#let the torture commence

[cthoniian]

writers block was hitting. january was visiting her mom. i’d offered to come, but with deadlines looming she’d put her foot down. i’d then kissed my way up her leg and thigh and tried to make her reconsider. it hadn’t work. but we’d had a good time. so since she was too far away for scribbled notes. the accursed cell phone was grabbed. it was 1:37am.

[text] // you up

[text] // save me

[gildedmuse]

Law and I know VERY different Corazons.....

[antlereed]

huge news: im writing angst again

[muntitled]

COULD U DO MATTHEO X F READER DURING HER OVULATION WEEK AND SHES SUPER NEEDY AND HORNY? (Pls I’m ovulating and craving ur fics so bad babe😭🙏🧎🏼‍♀️)

I love how feral this is lmfao -

𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐬 | 𝐌.𝐑.

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Dark Fic, Violence, Language, Mention of drugs and alcohol, Slight fluff, Public Affections, Possessiveness, Smut (+18), Dirty Talk, Touch starvation, Fingering, Humping, Grinding, Whining, Sub/Dom Undertones, Blood Kink, Fighting Kink?, Squirting, Major Degradation, Praise Kink, Breeding Kink, Slight Humiliation Kink

The night is deep, and the dungeon is dim as a few sunken eyes peer curiously at you while you make your way through the crowd. Seeing you emerge from within the walls of your private dorm room was a rare and curious sight for everyone involved. It was especially rare for you to embed yourself amongst your fellow pupils shenanigans, seeing yourself as above such baseless devilment.

You were not here for them.

You were scanning the crowd for him because an unfamiliar warmth had been festering inside your stomach and it had propelled your feet forward, until you reached the very centre of the Slytherin soiree commencing in the common room.

Your core is still aching with the after affects of your fingers as you manoeuvre your way through the party. You were touching yourself under satin sheets only moments ago-spurred on by the imaginings of his bloodied fingers slipping inside you, stabbing your cunt until you mewled like a useless whore and he affirmed you as such. His recklessness and delinquency cracked something vital in your brain and you felt yourself get wetter as you pushed through the crowd. You needed him to touch you, your body practically burned for him to absolutely ruin you, and you set out to do just that.

Although you had turned down a concoction of Firewhiskey from an already inebriated Ravenclaw student, your stomach burns with the anticipation of seeing him.

Feeling him.

Smelling his near constant fragrance of Firewhiskey along his lips. You were never clingy but you wished for nothing more than to be in the presence of your insufferable and clingy boyfriend.

A month into your courtship, and you had failed to bring up how much of his habits bypass all sensibilities in your brain. If only he knew how much his recklessness brought about an unmistakable moisture in between your thighs. That,coupled with his bruised and bloody knuckles, spurred on your need, especially during this time of the month.

It had been easy to maintain your composure throughout the rest of the month, effortless, even. Detachment and independence was a by-product of your personality, showing up in the way you shied away from Mattheo's public affections and always appearing uninterested in any of his verbal charms.

One such occasion; you had found him taking up purchase on your bed after an incredibly tiresome day as a Slytherin prefect.

"Make yourself scarce, Riddle. I'm not in the mood," He, of course, was delighted in your indifference- truthfully, he basked in it. Mattheo was somewhat of a masochist, craving the attention of someone so emotionally detached. The very second he noticed how unaffected you appeared with his shenanigans. He might as well have transfigured into a mermaid, because he was hooked.

"How easy you are to repel my affections," He said, letting a bandaged hand fall on his chest as he lay supine like a starfish on your Satin sheets, "How swiftly you deny my companionship-"

"Dont you have any orphans to torture?"

You mourn the past you... how indifferent she had been.

How utterly in control!

The bed dipped as he slithered closer, letting a hand rest on your shoulders as he began to knead the tense muscle there.

"Don't I get a 'How was your day, Riddle?' How did you sleep, Riddle? How did you acquire these bruises, Riddle, and I hope you looked hot doing it, Riddle" it was then that you glanced at the hand on your shoulder. Busted knuckles bred bloodied and broken skin. Riddle's hand was a smorgasbord of cuts and bruises that disappeared up his black, cotton sleeve shirt. You ignored the useless warmth knotting in your core as you continued to undo your shoelaces.

"I needn't ask you because I know you were in the centre of yet another degenerate fight," you had said, burying all the feelings of need amongst your usual, scholarly distractions.

"You love it"

"I hate it actually. It makes me question my affiliation with you.

"You say that princess, but you secretly love it"

You did love it, and right now, distracting yourself is not an option. You watch with bated breath as the object of your affections walks into the Slytherin common rooms. There are plenty of bodies swaying in the dungeons illuminated by various Ravenclaws who have casted Lumos

You see Riddle across the room, head thrown back while he nursed a cup of Firewhiskey. When his head comes back, he sees you too, he raises his cup and he pushes himself off the wall to lessen the distance between you. Your legs certainly achieve a quicker gait as you push past the swaying bodies and soon enough you're bombarded by firewhiskey, with an undercurrent of sweat and leather.

The second you’re close, Riddle lowers his cup on the desk, already having his explanations ready for the impending combat. "If you think I'm gonna let you take my freedom away again, you’re fucking crazy. I'm barely buzzed and I'm getting drunk, or high by the end of this night and there's nothing you-" But your fist is already digging into the softness of his button up shirt and your lips are open as you force them onto his.

Right there, in the open.

Mattheo is naturally stunned, possibly discombobulated.

Had he really gotten higher than he thought?

Did that fucking Hufflepuff make him a stepped on joint?

Frankly, he couldn't care less, and as the shock of it all wore down, and he could feel you begin to slip away, Mattheo slithers his battered hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He smirks into the kiss, as he brings his hand up, fingers gliding across your collarbone, while the other hand lingers around your waist.

"What happened to your hand?" It is a question that threatens to burst the bubble established between the two of you. Why would you ask him this? Why would you bring him back to the events of earlier today when you were so prettily malleable in his hands right now?

"Nothing,"

"Matt..." You say, clouding your words with innuendo, which has him looking up at you with furrowed brows.

"Nott," Is all he says before he buries himself in the crook of your neck. His proximity awakens something animalistic inside of you, it pushes you to the depths of your lascivious desires and has you melting right there on the dance floor. All around you, fellow Slytherins continue to sway to the beat, letting the thrum of the enchanted muggle music speak for them. You throw your head back, gasping at the overwhelming need pooling in your core as Riddle begins to send reckless kisses down your collarbone, all while you imagine beating another guy silly. You blame your cycle. You blame your body. You blame every single hormone responsible for allowing you to emit such a wanton moan so openly in the very centre of a crowd.

"Who do I have to kill in order to get this reaction out of you everyday?" Mattheo is panting, with his hazel eyes dilated (whether from pleasure or substance, you might never know). Who do I have to curse in order to get you to be this slutty for me every single day?" His breathing is shallow and audible, even through all the noise. Mattheo's mind is foggy and the party guests are reduced to a memory. The only image he's able to conjure up is his lips between your wet folds - his tongue eager to find the source of your need while you moaned above him and kneaded your own breasts in a slutty haze.

"I need you, Mattheo," it was fucking infuriating to admit but the wetness has completely soaked through your underwear and a fresh scar is present in the corner of Mattheo's eye. There's a slight red smudge under his nose, and his knuckles are red and angry at the best of your neck, cradling your head close to his.

"Say that again-"

"What? No, I will not fucking-"

Mattheo's grip on your neck immediately unhooks and he detangles your limbs but before he ventures any furthers you're pulling him down to you and with your lips to Mattheo's greedy ears you angrily mutter, "I fucking need you. I need you really badly,"

He stares in your desperate, dark eyes with wonder and awe before letting your wrist be enclosed by his iron grip. Soon, you're being dragged through a Slytherin party with a boy adjusting the front lf his pants and barking orders at the drunken strangers to move before they fucking died.

Just as you succeed in cutting through the crowd a voice stops both of you in your tracks.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Riddle," the voice booms from over the thumping bass of whatever muggle music was enchanted over the dungeon. Mattheo's gaze cuts away from you, but before he turns completely away, a slow Cheshire cat grin curls at the ends of his lips.

"That threat has grown so unimaginably tedious after years of overuse, Theo but I can't do this right now-" His sentence has already been cut short by an audible blow to his lower jaw. Theo Nott blocked your path towards the darkened hallway, leading to your dorm room and you're left wholly unsatisfied as Mattheo is sent barreling backwards. He lets go of your hand, stopping to wipe the wetness at the corners of his lips and checking to see if it's blood. It is. And something scratches inside of you.

The Prefect inside you wants to intervene but an even darker part of you tells you not to.

Theo is livid, and his wide chest rises and falls as he descends on Mattheo,

"Why the fuck am I being told by Draco of all people, that I can't play Keeper because I'm stuck in the hospital wing-"

"Theo, I really don't have the time for this-" Mattheo begins, but Theo cuts him short,

"Are you trying to steal my fucking place, Riddle?"

Mattheo's voice is leveled as he raises his fingers and says, "Okay, first off, yeah, I am. Obviously I'm trying to take your place. You're a shit Keeper and secondly, I've got somewhere to be," Theo's barreling towards Mattheo once more.

A silly, borderline maniacal smirk explodes on Riddle's face before he makes the shotgun decision to charge and lands a punch at Theo's jaw, allowing for the taller boy to stagger backwards. Your shoulders jump, and you flinch at the sickening sound as you watch with a wide gaze as Mattheo nurses his hurt hand. Theo is a raging bull, but Draco appears from the crowd, with a firm grip on Theo's shoulder. A stern, quiet reprimand.

At the exact same moment, Mattheo's hand finds yours and he smirks as he stalks past Nott, wiping away at his chin as he leads you towards your dorm.

The quietness within is almost jarring compared to the noise out there and as soon as the door closes, Mattheo's lips descend on your neck, "I know, I know," He sighs heavily, as he brings his hand up to your shoulder, "I’m sorry. I just hope I haven't ruined the vibe-"

"I want your fingers inside me, Riddle." He stills at your quiet command, and you leave him standing by the door as you pad over to your bed. "I don't know why, but I just need you, okay? And my own fingers aren't quite doing the trick and I keep thinking about how fucking crazy you are and-", You sigh as you sit at the foot of the bed. Lifting the skirt of your dress, Mattheo watches in the dimness of your room as you venture your fingers under your dress and hook them into your panties. He walks towards you, propelling the wings of the butterflies in your stomach.

All he says is, "Which hand?" He doesn't know why he asks, but he does and his voice is barely above a whisper as he hopes you pick the right answer. His cock twitches in his underwear at the thought of seeing his blood on your skin.

Mattheo stops in between your legs, causing the fabric of the dress to rise while a breeze drifts over your soaked pussy. You bend forward and reach for his bloodied hand.

"I want your fingers inside me,"

Mattheo's resolve immediately snaps and his hands grip tightly at your hips, pushing you backwards and exposing your wet core to him.

"You're fucking dripping through the sheets like a slut- you're a fucking slut,"

Excitement. It rushes through you like a wave of magma at the neediness in his own voice.

Matheo rushes to rid both of you of the excess fabric, casting Evansco, until all he can see is your warm, glistening skin.

"Oh my fuck-" Mattheo's voice cracks as he stares down at your aching cunt, his fingers almost instinctively rubbing over the wetness.

"Touch your breasts," He commands, "I wanna see you do it,"

Your eyes pierce into his dark ones as you bring a shaky hand up towards your puckered nipples. The smallest brush elicits a violent streak of pleasure which would have occupied your entire mind were it not for Mattheo's long fingers already stabbing into your dripping cunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet," He whines, unconsciously burying his hips into the sheets at the foot of your bed as he watches. He is utterly transfixed by his middle and ring finger disappearing into your cunt. Every time they sink deeper your mind gets filled with images of Riddle's unrest and violence. You're utterly wrecked with the thought of his bloodied fingers being inside you, touching the most private parts of you.

"Pick up the pace, Riddle,"

"Shut the fuck up," He mumbles as he takes his time in exploring the very depths of you. Your voice soars to higher octaves as you feel your first orgasm cresting quite literally against your will. How utterly embarrassing, to cum so quickly.

"You're fucking squeezing my fingers- fuck-" You're desperately humping at his hand, hoping your hips might achieve the feat of sinking his fingers further into you. "You're humping my hand so fucking well." His cock aches as he continues to grind it into the sheets, in tandem with your swollen cunt taking his fingers.

"Are you seriously going to cum so soon? Are you that desperate to get fucked-" Your cunt spasms around his fingers and you're moaning as you squeeze your sensitive breasts, already soaring to the heights of your orgasm. Your screams rival the music outside but Riddle never tells you to keep quiet, instead he watches with hungry eyes as your body melts into its orgasm.

"Look at what the fuck you've done," Mattheo's words have you slowly coming back to earth, but not quite... his voice is heavy with lust as you raise yourself by your elbows. Your stomach sinks as you watch Mattheo, he's frozen in front of you, with his head lowered and his gaze on his palm.

"I-I'm sorry-" Your sheets were soaked with your release, leaving a visible damp spot. You squirted everywhere.

"You're gonna do that on my cock," before you can comprehend your words Mattheo already has his cock positioned at your wet folds.

"I'm going to fucking cum inside you and you're going to take it, yeah?" The serious shadow in his darkened eyes hold no room for negotiation, you'd never seen Mattheo quite this serious because seriousness just didn't run in his bloodstream. However, he's utterly ruined by your neediness, needing to take advantage of your compliance before it slipped through his fingers.

"Oh my fuck- Mattheo!"He pulls your hips towards the edge of the bed and his cock forces itself through your folds, until Mattheo is quite literally fucking you with reckless abandon.

"Matt- I can't-'' You're still riding on the sensitivity of your previous high and you think Mattheo could be a little mindful of this but his goal, it seems, is to leave you overstimulated.

"You can," he mumbles, with his eyes squeezing shut before he quickly opens them, wanting to see every emotion flowing over your face.

"You're a slut but you're not a useless slut, are you?" You tits bounce with every movement of Mattheo's hips, and you're shaking your head despite the fog. Your cunt is squeezing the life out of his cock and you feel him pushing at a very sensitive part of you.

Your head is buried in the pillows as your back arches and you swallow him deeper.

Mattheo bends forward, his hips quickening into a needy, restless rut as his teeth sink into the skin around your nipples.

"FUCK-" The pain bleeds into pleasure which streams into your next orgasm. Riddle moans around your skin, suckling at your nipple while he fucked you like he is as touch starved as you are.

"I'm cumming, Matt-" The fact that you're still able to form words is a complete and utter mystery because, not a second later, you're exploding around his cock. A gushing, clear liquid rushes through you while your lips chant his name like a prayer.

"I'm going to fucking breed you, baby- oh fuck, you're so pretty squirting around my cock-" the cracks in his voice; the desperation laced on every word has him cumming inside you, pushing his hips with every spurt of warmth.

You're still shuddering when Mattheo slumps over you. You're both huffing and puffing and basking in each other's release with his cock still very much inside you. "You're getting a contraception potion from Madame Pomfrey tomorrow," you can do nothing except nod as your satisfaction settles.

"I'll come with you," He says.

[ventismacchiato]

O3 stuck with you — pr team in shambles !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

The night was alive and the air was thick with multiple lights and smoke that you could have been underwater. It was a completely different world compared to the lonely nights you were used to staying up late to practice. You could hear the roar of the fans and music thrumming straight through your body and into your eardrums as the performances came to an end. Bodies moved around you like sweaty gnats backstage as you and Windblume found your seats for the award show portion of the night.

A cold glass was handed to you, liquid sloshing precariously against the edge. You brought the drink to your lips, the burning sensation of the alcohol doing nothing to calm your nerves. All the glares and side-eyes Scaramouche had sent your way throughout the night were ingrained into your mind. You were ninety-nine percent sure he had tried to trip you earlier during the red carpet, but you held no proof. 

You blindly clapped along as the award show portion commenced, all while hiding the shaking of your legs and trying to remember to force a smile for the cameras panning over your table, as an attempt to avoid any twitter scandals saying you weren’t happy for any of the other attendees. The anticipation was thick and your mind was blank. This was the first year both of your company’s groups had qualified for the top artist award and you had been a bundle of anxiety ever since.

You look to your right to see Scaramouche leaned back in his seat, lazily sipping on his nth glass of wine. It annoyed you to see him so unbothered at all times, apart from when he was arguing with you. The perks of having a famous mother, you suppose. 

Scaramouche catches you staring and turns, raising his brow at you in question. He stuck his tongue out at you, but any intimidation factor this may have had (read: none) was instantly reduced by him coughing after chugging down too much wine. You avert your eyes, embarrassed at being caught. But before you could stress on the interaction for too long you hear the host’s voice ring out the words you’ve been waiting for all night.

“And now, for our final and most anticipated award of the night,” Yae Miko starts, waving around an envelope, “The Top Artist group award. This was between the two groups Windblume and Delusion. Without further ado, this award is going to…”

The stadium falls silent and you find yourself holding someone’s clammy hands under the table as you and your members hold your breath.

“...a tie! Windblume and Delusion, all of you get up here! In all our years there’s never been an exact tie!”

The fans erupted into confused cheers and applause as you staggered to get out of your seat, tripping over yourself as you did so. You blindly followed behind Lumine as you made your way to the stage. A tie? You didn’t work your ass off all year for a measly tie. You almost wanted to shout for a recount. 

Your head started to replay all of the petty interactions and subtle insults Scaramouche had thrown your way from your trainee days till today. Every glare, every smirk, and ever time he one-upped you, it all repeated in your mind like torture. Untalented. Annoying. Ugly. All it did was only fuel your anger even more and blind your senses. Hell, your group deserved that award! You deserved it more than him! 

“At the moment we only had one trophy made since we didn’t expect this outcome, so for now you guys will have to share it,” Yae Miko laughs, gesturing to the trophy on the pedestal. 

Since you both were the closest, you and Scaramouche instinctively reach for it. Both of your hands bumped into each other, inducing a glare from you both. You both clench the trophy in your hands, standing almost chest to chest with one another on the stage. 

“Just let go,” Scaramouche whispers, glaring down at you, “Give up.”

At that moment it was only you and Scara. The lights around you faded as all you could focus on was the way his tone was clipped and the way his eyes never spared yours a glance. It was all too familiar and only fueled your feelings. Suddenly you forgot about the thousands of people watching you as insults started to pour out of your mouth.

"You only made it this far because you're a nepo baby," you hissed through gritted teeth.

Scara looked startled at that, his grip loosening before he clenched the trophy once again.

"Maybe if you didn't hog all the lines in your group, you guys would've actually won outright," Scaramouche shot back, tightening his hold on the trophy.

"You can't dance," you snapped, tugging the trophy towards you.

"You can't sing," he retorted, pulling back.

"At least I don't need autotune," you huffed.

"At least I don't need backup dancers to distract from my lack of talent," he shot back, eyes narrowing.

The bickering intensified, your voices rising over the fading applause as your mics amplified your conversation to everyone in the stands.

"You think you're so special just because of your connections. Sorry to break it to you but talent actually matters," you said, trying to yank the trophy from his grasp. 

"I doubt you know anything about talent. And you think you're the heart of Windblume? You're just the loudest. That's not the same as being the best," he countered, pulling the trophy back.

You were about ready to slap the stupid smile off his pretty face when you felt a pair of arms around your waist tug you back.

“Come on, Y/n. Save this for later,” Yoimiya urged, her eyes pleading as she eyed the audience. They were all stunned into silence at the events unfolding in front of them.

“Easy now, Scara,” Childe says, grabbing his shoulder and holding him still. 

You and Scaramouche share another glare as you both reluctantly let go of the trophy and let it fall back onto the pedestal. Lumine and Aether quickly usher you guys off backstage as Yae attempts to regain control of the situation. 

“Well, that was rather intense! Let’s hear it one last time for Windblume and Delusion!”

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

comment on the masterlist and lmk if i can make u a fan in the au!!

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — the girls are fightinggg also pls lmk if ur enjoying i need motivation xx

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic

[chishiyasbiscuits]

submit! || niragi x reader xo

[3.7k words.]

[Warning: Smut, of course. Douche-bag Niragi, and then submissive Niragi. Light praise, and degradation, also. Slapping, sadism, light cock-torture, teasing dominant reader. I quite like the idea of a submissive and possibly masochistic Niragi, so I think I'll be writing more based on this thought!]

"Do you like this?" His deep voice growled. His tone was thick with lust, and his lips twitched. I could only whimper, casting him a pleading gaze, while also desperately disguising myself to be disgusted. "Let...go.." I panted between breaths. Tugging against his harsh grip on my wrists. Niragi scowled, flicking his attention to my shaking limbs, before meeting my eyes in a sensual staring contest. They were darkened, and lidded. Controlled by desire. "You think I'd just let you go?" He questioned, before scoffing and slamming me against the wall. Trapping me between the plaster and his ribs, like a cage. His chest heaved and his breath met my glistening lips, courtesy of the swipe of my tongue just moments before. "I'm smart enough to not waste a pretty girl like you.."

My breath picked up, complimented by the rise in a higher pitch. I threw my head back to meet the cool concrete wall, and squirmed in his grasp. The man switched his palm, now gripping both of my helpless wrists in one hand. His other rose up my chest and collarbone until it met my throat, and his slim fingers curled around the flesh. He squeezed, displaying the piercing he possessed as he dropped his tongue and circled it around his mouth. "I'm gonna ruin you." He whispered. Eyeing my features, tainted by both pleasure and pain. "Please...No.." I choked. His fingers clenched around my neck and I dropped my jaw in an attempt to catch air. "I'm gonna fuck you, so, so good." He almost whined, tilting his chin back and assaulting the air with his twisting tongue. "And you're gonna love it.."

My eyes involuntarily rolled, and his brows flinched, before raising in wonderment. Niragi Suguru, an asshole to everyone's eye. His amused grin faded against the sound of a woman. Her voice feigned our attention, through syllables characteristic of a robot. Niragi's brows arched, and annoyance crossed his frown. Frustration tugged his lips into a down-turned scowl. "You're lucky, doll." He grimaced, turning his pale face toward the light. It's rays shone delicately against the rough jawline he revealed to me. Casting over his body in a way that portrayed him as innocent and ethereal. Which, was how he appeared to be.

His tensed wrist loosened, and my breath returned in the form of a sharp gasp. My hands shot to stroke at the reddened skin, only for a moment, before I followed the gaze of the assaulter. His vision was stern, and soon mine melted to be just as earnest.

"Welcome players." She stated, in a strangely light-hearted fashion. "The game will commence in a moment."

The saliva building up against my tongue was forced down my throat as I gulped. Suppressing the urge to cry out. I had no intention of being held back by Niragi, let alone join a game when I had no reason to. My visa days were more than alright as they were. Niragi's head snapped to my form. Where my shoulders shook beneath his strong hold. He flicked his puzzled gaze to mine, and we exchanged a look of dread. His eyes, once shrouded in a nauseous lust, then glinted. With something unhinged. "Ah." He scoffed, breathing a laugh through his newly forming leer. "This will be entertaining."

My chest rose and fell, as I whimpered. The remnants of my anger morphed into an undeniable fear, and instead of punching his pretty face square on, I was submitted to simply standing there. Marinating in my own pathetic compliance.

"This way to the game arena." The screen created text and the man read it with no hesitation. A sadistic smirk crawled against his fair skin, and sat there, tauntingly. The grip on my shoulder tightened, and I was shoved toward the arena. His fingers were almost stuck, pressed firmly on my muscle. Niragi's harsh actions lead my cowering figure to the entryway - An office complex, moulded out to hold nothing but necessities. Chairs lay unused, and desks were hauntingly empty. Upon a small, wooden table, the usual phones were kept. Stacked in black towers.

Several people had entered before us, and they existed. Tugging on their partners clothes, and hugging their friend's arms. I blinked as they cast the pair of us an odd glance. "Registration has closed. The game will now commence."

Niragi pulled my figure against his chest, and I felt him heave on my ribs in anticipation. "Game, 'Master and slave'."

"Rule, in your partners you must be situated in either a slave or a master category. Slaves will obey their masters, and if they fail to do so, will be granted punishment. Masters do not have to obey their slaves, nor other slaves, however masters cannot disobey other masters. In this condition, you must make it alive for the stipulated two hours. Only then will you achieve in succeeding and clearing the game."

The memories surfaced, and gifted my lips a taunting smirk. One laced with a frightening sense of revenge. The man, raven haired and tainted with exhaustion, lay beneath me in a pretty position. Where I sat on his muscular thighs, and gripped his damp hair with splayed fingers. His pierced complexion was complimented by a layer of thin sweat - which glimmered below the dim lights of our location. I experimented in rolling my hips, watching with content eyes how he groaned. Lightly dropping his dripping face against the solid wall. His cheeks were tinted the prettiest of pinks, and it lit a sensation deep within my swarming stomach.

"Y/n.." He barely growled. Attempting to build his intimidating demeanour back up. I lifted my gaze, and leant, never allowing him to remove his stare from mine. My fingers slid from his wet strands, and rested beneath his chin, in a sweet handle. As if he were delicate. Fragile. Which I knew, with every fibre in my body, he truly was. His asshole personality was only a disguise, and I planned solely on retrieving his dorky, whiny, submissive ulterior. "Yes, Niragi?" I whispered, feigning innocence. "What does baby want?"

His features scrunched into an unbearable expression. His chest tightened and my free palm fell against the fabric of his soaked shirt. "I'm gonna.." He gathered the strength to scowl, and I smiled at his useless attempt. "I'm gonna kill you.."

"I'd like to see you try, baby." I returned, holding his head up. His jaw twitched. "Don't call me that, bitch." His teeth rubbed and my face fell. Shadowing nothing but an earnest look, which I flashed him before pulling my hand away, and bringing it back down against his smooth skin. He gasped sharply. Eyes dilating at the contact. "Do you need to be punished again?" I spoke, voice stern. He was raging. Face red with an uncontainable anger. I was sure he would pummel my head in right there, if it wasn't for the collar strapped to his neck, and his life on the very line between death. I hooked two of my free fingers beneath the metal of his collar, and lifted his neck and chest. Bringing his drained body flush against my own. I sucked my lip between my teeth, and pushed my pelvis into the deep crevice of his crotch. The clothed area pulsed, as I slid myself further. Grinding against his humiliating arousal. "Fuck.." He grunted, squeezing his eyes to a close, as if it could remove the shame his body quaked beneath. I moved my hips to the sound of his low inaudible whimpers, before gripping his collar in a tighter clutch, and driving his chapped lips against mine.

His pleasure rose throughout the ravenous kiss, in the way his erection grew. Straining against his tight jeans, and rubbing against the exposed skin of my thigh. He breathed heavily, as we moved, like touch-starved teens. Tongue-fucking each other's mouths in a desperate attempt to retrieve a taste of the other. His longing increased, and I gave in to his melodic whines. Still raspy as a result of his dry throat. My teeth dug into his lower lip, and his skin was pierced as I pulled back, snapping the part back into place. He whimpered shamelessly, hands now fumbling. Shaking pathetically, as they frantically found my waist, and held my flesh firmly. As if my body was due to disappear any second. The grip was so vigorous, I had to intervene. Knotting my fingers between his locks, and tugging his head back. His hold loosened, and his throat let slip a soft cry.

The expanse of his neck was revealed, and I watched in admiration as the sheen of sweat shone. "So worked up.." I snarled brusquely. His darkened eyes simply searched mine, and the anger melted from his now bliss-taken face. "What do you want, baby?" I repeated, letting my tone fall into a slower, sweeter sounding one. Our faces were so near, I could hear his rapid breath forming against my parted lips. He swiped his tongue against his own, before swallowing. Repositioning his palms against my body, and pulling me down on his hardened cock. "Can you.."

"Can I what?" I questioned abruptly, rolling my ass on his twitching length. He gasped in turn, leaning back in pleasure as I continued to grind. "Fuck...I hate you.." Niragi whispered, annoyance streaking over his tired features. I arched my brows, tilting them downward before reaching below my pelvis and clutching the bulge I had once been tending to. "Shit-" He cursed, eyes widening. "What?" I spat. Sending him an unamused glare. He cowered below my touch, as I squeezed and dug the sharp crescents of my nails into his crotch. "Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry!" He cried, throwing his chin back, and colliding his head with the plastered wall. I blinked, softening the grip. "Yeah?" I grinned, leaning into his well-built figure and breathing against his plump lips. Glistening with spit, as he licked over the soft skin. His eyes lowered to my mouth, and I smirked against a gentle kiss I planted on his cheek. My head drifted to his earlobe, where I casually nipped on the sensitive cartilage. "Show me how sorry you are by being a good boy, mkay?" I whispered, licking his flesh and sucking on the skin. I heard him swallow, and a whimper blocked his throat, choking him slightly. My ass began moving, and my palm slid up from his dick to his chest. It lay flat while I rose my chin, and granted him yet another passion filled kiss. "Do you want to be fucked?" I asked against his lips.

Niragi hummed, before letting the simple sound drag off into a moan. "Use your words, baby." I asked, lifting my hips from his torso and dragging his jeans down to his ankles. "Fuck, please, Y/n I need you to fuck me." He rasped out in a low voice. I smiled in content, and stripped his pleading body.

Now he was shaking with pleasure. Just begging to be touched by my slender fingers. His body squirmed and his chest caved in with each deep breath. He was stunning, so pretty, completely vulnerable and bare beneath my aching pussy. I rested on his flinching thighs, pressing my core into his muscle for a sense of relief. His skin still shone, and his cheeks were tainted by a shameful pink. The dark, damp strands of his hair fell over his well-done brows, and his lips were swollen and thick. Dripping with saliva from the previous time our lips clashed in a furious fight for lust.

Niragi was hot and bothered. His hard cock was already leaking against his stomach, and I gripped the girthy length. Pumping my wrist down his shaft, before rising my palm up and flicking my fingers over his cum-soaked tip. I gathered the liquid on my skin, and leant forward. Threading my fingers through his hair and pulling back harshly to hear him moan. As his lips dropped apart, I shoved my two fingers against his tongue, gifting him a stern stare. "Suck it, slut." I commanded, and the man obeyed. His eyes barely watered, and his saliva began dripping from the corners of his lips, before I pulled out and gripped his cock once more. My palm held his length firmly, while I guided the dripping girth to my heated cunt. His tip spread my folds, and the slick I had created fell against his veined shaft.

Niragi groaned, watching impatiently as I slid my core down against his pulsing cock. He grunted, before whimpering at the feel of my impossibly tight walls. Clenching around his sensitivity, and earning piteous whimpers from him. I could almost imagine him with his thick-rimmed glasses. Slipping down the bridge of his nose, as I slammed my yearnful hips against his pelvis. I could envision his dark hair - fluffy and parted - being tousled as I bounced on his thick length. He was always him, beneath this shitty persona. Now I was blessed with the moans, directly from this nerdy alter. It was in the way he trembled, brows furrowing each time his tip brushed my spot. Every time he caught sight of that lewd image - the outline of his luscious cock against my stomach, rearranging my insides.

He was so pathetic. Such a fucking bitch.

I moaned, tossing my head back, and letting my hair fall around my shoulders. "Y/n.." He grunted, struggling with remaining composed. His fingers were slipping, landing lazily on my thighs as he attempted to grasp at something. Anything. "You're doing so good for me, baby." I praised between pants. He gasped, moaning at the comment. "I fuck you so well.." He whimpered, somewhat reassuring himself as he closed his damp lashes. "You fuck me so well." I repeated in a teasing whisper, setting my palms on his built shoulders. "Fuck, your dick feels so good.."

"Yeah, yeah.." He sighed, revealing the veins in his neck as his head tilted back. I set my gaze on his eyes as his head fell back down. He didn't dare shy away from it, though I could see the way he became embarrassed beneath my dominant form. I smirked, wrapping my hands in his messed hair. "You're such a good boy, aren't you?" I questioned. "Fucking my pussy so well."

His cock slid further, hitting my spot with such precision my back arched at the contact. "I'm a good boy, fuck." He whimpered. "Y/n, please, I need to cum." He begged, gifting me a set of pleading eyes. "Let me cum." He demanded, and a slice of the true Niragi shone through. I grunted, tugging his hair and igniting a beautiful moan from his cherry lips. "Beg for it." I snarled. "Fucking hell, let me cum, please, please, please." He chanted, grabbing the flesh of my thighs, and positioning my body so that his cock could slide further against my slick walls.

"Please Y/n!" He whined prettily. Attacking my ears with sweet, high-pitched sounds. "You want to cum?" I questioned, lifting myself so that his tip sat teasingly between my folds. I rolled gently, letting his head gain friction while his eyes fluttered.

"So pathetic." I spat beneath my breath, and his mouth dropped - letting slip a moan of defence. I removed myself completely. Catching sight of his aching, pulsing cock. Dripping sensually against his lower abdomen. Uncared for, and yearning for my tender touch. He still had those pleading eyes, as his face remained in a forever pleasured, but pained state.

I positioned myself on one of his twitching thighs. Letting my own arousal drip across the warm skin of his leg. He whimpered, and whined, bucking his meagre hips into nothing but empty space. "Stay still." I asked nicely, and when he hesitated I took hold of his leaking length and squeezed harshly. My fingernails pressed against the susceptible skin, and triggered his gorgeous lips to split and ignite a rough cry. His eyes watered.

"Still.." I repeated softly. Niragi's movements ceased, and came to a slow stop. I smiled in satisfaction, lightening my clutch on his cock. "Good boy."

He hummed. I dragged my palm up his length, and brought it back down. Delicately jerking his thick dick, and teasing his veined skin. His tip was swollen now, and a pretty shade of light cerise. My thumb flicked over it and he unintentionally thrust his body against my hand.

I scolded him with a sharp slap to his upper thigh. "Let me cum!" He muffled, body shaking uncontrollably. I smirked at how his muscles tensed and relaxed, almost spasming beneath my simple touch. My hand began stroking faster, until he choked out a grunt and gifted my fingers with the twitch of his cock. While he did so I released my grip, triggering the sweetest whine. I sucked in a breath, inhaling through my teeth, before setting a fingertip by his desperate cock. One hand remained on his thigh, pressing lightly as a way to calm his sharp shakes.

Niragi gripped the sheets, with paper white knuckles. Allowing his head to dip. Sweat glistened, and his tired, needy eyes began to flicker. His Adam's apple bobbed with the faint swallow he took. Just as he sighed in exasperation, frustration brimming beneath the skin I had decorated in an array of pale purples.

"Niragi, baby." I hummed, baby-talking the intimidating gaze from his annoyed glare. My finger traced the edge of his cock, dragging up the delicate skin like a pencil. Drawing the details of his neglected erection. "Please.." He huffed. "Please what, Niragi?" I questioned, with a subtle tilt of my head. My actions feigned innocence, and his body wasn't having it. He groaned, bucking and falling back on his resting elbows. "Y/n, fuck!" He gritted, snarling at my uncalled for denial. "Just let me cum!"

My brows twitched into a raised position, before falling and displaying my expression as amused. With a click of my tongue, I bent to his level, and planted the ghost of a kiss to his tip. Brushing my soft lips across the slit, while he gasped. "Shit.." He cursed, eyes growing in an almost comical way. His fingers found themselves, nestled against the roots of my hair. I breathed a scoff against his boner, lifting my head and frowning at his straightforward audacity. "Touch me." I spoke, wrapping myself around his wrists, and pinning the limbs by his head. "I'll never let you cum.." I said beneath my breath, staring earnestly into his lust-ridden eyes. Niragi blinked, fighting the urge to argue through the way he poked his cheek. Licking the inner skin with his twisting tongue.

"Twenty minutes remaining."

I quirked a brow, while he glanced at me hurriedly. A slight sense of mischief in his twitching grin. "Don't get too excited." I chuckled, flattening my palm against his cock. "What?" He cackled. His voice rough with exhaustion. He peered at me, sneering at my form above his. "What power will you have after this, bitch?"

"What power do I have now?" I reminded, sharply pressing his dick against his chest. It bent and pulsed beneath my flesh, as I crushed the appendage between my fingers. My jaws clenched, and he cried. Dropping his jaw in pure, unfiltered pain. "Christ, it hurts!" He strained. Squirming his restless body, and attempting to thrash his way out of my dangerous grip. I leant my weight against the arm I was using. Smirking at his pained expression. Twisting and turning - contorting against the pressure as I squeezed his cock. "Fuck, aah, stop please!" He growled in torment. Voice dripping with ache.

"Does it hurt, baby?" I cooed, pushing my lower lip out into a faux pout. The raven-haired man whimpered. Chest heaving, and being a clear signification of his suffering. "Y-yeah." He muttered, dropping his gaze in shame. I exhaled, slipping my fingers down against his balls. I rolled my palm over them gently - massaging the heavy skin. "Listen to me.." I whispered. "Be a good boy...and you'll cum."

"I'll let you cum whenever you want.." I teased his earlobe, brushing my lips across the skin. He let slip a muffled whimper. "Niragi...are you gonna be a good boy?" I asked, letting my lips travel to his. "Yeah.." He muttered against mine. "Moan for me." I instructed, straightening my back as my fingers left his balls. "Y/n.." He begged, grinding himself on the mattress beneath us. I smiled, lifting and cupping my hand round his cock. He grinned, smile filled with pure ecstasy. His head dropped, as sweat descended down his back, and his dark hair tickled the flesh of his neck. "Y/n." He whined, a slight hint of frustration on his tongue.

A low groan escaped his split lips, and before he could, I positioned his dripping cock toward his stomach. He twitched and a second groan signified his arrival. Cum fell against his chest in white streaks, decorating his pale skin like an erotic painting. His pleasure dribbled down the side of his shaft, while I milked him. Making sure every drop of his arousal had now been displayed on his pathetic body. Now the world could know how much of a whore - a bitchy, needy, desperate, whiny, piteous whore - he was.

"Five minutes remaining."

Niragi slipped from his high, gasping out a soft laugh. "Experience it while you can." He smirked. "Because as soon as this timer's hit zero I'm fucking you so hard, you won't be able to fucking laugh." Venom dropped from his twirling tongue, which was now sensually lapping at the thin air. I simply scoffed, slipping my head to the left. "Yeah? Fuck me, and the entire Beach are gonna know of what happened here." My smile dipped and he blinked. "I'd like to see you try tell them, doll." He snarled.

My lips fell against his, and we interlocked. Connecting our naked bodies in a lustful wrestle. My legs were tangled with his, and our tongues clashed, fighting angrily. Yet the pure desire embraced our surrounding area in the form of gasps, and sex-filled air. "I could kill you right now.." I whispered onto the risen flesh of his lips. "Do it." He reiterated, mouth twisting into a foul grin. 

I could only smile sadistically in return. I knew who he was. I didn't fear him, when I knew all I had to do was crush his dick between my fingers, and he'd submit to me. He was pathetic, and I liked it. 

I silently thanked the robotic voice for assigning me the master role just two hours prior. 

[liacademia]

final grind

some notes i took since yesterday, so i gotta say, i did get a wee bit more productive, i was able to channel my inner beast and woke up at 6 AM today, pure torture, will not recommend.

but nevertheless, so today i started solving 3 sets of question banks, one for each subject and will try to complete it for physics & chem, but will do only high priority chaps for maths.

i also have been reviewing the weak topics, finalized instruments today and a few more to go, now we're at the time where i need to start finalizing my prep, so i'll try and begin with chem overview now, i'd want it to be in-depth and thorough, so that i'll be done with each chap by the exam date, i have another mock tomorrow and after which the frequency of mocks will increase, they'd be commenced every other day than being every two days, which'd be pretty hectic, but that's alr, anyway the exam's approaching closer and closer, and i'm shit scared, let's hope it goes well :')

[fiber-optic-alligator]

(Not a request dw)

Just thinking about Knock Out needing to lie down with his human in his tanks, and curl up around you. Because you only narrowly avoided getting discovered by one of the worst mechs possible, Shockwave.

The idea that you could've been taken away, tortured, and experimented on, mercilessly haunts him, and he needs to take a moment where you're kept close. Somewhere where he knows you'll be safe. His tanks. He'll let you out in a moment so you can properly unwind from the day you just had, but he needs this right now.

His tank walls clench and release rhythmically as if needing to hold you close, to reassure KO that you're still there, but also letting you breathe in case his anxiety about your near-discovery makes him squeeze you too harshly. He's aware that nothing will come of this near-miss in the long run, but he can't shake the feeling that he almost just lost you.

The anxiety eats away at his spark until he can feel you rub at the plush walls of his tank. As if to reassure him about the terror pulsing through his systems. That you're okay, and you're going to continue to be okay. Slowly, he calms, and is able to get up from his berth. He crosses his habsuite to where he'd set up his human's mini-habsuite, and he gently clenches the walls of his tank in order to spit you back up.

Knock Out gives you a cheeky lick with his glossa, and laughs lightly when you half-heartedly swat at it in response. He composes himself as he retrieves you from his intake with surgical precision, and he dries you off with one of his softer cleaning cloths. He takes a moment to stare contentedly at you where you sit in his servos and sigh a little, before he sets you down so you can commence with your (Fairly rigorous, as implemented by him.) self care routine.

-Not a Request Anon

THIS IS SO SWEET! Literally one of the softest asks I’ve ever gotten about Knockout. Just the idea of him being so WORRIED for you to the point where he just needs to lie down on his berth and focus on your presence within him to keep him grounded. It’s so unlike him and you can’t help but try to comfort him and reassure him that you’re okay. Because no matter how you found yourself here, it’s now obvious Knockout truly cares for you, no matter how he acts.

[mermaidlighthouse]

“Oh, shit. Struck a chord.”

Stede be like being tortured is not gonna stop me from punning with the loml

Like Stiddies out, in my slutfit…let the flirting commence 😏

[serickswrites]

When You're Not Strong

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, rescue, failed rescue, blood, wounds, impalement, unconsciousness

"Smallest Teammate," Team Leader's voice came through the darkness.

Smallest Teammate's head jerked towards the sound. They hadn't moved from the spot where Whumper had chained them to. Whumper had promised when they returned the torture would commence. Smallest Teammate had huddled in the darkness, trying not to let their terror overwhelm them. They knew Teammate One was in the cell next door. They knew that Teammate One hadn't been hurt too much either. But they were afraid.

"Team Leader?" Smallest Teammate breathed a sigh of relief.

"The one and only," Team Leader's face appeared just outside their cell. They smiled at Smallest Teammate. "We're getting you out of here."

"We?"

"Yeah, the whole team is here. Teammate Two and Three are getting Teammate One out now. Teammate Four is standing guard. And Teammate Five is outside waiting to pick us all up when we get to the rendezvous point."

Smallest Teammate could have fainted with relief. The team had come. They were saved. "Thank you."

Team Leader unlocked the cell door and hurried over to Smallest Teammate. "Of course, I couldn't let the two of you be tortured by Whumper, could I? Are you hurt?"

Smallest Teammate shook their head. "No, I'm unhurt."

"Thank goodness for that. Come on," Team Leader said as they grabbed Smallest Teammate's hand. They began to run from the cell. "Let's go!" They said as they met the other three team members in the hall. "We just need to make it through the compound and we're in the clear. I'll take point. Teammate Two and Three, fan out behind me. Teammate One, you and Smallest Teammate go in the middle. Teammate Four will bring up the rear."

"Yes, Team Leader," the team said in unison.

"There's just one choke point near the end. There's a stair case that we have to climb to get out. It only fits one at a time. So we'll go single file. But we should be well past Whumper and their goons by then."

Smallest Teammate took the gun offered them by Teammate Four. They checked the magazine and took the spare clip. They were getting out of there. They hurried along behind the rest of their team. Quickly and quietly, the team made their way through Whumper's compound.

Smallest Teammate breathed a sigh of relief when the team reached the stair case without meeting Whumper or any of their team. They were almost out.

"Right, single file now. Me first. Teammate Two next, then Teammate Three, then Smallest Teammate, Teammate One, and Teammate Four will bring up the rear." Team Leader glanced around their team's faces. "We're almost out of here. We've got this."

Team Leader took the steps one at a time, ensuring each step was silent as they climbed. The team mimicked their movements. Smallest Teammate almost ran into Teammate Three's back as Teammate Three suddenly stopped. "Why are we--hey!" Teammate Two said as they tipped backwards, almost falling. "Team Leader why did you--"

Team Leader's shout of pain silenced Teammate Two. Teammate Three pushed forward. "Lay the covering fire, I've got them. I've got them!"

Teammate Two and Teammate Three sprung into action, leaving Smallest Teammate unsure of what was happening. Their mouth went dry as they watched Teammate Three pulling a very limp Team Leader back while Teammate Two fired their weapon up the stairs. Teammate One pushed past Smallest Teammate and Teammate Three and took a stand just behind Teammate Two. A bloodied sword glinted in the light as Smallest Teammate could see that Team Leader's left side was impaled by the blade. Who the fuck still used a sword?

"Take them," Teammate Three said to Smallest Teammate as they stood on the stairs. Team Leader moaned as Teammate Three jostled the sword. "I'm too tall to support them. And I can't carry them. I need access to my gun."

"We're getting pinned down up here!" Teammate One shouted.

"We're all clear back here." Teammate Four shouted. "Take Team Leader, Smallest Teammate. We can make a push forward and still get out of here."

Smallest Teammate nodded and stepped forward to take Team Leader. "Lean on me, Team Leader. I've got you."

Smallest Teammate took Team Leader's right arm and pulled it over their neck. Team Leader whimpered with pain, but settled. "Th-Th-Thanks," they said breathlessly. Their face was pale and sweaty.

"I can try and bind the sword," Smallest Teammate offered.

Team Leader shook their head. "P-P-Plugggggggingggg the....the wwwwound."

Smallest Teammate opened their mouth to reply, but Teammate Four urged them forward. "They've taken the top of the stair, move. Move. Move. Move."

"Ok, Team Leader, let's go," Smallest Teammate said as they took a couple of test steps. Team Leader whimpered, but was able to keep pace with them.

As they ran along behind Teammate Three, Smallest Teammate and Team Leader kept pace, though Team Leader leaned more and more heavily on Smallest Teammate. Smallest Teammate never realized just how petite Team Leader was. They were the exact same size as Smallest Teammate. How had they never noticed that before?

"We're almost there," Teammate Three called over their shoulder. "How are you doing, Team Leader?"

"Mmmmm," Team Leader managed to reply.

"How much farther?" Smallest Teammate asked quickly. They weren't sure how much longer Team Leader could run.

"It's just around the--"

"Team Leader!" Smallest Teammate shouted as Team Leader's legs suddenly collapsed, pitching the two of them forward.

Team Leader didn't reply and it was all Smallest Teammate could do to keep the two of them upright and the sword from being further pushed into Team Leader's side. "Team Leader, say something!"

But as the team gathered around them, urging Team Leader to speak, to get up, Team Leader didn't respond. They had fainted and become a dead weight in Smallest Teammate's arms. "Just hold on, Team Leader, hold on a bit longer," Smallest Teammate said as Teammate Three took Team Leader from Smallest Teammate.

They carefully lifted Team Leader into their arms. Team Leader hung limply in their arms, completely still and unmoving. "Hold on, Team Leader. Hold on."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@acer-whumpstuff @artisticdemon @pepeniascat

[georgiapeach30513]

Trying to Save Me, Part 2

Summary: What is Bucky hiding?

Pairings: Dark King!Bucky Barnes X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit detailing of living out in the wild, dark!Bucky, taunting, continued feeling of ownership, touching over the clothes without consent, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 6.1K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

You groan, trying to straighten your back up a bit more. There is nothing comfortable about this — this cage. He is a monster. Humiliated you. Inspected you, in front of people. And then if that wasn’t enough, he threw you in this cage right outside his sleeping quarters. Although, he hadn’t been doing much sleeping. You didn’t see anyone go in his room, so you’re led to believe they sat there, and waited. Waited on him.

Waited on some vile human to go into that room, and into his bed, while they serviced him. Periodically throughout the night the grunts, slaps, screams, moans, and gods know what else drifted under his door. You have heard people carry on and have sex many times. In a world where you have been a nomad, and lived in poorly insulated villages, it just went with the territory. But this is different.

No, you aren’t jealous. But — if you are destined to be with him, how can he be so cruel as to make you listen as he beds other women? All night long. A line of whores. Concubines. All for him. You would not be given the same opportunity. You were looked at as his incubator. You couldn’t be sullied with another man’s cock or their seed. Only the king can have that part of you.

Oh great, the grand finale commences, and you try and remove yourself from here. All your time alone, running away had all been in vain. You promised to stay away from the castle, and then was led directly to the beast within. You didn’t know the reason why you had to stay away then, but judging on the brute’s words to you, you could guess some of it. Your mom wanted more of a choice for you. Not one that you were forced into.

You’d rather hear the exact prophecy, and how you fit into it before you let this whirlwind suck you up. It would be easy to go into despair here. Easy to think that all you were meant for is one let him take you, and fill you up. You were in a fucking cage wearing a metal mask, and only seem to be here for his every tortured whim. His pet. He’s disgusting. He has you caged up like an animal. Nothing more than a common beast.

His door creaks open, and you scurry towards the back of the cage. Trying to hide in the shadows, but the pig knows you're in here. Where else is there for you to go? The early morning light catches on his pale white skin, and shines over his ample body. If he wasn’t such a foul human, he’d almost be beautiful. As naked as the day he was born, and carved by the cruel gods. His body looks like a work of art, and the lighting makes him almost look silvery. Frozen by the everlasting winter.

He takes tentative steps closer, watching as your eyes dip below his waist, and you stare at his rock hard length. How the hell did someone have that much energy? He had already finished, and spilled his seed on or in whatever whores he had in there, and now he’s swollen again. Bucky smirks at you as he turns to the side, giving you a different angle to show just how massive he was, but you turn away, pointing your head up into the air. You wouldn’t let him see you break.

“Like what you see?”

“A small little prick?” You didn’t care if he interpreted that as himself or his cock. The only large thing you saw was his gigantic ego.

“I may be a prick, but you and I both know there’s nothing little about me. You think your sweet little cunt can handle me?” You want to hurl. It isn’t uncommon for women in this world to just be with a man so she had a certain level of living. Being with the king would give you a rich life, but it wouldn’t be good.

“You have a sharp little tongue for a stupid girl that still ended up on my web. I would devour you, Lumi,” you roll your eyes over to him, and he bends at the knees, squatting. Both his hands are on your cage and you glare at him. “You don’t know your words, little one? You were a bastard in the snow. Lumi is perfect for you.”

“I have a name.”

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“No,” names held power. You didn’t have much left, but you wouldn’t give him this. Whatever you had left to keep from him, you would. He didn’t need to know all your secrets.

“Lumi it is then, winter wolf,” you keep your face neutral, trying not to stare at him wrapping his hand around his cock. He gives the rod a long slow stroke, while watching you intently. “You really aren’t looking. I don’t spill in them, that’ll be left just for you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Maybe not now, but you will,” he stands quickly. Going down the hall. Completely naked, and you hear him chuckle. Moments later three women come out of his bedroom looking ragged, but satiated. You didn’t understand what the big deal with sex was. All it meant was the possibility you could bring a child into this cold world. Bucky came out here just to annoy you. He didn’t need anything, he just wanted you to see him fully naked. You wouldn’t break easily, if at all.

You roll your eyes as he starts moaning again. There was still at least one woman in there, and he puts on a show for you. He’s vocal. More vocal than most men that try and stifle their sounds. Bucky left everything on full display. If he is trying to make you jealous, it isn't working. It pisses you off.

He goes harder and faster than he had most of the night. Could hear his skin slapping on hers. Pounding in her. Ruthless. Shameless. And then he ends with the most put on sound from the previous ones. And just as soon as it started, it ends. She even walks of the bedroom. Staring at you trapped in front of him before she wipes under her eyes, and leaves you be.

Relaxing your back, you slump down into the cage. Maybe now that they are gone, you could get some sleep. You didn’t have to hear all those cries of painful pleasure. You wouldn’t have to hear Bucky’s grunts, and — you couldn’t think about some of those sounds. The way they had made you feel. And the questions you had rushing through your mind.

Settling back, you get a lick to your hand, and you jerk it away. Turning to peer at that stupid mutt with his silvery eyes, “You traitor. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here,” the beast wines as he lays on his belly. Inching his body closer to nudge his nose on you.

“How do you even get in here?” Stupid animal almost looks apologetic, staring at you with his human-like eyes. “You led me to my prison. I’m to be a broodmare for an animal. Eww,” you wipe your hands on your jeans after the wolf sneezes on you. “That’s rude, ya know?”

Sighing, you finally give him a few head scratches, and he gives his approval with low rumbling growls. You don’t know where this beast came from, or what his interest in you is. “Get out of here. Get!” You jump to your feet, glowering at the man that brought you to this hellscape. You hold a hand over the wolf’s head, and he bares his teeth to the blonde man, growling.

“We’ll, aren’t you two just cute? What are you going to do about this, girly?” His mouth turns up into an evil sneer. “You’re in a physical cage.”

“Obviously, you psycho. What does that even mean?” He snaps his fingers, and motions his head to the side. The wolf’s growls soften, but he starts to leave your cage, keeping his eyes on blondie. Getting to a different hallway of the castle, he runs off, leaving you only with him. “You reek.”

“The accommodations in my cage didn’t really allow me to bathe.”

“I suppose your stench repelled most men away from you out there, hmm?” You didn’t have to answer his questions. It’s not like baths were readily available out there. Not when you’re a loner. He goes towards the lock of the cage, and you’re scrambling back into a corner like a scared mouse again. “What is wrong with you?”

“Don’t touch me, I’ll tell your king!”

“Princess, I have no plans of touching you. However, I am taking you to Wanda. She’s going to do something about your smell. You’ll have dinner with the king tonight, and he doesn't particularly care for his future queen to look and smell like a wildling. I promise you no harm will come to you. Unless you choose not to bathe; the king will be furious about you joining his court looking and smelling like you do. Remember last night? Having yourself so exposed? He’ll do that and more. Come now.”

He doesn’t offer you a hand, or any assistance, just stands with the door to your cage open. “I’m not a babysitter,” huffing, you walk towards him, “My god, what is that you reek of?”

You scowl as you walk past him, “Your incredible accommodations here. I was in the dungeon with a wolf keeping me warm, and then I was in the cage. Even though I’m a wildling, I know how to keep myself clean.”

“Why?” If it wasn’t for his expression, you’d think he was making fun of you again, but there’s a sense of sincerity. “I mean…”

“Don’t sound so apologetic, soldier, you’ve told me I smelled bad in five different ways. While you’d think a smell would repulse a man, if they’re hard up for a woman, it won’t stop them,” the man looks down at the floor as you walk, “Not to mention I hunted for my food, if I smelled, the animals would know I was coming,” the two of you walk in silence. The castle laid out nearly like a maze, or maybe it’s because you’re used to the open. Walls and hallways confused you.

“My name is Steve by the way,” curtly you nod. “Things aren’t always what they seem, we’re quite appreciative of you being here with us.”

“It shows in your hospitality,” he lets out the most unattractive snort you could ever imagine. “If you want me to believe you’re appreciative here, you have an odd way of showing it.”

“Let me ask you this,” he stops just before a grand door that you could only assume is where Wanda will be cleaning you, and making you presentable to the king. “If you were to just sleep in the king’s bed, would you flee?”

“I’d rather gnaw my own arm off than lay next to him.”

“So maybe our hospitality is your fault, and not ours,” he opens the door, and sure enough a woman with beautiful red hair is mulling about preparing a tub for you. Of all the audacity. That it’s your fault that they have treated you like a prisoner. Are you supposed to be grateful for being dragged here, bound, thrown in a dungeon with this fucking mask, and then forced on your knees while everyone stared at your body?

“And maybe it’s your pompous king’s fault for exposing my cunt to everyone,” Wanda gasps, dramatically throwing her hand over her mouth. “And you, you dragged me in here. I have been taught to fear the heart of the kingdoms, and to stay away from your king, and you wonder why I’m sour?”

“Kingdom. The fall of your father was when they were combined. There are no kingdoms anymore, and because of prophecy, we’re in an eternal winter. Only until,” he raises his hand, but Wanda shouts his name. “I’ll be just outside the door to collect you when you’re finished.”

You’re never going to be left alone again. It’s something you just know in your gut that the king will have you fully watched. He’d probably be mounting you like an animal while these people watched. To him you were nothing more than a way to break the curse and give him sons.

“We’re not here to harm you,” the red headed woman says walking up to you. She doesn’t make comments about your scent, just starts undoing your clothes. “I’m here to bathe you,” she responds as you jerk away.

“I am capable of doing that myself,” she smiles. It’s calming, and gentle, and makes you extremely uncomfortable and confused. You didn’t have kindness in this place. You had fear and embarrassment.

“You are the future queen, the one that will take this infernal winter away from us,” everyone keeps saying this, and you are but a normal human. “You can undress yourself if it’ll make you feel better. It’s just us in here. The tub is full of hot water, it’ll feel nice.”

Wanda steps away from you, walking over to a chair, while you turn your back on her, and remove your wildings clothes. There is nothing ladylike about these clothes, especially not now. Trousers and shirts would be a thing of the past, if you were to become the queen, even though you didn’t want to. You wouldn’t give up trying to escape.

“What exactly is this prophecy?” Turning around, you place your arms around your body to walk to the tub. Out there, you weren’t given such luxuries as a bath. Slipping into the water, you sink into the warmth, sighing at just how amazing it feels. Heat wraps around your soreness, and for the first time, you actually feel warm. The chill to your core evaporated.

“The simplified version is the princess from the west, and the prince from the mountains will join together.”

“That doesn’t explain the winter.”

She hums a low tune, one you recognize that your mother sang to you, and your eyes start to close. Being in here is so much better than your cage. “Did you know the day you were born was the day that the snow started?”

You had heard that before. “You also know that the man that paraded around as the king wasn’t your father and he also wasn’t the king?”

Turning around, you glare at her, “Malik was my father. He was the king, not Jarrod. I don’t know who told that vicious lie,” even as the words exit your mouth, you don’t fully believe them. Wanda sighs again, beginning that same song. “I didn’t know they knew that song in the mountains.”

“They don’t,” still gazing at her, you look up and down her body. “You’re staring at one of Malik’s many bastards. He was a pig of a king, it’s why so many of us fled to the mountain. He stole the throne from your real father. Made people believe he was the king in your father’s absence. And when Jarrod returned, he found his betrothed married to him. He told Malik to keep the throne, and the wife as long as he didn’t touch her. He could fuck whatever woman he wanted as long as he didn’t touch her. He failed of course, and some would believe that you belonged to him. Except those feline-like eyes. The eyes of Jarrod.”

You turn back and stare blankly at the hot water. Your eyes are the only reason you had ever doubted your lineage. Malik could play he loved your mother, but you often thought it was for his people to believe it. “So Jarrod remained by the king’s side for what? Why not take my mother away?”

“I assumed it was because he thought he was no longer king, and having a daughter wouldn’t start our nightmare of a winter. Clearly he thought wrong because here we are, and there you are getting cleaned up to bow before your king, and future husband,” she can’t see your face, but you roll your eyes. You are a prisoner. A joke. “Would you like the mask removed?”

“I was told that the mask keeps others from touching me.”

“There’s other ways that the king can mark you as his,” that sounds repulsive.

“Walking around with a swollen belly?” Wanda’s laugh is almost evil, and you turn back around to her. “What?”

“Pregnancy takes too long. No, if you’re being difficult even with a pregnancy he’ll make you wear the mask. You could have another man’s baby in your belly. Marriage wouldn’t be a strong enough bond, your mother was sleeping with Jarrod while married to Malik.”

“I don’t want to know. Sounds like some cruel backwards way of claiming a woman for the mountain people.”

She shrugs, and you know it’s true. An outward mark that would make you Bucky’s, so no one would touch you. And yet, she’s missing a mark, “Where’s your claim?”

“I’m not the one that will be mated to the White Wolf,” you sit up straighter in the tub, forgetting your modesty as you look over her, “What?”

“The white wolf?”

“It’s the king’s nickname. We are mountain people, as you say. His crest is a white wolf. They’re uncommon, but every once in a blue moon they happen. The white wolf is respected in the mountains, and not to be hunted, lest you become the prey. Here,” she stands, and walks towards you. Her hands go around your head, and with a few clicks, she removes the mask from your face, and you moan. Finally getting to look at the damned mask; a wolf.

“There’s worse things than your king.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“The winter is cruel, even more so when you feel the cold in your heart,” someone beats on the door, and you hear Steve clear his throat. “It’s time to get dressed, princess. And time that you accept that Jarrod was your father,” you let modesty disappear as you stand up. Letting Wanda assist you out of the bath, and dry you off. You might not like it here, but you could get used to baths.

She carefully makes you slip into skirt upon skirt. Dressing you up like a doll. You haven’t seen dresses this fine your entire life. Outside of the mountain city, you just survived. Clothing such as this is frivolous. She pulls a dress of fine silk over your head before reaching for a necklace. She wraps the golden chain around your neck before slipping a wicked looking point through the hole. “There. Now, let me do something about your hair.”

She walks you over to a chair, forcing you to stare at your reflection as she pulls and tugs your hair into place. You look ridiculous. “Am I to be nothing more than his frilly doll?”

“What more are you supposed to be?” His equal. You keep your mouth closed because you doubt she’s going to see things your way. In this world you are the savior, but most importantly, you are his.

“And here I am, and still, it’s winter,” Wanda bows as she walks to the door, holding it open for you, and Steve’s eyes wander over her body, but she gives him a coy smile in return. She didn’t care.

Steve motions for you to follow him. Like you have any choice in the matter. “I see you traded the mask for the — necklace. Bucky will much rather look over your face than that creepy thing,” Bucky was the one that ordered you to wear it. “There are people who don’t want Bucky to come into his true — potential.”

The way he speaks, careful with his words. Withholding information, or lying all together. You’re in the waiting part of the hunt. Listen, pay attention, and know your surroundings. “The castle is set up this way to distort people. There’s been people who wander around for hours and never find where they’re going. You having someone with you isn’t just to keep you from escaping, it’s to keep you from being lost.”

There’s so many twists and turning hallways, but there has to be a pattern to it. There has to be a way that people didn’t go insane trying to find their way around, but insanity to you is already happening. Your situation is looking more and more dire. “There’s hallways that lead to nowhere, and doors that open up into a hole. I suggest you not walk too quickly through a door.”

To prove his point, he opens one, and there’s a black pit of nothingness. “Each has varying degrees of depth. But, even the smaller drops will kill you. There’s a reason why the people of the mountain are feared, just getting in the castle doesn’t guarantee you’ll find and overtake the king. It guarantees your demise.”

“You’re so sure of yourself.”

Steve stops beside an opening, and you gasp. Eyes wide as you take the greenery in. “Your father, Jarrod, is the only one that made it in the castle and out of the castle. He was let go, but bore an evil curse to be released. And that’s why we’re here.”

You can’t take your eyes off this place. You’ve never seen this. “So I must bear the weight of what someone else has done, and I wasn’t even born.”

He leans down beside you, his mouth right at your ear, “He wasn’t born either,” turning, you scowl at him. Did he want you to feel sorry for Bucky? Absurd. He wasn’t a prisoner. “He’s just as stuck as you are.”

“How so?”

“You don’t know what it’s like to rule a kingdom. But how far would you go to protect your people?” You didn’t have people.

“He’s trapped me in a castle maze, and exposed me to his court.”

“There’s things you just don’t understand,” rolling your eyes, you start to pull up your skirts, and begin to crawl through the window. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Is it glamoured and I’ll fall to my death?” You pause, looking at him, and he shakes his head no, “I’ve never seen grass before. I want to touch it.”

“You can. With the king. It’s sacred, and only for him and who he invites. You could become poisoned for touching it without his permission.”

“Could?” He shrugs. He’s bluffing. Nothing is going to happen. But then you look again, what if he isn’t lying? What if something worse happens? Everything is untouched. It’s freely open for whoever walks by, and it’s pristine. “Has Bucky?”

“No, the king has not. It’s sacred. Shall we?” Releasing a guffaw, you follow him. More winding hallways, and silence. Having no choice but to trust him completely. “You really know nothing?”

“My parents — Malik, and my mother, told me to stay away from the castle. To keep moving, don’t stay in one location long, don’t fall in love, don’t let a man touch me because men only bring you problems. What else is there to know?” You’re met with silence again. Like the castle, everything is a riddle. Wanda gave more information than most. “Earlier when you knocked on the door, were you interrupting me and Wanda?”

“Why would I do that?” This is the way it’ll be; questions met with a question. You’d rather be quiet and observe the castle, and the people within. “Eventually you get used to it here. The paths.”

“Does the kingdom live here?”

“Some moved here once the snow started to fall and kept growing. Some remain out in the mountains, wild and building cities within. This was the safest place though. Most won’t venture out into the winter. There’s very little daylight, and night time here is cruel,” you would know. You spent many years alone, and unable to sleep at night. Constantly looking over your shoulder, the animals were the least of your worries. “It’s amazing you survived.”

“Is that a compliment, soldier?”

“No. And my name is Steve.”

Just before dinner Steve came back to the twittering room of females you were in. They were obnoxious. Giggling and asking you about the king’s cock. You didn’t want that thing anywhere near you. You sit motionless while they work on their stupid little crafts of embroidery. Things like that seem so pointless when the world outside was a frozen hell, and yet, they still remain fragile, and need a man to protect them.

You stayed in your same gown, surprisingly. You didn’t have to see Wanda again. “Steve?”

“Hmm?”

“That cage is quite uncomfortable,” he snorts, looking at you. “I’m sure with a sleeping gown, it’ll be unbearably cold.”

“You know what’s not uncomfortable and cold? The king’s bed,” your nose goes into the air so fast. Everyone pushed you into the bed with your king, and you knew absolutely fuck all about him, and he should immediately stick you with his prick?

“Enjoy your audience, princess,” the dining hall must be separate from the people that lived here. It is quite large, with tapestries and pennants of the coat of arms, but the table of people is small. Wanda sat on the other end from where Steve leads you. Directly beside Bucky. You thought he may stand behind you, and instead Steve sits opposite of you.

“Lumi, come sit in my lap, princess,” Bucky’s voice is laced in poison. Nothing is ever that sweet. Always an ulterior motive. Always cunning and out to trick you.

“I’d rather not,” he leans forward, causing every eye at the table to turn towards you. His teeth gleam with an evil snarl, before his fingers tease at your necklace. Inching onto your skin before he too gently wraps his fingers around your neck, and then moves back to caressing the necklace.

“Please,” you hear a gasp. Not at all surprised that he didn’t have manners normally, and that one word shocked the dinner table.

“No,” his fingers wrap around your necklace, and he sneers. He twists the chain around his finger a few times, and you dare to turn away from him.

“I won’t ask again.”

“Then don’t,” he tightens his fingers, pulling the necklace taut up against your neck, and you choke. Your eyes fire to life, and you look down at the bauble before he yanks the metal chain. Completely cutting off air to your lungs, while Bucky pulls you into him, and forcing you onto his knee. A fucking leash! He is treating you like a common animal.

“You asshole!”

“Shut up, my pet. You want me to treat you like the animal, I’ll show you exactly what an animal you are, princess. You are mine, and what I say goes. I asked nicely to sit on my fucking lap, and if you don’t know how to respond in a well behaved manner, I’ll put you on your knees, and shove my cock so deep in your throat, until you shut up. Everyone will watch as you cockwarm me the rest of dinner. Now have I made myself clear?” You bore holes into his skull, wishing you had powers that could oblerdiate him. No wonder your parents wanted you away from the castle, and away from him. Spoiled brat.

“Do I make myself clear?” Still you don’t respond, but you don’t look away. Steve kicks your leg under the table, and you nod at Bucky. “With words.”

“You’ve made your point.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” It is humiliating, and worse, he’s reduced you to a plaything. No, not even that, his pet. Someone that had to be kept on a leash and paraded around. Everyone at the table gawks at you. They’re all bastards. People in the mountains are an odd bunch. They allowed this behavior for far too long.

“Why is it that you didn’t have to remain pure?” The king chuckles, holding up a leg of some animal up for you, and you try not to devour it, but it’s delectable. You’re so unladylike as you take bite after bite, barely chewing your food before taking another. You are starved.. How were they able to get such meat?

“Well, for one I wasn’t hiding in the forest, and running away from my duty. Did you ever think you were saving yourself just for me? All these years, and you remained loyal to a man you didn’t even know,” snorting, you look at him shaking your head. You didn’t even know about him. Instead of eating himself, he curiously watches you. You could swear he’s even counting how many times you chew before you reach for something else on the plate. He didn’t have one.

“What did you eat out there?” there’s a softness to his voice that confuses you, and you turn to meet his gaze. “You are nothing more than skin and bones. It wasn’t much.”

“Yeah, but I did it myself. I didn’t have servants that hunted, gathered, prepared, and served my food for me. You just learn to survive.”

“Why not learn to live?” Your piercing green eyes roll up to meet his silvery blue ones, and for once, he seems human. Not the foul animal that you first met. Chattering at the table is distant, muffled, and you watch his hand rise up your skirts. Unlike the many men that tried to touch you, his isn't calloused. They are boiling hot, however.

He drifts his hand higher. Higher more, and you gulp. Thankfully his hand is under the table, but you fear that someone will see. That they will watch him slowly claim every inch of your body. What his plans are, you’re unsure, so you keep eating. Gorging yourself in the delicious meal, and trying to ignore him. It’s clear he’s going to take whatever he wants.

“Why are you so hot, Lumi?” Don’t answer him. It might have something to do with his heated hands on your skin. Or the tingly you feel when he’s right at the apex of your thighs, but you’re too interested in the food. “I think you like me touching you just here,” his hand barely grazes over your core, and you jerk your head towards him, and glare. “I like your fight. Don’t forget that.”

You may glower at him, but the face he gives you in return is humored. A smile creeps on his face, and everything else in this room ceases to exist. It’s weird. You could see why women would throw themselves at him. He’s beautiful. But so was ice and snow, and it killed many.

“Your highness,” Bucky nods in the direction of some man, but his eyes still capture your own. You start counting the different hues of blue and silver warped in his eyes. It was like a snowstorm on a starry night. “Your highness, it’s getting late.”

He stands too abruptly, forgetting you’ve settled on him, and you too lost in whatever is happening between the two of you, fall completely to the floor. Pulling the tablecloth and some of the food and wine with you, and the room erupts in joyous laughter. Bucky’s scowl looks to every person in this fucking hall, and he extends his too hot hand for you to take, and you stand up on your own. Refusing his help.

Something in him shifts when you refuse his hand, and he tugs on your stupid leash, pulling you out of the hall. His long strides make it impossible for you to keep up, so your left gagging as the leash constricts your neck. If you could draw what cruelty was, it would be this king. This disgusting animal. He reaches your cage, and he pushes you into it, slamming the door. Without another word, he struts into his bedroom, and another door slams.

You’re covered in filth. And for what? What did this get you? Mere seconds of him acting like a human, but still it was a burning — weirdness. You can’t even think of the word that pops into your mind, because it’s too absurd to even fathom. To think that you liked it. You can’t help it that your body responded to his touch. No. You didn’t like it. You loathed it.

Bucky strolls out of his bedroom, and shoves something in between your bars, and you kick it back, “Change your fucking close. You’re a mess.”

“Ask nicely.”

“I don’t do nice,” your eyebrow cocks up at him, and he sighs, “Change your clothes. Please,” you bend over, picking up the nightgowns, and you blink at him. “They’re new, and never been worn. No bodily fluids.”

“I need help with — my corset. Unless you don’t know how to undo them.”

“Princess, I have done many things with a corset. Spin around,” you do as he asks. His lithe fingers pull and tug at your laces before he drops his hand to his side, and you look at him over his shoulder. Rolling your eyes up to meet his, and something silent, but primal passes between the two of you. You hate it. You don’t think much of this man that cages you up like a wild beast, but you swear his breath catches in his throat. “What?”

“Can you turn around?”

“Why?” He sounds like a clueless child.

“Because no man has ever seen me,” he bows his head, and turns around. You’re so out in the open. A cage placed right in front of the king’s bedroom. Such nonsense. Such impotence. You wish you could make him wait, but the idea of someone else walking up on you has you going faster than expected.

“I’m trying to be nice,” you snort. When has he been nice? “I could be worse.”

“Worse than the dog you are now?”

“I could have you tied up in my bed, and sprawled out. Leaving you wide open and ready to take my seed, until you’re swollen with my fucking heir. That’s how cruel I can be,” he has a point. But you snort.

He could do all of that, but he’s missing something very important. “You need to learn your place. Know exactly what you birthing our child could mean for the kingdom. For the world,” oh he thought so highly of himself. Alas, he was a fool.

He turns around, and sees you grinning maniacally. Tilting his head to the side, he even looks like a dog. “Oh, your highness. You can fuck me until I’m black and blue, but I’ll never bare a child for you or any man. You see, I’ve never bled. My body is as useless to you as any other man that wants to breed me.”

“You fucking liar.”

“What? Are you suggesting you check my panties? You can wait and wait and wait, it’ll never,” Bucky takes a deep breath, watching as you sit on the new mattress that lays on the floor. You’ll probably thank Steve or Wanda, not knowing it is him that took pity on you, and decided to make things a bit more comfortable.

“Now go away, or release me.”

“Wanda!” Wanda emerges out a door on the opposite side. Gliding up to the king before bowing. “What do you know about her, and the ability she has to have children?”

“Nothing, sire.”

“This — she claims she’s never bled,” Wanda looks over at you, and returns to Bucky with a regretful smile. “And?”

“It’s not uncommon to hear that about the wildlings,” What? You knew that having a child was rare, but you assumed it was because people didn’t want to damn their child to an eternal winter. “They’re malnourished out there. Give it a few months here, and she’ll grow thicker. She won’t be a shaking bird, but a woman with curves that can handle you and your child. But you have to remember…”

“I know!” Bucky’s nostrils flare, and he storms off. Leaving Wanda to look at you instead of her king.

“What?” You ask, annoyed with everything. Being trapped. Being here. Being nothing more than a broodmare for him!

“There’s worse men than Bucky. There’s so much that you don’t know. That you can’t know, but you need to accept it,” she whispers, spinning to return from where she was.

“And who could be worse?” Sighing, Wanda rolls up her sleeves. Her fingers trace around wicked scars at her wrist that gleam in the moonlight. Lifting her skirt, she reveals matching scars on her ankles. She’d been bound. “Like a cage is so much better.”

“In a cage where you’re alone. You weren’t tied up, and stretched out, available to whoever wanted to feast on your soul. Be thankful that my king is merciful, and he’s trying. It’s overtaking him.”

“What is?” Wanda doesn’t respond. She walks the hall and back into her bedroom. There was no screaming and moaning of women, and there wouldn’t be tonight.

Next

Masterlist

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[cassieoz]

Lamps

Zara breathed heavily as the pain grew more intense throughout her entire core. Her feverish body struggled against the powerful waves of her labor. Her huge frame rose and fell as each contraction squeezed its huge occupant downwards. The painful intensity left Zara breathless and sweating profusely.

"Feel the pressure grow! Your womanly needs to deliver the child is growing close. You will soon be able to use all your birthing energy! Breath and hold!"

The Birthing Goddess had returned to Zara's bedside to assist with her second, larger baby. Lamps burnt throughout the birthing chamber to indicate that the labor had commenced. Sounds of heavy panting and deep moaning gradually increased as the mother to be prepared for birth.

Zara clutched the sheets as the Birthing Goddess rubbed her contracting middle as waves of agony throbbed through her. Zara looked up at the canopy of the massive bed. She closed her eyes tightly as she remembered how this baby was conceived.

The raw, untamed passionate that exploded between herself and the Breeding God had been earth shattering. It was the most intense experience of her life. Zara was committed to continue to carry his children. She secretly loved how he showed with unrelenting passion as he had pounded her for hours. Zara had been so willing to be his carrier. Her responses were insanely wild with lust and unbridled intensity.

A sudden, stronger pain remained Zara of her present state and she moaned loud and long, panting frantically and shaking wildly against the dampen sheets. She could feel her time was approaching fast. Zara adjusted herself and looked wild eyed down at the Goddess. She nodded as she continued to massage Zara's laboring body.

"Yes! The time is close. The birthing waves will soon be crashing into you powerfully and relentlessly. You must be prepared to fulfil your role."

Within the next hour, active pushing completely commenced the birther with savage voracity.

Zara moaned deeper as the next approaching peak rose with horrific strength. She breathed harder and louder. She fought against her urge to let go, vibrating wildly against the support of the mattress. Her breathing quicken, moaning louder and longer until the wave crashed with earth quaking force. She cried out! Zara bore down with all her tension exploding through long, straining PUSHING! She growled loudly as she strained harder....this baby was much bigger. It was taking all her focus and stamina to force the child through her birth canal.

"You are doing beautifully. The Breeding God will be so proud of your strength and bravery."

Zara ached her back upwards as more of the painful contraction forced louder moaning and straining. The tension in her face and shaking body reflected the tremendous pressure and excruciating agony of birthing an enormous baby.

"Push it out! Force it through your womanly gateway. Make it come! Let it go and birth the child."

Another harrowing hour brought more painful pushing and howling out in agonising torture. Zara was fighting to crown the humongous head, free from its imprisonment. She gasped for air, panting frantically and straining down until her vision blurred and her body throbbed with suffering and exhaustion.

The flicking movement of light from the lamps suddenly encased a large frame. She weakly felt her body lifted and supported. The crowning bolder suddenly dropped hard against her swollen, throbbing lips. She howled wildly with the new pounding sensation between her thighs.

"Woman, stop fighting the pain. The head is large but must come now! Hold and bear down on it! NOW! PUSH IT FREE!"

Zara lend forward! Loud howling cries echoed around the birther as her child stretched and fully birthed through her red hot folds. Another roaring scream came swiftly, followed by an brutal eruption of fluid and complete release.

The Birthing Godness looked up at Zara, smiling.

"Another strong child! You have amazing strength!"

The Breeding God leant Zara back in his arms and cupped her face in his strong hands. As the child wailed in health, he passionately kissed her, completely consuming her, leaving her breathlessly.

As the kiss slowly ended, he looked into her eyes.

"Thank you woman! More will come! I want more babies! I want more babies with YOU!"

Zara blushed against his heat. Her body vibrated from the birth release as well as the stinging sensations of arousal. She couldn't wait! She was growing more and more in love......

( Sequel to Birthing Temple - Enjoy and comment. Please let me know what you think in the comments. )

[pursuitseternal]

𝓥𝓮𝔁 𝓜𝓮: a “Hate” Smut with Lord Astarion update to “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader | E | 3.5 K

🎨 by @kowashites full image ON TWT

Summary: A year after the Netherbrain, you go to celebrate in style, but your husband Lord has gotten on your last nerve, and tonight is the last straw. It’ll be fun pushing to find the edge of his control… until he snaps.

CW: “hate fuck” (taking out all your irritation about those annoying things your partner does), CNC (intentionally provoking rough/angry sex), semi-public sex, against a wall, spanking and choking, marking, rough fuck with deep feelings

Previous ch | Ao3 link | Masterlist

Another gala to commemorate the anniversary of the Netherbrain’s defeat, a less-than-sordid affair, hosted by the Duke. Not Wyll, you grumble, not your friend, not while he’s adventuring in Avernus with your favorite Hellion. No… his father will play host to the usual stuffy, humdrum sort of gathering. A typical Baldurian ball lies ahead for you… wine and toasting, dancing and discussions. Hells, you already dread having to recount your adventure for the umteenth time. The crash… the Goblins… the Shadowcurse… you roll your eyes as the carriage sways on the stone streets through the City. It’s a short ride from the Palace to High Hall, the site of your final battle, now amazingly rebuilt in under a year. A little magic and a lot of money can fix anything, you grumble.

A lot of money, no small thanks to your Lord who sits across from you, his head leaned back against the carriage wall as you jostle and sway. Truth be told, you would have rather walked the little jaunt to the party, but Astarion wouldn’t hear of it.

The Vampire Ascendant must arrive in style, he had crooned, summoning the gaudiest carriage, the one with gold flake embossing, darkest black paint, and rubies from Thay worked into the gilding.

And what was more, his own outfit shimmered, a pearlescent silk suit, embroidered on almost every inch, with shining elven shoes to match. He’s preened himself perfectly like the peacock he is.

After all, it’s his anniversary too—a year as the Ascendant. A year with you in his beating heart and in his warm bed.

Insufferable. Proud and regal and sensual and a total arrogant, raging bastard. Gods, you love him. But you also hate him sometimes.

Like the way his fingers are playing with that little dagger he keeps at his hip… it’s almost as natural as breathing for him the way he flips it over and over in his palms, tapping the edge of the blade on the sole of his shoe. Easy to do with one leg bent over his knee.

Tap… flick... tap... flick... He’s not even watching, head resting back and that grin on his face that screams he knows he’s wonderful and powerful and desirable…

Fuck him.

Actually, maybe you’ll tease him with words and touches tonight in front of all those guests. Work him up into a frenzy and then deny him. Your mouth quirks into a grin, your fang biting into your bottom lip at the mere thought. The idea of driving him mad makes your insides all warm and knotted, and it makes your cunt instantly wetter.

Shit, he knows. You curse yourself for not being careful with your thoughts, for not guarding your feelings that can so easily slip from your mind to his down your soul-bond.

His nostrils flare at the scent, his lips curl in that devious smirk, and lastly, those crimson eyes open to level his gaze upon you. “Why, my Consort, what has you so very… deliciously… flustered?”

Let the games commence, you think as you force all true thoughts of how best to torture him deep inside you. “Oh, it’s nothing love. Just excited to be touted and toasted as the Saviour of the City again,” you preen, fluffing the lace that lines the plunging neckline of your bodice. “Let’s be honest, love, I’ve been playing second fiddle to you ever since. It’s always the Vampire Ascendant first and then his precious, darling Consort.” You mimic his posture, reclining back with your ankle over your other knee, arms behind your head. Decidedly unlady and un-consort like.

Astarion narrows his eyes, shifting forward to lean into your space within the confines of the carriage. “Careful, my dear. You’re beginning to sound rather arrogant and ungrateful…” he purrs, his voice rolling in his throat, edged with that tint of danger and threat.

It makes you shiver more.

You roll your eyes, blatantly petulant, “Forgive me if I’m excited the accolades and adulations are pointed towards me tonight.” You pause to pat your hand on his knee, cajoling him. “Well, on us, I suppose.”

His grip snaps around your wrist, using the sway of the carriage to pull you into his lap. “Careful darling,” he hisses, fanged smile glinting in the moonlight. “I bi—”

“I’m well aware you bite,” you interrupt, unafraid. You gnash your own fangs in a cheeky grin. “So do I now…”

His face twists in a smirk, the kind that makes your walls flutter around nothing, wishing for something. “You little…”

As he crowds you like the predator he is, the carriage rolls to a halt, the door opening to reveal High Hall, the very picture of festivity and merriment.

His smirk fades to a muted smile, his dagger is sheathed once more at his hip, and you wait for him to help you down from the carriage box.

Torches and banners, music and wine, you can’t help but let it go to your head. Maybe you let your hips sway just a little more from side to side, maybe you don’t take Astarion’s proffered arm to lead you into the gala, and maybe, just maybe, you delight to feel him glaring daggers into your back.

The ballroom is alight with a thousand candles, with golden chandeliers and bright burning flames in the sconces. Couples dance, and politicians and Patriars toast the defeat of the Netherbrain and the rebuilding of the City. The only thing flowing more freely than the champagne is the fawning praise that everyone lavishes upon you. Men compliment your battle prowess, and women your attire and sparkling scarlet eyes.

And any attempt to include your vampiric partner glowering over your shoulder is easily redirected in your favor. It’s been an hour of playing the hero, and with each interaction, you can sense him closer and closer to losing control. It’s so much fun, you think. Currently, a noble couple of Half Elves stand hanging on your every word, enraptured to hear your tale. And for once, you don’t mind the effort to retell it for the tenth time tonight—not when Astarion’s fingers claw into your hip, his arm wrapped snug around your waist when you gloss over the details of his Ascension.

“Spectacular,” the man congratulates you, applauding with a wide smile on his swarthy face. “And of course, your union with Lord Ancunín has only ensured the city be rebuilt speedily and even better than before.”

The wave of relief and pride that comes off of Astarion irritates the shit out of you. But you hide it behind an easy smile as he takes your chin and lifts your mouth to his for a possessive kiss. “Of course,” he purrs, “this City would be rubble without us, just as my Consort would be nothing without me. Isn’t that right, darling?”

Terms of engagement. A summons for battle. That’s what he’s issued.

You give him a chaste little kiss. “Oh, I don’t know. I had many allies of even greater power and magic,” you reply as you extricate yourself from his arms. “The list was endless, really. And while Astarion packs quite the bite, I had far more powerful allies in the final battle here in these halls.” You feel the ripples of anger simmering under his pale skin, and you swear you can hear his teeth grinding and gnashing over your shoulder. “Dark forces of the Ascendant?” you giggle, “a handful of ghouls and shadow mastiffs. It was nothing compared to having an Illithid in our ranks, or…”

“You’ll excuse us, won’t you?” Astarion interrupts abruptly, a gentlemanly nod of his head as his nails dig into you so hard, it tears into the silk of your bodice.

The poor Half-Elven couple are left in stunned silence as he pulls you towards the door of the grand chamber. “A word in private… my dear,” he hisses into your ear. “Perhaps more than one word… perhaps more than only words will be required for this discussion.” He snarls the word, spittle covering your cheek as his rage reaches its boiling point.

“What ho!” a familiar, jolly voice calls your name. And much to Astarion’s chagrin, he forgets your new title of ‘Lady…’ Gale comes your way, fairly elbowing his path through the frilly crowd until he’s standing so close to you, arms wrapping around you awkwardly as Astarion refuses to let your waist go. “Apologies, I just couldn’t resist. It’s been six months since last I saw the pair of you, and, well, you know me: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Particularly when the heart no longer has a certain Netherese blight and…”

“Is there something you wanted, Wizard?” Astarion snaps, literally closing his mouth so forcefully his teeth click shut.

Gale remains unphased, used to the vampire's temperament. “‘How are you?’ was my question… I suppose. Is domestic bliss filling the walls of your newly redone palace?”

You snort, a genuine reaction to the implication of anything ‘domestic’ when it comes to the Vampire Ascendant. But you spy an opportunity here, a chance to unleash a few of Astarion’s more private habits that peeve you. Ones he would rather die… again… than have revealed to Gale. “Where do I begin? The entire place is refurbished, you’d hardly recognize it. Astarion here has spared no expense to make the place bright and cheerful. Though it does get rather tiresome with only one another for companionship. You should come for a stay, Gale!”

“I’m sure the Wizard is far too busy with his responsibilities in Waterdeep,” Astarion manages to dismiss the notion with an elegant wave of his hand.

“Oh pish posh,” you giggle ostentatiously. “What? Embarrassed that Gale would observe the decidedly domestic ‘bliss’ we share? That he’ll hear how loudly you chew at dinner? Or notice that you leave your things everywhere around the palace? Or that… hells forbid… he hears you far—”

Your final, embarrassing comment is swallowed by his own mouth on yours. His arms pick you up like you’re a doll, a plaything, and he carries you to the door of the ballroom. Your feet swing midair, your arms pinned to your side, leaving a gaped-mouth Gale staring after you. But he knows better than to follow.

First alcove from the entryway, and you are shoved against the cool, smooth stone wall. Moonlight falls in sharp slats from the tall crystal panes. The angles of his face catch your breath with their ferocity as he glowers down on you, hand to your throat. “I can’t believe you,” he hisses, “treating me like that in front of everyone…” his voice is dripping with venom, heart racing with enraged palpitations. “Tell me,” he whispers so tight and pressed in his throat, “do you hate me?”

You give an insolent grin as his fingers flex gently on your windpipe. “Hate you?” You swallow, your voice box gripped just tight enough to rasp. “You irritate me, annoy me, and sometimes you outright piss me off.”

“Is that so?”

“And sometimes… sometimes… I do hate you….”

He leans away from your face, moving into the shaft of moonlight. The pale glow catches in his silver curls, the swirling ruby depths of his eyes glowing. You’re not sure if it’s from magic or rage or light, but it’s decidedly there. It makes your stomach bind in knots. That dangerous light shines brighter as he licks his lips. “Well, at least you’re not indifferent towards me, that would be a tragedy. I’ll tell you a secret…” His lips tickle in the sensitive spot beneath your ear, warm breath ghosting down your cool skin. “Sometimes… I hate you too.”

With hot breath and tongue, he consumes you, reminding you that you don’t need to breathe to survive anymore. Good thing. You’d have passed out by now as he kisses, your head spinning and lungs burning. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growls into your mouth, hand slipping from your windpipe to claw roughly around your breast, ripping it out from the deep cut of your bodice first. “Tonight is, after all, all about you…. Your victory, your allure. Hundreds of eyes begging for a glance, a moment of your attention. Same as me,” he spits the words between clenched fangs. “You dare to ignore me, insult me. After all that I did for you… with you… ungrateful wretch.”

His hands have already bunched your skirt, arm wrapped to pin your thigh to his waist so he can grind into you. The angrier he becomes, the harder his hips press that confined cock into your sex, back and forth… back and forth.

You take a deep breath finally as soon as his hand releases your neck. Retaliating, you grip into his head and yank, keeping those gnashing teeth from your undead vein. “What about you? Vain and power hungry and controlling bastard,” you sneer, finger clawing your nails into his perfectly sculpted curls.

Hands fumbling between your body to snap open the fastens to his pants, your fingers roughly grabbing the outline of his erection hard enough to make him squeal. His gaze burns with hunger—carnal and sanguine—eyes narrowed in anger even as he smiles.

Roughly, you grip his cock and squeeze him in his pants, making that little bit of precum at its tip dribble out more, enough to stain his front.

“Playing with fire, my cheeky little pup,” he growls, gripping beneath your raised thigh to slot himself tantalizingly close… the hot, thick head of his cock pushing its way along your seam. But not in it. Not yet. “And here I thought you were deep in your annoyance and hatred for me?” That cock pulls back, sliding again where you are positively dripping down your thighs. “You may hate me, but my cock...” he leans in until his lips suck your ear loudly, “you still have a soft spot for my cock, it seems.” He lets just the head of him dip inside your channel… once, twice… then he pulls back out. And you have to swallow a moan. “More like a tight, warm, and wet spot…”

His laughter encases you, deafens you to the din of the gala that is dangerously close to your hiding spot.

“You want me to fuck you,” Astarion hisses, lips and tongue tickling the creases of your ear. “Even hating me, you want me to try to make you moan and sob and weep for your lover…” It’s not a question. He’s happy to play the rules of your game, abiding by the terms of engagement you have been dancing around at this ball.

You give him your own version of his liar’s smile. “No… no I don’t want any of that,” you taunt, sardonic tone and batting eyes to give an effort of innocence. “Don’t do it. Don’t shove your cock between my thighs. Don’t come near me. You disgust me.” Just for good measure you lower your leg, letting his length slip from under you. “Now, let the belle of the ball return to her party so she can be toasted as the hero she is…”

Astarion snarls, feral and angry, a smile on his face all the while. He spins you around and traps you right back where he had you, but this time, he shoves himself to his balls, sheathed totally inside you from behind. “Fear not, you’ll return soon enough,” he’s panting in the back of your ear as he pounds you, your cheek pressing against the stone wall with each thrust. “You’ll return with your insides painted white and my cum dripping down your thighs, just for good measure. You’ll return, my insolent saviour, and get all the praise you’re due, but you’re going to do it… reeking of sex, stinking of me inside you.”

Your back arches, body burning its hatred and annoyance in the flames of pleasure. Fuck, it feels good. All his pent up rage pummels your insides, his possessive hands pinning you in place and wandering over every inch of your body, a body he has worshiped tirelessly and daily for a year. His panting mouth lowers to your neck, and for a moment you fear his bite… Instead he marks you… little brands that will hide so well for the rest of the night beneath your hair. Over and over again, he does this, leaving a trail of love bites encircling the back of your neck, a collar of his own possessive marking. Hand extended, he smacks your ass, your breath hitching to swallow your groan of delight as he gives you another mark of his claim to conceal beneath your skirts. Another spank, just enough to drive you towards the edge in that way he knows you crave.

He ruts into you from behind, and you, splayed with your hands and face against the stone wall, you’re smiling… “Gods, you can’t stand me having any power, any eyes on me that aren’t your red ones.”

“Can you blame me? You’re mine, darling. I’ve shared everything with you,” his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music and chatter in the ballroom and over the slap of your bodies as he fucks harder. “I ascended for us, for you… I fought at your side, gave you my gifts of immortality and sunwalking… and what’s more I gave you my heart, my trust. You are the first person I ever truly, obsessively cared about. And this is the thanks I get?”

Hips snapping slow, hands gripping nails into your hip and neck. He’s close, his pace growing more deliberate and deep. You gasp, his words piercing deeper than his cock as he bottoms out to the hilt with each thrust. Guilt slices into your gut, and you arch your back again, your face pressing against his cheek. “I can be thankful and find you incredibly… vexing… at the same time…” you pant.

“Vex you? Little old me… vexes you?” he’s laughing now, a wicked delight where there was rage a moment before. “Show me, show me how much I vex you,” he smirks against your cheek, fingers wrapped prettily around your throat until he feels you shudder. Your climax slams into you, a wave of heat and twisting muscles and fluttering walls. And gods, do you moan, do you scream for him. Unmistakable as that noise is, you’re sure someone will come to aid you in a moment.

But a moment is all that is required as he’s groaning and coming, head pressed into your back, hand clenched around your waist and throat. His seed fills your cunt, warmth instantly sticking and dripping down your thighs. Damp breath on your skin, a bit of drool wetting that spot, and Astarion kisses you at the nape of your neck.

His voice is rough, ragged from exertion and teeming with emotion. “Well,” he rasps, “as long as we are being honest… there is something that vexes me too, darling. I knew I never would be enough for you, that you degrade yourself to stay at my side.”

“Degrade myself?” you whisper, turning as he pulls from your cunt. His eyes are dull again, that fire of rage smothered and replaced by a raw vulnerability. That was a sight you had not expected as a part of your games tonight. “My love, do you still believe that, after all this time?”

“A year is nothing for the life of an immortal…” he trails off, a bit of his mask snapping back into place as he laces his cock inside his pants and rolls his shoulders to his full height, “especially one as powerful as I.”

You smack him on his shoulder, playful but powerful in your own way. “I do not see it as such,” you reply, “I see you as the man you are, a bastard sometimes, but a glorious one, one that has my heart. But even if you have me, body and soul, you, you do still vex me, irritate me, and make me hate some of the things you do.”

“Well,” he preens, making a show of fixing the lace of your bodice collar where he’s torn it a bit, “as long as it’s only vexation, don’t pretend you hate this, you love this… you love me…”

You lean in and give him the most feral kiss you think you ever have, all teeth and tongue as you pull him into your mouth with both hands. “Of course I do, that’s why you can annoy me so much, why I can feel bursts of such… passionate… hate.”

Astarion breaks the kiss first, thumb swiping along your lower lip. “So long as it’s passionate,” he teases back with a petulant smirk. “You do know, my darling, I am proud of your accomplishments…”

“Our accomplishments…”

His answering smile is disjointedly tender after the rough fuck against the wall. A little nod of his head, and he’s offering you his arm with all genteel decorum. That’s when you sense it, see it in his shoulders and bearing. A confidence and assurance that, despite vexation, you’re proud of him too. And of course you are, you think as you reenter the festivities, rubbing your neck and backside with a smile.

[irlnorthshaw]

maturing is realising that other teams exist outside of the supa strikas lens. like… let me give you an example. you need to understand how exciting it is to imagine the other teams going through their own hijinks. whether it’s internally, ala “heels over head” with skarra overcoming his injuries in “perfect match” or externally w each other.

imagine how hilarious THAT would be!!!!

other teams commencing psychological torture onto each other. like forget the supa strikas guys, how will iron tank use espionage against invincible united??

technicali (by technicali, i mean john j johnson jr) pissing their pants whenever they travel to feratuvia

insert toni verne laughing at grimm’s whole “ahead of the game” scam thinking he could’ve gotten away w it better

orion taking advantage of the lunar cycles and the tides to somehow beat hydra fc

inyo, without a fail, successfully manipulating invincible united JUST because the team already has trust issues

“how did you pull that one off, coach inyo?” “to be frank, they did most of the work. i just had to send an email.”

sultans and hydra fighting over who pulls off the dome stadium concept better

ever since “klaus on inspection” i truly wonder what kind of dynamic iron tank has w invincible united bc i would argue they are both the most offensive, on AND off the court. i can definitely picture skarra calling out uber on natter over his smelly b.o.

who does capitalism better? cosmos or the sultans?? sorry buddy watkins got nothing on THE sheikh!!!

A CONTINUATION OF “GREETINGS FROM SUNNY FERATUVIA” WHERE IRON TANK ALSO HAS TO EXPERIENCE THE GRIMM FANS’ INSANE SABOTAGE. except this time, there is a whole lot more yelling

i love these so much, please guys leave ur own headcanons and scenarios for this!!! why wait for a season 8 when we can combine our brain power to make up spin-off episodes abt the other teams!!!!

moonbug… please… more cross-team episodes… please please save me… save me other teams

[yanderecrazysie]

yandere bakugo! purge au? it’s time for the purge and its the perfect time to get his darling

I’ve been watching the Purge show with my little sister and we occasionally just text each other “The Giving is near, the Invisible awaits”. I love the purge movies so much, except the Forever Purge, I just didn’t like that one.

Title: 12 Hours

Pairings: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Bakugou’s scary lol

Summary: 12 hours when every crime is legal but with a twist- if you kidnap someone, they’re yours forever.

“You’re sure everything is locked down?” You asked, biting your lip nervously.

Your boyfriend smiled at you, “State of the art system. There’s nothing to worry about.”

You gave him a smile, but you followed it up with a sigh. You had a lot to worry about. You had gotten a note in the mail, two days before the purge, that read:

Dear (Y/n),

This is a notice that a Level 5 person(s) has been given permission to hold you indefinitely if you are captured during purge hours. We recommend staying inside and taking precautions to protect yourself.

Blessed be our New Founding Fathers,

NFFA Personnel.

Someone had requested permission to kidnap you forever, as long as they captured you on purge night. Who it was, you couldn’t even imagine.

Your house’s defense system was practically a joke. You didn’t have the money to get fancy equipment like everyone else had. That’s why your boyfriend, John, had offered to let you stay with him during purge night.

The thought had crossed your mind that John could be the crazy kidnapper, but you knew that he could have you any time he wanted to, so there wasn’t any point in kidnapping you.

John had an amazing security system. Not as good as, say, the NFFA members had, but still very good. You felt mostly safe to stay with him, but there was still an ounce of fear that wouldn’t go away.

You had looked up what “Level 5” meant and had discovered there were five levels of dangerous people classified for the purge. Level 1 was the lowest and, well, Level 5 was the most dangerous.

You had an extremely dangerous person after you. Who knew what they would do to you after kidnapping you? Maybe they would torture you all year long.

Your boyfriend turned on the TV and, a few moments later, the announcement played.

“This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. All other weapons are restricted. 

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity and shall not be harmed. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. when the purge concludes. 

“Blessed be our new founding fathers and America... A nation reborn. May God be with you all.”

Even through the metal shutters, you could hear the sirens start. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“We’re in for a quiet evening, don’t worry,” John said, putting a comforting arm around your shoulder, “Should we get the wine out?”

“Yes, please,” you said shakily.

Your boyfriend walked over to the cabinets and pulled out a bottle of wine and a couple cups. He poured a generous amount of liquid into both cups and handed you one. You drank all of it in one go.

John laughed and refilled your cup, “It’s only 12 hours. That’s it.”

“12 hours is a long time,” you muttered, “A lot can happen in half a day.”

Ten hours passed uneventfully, the two of you watching the only channel that wasn’t showing highlights of the purge from cameras set up around the country or talking about the history of purging.

On the eleventh hour, someone knocked on the door. You froze in your seat, breath hitching in your throat from horror. Your boyfriend stood up, “It’s okay, no one can get in. I’ll check the front door camera.”

He checked the camera and smiled, “See, they moved o-”

The power went out. 

A beeping sound filled the house and then the scraping of metal as the shutters began to rise. The security system had been disabled and was reversing itself.

Even in the dim light, you could see that your boyfriend had gone pale, messing with the system frantically to try to reset it. 

Finally, he turned to you and said, “Get in the closet. I’ve got a gun and I’ll deal with anyone that comes inside.”

You were crying at that point, but you managed to nod. You ran to the closet and hurriedly closed it behind you. You pulled some clothes down from the rack and tried to use them to cover yourself. There was no lock, so you were absolutely toast if anyone looked inside.

You could hear the door open loudly, as though someone had kicked it open. Your ears strained, listening for any hint that your boyfriend would be okay.

A gunshot rang through the house and you hoped it was from your boyfriend’s gun and not the intruder’s. A loud, husky laugh followed the sound, “Nice try, extra.”

You covered your mouth as the sound of an automatic gun’s famous ratatata followed. You knew John only had a pistol. No doubt your boyfriend had just died. 

“Y/n”, I know you’re in here,” the voice said loudly, almost playfully, “Might as well come out now, so I don’t waste time trying to find you.”

You had less than an hour left. If you could just stall him until the 12 hours were up, maybe you’d make it out alive. 

Your breath hitched again as he came into the bedroom and you closed your eyes.

“Not under the bed. What about the closet?” You could hear the smirk in the intruder’s voice.

The closet door flew open and the clothes were pulled off of you. You looked up helplessly at the wild-haired blonde with blood red eyes as he crouched in front of you. He took your wrist in a crushing grip, grinning at you with victory, and hauled you up off the floor.

“C’mon, we only have one hour to get you home. Had to deal with a lot of shit tonight. But I’m sure your boy toy’s car will help us out, won’t it, baby?” 

You hadn’t made it the whole 12 hours. 

Your life was in his hands.

[reverieparacosm]

Art's Silent Language (Lukai Hwei x GN!Reader)

Warnings: violence, blood, slight torture, kidnapping

Chapter 4: Through the Artist's Eyes

(part 1 here)

Summary: Captured by Jhin, you face a final performance of pain and beauty. Will this be Jhin's last act, or just the beginning of something more?

(Note is at the end of the chapter)

A searing pain lanced through your skull, each beat of your heart a hammer blow against it. You fight to open your eyes, the world a swirling vortex of darkness and pain. You blink, the world snapping into focus, revealing a figure bathed in the dim, ethereal glow of a single lantern.

Jhin.

His lips curl into a smile that holds no warmth, only a chilling, unsettling amusement. He moves with a grace that belies the terror he instills, his fingers, slender and elegant, tracing the outline of a wound on your head.

The cloth he holds, pristine white against the darkness, is a stark contrast to the crimson blossoming on it. He presses it gently against your wound, the pressure a searing agony. But there is a strange, almost hypnotic quality to his touch, a calculated precision that feels more like a surgical procedure than a simple act of tending to a wound. Each stroke of the cloth is deliberate, methodical, as if he were an artist meticulously applying paint to a canvas. The blood, once a vibrant red, is absorbed into the fabric, leaving a dark, ominous stain that mirrors the chilling dread that grips your heart.

You try to speak, to scream, but your throat is parched, your voice a mere croak.

"Shh, do not struggle," he coos, dabbing at your face. You flinch at his touch, feeling scrapes where your skin meets ropes. Jhin examines you with a twisted smile, his eyes glinting with a mix of curiosity and malice, as if savoring discomfort. "You’ll make this worse for yourself," he warns softly, leaning very close.

"Release me," you say sharply.

Jhin throws back his head and laughs, a grating cacophony that sets your nerves on edge. Slowly, he circles you, trailing a gloved finger along your tense shoulders.

"My dear captive, you presume to threaten me?" he croons softly. "It is I who hold power in this dance, not some chirping fledgling gasping in my claws."

Halting before you, Jhin grips your chin in a punishing grip. His veneer of control cracks, exposing raving lunacy beneath.

"No artist lets his muse flee until the opus is complete! I have divined such exquisite torments for our finale. Through your anguished song will I craft my crowning masterwork!"

His long-fingered hand traces your cheekbone, leaving a trail of cold in its wake. You tremble under his gaze, uncertain of what horrors lay in store. 

You struggle against your bonds, to no avail. Jhin observes your movements with interest, like a painter studying his subject. Outside, the sunset paints the decaying walls in hues of orange and gold.

"Through art, all things can be transformed," Jhin continues rapturously. "Your mortal flesh will become something everlasting. I will alchemize your essence until only brilliance remains."

He lifts a glinting tool, and you see it is a sculpting knife, its edge honed to deadly precision. Panic rises in your throat as Jhin studies the play of fading sunlight on the blade.

"Diamonds, like humanity, are born of turmoil. Extreme heat and pressure fuse the chaotic cloud into clarity. So too shall you be remade." His voice rings with messianic fervor. "Soon, you will shine eternally as my greatest creation. The transformation begins...let the ceremony commence!"

As your eyes adjust to the dim lighting, more details of your surrounds emerge. Crumbling brick walls are papered with faded posters advertising long-forgotten shows. A thick layer of dust covers the worn floorboards; your chair stands center-stage in a decrepit house.

Overhead, tattered curtains sway in the breeze drifting through broken windows. Beams of dying sunlight pierce the gloom, illuminating spinning dust motes like flecks of gold. It is a place suspended between creation and ruin - the perfect setting for Jhin's dark vision. 

The artist himself paces before you, muttering excitedly to himself.

"The lighting is perfect, the composition sublime," he muses. "All that remains is to complete my masterwork."

Jhin's hands flit restlessly over his assortment of strange artifacts: gleaming surgical tools, arcane tomes bound in human skin, vials containing viscous liquids and mysterious powders. His meticulous artist’s mind sorts rapidly through options.

Finally, he selects an instrument resembling a paintbrush, but its bristles end in thin blades. He tests the edge delicately against his finger, nodding in approval at the bead of blood welling forth. 

"First, we strip away your outer shells," Jhin declares, tracing the blade lightly over your cheek. "Only then can your truest essence shine through, polished to dazzling radiance.”

Jhin steps close, looming over you with the metallic bristles poised at your throat. You thrash against the ropes binding you, heart pounding, to no avail.

"Peace, my subject," Jhin soothes. "Struggle will only prolong your suffering. Remain still, and I can elevate you to glory." 

His gaze bores into you. With a surgeon's precision, he drags the blade slowly down your neck. You cry out as beads of blood rise in its wake, crimson against your skin.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the blade presses deeper. You inhale sharply but do not cry out - you will not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

A bead of blood wells and Jhin leans in, tongue darting out to sample your essence on his lips.

"Sweet," he groans, eyes fluttering closed. When they open once more, wild hunger blazes within. Jhin looms closer still, trapping you with his gaze as the knife dances over your hammering pulse.

Jhin makes a small noise of pleasure, tilting his head to observe his handiwork. "Exquisite. The raw material reveals its luster."

"Transformation is seldom pleasant," Jhin comments clinically. "But pain birth beauty, as fire shapes the jewel."

"I knew from the start what lurked beneath your silken words and gifts," you say coldly. "The way you twisted Hwei's heart to suit your depraved games, used his passion as just one more sick puppet in your shows."

Jhin's gloved fingers suddenly wrap tight around your chin, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His touch is cold yet burns your skin all the same. 

Jhin cocks his head, regarding you with a curled smile. "The petal thought he understood my art. In time, he too would have become a masterpiece."

His patronizing tone only fuels your fury. "I saw how you fed on his love like some parasite, how you twisted his mind until he was but a shadow, living only to feed the void within you."

Chuckling softly, Jhin runs his thumb along your swollen bottom lip. "And what of you, my feisty little songbird? Do you also fly willingly into the fox's waiting jaws?"

You meet his eyes steadily. "Your acts of violence and violation do not move me. I understand you better than you understand yourself - you who knows only how to feed chaos and feel nothing."

Jhin's smiling mask shatters, giving way to something ravenous and raw. "Feel nothing?" he snarls, seizing your face in a crushing grip. "I feel it all, each exquisite moment - the passion, the rapture, the divine perfection of destruction! Through my art alone do I truly live!"

Releasing you, he draws back, composure sliding neatly back into place. But his eyes hold a new calculation.

"And what makes you think you know my intentions, my dear?" he whispers, voice low and deadly. Bloodlust swirls in his eyes yet something else flickers there - intrigue, admiration for your spirit.

You swallow yet hold his stare, defiant to the last. "I see the emptiness within you. Your 'art' is but a shallow mimicry of passion, meaningless destruction performed for an audience of one."

Jhin laughs softly, a mirthless sound. His flawless mask cracks, revealing the gaping void beneath, the ache that drives him to create through carnage alone.

Leaning impossibly close, he breathes against your trembling lips. "Perhaps you know me better than I thought, my clever sparrow. If shallowness is what you perceive...then let me show you the inferno that consumes."

With that, his mouth slants hard over yours, ravaging with a desperate hunger to feel - to feel anything amid the numbness. You gasp into the kiss, your heartbeat answering his like clashing symbols in a dark symphony.

For a stolen moment, passion transcends intention as you drown in sensation. But when Jhin pulls away, craving and madness have resurfaced in his eyes once more. The tender illusion shatters, and you know - this was but one more manipulating performance in his grisly design.

He rises and paces, gesticulating wildly.

"That kiss was but another brushstroke on the canvas of our drama together. Through it, I sought merely to elicit emotion - yours, and of the audience that surely hangs on our every moment."

Pausing, Jhin gazes down at you. His perfect features twist into a ghastly mockery of affection.

"Did you feel, little songbird, as I tore open your heart? Did you tremble with anguished rapture, swept along in the ecstatic tide of annihilation?"

His mocking laughter rings through the dusty room.

Jhin grips your hair forcefully, pulling your head back as he breathes against your neck, his warm breath sends shivers racing down your spine. You feel your back arch involuntarily.

He leans in closer, his lips grazing your skin as he slightly bites down on your neck, the sensation both pleasurable and painful.

His hand glides down your arms, fingers trailing lightly as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The touch feels possessive, yet there’s a strange tenderness in his movements. You can’t help but feel the tension building between you, a dance of power and vulnerability. He then shifts his attention to the bindings on your wrists, circling your wrist with his thumb in a deliberate manner, as if testing the strength of your restraints. For a fleeting moment, it feels as if he’s loosening them just enough to let hope flicker to life.

But the moment is fleeting. You turn your head away, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze and the feelings swirling inside you. Just as you think you’ve escaped his grasp, he takes your face in both of his hands, forcing you to meet his eyes. His thumb brushes softly against your lips.

"That, my dear, is the only 'passion' I know—the opus of agonies I craft through my works," he whispers, his voice smooth and chilling. "All else is but pale imitation. Remember that… should any wisp of feeling dare cloud your judgment."

With a savage grin and swish of his cloak, Jhin is once more lost to his dark imaginings, leaving you questioning all you thought you knew of this depraved artist.

As Jhin turns away to arrange his infernal stagecraft, you gather every ounce of strength and begin to struggle anew against your bonds. The ropes bite cruelly into your wrists, yet you twist and strain with wild desperation. 

Jhin pays you no mind, lost in his own deranged mutterings as he lays out gleaming utensils.

Seeing your chance, you redouble your efforts with a frenzied yell. The ropes fray and tear—and with one final wrench, your hands rip free!

Jhin whirls at the sound, anger flaring in his eyes at being denied his dark muse. But you waste no time gawking at the monster—you launch from the chair at him.

Off-balance, Jhin crashes to the dust-caked floorboards. His blade skitters away into the shadows.

Not sparing a glance at him, you sprint for the splintered exit with renewed vigor. Black night swallows your retreating form as you pour every ounce of will into escape.

Laughter and rage and the sound of pounding footsteps chase on your heels.

Your lungs burn as you push your exhausted body further into the desert night. Jhin's maniacal laughter still echoes behind you, though the sound is fading with each step. You dare not look back, knowing his twisted grin will be etched in your mind if you do. All that matters is putting as much distance between him and yourself as possible.

Up ahead, a faint glow peeks through the sparse trees - an oasis. New adrenaline surges through your veins at the sight of what might offer refuge. Sand kicks up with each footfall as you rush toward the glowing pool of water. Palm trees whip past you in a blur, their branches outstretched like beckoning arms guiding you to safety.

Bursting into the small oasis, you stumble to a halt beside the water's edge. Your hands brace against your knees as greedy lungs drink in air. Through the shallow pants, your ears strain for any sign you are still being pursued. Only the gentle lapping of waves meets them, the normal night sounds of the desert serenading the sparse trees.

Slowly, muscles uncoil from their clenched state. The immediate threat seems past, at least for now. You lower yourself fully to the cool sand and let the sight of glittering water soothe frazzled nerves.

Soft moonlight dances across the surface, dappling the shore in an ethereal glow. Clarity returns along with your breathing, allowing reality to truly sink in.

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the desert chill.

Pushing to unsteady legs, you shuffle closer to the pool's edge. Your parched throat begs for refreshment after the exhausting escape. Cupping greedy hands, you bring the cool liquid to chapped lips. Too soon, the last droplets fall from your palms. Thirst barely slaked; other needs demand attention in your weary state.

Scanning the sandy shore, your gaze lands on a cluster of palm fronds piled near the trees. With any luck, they might offer cushion and cover for the night. One problem at a time - rest now, plans later. Heavy feet carry you to the pile and you collapse into the fronds with a sigh. Cool surrounds quickly lull frayed senses as lingering adrenaline fades into exhaustion.

Darkness pulls you under like a comforting blanket.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The desert night is alive with the constant song of insects and wildlife. A sliver of moon drifts overhead amid patches of scattered clouds, casting the oasis in a dim glow.

As you drift in the space between sleep and waking, a shiver runs through your body that has nothing to do with the cool night air. 

Something is different. An energy tingles at the edge of perception, faint yet familiar. Slowly prying open weary eyes, you lift your head from the nest of palm fronds.

Rippling across the surface of the water is a blur of colors, dancing in hues too vibrant to be natural.

A paintbrush comes into focus, wielded by a figure kneeling at the pool's edge. Colored wisps trail his movements like an artist’s ashes, each strand levitating impossibly in the air.

There is no mistaking Hwei's magical brush at work, weaving ephemeral illustrations that shimmer on the water's canvas.

His eyes, iridescent even in shadow, find yours across the shore. Recognition lights within those prismatic orbs before flickering with an emotion you can’t place. Concern? Relief?

With fluid grace, Hwei rises and strides to your side. Up close, faint scents of oils and pigment cling to his frame. His gaze roams your form, lingering on patches of torn cloth.

"You're hurt." His voice is soft yet carries an undercurrent that raises the hairs along your nape. Fingers gently grasp your wrist to examine your wounds. You suppress a wince at the contact.

"It's nothing serious." Your assurance does little to quell the tempest raging behind Hwei's eyes. Releasing your arm, he pulls his brush from where it is strapped across his back. Colors sprung to life along the bristles at his beckon, bleeding together into a soothing teal wash.  

Without a word, Hwei dips the brush’s edge into the shimmering paint. Your breath hitches as cool bristles make contact, tracing delicate lines along your wounds.

Where pigment spreads, numbness follows in its wake, deadening pain.

Fascinated, you watch reddened skin knit together before eyes, leaving fresh and unmarred in the healing liquid’s wake.

Magic, or simple a gift of Hwei’s brush? Impossible to say where abilities end and the artist begins.

You gaze up to find his focus intent on the task, lips parted slightly as his skill purifies damaged flesh. Heat rises unbidden to your cheeks under such devoted care. Your heart, already quickened from your closeness, threatens to burst from your ribs. 

The last abrasions disappear under careful strokes. Hweis' eyes lift to yours, their depths reflecting colors and emotions too deep to comprehend.

One arm encircles your waist and pulls you against his slender form, the other brushes tousled strands of hair from your face. His thumb lingers and caresses the line of your jaw with tenderness.  

“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.” Hwei’s hushed murmur causes lids to flutter closed, lost in the soothing rumble of his voice.

Lips meet yours then, slow and searching as if committing every facet to memory through touch alone.

With utmost care, he gathers you into his lap to cradle against his chest. One hand soothingly combs through your hair while the other takes up his brush anew. Upon the oasis sands, Hwei begins to paint in colors of serenity.

Lush blooms spill from under his talented strokes—petite lilies burst with dewdrops; morning glories unfurl translucent petals. Their vivid hues shine all the brighter in the shadows of night. As detail after detail comes alive, the flowers' sweet fragrance joins the cool desert air.

Instead of darkness, visions of sunlit gardens dance behind your closed eyes. Hwei watches vigilantly, brush never ceasing until the last stem stands vibrant and whole. Only then does he set the magical implement aside once more. You feel relaxed and calm.

Gently, he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. Hwei gazes for long moments, memorizing each fleeting emotion buried beneath fatigue. His hands cup your cheeks with care.

"Let me share this burden," Hwei murmurs, breath soft against your lips between words. "I would bear it all if only it rids you of pain."

Then slowly, he lowers his mouth to yours in a kiss filled with promise and devotion profound as the stars above.

Art is the highest form of hope.

All thoughts flee under that tender onslaught. Your hands tangle in his tunic, clinging to escape the nightmares of past hours in his grounding presence.

Within the circle of his embrace, reality seems but a distant dream. Here, in Hwei's arms, you know only comfort, protection... and love that shelters your heart, always, from any threat in the waking world.

As the stars light creeps over the dunes, you stir in Hwei's tender embrace. Beneath palms and stars, the remainder of night has passed in comforting solace.

Gaze meeting Hwei's own, you ask in hushed tones, "How did you find me here?" A rueful smile touches his lips, fingers lifting to brush aside disheveled locks. "Worry not over such details, my heart. What matters is you're safe now." 

Still the unknowns nag, his knowing eyes betraying depths beyond casual passersby. "Through your magic, wasn't it?” Hwei's nod grants affirmation, though guarded concern now creases his features. A painter's sight can unveil truths better left buried; it seems...

"Tell me what horrors drove you to this place," he bids softly, voice roughened by rising emotion kept barely leashed. And so, haltingly, the tale spills forth —of Jhins plan, his machinations to make you "a creation beyond compare." 

How Jhin's maddened machinations seek to immortalize your agonized demise. How by fortune or fate, an opportunity arises allowing escape from dire design. Yet escape is not the end, as horrors haunt memory still... 

At the story's close, Hwei grows deafly silent.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The journey back is a somber one. Smoke rises on the horizon long before Koyehn's Temple simple spires come into view, an ominous shroud hanging overall.

But no prayers can prepare you for the hellscape that awaits.

As the temple comes into sight, it is engulfed in angry orange tongues that devour sacred scrolls and timber alike. Embers swirl chaotically on smoldering thermals, borne aloft to spread ruin further still.

Hwei reins in with a sudden gasp, leaving you to brace against his back. You clutch him tight as anguished cries escape his lips, giving voice to the torment writ large across his features. Never do you see such depths of anguish from the stoic painter, who schools his passions into disciplined lines and fluid strokes.

"No..." Hwei's choked whisper tears at your heart. This place is his sanctuary, his home—now reduced to cindering ruins. You grasp his arm for support as much as offering console, finding only tremors wracking his lithe form in return.

His soul bleeds… and the blood steadily, silently, disturbingly slowly, swallows him whole.

His brush falls unheeded, magic sparking errant between clenched fingers as if begging release. Yet for all the chaos within, no colors escape Hwei's tight rein—not here, not for this.

Sliding to the ground, you pull him into your arms as tears carve trails down soot-stained cheeks. You stand locked in mournful embrace until the sobs begin to still, the conflagration within banked to smoldering embers once more by love's balm. Lips press against your hair, murmuring apologies for all that can never be regained.

As morning's light lifts the ashen pall shrouding all, the full horror of the night comes into grim clarity. Where once lived and worked over fourscore brothers and sisters, now only broken shells of walls remain amongst the rubble.

You pick your way over the ruins, hoping against hope that some sheltering alcove or secret chamber may offer refuge to even a sole survivor. But as the sun climbs overhead with no signs of life stirring, grim certainty takes root.

You stand alone as the last remnants of an order consigned now to memory alone.

Hwei searched the longest for any survivors, as if refusing to accept the bitter truth laid bare before your eyes. When he finally sinks to his knees in defeat, wracking sobs echo the agonized screams that must have filled the night air as flames claimed their victims. You pull him close, but no comfort of yours can staunch the flood of his grief.

In time, his tears run dry, leaving in their wake an exhaustion of body and spirit you fear no rest can repair.

Hwei wanders as one dead, seeking solace that forever eludes him amongst the ruins. Nights find him waking in terror, reliving each moment of devastation in vivid and gruesome detail no hand can capture.

One such night, a glint of color amidst the cinders draws his numbed feet. Lifted free, it reveals a fiendish trap, its petals splayed open in grinning mockery—a lotus blossom none, but one artist could have crafted.

Understanding dawns in those hollow eyes, a cascade of emotions stirring their murky depths once more: terror, sorrow, betrayal... and a dreadful fascination you know all too well.

The ruins fall silent once more as Hwei gazes unblinking upon that noxious blossom. You dare not break his reverie, dreading what shadows might take root should he linger too long in contemplation of such madness... and the dark allure it holds, even for one whose gift is life and color, not decay.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The crackling fire does little to cut through the tavern's smoky chill. You nurse a mug of ale, staring into the fire as if they might hold answers to questions plaguing Hwei's mind.

It has been moons since you left the smoking remnants of Koyehn behind you. Amongst the ashes, you find renewed purpose—your art brings messages of hope and restoration to weary communities... but sometimes also of destruction. But with each new dawn, fresh mysteries call Hwei ever onwards.

You glance to where he sits apart, brush hovering restlessly as always. His eyes, once home to passion's vibrant spectrum, now seem but windows onto an abyss churning with shadows.

Hwei seeks understanding through revelation of torment—by replicating each scene of suffering until its essence bleeds forth. You fear such intimacy with evil may leech away what remains of his light.

As the sun dips low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over the tavern’s wooden beams, you sit beside Hwei, captivated by the way his brush dances across the canvas. Each stroke is filled with emotion, transforming the blank surface into a vibrant landscape of colors. Hwei pours his heart into the painting, bringing to life a sun rising triumphantly over a gentle sea, its rays bursting forth like tendrils of warmth. Hwei is completely absorbed in his painting.

Truly, no artist tolerates reality.

You lean closer, intrigued by the imagery. “Is it a sunset or a sunrise?” you ask, admiring the way the light plays in his eyes. Resting your chin on Hwei's shoulder, you feel a warm connection, as if the moment stretches into eternity.

Hwei pauses, his brush hovering above the canvas as he turns to you, a soft smile blooming on his lips. “It’s a sunrise,” he replies, his voice warm and tender. “A new beginning. I dream of painting and then I paint my dream.”

His gaze lingers on you, and in that moment, the world outside the tavern fades away. You feel a magnetic pull, an unspoken connection that draws you closer.

The ambiance is thick with the scent of paint and the calming whispers of the sea outside.

You close your eyes as his hand comes up to gently cup your cheek. His thumb softly traces your bottom lip. As he leans in closer, you can feel his warm breath mingling with yours.

His kiss is tentative at first, mere brushes of contact that leave you craving more. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against his form.

His other hand slides into your hair, fingers twisting in the strands to tilt your head to a better angle. His kiss becomes deeper, more passionate. When his tongue sweeps along your lip, you grant access eagerly. As your tongues meet, a soft moan escapes you.

All the while, his hand on your cheek begins a slow descent. Over your jaw, down your neck, it comes to rest on your waist. His fingertips graze under the edge of your shirt, sending sparks across your skin. You cling to him more tightly, lost in the bliss of his lips moving with yours.

When you finally part for air, he does not go far. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes still closed as you both pant, lost in the moment. His hand never strays from your waist, thumb making gentle strokes across the sensitive flesh. In his embrace, you have never felt so wanted, so cared for. It is here, in his arms, that you are meant to be.

Hwei opens his eyes and whispers, “Some people are artists. Some themselves, are art.”

When you finally pull away, breathless, you look into his eyes, which shimmer with joy and intensity. But as you glance back at the painting, something catches your eye. Dark, shadowy figures seem to writhe within the vibrant hues, lurking just beneath the surface of the canvas. They flicker in and out of existence, vanishing as quickly as they appear.

A shiver runs down your spine. “Hwei, do you see that?” you ask, pointing to the canvas.

His expression shifts, a shadow crossing his features. “I—I’ll protect you,” he says, his voice suddenly serious, his grip tightening around you. The remnants of the massacre at the temple echo in his eyes, a haunting reminder of the darkness he has faced.

“I know you will,” you reassure him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

For a moment, the weight of his past hangs heavy in the air. He leans into your touch, the warmth of your presence grounding him. “You’re my light,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

As the firelight dances upon Hwei's face, you trace gentle fingers along his jaw, brushing aside an ebony strand fallen askew.

Hwei leans into your touch with a soft sigh, clasping your fingers in his own. "I feel there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people. I feel like art and love are the same thing: it’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.”

His lips graze your knuckles, stirring memories as vivid as yesterday's joyous discoveries. For a moment's respite, all traces of grief and care dissolve beneath remembered rapture...

...Until a sharp rap at the door shatters remnants of days past like spun glass.

You open the door. A single lotus flower lays on the ground.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The memories of Hwei's past weigh heavily on him, each loss a haunting echo in his mind. Yet, as he paints, the burdens begin to lift. His art speaks of grief and longing, capturing the essence of his experiences in hues and textures that transcend language. With every stroke, he communicates the inexpressible—an intimate connection to those who suffer alongside him.

While words can falter, art holds the power to bridge the chasms of isolation. It is a silent language, one that resonates deeply within the hearts of those who behold it, conveying feelings that can never be articulated. The beauty of creations offers solace, a reminder that even in the depths of despair, connection is possible through the shared understanding of emotion.

Art can speak for one, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. In a world rife with pain, it becomes a guiding light—a universal form of communication that unites hearts across boundaries.

Though silent, art speaks volumes. In this moment of catharsis through creative expression, one begins to find healing. Art provides an empowering and voiceless language to communicate intimate feelings beyond what words can say.

Especially in times of deep suffering when words fail, art becomes a "silent language" to express the inexpressible emotions of a soul.

Through art, one always finds a way to express the inexpressible, to share a silent language with the world.

Art's Silent Language.

Note: Well, here it is—finally the grand finale of my fanfic! 🎉 Did you notice that this is the fourth chapter and the whole thing clocks in at 14,444 words? I mean, come on, Jhin would definitely be proud of me for that little numerical homage. Four is his jam, right? Haha! So, about the ending... it’s kind of a happy one, or at least an open one. I did toy with the idea of killing off the protagonist—just a little cheeky thought, you know? Hehe. Oh! And I hope you caught the title drop at the end, “Art’s Silent Language.” Subtle, right? Or maybe not so much, but I tried! Now, I did mischaracterize Jhin a tad for my down-bad heart (shoutout to all my fellow simps!), but I did my best to keep him lore-accurate. This chapter is dedicated to all my broken artists out there. 💔 Don’t let life get you down—pick up the pieces and create something beautiful! That’s the real message here. Art can express feelings that words sometimes can’t. As I wrote, "Art is the highest hope." And for the Van Gogh fans, I hope you recognized some of his quotes sprinkled throughout! I love Van Gogh, and honestly, Hwei gives off major Van Gogh vibes. Plus, he has that surrealist flair, so it felt natural to weave in some of that genius. If you’re curious about my theories on Hwei, check out my theory account (https://www.tumblr.com/hwei-theories?source=share). And if you want to see more of my chaotic thoughts, here’s my main account (https://www.tumblr.com/reverieparacosm?source=share). Thanks for reading, everyone! Keep creating! 💖