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yuechihua · 29 days ago

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one hundred paper stars.

summary: There's an old story from your childhood where if you make a hundred paper stars, then you're granted a single wish. However, it's not you, but your infuriating partner in Section Six whose wish you want to come true instead.

notes: 7.4k words, author's notes, spoilers for harumasa's backstory, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, fluff

It’s during a drowsy, sunshine-drenched afternoon, a brief moment of respite where there isn’t any paperwork to file or field missions to carry out, that Yanagi appears at your desk, giving you no time to hide what you’ve been fiddling with during your break.

Though there’s no reason to feel guilty, it’s still slightly embarrassing for Yanagi to catch the rainbow strips of paper littering your desk, interspersed with fruit-flavored candy that Soukaku left earlier that morning as a present. In the center of it all, there’s a jar brimming with paper stars, the results of two weeks’ worth of progress made whenever you have a snippet of free time.

However, Yanagi doesn’t pause to acknowledge the way your hands are trapped in the middle of folding a half-finished origami star. Lips pursed in familiar frustration, she asks, “Have you seen Asaba anywhere?”

“Not since this morning, when we were doing reconnaissance in a Hollow,” you reply.

She sighs. “He’s supposed to have finished his break half an hour ago.”

“Do you need him for something?”

“I need you two to follow up on the work you did this morning. The ether readings have changed, and they wanted someone to check it out,” Yanagi says. “If you could find him and get him to come with you…”

“I get the gist. I’ll head out as soon as I find him,” you say, folding the ends of the paper expertly and tossing a newly formed red star into the jar.

“Thank you. I’ll make it up to you for cutting your break short,” she says apologetically. “Since you’re his partner, Asaba tends to listen to you a little more.”

“He barely listens to me at all,” you grumble. You pat the daggers tucked snuggly near your thighs, and Yanagi’s eyes drift to the mess on your desk.

“I was wondering where Soukaku got all those pieces of paper,” she says thoughtfully. “Did you bring them into the office?”

“Yeah. She thought the stars were candy, so I had to stop her from eating them. I taught her how to fold them, and in exchange, she gave me these.” You gesture at the hard candies littering your desk.

“It’s nice to do some crafts to relax.”

“There’s also something special about these stars. If you fold a hundred of them,” you say, “you get a wish. It was a popular story back in my elementary school. The local convenience store used to sell origami paper, and I would buy them with my allowance. I never did make it to a hundred, though.”

“Then there must be something you really want to fold a hundred now. I hope your wish comes true,” Yanagi says.

“I hope so, too,” you murmur.

A few minutes later, you’re cutting down the halls and up the stairways of your workplace, climbing until you reach the entrance to the roof. Barricade tape and warning signs block the landing, but with practiced precision, you duck under the tape without slowing and nudge open the door with your shoulder, which gives way without a fuss.

Cool wind whips at your face, and you scan the rooftop, nothing but a broad expanse of concrete and whirring, blocky machines, caged in by a metal fence. You jog down the length until you find who you’re looking for, lounging on the floor like a cat soaking up the golden afternoon sun, limbs askew and eyes closed.

Harumasa looks like he’s asleep as you approach him with silent steps. You crouch over him, your shadow cutting across his face, and he still doesn’t stir. For a few seconds, you watch him quietly. His headband flutters in the wind like a loose sliver of sunlight. His face is pale, splotches of dark ink forming under his eyes. Maybe he isn’t sleeping well.

“Admiring the view, partner?” Harumasa says without opening his eyes.

“Hardly,” you say. “I was just thinking about the best way to wake you up.”

“All you need to do is call my name and I’ll respond.”

“Right. Just like how the last few times I tried to do that, you kept pretending to be asleep until I used physical force.” You emphasize the last few words and Harumasa groans as he cracks open an eye, propping himself lazily up with his elbows.

“Come on. We’ve been working together forever at this point, and you still can’t be a little nicer to me?”

“I’m only nice to those who deserve it,” you say.

“Right, right. I bet Yanagi sent you up here.”

“How did you know?”

“You usually let me slack off otherwise,” he says easily. “It’s only when there’s something important that you bother me. Huh. If you think about it, that’s pretty nice of you. Isn’t there a word for someone who acts abrasive to hide how much they care about someone else? Ts–”

“Keep talking and I’ll tell Yanagi just where exactly you like to hide during break,” you threaten.

“Aw, don’t do that!” Harumasa gives you an exaggerated pout, and you roll your eyes. “Come here, partner.”

“Why?”

“Come on. Come closer,” he wheedles, and you reluctantly lower yourself until you’re sitting next to him, face to face, legs folded under you.

Once you do, Harumasa drops his head against your shoulder, leaning all the warm weight of his upper body against your side like he’ll fall apart without your support.

“What’s this about?” you grumble, but you don’t move away. It’s become a familiar routine at this point: he teases, you complain, but you still gravitate towards each other. Maybe it’s because you’ve been paired with Harumasa on so many missions that you’ve developed a habit of putting up with all of his mischief.

“I’m not feeling well,” he says. “Lend me your shoulder.”

“It’s a little too late to ask when you’ve already done it.”

“You know what they say. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.”

“I’m sure you know all about that,” you say dryly.

“Now. now. I’m just being pragmatic.”

You usually don’t come to the roof at all, not unless you’re looking for Harumasa. But when you do come here, the air feels refreshing and cool, the sunlight more gentle. Though you pride yourself on being efficient and responsible, the first one to file your reports and to take notes during meetings, you can understand why Harumasa likes to nap here.

It’s comfortable. Or maybe it’s Harumasa that makes the place so comfortable. It feels like your own private corner of the world, one where it’s just you and him. Not that you could ever tell him that, of course, or it’ll make him insufferable.

“Yanagi needs us to follow up on the Hollow we investigated this morning,” you say.

“Again? We just got back.”

“The ether readings have changed. They want us to investigate.”

“Hm… but I’m on break…”

“Your break was over half an hour ago.”

“You’re on break!” he protests.

“So? I’ll be reimbursed for it.”

Harumasa groans. “You’re way too serious. You need to learn to take it easy. I’m not feeling well, you know.”

“Is that so? Well, if you want to nap the day away, I can investigate by myself–”

“Wait.” Harumasa’s weight shifts off your shoulder, and now you’re face to face with him again, close enough to see the way his smile slips off his face, the intensity of his liquid gold gaze. “I’ll come with you. Don’t do it by yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m capable, Harumasa?” you try to tease, but his lazy smile doesn’t return.

“You’re capable,” he says quietly. “You’re more than capable. But I want to be there to back you up.” He’s the first to look away, and you feel cheated, even though you don’t know what you would have said in response. “So, let’s get going. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can clock out of work.”

“Of course,” you say, a smidge too quickly. “I’ll need to file reports for Yanagi when we’re done.”

At least the awkwardness of the moment on the rooftop blows over quickly as you prepare for departure. Working with Harumasa feels like being a part of a well-oiled machine, every movement in efficient, coordinated sync, the consequence of a well-established partnership. You fall into a routine as familiar as meetings or paperwork as you prepare to enter the Hollow: checking your weapons, gathering your supplies, escorting your Bangboo guide, and then striding into the Hollow at the designated entry point.

Within the Hollow, you and Harumasa alternate who takes the lead as you follow your Bangboo, slipping through half-hidden pathways and narrow crevices, all the while avoiding lurking Ethereals. There’s little need for words with Harumasa when all you need to do is read the tension of his body, like a bow pulled taut, and simply follow what it tells you. You have your own private language of body gestures, flicks of the hand or turns of the head, refined over years.

It’s not as if you always worked this well together, of course. The first time you were paired together with Harumasa on a mission, both of you were fresh recruits to Section Six. You couldn’t stop arguing with him. His lax manner and sloppy dress infuriated you, but what was worse was how he always delivered results with minimal effort when you never did anything less than your best. In turn, he made fun of you for being a stick-in-the-mud and being unable to relax.

“You’re going to go grey if you keep stressing yourself,” he would tease, looking much too pleased with himself, as if he enjoyed your little spats.

Harumasa touches your elbow lightly, and you’re drawn from your thoughts. “Did something happen?” you murmur. The Hollow stretches before you, twisted metal and broken concrete buildings stitched together with corruption that shimmers like an oil spill, but there’s no sign of anything unusual.

“Nope. I’m just bored,” he says. “We’re not any closer to finding the disturbance Yanagi told us about. We might have to head back soon if we still don’t find anything usual.”

“We haven’t even gone that deep in the Hollow yet,” you say. “We should at least cover all our bases. What, scared of doing overtime?”

“Yes,” he says seriously. “Maybe a workaholic like you wouldn’t get it, but overtime is the public enemy of every government employee out there. So, what were you thinking about?”

“About… the past,” you say, relenting. “And how we used to fight all the time.”

“Oh? Thinking about me?”

“Only about how annoying you used to be.”

“Rude. Is this how you talk about your precious partner?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s too late to find someone else. You’re stuck with me,” Harumasa says cheerfully.

“I never said I would find another partner. You’re the only one I want.” You try to keep your voice casual, just like Harumasa, but something honest creeps in, something a little raw and unfiltered, like light through an unsealed crack.

And maybe he senses it, too, your inability to play the blithe role as well as he does, because he doesn’t jump in right away with another joke. The silence lingers, throwing the rhythm of your banter off-balance.

“The only one, huh…” From the way his hair shades his eyes, you can’t make out his expression or read his tone.

“Harumasa,” you begin, but a sudden beep cuts off your words. You glance at each other, all awkwardness vanishing as Harumasa glances at a device in one of his pockets.

Your Bangboo guide jerks to a sudden stop. This is the end of its automated guidance, as far as its data will take you. The two of you have reached the top floor of what must have once been a tower, a spiderweb of uneven, rusted metal and crumbling walls exposed to the low, grey sky. The floor slopes down to a sharp drop, leading to nothing but open air.

“Ether spike,” Harumasa says. His hand is already drifting to his bow. “But I don’t see anything. Where…”

It happens in a split second. Your body reacts before your mind can, years of training ingraining in you the necessary reflex to spring back as an Ethereal drops down from above, crashing like a meteor where you and Harumasa once stood.

Your daggers are already in hand, and you leap forward as an arrow flies from above, distracting the creature long enough for you to slash along one of its appendages. It roars, and you’re already darting behind it, Harumasa running along its other side.

It’s an Ethereal like none you’ve seen before. A Thanatos? A Duhallan? No, none of the existing classifications match. It’s eerily beautiful, its core pulsing with multi-colored light, corrupted growth framing it like a star, delicate, vine-like appendages darting out momentarily to propel the Ethereal away from your reach. This must be the source of the disturbance Yanagi told you about.

Harumasa calls your name, and on instinct, you fall back as he lunges forward with a dizzying series of slashes with his blades. You’ve faced worse than an unclassified Ethereal of unknown strength. Even if neither of you have expected to engage an enemy, that doesn’t mean you aren’t prepared to.

The battle continues back and forth, a waltz of sharp steel and split-second communication between you and Harumasa as you implement all the maneuvers you learned in training. It seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’re tiring the Ethereal, slowly but surely. It’s only a matter of time before you find an opening to destroy its core.

And then, Harumasa stumbles. It’s only a brief moment, his body dipping as something like a cough shudders through him before he steadies, but it’s enough time for the Ethereal to lash out several appendages like a bolt of lightning. You’re helpless to do anything but watch as Harumasa flies backwards, his body bent like a doll discarded by a careless child.

Before you can think, you’re running, propelled by some instinct deeper than habit at the sight of your partner on the ground, throwing your daggers with wild precision as the Ethereal howls like a wounded animal. There’s not enough time to do anything except to throw your body in front of Harumasa before the Ethereal lashes out again in a brutal, sweeping arc.

Your body explodes with pain. Then, you’re weightless. The Ethereal has sent you flying, and briefly, it’s like you’re back on the roof, Harumasa leaning against your shoulder, the wind in your face, before you’re tumbling over the edge of the tower.

In the field of your vision, something gold flashes. Harumasa’s headband. It’s all you can see, the afterimage of it burned into your eyes like the sun as everything goes dark.

—

From your earliest memories as a child, you had always been lonely. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to things that reminded you of the sun, searching for anything to give you stability or warmth.

Your story wasn’t particularly unique: your parents were killed in an accident in a Hollow. You were shunted from relative to relative who never knew what to do with you. You clung to academics and books to prove yourself because you had nothing else.

You had a decently high Ether aptitude, so when you got the opportunity to join an elite academy on a scholarship, why wouldn’t you take away your chance to escape away from relatives who never cared for you? At the time, you had been living with one of your mother’s older brothers–what was his name? You’d long since forgotten, and he hadn’t bothered to keep in contact once you left.

Either way, you graduated with honors and a flawless academic record. When Miyabi selected you to join Section Six, despite your lack of experience, you were excited.

“I believe you’ll deliver results,” Miyabi told you simply, that very first day. “That’s why I chose you.”

A flush of pride made your face glow. “I won’t disappoint you!”

It was so nice to be relied on. To find a place that needed you, where you were valued. You were tied to Section Six through more pragmatic things than fragile family ties that easily dissolved.

You did your best, but it was hard when you weren’t the only new member–Asaba Harumasa was assigned to Section Six at the same time as you. From the very start, your work ethics, lifestyles, and attitudes couldn’t be more different.

“Could you try to finish your paperwork on time? When you don’t, it slows the entire process down,” you would tell Harumasa.

“It gets done, though. Does it really matter when I do it?” he would reply.

Frustratingly enough, even then, the two of you did so well on missions together that you were always assigned to be each other’s partner. Maybe his work on the field earned him a little respect in your eyes; it was the one thing you couldn’t really criticize him on. But at the same time, it was infuriating that you had to put so much time and effort into delivering flawless results, and Harumasa always skated by with minimal effort.

One particular fall, the two of you were assigned to a mission to investigate high-level Ethereals in a local Hollow. Soon enough, you and Harumasa were surrounded. As skilled as you were, parrying several different Ethereals meant one could easily slip into your blind spot and strike. Too late, you only noticed when it was already moving, and you could only grit your teeth, bracing for impact–until its limbs met a flash of steel. Harumasa had leapt in front of you, pushing the Ethereal back and giving you enough time to strike its core.

“Harumasa–” you began to say.

“On your left!”

And then you were flung into the heat of battle, with no time to process what just happened until the threats were neutralized.

It was only then you saw the gash running along Harumasa’s arm, blood soaking into his rolled up sleeves. Without a word, you took out your medical kit, and started applying disinfectant. Harumasa didn’t even wince as you dabbed away the blood with cotton balls. You knew, from the location alone, he had got it while protecting you.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, wrapping bandages around the wound. “This is my fault.”

“What are you talking about? I did this on my own.”

“But if I hadn’t been so careless–”

“You’re my partner. I’ll always have your back,” Harumasa said. His tone was as blithe as always, but there was a strange, tenderness underlying it.

His face was coated in dust and drying blood from battle, and yet, his eyes were still a startlingly pure gold, vibrant and warm. When he looked at you, it was like he was seeing you, all of you, warming you like the sun. He didn’t avoid your gaze or look past you, like your relatives had.

After that, you settled into Section Six, not because you were needed, but because you were wanted. Your arguments with Harumasa melted into something softer, something more playful. He was your partner, and you no longer grumbled about taking the same missions as him.

One day, when you were sent to fetch Harumasa for some mission or meeting (a favorite errand of everyone’s to send you on because you had developed an uncanny sense of knowing where he liked to hide), you found him hunched him over in an empty office, knuckles white against a table as he coughed wetly, the force of it shuddering through his entire body.

Harumasa, who had always looked for any excuse to slack off, who slept on the job, who acted like nothing could bother him, looked more vulnerable than you had seen before.

You knew he had a medical condition, but he never talked about it. Even when he did, he always made it seem so trivial. A minor inconvenience, and nothing more.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” you said, rushing over. “Or the doctor. I’ll call someone right now. I’ll–”

“Don’t,” Harumasa rasped. He grabbed your arm with more desperate force than you expected. “It’s fine.”

“You’re–”

“It’ll pass. Just let me… lean on you for a little.” Half-crouched on the ground, he collapsed his weight against you, and you both sank to the floor. You wrapped your arms around him and he leaned his head against your collarbone. You rubbed circles along his back, a meager offering to soothe him until the coughing subsided.

Harumasa’s breathing was shallow, and you wondered if he could hear the racing of your heart, the fear making it pound uncontrollably. His illness was more serious than he had ever let on.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly.

“I’m fine. It’s just all the pollen and dust, you know,” he said. There’s that familiar carefree, teasing edge to his tone, but it’s strained by his recent coughing.

“You don’t have to joke with me. I’m your partner. If there’s something I can do for you, you can let me know.”

There’s a moment of silence before Harumasa sighed, a soft, resigned sound. “I just don’t want the others to know.”

“I won’t tell them,” you promised.

He took a few more shallow breaths before speaking, voice cheerful, deceptively light and hollow, like a bird’s bone. “I have Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome. It manifests primarily in my heart and lungs, but in exchange, I have high Ether aptitude. It’s the reason my parents… left me, a long time ago. A doctor took me in, but… Well. I was recruited to an academy, graduated, and ended up here. But you know about that part.”

You’ve known Harumasa long enough by now to know that he was only giving you carefully curated bits and pieces of his past. There was something he wasn’t not telling you, but that didn’t change the fact he had decided to place his trust in you, regardless.

You understood what it was like to be left behind, to have nothing but yourself to cling to. Sympathy and pity weren’t what he wanted. No generic condolence could change his past or his fate.

Instead, you drew him closer to you. Harumasa let out a small, strangled gasp as you sheltered him in your arms. “I’ll be here for you, so thank you for trusting me.”

Sometimes, words were cheap. The only response you needed was Harumasa’s arms wrapping around you in return, a tentative promise.

It’s only a few weeks after that, when you were passing by a convenience store on the way home from work, that you saw the origami paper strips lining the shelves at a discounted price and remembered the elementary school pastimes of your classmates.

As a child, you had wanted to make a hundred stars so you could make a wish for your parents to come back. But now, there was something else you wanted: not to make someone come back, but to make someone stay with you.

—

Your body aches. It’s all you’re aware of at first, a throbbing pain, spreading through your body in waves.

Your vision is blurry, the Hollow wavering in front of you like smeared paint, black protrusions and metal platforms blending together, a nightmarish portrait.

You drag your arm in front of your face, flex your fingers slowly until the world stops spinning.

You’re alive. Against all odds, you’re alive, but you have no idea where you are or how much time has passed. You’d probably fallen into a distortion.

With any luck, Harumasa has already left and called for back-up. You could survive in a Hollow longer than most ordinary people could, but you didn’t want to test your limits. For now, you would have to do your best to survive. With agonizingly slow movements, like you’re dragging your body through water, you check your daggers and equipment, and survey the area around you. It’s full of twisted metal structures corrupted with black growth, platforms and stairs jutting from rocky walls, like a building that’s been swallowed by a cliff, with no particularly distinguishing feature.

It then takes even longer to convince your legs to support your weight, and to take a few steps without leaning against the wall.

Something clatters in the distance, heavy limbs dragging on the floor. Ethereals. This part of the Hollow is infested with them, a mutated sea of green and pearlescent black cores, though you’re temporarily sheltered in the area where you fell. As long as you avoid them, you should be fine; you’re no longer in any condition for prolonged combat.

All you can do is slowly drag yourself around, daggers at the ready, sneaking past any Ethereal you see. It’s agonizing work to be so careful, especially when you’re occasionally hit by waves of dizziness and your injuries make your reflexes slow.

Is Harumasa safe? Did he escape? Did he destroy the Ethereal? Or did something worse happen to him? There’s no point thinking like this and driving yourself insane, but your thoughts scatter like a flight of migrating birds, and no matter where they go, they always end up drifting in Harumasa’s direction.

Maybe you can blame Harumasa for distracting you when an Ethereal catches sight of you before you can fully conceal yourself. You can do nothing but mumble curses under your breath as more Ethereals are drawn to the noise and you’re forced to draw your weapon.

It’s harder to fight without Harumasa to cover your back. You’ve gotten too used to having him at your back. Several times, you open your mouth to call his name, but he’s not there to answer. It’s just you, clumsily dodging blows and aiming weak strikes at Ethereals you normally would have been able to dispatch with ease.

You might die here. The thought comes, unbidden. You’re weakened, surrounded, when an Ethereal looms over you. You twist your body around trying to dodge, but your body refuses to move as fast as you need it to as the Ethereal prepares to strike–only to still, stagger a few steps, and then collapse onto the ground, a spray of arrows protruding from its back.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you whip your head up in the direction the arrows came from. It can’t be, but it is. It’s him. Your partner, his mouth set in a grim, furious line as he draws his bow back. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look so angry.

In what feels like no time at all, the remaining Ethereals fall and your body feels light as you fight with renewed energy. Hardly any of them could get near you before Harumasa has shot them down with enough force that their bodies slam into the floor with a shattering crack. As soon as the last threat is neutralized, you’re running to Harumasa, but he’s faster than you.

“Harumasa—” Your words are muffled as Harumasa pulls you into a hug. His fingers dig into your shoulders, his grip tight. There’s something possessive and desperate about his touch, as if he might never hold you again and he has to memorize the shape of your body while he still has the chance.

His skin gleams with sweat, his white shirt sticking to his torso. Has he been running around this whole time, looking for you, without resting? You press your ear to his chest, where his heart rabbits in his chest in a frightened run.

“I thought you died,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“I…”

“I thought I lost you. And I couldn’t stop until I found your body, and I would have to tell the others that you… because of me, you…”

“Harumasa, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

You tentatively bring your arms around him, and a shudder wracks through his body at your touch. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Then don’t do something so reckless again! If you die… If you die, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

“I can’t promise that. You’re my partner. I told you I would have your back. If I see you in trouble, I can’t just run away.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I want you to live,” you murmur. “I want you to live, no matter what.”

“Then you have to live with me.” Harumasa pulls back abruptly, bringing his hands to your cheeks, and pinching.

You attempt to reply, but you can only make a garbled noise of affirmation. It’s hard to talk when Harumasa is pulling your cheeks like taffy, but maybe he isn’t ready to hear your response.

You place your hands over his, and Harumasa stills, your touch a soothing balm. He lets out a breath. “Let’s get out of here. You need to get your injuries looked at.”

For the rest of the time until you leave the Hollow, Harumasa clings persistently to your side, refusing to move a step unless you have as well. You would call his pace leisurely if not for the tense way he holds his body, poised for threats from any direction. You’re half-tempted to ask if he would feel more at ease holding your hand, but you have a feeling he would never let you go again if you did.

Harumasa doesn’t relax even when you’re back at your workplace, where he escorts you directly to the infirmary and paces outside the entire time, causing the nurse’s eyebrows to crease in irritation at the sound of his rapid footsteps.

“I’m fine,” you announce the second you step out of the infirmary. “Okay? The nurse said I had no major injuries, though I’m not supposed to be on the field for a week. And I have to do a few more check-ins.”

It’s only at your words that Harumasa finally relaxes. “This is probably the first sick day you’re going to take,” Harumasa says, but his teasing doesn’t quite match his eyes, which keep roaming your body for stray injuries which the nurse might have missed.

In the office, you’re immediately assailed by Yanagi, Miyabi, and Soukaku, who fuss over your bruises, the bandages peeking under your clothes, and the patches on your face.

“I’m glad you two are okay! I was so worried when I heard what happened. I know you’re capable, but you shouldn’t be so reckless,” Yanagi scolds lightly.

“Take the time to rest and recover completely,” Miyabi says. “Section Six needs you, and we can’t function well if you’re not around.”

“Take these snacks! They’re tasty, and they’ll help you feel better!” Soukaku says earnestly, shoving an armful of packaged chips at you.

It’s been a long time since anyone has worried over you like this. It’s a little embarrassing how everyone’s attention is focused solely on you, and you can’t keep a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Everyone… I promise I’m fine! You don’t have to fuss over me like this.”

“Don’t forget to go back for your checkup,” Yanagi interjects. “All right? I don’t want to see you on the field until you’re cleared. And you, Harumasa! You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“Yanagi is right,” Miyabi says. “Maybe you should get a check-up as well.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harumasa says, holding his hands out placatingly. “My injuries aren’t as bad as theirs. In fact, I’ll be a good partner and take care of them, promise.”

“That’s a first,” you interject, “Since when you were so excited about doing work?”

“I’m only excited when you’re involved,” he says, and you don’t know what to say to that.

The rest of the day passes by pleasantly once Section Six is satisfied that you’re doing well, though they keep making excuses to stop by your desk and leave you drinks from the vending machine or little treats. You fill your time with paperwork and organizing files, and when those are done, crafting paper stars at your desk.

“What are you gonna wish for when you have a hundred stars?” Soukaku says, sprawling across your desk and picking up a strip of paper to fold with clumsy, childish joy.

“I’m actually not going to wish for anything. I’m going to give my wish to someone else.”

“What? You can do that? Then I wanna give wishes to you and Nagi and Miyabi and Harumasa!”

“Thank you, Soukaku.”

“Who’re you going to give your wish to?” Soukaku asks as you hand her more origami paper strips.

“Hm…” You survey the star you’ve just finished folding. “It’s for someone important. It’s a little embarrassing to talk about it out loud, though.”

“Why? I think whoever it is will be happy that you’re thinking about them!”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah!” Soukaku says. “I would be happy if you gave me a wish!”

“Then should I make you a hundred paper stars, Soukaku?”

“Really? Yay!”

By the end of the work shift, you’ve finally filled your glass jar with the necessary number of stars. You should feel happy, but what you didn’t tell Soukaku is that you wonder if it’s too presumptuous to give this to Harumasa. After all, you still remember what it’s like to be rejected by people who were supposed to love you and take care of you.

You cradle the jar in your hands, the product of all your meticulous work over the past two weeks. It’s heavy with the weight of your feelings and your ridiculous wish.

“Hey, partner.” Harumasa’s sudden voice makes you stiffen and whirl around, keeping the jar hidden behind your back.

“Harumasa.” You take a breath. There’s no point in being embarrassed. “Do you have time right now?”

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What a coincidence. I was just about to ask you that, too.”

“I assume we’re both free, then. Come over to my place,” you tell him bluntly.

“Your place?”

“Yes.”

Harumasa tilts his head like an inquisitive bird, considering. “Sure, but I didn’t realize you were that excited to see me after work.”

“Oh, don’t get full of yourself.”

The two of you are back to your usual banter, but it’s devoid of its usual lightness. The events from the Hollow still linger over you, and Harumasa sucks in a breath before giving a casual smile. You respond with a roll of your eyes, but it feels wooden, everything unsaid thickening the air like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.

The journey back to your apartment is peaceful. You take the train, watching the familiar strips of buildings and city lights streaking past, soft smudges against the glowing sun, sinking like a pat of butter in a red, syrupy sky.

You live in a relatively nice building, the salary from your job affording you a lobby as well as a doorman and a fast elevator. At your apartment door, you fumble with your keys, fingers heavy and clumsy as you’re aware of Harumasa’s presence behind you, waiting.

The door clicks open and you step into your apartment, a one bedroom, one bathroom affair with sturdy, comfortable furniture, books and knick-knacks lining the shelves of the joint living room and kitchen. More books are stacked precariously on the single table you use for both work and meals, situated in the center.

You slip off your shoes and into your house slippers, offering a pair to Harumasa, who after putting them on promptly walks over to one of the shelves in the living room and pokes at a little Bangboo statue. There’s a whole forest of them lining the shelf, all in different outfits and poses.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan. Hey, do you get the public security ones to help you cross the street?”

“Don’t touch it. It’s a collectible and I’m trying to get the last one in the series,” you say crisply. “And of course I do. It makes the ones patrolling the streets happy to help.”

“Wait, really?”

“They’re adorable, Harumasa. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“It’s not a bad thing! I just think you have a surprisingly cute side, that’s all.”

“Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your face schooled in a neutral expression, before gesturing to the table in the living room. “Take a seat. I’ll make some tea.”

You brew a pot of bitter green tea, taking out a plate of crumbly packaged cookies to snack on. They’re the least sweet snack you have in the house which Harumasa would be happy to eat.

For a few minutes, there’s only the clink of your cups and the crunch of cookies, a pleasant way to spend your time after work. Neither of you talk, the food giving you an excuse not to. It’s ridiculous how such a small gift could make you feel so nervous. You need to do it now. Otherwise, what would the point be of inviting him over?

You run your finger along the rim of your teacup, pressing hard enough to feel the edge of smooth porcelain dig into skin. “There’s something I want to give to you.”

“A present? For me?”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing fancy,” you say, before standing to retrieve the jar of stars, which you had shoved into your work bag.

You hold it behind your back until you’re in front of Harumasa, at which point you place the jar on the table and slide it over to him.

A hundred stars for one wish. You explain the story to him as Harumasa cups his hands around the jar, peering intently as if he could see the hours you spent painstakingly crafting each individual star.

“I know it’s a little silly,” you say quietly. “But I want whatever you wish for to come true, no matter what.”

Harumasa’s eyes when he looks at you are just like stars, warm, bright gold, that you would trust to guide you no matter what path you tread.

“I want you to be happy,” you say, the words falling from your mouth like a wish of your own.

“Happy, huh?” Harumasa closes his eyes briefly, stars winking out of existence.

“I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous. You don’t have take this gift if you don’t want–”

“Whoa! This is mine now. You can’t have it back now that you’ve given it to me. It’s just… there are some things about my illness I haven’t told you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you say.

“I want to tell you, though. People with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome don’t typically live long lives. The illness is terminal. The oldest-recorded person lived only to be 26.” Harumasa says it matter-of-factly, the numbers rolling out of him like he’s simply reciting information from a medical brochure. “In late stages, the body breaks down. And if someone with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome is in a Hollow when their body breaks down, then they’ll turn into an Ethereal.”

This is the knowledge Harumasa has been carrying with him all this time and hiding from everyone in Section Six. It must have weighed him down like stones, knowing that if things take a turn for the worse in a mission within the Hollow, he’ll become one of the monsters you and Section Six have to put down. How long has he carried this by himself?

No matter how you try to hide your feelings, Harumasa knows how to read you just as much as you know how to read him, because he raises a hand and lazily waves it through the air. “Don’t look so worried. It doesn’t bother me that much.”

“I’m your partner. Of course I’m going to be worried about you,” you say quietly. “I told you, didn’t I? I want you to be happy.”

Harumasa gazes down at the table, away from you and the jar of stars in front of him. “You are, huh? Can I trust you with something else, then?”

“What is it?”

“If anything happens to me,” he says, “and I turn into an Ethereal, you have to promise that you’ll kill me.”

There’s no other answer for you, not when he looks at you like that. “I promise. I won’t let anyone else do it.”

“Then I’m all yours, partner.”

“But…” You reach for Harumasa’s hand across the table, slowly and reverentially sliding your fingers under his, feeling the press of each callous on his slender fingers. These beautiful hands, which you have saved and which have saved you again and again. “I gave you a wish, you know? So you can have anything you want.”

“Eh? Didn’t I tell you what I wanted?”

“It doesn’t count,” you persist. “If it helps, I’ll tell you what I want.”

“All right, what is it?”

“I want you to live forever.”

“That’s way too long,” Harumasa protests.

“Then live for a hundred years at the very least,” you say. “I wanted you to be happy for a long, long time. I made you a hundred stars, so each star is worth one year of happiness.”

It’s ridiculous, you know. It’s not pragmatic at all. And maybe it’s cruel, too, to ask Harumasa something like this. But if he’s going to be selfish, then you’re going to be just as selfish.

“A hundred years? Then you need to live that long, too.” Harumasa shifts his hand and hooks your pinky lightly with his own. “It’s not fair if I have to live that long without you. That’s going to be my wish.”

“Then I’ll make it come true,” you say. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re partners. Where you go, I’ll go.”

In the window across from you, ink-blue shadows flood the world. The sun had set while the two of you were talking, and the city lights wink like scattered gemstones across dark velvet.

“If you talk like that, then I’m not going to want to leave,” he says quietly. “You make me want to act selfishly.”

“Then act selfishly. I’ll forgive you.”

He lets out a sigh, squeezing your pinky. “You’re not fair at all.”

“Good,” you say archly. “Stay the night, Harumasa.”

Harumasa stills at your words, and you can feel the faint tremor of his hand. “I have nightmares. It’s not going to be a good time for you.”

“That’s all right,” you say. “I’ll take care of you.”

It’s easy having Harumasa in your apartment, where he fits seamlessly into your normal routine, the same way he does at work. You lend him towels, and baggy pajamas, and then the two of you take turns using the bathroom. You order cheap takeout from a local restaurant, which you eat in front of the glow of your television, watching the news. As you wash up the dishes, Harumasa perches on the counter, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes or smile.

Harumasa, framed in the soft glow of kitchen lights like a halo behind him, hair askew, wrinkling his borrowed clothes, makes your heart ache. It would be nice to have him around like this, all the time. You’ve forgotten the warmth of having someone in your home until now.

You should bring out the futon you keep for guests, but you don’t mention it, and Harumasa doesn’t ask. So he follows you to your bedroom, knees bumping against the side of the metal frame as you pull out an extra pillow for him.

Harumasa dutifully takes out his rows of medicine, orange bottles lined up your nightstand, brightly colored pills falling down his throat with each sip of water from the glass you’ve brought him. He folds his golden headband neatly next to the bottles, and finally places the jar of stars to stand guard over everything. It makes you feel ticklish that he wants to keep your gift so close.

Your bed is too small for two people, but neither of you complain as your legs tangle together, Harumasa resting his forehead against yours. In the dark, you grope for his hand, entangling your fingers with his, where they belong.

“Good night, partner,” he whispers. He’s so close his breath tickles your face.

“Good night.”

“It’s too late to turn back now,” he murmurs, but you can’t tell if he’s saying it to you or himself.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” you say, tracing nonsensical letters on his back with the fingertips of your free hand, a message he can’t read.

“I know. I guess we’re stuck together.”

“I told you. We’re partners. I’m yours forever,” you say.

Harumasa squeezes your hand. “And I’m yours, so let’s take good care of each other.”

If you strain your head, you can see a faint strip of moonlight from your parted curtains illuminating your nightstand where a hundred paper stars glow. Like a promise, a wish, of a hundred years of happiness.

#liya.writes #zenless zone zero #asaba harumasa #zenless zone zero x reader #asaba harumasa x reader #harumasa x reader #harumasa #x reader

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 months ago

Note

What if MC was sent to an alternate dimension somehow and that dimension contained all 7 overblots who woke up there after they were defeated in main story. How would they react to the magicless prefect who managed to defeat them suddenly showing up out of nowhere?

Overblot Universe | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Imagine a trip through the mirror portal gone wrong

Ending up in this other place where it looks like an ink covered version of Night Raven

Reminding you of your dear friends’ overblots

You hesitate to call out for help of any kind

Instead your greeted immediately by an army of ink blotted students marching towards you quickly

A single soldier steps to the front bearing a gaudy but familiar collar

“The Queen of Hearts demands you return to his side at once!”

Before you can say anything, another voice rings out

“Our Sultan demands the magicless one.”

This one has a smaller group but they are much more heavily armed

It leads to a brawl which you are uncomfortably at the center of

Escaping from the warring factions, you make your way to the school’s mirror room

Barely able to step on the premises you’re stopped by a small patch of sand sucking you into the ground

The only one you can think that’d use this is–

“Thought I smelled a troublesome herbivore.”

It’s Leona in all his overblotted glory

Snickering with a fanged smile he grabs you by the arm

Easily yanking you out of the sand and holding you against his chest

Still standing above the quicksand you hold on tight

You’re surprised when he almost lovingly rubs his cheeks against your own trailing down your neck with his nose

Then without warning he takes a deep bite into the crook of your neck

Holding you still as you try to shove him away

When he pulls back with blood on his smile, you can only look at him with betrayal

“What? You think I’d be gentle after you chased me away? Not this time sweet heart.”

He tosses you over his shoulder as he walks further away from the building you want to go

Taking you to an inky territory that looks as though Savvannaclaw turned into some rocky mound in the dessert

With too much ease he tosses you into a scratchy pile of sand

He plops down practically on top of you

“Ow! This is really uncomfy how do you sleep on this?!”

“Don’t whine. Now that you’re here it’ll be a lot softer.”

Too fast and so familiar to your Leona he falls asleep

Anytime you move a centimeter the sand whips angrily around keeping you in his vicinity

But it seems the only time it didn’t react was when a drone with a bucket of water dunked on the sand rising to swat at it

The damp sand could only bubble slowly as the drone came closer to you shooting some small metal thing on your reaching hand

“NO!--”

The ugly snarl from the overblotted Leona dissipates as a flash of blue and black transports you someplace else

“There they are brother! You’re player 2! I told you they’d be here for the special day!”

You want to voice your confusion as you blink your blurry sight into something sharp

But something's over your mouth

And your hands and your legs

Looking around you are in what looks like a cave lined with wires and technology baring an uncanny resemblance to a friend of yours

“You were right all along brother! Let’s prepare for the final act!”

It’s an overblotted Idia taking a heavy looking crown from the claws of some nearby machinery

Stopping to admire you, his cold clawed hands run along your face as if checking if your real

Before placing the crown on your head

The minute the device is settled how he likes it tightens on your head

Bringing a numbing pain to the sides of your skull as you desperately try to wiggle free

Nothing you do stops the inky creation that looks like Ortho manipulate your binds to stand you upright

Bringing you to an alter, it’s there you notice the swirling abyss just pass the electronic officiant

“Now say your vows, my fruit.”

“Of course my precious future husband, master of the underworld and overworld. For years–”

It’s your voice but not

With a tinge of automation your voice chimes happily from the restraint over your mouth

At your not–real—vows Idia seems to giggle causing the abyss to widen and the suction intensify

Eventually ‘your vows’ end and Idia claims he’s going to skip his

Letting his robotic officiant carry through like a typical ceremony

Until it gets to that part

“I’d be wrong not to speak my peace when both parties so clearly have withstanding debts with me.”

Part 2

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rroseselavyyy · 8 months ago

Text

special needs - jjk

pairing: jungkook x female reader

warnings: smut

Jungkook threw his black t-shirt onto his bed before throwing his tired body down next to it with a deep sigh. He stared sleepily at the ceiling as his alcohol-filled system took over his mind.

However, there was one thing that kept him from sleeping peacefully and that was that he could feel his cock still aching for release ever since he finally had the chance to get this close to you after you started dating his best friend.

He could still feel your petal lips pressed to his cheek in genuine affection before telling him to drive safely on his way home, his fingertips tracing a path up his cheek at the memory without realizing it.

In a way like the cold breeze through the open window of his bedroom brought the faint scent of cherry blossoms from your perfume into his nostrils and made his head spin with the alcohol rushing through his veins, he closed his eyes and let the satin sheets bring him a sense of comfort as the cold sensation of them soothed his nerves.

It wouldn't hurt to have his hyung's girlfriend just for one night, would it?

He was far too drunk to notice that his hands had found their way to his belt, his intoxicated brain filled with mental images of you smiling from ear to ear as he told you a ridiculous joke on the dance floor, the very feeling of the blush creeping up his neck from your arms wrapped loosely around it still alive.

He shuddered as the cold of his hand met with the base of his cock, spreading the precum along his shaft. He was oblivious to the world around him when your trademark giggle echoed like a soft melody in his ears.

Now all he could feel was your hips riding him in slow circular motions. He lifted his hips with every ounce of strength he had, desperate to match your pace as if he could never get enough of you.

His soft moans turned to desperate whimpers, the faint moonlight from the window accentuating his sweaty torso like a roman statue, his chest constantly puffing with his uneven breathing.

As if the universe was making fun of him, everything turned into a cheap-ass teen movie and all the memories he shared with you played in his head behind the melody of the metal songs he listened when he was a teenager. You were everywhere as he tugged at his cock like he wanted to get you out of his skin, but you had been carved into his mind for all these years.

He felt like a teenager again who couldn't stop jerking off at the thought of you, but this time he felt no shame, on the contrary, he felt entitled to have you under him.

You were his dream even when Seokjin was not in the picture. Jungkook wasn't meant to be the villain of your princess fairytale.

He sank his teeth into his bottom lip so hard he could taste the blood on his tongue as the thin line between reality and fantasy faded away and all he could think about was nibbling at your nipples.

He thrust his hips up into you as he felt himself reaching his orgasm, kisses he wanted to ink on his skin like a tattoo on his throat felt heavenly as your delicate fingers wrapped around his neck like a collar.

If it meant he could be yours, he was willing to give himself to you in every possible way. He would let you put a collar around his neck, chain him to your bed, tie his eyes with your scarf, after all, you already had him under your spell.

Even in the dark of his bedroom, he could still remember the bitter taste of coffee on his tongue when he kissed you, just like the bitter taste on his tongue when he congratulated you on your relationship with Seokjin.

Before he kissed you for the first time, he could never have known that something so bitter could be sweeter than anything he had ever tasted, making him crave it with every fibre of his being.

He came with a deep growl, his defined stomach glistening with enough cum to impregnate you if you were the one fucking him and not his fist. He wanted to hold you in his arms as the intimacy felt unbelievably real, but he knew he could wake up from his dream at any moment if he tried.

He smiled to himself as he lay on his bed, completely spent and finally ready to sleep.

Maybe one day he would be the one to take you home. Maybe one day you would understand that he was the one for you.

He could wait for you to come back to him, and maybe this time he could prove that you mean the world to him.

#bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader

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blackwoodwinter · 4 months ago

Text

Monstober/ Kinktoner Day 3 Naga

Naga god paying a visit to his only human follower, a pretty little human priestess and pumps her full with his cocks.

TW: Blashpemy is you squint, porn with very little plot, vaginal sex reader receiving, double penetration, oral male receiving, oral female receiving, priestess x naga God, worship of God during sex, biting

Working in a temple as its priestess had its benefits. Its own orchid to harvest and offerings for the gods. Cleaning the temple, burning the incense, listening theo the pleas and complaints of the villagers and praying to the gods as their envoys took up most of your duties. Overall it was an easy lifestyle for the lucky priest and priestess chosen to work in the temple. Most days your main focus was maintaining all the marble statues glistening and clean. An array of statues evenly spaced out in a circular space of the temple with a large sacred fire burning at the center. Each altar sparkled with candles, fruits, perfumes,and gifts related to the god that ruled over each domain.

The wild goddess Orchid that held domain over all of nature and wildlife. Blessing the land and its people with fruit and children.The unpredictable storm god Onyx that brought the rain, storms and winds. Or the promiscuous rabbit god Rosier who ruled the farms and orchards blessing the land with his fruits and hundreds of children.

Many other statues to different gods filled the temple but one statue in particular caught your eye. Tucked away in the back of the temple the satire of the Naga god Nekan remains neglected, his temple and satire collecting dust with no offerings or incense. Nekan was the god of medicine, cunning, and sorrow and noble sacrifice. All his myths ended in tragedy for him, his lovers and followers resulting in the villagers, priest and priestess avoiding him all together due to superstition that any follower of would be followed by misfortune.

Still you began to clean his stature, polishing the marble until it gleamed, lighting incense to his name, placing bottles of perfume and fresh fruit for him daily. Fellow priestess warning you saying you would fall to some tragedy or that you wasted your time on a nearly forgotten god.

Ignoring them, you persisted in your work finding a new satisfaction working and tending to Nakan temple. At first it brought you solace and pride being his only devout priestess, until it brought you a gift and later exquisite delight. First it was a bouquet’s of medicinal herbs and flowers left at your doorstep, window and bed. Then it is small medicinal jars and bottles with inscriptions in gold ink praising your work and thanking you for your devotion. Later it was the jewelry, cut gems in the shape of a snake head. Arm bagels cut to look like scaled snakes around your arms, necklace of metal and gem snakes wrapping around your throat. Soon your home was spilling with gifts, and you appreciated accepting them and cherishing each one. Soon your robes were glittering with metal serpents as your new found status of Naken only priestess brought you recognition.

Congratulations flew as everyone was stunned at how your God spoiled you. It was coming from the gods to show their approval of devout priests and priestesses by gifting them things or on special and rare occasions visiting them in person. And as murmurs from other priests said on rare occasions the gods would take their favorite humans to bed. Your gifts continue to pour in along with a new and final gift: the appearances of venomous beautiful snakes would appear in your house, in your garden, in your temple altar. Despite all that they remained as harmless as a kitten might be wrapping their iridescent bodies around your arms and legs, it was seldom seeing you without a snake wrapped nuzzling against you.

One priestess of Onyx, a friend of yours, joked that if you continued to serve the god he might gift himself to you. Rolling your eyes, you played off her banter, giggling at the idea of Naken enamored by you blushing at the thought of being his favorite.

He loved to spoil you with gifts, so it would be long until he paid you a personal visit right? Faced flushed, you imagined meeting Naken in his temple or even in your bed, quickly thoughts of devotion turned to thoughts of desire. Perhaps he would take you to his bed and like the rumors told, perhaps he'd bury his cock in you and bless you with his seed. Catching your thoughts you shook your head in embarrassment and laughed with your friend at the sheer thought of it. Deciding to not keep thinking on the subject you immersed yourself with temple duties until night fell and it was just you left.

Realizing the time, you realized how lost in work you had become until you peeked outside and saw the darkness outside, stars and moon twinkling in the night sky. Pacing back into the temple you considerethe walk alone at night, but decided against it and chose to spend the night at the temple instead. There were small cots with beds for the occasional overnight stays or ceremonies that were left alone most of the year. Gathering your things you're headed to the temple beds but paused before the statue of Naken to say goodnight. Gazing at his statue you couldn't help but to admire his stone features, the elegance of his lithe form, sharp serpent eyes, sculpted jaws and cheekbones that lead your eyes down to soft lips with peaking long sharp fangs. His face was mostly humans as was his torso and arms but beneath his waist was the long tick coils of a snake. Even as a statue he was breathtakingly handsome. Blushing you imagine being visited by him, held by his arms, or coiled tightly in his tail. If you kissed him would his fangs scrape your lips, how would his forked tongue feel like, would his scales feel warm or cool paint your skin? Remembering your place you blushed ashamed at how you thought of the god you were meant to serve, to respect. Buzzing with conflicting thoughts instead you climb the altar steps, standing on your toes and leaning in to barely reach the stone lips of your god. Turning away red and flushed you scurried down the steps and quickly went away to hide in the bed of the temple and fell into a restless sleep.

Tossing and turning you awoke to the sound and sensation of dozens of snakes slithering over your bed out the door into the main temple area. Puzzled, you watched them slither away, as if hypnotized you rose from bed and followed them to the center of the temple, the main fire lighting the surrounding stone columns and altars in warm orange glow in the darkness. They slithered in the direction of the statue pantheon. Eyes widening in realization could they be leading you to Naken? Was it an omen? Could he had listened to you thoughts and come down to see you? Not waiting for an answer from you followed the snakes in the darkness they disappeared behind the statue of Naken, even more confused. Your eyes swept the empty temple until you saw the figure of a man looming in front of you from the shadows. Gasping you stepped back afraid, as if sensing your fear he moved forward into the light of the fire illuminating his face. Bronze skin with rich deep blue scales speckled with glittering gold stood Naken.

Stooping lower he hunched down to meet you at eye level, his tail coiling around you forming a circle around you. Lithe muscle moved under his scales in rippling succession as he wrapped himself closer to you. Looking up at him gleaming fangs peaked from under his lips enticing you to lean in closer.

Senses returning to you only mere inches from him the realization finally crashed into you. ‘Naken! It was Naken and he was here in front of you!’. Stunned you dropped to your knees in reverence.

“My lord Naken forgives me I did not recognize, nor did I expect you to b;ess me with your presence. Please forgive my insolence.”

Chuckling he reached out lifting your face with hand covered in blue scales.

“There's nothing to forgive for I am truly the fortunate god to have such a beautiful and devout priestess all to me”His voice was slow and deep, speaking as if whispering. Listing your eyes were glued to his face and lips, a forked tongue flicking when he spoke.

“ I wanted to reward my most devout follower,” Grazing his thumb over your lower lips you felt your lips part and face get warm leaning into his touch. “It's been ages since I heard someone sweetly pray to my name, or give me the sweetest of flowers and fruits. If it had not been for you I would have remained neglected and forgotten amongst my godly brethren.” Pulling you gently to stand he held your hands in his. “Tell me my most beloved priestess what gift can I offer you for your service to me”

“You.” The words slipped from your mouth before you could register what you had said. Shocked at your own boldness you smacked a hand over your mouth cursing your own recklessness. Naken’s eyes widen in surprise and amusement, a grin playing over his lips watching you fuss embarrassed.

“Me? Well if it's you asking my beloved priestess then how can I say no.” Stunned, you looked back at Naken, ‘He had agreed, for me?’. Stupefied in place you return to reality when you felt Naken swoop down and kiss you passionately on the lips. Naken long serpentine bodies coiling around your body in a strong embrace. Cool diamond scales bushing against the fabric of your tunic.

Wrapping your arms around him, you felt him dip his head down, his forked tongue slithering out flickering to taste your lips before claiming you in a hungry kiss. A deep rumble came from his chest in satisfaction as he moaned into your lips. Lips parting you kissed him back, smiling against his lips as his fangs grazed softly against your lips and tongue.

Naken kissed you with demanding and searing passion, his forked tongue slithering deep into your mouth to taste every inch of you. His large hands boldly caress your sides and hips over the thin fabric of your tunic. Moaning at his touch his hands were cool against the fever under your skin. Pulling away from you lips Naken dipped his head back down trailing his mouth along your jaw down the length of your throat, fangs tickling your skin as he did leaving a trail of goosebumps, small bites and heated kisses.

Removing a hand from his neck you grabbed his and guided it to the straps of your tunic. Instinctively he began to pull at them letting them fall loose on your back. The thin fabric of the tunic falling down your shoulder exposing your bare shoulder and breast. Chills running over your body you shuddered against him, as his hand glided up your sides, his thumb brushing over the soft underside of your breast.

Licking the side of his face you trailed wet kisses along his jaw hungry with desire. Breathing hard against him your chest rose and fell pressed against him. Soft breast grazing his chest, slithering his tail under you he brought it up between your legs, spreading your legs wide to straddle the thickest part of his tail under you, wrapping a coil around your waist keeping you in place.

As if bewitched by you, his gaze followed your parted lips moist lips. Leaning in he nipped gently at your bottom lip, his poison dripping into your mouth, A thick honey like substance heating your mouth and throat as you swallowed. Palming your breast he lifted his thumb to play and roll over your nipple, hardening them with arousal. Rubbing his thumb over your nipple he pulled away to look at the perky nub of flesh under him. Without breaking eye contact he leaned down, mouth open and wet to take your sensitive nipple into his mouth. Hand resting on his shoulder you mewled as he rolled his forked tongue over your nipple. Sucking hard he opened his mouth to fit your breast, sucking lewdly.

Arching back against his tail, your legs pushed aimlessly, forced apart by the girth of his tail. Moaning as his tongue flicked your nipple you leaned back and grind your pussy against his tail. His scales were rough and ribbed, a strange but pleasuring sensation rubbing against your pussy each time you grind your hips. Following your movement he began to rock against you, quickly his scales were covered with the slick of your arousal, as his mouth remained locked on your chest.

Popping his mouth from your breast, you nipple was left wet under the cool night air.

“Do you like that my beloved?” He asked in a husky tone, his tail moving in a fasting pace, ribbed scales sweetly rubbing the sensitive nub of your clitoris with each thrust. “Do you like that? Or would you prefer me to be different?”

Gasping you held onto his shoulders, your hips quicken their paces, hips snapping back and forth against the growing bulge in his scales.

“No, it feels good like this my lord” Throwing your head back, your breath labored as each push against his scales made you pussy gush down, completely coating the bulge underneath you. Hissing gently beneath you Naken gripped your hips pulling you down with each grind forcing you city to drag helpless against each rigid scale. Each jolt makes your toes curl with an incoming orgasm. Panting against him you squeaked in surprise feeling his hand slide down to your drench pussy rubbing perfect circles over you clit. Desperate you pushed against his hand.

“Please my lord, please you feel you good i want to cum.” Grinning he softly pinched your clit rolling it back and forth from his index with relentless speeds. Moaning in ecstasy, your body shook as the hot waves of ecstasy sent your body shuddering with a frenzy of delight.

Chuckling against your neck Naken “Anything for you my beloved priestess” Relaxing into a painting slump, Naken wrapped himself around you laying down on his coiled up tail. Dipping down he laid you down pulling away at the rest of your fallen tunic until you laid glistening with sweat on top of his tail. Shyly you brough your knees up in a futile effort to cover yourself under his burning gaze. Flicking his tongue he placed a hand on each of your knees before frying them open revealing a glistening cunt with a swollen clit like a pearl in the low light.

The rumbling from his chest returned as he moaned, taking in the sight of you, wet and naked on top of his tail.

“Oh my, aren't you just a vision of ecstasy.” Dipping his head down between your legs he nuzzled his nose, suckling on the soft skin between your thighs groaning as he licked the trails of slick running up to your cunt. Flicking his tongue against your pussy lips, he looked up between your thighs “You would do me an honor, to let me feast upon suck soft lips and drink from your nectars.” Flicking his tongue again, Naken nuzzled his nose against your clit.

“Please my lord,” You begged and before you could finish he plunged his face between your legs, mouth screeching to suck on your entire pussy as his forked tongue slithered up and down the entrance teasing it with small thrust. Pushing your cunt against him you dug your hand into his hair pushing his down squishing his nose against the wet lips of your cunt. Kissing wide sloppy kisses his mouth found you clit suckking harshly popping my mouth on and off again blowing small puffs of air onto your clit leaving your legs shivering, your stomach spasm with new euphoric waves of pleasure as he lapped up the juices of your cunt. Sloppily he thrust his tongue from side to side in a wet mess dripping your cum all over his face and neck. Mewling you pushed his head further until Naken thrust his tongue deep into your squeezing cunt swirling it inside making you yell.

“Naken!”

“Come my sweet priestess, cum in my mouth let me taste how much your adore me”He spoke muffled, and as if commanding your body you felt the second orgasm rip through your core leaving you spasming on his tail, legs clamping around his head with his tongue cervix deep.

“Yes my lord, my god…” Your words left you breathlessly as you slowly rode the high off, gradually relaxing your legs to open. Breathless Naken rose smiling, licking his lips. His face was covered slick with your pussy juices, droplets falling from his chin. Sighing he rose from beneath you, his tail wrapping around you to put you in a sitting position facing him. Steadily he rose above you, his chiseled chest rising with deep breathes scales of blue and speckled gold becoming thicker until they covered his waist and all of his tail. Your eyes trailed down his waist and widened as you saw the growing bulge on his scaled crotch leak cum as two thick wet cocks slithered out. Agasp you stared astonished at not one but two thick slick dripping fat cocks hanging from his tail. Each cock had a bright pink tip that looked unlike anything you've ever seen on a human man. You felt your mouth drool as they hung heavy from his crotch. Noticing your drool face Naken moved closer until his cocks hung over your face. Reaching up you wrapped your hand over one, looking up at Naken with innocent doe eyes.

“My beloved little priestess look how riled you have made me,” Sliding your tongue under the length of his cock Naken hissed in pleasure clenching his eyes shut, cocks twitching in your hand. “Worship me, priestess, worship me with that pretty little mouth of yours, worship my cocks” He hissed as he spoke brows furrowed in restraint.

Sliding your lips across one cock while your hands wrapped around the other, “Yes my lord.” Wrapping your lips around the head of his cock your tongue swirled over the head licking up at the tick drops of cum swirling it in your mouth. Bobbing your head lower you swallowed up more of his cock dragging your tongue in across the length. Hands moved at the base of his second cock in a milking motion, while your other hand swirled over the tip, thumb massaging the tip smearing his cum across it. Greedily you swallowed Naken’s cock more and more until his entire wet length fit into mouth making your throat bulge. Rolling his eyes back Naken breathed out praises pushing your head down until your nose pushed against the slit where his cock emerged. Groaning Naken’s labored breathing grew heavier as you swallowed his cock with new enthusiasm, gagging wet sounds filling the temple. Cum and drool dripping down your hands and mouth as you jerked and sucked him off. Pulling away you switched cocks, swallowing the next cock and jerking off the one coated in your saliva. Cursing Naken jerked his hips into your mouth, a soft whine as he felt you make out with the head of his cock, your hot tongue swirling over the tips up and down. Smiling up as you see your god struggle to contain himself you open your mouth tongue out as you fit both tips, frotting them together in a sloppy sucking kiss, swallowing both at the same time. Lurching forward he curled over you pushing your head as his cock erupted with cum. Panting he floods your throat with hot stick thick cum making you gag, eyes brimming with tears as you struggle to swallow the streams of cum flowing out of him. Pulling back, his cock slid out of your mouth with trails of saliva and cum flowing out into your chin and neck and chest.

Smiling your lips savored the salty, almost creamy flavor of his cum. Breathing heavy Naken lowered himself, his eyes meeting yours, his pupils completely dilated in lust and desire. Wrapping his arms around you he pulled you into a passionate demanding kiss. Both your lips wet from the other's cum, mixing each other's taste as shoved his tongue into your mouth. Greedily sucking on his forked tongue earning a guttural groan from him. Lifting you up he pulled you over his tail, cocks slipping and pressing against the opening of your gaping pussy.

“Say I'm your god. Say i'm your only god and i'll be yours.’’ Naken breathed into your ear as he frotted his cocks against you, “Say it my beloved, say your mine, say you want my cock inside you.”

Druck with the taste of his cum and lust panting against his ear, “You're my only god Naken. Im am your priestess, I'm your priestess Naken.”

“Say the rest of it.”

“I want you inside me, I want to have your fat cocks inside me.”

Hissing he gripped your hips pulling you down, the fat wet tip of one cock pressing against your entrance until it finally stretched it out forcing your cunt to swallow it. Crying out his name your nails crawled into his arms as he pushed you down forcing his cock down to the base. His other cock hanged limply smacking wet and hot against your ass, as Naken began to bounce you on his cock. Crying out you saw his cock slide in and out of you as his tail wrapped around your waist forcing you up and down at his pacing, Crying out in a drunken heat your eyes brimmed with tears as each thrust smacked the sweet spot in your cervix. Quickening the pace Naked moved with more animalist craze, drilling into your pussy, second cock smacking against your ass.

Pulling you off his cock with his tail he held you in the air for a moment, sighing in relief your crying seized for a second before being brought back down again. Kissing you Naken panted against your lips. “Im sorry my beloved but i need you to take all of me”

Before you could process his words you felt both his cocks lined up against your clenching pussy before being pushed down legs held apart wide by his tail. Gasping as the sensation of being stretched by two cocks spreading your pussy, stretching it wide ripping a new orgasm as he pushed into you with two cocks. Thrashing your hips your overstimulated pussy creamed over his cocks lubing them up making them slip in easier, struggling in vain his tail tightened around your waist and legs locking you in place as Naken shoved both cocks pistoning them in and out. Breast bouncing with each thurst you could only lean back and scream his name as he fucks you with his two cocks.

Eyes rolling back, droll falling from your mouth you can only cry his name as the wet sounds of his cocks pumping your pussy fill the temple.

By the gods you think, if the other priest and priest could see you now getting stretched and pumped with the fat cocks of your god. Oh they would call me a lucky temple whore.

Naken’s hands slid down to hold your back sliding down to squeeze you ass each hand cupping a cheek as he held them apart spreading you wider, slamming both cocks deeper. Nuzzling into the crook of your neck he whispers praises.

“My beloved little priestess, you take me so well. You were made to be fucked by me, to worships me, to worship my cocks.” Laving his forked tongue he licked at the sweat of your neck. “I'll reward you greatly my beloved priestess, I'll pump you full of my cocks and seed, I'll spoil you as long as you worship me. Say my name, priestess, say you worship me.”

Drooling you barely mumbled out, “I worship you Naken, I only worship you and your fat cocks.” Hearing your words he drove forward increasing his force and speed, filling you completely with each pump. His cock popping out with wet sounds from your abused cunt with each thrust. Crying out his name you begged him to finish. “Please Naken it’s too much, please im cumming again.”

Laughing he pressed a kiss against your forehead, “Don't worry my beloved I'm just about to cum too.”

Snarling his thrusting became erratic and fast sloppily slamming into your swollen cunt gushing juices. Sinking his fangs into your shoulder, his fangs injected you with a relaxing aphrodisiac marking you as his. A final brutal thrust and his cocks pumped you full of sperms until your cunt was overflowing and leaking even with both cocks plugging your cunt. Attacked by his cocks and fangs you felt your walls spasm as you came a final time around his two cocks. Burying his cocks hilt deep he holds your waist as his cocks pumps ropes of hot cum into your cervix. The sounds of squelching and labored breaths being the only sound in the temple. The venom of his fangs warmed your body, flooding it with a relaxing warmth that soothes your aching muscles and abused cunt.

Sighing content he released you from the grasp of his tail, letting you slump forward on his chest. Gasping in relief you raised your hips to let his cocks slip out in a gushing wet mess of cum that flooded out your pussy into his tail. Chuckling Naken looked at the mess made and nuzzled into your hair letting out a content huff. “Rest my beloved priestess. You served me well and for that ill you now. Rest I'll clean up this mess.”

Smiling you look up at him with hazing exhausted eyes, kissing him once more before drifting into black blissful sleep. In the morning when you woke, you arose and startled and scared thinking you would be laying naked leaking cum on the temple floor but found yourself dressed and clean in the temple cot you had originally chosen to sleep in. Confused, you rose from bed thinking it might have been a dream, until the sweet soreness between your legs told you otherwise. Walking to the mirror in your room you saw the two puncture holes of Naken’s fangs from last night. Smiling you draped over a shawl and started to head out until you saw a small neatly folded note in your bed that read.

My beloved priestess,

You have brought me back from the abyss of the lost, you have made me feel alive again. Thanks to you, I now remember what it's like to be a god. Rest my beloved priestess, I'll be counting the days until I can drink from you nectar and bury myself in you again. Until then take care i'll be watching over you.

Love,

Your own personal god, Naken.

He was the god Naken. Your God, yours now

Authors notes: Sorry for the late post I sprained my wrist on the third day of October and couldn't type without my wrist hurting or popping. Anyways please comment what y'all's liked, any unhinged comments, or any suggestions.

Also I did hint at other monster gods so lmk if you guys would like to know more about them.

#naga #naga x human #naga x reader #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster fucking #monster fucker #monster boy #monstober #smut #naga smut #monster smut

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robolvrr · 3 months ago

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attention-seeker ミ⁠●﹏

transformers reactions to human modifications. (tattoos, piercings, hair-dye.) headcanons!

optimus prime, bumblebee, prowl. tfa.

sfw / suggestive under cut.

may do more of them, i love this show to death.

optimus prime

"you do this stuff... for fun? huh."

try as he might, he does not understand the point much.

don't get me wrong, i see animated optimus to be the closest to a mid-twenties rascal as you can get. modifications aren't unheard of for bots. he's not a nun.

however ...

he sees humans as still pretty fragile. so the idea that you like going and having needles shoved into your flesh and jammed through your muscle isn't something he can wrap his helm around at first.

primus forbid you have lots.

imagine him trying to process you explaining that yes, your entire back is covered in ink and you're planning on about five different piercings in the next year.

"so you. you plan on getting two on your back. just because?"

"that's the plan, big guy."

poor mech is lost. though he does enjoy learning more about humanity when he isn't stressing too much about saving it.. so expect questions.

when you suggest getting one of the autobot emblem, his circuits nearly fry.

prowl

"so, what's the significance?"

i see prowl not writing off the behavior as weird and instead digging for why you pursued this journey.

yes, he sees your tattoo and piercing collection as a journey, because that's what it is, isn't it? years of work and pain to adorn your body to your liking.

he knows that humans are bundled with nerves. there's respect earned. he finds humans to be eerily resilient.

will ask you the meaning of each and every one. piercings less so.

"what does this bird represent?"

"mm.. my sense of liberty."

"a visual representation of the wish to stretch to new horizons. how fascinating. being small in a vast universe with the urge to still explore."

"i also just like hummingbirds."

"mm. i see."

will get onto you once he finds out about the "makeshift" work. finds the mistakes or even forgettable craftsmanship to make you endearing.

bumblebee

"whoa! sick paintjob, human!"

he LOVES human culture. and you guys can just... change your appearance? count him impressed!

you had dyed your hair to a nice golden yellow to match his frame and he almost jammed his intake shut.

"you can just. do that?!? b-but your helm used to be-"

"hair, bee."

"right, right. it wasn't always that color though!!!"

he thinks it's so cool. real dork about it. totally buzzed out once you spoke about the chemistry that it went to the process though.

he thinks piercings are cute. after all the fusion of metal and organic is kiiind of taboo. you pull it off great.

tattoos make him beg ratchet to let him upgrade his paint. poor old mech is grumpy and over bumble whining him to just let him "get some flames and that's it."

you draw a lot of inspiration from him. will gladly brainstorm your next big change and puff his chassis out like a lil peacock knowing you're willing to get something permanent done in his designation.

nsfw.

optimus prime

"you look like a painting. primus above, you're gorgeous..."

optimus prime enjoys tracing your tats. he kisses the patterns and images as if the pain of the needle remains, glossa licking along thick and thin ink with shuttered optics.

he likes to see goosebumps trail after. kind of a weird fetish (?) but he mostly enjoys how reactive you are and how your inkwork ripples with the movement.

when he finds out your piercings can make you sensitive ...

well, good luck.

optimus at his spark of sparks is such a tease. when you continue to surprise him, it's nice to be in control of that mutual fascination for once.

"you enjoy when i tug.. these?"

nipple piercings.

expect his glossa. he takes special care to even lubricate each of his digits just to toy with your sore nipples.

prowl

"that's it. fall apart for me. just like art..."

prowl is observant. so when you let it slip that you've been holding back on some of what's on your body...

you're on his berth and naked. his optics are hidden behind his sharp visor.

"holding back on me? that's a shame. i thought you knew better than to do that."

is he angry? hardly! but his processor is about to work overtime when you stammer just why you hadn't gone into depth.

genital piercings.

he doesn't say anything for a long time. doesn't ask the millions of questions bombarding his thoughts. his servos do that speaking before he can.

let's just say you start to understand why he deals with tedious and delicate situations. those hands are built for... meticulous attention.

bites. all the areas with piercings. focuses carefully damn near to the square inch of sensitive flesh where it drives you wild.

tattoos? he loves to scrape his digits down em.

loves to doll you up in lingerie that accentuates everything you hide. crotchless, cut-outs exposing yourself until he can't see where the inkwork begins and ends.

robolvrr 2024.

#first contact au #transformers x reader #transformers #transformers optimus #optimus x reader #tfa #bumblebee #bumblebee x reader #tf prowl #prowl x reader #transformers animated #valveplug #maccadam #headcanons

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dollwrites · 1 year ago

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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!heartslabyul!reader, established relationship, biting, blood, marking ( all consensual ), lilia is a tease, groping ( clothes on ), all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day twenty-one [ lilia vanrouge + marking ] // two of three very special kinktober fics for very special people in my life 💚 @stellarmagu 🥺 thank you for being the bestie !!!

because Lilia has a marking kink he loves to sink his sharpened fangs into your neck, or drag them in jagged lines over your clavicle. he could write his name with the tip of his tooth, daubing it ever-so-gently in your crimson ink. and it feels good— much too good.

“I have to get back to the dorm…” you breathe out, but make no attempt to move away from him. tucked away in a darkened nook, you can hear your dormmates talking amongst themselves as they head to the hall of mirrors. Trey and Cater’s voices ring out to you, and your face is on fire with a heated blush. if only they knew what position you found yourself in, right on the other side of the wall. “I’m going to be late…”

“You most certainly will. Your Housewarden likes to dole out punishments for everything, I assume tardiness is no exception.” Lilia murmurs, his velvety words muffled against the heat of your flesh. “Hm, speaking of… I wonder what punishment Rosehearts would conjure up if he were to see you like this. Needy and squirmy, being touched all over, kehehe…”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help it that Lilia’s breathy, little chuckle close to your ear always sends a shiver down your spine.

“You enjoy the idea of me being punished just a little too much.”

you mewl, because Lilia bites a fresh section on your collarbone— one deliberately higher than the last, and you suck in a breath. “I won’t be able to cover that one up…” it was almost a whine, but you smile afterwards, “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

Lilia chuckles again, kissing the two, stinging pin-pricks. he couldn’t deny it, even if he wanted to ( which he didn’t ). “I don’t know why you cover them in the first place,” Lilia teases, his smirk tinted with rubies. “Especially not because you get so wet when I leave them on your sugary-sweet skin. Why not wear them like trophies? Your awards for being such a deliciously good girl.”

svelte, dastardly fingers slip beneath your uniform skirt and Lilia presses two firm pads against your damp panties as if to prove his point, rubbing the lingerie against your core until you let out a breathless whimper.

“So you’ll make me show them off? Bite where I can’t possibly cover them, and let all of Nightraven see how you own me, Lilia Vanrouge?”

Lilia grins deviously, pulling back to press his lips to yours. your eyelids flit at the metallic taste of your blood on his lips, and coating his tongue as he flicks at your couplet, his voice warm and rumbling, breath tickling your countenance. “I would never make you, my dear. That would make me a villain. But, encouraging… I suppose I am encouraging you to wear your marks out where everyone can see whose mouth has been all over you. After all, what is the fun in signing your name if no one gets to marvel at the penmanship?”

#lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge x you #lilia Vanrouge smut #lilia #lilia x reader #lilia x you #lilia smut #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland smut #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #twst x you #twst smut #twst x reader

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anachronismstellar · 3 months ago

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What about Wei Qingwei? 👀

hehehHEHEHE WHO IS READY FOR SWORD PUNS-

-----

"Thrity percent."

"Ten percent."

"Twenty five percent."

"Five, and if you keep pushing, I will give you nothing at all." Shang Qinghua slammed his book closed, the threat like a sharp knife being held over Wei Qingwei's dreams of a new forge.

"The Immortal Allience Conference is coming soon, I need a new forge to make new weapons," Wei Qingwei said as if his argument couldn't be refuted. Better start sooner than later, right? Even stubborn Shang Qinghua couldn't find fault in a point like that!

"Wei-shixiong," The An Ding Peak Lord rubbed his hands all over his face, smearing ink on his cheek as he gave the biggest sigh Wei Qingwei ever seen someone give. "I understand your frustration and your anxiety to start things now, believe me, I know," Shang Qinghua gestured at his entire desk, a chaos of papers and parchments, some of them covered in numbers so tiny it hurt Wei Qingwei's eyes to look at them for too long. "But as you can see, everyone wants a head start, and as we have discussed, many times I may add, the Immortal Allience Conference budget will be given next year. And is no one's fault-" Then he paused, mumbling something suspiciously like "but your own", only to continue with a smile. "That your disciples blew up a forge. Again."

Wei Qingwei crossed his arms, tapping his fingers. It annoyed him to no end that his lie had been caught before he could use it, but something nagged on his mind that the money wasn't actually the problem here.

He had heard... Stories. You see, blacksmithing could be really boring. When you're waiting for a new ore shipment, or when one had nothing to do besides polishing metal (hehe) again and again, what one could do besides gossiping? And the last big whisper among his older disciples had been too good for him to ignore.

Long night meetings with Zhangmen-Shixiong, visits at odd hours to a certain bamboo house, doctor's appointments in the middle of the night while being perfectly healthy... One had to be stupid to not connect the dots.

The quiet as a mouse, shadow of twelve peaks, Lord Shang Qinghua fucked. And he must be pretty good at it if the types like Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu came back for more.

Another thing that wasn't hard to see was how stressed the man looked. To be honest, Wei Qingwei doesn't remember any time Shang-shidi was not stressed. Maybe it was because they met only during meetings. Or when he went to ask for money. Hm.

What Qi Qingqi said? Something something vinegar and bees and honey? Maybe he should try another strategy.

"This one would like to apologize to his Shidi for the insistence. But maybe I could bid on a final offer?" And Wei Qingwei didn't curl his finger on his hair because he wasn't that shameless, but he wasn't ashamed to pull his sleeves up to show off some muscle, leaning forward to let his outer robes slide just enough to show his clavicle.

Shang Qinghua stared.

"Very well, a final offer," he agreed and then proceeded to pretend to organize his desk, taking a glance or two at Wei Qingwei's neck.

"Shidi goes back to his first ten percent advance deal," Now Wei Qingwei knew he was laying on too thick by Shang Qinghua's snort. Still, he didn't back off, winking as he said: "and I can craft something special for you."

"Hmm..." Shang Qinghua moved more papers around, pulled his collar as he took another peek at Wei Qingwei's chest. "I do have some projects in mind that would require Wei-shixiong's expertise..." He hesitated for another moment, slowly laying back until his back hit the panel behind him, one of his hands going to his sword, playing with the tassel like a cat about to catch a mouse. "Also, it's been a while since I've polished my sword. Would Wei-shixiong consider putting that in his offer as well?"

The next day...

"I swear to Heavens, your hair is possessed by something. What did you do to make it so knotted?" Qi Qingqi was being delicate, mind you, she would never be less than gentle, but she also couldn't resist pulling the curls a little bit stronger than she would. Served Wei Qingwei right for making her spend an entire morning taking care of his curly creature.

Also, Wei Qingwei's dreamy sighs were starting to annoy her. He was acting worse than her teenage girls!

"I went to talk to Shang-shidi yesterday," he said as if he wasn't almost vibrating to share how did it go.

"And?" she rolled her eyes, pulling her comb just enough to make him hiss. "By the look on your face he agreed on giving you more money."

He started laying back on her, but before he could ruin all her hard work on the lower part of his hair, she hit him with the comb. And it was a testimony of how smug he was that his only reaction was to laugh, eyes creasing into two half moons, smiling like a sly fox.

"He gave me something alright."

She stopped mid movement blinking once then twice, mouth opening in a surprised gasp.

"You didn't."

"Oh I did."

"I can't believe you did it."

"I can't believe how huge is his-"

"Stop!" She hit him again with the comb, and then a second time. She didn't need that image in her head the next meeting, thank you very much!! "Shut up! I don't wanna hear it!"

"Ow, ow, alright I'm sorry!" He apologized but kept laughing, no, not laughing, giggling like he were about to kick his feet and start making plans for a wedding.

She loved him, but. Ew.

"How is he that good?" She wondered out loud when they finally calmed down and went back to controlling Wei Qingwei's hair. "He looks like he's about to faint half of the time, and the other half, he's crying about us being mean to him."

"I have no idea, but he's growing quite the reputation. But it does make sense after you think about it. And!" This time she couldn't hold him in place, Wei Qingwei turning around so she could see him wiggling his eyebrows. "Explains a lot why a lot of lords were blushing last meeting. You know the voice he does? The bossy one?"

She dropped everything to cover her ears, closing her eyes as well so she couldn't even read his lips. "I don't wanna hear it!!"

That send Wei Qingwei into another fit of giggles, throwing his head back while covering his face with both hands.

Qi Qingqi didn't understand, honestly she didn't want to understand. But her best friend was having fun, so if she sent a blessing on Shang Qinghua's way, that was between her and the Heavens.

------

Aaaaaand Wei Qingwei had his turn! :D I wanted to make it more naughty but I'm at work and djahskfjskdks Everyone here knows English so- LETS JUST SAY I WORKED ON MY POKERFACE TODAY

Bonus points for Qi Qingqi!! :D

There you go anon <3 I hope you enjoyed!! Also, the demon curly hair Wei Qingwei hc is from @artsarasp comic here!!!

#scum villian self saving system #svsss #wei qingwei #shang qinghua #I wanna call them Air Smith so bad but I know is a bad joke #or Air Sword #so weishang it is fkshskfnskjf #sqh gotta catch them all #bonus #qi qingqi #:D

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sleepytoycollection · 4 months ago

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These are the Treasures of Friendship Fluttershy and Discord figures by the company Kayou.

From what I understand, these figures are not for sale directly. They are a mail order prize you get when you buy packs of Kayou's card sets, and are only available to Chinese residents. Thankfully a very lovely person on Mercari was selling them so I was able to get the set without having to make an international trip lol.

There are four figures available, Discord, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, and Applejack. A semi-stealth couples theme, more or less. While packaged individually, the sets are made to snap together to form one cohesive mini statue. They're also technically stamps? You're supposed to be able to use them as stamps if I understand correctly, but I don't plan to get ink anywhere near these.

These sets are very cute, but also interesting in that A) they're based off the Pony Life versions of the characters, B) this might be the only piece of Pony Life Discord merch in existence, and C) first figure set to acknowledge AppleDash as a couple (maybe?). I'm surprised these exist basically, though I'm very glad they do.

I think they're lovely. I love the mix of elements, the clear and solid plastics, the mix of matte and metallic paints. They feel very special for such small figures. If these were something I could buy outright, I'd love to have the AppleDash set as well. Still, I'm very grateful I got these, as I've come to adore these two and being late fan means I missed out on a lot merch that came and went before I got into the show. I'm very happy with them.

#fluttershy #discord #mlp #my little pony #treasures of friendship #pony life #fluttercord #ponies #figures #toys #kayou

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healmyhrt · 1 year ago

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⌗ locket, c. sturniolo

chris x fem!reader

summary: you and chris finally see each other again at a family gathering after years of no contact.

disclaimers!: mild cursing fluff, use of y/n, SHORTTT

a/n: this was requested:)

“promise me you’ll never take your half off no matter what happens.” he looks down at the metal piece dangling from his neck.

“i won’t.” i reach out to hold his necklace. he looks up at me. “promise me, chris.” he grabs my necklace, and i smile. he returns the smile, and nods his head.

“i promise.”

today would be the first time i’d see chris in the last 11 years. it was my mom’s 45th birthday, and she thought since it was special, we should invite special people.

and the triplets were on that list.

it had been about 2 hours since the party started, but they still hadn’t shown. “mom, are you sure they’re coming?” she places another plate of meatballs down on the table. “sweetie, they rsvp’d. they should show.”

i laughed with the adults on the patio, as bright lights flashed in our direction. a car pulls into the driveway, and i see three familiar faces in the windshield.

“i’ll… be right back.” i tell them, standing up.

i see them exit the vehicle, all looking the same but different.

nick had blonde hair now, and tattoos everywhere, and so did matt, his arm covered in ink. chris looked pretty much the same, his body still a blank canvas.

they each give me a small smile, and nick stops, and gives me a hug. hugging him felt like something i had wanted for a while. i missed him.

matt and chris kept walking until nick stopped them.

“you guys…” he stares at them. the boys turn around, and give a confused look. nick nods his head at me, and they still look confused.

“are you just not gonna say hello to y/n?”

their eyes widen, and matt smiles. “no fucking way. that’s you.” i return an awkward smile, and he walks back over to me, arms open. i give him a short hug, and he compares our height.

“holy shit. you’re like all grown up now.” matt laughs.

“i could say the same about you.” i point to his tattoos. matt rubs his hand up and down his arm, and nods. “yeah, chris is the only one with no ink.”

i look over at chris, whose arms where crossed. he stared at me, arms darting everywhere, studying me.

i awkwardly shift in my position, and nick pats my shoulder. “well, we’re gonna head inside and say hi to everyone. see you.” nick smiles, as he and matt walk away.

chris steps closer to me, staring me down still.

“didn’t think you guys were going to show.” i fidget with my hands. chris continued to stare at me, and i was getting a bit creeped out.

“okay, chris,” i say with a breathy chuckle, and he hugs me. “nice to see you.” he whispers into my hair. i smile.

he lets go of me, and the first thing his eyes land is my necklace. “i see you still have yours.” chris smiles.

he pulls the neck of his shirt down, and pulls his half out. i gasp, and reach for it with a smile. “and you still have yours.”

“i promised.”

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #chris x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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naffeclipse · 2 months ago

Text

Hello, Scarecrow

Potion Maker!Reader x Shadow Demon!Moon, Fire Demon!Sun, & Wizard!Eclipse

Commission Info

The lovely @pure-plum requested a very soft and touching moment for the reader reaching out to one of the boys to offer them warmth and a place to stay, and, of course, he does choose to stay. My Eclipse's Moving Daycare AU was perfect for a darling little prompt! Enjoy <3

Content Warnings: Slight violence, angst, implied child harm, and blood

———

You step softly onto the lush green ground, the soil rich and mulchy with nutrients. The land is fertile. Gazing your fingertips softly along the very tips of tall weeds, you marvel that such a lovely stretch of plains haven’t been settled upon by families and farmers alike. The sun, bright and blazing hot above you, beats upon your brow.

You should have asked for a hat on this fine, summery day.

Set in the distance is Eclipse’s moving daycare. It sits loftily upon the humble earth. The massive building is castle-like, strutting with towers and spiraling peaks, and windows colored in scarlet, canary, and sapphire. The slender but towering mechanical legs under the belly of the building fold into a perch. Massive talon tips sink into the dirt. Every little piece of it reminds you of the wizard who commands the stunning structure—if only it also possessed a pair of wings.

The wizard, Eclipse, and your recently acquired fire demon, Sun, have ventured towards small inhabitants on the other side of the plain. There may be someone in need or children that require a temporary home until Eclipse can find suitable parents to raise them. Sun has offered his assistance.

You hope nothing catches fire. You must also hope that Eclipse doesn’t lose his cool. Surely, they’ll get along, at least until they return to the moving daycare and may resume any petty grievances.

Your fingers curl around the wispy tops of towering stalks, the soft and feathery tips tickling your palm. Faintly upon the ground where your boots touch, you find old plow rows. Strange, you muse. A farmer once tended to these lands.

Why did the farmer stop?

You step further into the overgrowth, realizing that the weeds grow in a uniform square where the crop must have resided before it was abandoned. Wild shrubbery flanks the sides. Trees in the very distance stand forlorn with stretching shadows as you pick your way slowly through the massive field.

Your hope to locate common, wild ingredients for food sways from your focus while you study the area. Perhaps you may even discover a few special herbs for your potions. You pat your satchel lightly. A few glasses clink quietly within it, filled with a few magical concoctions that may come in use for any sort of occasion or emergency.

Stopping in your stroll, you turn your head this way and that, studying the surrounding fields. If this was once a farmer’s land, there must be a house close by.

Under the shadows of tall and well nurtured shady oak trees is a small structure. A humble construct your eyes almost skimmed over due to the crawling vines and bustling shrubbery crowded with its stone bricks. Nature has overrun what was once a house for man. Parts of the wall crumble. The door hangs askew, dangling by a lone nail in a rusty hinge that may drop at any moment.

Curious, curious. You hum to yourself in thought while you continue towards the tiny home. In your short travel, your foot almost meets the wrong end of an old hoe, the metal rusted and the wooden shaft a splintered, rotted thing.

And to leave behind tools? You click your tongue.

You reach the shadowy alcove of the stone house. The door creaks upon its lone hinge, and you peek into the darkness dripping like ink into the space. Though the cool air should be a relief against your flushed skin, a chill most unnatural falls over you.

There, upon the dirt floor, under an overturn and vine-wrapped wooden chair, is a doll. A table is cracked in half and laid desolate upon its side. Curtains of pale blue hang with dust clinging to the sun-washed fibers over a tiny window, allowing in the barest wink of light. Pewter dishes lie spilled upon the ground before an empty and weed invaded hearth, the green stalks poking through the cracks in the stone.

As if a viper wrapped itself around your throat, you find it hard to swallow. Devastation taints the air. The bleakness of such ruin presses a dark, heavy fist against your ribs.

The doll is a tiny fabric one, dirtied and touched by leaves. An inexplicable urge within you asks you to go to it, as if you might be able to save this sweet little face. Still, you cannot refuse this course of action.

You step inside, almost tip-toeing for a sake that is both absurd and very wary, before you tenderly push the chair up, tearing a few vines from their home, and pick up the doll. It fits in your palm. It’s dark hair of wool drapes over your knuckles.

Straightening, you quickly turn back the way you came, and leave the deserted house. Out in the sweet heat of sunlight, you release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding all the while. You taste dust and something milk and dewy-like in the air while studying the doll’s face.

You stride through the field, nearing a towering patch of shrubs and weeds. Perhaps Eclipse can help you learn what happened here. Sweat beads upon your forehead in the short trek onwards under a glaring white sun. Breathing, you endure a hot red wave running over you, leaving your cheeks red and your skin flushed.

Stepping through the overgrown patch, you push aside a few shrubs’ leaves before finding a long and wooden pole stabbed into the ground. You stop at the straw-like feet set upon a small platform nailed into the pole.

You tilt your head back slowly to find a scarecrow greeting you. A sun bleached straw hat sits along its head. The clothes are old and moth-eaten, and straw peeks out from the sleeves, pant legs, and waist of the sole sentient of the field.

You gaze at it with a furrowed brow, finding its eyes strangely red and pale, like a blood moon.

“Hello, scarecrow,” you murmur almost inaudibly.

You pant slightly. Drawing your thumb over the doll’s simple stitched face, you slip forward to the slightly cleared ground at the pole’s foundation and settle in the skinny stripe of shade provided by the scarecrow. You lean back slightly, resting your back along the wood. You close your eyes and use the back of your hand to wipe sweat away from your hairline. The doll sits in your lap. You clutch it tight as you catch your breath for a moment, wishing for a bit more coolness.

The blistering sun beams down on your apron and boots. The heat, however, eases in the slightest when the glow seeping through your eyelids darkens. Shade thickens over you.

You open your eyes wide. Staring upwards, you find the head of the scarecrow directly above you.

You’ve never known any scarecrows to move.

Blinking, your eyes adjust to the slight difference in light, and discover a most curious face over the scarecrow’s head. An inky visage, hunched under the brim of the straw hat, with pale red eyes beaming down at you. The fey-being tilts slightly and angles the hat so the shadows may fall slightly better over you. A soft hiss echoes when a pitch-black tendril accidentally slips into the daylight. In a snap, it curls every wispy and writhing part of itself deeper under the straw head covering while clinging to the scarecrow’s form.

“Oh!” You jump to your feet, alarmed by the disheveled sight of the magical creature. The doll crumples in your grasp. “You poor thing, you’re burning!”

“Forgive me,” the rasp that flits out from the hide of the scarecrow is low, crackling from what you suspect is disuse and dryness. “You seemed exhausted by the heat.”

You can hardly comprehend how the being of darkness could offer such a kind gesture at the expense of his own comfort. Snapping your head this way and that, your eyes zero in on the abandoned and dark home.

“Why don’t you go into the shade of that house?” you point towards its black alcove in the doorway.

“I cannot move.” The being shrinks back slightly against the scarecrow’s crumpled and eaten away form. Tendrils slip in and out of tears in the cloth, spilling straw down its body where it floats to the ground. “A cruel wizard bound me to this tatterdemalion scarer.”

A wizard. It couldn’t have been Eclipse. No, this is someone awful. Someone cruel.

You stare up at him, aghast. You lift a hand up to the straw hat in the hope of, somehow, offering more shade, but the creature flinches back from your fingertips. Immediately, you take your touch away, eyes widening.

“Why?” you breathe.

The shadow of the scarecrow stares down at you. A glint of his gaze becomes silver-lined as he writhes along the limbs of the strawman he’s trapped against.

“There was a child,” the creature quietly scrapes out the words. “The wizard was luring her from her parents’ home. I sensed evil in his heart.”

The overturned furniture. The doll, abandoned.

A sting of tears attacks your eyes. You force yourself to blink back the wetness.

The creature tilts his hat brim down low, hiding his face. “I fought the wizard. I lost.”

A tear runs down your face. You quickly wipe it away, staining your fingers in the salty slickness.

“You did what you could,” you manage to speak through the thickness in your throat.

The being says not a word, hanging in defeat. His tendrils weakly twine around the limbs of the scarecrow. A transparency burns through the being, and you understand that he is fading.

You wish to take his hand or try to find a way to unfasten the scarecrow from its pole so he may be free, but you find no charms or artifacts keeping him pinned in place. It must be the body of the scarecrow he is cursed to.

“Wait just a moment.” You stuff a hand into your satchel to begin fishing for a potion. “I may have a way to free you.”

The straw hat tilts slightly, either in confusion or hope, you can’t say.

“You didn’t have to burn yourself just to offer me a bit of shade,” you chastise gently. The bottles are cool against your fingertips but none are exactly the right liquid or herb you’re seeking.

“You looked tired,” he whispers weakly. “It was all I could do for you.”

You lift your eyes briefly before returning to your desperate search. Glass jars clink against each other consisting of ground powders and bubbling elixirs—yes, there it is. You pull out a small glass container of owl’s clover. A burning head of flora is stuffed inside, flecked with gentle pulses of red-hot light along its blossom. You quickly twist the lid and free it, lifting it high into the air.

“What is that?” The shadows flinch in the slightest.

“A way to break the curse,” you say, hopeful.

His wide set eyes follow the red-hot and pointed bristles of the flower. You step up closer. The shadowy being hisses softly at the shift of light, and you utter an apology. This will be swift—if it works.

You draw the flower gingerly along the old and sun bleached clothing. The glowing heat of the flora pulses as if fanned, and you hear a quiet pop as magic gives away to your small antidote. The creature stops struggling as you brush it over his prison. Along the limbs, the pole, and lastly, the face of the scarecrow, you draw your enchanted tool. A quiet groan follows from the fey-being. The straw hat tilts.

With tendrils drooping from where he was onced hanged along the stents, the shadowy demon peels away from the scarecrow and falls to the grassy ground in a twisted heap.

Dropping to your knees, you offer your body as a shield against the daylight. The creature breathes laboriously. His mass is a twisting, braided mound, but he is whole.

“Are you alright? What’s your name?” you ask breathlessly.

You stuff the flower back into its jar and away into your bag. The doll—you dropped it in the grass. Before you can reach for it, a shadowy, claw tipped hand darts into the bare sun and drags it back to his chest. Another hiss follows, but you can’t bring yourself to demand why he would do such a foolish thing.

Instead, you take the straw hat and set it gently over his person. It will still offer shade for the creature—one you suspect is a shadow demon.

You wait, looming over the poor thing as his body is little more than an inky puddle. The pale glint of his eyes cracks open as a claw strokes the doll’s hair.

“Moon,” he says at last, weak but brittle with a mirth that gives you reason to smile.

“Moon,” you echo. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You tell him your name.

He breathes it back almost in a lullaby-like lilt.

You dip your head then stay very still, your shadow draping over him like a warm cloak upon a wintery night. In the brief respite, your mind tumbles slowly. Why did this happen to the little girl? Who was the wizard who did this? You must stow away your questions for now—Moon is in no condition for questions.

“I have two very dear friends who can help you,” you say softly. “We will take you back to our moving daycare. Your burns need care. I have a potion that will do the trick.”

Moon’s head tilts, the silver slice decorating his face now scrunching slightly with an emotion you can’t read. The tendrils of his body squirm slightly.

“Moving daycare?” he murmurs. His eyes crinkle in confusion and something a little more harsh, unforgiving.

“Yes,” you nod eagerly, but stop quickly so as to not bob your dark outline around too much, lest you scorch him with a touch of daylight.

Inexplicably, the shadow demon tenses not unlike a rabbit spying a hawk circling overhead. Your eyes widen. An instinct within you reaches out your hand to calm the poor thing who has suffered greatly but his pale red eyes snap over your shoulder. Your ears prick at the soft flap of wings before they settle upon the earth once more.

“Dearest?” The low and sonorous voice is familiar as the brush of the breeze and the many ingredients hidden away within your pantry.

Joy bubbles through you like the gentle flow of a clear stream. Eclipse. His wings can help shield Moon from the sun, and Sun can help guide the shadow demon to the doors of the moving daycare.

You turn your head, carefully to not shift your kneeled position and disturb Moon’s resting place, and sigh at the solace returning to you.

Eclipse stands at the edge of the overgrown field, the towering weeds that swept up against your hip are now small and insignificant in comparison to his tall and willowy stature. His wings are raven-dark and shine with a red iridescent in the noon daylight. Soft glints of bronze and black iron underneath are cocked to a strand angle, prepared to leap into drastic action. His deep red hat sits pointed and rumpled upon his brow. The brim cuts above his piercing eyes, two-toned in yellow and red, and warning and fright. The slightest creases to his white billowy shirt and dark trousers suggests a quick flight.

Beside him, Sun is oddly taut. His flaming body is set low, ember arms spread open as if to snatch you away. The flames around his head gathered into a stronger, more fierce crown of flames. His expression is set into a fearsome challenge. The pale of his eyes are wide, the briefest flicker of a blue tint set deep within. His knees are poised to jump.

Your lips part in confusion. Brow furrowing, you lift a hand to invite them closer, to be calm, when the darkness underneath your crouched form writhes.

“Wizard,” Moon’s voice drops into an abysmal and furious hiss.

Your flesh prickles as fear scuttles over your spine.

“Darling!” Sun shouts. His burning hand extends for you.

Eclipse snaps his wings. A comet-like flare of light burns between his metallic digits—magic—but he is too late.

A snare of darkness twines around your limbs. The swift shade envelops you, ripping you back against the scarecrow pole and holding you in a viper-like vice. You gasp, struggling against the bindings in a prey-like instinct to free yourself of the choking tendrils. You are answered with a sharp squeeze that holds your body against the shadow demon’s chest, and you become a living shield.

“You’re with a wizard,” Moon snarls low in your ear. An anger you could not have sensed before freezes your ear, but below his wicked tone, you catch the quiver of fear in his formless throat. His hands grip your wrists, holding you down. A tremor runs through his claws pressing so sharply into your skin. He draws out beads of blood.

“Release the potion maker.” Eclipse hands are held before him, his voice dangerously calm. A storm rages in his expression. A fierceness you have only witnessed when he was without his heart.

“Do not take another step, do not speak.” The silvery curve of Moon’s face catches in the corner of your vision like the wink of a blade. “I will kill this human. Do not tempt me.”

“If you harm a hair upon our darling’s head,” Sun begins in raised pitched, exuberant though lacking any joy or mirth, “I will light this entire field and ensure you never see another starry night.”

Moon shifts his pale red gaze, deepening into an inky crimson while his touch twitches along you. You’ve seen this before in a fox when its paw was caught in a trap and it bit at anything within reach.The tendrils of his body constrist. Air is forced from your lungs as a binding of his shadows cinches around your middle. You clench your fingers to keep the blood flowing to your fingers while his grip threatens to snap your wrist bones.

Your heart rams against your ribs. Caught in the crossfire of very powerful creatures, you think of how long he must have been trapped, suffering. Of course, he doesn’t know Eclipse’s heart nor that your hands set it back within his chassis. He doesn’t realize that Sun was driven away with blades and pitchforks by humans who met him with only fear and hatred.

“Moon,” you say softly.

Stygian black tendrils rope around your throat. Your chin is forced up as the shadow demon leans close to your ear.

“Shhh.” Moon’s cold breath tingles in your ear.

“Please, listen.” You hold terribly still. You try to find his gaze but he keeps you firmly facing away from him. “Eclipse is kind. He will help you, too. Sun is good. There’s no need to be afraid.”

“Dearest,” Eclipse steps forward. The wide desperation of his eyes burns through you.

Moon grasps a fistful of your hair. Jerking your head back, the slippery pitch of his body coils tighter around your throat and gives as a squeeze.

The tiniest squeak of fright escapes you. He eases his touch in the slightest.

A roar of an inferno leaps from Sun’s charcoal mouth. He clenches his fists where he stands, the light of his person brightening and flaring out in fury.

“Be calm,” you call out despite the pressure on your vocal cords. Eclipse and Sun flick their furious gazes from the shadow demon to you. “Be still. All will be well.”

An uncertain flicker of Moon’s tendrils eases the slightest upon you. His body is an inky pool against your back, clutching you as if to drag you under a dark surface.

Calmly, you turn your wrist and touch the back of one of his hands. His claws clench, sinking slightly deeper into your flesh with a small slice. You ignore the thickening blots of blood and hum a low, soothing sound.

“I will allow no harm to come upon you,” you breathe deeply and evenly. “I will make a potion to ease your burns.”

A shudder rolls over the shadow demon. His claws unhook from your wrists. The rest of his shady being still twists behind you, shrinking in the slightest as if bracing for a strike.

“You must be hungry. You must be exhausted,” you continued softly, your voice lowered to the poor, wounded creature who had been abandoned for so long. “Let us take you to our moving daycare. You can rest. You can eat. I will keep you safe.”

The coils around your throat brush just underneath your chin. You fight the urge to struggle with danger so close to your vulnerable, soft neck.

“The wizard will attack,” Moon mutters. His attention remains on Eclipse, his entire form staying angled away from the magic caster.

“He will not,” you find Eclipse’s gaze and hold it. “I swear upon my life.”

A scowl ripples over the wizard’s mouth but he lowers his wings in the slightest. Sun, however, stays poised on his toes, eager as a wayward spark to be carried forward and bring a fire upon the shadow demon.

Moon twists ever so slightly. A hand lowers to your palm where he stares at a little streak of your blood smeared over your skin.

A heartbeat passes.

“Trust me,” you whisper.

For a breath, it is only you and the shadow demon as a soft zephyr blows over the weeds, tipping their green stalks into a sway. Sun’s heat touches your skin. Feathers twitch upon Eclipse’s right wing.

The pressure of his midnight coils gradually loosens, bit by bit, as if he’s opening his jaws to let you stumble out from between his teeth. The sun bleached straw hat retreats slightly behind you. Free of his fearful embrace, you turn slowly to keep your shadow within his reach, and you offer out a hand.

The shadow demon stares at the offering of your fingers as he hunkers underneath the scarecrow pole. His eyes are pale reflections of a blood moon. You wish to ease the fright lining them with silver.

“Come with me, Moon.” You hold his gaze unflinchingly.

His attention falls again to the pinpricks of blood on your wrist.

“I hurt you,” he rasps weakly. A statement of fact punctured with regret and confusion.

“Someone hurt you, too.” You wait, patient in the viciously warm daylight.

The soft approach of footsteps triggers tension over the slippery dark tendrils of Moon. You stay still, calm. Your hand still waits for his.

Slowly, surveying the three of you, the shadow demon’s hand, cool as midnight, slips over your palm. A soft crack of fire-eaten logs sounds from Sun in warning. Ignoring the tension, you glance at Eclipse.

“Sweetheart, will you shade Moon with your wing?”

Eclipses bristles for one harsh moment, incredulousness painting him fierce. Moon’s hand tightens around your fingers. Though, you note, he doesn’t squeeze too hard. Sun slips closer to your side, and when his light reaches the shadow demon, Moon hisses and retreats slightly behind you and his straw hat.

“He’s coming back with us? Darling,” Sun’s voice zigzags in pitch, jumping between disbelief and wrath, “is that really such a good idea?”

“He needs our help, sweetheart.” You turn to Sun, keeping your back to the shadow demon where he might easily strike again. A steadiness within you understands that he won’t.

The fire demon struggles for a moment, his mouth opening and closing like a wavering flame unable to decide if it wants to continue burning or not.

“Eclipse?” you tilt your head in question.

He steadily lays a look upon the shadow demon. Misgivings and cooling anger swirl in the minute twitches of his metallic and half-dark expression. You look at him with a silent plea.

Eclipse lowers his shoulders in the slightest. With a few soft clicks of gears, Eclipse lifts his wing. The dark feathers cast an even darker shadow, and Moon lifts his head, startled.

“We will walk slowly, together,” Eclipse decides.

“Yes, together,” Sun punctuates with a burning look to Moon.

“There’s a storage room that’s dark and quiet,” you say as you take the first step. “You can rest there while I brew up a potion for your burns. Once you’re healed, you can return to whatever is waiting for you.”

The shadow hand in your grasp tenses in the slightest, but direct sunlight stays back with Eclipse’s wing and your own presence. Sun moves ahead slowly. His head turns back before he must look where he is walking.

A quietly wisp of a breath leaves the fey-being. He follows right in your shadow.

“I have no one waiting for me,” he says quietly.

You look back at him with a soft expression.

“You may choose to stay with us, if you wish.”

Eclipse and Sun exchange heavy glances, but the anger you expected to be kindled is not within them. Perhaps they remember when not too long again, you asked if you could stay. You had nothing then, as well. And no one.

“Despite how terribly I reacted?” Moon’s pale red eyes hold you in their depths.

You look to Eclipse and Sun, who incline their heads in the slightest. They trust you.

“Yes,” you smile, and take him to Eclipse’s moving daycare.

#naff's writing commissions #eclipse's moving daycare #you know what it means to be hurt and scared #and moon needs all the gentleness you can give #naff writing

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 year ago

Text

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical swearing, suggestive themes, jealous / protective / possessive Simon, rough kissing, arguments, angst, TF141 shenanigans

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Part Ten of Ink & Needle

Soap, Gaz, and Price come for a visit. At a local pub, Simon notices you are sitting with a stranger. An argument ensues. Things get heated.

Chapter Nine // Chapter Eleven

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Simon leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, sighing heavily. The rolling chair groans a protest. The thing is so old it’s a miracle that it hasn’t collapsed under Simon’s weight. He’s been meaning to replace it—it’s not like he doesn’t have the money—but there are so many other things going on in Simon’s life that he keeps putting it off.

His work laptop is open on the desk in front of him, the bright glow of the screen showing him the thousands of emails sitting in his inbox. Being on the cover of UK Ink is a tremendous honor, but it’s also becoming its own sort of creeping horror. Figuring out which inquiries are genuine, and which are just people seeking attention, is taking a tremendous toll on his personal time.

Every day, more and more emails clog his inbox. It’s likely that as he starts deleting them, more will suddenly appear, popping forth from the hidden depths of whatever server it’s connected to. Plenty of the emails are straight spam with a few consisting of people sending unsolicited nudes. Those go straight into the trash folder. The only naked body Simon wants to see is yours.

Many of the emails are people seeking to book appointments with him for tattoos and piercings. While a good chunk of the emails come from citizens of England, plenty more are from people all over the world. International inquires are a good thing, but those appointments have to be booked around flights and trips. There is also no guarantee that those people will actually show, which is why Simon has started to double-book in some places, or set forth a non-refundable fee for securing a time and date.

He's only one person, and the pressure of that is starting to creep up on him. Simon is going to have to hire more people. At least one additional person at minimum. Even if all they do is answer emails all day and book appointments, Simon will take it. Sitting on this fucking chair in between clients is exhausting.

Through all of that, there are also publications (both large and small) seeking their own interviews with the masked tattoo artist knows as ‘Ghost.’ Some are local to the region while others are international, reaching an even wider audience. For each inquiry, Simon is grateful. To see his work—his art—be appreciated to such a large degree is a great point of accomplishment for him.

It's not like Simon’s work during his time with the military. That is different. That was work. That was blood and metal and dirt. Tattooing doesn’t feel like work to Simon. It is freeing. It is creative. It is the release of a muscle after a long tension.

Tattooing is a distinctive sort of freedom. A place for Simon to lose himself in, to enjoy life again, to find comfort in a craft that doesn’t involve destruction.

But Simon is also distracted. Not because he’s stressed or anxious or concerned or even from the number of emails piling in. Simon is distracted because you were in his arms last night. You were sitting at his kitchen table. You ate the food he made. He distinctly remembers your soft smile as you gazed at his sketches.

Sure, Simon was making dinner, but he was keeping an eye on you the whole time. He noticed every expression on your face as your gaze admired each sketch. He noticed the way you held every piece of paper with tenderness, as if all of them were sacred and special to you. It was after, when the two of you talked, that Simon sensed hesitation.

He questioned you about Cambridge and Evie. You were not entirely honest, not that Simon believes that you lied, but he knows there is more you haven’t told him. Whether you don’t want to tell him or are hesitant to do so is still uncertain. What Simon wants, more than anything, is for you to feel safe enough with him to tell him everything. Simon desires your sharp edges. He wants to know how he can help smooth them, to ease all the worries in your head, to remove some of those burdens.

Which is why he asked you to come to bed with him. He thought that maybe if he kissed you for a bit, you might soften, and that is all he wanted. But then he had you under him, opening for him, and Simon’s control was close to shattering like thin glass under pressure. Your fingers found him, and Simon would have given anything to stay in that bed and make you understand just how much he desires you.

The glowing screen of the laptop and the sight of you sighing in pleasure beneath him keeps colliding with each other. It keeps melding, melting together only to break apart before meeting again.

The current email opened on the laptop screen is gibberish. No matter how many times Simon attempts to read it, your face appears there instead. Then, Simon’s mind drifts off to dream of your seeking fingers, and how perfectly they wrapped around him.

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. He needs to fucking focus. He will see you again, and when he does, he is going to fucking enjoy it. The two of you are taking that date. The two of you are going to get away for a while. When that happens, Simon will make you his in all ways.

Exhaling loudly, Simon drops his hand from his face to rub at the back of his neck. He rolls it slightly, popping some of the tension out of the joints. He leans forward a bit and manages to focus on the email.

Spam. Fucking spam.

Simon hits the little rubbish icon and watches the email blink out of existence. His gaze returns to the little blue number next to ‘Inbox’ and immediately shudders.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, wanting nothing more than to shut the laptop and pretend they don’t exist for a while.

Out of the corner of his eye, Simon spies the front door of the shop opening. He turns his head to the left to see if it’s his final customer. Instead, he’s greeted by an annoyingly overenthusiastic Scotsman.

“Lt!”

“Gotta stop calling me that, Johnny,” sighs Simon loudly, as if getting out of his chair is a major hassle. Simon comes to his full height, hands on his hips as John MacTavish bursts through the door.

On his heels are Captain John Price and Kyle Garrick.

“Simon,” nods Price in greeting.

Kyle gives Simon a little playful salute before immediately heading for Bravo. The German Shepard goes up on his back legs. Kyle seizes the dog’s front paws in his hands, the two of them doing a little dance in the middle of the shop.

The moment Simon steps away from the chair, MacTavish is on him, throwing his massive arms around Simon’s middle in a hug.

“You’re bloody crushing me, Johnny.”

MacTavish squeezes him a bit tighter in response. When he let’s go, he grabs hold of Simon’s shoulders, shaking them slightly. “Fucking look at this place.” MacTavish glances around like he’s never seen it before.

“You’ve been here,” deadpans Simon. “Hasn’t changed.”

“But it has, Lt. You’re on the cover of a magazine.” MacTavish smirks and drops his hands from Simon’s shoulders. He then promptly punches Simon lightly in his upper arm. “We’re in the presence of a celebrity.”

“Hardly,” mutters Simon, but he’s smiling behind the balaclava.

Price presents his hand, and he and Simon grasp forearms. “Good to see you, Simon. Been a while.”

“It has,” replies Simon.

Johnny leans toward Simon and cups the side of his mouth like he’s an old hen about to drop a piece of juicy gossip. When he speaks, it’s just a projected whisper that everyone can hear clearly. “Captain bought up a bunch of magazines and handed them out to everyone on base.”

“Soap,” barks Price.

MacTavish holds up his hands, and then points at Price with one finger, jabbing it in the captain’s direction. “Just proud of you,” whispers MacTavish.

Simon simply nods but he’s grinning like an idiot behind the balaclava. Price glances in Simon’s direction and shrugs apathetically, not denying or confirming.

Glancing over Price’s shoulder, Simon frowns slightly. Bravo has his front paws on Kyle’s shoulders as he aggressively scratches the dog’s sides. Bravo’s tongue sticks out the corner of his mouth, hanging down toward the floor as the dog pants happily.

“Get down, Bravo,” sighs Simon, indicating with a quick nod of his head.

Bravo sucks his tongue back into his mouth, ears drooping slightly with disappointment. Kyle pats Bravo’s side and removes the dog’s massive paws from his shoulders, gently guiding the German Shepard back down to all fours.

On the phone, Johnny said they’d stop by on Saturday. It’s Saturday. Fairly late on a Saturday, with a final customer still expected to walk through the door, but they are here, just as promised.

Kyle strides up and clasps Simon’s shoulder. “Place looks good.”

“Hasn’t changed,” remarks Simon for a second time.

“Saw you on the cover of UK Ink,” continues Kyle. “Didn’t know until this guy started handing them out on base.” He tips his head in Price’s direction.

Price sighs heavily but says nothing.

“Big deal,” finishes Kyle.

“Congrats, Lt.” MacTavish grins and Simon cannot help but feed into their praise.

It is a big deal. This one interview, this one award, is pushing him beyond the scope of his vision. In forced retirement, Simon expected to fly under the radar, to enjoy himself while he created art. He never expected his work to be recognized internationally.

“Sign my copy yet?” asks Johnny.

Simon backtracks to his desk, picking up the copy MacTavish sent him in the post. Lifting it up, Simon brings it over to Soap, smacking him in the chest with it. Johnny whistles and holds it with both hands in reverence.

“She’s a fucking beauty, Simon.” Johnny places one hand over his heart. “You’ve honored me.”

“Piss off,” mutters Simon as Kyle expertly snatches the magazine from Johnny’s hand. He opens it up, flipping through the pages, side-stepping every attempt by Johnny to seize it back.

“Did we come at a good time?” asks Price as he and Simon watch the two idiots playfully bicker over the magazine.

Simon shrugs. “I have one more customer. Free after that.”

Price nods and grips Simon’s shoulder. “We have lots to talk about.”

There is a slight twitch in Price’s clenched jaw that puts Simon on edge. He isn’t sure if he should press Price and try to wrangle an answer out of him, or let it go and see what happens.

“Shit,” says MacTavish, drawing Price and Simon’s attention to him. “Nearly forgot.” He extends an arm to Kyle, making a “give it to me” gesture with his hand. Kyle, with a sly smirk, unzips the front of his windbreaker. Reaching inside, he presents a manila envelope.

Johnny takes it and then offers it to Simon. “Thought I’d give this to you in person. You know, instead of over the phone. Or email.”

Simon takes it, instantly feeling the heft and thickness to it. Opening the tab, Simon slides his hand inside, removing the thick stack of papers.

“It’s everything I could find on her,” continues Johnny. “Where she went to school. Social medias. Every person she’s possibly dated.”

Tucking the manila envelope under his arm, Simon starts sorting through the information. A copy of your birth certificate, school records from elementary to high school, recent phone records. There is even a list of every restaurant or fast-food place you ordered from over the last five years with a credit card.

Simon flips past another page and freezes. His head snaps up, a growl sitting in the back of his throat. “You included her fucking banking information, Johnny.”

MacTavish shrugs dismissively. “I was thorough.”

“Thorough?” mimics Simon. “Fucking hell.” Simon returns everything to the envelope and places it on his desk next to his laptop.

Simon will have to shred it all after he looks through it. But only after he takes a look. He did ask Johnny to find what out what he could. While it is a major invasion of privacy, a more primal part of Simon reassures him that he’s doing the right thing. He needs to be able to protect you, and these are just tools in his arsenal to maintain your safety.

“She’s pretty, Simon,” says Price.

“You told them?” asks Simon, turning his attention to Johnny.

The Scotsman’s cheeks redden slightly. “He bullied the information out of me.”

Kyle leans in and drapes his arm over Soap’s shoulders. “Price told him he’d put him on inventory for a month if he didn’t spill.”

“Wanted to see this beauty for myself,” grumbles Price, glancing at Simon. “Give you a hard time.” He winks. “She yours yet?”

She yours yet?

There is a double-meaning there. While Simon’s instinct is to say “yes,” he also knows that that isn’t entirely true. The two of you haven’t verbally confirmed what this thing is. Simon has only just now asked you on a proper date.

Can Simon call you his?

The possessive, protective part of him shakes its ownership of you in its fist. But Simon isn’t impulsive, at least not all the time. With you, the need to react is strong, but Simon also understands that Price is asking in a more traditional way.

Licking his lips, Simon forms an answer. “She will be.”

Price nods. “Good man.” He glances briefly at Kyle and Johnny before returning his gaze to Simon. “Mind if we stick around?”

Simon shakes his head.

“We’ll help you clean,” adds Johnny.

“Will we?” asks Kyle slowly, eyebrows rising slightly as he turns on Soap.

Johnny blatantly ignores him and keeps his gaze locked on Simon. “You call the shots. Isn’t that right, Lt?”

That’s when Simon’s final client of the evening finally walks through the door. Simon doesn’t have a chance to answer. The customer is a bit bewildered by the small crowd, but the guys know to make themselves scarce. They head over to the couch, lingering in the waiting area with Bravo, chatting quietly as Simon escorts the newcomer into the tattoo chair.

Bravo moves from Johnny to Kyle to Price to Johnny again, seeking attention as Simon sets to work. The tattoo isn’t complicated, and Simon completes in about forty-five minutes. The guy is in and out in an hour.

When the four of them are standing outside in front of the shop, Simon pushes up his balaclava and lights a cigarette. It’s warm for autumn, the leather jacket he wears already making him run a little hot.

“We’ve got an upcoming mission we want your thoughts on,” says Price. “Need somewhere quiet we can go and talk.”

An upcoming mission? That’s not entirely unusual. Price has reached out to Simon on multiple occasions post-retirement to ask him for advice or to dig around in his head. But never—never—has Price and the rest of the team showed up to talk to him a group or in person.

There’s something else going on.

Clutching the cigarette between thumb and forefinger, Simon opens his mouth, exhaling smoke, intending to suggest a few places.

But before anything comes out of his mouth, Price shots him a look. “Not that fucking pub with the old folks.”

“No one will bother us,” replies Simon dryly. It’s true. It’s why he goes to Dancing Faun every Sunday. And Ben will close up for the public but stay open for just the four them. They won’t be bothered, and they will have as much time as they need.

“You might be an old man at heart, Simon, but I’m not getting harassed by older women whose husbands have been dead for years.”

Kyle bursts out laughing before promptly covering his mouth.

“Don’t like the attention, Captain?” teases Johnny.

Price points at each of them individually. “Fuck off. All of you.”

There are only a few places they could go on a Saturday night where they won’t be disturbed. Sighing, Simon rattles off a couple within walking distance. The four of them debate until Price becomes so annoyed with their continuous back-and-forth that he abruptly selects for all of them.

The walk over is quick, and the four of them enter the dimly lit pub. It’s one of only a handful of places that serves food late. It’s also on a side street away from the main road. Traffic is light, and the interior isn’t crowded. Simon is starving, and he’d appreciate a full belly with a whiskey or two before he starts talking about things he’d rather forget.

Finding a dark corner, they settle in at a four top. Kyle and Simon settle in the booth, facing the pub while Price and Johnny take the seats across from them. Simon settles into the cushioned seat, contentment sliding into his bones. He’s at peace, even if the coming conversation might be messy. He’s with people he cares about, and tomorrow, he’s off.

Tomorrow, he can go see you. Maybe. If you’re not busy. The two of you can talk about that date, maybe go for a walk and then lunch? Simon just wants to spend time with you, and tomorrow is the perfect day to do it.

Simon shifts in his seat, leaning his crossed arms on the edge of the table, glancing out across the pub. His gaze travels over every person, his old habits from the military coming to the surface. Recognizing exits and looking for suspicious behavior is as natural as breathing. But everyone around them is minding their own business. They’re either sitting by themselves or with others, not glancing Simon’s way at all.

He does one finally sweep, and that is when his gaze falls upon two people sitting at a high top together near the very back of the pub. Of the two, Simon notices the man first. He has dark hair, possibly brown but it’s difficult to say with the low light. Slightly older than Simon by a few years, and the bloke is wearing an impeccably made suit. It’s odd for a place like this. It stands out.

Simon doesn’t like the man’s demeanor either. It’s…smarmy. Pretentious. Like he not only believes that he’s better than everyone else in this establishment, but that they should all know it. The way he sits in the high-backed stool is off too. It’s relaxed and yet completely on edge.

Simon frowns, gaze panning to the woman the man is talking to.

Everything suddenly goes cold within him. Arctic. The room has become a meat freezer and Simon is just a piece of dangling meat.

Because that is you, and you’re sitting next to a man Simon doesn’t recognize.

You are here, alone with a man Simon doesn’t know.

A bright, blindingly hot sensation roars to life in Simon’s chest. It wraps around and between his ribs, seizing him in a vice-grip. Against this heat, the iciness melts off of him, dripping to the ground to pool under his boots.

“Simon?” asks Soap, the middle of his brow creasing with concern. “What are you—fuck. Is that her?”

It doesn’t fucking matter who this guy might be or what he might mean to you. Simon is going to crack his fucking skull open.

“That’s her,” murmurs Simon, the low growl previously lodged in his throat coming up suddenly.

Price leans back in his chair, one arm draped over the top, glancing to where everyone else is looking. “Want me to take him out to the alley? Give him some fresh bruises?”

Simon’s hands form into fists. He starts to stand but Kyle and Soap grab onto him, shoving him back down into the booth. “Relax, Lt,” soothes Johnny. “Might be nothing.”

You haven’t noticed Simon yet. You’re too busy looking at this man—this stranger. Turned slightly to the side, your gaze wouldn’t fall across Simon unless you purposefully scanned the room. The worst part is that Simon has no idea if you’re enjoying yourself or not. There is a blankness on your face that Simon loathes.

Do want to be here? Do want to be talking to this man that Simon doesn’t know? And why didn’t you tell him? Why didn’t you say anything? Is there someone else Simon needs to worry about? Does he have competition?

Silently, Simon begs for you to turn in his direction, even if it’s only a bit.

This unknown variable, this stain of a man, reaches out. With red-drenched horror, Simon watches as he places that very hand on the top of your thigh.

All Simon sees is blood.

This bastard is going to lose that fucking hand. And then he’ll lose his goddamn head.

Simon bolts up out of his seat again but Kyle and Johnny are right there, grabbing onto him, wrangling him back down into his seat.

“Let me go,” snarls Simon through clenched teeth.

“You’re gonna cause a fucking scene if we do that,” hisses Kyle, shoving downward on Simon’s shoulders.

Why are you letting him touch you? Why, when just yesterday you were beneath Simon, seeking him with your fingers, begging for him, are you allowing this?

But you’re not allowing it. You didn’t give this man permission.

Within seconds of the man’s hand connecting with your thigh, your gaze turns downward, lips curling back into a disgusted snarl. You twist your body enough for his hand to fall away, and a flare of pride swells in Simon’s chest.

You didn’t want this man’s touch. Which makes Simon momentarily happy before it all comes crashing down. This man touched you. Without your consent. And that makes Simon angrier than if you had wanted it.

Simon craves blood. He needs his knuckles drenched with it. For it to sit between his teeth. To taste it on his tongue.

“Who the fuck is that?” asks Kyle.

“I don’t know,” growls Simon, wanting to take off and punch the guy right out of his fucking chair.

With the removal of his hand, the guy’s smug smile drops. He bares his teeth, starts speaking to you in a way that Simon immediately dislikes. Sure, Simon cannot hear what the man is saying to you, but from the look on his face and body language, it’s nothing nice. He is angry, and you’re clearly upset. Simon wants this to end, to go up to the guy and throttle him, to whisk you off and make you forget all this unpleasantness.

But Kyle and Johnny keep him seated. They won’t let go, which means Simon will have to literally fight them to get to you.

Small pieces of the conversation start to make its way over to the table.

“Archie.”

“Estate.”

Simon frowns, hears something that sounds like “pregnancy” and immediately rethinks everything. Does this have something to do with your friend? The husband is dead, but is this someone the husband knew? Is it a relative?

And does that matter to Simon?

No. He still plans on knocking the man’s teeth out.

Simon only catches a few additional words here and there, but then he hears three that make his blood boil.

“You fucking whore.”

Simon knows that Johnny, Kyle, and Price all hear it too because their gazes move away from Simon and to the man at the table. Soap and Kyle’s hands fall away from Simon’s arms, giving him permission.

Pushing up from his seat, Simon steps around Johnny and strides toward the high-top table. Your back is to Simon from this position, but that doesn’t matter. Simon has his sights set on this wanker who needs to learn some proper fucking manners.

The man notices Simon first, his angered expression turning away from you and switching to Simon. It slips slightly, the faintest bit of fear sliding across the man’s features as he realizes Simon is aiming for him. Simon inhales, falling effortlessly into Ghost, allowing the phantom inside himself to seek out its need for blood.

But with his removed attention comes your own turning. A wanting to know what it is he’s looking at. When your gaze falls upon Simon, Ghost deflates, softens, giving way to confusion. All the emotions passing over your face nearly stop Simon’s forward momentum.

Your own anger gives way to sudden panic, then switches quickly to irritation, further compounded by confusion. It’s likely that you didn’t expect Simon to be at the same place. And while Simon wants to turn to you and give you reassurance, he’s too fucking focused on this asshole you’re sitting with.

Simon decides not to address you. Instead, Simon turns on this thickheaded prat. “What did you fucking call her?”

The man’s lip curls. “Mind your own business.” Immediately, Simon notes the man’s accent. It speaks to social status and aristocracy.

Simon steps closer. “Repeat what you said. Out loud. Want to make sure I heard you right.”

“Simon,” you hiss, desperation leaking into your tone.

Your guest turns on you, anger flaring anew in his gaze. “You know this…man?” He says man like he wants to say animal.

“He’s—” you begin, but Simon interrupts.

“Direct your questions to me,” growls Simon, placing himself between you and this stranger.

“Simon. Please.” You tug on Simon’s leather jacket but he shrugs you off. His attention is completely on this asshole.

“Are you with him?” The man’s gaze flicks from Simon to you.

“Adam—”

“I thought we could have a civil conversation—”

“What’s civil about calling her a whore.” Simon’s voice rises slightly as the raging tide of fury boils within him like a thunderstorm.

Adam’s face grows bright red. He turns on Simon. “Do you know who I am?”

Simon could give a fuck. He could be the fucking King and Simon would still punch the piss out of him for speaking to you that way.

Price shoves himself between Simon and Adam, keeping his back to Simon, creating a barrier. “Let me help you to your car.”

Price isn’t doing this to be nice. He’s doing this so the police aren’t called.

Adam stands but isn’t nearly as tall as Price. “If you put your hands on me—”

“Deal with me or him. Your choice.”

Adam straightens his shoulders and tugs on the front of his suit, smoothing out the wrinkles.

Fucking prick.

He glances over Price’s shoulder at you. “This isn’t over. You’ll hear from the family solicitor.”

“Let’s go,” mutters Soap, caging the guy in, forcing him to move away from Simon. Kyle trails after them.

Price turns around, facing Simon directly. “We’ll stop by another day. You deal with your woman.” He squeezes Simon’s shoulder before following out after them.

Simon watches Price leave, and then he’s seeking you out, expecting you to be thankful.

But you’re not. Your anger is palpable.

Simon needs to fucking fix this. “You’re coming home with me,” is the first thing out of his mouth. It’s a command. Not an ask. And his tone is rough, nearly raspy.

Your eyes widen slightly. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper.

Simon draws back, startled. “You okay with him speaking to you like that?”

You huff, and get up from your chair, collecting your coat and purse. “You don’t know anything, Simon. You have no idea who that is and why we were even talking in the first place.” Shoving past him, you start for the door.

“Fuck,” mutters Simon, following after you.

His legs are longer, and he catches up to you easily. Before you make it to the pub’s exit, Simon inserts himself in your path, blocking your attempt to flee.

“Move.”

“No.”

“You’re making a scene, Simon.”

He glances up, notices everyone looking on with varying degrees of interest. Some confused. Others concerned. Sighing, Simon reaches back and pushes open the door, stepping aside for you to exit.

Once the two of you are outside on the street, Simom grabs you by the forearm, pulling you in the opposite direction.

“Let me go,” you snap.

“We’re going to talk.”

“Fuck off, Simon.” You yank your arm out of his grip. Something is forming on the tip of your tongue. Simon sees it in the way your lip quivers. But you don’t. Instead, you sigh heavily and wave him off like you’re tired of it all.

Turning, you try to cross the street, but Simon is already snagging your arm again, yanking you away as a car zooms by.

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

“Then give me some fucking space.”

“No.”

You release an exasperated breath and try to circumvent him. Again, Simon steps into your path. The two of you keep moving like this down the street. Every attempt you make only puts you closer to him.

Simon is herding you on purpose, pushing you closer and closer to his flat. He wants some goddamn answers, no matter how mad you are with him. And he doesn’t understand why you’re upset in the first place.

When the two of you are outside his shop, Simon indicates the exterior door that leads to his flat.

“Get inside,” he demands.

“Don’t order me around.”

“Inside,” repeats Simon, shoving the key into the lock, opening the door, revealing the hallway that connects the shop to his flat.

You stare between him and the open doorway. Your chest is heaving, and fuck—you look so beautiful right now even though Simon can tell you’d really love to hit him.

The tips of his fingers itch to just push you inside and shut the door, but he doesn’t need to. You make the decision for him, heading inside. Simon follows, and as the door shuts, you’re already moving like a bolt of lightning, walking fast enough to create a significant amount of distance.

No. Fuck that.

With a few massive steps, Simon is on you. He grabs the front of your throat, yanks you back against his chest, pushing your face toward his. The balaclava is already up, already in place, and his lips connect with yours.

At first, Simon can sense the tension but then you melt into him as his other hand slides to your front, pressing low on your belly, pushing your ass into his groin. Your own arm slides up, drapes over his neck in such a loving way that Simon momentarily forgets all his anger.

The two of you hang like this, suspending, but you come back to reality, yanking yourself out of his grip, almost violently.

“You can’t distract me with kisses, Simon.”

“Want to test that?” asks Simon, reflexively reaching for your waist.

You allow him to touch you, to draw you back into him, but your arms are crossed over your chest defensively. “You don’t know,” you murmur. “It’s—it’s too much and you don’t know. You don’t understand, Simon.”

“Then help me understand,” he says softly.

You shake your head and there are real tears there in your eyes. Simon hates it. He wants to take them all away.

“You’re not my husband, Simon. You’re not even my boyfriend. I shouldn’t burden you with any of this.”

You will not push him away. Simon won’t allow it. The two of you are in this together, and he needs to know.

“I care about you.” Now Simon is the one shaking his head. “Don’t tell me what I can’t handle.” His hands draw upward, cradling the sides of your face. “We’re going up to my flat. You’re going to talk. I’m going to listen. Okay?”

One tear rolls off the corner of your eye, trailing downward to kiss his palm.

“Okay?” he repeats.

“Okay,” you reply.

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 8 months ago

Note

omgg yess plz part two of the overblotts

Overblot Universe (2) | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

Part 1 • 3 • 4 • 5

“I’d be wrong not to speak my peace when both parties so clearly have withstanding debts with me.”

Both of you turn behind to look at the newcomer

Smiling wide he’s holding up a golden glowing contract

Idia sucks his teeth moving to summon Ortho to attack

The blotted version does attempt to attack the overblotted Azul before being launched back after touching the golden shield that flashes around him

“You seem to have forgotten that my all-powerful contracts don’t allow for your retaliation!”

“Ahhhh!!!”

Overblotted Azul holds the contract up which sends an electric shock to Idia

He’s wailing like a baby completely missing the inky tentacle that grabs you by the waist

Pulling you towards him, you have no choice but to lean against him

“Good to see you, traitorous pearl. We have so much to discuss.”

Two of his tentacles squeeze along your sides as he lets his lips linger near your ear

“S-s-S–T-O P it!!!”

The pitiful wail comes from the blotted Idia who is doing his best to fight the constant beam of electrocution

The octopus-mer glares at him before letting that twisted smile spread back on his face

“As a small currency back to me we’ll be using your technology to take our exit. Us two will be very busy with our own marriage contracts.”

“nO!”

His cries are ignored as you feel the familiar tingle of Idia’s teleportation working

When you are able to open your eyes again you find Azul expertly drifting in clouded water filled with ink

Barely able to make anything out you can begin to recognize the familiar office to the one in the Monstro Lounge

“To think he’d put you in such restraints when he’s bold enough to use his words. He just can’t stand being civil like us, right (Y/n).”

Azul easily slips a slither of his tentacle past your binds

getting ahold of the metal before he parts bending and then breaking it

In no time at all of your metal cuffs are on the floor bent and torn threw floating near your feet

It makes you especially vigilant when you feel the stray but exploring touches of the suctions on his tentacles

“Now that we’re alone, the subject of your contract is well over due.”

“But I haven’t signed anything with you.”

“I took the liberty of doing everything for you, I just need a bit more confirmation.”

You begin to struggle when you feel your arms bein pulled in the direction of a golden contract that’s still being written by a quill that writes on it’s own

“All that’s left to seal our union will be these special pearls of mine. Something I’ve crafted from the moment you sent me to this dystopian wasteland.”

Shivers go down your back at the further distortion in his voice

Only able to cowe away as his tentacles bring you closer to his string of pearls that have a similar golden glow

Looking at the contract in the corner you can’t help but tremble in fear

it’s much longer than a simple paper and the quill is writing even faster now

Nonetheless you are coming close to the smiling overblot of Azul with no signs of stopping

Until he wheezes and falls over

His tentacles loosen allowing you to wiggle free

The golden contract stops crumpling in on itself and the quill blips away

You also begin to cough as something dark wisps in the water-like-space around you

You fall over as well attempting to keep your eyes open as long as you can before seeing a silhouette reaching out to you

“You have been a thorn in my side for far too long.”

Hearing the twisted voice above you almost doesn’t make you want to open your eyes

But the nudging of something at your lips makes you snap your eyes open

It’s an overblotted Vil glaring regally at you as he continues to urge some inky substance into your mouth

Turning your head you find it weighs so much heavier than your used to

The same could be said for your for your arms

Looking down finding jewels tied around the arms of a chair

More accurately a throne

Looking confused at the overblotted Vil silently asking the question you had

“Do not be so cold. Your queen only wishes to ease the pain.”

“W-what pain?”

“Do not mumble. Those meant for the mirror should never mumble.”

You only tilted your head in confusion as he backed a bit away from you

Motioning his hand toward a silver mirror similar to the one back home

Holding his hand out a black and purple shine made the mirror’s black center begin to twist and turn like ink being dipped into

Before it can do anything overblotted Vil’s hands hold your face

Tensing as if decided to prick his metal claws into your skin and caressing them with fondness

Your own eyes meeting stormy purples before your lips are captured by black lips

The kiss is incredibly deep and purposeful

As though it was practiced a thousand times before

When he did pull away you faintly taste something unknown down your throat and the strength leaving your body like oxygen

“We both will have to wait until after the battle. Any good Queen knows their King is their most valuable asset.”

Gaining your bearings you try to speak only to feel your voice die in your throat as something cools over your skin

Looking down the ink crawling up your skin is reaching from the mirror

The ink is cool and you can feel it pulling you from the throne you were on the binds snapping

You begin to scream as you feel an uncomfortable tug at your heart

You barely register the hands cupping the back of your head and the pinprick of another kiss on your forehead

“Hush hush. Your time in the mirror will be short, your Queen plans to make quick work of all those…pests.”

Relentinig to the pull you stopped fighting the pulling ink

Curling up in the somehow not so wet expanse of the mirror you barely caught the possessive smile of the over blotted Vil as he adjusted the mirror to stand in some unknown room.

“Sleep well.”

You do

It feels nice to release your body of the tense feeling of constantly being alert

You blame whatever Vil had given you

Dreaming vaguely of what his plans would be when he returned

The crown still on your head might have been the beginning of what they were

No matter

All that you could do was rest

And sleep….

And stay….

“Do not tell me? This is where you have been hiding?”

“I told you he’d do something like this.”

“Well Viper. A deals a deal. Shall we take them home?”

Part 3

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b1asho · 6 months ago

Text

Round one of the species introduction!!!!

Prectikar Master Post:

Here's some info on them, and if you want to see some other drawings I've done of them (albeit some occasionally older n crustier ones), check out my deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/blasho

Anyway let's get into a terribly long string of paragraphs about some of their info:

Prectikar are a large sentient species, usually standing at around 8-9 feet tall when fully upright and weighing anywhere close to or upwards if 1000 pounds

They are covered in feather-like fur (or is it fur-like feathers? They're occasionally branched like feathers, and all have quills, but some are more hairlike) due to the cold climate they evolved in, though length and thickness of it now varies by region.

They are omnivorous, and while they have many traits to help them hunt and kill, most of their diet tends to be plants.

Originally rush-down predators, they use their considerable strength to move in quick bursts and their specialized tusks to either ram prey to death or gouge into it as they grapple it.

Their jaw strength is also insane,with their skull actually sacrificing brain space in favor of it, which helps them eat pretty much anything they come across. They pay a lot of attention to food and cooking because of their high calorie needs and very sensitive nose/tongue.

They have manganese as an oxygen carrier is a result of the scarcity of other metals in their environment and potentially because of its general affinity for oxygen.

This causes their blood to be an amber/orange brown and shades of pink depending on its exposure to oxygen.

Through a network of cooperative bonding and other adaptations (like better oxygen retention in muscles and the easily carried size and longevity of the molecule) they’ve managed to bring this manganese transport molecule close to hemoglobin in terms of effectiveness, though they can also make use of manganese’s catalyst properties to temporarily push it to bring lots more oxygen to their tissues at a time (used for short bursts of speed and strength that allow them to take down large prey and plants for food).

their large body size (selected by their colder environment) lets them use their own high body heat to keep the O2 fixation and liberation going in their highly effective lungs.

An extensive understanding of their internal chemistry is unknown (aka gatekept by their colonizers/"uplifters" who ill get to later) but it seems like they also have a network of bacteria in their body just to manage the more reactive and damaging oxides that form, and to remove/convert the spent manganese into connective tissue and aid in bone maintenance.

They have higher calorie needs from keeping up the body temp and recycling/removing all that stuff, alongside just being big in general. Alongside a lot of sleeping, they also basically just eat all the time (compared to other species) to compensate, though their mammal-like fat retention and other metabolic adaptations for scarcity mean that they can handle long periods without resources(though this causes increasingly compounded problems for them)

Some other downsides include low tolerance of changes in oxygen levels (particularly low) and temperature levels, and poor adaptation to environments outside of their biosphere/without all the microorganisms since these things upset their delicate balance.

(part of why so many tribes were nomadic was/is to chase temperate and ‘warm’ seasons, even though to us that’s still cold. Prectikar living in human dominated areas often just take a lot of supplements with beneficial bacteria in them to cope with thr lack of that in their environent, and any food printers need an 'ink' cartridge containing these things or else theyre basically useless.),

They also experience faster general wear and tear from having constant complex and intensive chemical reactions(sometimes with dangerous chemicals) going on in their bloodstream and tissues.

( I’m not a biochemist, so if there’s any glaring issues with this then just explain it away to yourself with ‘they have a gland for that’ or ‘just don’t think about it actually’ which is what I did. I just wanted the fun color with a metal that can reversibly bond with oxygen :). )

They have one nasal passageway for smell/air and a second, bigger cavity for just vocalization (which they can’t breathe in from as easily).

This second cavity is between their first set of eyes, and has a phonic lip structure inside to produce higher pitched sounds.

The upper nasal opening has muscled nostrils that act as lips to further help control sound. The noise coming from here sounds very high to them, but to us it sounds like a nasally human voice, broken uobhere and there with squeaks, buzzes, and clicks).

They can pitch this nose voice very high, closer to dolphin-like clicking noises but not quite echolocation level.

Their throat vocal cords by their air sac are very long and thick, used for making very deep noises that carry long distances.

However, the vocal control they have through their mouth is very poor due to this and the inarticulate lips and tongue they have, and due to the more limited air they can bring in and out of it, so when speaking only through their mouth they sound a lot like seals or dogs and can only really go in short bursts before having to refill the sac.

Most of their languages are spoken with the nose and mouth sounds in tandem, where the high and low mix to make a more even sounding voice.

It’s fairly easy to understand them, but nearly impossible for us to truly speak any of their native languages, and if they wanted to they could also just start making sounds we cant hear.

They see it as strange that humans and other species speak with a single tone without difficulty.

The red flaps pictured on the drawing of their mouth and nasal passages can be moved to seal off the passage and direct airflow elsewhere.

The big red one in their throat acts as a “diaphragm” to fill and empty the air sac (which is left over from when their digestive and respiratory tracts were more connected like ours, but time in the water heavily shifted it to a more ‘blowhole’ type outline to help them breathe and vocalize from the surface).

The other flap by the air sac and its vocal cords moves upwards to block off the digestive tract whenever the mouth or nose is opened to allow air to be drawn in by this diaphragm.

The two red flaps making a pinched shape can move independently or with the other red flap, but never at the same time with each other. The main airway is always separate from the digestive tract, though the flap to the middle, non vocal nasal passage can be moved so that it’s a part of either the vocal nasal passage to draw in air or the air sac part to act as another resonance chamber.

Air can be drawn in by the diaphragm via open mouth and through the nose via open top red flap at the same time, and can be released at the same time, resulting in their near continuous double speak sound they use for their own language.

Their characteristic large tusks are retractable and housed in a cone-shaped bony socket on the side of their jaw.

A muscle is attached to the bony root of the tooth, and pushes it out. As it slides towards the front of the mouth, the cone socket narrows and wedges a protrusion on the tooth into a hole in the socket, and then the muscle stiffens, locking it in there.

When the tusk retracts, the muscle quickly jimmies the tooth forward then draws it back to get it out of the hole, and then pulls it back into the wider part of the socket.

This is mainly because their tusks are ever growing (but very slowly) but not great at self sharpening, and are their main weapon in self defense and hunting,so it seems this just happened to keep them safe.

If a tusk is broken, as long as it was not cracked at the root, it can be regrown with extensive time in the socket, but otherwise they stay safely stowed in da socket where the majority of its sharp edge can stay protected from chewing and other mouth stuff. Tusks won't start growing in until their teenage years.

They are primarily bipedal/ quadrupedal and switch between the two occasionally.

Knuckle walking helps distribute their top-heavy weight and give them more balance for long and short distance, while walking upright gives them better visibility, less stress on their neck/upper back, and quicker but unsteadier movement.

Their gallop/sprint utilizes both arms and legs to propel them forward in a gait halfway between a bear and a gorilla (since their big mid arms are set like a bears) to overtake prey after an ambush or drive them into the rest of the pack waiting elsewhere. Quad walking also helps them get around in buildings meant for species half their size.

Their hands are some of their only places without hair, but as they age, they loose it on their arms and face too.

Prectikar have different uses for each of their pairs of limbs, and have for all stages of their evolution.

The front ones specialized for grappling prey and grabbing things, and so have a ‘sprawling’ shoulder position like humans and have hands with relatively nimble fingers, the outer two are angled inwards but can also move in a pamprodactyl ish fashion (which acts as their version of a thumb, and lets them switch from big to little grabbing motions) .

Their mid limbs used to be wings with hands, and still have a basically zygodactyl finger position that was helpful for holding onto branches (with the backwards facing finger), but over time they have been converted into terrestrial knuckle-walking limbs, with the one that swings back and forth being brought forwards to walk or swung back to adjust grip on big things they want to move or for balance on unstable terrain like ice . The fingers on this one are big and clumsy, pretty much only useful for digging, walking, or slashing.

Their back limbs also used to be for grasping but were mainly counterbalances, but have now turned into plantigrade walking limbs (and much like humans, that’s pretty much all they use them for). All have nonretractable claws.

Prectikar are viviparous and usually give birth to litters of up to 8.

They have a specific mating season, where their dimorphic traits will become more pronounced.

Males in rut will shed the feathers on their throat sac region and it will become a bright ambery yellow color, and they will also grow in longer feathers on their butt region (in a fan shape for display purposes. The dont have a true post anal tail like humans).

They will also develop some of that pinkish orange/yellow on their chest skin. Females go throguh estrus cycles and will also grow a more prominent butt feather crest, as well as some very long feathers around their neck, shoulders, and abdomen for babies to hold onto.

Their skin patches turn a much brighter shade of yellow to help direct newborns to where they can feed from. Once they give birth, they will start making an oily and thick secretion across the skin patch which is collected into a divot which the infant licks from. Part of why the babies hold onto them is so they can constantly lick the 'milk'so they can grow.

Newborns come out blind and hairless, but quickly grow in a thick down and open their eyes so they can climb on mom.

Once they're weaned, they'll drop off and use the muscles they gained hanging on and climbing to start moving with the adults. They grow very fast, and canes are a common sight in teens to help deal with the rapid bone and muscle growth.

Usually, it is only during this season where chest/skin related nudity standards change to be more conservative, since showing those colors means youre down to fuck and so doing that is usually restricted to in private with their partner or for bachelors.

They have very strict binaries for sex and gender based on this seasonal divide and religion.

Most tribes show gender identity through a piercing on their lower nose for male or chin for female (so dont worry, the main guy up there is showing some male presenting chest outside of the mating season, so hes fine).

Normally, only some cultures pierce their ears, which are like if owls had a little mobile flap of outer ear to swivel I stead of their whole head. Very little of it is actually flesh, and the sound is mainly captured by the feathers around it.

While they have a reputation otherwise, Prectikar are highly social within their tribal/family groups.

They regularly allogroom, greet each other with hugs, and usually travel in sibling groups. Households are multi generational.

They have a reputation as standoffish or irritable because they take things very differently and have other standards/specific body language truggers. also most other species treat them differently/with fear by default.

their upper pair of eyes is larger and focused on long distance vision while their lower pair is for close up vision, creatign a bifocal effect for them when using both at once.

Aaaaaand that oretty much everything, I think. I'll post some other arts related to them soon, but consider this the Master Post on the things you should know about them!!

#spec evo #worldbuilding #alien species #xenobiology #drawing #illustration #original species #prectikar #lore stuff

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