes something like a mother figure. She’s protective in a quiet, fierce way. When your powers feel too heavy, when you’re scared of hurting those around you, she’s the one who sits beside you, her presence calming the storm inside. She teaches you rituals to center yourself—small, everyday things like focusing your energy on a candle flame or holding a crystal in your hand. “It’s not magic,” she explains, “it’s just learning to find your center. And from there, you can control anything.”

Wanda is patient with you. She never pushes too hard, but she always encourages you to keep going, even when you feel like giving up. She doesn’t believe in failure, only in learning. “Every time you falter,” she tells you, “you get stronger. Remember that.”

The relationship you develop with Wanda isn’t just about mentorship—it’s about family. She becomes the person you trust most, the one who understands your fears and your hopes without needing to say much. And in her, you find someone who knows how to harness immense power while still holding onto her humanity. That’s what she teaches you most of all: how to remain you even when everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control.

Laura Kinney (X-23/Wolverine)

When Laura Kinney first meets you, she’s quiet. You can feel her eyes on you, measuring, assessing, but there’s no judgment in her gaze. If anything, you sense that Laura understands more than she’s letting on. There’s a sharpness to her, an edge that you can’t quite define, but also a sense of protection. She’s wary, but she’s not afraid of you—or your powers. She simply nods at you when you’re introduced, and from that moment on, you know that Laura is different from the others.

Laura doesn’t rush to take you under her wing. Instead, she gives you space—space to figure out your place in the mansion, to figure out who you are. It’s only later that you realize she’s been watching over you the whole time, silently keeping an eye on you, making sure you’re safe. She’s not the type to coddle or offer comforting words, but her actions speak louder than any platitudes could.

At first, you’re intimidated by her. Laura’s quiet intensity, her ability to shift from stillness to action in a heartbeat, makes you wary of getting too close. But it’s during training sessions that you begin to see a different side of her. She pushes you hard, never letting you slack or hide behind fear, but she also teaches you how to trust your instincts. “You’re stronger than you think,” she tells you one day after a particularly grueling session. Her voice is calm, steady, and when she says it, you believe her.

As the days turn into weeks, you begin to understand that Laura is someone who knows what it’s like to be feared, to be seen as a weapon rather than a person. She doesn’t talk much about her past, but in those rare moments when she opens up, you learn that she’s been through more than you can imagine. And yet, she’s still standing, still fighting, still protecting those she cares about. Slowly, Laura becomes someone you look up to—not just as a mentor, but as a protector, even a sister.

Laura teaches you how to fight, how to defend yourself—not just physically, but mentally. She’s always telling you to be prepared, to never let your guard down. “You can’t control everything,” she says one day as you both sit on the roof of the mansion, looking out at the grounds. “But you can control yourself. And that’s enough.”

Though she’s not overly affectionate, there’s a quiet bond that forms between the two of you. Laura isn’t the type to offer hugs or soothing words, but she’s always there when you need her—silent, dependable, and unyielding. In her, you find someone who understands what it’s like to live with power and the fear that comes with it. And in her own quiet way, she teaches you that you can be both strong and vulnerable, both fierce and kind.

Bobby Drake (Iceman)

When Bobby Drake first meets you, he’s all smiles and jokes, his easygoing nature immediately putting you at ease. He doesn’t treat you like some dangerous mutant whose powers could spiral out of control at any second. Instead, he greets you with a lightheartedness that makes you feel like you’re just another kid at the mansion. “Hey there, powerhouse,” he says with a wink. “Don’t worry, we’re all a little scary sometimes.”

Bobby’s approach is different from the others. He doesn’t focus on the danger of your powers or the fear that’s been building inside you. Instead, he’s all about making you feel comfortable, making you laugh when you’re tense or unsure. He cracks jokes during training sessions, makes silly ice sculptures just to see you smile, and generally keeps the atmosphere light. At first, you wonder if he even takes your powers seriously, but as you spend more time with him, you realize that Bobby’s humor is his way of helping you relax, helping you see that your powers don’t have to be a source of constant fear.

As you grow closer, Bobby becomes like an older brother to you. He’s the one you turn to when everything feels too heavy, when the weight of your mutation seems unbearable. He doesn’t give you grand speeches or deep advice—instead, he just sits with you, makes you laugh, and reminds you that it’s okay to mess up sometimes. “We’re mutants,” he says one day, creating an ice sculpture in the shape of a dragon just to make you laugh. “We’re not exactly built for normal. And that’s a good thing.”

Despite his laid-back attitude, Bobby is fiercely protective of you. When you have moments where your powers slip out of control, he’s always there, calming you down with a joke or distracting you with his own powers. He never makes you feel like you’re a danger to those around you—instead, he makes you feel like you belong. “You’re part of the team now,” he says with a grin. “And trust me, we’ve all had our moments of crazy power freak-outs.”

Over time, Bobby helps you see that your powers aren’t just something to be controlled—they’re something to have fun with. He teaches you to see the joy in what you can do, to experiment and play with your abilities rather than always being afraid of them. His easygoing nature helps you find a sense of normalcy in the chaos of being an omega-level mutant, and his constant support reminds you that you’re not alone in this.

Bobby may act like the class clown, but underneath all the jokes and ice puns, he’s someone you can rely on. He’s always there when you need him, always ready to cheer you up or help you figure things out. And in his own goofy, brotherly way, he shows you that you can be powerful and still have fun—that your mutation doesn’t have to define your life, but it can be a part of it that brings you joy.

[sephirthoughts]

Can you do 15 and 32 for Cid in the headcanon ask game please?

I LOVE CID!! Thank you for the excuse to talk and think about him more

Cid Highwind

-15- pets or feelings about animals:

Cid seems like the type of guy who is just naturally adept with animals. You know the type? Where any wild or uncontrollable animal will be sitting and rolling over on command and eating from the palm of his hand within five minutes of meeting him. I also think Cid has a big, tough, super weirdly well-behaved junkyard dog that is so smart you can't believe it's not a person. Like Dogmeat from Fallout or D-Dog from Metal Gear Solid V, like it guards the airfield and knows how to use a combat knife and scope enemy bases and create distractions. And like Cid can say "Rocket" and then just click to it, and the dog will go "boof" and run off and like twenty minutes later it'll come back with groceries.

I think his love for big dangerous animals (and their love for him) comes in especially handy with Vincent because his Cid magic works on the Galian Beast too, so like everyone's scared of it but Cid. I have this HC that sometimes Vincent can't control the transformation, and just goes feral and becomes the Galian Beast, every once in a while. He usually has some lead-up so he can tell when it's going to happen, and they can get him somewhere isolated before he runs amok, but every once in a while it just happens without warning, at which point everyone is like oh shit we're screwed someone get Cid before Shinra sends in troopers and Rufus bills us for all the tanks that get destroyed

Galian: -rampaging tearing shit up throwing cars- citizens: -fleeing in terror- Cid: HEY! YOU PUT THAT BUS DOWN! Galian: *ROOOAAAAARRR* Cid: I SAID DROP. IT. Galian: *roooaarr?* Cid: -raises eyebrows- Galian: -drops bus and comes bounding over to Cid like a puppy acting like it wasn't the one who was just chewing up post boxes and tossing vehicles- Cid: -petting its belly- awww who's a good boy. citizens: …. Cid: uhh...heh. sorry, everyone. he gets a little rowdy if i forget to take him for walkies

NOTE: this applies even if you don't ship Cid and Vincent. i 100% believe they'd be like this either way

-32- toxic traits:

Ok, well there are funny and not-funny answers for this, but I think the not-funny ones have kind of been stealth retconned by this point, with how they've changed his character and just sort of not mentioned anything about it. Which is good because honestly Cid was a….difficult character to enjoy. Back then his toxic traits were literally verbally abusing Shera into the dirt over his misdirected anger about the rocket launch screw-up, and subsequent loss of his career and everything he'd been working toward. She blamed herself and let herself be treated that way in this simpering, self-flagellating, doormat way that made me eye-roll so hard the planet tilted on its axis. I have seen this trope in Japanese media with female characters multiple times, and it's always portrayed as if the female character is somehow doing a noble thing by spending her life as some prick's punching bag and i fucking haaaaaate it. I absolutely *hate* that they made them married in one of the games, too, because that just makes the situation way grosser and more toxic. The whole relationship between Cid and Shera was godawful and terribly written, especially since the other characters just took it in stride and were like "seems normal to me". It also doesn't track with the way they've changed his character in general, in the current iterations of the story. BUT NEVER FEAR! I have personally de-canonized the whole thing, removed the stupid and pointless abusive dynamic, kept Cid and Shera colleagues and friends who had some rough times and fell out and then forgave each other like adults yay character development, and made her a cool lesbian with her own life who doesn't take any shit from anyone. YOU'RE WELCOME SQUEENIX.

Anyway that's the not-funny toxic traits. On to the fun stuff!

MY Cid's toxic traits are as follows:

Smoking way too much and then being all surprised about it when he gets winded during really demanding fights

Acting like his aviator goggles are glasses and putting them on to pretend to squint at restaurant menus, just to mess with the waitress, like his vision isn't flawless (he's a pilot, it has to be)

Dad jokes

Calling Vincent a series of increasingly ridiculous pet names just to see how long he can get away with it (darlin, sugar, sweetheart, babydoll, cinnamon bun, angel pie, sweet potato casserole, nana highwind's famous pineapple upside-down cake). The joke is on him, however, because Vincent knows exactly what he's doing and takes every nickname in stride without objecting to any of them. Actually the joke is on the rest of the crew, who are the innocent bystanders having to hear all of this. NOTE: this also applies even if you don't ship Cid and Vincent. He absolutely behaves this way toward his platonic best friend. Which may explain why Vincent is his only friend.

Buying loaves of processed white bread and pre-sliced american cheese but then acting all fussy and particular about exactly which artisanal stone-ground mustard is used on his sandwiches

Pretending there's heavy turbulence but actually he's shaking the plane around just to amuse himself and annoy everyone

Using his accent to play stupid so no one asks him questions or expects him to come up with plans, even though he's an actual literal rocket scientist

Falling asleep in the theater during any movie or stage production whatsoever. It doesn't matter if it's boring or interesting or if he's into it or not, something about theaters just knocks him out like a light. As a result, he and Vincent have slept through a grand total of 26 movies and 5 productions of Loveless. Everyone knows about it but the general consensus is just let the old men sleep they're happier that way

OH ALSO this is not a toxic trait just a random HC: i think Cid and Reeve would get along really weirdly well. like they're from totally different personalities and backgrounds and have different lifestyles and careers and yes reeve is an executive at Shinra but they just hit it off like crazy. Cid is always nice to Cait Sith maybe that's what makes me think that. i dunno

Thanks for the ask, I hope you enjoyed my ramblings!

[argumate]

so I finally watched Dune (Villeneuve's) and it was entertaining, pretty much what I expected, I'm glad I watched it.

it has some good visuals, some decent actors, a dramatic score, possibly over-dramatic but that's appropriate.

the space scenes were excellent, cold and inhuman like 2001, vast geometric shapes moving in unnerving ways.

I liked the blocky solidity of the palaces, the theatrical effect of the empty spaces and the subtle decoration in the rooms.

that damn bull though -- they kept cutting back to it but what did it really signify? it represents the cruelty and capriciousness of the Old Duke, a trace of which should be visible in Duke Leto, but I don't think we see that at all in this film, perhaps it just represents another bold gamble taken and lost.

I imagined the fief on Caladan as being more like the Mediterranean, Aegean, or Indian Ocean in character, more suited to the Greco-Roman, Byzantine, and Persian influences that you imagine would describe the Atreides, but somehow it ended up more... Scottish?? the Atreides legions fight like a (distressingly undisciplined) hoplite phalanx but march out to bagpipes, maybe it's supposed to be an example of traditional Greek bagpipes, I don't know

at any rate the cliffs over the sea are dramatic and it's fun watching Paul stalk about dressed like a goth Victorian schoolboy as his father comfortingly tells him that he doesn't need to take on the burden of the family legacy if he doesn't want to (while the tombs of a dozen generations of his ancestors watch on in silent reproach)

I felt that the drama and pageantry of the introduction faltered a little when they reached the city of Arrakeen, which was a disappointing muddle of generic computer generated dusty metal that seemed very slapdash and poorly thought out compared to all the other settings, undermining the battle over it which was to come.

(and the battle was uninspiring, watching the feared Atreides legions run out in their pyjamas in disarray to face foes they didn't even notice were coming until after they arrived)

I'm quite familiar with the Dune books so it was interesting watching the movie and seeing how the sheer number of characters made it impossible to give many of them any meaningful characterisation or emotional development.

I was very pleased to see Chang Chen playing Doctor Yueh, but he is given no time to demonstrate his affection for Paul and Jessica nor the helpless compulsion that drives him to betray them, while Gurney and Duncan chew the scenery as best they can but can't quite convince you that they actually serve any purpose in the story (Paul's son is going to bring back a thousand clones of Aquaman?) and the Reverend Mother does a good job but has lost the nuances she had in the book ("I must have wanted you to fail").

"the Beast" Rabban portrayed by Dave Bautista (love that guy!) was one stand out I thought, mostly because this brute of a man comes across as nothing but a scared child next to his uncle, providing an excellent contrast for the nihilistic menace of the slug-like baron.

the baron is-- absurd of course, I mean he's even more absurd in the book, a corpulent flamboyant cackling caricature of a man, you could say this take is boringly toned down or you could say it's ludicrously over the top (he bathes in black sludge? seriously? you have to admire his commitment to the aesthetic, even if that's a Shrek move) but it's basically impossible to film a guy like this in a believable way and you just have to go for it.

the scene that sold the baron for me is when he's tucking into a solo banquet with his semi-conscious cousin Leto draped naked over a chair at the other side of the crazy long table, then when Yueh is brought in he activates his suspensors and silently rises into the air like a squid and drifts across the table towards us in a ghostly blur, all while the camera stays fixed on Leto's frozen rictus; the lack of focus echoes what Leto must be experiencing and is devastatingly effective.

the Fremen and Atreides and Harkonnen and Sardaukar have their own languages which is very cool (and Yueh speaks some Mandarin!) but why do the bad guys sound like they're using bad voice filters, they're being portrayed like literal orcs to the point that it begins to feel weird.

ornithopters are stupid but you have to admit these dragonfly contraptions do look pretty cool.

the worms get a lot of build up -- and I was surprised they preserved the harvester scene from the book almost verbatim, it felt like it consumed a lot of time -- but it's very satisfying when you finally see them rippling through the dune sea, it brings home the shifting danger of the desert sands in a way I wasn't expecting.

Paul has visions of the jihad but he never says the word "jihad".

splitting the movie in two is obviously necessary but the split is awkward, and it's really not helped by clunky lines like "this is only the beginning".

Chani gets a lot of vision time but what can you even say when you meet the teenager with whom you can precognitively remember several decades of future marriage?

still, bookending the movie with Chani is consistent with the book, that begins and ends with the women in Paul's life: Chani, Irulan, Jessica, something that always seemed like an interesting choice.

there is a lot more I would say about Dune but it would mostly be about the book rather than movie; this was a decent adaptation given the constraints of the medium, hopefully it won't be the last.

[blackwood-witch]

You come down from your room with a dusting of guilt around your eyes. I don't ask what put it there.

You tell me you didn’t want to come out to the mountains and involve me, and I wish you hadn’t, but I am also starting to understand what use I may be. If I am truly the only one who knows what I know, or at least one of the very few, then I would be the one death with the least collateral damage. As recruitment goes, it’s probably the smartest decision.

We finish our drinks and the alcohol puts a warm blanket over my eyes, just numb enough that I’m less terrified. It reminds me of all the warm blankets I afforded myself after Gran passed, how she came to me in my dreams and told me to get my shit together and stop feeling sorry for myself. This is the first time I’ve drank since, I wonder how she would feel.

I’m thankful for my sweater, the cold draft from the centuries old tunnels of the Vatican chilling me to the bone. I follow you through police tape that I feel I definitely shouldn’t be crossing, watching as it flutters to the ground. You show me to symbols that look burned into the rock, like the blood they were written with has chemical corroded the stone- like a brand in the skin of religion itself. Some magic can do that, though nothing that I am capable of.

What I am capable of, the reason you must have brought me, makes me ask my next question. This one I immediately know I will regret.

“Where are the bodies?”

The corridors get much more narrow and much colder, winding and turning until you show me past a near solid metal door into what feels like a meat locker. Metal tables stand in a line and you take me to one of the central ones.

We share a look over the body before the bag is unzipped, unseeing eyes staring holes into the ceiling. I know I will regret this, my heart rate thumping staccato in my throat.

I pull the bag back enough that I can lift the robe from the skin of his arm, blue gray skin greeting me. I swallow back fear one last time before I reach out and touch him.

My eyes blot out with white, my body rigid with forced remembering.

I cower next to stone walls, men scream around me, warm iron floods my nostrils, scarlet viscera sprays across my cheek. I look up and the gold eyes of a beast twice my size stares me down, the thud of his paws draw closer.

My sight goes dark, I’ve closed my eyes, God cannot hear my prayer beyond this evil but he will receive me I know.

For a moment I feel humid breath at my forehead and as my eyes open again all I see is ivory knives as they descend on my throat. I can taste hot copper, rivers flowing past my lips as I struggle to use the vocal cords that I now realize have been torn from me. I look down to see useful parts of me strewn across my robes and the stone beside me.

A hand tears mine from the body, the raw scratch in my throat searing. I gasp for air, unaware that I’d been screaming. Where you touch me spreads warmth where there was ice, until it all settles in on place.

A rolling heat in my stomach like centuries of hunger silences me, my next vision of a beautiful brunette against a door. She smells like cherry and cognac, her eyes are round and aware. I lean in like a lover, the taste from her is cinnamon like fire.

I hear her whimper, I don’t care. Her flames extinguish my own.

I jerk my body back from you, weak and unsteady, too much too quickly. I lean over and heave, the sting of whiskey part two making me cough. You reach out to help me and I stumble back.

“Don’t touch me.”

You seem confused, near hurt. I have to remind us both why I was reluctant to come here.

“What was her name? The meal you had tonight. Did she have a family? Was she on her honeymoon with her new husband? Do you care?”

I’m nearly screaming, swatting at every attempt to reign me in. You killed her without a second thought to her loved ones, to who she is and what she cares about.

I run from the catacombs and back out onto the street, wiping my eyes and straightening down my hair. I round a corner when I hear my name shouted, I don’t look back.

It takes hours, but I arrive back at the hotel in one piece. I let myself into my room, strip myself naked, run a bath, and remind myself that I am alive. My blood still runs hot through all of my attached limbs.

Eventually, I splash cold bath water over my face trying to rid myself of the implanted memories. They don’t recede. Room service comes and goes. I get fitful minutes of sleep. I pour over my maternal bloodlines handwriting for clues, reading and re-reading until I see it on the back of my eyelids.

A knock interrupts my thoughts, and thinking it’s you I stomp to the door, swinging it open to deliver another piece of my mind to you and your spineless kind. It’s not you. It’s a man taller than you, with long dirty blonde hair and aviators pushed past his temples, his hands folded in front of him.

“My name is Special Agent Levinson,” he flashes a badge at me with CIA plastered in blue, “can I ask you a few questions?”

His accent is the same as mine, american. “Which country’s rights do I operate under?”

“They’re just questions, no one’s being arrested.” There’s a hint of a smile hiding in the corners of his beard, I’m sure someone finds that attractive.

My arms cross over my chest. “That’s what cops say so they can find something to arrest you for.”

His eyebrows raise, like he trying to hold back his own laughter. “Even if I wanted to, I’m oceans out of my jurisdiction, but I can see now isn’t a good time. If you get a moment, and you’re feeling generous, I’d like to talk to you about what you might have seen in the catacombs last night, Ms. Blackwood.”

He hands me a business card, my eyes widening when he says my name. Did the front desk tell him that? He wasn’t escorted by Polizzi, they wouldn’t give that out without warrant, surely. He’s gone before my brain can catch up, my hotel door closing with my dumbfounded face behind it.

And the only person I can think to tell is the one person I don’t want to see.

I cut through your nerves to the quick, the width of your body presenting itself in full when you tower over me and ask me if I can control every witch. Despite the fear, a sardonic smile spreads on my face, because we both know that I’m probably one of four natural born witches left, if the other three haven’t kicked the bucket. The only thing that destines me to stand in front of you is my bloodline, my family the only one historically to beat what you’re up against. 

We lost so much. Through the Draugr and the Trials. I am what’s left of the witches in the East, so being scared is foreign to me, and you quickly remind me that I am not the only threat in this room. I take a step back, shrink from you, but don’t break eye contact. This is the first crack in your own veneer, maybe except when I shot you. 

You close the gap between us, tell me you’re not an extremist, that you don’t kill humans– I don’t trust that for a second, not with what I felt when I touched you. You tell me to drop the bratty attitude and even though I would rather cling to it than help you in any way, I know that I can’t let it drag me under so hard that our species are threatened with more extinction than we already are.

I drop my weight on the edge of the mattress, heave a breath and scrub my hands over my face. I keep thinking about how I wasn’t ready for this, about how I’m tired already. I pull my backpack off my shoulders, pull my grandmother's grimoire out of it and set it open on the table to my left. “The last time this happened my uh– coven, or what there was of us, held the vampire responsible hostage, starved him for months and fed him watered down blood until he broke and told us how he did it. Everything we know was documented by my grandmother, it's all there.” 

You flip the pages, reading over the information that I have. “It took two covens and twenty odd witches to take down three Draugr.” I look up at you then, hoping you understand that I don’t know how to be helpful here, hoping you understand that you’re asking me to fight a battle I may very well die in. You’re stoic, I can’t read anything in your face, so I give it up. I might be able to call in some favors from the other witches, but I will feel guilty. They have families. 

“I’ll need to see the bodies, see what traces I can pull off of them. I suggest you call whoever you can. I won't be able to go through customs with the supplies I’ll be bringing, so I also suggest you tap into the Vatican's resources to charter a jet.” I collect the grimoire, slide it back into my backpack and prepare myself to leave. “Give me a couple hours to take down some things on the property and you’ll be able to come without it trying to melt you into vampire goo.” 

I don’t look back when I leave the room, stalking back to my truck and driving back up the mountain. I stop at the property line, taking the knife from my truck and carving through the sigil on the trees on either side of the drive. It kills me to do it, my mother put them there. I follow the trail of them and carve them out of the ring of trees that surrounds my cabin, the energy dissipating as I do. I smudge ash over the sigil on the door frame, muting it, and take the protective satchel down from above the door. 

I take my gun apart, leaving it in pieces on the coffee table. I’m wrapping jars in paper and packing them into a suitcase when I hear you pull up. When the front door swings open, you’re standing in front of the porch and I recede back into the house, throwing my invitation for you to enter over my shoulder. “Do you drink coffee?” I feel like the biggest traitor to my kind inviting you into this haven, but I’ve accepted that I’ll have much bigger problems if I don’t cooperate.

@arran-kane

[acatalystrising]

Finally, at long last, here is chapter eight of consequences! This WAS supposed to be the last chapter, but alas, I want to pour more into this story, so I will start working on chapter nine! GAHH there were so many emotions here, I just…anyway, enjoy!

(This chapter has me both shrieking and swooning, I hope you know…)

Pairing: Boba Fett x (F)Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Trigger warnings: angst, angst, and more angst…mourning a lost loved one, fluff, and feels 🥹

Series synopsis: Backstabbed and betrayed, you knew there was a bounty over your head - but when you’re captured by the infamous Boba Fett, it becomes abundantly clear that your fate is as mysterious as your captor.

Chapter eight: Aliit Ori’shya Tal'din

Pain, panic, terror…

Boba felt it, the acid slowly eating his skin. It bubbled up under his helmet even as he struggled to break free - unforgiving spiked tentacles curling around him, locking him in place. The darkness was solid, unforgiving…

Alive.

He heard them somehow - the voices of the sarlacc’s past victims. They echoed in his ears, an amalgamation of emotions: fear, regret, anger, guilt, resignation…

They may have been long dead, but somehow, they still lived on in this beast. How, he didn’t know. Nor did he want to think about it for long…he could already feel the creature trying to warp his mind. The limbs curling around him tightened, nearly snapping his bones. But even then, as he faced an agonizing death, his panicked thoughts drifted to you.

You, the one person who had made his life worthwhile. Who had changed him, impacted his life. Who’d truly seen him and inspired him to become something more. But he’d been stubborn, too focused on revenge, a job, to see what treasure he’d already had.

Perhaps if he’d stayed with you instead of choosing to pursue vengeance, he wouldn’t be in this predicament. This was his own doing, his bloodlust coming back to bite…but even still, he didn’t want to die. Didn’t want to give up.

Didn’t want to abandon you like everyone else had.

Kriff.

He hadn’t come this far, with this much rage fueling him, to let this be the end. Even then, he could hear your voice in his head, as if you were there, embracing him instead of this damn beast, urging him onward. Pleading for him to try.

And so he pulled on his rage. His anger at being in this situation. His pain of abandonment. His sorrow of his father’s loss. His drive to return to you.

Boba Fett fought back.

-

Five years later

You lowered your rifle closer to the burning sand, hoping the cloth you’d wrapped around the barrel would block the sun from flashing on the dark metal.

You peered through the scope, a grimace twisting your lips, gaze following the three guards patrolling past the palace gate. Kriff. There were always too many. Your comlink crackled to life, and you held it close to your lips as the voice on the other side sprang to life.

“There’s too many guards, at least ten on my end.” The feminine voice was twisted with concern. “They’ll shoot us the moment they see us.”

“I know, we’ll pull back. Regroup. Ta’na, meet me at the rendezvous.” You slid down the dune on your hands and knees, careful to not disturb the wafting sand on its crest. “Fortuna is a paranoid bastard.”

“You’re sure he’s got it?” Ta’na’s voice was soft, hesitant. “‘Cause this is a big risk for a shoddy piece of intel.”

“Yeah…I’m sure.” You slid to the base of the dune and stood, brushing the sand off your clothing and slinging your rifle over your shoulder. “The greedy fool has it, I just know it.”

Silence fell on the other side of the comlink, and you sighed, picking your way across the desert to your speeder’s hiding spot.

“Listen…” Ta’na spoke again, and you could sense her hesitation, even through the channel. Not this again… “You’ve been a good friend to me. And I’m only helping ya because of it. But this obsession with Fett…it’s gonna get you killed if you’re not careful.”

“I’m getting his ship back, Ta’na,” you tried to keep your tone neutral as you pulled your speeder from behind a rocky outcropping, sitting with a small sigh. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve never lied. Jabba’s foolishness took everything from me. I’m just…trying to get any piece of him back that I can. If I have the Slave 1, it’ll feel like he’s not so far away, you know?”

A sigh crackled over the line, but there was no further argument. “Fine, fine…get over here before your tears flood the desert.”

You rolled your eyes, revving your speeder to life, and drove away from the palace. Away from your past. Away from the last link you had to your love.

-

Ta’na was waiting for you, scarred arms crossed, her wiry build leaned against the cantina’s back wall. The Twi’lek regarded you with a small frown as you brought your speeder to a stop, a cloud of sand wafting between you. She was barely noticeable in the dark, her green skin blending with the shadows cast from the afternoon suns.

“I deserve to be paid,” she arched a brow as you dismounted the bike, still shaking the sand off your clothing. “I almost got caught, ya know. I’m a mechanic, not a mercenary. If I die, my girlfriend’s gonna make you pay for my funeral.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” you leaned against the wall beside her, taking a swig of water from your canteen. “I wouldn’t have asked for help if I could do this on my own.”

“Sure. Well, what are friends for?” She squinted in the sunlight, tilting her head slightly to the side, scarred lip twisted in a small smirk. “I’ve known you a good four, five years at this point, yeah?”

“Sounds about right,” you clipped the canteen on your hip, ignoring the pain of loss that flared in your chest like the dull ache of an old wound. “How’s it been that long?”

“Time,” she smirked, wryly laughing at her own sarcasm, as always. She tucked her hands in her grease-stained brown overalls and kicked a rock with the toe of her boot. “I’ll never forget the first time I met you. You looked like a half-dead womp rat, wandering around all lost like that.”

“Hey, I was a resilient womp rat,” you crossed your arms in mock offense, but a chuckle slipped past your lips despite your heavy mood. “Honestly I don’t know how long I would have survived if you hadn’t taken me in like a stray loth cat.”

“Hey, I may be an asshole but I’ve got a bleeding heart, in fact-“ Ta’na’s words were cut off when her comlink crackled to life. She glanced at you and answered, hand drifting to the blaster holstered to her hip. “Yeah? Who is it?”

“‘Na, you guys need to get home.” You recognized Ta’na’s girlfriend immediately, but the concern in her tone sent chills down your spine. Something was wrong. “Baby, you need to listen. I just heard that Fortuna’s been killed. Some new guy just took his place.”

“What? You’re serious?” She glanced at you, worry creasing her brow. “Who?”

“I don’t know, but everyone’s talking about it. This could be bad.”

“Gotcha, we’re coming.” Ta’na cut off the comlink and turned to her speeder, glancing at you over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I think you’re gonna have to kiss that ship goodbye.”

You followed her out of the lot and onto the road, noting that it did indeed seem quiet for a often busy afternoon in Mos Espa. But a new daimyo was the least of your worries at the moment. It seemed that life never made anything easy, presenting yet another roadblock between you and any connection to Boba Fett.

But you’d come too far to give up now.

-

“You’re absolutely crazy, you know that?” Ta’na leaned back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, regarding you with a frown. “We don’t even know who this guy is. He hasn’t even been there a day and you already want to try to rob him?”

“Yes. And I’m prepared to go alone.” You paced the small living room, too lost in thought to sit, mind spinning. “The sooner I strike, the less it’ll be expected. I’m sure the idiot will want his tribute, but I’m taking my own. Look, I know it’s just a ship. But it’s-“

“I know what it means to you. I get that.” She sighed and shook her head, green eyes narrowed. “But are you ready to die for it?”

You finally sat, a weight heavier than iron resting in your chest. You met her gaze with a sigh, feeling your pain threatening to burst back to the surface.

“I lost him, ‘Na. The only person I’ve ever loved.” Your gaze dropped to the carpeted floor, shoulders slumping. “I’m honestly shocked I’ve made it as far as I have. But…I need to do this. I at least have to try.”

Ta’na pursed her lips and shifted in her seat, crossing her arms with a sigh.

“Look, not everyone has the same fond memories of that man like you do. If it was anyone else talking like this, I’d call them a liar.” She picked up a wrench and twirled it in her fingers with a sigh. “Sometimes I still don’t believe you, and I’m not sure if I wanna. But you’re my friend and I do care…”

“I know, I do. I’m not going to pretend he didn’t have a reputation for a reason,” you shrugged, feeling that weight of grief tugging harder. A tear slipped down your cheek and you sighed. “But…he loved me, ‘Na. I saw him change. And I want to honor that, even if no one else will ever understand.”

“Blast my bleeding heart,” she met your gaze, albeit harshly, lips twisted in a small frown. “I’ll help you one last time. If this doesn’t work, you’re either gonna have to find someone else, OR find something else to focus on. You can’t stay stuck here forever…okay?”

“Gods, thank you,” you nodded, relief washing through you as you went to stand. “We’d better get planning. Timing will be everything.”

“I mean it though.” Ta’na’s frown deepened as she also stood, arms still crossed. “We’ve been looking for your ghost ship for over three years. As much as you don’t wanna hear it, Fett’s dead. He’s not coming back. And I don’t think he’d want you to die too.”

You hated that truth rang in her words. You knew, deep down, that she was right. But stars…you didn’t know how to move on more than you already had.

You hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye, but perhaps, if you had his ship, you’d be able to finally let go.

-

The night was dark and windy - thick clouds nearly blotting out the moonlight above. It was perfect for your purposes, sheltering you as you slipped toward the palace that loomed ahead.

You had to be quick, no delays whatsoever.

You slipped toward the palace’s side, swallowing down your dread - moving along the stone wall as quietly as you could. It was odd, you’d noted, that neither you or Ta’na saw many guards. The new daimyo must’ve killed them all in his struggle for the throne, and you almost smirked. The man was clearly an idiot.

No matter, it only made things easier for you. And speaking of easy…the metal grate that was your ticket inside was already cut open.

You knew you should have felt alarm, considering that someone else had clearly already broke inside. But as long as they weren’t there for the ship, you could care less what they robbed.

“I’m going in,” you kept your voice a soft whisper as you slipped past the broken bars and crawled into the vent beyond.

“Okay. I’ll guide you through, but when you get to the hangar, you’re gonna have to figure out a way to open the gate.” Ta’na’s voice was soft, but the noise made you flinch. You crept down the tunnel, wrinkling your nose at the smell, until you came to a fork in the path.

“Take a left. Right is to the kitchen.”

You cut the turn and ambled down the passage as quirky as you could, distinctly aware of every sound, every shuffle, that could betray your presence. You couldn’t help but feel afraid. This place had a bloodstained history, one that you didn’t want to linger in. You didn’t want to die here, as much as you felt trapped in your life. You’d tried to live for him, and consequently yourself…but you hadn’t been able to shake the lost, empty feeling that took residence in your chest where love had lived.

You finally came to the end of the tunnel, peering through the slanted grate with a frown. The hangar was dark, and you didn’t see any guards.

You took a shuddering breath. It was time.

“Okay, going in.”

“Good luck…I mean it. Don’t die in there.” Ta’na’s concerned voice rang in your ears as you pocketed the comlink.

The grate squeaked as you pushed it open with trembling fingers, stepping out into the dark room. It was surprisingly empty, all things considered, but you felt exposed and far too out in the open as you moved across the room, heart hammering so loud in your ears you worried it would trigger an alarm. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, the hall that led further into the palace also unguarded. And to make things worse, it was silent as a tomb. It was odd, too odd, and you worried you were walking into a trap.

But the moment your gaze fell on the familiar shape of Slave 1’s hull, you couldn’t stop the tears that pricked your eyes, all concerns for your safety tossed aside.

Sure enough, despite all your doubts, it was here.

Stars, you’d know that ship anywhere. Your legs nearly shook as you approached the spacecraft with bated breath. It looked to be in surprisingly good condition despite the years it had been here. Anger flared in your chest at the thought of someone other than Boba piloting her. You slipped around to the ramp, wondering if the key code was still the same. You shot another glance over your shoulder, but still didn’t see anyone.

You stepped up on the ramp and felt a wave of emotions hit you, nearly making you lose your footing. Damn…it had been so long. There were so many memories here…

Breath snagged in your throat, you shakily typed in the key code, feeling an old warmth blossom in your chest when the door slowly opened. Stars…you were here. You were doing this. You stepped inside, greeted by a sight so familiar and yet, so foreign.

Nothing appeared to have changed.

You remembered the day he’d captured you, rescuing you from a horrid fate, unbeknownst to you - setting you on a journey you never, ever, could regret. Even if it ended in tragedy, you wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

You crept down the path you had walked so many times. Saw the inner workings of the beautiful ship you’d called home. You made your way to the cockpit, trying your best to keep your emotions in check. But gods…

The last time you were here, he’d been with you.

“I’ll be right back, little one. I promise.”

You swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill, and kept going, following the ship’s interior until you made it to the top.

You saw the empty pilot’s seat and nearly collapsed to your knees, the symbolism of the moment so heartbreakingly real. Sniffing, you turned, and saw the entrance to the cabin. You swallowed the pain down as much as you could, forcing yourself to move - to walk into that hallowed space.

It was exactly as you remembered.

You weren’t sure what was worse, seeing that pilot’s seat so barren, or the bed coated in dust. It all was too much - mere ghosts of memories long gone, a life ended, and a love that still dwelled in your heart.

You collapsed onto the bed, dust flinging into the air around you, as a broken, choked sob erupted from deep within your chest. You curled into a ball, tears staining the cover even as you desperately tried to get a catch of his scent - anything, that made you feel closer to him.

Suddenly, you heard something - a muffled feminine voice.

“…came from the vent. They can’t be far.”

You stiffened, terror locking your knees, and you tried to stifle your sobs. Shit, shit, shit. You hadn’t closed the ramp. You inwardly cursed, terror seizing your limbs to near paralysis. If anyone came inside, you’d be trapped.

“You check the ship.” The female’s voice was fading as she moved away, sealing your fate. “I’ll patrol the parameter.”

That meant there was another.

Heavy footfalls fell on the ramp, and you flinched as the intruder came down the hall. Panicked, you fumbled with your blaster, lifting it in your shaking hands and aiming it before you. If you took them by surprise, perhaps you could get away…

You were so panicked, you almost missed the distinctive clinking of spurs as the person approached.

Ahh, so now you were hearing things. Perhaps you’d truly lost it, and this was the poetic end that fate had for you. You couldn’t stop your tears, even as a shadow fell in the doorway, your enemy only a few paces away. They stepped into the room, pausing for a moment, before turning and walking into your line of sight.

Everything in you froze.

No. This couldn’t be. You were hallucinating.

A man stood before you, clad in dark green beskar. HIS beskar. The flight suit was different, black instead of tan, and the armor looked like it had been repainted, but you saw the mandalorian sigil on his left shoulderplate.

He was still as a statue - that helmet you knew so well trained on you, masking his identity. His hand fell from his blaster as if stunned.

“You…monster,” you tried to choke out words between sobs, still leveling your shaking blaster at his face. “H-how dare you. How dare you wear his armor. You…you’re not Boba. That’s not yours.”

He flinched, an odd reaction, you noted. Stars, he even looked like him - that broad build and hulking frame. He stepped forward and you flinched, backing against the wall, blaster quaking in your grasp.

“P-please, don’t hurt me; I’ll go.” You met his unseen gaze, a shudder running down your spine. “I just…I just had to say goodbye.”

When the stranger spoke, he said your name.

You blinked, shock rippling through you, when your recognized his voice. Stars, you’d know it anywhere. It carried a rasp you didn’t remember, but that didn’t matter. You slowly lowered your blaster, more tears slipping down your cheeks as you spoke the name that you’d carried for so long in your heart.

“Boba?”

“How…” he slowly approached, as if he himself didn’t believe what he was seeing. He sat at the edge of the bed, helmet tilting slightly to the side. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you scooted toward him, vision still blurred with tears, jaw quivering as you took in his armored form. “How can you be alive? Gods, it’s been so long…”

“I thought I lost you,” he opened his arms, a gentle beckoning, “come here, little one.”

You whimpered, not needing to be told twice, and closed the distance between you both - wrapping your arms around him. He curled his arms around you, holding you close to his armored chest, and you closed your eyes, inhaling his familiar scent.

“Gods Boba, I don’t know if I should be happy or if I need to punch you,” you held onto him as if he was your only lifeline, burrowing your face in his chest. “If you’re here, then why…”

“That’s a long story, mesh’la, one I’ll gladly share if you wish.” His voice was tender, oh so tender. He tightened his grip on you with a deep groan. “Stars girl, I’ve missed you.”

You felt a smile slip onto your lips, and you looked up at his visored helm, tentatively placing a hand in its smooth surface.

“Listen…” his head dipped, a nearly defeated lilt in his tone. “The Sarlacc, it scarred me. I’m not…”

“You’re beautiful, Boba,” you pressed a kiss to his visor, meeting the dark patch where you knew his eyes were. “I love you no matter how you look. I’m just glad you’re here.”

He nodded, gingerly lifting his hand to his helmet and slowly lifting it off his head. The moment you saw his face, you released another whimper and hugged him tight, tears streaming down your cheeks. Scars didn’t matter. Scars didn’t define a soul. He was the same man you’d fallen in love with, and that wouldn’t ever change.

He was here. He was alive.

“That bad, huh?” His voice held mirth, but also, hesitation.

You looked up and met his gaze, those same amber eyes watching you with such depth and love you felt you were drowning.

“You,” you leaned forward, daring to kiss his cheek, “are perfect.”

He groaned, pulling you closer into a kiss, his lips still soft and gentle despite the hell he’d gone through. You kissed him with all the passion you’d held. All the memories you kept. The love that never died. And you knew, even then, as he deepened the kiss and the world faded away, that he felt the same.

When he finally parted for a breath, you pressed your forehead against his, briefly closing your eyes. Damn. So this was how it felt to be home.

“I am so glad you’re here,” he touched your cheek, lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “But why did you sneak in? You could have simply knocked. I am the daimyo now, after all.”

“I…didn’t know it was you,” you smirked, heat crawling into your cheeks. “I thought some dammed idiot daimyo was stealing your ship. So…I came to steal it back.”

“You were going to steal my ship?” He chuckled, pulling you into another kiss. “Stars alive, this is why I love you.”

The kiss became more heated, and you found yourself straddling his lap, legs hooked around his back, when your comlink chirped. His followed, and you both groaned. He motioned for you to answer yours first, and you nodded.

“Where the hell are you? Did you die?” You recognized Ta’na’s voice and smirked. “You better answer, dammit. I don’t wanna get caught too, this daimyo is a slacker but still.”

Boba’s chuckle rumbled through you, and you blushed. You couldn’t help but laugh despite the roller coaster of emotions you’d been through.

“I’m okay, promise. Do me a favor and come to the front gate.” You met Boba’s gaze and smiled when he kissed you on the cheek, dragging his lips along your jawline, making you shudder. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

-

Next chapter

Taglist: @ladyfallohide @justarandomfamdomblog @die-herzlos-engel @tortor-mcgee @ididsingupforthis @mxkyrie @ceapa-mica @everythingyouwanted @freerangesweets @deewithani @tranace-con

[moonofiron]

I have been thinking about Gintoki since quite a while and the conclusion I have reached is that the goofier a man, the more intimate he can get.

Here's something I've never tried before. It starts with my perception of Gintoki's kinks and collapses into a narrative about how a particular kink will play out when he's with his female SO.

(I think what I have done here is called an "HC" but I am not sure. All HCs I've read are in bullet points and this is... not in bullet points. So idk... I'm just out here tryna get this fucking concept OFF MY CHEST.)

Anime: Gintama

Characters: Sakata Gintoki x whoever you imagine his female SO to be!

Genre: Smut, explicit sexual content, kinks 🥵

Rating: M

Synopsis: Gintoki melts at the sight of her in a plain white t-shirt and panties

Word Count: 2,386

Minors, click here.

I think, above all, Gintoki has a MASSIVE kink for going bareback. But it manifests itself a little differently for him. Internally, he absolutely refuses to cum anywhere else. But he's also super conscious of his partner's needs and will cum anywhere his babe wants him to. It delights him that she's so eager. Even though it leaves him feeling a little unsatisfied, it's not a big deal because he feels so strongly for her. He does love cumming deep in the back of his partner's throat because it feels so similar to what he thinks it would feel like cumming inside her.

It's a tricky kink to work with because under his lazy-bum facade, he actually has a super strong sense of responsibility. This is also why he refuses to have casual sex with just anyone. He's the kind who has a deeply intimate, committed, and long-term relationship with his partner.

His "kink" is a completely unsaid thing though. He will never explicitly talk about it. He loves dirty talk (anything goes, really) but this is one thing he will not say out loud. So, essentially, his partner will never hear him say stuff like "let daddy fill you up/I'm gonna cum inside you/ Daddy's gonna fill up that tight, pretty cunt".

No, he's not shy. Nor is he a prude. He's just a sucker for the quietness around the act of him filling up his partner. He digs the submission of a woman just taking him in fully, without making it into a "kink" or reducing the act to something they both occasionally get off on. He wants his woman to treat it as routine, ordinary, and natural. Almost like aftercare. Nobody says out loud that they want to be taken care of after a rough fuck. It's expected and unsaid. The unsaid but sure nature of filling up his partner is what makes it unbearably initmate for him.

He absolutely can not control the pleasure of being nestled inside her in his most tender, vulnerable, yet powerful moments. He breaks and lights up at the same damn time. His focus is sharp and only on the way her body reacts, not the words they share. He stares intently and deeply into her eyes when he cums inside her, making her flinch at the intensity he is capable of. It is in these moments she fully grasps what he means when he says he owns her.

If his partner does mention him cumming inside her, (eg: I want you to cum inside me/ fill me up Daddy) he will grind his teeth and cover her mouth instantly and harshly, maybe put a couple of fingers in her mouth so she can't speak. If he says something, it'll be along the lines of, "Just shut up and take it," as he thrusts harder and deeper.

He will twitch inside his partner, grow slightly bigger, and cum sooner than usual. Subtle but controlled cues like his grip on her hair getting harder will let her know that this is actually something he really digs.

The first few times his partner and he get down and dirty, he will do anything to please her and in turn, himself. He'll lazily make her sit on his face in the mornings, finger her a lot (anywhere, anytime), make her fool around with toys for him, ask her to rub herself while he stares intently and licks his lips, and let her suck his cock. He'll fuck her when he wants but it'll always be with a condom. He'll let her ride the brains out of him, too. But, always with a condom.

When he absolutely can not take it any longer (say, about 4 months into a relationship), he will break. He will break at the sight of her in plain white panties and a white t-shirt, doing her own thing.

He'll be sitting on his chair, behind the desk. He'll clear his throat to grab her attention. He'll beckon her with his thick finger and she'll think it's going to be their usual fucking and loving. She'll bite her lips and exaggerate the sway in her hips as she walks towards him. The performative nature of the sensual way she walks towards him will make her breathe slightly heavily and the first few baby spots of wetness will bloom in the crotch of her panties.

When she finally reaches him, a smirk will be playing on his lips and his eyes will look sleepy at first. He'll hold her waist lightly and look up at her. She'll look down at him, smiling, a coy finger in her mouth and her other hand on his shoulder.

She'll notice a difference in the way he handles her. She'll notice that he's looking at her with such greed that it's making her falter. She'll sense something is off and ask if everything is ok.

"Hmm," he'll say in a deep voice against her stomach.

He'll slowly turn her around and make her sit on his lap. She'll turn back to look at him wide eyed and smiling shyly. It usually takes a solid 12 minutes of kissing, biting, and frantic touching to get him this hard. She'll still be a little taken aback by Gintoki's seriousness. He's usually goofy and playful or an outright sadistic and sexy beast.

He'll open up his zipper and its cool metal will make her squirm. His warm and fat cock will spring out and she'll feel its sweaty stickiness against her lower back. She'll gasp at and throb for his unusual, unprovoked arousal and quickly reach for his desk-drawer where he stashes all the condoms. She'll take one out and start to open up the wrapper only to have Gintoki take the half-opened condom from her delicate hands in between his teeth and spit it out far into the corner of the room; his hands will never leave her waist.

Her eyes will widen again and she'll start to say something but Gintoki will tilt his head and give her a look that'll make her shiver and shut up. A mix of fear and anticipation will make her stomach drop. She'll be dripping by now and surprised at how less it takes for her to be utterly slick and ready for him.

She'll find it unbearably intimidating to look him in the eye and will turn her head, only the find herself reflected back at her in the mirror next to them. Her nipples will be hard through her t-shirt, her naked legs will be between Gintoki's clothed ones.

Gintoki will use just one of his fingers to slide her white panties to the side and position the tip of his cock at her wetness.

He'll slowly breathe into her ear "I'm going to fuck you raw and deep..."

He'll wait just a moment for her reaction before saying, "or not at all."

He'll put his hand around her chin and make her turn her head to look at him.

“And, you will stay shut about it the entire time, yeah?"

She'll nod her head ever so slightly with parted lips and then bite her lip nervously and unconsciously. She'll have already started moving against the tip of his cock, making it completely slick with her wetness. Her clit will be throbbing in an anticipation she has never felt with Gintoki.

Without another word, he'll thrust himself inside of her in one long and quick motion. A silk moan will escape her mouth; she's never actually felt his warmth inside of her.

He'll fuck her painfully slow; she'll feel his girth stretch her out inch by inch. The sloppy and messy sound of the base of his cock rubbing against her clit after every stroke will be loud and clear in the afternoon quiet; it won't be covered by the usual frantic slapping of his balls against her clit. He'll be holding on to her waist so she doesn't try to move and change the rhythm or speed.

“Do you feel it?”

"Yea.." she'll moan.

“Do you like what you hear?”

“uhum..” is all she'll manage to say. She usually has no issues keeping up with conversations and dirty talk but she'll find it extremely hard to keep up with this particular conversation.

"Let me look at you pinching your nipples."

She'll catch him looking at her in the mirror and will immediately get to work.

"Harder. Don't cheat."

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good girl."

She'll falter at this and her legs will buckle. She'll feel Gintoki's hands hold her as he'll get up from the chair. He'll sit on the floor right in front of the mirror, still buried deep inside of her.

He'll snake his hand around to her clit and rub her agonizingly slowly, all the while fucking her with slow and deep thrusts. His other hand will be on top of her hands cupping her breasts. Her head will be thrown back on his shoulder and her waist and hips will match Gintoki's movements and rhythm. Everytime she'll be about to cum, he'll kiss and nibble at her jaw and stop rubbing her clit, edging her for hours on that day.

They'll eventually stop moving. They'll be panting because they can't take this relentless teasing anymore. He'll pull out and stand up, pick her up in her arms and take her to the futon where he'll lay her on her back. She'll spread herself wide and thrust her hips forward, holding his gaze all the while.

Gintoki will lick his fingers and stroke her swollen clit a few times before he starts to fuck her hard and deep. But, he'll still maintain a slow and steady tempo. The moment she'll start arching her back, he'll pull out and grin at her. Every time he'll pull out, she'll see his cock twitching, aching to be back inside. She'll notice it's equally hard for him to be edging for so long. She'll smirk. Gintoki will narrow his eyes at her. How dare she.

He'll start fucking her again, painfully slow, waiting to strike at the right moment. The moment he feels her back arching again, he'll pull out again. But, this time, instead of grinning at her and waiting for her to stop writhing, he'll slap her clit hard and then immediately rub it hard and fast. She'll go into a frenzy of screams and moans and her entire body will shiver, she will pull him down towards her and wrap her legs around him, his hand still not relenting her clit.

When she'll be completely spent, swollen, and sweating, her hair stuck to her breasts and neck, Gintoki will turn her around. She'll arch her back a bit, just for him. He'll guide his cock in the tight folds of her thighs, straight into her beautiful cunt, and start to fuck her at a slow pace all over again. She'll moan deep into the pillow, her face will be flushed from all the work, and her hands will be trying to reach at the back for his thighs. Gintoki will lie on top of her as he fucks her from behind. The moment she'll feel his weight on her, his sweat on her back, she'll cum around him, gushing, and the noises will get sloppier and louder.

She'll groan his name out loud in the pillow and he'll have turned her to her side by then. He'll put her head on his arm, spooning her. He'll hold her leg up as he'll thrust deep inside of her from behind. He'll hold her chin and turn her face to his to look at her flushed face, her mouth shaped a perfect small o, her eyes closed, eyebrows raised, in a kind of pleasure she's never felt before.

"Open your eyes."

She'll fling open her eyes and find him looking at her with an expression that makes her weak in her knees. She'll buck and jerk as she'll feel him finally going slightly faster with harder and shorter strokes. She'll feel him twitching inside her and she'll clench tighter around him, never breaking from his electrifying gaze that tells her he owns her completely.

A wild guttural sound she's never heard will escape Gintoki's throat. He'll moan her name hard as she'll feel his warmth spreading inside of her in bursts. She'll move to kiss his petal like lips, only to be thrusted once again with such force that her eyes will widen with the suddeness of it. He'll ease out of her slowly, in short thursts, and once he's fully out, he'll lift her leg higher to get a better view of her cunt, messy and slick with his cum dripping out. He'll throb, and be unable to control himself, and give her one last deep and hard thrust again. She'll make a high-pitched squeak at the suddeness again.

He'll stay inside her for a while, throbbing still. He'll be too spent to move but he'll kiss her face and feel her sweaty body with his firm hands fervently.

They'll both fall asleep, exhausted, in each other's arms.

Gintoki will wake up before her. It'll be dinner time. She'll wake up to him by her side in a towel, wet and fresh from his bath. He'll be wiping her legs and thighs with a warm and wet cloth, and smiling while he watches her wake up. She'll start to say something but he'll cut her off and say, "Dinner's ready, doll." He'll kiss her jaw and then her forehead and leave the room.

She'll sit up in bed, her entire body will be aching. She'll notice a packet on the corner of the bed. She'll pick it up and see that it has a morning-after pill, a pregnancy test, and a follow-up appointment with her usual gynaecologist. She'll blush a deep a red when she sees a glass of water by her bed-side.

"When the fuck did he become so...un-lazy? Where has he been hiding this side of him?!" She'll say out loud in disbelief.

//

Afterthougts:

In the first few months, Gintoki will make a conscious effort to get accustomed to his partner's menstruation cycle. He'll make sure he knows the days she's least fertile so he can minimize the risk of her getting knocked up. If that's not intimate and hella caring idk what the fuck is.

[runtedfiction]

nothing

day 6: abnormality @zelinkweek2021

ao3

AN: inspired by this lovely artwork from @eerna. it's so good that it's seared into my personal canon. (also, day 7 will be egregiously late, so i'll prob post it as its own thing)

* * *

The aftermath of the Spring of Power.

* * *

“What’s wrong with me?”

When she asks it, she doesn’t expect to hear anything, just like always. But still, she can’t help but stare into the stupid statue’s eyes and hope for something to happen. She stares and stares until the water begins to feel almost warm. Until Link appears in the periphery of her vision.

“Princess, your fingers are purple.”

When he helps her out of the spring, she isn’t shivering--she’s cried so hard that she doesn't have energy for anything else. He wraps a cloak around her, his brow the most furrowed she’s ever seen. She barely has the energy to thank him, let alone walk. After she nearly trips for the third time on the way back to their campsite, he stops.

“Can--” he stumbles over his words. Even lifting her head to look at him makes her tired. “Can I carry you?”

“Yes. Please.” She just wants to be somewhere warm. The chill is coming back, and this time it’s deeper than it’s ever been.

He places one arm beneath her legs, and one behind her back.

Perhaps in another life, she would have blushed while her handsome knight carried her, bridal style, to their lodgings for the night. In another life, she would’ve taken this opportunity to loop her arms around his neck and bury her face in his neck.

In this one, as soon as her body doesn’t have to work to move, she passes out.

* * *

She wakes up shortly after he places her down to the sound of the kettle whistling. She couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes, and she would fall back asleep instantly if her dress weren’t still so cold. Link’s moved her bedroll as close as it can be to the fire. She closes her eyes to soak in the heat on her cheeks.

“I’m making tea,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“You should change.”

“Ok.” She closes her eyes for a bit more. It isn’t so bad now that her face is warm. She can almost ignore the fact that the rest of her body feels like the Biron Snowshelf, and if she focuses on the fire and its crackle it sounds so soothing, and—

“Princess,” he says gently. “You should change.”

Zelda rubs her eyes and sits up. “You’re right.”

In the tent, she shivers as she peels off her dress. Link also laid out a towel, and she runs it over her body as quickly as she can considering her hands hurt like hell. She focuses on getting her Rito set as quickly as possible.

When she walks out to sit next to him, he has a mug of tea and a second cloak ready.

“Here.” He drapes it over her shoulders, and hands her the steaming mug. She estimates she’s feeling one tenth of how hot the metal actually is as she wraps her hands around it.

“Thank you.”

Slowly, the unbearable chill defrosts. She takes a sip of the tea.

“Mm,” she says to break the silence. Now that the fog in her brain is also clearing, it’s easy to remember that she cried in front of him for the better part of an hour. She’s too tired to be embarrassed, but still. “This is good. What is it?”

He doesn’t look up from polishing his sword. “Oolong. Decaf.”

“Fancy,” she says.

He nods.

“Did you know,” she says, after a beat, “that oolong is one of the most difficult teas to produce? Some say it’s similar to making fine wine.”

He doesn’t say anything; it seems like there’s a spot of rust or monster gunk that’s particularly to get off. But she’s used to his silence by this point--if anything, now that she’s gotten him to open up, it’s strange when he does respond. It’s easy to keep talking.

“Excluding external factors like the mountain you’re on and that year’s weather conditions, there are millions of small things you can do to vary the flavor. You need to choose a specific variety to grow, how long you want it to oxidize for, and in the case of decaf, you need to expose the moistened tea leaves to pressurized carbon dioxide.”

She looks into the fire. “But, there’s one thing all oolong producers need to do--you need to let it wilt in the sun. Once you pick the plant, this living thing that you’ve cultivated and cherished and killed, you need to find a day with strong sun. You need to let it wilt.”

She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going with this (just that it fills her with rage when she thinks about how her father couldn’t care less if she froze to death today), so she stops.

“Mm,” he says after an inappropriately long amount of time. “Interesting.”

She almost smiles. “You’re lying.”

He looks at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while more. When he puts in the last of the firewood, he speaks first.

“Are you ok?”

“What?”

He looks at her. His brow is furrowed again. “Are you ok?”

The question is so simple, so genuine, that it stabs at her.

“Sorry,” she says, wiping at her cheeks when the tears come. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“It’s ok.”

He looks back into the fire again, and waits patiently.

“To be honest,” she says with a sigh once she’s done composing herself. “I don’t think things are going too well.”

“We have time.”

He looks so calm, despite the fact that there’s only one more spring and time is running out. And sure, they have the Champions and the Divine Beasts and the Guardians, but Zelda knows that their odds of survival would increase exponentially with her.

“Yes,” she agrees, “but it isn’t enough. And this isn’t--this can’t be normal.”

“What can’t be?”

“Not hearing anything. Not feeling anything, even when all I do is pray.” She hopes she doesn’t sound too bitter.

He looks back into the fire. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

Again, for someone who normally says nothing, it’s impressive how his words cut into her like a knife. This time she swallows the lump in her throat. She can’t cry in front of him for a third time.

“Oh,” she says, in her worst impression of casualness, “so you were listening earlier?”

“Sorry.”

She smiles a little to try and put him at ease. It doesn’t look like it’s working, especially since he’s still avoiding eye contact. “You mean to tell me you aren’t listening all the time?”

“Well this one,” he says, then pauses. She wonders if he’s also remembering how broken her voice was (“What’s wrong with me?”). “This one sounded a bit different.”

“It was,” she says, choosing to not say, “I fear I will cause the apocalypse.”

He looks over at her. She doesn’t know if she wants him to tell her if everything will be ok, or if she just wants a hug.

It’s her turn to stumble over her words. “Can--can I put my head on your shoulder?”

He looks surprised, but who is a knight to refuse his princess? (And secretly, she has a feeling he’d go to the ends of the world for her.) “Sure.”

Very gingerly, she places her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. They watch the fire die down to glowing embers.

* * *

It’s hard for her to fall asleep, even when the fire is out and she’s so toasty it’s easy to forget what she felt like just a few hours ago.

She keeps playing his words over and over in her head. Nothing’s wrong with you.

Link is solid and warm and an anchor. A reminder that underneath the legends and lifetimes and lore, there’s another story here. It involves a boy and a girl, a princess and her knight.

The princess knows that she’s in love with her knight. She knows she might end the world.

“I’m sorry,” Zelda whispers.

Link shakes his head. “Don’t be.”

[quirklessthot]

Nomu-Sitting

request: This is kinda kinky... but the reader has been desperately horny for a while but Shigaraki has been too busy, so the reader takes matters into her own hands and has a nomu screw her. Shigaraki walks in about half way through and ends up taking a seat to enjoy the show. (Feel free to ignore this, I won't be offended! But like, thank you so much if you do ♡!)

👁👄👁 

i changed up some things, instead dabi asks reader to look after the nomu he’s supposed to be watching since he has better things to do

warnings: 18+, monster-fucking, dub-con/non-con, voyeurism, degradation, cheating (?)

He… it… the nomu stares at you, unblinking. Well, you’re not sure if it’s staring at you. The tiny black pinpricks of its irises seem to almost go in separate directions. It definitely took notice when you had entered the room, if its low growl and sniffing at the air were any indication – but had no other reaction once you were standing a few feet in front of it. You tilt your head to the side to test your theory and to your childish delight it copies the action, huffing out a breath at your laugh.

With broad shoulders and biceps bigger than your head, the hulking behemoth makes an imposing figure. Even hunched over the way it is, the difference in height between you two isn’t easy to ignore. Dabi’s words of warning ring in the back of your mind: ‘Whatever you do, don’t get too close to it. Not grabbing distance, anyway.’

But the docile giant in front of you is nowhere near as scary as it was made out to seem.

You take a step forward and tentatively reach out a hand to pet the side of its face, just shy of its chin. It responds with a pleased rumble that vibrates up your arm, and cranes its neck to get closer.

What was Dabi even worried about, you wonder, smiling to yourself. The nomu is almost like a puppy. A massive, deformed puppy with the strength to crush a truck with its bare hands but… it’s cute, in its own way - exposed brain matter and all.

The sense of security you tricked yourself into is immediately shattered when you feel a hand grip your waist – so massive in size it easily dwarfs you. Trying not to panic, you attempt to take a step back. “Alright big guy, I think that’s enough for now,” you say, voice light.

You pray it can’t smell fear.

Of course, it doesn’t listen and instead pulls you closer with way too much ease, pressing you right up against its bare chest. Its body is almost uncomfortably warm and you’re not sure if it’s the radiating heat or the threat of harm that has you sweating.

You’re openly trembling now, biting your lip to keep your whimpers in. You don’t want to scare or upset it with any sudden noises; the nomu is strong enough to squish your head like a grape and you’d prefer to stay alive.

This is fine, you desperately try to convince yourself. It’s just curious. It’s not going to hurt you.

…right?

You can’t hold back the whimper when the nomu presses its beaklike mouth against your neck, tongue slithering out to lave against your neck. The muscle is big, slimy with saliva that quickly coats your neck and jaw, dripping thickly to drench the collar of your shirt. You shudder.

Too preoccupied with trying to not dry heave at the feeling of monster spit all over you, you fail to realize the reason it grabbed you. Pulling you a bit closer, it brazenly begins humping you, the movements of its hips becoming progressively more frantic and aggressive. You’re shocked into stillness by the heavy weight of its hard cock rubbing up against your stomach. Even through the layers of clothing, you can tell that it’s much bigger than anything you’ve ever taken.  This is so fucked… a distant voice in your head echoes.

You nearly jump out of your skin when it suddenly lets out a guttural growl, clearly becoming frustrated with the lack of proper stimulation.

“Shh… It’s ok,” you say, voice lowered into what you hope is a soothing tone.

You try to pry yourself away but the nomu responds with a snarl, grip tightening to the point of pain. You wince and immediately give up on moving. It’s obvious that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.

Despite your reservations, your eyes find themselves shifting towards the tent in the monster’s pants. You gulp, looking around the empty room guiltily. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little curious…

Shaky hands reach down to unbutton the monster’s pants, a feat considering what little space there is between you two. The movement of its hips drag the khakis down until they fall into a heap at its feet. What is revealed has your eyes going wide and your jaw slackening in shock. The veiny column of flesh is massive – almost as thick as your wrist and topped with a large, bulbous head steadily leaking sticky precum that is smeared against your hip with every thrust.

Almost without even thinking, you grab ahold of its dick and begin stroking. The generous amount of precum makes the slide easy, almost slippery. This placates the beast for a short time – enough to at least let you out of its vice-like hold – but soon it’s made clear that your hand is not enough.

Without much preamble, you’re lifted off your feet and turned around, now facing the gray walls of the nomu’s containment room. You let out a surprised squeak and cast a nervous glance downwards to see the head of its dick peeking out between the plushness of your thighs. 

It ruts into the warmth of your clasped thighs for a while before angling upwards, immediately becoming annoyed with yet another barrier- this time it’s your clothing in its way. Large hands begin groping at your pants before tearing into them as if they were made of paper. The flimsy material of your underwear doesn’t stand a chance against the hulking behemoth and they soon join your shorts on the floor in tattered shreds.

You cry out. “Wai- wait, no! Stop! Stop, let me just--”

Your words are cut off when the nomu rears its hips back before pushing forward. The first few thrusts miss their mark, bumping up against your sensitive clit instead, but on the fourth attempt the head of it’s cock catches on the rim of your entrance and that alone has your breath catching and your mind going blank. The feeling of it pushing in soon snaps you out of your daze and you begin struggling anew. You reach a desperate hand behind you but pushing against the monster’s chest felt like pushing against a solid brick wall – utterly pointless.

Even with you struggling and flailing limbs, it manages to work its cockhead past the ring of twitching muscle, and you feel like you’re being split in half with just the tip in.

It’s too much. It’s too much and you need to get away.

But the nomu keeps going, forcing inch after agonizing inch into your tight, (barely) wet heat.

You let out a broken gasp when it bottoms out, cunt clenching down hard on the too-large intrusion and body going slack in its hold. Even with the unnaturally copious amounts of precum it’s producing, the stretch is uncomfortable.

The head of its cock is shoved up against the mouth of your cervix with every push and you’re not sure whether you love or hate it, but it’s definitely a feeling you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. It’s hard to ignore how good the mindless fucking is starting to feel and after two consecutive orgasms, you’re wet enough that the slide of its dick is much easier. Wet slaps echo off the walls of the large, barren room. And for a while it’s the only sound, overlaid by the monster’s grunts and pants and your own high-pitched whining and moans, until the door is opened.

The grating of heavy metal against concrete brings you out of your haze, raspy, like the voice of the person opening the door.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? I had to ask Dabi if he knew where you were sulking. Are you done being a bi—”

Shigaraki stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. The lewd scene playing out before him robs the words right out of his mouth. It’s not every day you see your half-naked girlfriend getting fucked silly by a nomu, after all.

He stares.

You stare right back, mortification quickly overpowering your arousal.

This interruption goes completely ignored by the nomu, who continues to rut into you from behind.

“Tomura! I can— ah!” You try to come up with an excuse but at that exact moment the nomu gives a particularly rough thrust that has you seeing stars, powerless to keep your eyes from rolling in your head.

Shigaraki curses under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away. He should be angry. Furious, that not only would you fuck someone else but a mindless nomu of all things. The thought alone should have his blood boiling. But the blissed-out look on your face as you’re handled as nothing more than a fucktoy by a creature twice your size has his blood instead rushing to his cock.

Without a word, Shigaraki closes and locks the door behind him, before advancing towards you, face dark and unreadable. He grasps your face in one hand, pinky lifted, squishing your cheeks, and jerking your head up so that you’re forced to look him directly in the eyes.

“You filthy fucking whore,” he laughs, chapped lips spread in a mean grin. “That desperate to be fucked you couldn’t even wait?”

The harsh words have your eyes watering, tears just on the edge of falling, but they do nothing to dampen your arousal.

You moan in reply, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. “T-tomura…”

Shigaraki sneers, letting go of you to reach down and pull out his own half-hard dick, giving his palm a long lick, and begins to stroke himself. “Be careful what you wish for, huh?” he grunts, giving the head a squeeze. “Now look at you. Stuffed with so much cock you don’t even know what to do with all of it.”

He continues to berate you as he jerks himself off, taking delight in your embarrassment.

It’s a relief when the nomu finally cums with a roar, holding your ass right up against its stilled hips. The huge cock twitches and pulses inside of you, unloading what feels like gallons of hot cum right into your womb. You groan out a few unintelligible noises, brain turned to mush, as one last orgasm is pulled from you, thankfully much weaker than the previous ones. You’re so out of it you don’t even notice when Shigaraki steps closer, hand on his dick speeding up until he’s groaning and painting your face with his cum.

Panting heavily, you wearily glance up at Shigaraki, a plea to not share a word of what just happened to anyone already on your tongue. He doesn’t say anything as he tucks himself back into his pants but just by the look in his eyes and the barely concealed smirk, you can tell you’re never going to hear the end of this.

[yukiotacon]

Zenos x WOL reader masquerade part 2

( nsfw warning ) Sorry not sorry

You tried to avoid Zenos for the rest of the night. While trying to do your job, you felt his presence inches away from you. It was as if he was hunting you among all these people. After a while, you managed to find a seclude balcony where you can collect your thoughts. What do you didn't account for was a strong hand pulling you into someone's tight embrace.

" Hello my dear beast " Zenos smirks as you try to break free from his hold. You manage to deck him using your elbow. Blood seeps from Zenos's lips. This act causes the burning sensation inside Zenos to increase. He licks the blood away. " The beast has fangs" he says to you in a sultry voice. " I believe it is time my dear friend I make you mine" Fear overtakes you. You did not know how but he managed to drag you into a very nice room. You felt dread when you saw the bed.

While you were distracted, Zenos took the time to lock the door and pin you to wall. He smirks at your shaking body. He could sense the raw emotion inside of you. He wants all of its. What he wants he takes after all. Without missing a beat he comes forward and kisses you. It took you by surprise. His kiss was nothing you ever felt before. His tongue was dancing alongside yours in a dance of raw emotion and passion. You couldn't help but feel a burning sensation inside of you. You both stopped for air. Zenos was not done. In your daze, he carries you to the large bed. You feel the silken sheets as you are thrown onto the bed. He proceeds to strip away all your clothes. You tried to fight back ,but it seems to have only made the fire inside Zenos burn even hotter. When he sees your naked form, he cannot help but feel hungry.

He wastes no time in attacking your neck. Zenos kisses and bites your neck, while his fingers tease your special area. You feel his rough fingers playing with your clit. You buckle your hips against his fingers. Out of nowhere, his fingers brush against a certain spot leaving you moaning. He stops to look at you and smirks. You blush and try to hide your face. What you did not notice was the sound a fabric and metals hitting the floor. There in all his naked glory was Zenos. His thick cock hard as ever. He goes on top of you and proceeds to turn it up a notch. He kisses you passionately while fingering you. Every now and then he would pinch your clit leaving you a moaning mess. After a good solid hour of this , you orgasm onto his fingers. You try to hide your face ,but Zenos would not have that. He licks your juices off his fingers. " Delicious " he thinks to himself. " I want more " he says to you. While you were trying to gain your bearings, Zenos positions himself to penetrate you. As soon as you took notice of him, he immediately thrusted his cock inside of you.

It felt so painful at first. The feeling of his thick cock filling you to the brim was foreign to you. He lets you adjust for a moment ,but after a while you felt him start to move. He was not gentle at all. After you became accustom to his size, he began to pound you relentlessly in bed. The air was filled with the sounds of moans and slapping flesh. While he was fucking you, you could hear him say mine mine mine to your ear. You felt his cock twitch inside of you. Signaling you that he was about to cum. You began to beg Zenos not to fill you,but those please were never heard. He smirks at you knowing that this will mark you as his. With one last thrust, he spills all his hot seed inside your hot hole. You reeled from the sensation hoping it was over. Little did you know that Zenos was just getting started. Several hours later, you were covered in love bites and having cum leaking from your abused hole. Zenos smiles from his handy work. You were out cold after the 16th orgasm he gave you. He crawls into bed beside you , and pulls your limp body beside him to cuddle. He bring up the silken sheets to cover you both. " You are mine now my beautiful beasts" he says tenderly. You stir in your sleep, while he says this. He sighs in bliss and proceeds to fall asleep contented

[littlefreya]

Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

Summary: You’ve been a naughty girl, Private, thirsty for the Captain’s attention while he’s busy leading the base. Time for you to learn some freakin’ respect and patience. 

Pairing: Captain BDE Syverson x You

Word count: 1.9K

Warnings: SMUT! Masturbation, really dirty language, abuse of power, pleasure denial. 

A/N: This was a request made by @hcfavoritegal I’ve been a good devil and happily obliged! Thanks once more to my amazing @agniavateira for being my editor! Happy FuckDay! Title: Bad Girls Don’t Get to Play

“Your bratty attitude has been on my last nerve,” his deep southern accent thundered behind you as the both of you walked into the stuffy little room. There was a small shove at the arch of your back, forcing you further inside before the captain shut his office door. You turned to look at him, crooking up one eyebrow, focusing on how his long fingers tinkered with the lock. 

Huffing like an angry bull, he walked right past you, his large body bumping into yours with obvious intent. He moved to claim his spot on the worn-out leather sofa, body slumping down so heavily a loud thud filled your ears.

You glanced quietly at the hulking man: legs spread out widely in his seat with his groin bumped forward for display, the outlines of his large cock were prominent, undoubtedly presented  like some sinful temptation. 

“You’re just thirsty for some attention, aren't ya, Private?” he asked with menace on his smooth baritone and in his piercing blue gaze. That look couldn’t be mistaken for anything but hot, angry desire. It made a chill run up and down your spine, spreading throughout every nerve.

“I…” 

You tried to speak, yet only one word came out, quivering on your tongue like a thin thread snapping with force. You always saw yourself as strong-willed, but this man had some power over you, and it wasn’t just the impressive size of his body against your smaller frame and his higher rank. He gave away an enigmatic force that left you burning for him. If he told you to come, you’d come on your knees. 

Syverson smoothed his hands over his thighs, drawing more attention to the forbidden delight between his legs. The worst part is that you knew the undisclosed desire that hid behind those camouflage trousers, and how satisfying it was. “You think I’m okay with you touchin’ me and flingin’ that hot ass of yours, while we’re both on duty?” he paused, sucking his pouty lips in and fleshing his tongue over them briefly. “Have no one ever educated you about patience, kitten?”

You frowned at him, clenching your fists tightly until your knuckles turned white. You’ve always been a hot-blooded woman and the fact that Syverson was the gods’ gift to women didn’t help either. It was as if your body constantly yearned for his touch, making you frustrated whenever he refused to provide it. 

For him, it was all about the army. He was patient, immune to your spells during those long hours of hard work. But when the sun came down and he’d finally have his break, he’d come and claim, plunging all his pent-up frustration inside you until you’re searing inside.

You wanted to either slap that smug smirk off of his face or spread your legs and sit on top of it, knowing very well how strong these arms are around your inner thighs.

“You don’t pay me any attention at all lately!” You snapped, raising your voice at him which only granted you a dangerous grimace. For a moment, you wondered if you should apologize to your captain. But before you even managed to muster a second thought, Syverson lifted his hand, fingers curling inside to gesture you to come hither. 

Not saying a word, you made your way toward him, feeling numb in your legs as if the blood began to drain from them. With just a gaze and a gesture you were already following his rules and it had nothing to do with him being the captain anymore. It’s just how Syverson was. Dripping of confidence and power, he made men and women cower at his striking presence. 

His hand went over his jaw, stroking his beard and looking up to meet your face while you stood waiting between his legs. 

“It’s called duty, Private.The job comes first.” He spoke dangerously low, letting his eyes trail up and down the pleasing shape of your body. “You wanna keep this bratty attitude up?” he tested and shifted slightly in his seat, adjusting the growing hardness in his groin.

“Yeah, at least until you’d pay me some attention. I’m not some toy you can pick up whenever you’re bored.” Your heart pounded in your ears as you spoke, knowing very well you’re only making things worse for yourself. But once that onslaught of complaints spilled from your mouth. it was hard to stop. “You’re not the only one with needs here!” 

Syverson sat listening to your whines while a wide, scornful smirk spread across his face. “Sit down over there,” he commanded, tapping the empty spot next to him. The glare he gave left you no place to even think of protesting. Submissive as you’ve never been before, you did  as you were told. With trembling legs you went to sit next to Sy while looking at him with fear and anticipation.

His hands still rested on his thighs, nails slightly digging onto  the fabric of his trousers. His eyes scanned you with dark lust, looking you up as if you’re a tasty treat.

“I think it’s time to teach this brat a lesson about patience.” 

Not saying anything else, Syverson began undoing his belt. The sound of metal clinking sharply as the buckle unclasped did nothing but make your pussy clench with excitement. When the zipper slid down and freed his bulge, you wanted to straddle his waist immediately and take him inside of you.

A delicate wanton moan left your lips instead, showering his beautiful cock with admiration as it stood vast and solid between his coarse fingers.

“You’re gonna sit there and watch like a good girl, without moving a muscle.” he threatened, allowing his long digits to run up and down the thick shaft while emitting a small groan that made your chest sink.

“And you’re going to say exactly what I want you to say. If you break the rules, I’m going to deny your pleasure for weeks. Is that understood, kitten?”

The sight of his cock made your mouth water and your cunt throb, wallowing in your own sticky juices with harrowing desperation. Your eyes flicked along the ridges and veins that decorated his huge erection. Syverson beamed at your response, his callous thumb caressing the bulbous head, circling and smearing the pre-cum drops at the tip.

“Tell me how much you want this cock inside you Private, and be specific.”  

You gaped, smitten at his demand and cruel set of rules. Sy had a nasty mouth and he would say the most profane things while fucking you. Secretly you loved it, but you were never able to bring yourself to speak back, you simply moaned or said yes to whatever it was that he said he was going to do to your body. 

His hand began to make its way up and down his girth with achingly slow tugs. This entire time he was looking straight into your eyes. His defined lips parted while he feasted on the sight of you, not missing how your nipples hardened through the fabric of your shirt as your entire body prepared for a joining which was brutally denied.

“Fuck, Sy…” 

The desire to touch yourself never felt this excruciating, even just to stroke and squeeze your breast or your fucking knee.

“You’re gonna keep me waiting, Private?” He teased you, a vicious smirk lighting his face.

“I want you to bury your gigantic cock deep inside my pussy,” you fulfilled his wish, nearly mewling these words came tumbling out of your mouth. In an instant, you realized they did nothing but increase your painful need to be stuffed by him. 

Syverson groaned with a grin, shutting his eyes for a moment while squeezing himself. He imagined your sweet warmth tightening around his cock while he pressures himself into you. 

“Yeah, you want me defiling your tight little pussy, babygirl?” he asked in his low velvety voice, now accompanied by small husky grunts while his breaths became heavier.

“Tell me, tell me how big my cock feels inside you.”

You bit your lip so painfully it hurt, your core pulsated as if furious for not being granted what it needed. 

“You’re so big, Captain.” You paused, having to swallow the dryness in your throat as he continues to squirm and groan “I want you to throw me on your desk and fuck me like a slut, you’d make me sore for days.”

A pleased guttural groan escaped his mouth, you finally began following his rules and hearing how much you wanted him made his cock red and aching for release. His hand locked tightly around his cock, squeezing in a pace that grew more and more urgent. 

Although he never broke eye contact, his eyes fucked you a dozen times harder than he ever did. His glare made you feel as if you were being defiled. You felt naked, wanting to be exploited by him in ways you never imagined possible.  

You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat, intoxicated by the sight of this beautiful man. His scarred face was covered with a sheer layer of sweat, his blue eyes were now hazy and the very vocal groans that came out his throat had you soaked beyond imagination.

“Fuck Sy, please, I need you to fuck me so bad.” You begged, pouting desperately and clenching your thighs together to fight that lonely feeling inside you.

His free hand reached for your knee in an instant, forcing your legs apart while he shook his head with a disapproving glare. “Nah ah. Patience, babygirl, you touch yourself now I’ll make sure you won’t come for a whole month.” 

The touch of his hand on your knee made you shiver and moan, increasing the raging flutter inside your core. You wanted to cry with how needy you felt. This beautiful beast had you locked in his twisted little game while he enjoyed every inch you were prohibited from having. 

As if you were locked out of heaven. 

“Say,” he rasped breathlessly, his control beginning to slip. “Say you want me to come inside that pussy.”

His hand stroked faster and faster, the sounds of his skin slapping reminded you of the sounds your bodies made together. And his breath, fuck, even the sound of his breath made your chest sink as if there were weights atop of it. 

“Please,” you begged again out of frustration. You were just as breathless as he was, and your lungs felt empty. “Punish my pussy, Sy, bottom me out and fill me with your cum.”

You watched as his testicles became stretched and clenched upward, his cock throbbed, swelling larger while he tugged himself with fury and growled like an animal. You moaned to urge him, biting your lower lip and shifting on the sofa helplessly.

“Yes, Sy! Give it to me! I want it so bad!” 

His hand landed on your knee with might, making you jump as he squeezed you hard. A loud grunt erupted from his chest and then a deep sigh of release as he breathed out with bliss. You gasped with him, watching as his thick liquids glazed over his hand.

He felt no shame, nor disgust, breathlessly staring as if what he did was liberating for both of you. Well, it wasn’t. You were flushed, breathing in fumes as you watched him climb down from ecstasy. His pupils were expended, his lips were slightly red and he licked them while smiling at you with mischief.  

“Next lesson, I’ll teach you how to clean that potty mouth of yours.”

__________________________________________________________

[wafflesrock16]

Shakarian Princess/Dragon AU!

I really enjoy these AU drabbles. Perhaps I’ll turn one of them into a full fledged chapter fic. In the meantime, enjoy Princess Shepard and Dragon Garrus.

Places where beasts and sorcery lurked were far-flung, overcast regions with sparse inhabitants and a pervasive sense of dread hanging in the atmosphere. A storm always loomed on the horizon; the kind which promised thunder and lightning and sheets of cold rain. The fortresses which were built in these places had a weathered, foreboding aspect that practically sang of death and dismemberment. A brave knight or gallivanting hero recognized these keeps as the hold of treasure or captured royalty and would seek them out. A pity Shepard’s captor had realized this too.

Shepard sighed, drumming her fingers on the stone windowsill of the tower. Outside, the warm, summer sky beckoned and below in the gardens butterflies and birds flitted about the rose bushes and olive trees. Flowers were in full bloom and radiant bluebells and kingcups filled the air with a soft, floral fragrance. 

Moving from the window, Shepard lifted the hem of her flowing black and red gown as she made her way down the spiral staircase and out the fortified gateway of the castle. She unconsciously readjusted her crown, settling the slim gold circlet so it rested securely against her hairline. 

Birdsong herald her footsteps as Shepard headed for a solitary wooden bench set in the middle of the garden. She sat with a heavy sigh, eyes taking in the enchanted splendor all around her, before lifting and tracing the turrets of the nearby castle. The castle--her castle--was a radiant fortress. No lichen or moss marred the stone slabs of the thick walls. It looked newly built, with an aim at being impregnable. Its vantage points would allow defenders to deflect even the most ambitious invaders. If there ever were any invaders. Or defenders. No, it was only Shepard here. A solitary princess trapped far from her kingdom and people. 

At least I’m not completely alone, she mused, even as a shadow fell across the flower beds. Shielding her eyes against the sun, she watched the familiar shape descend with steady, precise wing beats. Then, he pulled in his colossal bat-like wings to land with a metallic clang of armor, digi-grade feet splaying to absorb the impact. 

“See anything interesting?” Shepard asked as the dragon solider walked over.

Her guardian was no longer under the sway of the wretched Illusive Man, as the evil sorcerer called himself, but like her, was confined to the castle and its environs. A true curse for a creature of the sky accustomed to soaring over mountain ranges and river valleys. Garrus remained stoic though, and resolute in his search for an escape. Their escape. 

Garrus flared his wings to provide Shepard with shade as he stood next to the bench. “Still nothing,” he said, shaking his head. His subvocals twanged in bitterness. “Whatever glamor or concealment spell the Illusive Man has in place is strong. Too strong for me to break through. But,” he said, turning sharp eyes onto Shepard, “I think its weakening.”

“Weakening?” Shepard parroted, brow furrowing. “You mean, the spell is losing its potency?”

“I think so,” Garrus said, mandibles fluttering in unspoken hope. “I was almost able to push through at the southern boundary. I’ve never been able to do that before, I’ve always been repelled.”

“You said it felt like a strong wind was blowing you away,” Shepard said, recalling one of their earliest escape attempts. 

“Yeah, but today I was able to get an arm through up to the elbow,” Garrus said, crystalline eyes flickering down to his left hand. There had been a time when Shepard found Garrus’ three-fingered hands horrifying. So other and foreign and claws. But those same clawed hands were capable of such tenderness. When they carded through her crimson tresses, carefully caressed her sides, talon-tipped fingers grazing supple flesh and pulling airy gasps and moans. The way they held her as they moved together in carnal rhythm, plate and skin pressed tightly together, wings outstretched and glowing in the candlelight as Garrus moved above and inside her. A dragon ravishing a princess. Two people trapped against their will finding companionship and love. 

When your evenings were monotonous, you found ways to occupy yourselves. Making love to Garrus had perhaps been inevitable, but if so, it was the first time fate had been kind. Shepard blinked away the memory.

“Is the barrier thin everywhere or only in the sky?” she asked. 

Garrus rumbled in thought, bending a knee to kneel in front of her. He was still a head taller, but it brought his gorgeous eyes closer to hers. “It’s thin in patches, but most of those are higher up,” he answered. “We can try pushing through in another few days, maybe. I can carry you, it won’t be a problem.”

Shepard reached out gripping his hands in hers and squeezing. “This is more hope than we’ve had in…” she trailed off. How long had they been here? Time held little meaning anymore. She couldn’t even be sure if the phases of the moon were real in this place. 

“More hope than we’ve had in a long time,” Garrus finished. His mandibles pulled out in a dragon grin, exposing rows of razor sharp teeth. It wasn’t a mystery why the other races feared and respected Garrus’ kind. He slowly angled his head, coming to press his brow against hers in affection. 

Shepard felt herself smile at the gesture. “Once we get free, we’re gathering up an army--humans, dragons, asari--whoever is ready and willing to hold a sword or mace and take on that deranged wizard.” 

Garrus nodded, brow still pressed to hers. “And after that?” he asked, voice teasing but a note of concern still noticeable. 

“After that, Citadel Kingdom gets the royal wedding everyone’s been pressuring me for since I turned eighteen.” Shepard pulled back to give Garrus a confident grin. “They’ll also get their first dragon king. It won’t be an easy role, but you’ll wear royalty well.”

“I wore it pretty well last night,” Garrus drawled. “Especially when it lunged at me over the dining table and I wore royal thighs around my face like--”

“Okay,” Shepard interrupted, pulling her hands back and crossing her arms. “But don’t pretend like you didn’t love every second of it.”

“I never said I didn’t.” Garrus chuckled, rising to his feet and offering Shepard a hand up. “The morning is still young. Might I accompany the lady on a tour of the garden?”

Shepard snorted but accepted his hand, linking her arm with his as they set off through the flower beds, Garrus’ wings folded about his person like a natural cloak.

One day they’d escape this place. The enchanted castle and its grounds would no longer be their prison. Yet, in spite of everything a part of Shepard’s heart was forever glad she’d been put here. No matter what, she had him now. And there’d never be a Shepard without Vakarian.

[angelicichor]

Some N//SF//W headcanons for some of my favourite slashers bc I can't sleep:

Michael Myers (RZ) :

• It's no surprise that he is rougher in bed, dominating is what he does and it comes to him easily, with that huge body of his

• Yet there's always some gentleness to his movements, an awareness that you're weaker than him and he needs to be careful with you, because even if the idea of you breaking at his touch is arousing, the fear of losing someone precious to him (again) keeps him focused.

• His fingers are trained both in craft and destruction, so I can say that him fingering you? A dream come true. He's watching you every time, a coy smile on his face, learning from your reactions as you melt in his touch. And every time you come just a bit quicker.

• If you really want to be D E S T R O Y E D - bite him. Literally. Don't draw blood though because he is going to probably almost kill you for that. But biting? Oh boy. Get ready to be set in fucking place. He's the monster here, he hurts you, not the other way around and he'll make sure you remember that.

• He'll make it a point not to use his knife though, he wants to show you HIS own power, so you fear him, not the damned weapon. He switches them out like toys anyways.

• I you go down that route prepare for pain. And I mean it. That man killed enough people to know where to press for your bones and muscles to scream under his touch, he'll dig his thumbs into your jaw as he grinds against you, choke you just with his knee on your chest when he's getting his dick hard, shove his hand down your throat, making you gag or choke, smilling the whole time, watching your tears form. You started this so see it through, he has MANY ideas on how to make you crumble.

• And trust me? You'll love it.

• Now the most surprising part? After he'd come and you're a panicked mess on the bed, half aware of everything around you, you'd feel your body lift slightly, then something warm envelop you.

• That's Michael, lifting you up, pulling you close to him and lulling you in his arms, using his raspy voice to calm you down, to tell you you're safe now and there will be no more pain... Until next time, that is.

Thomas Hewitt:

• Oh, Tommy's a kind giant, alright. Had his fair share of practice in careful touch making his masks, but there's some of that butcher roughness in there too, so expect his fingering to be a bit more... Insensitive.

• He'll be too absorbed with looking at your adorable expression to realize he's being a bit too rough, too mesmerized by the way you pull his hair and moan to see that his pace is too quick. If you want a slower and calmer ride, take the lead, whisper his name and pull his gaze a bit higher, to your eyes, let him absorb your beauty and use that to guide his movements.

• He loves you too much to resist you if you want to call the shots for a night, but just this once, okay? He ain't a bottom, Charlie taught him 'better' than that.

• Don't tease the boy too much though, because he ain't afraid to push you over the table and give you a solid ass slapping session. In this house discipline is all, and you're definietly lacking in it if you think you can grind against him like that and not take responsibility.

• But oh is it delightful to hear this man's aroused laugh when you beg for forgiveness, his firm hand decisively slapping you muscle, just in the right spot to make you squirm, leaving the flesh reddened for more than a day and you unable to sit properly.

• And just when you think he's done and you're off the hook he hauls your ass down into his basement on his shoulder and lies you down on a still bloodied table, pressing against your heat with his erection, chuckling lowly at your gasp as you feel just how hard he is.

• You don't have to wait long for him to slam into you, filling you to the brim, bit of pre-cum on his tip. He's always such a delicious fit.

• Still, while he's not slow in his movements he ain't brutal like Mikey either. It'd rather say it depends on whether he wants to make you both feel good or make you suffer just a bit longer.

• If there's blood involved though, he ain't gonna be waiting for nothing, it does something to him, even if it's not yours, he just adores that metallic smell, it makes him so light headed. He loves painting on your body with it too, but only once he realizes you ain't scared of a bit of gore. If you're squeamish he'd never even consider bringing you into the basement.

• In all honestly if you're into blood play, just pass him a knife and give him the sweetest smile you can, he'll catch on, don't worry. He's a damn professional too, so don't worry about fainting form blood loss, he got you covered.

• But his biggest secret is... He's a slut for rock and metal music. Greet him with Slipknot or Korn playing in your bedroom in the evening and he'll quickly be over you, eating you alive with his gaze, those hungry, hungry eyes.

• He ain't a dancer but let me tell you, he'll time his thrusts perfectly to the song you're playing, it's uneven, seemingly chaotic, rough, then soft, heated all the way through and you're loosing yourself to it, just as he is.

• Don't call him an animal, but he's definietly a beast then, clawing at your skin as he goes deeper, growling into your ear, one hand choking you into obedience and other bruising your hip in his obsessive grip.

• Even through the loud music you can hear and feel his heartbeat against your back. He wants you close, wants to use his strength to make you come and feel every single vibration of your body as you do.

•Make sure to scream if he bites you, remind him to control his instincts just a little bit, or moan, he'll stop his biting to laugh quietly and nuzzle into your neck.

• How?? THE FUCK??? CAN HE GO FOR SO LONG?!? You're already trembling under him, unable to move a muscle and he's still pounding into you mercilessly, enjoying the dominating force he has over your comparably tiny body. Each time your insides clench against him he pushes back, assuring that it welcomes him back.

• And somehow he manages to finish just as Vermilion ends. You are unsure whether this is just dumb luck, or if he really has so much self-restraint to hold it in for so long.

• I hope you have a towel or a handkerchief at hand because when he comes he comes loads, especially after longer sessions.

• He'd love for you to keep it inside though, our Tommy has a mayor breeding kink and even if you can't or won't give him children, he loves, LOVES seeing your trembling, defeated body filled with his cum.

• Oh and PLEASE do be vocal when he fucks you, it keeps him going. You're so cute when you call his name too...

Brahms Heelshire:

• Ah yes, the stinky wall boy. He actually showers, believe it or not, just not too often. It's hard to believe but it's true, though running and climbing through walls will get you dirty, there ain't no getting around that.

• Brahmsy doesn't really enjoy fingering, not you, not himself, he's more of an oral guy, more of a receiver, obviously, he's a brat after all, but when he gives, he gives it all and his tounge is amazing. Praise him and he'll give you the best orgasm you ever had with just his mouth.

• Most of the time it's hard to remember Brahms is a grown man, well, aside from the visual reminder that is. He is always so obedient and loves to follow his schedule, it's rare for him to actually act how his testosterone is telling him to. He's a good boy, you can be sure of that, especially when he's using his child voice.

• But there are days when his cover gets blown and you can tell immidietly, especially from his smell, sweet and warm, inviting you closer. It's almost as if he was in heat, keeping close, way past your personal space, grabbing you whenever he can, squeezing tightly at your hips, your chest, pulling your hands up to his face to give you soft, porcelain kisses.

• Then at some point the mask goes away, letting you stare in awe at his sly smile, his hooded eyes, lightly squinted to fit his expression, and a small lick of his lips lets you know that tonight you're his.

• Those nights are long and passionate, as each thrust tells you how much he adores you, your voice, your body, your you. His childish voice goes away so that the man of the house can speak and it makes you shiver as he calls your name, giving you small 'I love yous' and praising how good you feel, calling you his, only his.

• And to your utter surprise he makes sure that this night you come first, that you're satisfied before him, letting his bratty demeanor rot somewhere in a corner just for today, so he can treat you with the love and care you deserve for doing the same to him every single day.

• You're his darling and he makes sure to let you know that.

• Though those nights are very special to you, sometimes it goes a bit wilder.

• Sometimes the existence of a bed is forgotten and he swoops in from one of the hidden entrances and pulls you into the wall, mask already missing, so he can bite into your neck, make you scream in surprise, massaging your crotch messily, hastily, so he can get what he wants so much quicker and without you complaining.

• He takes you against the wooden walls, your moaning voice echoing through the skeleton of the house, hitting you right back and bringing that sweet blush back to your face.

• Don't try to order him around, "pretty please". He needs you, not your complaining right now. You can scold him later, he'll take it willingly, but in this moment he needs to let go, loose himself in you, chase his own release before yours so he can calm this heat down.

• Then just as you can feel him getting close he'll pull out and finish with his own hand outside of you like a proper gentleman. Except he comes on your thighs, so now those pants you were wearing? Yeah, those need washing.

• And if you're understanding to him after those 'accidents' you might expect a late night visitor, willing to make amends and give you something he forgot to give you earlier, with his lovely, lovely tounge and long, slim fingers. Make yourself comfortable, he's going to make sure you don't regret being patient.

• Also Brahmsy is a big fan of tying you up once you introduce him to the concept. Try it, he's very creative.

Hope you enjoy me being thirsty on main, may make part 2 if I'm feeling sleepless again or if anyone wants me to but haha I ain't a writer ( or at least not a good one, I usually write for myself but that shit ain't good... )

[raistorm]

“Love’s Seeping From the Guns”

——————————————————————

All Yang could hear was ringing, a deafening ringing in her ears.

The world blurred in and out, spinning and spinning, and she grasped at the singed earth, trying to make the horizon level once more.

She could barely make out the writhing forms of Juane, Ren, and Oscar beside her, similarly afflicted by the aftermath of the explosion. Winter and the Ace Ops indeed dropped the payload just as they managed to rescue Oscar. They were approaching the opening of the whale’s mouth when it hit, and Oscar’s (rather, Ozpin’s) semblance activated, causing time to slow down.

They’d managed to run far enough from the beast to save their lives before Oscar’s aura depleted completely. But they were still caught in a devastating blast.

Yang, on her hands and knees, only registered warm liquid pouring down the side of her face when she saw the blood pooled on the ground in front of her. She fell to her elbows. If the ground would just stop moving she could get up. Get up, the voice inside her yelled. Back and white forms roiled around her as the Grimm and Atlesian army battled on, forcing her to retain a sense of urgency, to stay conscious.

She pushed up from an elbow, willing her muscles to cooperate, but they felt like jelly. Exhaustion settled over her body, tempting her eyes closed, to rest, to let go. It would be easy. To just sleep. She was equal parts weightless and heavy.

But sounds began to come back.

Growling, snarling, guns blasting, shouting, scuffling.

A voice, familiar, started far off but came closer and closer as she kept trying to push her body up, using arms that just wouldn’t listen to her.

“Yang!”

It was Blake.

A solid pair of arms wrapped around her. The metallic click of weapons unfurling, the sickening crunch of bones, and more familiar voices told her Ruby and Weiss had begun to fend off the Grimm around them.

Relief overcame her and she sunk into the embrace. Blake was crying, begging her to stay awake, to “stay with me, Yang, stay with me… open your eyes, we have to get out of here!”

Yang drifted deeper into trance, partly comforted by Blake’s presence and partly helpless to the sweet temptation of unconsciousness by now. She’d been fighting for so long…

Blake shook her shoulders and said loudly and firmly, “Yang. Wake up.”

Light seared through her half-lidded eyes as Blake’s golden, tear-filled gaze blinked into view. Is time still moving in slow motion? She thought. I really wish Blake would stop crying.

From the corner of her dimming periphery, she could see her own metal hand reaching up to cup Blake’s cheek before she could even remember commanding it to do so, so she allowed her fingers to brush Blake’s tears away.

She wanted to say she was trying; she wanted to tell her that it was all going to be okay, that…

Lips pressed against her own.

Blake was kissing her.

Yang’s eyes flew open as a new rush of adrenaline roared through her veins. She pulled in a sharp breath, energy surging through her like lightning. Suddenly, she had command of her body again, and she grasped Blake’s face like a lifeline, returning the searing kiss.

Blake pulled away to release a ragged sobbing breath. “You idiot,” she said, before surging forward to recapture Yang’s lips.

Yang half-laughed, half-sobbed, and pulled Blake in by her shoulders, wrapping her arms all the way around her torso. Fire ignited under her skin as they shuddered between kisses, the sobs gently subsiding as they both rediscovered solid ground in each other.

Still dizzy and reeling from almost passing out and being suddenly reinvigorated, Yang pulled away to refocus on the golden eyes of her partner. Blake’s watery smile became her anchor to reality.

“You scared the hell out of me, Yang,” she said, voice cracking, a bit of Yang’s blood smudged on the corner of her lip. Yang wiped it away with the pad of her thumb.

“Baby…”

Weiss’s voice cut through their little world, “As happy as we all are for you two, we have to go! I don’t care if we have to carry you, but we can’t keep holding off the Grimm!”

Blake whispered soft assurances in Yang’s ear as she helped the blonde stand up on wobbling legs. The gravity of their situation finally registered to Yang as the hordes of Grimm seemed to converge slowly around them. Behind her, Ruby and May struggled to support a deeply wounded Ren and an unconscious Oscar. Juane was standing, but was ghostly pale, blood and bruises covering his face.

How were they going to get off the battlefield? Half of them could barely walk, much less run. How was time still moving so slow, but so fast?

As if on cue, an airship whirred to a stop in front of them. The doors opened to reveal Qrow and Robyn, their disheveled and ragged forms echoed the appearances of the younger huntsman and huntresses. None of them got out unscathed these past forty-eight hours.

“Kids, come on. There’s nothing else we can do here,” Qrow rasped, wind whipping his matted hair. His eyes were more gaunt than usual.

“We have to go back to Weiss’s place to get everyone else,” Ruby said as she and May gingerly lifted Oscar onto the platform.

“Roger,” said Qrow, hopping down to lift Ren onto the ship.

With great effort and the help of Blake’s steady hands, Yang hoisted herself up and collapsed near the back wall, breathing heavily, blood still pouring from the gash on her forehead. She began to wonder if her disorientation was a side effect of Oscar’s time dilation. Events were moving quickly in retrospection but so slowly in the moment.

Suddenly Blake was by her side, fussing over the wound and searching for more. Yang watched her worry her lip as her hands passed over every inch of Yang’s form, gently, but frantic. Yang grabbed her hands and Blake’s eyes shot up to meet hers.

“I’ll be okay. I’m mostly tired and… rattled.”

“That’s a lot of blood, Yang,” she said, insistent.

Years of a rough and tumble lifestyle taught Yang that shallow gashes on the head were often more bark than bite, and bled a lot even if they weren’t life threatening. She relayed this to her partner, who nodded, though with a small look of disbelief on her face, and shifted to dress her head wound rather than keep looking for other wounds.

Soft murmurs around her indicated that the others were being looked after as well, and Yang began to slowly let herself relax, to feel safe for a moment, to be okay with the idea that while her friends may be hurt, they were alive, protected. When Blake was handed the first aid kit, Yang watched her expression tense in concentration as she wiped the blood from her face. Yang couldn’t help it, she gazed adoringly at her partner.

“I can feel you staring,” Blake said, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a smirk as she began the process of wrapping gauze around her forehead.

“I dunno, it feels like this is allowed now,” Yang rasped, the exhaustion in her voice even startling herself.

Blake’s eyes softened as she reached up to touch Yang’s jaw. The warmth of Blakes touch anchored Yang to something stable in a sea of disorientation and shock.

“It is,” she smiled mischievously, “but I seem to recall you staring at me like that a few times before… just… usually when you thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

Despite herself, Yang blushed, but was too tired to keep up the banter. “…Guilty.”

Concern flooded Blake’s expression again, but before she could speak, the airship landed.

“Stay here, I’m going to help carry the others back to the ship,” Blake said, and hesitated before leaning in and kissing her softly. It was just a quick brush of lips, but it was unexpected and sent Yang’s heart aflutter. Admiration and love filled Yang as she watched Blake hop off the ship. She couldn’t believe this was happening, briefly wondering if this was all a dream. Everything felt surreal. She looked at her hands and flexed her fingers, finding herself dying to touch Blake again already.

A forced cough made her look up to the raised eyebrow of her uncle and the shocked expression of Juane. Yang huffed in embarrassment and looked away, but didn’t have the energy to retort.

“Oh,” Juane said, mostly to himself, “that’s what she meant back at the cabin…”

Qrow chuckled and turned to look out at the night sky. “Good for you, kiddo.”

Yang let her head fall back against the cool metal wall of the ship before lolling it back over to Qrow. “Ha… yeah it’s… it just…” she began before a different thought crossed her mind. “Wait, where are we going? What happened… with everything?” It was still hard to form full sentences.

Qrow sighed and ran a hand through his hair before glancing at Robyn, who was sitting in the pilot’s seat.

“The whale isn’t dead, but Ironwood almost killed you anyway,” he said, malice seeping from his voice like icicles. “It’s just… out of commission for a while. Salem will have it nipping at the heels of every major city in Remnant before the week’s up.”

Robyn turned around. “We’re going to find a place to lay low for a few days to recover. Half of you kids are in bad shape.”

Yang sighed but couldn’t argue, “Ruby won’t be happy about that.”

“Yeah, but there isn’t much of a choice at the moment,” Qrow said, coming over to rest a hand on her shoulder. “Speaking of, you get some rest, Yang. You’ve done more than enough. I’m… I’m so proud of you. And I’m glad you’re okay. We all.. feared the worst for a moment.”

Tears welled up in Yang’s eyes before she said thank you, and allowed herself to shift into a somewhat comfortable position as Qrow went to open the door of the ship. Sounds began to drift back out of her consciousness, but she could hear the soft rustling of clothes as the others were lifted onto the ship, hushed whispers only lulled her closer to the edge of sleep.

She barely registered Blake’s warm body settle in next to hers as the engine of the airship whirred back to life, but she forced her eyes open once more.

“Yang…” Blake said, “It’s okay, you can go to slee—”

“—I love you,” Yang said, unable to hold it inside any longer. “Blake, I love you.”

Blake couldn’t hide a small gasp. There was a beat of silence.

Then Yang felt cool hands gingerly turn her face to meet warm golden eyes. Yang didn’t realize she was crying until Blake was wiping her tears way.

“I could’ve died today,” Yang whimpered, the reality hitting her like bricks. It made her blood run cold. “I would’ve never told you. I need to tell you now. I have to—“

Blake cut her off with a kiss, pulling her in deeply. When she pulled away she whispered, “Yang, I love you, too.” Blake kissed her again and Yang could only focus on her lips. “I love you.”

Tears streamed down both of their faces as they savored being alive and together and in love. There was so much more to say, so much more to talk about, but the preciousness of the moment transcended everything else. The truth was more glaring than ever, that tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, they only had now. They had each other right now.

They fell asleep in each others’ arms, preparing to face an uncertain tomorrow.

Together.

[widowsofchaos]

The Wolf, The Widow, & Their Angel

Writing’s Game created by the baddest, Roo! @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ *screams like a feral banshee* tHe BaDDesT BiTcH sHE iS!

~my given prompt~

Pairing: dark!BuckyNat x black!Reader

Summary: You start to dissociate looking through windows, and it concerns your captors.

Warnings: ddlg relationship, forced age regression, mentions of spanking, water sports, and kidnapping, eventual Stockholm syndrome. a dash of yandere behavior.

a/n: hiii, so glad im finally into the swing of writing, and I really wanted to dive into this writing challenge made by Roo! Trope: Snowed In // Item/Location: Windows. Seems really fun, and gives a chance for people to explore different kinks and scenarios given to them! So I hope you enjoy! There has been things changed for sake of the story, like cause fuck canon sometimes, right? Muahaha💋

do not repost my works!

Snowflakes hit against the windows, sounding like tiny BB bullets as the bellowing winds harshly beats against the bullet-proof glass.

Ever-growing thick piles of snow surrounded the Avengers compound, as New York City is under attack by one of the worst snow-storms the city has ever endured in years.

Airports are temporarily shut-down, so are local businesses, the streets deserted with no sign of life. Nature’s cold wrath forces citizens to self-quarantine, and celebrate Christmas indoors, snowed in for perhaps a few weeks.

So much for your grand escape.

Six months you have been held captive, and forced to prance around like a living doll. A toy to satiate your captors’ sexual appetites and deep-rooted needs to protect ‘an innocent angel like yourself.’ As you sit here on the cold floor of the living room, battling boredom, and your solemn thoughts, mindlessly chewing on the pink paci in your mouth, you didn’t hear one of your captors and one of their accomplices walk in.

Fidgeting in your white onesie that had multiple crayon drawn rainbows printed on it, as you try to find some comfort - your buttocks still stung from this morning’s spanking. Your coco-brown buttocks peaking from your onesie, your diaper peaking from the edges, deep purple and yellow bruises painting your skin were apparent. That’s the abuse a metal prosthetic can inflict.

Your bronze skin now shiny with lotion to soothe the burgundy raw welts. You can barely sit still, rocking back and forth to relieve some tension. Sniffling trying to zone out in your mind.

Your hair was in two split curly pigtails, each split of massive hair clipped with two pink bows. Your index finger twirling in your chocolate curls, as the other hand was toying with the fabric of your white booties, with tears in your eyes, trying to imagine time spent with your real family.

Are they okay? Do they miss you? Have they been searching for you?

You can still recall the day you were kidnapped, it was a blur, it was so quick,

As the two perpetrators waltz silently towards you, as your back facing them, suddenly one of them playfully pull on your pigtails.You gasp, your eyes wide as saucers, as your mouth opened, your paci fell on your lap. Your day-dreaming shattered, as if you were high in the clouds then held by the calf and dragged right back to reality.

“Hey baby.” A husky velvety voice spoke against your ear, your heart hammering harshly against your chest. It’s him, the former Winter Soldier, his close companions call him Bucky, but you’re forced to call him daddy.

“Uncle Steve told me that you have been sitting here for hours” he brought his thumb to wipe away a tear you didn’t realize began to fall. You glanced over your shoulder to see Steve standing by the door-way smiling adoringly at the sight of a daddy and his baby, leaning against the door frame, with his strong hands stuffed in his jean pockets.

You felt menacing cerulean blue eyes burn a hole in your skull, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from yours even if he tried. To him, you were perfect. You were a gift from God, an angel sent to ease his burdens along side his wife, Natasha. You couldn’t bare looking into his eyes, too intense, too suffocating. A flash of affection beamed across his eyes.

You whined, shuffling as best as you could away from your captor, “Baby, you dropped your paci.” Bucky plucked your pacificer from the floor, bringing towards your chapped lips, “Now it’s dirty, my sweet baby can’t have a dirty paci ...” he trailed off, the rims of your eyes slightly red, glossy from the forthcoming droplets.

He knows why you’ve been crying, he had to punish you this morning. You were trying to act like a big girl, and refused to be bathed, insisting you can clean yourself as an adult.

A smirk slowly crept on Bucky’s bearded face, he noticed you was leaning forward, preventing any bodily pressure to increase on your sore ass. “Is my baby’s cute ass sore?” His nose brushed against your cheek, a guttural moan vibrated in his throat, inhaling your scent; his hot breath fanning over your tear-stained face.

His pink lips hairs away from yours, growing agitated that you didn’t respond, he gripped one of your pigtails with his flesh hand.

You yelped in pain, your button nose scrunched, brows furrowed deeply; the prickly pins and needles sensation scorching throughout your scalp, as Bucky held your hair in a death clutch. “Answer your daddy! Is my baby’s cute ass sore?!” Bucky snarls like a beast.

You choked back a sob, forced to look into his cerulean blue eyes, clouded by grey storm clouds. His pupils dilated, his nose flared, not to further infuriate the former soldier, “Ye-yes, daddy -” your throat tightened in fear, “my butt is sore.” Satisfied that you answered sweetly, Bucky relinquished his hand, kissing away your tears with feathery pecks, “Don’t cry, my angel.” His voice lowered softly.

His stubble tickled you, but you resisted a chuckle in your throat along with your untamed bile, he shushed you, “Don’t cry, baby. Daddy’s sorry he had to get loud.” Bucky cooed, talking to you like you were a toddler.

Your sobs quieted down, now simmering to hiccups, as he pulled you flushed against his broad chest. Even when he cradled you, his physicality reminded you, that you can’t escape.

Bucky is at least, two hundred pounds lean, built into massive biceps, and sculpted abs. You can’t fight him, nor her. Natasha’s physique is slender, but she’s toned.

Enquiped to defeat any enemy, a master in trickery and slealth, able to disappear within thin air like her husband ... many have fallen for sadly mistaken the Russian for beauty over brains ... don’t underestimate the former assassin. You already learned your lesson.

Your delicate fingers gripped his red Henley shirt, the cotton fiber bunching between your brown fingers, as you whimpered, your cheek squished against his frame.

Bucky sported a smug smirk on his stubbled jaw, glancing to his oldest best friend. A chuckle was breathed out of Steve’s nose, knowing the breaking down method was slowly progressing.

Steve knows that this is what Bucky, and Natasha needs in their life. Something innocent to protect, the couple hasn’t had a pure light in their life for years, so it’s understandable that for the first time they encountered you, they had to have you.

It was fate.

Indeed the meticulous harsh punishments was working. No matter how hard you tried to fight back, and resist the urges to succumb to their sexual pleasures, your mind was betraying you.

There has been moments of your compliance, calling everyone by their designated names. Natasha as your mommy, Bucky as your daddy, and the rest of the Avengers as your uncles and aunt. Letting your uncles and aunt baby you, feed you, play with you, and punish you if needed too.

Let’s just say, the punishments were just as equally barbarous. Wall-seats, harsh spanking, knees on raw rice, gas lighting, slight choking, knees resting on raw rice, electrical nipple clamps as your head will be dunked in water, that’s Bucky’s go-to if his patience runs dry.

And a few slaps here and there if you cuss everybody out.

Natasha’s favorite is clit cream, it causes severe itching on your pussy, you would rub your mound on any solid surface to relieve yourself to the point of your vagina being raw, and irritated.

How does the sadistic couple help the itching and burning stop? Take turns squirting their piss directly on your clit.

Shame and humiliation has become your constant demons.

Bucky’s red shirt had a strong but subtle smell of mint, and oak. You rubbed your nose into the shirt, it’s calming your frightened senses, as numerous flashbacks of pain came flooding your shattered mind.

“Awh my baby, loves holding her daddy.” Bucky spoke into your brushed curls, you didn’t realize you were practically clinging to Bucky like a baby kola. Bucky nuzzled his nose into your curls, his eyes closed, relishing in this rare moment.

Bucky’s strong biceps slithered around your petite waist, you involuntarily clutching your arms around his neck for support. His open palms calmly rubbed circles under your thighs, but close to your painful bruises.

You flinch at the close proximity of his fingertips grazing your abused flesh. It was his reminder of how quickly his temper can switch.

Don’t misbehave.

You prefer to seek his approval, to fall on his good graces. 

“D-daddy?” you crooked into his now tear-stained shirt, the dampened spots now a deeper shade of red, you sniffled, scared to look him in the eye, “Yes baby?” Bucky’s smirked.

“I wanna look at the windows more. The snowflakes are pretty.” You hated how your voice was trembling, and trailing into little space.

You’re conversing with Bucky as if you were a toddler. One discovery you stumbled on during this ordeal is that deep inside the crevasse of your mind, there’s a little girl.

Sub-space, or little space ... you knew you had it, which in turn, helped you adapt to your new environment from time to time. Catching yourself enjoying being pampered, no longer being burdened by of the problems that come with being an adult. No longer do you work, you hated your office job. You gracefully fall into a space of hazy clouds.

Bucky’s brows furrowed, a bit befuddled, as his eyes pleaded with Steve’s, who in return shook his head, no.

Steve brought this new found habit of yours up to Bucky and Natasha earlier, whenever you were punished, you hide away to look out the windows.

Steve realized that you were probably dissociating. That worried everybody, it means you were suffering from not accepting your new life, clinging onto your old one, and if you’re in pain, Bucky and Natasha are in pain.

You’re more than their little girl, you’re their missing third. Their companion, their angel, and even if you rebuke it, your best friends. Many occurrences, Nat and Bucky has confided to you about their dark pasts, revealing secrets not even their close team mates are aware of.

To gain your trust, and your sympathy, to show despite their cruel punishments, they are broken humans emotionally dependent on you. In any bond between lovers, that’s your best friend.

Out of love — tough love, but love nonetheless.

Bucky’s lip formed into a thin-line, “No, baby. Uncle Steve told me you do this a lot, you know he’s worried about you? So is everybody else, you haven’t even eaten since this morning” Bucky’s voice got stern, but it was contrast to his facial features softening. His brows now slanted in-ward, demonstrating his distress.

It’s the truth, you’re co-dependent on bullet-proof glass. You can observe the outside world. It helps you escape to your imaginary getaway. Whatever your heart desires, your brain creates unabashed scenarios of being surrounded by your family, and friends.

But more recently, you imagine poppy fields, sleeping in high-end stocks of flowers — but soon the demons roam in search of you, and the sky darkens.

“No, baby. No more windows. Ever again.” Bucky’s eyes squinted, you gasped. You were ready to beg, plead to stay on the floor just a little while longer, “Now it’s lunch time. I can hear my little angel’s tummy growling.” Bucky patted your belly gingerly, with no hesitation, he scooped you in his arms lifting you in the air.

Instinctively you locked your legs around his waist, your eyes never wavered from the frosty chilled windows. Your body began shaking, choking back pitiful sobs, as you ducked your head in Bucky’s neck.

“Maybe she needs a nap, she’s been crying all day.” Steve recalls hearing you sniffle since this morning, after getting a spanking. Bucky’s thumb rubbed circles into your shoulder blades, cooing you to settle down.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky kissed your scalp, “she’ll feel better when she wakes up.” As the two soldiers discussed about you as if you weren’t present, you just went limp, your legs dangling. If it wasn’t for Bucky’s inhuman strength, you would’ve fallen.

What’s the point in fighting anymore? Your body is worn, and your brain is fried. There’s no escape, for years you thought so highly of the Avengers, but you learned that they were not so righteous.

Steve noticed your eyes were dull, it’s blank. Steve subtly caressed your cheek, as he walked by Bucky’s side. A small lopsided smile curved at your lips, but Steve was still worried.

Finally reaching Bucky’s apartment, Steve helped open the door as Bucky was pre-occupied holding you, “Steve, can you wash her pacifier for me?” Steve nodded, taking the pacifier from Bucky.

As Steve reached the kitchenette, to wash the paci in the sink, Bucky went to your bedroom. A custom made state of the art bedroom, the walls covered in white wallpaper with multiple printed teddy bears. Fuzzy pink carpeting, stuffies galore spilling out of the bin, toys ranging from blocks, puzzles, coloring books, barbies -- you name it, they spoiled you.

Bucky cooed in your ear sweetly as he laid you down in your custom crib, the plush mattress welcomed your body. You whined a bit, a few tears falling, “Hush, baby, it’s okay. Uncle Stevie is bringing your paci.” Bucky caressed your arms, and face trying to cal, your nerves.

Your eyes were droopy, mental exhaustion overpowering you, but you were resisting sleep. You started rubbing your eyes, as if you were a restless toddler refusing naptime. 

Bucky and Natasha also has been popping sleeping pills, bladder weakening pills and birth control pills in your milk. To set your body on schedule, so you can learn to adapt using a diaper. Fall sleep at proper time during the day. 

Steve entered the bedroom, to see Bucky trying to stop you from your agitated state. “She’s fussy.”Steve’s tone was laced with concern, he quickly gave Bucky the paci, and you shut your mouth. “It’s okay, baby. It’s your paci, say ah.” Bucky was trying to persuade you, you hated that you were becoming dependent on it.

You pouted, Bucky sighed. Once again, he had to resort doing it the hard way. Bucky pinched your nose shut, preventing any oxygen, after a few seconds, you had no choice, but to open your mouth for air.

You gasped, and Bucky took advantage, quickly popping the paci in your mouth, shutting your mouth with his palms. You whined, as Bucky kissed your forehead. Bucky tucked you in, “I love you, angel.” With that Bucky and Steve started leaving the room, turning the light switch off, and closed the door behind them.

Darkness and silence looming over you, your eyes drooped shut, drifting into a dreamless slumber.

***

It’s been over an hour of naptime, and finally Natasha returned from training. She entered the apartment to see Bucky sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. “Bucky, what’s wrong?” He lifted his gaze up, and Nat saw tears in his eyes.

Nat dashed to her husband’s aid, sitting next to him on the couch. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Nat was growing increasingly worried, “Our angel hates me.” Bucky croaked, his voice was hoarse. Natasha pulled Bucky into her arms, Bucky sniffled as he sunk himself into her chest.

“She doesn’t hate you. She’s still learning.”

“You didn’t see the fear in her eyes today. Her eyes looked dull, as if she wasn’t there. Even Steve saw it.” Bucky wailed in Nat’s arms. “It’s okay, she’s not broken. It’s not a quick procedure to get our angel. She will realize this is what’s good for her.”

“I just want her to be happy with us.”

“I know, Bucky. Me too.” Natasha kissed his head.

What Natasha didn’t realize was that you heard their conversation, as you awoke from your nap.

***

Was life with these people really that hard? They spoil you to no end. Yes, their choice of punishments aren’t ordeal, but after punishments they soothed you as if you were the most fragile treasure in the world. Can you learn to love them? Perhaps. Do you feel bad for them hurting? A little, and that’s what scares you.

You care, and it’s been bothering you.

For weeks, your hatred towards the Avengers has been simmering down. You did enjoy no longer having responsibilities, enjoying little space, you were slipping into the headspace more and more.

As thoughts were swirling in your mind like angry bees, the door opened, you quickly closed your eyes again. The light turned on, and their footsteps sounded quiet, not wanting to disturb your sleep, towards your massive crib.

Natasha and Bucky were hovering over you, watching you sleep, as if it’s their favorite view. So obsessed with you, vowing to kill anyone who will try to take you away from them.

Both Nat, and Bucky brought their fingers to your face, caressing your tear-stained cheeks. It was like this for a few moments, until they slowly shook you awake. Tenderly they coaxed you awake, your eyelids fluttered open.

“Hey pretty girl, time to wake up.” Natasha softly ruffled your curly ponytails. You don’t know what snapped in you, maybe your brain has given up, or maybe it’s the way these two are affectionately staring down at you.

Beyond the misty darkness that clouds their eyes, is love. Moments of good moments of playtime with them, or how they touched you giving you cummies, your body coming alive to their touch, or how your heart ached at their sadness flashed in your mind.

Maybe you do love them.

“Mommy. Daddy.” You mumbled against your paci, you made grabby hands outward to them. Natasha’s and Bucky’s eyes widened, their breaths hitched in their throats. At last, their little girl wants them - on her accord.

Natasha quickly took you out of the crib, holding you in her arms in an air tight hug. Bucky engulfed both of you in a bear hug.

At last.

***

It’s been a few weeks of you being the perfect angel, and quite frankly, you were happy. Stress of freedom slipped away, you were taken cared off. Adulthood was hard on you until Natasha and Bucky took you. It was unorthodox at first, slipping into your old apartment in the dead of the night, but it was worth it.

You were sitting on Bucky’s lap, as he sat on the couch watching cartoons with you. Your back against his chest, Bucky hugging you in his arms, your arm reaching behind his head, as your hand played with his hair. Bucky melts every-time you do that. You were sucking on your paci, and Natasha was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The peaceful atmosphere was soon disrupted, as an urgent news broadcast flashed on the screen. You whined, and Bucky started looking for the remote to change the channel.

The broadcast flashed a picture of you, explaining that you were still declared missing, and your family was looking for you. Bucky’s whole body froze, as your silence was making him nervous. Natasha slowly peaked her head out from the kitchen.

You were unfazed, but you’re not dumb. You knew you had to reassure them, “Daddy, change the channel! I want cartoons.” You bounced a bit on his lap, to show your bratty impatience. Bucky picked up the remote, and put cartoon network on.

Both Nat’s, and Bucky’s heart fluttered, you didn’t care about your old life anymore. You took your paci out for a moment, and kissed your daddy. “I love you, daddy.” You put the paci back in your mouth, and watched the cartoons.

Bucky had tears in his eyes, and so did Natasha.

Their angel didn’t hate them, their angel loves them, and they love you.

Extra A/N: sorry that this was trash. This was beyond trash, I’m so sorry! This was rushed, and I’m bothered by it.

[nav-arre]

I Will Fear No Evil

Day 1 of FebuWhump2021, run by @febuwhump! Also can be read on ao3.

For the most part, camping with an army chasing you wasn’t much different than camping without an army chasing you, Jaskier thought. When with Geralt, things were usually barebones anyway. The brief time they’d camped with Yennefer had been luxury but four people were easier to track than two and two, so they’d once again had to split off. And so their camp was as basic as usual, a few more traps set and more care taken to blend in with the forest around them.

But all in all, it felt… normal. It was almost like old times, deliriously far away now, where they would camp in the woods when they found each other again on the Path, would stay up talking late into the night for no particular reason.

Jaskier looked up at the tree beside him, which was losing some of its honey-colored leaves. Nestled in a branch were two turtle doves, cuddled together against the slight morning breeze.

“Geralt!” he whispered loudly. “Geralt! Look!' He pointed up. Across the tiny camp, Geralt looked up from fiddling with his potions and raised an eyebrow. Jaskier pointed excitedly. The witcher looked up, and after a beat, went back to his potions. “Birds,” he said.

“Turtle doves, Geralt, two in one place is lucky. A good omen for love! And friendship!”

“Don’t look like turtles to me,” Geralt said. “And I’ve never heard anything about doves and love."

“That’s… Geralt. I know you’re not one for human mythos, but they’re turtle doves. It’s… its famous, Geralt! It’s a thing!”

“Never heard of it.”

“It is very much a thing!” Jaskier said, a bit louder than he probably should have but they were safe here. He always felt safer with Geralt. But he dropped his voice again, just in case. “It is very much a thing, Geralt. Turtle doves are a pillar of love songs. Even I’ve used them more than once! Don’t you ever listen?”

“No.”

“You!” Jaskier picked up an acorn and threw it at his head, but Geralt caught it easily. “You menace. I try and make a nice point about doves and you…”

Geralt was smirking at him.

“Ohhhh, oh you complete ass! Mr. ‘Oblivious Witcher’ strikes again, well pardon me for wanting to trust you, for wanting to educate you! When will you stop pulling this?”

Geralt chuckled. “When you stop falling for it so easily,” he said, pocketing the acorn.

Jaskier went to look back at the birds but stopped when he saw Geralt’s raised hand and his face-- which went from concentrating, to confused, to panicked, all in a second.

“Jaskier— behind me, now!”

The bard didn’t waste a moment, scrambling desperately over to his friend, whipping a small dagger off of his belt. The woods were silent, and Geralt’s eyes were blown wide. He started to lower himself down slowly, eyes up and sword drawn, in an attempt to grab one of his potions. Jaskier looked around wildly.

And then, the birds flew off in a rush.

It happened at once. Bandits— no, more professional than that, but quite not Nilfgaardian soldiers— seized on them, easily 15, but he didn’t have time to count. He swung wildly, but he was too scared, too wrapped up in protecting himself and trying to watch for signals for Geralt. He landed a lucky punch in some bastard's face and swung to see another figure sneaking up on Geralt. “Look out!”

If Geralt turned, he didn’t see; a bag was thrown over his head, his knees kicked out from under him. Before he could lash out, his arms and legs were being held down and tied up and felt a pit in his stomach as he heard Geralt shout and then fall silent, followed by a dull thud on the ground below.

“GERALT!”

The captors quickly ripped the bag off and stuffed some cloth in his mouth, securing it with a tie around his head, before shoving the bag back down. Fuck.

He tried to listen to them— but all he got was that they didn’t have long to travel before making it to their quarters, and they didn’t have dimeritium, but wouldn’t need it because they’d send word to Nilfgaard immediately. They wouldn’t have long to escape.

“I’m taking the bard,” one said, kicking him in the stomach. “Wanna see him squirm. Then we’ll carve something out of this beast,” and Jaskier saw red behind the bag. He screamed, thrashed, tried desperately to fight off the ropes.

“Gods. Shut up,” said one captor, before he felt a blunt pain on his head and his world went black.

xxx

Jaskier came to slowly and deeply uncomfortably. It was musty, smelled foul, and the air hung in his lungs like molasses. His arms were behind his back, and one of his shoulders— he tried to move it and hissed against the pain— was definitely dislocated. The cold steel of handcuffs cut into his wrists, stiff and uncomfortable, and he was knelt in a liquid he didn’t want to look at, much less under the origins of. His head ached enough as it was.

His knees were also touching something warm, and when he opened his eyes blearily he found that it was Geralt’s own bent legs, slotted between his own. His vision swam, his stomach lurched, and he shut his eyes tightly to stop sickness coming on. Jaskier took a few deep breaths— feeling lucky he had the lungs of a bard— and steeled himself. He looked up.

He could barely see. The cell was… he’d had closets bigger than this. It was clearly a very temporary holding space, the narrow walls definitely designed to make them panic, and Jaskier found it might actually be working. Geralt’s head hung, and he breathed deeply, but his slight snarl against the smell of the room proved him to be awake. Thank the gods, that was something. Geralt’s face was only a few inches from his own, and Jaskier had to restrain himself from burying his face in the Witcher’s shoulder, or bumping their foreheads together.

“Well. Good morning,” he said softly, trying to coax out a reaction. All he got was Geralt’s next intake of breath sounding a bit deeper. This was bad. If Geralt was still waiting, still thinking, this was worse than Jaskier had thought. He looked around— his witcher's wrists were in handcuffs much like his own, but his ankles were cuffed to the floor as well and a heavy chain went around his middle several times. His neck had a thick cuff around it too, and though it was attached to the wall by a chain instead of into the wall itself, it restricted his movements enough to make it an issue. They were keeping him worse than one would keep an animal. It made him sick to see.

These captors were not the most sophisticated, and may not have had dimeritium, but Geralt’s bindings were solid enough that there wouldn’t be much for him to do. But Jaskier could help. He could always help, some way, somehow, even if it was small.

At the top of the wall behind Geralt was the one and only light source for the cell, a long, narrow window only as tall as his fist might be but a foot or two long. In front of it were thick metal bars; likely iron, his mind supplied unhelpfully. Jaskier set to work dreaming up an escape plan. If— if he just stood on Geralt’s shoulders, maybe he could pry the bars apart, and punch the glass out? But what good would that do— it wasn’t like it was tall enough for either of them to squeeze through. He looked to his right, and a dark stone wall greeted him, and to his left, where the door to the cell stood imposing, solid, and very much locked. He hung his head and tried to fight his creeping anxiety. Maybe there wasn’t anything he could do this time.

Okay. They’d been in tough spots before, he’d been in bad spots before but this… this was different. This was Nilfgaard, and this was Geralt. He could take Nilfgaard alone, no amount of torture could bring any answers out of him, but if they used Geralt against him… he felt doubt in himself sneak in. The thought of Geralt, hurt because he wouldn’t release information turned his stomach, and he realized that, much as he wanted to, he couldn’t promise not to say something.

Fear began to rise in him. He rarely was afraid in these situations— he was good at converting feelings into something productive— emotional alchemy, he liked to think of it— but that was because there was always a way out. Every situation had an escape button if only you knew where to look. But he knew they would stop at nothing to know where Yennefer and Ciri were, and that was different. He knew they wanted Geralt dead, and that was different. That was so much different.

“Jaskier.” He looked up. Geralt was looking at him with concern and perhaps frustration. “You need to breathe.” He could only nod.

“Yep.”

Silence again. Something dripped onto the floor beside him.

“How did they…? Fuck, was it me with the birds? Did they hear?”

“No, they had a silencing charm. Should have heard them earlier, though.”

Jaskier looked at him, pained. “It’s not your fault. No point in lingering on it anyhow.” He shifted on his knees, and looked desperately around the cell again. “Well.”

“It's— I’ll get you out.”

“I’m not interested if it’s not both of us, Geralt.”

Blue met gold. They’d had this conversation before. Geralt sighed and looked around their cell.

“I don’t have much.”

“Yeah, well. Not giving us a fair fight, are they?” He hoped some light-heartedness would quell his fears, but it did nothing. Anxiety continued to creep in.

“They’re not.”

“Wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise.”

“No,” Geralt said with a huffed laugh. They both knelt there, breathing, looking at each other.

Jaskier’s resolve broke. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Geralt agreed.

There was nothing they could do. They were stuck. There was nothing. There was nobody coming and no ace up their sleeves. There was nothing. He’d have to suffer this, and die? Watch his friend be tortured? Be tortured himself? Let them take everything from him and give them what they wanted— either tears or information, or both. He should be brave but fuck, he was everything they’d always said he was, wasn’t he? A coward. He strained against his cuffs and they cut into his skin, unyielding. He thrashed about for a moment, and Geralt just looked at him sadly. Oh, fuck. He stopped, his body suddenly feeling like lead.

“I…” and suddenly the panic was overtaking him. Fuck. -Fuck. What if he couldn’t manage it? What if he wasn’t strong enough? He was going to die here, he knew it, that didn’t feel like anxiety, that was just realistic. That wasn’t even his fear, anymore, there was a dim acceptance of it in him.

They’d talked about this situation. They’d planned for it. They all knew each other's last fucking wishes, and gods, Yennefer and Ciri were going to have to deal with all of it alone. And— well, he knew he was a coward, everyone did, but this surprised him— what he was so, so deeply scared of was the pain. Of what they would do to him, of what it would be like to watch Geralt suffer, of all of it. Gods. He was shaking, he knew it, and Geralt was saying something but he couldn’t even hear him.

Oh but— but Geralt. Oh, the cuffs weren’t dimeritium.

Oh, how selfish he was about to be. Oh, how he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I need you to—“ Whatever Geralt was saying, he stopped. Jaskier tried to slow his breathing. “I need you to Axii me.”

Geralt frowned deeply. “What? No.”

“Geralt. I can’t— if they have you, I’m not sure I can do this. Please, gods, I know its selfish, I’ll give you anything in return but—“ Jaskier looked up, met his Witcher’s eyes, and did not look away.  “This may be my last request of you Geralt. Please. Axii me.”

“I have no time for this. What would—“

“Just— tell me not to feel pain. Or fear. Make it easier, Geralt, please— I love you, I love you, if I see them hurt you I can’t promise what I’d say to make it stop. If they get bad enough— Geralt. Please. I can’t watch that.” He heard footsteps in the corridor, and though he couldn’t tell where they were going, it made everything more urgent. He realized tears were streaming down his face, cutting tracks through the grime, and he wondered numbly how long they’d been falling. “Geralt. Please. Please, dear heart, let me find some peace, help me protect you, Yennefer, Ciri, for gods sakes Geralt—”

“I can’t—”

“You can, Geralt, you can, I’m asking, I’m begging, my fate will be the same just please, please don’t make it hurt, I can’t—”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is— so you will—“

“Okay. I…” Geralt shut his eyes tight and took a shuttering breath. “Fine. Close your eyes.”

Jaskier let his lids fall closed and realized the tears were coming in earnest. He was taking in small gasps of air, filled with mucus and completely undignified. He wanted so badly to be brave this time. He wanted it so badly. But he wasn’t strong enough and he knew it. Maybe he never had been. At least it’d all be over soon.

x

Geralt swallowed and opened his eyes. Jaskier was shaking, trying to breathe deeply but small sobs kept breaking through. Jaskier didn’t cry, he just didn’t; not when they were captured, not when he lost a competition, not when he was rejected. Jaskier was soft but this, this was new, and he’d known the man two decades now. He’d never seen him like this. It hurt. Against his nature, he wanted to reach out and— touch? Hold? Something. Anything but this.

But there wasn’t much else to do. Jaskier wasn’t wrong, was the worst part— if he couldn’t find them a way out, there was a good chance they’d kill the bard to hurt the witcher, torture Jaskier to get information or force him to watch Geralt be tortured. He could take the pain, and he knew Jaskier knew that, but watching it happen was another matter. Just as he was watching Jaskier suffer now.

His best friend was knelt in front of him in a tiny, dim cell, and asking for peace and had said— had said he loved—

Geralt shook off the thought. No. Not now. Couldn’t deal with that now.

He adjusted himself best he could to cast the sign before stopping. Jaskier’s tears and hiccuping breaths were slowing a bit.

Maybe he had to deal with it now.

“You— Jaskier, you know I—“

“Yes of course I do, Geralt.” His heart seized a bit. “All of it. Everything. It's okay. It's okay.” He rested his head against his bard’s soft hair. He didn’t deserve this fate. “Thank you,” he was whispering, “Thank you. You can do it. I’m ready. I love you, Geralt, do it now. You can do this.”

With fingers he could not feel, Geralt made the sign of Axii. “You will not feel pain. You will not feel fear, nor grief. You’ll be at peace.”

“No pain. No fear, no grief. Peace,” the bard replied thickly. Geralt felt the sign take hold and drew back to get a better look at his friend. Jaskier looked up blearily, almost drunkenly, and gave a lopsided smile. “Oh, Geralt. It’s lovely to be so close to you.”

Geralt took a breath. Footsteps drew nearer. Jaskier’s face was tracked with tears, and he still hiccuped a breath occasionally. He smiled still, his body loose of anxiety.

“Have I ever told you how stunning you are up close? It’s really something. Mmm. You seem tense, love. Whatever it is, it’s okay now. Oh Geralt, you really should relax a bit. Things are nice here. Peaceful.”

It occurred to him then how often he had unconsciously been spurred into action by watching Jaskier in pain. Seeing him hurt, or scared, or angry at injustice, or under threat he didn’t deserve, that was always Geralt’s cue to spare no expense; to fix the problem, heal the hurt. Protect his bard. And here his bard was, no fear, no hurt, no anguish. And it kicked up the same feelings in him but with something new as well. He didn’t want to think about it.

Jaskier had said love. And not in his flowery, Jaskier way. Love.

Ah.

He heard keys in the lock. Without a doubt, it was their captors, come to snap dimeritium around him while they had the chance. He strained against his restraints but they wouldn’t budge.

“I do love you, you know,” Jaskier said softly. He rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder. “You are so easy to love, dear. I wish you’d let yourself be. There’s so much of it waiting for you.”

No, he thought, he wouldn’t let his bard die here.

xxx

The thing about not feeling fear, Geralt thought belatedly, running through the forest with a bleeding bard in his arms, is that it allowed one to do absolutely stupid, reckless, and possibly brilliant things.

A bit like how Jaskier, seeing Geralt being handled roughly, head smashed once, twice, three times against the cold wet stone walls, had broken his own hand to escape his cuffs, stolen a sword off one of the soldiers, and slain three of them off without a thought of his own safety. He hadn’t seemed angry, or vengeful, or scared, just a calm man with a purpose that didn’t phase him. He’d knicked the key off a body, brought Geralt out of his chains, and quickly caught a sword through his side as he straightened up. But then it was Geralt’s turn to swing a sword, and before long they were out.

Keeping the overly calm Jaskier running had been a task in it of itself, but once they made it into the deeper woods, Geralt realized that it wasn’t that Jaskier’s wound was minor, but rather that he just didn’t feel the pain. And in the running he’d torn the wound more— Geralt didn’t want to look at it just yet, but it turned his stomach to see.

So now he was carrying the bag of potions and Jaskier’s small sack he’d rescued, his own swords, Jaskier’s lute that had lain beside it, and the bard himself in his ever-wearying arms. His head ached dully from being slammed repeatedly against the wall, and the few wounds he’s sustained, though healing, ached. When he finally found Roach (the only god he dared pray to at this point in his life) he threw everything on her back with the promise of apples and sugar, and they were off.

xxx

Jaskier’s head throbbed and ached. His side was stiff and there was a shooting pain in his leg. Both knees felt… off. One of his hands was so bandaged up he couldn’t move it at all, and his attempt to wiggle his fingers brought tears to his eyes. He let out a short involuntary cry against the sharp pain. And he was famished.

But there was something soft underneath him, and his clothes felt fresh and new. The air was sweet with… was that one of his oils? The rosemary one.

A moment later he heard footsteps approach and a door swing open carefully. He opened his eyes to see the blurry form of Geralt, who tried wordlessly to give him water, holding the glass to his lips. He sipped, but couldn’t bear to look his friend in the face. Fuck. What a coward he’d been, what an utter fool, what an ass to not believe Geralt would always get them out of trouble— how selfish he’d been. How disgusting Geralt must think him now.

He took a few sips and then turned away, and the glass was set back down. He could feel Geralt stay a moment, hovering over the bed, before crossing the room again quietly. Jaskier looked around as his friend left, took in the small 2 bedroom inn room, and nearly said something before Geralt softly closed the door behind him, not looking back.

Fuck. He wouldn’t even look at Jaskier now. He was doing this because he was a good man, and that was all. Jaskier didn’t deserve this kindness. Tears fell again. He didn’t deserve any of this, he should have— should have let them— should have—

He bit back sobs and tried to think of something else, but all he could imagine was Geralt looking at him, disappointed and ashamed.

xxx

The next few days were just as bad as the first the bard had come awake.

Geralt had wanted to give him time, space, but Jaskier wouldn’t even look at him now. He’d thought he was going to die, after all. He’d said too much. He’d exaggerated. He regretted saying what he did.

Geralt understood that— loving a Witcher would be shameful even to the most accepting humans. He couldn’t fault Jaskier. He wouldn’t. He faulted himself, for believing it was more than the pleading of a man afraid of death.

So he fed him, told him he’d spent a day and half asleep, at an inn that owed him a favor, that they were safe, for a bit. And told him that all of his wounds, (a stab in his side, a sprained ankle, a few broken fingers, a deep bruise on his thigh, and one on his rib,) wouldn’t leave many lasting issues once they were mended. They just needed patience. And the dislocation was healed— Geralt had fixed the shoulder while Jaskier was under the Axii. He was clean, no more matted blood on his hair or filth-ridden clothes. He’d keep the wound clean and then the bard could take over looking after it himself.

Jaskier hadn’t met his eyes.

He knew Jaskier would want to split ways as soon as he could leave, but that was difficult when Nilfgaard was chasing them… so Geralt prepared his arguments to get Jaskier to stay, and resigned himself to a colder winter than usual.

xxx

The two danced around each other for days. Geralt ran his purse dry, and took odd jobs, waiting for a time it was either safe to contact Yennefer and ask for help or safe for Jaskier to start moving again, and helped his friend eat and drink twice a day. Jaskier diligently ate, drank, and slept, and barely spoke a word.

Until the evening of the fifth day. Geralt sat on the second bed, polishing and sharpening his swords methodically, the sweet-sharp sound of the blades giving some life to the otherwise silent room. He was waiting for a bath to be filled and pretended the silence was normal, that he was human, and was waiting to hear when they were done filling the basin. He ran his hands up and down the sword. It didn’t need any more polishing. He rubbed it some more.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier said, and Geralt’s movements came to a halt. He looked up, but Jaskier wouldn’t meet his eyes. He went back to his swords.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Geralt said after a moment. “It was… you’re human. It was tense. Emotions were high.”

“Doesn’t excuse it,” Jaskier said softly, and a pang shot through his chest.

“It’s okay.”

“I regret it.”

Geralt grit his teeth. “Clearly.”

Jasker’s head spun. “Well then— then why are you still here?”

“You’re my friend, despite it all.”

“How does that not make it worse, Geralt? You were supposed to be able to trust me.”

“Well, then how about this. You’re a human, with human faults. Is that enough for you? Do I need more reasons to care?”

“I don’t need you to pity me, Geralt!” He tried to rise up on an elbow but the pain sent him back down. He finally turned his cold, fiery gaze on Geralt. “Fuck— I don’t want pity! If you’re only going to look at me like the coward I am then turn me loose and I’ll— I’ll go back to Oxenfurt, I’ll start over somewhere, but I won’t, I can’t deal with pity. Even if I am pitiable, even if I am…” he waved his non-bandaged hand, “the way I am.”

Geralt stared back blankly and then frowned. “Why would I think you were a coward?”

Jaskier stared blankly back before squinting. “Because I… the Axii. What the hell were you talking about?”

“The. What you— what you said— about me. Feelings.” He looked down at his swords. Swords didn’t fall in love. Another reason to like swords.

“N—Ger— I— I’m a coward, I’m a fraud and a disaster and I failed you, Geralt, I failed you, and Yennefer, and Ciri, and everyone who’s relying on us to hold things together which at my estimation is at least half the continent, if not more. How is that not what you’re focusing on?!”

“You didn’t fail anyone. You were afraid of giving up information. You asked for help. You were trying to protect us. And yourself. That’s not failure. You fought off three guards. You broke your own hand. On purpose”

“I was supposed to be brave! I didn’t last a minute in there. They hadn’t even done anything to us Geralt, and I folded. I can’t be scared right now, I’m not supposed to be, I could only fight because you used magic, and you only did that because I begged.”

Geralt shifted himself and sat on Jaskier’s bed. “The… fear of facing something is the same pain, twice felt. Anxiety is useless, fear… not entirely helpful. But if you lose your fear, you get… dull. Oblivious. It’s the balance. Of being afraid, but not falling into speculation. It’s not easy.” He waited for Jaskier to meet his eyes. “You’re not trained for this. You can’t expect yourself to not feel this kind of fear the first time you’re really presented with it.”

“It was cowardly.”

“And?”

Jaskier frowned. “And I should— I ought to be better than cowardly. For all of you, at least.”

“‘Cowardly’ has kept you alive, more often than not. You’re brave when you need to be. About… other things. Things I couldn’t be brave about if I wanted to be, and I do. I don’t… I don’t fault you for asking for it, Jaskier. You shouldn’t fault yourself either. It won’t do you much good.”

Jaskier sighed, unconvinced but unwilling to argue more. Someone knocked at the door, to tell them the bath was ready. Silence hung again.

“We… when we get to Kaer Morhen…” Jaskier perked up at this in surprise, “we can work on it. If you want. It could happen again. If you want to prepare for it, feel more ready, we can find a way to get you prepared for it. If that’s what you want.”

“…Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt frowned. “That’s where we’re going.”

“Well that’s where you’re going but I thought— well, you know—”

“That I’d leave you behind,” Geralt finished.

“Again,” they said, together, eyes not meeting.

“Wouldn’t fault you if you did,” Jaskier said with a small smile.

“You’re in this now. They know you, they know we’re connected, it’s already happened once… it’s more of a risk to leave you behind than not.”

“Ah, right. Can’t have me blabbing away.”

“No,” Geralt agreed. “But you’re also… wanted, there.”

Jaskier’s eyes twinkled, dimmer than usual, but there, and that was enough. “Need some entertainment up in that lonely keep? A barker for the winter? A dashing troubadour, a mellifluous bard, a—”

“Don’t push it.” Geralt held his stony expression for a moment before a grin cut across his face, and Jaskier grew one to match.

Their smiles were small, but even that seemed a victory now. Jaskier looked down at Geralt’s hand, which at some point had migrated to rest on his leg. “I… I certainly said some things back there, didn’t I?” he said softly.

“Mmm.”

“And that was what you meant, earlier. Feelings.”

“Yep.”

“Right. Well. I… no sense hiding it now, I suppose. I can’t remember it all, but if it was about you, and about— about love, then I meant it. Have for a while, actually.”

They were both silent again, and— his own feelings weren’t something he’d ever been able to articulate. But things had come close, and he’d lost something he hadn’t even realized he really had. So with small, careful movements, Geralt lifted his own hand and took Jaskier’s non-bandaged one in his own.

“Oh,” Jaskier said blankly. “Oh. Oh, Geralt. Really?”

Geralt nodded.

“Oh. Well. You’ve stolen speech from me. I’m…” he tangled their fingers together, and Geralt gave a light squeeze. “Wow. I knew there was… but I didn’t think… wow.”

“Mmm,” Geralt said, and finally looked back to see Jaskier staring at their intertwined hands, a flush high on his cheeks. Eventually, he looked back up, and something on Geralt’s face made the bard’s expression go from awestruck to… sympathetic, maybe.

“No rush, yeah? We’ve had this long, we can take a little longer.”

Something in his chest loosened. “Thank you.”

“Oh, dear, it’s my pleasure. Can I… would you mind if I said it again, under significantly less duress?”

Geralt nodded, slower this time. Their eyes met firmly, though Jaskier’s gaze was soft. More than anything, he wanted to summon one of the dozens, maybe hundreds of speeches he’d written to Geralt about this subject, but none came to him. So he let the words use him, instead.

“Geralt. I love you. Deeply. I have loved you, in fact, for well over a decade now, and I was infatuated with you years before that. I mean it, really and truly. I’ll take you any way you come. Pun originally unintended there, but extremely intended now that I’ve heard myself say it.”

They looked at each other— it’d been five days without real eye contact, and they soaked each other in greedily, just looking a gift in it of itself. Jaskier ran a thumb across Geralt’s fingers. “And, again, sorry, excitement here, not to rush, genuinely, but if you’ll allow me the indulgence?” Geralt, confused, nodded once more and watched in muted shock as Jaskier brought the Witcher’s hands to his lips and gave them a chaste kiss. He could feel the smile on his face bloom wider against his knuckles, and if this stuttering in his chest is what love was supposed to be, he’d take every ounce. Jaskier lowered their still connected hands, while Geralt used his free one to push at his stomach.

“Butterflies?” Jaskier asked slyly.

“No,” Geralt answered, and looked like he was considering something deeply. “More like… bees.”

“I give you… bees? Or— Oh, like the birds and the bees, alright now we’re—”

“There are no birds in my stomach. They just feel like bees.”

“Okay, well. This is off to a rousing start.”

“Are bees not a normal side effect of… this?”

“No, Geralt, it’s not typically… oh my god, you insolent bastard, you’re doing your oblivious witcher act again, aren’t you! Oh no no no, you won’t fool me.” Jaskier threw his head against his pillow defiantly but squeezed their hands again. Some hair fell in front of his face, greasy and unwashed.

Geralt huffed a laugh, and then gently— “Geralt, what are you— oh—” scooped Jaskier into his arms, careful to mind his healing wounds.

“Let me clean you up.”

“Wow. Okay. A lot of things are changing very suddenly for us. This is fine. It’s really— okay. Why am I… why am I nervous?”

“Don’t know,” Geralt shrugged. “Guess you’ve got to be brave.” He sat Jaskier down, gently undid his bandages, and laid him in the warm water.

“This is usually my job,” Jaskier muttered.

“You’ve been through enough this week. My turn,” Geralt said, and let himself bury his face in Jaskier’s hair for a moment.

Jaskier felt tears welling up again behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure he deserved this, not really, the fear of his own inadequacy building up once more. But as two small tears ran down his cheeks, Geralt smiled down at him, and he started to feel… well, maybe peace a non-Axii’d, real, genuine peace he hadn’t known before. Then again, maybe Geralt was right. Maybe it was bees.

He let the warm sensation of the water soothe his aching joints and sighed deeply in contentment, let his eyes fall shut, and smiled.

Geralt splashed his face with water. He smiled wider.

Definitely bees.

[happymetalgirl]

Holy shit! It’s been awhile and the year is almost over and there’s so much to say so I better make this quick.

The new Bullet for my Valentine album is okay.

The new Oceans EP is nøt okay.

Deathcore is alive and well in 2021.

Fortitude pretty great but I still prefer Magma just slightly.

Washing machine noises!

What the hell was that EP, Serj?

I think Frontierer might have beat Car Bomb at their own game.

What the fuck, Marilyn Manson?

The new Full of Hell is like a spar with a ferocious fighter whose movements you’ve figured out and now know how to sufficiently defend; was hoping to get my ass kicked.

Oh yay, Porcupine Tree is back :|

Cryptosis filling the metal ecosystem’s Vektor-shaped hole with the debut of the year.

Obviously I’m psyched for Khemmis this week.

A tour was not the announcement I was hoping for, Meshuggah :/

Corey’s best mask yet.

You’re telling me that took you guys ten years, Fred. It’s not like Tool who just took their sweet time the get around to making their album, you were in production hell and label disputes for this unfinished mess for the better part of last decade. Amazing. I love it.

Best Cradle of Filth album in at least a decade.

Support Cane Hill on their independence.

This Converge / Chelsea Wolfe collab better be as good as it damn well should be.

They did not need to make school this hard.

Kin is the album The Valley should have been.

Idk if I want Deafheaven to give pure shoegaze another try; I know they can do better, just not sure if they will.

None of you should listen to me after I gave Endarkenment a 7/10 last year, I clearly can’t be trusted. (9/10 at least)

Bad Wolves, Asking Alexandria, Black Veil Brides still addicted to making absolute trash.

Knocked fucking Loose!

Trivium powering through what should be a stagnant phase of their career through sheer tenacity, absolutely respect the dedication.

King Woman or Hiss Spun, I still can’t decide.

I DO NOT get the hype around Spiritbox’s decent djent riffs and gutless top 40 choruses.

Donda was kinda lame.

Idk what’s going on with Fear Factory, but they could probably still be making legendary albums if not for it.

Beast in Black is the cheesiest shit ever and I love it.

Billie Eilish with another solid album.

I discovered that it is indeed possible to implode due to the sheer magnitude of cringe.

Jim Breuer was never funny, he just knew how to do Brian Johnson’s voice, but now his “comedy” is physically painful to watch.

Holy shit, Altarage!

2021 has not been the best year for Profound Lore.

Come on Dream Theater..

You could’ve picked a much better act to tour with, Korn, than the washed up whiny racist uncle Aaron Lewis clown show experience.

Cannibal Corpse keep on Cannibal Corpsing :)

Why has god abandoned us?

So Brent Hinds is still a piece of shit.

Plasmodium’s Towers of Silence is like taking too much of an edible in outer space.

That’s more like it, Godspeed.

They did not need to make life this hard.

I’d like a refund.

Doom metal on Bandcamp needs a serious rejuvenation.

Archspire are not human.

For the most part I don’t think metal has a huge problem with it, but I hope artists across the board (but much more importantly, bookers and promoters) take note of what went down at Astroworld.

Any day now, Wrest

Any day now, Gorguts

Any day now, Neurosis

Any day now, Necrophagist (hahahahahahaha lolololol)

Any day now, rogue asteroid.

For some reason is didn’t expect Sinner Get Ready to be all that great, but it’s the best album I’ve heard since starting this blog.