#must fall to protect those who still have grace and well in the long run... he also fell like a whole chain passing down

[bloogers-boogers]

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[marymary-diva17]

I read some of mo'at story's and it had me thinking of something i had in mind. So i don't know if you wanna make it into a mini series or not, it's still ok with me. My request is yn is jack sully sister but when they met Neytiri she could of sworn his sister remind her of her older sister. When it came to mo'at she heard but knew that eywa gave her a sign that her older daughter have return to her and can protect her that she couldn't long ago. But knew she will be in danger if they take her from mo'at, but as who she is she must help her people first. Only eywa know when she can see her again.

The navi believed that everyone had been born twice in their lives, once when they came into this world and the second time when they reach adulthood. So what happens when they think soon has been born a third time, someone that they have love that no longer about of this world has come back to them. Well that all seem to come true when dream walker had come to the forest once again, and one of them bring memoirs of the past for those who had been through alot of tragedy in their lives.

y/n " wow this place is beautiful" you are walking around the forest of pandora, you had come here to work on grace avatar team but you didn't come alone. You had come with your older brother Jake who was place on grace team, now the team was out doing some research.

Jake " you seem to be liking this place"

y/n " can't you see Jake this place is magical" Jake soon scoff and shake his head at you as you were looking at all the flowers.

grace " it seems like one of you has some intelligents in them"

Jake " haha very funny I forgot how to laugh" you laugh an shake your head at grace and Jake little fight going on, you soon started looking at the creatures roaming the forest.

y/n " .........."

grace " you okay there y/n"

y/n " yes I'm fine I have always wanted to come see pandora and now that, I'm here I wish not to leave" you had soon looked at grace giving her a smile, that made her stop dead in track.

y/n " umm grace are you okay"

grace " yes I'm good ... yes this place is amazing anyone can fall in love with this place" you soon nodded your head at grace and smiled brightly, when grace looked at you she was remind of someone from the past. You were soon with Jake watching him act like a child and finally warming up to pandora like you had done already. Everything was going well until it wasn't and soon enough trouble came in sign of Thanator. The sully siblings had ran away from the Thanator together.

Jake " are you okay"

y/n " yes I'm good what about you"

Jake " good as I can be come on we should get back to the others or base" Jake soon help you back onto your feet and once you two had finally collect your thoughts the sibling duo, soon head off together to find their way home. It seems like luck was no one their side as they ended up lost and finding trouble in pack of viper wolves. That soon lead them to meet neytiri.

y/n " we are sorry for the trouble that has come along with death, but thank you for helping my brother" neytiri soon looked at you as you had spoke navi well.

neytiri " y...you are welcome my your friend is a fool"

y/n " yes he is but he was just doing his best to keep us alive. but that didn't go to plan" neytiri was looking at you and gave you a soft smile.

Jake " so what do you do now"

neytiri " you two need to leave it not safe here and you two are not allowed here" neytiri had taken off after pointing the way home, but Jake being Jake didn't listen. He soon ran after her and you had ran after him. The tiro were running as you were watching your brother baldy flirt with neytiri and get hit and yelled at by her.

Jake " look I wish to thank you for saving us that all"

neytiri " you are a baby but she is smart" Jake sighed as the sibling soon followed after neytiri, which lead them to finding the clans scouts. it seems like they were looking at you like they saw a ghost, which made you feel confused. There was no time for questions when sully siblings had been dragged to home tree, and got to meet the rest pf the clan.

mo'at " what are your names"

Jake " I'm Jake sully a warrior from the jarhead clan" you look at your brother giving him the look, if he did something else dumb you were going to fight him.

mo'at " what of you ...." mo'at soon had looked at you and stopped speaking.

Y/n " I'm y/n ...." mo'at soon stood closer to you and was now examining you more then she had done your brother.

mo'at " she looks like her in her eyes"

neytiri " that what I thought mother she just like her but different"

eyuthan " that can't be true it has been so long this dreamwlaker cant be her and one of us"

y/n " with all respect but who are you all talking about and have I done something, to insult you all"

eyuthan " she speak our tongue so well"

neytiri " yes she does and I think she a healer like grace by her clothing, and how she cares herself"

Jake " what going on here"

mo'at " it seems like the great mother has send us a sign with these two, you say you saw the wood spirts land on this man and follow her"

neytiri " yes mother"

Jake " so what are they saying"

y/n " they are debating on lets us stay or send us away brother"

Jake " oh"

eyuthan " we will allow these dreamwalker to stay with us and learn from us, and maybe we can learn from them as well the warrior and healer" the people seem to agree with their olo'eythan statement, so it seems lie you and Jake had been given permission to stay. You had been assigned to work with mo'at while your brother was with neytiri and the other warriors.

weeks later

mo'at " you are doing well y/n"

y/n " thank you"

mo'at " your brother seems to be doing good as well"

y/n " thank you so much for allowed us to stay here"

mo'at " you are welcome ...."

y/n " mo'at if I may ask why do the people and even you look at me like you are all seeing a ghost" mo'at soon sighed she knew there keep me on more dodgy this question, as the people and her family were looking at you weird.

mo'at " you remind us of my elders daughter slywainn for some reason you just remind us of here .... we lost her at such a young age it seems like you and here are the same"

y/n " I'm sorry for you family lost and your clan lost ... I know how it feels like to grieve for a family member.... I and Jake lost our brother right before we came here and nothing has been the same"

mo'at " it seems like there is something we can bond over the grief of losing someone you love"

y/n " yes"

mo'at " I know you are not my daughter but you so much remind me of her I'm sorry for the ways I been looking at you"

y/n " you have nothing to be sorry about mo'at you are a mother who lost a child you have nothing to apologize for"

mo'at " thank you y/n sully but I hope I get to know you for yourself while you are here and maybe you and your brother can teach us something"

y/n " I will love to and I hope I can learn something from you all as well" It seems like everything was going well now as there was no tension, yes there was still going to be pain and grief for all the lives that had been lost and remembering the old memories. Now it was time to see what life had to offer everyone with making new memories, and see what else pandora had to offer everyone.

[metalomagnetic]

Horcrux shenanigans

Who is ready for Ring!Tom seduction arc?

(-)

“Hello,” a young man says, and when Sirius turns around, the dream from before dissolves, and he finds himself in a dilapidated room, with paint coming off the walls; crowded, squalid Knockturn Alley coils and twists outside the window.

He leans against a simple desk, long legs crossed at the ankles. He’s wearing a suit, cheap and muggle, but pressed impeccably, no crease in sight.

Tom Riddle is striking. He can’t be much older than the boy in the picture Sirius used to have in a nightstand, but he’s far handsomer, impossibly so, because the one in the picture was unnaturally still, face blank, but this one is animated, and he’s smiling.

He has a dimple in his right cheek, exquisitely placed. His eyes are the warmest brown Sirius has ever seen. Beautifully shaped, with long, black eyelashes. Everything is perfection, from his thick, brown hair, to his broad shoulders, long limbs, and slim fingers. The ring is on one of them, and a cigarette between the others.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Sirius whispers.

Though- of course he must have. Voldemort didn’t seem a stranger to the habit when he first stole Sirius’ cigarette.

The smile widens. Tom flicks his thumb, and ash falls into a crystal ashtray.

“Another bad habit I picked up from the muggles,” Tom says.

“What other bad habit did you pick?”

Tom’s finger traces the grand ashtray. “Stealing.” Taking a drag off of the cigarette, Tom uncrosses his legs. “Enough about me.” He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Long have I wanted to meet you, Sirius; I waited patiently, in darkness, and now I finally can.”

Sirius watches him as he straightens to his full height, putting off his cigarette. He stalks toward Sirius, slowly, confidently, graceful.

He once said his Patronus used to be a cat, and it always made sense, but now it’s more obvious than ever.

“Why couldn’t you, before?”

“He was there,” Tom says. His nose, as well defined as his jaw, wrinkles in distaste, his eyes glint with displeasure. “But even if I couldn’t reach out to you, I felt you reaching out to me. All those months you wore me, kept me close, protected me; sharing yourself with me.”

He stops half an inch away from Sirius. Tom closes his eyes, and his eyelashes cast shadows on excellent cheekbones. “I felt you, Sirius, I felt everything.” He opens his eyes again. They aren’t red, yet they have the same intensity.

Something warns Sirius to run away, to hide. Voldemort is still Voldemort, no matter the changed exterior, and ‘haven’t you learned your lesson?’ a voice demands.

“I’m not him,” Tom says, harshly. He lifts his hand, the Gaunt ring snug on his finger. “I wouldn’t hurt you the way he did. I felt that, too, Sirius. I suffered with you.”

Sirius has only a moment to think whatever this is, it isn’t Voldemort. It’s worse. There’s something far more dangerous about the being standing before him-

And then his fingers touch Sirius’ face.

He wakes up.

[monrosemeadows]

Things I would love to see addressed in Watch_dogs 4 (or future titles/spin offs/DLCs/add ons):

Aiden's relationship with Damien. I don't need a complete run-down of their entire history together, but I'd love to get some insight on how Aiden ended up in Damien's care, and why Damien, cunning as he is, decided to take Aiden under his wing. Was there an alterior motive? What was their relationship like? Was there a foundation of trust or was it purely professional?

Aiden's childhood/ teenage years. What led Aiden to fall into a life of crime? What was his relationship with his father like, since his mother's fear/hatred for him didn't seem to faze Aiden, and Nicole seems blind to it. Why did his mother flee the country with her children and what became of their father after their departure? How did he find Jordi, and how long did it take to establish a level of trust between them that allowed Jordi to entrust him with business? Also... was Jordi's 'double-cross' planned beforehand, was Aiden in the know or not, and if not, how did he survive? Side Note: I am aware that the novel 'Dark_Clouds //', which Ubisoft outsourced to author John Shirley, touches upon this ever so slightly, but afaik, this wasn't confirmed to be canon.

The fall of DedSec San Francisco. I believe that Legion plants the seed for us to connect DedSec London being targeted as terrorists, to be the catalyst for the downfall of several DedSec cells globally, but Reginald seemed to have left DedSec SF behind the moment his relationship with Zane entered more serious waters, and he met Zane well before the events of BloodLine. Did the gang simply pass the torch once they entered another stage in their adult lives, or was something else to blame entirely?

Zane. Though not as mandatory, Zane seemed to have been the driving force behind Reginald stepping away from DedSec and his 'Wrench' persona, indicating that his relationship with Reginald must have been quite serious. If so, what caused their break-up? And who is Zane, to begin with? He seemed to fall in good graces with Markus, thus he must've been good to Reginald, as Markus tends to be quite protective toward those he holds near and dear.

A reunion between Aiden and Raymond Kenney. As much as either man likes to declare that they are lone wolves that prefer to avoid team-sports, they have both proven to excell when supported by outside-influence. And, according to the Bad Blood DLC: Aiden still owes Raymond a beer. I would love to see these beautiful minds get back together and reminisce.

Time-Shifting. As much as I love and appreciate grandpa Pearce, the, almost, senior-status age already proved to be a hinderance for the script and plot for BloodLine. I think early to late 40s is an okay age-range for WD4, as it could neatly shimmy itself on the timeline directly after WD2.

Mystery health concerns? Throughout the narrative of BloodLine, Aiden seems to hint at some physical limitations that surpass his mere age. Not to mention that he fainted twice, and then slipped into a coma. Though, given the plot from the Legion campaign, we can assume that Skye Larson was likely involved, since she did have a partnership with Rempart. Even still, I'd love to know whether Aiden's high-adrenaline, little sleep lifestyle, simply left marks on him, or whether he is legitimately hiding some slumbering illness from those around him.

[summercourtship]

Hi, could you write a nsfw oneshot or something for the Cenobite with a shy and modest fem survivor reader? Possibly include some fingering and using his hands. Thanks if you do!

I'm sorry this took so long, I obviously got a bit carried away. I have such a bad habit of needing SO MUCH exposition even for tiny one shots (or at least what are supposed to be tiny) but I’m not going to stop. I’m also not sure how well I fulfilled the idea of a “shy, modest” reader, but I think I managed to have elements of it without it becoming a stereotypical mess of stuttering and blushing.

summons [nsfw, 18+]

Pinhead (The Cenobite) x Reader | warnings: NSFW, reader could be interpreted as being a virgin but it’s not explicitly stated, I somehow made the Lament Configuration solving erotic (it’s what Clive Barker would want) | 3121 words

It was always unnerving to realize that a killer remembered you. To notice that shift in their expression as they placed your face to a memory, to an action that had made you stick out in their mind. Some killers seemed to remember everyone while others only recognized a select few. Some didn’t seem cognizant of doing either.

Luckily, you had always managed to fly under their radar. Even the killers that had memorized every survivor regarded you with an air of disinterest, preferring to go after the overtly obnoxious survivors (which was probably part of those survivors’ plans- Nea really hated fixing gens). Some could say that it was because you were boring, at least in the way of prey. You didn’t necessarily agree, but if killers thinking you were boring kept you alive you wouldn’t argue about it.

However.

There was one killer who seemed… overly interested in you because of this. Somehow your reserved nature was more intriguing to him than that of the unafraid or blatantly uncaring survivors. You didn’t understand it, but you also didn’t want to.

You didn’t want anything to do with it.

The Cenobite was an oddity among oddities- barely even touching the survivors and treating your suffering with a cold grace. In the few moments you’d been able to observe him, he seemed unaffected by anything, continuing his hunt seemingly without a care in the world.

When you were one of his designated playthings for a trial, you avoided the Box, even if it meant your continued survival. You couldn’t handle the thought of possibly summoning him, bringing the being you knew was somehow fascinated with you directly to your location.

You just did your damnedest to finish repairing gens and move on to the next trial with the usual indifferent killers, taking extra care to stealth when you knew he was coming. Because if he caught sight of you, he wouldn’t stop pursuing you throughout the trial, preferring to torment you than spread the pressure amongst your teammates.

But, despite your efforts, not every trial with him could work out this way, as was the case for the trial you found yourself in now. You had been just barely surviving through your stealth tactics when it seemed that the survivors were rapidly downed, one quickly falling after the other.

You rushed to pull them off hooks or patch them up enough to stand, only briefly hesitating when you felt your own safety was in danger. You pushed it aside, putting your team’s survival over your own sense of sanity. They would eventually pay you back in kind, and the cycle would continue.

But it seemed that luck was not on your side.

One, two, three survivors were all hooked for the last time, their cut off screams piercing the night air.

And suddenly, you were the only one left.

Somewhere, both too close and impossibly far away, a bell tolls.

You’re frozen in place, too on edge to even contemplate searching for the Hatch. You’d been in similar situations before, but this time felt different- it was as if the air was electrified from your nervous anticipation.

And never before had you been left alone with him.

Before long, the consequence of your hesitation becomes clear- the chains that he summons from nothing have started seeking you out, the few that reach you embedding their hooks in your skin. You hiss, jerking back into life and unhooking yourself, trying to be as careful as possible to not rip your skin off.

It would not be the worst pain you have felt in this place.

You set off, struggling through the terrain of the Macmillan Estate until you reach one of the smattering of brick walls that litter the Entity’s realms. Here, at least you would have some protection from the chains, giving you time to figure out what you were going to do next.

Find Hatch or wait by the Exit Gate, hoping he closes the Hatch with enough time for you to slip out? You’re debating the two options in your head, knowing full well it’s not the best use of your time but feeling unable to make a decision and get your feet moving.

You’d just mentally circled back around to the option of booking it for Hatch that you realize you were being observed. And he wasn’t even hiding like some of the others would, no crouching behind the brick or staying by the tree line. He’s simply standing there, as if waiting for you to realize he was there.

You look up at him, wondering how you hadn’t noticed his presence before. He blocks the only other exit from your shelter that isn’t a window, something you note with a growing sense of dread. No prey likes feeling cornered.

But he hasn’t moved to attack, just standing and staring at you. You take a moment to observe him back, noting the impassive expression on his face. He doesn’t move, even once you’d been made aware of him. You narrow your eyes and glare at him, ignoring the thwacking of the chains hitting the ground and walls behind you, already tired of whatever game he is playing, not in the mood to be toyed with.

“What do you want?�� You ask, willing your voice to stop wavering. For once, you wanted to seem like the brave, outgoing survivor, willing to stand up to the killer for nothing more than the satisfaction of having done so.

A beat of silence, and you almost think he won’t answer. But he does, and his response is more confusing than clarifying.

“You.”

“I- I don’t understand.”

More silence.

Then, a crackling draws your attention downwards, to the small, unassuming box that lay on the ground in the space between you. The very box you had done your best to avoid touching, even looking at. You wonder, briefly, if it had been there the entire time.

“Solve it.” His voice is commanding yet gentle, coaxing yet sinister. There’s power behind it, a power that isn’t being utilized at the moment.

“No.” It’s an easy answer for you. There are few things you are sure of in the Fog, but not touching anything that belongs to a killer is one of them.

“Aren’t you curious?”

That was not what you had been expecting him to say. Suddenly, you were no longer sure about the subject of your conversation. The Box still lay between you, ready for your willing hands to run along its smooth surface, finding the small grooves that would lead you to further unlocking its mystery. But while you had been focusing on the Box, his eyes had never left you.

Because he knew that ultimately, yes. You were curious, and always had been. About everything, but you’d always been too shy, too afraid of other’s thoughts about you to try anything even mildly risky. Better to stay on the safe side and hear about other’s exploits instead of experiencing your own.

“Yes.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Then…” With a long fingered hand, he gestures to the Box.

Your hands shook as you reached down to pick it up, finding its smooth surface both warm and cool at the same time, its weight heavier than you had anticipated.

You looked back up at the Cenobite, ignoring the faint tinkling of a music box’s tune that you could now hear coming from the Box.

“What do I do?”

You were sure it couldn’t be but so difficult- less intelligent survivors had completed its puzzle under significantly more stressing circumstances than you. But you couldn’t bring your mind to command your hands to begin, some invisible wire holding your muscles back from taking action.

Maybe it was because he was standing in front of you, watching you intently.

He moved closer and you barely resisted the urge to move backwards, your grip on the Box tightening as if afraid he would take it from you. He stopped just before you and reached out, not to take the Box but to guide your hands. But instead of placing his hands over yours as you had anticipated, they hovered barely a centimeter above your skin.

“There is a force in this realm that makes solving the Lament Configuration child’s play.”

You look up at him, wondering if he had just delivered a thinly veiled insult. If he, in saying that solving it should be easy, was implying that you were too unintelligent to figure it out. You open your mouth to begin defending yourself.

“I-“

“You’ve refused it,” He continues as if you’d never started speaking, “even when it is to your detriment. But the Configuration is meant for those who seek to heighten their senses, for sensations that the earthly world cannot provide. Opening it is not supposed to be easy.”

You look down at your hands, at his.

“For those who summon us must be sure that it is what they want, for once we are summoned we cannot leave without a charge. It cannot be helped.”

He places his hands over yours now, guiding them along the edges of the Box (the Configuration, you correct yourself). Your hands are seemingly electrified from where his skin meets yours, though a sizable portion of his hand is covered in leather.

“Here it seems that, although alone, I work under different rules. The Box was made simpler and perverted into a means to assist in feeding this Entity.”

With his guidance, you are able to find the minuscule lines in the surface of the box, pushing and shifting the pieces until they form a completely new shape. But before you are able to push the final piece into place, thus completing the puzzle, he releases his hands and steps back.

“There is no need to finish it.”

You blink, feeling like you’d just woken from a hazy waking dream.

“But why did I do it in the first place?”

“I won’t have to hunt you down the next time we find ourselves facing each other. It is very tiresome when you hide from me constantly.”

He turns around like he’s about to go, either to finally kill you or let you scamper off to find the Hatch, but you aren’t ready for him to leave yet.

“Is that it?” You blurt out and almost take it back when he turns his head, indicating that you have his attention once more. But you swallow your fear and continue on, holding your chin higher. “You just wanted me to solve this box? To what? Prove to myself that I can, so that you don’t have to do as much work the next time you’re going to kill me?”

He whirls around, but there is barely any change in his expression from before. He was near impossible to read, you were quickly learning.

“I don’t get it- if you’re summoned for those who want pleasure or pain or whatever, why are you so interested in me? I don’t want any of that.”

“You don’t want pleasure?”

Your face heats up, any bravery you had felt in delivering your speech gone. You look down at your hands, still holding the almost solved Lament Configuration.

“The rules of this place may be different, but I am still obliged to answer the summons.” His words, at first, make no sense.

And then you realize what he is implying, and your face must be on fire for how hot it feels. If he was summoned for those who want whatever version of pleasure or pain he provided, then you solving the Configuration meant that he could…

Ohhhkay.

You turn from him, fully intending to put the box down and sprint for the Hatch and think about this encounter later at the campfire, but the quiet, nagging voice in the back of your head stops you.

Aren’t you curious?

Before you can rationalize and deny the urge, you act on impulse for once and press the final piece into place on the Box, the tinkling music stopping abruptly.

While you’ve had your back turned, he must’ve crept up closer on you, because you suddenly feel his hand on your shoulder.

You gasp, both from surprise and the sensation of his touch once again on you. He slowly ran his hand down your body, from your shoulder down your arm, before making its way to your front. Your breathing was picking up, hitching in the back of your throat when his other hand snuck around and plucked the box from your grasp. It’s gone when you turn your head to look at it, and you’re too focused on his touch to really ponder what happened to it.

You reach out and press your own hand against the brick wall in front of you, using the rough texture to ground yourself in reality, as much as you could in the hellish purgatory that you were trapped in. But the reality of this moment was that he was touching you in such a simple way, barely vulgar at all, but you felt as if you were being lit on fire with the way his touch seared your skin, even over the layers of your clothes.

His fingers dance over the hem of your pants, toying with the button. You’d always liked that the Entity put you in pants most of the time, their practicality better for your environment than the potential fashion statements you could’ve been making in something else. But now you wish that the Entity had decided to put you in one of the nonsensical outfits the others occasionally donned, if just for the easy access a skirt provides.

Nonetheless, he deftly undid the button and continued his journey down your body, not bothering to even pull your pants down. He completely ignored your underwear, apparently not in the mood to tease you over the fabric. You weren’t complaining, wanting whatever he was going to give you as quickly as possible.

It was now that you fully realized how cold his hands were, which only made you more aware of every centimeter of your skin that he ran his fingers along. Down over your stomach, a feather light touch that was approaching where you needed it the most.

The Cenobite found his way in between your legs with little fanfare, finally exploring the part of your body that, unbeknownst to you, he had thought of whenever he saw you in a trial. He toyed briefly with just running his touch up and down your slit, causing you to shudder and drop your head. But before long, he ended up at that sensitive bundle of nerves, flicking it just to hear you moan. His finger circled around your clit, applying just enough pressure for it to register in your mind but not enough to really scratch the itch that had been building since he’d placed his hands over yours to solve the box.

He was silent behind you, but you didn’t think he wasn’t actively enjoying what he was doing to you, if the way his teasing touches would briefly speed up when you let the little sounds building up behind your lips escape was any indication. Or the way his breathing, though quiet and low, would hitch when you would whimper, groan, hiss.

He finally moved lower, teasing at your entrance. You whimper again, closing your eyes. But he didn’t do anything aside from dipping his fingers in, for barely a second, giving you just a taste of the pleasure you needed. He teased more than you would have expected, but you also wouldn’t have expected him to want to fuck you.

“Please,” your whisper is broken, your mind hazy and unable to compose a more elegant plea. You curse under your breath when he does it again, moving back up to your clit to circle it a couple more times.

“You can do better than that,” He says, and you, in your fuzzy mind, think you detect a hint of humor in his voice.

“Fuck- please.” You roll your hips, as if to entice him to finally get to it. But he holds fast, your (pathetic) attempt to seduce him into giving in to your whims failing. He pauses in his movements.

“Fine! Please, please, please, please fuck me, put your fingers in me, I don’t care just please make me cum!”

You wonder, briefly, in the back of your mind, if the Entity is watching.

Two of his fingers finally slip into you, and you barely hold back a curse, forgetting whatever inane thought you had before. All you could focus on was the fact that he was finally giving you what you wanted, that he was finally done teasing.

He thrusts his fingers in and out of your pussy, dragging them along your walls and hitting every sensitive spot that you didn’t even realize existed within you.

“For such a shy woman, you make delightful sounds,” He mutters, almost too quiet for you to hear over the heartbeat pounding in your ears. Whether it’s yours or his, you cannot tell.

Quickly, much too quickly, you feel your climax approaching, and any sense of the amount of time you’ve spent at his mercy is lost to you. All you know is that he is touching you in a way that makes you feel like no one has ever made you feel and that you want to reach your peak now.

As it builds, you release a litany of pleas, begging with broken words and fragmented sentences.

You finally finish with a sharp, drawn out and shuddering gasp, his fingers curling into the spot that makes your toes curl, sharply punctuating every ripple of pleasure that your body rides.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it is over.

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you turn to face the Cenobite, who looks as unaffected as he had before. He examines his glistening fingers not even looking at you when he tells you to find the Hatch. If you’re stung by his sudden disinterest in you, you don’t show it, opting to add it to the growing mental list of things to think about later.

On shaky legs, you comply with his demand, stealing one last glance back at him as you leave him. You had no idea if this would be a one off occurrence, or if he would regularly find his own way to answer your summons, if he would make good on his statement that he is summoned for those who wish for pleasure and pain.

The only way to find out would be to summon him.

___

ao3 link

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 2)[Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Kazuha. Part 1 here

Genre: fluff

"Poetry for my hopeless romantic heart 🥺 and Kazuha, he was the perfect candidate for this. I decided to put Zhongli first of course, he deserves it after saving my ass in Baal's fight."

=================================

Spirit flows through the Immovable rock (Zhongli)

Nations fall, truths be told, iron rusts and earth erode

Through six centuries these were stories he watched unfold.

He sees you and the archon knew that you shall too grow old

But despite it all, he loves you for your existence, as nothing can compare to your intransient soul.

The purpose of contracts were made to ensure there had been a fair trade between two parties. Like merchants striking business deals for a favourable outcome, like mother nature maintaing the balance between life and death, like how you and your beloved said your vows and whispered promises to one another as evening bids farewell by the warm welcome of the moon's gentle glow. Those days were the most treasured that you couldn't help remisicing them-- when Zhongli appeared in your life. Your mortal life. How time can fly so fast.

Perhaps this had been a common notion among human standards. That to be connected, both sides must share the same factors in order to proceed the contract. Clearly your placement proved to be mismatched. Unlike Zhongli there could be a day when your legs gave up and you can no longer walk. He will go on without you, continuing to drift in places where you cannot reach, where time was out of the question, further and further away until the mist begins to seize your field of vision and soon your eyes were too old to see.

The difference in age can truly make someone feel alone and Zhongli knew it well. Thus he smiled softly like he always does and held you close, speaking with so much kindness:

My dearest.

Your soul existed like an evergreen tree blooming through all four seasons, unwithered and everlasting, even against the cold storm of white. And it could be as soft as the sunbeam cascading through the mountain peaks while they dust the land with their ethereal hues and emitting the warmth that breaths absolute serenity. If artifacts were a piece of what someone left behind then maybe everything you made was considered an artifact-- a treasure. A piece of you in those handwritten letters, the beauty in your fingertips after knitting him a scarf which caused scars to mar them, and because of how heavy your spirit weighs through everything you did, it became evident that the one he had fallen for was not your skin nor your body but the person who resides in it.

And sometimes he wonders if he had met you once upon a dream. What else could explain the mysterious feeling that made you seem so familiar, even when he only saw you for the first time? Or perhaps you were an old friend from the long long past, someone he stargazed with upon the infinite mounds of grass and glaze lilies, someone whom he shared the taste of osmanthus wine, someone he came to cherished just like how he cherished his own nation. Regardless, whether you were that someone or not, he wouldn't hesitate to relive those times all over again.

If there was a day when the world around you decided to cave in, where time inevitably caught up and you succumbed to change, he would still be yours. After all, the immovable stone was meant to be the symbol of constancy. He already sworn to you that his devotion and affection will never waver, they were solely held towards your essence for you had touched him through the things he could not touch, and left a mark that would last longer than his ancient self can last. Zhongli may have lived through many lifetimes but meeting you was the beginning of everything. You were a mortal immortalized in the world his heart, etched so deep that it stirs him apart, there was no room for anyone else.

~xx~

Drowning in the ocean flames (Tartaglia)

There was a man who fell deeply in love with war

They raged inside of him like the spontaneous battlefields he came to adore.

Consumed by desire, pain became an addiciton

And he eventually surrenders to the heat of your passion.

While many fear death, Childe learned to dance with it.

He revels in the way his heart pounds endlessly, as if new life had been born from the inside and then bursted like thunder, sending trembling sensations through his veins, bringing him to the peak of euphoria. The feeling was a drug in which Childe hesitates no more when he confronts it, rather he deliberately seeks it. He seeks thrill in the most dangerous situations since they were the moments that made him feel so alive.

Henceforth the Harbinger sought you out. He inches closer and ever so close, those deep cerulean eyes trapped in your hypnotizing ones. Childe loves how you look at him like you were about to devour him, consume him as the flames in hell would, perhaps destroy him completely to the point there was no turning back and yet...he would not mind.

Childe had been so drawn to you like a moth to a light. No. Rather, Adam and the devil, tempting him to sin because the things he would do for you were undeniably impetuous. It was too late. It was too late when you told him you wanted to stay. Too late when you pulled him down, with arms around his neck, stealing away his breath in one swift manner as well as a kiss. Curse you for having so much power over him, from then and there he was no longer the mighty harbinger everyone knew but a man foolish in love. Take him higher. Higher. Take him far. To say you were alluring would be an understatement. The scent of you brings all his senses to disarray and the taste of you-- by the archons-- had never made him feel so starved. All he thought of was mindlessly running his hands over your small back, reveling in the shape of you, exploring every inch and curve in attempt to make you completely his.

This was the reason why he grew accustomed to dancing with death. Because it was you. You were going to be the cause of his downfall and you were the cause of this insanity. Even though you constantly reminded him how risky the situation was due to being a wanted criminal in his homeland's eyes, Childe pays no mind. Didn't he already tell you to trust him? Anyone who threatens you would be an enemy of his, much to their misfortune. Whether it'd be conquering the world and laying it beneath your feet or walking through the depths of the abyss all over again, he'll make sure to have it all and no one can say otherwise.

~xx~

Shelter (Albedo)

Your warmth was his hearth

Like stars falling onto the earth

Gracing the plains in an empereal bliss

As they trembled under the touch of heaven's kiss

Closing his eyes, you are the first person he sees.

The sound of snow chasing the wind fills the silent night once again while it's whispered blows continued to echo just by the cave's entrance. Albedo had planned to take you back to Monstadt that day but Dragonspine was not the place to be merciful with the weather. No one else except the two of you occupied the abandoned space and a singular camp fire to serve as a source of warmth. You place your hand on your lover's forehead, brushing away his ash coloured strands while he seeps into slumber. Albedo sighs contentedly. Despite the world being engulfed in sheer cold, here he felt safe and sound.

Before meeting you Albedo never really had that. People regularly held him on a high regard and had a hard time matching his pace. He was a born genius to the point that he practically stood out like a swan out of the ducklings' crowd as they admired his brilliance. Truly Albedo was a perfect human being. But when turns around to see the rest he noticed how distant everything seemed. He was so focused on his pursuit towards the universal truth that he hadn't given the time to consider; where is he going with this? And what for? Everyone else looked so happy living in their mundane routines and Albedo soon grew curious about such thoughts. Out of all the places in Monstadt, exactly where does he belong?

Opening his eyes, you are the first person he looks for.

"Welcome home, Albedo!"

The answer was obvious. Home was the sound of his name on your lips. When you were side by side with him while he sketched the landscape from the far distance. In places where the lights were on as he entered the room, knowing you were inside. This feeling couldn't be describe with just a word. Home was not a nation nor was it a destination. Home was in your touch where he felt the most protected.

I'm home.

A sky filled with stars and he only saw one; his Starlight. Your warmth held the emotion similar to the kind where there had only been one cande lit amidst an infinite stretch of darkness. But it also brought the joy of flowers blossoming into the vivid future of new spring. There was no place he'd rather be than the shelter of your arms because with you, Albedo believed he truly found where he belonged.

~xx~

Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves (Kazuha)

Silencing the world

My heart begins to find peace

Soothed by your presence

- For my beloved, (Y/n)

I remember how the first petal of spring drifted by as it had flown into the crossroads of our path. Subconciously my entire being began to still. This particular flower... it must have come far and wide for the wind to carry such a pleasant scent. Although I had intended to continue my venture onwards but the air ceased to sound and I knew that this way was true. And so nature beckons me to the shore where the waves lulled back and forth under the moonlight's entrance, only then I began to sharpen my vision to see what was before me. You stood there on a rock with your face looking into the sparkling sky, singing a tune that drew me near. Just the mere sight was enough to stir my heart alone.

My beloved, do you know why I named this poem 'Pirr against the Scarlet Leaves?'

Watching you was like witnessing the ephmereal birth of a flower sprouting amongst the slums of an abandoned nation. A fleeting miracle where snow falls from the summer sky. I am compelled to capture these feelings in this poem yet there are moments where my thoughts scatter as if the autumn wind had whisked them away and out of my grasp until a singular leaf is only what was left. Perhaps it wouldn't be necessary for me to keep a notebook of ways I can describe your presence, instead a few simple sentences would suffice. Nevertheless, I only wish to express my feelings for you.

When you're with me it seems I have nothing to think about. The aura around you can silence the world alone, speaking louder than thunder cries, weighing heavily to those around you in ways it would feel empty if you're not here. Yet I could breath as if alleviated from the burdens of my past. This had me realize that this must have been the will of the wind. You were the greatest gift to have ever bestowed upon me and I confess, sometimes my chest aches because of how much I cherish you, it pierces me like a sharp blade but even if my heart bleeds it will continue to bleed only for your sake.

So wherever you are, wherever you may be, I can feel you in the breeze. Return soon my beloved, I'll be here, waiting.

[spice-chan]

Untold

description - king Katsuki Bakugo, who’s desperate in wanting to get closer to his mate hatches a morally dubious plan to do so. Let himself get injured ? check. Convince his clueless mate that his dragon needs to breed her otherwise he will rampage ? check. 

warnings - Bakugo is soo bad at feelings. loss of virginity (m&f), dom bakugo, vaginal penetration, dirty talk ?, clueless reader, breeding kink, slight lactation kink but reader isnt lactating, implied brain washing. Bakugo and his dragon are like two separate entities who existing in one body. feral baku. mentions of poison and injury. Manipulation. slight dub con if you squint.

The first time Bakugo met you was after a meeting at your kingdom. A meeting he was more than disgruntled at having to attend. 

You were the epitome of angelic, you had pretty, curly hair that framed your face, with bright (e/c) eyes that glistened in the sun as you helped a maid up. There was not an ounce of supercility or contempt in your humble smile. He didn’t even think you were a royal at first glance from how willing you were to touch and talk to someone so beneath you societally. 

Not that he thought a lot at that moment, because the only thought going through his head was - 

Mine. 

That, he made you. 

At least in the eyes of the nations of the dragons and your home land. 

Not in the eyes of his dragon, the fiery beast who resided within him, and neither in his, because he craves you in intimate ways that he has yet to experience, let alone experience with you, his wife. 

He promptly negotiated a marriage with your family who approved, and married you a week after. 

You didn’t get a say in it, in fact, you only spoke to him a few times before the knot was tied. It physically pained Katsuki to see the resent in your eyes. 

You slept next to him everyday, but he knew you wished to be far, far away from him. 

The closer his body got to you, the further you shrunk away from him. It was pitiful, how your small and fragile body that was made for him, scurried far away from the body made to protect it, the body it should be lusting over.

He was well endowed, a very tall man with muscles earned through hours of grueling training, yet the only thing you graced him with was a polite smile as you passed him in the hallway. 

He loved you, gosh, he loves you so bad. But you can’t see it, can you ? You just see a man who you were forced to marry within a week who ripped you away from your life. A strange, barbaric man who growls when things don’t go his way and sniffs your hair after he deems that you’ve fallen asleep. 

And Bakugo has a plan to finally make you want and need him. 

…….. 

The sunlight hasn’t yet painted the sky a yellow hue, yet Katsuki somehow finds himself waking up. He stirs awake, his eyes opening languidly as his over sensitive nose seeks the smell of his mate. He turns his head to your side on instinct, and finds you snoozing without a care, your chest rhythmically moving up and done, and adorable features relaxed and vulnerable. 

Vulnerable, yet you sleep so far from him, the distance between the both of you almost reminds him of the sun and moon. 

When he married you, he bit your neck to mark you, making you officially his mate. Bound to him for life. He could deduce that you are his soulmate, a phenomenon among dragon species. They were a powerful nation, therefore to make sure their numbers don’t go out of control yet stay stable, they were gifted with soulmates. The only person they will feel sexual attraction to during their long, long lives. Their mate will age like them and the children, if one parent wasn’t of dragon kin, will still turn out full dragons. Their blood is powerful. No wonder your parents were so eager to tie themselves with him. He feels slightly furious when he remembers how eager they were to marry you off, did you live with this sort of apathy from your parents your whole life ? 

Well, it doesn’t matter how those bastards treated you because you are with him now. Besides, their uncaringness made the marriage easier and smoother. 

He turns to face you, and finds you sleeping with your back to him, your hair looks like a pretty mess across the pillow. Do you feel trapped ? Do you sometimes lament on the years you will have to stay bound to him ? 

But questions fly out of his head when his eyes stray to your form. He pants softly in need, his dragon clawing at him to claim you. Your silk nightdress did little to cover your voluptuous ass, and the spaghetti straps did little to cover your spilling cleavage, and least from what he could see from your back to him. He feels incredibly robbed about not being able to touch you right now. But he didn’t want you to hate him…

He turns his head away from you and steadies his breathing, but the tent in his pants stood proudly. Great, another day of rubbing one for you instead of ravishing you… 

…………

The first step of his plan to get closer to you is to prey on your kindness. He’s going to let himself get injured enough to trigger his dragon’s self defence mechanism. That means not letting anyone get close to him, because he classifies everyone as a threat, except his mate, of course. 

Now, how to do it without losing his honour as the dragon king is the true question. 

Well, the answer to that is one of his counsel man. A mad cowardly enough to run away from a fight with the dragon king, and lacking honour enough to try and poison him at the same time for a few thousand quads. 

………….. 

Bakugo holds his sword in a lackadaisical manner, staring at the man across from him who shivers from his intense glare. Bakugo rolls his blood red eyes, his mouth forming into a sneer. Look what finding his mate had reduced him to. 

A vulnerable mess. 

The training ground is filled with spectators who stopped their own training to watch their king fight, a necessary thing for his plan to work. He’ll have you in his arms in no time. 

His dragon rumbled in happiness at the thought of having his mate. 

The fight starts, with steel meeting steel, a minute goes by, and just as discussed, the man lets go of his sword, forfeits and bows down. 

Then grabs a sharp dagger from his pocket, coated with paralyzing poison, and slashes it across Bakugo’s chest before making a run. 

Katsuki feels his limbs become heavier, falling to the floor as the large opening in his chest bleeds and burns. Had he not been a dragon, this cut would have been fatale to his mortality. His pupils dilate as the sound of growls fill the air. His simple minded beast trying to warn the bystanders to keep clear of him or else. His dragon desperately tries to get it’s host to move, and when the beast tries to take over the host in order to survive, Bakugo gladly let’s it. 

The wiser of the bunch go to fetch the queen, their hearts hammering across their chests in anxiousness as a murderous aura surrounds their king, which is fatal to them. A dragon in this state will kill anything and everything around it to ensure its survival. His abilities, which are already deadly, will be doubled once the effects of the poison wear off. They can’t run, that would be shameful, but they can hope that the queen gets here in time. 

Deadly and furious growls fill the air, their eyes keep on switching from looking at the imminent threat that is their king and their possible saviour which is his queen. 

His toes and fingers move, and Bakugo’s reptilian eyes lock on them in clear warning. No sight of you. His claws elongate and his teeth lengthen and sharpen, their size enough to rip a chunk of meat clear of a man's chest. No sight of you. 

His limbs are slowly becoming mobile again, but too fast for the spectators' liking. No sight of you. 

They were slowly succumbing to their gruesome fates. 

His feet, which have regained mobility, along with his arms, support his previously supine body into a standing position. His enraged face faced them, his fiery throat lightening up and ready to erupt them into flames. And he was about to, until a -

“Katsuki !” 

He abruptly turns towards the sound, familiarity oozing from every syllable of the soft angelic voice that called him. 

His reptilian eyes lock on her neck, recognizing the soft pink marks that mar her neck as his own. 

“Mate.” His guttural voice spoke, the sound so deep and raw it was almost inhuman. 

You were slightly taken aback that he recognised you in this state. Dragons must really put their mates on a higher pedestal, especially considering how he was about to toast those men… 

“Mate” he repeats. He turned to the strangers, growling at them with newfound vigour. They are a threat to his mate. Kill threat. 

“No. No, no.” You said in horror, waving your hands back and forth to get his attention away. 

You slowly walk to him, your steps tentative as you gauge his reaction. He seems confused, and he remained unresponsive, at least verbally. 

You steps continue until you you could feel the warmth emanating from his body, and that's when his arms circle you and pull you possessively to his chest, protecting you as he shields your face away, still wary of the ‘threats’. 

“Katsuki, what happened, why are you trying to kill them ?” You speak patiently, trying to ignore how close you are to him. This is the closests you’d ever been to a male, and your face speaks volumes of that. 

“Kill me. Kill mate.” 

You quirk a brow in confusion. “What do you mean ? Why are you speaking like this Katsuki ?” 

“No Katsuki. Me !” He growls in frustration, looking into your eyes desperately, his eyes seem more… red- more animalistic somehow. Even when he looked into your eyes, he still kept an eye on the men nearby, who for some fucking reason are still here. 

“Why are you guys just standing here ?! He obviously wants to kill you, go !” You command, your soft voice raising into an octave none of them ever heard from their kind queen. 

The earth shook as a booming voice rocks the earth, you look left and right, trying to find the source of it when you realize that you are hugging the source. 

Katsuki’s skin fills with leathery patches of red, and his elongated nails pierce your skin as he holds you protectively, his eyes try to find the slightest movement in his surroundings. So he can eliminate it. 

“Mate. Angry.” 

You were starting to understand something. 

“Oh. Are you the dragon ?” You ask,  once again trying to direct his attention to you. 

He nods, his features relaxing slightly as he looks at you. 

“Well-uh- um, why are you trying to kill them ?” You ask him in an attempt to diffuse the situation, your uncertainty leaked into your words however. 

“Threat.” Came his simple answer. 

You sigh, trying to think your words over but you feel choked. There’s many lives on your hand. 

“No. They aren’t a threat.” That caught his attention. You gesture with your head to the exit of the training grounds, and decide to tug him after he stood still for a solid minute instead. 

That’s how you end up tugging a dragon to his bed, who in turn keeps a tight hold on you and growls at anything that moves. 

Eventually, we made it to the bedroom. You open the door, noticing that for the first time, the dragon seemed somewhat relaxed. 

“Do you have a name ?” You question him curiously, having tired of calling him dragon in your head and otherwise. 

He seems more like a puppy now, trying to cling to you while you lead him to the bed. He rubs his head against your cheek, trying to get his smell on you, but when he registered your question, he shook his head. 

“Do you mind if I call you something ?” 

He smiled excitedly, maybe like a child offered candy, but his sharp teeth were anything but childlike. You’ve no doubt they could rip flesh like marshmallows. 

You took that as a sign of acceptance. 

“Ok ! Oh, but maybe I shouldn’t give you a new name. Since you are Katsuki… Ok I’ll just call you Bakugou so I don’t mix the two of you up.” You exclaim with child-like vigor, the innocence in your eyes contradicting how consequential your current actions are. The dragon and his human host, who are so incredibly enamored with their mate, are carefully weaving a web in an attempt to trap her. Their mate, who was slowly inching to the web out of her own free will. 

He nods.

Your eyes stray down. You gasp at the sight of his bloodied chest. 

“Oh God ! I’m so sorry, this must hurt a lot.” You apologize profusely, mistaking his growl as a pained one. You move to call for a medic or something of the sort, but Ares grabs you and pulls you to lay on the bed, your supine body beneath his large frame. 

He looks down at the gash, his body will recover soon. He can’t smell anyone nearby or in the room except himself and his mate. So there’s no danger. 

His chest rumbles in happiness though, knowing his mate was worried about him. “I heal.” 

The worry evaporates from your face, instead replaced with amazement. Though the sight was unappealing, upon taking a closer look, you could see the edges of the cut sewing themselves together. 

“Amazing.” You breath out. His chest puffs up in pride, knowing he was the cause of the current expression painting his mate’s features. 

“Cute-“ his simple observation causes your face to heat up ”-good mate” and the rest of his statement didn’t help that. His face leans down and instead of pecking you, he nudges your face, and sinks down to your neck where he starts laying kisses, then slowly begins licking. The warm sensation was strange, but you didn’t find yourself hating it when he spread his warm saliva on your neck. You didn’t even find yourself hating it when his teeth start softly suckling on your neck like a chew toy. His sharp teeth aren’t quite breaking the skin. 

A content sigh leaves your lips as tingles travel down your spine. He continues leaving love bites on your neck, and upon finding it decently covered, he goes on to suck on the mating mark, and to your horror, a tiny moan escapes your lips. His movements pause, and his wet mouth detaches from your neck to flash you a smirk, and you found yourself longing for the sensation. 

This is strange, you should be protesting, you should be embarrassed, but it feels as though a fog is clouding your senses. A sweet, sweet fog. It’s as if you’re put under a spell and all that is occupying your mind is the dragon who claimed you as his mate. Little do you know, you aren’t that off mark. 

“Hot.” He says as he caresses your cheek with his calloused finger hand. 

“I’ve never done this with anyone before. It feels so nice…” you confess, your eyes seem glossier than usual, it’s as if being teased by this pleasurable feeling then having it taken away is frustrating enough to make you want to cry. 

He made a satisfied noise that is akin to a rumble and a growl. “Good. Mate is mine.” 

His hand starts caressing your tummy. Even with the dress you adorned, you can still feel the warmth. His head followed the direction of his hand, his nose doggedly sniffing your stomach. If you hadn’t known he was a dragon, you might’ve assumed he was a wolf shifter. 

“No hatchling.” 

You frown, not having expected this. 

“Do you want kids ?” You ask and receive a singular word in response. 

“Hatchlings.” 

You grow increasingly uncomfortable as every daunting second passes by. You didn’t like the direction of this conversation at all. If you could even call it that. 

Would Katsuki be repulsed by his dragon’s behaviour? Would he be repulsed and weirded out by you ? He didn’t let the tiniest hint that he might like you slip out. 

You notice that the sky outside has darkened. It would be safe to assume there would be no dinner tonight. Not with this primal dragon keeping you away from the prying eyes of anyone. You wiggle out of this hold, and when he notices that you are trying to slip away, he makes a move to grab you but you stop him by putting a hand on his shoulder. “No.” He whines in response, trying to ignore the barrier of your hands but you repeat the ‘no’. 

“I have to change.” You explain, wincing at the thought of sleeping with this uncomfortable gown. Pretty, but uncomfortable. 

Bakugo was about to protest, your dress made you look like the queen you are, the pastel shades of pink and flowers decorating it make you look...Cute. But then the image of your nightgowns cross his mind. 

Your tiny, tight nightgowns that leave most of your delicious legs on display and do little to contain your womanly breasts that are going to fill with milk and feed his hatchlings soon enough. 

He lets you go, and to his delight, you come out of the bathroom in a maroon night dress. Your maids would usually come in two hours to prepare you for bed, but today is a mess as it is. Maybe going to bed earlier would be favourable for everyone. 

Katsuki’s chest is completely healed, nothing but a tender, pink line across his chest to tell the tale. You could bet that by morning there would be nothing. And this day will be a forgotten memory in your husband’s mind. You brought with you a wet towel to wipe his chest of any remaining blood. 

You sit on the edge of the bed, and push his body into a supine position. He watched you intensely and in silence as you wipe his chest, the warmth blooming across it either from the hot water that dampened the towel or from the love within the confines of his heart as you cared for him. Maybe it’s because for once, he feels true care from the other side of the bond the two of you share. 

He loves you so fucking much. If only he can just tell you. Well he can, but Katsuki can’t . You’ll reject him and it’ll ruin everything. 

“I love you, mate.” He speaks softly, that even his deep voice feels like a warm blanket on a winter day because of how tender his confession is. 

Your blood rushes to your face and ears, but you clear your throat awkwardly. You don’t know what to do. The dragon might think that he does because of course he fucking would, he marked your neck and bonded with you, but Katsuki doesn’t. 

“Thank you.” You reply stiffly, before disposing the towel and washing your hands. 

Your head is reeling from the confession, but you feel incredibly robbed, for some twisted reason. If only you got stuck in a loving marriage, if only. You yearn for love, but the one person in your love who mentioned love in relation to you is a beast who’s human host will never let out after this turn of events. 

The dragon, Bakugou, on the other hand wasn’t faring any better. He was happy when you expressed your gratitude in relation to his confession, but when he clocked that you never said it back his mood plummeted faster than a dragon whose wings got obliterated mid flight. 

His mood felt so low, that when Katsuki prodded him for control, he didn’t protest. 

……… 

 After freshening up yourself, you return to the bedroom and immediately sense the change in demeanor. 

Katsuki should do this now. He needs to bind you to him emotionally. 

“(Y/n). I need to speak to you.” He motions for you to sit down, his voice that’s usually boisterous and loud is now eerily calm. 

You walk, the padding of your steps filling the otherwise empty room. 

The few seconds it took you to sit on your side of the bed, facing him, were enough for him to finalise his plan. 

“I need to get you pregnant.” Your mouth gapes at his blunt statement. 

“Excuse me ?”

“This thing today, it happened because we delayed consummating our mating because I knew you weren’t ready. But I can’t delay this anymore. I’m sorry, but my dragon demands a hatchling, or what happened today could be repeated until I can’t control him anymore.” He explains. Don’t question. Don’t question. Please, accept his explanation- or more befittingly, his lies. 

You didn’t see his paralyzed form on the floor, he didn’t especially fill you in on what mating entails. 

And he’s reaping full advantage of that. 

Maybe his lies will come back to bite him, but he needs a child with you so he knows you won’t leave him—maybe after tonight, you’ll also develop some affection for him. He’ll be so good to you, you just have to give him a chance. 

His heart pounds so hard that he can hear it as loud as a drum being played right next to his ears. His poor, sensitive ears that will soon fill with the sound of your moans. 

You sigh. You didn’t want to do this. It was too abrupt. To have a child… but the thought of endangering all those lives didn’t sit well with you. It’s not Katsuki’s fault, it’s not, it was nice of him to wait for you anyway. But tears still formed at the corner of your eyes. Frustrated tears, helpless, angry tears. But tears won’t help you. 

He could have forced you to do it on your wedding night and demanded you perform your duties as a wife, even if you didn’t want to do it. And for his understanding, you were grateful. 

“I-“ your voice cracks”-I—I understand.” And his heart cracks upon seeing your red eyes that filled with tears, tears that veiled the natural curiosity and brightness that your eyes seemed to naturally permeate. Tears that didn’t make you any less beautiful to him. 

Before he starts feeling guilty, he reminds himself that he’s doing this for your future. He’ll make your sadness and doubt disappear soon enough. 

His hand, as if it has a mind of its own, goes to your soft cheeks and wipes the falling pearls. Your doe eyes look at him, innocently surprised, and the witness coating your lenses only made you look more angelic. As if acknowledging that you’re at his mercy-or rather, trusting him with your sadness. 

He wipes all your fallen tears, then brings your smaller body closer and hugs you. This would have been greatly romantic-and it was to you, but the underlying truth is that Bakugo is the cause of those tears. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you and our hatchling.” We’ll be the perfect family, just that way we're always supposed to be, mate. 

“It’s-“you hiccup”- it’s fine. I-I don’t blame you.” You reassure, returning his hug. You were surprised that Katsuki was capable of being nice like this, you didn’t know that he possessed a gentle and tender touch. Everyone always pitied you for being forced into wedlock with him, despite keeping their opinions to themselves. Maybe that’s what caused the barrier in your relationship. You suddenly feel shame at judging him so fast. 

But instead, you soak up the warmth of his body pressed against yours. 

Katsuki took the initiative, he cups your cheek and presses his warm, supple lips against yours. A truly loving kiss, because Katsuki loves you and he’s about to show you what him loving you entails. 

Surprisingly, his dragon makes an odd request.

Katsuki tries to continue kissing you but his dragon is growing increasingly demanding with his pursuit of control. 

Katsuki detaches from your lips, dissatisfied with it, but why ? The first time he kissed you at your wedding, it was magical, but now he hungers for more. 

Through his frustration, he lets his control slip and that’s when Ares comes out. 

And he truly looks like the God of War. 

He’s ready to conquer.

He smashes his lips against yours, rather roughly, and the smacking sounds of your lips filled the room. His warm tongue prods your lips, and through your inexperience, you clumsily followed his cue. He’s like a more primal version of Katsuki. 

His tongue begins exploring every crevice and every corner of your mouth, only becoming more hungry at the taste of you. 

He only separates himself after you start running out of breath and when your delicate hands push his chest away. 

His hungry eyes take in your red and swollen lips appreciatively. “Mate delicious.” 

His smirk however, flips to reveal the unfamous scowl of Katsuki. 

“Sorry. He’s eager. He wants to breed you roughly, he demands it.” Katsuki tells you shamelessly, panting with need and cheeks blushed lewdly. His predatory eyes take in your compromising position, thinking of different positions to breed you. 

“It’s ok, just please be gentle with… you know-- I’m a virgin...” you remind him with a chuckle as you try to play it off, but the embarrassment is evident on your face. Katsuki was well aware of the fact, but seeing you admit that he would be the one to deflower you just made the tent in his pants more obvious. Sprawled out beneath him, trying to avoid eye contact from shyness. What a beautiful sight. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you enjoy it.” 

He went back to kissing you, and his dragon kept giving him tips, surprisingly, and seeing how he ravished your lips before, he took the beasts advice wholeheartedly. He shed his clothes while you were preoccupied with his lips. 

“I am too, if it makes you feel any better.” That’s pleasant to hear, and it only gave your ever improving image of Katsuki more credibility. He’s not like those perverted male royals who frequently use prostitutes while fussing over the slightest male interaction their wives have. You guess that’s a plus of marrying a dragon.

After he thoroughly swapped saliva with you, his lips go to your ear and breathlessly whisper “I’m going down to prep you.” 

Your features scrunch adorably in confusion. “What do you mean ? Don’t you just put it in ?” 

He internally coos at your words, so naive. 

Outwardly though, he chuckles. “You’d be crying if I just shoved my dragon cock on you sweetheart.” 

You gasp and his words and cover his mouth with your hand. 

“Katsuki ! Don’t be crude. And did you just call your manhood cock ?” 

He continues chuckling, only now with new found vigor while removing your hands. “Yes, I called it cock.” 

His red eyes didn’t seem to hold the slightest bit of shame, you huff grumpily. 

“Ok (y/n), you have to be relaxed for me, ok ?” He asks seriously, and you nod, not knowing what to expect, but willing to let him lead. 

Katsuki goes between your legs, and lifts your tiny dress up to reveal your panties. He could already see some wetness. He slips your cotton panties down to reveal the delicious sight of your pussy. 

You adorably turn your face away, not willing to look any longer at him looking at your private parts. 

He’s lucky his primal urges are guiding him on what to do or he’d be lost, but his dragon is eagerly licking his lips at finally being able to taste his mate. He takes a tentative lick, and becomes pleased when you tense up. He takes another, slower one and when he pinpoints the exact location that had you tensing, he pays attention to it. 

After hearing a cute, restrained moan escape the confines of your mouth, he begins sucking on your clit. Your thighs close around him as you moan louder. 

“Ah. Katsuki, that feels so good.” So sexy, it’s like all his dirty daydreams in one sentence. 

He keeps sucking, and his fingers prod at your opening. You were lubricated enough that his thick finger slips right in. He experimentally thrusts it in and out while he keeps on sucking you and gets rewarded with pleasurable noises from you. 

He adds a second finger, the stretch still not quite enough. 

A third finger prods your entrance, and you gasp. “Please slow down Katsuki…” 

He gives your thigh a kiss, and murmurs a little apology before he resumes eating you out. 

Your thighs clamp around his head in pleasure as he continues sucking you. Your heart rate speeds up as you abandon all inhibitions and moan for the man pleasuring you. 

“Katsuki I feel- I feel like I’m going to pee…” you confess bashfully as he continues to suck you with his mouth while two of his fingers thrust in and out of you, mimicking the movement of his manhood. 

“No, you're about to cum. Don’t hold it back.” He commands you. So that’s what the knot you feel in your stomach is. 

He takes his fingers out and uses both of his hands to lift your hips up. His tongue teases your nub, not sucking anymore but merely rubbing your clit with the tip of his tongue. The loss of the stimulation of his fingers, added with this, makes you come down from your high. Frustrated tears stream down your face as dissatisfaction gnaws on your chest. 

“Why ?” Your question while looking down at his face between your legs, he gives your clit lazy strokes. 

“You didn’t say thank you. Is that how a good mate behaves ?” Katsuki’s voice was deeper now, not deep enough for it to be Bakugo-the dragon, but deep enough for you to know he’s primal right now.

He did say he wanted it rough… 

“I’m sorry Katsuki. I’ll be good from now on, promise !” You beg, desperately for more stimulation then the lazy strokes if his tongue. 

“I don’t know if I should believe you.” He rubs his dampened chin, looking contemplative. 

“Please, I’m gonna be a good mate ‘n say thank you Katsuki.” You plead again and he hums in response. 

Katsuki is crooning with pride seeing how desperate for him you are. Your lip wobbles as you beg, dependent, submissive to him and only him. 

“Fine, since you begged so nicely. But next time, I’m going to punish you.” You nod in acceptance. But before he can reprimand you for the same mistake, you use you words. “Ok, thank you.” His chest rumbles in pride at your obedience. 

In no time, Katsuki had you cuming in his tongue, and he laps it up, moaning at how tasty at is. 

“Thank you- ah. Thank you-“ you babble incoherently. 

Katsuki lays kisses on your thighs, giving a few nibs to mark you. 

He slips your night dress off while you bask in the afterglow of release and growls at the delicious sight of your bare breast. 

He captured a nipple in his mouth, twirling his tongue on the sensitive skin then suckling like a hatchling would. 

You bury your hand in his hair, pulling at it as pleasurable tingles travel through your body. 

“Gonna fill those with milk soon.” He declares, his fierce and deep voice confident while he squeezes your breasts in his hand. 

He took off any remaining layers on himself, deciding he delayed this enough. He was kind of nervous at your reaction. 

You look in horror at his monstrous manhood, huge, absolutely huge and the thickness towards the end could compare to a coke can, a fizzy common drink you saw servants indulge in. 

“ it’s not going to fit.” You say, folding your legs against your chest protectively. This huge thing, inside you ? Hah. 

“Yes it is.” He growls. But he softens his tone when he sees the intimidated look on your face. 

“Don’t worry.” Even though you still wanted to protest, you realize that it’s not like he can help his size, so you nod cautiously. 

He takes hold of your ankles and spreads them further apart, revealing your juicy core. 

A white pearl of precum gathers at the tip of his dick, glistening and proof of his excitement at finally being able to breed you and claim your body. His balls were full and ready to be milked inside your walls. 

“There, you can hold my hand. And tell me if it hurts.” You nod, and he interlocks his fingers with yours while his other hand adjusts his cock at your entrance. He pushed it inside, smoothly at first and he had to bite his lip to contain the whine that was going to slip out. A few inches in and you were gripping his hand until both of your knuckles turn white. 

“It hurts.” You rasp out. Well that’s troublesome, less then half his cock is inside. 

Despite how tempting it is to just ram it all in, and bask in the warmth of your walls, he gave you his word. So he pulls out, his length wet from your juices. 

He puts one of your legs over his shoulder and goes eye level with your cute, tight little hole that didn’t manage to take him. 

He gathers saliva in his mouth, then sticks his tongue inside. His warm muscle fucks you for a few minutes, thrusting in and out and relaxing your rigid walls. 

But when you start moaning for release, he takes his wet muscle out. 

Half of his length slips right in from your wetness. 

He grabs your hand and laces his fingers in yours yet again. Your hot walls clamp around him, and as he pushes his length in more and more, your tightness becomes comparable to a piece of cloth stretched too thin. It feels as if he’s going to rip you apart. 

Tears slide down your face, he’s too much. “Katsuki, it hurts…” he squeezes your hand, and begins kissing your tears away, distracting you from the painful penetration. 

“I’m all in honey. It’s ok.” He rasps out. You sigh in relief. It hurts so badly, but you’ll bear with it like a good mate. 

He stays still for a few moments, cockwarming you, while he tries to restrain his raging dragon. He growls in satisfaction, having popped your cherry and claimed your body. His scent is all over your body, even your insides. 

He begins moving his hips, hungry for the friction. You start to relax slightly, and after a few thrusts, you start to even enjoy it. 

He moans when your walls squeeze him, squelching sounds filling the room as he picks up speed. He lays his head on your chest, sucking your mounds while his hips snap against yours. 

“‘Gonna breed you so good. You’re gonna be gorgeous, swollen and full with our hatchlings. They better look like you, gorgeous.” He rambles, his cock twitching at the thought of you nursing the hatchlings with your milk and rocking them and cooing at them. It seems that you agree with him, because you hug his body tighter and squeeze him harder. So hard that his fucking falters. 

He groans when your fingers pull his hair, pretty lips mouthing pleas to come, the broken begs sounding better then any music he’d ever heard. 

He grabs your knees, pushing them against your chest, which made your walls even tighter, and let him breach and massage untouched places. 

“Ah.” You moan loudly in surprise when his tip nudges against your crevix, your tongue lolling out lewdly. 

His expression mirrors yours as he flushes an even deeper shade of red. He groans as you tighten around him in preparation for an orgasm. 

“Tell me baby, did that feel good ?” He asks, pushing your legs against your chest even more while the sound of the room fills with his balls slapping against you. 

“Yes. Thank you- thank you. Please let me cum. I’ve been good. Please. Please.” You plead and plead, but his hips slow down in response. 

“No !” You protest. He shushed you gently, grunting at the sudden lack of pleasure coursing through his body. 

“Shh. It’s ok. I’ll let you cum if you do this one thing.” You nod eagerly in response. Anything. 

“Tell me you love me.” You almost expected the voice you heard to be animalistic and deep like Bakugo, but it’s the more humanoid one lf your husband. 

“I love you Katsuki.” 

His heart flutters, the words he’s been so desperate to hear finally come out of your mouth. His lips lay a soft peck on your lips, his tender touch soft like a lover’s touch would be. 

“I love you too kitten.” He replies, and before your brain can return to its senses, his hips begin slamming again, and in no time, you are squeezing him like a vice while you cum around his cock. He hugs your small body close to him, your soft chest against his, while his cock paints your walls white. 

“So much cum and it’s all for you. It’s gonna keep coming out because dragons have that much fucking cum for their mates-“ he rambles breathlessly, shocks still traveling through his body, “- then when it finishes, I’m gonna flip you and fuck you from behind and fill you all over again.” 

The fog was starting to clear from your head, and once again, you become aware of your sweaty bodies hugging each other close and his massive cock that's still inside you and still filling you with cum.

“Uh, you want to do it again ?” You ask, unsure whether his post orgasmic rambling his nonsensical or not. 

His red eyes look at your flushed face, and he wipes any sweat or tears sticking to it with his hand- which is fairly sweaty in its own regard, but he wanted to feel like he’s taking care of you. 

“Can I ? I- the dragon is not totally satisfied yet.” He confesses while his hand presses your bloated stomach and hisses due to his cock still being inside. He’s proud of having bloated his mate because of his seed. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t do it again.

..................

please like and reblog if you liked this, and thanks for reading.

kofi

[bokuroskitten]

𝔅𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥

〈 you and kuroo have been together for years. Bokuto is his closest ally, so what happens when theres a breach.

† genre/pairing: 18+ NSFW MINORS DNI Yakuza AU, Bokuto Koutarou x Fem!Reader.

† word count: 4.2k

† warnings: dubcon (corersion / power imbalance), pining, fingering (f!receiving), creampie, unproctected sex, aftercare if you squint, possessive behaviour.

❦ this lovely piece is for @sugawara-sweetheart decadence collab! I’m slipping in right before the due date hehe! Please check out all the other amazing pieces in collab. Also shoutout to @semisgroupie for beta reading this for me! Ily dee ❦ please let me know what you all think!

You can still remember it, the day Kuroo finally asked to be your boyfriend. Standing outside of the gym, still sweaty from practice. He had come all the way to Fukurodani Academy from his college in Tokyo just to make sure he caught you leaving the gym.

He had been so nervous, taking your hand into his and giving you that classic smirk you loved so dearly.

“I know you have a volleyball team to run, but do you think you have time for a boyfriend too?”

You had been together ever since, even when you graduated, even when Kuroo had to drop out to take over for his father, even when you discovered his father ran a large chunk of the Japanese Yakuza’s underground division.

Kuroo had always been careful, he never brought that life home to you. You were his angel, his precious kitten. Whatever hardships, shady dealings, and dangerous activity he had to do was kept away from home. Away from you at any and all costs.

His job and his life with you was kept separate, for your safety mostly. He has enemies on the other side that would do anything to get their hands on the great Kuroo Tetsuro’s little fiancé and that alone was enough for Kuroo to keep you safe, hidden, and protected with the help of his closest allies.

Which consisted of Bokuto Koutarou. You were already well acquainted with the silver owl, considering the two of you had gone to the same high school. Bokuto had gone into the Yakuza around the same time Kuroo did, easily making a name for himself so his father could enjoy the rest of his life without crime attached to his name. Kuroo and Bokuto stayed close, and got even closer when they had to step into this lifestyle.

Allies were important to have, Kuroo and Bokuto knew this and used their long term friendship to their advantage. Bokuto was one of the only people who knew exactly who you were, your true identity and your relationship to Kuroo. He was to look after you if Kuroo had any “business trips” or had to suddenly leave for “meetings.” Kuroo trusted him to keep you safe, and Bokuto promised to do just that.

What Bokuto hadn’t expected was to fall for you.

He had always seen you like a cute underclassman, always trying your hardest to make everyone happy. Never once did he think he’d start to notice the way your hips swayed when you walked, or how plump your lips were when you applied lip gloss.

It had to be your fault. Maybe you were doing this all on purpose. Bokuto knew himself, and he knew he wasn’t the type of person to fall for his best friend's fiance. So that means it had to be you, maybe you were trying to get his attention when you wore those pretty skirts, maybe you were trying to pull him in when you batted your lashes at him.

Bokuto couldn’t take it anymore, not when he started staring at you a little longer than he should, not when he started to get hard in your presence. Especially not when he started to fuck his fist late at night, hips humping wildly into his palm as your name vibrated off his lips.

So he decided to do something about it. The opportunity presented itself when Kuroo called him up, told him he had some last-minute business to attend to and if he could stay the night with you just in case. Of course, Bokuto agreed, reassuring him that you would be completely safe with him.

So that’s how the two of you ended up here, on the couch late into the evening. You were already dozing off, nuzzling your face into a pillow while your legs laid across Bokuto’s lap. Although a movie had been playing, his amber eyes were locked on your legs. He ate up the surface of your skin, eyes lingering until they landed on your crotch which was currently covered in a pair of satin red pajama bottoms.

The ones Kuroo had bought you for your last anniversary.

Bokuto could feel his heart picking up in speed as he smoothed his palm over your leg. Which had been resting on your knee, but he moved it up, rubbing soft circles into your thigh. You stirred a bit, a yawn slipping past your lips.

“Bo, m’sleepy, gunna go to bed.”

He felt his chest tighten, along with the grip he had on your thigh. It made you squirm.

“Don’t go just yet Birdy. Stay up a little longer, yea? We can watch whatever you want.”

“I won’t stay awake.” You rebuttal, attempting to pull your legs away from Bokuto’s lap.

He worked quickly, deciding on tickling your leg. You jolted from the suddenness of the attack, giggles and whines leaving your lips in streams as Bokuto persisted. He worked his way over you, fingers travelling up your sides and continuing the tickling until his hands found your hips.

Your eyes were sparkling with tears when he finally finished the onslaught, chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. That task only seemed more complicated when Bokuto’s large palms pressed your hips further into the couch, his much larger figure looming over you.

In the dimness of the living room, his eyes looked different. Lit up by only the subtle glow of the tv. His pupils were blown out, darting between you and your chest. You suddenly became very aware of his piercing gaze, clearing your throat which made his eyes shoot back up to meet yours.

“Koutarou… is something wrong?”

Bokuto had to hold back a moan at the sweet sound of your pretty little voice. Koutarou. His first name so easily slips off your tongue as if you already belong to him. The scar on the corner of his lip twitched when he grinned down at you.

Before you could ask him again his lips were on yours, smothering any words that threatened to question him again. Your eyes widened, shock and confusion and an odd sense of warmth filling your stomach.

You did the first thing that came to mind, you squirmed, whimpered beneath him.

Wrong. This is all wrong. Bokuto was your senpai, a friend, an ally.

What if Kuroo came home?

“B-Bo--” you managed to squeak out when his lips finally left your own, only to begin pressing wet kisses along your jaw, down your chin. Everything was suddenly a little hazy, and you couldn’t tell whether this sensation was fear or something else.

Something that you had only felt for Kuroo for as long as you could remember.

You snapped back into reality when his lips got dangerously close to your chest, lips threatening to pass the hem of the satin neckline. You yelped, fingers going into Bokuto’s hair and giving a harsh tug.

“B-Bokuto! What are--”

“Birdy--” There was a growl in his tone, one that made your fingertips go numb and your breath caught in your throat.

When he looked back at you he didn’t quite look like himself. This is what you pictured Bokuto looked like on the job. Eyes cold, lips held in a stern line. Not a single speckle of that sparkling gold that his orbs usually held. No traces of a grin that his lips usually graced.

This was Bokuto Koutaruo, a businessman, a potential threat, a possible killer.

“Birdy.” He repeated again, softer this time. He must have felt the way you tensed, the way you sunk further into the couch beneath him. He brought his face close to yours once again and to his displeasure you let out a soft whimper.

“Don’t be scared of me baby, I’d never hurt you…”

“But--”

“But what, pretty, what's the matter, hm? Don’t you want me to show you how much I care about you… don’t you wanna feel special…”

His words were slightly slurred, or so they seemed in your head. His tongue was against your ear, tracing along your earlobe as his warm breath fanned against your skin.

It was a familiar scent, bubblegum. Bokuto’s favourite. It seemed too sweet so close to your nose.

His hands smoothed up your sides, thumbs just inches away from slipping up your tank top and it had goosebumps forming all along your skin.

Wrong.

“We can’t.” You muttered, voice sounding much weaker than you wanted it to when Bokuto pressed another kiss behind your ear.

“Why not?” He was relentless, one knee slowly wedging itself between your thighs despite the way you were squirming.

“Kuroo--”

“Kuroo wants me to take care of you Birdy, and I’m doing just that, aren’t I?” You yelped softly when his teeth suddenly sunk into the flesh of your collarbone. When had he moved down so much? Why hadn’t you noticed his sliver spikes tickling your chin or the way his palms had begun to slide the silky material up your skin.

“I’m taking care of you by makin’ you feel good…”

“But--”

“Kuroo’s gonna be happy…” Bokuto continues, his words suddenly sound distant, your body unbelievably hot as his lips find the tops of your breasts. “His pretty kitty is gonna feel safe and pleased when he gets home…”

Your fingers were no longer lost in Bokuto’s hair, rather they were held loosely above your head, one of his big palms keeping them anchored there as he lifted himself.

You whined, the sudden loss of contact making goosebumps rise along your flesh.

Bokuto had a hard time keeping his grin to himself. Your lips were in a small pout, body squirming, eyes holding a little bit of confusion but most of all.

Desire.

He would get you there. He would hear it.

“I want you Koutaruo .”

“Your heart’s beating really fast.” Bokuto’s voice was low, nothing more than a whisper behind the static of the tv. It made a lump form in your chest.

Your chest tightened the further he pulled away from you. You weren’t exactly sure what you wanted, but you knew you didn’t want him to leave.

“Koutarou.”

There it was.

He leaned back in, his large palm sliding away from your wrists and down your arm instead. All the way down until he cupped your cheek in a large palm. His thumb swiped along your bottom lip.

He had to hold back a groan when your lips opened up just a sliver when your tongue threatened to touch his thumb.

“Let me take care of you, Birdy.”

“Will Kuroo really be okay with it?”

Your voice shook, soft and sweet and oh so innocent. Naive. Adorable.

Bokuto couldn’t wait to have you all to himself. Clearly, Kuroo hadn’t taught you well enough. But Bokuto would, he would teach you to stay away from guys like him.

“Course he will, baby, he always wants what's best for you, isn't that right?”

All you had to do was nod. A gentle, subtle nod. And Bokuto’s lips were back on yours. It was a deep kiss, pressed tightly to your lips and suppressing any chance of denial. Your fingers were back in his hair, but you didn’t tug this time.

Rather you just ran your fingers through silver locks. A bit stiff from the gel, and yet so very soft.

Soft like Kuroo’s.

“Spread your legs, angel.” That dizzy feeling was back when Bokuto’s words vibrated against your lips. Your legs spread open despite your confusion. They were commanded, working on their own.

Working because of the strings Bokuto has somehow placed on them.

“Good girl.” You shivered. That’s what Kuroo always called you.

Was it him speaking to you?

Bokuto was holding back a groan. He should have felt sick to his stomach, looking down at you between his legs with teary eyes and a slightly confused expression. He should have been thinking of Kuroo, his best friend, ally.

But instead, he just felt himself harden, licking along his lower lip and bringing his large palm to cup your sex. You were so warm, even through the fabric of your shorts.

He rubbed it, slow and soft, his eyes widening as he watched you, twitching and whimpering. You were already becoming so pliant, hips rubbing back into his palm. The longer it went on, the warmer you got.

He was so excited to split you open.

“Tell me what you want.” Bokuto looked into your eyes, waited. He knew the words were there on the tip of your tongue.

“C-Can you…” It was so cute, hearing you stutter over yourself despite the way you shamelessly pressed into his hand.

“Can you touch me, Kou...”

Finally he released his groan, loud and guttural. He moved his hands only a moment, just long enough to grip the hem of your shorts. In one swoop they were off your trembling thighs, discarded on the floor.

You were even more beautiful than Bokuto had imagined, one palm covering your flustered face while your thighs glistened in the dim glow of the tv. And there was your cunt, folds slightly swollen and shiny with your desire.

He would have taken a picture if he could have but that could be saved for another time.

“You’re so pretty baby, you’ve got the perfect little cunt.” Bokuto said with one of his signature grins, the ones that used to make your heart flutter back in high school when he would score a point.

His fingers were gentle, rubbing one large strip along your slit. Slowly he split open your lips, holding back the urge to drool. There was your perfect hole, fluttering around nothing.

Basically beckoning him.

“S-Stop staring Kou…” your voice was so whiny, so soft as you looked at him through tear clumped lashes. He hushed you softly, one palm on your cheek so he could have a better view of your face.

He just had to see what you looked like when he finally pressed inside.

“Can’t help it Birdy, you’re just so beautiful…” His thumb pushed past your bottom lip at the same time he pressed two thick fingers into your pussy. Your gasp was adorable, lips quickly latching onto his thumb to hide the whines.

His fingers alone were enough to cause a slight burn, the stretch feeling so much different than the one Kuroo could provide for you. It made you press your hips into his touch, your trembling fingers gripping his wrist with desperation.

Bokuto bit his lip, slowly pumping his fingers in and out. He would push all the way in until he reached his knuckles, allowing the cold surface of his rings to make you yelp every time before pulling out to just his fingertips.

He kept this pace until your hips began to match it, your adorable little body humping along his fingers as you tried your very best to keep yourself quiet.

Bokuto didn’t want that though. He wanted to hear you, needed to hear his name spilling off your lips. So he pulled his thumb from your mouth, gave your bottom lip a little tug as an act of encouragement.

“Feels good baby? Tell me how it feels?”

“F-Feels.” You were still stumbling over yourself. So cute. “Feels good…”

“Yea? I can tell, your pussy is swallowing me up.”

He chuckled when embarrassment flashed over your face, but before you could hide your face from him yet again he pressed the pad of his thumb to your clit. The action had you gasping, back lifting slightly off the mattress.

“That’s it…” Bokuto murmured, gaze locked on your face, how it scrunched up and twisted so pretty as the pleasure took over you. Your cunt squeezed around his fingers, an indication for him to add just one more.

“S’too much~” you tried whimpering at him, but Bokuto brushed it off with a couple of quick kisses to your lips. He had to prep you anyway, his cock was already threatening to rip through his pants.

When your voice heightened in pitch Bokuto picked up his pace. He brought his face close to your pussy, allowing his hot breath to fan over it. That had you grasping the cushions for dear life, a string of pleas leaving your lips.

“Want you to come on my fingers now Birdy. You can do it. It’ll feel so good. Be a good girl and cum.”

Your body reacted for you, lips hung open in a silent scream as his fingertips focused on that spongy spot within you. With a couple more tight circles into your clit you fell apart, walls clenching before gushing around his fingers.

Bokuto’s pupils blew out at the sight, nothing but primal desire flooding his system as he watched your arousal drown out his fingers. It wet his knuckles, coated his rings as he ever so slowly pulled his fingers free. The slick pop had both of you groaning softly, and he couldn’t help but watch as he spread his fingers apart to find strings of your arousal keeping them together.

He had to have a taste and refused to continue the evening without it. So he sucked his fingers into his mouth. His moan was nothing short of obscene, making sure he licked off every ounce of your essence.

You were panting as you watched him, eyes still tear glazed and body tingling as it came down from the high. When he finally noticed you staring he grinned.

But this time it was different. Not the scoring high school Bokuto, or the Bokuto who would flash this grin when he had a little too much to drink

This was different. Darker, carnal. It made a shiver travel all the way up your spine.

And yet you still didn’t say no when he told you to take your tank top off, didn’t say no when he pulled off his own black button up, back muscles rippling in the dim lighting as he pulled you into his lap.

And you definitely couldn’t say no to him when he pulled his cock free, the sheer length and girth making you whine.

He was so much bigger than Kuroo. Thicker, wider, maybe even longer.

“Shh Birdy, hold on tight. It’s only gonna hurt for a few seconds. Then I’m gonna make you feel so very good.” His reassurance puts you at ease. Kuroo had done the same for you, way back when the two of you first slept together.

Would Kuroo really be okay with this--

The gasp that was ripped from your throat made Bokuto that much more excited. Just his tip had pushed past the first ring of muscles and already there were tears in your eyes, nails digging into his shoulders at the stretch he provided.

“K-Kou, can’t, I can’t”

“Shh birdy. Remember I’m gonna make you feel good, promise.” And he really did want to make you feel good but fuck, with the way your pussy already clenched around his tip, threatened to suffocate him as he pressed in inch by inch, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his cool.

You were already creaming when he finally bottomed out, your legs wobbly when they tightened around him. Bokuto couldn’t tear his gaze from his lap, where he stretched out your sweet cunt. It was already drooling, swollen from just being split open by him.

Absent-mindedly he trailed his fingers over your tummy, fingers cursorily tracing the bulge he was able to form there.

There’s no way Kuroo filled you up this good, Bokuto knew that for certain.

“P-Please.” Your voice snapped Bokuto back to reality, the whine in your tone enough to make his dick twitch inside you. “M-Move Kou, need you.”

He sighed. Of course you needed him.

With his palms firmly grasping your hips he pulled you up his cock, just enough that the tip was still edged inside before he began to fuck you on himself. His arm muscles rippled with each push and pull, his hips thrust upwards every time he pushed you back down in order to help with the momentum.

You were gripping onto him so tightly, leaving red streaks along his shoulder blades. Your moans were sweet, sweet music, filling up the empty space with nothing but babbles and cries of his name.

There was still a part of him that looked at you with disappointment, a part of him that screamed how wrong this was, a part of him that knew if Kuroo walked through the doors right now you’d probably both be dead.

But when you looked at him with a tear streaked face, lips hung in a silent cry, skin rippling due to his relentless thrusts, how could he stop himself?

He was even more thrilled when your nails dug into his skin, along his back and shoulders, even along his forearms and pecks. “That’s it Birdy, you’re doin’ so well, takin’ my cock like this.”

The wet slapping sounds soon filled up the room, along with the moans and whimpers the both of you released. With a grunt, Bokuto had your back against the cushions once more, just so he could thrust within your tight cunt harder, faster.

Anything to feel you coming around him, to feel your walls squeeze him. It was everything he knew it would be, better even.

And he knew, Kuroo couldn’t make you feel this way, no way in hell could he even compare.

You had planned to ask him to pull out. No one had ever come inside you before, except Kuroo of course. It was his way of marking you, the subtle possessiveness always coming through when he would fill you to the brim and then plug you up.

But now, as Bokuto drilled into you, showered you with praises and sweet groans you lost all thought. All you thought of was the sweet sting, the stretch his cock could provide. The way he was able to smack into your sweet spot with every thrust.

So when he grunted out a “gonna cum.” you couldn’t find the words to stop him, rather you just let your eye roll back, let out a sweet cry when one of his calloused thumbs pressed into your clit.

Bokuto’s hips smacked into you once, twice more, before his balls twitched and his load filled you up. Rope after rope of warm cum spilled into you, one last strand being milked from him as you clenched up around him, finishing only seconds after he did.

His arms were around you, holding your trembling form so tightly to his chest. He had to look though, had to see exactly what it looked like when you were filled to the brim. So he pulled up just a little bit, moaned out loud at the sight of his cock, how when he slowly pulled it out it was covered in a layer of milky slick.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful…” He murmured, fingers scooping up the beads of arousal dripping from your used hole, only to push them back in.

He didn’t want a single drop wasted.

You were finally starting to come down from the high when Bokuto lifted his weight from you, the loss of contact making you shudder. In your right mind you could have covered up, but instead, you stayed sprawled out, lips tilted into a dumb little smile.

“K-Kou…” You murmured to him, making him look down at you as he stretched out, wincing from the marks you left that managed to break skin.

“Kuroo is gonna be so happy, you took great care of me…” Bokuto hummed, his smirk growing. He was so lucky, so lucky you were so sweet and naive.

He scooped you up then, carrying you bridal style up the stairs. As much as he would have loved to leave you there on the couch, a nice mess for Kuroo to come home to, he had to play it safe. He made sure to clean you up properly, tuck you into bed with fresh and clean clothes.

Bokuto couldn’t lose his closest ally just yet. So until then--

“I’ll make sure Tetsu knows. But you baby, I want you to keep it our secret okay? Can you do that for me?”

That sat funny with you, made your stomach tighten, just how it had at the beginning of the evening. You wanted to question him, ask why you couldn’t be a part of the discussion.

But when Bokuto loomed over you once more, one of his much larger palms easing itself over your neck, you were reminded yet again. Reminded of Bokuto and his power, his power over you.

And now over Kuroo.

“It's our secret. Remember that Birdy. Kuroo has always kept you in a cage, away from the world so others couldn’t hurt you, isn’t that right? Well now I’m going to do the same, keep you in a cage of my own, just the two of us…”

❦ @hqintheclub {check out the network}

❦ all rights reserved to bokuroskitten©

[quillsareswords]

1:20

Damian Wayne x reader

SUMMARY: You're lucky you've memorized Robin's schedule: it might me the only saving grace you've got left.

WARNINGS: blood, near-death

Master List in bio

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning in early June.

Gotham never really gets hot, but the humidity suffocates anything that might think that's a relief. You didn't check the weather this evening. You probably should have.

It's 1:20 on a Tuesday morning. He's gonna be here. You've had mixed feelings about knowing his schedule this well in the past, but now it's the deciding factor of your fate.

It's 1:20. That means you've been bleeding like a stuck pig for ten straight minutes, even if it feels like it's been hours. Or seconds. You don't really know anymore. You're getting dizzy.

So you've leaned against the wall. Some little roof access point that stands tall above the gravel covering the rooftop. The brick digs into your shoulder, even through your jacket.

You're starting to think you've gotten it wrong. Or maybe he just didn't show today. Maybe you're out of luck this time.

It was dumb. Stupid to think that you could stop this. Stupid to think you would end any way other than alone.

It was on purpose, after all. Isolation, that is. You pushed and shoved everyone away with a friendly smile and kept them at arm's length, lest they wiggle their claws beneath your mask and expose you for every ugly thing you are.

You're a mole. An informant. Someone who plays every side all at once and somehow manages to stay neutral the whole time. You've been passing tips to the Bats for months now, means be damned. Trust was meager between you, but what little there is is mutual.

You'd hoped it'd be your saving grace. Hoped the side playing would leave you with at least one friend, even though it was the entire reason you're in this position in the first place. You had hoped your downfall would save you.

He appears before you two minutes late. 1:22 in the morning and he's late. He doesn't seem to have noticed you, a few feet away, surveying the street below him like it's his job (and it is), with his back to you.

"You're late, Birdy." Your voice comes quieter and rougher than it should, and the force it takes nearly sends you to the ground.

He spins around at the sound, hand already curled around the hilt of his sword by the time he faces you. He says your name lowly, like a warning, like always. His posture relaxes nonetheless. "You come with useful advice, I expect. The skirmish by the docks sounded quick, but Batman thinks–"

"I didn't know where else to go," you say suddenly, because you already know you aren't going to be conscious long enough for this conversation.

The effort gets you this time. Your knees, shaky as they've been, finally give out. You understand, and you forgive them; they carried you all the way here, after all. Your body turns on the way down, back of your jacket scraping terribly against the brick as your heels slide through the gravel. The noise you make is somewhere between a groan and a cry.

It rips the breath out of his lungs. Your name is in his mouth again as he drops to his knees beside you, gloved hands already pawing at the hand you have clamped around the knife still sheathed into your side.

"What happened?" he demands, and he's reaching for his pager with the other hand. "Who did this?"

You're too focused on the way your first name sounds in his voice. There's something nice about the way he spaces the syllables.

He says it again, all panic and worry, like he hasn't the time to mask it anymore.

You wonder for a moment if it has anything to do with his lingering stares and gruff get home safe's.

But then he's shaking your shoulder and you're wincing because it's bruised beneath the jacket.

"Stay awake, hey, stay with me. Batman is on his way. We'll fix this." There's a pause where he's sucking in a deep breath and you're trying to focus on his voice. "You're going to be fine."

You think it's a little funny. You managed to get all the way here, up a goddamn fire escape, but the moment you think he's got you, you lose all ability to keep yourself upright. You just want to sleep. You want to lay down and take a nice, long nap.

You hate to admit that it just might be because you trust him more than anyone else you know. You've only known him for a few months, but you're sure that you're safest with him. You're safe with him.

It shouldn't be much of a comfort, with Death staring you down like a lion on it's last meal. You won't need protecting if your decline doesn't level out soon. It's surprising what such little comfort feels like when you're staring Death down like a gazelle with an attitude problem.

You don't remember being moved. Or how you ended up in a medical bed with stiff, scratchy sheets and a nearly flat pillow. You do remember hearing Damian's voice, fading in and our with your consciousness. The words are all garbled and quiet, but you know the recall the sound.

Alfred is the first person you see. He's unfamiliar, but he introduces himself and offers you a warm smile and a glass of water. He brings you a bowl of soup and hands you a bottle of painkillers and another of antibiotics.

You fall asleep again, listening to some little body of water just outside the white room you're settled in.

When you wake up, it's to the sound of an argument. Batman and Robin. It's hushed, angry and patient whispers back and forth, but it's an argument all the same. You've heard them bicker enough over the last few months to recognize it.

You can't quite make it out. You hear your name a few times, something about time, something about healing, something about help. Batman finishes it.

Robin swings the squeaky door open a few moments later.

He stops halfway into the room when he sees you're awake.

You wiggle your way up the mattress to lean against the pillows behind you. "Birdy."

He sighs. "You nearly bleed out in my arms and that's how you greet me?"

He doesn't sound quite right. A little deflated, maybe. Relieved? As if he'd been holding his breath before he entered the room, and just remembered how to breathe when he caught your eye.

Course, you can't be sure he caught it at all, with those white lenses.

You cock a shoulder. "I'm sure you've seen worse. I'm sure I'll have worse."

His posture shifts as he crosses the room. He shakes his head. "That's not funny."

"It's kind of funny," you try, throwing the best carefree smile you can manage when everything beneath your skin is so sore. "I'm the one who was bleeding, that means I'm allowed to make all the jokes I want."

"That's an unhealthy coping mechanism."

"So is dressing up in red and yellow and calling yourself a bird."

His shoulders drop again. You think you might see a smile, but he turns his head away too quickly. "You should be more careful. I can't always be there to drag you out of every fire, you know."

You cross your arms, raising both knees to take some pressure off of your abdomen. He takes it as an invitation and makes himself comfortable in the chair beside the bed. He finds a comfortable position with a little too much familiarity. "I don't expect you to. I wouldn't have even been there if I wasn't getting information for you."

"For Batman–"

"Potato, pa-tot-oh."

He goes rigid again. "I never would have asked you to put yourself in danger like that."

It's defensive. Appalled, almost. Offended.

You don't know how to reply. That doesn't seem to matter though, because he's not done.

"And even if I had, I would have gone with you. I would have made sure you had backup, I would have– this never would have happened."

There's a certain distain in his tone that catches you off guard. A resentment, toward you or his partner you aren't totally sure.

He runs gloved fingers through slick black hair. Heaves a breath. Pushes himself to his feet. Falsely composed. "You may stay as long as you need. Alfred will take care of you."

"Where are you going?" It slips out before you can stop it. And perhaps you could play if off as a standard question—you are in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar people, aside from him—but it's much too quick. It sounds a little too much like don't leave me.

And you know he hears it too, because he turns back around so quickly you wonder if he even considered it. "Patrol. It's Wednesday night." And yet he makes to move to leave.

You nod. "Right. Yeah. You're, uh, what? You're over by the city museum tonight, aren't you?" You want to smack yourself. What are you doing, making small talk? He's got places to be, people to save.

"Yes." The top seal of his mask flexes when he raises an eyebrow.

You nod again. An awkward smile on your lips. "I, uh, I didn't know how to feel about knowing where you'd be most of the week, but I guess I'm glad I do. Saved my skin last night, didn't it?"

He drawls in a deep breath. "Suppose it did."

There's a long pause. You aren't sure if you're breathing, but you're sure he isn't. He looks tense, like he's torn between saying something and leaving, body angled not quite toward you.

"You can always come to me," he says suddenly. He must read something on your face, because he tumbles straight into the next sentence. "Last night, you said you didn't know who to go to. I'm telling you now, you can always come to me. I'll fix it, whatever it is."

His voice is tight. A little unsure, but not in the statement. Like a hiker on a rocky trail; unsure of his footing, but certain in his destination.

There's something else in his words. Something scrawled between the lines in thin, fragile letters. Something deeper than wounds and needing backup.

I'll fix it, whatever it is.

Your heart rate picks up, and the heart monitor reveals your secrets on the screen beside you. What it can't reveal is the way the poor organ soars, throwing itself to the clouds with reckless abandon, completely uncaring of the hard trip back down.

You still don't know how to reply. You'd like to say something witty. A little sarcastic, maybe a smidge mean. He's giving you a glimpse at his heart, beating bloody in his hands, and there's a large part of you that wants to poke it. Nothing too wounding, just enough that he never makes the mistake again.

But you can't help it. There's a much larger part of you that wails, who wants to snatch it from him to shield and cradle, because he obviously can't be trusted with it. Not if he's baring it to you.

The deciding party is the reminder of last night. Dragging yourself up a rusted fire escape, praying to anyone who might listen that he'd be there. That he'd help you. You remember thinking he wouldn't. You remember the thought hanging above you like gravediggers as you settled into a coffin: you pushed everyone away, you don't leave room for those who want to help you.

"Thank you," you attempt, and it comes barely above a whisper. You allow it to be tender. You let it embody the raw little piece of you that utters it; the piece that wants so desperately to let him in. The piece that knew he'd save you. The tender little sliver of soul who still believed you deserved to be trusted and supported. The one who still hopes for meaningful connections, even among your collection of throw-away contacts.

You can see the way he relaxes. The way he melts inside his skin, like he'd been expecting you to poke when you could have. Like it lifts a weight off of him, knowing that you'll trust him enough to come to him in the future.

"I'll be back in a few hours. You should sleep."

You roll your eyes. "Sleep in some weird ass white room I've never been in, surrounded by a bunch if people I barely know. Yeah, I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby."

He recognizes that you aren't entirely serious, but he also recognizes the orange pill bottles on the table beside you. "If Alfred has you on those, I trust you will—no matter where you are."

You chuckle, he offers you the tiniest smile, and then he's gone. Vanished into the rest of whatever strange building he whisked you into.

You should be worried about it. Not knowing where you are, exactly who you're with, who has access to you. But you aren't. And it might be the medication making you compliant, and you'll look back on this in a week and be horrified—or it could be that you've broken all your own rules and thrust all if your trust into the hands of a boy you've never seen without a mask.

[archetypal-archivist]

Grian- Boots for the Rain Gone Cold

Kind of a story idea for Ex-Watcher Grian, 3500+ words. This is what happens when you listen to the song Welly Boots on repeat for a couple hours. The premise is that Grian and the Hermits aren’t quite as nice as they seem, and when Grian has to flee Hermitcraft to keep his friends safe from the Watchers, his friends do some malicious compliance to take care of him while he is away.

------

A story in which the hermits take care of their own, even beyond borders they should not be able to cross.

Take a standard story about Watcher Grian. See him come to Hermitcraft, lost and alone and afraid. He has been through Evo, killed a dragon whilst alone and afraid, was taken against his will, watched his friends Pearlescent Moon and Taurtis die. He knows how to take care of himself, but nothing more than that.

Hermitcraft changes that, for him. Standing outside a portal that is unlike any he had ever seen, even during his time as a watcher, seeing a team of 20+ walk out is terrifying. But they had seen him, looked at each other, then rushed forward to claim him as their own. In the beginning he is left alone until he tentatively reaches out, saving Scar's stuff after he has died. An action unlike him, but he had appreciated their kindness in letting him stay, so he does his best to repay that.

Tit for tat is something he understands from the Watchers, even if this is a kinder variant.

Grian watches as people start to reach out to him, watching him with admiring eyes as he builds his first shops, offering items he's never needed or touched before now. (Conduits are so cool and he'll deny the shiver of excitement that crept up his spine when Xisuma first handed him one to his dying breath.) He watches as they smile and laugh at his antics, rather than come at him and his with sword and shield for his pranks.

He watches. He is good at that. He is significantly less good at returning their kindness, a trouble-maker to his core, intentionally or no. But he tries, and in the eyes of the Hermits, that is all that matters.

Iskall feeds him, sometimes, when he is sick and delirious, screaming at the shadows in the corners. They do not let him starve himself to death. (He learns to hide half stacks of golden carrots in their chests, just enough to replenish their supply, but not enough that they'd notice.)

Mumbo is patient with him when he comes crashing into his base like a wrecking ball, sometimes plowing into the taller hermit's redstone face first in the process. He just helps Grian up, smiling and laughing, helping him brush the red dust away. (Grian learns that Mumbo cannot sleep without noise, too used to the ticking of redstone clocks and firing pistons to sleep in quiet. He learns to fly in on late nights when Mumbo's base is still lit up and talk with his friend, chattering away until Mumbo can find it in himself to turn the lag machines off and fall asleep to the sound of Grian's voice.)

Xisuma watches the world with all the focus and patience that Grian once used when designing stars and bedrock towers. For Xisuma, Grian will watch the world too and ease its updates when he can- one less burden for his admin to carry, taken and handled with silent, secret grace.

Joe reads and reads and reads, spinning tales of his finds to all who stand still long enough for him to pin down for a bit. For Joe, Grian will bring out some of his old high school textbooks for him on the days when the man runs out of books to read.

Zedaph lives in a cave, warm and dry, but without color, the only life being the experiments rattling around in the background. For Zedaph, Grian will sneak in mushrooms and moss, encouraging them to grow in the shadows until the cavern blooms with them.

For the hermits, Grian is kind. For the hermits, Grian will learn.

Then one day it all comes crashing down, perhaps in the face of a bedrock tower springing from nowhere, perhaps in violent, screaming outburst of purple fire, perhaps in the face of a friend he once thought dead. The Watchers had tried their damnest to stamp out his heart and they nearly succeeded, but just as they could not stamp out his free will they also could not stamp out his humanity, and people- regardless of shape or size or color or race or species- are born to love and be loved.

Grian loves his Hermits. To protect them, he must leave. And so he does, quietly and in the dead of night, the faint echoes of screams ringing in his ears. If he has it his way, never again will he hear his hermit's pain, imagined or otherwise. It would be best to just forget.

Grian settles in a rainy little single player server that turns out to not be as single player as he would like. It seems instead to be an abandoned multiplayer server, lost dogs and empty houses abound in the distant corners, and every once in a while a new player stumbles in, running from something, settling in long enough to call the server home. Sometimes, these new players stay. Sometimes, whatever is chasing them catches up and they are forced to leave. Grian refuses to care for these fellow vagabonds, even as he watches from under the eaves of his perfectly constructed rustic house, rain dripping down and obscuring him from their wondering, pained eyes.

Grian has given up on having happy ending, and if the ending the narrative seems to want to give him is a tragedy, then he will seize it with both hands and rewrite it himself. What he does not take into account, however, is that the Hermits don't take kindly to being abandoned.

Grian was once a Watcher, and while watching and mimicking are perhaps some of his better skills, he was still new to the server and as such there is much about his Hermits he never had a chance to discover. Their pasts in large part remained a mystery to him, as he had learned to mimic kindness too well from them to ever pry. (They would have told him, if he had asked. Love was another thing he had learned from them, and if he had been seen and not just watched, he perhaps would have noticed how strongly they cared for him too.)

But yes. Though Grian was perhaps the only one of their number on the run from literal gods, he was not the only one with a tragic back story.

Xisuma, who watched the Hermitcraft server with all the vigilance of a soldier who had watched his fellow troops and their enemies weaponize glitches against each other, to the mass extinction of both. Evil X, who ran from it all, only to end up in a place where nothing violent simply became nothing.

Joe, who read and read and read, devouring knowledge the way he once devoured worlds, eyes flickering white on the nights when hunger panged in his stomach worse than usual. Cleo, who also knew the pain of consumption, from both sides of teeth like knives.

Zedaph, who popped into existence one day, whole and unsullied, with a vast, empty void where his past ought to be, who forgot sometimes that people are supposed to have likes and dislikes and colors and an instinctual obedience towards the laws of gravity. Tango and Impulse, who watched their friend and each other with eagle eyes to keep their trio from slipping back into old, self-destructive habits. (Overwork, overclocking, over-stimulation. All were equally killer.)

Grian, who's first and best skill, even before his building, was causing mischief and creating fun. A welcome distraction from old pains.

They loved him, the Hermits. In whatever flavor they chose, they loved him. They knew his darkness, though perhaps not the exact nature of it, and they knew that he loved them back. And then he left them.

The Hermits were powerful with love and sorrow and determination. Grian thought he could leave them so quickly, uproot himself from their hearts like a ghost in the night? Ha.

As. If.

It begins like this- Grian wakes in his little spruce house in the middle of a mostly abandoned town. The rain is pouring outside as it nearly always is and the rushing of wind through the trees puts him in the mind of his old ship-in-a-bottle base, warm and safe from the wet outside. He wakes up, stretches, thinks of eating. Steps outside and-

a brand new pair of bright red rain boots, almost glowing in the grey mist of early morning. They are in his colors, Grian just knows they would fit him perfectly. A welcome sort of gift, perfect for a world drenched in rain. Perfect for him, gifted with thought, with care. His stomach curdles and he just knows he won't be eating breakfast today either. A curl of a finger and the boots go up in purple flames, the scent of burnt rubber joining the petrichor of the air. He goes back inside. Goes back to sleep. Tries not to dream.

The boots are back the next day, shining red and a little closer to the door to better keep them out of the rain. He burns those too.

The boots keep appearing. Always bright red, always perfectly sized to fit him- squeaky new rubber, perfect for keeping out the rain. In the face of that, red boots like clockwork, is it any wonder that Grian gets tired? His front porch stinks of burnt rubber and there are new planks wherever he had to remove the scorched oak. Perhaps it's the burning that causes a new pair to appear- if there are no boots, a new pair comes to replace them, so perhaps a different method of disposal is in order.

He throws the next pair into the river. A new pair comes back to him the next day, alongside the old ones, dripping with sea grass and mud. Hmm.

(Cleo has friends in the rivers and oceans. It's easy enough to call in a favor or three to get the boots returned.)

Creepers next. A loud hiss and an even louder boom has him flinching back, phantom burns dancing across his fingers, but the boots are naught but ash. Three pairs of boots next time, one of them a dark swirling grey rather than the traditional red, as if mocking their scorched past.

(Doc's work. He's had enough experience with accidentally blowing up his own tools to know how to make a blast protection charm strong enough to keep his clothes and armor safe in the case of an unfortunate accident. The grey starbursts left over the material are just a neat bonus.)

Lava. Concentrated spider venom. Flattened by pistons. Dropped into the void. Left under a lightning rod. Thrown up into a tree. Fed to a guardian.

Each and every time, the boots come back, usually with some change in pattern, color, or marking that signals just what they have been through. All in perfectly usual condition, even the pair he cut in half with an axe.

(Stress had a field day piecing that pair back together, using molten honey and mending enchants to stick the halves together again. She always had loved a challenge.)

Eventually, Grian's front porch is covered in boots in all manner of designs, and fed up with the mess, he sets the whole mess on fire again with his signature purple flame, the only thing sure to reduce the number of boots permanently. He sets his house on fire in the process. Hmmmm.

There's an influx of new people into Grian's world all of a sudden. A pair of twins jump in, bloody, battered, and exhausted, and not a week later a roughed-up blond boy joins, snappish and hurting. All three lack shoes.

Now, Grian very firmly does not want to interact with any of them. He had found true friends among the Hermits and if he can't interact with them, then he certainly doesn't want to interact with a trio of traumatized children- however, he does have a pair of boots to give and dropping them on the children's doorstep requires no interaction at all. The female twin puts them on, marveling at how big the red boots are on her while the other kids stand watch suspiciously. Grian watches this from his front porch, hidden by the mist but eyes glinting purple in the gloom so he can see comfortably. The male twin seems to spot this, shouting and pointing, and Grian goes back inside to avoid the mess.

The next morning, the boots on his doorstep are rainbow-striped and several sizes smaller, perfect for a child's feet. Grian stares down at them, something hurting and tremulous in his heart, but his face remains blank. These boots are placed on the trio's doorstep as well. The male twin wears these, and the last child ends up with a pair of blue and black spotted ones.

(False had had fun with the patterns, feeling a little bit of relief that she could hunt down some rubber in a pattern other than plain red.)

Rumor spreads of a purple-eyed monster in the woods that gave people boots to keep them safe from the rain, although Grian very carefully avoids such stories. The children begin leaving trinkets for their monster in hopes to repay him, and Grian ignores these too until one day, the children somehow manage to get an old red dog collar to give him. Upon spotting this, Grian's heart gives a squeeze as it reminds him of Rendog, and he pockets it to put on his rather empty bookshelf. Other things also get picked up, all things that remind him of the friends he had to leave behind.

An allium, pressed into a book of galactic picked up from a stronghold. A jar of electric blue ink dried into a gelatinous cake. A tiny knight figurine, scuffed and missing an arm. A handful of spicy red jellybeans. Eventually, as time passes on and on and the rain bears down harder on Grian's tiny world, a trio of heartfelt, thankful cards appear on his kitchen table, all three drawn in crayon and filled with cheerful scribbles.

It rains harder, and the world shrinks down to just Grian and the three children who call out into the gloom every morning, grateful for the boots and the glimpses of purple eyes and feathered wings in the dark that tell them that they are not alone. The boots stop coming.

In their place, new things appear.

A toaster. Firewood. New sweaters and combs and soap. Little things designed to make life easier, many of them children-sized or painted in rainbow stripes or blue polka dots or a shade of red just off from Grian's favored color. These too go to the children, and the number of gifts Grian receives increases, many of them built from the material that he gives the trio of children.

(If the Hermits cannot gift things to Grian directly, then they will gift them to people who will transform them into something their wayward friend would accept. They do so with equal parts love and spite, angry to have been rebuffed but unwilling to let Grian feel himself forgotten. The trio of kids end up with a rather odd assortment of things. Tango, for example, is fond of the easy-bake oven he sent them that always burnt the food it made. Grian got nothing but his favorite chocolate chip cookies for a week, all of them scorched.)

In time, Grian does his best to drive the children off, building traps and leaving weapons on their doorstep to scare them. The stories of the monster in the woods increase in number and many more children join the server, encouraged by tales of purple-eyed, winged beast that taught its charges to be wary and gave them tools to defend themselves. Grian's cabin remains hidden in the mist, but many more wooden structures join it in the forest.

New boots appear on his doorstep. They aren't made to fit him.

(His heart aches, but his eyes remain dry. Morning dew condenses on Grian's cheeks.)

It comes to a head like this- no world, no matter how small or safe, is fully protected from the Watchers' gaze, and in the end, they find him. Only now, there are people here that cannot leave, that Grian cannot leave behind.

The children scream for their monster to save them. He rises from the mist, eyes heavy and wings heavier, dragging upon the ground and leaving trails in the brick red mud. They think they are saved. They are wrong.

Chains shoot out from the mist, forcing Grian to his knees as a huge female Watcher, Astrid, stares down at him, mouth turned down into a tiny frown and the rest of her figure still as stone even as she floats in the air, white robes fading into the surrounding fog. The purple emblem on her mask glows like a brand. Grian watches her with purple eyes glowing dim and dull, resigned to his fate but unwilling to flee if it means the deaths of those who do not deserve to serve his sentence in his stead.

He thinks, quietly, that he will die here. He wonders if this- any of this- is worth it. He thinks, yes. Yes it is.

He is wrong.

A figure coalesces before him, clad in yellow armor and arms crossed, the very picture of annoyed defiance. It tilts its head back, hard light construct featureless but practically radiating scorn, and from the mists a voice echoes.

"You are going to leave him alone. He's not for you." Astrid hisses behind her mask, galactic crackling and vile from between her lips, and the sound of wingbeats thrums like a heartbeat through the clearing, bass-heavy and loud in Grian's ears. He winces, closing his eyes as more chains shoot out from the ground to attach to Xisuma's- for what else could it be but his admin projected across time and space (that stupid, crazy, wonderful man)- construct. They coil around it, doing their level best to drag it to the ground, but the figure remains still and hovering before Grian, entirely unmoved.

"No. You will leave him alone." Xisuma's voice again, commanding and stern even from a figure that looks more like a glowing yellow armor stand. "I'll ask that you don't test me, it took a while to put this projection together and it will not dissipate until it fulfills its intended purpose." Astrid merely hisses again, this time with an underlay of static beneath it, and Grian's wings are suddenly pulled back tight and away from his shoulders- all three pairs of them, not merely those he prefers to wear.

The sound of flesh and feathers ripping through one plane and into the next has Grian feeling sick. Wrong, his mind repeats on loop, screaming. Wrong wrong wrong. Xisuma's figure freezes at his pained squeak before unfolding its arms and going carefully still. It tilts its head to the side, considering and cold.

"Is that your game? You do realize that that is death sentence, right? We would never let you survive it." Astrid nods. The chains rise up again, clinking softly as they loop once, twice, three times around Grian's outermost pair of wings, the ones most used to the physical plane and with the most nerve endings besides. The damp air is cold and aching in his lungs.

A rip. A scream. And then everything shrinks down to a flicker of brilliant yellow light, the shrilling of broken violins, and the long, drawn-out death wail of a Watcher unused to pain. A computer crash in slow motion complete with a harsh base note as Astrid's wings fall to join Grian's in the mud.

The world expands again, overwhelming. Agony. Silence.

Chains clink to the floor, broken, as Xisuma's hard light construct comes forward to stand before the Hermits' erstwhile server mate, slumped over in a pool of blood but conscious, something in his purple eyes bent, if not a little broken.

A voice, hoarse, achingly loud in the quiet of the glade. "You didn't stop her."

"No."

"...Is this my punishment then?" A moment of quiet and then the figure stoops down to gather Grian into its arms, its featureless gaze doing little to ease his fear.

Then, gently, ".....No."

Grian slumps, the last bit of tension seeping from his limbs as the pain in his back begins to register, sapping at his will and leeching into his voice.

"I'm sorry, you know. I- I'm sorry. I didn't want to go. It just- it hurts. Hels it hurts, so much. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I know. I know." Xisuma's figure stands up, hoisting Grian a little higher up against its chest so that hiss remaining wings don't drag on the ground quite as much, then turning to face the cowering children. Eventually, a little girl in bright red rain boots stands up to meet its gaze.

She blinks back tears, scrubbing at her face to hide them, but her expression is brave. "Where are you taking him?"

The figure clutches the children's monster close, looking just as fierce as any dragon in a fairytale. "Home. Will you stop me?"

The girl pauses, considering. "No. Don't think I could, really."

"Will you try?"

"To keep going? Yeah, of fucking course, sure as my name is Clementine. To stop you? Not bloody likely, I like my head right where it is." Xisuma's figure nods, satisfied, and with a blink, it and their monster are gone.

Notes:

[bimswritings]

Savage Opress x Reader

Request: Open

Warnings:Yandere Themes, canon-typical violence

Summary: On their conquest of the universe, Savage finds himself drawn to one of the newest captives in their spread of power.

A/n: The next chapter of ‘This is our way’ is up on my Ao3. It will be posted here after I finish and upload my current Armorer x reader fic.

__________________________________________________

Your planet wasn’t anything special. Located out in the outer rim, it was little more than a moon compared to its neighbors. Its land was barren and cold, an almost ever present frost covering the ground.

Yet you and your people had made it your home, learning how to grow a small amount of crops and mine the rare metals underneath. A job you had yourself, providing enough money for you and your younger brother to live on until he was old enough to work as well. What was produced was enough to give your people an economy, yet remain under the radar and out of the war that ravaged the rest of the planet. The Republic and Separatist had limited interactions this far out at best, and you were able to enjoy a peaceful life, if not a bit exhausting.

Unfortunately, it was this isolation that had been your saving grace for so long that also proved your downfall.

Their ships arrived in numbers you had never seen before, landing on the grey dirt and unloading copious amounts of armored men and women. Your village didn’t even have time to put up a fight, overpower and subdued before you could even think of a weapon to protect yourself.

Soon you were corralled into the town center, separated into groups seemingly at random. Families were torn apart, mother from child and husband from wife. The entire time your brother clung to your leg, hiding as the armed guards shoved you along through the crowds. You tried to stay out of sight the best you could in an attempt to draw the least amount of attention to yourself, hoping, praying, that you could go unnoticed enough to keep him with you.

Above it all, standing out against the dull sky with their vibrant colors, were two Zabraks. Creatures you had only ever heard about in stories from the occasional trader that passed through, and had been just that, stories, until now. Their horns alone were enough to send shivers down your spine, each one protruding from the crown of theirs heads like a twisted version of a crown. Unlike a crown, you knew they weren’t for decoration. The damage they could undoubtedly do if provoked only solidified their threatening presence.

Now they stood above you all, tattoos illuminated in the light of the setting sun. The shorter red one stood in front, chin raised and chest puffed with pride as he looked over your people with another armored man, this one clearly human. He seemed to not even notice the cold, bare chest on full display for anyone to see the unique markings that marred his skin. Just beyond him stood the second Zabrak. His yellow markings stood out even more than his companions, only emphasized by his large size. None of the others even came close to his height, let alone the bulk you could tell he possessed under his armor. Even from here you could tell he could wrap a single hand around your neck and snap it easily with his strong fingers.

His gaze was just as impassionate, if not more so, seeming more bored than anything as he watched the proceedings.

“Come on! Move it!” One of the guards yelled, catching your shoulder as he pushed you forward, reminding you bitterly of Telik being led to slaughter. You kept Jay close, keeping your head down as you passed more guards, pace increasing. Just a few more yards and you would be with the others. Whatever the future had in store for you, at least you would still have each other.

“Hey, you!” A voice called, clearly directed your way, though you pretended not to hear. A cold sweat broke out across your skin as footsteps closed in, hand reaching out and stopping you in your tracks.

“Children don’t go in this area.” He growled, prying Jay from where he hid, ignoring his cries and your screams as he was pulled away. A guard stepped forward to hold you back, another coming to his aide as you fought to get to your brother, who was making it just as difficult for his own captor to drag him away. Even with the muscle gained from the mines you struggled against them, putting up your own desperate fight.

“Stop moving you little- fuck!” He yelped, pulling his arm away and out of Jay’s mouth, which had latched on to the only unarmored part of the hand holding him.

Immediately he turned and was running back towards you, tears streaming down his face and blue eyes wide with fear. In his panic to get back, his childish coordination caught up to him and his feet caught on one another, throwing him to the ground as he was left to scramble. All the while the guard he had bitten approached. 

“You little brat!” He snarled. His hand moved to his hip, producing a whip from its depths. The long weapon crackled to life, sparking with energy as it extended to full length.

Your own stomach dropped in fear as you watched. 

Jay, the one light in your life, the only person you had left, was in danger. You were his older sister. You were supposed to protect him, guide him into adulthood in place of your parents. Be there to kiss away every injury, wipe away the tears after every nightmare.

A new burst of energy flooded your system, giving you the strength needed to push past the guards, leaving them stumbling as you flew towards Jay.

The man brought his arm down, whip swinging in a wide arc aimed at the defenseless boy on the ground. 

It didn’t even have the chance to hit him. You slid the last few feet on the rough terrain, body covering his at the last second and jolting as the electric weapon met your clothed back, ripping through the material like a stone through water. A pained scream tore itself from your lips. Not even when you had gotten a burn from a small explosion in the mines had it hurt this much. In fact, you would take a dozen burns before this. This was just pure agony, the pain not even limited to a single area as the electricity coursed through every part of your body, invading every nerve.

The man was far from done though, and he repeated the action again and again, turning your skin into a bloody mess as Jay continued to cry underneath you, struggling in your protective grip. Still you held tightly, biting your lip to muffle your cries with every lash.

No one lifts a finger to help, not even looking in your direction in fear of the same treatment as they continue to shuffle along. You don’t even have it in your heart to blame them, knowing your reaction would be much the same if the situation was reversed.

Unbeknownst to you, your little altercation has caught the eye of the golden Zabrak, a small twinge in his heart at the deja-vu feeling he gets from the scene. From your age, he can only assume that the boy is your brother. You look too young for him to be your son.

He has flashbacks to his own brother, giving himself to the cursed Nightsisters in exchange for his life, only to be forced to kill him in a cruel show of power.

Before he realizes it, his hand has fallen to his lightsaber, already taking a step to where you are. He only gets a step before Maul calls to him, pulling him away to the ships and leaving him to look back over his shoulder at you crumpled form.

“Come. We must set up camp. The prisoners will be dealt with later.” Maul chuckles. “Those that survive anyways.”

And so he follows, leaving your fate to the Mandalorian who has yet to relent in his cruelty. But out of sight doesn’t mean out of mind, and the memory of your form curled on the ground, taking every lash with little more than a jolt and muffled cry, sticks in the front of his mind and prevents him from having a single moment of rest.

It's hours before he’s able to slip away. Between his brother and Death Watch, it’s nearly impossible for him to make his way to where the captives are being held. They’re all gathered in one of the far corners of the camp, held in place by the ropes around the wrist and looking miserable as they huddle for warmth against the lightly falling snow. He feels no guilt for what their eventual fate will be. They’re nothing to him, mere insects in his brothers plans. Animals to the slaughter. All for the greater good.

The fear he can feel radiating off them feeds a twisted sense of pride within him. The Sith side of him. They know who he is. They know he could easily kill them with no consequence should he choose. 

He’s not here for them though.

A dozen yards away, your body is still laying in the same spot as before, more lifeless than when he last saw you. This time there’s no Mandalorian enforcer above you. Instead, he’s replaced with the small boy from earlier. What remains of your shirt is peeled back from the skin and even Savage, who’s used to many grisly sights, grimaces at your wound. The skin that isn’t lacerated is red and swollen, and he now notices that the young boy has shed his own shirt, using ripped strips to clean the blood away and form a crude version of bandages. He’s busy fumbling over himself, fingers clumsy and stiff from the cold as he does his best to care for the wound with no medical supplies.

So focused on your wounds, he doesn’t even hear the large Zabrak approaching, not until it’s far too late. To his credit, and Savage’s amusement, the boy refuses to leave you, placing his body in front of yours. His bare chest is rapidly moving up and down with fear, thin body on full display. Not an ounce of muscle on him, Savage muses, moving closer to your body. If he doesn’t get you proper medical attention soon the wounds will undoubtedly become infected and kill you, if the blood loss hasn’t already damned your fate.

When he goes to pick up your limp body however, he’s stopped by your brother. Well, stopped is being rather generous. It’s more like he’s latched himself onto Savage’s waist, small fist beating at him with the strength one would expect of a child. He might not have even known he was hitting him if he wasn’t watching it happen.

It’s times like this that he’s most grateful for his cursed strength, easily detaching the boy from him and holding him by the back of his neck, tucking him under one arm as the other reaches for you. It's almost concerning how cold your body is against his own skin, and he’s more careful as he lifts you over his shoulder. His brother would surely find it laughable if he saw how gentle he was being with you.

Without hesitance, he turns back to the main camp, ignoring the looks the others cast his way as he carries your unconscious and broken body over his shoulder, your brother still fighting under his other.

Let them gossip. There’s none that will stand against him.

____________________________________

The first thing you’re aware of is warmth. Surrounding and enveloping your form, begging you to stay as it threatens to drag you back into the land of dreams. That in itself is enough to alarm you. The heating was always turned off at night to save energy, replaced in favor of thick blankets made from the local TekTek wool.

That’s your second red flag. TekTek wool is warm, yet coarse and scratchy. The fabric currently piled on top of and under you is significantly softer, having a slight musk to it.

Finally managing to drag your eyes open, the sight that greets you is not one you were expecting. 

Dark fabric makes up the majority of the tent you find yourself in. It’s clearly worn, yet does a surprising job of keeping the wind outside from entering, slight ripples waving across the fabric yet never entering. A fire sits in the very center, smoke curling up and through a hole in the ceiling. It’s glow provides the only source of light in the space, illuminating the few objects scattered around, including the cot you currently find yourself residing on. Buried under layers of blankets, your hands travel to the bandages wrapped around your chest, the only thing covering your upper body and providing little warmth in comparison to the blankets you were previously under.

How did you get here? Where was Jay? The last thing you remember was the invaders arriving, then nothing. So the question was, how had you gotten from there to here? Alone in an unfamiliar tent.

Your questions are soon answered, a shuffling from the front of the tent drawing your attention. From between the flaps emerges a large figure, his horns nearly catching the fabric as he enters.

You both freeze, eyes locking on one another, equally surprised. There’s a moment of pause, each of you trying to determine your next move. It’s only broken when he takes a step forward, cautiously, but still sending you into a panic. Ignoring the nearly debilitating pain coming from your back, you scramble to the edge of the cot, pressing your back against the fabric and you can feel it straining against your weight. Trying your best to look intimidating, you send a glare his way.

“Where’s my brother?”

He says nothing for a moment, and you almost repeat yourself, cut off as he begins approaching. He’s there before you know it, long legs easily eating the space as his arms reach for you, forcably turning you around despite your resistance. He lets out a grumble as he inspects your back, scoffing about how you’ve ‘reopened them’.

The next thing you know, his hands are worming their way under the wrappings, loosening them as he goes to remove them.

The panic you had felt before was nothing compared to now, knowing where this scenario was going all to well. The stories of what you had heard from other village girls filling your mind, darkening your thoughts as you could only imagine what this monster was about to do to you.

“No! Stop!” You sobbed, knowing full well that there was nothing you could actually do against his strength. The bandages become looser, only held up by your hand as you wildly swing out with the other. All the while you try to distance yourself from him. 

“Please!”

To your surprise, he pauses. His first sign of even showing he heard you since entering. His gaze never leaves you, and you can see the debate going on within his eyes. About what, your guess was as good as any. All that you cared was that he had stopped for the moment, allowing you to cover yourself with one of the many blankets in an attempt to preserve any decency you had left.

Growling, her turns and storms out the way he came, a wisp of freezing wind invading the tent as you're given a glance at the dark night sky outside before you’re once again left on your own. Not for long though, and you think he’s returned once again when the flaps open, only to reveal a young woman in similar armor that you had seen earlier. Not the person you trusted the most right now, but you still preferred her over the large Zabrak from earlier.

She approaches slowly, setting a medkit down on the bed as she smiles your way. “I’m here to change your bandages.” She extends a hand your way, which you only look at, neglecting to come out of your little corner. 

“Please. You’ve opened your wounds again. If you don’t come out now, I’ll just wait for you to pass out and change them then.” she sounds a bit exhausted, and it takes a few more minutes of coaxing before you allow her access to your back, keeping your back towards her as she slowly unwraps the bindings. She deposits them into the fire, leaving you to watch them burn to ash as she retrieves a small container from the medkit. 

Inside is a blue gel, surprisingly warm as it touches your skin and leaves a pleasant numbness. You can almost feel her gaze burning into your skin as she applies the gel, eyes skittering across old scars, fingers even tracing them when visible underneath the new wounds. Seeming to sense your unease, she rushes through the rest, quickly wrapping new bindings around your torso, apologizing with every small grunt of pain you let out. 

Far too quick for your liking she’s done, packing up her things as she prepares to head out. If she’s leaving, then that means there’s more of a chance that he’ll come back. In fact, you have no doubt that she’ll go and tell him once she’s out of here.

Snapping the case closed, she turns back to you and hesitates for a moment.

“I don’t know what you did to gain Savage’s attention, but believe me,” her green eyes lock onto yours, holding a sense of severity that chills you to the bone. 

“, he’s your best chance of surviving.”

With that you’re alone once again, left to your own thoughts and the crackling of the fire, which has gone down a significant amount since you first woke.

What did she mean by that? Gained his attention? And he was one of the ones who lead the attack on your home. Why would he be your saving grace? If anything, he would be the most likely to kill you.

Once again the flap opens, and you almost want to groan about the number of people going in and out, letting the heat out of the tent.

It’s the Zabarak. Savage, you remember the woman from before calling him. This time he has some additions. A cloak draped over one arm and a plate in hand. He moves slower than before, almost cautiously approaching you as he sets the items on the far end of the bed.

“Eat.” His voice is a deep baritone, rich yet monotone as he speaks, nodding towards the plate before moving towards the fire. Your eyes never leave his form as he tosses more wood onto the flame, moving them about without a fear of burning himself. Despite the fear still gripping your nerves, the food is tempting and only now do you realize how empty your stomach is, almost turning in on itself as it lets out a low rumble.

You grab the plate cautiously, picking at its contents as the man continues to poke at the fire. When you do finish, you find yourself wishing you had taken more time with it, no longer having the small distraction from your current situation. Despite the desire to throw on the warm looking cloak, you don’t. While he had directed you to eat, he had said nothing about the cloak. The last thing you wanted to do was make him angry, especially after he had shown how easily he could manhandle you earlier.

“You’re going to travel with me from now on.” He spoke, his back still towards you, yet it still carried loudly through the air, leaving no room for you to mistake his words. “If you have any objections, your fate will be the same as the rest of your village.”

You have no idea why he’s saying this, not when he could just direct you without any information. There’s only one thing on your mind though, present from the very beginning and still burning on your tongue.

“Where’s my brother.” You ask once again, praying to the maker you’ll get an answer this time. “What about him?”

His shoulders tense for a moment. The first emotion he’s shown besides anger.

“He will be allowed to come along given that he trains as a Mandalorian warrior. This is the best option for him.”

You let out a sigh of relief. While being forced to train with the ones who captured him wasn’t an ideal situation, you could only be thankful that he wasn’t fated for something more unfortunate. The only thing that worried you was his size. He was never much of a fighter, too kind to want to cause others pain. You would need to be there for him.

“I...I can still see him.”

“Yes.”

You bit your lip, trying to decide if you should ask another question. He already seemed to be wearing thin with his patience, but you had to know. You would never get a moment's rest until you knew.

“Why am I here.”

He doesn’t answer right away, throwing a few more logs onto the fire before turning to face you. His face was nothing but shadows, eyes standing out in startling contrast. His footsteps were slow and heavy as he made his way over to your form, unable to back away any further as you already find yourself in a corner. He grabs the cloak as he passes, the article almost ridiculously small in his hands.

As soon as he’s close enough, he lifts his arms and you flinch, expecting him to strike you out of annoyance and anger. It never comes though. The only feeling was that of heavy fabric settling on your shoulders, only there a moment before it’s clasped and you feel yourself being pulled forward. 

Savage’s hands are wound tightly into the fabric, forcing your face to nearly touch his. This close you can see every detail of the markings splashed across his skin, the black only making his amber eyes burn even brighter, nearly suffocating with the intensity with which they stare. Almost like molten gold themselves.

His breath fans across your skin, lips nearly brushing yours as his forehead grazes your own, making you whimper as his horns roughly scrap the skin.

“You’re mine now. You will never leave my side, there at my every beck and call no matter what I may need. If you even think about trying to leave or betray me,” he pushed further, forcing you to lean back onto the bed. His weight pushed down enough to keep you in place without being crushing, one hand releasing the fabric of the collar to travel up your face. It brushes the hair away, catching the tear you hadn’t even realized had escaped.

“I’ll force you to watch as I kill your brother in the most painful way imaginable.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he leans forward, baritone voice speaking lowly in your ear as his lips tickle the skin.

“You’ll wish, beg, that I had killed you as well instead of what will happen to you after.”

[scvrllet]

Eternity

“What crueler punishment is there than love?”

PAIRING: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Falling in-love was always scary, but falling in-love knowing there is an inevitable end is terrifying

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

WARNING(S): Mentions of death + brief mentions of grief, Immortal!Reader

AUTHORS NOTE: This has been sitting in my drafts for months ( back when i was an active hp writer and was primarily in said fandom) and finally decided to post it

JOIN MY TAGLIST - MARAUDERS MASTERLIST

Immortality may seem like a blessing to those who desire it but forget the burden those cursed with it must carry.

How long have you been alive to watch the world around you evolve? Watch as one Dark Wizard rose and fell only for another to take their place? Watch as those you loved died, leaving you to grieve for all of eternity but yet some dare say that it’s a gift? The answer; far too long.

If anything, it’s more of a curse than a gift. A cruel way of punishing others but not just them but their family as well.

Old magic was dangerous and masters of those forces were not to be messed with. Your family had learnt that the hard way many years ago. An old witch, who one of your past ancestors had wrongly messed with, put a curse on your family. Any and every daughter born into the (Y/L/N) family would be cursed with immortality, paying their ancestors debt for all of eternity. Perhaps this is where the term ‘old soul’ had come from. You thought to yourself once. It humored you at the time but barely anymore. All you wanted was for your soul to be at rest but due to that witch’s magic, that would never happen.

When your parents welcomed you into the world you would be cursed to live in forever, a part of them had hoped that the curse would have somehow skipped a generation but when they noticed your lack of physical aging as you grew up, the only thing they could do was spend as much time with you as possible, your father especially. His time was running out but not yours. It never would.

You’ve lived through many decades and met several people, most of whom were starting to leave your mind, being replaced by the new people you were always meeting. Friends in your opinion, were easily replaceable. Whether it be betrayal or death that causes a rift in the friendship, there was always another willing to fill that spot. This being said, it didn’t mean you never loved them because you did. You spilled all your secrets and thoughts into them and held them as death took them away from you. Oh how their souls were fortunate enough to be able to rest.

You remember listening to your aunts and grandmother talking about their past lovers as a little girl. When one had finally passed, they’d give themselves some time to grieve before hopping into a new relationship, allowing the cycle to repeat itself. They would’ve expected for you to follow in their footsteps given the curse and all but were quite surprised when decades, maybe even centuries had passed, and you were still in-love with that boy from 1976.

You smiled as you recalled the day. It was the day you realized you were falling in-love for the first and possibly the only time in your life. For a moment, that moment specifically, you forgot about your curse and what would result from it.

It was the third of December. Snow fell onto the white ground as a cool breeze turned your faces red. You were both supposed to be in Herbology class at the time, not by the Black Lake throwing snowballs at each other but

With a bit of help from your magic, you had sent at least ten snowballs in his direction. You laughed as it hit him in the face and the moment of you letting your guard down allowed for him to throw one right back at you.

Your face was cold and wet as you wiped the snow off your face. Narrowing your eyes at him, you noticed a sparkle in his grey eyes before another snowball hit you in the face.

“Reg I swear to God I will murder you.” You threatened as you wiped the snow off your face. Anybody else would’ve been scared and immediately apologized but he knew you like the back of his hand.

“Is that so love?” He teased knowing that nickname was always able to crack your façade. Glaring daggers at him, you hoped he wouldn’t notice how your face got warmer but he saw the corners of your lip twitch upwards a bit and that was all he needed to continue teasing you.

Waving your wand, a pile of snowballs appeared beside you and before Regulus could even say anything, they were all sent flying in his direction one by one. He sighed in relief when the last of the snowballs had been fired at him before using his wand to dry himself off.

When he was finally dry, he looked up at you and smirked before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the Black Lake. It was frozen but you were absolutely terrified of the ice cracking and falling into the cold water. Just thinking about it sent shivers down your spine as he walked closer to the frozen lake.

“Do you trust me?” He turned around to ask you, standing at the edge of the frozen lake. Had this been someone else, you would’ve broken free of their grasp and run back to your dorm but he was different. You couldn’t explain why, but you felt safe around him. It was an odd feeling.

Simply nodding, he smiled before carefully stepping onto the ice. He laughed as he felt your grip on his arm tightened as the two of you walked further on the ice.

“Regulus what are we doing?” You questioned as he continued to lead you away from the shore.

“Ice-skating, I think. I’ve overheard my brother talk about doing it with his friends and figured I’d give it a try.” He replied with a shrug.

You abruptly stopped in your steps and arched a brow at him as you asked: “You’re telling me that we’re currently ice-skating?”

Regulus cocked his head to the side slightly. “Are we doing it wrong?”

“Ice-skating Reg, it’s in the name. We need skates.” You replied and a look of realization dawned on him. He knew that it felt odd for muggles to do this sport with normal footwear but he just hadn’t realized what he was missing.

“I was wondering why we weren’t going as graceful.” He said under his breath, causing you to chuckle. “Well, right or wrong, I think we’ve had enough ice-skating for today. Come on you must be freezing.”

He grabbed your arm again and started walking back towards the shore. A mistake in this action though was that he didn’t give you enough time to react before he was pulling your arm. This resulted in you losing your balance and slipping on the ice but thankfully, his fast reflexes had you balanced on both feet as Regulus held you by the waist.

“Are you alright?” The playful teasing expression had now been replaced by a wide eyed look of concern as he moved his hands to rest on your shoulders as if to further steady you. He searched your eyes for any sign telling him that you weren’t okay. Thankfully, there were none and he sighed in relief and pulled you into his chest.

Far too intoxicated in his scent, you hadn’t realized that you were shivering until he pointed it out and began to cautiously head back inside. Lightly tugging on your jacket, the two of you got off the ice and back onto the solid ground. As you walked back you couldn’t help but question that feeling you felt whenever you were with him.

It was the feeling you felt when you were having a snowball fight with him. The feeling you felt when he laughed and his eyes would light up. It was the feeling you felt when you were around him and what you felt when he caught you on the ice and looked at you. The moment that happened just a few seconds ago replayed in your mind and you doubt that it’d ever stop. It made you feel warm and safe, mortal even.

You didn’t even realize you were back inside until you heard a voice call out from down the hallway in front of you.

“Mr Black and Ms (Y/L/N) aren’t you supposed to be in Herbology?” It was McGonagall. Shit.

Turning the opposite way, the two of you ran down the hall and turned the corner towards the Dungeons. Teacher or not, you both doubted she would enter the Slytherin’s Common Room.

“Blimey Black, if I wanted to warm up I would’ve rather set myself on fire.” You huffed as you tried to catch your breath. “And how are you not out of breath? I feel like I’m dying.” You had just run nearly halfway across the castle and Regulus wasn’t gasping for air like you who was hunched over the couch, quite dramatically as well you might add.

The boy in front of you rolled his eyes at your exaggeration before sitting down on one of the couches and patting the seat beside him, gesturing for you to sit down beside him. With a flick of his wand, a fire was lit in the fireplace allowing both light and warmth to fill the dark Common Room the Slytherin’s had. You always wondered why Salazar decided to place the Common Room in the Dungeons out of all places. A tower would’ve been much nicer, warmer even, but it seems as his blueprint for Common Rooms was different compared to the other founders.

As you sat down beside him, he pulled you closer towards him so that you were resting on his chest as his arms were wrapped protectively around you. “Better?” He asked and smiled and you hummed in response.

His fingers were tangled in your hair as he hummed a song. That combined with the sound of the fire crackling in front of you were enough to pull you to sleep. When you woke up the next morning you were still in the Slytherin Common Room but the fire was now out and there was a blanket on top of you. You were also laying on something that was most definitely not the couch since you could feel arms loosely wrapped around your stomach.

Sitting up you noticed that the sun was just starting to rise but that wasn’t what shocked you. It was the fact that you had fallen asleep on top of Regulus and that he stayed there until he too fell asleep. He could’ve just left you on the couch to go to sleep or ask one of your friends to take you to your dorm so why did he stay?

“(Y/N)?” You heard him mumble groggily. Whipping your head around you saw Regulus still very much asleep, or at least he looked like he was. His eyes were still closed and his black curly locks were a mess, something he wouldn’t have accepted if he was awake. He was always thought to look presentable at all times.

Shrugging off your previous thoughts you smiled down at him and intertwined your fingers with his. “I’m here Reg.”

He stirred a bit and his grip on your hand became firmer before light snores were heard from him.

“What are you doing to me?” You mumbled as you pushed a few strands of hair off his face. It was that same feeling. That warm feeling that just made you yearn to be with him, it was back. This time much stronger but back nonetheless.

It took you awhile but you did realize what he was doing to you: he was making you fall for him. You didn’t know if it was intentionally or not but what you did know was that it was working.

You were falling in love and it was absolutely terrifying.

Despite your curse and the known outcome, Regulus treasured every single second he was able to share with you. The relationship lasted two years, ending a few months after you both graduated from Hogwarts due to his discovery upon Voldemort. Aside from Kreacher, you were the only person who knew the truth about Regulus Black and what happened to him. Not even his brother or parents knew what had happened to him but that’s how it would stay. The world wouldn’t know about the boy who died trying to right his wrongs.

After his passing though, you couldn’t bring yourself to move on. It didn’t feel right and with all the pain that came with it you doubted you’d ever allow yourself to fall in-love again.

So as years went by and the world continued to move on, you were stuck on that boy from 1976.

[nillegible]

Hua Cheng, with the ennui of an immortal whose reason to live had vanished from the face of the three realms, takes refuge in what little in the world still reflects his Crown Prince’s glory. He seeks out powerful, near mythical swords, and remembers the sharp eyes that would enjoy testing them. He seeks him in wayside flowers, and spring rain, and finds it strange that a world so empty of his prince could be so full of him. The god who had reached out to Hua Chang and commanded him to live.

The people have long since forgotten. The kingdom of Xianle is but a forgotten memory, a sidenote in history scrolls maintained by the larger library collections. Most of the Crown Prince’s shrines are also long gone, fallen into disrepair. Hua Cheng tries to make up for it with the resplendence of his own shrine to His Highness.

And then one more shrine to His Highness, appears.

Reappears, perhaps; there had been one there before. Hua Cheng spares it a glance, but when it is clear that His Highness had not returned, and that it was merely the work of a young Wen disciple, Hua Cheng ignores the site once more.

Well, he can’t resist keeping half an eye on him. Hua Cheng occasionally observes him – there’s so little else to do – and notices him giving medicine to civilians, watches him completely fail at bargaining and pay too much for every little thing, watches him return to the little shrine again and again, and stare at the words carved into the lintel, and repeat the words to himself, sounding confused.

The boy never kneels, but he prays.

His Highness would have adored this child, would have supported his almost inhumanly accurate archery, would have looked at his sword forms for barely five minutes before intervening to tell him that he needed a different sword for his stature and temperament.

Two believers. His God now had two believers; Hua Cheng, the Ghost King who had ascended to heaven and then turned them down, and little Wen Ning, a fifteen-year-old child of Qishan Wen, a ruthless cultivation sect that didn’t suit him at all.

(Hua Cheng watches Qishan Wen sect, knowing that like Xian Le, like Yong’An and hundreds of other kingdoms, they too would inevitably fall.)

Rarely, very rarely, Hua Cheng takes a child’s form and visits the other shrine and tells Wen Ning stories about His Highness, the crown prince of Xian Le.

*

And then Hua Cheng all but forgets about the little Wen, his Highness ascends a third time and Hua Cheng has finally found him again, this time, this time Hua Cheng would not lose him, would not be parted from him.

It’s when His Highness says that he has no believers that Hua Cheng remembers that it’s not true.

Two believers is not many more than one, and Wen Ning could never match the depths of Hua Cheng’s devotion.

(But when he leaves His Highness on that cursed mountain, it is good to know he would not be alone.)

*

And then one day there’s a prayer. Prayers sound different to heavenly officials, depending on who is making them. They are usually stronger from within a shrine, stronger with humility, and stronger by far depending on the strength of their faith. (Hua Cheng does not know why Wen Ning believes so steadfastly, when he did not know the man gege had once been, had not been saved by him, been told to live for him, and died for him, twice.) Wen Ning’s prayer echoes, and gege turns to him. San Lang, please. Would you take me to Yunmeng?

Yunmeng is burning down, and Wen Ning prays, “Daozhang, help them.”

His Highness loves Wen Ning.

*

Hua Cheng leaves a few butterflies to watch him, watches him dance around the fighting, never taking a life himself, returning the bodies of the deceased to the rightful places with respect, a battlefield medic, only seventeen, who sits beside the dying with empathy and grace, tries to lessen their suffering. His sister, Wen Qing, is remarkable, she pulls people back from the brink of death, produces miracles with her own two hands. Wen Ning follows after, easing the pain of those mangled bodies that Wen Qing cannot reach in time, or judges impossible to cure.

Where do they go? Wen Ning asks once, bathing in icy waters, washing off the blood of his day.

“I don’t know. The ones who stay are still here. I do not know what comes after,” he admits. “But I hope it’s somewhere peaceful, before they return again.”

Wei Wuxian does the unimaginable. If anyone of this current crop of cultivators deserves to ascend it’s him. But he’s carved out his golden core to give to his brother, and Hua Cheng thinks that if he does ascend, it might be downwards, like him.

*

And then Wen Ning is taken to a work camp run by sadists. “San Lang, can you take me to see Wen Ning?” asks XIE LIAN, and he seems frightened.

“What happened? Has he stopped praying?”

“He is only repeating ‘Body in hell, heart in paradise.’”

 Hua Cheng has seen the young man repeat the words a thousand times, but this time must be different. Wen Ning has finally learned what that means.

“I can’t go, I have to protect my family, Daozhang, Please. I can’t go,” are Wen Ning’s last words, though his mouth only shapes the words. His lungs have caved in from the beating and then the push off the cliff edge, and he can’t breathe enough to speak. Can only mouth the words as blood dribbles from his mouth.

His Highness kneels beside him. “Oh child, what have they done to you,” he whispers, resting a hand on his chest. The power flows from his hands, but he’s not a god of healing. All he does is ease his pain.

Wen Ning smiles.

“Can you watch them until I come back?” strangely, he’s looking at Hua Cheng, not XIE LIAN.

“I will,” he says softly.

“Thank you for everything, Daozhang,” Wen Ning whispers to his god, and then his spirit untethers. A small green flame, dim and exhausted from what he’s been through. Hua Cheng leans over and gathers the small spirit into carefully cupped hands.

“San Lang,” says Xie Lian, and he looks weary. Hua Cheng would gather him into his arms were they not occupied. “What are you doing?”

Some spirits don’t leave. Can’t. Wen Ning is a mild mannered, silly child and yet in this, he is no different than Hua Cheng; Wen Ning will not go.

There aren’t many places for lost, stubborn spirits, but Hua Cheng has carved one out painstakingly.

“I will take him home.”

[sunny-sings-sooth]

Daphne

Words: 4.5k

TW: Sexual assault, abuse

Here's my retelling of the myth of Apollo and Daphne! Highly experimental, as I usually write in first person and not so poetically. Hope you enjoy, and if anything doesn't make sense lemme know and I will add some context here. (Also FYI some of the dialogues are pulled directly from Homer's narration)

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Phoebus Apollonas had been alive too long.

He was young by god standards, barely over a millenia old, and still one of the youngest Olympians. And yet he had grown exhausted. He’d been suffering the curse of life long enough to see the boy he used to be -- Phoebus -- die. The demise of the boy began when, in attempt to protect his sister Artemis, he had committed his first murder and thereby lost her forever. The boy decayed further when he’d held the corpses of his sons in his arms. And he’d finally killed the boy with his own hands when he turned his grief-fueled wrath on mortals. Phoebus, the bright, the innocent, the golden prince of Olympus, was dead. All that remained was Apollonas, the destroyer, the terror, the monstrous god of plague.

Except he no longer wished to be Apollonas. Apollonas was addicted to alcohol, drowning himself in it so that he wouldn’t have to face the memories that had murdered Phoebus. Apollonas had struck his younger brother Hermes, the only friend he had left, in drunken rage. Apollonas was despicable and deserved death. He could never be Phoebus again; that he knew and had accepted. But perhaps he could rid himself of Apollonas and become just Apollo. That did not mean erasing Apollonas; he had too many crimes to pay for, and running away would be a dishonor to all those who had suffered at his hands. He would repent for everything he had done as Apollonas, and thereby recreate himself as Apollo.

The first thing he needed to do was to break alcohol’s hold on him, which meant distancing himself from Dionysus. He didn’t want to abandon his youngest brother, but the temptation to drink was too strong in his presence. He hoped Dionysus would understand, and that he would one day be strong enough to bridge the gap of his creation.

He had been clean for three whole days. It didn’t seem like much -- blink of an eye in the lengthy lives of gods -- but that alone had taken him all his willpower. In the absence of the gallons of drink he had been consuming daily, not only was he plagued by memories and sheer self-hatred, he suddenly became highly attuned to the gossip that trailed him. Every moment on Olympus, hundreds of eyes were trained on him, and the whispers never escaped his sharp ears. It wasn’t that he was not used to being the center of attention, but rather the harsh truth of their statements. Phoebus Apollonas is a murderer. He flayed Marsyas alive for daring to challenge him. He curses anyone who questions his authority. He has killed thousands with his plague arrows. He is a monster. He knew these were all true and that he deserved to be pierced by such words, but the anxiousness caused by his withdrawal made them unbearable, and he had to escape to the woods. Here he found solace. Here he could work to slowly put himself together again until he was strong enough to face those who he wronged.

If he hadn’t been so lost in thought, then perhaps he would’ve heard the flap of wings before Eros was standing before him. He nearly dropped the silver bow that he’d been restringing and looked up to meet the other god’s gaze. Eros was the only man Apollonas considered a possible competitor in terms of beauty; his fair skin was smooth as a pearl, his wings the color of one, his features the aspiration of every artist’s portrait. And yet there was something unnerving about the other god. Perhaps it was his hair that, while comparable to a young maiden’s blush, was also the same shade as blood. Perhaps it was the deep red hue of his eyes, made of crushed hearts and rubies. And perhaps it wasn’t his appearance at all, but the mystique that surrounded him; he was the fourth being to come into existence and was old as time itself, and that was one of the only two things Apollonas knew about him.

“Phoebus Apollona,” Eros stated in greeting, and Apollonas hated how wrong it sounded, though he couldn’t tell if it was the names themselves or simply the one who spoke them.

“What do you want?” He couldn’t hide his irritation. The other thing he knew about Eros was that he was the god of love, and love had only ever caused Apollonas pain. He had no reason to like the god nor felt the need to veil his displeasure. All he wanted was the solitude necessary to rework himself.

“I was simply admiring your bow, oh He Who Shoots From Afar.” There was no missing the mockery in Eros’s voice, and his eyes gleamed as he gazed at the weapon. “Why, your skill is almost comparable to my own! Perhaps with some effort, you can become the greatest archer in the land.”

“Are you implying that you are the greatest archer?” Eros nodded, and one glance at the winged god’s slim arms and the modest bow slung across his back sent Apollonas into a fit of laughter. It was many moments before he could calm himself enough to speak. “What have you to do with the arms of men, you feeble thing?”

“I am merely suggesting I may be god of archery as you are god of plague.” Apollonas’s head snapped up at the idea, and his hands curled into fists as he stood, towering over the shorter god. If Eros was a painter’s fantasy, then Apollonas was a sculptor’s. His toned body was the epitome of perfection, the ideal balance between strength and beauty. He was well aware of this fact, and though he rarely preferred to use his appearance for intimidation purposes, Eros’s insult necessitated such action.

“Do not lay claim to my honors,” he hissed, his sky blue eyes glinting with divine power. Archery was the one constant he could always rely on. With his bow and arrows, he could protect and punish, wound and save. It was the one part of him that stayed no matter if he was Phoebus or Apollonas or whoever, and he’d be damned if he allowed this worthless winged wretch to even suggest taking that from him.

“Let us put it to test, then,” Eros declared, unfazed by the archer’s anger. What would the ancient deity have to fear from the youth? He was well aware of his capability, and little did Apollonas know he was falling into another trap, his emotions and naivety deceiving him once more. He was but a pawn in Eros’s game. “What say you to a battle of skill?”

Apollonas did not grace the other with an answer, lifting his weapon and drawing an arrow from his golden quiver in response. The toned muscles of his back flexed as he pulled back the string and released, and the arrow had barely gone forth an inch before he sent forward another, and then yet another. His arms were but a blur as arrow after arrow went flying, striking the most minuscule of targets: the pupil of a fly’s eye, the thread of a spider’s web, the stem of a single olive. Apollonas did not stop until his quiver lay empty, and he took in the perfect shots before him that seemed almost artistic by his hand. No matter how low he may have descended in these past years, there was no denying the masterpiece he created from the most basic of weapons. This was his domain. He couldn’t keep his lips from curling in conceit as he turned to Eros.

“That gear becomes my shoulders best,” he declared, setting his bow back beside his quiver to draw emphasis to the weapons that had adorned him for centuries. “I wound my enemies; I wound wild beasts. My countless arrows slew the bloated Python, whose vast coils across so many acres spread their blight. You and your loves!” Apollonas couldn’t hold back his scoff at the mention of Eros’s inferior work. “You have your torch to light them. Let that content you. Never claim my fame!”

“Your bow, Phoebus Apollona, may vanquish all, but mine shall vanquish you. As every creature yields to power divine, shall your glory yield to mine.” At Eros’s threat, an enraged response was making its way up Apollonas’s throat, but before it could spill off his tongue, the love god drew his own golden-tipped arrow. In the blink of an eye, he shot it forth right into the other god’s heart before taking flight.

Apollonas stumbled back, a gasp more of shock than pain escaping him as he clasped his hands over his chest, fingers fumbling for the arrow. However, it had already dissolved into him, its magic making its home in his body. He felt something ooze into his heart and bloodstream, shoot up his spine, ensnare his mind. He turned his attention inward, trying to identify the invader, but he could not locate it, nor could he compare it to anything he had ever felt before. What had Eros done? He lifted his head, searching for the god, but instead his gaze fell upon another figure altogether.

There, a few feet away, stood the sweet river nymph Daphne. He knew her -- he knew the names of many of the nymphs that resided in these woods -- but beyond a passing glance and a murmured greeting, she had never caught his attention. But now… he couldn’t seem to look away, his lips parting in awe as he stared at her, dumbfounded. Had she always been so breathtaking? How could he have missed such a beauty? Her dark locks flowed down like a waterfall of ink. What it would be to hold that silky hair between his fingers, to braid it and adorn it with flowers and beads! Her eyes were a startling shade of not blue, not green, but something between the two, and he could spend hours drowning in their depths. Her figure had the slightest curve to it, the outline of a river, and he imagined that her body had been crafted to fit against his perfectly. He saw her, loved her, wanted her.

“Daphne.” Apollonas whispered her name, marvelling at the nectar-like flavor that coated his tongue. If just her name was so sweet, then how must her lips taste? Looking was not enough. The urge to find out was unbearable, the earlier argument stolen from his mind entirely as he found himself tossing aside his bow and quiver. What did archery matter when he could master the bow of her lips instead? He would claim it, make it and the rest of her his and his alone. He took a step forth, a giddy smile alighting his features.

“St-stay back,” the nymph stammered, icy fear coiling in the depths of her stomach. She could read his intentions clearly on his face, from the crazed look in his eyes to the wolfish grin he wore to the way his hands reached towards her. Daphne knew all too well what this man planned to do with her, and that should she fall into his grasp, she would not be able to stop him from having his way. So when he took another step forward, she turned and ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Apollonas gaped only a moment before rushing after her, an arrow released from its bow.

“Daphne, please wait! I am no foe! You don’t need to fear me!” he cried out after her. Daphne did not answer him, her thoughts only on escaping. Thorns and brambles tore at the bare skin of her calves, yet she refused to slow down. “You run as if I am a wolf and you a lamb, but that is not so! It is love that spurs me! Don’t fly so fast, lest you fall and wound yourself!”

“Leave me be, you horrid man!” she shrieked, not stopping even as her dress got caught on the surrounding plants and began to tear, revealing her to him little by little. Apollonas’s brows furrowed in worry at the sight of bloodied cuts on her legs. From within him a voice called out: What are you doing, Apollona? Why are you tormenting this poor girl? Leave her be! You will not have your way with her! But before the voice could say more, he caught a glimpse of the bare skin of her thigh, and everything left his mind. His conscience was once more bound and gagged by Eros’s power, forced to watch it all in horror. Speaking of the god of love, he also watched, flying unnoticed above them, yet he felt only amusement from the sight. The sheer terror that had contorted Daphne’s face and drawn panicked tears from her eyes made him smirk, and Apollonas’s frantic yelling drew out peals of laughter. They had both bent to his will so easily, and he was eager to see how this played out.

“You run because you do not know. I am no peasant, no shepherd!” Apollonas called out to her again. She was only afraid because he didn’t know who he was. He knew the moment she realized his true identity, she would stop and turn to him with a blessed smile. “I am the son of Zeus, prince of Olympus, lord of Delphi. By me things future, past and present are revealed. I shape the harmony of songs and strings. You will be happy as my bride, dear Daphne! I will see that your every wish is granted and that no desire goes unfulfilled. Please stay!”

“No! My only desire is to escape you!” Yet this would not be granted, as her body was beginning to fail her. Try as she might, she could not outrun Apollonas; he was strong from years of training and battle, and though she was swift and sure-footed, she had used up all her limited mortal strength. Her legs trembled with every step, her lungs two pits of fire in her chest. And so her traitorous body came to a stop as she gasped for breath, and Apollonas finally had her. He held her hip tightly, freezing her in place. Had he been in his senses and had control over his own body, he’d never have done this, and his conscience screamed within him. But he was deaf to it, the lust coursing through him silencing all else. His eyes soaked in her bare skin when he would’ve shielded them, his hands pulled her closer when he would’ve let her go, and he was ready to claim her when he would’ve done anything but this crime.

“My love.” His warm breath brushed against her ear as he leaned down, pressing his lips against the pale column of her neck. Daphne gasped and tried to pull herself away, but his grip was too strong, utterly unbreakable. How could she escape a god? She was helpless and frail, trapped and alone. There was no one to aid her, no one to stop Apollonas from running his hands down her body and forcing himself against her. And then he was turning her around, wishing to taste her lips, and a final plea escaped her.

“Help me, Peneus!” she screamed for her father. She knew her father could do nothing against an Olympian, but perhaps he could do something to her, and she would accept any escape from this fate. “Open the earth to enclose me, or change my form, which has brought me into this danger! Let me be free of this man from this moment forward!”

Daphne’s prayer was answered, and she was changing.

A stiffness had taken over her body, the swiftness that had protected her for so long sacrificed to escape Apollonas. Her arms lifted of their own accord, her fingers elongating up and her feet rooting into the ground. The dark waterfall split into a hundred streams that lightened to a soft green. Her curved figure fell away as her body thinned into a single arc, her legs fusing and her hands reaching higher and higher. Bark was creeping up from her extremities, down what were now branches and up what had transformed into a trunk. It conquered her shoulders, her chest, her neck. A soft sigh, her last breath, escaped her just as her lips were encased.

Apollonas’s lips met rough bark that cut at his soft skin. With a small gasp, his eyes flew open and he looked straight into Daphne’s piercing eyes. The waves in them had finally calmed, as the storm that had tormented them could no longer ripple its waters. He stared into those beautiful orbs, breathing her name, and watched as they shut forever.

Apollonas couldn’t tear his gaze away, his mind still unable to process the transformation that had unfolded before him. His hand trembled as he raised it, placing flat against the trunk of the tree. A steady pulse graced his fingertips -- a heartbeat. Daphne’s heartbeat. She was this tree, this sorrowful laurel tree, lost from him forever. His legs gave out beneath him as he wept, wrapping his arms around her and leaning his head against her bark. And yet the lust hadn’t left him, and he was kissing the wood over and over, whispering her name and an endless string of apologies as the skin of his lips tore and blood dripped down his chin.

“Oh, Daphne. My Daphne,” he cried, yearning what could’ve been. He thought the image of her smiling sweetly at him, kissing his cheek and calling him ‘husband’, was a vision, a prophecy promising that he could be the source of her happiness until the end of time. But he was wrong. It had been a fantasy, a dream that had slipped out of his grasp. And now she was gone. His sobs doubled in intensity as grief wracked him, and he didn’t notice Eros approaching until he spoke.

“Isn’t this a beautiful sight?” the god of love asked, his lips twisting into a smirk. “Phoebus Apollonas, broken and filthy inside and out. A slave to his desires. Do you accept defeat, oh lustful one?”

Apollonas turned to the other god, and the grief in him sharpened to rage. His beautiful Daphne, the love of his life, had been stolen from him, snatched right out of his hands, and the cause of it all was simply standing there, taking amusement in his loss. He reached for his bow only to find it missing, and so he lunged forth and tackled Eros to the ground, wrapping his hands around the smaller man’s thin neck.

“You monster,” Apollonas growled, his sky blue eyes glowing with divine power. This horrid creature had taken his Daphne from him and deserved nothing less than death. Apollonas would deliver him to the gates of Tartarus himself if necessary. The man must pay for his crimes. He increased the pressure, causing the other god to choke under his iron grip. “You did this!”

“Oh no, Apollona. I merely gave you a nudge. The rest was all you,” Eros gasped out, managing to laugh even as his windpipe threatened to collapse altogether. The sun god’s brows furrowed at the statement, and Eros subtly waved his hand, calming the effects of his magic. “And who knows what you’ll do next if I keep nudging you forth? You’ll be giving your father quite the competition, won’t you?”

The spell finally broke, and Apollonas’s grip slackened as the lust drained out of him and the truth became clear. He had chased Daphne. He had chased Daphne with the intention to force himself on her. He had tried to kiss her and claim her as his own with no care for her terror. He pushed her so far that she thought it better to lose her humanity than to be his. Oh Fates, what had he done? You are the most wicked person to live, Phoebus Apollona. You are no better than your father. You did this to that poor girl. You ruined her.

“N-no,” he whispered, backing away from Eros and clamping his hands over his ears, but it was in vain. The voice came not from outside but from within, where his conscience was finally free to reclaim its owner. And so Apollonas relived the incident that had just taken place. He saw himself chase after her just as Python had chased him and his family, heard his plans to ruin her just as he believed Orion had intended with Artemis, felt himself force himself upon her just as Zeus did to his mother Leto. Never in his life had something been so achingly clear to him as this truth: while he had spent his whole life painting others as wicked, he had been the most terrible monster all along. Apollonas doubled over, spilling his insides onto the earth as though he could purge the maliciousness from his body. But alas, he could not; he was born the destroyer, and he had truly lived up to his name. He could not tell if his scream remained in his soul or ripped out of him. He didn’t know if it was tears or fire spilling from his eyes. All he knew was the terrible truth that he has been blind to all his life.

“You are weak, boy. But I can make you strong,” Eros declared, towering over the hysterical god. He wondered how Olympus would react to seeing their golden heir broken on the ground, sobbing like a spoiled child. He could only imagine they’d be just as entertained as he. Still, the time for games was over. Making sure to avoid the pool of vomit, he crouched down and placed a thin finger under Apollonas’s chin, forcing the young god to meet his gaze. “Here is my offer to you: vow to me on the river Styx that you will follow my every command, and I will save you from further humiliation and heartbreak.”

“What, so I can spend my life blind and deaf, a mindless slave to a heartless man?” A dry, humorless laugh slipped out of Apollonas’s lips. He had seen and tasted truth, and he would not give that up to become Eros’s puppet. He scowled and spat at the love god’s feet, glaring into those blood-red eyes. “That is what I think of your offer.”

“I expected the god of intellect to be wiser than this, but I now see the difference between you and Athena.” Eros sneered, wrinkling his nose at the sorry display. “Do not be hasty, godling, and ponder my words carefully. I am offering you invulnerability. I will harden your heart to stone so that none may hurt you. Without your greatest weakness, you will be unstoppable. You will never have to feel such pain again.”

Apollonas paused for a moment, considering Eros’s claim. To never feel this soul-tearing agony again? To be free of the organ that rebelled against his mind at every moment? Now that he contemplated it, the offer was quite tempting. Without his heart, he would only have to rely on his body and mind, both of which were immaculate. He would indeed be unstoppable, finally the golden heir of Olympus he was expected to be. And yet… his gaze moved to the laurel tree, and a single leaf drifted down before him. Apollonas caught it in the palm of his hand, carefully tracing its pale green veins. If he were to remove his heart, to lose his ability to feel, would that not be a dishonor to Daphne? After all he had put her through, did she not deserve to be mourned and remembered? And what about all the others, every mortal that had suffered at his hand? He would be spitting on their graves by choosing to run away from the pain that, in the face of what torment they had lived through, was nothing. And so Apollonas rose to his feet, stretching to full height and then kneeling down so that his face was merely inches from the love god’s. “Rot. In. Tartarus.”

“You really should have chosen the easy path,” Eros muttered, the smirk sliding off his face as he grit his teeth. Apollonas wanted to regret? Then he’d give him reason to regret. His hands flew to Apollonas’s temples, freezing the younger god in place. Eros’s eyes glowed, twin pits of lava, and his voice boomed as he invoked his ancient power. “I curse you, Phoebus Apollona. May love be your enemy and your heart a traitor. May you be powerless to control the whims of your desire, and may you be the cause of pain to those you love, over and over until the end of time itself.”

Apollonas fell to the ground once more, struggling as the curse rooted itself deep in his soul, at the very essence of his being. By the time his throat had grown too raw for him to continue screaming, Eros had already flown away, leaving behind nothing but punishment. He found himself crawling back to the laurel tree, to Daphne, leaning his forehead against her trunk as he wept. He wept for her, for those before her, and for those after her.

“I’m sorry, Daphne,” he whispered, holding on so tightly the bark dug into his skin and realizing how powerless he really was. “I’d change you back if I could, sweet nymph, but I cannot. Instead, I swear by the river Styx, I won’t let you be forgotten. I bless you so that your leaves are never shed and instead will be woven in wreaths that will become a symbol of honor, the very thing I tried to steal from you. Let mankind see me to be the monster I am if that means your memory will live on. And even if your name no longer forms on the lips of men, they will live on eternally upon my own. This I vow to you.”

With this, he lay one last touch upon the tree before turning away, trudging his leaden feet back to Olympus. He heard the whispers as he arrived in the city, but he paid them no mind and made way to his house. Barely moments after he entered, his fingers scurried over the wall until they found the loose brick that he yanked out and tossed aside. His hands trembled in a moment of hesitation before reaching in. He grasped the bottle of his poison, his secret, his solace. Apollonas lifted it to his lips, tears running down his face, and drank his worries away.

[mx-metronome]

Sky Theory: The Light and The Darkness

A post about my thoughts on light, darkness, how they react to one another, and (possibly) what it all implies regarding the Eye of Eden. (Spoilers ahead!)

I wrote a post about the civilization we see rise and fall, but today we're going to delve a little deeper into how the story might really be going, from the conflict to the climax to a possible resolution.

To quote the game's story (from the updated Isle of Dawn):

"With the stars united, our light was infinite...and together, we lived in harmony."

It is well established that light is a valuable resource that the spirits relied on, and way back at the beginning, it was also a renewable one: Winged Light fell from the sky continuously, a symbol of innocence and purity as a gift from the Megabird. Because it was infinite, the spirits all flourished, and there was no squabbling over a scarcity.

"As spirits, we soon became many...creating our home here in the clouds."

Here is where the civilization really starts to grow, specifically in the Daylight Prairie stage. The spirits' needs are all met every day of every year. But somewhere down the line, their basic need wasn't enough for them anymore. As they grew in number, so too did they grow in curiosity and want.

"But darkness came and the stars fell...

This sentence here sums up the remainder of our story, although what take place over the course of this sentence is an entire age. Here's how I feel it goes down:

The darkness coming literally refers to darkstone being discovered, and how its potential in advancing the people tempts them away from the comfort of their infinite light. The spirits did not have the light ripped away from them: they chose the darkness over light and turned away willingly, severing themselves from the stars. The Winged Light stop falling and become a precious commodity.

So they toy with this newly discovered darkstone and find that it reacts to light: as light is applied to any kind of darkness, it gives off energy, a rudimentary sort of power generation. There are several pieces of evidence to confirm this:

Darkstone technology only activates when you apply your light to it.

In fact, whenever you activate a darkstone door in the Hidden Forest, you recharge a little bit of cape energy, suggesting excess energy is produced in the reaction.

Darkness plants, when exposed to light, are used up in the process (as they are less dense than darkstone), but they release candle wax in the reaction, a concentrated form of energy.

However, as mentioned above, you need light for the darkness to be of any use to advancements, and now that supply is finite. The spirits must now find alternate sources of light, and the only source available to them at this time is the creatures of light.

The prairie begins transporting butterflies en masse to the forest to be broken down, and their light is channeled through their dark machinations to keep things running. As the butterflies become scarce, they look to mantas instead, and so on.

The civilization continues to grow and with it their demand for light, but the supply continues to dwindle. The scarcity of light is now threatening the people, and an ultimatum must be reached. They need a reliable, renewable source of power, one that can run almost indefinitely, so the King has one built, for the future of his people and their way of life. That's right: the Eye of Eden was never a weapon, but a near-infinite energy source, like a nuclear plant.

The finest engineers gather at the capital city and splice together mass quantities of darkstone into one megalith, only requiring enough light to kickstart a chain reaction. The reaction would cause a feedback loop: the energy emitted by the light-dark reaction would be enough light to perpetuate the reaction for an extended period of time, and any excess energy can be harvested or siphoned off and used to power the grid.

The people have spread far and wide and into different factions, each jealously guarding what little light they have left, knowing the King has intent to seize it. Skirmishes turn into battles turn into a full scale war. The desperation of each front has them all take the glorious darkness and turn it into weapons, and in this production of arms the people are failing to realize the true long-term side effects of utilizing darkness: pollution.

The weapons are produced as close to the front lines as the people could safely manage, hence the heavy pollution in the Golden Wasteland, just outside the capital. The water becomes thick and near impossible to sail through; the light from the light creatures begins to react to the darkness in the air and water, hence the presence of krill and dark crabs twisted by the corrupting dusts. The people try to infiltrate the capital city to seize the light that the King was hoarding. Perhaps some of the elders were even privvied to the King's plan and were working to defend him to save their own factions of people. Perhaps some of the elders even fought each other over differing ideals regarding the new generator.

As a last-ditch effort, the King moves the generator to as close to the sky as he can in a futile attempt to harness the holy light of the stars they had turned away from ages before. He hopes that the reaction will reach high enough to begin drawing in star power, slowly draining the heavens to keep his people alive.

He gathers any light left in the capital city and sends it through the machine, and the reaction kicks off in an instant. The power is greater than the engineers had calculated, and it is too great for them to harness; the wave of energy is massive enough to wipe out most of the denizens in the city within the first few seconds. The displacement of energy creates fierce winds and kicks up poisonous dust clouds, even scooping up entire bricks and boulders and flinging them through the air.

The mighty capital begins to crumble under the weight of this blazing light, and the flinging rocks tear down surrounding cities, picking up more debris as it grinds away at buildings. The dark dusts scatter across the land, settling over what few survivors remain, reacting to their inner Light and encasing them in stone, leaving them with no light left to return to Orbit whence they came.

The people had fallen to the darkness and its powerful properties, using up all their precious light to maintain their mortal existence. Now there is no light left and no way home. All that is left of their existence is husks of darkness, broken bones of old cities, and a radioactive storm with an unholy hybrid of light and darkness at it center that will run its course for thousands of years more.

"...and with their light we faded away."

...But not without one last plea.

"A long time has passed. Now we call to you."

In their last few moments, some groups of people, those who still had faith that they'd rejoin the stars, began to pray. They stated prophecies, chanted incantations into the sky, erected shrines with candles, hoping that their selfless offerings of light would grant them grace. That somehow Megabird would hear their cries and send them a chance at redemption, a chance at attaining Her inner Light once again.

And so the Megabird sent down the Winged Light again, hoping it would be enough to begin healing the land. But She did not quite understand the inner workings of this darkness, for it was beyond Her: this Light was fragile, and couldn't stand up against the darkness that swallowed the sky. She needed a vessel able to carry this Light safely into the heart of darkness where Her people slumbered.

So She learned of the darkness and how it cancelled out Light, and in response, she created the first sky kids.

"Go forth, child. Return our spirits to the stars."

Sky kids are different from spirits in many ways. Firstly, spirits are also creatures of light in that they originate from Orbit. It was their go-to source of energy and sustenance. But that connection between the spirits and all the light they'd ever need was so easily broken by the want that darkness produced, and their sensitivity to this darkness made them fall prey easily when it fell out of control.

By contrast, sky kids were created as instruments of the Megabird, shells carrying Her fragile Light within. They are not beings of pure light, but that's the point: they were designed to withstand darkness, and granting them a corporeal form provides more protection for Her Light from darkness than otherwise.

So the first sky kids go and deliver their inner Light to what fallen spirits they can find. The elders see the coming of the sky kids as Megabird's answer to their pleas, as Her Light is within them, and as the sky kids present their Light to the elders, they are able to reconnect with the stars and send up the spirits freed from darkness. So begins the pilgrimage back to Orbit, spearheaded by an army of children.

The first sky kids free some of the spirits and then head to the capital where light and darkness collide, the point nearest the stars. Megabird's intent was for the collected Winged Light in the hands of the sky kids to be enough pure Light to dispel the storm, but the darkness is too great, and as the Light was torn from them, they had no Light left to keep away the darkness, and they fell at the summit with no way of returning to Her.

So She sent more sky kids, thinking greater numbers would aid Her will. But two things began to happen, things She did not foresee: the sky kids, blank slates with no discernable emotions or features, learned from the spirits they saved: they learned how to wave hello, they learned how to laugh, how to cry, how to cheer, and so on. They even began taking on some of the fashions from the spirits! They presented individuality, suggesting that Megabird's Light was more than just pure Light: it was also a soul in its own right, much like the spirits that came before.

The second thing that happened was at the summit of the Eye of Eden, as it came to be called: when the sky kids realized their Winged Light wouldn't survive the Storm, they passed it on to fallen sky kids instead so that they may ascend back to Orbit and rejoin Megabird, at the cost of their own ascension. This soul of Light each sky kid carried not only established a personality, but also compassion, as Her Light was always meant to do. Sky kids were drawn to one another, and they started to work like teams and help one another out. They gave each other offerings of light as symbols of friendship and acceptance, not unlike the spirits' desperate offerings of light and candles to Megabird.

The Eye of Eden is the purest, most powerful light colliding with the purest, most potent darkness, which makes it an ideal euphemism for death: suffering and then release. It is the door to Orbit, but their possessions - their Winged Light - will be left behind. They only carry their deeds in their darkest time, which they are rewarded for after the fact.

When they came to Orbit at last, Megabird lauded them for their sacrifice and kindness, and invited them to remain with Her. But many of them expressed distress and dismay for all the sky kids still down in the clouds that needed help, and all the friends that they would miss. So She sent them back with two boons: additional Light granted by the spirits they helped ascend, and the knowledge needed to guide other sky kids back to Her.

Even if not everyone would rejoin Her in the Light, it brought Her comfort that Her Light was spread across an aching kingdom, sharing hope and peace to those who couldn't be near to Her.

[rebeccccccaaa]

ɢʀᴀᴛɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ

____________________

ʙᴏᴅʏɢᴜᴀʀᴅ!sᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʀᴏɢᴇʀs x ᴍᴏʙʙᴏss!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: Mob boss!Readers x bodyguard!Steve Rogers Some other gang leader doesn’t believe reader is the boss bc she’s a woman and he tries to manhandle her until Steve attacks him and then she thanks him with smut

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: Smut 18+, major angst, but there’s fluff because I can’t help myself ;)

ᴛᴡ: sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴀssᴀᴜʟᴛ/ʜᴀʀᴀssᴍᴇɴᴛ, ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɢᴜɴ ᴜsᴇ

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇs: Ah! I’ve never written anything about mobs and shit I’m so excited!

_____________________

“I’ll be fine,” you cupped Steve’s face.

“I should go in there with you. You’ve never met this guy and the others said he was creepy,” Steve sighed resting his hand on your hip. Steve was essentially your bodyguard highly recommended by your father when you took over the mob. 

“Sit here and eat your muffin, read your newspaper and if anything happens I’ll shout,” you grinned. 

“Y/n,” Steve said sternly.

“Sit down,” you patted his shoulder. 

He eventually sat beside the door grabbing the newspaper before taking an aggressive bite of his muffin making you giggle. You fluffy his hair before entering the room for your meeting with another boss. Your father advised you to expand trading and you’ve never been one to be ‘social’ so it was something you put off for years now. But now it’s getting late so here you are talking to a creep that offered a trade with you.

“Hi, thank you for coming,” you said entering the conference room. 

“Why hello? Aren’t you a cute little thing,” the man snarled.

“Excuse me?” you quipped. 

“Well, had I known there’d be a little plaything for me while I wait I would’ve come by sooner,” he stood up towering over you.

“I’m sorry, you must be very mistaken, sir. We don’t degrade women here,” you smiled sarcastically.

“Haha, you’re funny. I do like women who can make me laugh,” he grabbed at your hips.

“Sir, you are incredibly mistaken. I am the leader of this mob and if you lay your disgustingly meaty hands on me one more time I won’t hesitate to put a bullet through your thick skull,” you growled. The man’s temper bursted and he aggressively grabbed your throat pulling you too close to his body. 

“Listen here you little brat, you’re gonna do what a woman was meant to do and if you don't get on your knees baby girl you’ll get what’s coming to ya.”

“Get off of me!” you shoved him back.

“Nu-uh pretty girl, you’re gonna suck my cock until the big man gets here whether you like it or not!”

Steve sat eating his muffin trying his best to ignore the muffled voices from inside the conference room. He couldn’t help but worry about your safety being with that creep. When the guy first arrived he groped one of the housekeepers and laughed as if he did nothing wrong. Steve sat there desperately hoping this meeting with that scumbag doesn’t go well and you'll drop him. He can’t even imagine working with a man like that, especially when you're a woman. 

Suddenly he heard a shriek emerge from the room and Steve bursted through the door. He pulled his gun out seeing the man bending you over your own desk pulling the hem of your pants. Steve aimed the gun and shot the man in the back of his knee making him fall to the ground groaning in pain. 

“Fuck,” you groaned running to Steve. He held you tightly in a panic and you breathed heavily against him. 

“Are you ok?” he asked. 

“I think so,” you swallowed loudly. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” you looked at the writhing man on your floor. 

“I’m sorry, fuck! I’m sorry!”

“Steve, get out,” you ordered.

“No, sweetheart I’m not leaving you alone again with this man,” he raised his voice.

“Steve, please,” you looked at him.

“Baby,” he sighed.

“Go!”

You looked back at the man still squirming on the floor in pure agony. You pulled a pack of cigarettes off your desk placing one between your chapped and bitten lips. You walked around the desk keeping your eye trained on the shithead. You grabbed your lighter and lit the cigarette before reaching inside one of your drawers and grabbing a gun. 

The silvery metal reflected the smallest light around your office as you approached him. 

Steve stood in the hallway with his hand resting on the handle of the door, biting his lip anxiously. His heart sank when he heard a gunshot and he bursted through the door finding you sitting with a cigarette between your lips and your gun in hand. 

“What the hel-” he found the man dead bleeding from his head. You stared at the body in disgust, blood spattered on your face and clothes. You dragged the poison and blew the smoke into the air. Steve slowly walked up to you cupped your face to look at him. 

“What happened?” he whispered. 

“I made sure he never does what he did to me to another woman ever again,” you said monotonously.

“Come here,” Steve picked you up and you tossed the cigarette on the dead man burning his bloodied face. 

Steve carried you to your room and sat you on your bed. You stayed still staring at nothing while Steve grabbed you a towel. He cleaned the blood of your face and tears fell down your face. You felt humiliated and violated. 

“Are you ok?” Steve whispered, afraid as if he spoke too loud he would startle you. 

“Yeah,” you choked out.

“No, you’re not.”

“Steve, I am. Truthfully. If you hadn’t been there, I can’t even imagine what would have happened,” you breathed out heavily calming yourself. 

“I owe you a great debt, Steve,” you said softly. 

“No you don’t, I’m just doing my job.”

“Thank you,” you leaned in closely and brushed your nose against his.

Suddenly Steve felt small. He was always a confident man, something you deeply admired about him, but being able to make him feel this way, all bothered and shy, gave you a sense of even more power over him. 

You brushed a hair from his face and moved to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his thighs. You circled your hand down to his chin lifting it slightly to make him look at you with those gorgeous blue eyes; like sapphires.

“I see the way you look at me Steve,” you whispered.

“We can’t,” he said back.

“Why not? I know how bad you’ve wanted me,” you trailed your hand down his chest.

“Y/n, you’re vulnerable. I can’t take advantage of you like that,” he said. You have this desire to regain control after what happened and conquering Steve would do just that whether you admit it or not. He wants to so badly have his way with you but he knows he’s just a grievance. You’ll wake up the next morning and pretend this never happened, that the words he’d whisper to you are just that, words. The love he’d give you isn’t reciprocated. He can’t let you break him like that. 

“What’s going on?” you asked seeing him in a sort of mental battle.

“Nothing, you should rest,” he said.

“I don’t want to rest. I don’t want to be alone,” you told him.

He looked at you with soft eyes, clenching his jaw tight. His hands were resting on your hips and he desperately fought the urge to move them; under your shirt, over your cheeks or thighs, anywhere, he wanted to feel you so bad. 

“Steve,” you breathed out, practically moaning. 

“Fuck,” Steve said with frustration.

“Please,” you cupped his face.

When he did say anything you got off of him and slowly made your way to the bathroom. Steve sat there regretful breathing out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. You were right there. In his arms and he pushed you away. 

You came out again wearing simple nightwear and trotted to Steve once again. You didn’t sit on his lap despite the both of you secretly wishing you would again but you did sit fairly close; your shoulder pressed against his. 

You rested your head on him, the both of your staring at the floor in silence. You slowly up at him cupping his bearded jaw with your delicate hand. You brushed the hairs with your fingers, you’d always preferred his beard than without. You had been the one to convince him not to shave and you had been the one he did it for. 

You couldn’t stop yourself and neither could Steve when the two of you met in the middle, your lips pressing against each other perfectly. Your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling and his hands went to where they belonged on your hips. You two kissed for what felt like an eternity; an eternity of pure lust and ecstasy. Steve pushed you down to lay flat on your bed, his hips settling between your legs. 

“Tell you want me, tell me how much you need me,” Steve said against your lips.

“I want you, I need you, so fucking bad,” you moaned.

“Tell me this is real,” he said with his eyes screwed shut. 

Steve had been so enamored by you since the day he met you. He used to work for your father before he retired and he insisted that Steve worked alongside you, to protect you. You were hesitant about having him around, independency clouding your mind when you became leader, but little did Steve know you had become very fond of the man at your side everywhere you went. 

He occupied every part of your mind for years now. The confidence he oozed, and sexiness he projected; how could anybody not fall in love? He was the source of the many nights you laid alone in bed, your hand between the junction of your thighs, writhing and panting dreaming of his body pressing against you just as he now. 

Steve fought his desires just as long as you did. When he looks at you, he can’t help the stutters and skips his heart makes. When you laugh, especially at something he says, he feels like a little boy again talking to his crush from school. You’re just so beautiful and dauntless, graceful and fearless. He can’t help but fall in love. Anyone would. 

“Steve, look at me, please.” 

Steve’s eyes pried open, terrified you would disappear if he did.

“This is real. I want you so badly; I need you. Please make me feel good,” you whispered against his lips. 

Steve kissed passionately before moving his lips across your jaw line, nipping and biting the soft skin. His hands held your waist firmly under your shirt, gently squeezing your sides making you giggle. 

“That tickles,” you giggled.

“The scary mob boss is ticklish?” Steve joked. 

“Stop it!” you shrieked when he tickled harder.

Steve laughed at you for a moment before capturing your lips in a kiss once again. He pulled up again sitting back on his knees bringing you with him up to his chest. He looked into your lust blown eyes carefully lifting your shirt. You eagerly raised your arms allowing him to discard it before you did the same to him.

You marveled at his toned body, your hands smoothing over his muscles and the little hairs that littered his chest. Steve's hands came up your side, his thumbs grazing lightly over your perked nipples making your body shiver with need. 

He sat comfortably bringing you to your knees so he was in line with your chest. He leaned forward and kissed all over before wrapping his lips around your nipple. His tongue swirled around it and his teeth grazed the nub before releasing with a pop and doing the same with the other.

The feeling of his tongue made you extremely aroused soaking your panties. You breathed heavily relishing in his attention. Your fingers combed through his hair lightly pulling on his long strands. He groaned softly, his eyes fluttering in pleasure. You’ll keep that in mind.

You sank down fully sitting in his lap, when you felt him poking you through both of your fabrics. You hand snaked down in between your bodies and you pressed on his erection with your hand, making him groan again. 

“Fuck, don’t tease me.”

“Then take these off.”

You quickly got off of his lap and he hurried to stand and take his pants off. You giggled at the sudden flurry of clothes but your face quickly turned to shock when you saw the size of Steve for the first time. 

“Baby, that’s not going to fit in me,” you said, making him chuckle.

“We’ll never know if we don’t try,” he winked. 

You bit your lip and laid back for him. He rubbed your legs softly curling his fingers over your bottoms and reluctantly pulled them down your legs. He kissed your legs up to your stomach before coming face to face with you once again. 

He kissed you with need like he would never be able to again after tonight. He doesn’t feel convinced that this is real. That tomorrow when you wake up beside you’ll realize that maybe you don’t fancy him like you say right now.

You reached forward wrapping your hand around his cock looking up at him with faux innocent eyes licking and biting your lips seductively. Steve could help but groan as he laid atop of you, hard as rock. 

Steve kissed your lips and he swears that he could stay like this forever. Your lips, although chapped and dry, were so addictive and obsessive. Your legs wrapped around his hips and your arms around his shoulders pulling him close to you as if he’d float away. He pushed slowly in you and you let out a shaky moan. Steve’s head that was buried lifted quickly, looked at you and whispered soft praises to you. 

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he whispered against your lips.

“Steve, move please,’ you moaned. 

He snapped his hips back and rutted into you over and over again. He placed his hand on your lower belly and felt his cock poking with each thrust. He grabbed your hand and placed it there too and you gasped at the fleeing before moaning loudly.

“Fuck, Steve,” you whimpered.  

“You’re so fucking beautiful, baby. God, you feel amazing. Pussy’s fucking perfect; you’re perfect,” he said against your ear. His words made your stomach flutter and your heart burst. He kissed the skin below it and your body shuddered at the feeling of his cool lips against your hot skin. Your hands raked through his long hair and you tugged on the locks bringing his head back up. You instantly attached your lips to his kissing him messily and passionately. 

Your pants and moans became louder with each thrust he got closer to making you release. You moaned his name over and over like a prayer. Steve grunted and his chest tightened feeling overwhelmed by you. 

His hips faltered and you pushed his shoulders rolling over with his cock still inside you. You quickly moved your hips back and forth, your hands pressing flat against his chest to support you, nails scratching his chest leaving dark red marks. Steve’s hands reached for your breasts, his thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. His hands landed in their place on your hips guiding you, though you didn’t need it much.

“Fuck, baby. I’m gonna come,” he moaned.

“Come in me, fuck! Stevie, I want it all, give it to me,” you said staring at his lips. 

“Fuck!”

Steve snapped his hips up and you felt his hot cum coating your walls. The feeling overwhelmed you and you came in time with him. Your eyes rolled back, your back arched, and you felt incredible. This career, if you can call it that, has run into plenty of lousy men and you wasted many hours with them but this, you could bask in the feeling of Steve’s arms and fully be content with life. 

You fell forward and Steve wrapped his arms around you. You breathed heavily and Steve’s hand rubbed your head lovingly. Your eyelids felt heavy and you couldn’t help the tiredness that overcame you. Steve laid there carefully listening to your breathing even out. He couldn’t believe that you were actually laying, naked and beautifully, in his arms. He dreamed of this moment more than he liked to admit.

Hours later you felt yourself suddenly wake. You were in a cold sweat shaking uncontrollably. You got off Steve who was still sleeping soundly beneath you. His face was so angelic, no it was god like. He looked so at peace you felt awful disturbing his comfort when you crawled off him quietly.

You grabbed one of the thin sheets that had fallen to the floor and wrapped lazily around your body and walked to the large window of your room. You looked out the window before grabbing the pack of cigarettes and lighter sitting fixed on the window ledge waiting to be used during your lowest moments.

You felt vulnerable. 

Steve laid on your bed and you really appreciated him. You genuinely liked him and you know he probably doesn’t believe you yet. He was so charming and compassionate. He protected you especially after what happened today. 

What happened today. God, you can imagine what would happen, what you would do to get out of that awful situation but when it happens, when it becomes reality… you forget everything. You forget how to breathe, how to move. It was terrifying. Even after everything you’d seen being a boss. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Steve came up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around you. 

“God! You fucking scared me,” you looked at him.

“Sorry,” he smirked. 

He leaned forward and placed kisses along your shoulder and neck. You dragged the cigarette, closing your eyes at the delicious feeling of Steve’s kisses. His hands grazed under the sheet, his fingertips tickling the skin of your belly.

“Stop it,” you warned.

“Oh right, the scary mob lady is ticklish. I’ll keep that in mind,” he whispered, his lips against your ear.

“I swear to god, Steve. I’ll fire you,” you chuckled.

“Are you feeling any better? If that’s possible,” he said after a moment.

“You’re here with me,” you told him. 

“Please don’t leave me,” you teared up. This was the first time Steve had ever seen you vulnerable, visibly upset, crying. He’s never seen you cry.

“I would never leave you; not unless you want me to,” he cupped your face. 

“Thank you.”

Steve took the cigarette from your fingers and brought it to his lips dragging smoke and blowing it out the open window. You smiled at him before kissing his lips softly. 

“Come back to bed; it’s cold,” he placed the cigarette in the ashtray. 

You closed the window and Steve picked you up taking you to bed. You cuddled by his side, pressing your cold body against his warm one. You buried your face into his neck and fell sound asleep. He made you feel safe and protected. You easily let your guard down when you were with him and after tonight you really felt your walls coming down for him. And Steve was more than willing to come in. 

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ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

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