#mere-lullaby

[silver-blooded-synthetics]

@mere-lullaby sent in a starter:

From her tank she observed the boy standing in the lab . The Siren felt something familiar about him every time he visited, she felt calm. Right now there was no one else in the lab, so Sirena put a hand on the glass of the tank and began to sing her siren song. Her voice echoed and reverberated in the room, creating a sense of peacefulness. The sirens were only capable to sing under the presence of a human, and they all felt the same deep, profound sadness that flowed through their bodies like water, every time they did so. (Mini starter for Alma)

At first, Alma had only come to the lab out of curiosity. He'd heard what his mother was working on there and wanted to see for himself. But then his mother and the other scientists had invited him back, saying they noticed a change in the siren's behavior when he was there. So, Alma stood outside of her tank, waiting to see this behavior.

As she swam closer to him, until she reached the edge of her tank, Alma watched and quietly took a few steps closer. She pressed her hand to the glass, and Alma tilted his head to the side curiously. He placed his own hand against hers, the thick glass pane between them, and then he listened as she began to sing. It was a peaceful but sorrowful sound that tugged at his heart strings. Alma closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass, hand still pressed against the tank as well.

[unvergangliche]

tag dump.

𝐕𝐈𝐒. | mage frieren. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄. | hero himmel. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆. | warrior eisen. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 | priest heiter. 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐄𝐒. | a mere ten year journey. 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄. | fern. 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐑. | stark. 𝐈'𝐌 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓 | sein. 𝐎𝐎𝐂. | all the time in the world. 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍𝐀𝐋. | whispering our lullaby. 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒. | 'do you like magic?' 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄: 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍. | before it all fades away. 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄. | 'she always liked winding people up.' 𝐏𝐒𝐀. | now is all there is. 𝐃𝐘𝐍 / 𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍. | in my heart; fern is still a child. 𝐃𝐘𝐍 / 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓. | 'we are a party after all.' 𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄. | denken. 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃. | macht. 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄. | 'i've gotten on her bad side. she's basically a child.'

𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘. | the one-one hundredth. 𝐈𝐂. | beyond journey's end. 𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒. | twelve more hours . . .

𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. | 'what goes through her mind is most curious.' 𝐃𝐘𝐍 / 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑. | 'he just outsmarted me; that's all.'

𝐃𝐘𝐍 / 𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍. | 'conscientious despite the way you look.' 𝐀𝐄𝐒. | 'i never would have been able to see this on my own.' 𝐃𝐘𝐍 / 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐋. |  your words; wishes and courage are alive within me. 

[nukanom1con]

irrational jester and fearful highwayman bonding (knife game)

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ gods and monsters ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header!

˚ ༘♡ you cherished your husband, your family, and the life you had created together. hwang in-ho was a man of contradictions, capable of immense love and devotion. he treated you with such care, as though you were the most precious thing in his world. his adoration was tangible in every gesture, every lingering glance. yet beneath that tenderness was a darkness you struggled to reconcile. this same man, who held your hand with precious affection, was also the masked overseer of the squid game, a series of merciless challenges where the desperate competed, often at the cost of their lives, for a staggering cash prize.

˚ ༘♡ you could never truly fathom it. the man who pressed sweet kisses to your forehead at night was the same monster who orchestrated a spectacle of death and suffering. he claimed no pleasure in it, but the mere fact of his involvement unsettled you. the gleaming black mask, the command he held over every horrific detail, it was a world so far removed from the comfort of your home, yet it belonged to him all the same.

˚ ༘♡ only once had he asked if you wished to attend, to see what he called “his other life.” the question had terrified you to your core, your lips parting in silent dismay. you hadn’t needed to answer. the way your expression shifted, the way fright and disapproval glared across your pallid face, was enough. he never brought it up again, never risked shattering the fragile balance he had created between his two identities.

˚ ༘♡ you were a mother to a healthy three-year-old son, who filled your days with laughter and energy, and you were carrying another child, though you had yet to tell your husband. the news remained a quiet secret, one you turned over in your mind during the solitude of the evening. it wasn’t fear of his reaction that kept you silent. hwang in-ho adored his family, there was no question of that, but the thought of bringing another life into the shadow of the games unsettled you.

˚ ༘♡ you tried to focus on being the woman you wanted to be, a loving mother, a supportive partner. in many ways, you succeeded. you tucked your son in every night with whispered stories and soft lullabies, kept your home warm and welcoming, and met your husband’s gaze with as much love as you could muster, even when doubts crept into the corners of your mind.

˚ ༘♡ when your worries became too much to bear, he would sense it, always. he would take your hands in his, his voice calm, his tone measured. “think of me as two men,” he would say, his words a plea for understanding. “there is hwang in-ho, your husband, your partner, the father of our children. and then there is the front man, a role i play, a mask i wear.”

˚ ༘♡ you wanted to believe him, to hold on to the idea that the man who kissed you tenderly each morning could be separate from the one who orchestrated so much pain. but no matter how you tried to comprehend it, there were nights when the thought of who he was beyond your shared walls kept you awake, your heart aching with questions you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

˚ ༘♡ you tried with all your might to separate the two sides of the man you loved, the front man and your husband, hwang in-ho. but when he told you he wouldn’t be able to contact you during this year’s games, the delicate balance you had worked so hard to maintain crumbled. the weight of his words refused to settle, tearing at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to simply let it go.

˚ ༘♡ “every year, you’ve managed to visit after the game for the day. what’s different this time?” you asked, your voice trembling with desperation.

˚ ༘♡ at first, he deflected, his tone dismissive as if your concerns were unwarranted. but as your worry grew, it became impossible for him to ignore. the strain in your expression, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, it was enough to wear him down. even your son had begun to notice, his small hands tugging at your sleeve, his innocent eyes filled with confusion at the tension that filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ with a frustrated sigh, in-ho finally relented. his hand enveloped yours, warm and steady against your trembling fingers. “i will be there this year,” he admitted, his voice hushed and measured. “as a player.”

˚ ༘♡ the words sent a chill through you, and your breath caught in your throat. “what? why?” you asked, your disbelief slicing through the tension.

˚ ༘♡ his gaze locked onto yours. “there is someone returning to the games this year,” he began, his tone careful. “a former player, a winner in fact. he’s likely to cause complications, and… i can’t deny the intrigue of watching him. this year will be different. i’ve decided to stay close by instead of observing from a distance.”

˚ ༘♡ fury and agony surged within you, and your hands shook as you lightly struck his chest, the beating driven by hysteria. “you idiot!” you yelled. “you can’t guarantee you’ll be safe! have you even thought about your family? what about our son?”

˚ ༘♡ he caught your wrist gently, his grip cautious, his face softening as he pulled you closer. “i will not be in danger,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “i promise you that.”

˚ ༘♡ still, his assurance wasn’t enough. it didn’t stop the knot in your stomach from tightening or the ache in your chest from growing far more intense. the words you spoke next tumbled out before you had a chance to think them through. “if that’s true, then you won’t have any problem with me coming along!”

˚ ༘♡ the declaration hung in the air, sharp and sudden. even you were startled by it, your heart pounding in your chest as the misery of your demand settled between you. fear and anger had driven you to say it, but now it was too late to take it back. you searched his face for a reaction, your pulse racing.

˚ ༘♡ “don’t speak such nonsense again," he said firmly, his tone cutting through the tension in the room. "you have our son to think about. i am going, and i’ll return in a week. this is final."

˚ ༘♡ “no!” you shot back, the tremor in your voice betraying your growing panic. “if you’re going, then i’m coming with you. you told me it’s safe.” your eyes darted toward your son, who had long fallen asleep, blissfully unaware of the battle unfolding. a wave of guilt swept over you, tightening your throat. “he can stay with the household staff for a week. do you think i could take care of him properly while i’m sick with worry about you?”

˚ ༘♡ his brow furrowed, the sharp lines of irritation creasing his weary face. “you’re being unreasonable,” he said, his voice hard, though it faltered slightly as he began pacing the room. each step was measured, purposeful, as though he were trying to walk away from the argument itself. “this is dangerous enough without you there complicating things.”

˚ ༘♡ “and you’re being infuriating,” you countered, your tone rising as desperation overtook your earlier composure. “do you think I’d forgive myself if something happened to you while i stayed here and did nothing? you’re asking too much of me.” your voice cracked, the weight of your despair spilling into the room.

˚ ༘♡ the argument carried on into the late hour, a nightmare of clashing scorn and unresolved fears. he tried to dismiss you, to shut you down with reason, but you refused to back down. your agony, raw and untamed, eventually drove you to the brink. “if you go without me, i’ll leave,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i’ll take our son, and i’ll leave.”

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was deafening. he froze, his gaze snapping to yours, searching your face for the truth. you hated the lie, the hollowness of your own threat, but it was all you had left. leaving him wasn’t something you could ever do, but the thought of him walking into danger alone was unbearable.

˚ ༘♡ he exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his dilemma. “fine,” he said at last, his voice clipped and low. “if you’re coming, then there are conditions… rules that have to be carefully followed.”

˚ ༘♡ your relief was immediate but short-lived as his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. “what conditions?” you asked, your voice softer now, cautious.

˚ ༘♡ “we’ll need to use false identities," he explained, his tone deliberate, each word chosen with care. "to everyone involved, we’re strangers. no one can know who we are, not even that we’re connected."

˚ ༘♡ the practicality of his demand sent a shiver down your spine, even as you nodded in agreement. the idea of pretending he was nothing more than a stranger felt unnatural, wrong, but you couldn’t argue. “i understand,” you murmured, though the knot in your stomach tightened with every passing second.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you as though considering whether you truly grasped what you were stepping into. when he finally looked away, you felt no sense of victory, only the forthcoming horror of what lay ahead.

˚ ༘♡ the games were set to begin in exactly one week, and each passing day left you feeling more unsettled. every time your husband pulled you into his arms, the unease lingered beneath the surface, making it difficult to fully surrender to his warmth. though you tried to find comfort in his presence, the thought of what lay ahead clouded every shared moment.

˚ ༘♡ you had entrusted your son to the most reliable and loyal members of the household staff, ensuring that he would be cared for in your absence. you also took great care to conceal any sign of your pregnancy. if in-ho discovered the truth, he would never allow you to join him, and staying behind was not an option you could accept.

˚ ༘♡ he had laid out the plan with meticulous precision. the two of you would arrive after the chaos of the first game, red light, green light. as he explained it, a large portion of the participants would undoubtedly be eliminated once they grasped the deadly reality of the games. the aftermath of that horror would provide cover for your entrance, allowing you to integrate without raising suspicion.

˚ ༘♡ your husband would take on the identity of player 001, an unassuming participant with no visible ties to you. your alias would be player 077, your stories carefully crafted to fit the narrative. his fabricated reason for joining the games was both haunting and ironic, he claimed he needed money for his pregnant wife. when he first told you this, a wave of panic washed over you, thinking he might have discovered your secret. but as you studied his expression, his calm demeanor revealed no hint of realization.

˚ ༘♡ for your feigned story, he decided you would play the role of a young woman drowning in debt, struggling to pay off the burdens left behind by your late father. the lie felt strangely fitting, yet it unsettled you all the same. every detail he crafted for your cover seemed so calculated, so detached, it was as though he had rehearsed this for far longer than he let on. this game of life and death was nothing more than a facade for him.

˚ ༘♡ you nodded along as he explained the plan, his voice unwavering. though the words were spoken with care, they failed to soothe the growing tension within you. each step of the plan felt cold, clinical, designed to strip away any sense of the life you shared outside these games. with every passing day, the distance between hwang in-ho, your husband, and the front man became more glaring, and you wondered if you could truly separate the two when it mattered most.

˚ ༘♡ you knelt by your son’s bedside, planting a soft kiss against his forehead. his small hand clung to your finger, and for a vanishing moment, you felt the crushing weight of guilt threaten to undo you. you whispered promises you weren’t sure you could keep, telling him you would be back soon, that everything would be fine. as his breathing slowed in sleep, you lingered a minute longer, memorizing the curve of his face and the delicate skin of his tiny hand before slipping away with your husband.

˚ ༘♡ the player uniforms were a tight, oppressive reminder of the role you had agreed to take on. the white and forest-green fabric felt rough against your skin, the stitched numbers, 001 on him, 077 on you, marking you both as part of this wicked charade. the air between you was dense with unspoken tension as you followed his lead into the heart of the games.

˚ ༘♡ the aftermath of the first game hit you like a physical blow. scarlet-red blood smeared the walls, the metallic stench thick enough to taste. lifeless bodies were being dragged away by masked figures, their uniforms pristine against the carnage. your stomach churned violently, and you had to bite down hard to keep from retching. your husband walked ahead, his pace measured, his face a mask of icy detachment.

˚ ༘♡ yet, even as he feigned indifference, you noticed the subtle tension p his clenched fists and the hard line of his jaw. no matter how disciplined and resolute he was, pretending you were a stranger clearly cost him some of his will power.

˚ ༘♡ you entered the massive dormitory, a cavernous space where the remaining players huddled in groups, their expressions etched with terror and disbelief. the room was alive with murmurs, frantic whispers of confusion and distress as they tried to process what had happened. the realization of the deadly nature of the games hung over the crowd, suffocating and inescapable.

˚ ༘♡ abruptly, a piercing voice broke through the calamity, commanding and filled with urgency. all eyes turned to player 456, a man whose presence seemed to dominate the room. his words were bold, calling for a vote in accordance with the consent clause, a chance for the players to decide whether they would continue or abandon the games. the idea rippled through the crowd, igniting faint glimmers of hope in some and deepening the despair in others.

˚ ༘♡ your husband moved slightly, a subtle shift in his stance catching your attention. his gaze flicked toward you, so brief it was almost imperceptible. then, with deliberate movements, he traced a small circle on the back of his hand, an action so precise it disturbed you. he turned away before you could react, his focus now on the masked enforcers who were setting up the voting station.

˚ ༘♡ it took you a moment to understand the message. he wanted you to vote in favor of continuing the games. the realization landed suddenly. you clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to steady yourself. the thought of condemning the remaining players to more death and suffering was unbearable, but you understood what his silent gesture meant. if the games ended now, everything he had planned, every risk he had taken, would amount to nothing.

˚ ༘♡ the apprehension caused your chest to tighten further as the masked figures prepared the voting station, their movements mechanical and precise. the voices of the players rose, some pleading for an end, others arguing to stay. you felt your pulse quicken, the enormity of what you were about to do pressing down on you as you prepared to cast a vote that would decide not only the fate of the players but the course of your husband’s dangerous mission.

a/n: the winner of the fanfiction vote, but i will definitely be writing for cho sang-woo as well! i hope you all enjoy reading! let me know if you have anymore requests! 🤍

[rafey-baby]

hidden 2

outlaw!rafe x pogue!reader

c/w: hostage/stockholm syndrome situation, rafe getting injured & reluctantly letting her clean him up, slightly suggestive, 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s past midnight and Rafe is driving over the speed-limit— he said something about handling business and then more or less shoved her into the passenger seat of his truck before she even had the chance to open her mouth.  

The island sky is as dusky as the bottom of the ocean while he races through the soundless highway that reminds her of the yellow brick road; never-ending and with no certainty of what’s looming at the finish line. 

She’s sits silently, because even if she was curious as to where exactly they were headed to, she’s well aware that he wouldn’t tell her if she asked— which is why she merely lets her heavy lids flutter shut to the lullaby of the wind picking up outside the vehicle, so exhausted she falls asleep within minutes. Therefore, she’s not sure how much time has passed before she’s jostled awake to the sound of him turning off the engine in an empty parking lot. 

“Don’t even think about openin’ the door, alright?” a heavy warning lingers in his tone while he tucks his gun into the waistband of his pants and grabs a thick wad of cash from the glove compartment.  

She hums her acknowledgment, watching his actions with wandering eyes filled with questions. However, he merely offers her a brief glance before he’s throwing open the door and disappearing into the eerily serene night— leaving her alone in the dimly lit space with her nervous inhales the only thing keeping her company.  

The moment he’s gone, she tries to peer through the window, squinting in order to see where he’s run off to. However, the faint glow of the street lamps provides little to no help, which makes her tap her nails against the center console; impatiently waiting for him to return. Then, she attempts to press her ear to the window, but unfortunately no sounds other than the leaves in the trees surrounding the area reach her eardrums.  

She sighs. What if something happens? 

Realistically, she knows he doesn’t need her to worry about him but she can’t help it; no matter how terrible of a person he is, she doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. Because at the end of the day, she’s not a carefully programmed robot entirely void of human emotions, is she?

The mellow memory of him reluctantly attempting to soothe her after her outburst the other day still lingers at the forefront of her mind— turning her initial thoughts about him into something softer. After all, she was certain he was going to kill her when she threatened him with his gun. However, he seemed almost entertained by her stupid bravery, opting to mock her instead of showing a single ounce of actual fear.

And she doesn’t know why, but there’s this peculiar flutter in her stomach whenever her brain decides to mull over the moment of him wrapping his big arms around her shaky form in an almost gentle manner. She wants to forget about it, wants to push it aside and simply despise him for forcing her to help him, but she can’t— can’t help the fact that even if she’s utterly terrified of him, there’s something almost fascinating about the way he’s such a polar opposite to her.

Not only is he a Kook but he’s also violent and hostile, whereas she doesn’t even have the heart to kill a bug. His demeanor is aggressive and she thought that was all there was but then he goes on and practically hugs her when she’s a trembling mess with salty tears streaking her cheeks. And she’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to think of that.  

In fact, all of it confuses her to no end— disarranging her cerebrum and making foreign emotions bubble in her chest like molten lava. Or maybe she’s just touch-deprived; starving for whatever attention Rafe is suddenly offering her so generously. 

However, she doesn’t necessarily want to think about any of it right now, opting to stare out into the gloom of the night, forcing her mind somewhere else entirely when all at once, the driver’s side door slams open and her head snaps towards it; eyes startled and heart jumping in her chest at the sudden intrusion.  

“Calm down, s’just me,” Rafe mutters, sounding out of breath, his exhales harsh and chest rising and falling like a madman while he leans against the leather seat— eyes soon flitting over her tense form.

“You seriously didn’t move?” he huffs out, brows raised. “When’d you learn to listen? Should give you a treat for bein’ such a good little puppy, huh?” he lets out a chuckle with a shake of his head while she comes to the conclusion that she’s definitely craving a very specific type of attention when her thighs involuntarily press together in response to his twisted notion of praise.   

“You— uh…you okay?” she cautiously asks; an attempt to focus on something other than the warmth scattering along the apples of her cheeks.   

“M’fine,” he mumbles before starting the engine and speeding back out onto the road still sound asleep— the pitch-black sky beginning to fade into a navy blue with the dim glimmer of the street lamps illuminating their journey.    

However, when she gets a better look at him, she notices a few cuts and bruises adorning his tired face. There’s a particularly deep scrape on his cheekbone; crimson transferring to the back of his hand when he mindlessly swipes over it. “Rafe you’re bleeding. What happened?” she exclaims, uneasiness coating her voice.

“Don’t worry, okay? Jus’ had some, uh…disagreements, you should honestly see the other guy,” a lazy smirk paints over his face when he lets out a dry chuckle.  

“Do you want me to clean them up for you? Those could get infected or something.”

“S’just a few scratches, you’re actin’ as if m’bleedin’ out,” he rolls his eyes, turning exasperated.  

“M’being serious, you can’t exactly go to the doctor if those actually end up getting infected, can you?” she argues with a pout.    

“Shit, are all pogues this fuckin’ stubborn or jus’ you? Told you, s’fine,” he snaps in disdain, knuckles turning white from gripping the steering wheel.  

“It’s not fine, though. Can you jus’…can you just let me help? It’ll take like ten minutes and then you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” she rakes a hand through her hair in frustration because in her opinion, Rafe is the one being stubborn right now.   

“M’not worryin’ about it!” his gravelly voice suddenly thunders from his chest, making her flinch.  

“…well— I am,” her tone is quiet now, slightly regretting bringing up the topic in the first place.    

At that, he lets out an irritated sigh before he’s abruptly pulling over to a parking lot next to some gas station.

She turns to look at him with a surprised expression.   

“Don’t have all day, get the fuckin’ first aid kit from the glove box then,” he grumbles out a harsh demand.   

“O— okay,” her face begins to light up in victory as she scurries to open the compartment in front of her, rummaging through and trying to not pay attention to the plastic baggies filled with white powder or the wads of cash her hand comes in contact with. 

At last, her tentative fingertips find the small red bag she was looking for. However, when she turns to face him again, he’s not initiating any sort of movement, simply spreading his legs out in front of him in his slouched position and staring down at her expectantly.  

She hesitates. “You’re not gonna…move?”  

“If you wanna play nurse so fuckin’ bad then you have no problem sittin’ on my lap, right? Not gonna reach all the way from there, are ya?” his voice is mocking and she can practically feel the warmth crawling up her face.  

“Oh, right. Um— yeah. I’ll just…” she blinks and then she’s clumsily climbing over the console and awkwardly lowering down to his lap while he merely looks at her with a bored expression; annoyance swimming in the lagoons of his eyes as he glares at her, clearly bothered by the fact that he has to waste his precious time on something as trivial as this.

It makes her huff before she’s timidly opening the first aid kit and trying to settle down onto his lap. However, with his long legs sprawled out in the legroom, he’s not exactly making it easy for her— being petty and difficult on purpose while she takes out a clean cotton pad and dampens it with some antiseptic spray. 

“Can you just…” she trails off before gingerly taking ahold of his jaw and tilting his face in an attempt to examine the injuries.  

And to her surprise, he lets her freely maneuver his head as she pleases and despite the sting, he doesn’t even flinch when she dabs over a smaller cut on his jaw— merely lets his gaze flicker over her features, making her grow nervous under his curious eyes while she tries to concentrate on the vermilion spots on his face and not the way he’s soundlessly observing her. Or the fact that she’s currently closer to him than she’s ever been before— can feel the even breaths from his nose tickling the skin of her lower face when she leans down for a better angle.  

“So…you’re a drug dealer?” she decides to try her luck, not being able to sweep the cocaine in the glove compartment under the rug so carelessly.   

“What did I say about questions, puppy?” he scolds her instead of answering.   

“Right— sorry,” her eyes drop. At least she tried.  

And she doesn’t say anything more, instead focuses all her attention on gently cleansing the scrapes while she tries to not pay any mind to the fact that as an afterthought, this position is incredibly improper, and she’s not entirely sure why she agreed to it so easily. Upon careful consideration, she thinks she’s entirely too aware of his sturdy muscles underneath her and it’s turning her respiration more and more labored by each wipe over his skin.  

“Thinkin’ about goin’ to Guadeloupe next week,” he utters out after several moments of silence.  

“You are?”   

“Mhm, m’family has a house there,” his voice is calm, almost relaxed.  

Her brows crease in a question. “But how’re you—”

“I have a private jet,” he states as if it should be obvious. He is a proud Kook, after all.

“Right, of course you do,” she shakes her head when the corners of his mouth tug up. “How long are you gonna stay there?” she then asks while lifting her hand to swipe the saturated cotton over the deeper wound on his cheekbone.   

He shrugs. “Don’t know, ’til I figure somethin’ else out.”

She hums and then shuffles around on his lap some more, trying to wriggle upwards in an attempt to not fall. However, as she’s shifting into a more comfortable position, he suddenly lets out a low grunt from the back of his throat.  

“Shit, puppy. You, uh, you really gotta move around so much?” he murmurs, promptly resting his hands on her hips, halting her movements altogether.   

“S— sorry,” her eyes round out when she realizes there’s a slight bulge in his pants. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re tryna get me hard on purpose, hm?” a breathy chuckle escapes his lips, amusement glittering in blue gemstones while he inspects her flushed face with intrigue.   

“Oh, no— m’not…was jus’— trying not to fall,” her words are rushed, thoroughly embarrassed as she blinks repeatedly.  

“Just, uh…stay still, yeah? Need me to steady you?” he rasps out before strong arms are holding her upright with a firm grip on her waist.   

“Thanks,” her voice is a muted whisper while she tries not to seem so affected— getting a new cotton pad and beginning to scrub off some of the dried scarlet from under his bottom lip, not daring to shift an inch after that.

[aninipanin1]

A FAIRYTALE

Notes: Its been a while since I wrote about Young Manager! So I'm doing this before continuing my requests hehee

"You mean, none of you haven't seen Y/n-chan ever since the practice earlier?" Isagi asked Yukimiya and Hiori, face contorted in confusion. Usually, you'd be walking around the facility, doing your rounds and chores. But, it had been a few hours since any of the players have seen you and they were starting to get a bit worried.

"It's not usual for her to suddenly be gone. Besides, you know how she doesn't know the word 'rest,' that girl, I swear." Hiori sighed, peeking through any rooms they passed by, to see if you were in any of them, but to no avail.

"It's almost dinner time, and Y/n-chan and some of our teammates are still not here. Ego-san will not be happy." Yukimiya added. As the trio turned a corner, they heard a muffled voice in one of the rooms, the familiar soft voice immediately registering in their heads, that voice was definitely yours.

Sighing in relief that they won't be scolded by Ego tonight, they entered once the automatic door opened to let them in.

"Y/n-chan, dinner is al- Eh?" Isagi, along with Hiori and Yukimiya, can only blink in confusion, taken aback by the rather...unique and odd scene in front of them. The room where Kaiser and Ness were staying in was in a huge mess, with many books scattered, there was even one mini board on the floor with what looks to be mathematical equations written on them.

But the weirdest scenery was what was in the middle of the mess. You sat, criss-crossed on the ground holding what seems to be a children's book of sorts due to the rather whimsical cover as you read the content in a soft voice, similar to that of a mother singing her lullaby. Charles' head was on your lap, head in between your arms that was holding the book as he seemed to be so focused on the book that his little fangs were sticking out.

Bachira was resting his head on your left shoulder, eyes listening to your voice and looking at the book. While on your other shoulder was an uncharacteristically quiet Shidou, who looked to be taken and focused on your voice as well. Ness, meanwhile, sat beside Bachira, listening and peeking at the book with a calm smile too.

Kaiser, Loki and Lorenzo were the most shocking ones in the equation as they were not as clingy to you, but they seemed to be listening to the story, too, yes, Kaiser was bad at hiding his interest.

'This looks like...a daycare.'

The three Bastard Munchen players can only comment in their minds at the scene. To think that these people, who are quite the opponents on the field, with some having questionnable ethics (ehem Shidou, Kaiser and Bachira ehem), can be calmed down by a mere children's story was unbelievable.

They were all hyper-focused on your voice, too. Like your mouth held the tongue of an angel, ready to give them the tales of the future. And so, they were really wondering now; what the hell did they walk into?

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy."

Your vouce narrated the poem, trying to mimic a much deeper voice for the supposed persona of the dialogue.

"Huh? What the hell is frabjous?" Charles pointed out at the word, you stopped to try and remember what it meant.

"Hmm, in this context, I think it means joyous. Like that day is a joyous day, Charles."

"Oooh, okay! Continue!"

'Are we statues here?'

Isagi, Hiori, and Yukimiya wondered as it seemed that none of them there noticed the three of them standing in front of the door. Then as if on cue, Bachira turned his head to find the three of them to which his grin only widened as he waved at the trio.

"Isagi! Oh and Yukki and Hiorin too! Join us! Y/n-chan is reading us the Ja-Jawoc...Jawocky..."

"Jabberwocky..." You softly corrected him.

"Right! Jabberwocky!" The male cheered as he went back to resting his body and head against yours, causing you to flinch a bit due to the heaviness. It was not easy to have three males who are probably double your muscle mass resting their body against yours.

"I understand Bachira and the other two. But what are you four of all people doing here?" Yukimiya turned his head to Kaiser, Ness, Lorenzo, and Loki. To which Loki shrugged his shoulders.

"I searched for Charles and Shidou and ended up here. I don't mind it though...the story reminds me of when I was younger!" And it did. He remembered his mother telling him stories ranging from the typical fairytales like Hansel and Gretel or Snow White to the weirdest ones, like Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz and the Jabberwocky, the one you were currently reading. The nostalgia was quite heavy, especially now that he's on the other side of the world, feeling homesick at times, because, even if he is a world-class striker, he is still a child at heart, a fact he would never admit to anyone.

"It's our room, idiot. Of course we'll be here." Kaiser rolled his eyes and pointed to Ness and him. But, truthfully, it wasn't just that reason as to why he was there, listening to your words. Growing up, he was not taught how to read, let alone read to by any adult. He has seen those scenes in movies before, but he never experienced that nor did he think he would want that.

But, he kind of liked the soft tone to your voice, the way you ennounciate your words, trying to make impressions on each persona or character of the stories.

It added heaviness to the situation when he remembered that he never went to school and just started learning how to read proper books when he was out of the hell he was once in. So, classics like fairytales were something he did not know of. He would even quip questions about the story and some words he does not understand of, partially because most of the words and ideas were so silly in his mind.

Did adults think kids are that stupid? Although, even if it was stupid...it was entertaining and well, warming. Naive, yes, but not offending. Was this the childhood of those other kids? He was someone who did not dwell on the past, but he still could not help but wonder.

Ness, on the other hand, was the opposite. He was someone who would tear up at even the memory of his rough past. He grew up being alienated and deprived of love by his family just because he believed in something they did not. The books you were currently holding was his, a stash he hid and bought with him to this stupid facility to kill time.

But instead of tearing it apart like his siblings would have done, you took it seriously, reading it happily to him and the others. It felt so satisfying...so joyful to see that the girl he loved was more than happy to support and take his love and belief in something impossible, instead of making fun of him and shunning him out like the people of his past.

"Heh, what's wrong with a lil sprinkly sparkle in your life every once in a while?" Lorenzo smirked, shrugging at Yukimiya before turning hisbhead to face you again.

Like with Kaiser, life has not been kind to a young Lorenzo. He has not been imparted any books of those kind, nor was he even given the chance to get an education. How would he, when he did not even have enough money for a few bread scraps? In life, you need to sacrifice, and for him, survival was the definite better option than some paper and a chance to wear some sort of ugly toga.

But, he would be lying if he said he was not curious what it would feel like to have grown up in a normal place, a normal environment with normal people who do not struggle financially? To have learned how to read better than what his current skill is due to his lack of education. To know any references or fairytail the others would inquire you about, due to the familiarity of the story. He wondered how it feels to have that privilege of familiarity.

But, he digressed. The past is the past, and dwelling on it was just the shittiest way to live. He was here for a good time, for God's sake!

"Geez..." Hiori sighed as he watched your cheeks plump up mainly because of the hugs Bachira, Shidou and Charles gave you, squeezing your cheeks along with it which made him let out a low chuckle. God, were you just adorable.

"C'mon Y/n-chaaaan! Read the next story!"

"But, Shidou-san, dinner is about to-"

"We can eat dinner later, Y/n! You can continue reading!" Charles encouraged as he looked up at you from your lap, a mischievous grin on his face matching that of Shidou's and Bachira's.

You can only sigh at the three's childlike brhaviour before relenting.

"Okay, one more story then we eat, okay?"

In the end, the one story became five as Hiori, Yukimiya, and Isagi also joined in on the fairytale marathon you gave them.

ADDITIONAL TIME!

• BACHIRA saw Ness' books un this and asked you to read the first story, Cinderella to them, since he thought your voice fitted the beautiful maiden in the story. Like Loki and Charles, he missed his home and his mother's voice, remembering the nights where he would sleep next to her on her bed as she would lull him to sleep with mindless stories about fairytales and mystical wonders that let his mind go wild.

• CHARLES, having to grow up with so many siblings, has always had to share the attention of his parents, hence why he is a bit touch and attention starved. That included the bedtime stories and many pleasantries before bed, having to give up that privilege at a young age because of his younger siblings coming into the picture. So, he loved that he got to rekindle those memories and with you of all people in the midst of it!

• SHIDOU is not a believer of magic nor fairytales. He hates it, the impossible to him is something that can be broken apart by anyone, but magic was not the impossible that he believes in. Magic was just plain unethical, not true, fictional. Completely different in his brain. But, your voice was quite pleasant to listen to, and for the first time ever, he was willing to sit down and listen to a dumb fairytale, just to hear you.

This became a lil too angsty than I thought it would be LMAO

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[22ayla21]

A Meeting of Two Generals

Baul and Lilia, even after years, did not forget each other and visited each other, but Baul still didn't understand how Lilia had become so... domesticated.

Baul strode along the forest path, his legs wide apart, not bothering to conceal his approach. He had never been one to sneak. In the past, he had always announced his presence with a loud voice and heavy steps, making his subordinates snap to attention at his mere appearance. Even years later, his posture remained straight, his gaze firm, and his voice commanding.

But today, he was not going to a battlefield or barracks. Today, he was going to visit.

Lilia Vanrouge.

The one with whom he had shared the battlefield. The one whose name struck fear into enemies. The legendary right-hand general, cruel, swift, and merciless.

Baul hadn't seen him in a long time. Time moved relentlessly onward, and their paths diverged. Of course, he had heard that Lilia had settled in a secluded house, married. And that he now had a daughter.

The thought still seemed strange to him.

He remembered Vanrouge as an elusive shadow on the battlefield, a deadly hunter from whom there was no escape. How could such a warrior become... domesticated?

Baul reached the house sooner than expected.

The house was simple but well-kept. Everything looked peaceful, even too peaceful. Flowers by the entrance, curtains on the windows. And that smell... Pastries? Since when did Vanrouge live in a place that smelled of sweet baking?

He was about to knock, but something else caught his attention.

In the garden, under the shade of the trees, stood a cradle. Nearby, sitting on the ground, was Lilia himself.

Baul froze.

This man, who had once been the embodiment of a bloody moon, sat on the grass, leaning over a tiny bundle. He was saying something softly, gently touching tiny fingers, allowing small hands to pull at his hair.

Baul blinked.

A replacement. There was no other explanation.

Lilia, his old comrade, the formidable warrior, the ruthless general... Now he was tickling his daughter and making sounds that could be mistaken for baby talk!

His voice was quiet, warm, filled with a tenderness that Baul hadn't heard in all the years he had known him.

The girl laughed, reaching for her father, trying to grab his hair or ears.

Baul slowly exhaled.

Strangely enough, he understood it.

He himself had once been a father. He knew what it meant to hold a tiny creature in his arms, one that trusted you with all its soul. He knew what it was like to be the strongest warrior on the battlefield, and then come home and turn into someone who rocks a baby at night, humming old lullabies.

But still... He couldn't help but admit that seeing Lilia like this was a shock.

Baul cleared his throat, attracting attention. Lilia raised his head.

"Baul." His voice was calm, confident. He didn't look surprised, rather pleased. "I thought you wouldn't get around to coming."

Baul looked at him again, then at the child.

"Tell me, Vanrouge... Haven't you been replaced?" Lilia laughed, placing his daughter in the cradle.

"Do I look like a replacement?" Baul wanted to say yes, very much so, but instead just shook his head.

Damn it, he already had a feeling that today wouldn't be the conversation he was prepared for.

[lolita-lollipop]

Red

You, a mere farm girl, has found herself living a nightmare after hearing countless town rumors of a barbarian society moving west. A quiet girl in a quiet town is faced with many shocking discoveries in a matter of two days.

the day was hot, miserably so. the sun beating down on your bare back with an unrelenting warmth, making your work twenty times harder. The sun even warmed up the dirt and stone lying underneath your bare feet, working the fields barefoot was already hard enough, the burning sensation under your feet made it no easier.

You couldn't remember the last time you had water, or any form of nutrition. They didn't bother feeding the "low class" likes of you anymore, field and cattle workers, endlessly working for the sake of producing cash crops and cattle for the village. It wasn't slavery, they couldn't call it slavery as it had been outlawed for years now in this kingdom. Even so, you were paid dirt and were treated as slaves always had been.

you worked and worked and worked night and day, in every season of the year for the "sake of the village" they would say, you among a small group of farm workers lived in a small barn out back, with no insulation or form of bathroom. you shared one room between sixteen workers a small space not fit for even two.

Every day, all day, you would find yourself in a similar situation to this one, in a small sack of a dress covered in dirt, knees on the ground with your hands enveloped completely in dirt either pulling weeds from the ground or planting small seeds for potatoes or carrots or the occasional beet, with the hot sun beating down on your back, heaving and panting. just like you always did, you dug through the soil, pulling out weeds, your bare feet digging into the dirt behind you, burning with the heat of the sun. you were humming an old lullaby your mother used to sing before she died, peacefully doing your work no matter how hot and miserable you should be.

your humming came to a halt when you heard a burst of girly young giggles echo through the field off in the distance, the village girls. They would sometimes come out here for fun, either to make fun of the workers or to run around the fields, the owners didn't care so neither did you, if the rich kids liked the farm than so did their parents, meaning more money for everybody but you. You found yourself envious of their freedom in life. They didn't have to work, not like you did. You were about the same age, yet they were dressed in pretty sundresses with bows in their hair, while you were reduced to something akin to a potato sack, hair tied back in plain looking ponytail, they were plump and round and beautiful while you stayed frail and skinny and sickly looking.

You found yourself staring at them, hidden among the plants and crops, unseen by their unfocused eyes, it was easy to just drift off, to imagine yourself giggling with them, being part of their group, gossiping about the town rumors. It was a nice thought. unachievable, but nice.

"Did you hear about that foreighn kingdom conquering west?" they giggled to each other, clearly not noticing you tucked behind the corn rows. You had yet to hear anything about any foreign kingdom, then again you were fairly uninformed, your only news coming from your colleagues or your boss, who spoke to you once or twice a month. The two other girls let out false-sounding gasps, intrigued.

"I know right? My father speaks about the towns they've conquered. Apparently, it's brutal, they leave no survivors and burn the fields and town. " The girl's giggles became hushed and quiet as she went on, listening intently with wide eyes, you sat behind the plants. They were smiling as she said all of this, wasn't this supposed to be sad, be awful? how could they laugh at the destruction of so many towns? So many lives?

"My mother has been talking about the same things! Apparently, a couple survivors tried to come into town, and the guards sent them packing though. Good thing too, they looked dirty. dirt belongs in the field, not in a home." she brought her hand to her lips and let out a giggle, the rest followed suit while you stared. You couldn't tell if they were being serious, they lived ina different world, that much was obvious.

"Ive heard stories! How they kill the women and children in front of their families, burn down homes and villages, apparently their leader is the worst of them. The biggest and strongest and meanest" she snickered in a disgusting, prissy rich way.

"We dont have to worry of course, they would spare us, father would pay them all the money in the world. Its the low levels who should be worried." They all erupted in giggles at that one, and all looked towards your fellow workers, pointing at their clothes and matted hair and dirty hands. You were apart of the "low levels" as they had said, you hated that. And you hated these girls for making you feel less than them just for not being born with a roof over your head.

You scowled at them, now hating them with all of your energy. Maybe it was best that you stayed away from them, it makes sense why you aren't part of their clique, why you never would be part of their clique. Fuck them, and their high-class prissy fathers. You let out a sigh and tried to back up, wanting to disappear among the plants, accidentally cracking a stick with your bare foot and letting a hiss. All of their heads snapped towards your hidden spot.

"Who's there?" The snooty one with the high pitched nasally voice screeched out. You slapped your hand over your mouth, inching back as fast as you could without making noise, the owners of the farm would beat you if they knew you were eavesdropping on the high class girls.

"Its probably one of those workers" the other hissed, poison laced in her tone.

"Come out freak! you like listening on our conversation?" You ran as they yelled for you, abandoning your seeds and work. Their taunts followed you, however eventually their voices quieted and you were left with the shocking information that a foreign barbarian kingdom was migrating west. You were west, and so was your village. They were moving towards you, especially if the survivors from a raid were close enough to walk on foot to your village, they had to be close.

By the time the sun went down and all the workers were in the servants quarters you were able to ask your questions, the younger workers knew nothing, but the elderly and middle aged were willing to tell the stories from their younger times of the war. You had never taken a history class, or any class at all for that matter so you had no clue about anything they would say, you hadn't even known that there was a war.

They were foreigners who lived among the trees and the mountains, known for brutal manslaughter, they weren't human, that much a clear. They were giant apparently, after and stronger and larger,ith predatory instincts and habits, they were like animals. . They even lived longer. The eldest of the women here had been in one of the village raids all those years ago, they killed her entire family while she was hiding in the closet, then burned her house down, leaving her with burn scars all over her body. They told stories of torture and theft and assault, and the worst part about it was that they had no motive other than bloodlust, they looted homes, but they never demanded money or women or crops. Nobody knew what they wanted, they never told the towns their demands, they would just come and go, leaving fire and death in their dust.

The fact that they were approaching closer and closer as the days ticked by, left you shaking.

Mentions of their brutal leader left you even more fearful, as he preyed on the weak. Tearing out the throats of innocents and ignoring pleas or cries for help. You were weak. Like all those he has killed.

You went to sleep that night hoping that it was all just rumors, silly townsfolk gossip that the girls made up to fill the boredom and free time.

needless to say, you didn't sleep much that night.

---

When you woke up,the quarters were empty, you shared a bed with four other people, so waking up without the company of another was quite jarring. At first, you jolted out of bed, terrified of missing the morning work, knowing it would surely receive you a beating. However the others would wake you up if you had not arisen with the rest, and it was still quite dark outside, so that simply hadn't made any sense. looking around, the room was in a state of disarray, the beds oddly moved around, the thin blankets strewn about, and the little belongings that all of you had were either gone or thrown around the room. What had happened while you were asleep, and more importantly, how had you slept through it?

then, the smell of smoke hit you.

Thick and heavy it brought bile to your throat, this wasn't a forest fire or campfire, this wasn't something where empty air was burning, this smelled like meat, like flesh and bone being burned. you gagged, covering your mouth and nose with the thin fabric of the blanket. you stumbled out the creaky door of your quarters, coughing and trying to block the smell out, but were halted in your tracks.

Fire. Fire everywhere. The farm, the house, even the forest around. The only thing left untouched was the animal barn, thank god. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of acres of land ablaze, weeks and weeks of work lit with slivers of red and yellow light. The warmth radiating off of it burned your face. were you dreaming? this must be some form of a dream.

dream or not, you were in danger.

Once you were able to get over the initial shock of your home being literally lit on fire, you tried to tune into any other noises than the crackling sound of flames. Anything to hint where you should go, where you should run. You had never left this farm, your mother was a slave here before it was outlawed, and you were born into the work, forbidden to leave. Not once had you stepped foot into town, and you certainly have never left the town. You didn't know where to go.

Then you heard it, the screams. people, so many people screaming, you didn't know where to go, but it would be in the opposite direction of wherever that was, whatever was making that noise. So, with a very impulsive decision you ran away from the screams, into the direction of an empty winding dirt road, you tried to think logically, if you could find someone then you could follow them and figure out where to go.

The quiet running was harsh on your bare feet, sprinting down the empty dirt road as quietly as you could was not easy for somebody medically unwell and malnourished. However, there would be much time later to sulk over achy bones and pained feet. Was there anybody even here? you could still smell the stench, although it was getting softer. However, you still clutched the cotton blanket in your hand. Your pace slowed as exhaustion kicked in, and to your luck, you heard voices. Not quiet and soft like the ones you were used to, loud and boisterous. men.

you found yourself frozen on the trail, listening in on the conversation as best as you could you inched to the side of the road, trying to hide among the trees. They looked strange, not dressed all properly like the owner of the farm or the village girls you had seen. Their clothes were woven in a precise ay you had never seen before, jewels and beads hung from their hair and necks, chests bare and blood splattered.The more you stared, the weirder and weirder they looked, too large, too muscular, their voices too harsh. inhuman sounding.

"The towns already a fucking gonor, chief said to wait to set the forest on fire till he was done in the homes" One of the Men laughed out with a menacing cackle, his shoulders shaking, the others seemed too happy, too excited to be starting fires. They were up to this.

"Those guards were a riot though. All tough until they realized we weren't going down "Please spare me!" and "We'll let you in we swear!"" the other mocked in a high-pitched voice. They laughed along as they mocked the guards of your town. As they walked down the road, getting closer and closer to you by the second, you were now able to see blood all over them, splattered on their strange clothing. Your breath hitched as they passed you, still hiding in the bushes by the side of the road.

Thank god they hadn't seen you, whoever they were, they clearly would not do you well. Two giant men conversing about arson and the death of the town guards were not anybody you wanted to mess with.

wait.

The realization hit you like a brick. These were the foreign raiders from the east. How were you so stupid, how had you let yourself forget in the span of a couple hours? They were tearing your town apart just like the others before. That's why your farm was ablaze. Thats why your Coworkers were gone. Thats why you heard screaming.

Your breath hitched as a couple tears left your eyes, you clutched the blanket in your hand, oh god, your town was going to be one of many trampled and raided beyond repair. your knees began to quiver along with your hands, you were a gonor. you had to run. now.

Stumbling back from the shock of the realization, you turned to quietly make your way further down the road, away from the town, away from those men. They were far enough that they wouldn't hear your quiet footsteps, you were sure of it. So you held your breath and pulled away from the tree, staying in the dark.

However, while your footsteps were quiet as a mouse, the same white blanket that had brought you comfort just moments ago had doomed you, when you had maneuvered away so focused on the quietness of your footsteps, you had failed to notice that delicate cotton blanket had gotten snagged on a tree branch. pulling away from you and causing a loud snap in the branches. Your breath hitched as you stared at the tree with wide eyes, stumbling back and letting the blanket free from your hand. You sent a glance at the two men who had been meters away, praying for their hearing to be weaker than their muscles.

They were instead, standing feet away from you, staring directly at you.

A whimper escaped your lips as you backed away in fear, turning on your heel and making a move to run directly backwards. Not before the taller of the two could reach out and grab the collar of the sack you called a dress, yanking you back and knocking the wind out of you. before you knew it you were lifted off the ground with one arm by the collar of your dress, staring in terror as the eight foot tall man in front of you looked down with excited eyes. He flashed a smile with all too sharp teeth, sending you sprialing into endless fear.

The other said something in what sounded like a foreign language, not something you would ever understand. Before you could move, the larger of the two bendy down and smelled the air right next to you, with that his smile dropped and the two locked eyes. Some kind of realization hit them as well, while you remained unknowing and absolutely terrified.

"well, looks like we missed one, didnt we?" he questioned with a deep voice, the fear alone sent your heart into a free fall, beating out of control. you couldn't breathe, your lungs pulsing in and out against your will as panic flooded them. spots clouded yourision as the man continued to say something, and with one breath you felt your consciousness slip out from under your feet.

---

you woke up lying on the hard feeling of cement stones, the stench from the fire before worse than you had ever smelled it, sending you into a fit of coughs. Squinting your eyes open, you were able to see small cottage-like buildings, you were in the village, weren't you? You were in the square judging by the large open space of square stones. with heavy eyelids you tried to unblur your vision, and as you did, you found that cold sense of panic enveloping your bloodstream yet again. red, red everywhere. you were sitting in a puddle of it.

Silently freaking out, you pushed yourself up with weak limbs, trying your best to stand, you couldn't remember what had happened, but you were still alive, that's what was important. looking around none of those men were near, but the fires were. should you even bother running? would they come back and catch you. there was blood soaked through your dress, your head ached, and you found your bare feet wet with the blood of the townsfolk.

you found yourself dry heaving due to the stench, tears escaping your eyes, all while stumbling around the square in the meantime. your attention was immediately drawn to the high pitched screaming of what sounded to be a girl. finding the sound with your eyes, it was one of the girls from the farm, white bow still tied in her hair. She was lying on the ground, a pool of blood lying at where her head had met the stone just moments ago, her hands were up above her head in a shield-like motion.

"Please! Please! I can pay you anything you want! Money and jewels or crops I swear I am no commoner! I just need my father! Please!" she screamed up, your eyes panned up from the girl lying on the ground to a man. not just a man, a giant. at least ten feet tall with arms a width larger than your head, he had icy hair that seemed to stick out in every direction like an explosion, and eyes. oh god. his eyes were red as the blood surrounding him, piercing and raging more so than anything you had ever seen. He was looking down at her like she was a bug ready to be squashed, with such hatred that you could swear he had a personal vendetta.

This was him, this was the infamous leader that was ever-so talked about. and he exceeded expectations, this man was a walking nightmare, fear itself packed into ten feet of muscle and blonde hair. You hadn't even realized his plans until his foot came down on her head, and with a crunch, the screaming came to an abrupt halt.

For the third time in two days, you found yourself frozen, staring at somebody you would never dare to talk to. And for the third time,they were staring right back at you.

The giant man flicked his boot as red splattered on the ground next to him, all while still staring at you, he let the girl's wrist go, and dropped her body to the ground with a thump. he made slow strides to a frozen little you, each step sending shivers down your spine, as you stumbled back, finally able to move, he was already inches in front of you, leaning over to be face to face.

You didn't bother running, learning from your mistakes that running results in nothing and you still get caught. Instead, you met his eyes for a moment, finding something else deep down. He was leaned over, bent down on one knee, inches away from your face. this was it, you give up. you're dead.

you squinted your eyes closed, deciding it would be best not to look as you met your inevitable death, face to face with the grim reaper himself, you chose not to stare him in the eye. peacefully accepting your fate. You waited for impact, waited to feel something hit you over the head or knock your kneecaps out. You waited for something, anything to end your miserable existence.

but it never came.

your hands quivering, your heart pittering in your chest at five hundred beats per minute. tears running freely down your cheeks, catching dirt and blood on the way down. A hand gently met your face, cupping your cheek, You peeled your eyes open to meet his own piercing crimson globes.

And to your surprise, the man smiled. not like the smile the others gave you, not like a predator bearing its teeth, but a genuine smile, one that you had only ever seen worn by your mother.

"Pretty" he grumbled out, an accent hanging over his voice. it was deep and gravelly and powerful. his giant hand came up to touch your cheek and wipe your tears away, wiping dirt and blood off with his fingertips. This hands could crush your neck with ease if he wanted to, but he wont. Why wont he?

"Why are you doing this?" you sobbed out, finding every last ounce of fight left in you to pull back from his touch and defiantly meeting his crimson gaze once more. your breathing shallow, you felt at risk of feinting once more. He tilted his head with a questioning grunt, and you decided to play your luck once more.

"Why do you raid my village, what have you to gain? You sobbed in his face and his smile shifted and morphed slowly into a frown, he cocked his head even further, his face twisting up into confusion.

"This is not a raid, we do not raid. were not cruel. " His gruff voice continued to send shivers down your spine, yet his words let rage flow through your bones. hundreds dead, maybe thousands, all of your friends, and family even, probably also dead. and this "wasn't a raid" according to him. you couldn't find it in yourself to care that he was twice your height, and quadruple your strength, you wanted to hit him so hard that he would feel it for days, even if it meant breaking your wrist.

"Theyre all dead, why? We have done nothing." You couldn't believe you were talking to one of them right now, you could barely believe that you had the courage to even muster a word, let alone a whole conversation. His hand found your waist, the other touching your face once more. What the hell was happening? surrounded by blood and death and this man, no, this thing was touching youso lovingly. the shivering of your hands threatened to come back again as you held his gaze.

"We look for our mates, and we prove that we are strong enough to be worth your time." The second the words left his mouth youwere once again reminded that he was anything but a human, they were creatures of nature, you'd seen squirells and horses and cows find mates, never humans. but you were stupid to think he was even remotely close to a human. the words had your face twisting in distress, and you stumbling back, your consciousness threatening to slip from under you once more.

"mates?" you questioned, voice wavering with uncertainty. this could not be happening, you could not be talking about love surrounded by bodies on top of bodies in a burning town with a man who wasn't really a man and instead a foreign alien like giant creature.

"mates,

you."

and with those words your eyes rolled back into your skull and your consciousness slipped through the cracks of the stone, you fell forward and the man was glad to catch you. standing up with you in his arms was a triumphant moment for him, finding his mate as a real, as a king was a monumentous occasion. you were his, undeniably his. he had finally found you.

katsuki bakugou had finally found his mate.

[realmsofdreams]

hearth

pairing: cregan stark x fem!reader

summary: as the second wife of lord cregan stark, you’ve poured your heart into raising his son rickon as your own, finding purpose in a north that views you as an outsider from a minor house. but at rickon’s third nameday feast, northern lords, obsessed with the stark legacy, dismiss your role and pressure cregan to wed a “proven” noblewoman to secure heirs, ignoring your unfruitful womb. when lady cerys, cregan’s former love, is proposed as his new bride, her venomous revelations and cregan’s wavering loyalty shatter your trust.

warnings: intense angst, emotional betrayal, public humiliation, themes of infertility pressure, verbal cruelty, pregnancy-related tension, mild language, heated arguments, emotional manipulation, themes of isolation and rejection. suitable for mature readers due to heavy emotional content.

rickon’s third nameday feast, a rare burst of joy in the north’s eternal frost. you sit at the high table, your spine straight, your smile practiced, as you watch rickon, your heart’s son, toddle through the crowd, chasing a hound pup with a giggle that melts the hardest of northern hearts. he’s yours, not by blood but by every stitch you’ve sewn into his cloaks, every lullaby sung in the dark, every scraped knee kissed. you’ve loved him since the day you wed cregan stark, mere moons after arra norrey’s death, vowing to be his mother in all but name. rickon calls you “mama,” and that word is your anchor, your shield against the north’s cold judgment.

but tonight, something darker than winter’s chill. the northern lords, their faces weathered by war and duty, drink deeply and cast sharp glances your way. you hear their whispers, carried like blades on the wind, stark line, no heirs, barren wife. your fingers clench the arm of your chair, the wood biting into your palm. you’re no stranger to their doubts, but on this night, with rickon’s laughter and your role as his mother so vivid, their words carve deeper, slicing at the fragile pride you’ve built as lady stark.

cregan sits beside you, his presence a mountain of strength, his eyes warm when they meet yours. his hand, calloused from sword and plow, rests briefly on your knee beneath the table, a gesture that once steadied you. but as the feast wears on, you notice his jaw tighten, his gaze flicker to lord umber, who approaches with a grim purpose. their voices are low, but you catch fragments, duty, legacy, a stronger match. cregan’s responses are curt, his eyes darting to you once, then away. your chest tightens. you know what they speak of: your womb, empty after two years of marriage, and the stark line’s precarious future.

you don’t crumble. you’ve never crumbled, not when you left your minor house to wed a stark, not when the north’s lords sneered at your lack of noble blood, not when the maesters whispered of your ‘unproven’ body. you are steel, forged in the fire of their scorn, and you will not break now. instead, you lift your goblet, your smile a mask, and toast rickon’s health, your voice clear and unwavering. the hall echoes your call, but the lords’ eyes linger, judging, dismissing.

the feast ends late, and you carry rickon to his chambers, his small body heavy with sleep. cregan follows, silent, his boots heavy on the stone. you tuck rickon into his furs, brushing a kiss to his brow, and when you turn, cregan’s watching, his face shadowed.

“what did umber want?” you ask, your tone even, though your pulse races.

he hesitates, scrubbing a hand through his dark hair.

“the same as always. talk of the stark line, the future.”

“and me,” you say, stepping closer, your eyes locked on his.

“they spoke of me, cregan. of my failure to give you heirs.”

his sigh is a gust of winter wind.

“they’re worried, that’s all. they’re old men, set in their ways. they see rickon and want more.”

“more than i’ve given,” you say, your voice low but sharp.

“they don’t see me as rickon’s mother. they see me as a barren outsider, don’t they?”

“you’re his mother,” he says, voice firm.

“i’ve never doubted that.”

“but you let them doubt me,” you counter, your words precise, cutting.

“you let them question my place, my worth. what did you say to umber? did you defend me, or did you listen?”

his silence is a wound. he steps toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him.

“if you can’t answer, don’t touch me.” you say, your voice cold.

“i’m not considering their nonsense,” he says, frustration creeping into his tone.

“but i can’t just dismiss them. they’re my bannermen, my father’s men. they’ve fought for this house.”

“and i haven’t?” you snap, your control fraying.

“i’ve fought everyday to be rickon’s mother, to be your wife, to prove myself to a north that doesn’t want me. but you’re leaving the door open, cregan. you’re letting them think another wife, a ‘proven’ wife might be better.”

“i’m not,”

he insists, but there’s a crack in his voice, a hesitation that betrays him. you step back, your heart a storm of hurt and fury.

“i won’t be your placeholder,”

you say, your voice steady despite the ache.

“i deserve better than your half-answers.”

you turn, leaving him in rickon’s chamber, your head high, your tears held back. you are steel, and steel does not bend.

you rise early the next morning, your body heavy with a secret you’ve carried for days. the maester confirmed you’re with child, a fragile hope you’ve guarded fiercely. you meant to tell cregan, to share the joy and bind your fractured trust, but his silence last night changed everything. now, the secret feels like a weapon, one you’re not ready to wield.

you avoid the great hall, breaking your fast with rickon in his nursery. he babbles about his nameday gifts, a wooden wolf cregan carved himself, and you smile, your love for him a light in the dark. but your thoughts churn. the lords’ whispers, cregan’s wavering, the weight of a north that sees you as less, these are battles you’ve fought alone, and you’re tired, so tired, but you will not break.

sara, cregan’s half-sister, finds you at midday, her face etched with worry.

“there’s a council meeting,” she says, her voice low.

“the norreys are here, and they’re pushing hard. you need to know.”

your blood chills. the norreys, arra’s kin, are a proud, unyielding clan, and their loyalty to her memory is a blade they’ve never sheathed. you nod, entrusting rickon to his nursemaid, and follow sara to the council chamber. you don’t enter, ladies don’t, not uninvited but you linger outside, the cracked door revealing a storm of voices.

lord norrey’s is loudest, his words a hammer.

“lady cerys is proven, my lord. she’d honor arra’s legacy and give you heirs. your current lady, forgive me, hasn’t, and the stark line cannot falter.”

cerys. the name is a dagger, twisting old wounds. you’ve heard of her. cregan’s courtship after arra’s death, a fleeting flame before he chose you. you thought it buried, but the norreys’ proposal unearths it, raw and bleeding. cregan’s voice is measured, deflecting without refusing, and that ambiguity is a betrayal in itself.

“i’ve made my vows,”

he says, but it’s weak, a shield with cracks. the lords press harder, and he doesn’t silence them.

you step away, your breath shallow, your resolve hardening. you will not weep, not here, not where they can smell weakness. you return to rickon, your hands steady as you braid his hair, your voice calm as you sing him a northern ballad. but inside, you’re a furnace of rage and hurt, forging your pain into armor.

that afternoon, in the godswood’s crimson hush, lady cerys finds you. she’s a vision of northern beauty, a tall, with piercing blue eyes and hair like spun gold, her presence a calculated strike. you’re kneeling by the heart tree, praying for strength, when her shadow falls over you.

“so you’re the one he chose,”

she says, her voice a blade wrapped in silk.

“i expected more, not a mouse from a house no one remembers.”

you rise, your chin high, your eyes unflinching.

“i’m lady stark,” you say, your tone ice. “and you’re trespassing on my peace.”

she laughs, sharp and cruel.

“your peace? you’re a shadow in a seat that should’ve been mine. cregan loved me, you know. after arra died, he came to me, swore he’d make me his lady. we shared nights, promises things you’ll never understand. but his council wanted someone safe, someone who wouldn’t stir the north. so he settled for you.”

her words are venom, each one a precise cut. you feel them, deep and raw, but you don’t flinch.

“if he loved you, why am i his wife?” you ask, your voice steady, though your heart screams.

“duty,” she spits, stepping closer.

“he’s a stark, chained to honor. but he’ll always want me. you’re a duty, a compromise. and now the north sees you for what you are, a barren, weak, unworthy. i’m leaving winterfell, but i wanted you to know the truth that he’ll never love you like he loved me.”

you hold her gaze, your face a mask of stone.

“leave, then,” you say, your voice low, lethal.

“but don’t mistake my silence for weakness. i’m cregan’s wife, the mother of his son, and i’ll outlast you.”

she smirks, but there’s a flicker of frustration in her eyes. she turns, her cloak sweeping the snow, and you’re left alone, the weirwood’s red eyes watching. her words burn, searing doubts you’ve buried cregan’s choice, his heart, your place. you’re carrying his child, but cerys’s venom and cregan’s silence make it feel like ash. you press a hand to your stomach, your resolve steeling. you will not break, not for her, not for him, not for anyone.

you withdraw. it’s a calculated retreat, not a surrender. you stop dining in the great hall, taking meals with rickon or alone in your chambers. you avoid cregan, your paths crossing only when duty demands, rickon’s lessons, winterfell’s upkeep. when he speaks, you’re polite, distant, your words clipped, your eyes averted. you tend to winterfell’s needs with ruthless efficiency, settling disputes, overseeing stores, earning the smallfolk’s respect. but with cregan, you’re a ghost, present but untouchable.

he notices, of course. you see it in his furrowed brow, the way his hand hovers when you pass, the tightening of his mouth when you excuse yourself early. but you don’t yield. let him feel the weight of his silence, the cost of his hesitation. you’ve given him your heart, your body, your life now he must earn them back.

the northern lords their whispers louder, and cerys remains, her departure delayed by some pretext. her presence is a constant barb, her smiles at cregan in the hall a public wound. the norreys push their case, and cregan’s deflections grow weaker, his patience fraying. you hear from sara that he’s clashing with the lords, but he hasn’t banished cerys or silenced the talk. each day, your hurt festers, your trust erodes, but you channel it into strength, into rickon, into the child growing inside you.

one evening, in the library, you’re reviewing grain ledgers when cerys’s voice cuts through the quiet. she’s with a norrey cousin, unaware of your presence behind the shelves.

“he’s faltering,” she says, her tone smug.

“he’ll bend soon. the north needs a true stark wife, not that barren girl. i’ll have him yet, and she’ll be nothing.”

you step forward, your voice like a whip.

“say it to my face, cerys.”

she startles, then smirks, her cousin shifting uncomfortably.

“you’re bold for a woman with nothing to show for it,” she says. “no heirs, no lineage, no hold on cregan’s heart. enjoy your title while it lasts. lady stark.”

you advance, your eyes blazing, and she falters.

“i’ve raised rickon, held winterfell, and earned the love of its people,” you say, your voice low, lethal.

“what have you done, cerys, besides cling to a past that doesn’t want you? leave, or i’ll make you.”

her cousin tugs her away, and you’re left trembling, not with fear but with fury. you return to the ledgers, your hands steady, but the encounter hardens your resolve. you won’t let cerys or the lords define you. but cregan’s silence, his failure to end this, is a wound you can’t ignore.

weeks pass, and cregan’s patience snaps. you’re in the courtyard, overseeing a shipment of furs, when he strides toward you, his face a storm.

“enough,” he says, his voice rough, drawing eyes.

“you’ve shut me out for weeks. i can’t bear it anymore.”

you straighten, your face impassive, though your heart races.

“i’m busy, my lord,” you say, turning to the furs.

“winter’s coming. there’s work to be done.”

“damn the work,”

he snaps, grabbing your arm, his grip firm but not cruel.

“talk to me. you’re my wife, not a stranger.”

you pull free, your eyes flashing. “am i your wife? because the north seems to think otherwise. your lords, cerys they’ve made that clear, and you’ve done nothing to stop them.”

his jaw clenches, guilt flickering in his eyes. “i’ve tried—”

“tried?” you cut in, your voice rising, heedless of the onlookers.

“you’ve let them humiliate me, cregan! you’ve let cerys spit venom, let your bannermen call me barren, let them propose her as your new bride while i stand here, carrying your child!”

the courtyard stills, the words hanging like a thunderclap. cregan’s eyes widen, shock and hope warring in his face.

“you’re with child?”

you curse your slip, your throat tightening.

“yes,” you say, voice low, trembling.

“and i’ve carried it alone, wondering if you’d cast me aside for cerys, for a ‘proven’ wife. you loved her, cregan. she told me… nights, promises, a future. was i just duty? a safe choice?”

he steps closer, his voice raw.

“cerys was a mistake, a comfort when i was broken after arra. i cared for her, aye, but it was fleeting. i chose you because you were light, because you loved rickon, because you made winterfell home. i’ve never regretted it.”

“then why didn’t you fight for me?”

you demand, tears threatening but held back.

“why let them tear me apart? i’ve given you everything, my heart, my life, my body and you’ve left me to face this alone.”

“i was a fool,” he says, his voice breaking.

“i thought i could balance duty and love, keep the lords in line without bloodshed. but i failed you. i see it now, and it’s killing me.”

you shake your head, stepping back.

“words aren’t enough, cregan. i’m tired of fighting for a place you won’t defend. i’m rickon’s mother, i’m your wife, and i’m done begging for you to see it.”

you turn, walking away, your head high, the courtyard watching. he calls your name, but you don’t stop. you’re steel, and steel doesn’t bend.

that night, he acts. you’re in your chambers, braiding rickon’s hair, when sara bursts in, breathless.

“he’s done it,” she says.

“he banished cerys and her kin. told the norreys if they speak of another wife again, they’ll answer to his sword. he’s in the great hall now, facing the lords.”

you pause, your heart lurching. you hand rickon to his nursemaid and follow sara, your steps quick but steady. in the great hall, cregan stands before the lords, his voice like iron.

“lady stark is my wife,” he says, his tone unyielding.

“she’s rickon’s mother, the heart of winterfell, and she carries my child. anyone who questions her place insults me, insults house stark. speak of another wife again, and you’ll find no mercy here.”

lord umber shifts, but cregan’s glare silences him.

“the stark line is secure,” he continues. “and my loyalty is to my family, my wife, my son, my unborn child. if you can’t honor that, leave this hall and don’t return.”

the lords murmur, some chastened, others defiant, but none dare challenge him. you watch from the shadows, your heart a tangle of hurt and hope. he’s fighting for you, finally, but the wounds are deep, the trust fractured.

later, he finds you in the godswood, the snow falling soft around the heart tree. you’re bundled in furs, your face pale but resolute. he kneels before you, a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

“i’ve been a coward,” he says, his voice rough.

“i let duty blind me, let the lords and cerys wound you. i thought i could protect you by staying silent, but i only hurt you more. i don’t deserve your forgiveness, but i’m begging for it.”

you study him, the man you love, the man who’s broken you.

“you should’ve fought for me from the start,” you say, your voice steady, though it trembles inside.

“i’ve stood alone, cregan, while you wavered. i’m strong, but i shouldn’t have to be steel for both of us.”

“i know,” he says, his hands reaching for yours, hesitant.

“i see you, your strength, your love, your fire. you’re more stark than any of them, and i’ll spend my life proving it. no more silence, no more hesitation. you’re my wife, my love, my home.”

you let him take your hands, his warmth seeping through the cold.

“i’m tired,”

you admit, your voice softer now, the weight of weeks spilling out.

“i’m tired of fighting, of doubting. i want us, rickon, this child, you. but i need to trust you.”

“you will,” he vows, his eyes fierce.

“i’ll guard your heart as fiercely as i guard winterfell. no one will hurt you again not cerys, not the lords, not me.”

you nod, tears finally falling, but they’re cleansing, a release. he pulls you into his arms, and you let him, your strength meeting his, your hurt finding solace in his promise. the snow falls, the weirwood watches, and you begin to mend.

moons later, you birth a son, torrhen, with cregan’s stormy eyes and your fierce spirit. rickon dotes on him, calling him ‘torry.’ and winterfell’s halls echo with their laughter. the northern lords, humbled by cregan’s wrath, toast your son’s health, their doubts buried. cerys is a fading memory, her name unspoken.

one night, as you lie with cregan, torrhen asleep between you, he kisses your brow.

“i’ll never fail you again,” he murmurs.

you smile, your hand on his heart.

“you’re learning,” you tease, but your eyes are warm. “we’re enough, cregan. we always were.”

[ihearthayden]

HOLO-HOOKUP

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

MDNI SMUT 18+

PAIRING: master!anakin x padawan!reader

WC: 2.9k

SUMMARY: you and anakin are in a secret relationship, since it’s against the jedi code. you couldn’t go on a mission today with your master and his team, because you got the fever. he decides to call you during a break, just for a quick check up—but the conversation will last longer than he expected.

CW: phone/hologram sex, masturbation [ f and m ], improper use of lightsaber/lightsaber play, degradation, dom!anakin, age gap, dirty talk, master kink, semi public, slight edging, name calling/pet names

A/N: hey guys! this is my first post/fic so i’m pretty nervous, but i hope you will like it. [ btw my inspo came from CW S7E2 ] my requests and dms are open so feel free to txt me, i’m in a need of hayden/sw enthusiast moots lol btw english is not my first language, so i’m really sorry if something is grammatically incorrect.

now enjoy the story! <3

The halls of the Jedi Temple were eerily silent as you rested in your quarters, the faint hum of Coruscant's bustling cityscape a comforting lullaby in the background—although it was muffled by the thick walls. From the bed, you could hear the distant whir of passing speeders, and their voices always made your mind wander into its blurry maze—to craft different imaginary scenarios. They fed your delusions with the false hope: maybe your master had finally arrived home from his mission. You were supposed to station on Anaxes with the rest of the team, but a morning fever confined you here, far from the frontlines, far from him.

The aftereffects of the illness weighed heavily on you, your body was sluggish and weak, yet it was your heart that ached the most. You couldn't stop thinking about Anakin's suffocating absence and how he should have been caressing your overheated frame instead of fighting on a different planet. You fantasized about him wiping away the beading sweat from your shivering, fragile body with his caring, large palms. You sighed, leaning back against the cool pillow. Every fiber of your being yearned to be by his side, battling droids and facing the galaxy's chaos together, but your condition had left you stranded here.

The hum of the holo-communication device broke the silence of your desperation. You froze stiff as a statue—just like the ones surrounding Naboo's lakeside, and your heart leaped into your throat. You rushed to the device, fingers trembling as you activated the connection.

And there he was.

The flickering light revealed his face, your heart ached at the sight of him. His face bore new scrapes and smudges of dirt, his hair tousled from the battlefield, but his eyes—those molten orbs of fire and tenderness—were fixed solely on you. You got goosebumps as a shiver went down your spine, but the medicine had already started to work, so the fever didn't cause it.

"Ani," You whispered—a breathless relief flooding through you at the mere sight of him. You hadn't even realized how badly you needed him until now. 

"Chee-ska anota," he murmured, the Huttese term for "my dear love" falling from his lips like a prayer.

"I didn't expect to hear from you. I thought you'd be too busy saving the galaxy." You teased him softly, but deep down, you were glad you were on his mind as much as he was on yours. He chuckled—the tone low and warm—a balm to your frayed nerves.

"What's the point of saving it if you're not there to see it?"

But before he could continue his sentence, his words faltered for a second as his eyes traced over your face. 

"You look—your face is still red, and your eyes..." He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "Your eyes are shining, but not in the way I want them to. You're still burning up, aren't you? Fuck." You noticed him curling his hands into a fist, his fingers dug into his palms. "I could already barely focus on this duty because of you, but this was the last straw. I'm going home." 

Even though his concerns melted your heart, you didn't want to ruin their mission by making their strongest Jedi vanish or risk the option of the others discovering your little secret relationship.

"Honey, my fever is already gone. I just need to regain some strength." You were hoping this would change his drastic decision, but it only made him raise his voice at you firmly. 

"It was already a huge mistake to leave you alone in such a helpless state. But I promise you, Chee-ska, I won't abandon you again. Ever." Worry pooled in his eyes, a silent storm brewing beneath his lashes.

God, he's always so stubborn.—you thought to yourself.

Your body craved every molecule of him to be close to you—but you knew you had to do something to calm him down and make him stay there with the troops. You brushed your curly locks away from your face and leaned forward on the bed so that your robe opened slightly in the front, revealing the lacy top of your satin nightgown, along with your rosy cleavage. 

His features immediately loosened up, while a small sigh escaped his mouth—since he's aware that you never wear any lingerie under it. 

"Don't try to manipulate me, Snips. I'm still your master, which makes me the one in charge. I make the rules." He tried to appear serious, but he couldn't mask the sound of longing that filled his voice.

You knew that he wouldn't be able to resist you—since he could never hold himself back. When you find a way to flick the switch in him, he sheds his cautious, caring personality and transforms into a predator. When he got aroused, he became a bloodthirsty beast—and you embodied the prey in his eyes. Just like a starving animal, ready to maul and devour any living creature in sight. 

Since your goal was to push him over the edge, you bit the pink flesh of your pouty bottom lip and reached out to his other lightsaber—which was accidentally left lying on the nightstand next to your bed. It was the only thing that resembled his present, and as you slowly ran your fingers over its surface—you quickly figured out your plan. 

"If you are the one making the rules, why don't you make them fun?" These words left your glossy lips as you drove the weapon up to the right corner of your mouth. 

"Stop being a brat and fix your behavior, youngling. I command you as your superior, not your partner."  His tone carried the weight of authority, a warning you might have believed—if not for his eyes, smoldering and unashamed as it lingered on your chest.

You loved to lure out his raw dominance with your attitude so he would use you to fulfill his sickest, secret, intimate desires. His mechanical arm and the force combined allowed him to take advantage of you and have more control over you than anyone else could ever do—and you enjoyed it more than anything.

"Are you sure that is what you want? Because if you change your mind and stay, you could see me doing this." You kneeled and grabbed the saber with both of your hands so that you could lick it all the way from the bottom to the very top of it. You started swirling your tongue around the tip of it and throated every inch of it without any warning. It wasn't a challenge to take it—your esophagus had adjusted from everyday use to Anakin's significantly bigger size—but it still drew a quiet gag out of you. Your teary eyes never left his surprised gaze, which hunger quickly overtook.

You saw him reach out one of his hands towards your hologram—to pretend to grab your hair—and started bobbing it in the same rhythm as you did with your head. You noticed his growing bulge through the thin fabric of his Jedi uniform—and you couldn't help but sit back on your heels and start rocking your hips a little for some stimulation. This lustful view strikes a tingling sensation in your abdomen. Your brain flooded with the picture of his trembling, overstimulated tip as it stained his pants with his sweet, milky, smeared precum—waiting for you to clean it up with your tongue. 

You snapped back to reality, and a streak of saliva remained attached to the object as you released it from the hot cave of your mouth—while trying to catch your breath.

"I wish that it would have been you. Even though it's your lightsaber, unfortunately, it still can't cum down my throat like you." You said with sad puppy-dog ​​eyes while trying to stop panting, but an unexpected statement struck your ear.

"Ride it." 

A naughty grin appeared on your face as you tried to tease your boyfriend for a tiny bit longer.

"I thought you were worried about your sick little girl, but now you want to use her?" You said with a mocking tone, but he immediately growled at you.

"I said ride it." The harsh order made you stare at him momentarily, but he instantly broke the silence.

"Don't play stupid now. Just obey." He aggressively unbuckled his belt with one hand and rolled up his sleeves while he continued his monologue.

"I lied to the team that I came to this empty warehouse to strategize, so be a good slut for me and don't waste our precious time." He gently ran his fingers over the prominent outline of his size, which made his voice tremble with desire. 

"I saw my needy baby grinding while putting on her little show, so don't you dare to deny how fucking wet you are for me." You squeezed your thighs together, and they remained stuck from how sticky he made you. "You knew exactly what you were doing, so now it's your job to finish what you started, sweet little thing."

You realized how Obi-wan or even the enemy could catch him at any millisecond, so you quickly tossed the lightsaber on the bed, placed your hands in front of yourself and positioned your tiny body above it. 

"Yes s-sir!" You stuttered, but before you could start masturbating, you heard him say—

"Stop. Did you just go dumb on me already? You forgot something. Words, sweetheart, words. What do good girls say?" His serious side always made your core drool. You remembered the missing essential and said it without hesitation.

"Thank you, master!" His mean face finally released a small smile. 

"Now you can continue."

You shifted until your painfully throbbing slit hovered directly over the part that was covered in ridges. As you slowly sank into it, the cold touch of the remaining saliva sent a jolt through your body. You started humping on your little "toy" back and forth, dragging your clit across the whole length of it. The friction made your breath come up in ragged gasps. You tried to glare into his lustful iris but couldn't make contact with his gaze—Anakin had already rolled his eyes back. A heavy moan escaped from your plump lips as he revealed his fully erect member, slamming it against his muscular abs. A puddle of precum pooled around the base of his dick, and some of it already ran down to his thighs. The liquid glistened as the light reflected off it, but he spat in his palm to lubricate it even more. He started gliding his hand on his most sensitive area while watching you chase your high. The holopad was set up to make it look like he was towering over you, ready to finish on your face.

"You are the filthiest whore in the whole galaxy. I mean, look at you, tiny Padawan of mine…skipping your stationing duties to pleasure yourself at home." He kisses his teeth, making a quiet 'tsk' sound." You're fucking pathetic." He threw his head back as he degraded you. You tried to fasten your pace, but your legs started to shake unintentionally to let you know you wouldn't last long. A knot began to form in your stomach, but Anakin shouted at you.

"Oh no, don't even think about it. Don't you dare to cum yet. I didn't give you permission. Don't be greedy."

You whined, your fingers curling desperately into the sheets, the fabric twisting between your trembling hands as you fought against the inevitable. Every muscle in your body was drawn tight, quivering under the weight of restraint, but it was futile—you were at your master's mercy. The heat between your legs was unbearable, pulsing, demanding release, but you knew better than to give in without his approval. Your breath hitched, a pathetic whimper slipping past your lips. You felt helpless, wholly unraveled under his control, but deep down, you knew his cruelty had a purpose. He wasn't denying you out of malice—he was building you up, drawing out your pleasure until it consumed you, until you shattered so thoroughly you wouldn't recover for days. The way he edged you was deliberate, precise, and designed to wreck you in the best way possible. Every second he made you wait, every teasing word, every denied climax—it all led to something greater. He wanted you mindless by the time he allowed you to break. He wanted to pull every last drop of prurience from you until you were gasping his name like a prayer. And when that moment finally came, when he finally let you fall, it wouldn't just be pleasure—it would be devastation.

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? At least not for such a good girl. Now, my princess gets rewarded for finally being obedient." He looked up at your face, then down to his old weapon in your hands, and his lips curved into a smirk.

"Slide it in your pretty pussy. Ride my lightsaber as if it was my cock." Anakin's penis was aching, his whole body was shaking while he jerked off. 

"Spread your legs wider, angel, will you? I want to see what's mine. Your warm cunt belongs to me." After his request, your hole pulsed as if it had its own heartbeat. You aligned the "dildo" to your entrance, and with one sharp movement, you rammed it into your opening. You reached up to your chest to cup both of your breasts in your hands and gave them a rough squeeze before you pinched your nipples as Anakin's replacement kissed your cervix. You saw that he trusted into his palm faster than before and became much more vocal.

"Yeah, that's it, that's my girl. You are taking it so good for me." His praises helped your orgasm to build up even more. 

"A-ani, mhh, I'm close; I can't take it anymore! " He heard your shutter, which made him look up from under his eyebrows. You could see that pearly sweat streaks started to run down from his forehead, and their route followed the scar mark on his eye.

"Do you think you deserve it? Beg for it. Can you do that, little one?" He questioned. "How much do you want it, hm? Show me. Make me proud."

His hips hadn't stopped since the call started; he fucked his palm restlessly, so you knew that you had to trigger his weakest spot to get the job done.  

"I promise that I'll be your slave, your fucktoy when you come home, okay? I'll let you use me as a cumdumpster anytime, just please let me finish already.  Anakin, it hurts! " You whimpered while tears ran down from your cheeks to your chin. You started rapidly circling on your swollen clit and pumping into your soaked folds, sliding in and out his "stunt double" that rubbed against your G-spot repeatedly. This was all he needed to hear and see.

"K-kay, let it happen baby, cum for me. Cmon, give it to me. Give me what's mine." He commanded, his words are law.

Your back arched with grace as you went crashing over the edge. You collapsed on your bed into a puddle that your squirt made, mind blank as waves of pleasure rolled through you. The world around you blurred into nothingness, consciousness suspended in the aftershocks of ecstasy. This meant the main attraction to Anakin, the sight of you undone, the way your body trembled and spasmed. His breath hitched, muscles tensing as climax washed over him. His cock throbbed violently in his grasp, spilling thick ribbons of his release over his fingers as he choked out your name. Ropes of his load painted his v-line, dripping down toned his stomach and pooling in his lap.

"Fuck, you are something else. Good job, kid." He panted as he dragged his pants back on. 

"See, I told you that you don't need to leave work for me." You stuck out your tongue while giggling and kicking your feet. 

"You are not sick anymore, that's for sure. The only sick thing is what you promised me in return for your orgasm." He winked at you with his ocean-blue eyes. "Good thing that Rex's helmet recorded everything, so I will have proof." 

Your eyes widened, and you couldn't believe what you heard.

"OH MY GOD—ANAKIN SKYWALKER, YOU FUCKING FREAK! Why didn't you tell me you made the call from his helmet?" You screamed in anger, but your boyfriend just laughed in your face. 

"More risk, more fun, doll." 

Before you could respond to his answer, a sharp knock echoed from his end of the connection. You could see the sudden shift in his expression, the way his shoulders stiffened. From offscreen, you heard Rex's voice, low but clear—

"General Skywalker, you've got company." 

Anakin cursed softly, his free hand running through his already messy hair. He turned back to the holo-projector, his face conflicted. 

"The team found me, I have to go. I'll be home soon, so don't forget our deal. Ni chuba du," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words in Huttese heavy with meaning. "I love you." 

Before you could respond, the connection flickered out, the blue light vanishing, and you were left staring at the empty space where he had been.

[monstersholygrail]

You know what I think is needed on this fine Sunday? More Demon Priest.

It’s Sunday the day of rest and God forbid Demon Priest let you do a single thing as he ruts into you. His lazy strokes have you writhing on his cock before he promptly pins you down to the bed. A chastising click of his tongue ringing out into the peaceful daylight.

“Rest, sweet dove. Let me take care of you,” his low voice weaves into your eardrums like a smooth lullaby. Meant to lure and trap you in his torturous movements.

“N-need more. Need your cock, please. Gimme, harder. Please,” you whine, a blubbering mess as he’s been keeping you on the edge for hours. Tears streak down your pretty cheeks, the ache between your thighs violent, begging for satisfaction.

But Demon Priest merely shakes his head, causing your whines to grow in volume. His hips roll into yours slow and hard, forcing you to feel the way his cock stuffs you full and ignites your every nerve.

No, he’s going to make sure to take his time with you. Drawing out your pleasure until that cord can’t help but snap and you’ve sweared you’ve died and gone to heaven.

[skyrigel]

Baby, you're mine.

Ex bf! Mattheo Riddle x gn!reader

Hi, umm kinda wanted a jealous fic where Mattheo's a complete jerk ( fool ) for you. Basically that one time he ruined your date and also the time he made up. Draco being a little shit but we love him.

" Isn't he a dork ? " Mattheo smirked, his fingertips brushing against your back when you snapped back at him.

" You're such a jerk matty." You perched your lips, crossing your arms as his smirk only widened, his eyes softening at the sight of you.

" For you, always." He added with a wink, you wouldn't smile, no, you will not give him that.

" Why don't you leave me alone ? " You turned to walk ahead, you were aware of your charms class that was just about to start.

" How about you don't go on this date ? " He suggested instead, catching up with you, few third year Hufflepuffs parted away.

" Marcus is a very good guy." You mumbled, Matheo scoffed hard and his malice was very much visible in the way he scowled at his name.

" Didn't you like bad guys ? " Matheo tried his soft, sweet voice, the one that always melted you, but not this time, you wouldn't let him.

" Does it matter ? Weren't you fucking Susan or was it Komal, i remember." You narrowed your gaze at him, your mouth tightening as his soft facade crumbled, his jaw slackened but he was quick to recover.

" It was...it meant.. nothing to me." He nodded his head, eyes blazing with sincerity but if only, if only.

" Mattheo, I know you haven't got heart—"

" Babe—"

"—but these girls have got one, so don't break theirs." You glared at him once before marching towards your charms class, eyes brimming with tears.

_

You should've known as soon as you entered the great hall when the silence on Slytherin table was too much, Draco was practically buzzing, his mouth was perked up around the edges, being not so subtle with his glances on you.

Mattheo was just another case, he was staring at you, not minding the concernful eyes that gazed him down, clad with longing and desire, he didn't care about them.You dutifully paid him no attention.

The mist cleared when Marcus didn't come that evening and it wasn't a surprise when you found him in hospital wing later , poor boy even refusing to speak with you. Well done, mattheo.

_

" Hey Y/n, heard you got stood up—" you shot bat boggey hex at Draco, with mere mumbling under your breath as you swinged your rucksack on one shoulder, feeling very tired.

Draco scowled but said nothing, Mattheo only smiled smugly.

" I was thinking—" Matheo started, you stomped your books down.

" Don't talk to me." You said, feeling anger boil inside you.

" I didn't do it on purpose." Mattheo dropped his gaze to your lips, you looked away.

" Oh really ?! " You huffed a humour less laugh that oddly sounded a croak.

" He..He talked shit about you babe, what was i supposed to do ? "

" Listen." Draco said, ducking his head when both you and Riddle glared at him.

" Well anything but to beat the pulp out of him." You cocked your head, wincing to think about the damage Mattheo had done, it would be a hard for Marcus to ever date again.

" He said he just wanted to fuck you and be done." His eyes glistented and you didn't know if Riddle could cry, he did when you broke up with him but—

" Said that he wasn't being serious so I shouldn't worry, just a fuck." He swallowed hard, his adam rolling up and readjusting again, every ring of his cartilage pressing around his skin.

" Tell me baby, what I was supposed to do ? Shouldn't I kill him ? What if...what if he broke your heart ? " He pressed down his forehead against you, Draco looked away, swaggering towards the other end of the corridor, others following.

You closed your eyes at the feel of him, Mattheo could be cold but how could you let go of this warmness that tingled your way, how could you forget the sweet darling boy who sung lullabies and wrote poetries for you, how could you ?

" He can't..." You gulped, " he can't break my heart Matty, you already did it." You sniffed hard, would it be okay if you just...just hugged him and kiss him for one last time, just once, would it be okay ?

" I am sorry darling, I am so sorry." He nuzzled closer, his nose caressing your cheek as he inahled you in, your scent, the way you made him crazy and feral. All of you.

" I hate myself for not hating you." You admitted, feeling your heart shedding off some burden.

" And I love myself for loving you, I tried..tried so hard and no one, my beloved, i can love no one like i love you." His lips pressed against the corner of your mouth, your whole body rippling in magnetic waves.

" You're a jerk." You told him, pulling him by his tie as a smile aroused him, soon it crashed against you, like lightening bolts set free as you tasted his sweetness, his tongue warm as you parted for him, let him take the lead.

A soft moan escaped and you shivered because you loved this boy, for so long you have, and only he could set you on fire and make you ablaze, only he could reduce you to ashes and breath you back in the air.

" Oh baby." He breathed against you, ever so handsy he grabbed for everything he could get, pulling you closer till there was nothing left you and him, his knees pressing between you legs as he relished in the sounds you could make, only for him.

" Matt..." Your voice was dazed with the pit in your stomach that lurched with the way he touched you, kissed you, had you.

" So long...so..my baby." He whispered against you lips, dipping to nib at your flushed swollen beaming lips.

" Oh my god." Your lids drooped back when his hands roughly slipped inside you shirt, kneading and squeezing your flesh, he was so needy and wild, like you always made him.

He downed your shirt, flushed as he pulled away when the bell rang and crowd started to emerge from classes.

"Go on a date with me." He pecked your cheeks, glancing to make sure your shirt wasn't riding up.

" Can't." You said, his nose scrunched up, " afraid my boyfriend might beat you up."

Mattheo's grin was splitting his whole face, his cheeks rushing with color and heat.

" Sounds like a jerk to me." He breathed, eyeing your lips and leaning in.

" Oh, he is." You winked, " always for me."

Don't blame me

[lumillsie]

ೃ⁀➷ all my life. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

jon snow x f!arryn!reader headcanons

╰┈➤ in which lady catelyn's niece is brought to winterfell as a ward, and grows to care for her misliked stepson.

a/n : I put jon's birth year as 283 ac, whereas in the show he was born in 281ac - so I struggled a bit on which to choose, but ultimately 283ac suited my outline for the story a bit better. the characters are still aged up as per their show versions. I've also aged down robin arryn, implying that both jon and reader would be in their adolescence during his birth, whereas in the source material, jon is only a few years older than robin.

massive, massive shoutout to @angelseraphines for being my greatest support as always, and I'm not sure if I would've gone ahead and published this if not for her encouragement 🩷

╰┈➤ in 285ac, lord jon arryn and his lady wife lysa welcomed the first of their living children.

╰┈➤ you were a beautiful babe, bright-eyed with a lovely smile, truly the apple of the hand's eye. lord arryn had been married three times in his lifetime, and you were the first of his children to live to term. the graying man was enamored with your newborn-self, and he wished for nothing but your safety and joy.

╰┈➤ for all his love for you, the hand of the king knew how venomous the environment of the royal court to be. the halls were dripping with the schemes of those who wished to advance their positions, and a man of his position knew that the only living child, let alone a girl, of his would be treated as no more than a tool of the court's most cunning.

╰┈➤ your father wished to see you happy and contented, and he wished to keep you safe from the treachery of red keep. and so, on the eve of your sixth nameday, your father wrote to the boy he once fostered in the vale, now a lord paramount in his own right. eddard stark was possibly the only man jon arryn trusted to the same extent he trusted his grace, the king. it was a difficult decision to make, but he was acting in your best interests. life at winterfell would suit his little falcon better, for you would grow strong and you'd be well-looked after. you'd be far away from the glances of power-hungry, lecherous men who wished for nothing but power. you would be with family as well, as the lady catelyn was your mother's only sister - and her children your closest blood. it was a great honour in westeros, to be trusted with the upbringing of one's child, and it was an honour lord arryn would bestow upon lord stark.

╰┈➤ lysa was resistant to the idea of sending away her only living child - the years of losing babe after babe had taken their toll on her, but she eventually relented. you would be safer in winterfell, and catelyn was still her sister - for all the distance between them.

╰┈➤ mere days after lord stark accepted your father's offer, you were sent to winterfell as a ward with a kiss on the forehead from your mother and an unusually tight hug from your father.

╰┈➤ the first couple of weeks were rough - for you were often coddled by your parents. you missed tugging on your mother's skirts and resting in your father's arms. you weren't used to the absence of them, and while you tried not to cause trouble for your caretakers - they could tell you had a hard time adjusting.

╰┈➤ there were two people in winterfell whose presence brought you comfort during that trying time. the first was your aunt, lady catelyn stark, your mother's only sister. you knew little else of winterfell, but you were comforted by the familiar shade of auburn that cascaded down her shoulders and the unique cadence to her voice that could only be ascribed to a woman born of riverrun. she wasn't your mother, but she was the closest to her anyone could get. she sung you lullabies only your mother knew, and the gentle manner in which she treated you was that of a mother towards her child. the second was the boy named after your father, jon snow. you latched onto him early on in your stay in winterfell, and nobody was quite sure as to why. perhaps it was for his name, for you often called for him - at first you were calling for your father, but jon always answered. he was two years your senior and still a boy unsure of his place in his own home - for all the love of his father and the acceptance of his siblings was matched evenly with pointed looks and whispers of bastardy, as well as lady catelyn's cold distance and her decision to ignore his existence the best he could. some would say that it was your insistence on seeking him out that helped reassure the dark-haired boy of his place. of all the nobles and commonfolk at winterfell, you gravitated towards him.

╰┈➤ at first you were content to spend your time with him in silence, and he never appeared opposed to that. within a few weeks, you were talking to him about your life back in the crownlands. you talked about your mother, and her watchful, protecting eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. you talked about your father, and his insistence on making time for your regardless of how pertinent his responsibilities may have been at any given point. you talked about the king too, and his tales of the valour and glory he experienced side by side with jon's own father. he spoke to you too, of how lovely his father and siblings were, of winterfell's hidden gems and it's most well-known attractions. he promised to take you to the weirwood tree in the godswood when the opportunity arose, and he followed through on his promise. jon snow had become, aside for the lady catelyn whom you'd grown to love as you loved your mother, your dearest person.

╰┈➤ your aunt catelyn was not fond of your budding friendship with the reminder of her husband's indiscretion - that much was plain to see by the harsh manner in which her brows furrowed and frown of her lips, and yet she made no move to disallow it. she could see that his presence helped you get used to your new home, and soon enough you were playing with sansa, teaching arya and bran how to say your name and often fetching robb to speak with him on the way to break your fast. it pleased to see your aunt to see you and her own children bond so quickly, and she kept her dissatisfaction of your bond with jon to herself.

╰┈➤ jon was there for many of the major moments of your life, with the most notable being the first letter you'd written your parents. you had just started learning how to read in the red keep, but lord stark made sure to place you with septa mordane alongside his daughters and he kept an eye on you to make sure your education was advancing. not to mention, lord and lady stark were adamant in ensuring that you remained in touch with your parents - making sure you became literate was the most important factor in that. early on, you would ask jon to re-read your letters before you were to show them to lord stark, and your friend was always glad to do it. the faint red hue that enveloped his cheeks as he read the parts where you mentioned him to your father went unnoticed by you, too focused on making sure that your letter was presentable to lord eddard.

╰┈➤ you remained close through your childhood and closer into adolescence, but it wasn't until one fateful evening that somebody changed between the two of you.

╰┈➤ the letter you received from your parents was unlike any other you had received in the past. the words seemed to swirl on the yellowed paper, and you could feel a headache in coming. your mother had given birth to a son - a proper heir to the vale. you should have felt happy, overjoyed even. a part of you, unfortunately, felt overwhelmed by misery and you could not quite understand why. you were content in winterfell, loved even - and you knew you were never to be heir to begin with, for you were a daughter and your father had plenty of nephews to choose from. so, why did you feel so unhappy? you couldn't quite figure it out, at least not until you spoke to the one person who understood why you felt the way you did, even when you yourself could not.

╰┈➤ you'd skipped supper in favor of spending the evening by the godswood, and truthfully, you expected aunt catelyn to send robb to retrieve you when it was due time for you to return to your chambers. instead, you were surprised to see that jon came for you instead. as you rose from beneath the weirwood tree, red leaves giving way to a darkened sky, you walked side by side with jon towards the great keep. he spoke to you quietly then, of things you never dared ask and he never dared to say outloud. he spoke to you of the mystery of his mother, of wanting to know who she was and if she had wanted him, of wanting to know what kind of person she was. it was only then that the truth of your misery dawned on you. you wished to truly know your parents, and your brother - but you never truly could. for all the letters in the world cannot bring you the closeness of having your family near. robin would know your parents in the ways that you never would, and they would know him in ways that they never knew you. it was a bitter pill to swallow, but you felt as if you could breathe easier - with the realisation clear in your mind.

╰┈➤ you were grateful to jon as well, for his vulnerability with you and for his kindness. you thanked him for walking you back to your chambers, and left a chaste peck on his cheek before retreating. "I am grateful... for you, and all that you are" were the words you spoke to him. a silent acknowledgement hung in the air between the two of you. he was still your dearest friend, and you were his - but something had changed. the way in which you regarded one another had changed.

╰┈➤ it was as if the wall that you two had carefully placed between yourselves had found itself with holes in it. you were still careful, chaste even - but it was apparent to those around you that you two loved eachother. you'd make handkerchiefs for him in your embroidery classes and he'd gently hold onto your hand in the privacy of the godswood.

╰┈➤ none were truly aware of the extent of your affections for one-another, for you were both aware of your positions. you were a noble-man's daughter, entrusted in the care of jon's father who was meant to find you a suitable match and marry you off well. you were considered a bride for theon greyjoy or willas tyrell, but not jon. not a baseborn son of your noble caretaker, with no titles to his name and no inheritance to claim. furthermore, were you to rebel and marry jon without anyone's knowledge - you would soil not only the reputations of your fathers, but the goodwill and bond they shared, for lord arryn entrusted lord stark with your upbringing.

╰┈➤ you two grew closer over the following year, and it was apparent to both of you that you would not have the time to properly court one another before pursuing a way to convince your fathers to allow marriage. you were a woman grown, of marrying age. not to mention, you were lord arryn's only daughter, and a marriage to you was the most effective manner in which a noble house could strengthen its ties to the vale. lord and lady stark, with minor interference from your parents, were close to making their decision - and your aunt made sure to consult you often in subtle manners, asking whether you'd prefer to remain in winterfell when you marry, asking if you'd like to return to the red keep once you are to have a family of your own. you could not avoid your fates any longer.

╰┈➤ you pondered over what to do for a couple of days, but you knew you had no time to wait. without informing jon, you decided to plea your case to your aunt catelyn - the person you'd always felt closest to in winterfell, from the day you arrived to the present. you knew of her mislike for jon, there wasn't a singular person in winterfell who wasn't aware of it - and yet, during all these years, she hadn't said a word to you of your closeness. you asked for an audience with her in the evening, and you told her everything as you sat with your hands in hers atop the fur carpets by the roar of the fire. you confided in her about how precious jon had always been to you, of how you felt the evening of robin's birth and of how you had love for jon in a way a lady should only have love for her husband. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you spoke to her of how you feared a betrothal, as you didn't think you could bare being married to anyone else. she listened to you as you spoke. when you finished, she leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead and exited the room. you never got an answer from her.

╰┈➤ lady catelyn's heart ached from the weight of what she had to do. she resented jon, but she could never truly hate him as a person. she feared what his existence, and the way he looked, may mean for her own children but she could never begrudge you for befriending him. this, however, could be disastrous for all of you - and she needed to put a stop to it. she sought jon out the following morning, before it was time for the family to break their fast. she warned him of what his involvement with you could do to your reputation, and of how marrying him would cause you to lose all that you were born with. a woman has little choice in this world but to marry well, and your singular status as lord arryn's only daughter provided you with a privilege not many women could afford - a privilege you would lose were you to marry him. she urged him to put distance between the two of you, if he cared for you as you claimed he did. it was the first time she'd really acknowledged him, and her words stung - perhaps nearly as deep as her resentment and distance once did.

╰┈➤ you were unaware of the fact that this conversation had even taken place to begin with, and jon's insistence on ignoring you came as a shock. you couldn't tell what you had done wrong and you were unsure of how to reason with him.

╰┈➤ it wasn't easy for him to keep his distance from you either, but he took lady catelyn's words to heart. he truly believed that if he kept his distance from you, then you would have an easier time accepting a potential betrothal - as you were always meant to do. now that he was at a distance from you, he was free to confide in robb - and he found comfort in his brother. it was difficult, keeping his feelings from the man he trusted most to begin with and robb's brotherly teasing, as well as his unspoken understanding helped him cope with his decision. for a time at least.

╰┈➤ this tense situation and the distance between you was broken by the most tragic news of your life - your father and the hand of the king, lord jon arryn, had passed away. in addition to your grief, added pressure was placed upon your shoulders as the news of the royal family's impending visit to winterfell reached you. all of this proved to be too much for you, and you crumbled once again, for the first time since your arrival to the north. it was jon whom you turned to once again, and he couldn't find it in him to turn you down. he held you in his arms as you wept, and as you turned to look to him - you made the bold move you'd never dared to make. you leaned upwards and planted a kiss upon his lips, the salty taste of tears staining both of you. he gave in for a split second, before pulling away - remembering lady catelyn's words. "I intend to promise myself to the night's watch. I've already made my father aware of my decision" he confessed to you, his tone gentle yet final. it was then that you asked him why, your voice on the brink of shattering. he spoke to you of his conversation with lady catelyn, and of the steps he took to make sure your reputation wasn't soiled - of the steps he took to make sure you could still have a good life.

╰┈➤ you left him wordlessly then, anger coursing through every inch of your body. you were angry for a multitude of reason - at your father, for sending you to winterfell to begin with. at the world, for taking your father from you before you'd had the chance to see him once more. at your aunt catelyn and jon, for making decisions that concerned you without even thinking to consult you.

╰┈➤ you withdrew to yourself, simply going through the motions as you prepared for the king and his family to arrive at winterfell. you felt no joy at the prospect of seeing him once again, and the thought of his visit served as nothing more than a reminder that you were truly never going to see your father again. you were courteous but curt in all your exchanges, but you exchanged nothing more than pleasantries with all those around you. jon tried to speak with you often, to ensure that you two weren't going to go your separate ways on such poor terms - but he was unsuccessful. you had switched places, with you now ignoring his attempts to speak with you as he had done weeks before.

╰┈➤ the issues between you two and your pointed attempts to ignore him are once again put on hold with all the madness that follows the royal family's visit - bran's accident, your mother's letter to catelyn and the king's offer to lord stark all become topics much more pertinent than jon's upcoming departure and your potential betrothals, and the two of you settle into a peaceful coexistence within the last few days of his stay at winterfell. in truth, as you came to accept your father's death and the unfortunate fate that befell bran, you came to the conclusion that the short time you had with one another was a precious thing, not to be wasted - and you sought him out often, just as you once did.

╰┈➤ the morning he was set to leave for the night's watch, you rose early in the hour of the nightingale- and you sought him out. you walked to the godswood once more, your arm brushing against his. "I believe that I have loved you all my life. I believe that I will love you for the rest of it" you admitted to him as he reached out to grasp your hands in his, a sad smile making its way across your face. "I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for the rest of it" he vowed to you as he leaned down to press his final, gentle kiss upon your lips. you needn't have spoken words of forgiveness or talked much of anything else. you were overcome with a melancholic contentedness in that very moment. jon left his home with his uncle benjen within the next few hours, but he left his heart in winterfell with you.

╰┈➤ that very same evening, you wept in your aunt catelyn's arms. her kiss upon your forehead felt the same as your mother's on the day you last saw her - on the day you left your home behind.

a/n : and that's where I think I'm going to end this! if I ever feel like it, I may revisit jon and arryn!reader later down the line - perhaps with a quick rewrite of season and a happier ending than I gave them here. the original version of this fic is still in my drafts, but I legitimately hated the pacing and the dynamic between jon and reader felt rushed so I rewrote the whole thing - I'm still not fully happy with it, but I much prefer this version and I'm more comfortable publishing it. I hope you enjoy reading this, and please be sure to leave some constructive criticism as I do think there are some parts here that I think can be improved. please do forgive me if the pacing feels slightly off, I struggled quite a bit with this prompt and I legitimately could not write this fic a third time nor expand on it more to try and make it more sensible.

as always, I'm tagging several different characters to help get the post out to as many people as possible, but I do write for all of the characters tagged below so please feel free to request something for them.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ How they comfort you when you wake up from a nightmare

(F!Harbingers edition) Columbina, Arlecchino, Sandrone, Signora

(Due to the popular demands of many anon lovelies – I made an iteration of this fic under the same name, but female Harbingers edition! Hope I didn't disappoint, sorry if I couldn’t tag those old requests!)

It was a mere fleeting image, an illusion conjured by your weary mind as you plunged deeper into sleep. Yet as your unconscious brain fought off the shackles of nightmares, your body jolted awake with a gasp. In the deafening silence of the bedroom, only the sound of your breathing is uttered. It is then, when you sit up, that you start feeling the deft, gentle hands of your beloved shuffle from behind you. 

✧ You were trying to regain your breath when you noticed something shift beside you in bed. Columbina’s hands silently found themselves around your shoulder, her chest pressing onto your back. 

“Hm, a restless night, my angel?” 

You blinked your groggy fatigue away. With a wistful nod, you confirmed Columbina’s suspicion. She sensed your bashfulness to talk about the dream, not wishing to make her worry any more than she already does when doting on you. 

“Shh… Shh, just breathe. There is no need to feel flustered over something as natural as dreams,” – The Harbinger whispered through a mystic smile. She settled the pillows behind you, pulling you gently to her bosom while she embraced you. “Dreams, like nightmares, are all part of every living being. Some dreams are sweet, while others are engulfing.”

You listened to her voice, trying to ease your mind. You looked up at her; as always, her eyes were covered with white lace, yet her smile remained. Even if she spoke about macabre nightmares. 

“Rest your weary head, now, angel. Want me to sing you a melody?” 

You nodded, as expected. The Dove’s voice hummed a gentle melody in the darkness of your bedroom. Her voice carries a slow lullaby, melancholic almost, as she serenades you into rest. Like a lonesome bird, singing for her one only, telling the other: ‘I am here, with you in the dark’. She embraced you with her voice all while caressing your head and pulling you back into dreamless slumber. 

✧ When you awoke, the first thing you spotted was Arlecchino's charred hands placing a teacup on the nightstand beside you. You are unsure if you escaped your nightmare by gasping for air, or because you heard her stirring the warm liquid of the cup nearby. 

“You were having a nightmare,” – Arlecchino did not ask, but stated. She sat at the edge of the bed, her coat left hanging by a nearby chair. “What troubles you so?” 

You tried to sit up, but she silently ushered you to remain in bed. Sensing your already dazed expression being haunted with fatigue, Arlecchino shifted to sit closer. Her hand clasped yours in a tender gesture, even though her eyes remained stern.

You hesitated but relented. As you lay there in bed, looking up at her x-shaped pupils, you confessed about the lingering horrors of a crimson moon in your nightmares, how your breath runs short as if something is clawing at your neck. The Knave remained silent, her eyes cautiously narrowing as she observed you. 

“Perhaps the mind plays tricks on us when one is exhausted. Perhaps it's premonitions. Either way,” – her fingers gently came to caress your skin, brushing your hair back. “You mustn't let your exhaustion overwhelm you. Rest, now, and drink something warm.”

Her words were hushed, and her fingers kept brushing through your hair. A smile graced your lips when she ushered for the teacup by the nightstand, but you didn't feel like getting up. Instead, you were content staring at the depth of her black eyes, the red hue no longer threatening but soothing, even if it was the only color in the dark.  

Arlecchino respected your need for silence. Her sharp nails kept gently gliding over your skin, but she never fully let go. Despite her composed attitude and gentle grasp, her mind ran miles as she thought of ways to decimate all troubles for the one most beloved to her. 

✧ By the time you sat in bed, you heard familiar taps of small, rushed footsteps beside you. Sandrone, as if in a mechanical emergency, stood diligently beside you, her eyes inquisitive on your sudden gasps – “Is something the matter…? Your breathing is hurried.” 

You blinked, placing your hand on your forehead as realization dawned on you. Shaking your head softly, you reassured that it was a brief nightmare while you napped. But this did not diminish the wide peering eyes of the Harbinger. 

“Hm. I see. An unpleasant mental image processed by your subconscious. Then you must be feeling distraught,” - she pondered for a while, before nodding with determination. “Stay here. I must issue you a warm beverage at once!” 

Before you could protest, the wind-up key on Sandrone’s back was already spinning, her body moving in elegant clockwork, ardently rushing to make you something warm to drink. Even her giant servant, the modified Ruin Guard, arrived at her command with warm blankets and a comforter. 

You, obviously, had no say when that robot lifted you while Sandrone organized the bed more comfortably with pillows and blankets. 

Any words of assurance that you tried to mutter went completely unheard by Sandrone. She motioned for her robotic servant to place you back, ensuring you were comfortable first before she gently climbed beside you. 

“No, it cannot be a simple dream. Why would your heartbeat be alleviated, and your breathing labored?” - her voice was soft yet insistent as she scooted closer in worry. “Maybe yet, it's not about a nightmare, but something subconsciously worrying you…?” 

Oh no, you recognized her shift from innocent worry to threatening fixation. 

“... Maybe someone is the reason for these psychological disturbances? A pest hindering you?” 

You placed both of your hands on her shoulders in hopes of calming her down. If something catches her attention, or Archons forbid, her suspicion - the 7th of Fatui Harbingers would never settle down with mercy, despite her innocent appearance. Under your permission, she scooted closer, her smaller frame pressed to your side. Your warmth against her doll-like features assured her that you were here, safe beside her. 

“I won't let anything harm what is mine. Even if it's something nonphysical,” - her head leaned on your shoulder, whispering hushed vows of promised tempest. “My most precious is for no one to tamper with.” 

✧ As you stirred and struggled in your sleep, you felt a warm hand rest upon your forehead. La Signora sensed your unrest before you could even open your eyes, yet her simple motion grounded you back to reality as you called her name - Rosalyne. 

“Honestly, must I wake you like a mother whenever your dreams are restless?” – she leaned beside you in bed, watching over you with an amused smile, long locks of blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. “Another nightmare, darling?” 

You slowly opened your eyes and nodded. 

“Hm. Come here, closer.” – she hummed as she sat up in bed, gently guiding you to rest your head on her lap. Even when her skin looked pristine and cold, you felt warm trails leave her fingertips as she caressed your forehead. You let out a deep breath, feeling your bedroom hair brushed away from your face, while Signora continued:

“You know, when I have nightmares, I quickly remind myself that these are nothing but memories. And being held hostage in the past is a weakness,” – her voice shifted lowly. “Do not allow some fleeting memories to take hold of you.”

You listen to her words; the question of whether she still sees nightmares in her sleep escapes you without a warning. But Signora just smiled faintly. When she saw you nuzzle to her, your gaze apologetic and timid in the dimness of the night, she did not scold you; she instead leaned carefully to plant a warm kiss on your forehead, like a Pyro Crystalfly landing in your head. 

“It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that you are here, beside me.” 

(the bad thing about writing f!Harbingers for me is that I feel like I'm making random headcanons about their personalities, especially Columbina and Sandrone. We haven't seen them in-game yet and only got Arle as playable. I am biased because I wish we got more Harbingers in each region and not make them background villains. Anyway, thx for reading)

[comfortless]

hades! konig and persephone! reader

content/warnings: 18+ minors do not interact. abduction, voyeurism, dubcon, not very explicit smut.

notes: this has been on my mind for an eternity actually thank you sweet anon for finally encouraging me to write it out! if you celebrate, merry christmas! and if not consider this just a lil gift for absolutely no reason apart from for being my first Kö request. 💕

A hollow grows within him the moment his gaze meets hers. A chance crossing whilst collecting a rare offering of fruit laid out just for him. Most mortals wouldn’t beckon his attention, and the gods often left him just as well. He knows better than to take insult and become reckless, though… recklessness comes as easily as breathing when his stare settles on her across the glade. She twirls in silent dance, pirouetting carefully as if to avoid crushing the nature that springs up, brushing against her soles. Her voice picks up in a song when she notes the figure watching her from a distance, her cadence no less beautiful than any choir despite the flighty waver in her tone.

When the nymphs rise up from the stream to listen, he stands transfixed for a moment as they pull her in with them for a more elaborate dance, voices all melding until they break into a chorus of giggles and stories.

It should have been left at that.

She walks an earth made for her; flowers blossoming beneath her bare soles, each root extending for just a chance to brush against tender flesh, a breeze that flits gently against her hair. The daughter of Demeter, something unattainable, too precious to be dirtied by the howling abyss below her feet.

He is tethered to darkness and unknowns, an enigma with dried blood beneath his fingernails; the only songs he hears are screams. He’s since stolen flowers from the meadows she dances in. Beautiful peonies and soft green things that smell sweet. Flowers don’t bloom in the dark, they wither and dry.

Days are spent in melancholic longing, nights his roaring grief melds with the wailing of lost souls. Ugly and tainted noises that he dreams will reach her ears, that she will come to him with her lashes wet with tears, wrap him in her arms and quiet all but her own voice as she tells him that he’s more beautiful than her rivers and her blooms.

Yet, she never does.

König takes it upon himself to walk the land of mortals, teemed with life and pleasures more often now. He pulls himself from below with unnatural fire behind his eyes, a horrible, yearning abyss in place of the feathery, clumsy love that he’s watched so many others allow for themselves.

She notices him while he watches her bathe amongst the nymphs, stood upright and imposing beneath the shade of a tree. Each time, while the nymphs shy away with giggles and hands curled over their breasts, she merely keeps her eyes on him; lips-parted and pulse raging. He knows, would swear by it, that his obsession is not entirely one-sided.

Once, she chooses to wave at him, a demure flick of her wrist while his stare remains fixed upon her. The droplets of water from the curve of her neck, down to the swell of her breasts and the pebbled nipples there— down, further into the water that envelopes her and sends his mind to flicker, a roaring flame building from his chest to his groin.

All of his frustrations pale and cower at the fantasy that he just may be able to grant himself the liberty of sinking into something writhing and warm from just one, simple gesture.

He knows he’s fucked, because his first thought after the lullaby of attraction subsides is to poke her just a little; prod her and see what makes her cry the hardest, blanket her in the shadow of himself and pick her apart like a vulture to a cadaver, do things to her that no man ever has or should. It’s not right, and he has to force himself to turn away, the fabric of the veil obscuring his face as he slinks back into the dark where he belongs. Away from the untouchable maiden who seems to haunt him endlessly with her teasing.

The giggles and splashes of the nymphs whisper through the air like the chirping of birds. Though, one voice stands out above the rest of the noise, causes him to halt in his tracks.

“Why does he never speak to us?”

Her voice, so sweet, asking about him when she should be speaking of nothing but the beauty surrounding her, the warmth of the sun and never the cold darkness of the moon.

It’s eating away at him, he realizes, when he can no longer satisfy himself. Nights lain in a haze, staring up at blackened walls with his length in hand. All it takes is the memory of wet lashes and a soft smile, usually. Her beauty is enough to bring even him to his knees, yet, he finds himself instead on the brink of hysteria the first night he finds a vision of her is not sufficient enough to reach the brilliant white haze of a climax.

The thought of stealing her away from her world of beauty to drag her down into the dark with him fills him with both elation and a terrible guilt. Zeus himself is no different; the thought shouldn’t warrant a seeping coldness in his veins, nor should it have caused him to spill his seed into his hand with only a mere flick of the pad of his thumb over his tip, yet it accomplishes both. A waste, when it should be buried deep inside of his beloved.

It takes only two nights for him to plot, to have Gaia choose to favor him, and on the third day the Narcissus flower blooms, pretty and golden. It echoes false promises, softness and beauty beyond even the daughter of Demeter’s imaginations. She will hate him, she will. Her very soul will sour the moment she lays her eyes on him next, but eventually… she will come to understand, return his love with a whisper of her own. Lightly, at best, but it would still be more than he had ever known.

He watches the roots of the plant from below, a pinprick of warm light shining down. The thumps of footsteps overhead, shaking down loose soil like raindrops, giggles like crackling thunder. She’s roaming about with her nymphs again, gentle with her and all of her beauty. After watching her for so very long, he’s more than certain they will be braiding the flowers and falling asleep after fits of laughter with the taste of fruit on their tongues. Only, she’s condemned herself by being so predictable. She will fall, not into soft grasses with a woman’s arms thrown over her, but directly into his own. She won’t eat the fruit of the earth, but drink his wine and allow him to lose himself in her flesh, bedded down against the pelts of beasts and blackened out by shadows.

The wait isn’t long. Her voice breaks through the quiet of the earth below her feet, seems to light up even the space between the two of them as her footfalls halt only several paces away.

“Look at this one!,” she calls out.

Several steps follow after her as one of the ladies of the river comes to join her. He imagines the smile on his beloved’s face, the way her body curves as she kneels down to his trap and his fingers twitch in anticipation of what’s to come.

“Maybe not that one, sweet,” the nymph warns. “There are prettier ones by the bank.”

König can feel his jaw tighten, eyelids pausing to narrow up at the small light as he tries, forces himself to believe that this was fated. She wouldn’t turn away— she couldn’t.

“No... just look at it. We’ve not seen one so lovely since last spring.”

“What if someone else planted it for themselves?”

“But… I want it.”

She sounds so pitiful, so gentle, and he can feel that swell of heat curling inside of him again. The urge to simply love her feels all-consuming with each word that passes from her mouth.

The two above giggle to themselves at her mischief, before finally, the roots begin to move from a gentle tug above. In a matter of seconds, the entire plant has been uprooted. For a daughter of nature to not long for its beauty would be unrealistic, yet he still exhales his relief. The earth riots beneath the women’s feet, splintering cracks and loud discordance echo through the valley. The nymph’s shrieks join the disarray as her featherlight footfalls lead her far, far away from what belongs to him: the dark, the rot, and now her.

With so little time to react, she falls headfirst into the abyss, clutching the narcissus tightly between her soft breasts. Waiting arms are raised to the glimpse of sun and beauty to catch her as he pulls her tightly against his chest, tucks her head against a broad shoulder and grasps at her waist. Whatever he had imagined her flesh to feel like paled in comparison to her warmth, the softness that gives with each press of a digit that makes her tense beneath his touch.

She’s crying, shaking, terrified as she weakly raises her head and offers him a smile. It’s the kind of smile that screams savior, and he can’t bring himself to correct her. No one has ever looked at him with such tenderness.

Everything quiets the moment she looks up to him like that, after condemning herself to him as though she knows nothing of men and gods. She looks at him like he’s an angel, in turn he bites his tongue so hard he can feel the pinpricks of blood and soreness blossom from the wound. He knows he isn’t good, but the heavens have got their filth, too.

“Thank you.” She speaks in a whisper as the world above falls back into place, blanketing them both in shadow and the scent of soil and brimstone. Politeness seems unnecessary, now, though he places her gently onto her feet.

He’s far too mesmerized to stop himself from dropping to his knees in front of her and trailing a hand from her knee to her thigh, squeezing flesh so warm that the very feeling lingers pleasantly against his palm.

If a god couldn’t pluck him from this emptiness and set him on a right path, perhaps a goddess could, as he has always imagined. It’s only confirmed the instant he realizes she isn’t flinching away from his touch.

“I didn’t save you,” he explains calmly.

He’s struck down titans, claimed rulership over the underworld, and yet nothing has made him feel smaller than the fretful look in her eyes as she looks down to him kneeling before her like little more than a common man. As if to provide comfort, selfishly to himself, his massive hands drift higher to rest on her hips still wet with river water and blades of grass clinging to her just as he has longed to do. For what’s felt like an eternity of waiting, of pining, only to have it end with something as simple as a flower.

“I brought you here.”

She’s still beautiful when she cries; a palm is clasped over her mouth, eyes swimming as she trembles in his grip. Of course, she knows what this is about without ever having to ask, yet she still does as if to plead him to tell her that her thoughts are all wrong— that she’s safe and will return to her lovely friends, to her mother that would assuredly be worried sick and furious.

The rise to his feet feels like a mile long stretch, whilst he keeps her caged between the dirty wall and the vast expanse of chest. He shushes her with a gentle tone, wipes her tears away with the ghosting of fingertips before pushing up the veil covering his face to lie claim to her mouth as though his very life depended upon it. Perhaps it did. Though he did not fear Demeter, nor his brothers should she call upon them, he feared not having this ethereal, gentle thing at his side. He feared the creep of loneliness that ravaged his bed each night.

She sighs against his mouth, but does not reciprocate. Everything about her is tense and stressed, a wild mare preparing to kick out for the first time. His tongue lolls out to lap against her soft lips, just twice before he forces himself to part from her.

His beloved brushes away stray tears from her cheeks with the meat of her palms, shivering just a little as she tries to force herself to straighten up, appear braver despite the way she teeters on the edge of falling apart so easily before him. The heavy gaze of obsession fixed upon his face turns further predacious when she apologizes for not being able to help herself in response.

“I didn’t know it was yours,” she explains, holding out the ruined flower to him in one, shaking hand. She protests in her own way, eternally kind, but it all falls on deaf ears as he brushes the petals from her palm and takes her up into his arms again. With an arm beneath the backs of her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her middle, he leads her deeper into the underworld.

A mere taste wouldn’t do.

Her protests are nothing more than soft sniffles when he does take her to his bed of pelts, her arm even thrown over his shoulder as her body presses tightly to him. He thinks for only a moment that he could take his time, stop this all before she truly does grow to loathe him, but the descent into the bed only fortifies his resolve; his belief that this gentle woman of the earth, who smells of magnolia and clear waters belonged entirely to him. For now and forevermore.

“You are to be my wife.”

That quiets her for a moment, her eyes finally meeting his once more as he hovers over her, a palm to either side of her head. She has a mind to shyly curl her hand against her chest then, centered between her breasts which rise and fall with each flighty breath. It’s not panic, but more— curiosity, a misleading thing that he takes to be acceptance until she graces him with a mere murmur of her voice again.

“I don’t belong here.”

König knows that she doesn’t belong in a place like this, for all her grace to be lost to the cold, the rot; his kingdom is nothing but a wasteland riddled with the dead and subjects who take up the mantle of cruelty in his stead. The thought of actually allowing her to go instills rage and melancholy so quickly, he curls his fingers into the fur below to keep himself from flinching.

“You will.”

A digit reaches to trail across her bottom lip, tentative, but the need to touch overwhelms him past the point of caring for much else. To his amazement, she still does not push him away.

“How could that be?”

He doesn’t respond.

More than bedding her, a matter more pressing pushes to the forefront of his mind. Though he knows the likelihood of anyone being aware of her disappearance is nonexistent, a mere whisper from the beaks of crows by this time, he would do well to ensure that she wasn’t leaving. Just as every other soul resigned to dwell here with him, she too would remain.

“You’re famished,” he whispers the suggestion as he splays a palm out over her bare abdomen, only backing away enough to allow her a small length of space between them.

Her concerned stare shoots from his palm to his veil in an instant before she weakly nods her head and props herself up on her elbows.

“Quite… yes.”

She allows herself to be pulled into his lap without a fuss, doesn’t make mention of the hardened cock beneath her. His mind is swimming with the fantasies that kept him tame on so many nights without her as he presses his nose against her temple. A shallow intake of breath, and her lips part readily for him as he pushes the sweet pomegranate seed into her mouth, savoring the brush of her tongue against his fingertip. She eats without thought, never knowing how she’s tethered herself to his plane.

There’s an offering of sweet wine followed by a gathering of honeysuckle for her to sip the nectar from as well before he’s convinced she’s pliant enough. Despite the desire raging within him for all of this time, he would not be cruel to her. The thought of hurting this sweet, little dream doesn’t excite him. It’s her love that he wants, not her anguish.

He lies her back with sweet whispers, gentle caresses as he listens to her murmurs in response. She speaks of the stories only small creatures would know; the way the winds change and the rivers flood, the prettiest places she’s been. No fruit has ever tasted sweeter to her than the pomegranate, and nothing has ever filled him with such emotion as the moment he penetrates her.

He speaks to her through it, tries to, whilst he’s overcome with a pleasure that assuredly no other has ever had the blessing of. She affixes herself perfectly to him, clinging to him as he takes her with gentle thrusts. Gritted teeth and barely contained grunts are met with dulcet mewls as her hands reach for his. His heart aches, truly, at the knowledge that she isn’t meant for this place; his kingdom is nothing but suffering, and she belongs beneath the sun in meadows of flowers. His last thrust is deep, reminds him of the places he dares not tread often, the domains of his brothers, pillow soft clouds and a heaven far above, lost to him.

It’s her consoling him when he fills her to bursting with his seed— delicate arms curling around his head, cradling him against her breasts as she silenced the tears he hadn’t even realized he had shed. He had damned her, yet her soul had not soured; not all flowers withered in the dark.

The endless night is easier on his beloved after the first. She visits with the other souls and comes to him for comfort when the screams and cries in the darkness become too much to bear. She’s less fragile than he had anticipated when she demands he bring her home, and those demands so often end with little else than König taking her into his arms to lead her elsewhere. The underworld can be beautiful too, when seated upon a throne being hand fed by a man that knows little more than to blanket her in as much softness as he can muster. He tells her of the titanomachy, of the white tree, of anything to keep her entertained. His tongue does not shy from telling her that he loves her, too, often met with a shy glance or a soft giggle. Not outright disdain, and for now it feels enough.

She cries often, in longing for her mother and her friends, though never over this love she had never sought herself. Her loneliness only fuels her need for comfort. Selfishly, he believes that he’s saved the night she willingly wraps her arms around him, pulls him close and falls asleep nestled against his chest.

— — —

With the reliance on mortal offerings and Demeter’s anguish having been brought to light with seasons of failed harvests, it was only a matter of time before she was forced away from him. The months without her feel dreadful and empty, but he doesn’t dare disturb her while she walks the earth at her mother’s side. The agreement was beneficial for all of the gods and goddesses, and he knew better than to tread upon it by rushing to her like little more than a pleading dog. When winter took hold, bathing the lands in its icy touch and withering the plants she cherished and freezing over the rivers her nymphs played in, she would return to him as she must.

Each time is different. His beloved is not simply a thoughtless vessel as many of his subordinates. She is the most incredible thing he’s ever had the joy of meeting.

When she returns in tears, calling to him for his comfort he does not hesitate to kiss them all away and remind her that her summers will return and everything above will be just as it was on the day that he brought her below.

Sometimes, she’s angry, jealous even. She asks him often why he doesn’t come to see her while she’s away. He is her husband, after all. Was there anyone else in which he spent his nights with? Someone fairer than even she? The satisfaction of seating her on his cock, satisfying her as she does him on their shared throne far out rivals even ruling the domain itself. He would do anything to prove to her that she was his only; the sole thing he even thought of whilst her mind was filled with new songs and tales from the nymphs she spent her time away with.

Never has she returned with a gift.

Yet, she stumbles back into his realm clutching a small satchel, dripping with the scent of a juice sweet and familiar. A pleasant smile paints her features as she seats herself next to him on the throne. The bench of marble felt far too vast and dreadful to hold someone so delicate, the sight is something he’s grown accustomed to; emptiness is replaced with familiarity seeing her interact with anything here. It may not be home to her, but something in the way she looks to him— as she always had with tenderness, makes him question if a part of her sees him as home.

“I’ve brought something back for you,” she chimes as she pats her thigh.

Each time was different, but it had never been like this before.

He pulls himself to her side before slumping down to rest his head against her, tracing his fingertips along the length of her leg as his gaze drops almost sheepishly.

“Did you?”

She hums in reply, plucking one of the seeds from the satchel before slipping her hand beneath the veil to feed him. His lips part as he takes in the flavor of the aril, the honeyed taste almost akin to the look in her eyes.

“Just like…” She trails off for a moment as she lowers her head to press a kiss to the cheek of his veiled face. The delicate laugh that follows is unlike any he’s heard from her prior, it’s unique, saved solely for him.

“The six that I fed to you?” He asks her quietly, as he pulls himself away from her to meet her eyes directly. The air around them feels thick, loosely charged with a feeling that he can’t quite place; an intensity that he’s never felt before. Any groaning or wailing off in the abyss is silent now, just quiet words spoken.

Things have always felt warmer since her descent, but he’s learned to not expect anything more than she was willing to give. Still, hope cinches his heart tighter than it ever did prior. Even in battle, slaying his father alongside his brothers, he had never felt his heart race the way it does now.

She nods her head, opening up the satchel just wide enough to reveal the other five arils.

“I don’t think that I understand.”

“You should.”

He mulls over that for a moment before the fog finally clears. Any doubt that he had is remedied by a mere two words. He stares at her dumbly, searching her eyes for any hint that this is some horrible, cruel trick; that the implication is something he’s horribly misunderstood.

She couldn’t possibly come to love him… could she?

“To tie you to me,” she says softly.

The smile remains on her face when she closes the distance to kiss him. Not over the veil, but beneath it this time.

Her descent was one of a selfish longing, and his felt as though he was plunging into a world of flowers.

[milkbobatyun]

anyone but you

pairing: wanderer/scaramouche x gn!reader

genre: angstober, events

summary: everyone else had abandoned him, but you always stuck true to him.

word count: 1k

a/n: proud to be a scaramouche simp AND wanderer haver !! dont question the lore aspect of this fic, idk myself asw LMAO

the two of you were but mere pipsqueaks when you met. 

your older brother, morax, had just ascended to godhood and was too busy with the affairs of his new nation to be able to carefully look after his baby sister. likewise, ei was too caught up in her pursuit for eternity to care for her newly made puppet. 

so, what better option was there for them than to let the two of you fend for yourselves together? being lumped together from a young age, and being innocent and naive meant that the two of you relied on each other, the two of you against the world.

you were there when his mother, no, creator, had discarded him. he had no strength, only a pure soul, one that had not yet been tainted by the cruelty of the world. his tender heart had been broken.

like a pet thrown out onto the street, kunikuzushi found himself always making his way back home, tracing the familiar steps to the shrine, sitting outside, pitifully waiting in the rain.

beside him, you sat quietly, offering him silent company. despite the bone-chilling cold, you offered him a hug, the warmth of your love engulfing him, a shield against the uncaring world.

as the both of you awaited for some sliver of hope to shine in the dark clouds of despair, you would pet his head and sing quiet lullabies as it lay on your lap, salty tears leaking from his eyes. he didn’t know puppets could cry. 

hope never came. the almighty shogun had abandoned her creation forever, condemning him to live among mortals, whose short lives meant death, a premature one when compared to his immortal lifespan. 

the bitterness of betrayal consumed a portion of his heart.

kunikuzushi had trusted him. his friend, katsuragi. 

they had promised to be family, a happy little family. tiny kuni, katsuragi and small [name].

so why? why did he tremble in fear now, when he saw kunikuzushi approach him?

it used to be cheers of happiness.

“little kuni!” he would greet, waving his arm in greeting, looking like a comical sight. a wide grin would mirror onto kunikuzushi’s face. someone had finally accepted him and [name] for who they were, looking past the non-human features and seeing their fragile hearts and souls.

katsuragi didn’t hate him for his porcelain skin and ball joints. he didn’t hate [name] for her strange, draconic horns. they were loved, remembered, as the blacksmith and his friends presented them with a beautifully decorated cake.

“to commemorate our year of memories together.” he had declared.

how cruel. how heartless of him, to take the hearts they had trustingly bestowed upon him, crushing it in his grip.

the crystalline pieces fractured, shards of a puzzle that could never be pieced together again.

his betrayal had taken a toll on kunikuzushi’s soul. tears rained down onto the ground as he clutched at your clothing with tight fists.

with warm words and soothing lullabies, your gentle touch and the feeling of home lulled the worn out puppet into sleep.

kunikuzushi was heartbroken. he was scared of this ugly nature of humans. no. he wasn’t scared. he was angry. angry at this cruel world.

he was falling into a dark abyss. curse this wretched world, for carelessly throwing his heart around.

the little boy. oh how naive and innocent he was, a fledgling chick, learning to fly.

kunikuzushi and [name] had found the sickly boy sheltering in your small, rundown, forgotten house on one of the many islands of inazuma. he was plagued with illness, not even your knowledge of medicine could cure him.

yet, you still pressed on, nourishing the little boy with lavender melons and a banquet of dishes. kuni often volunteered to go forage for different fruits, proudly bringing back the herbs he had picked in the wilderness.

once, you were even lucky enough to buy a small doll that resembled kuni.

that day had been the little boy’s birthday. you were on your daily trip to the local market when you caught sight of it. with care, you nestled the doll between the ingredients you had bought for the cake.

as the little boy blew out the candles on the sad, slightly lopsided birthday cake, he wished that he could stay with the two of you.

“we’re family now.” he had grinned at you, his two missing front teeth all the more prominent. “we’re going to be together forever and ever.”

how naive and innocent you were.

in the night, you tried to ignore the bone-chilling, hacking coughs that resonated in the empty manor. the worsening coughs that raked through his body, leaving him pale and shaking.

every night, you questioned the gods. if they were so benevolent and kind, why? why rip this young fledgling from his nest and toss him into the harsh world? what twisted sense of joy did it bring?

once again, the two of you foolishly bared your newly-mended hearts to humans, only for it to be crushed underfoot.

humans can’t be trusted. it took three betrayals before you finally understood.

a soft, porcelain heart, in this unjust world would only lead to pain and suffering. only by hardening his heart into stone, could the puppet withstand the test of human nature.

“you can’t leave me like him, [name],” kuni’s hoarse voice pleaded, gripping you as though you would disappear. “promise me.”

a link of your pinkies and you promised him, but a flicker of hesitation flitted through your eyes.

from that day on, scaramouche clung tight to you, you were his lifeline in this ugly world. the only thing pure and deserving of his love. he cast away his vulnerable and foolish younger self, burying his heart with his own two hands.

good riddance to the rest of the world, the world that he would curse at and denounce. but you, you would always have to stay by his side, in life and in death.

he would do anything to keep you near him. chain you, shackle you beside him, go to hell and back, anything so you wouldn’t abandon him, like all the others did.

his heart was cold and black, impenetrable like rock. but even a stone could retire under the erosion of time, becoming pure like the most exquisite of gems.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡