#or if he escapes it or just ends up dying with the defeat of the sword

[museincarnate]

Before the Scorched Saiyan could manage another word, the light within his eye sockets began to dim, while the blue flames that surrounded the battlefield they claimed dissipated; a slight, albeit weak chuckle once more escaping Ghost's husk, before an initial set of footsteps could be heard quickly nearing him and the Luparian...

"T-Tazz!" The Buff Gal, fresh off of her skirmish with the Undying Saiyaness, would quickly bring herself to a knee, and offer the wolfish woman assistance in, at the very least, sitting up; keeping her gaze away from the Scorched Saiyan, even in his sorry, defeated state. "I can feel Yujin's energy from here, and it's getting weaker by the second! We have to go help him!"

Just as she was begging her best friend to come with her, will herself to move again to check on Hakkona's former partner, another set of footsteps approached the do-gooders, as well as Ghost; the latter just clinging to life, as his gaze fell upon his foes. Castor, however, saw no urgency in approaching his dying ally, and the two warriors who somehow came out of their battles as the winners. Instead, a casual stroll towards the Scorched Saiyan would be the pace that was taken, until the Saiyan of Decay stood over his burned associate; a look of agitation etching itself onto the visage of The Cure.

"Look at you. Unlike Pholomena, I expected you to be smarter about things, yet here you are; falling apart and dying." Groaning, the Saiyan of Decay temporarily brought his attention towards the two women not far from both himself and his associate, while not offering a word towards them; instead internally debating on whether or not he should push the battle any further, and take them both on. Personally, he would've chosen to attempt to end their lives, like he assumed he did to Yujin, but he wasn't that naïve. No, instead he would scoop up the charred, nearly crumbling body of his Scorched ally, and begin ascending into the air; presuming that neither of the do-gooders would try to stop him, in their frantic and fatigued states.

"Count yourself lucky that I still have use for you, Ghost. Just stay alive awhile, so this isn't a complete waste of my time and effort, got it?" And with that, the remaining villainous Saiyans left the city that had turned into the six warriors' battlefield, with the only victorious Saiyan carrying Ghost off, hastily, and leaving Hakkona and Tazz by themselves, with their redheaded ally's condition unknown, until they made the attempt to reach him.

For the time being... The side of good had won, though a lingering feeling in the air would make the victory seem small... Hollow, even.

A loss of strength wasn't quite something that Ghost's numbness would allow him to immediately gauge, but the sight of Tazz's lack of recoil and lessened reaction to his attack seemed to convey to the Scorched Saiyan just what, exactly, had occurred. In spite of the cooling embers of his flames, however, the fiery warrior still felt an odd, internally originating warmth that remained within him; refusing to go away, even if he knew that it should have.

With a lack of skin on his face, to properly convey any sort of facial expressions, it was unfortunate that the Luparian wouldn't see the smile that would've been etched on the face of the Scorched Saiyan, as he seemingly resigned himself to the matter at hand; their battle, even if it went against his ambitions, providing something for Ghost that he would likely hold close, even if he was still coming to terms with what it was.

Regardless, the wolfish woman's fist would make uncontested contact with the abdomen of her opposition, and cause him to nearly double over from how hard he was struck; the lack of feeling in his body never wavering, as his frame moved however it was struck. For a few moments, Ghost didn't so much as move, only sharply inhaling and exhaling, before the flames immediately surrounding his smoldering body died down, and he fell forward; collapsing to the ground, as the world around him became blurry. He could feel a familiar energy signature approaching, and yet... He didn't quite care enough to gloat about it; instead opting to turn his head ever so slightly towards Tazz; gasping for air, as the outcome of the battle had been decided.

"Hey.... Luparian..." He choked out, as his organs and every part of him was burned to a near-fatal degree. "What's... Y... Your... Naaaaaaaaaame?" Raspy, almost inhuman vocals left the husk of the Scorched Saiyan, as his mouth hung open; the Luparian seeing a Saiyan on death's doorstep, and still somehow clinging to life, and asking for her name, after previously calling her demeaning names.

[quibbs126]

I was thinking about the All Ancients Disappear AU again, and I’m in part debating having Dark Choco as an antagonist, in a Sovereign of Darkness sort of way (and maybe because Dune is on my mind)

Like, he finds the Strawberry Jam Sword in this AU to help save his kingdom which is struggling without the king, but without Dark Cacao around, Dark Choco basically succumbs to the sword’s influence and the Dark Choco of current day is basically just the sword using him as a dough puppet

And also, maybe instead of just being a destroyer, this “Dark Choco” is more of an emperor/conqueror, who’s taken control of at least the eastern side of Crispia, including the Dark Cacao Kingdom, Hollyberry Kingdom, and possibly Dragon’s Valley

I’m not sure if I’ll go back and actually do more with this AU, but it was a thought I had and wanted to share

[morose-melodies]

i need dottore,tartaglia,pantalone and capitano(those were in my mind for a while and its killing me) with a reader who always tries to escape.using different tactics each time but always ends up failing.and one day,the reader hads enough and snaps "if you didnt take away and acted like a normal person from the start,i could have loved you"

İf you dont want to or dont feel like writing,thats ok👍

failing attempts | various! yandere! harbingers x reader

CAPITANO

this was escape attempt five.

you truly were optimistic, but capitano wouldn't let you leave him so easily.

your escape attempts seemed to be getting more and more desperate and, therefore, more dangerous to you.

you had attempted to jump out of a window the night before, just as he was arriving home from a mission. the sheer terror he felt as he watched you lean out of the second-floor window was insurmountable.

now, not only was the front door locked shut from the outside, but the windows were now barricaded too. you were a danger to yourself.

and all capitano ever wanted was for you to be safe and with him. was that too much to ask for? was that so terribly wrong of him?

the captain didn't want to take extreme measures to keep you home; he didn't want to lock you in a room, nor did he want to tie you down. he wasn't the sort. He just wanted you to stay without any excessive force.

but you were pushing him into a corner.

this morning, you had darted out of the backdoor, still in your pajamas and without shoes, into the cold.

you didn't make it far at all. you had barely made it over the garden fence, and you were stumbling now.

the captain... sighed as he followed after you. it wasn't an extreme chase; you hadn't even tried to fight back as usual when he caught you; you just stumbled on about something incomprehensible as he wrapped you up into his coat and lifted you into his arms.

"that was terribly immature of you," looking down at you, the captain felt sorry for you, "I would like it if you would stay home but if you plan on leaving, please do wear proper clothing next time. i can not bear the thought of you dying out in the cold."

"if you didn't take me away," at this point, perhaps death was better than being stuck with him, "and if you acted like a normal person," but, you wanted to go home - you wanted to be with your family, "I could've loved you."

capitano's mind blanked. he had given you a chance to come with him freely; he had been kind to you, so were you not lying?

it didn't matter now, did it? "(y/n), you do understand you've caused all this trouble, correct? should you have been a bit more understanding, you wouldn't be in this situation. i love you. Is that not obvious? i only want to see you thrive and to be happy."

he was at the point of no return; he could only go backward from here.

DOTTORE

to take time out of dottore's day, to make him leave the manor to come find you for what seemed like the millionth time - he was admittedly quite frustrated with you.

he found you hanging from the gate, your coat caught on the spike of it.

he grinned - this was a funny sight, but, at the same time, it wasn't funny at all. he was actually very disappointed in you.

dottore approached the gate, standing behind you, "tell me just how long have you been hanging here for?"

your nose was running, and you looked absolutely defeated. when you don't reply, dottore clicks his tongue, shaking his head, "Would your life not be simpler if you just accepted your situation? This is such a pitiful sight, (y/n)."

dottore unlocked the gate and walked outside of him, and he helped you down and brushed off the snow that piled on your coat.

"let's go, (y/n)," dottore grabbed your forearm and prepared to pull you back towards the manor, "I've had enough of your antics - perhaps a night or two in the basement would do you well."

"no-" you tugged back, attempting to free your arm from his grip, "stop it! you make me s-so sick! just let me go!"

"(y/n), please. you've done nothing be give me grief," dottore sighed, tugging you along with him, "I don't understand why you feel that being stubborn will get you anywhere."

"you... don't understand?" you grumbled, digging your feet into the snow, trying to pull your weight, trying to stop dottore from getting you back inside, "you're kidding me! i hate you! You're disgusting and unlovable!"

"(y/n), lower your voice - I'm exhausted and you're giving me a migraine," dottore sighed, stopping and getting a better hold on your arm before tugging you along once more.

"if you have yet to notice, I'm quite content with just having you near. i don't exactly need your love to make me feel any better than i do now. hm, that's the sort of effect you have on me."

you went quiet and dottore assumed you had worn yourself out. he brought you inside and sat you down in front of the fireplace, his hand rubbing circles on your shoulder.

"I could've loved you... maybe if you hadn't taken me away..." you trailed off, holding your hands in front of the fire. Why did he continue to act as if he cared for you? "maybe, um, if you were normal, I could've loved you."

dottore smiled at you, though you couldn't see it, "whether you love me or not is trivial - i have you, (y/n), and that's what I need. you, (y/n), you're all I need."

PANTALONE

pantalone was above getting dirty.

it was nothing personal. he'd do just about anything else for you! he just couldn't imagine himself running around late at night trying to find you.

what was the point when he had other fatuus to do such things for him? they have yet to fail him.

so, while you were out, trying to leave pantalone as multiple fatuus' chased after you, pantalone was running you a warm bath and set a pair of clean clothes out for you.

he knew you'd come back filthy. You always did.

he wondered what he could do to keep you home. He wasn't one for forceful methods; he would hate to hurt you. you were his pride and joy.

pantalone would sigh deeply, dipping his hand into the bathwater to make sure it was still warm.

you never wanted anything from pantalone... well, except for that one time, you asked for a can of soup, but then you used it to smash the bathroom window open and jumped out...

that didn't exactly count.

he heard the front door open and knew you were being dragged in now. the guards weren't gentlemen, quite the contrary, in truth.

you always looked so sad and defeated after the caught you.

"oh, (y/n)," pantalone held a hand to his chest as he stood from where he kneeled at the side of the tub, he stepped forward and wanted to embrace you but you were a mess, "you're a mess."

he frowned at you, as the guards released you and shut the bathroom door behind them as they left. "you must be cold, oh dear," his heart ached for you, such a pitiful sight you were.

you were so lucky that he loved you.

he attempted to remove your top, but you tensed, making it hard for him, "do-don't touch me."

"but you're filthy," pantalone reasoned, once again trying to remove your top but you wouldn't budge, "(y/n), I'm doing this because I love you so very much. please, don't make this hard."

"I don't-" you stepped back, shaking your head at him, "I don't want your help. g-get out, just leave."

pantalone's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at you, "what's the matter? i-i'm not mad at you, not at all. I understand that i must be lacking something-"

"get out! my gosh, wh-what's with you!? just leave!"

"(y/n)..."

"get out! get out! leave!"

"please, calm down. let me help you undress, alright? You're in a bad mood, i get it. That's no excuse to be rude to someone who loves you dearly," pantalone spoke to you as if he were your mother.

he reached forward and tugged off your shirt with extra force; it wasn't much force; it was just in case you were prepared to tense up again!

"there we go," pantalone cooed as he eased you into the warm bath. he washed your hair for you, making sure to scrub extra hard to get the muck out of your hair.

it was, in a way, soothing...

if only...

"if you hadn't... taken me away and, um," you sniffled, raising your hand to wipe at your nose, "if you were normal... i could've loved you."

instead of offending, that pleased pantalone. what he was hearing was 'you liked him for who he was' and there was nothing better than hearing that.

hm, if only he hadn't taken you away.

"that is the kindest thing you've ever said to me," pantalone smiled, "thank you, (y/n)."

CHILDE

it was a sort of game to childe at this point.

how many times could you attempt to escape this week? how many times would you curse him to hell? how many times would you glare at him today?

he had to find humor in it, or else, he'd lose his mind. after all, there was no easy way to cope with the love of his life hating his guts.

in truth, he had been a bit overbearing the past few days - there was a snowstorm outside and he couldn't allow you to be out in that sort of weather alone.

so, as he stared out the window, looking at the rapidly falling snow, all he could think about was if only something was different. perhaps if the two of you were childhood sweethearts, maybe if the two of you had met before he fell into the abyss, or maybe if the two of you were neighbors.

he, at one point, had gotten so desperate to keep you home that he bent to your will - anything you asked, he did. you never really asked much of him, though...

well, unless telling him to go away was a question.

he was so busy thinking of all the "what ifs" that he didn't notice you running past the window and into the snowy woods.

well, he did, but it just didn't click for him at the moment.

and when it did click? he was out the door, tugging his coat on, not even bothering to shut it behind himself.

"c'mon, (y/n), now is not the time for this!" he called out, watching as you ran around a tree and seemingly "disappeared."

he knew you too well. you expected him to run around the tree to look for you, but he wouldn't; he watched as you emerged from the other side of the tree and pulled you into his open arms.

you can't use the same trick twice on him.

he held you against his chest - he didn't mind that you were nudging at his chest, trying to get away from him. "c'mon, it's pretty cold out here. I'll make you tea when we get back inside."

"no! im not going back!" you nudged harder at his chest, trying to get out of his hold.

"I said we're going back in. we really need to talk ab-"

"there's nothing to talk about! you're not normal and i won't love you!"

he thought had heard it all from you, so, hearing this wasn't anything new, but, what was new was hearing you say:

"if you wanted me to love you, maybe you should've been normal," you paused, and childe's hold on you loosened, his arms going slack at his sides and he looked down at you, "if you didn't take me away... and maybe if you acted like a normal person from the start-"

once again, you paused and took a step back away from him. childe didn't want to hear what you were going to say, even as he imagined what you might say, his chest ached... he wouldn't be able to handle it, "(y/n), let's just go in, okay? i don't want to hear it from you."

"- i could've loved you."

oh, it hurt so badly.

childe tried so hard to be unbothered, so, why was he so hurt from hearing this? he loved you, and he's tried everything to make you understand just how much he loved you, and now you say that you'll never love him.

it hurt, of course, but he's come so far.

childe strongly believes that people can change, anyway. so, he'd keep trying his absolute hardest for you until you buckled and confessed that you loved him back.

but, in the meantime...

"you can still love me," he said, with a weak smile, "I've been good to you, (y/n) and I think I deserve some credit for being so patient, right?"

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚ REVENGE [PART TWO TO KINSLAYER] ━━━ AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

part one.

synopsis: following your brave defeat of aemond targaryen in the battle of rook’s rest, your dragon silverwing delivers your body back to your mother in dragonstone. as you are discovered, a swearing of revenge is made as your body burns in its funeral pyre.

request: kinslayer is so good. would you ever write a little drabble to see the sadness of her family. especially her mother? also to see how this changed the dance. would you ever write a different ending? where before she fell silverwing saves her. like toothless did with hiccup. i adore it and need more. only if you want to of course.

notes: a bit longer than a drabble but i hope you enjoy anyways😭 thank you sm also to @dracaryxzs @hikaerys @delightfulbluebirdtidalwave & @quickamateur for requesting a part two of the black’s reaction to the reader’s death. i had so much fun exploring what the characters would feel like, esp jacaerys. tbh i don’t think i would write an alternative ending bc i just love writing angst wayyyy too much (it’s a problem)

there’s also a lack of jacaerys requests in my inbox which i think you should all fix by pressing here!

warnings: brief descriptions & mentions death, funeral pyre, angst, feelings of sadness after a death of loved one, burning, self-blame

word count: 1.9k

THE SHRIEKING SCREAM OF SILVERWING WAS THE ONLY THING THAT COULD BE HEARD FOR MILES. it was a shriek of pure pain, a cut wedged so deep had made its home in the poor dragon's heart as she had no choice but to watch on as you plunged your sword into aemond targaryen's eye. silverwing had tried her hardest to swoop down and rescue your body as both you and the man you loved plummeted to the ground in each other's arms. your limbs were intertwined with aemond's, your soul's holding the same love they had held many years ago in your final moments.

your body had crashed to the forest floor from the great height, dying immediately - still weaved with aemond's.

another heart-wrenching scream was heard from silverwing as the bond you two had shared had completely severed with your death. all she could do now was search the forest for you and bring back your fractured body to your mother. 

silverwing had gently picked up your body in her claws, so not to bring you anymore damage than the fall had done. she had completely disregarded the body of your previous lover, sword still plunged in his eye. small whimpers left her body as she rose slowly into the air flying back to dragonstone, having lost another rider had left the dragon in an immense amount of pain as you had reminded her greatly of the good queen alyssane, her first rider.

aegon having fled the battle the moment he had witnessed aemond's death had left rhaenys velaryon, your grandmother, with too little time to come to your aid. piercing cries escaped her lips as she could do nothing but watch you fall to your death. knowing this is what you had wanted still did not heed the tears that escaped her lilac eyes, nor did it stop the blame she held for herself as she accompanied your dragon back to dragonstone, wishing over and over that it had been her instead of you, something she knew she would wish until the end of her days. 

the shrieks of pain silverwing had let out alerted the dragon's on the island as she drew near. many stirred at the noise in fright, but none seemed to be as fretted as vermax, who had replied to silvering's bellow with one in return.

with the sound of her two children's dragon's shrieks, rhaenyra knew something was wrong. her gut instinct had told her something had happened to you, as jace remained safely within the castle. rushing to her balcony, she fixed her gaze intently across the sea for any sign of you, holding her breath as she noticed silverwing's flapping wings over the horizon. as she drew closer rhaenyra's eyes scanned her saddle, and noticing you weren't atop it her eyes flickered hastily down to her trembling claws. 

she was clutching your lifeless body. 

tears streamed down rhaenyra's face as she fell to the ground. uncontrallable sobs left her lips as her body violently shook in pain. admitting defeat she crumbled against the pillars of her balcony. as she did, her eyes bore into the sky above that painted in blues purples and oranges alike. she cursed at all the gods she could as it dawned on her this was what the sky held when lucerys had died just moons before. no amount of screams or curses at both the green's and gods would ever stop the blame that rhaenyra held for herself for your death, she knew you were not ready for battle yet she still sent you anyway. 

your heart still held onto the embers of girlhood which was seen in the way you teased jace, the joy you found when you played with your younger brother's and the soft smiled that adorned your lips as she combed and braided your hair with a gold plated brush. you were too young to pass. you were meant to outlive her, to live a happy life with a husband and children who you adored - something you would never get to do it now. rhaenyra's painful screams were carried off into the wind, her grief-stricken body stuck to the place she had fallen, as her gaze at the sky hardened. she swore that whatever force had killed you would be killed in return. she knew it would never bring you back, her only daughter was gone from this world, but she needed for herself to seek revenge in your name.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

it had been jacaerys who had went to greet your dragon. the poor boy did not realise anything was amiss at first. he trodded happily down to your dragon to congratulate you on your first victory, proud of his younger sister. it wasn't until he noticed silverwing's sad demeanour, how her entire body trembled in despair, curled up into a ball not allowing any guard to pass through the wall she had made. as jace approached the dragon she murmured a small cry as she began to uncurl, the strange behaviour making his mind run rampant and tears start to prickle in his eyes.

no. no.

it was only a matter of seconds before jace's knees buckled, falling to floor where you lay stretched out on the floor. 

he couldn't believe it, you were so full of life only a mere few hours ago. 

reaching for you, he pulled your head onto his lap, cradling your body as he did. he couldn't stop the tears that poured from his cheeks landing softly on your skin, as sobs erupted from his lips. he had hoped in some delusional way, that you would somehow awake, that if he just stayed by your side cradling you, you would return and call him stupid for worrying so much.

the pain of lucerys had returned tenfold. he was meant to protect you, you were his younger sister for gods sake, only a year between the two of you, you had been as thick as theives. always teasing each other, throwing food across the table when petty arguments broke out. the two of you had stuck by each other's sides as you became aware of the questions that arose from the colour of your hair when luke was still too young to understand. you were meant to stay by his side, he had long since planned to make you his hand as you had always been there as his biggest advisor - the person he had trusted most in this world.

jacaerys like his mother, blamed himself. he should have been their to protect you, because that's what brother's are for, right?

there was no doubt he was a targaryen in that moment. his wetted eyes dried with a rage he had never felt before. he too swore at the sky, cursing every green, every god who had willed your fate, his voice breaking as he did. jacaerys did not care what life lay ahead of him in that moment, being heir was long from his mind as he bellowed that he would exact your revenge even if it meant he would die too. 

shallow breathes were taken as he brought his brown eyes onto your closed ones, still laying still in his lap. his anger had quickly faded at the sight of you again, his chest vibrating as he struggled to regain oxygen into his lungs. the softer side of jacaerys velaryon had once more returned as he allowed his forehead to rest against your cold one. his hands absentmindedly began to run through your hair, whispering soft "it will be okay" and "i love you's" as the tears silently fell from his glassy eyes, unsure of whether it was to reassure himself or you.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

rain drops fell from the sky in a heavy rhythm, landing in small plops the cliff side where your family gathered for small funeral pyre after your body had be retrieved. it had been jacaerys who had suggested the place, knowing how you and luke had enjoyed coming up to sit peacefully and read together. 

the somber mood was evident as the rain continued to poor from the sky, each person having their heart ripped out from their chest all over again as they looked upon you body. you had almost looked like you were sleeping if it wasn't for the fact you had turned a sickly pale colour, and your chest failing to rise and fall with the inhale and exhale of oxygen.

the group of targaryen's, velaryon's and silverwing the dragon, gathered around the small wooden pyre as they said their final goodbye's to you. daemon had approached the wooden frame, placing the sword your drove deep into your lover's eye next to you that he had managed to retrieve. he hadn't been aware of how much the sword had meant to you, but to him it showed the fierce love and protection he had felt. despite not being his own daughter, he had loved you like one - always taking the time to teach you the art of sword fighting despite the other knight's looking down on it. he returned to his wife's side who nodded him in gratitude for loving her little girl the way a father should.

tears threatened to spill from jacaerys glassy eyes as he began to approach your body next, his hand clutched little joffrey's who was still too small to understand where his elder sister had left to and why she had yet to return. he had placed the letter's the two of you had exchanged when he had visited the north, the fascination you had for the wall had always brought a smile to his lips when you had asked him questions. even now, a watery smile played on his lips thinking of it as he returned to his place next to his mother. 

small sniffles could also be heard from the two targaryen girls - rhaena and baela - who stood on the opposite end of the pyre, the two girls reminiscing on the time you did spend together talking about boys, and giggling as you gossiped whilst sewing. their grandmother stood tall next to them as she gripped both their hands tightly, grounding herself with the thought that you would have wanted her to project the love she had for you onto your two cousins whom you had loved deeply.

the last to approach the pyre was your mother. her silent demeanour had been an obvious sign that her sadness had been replaced by a vicious anger that would not be calmed. leaning over the wood, she had placed the gold plated hair brush next to you, the very one she had combed your dark locks earlier that day creating the style you had always favoured, recalling how you had always begged her to do whilst you were still alive. 

rhaenyra's lips left a ghost of a kiss on your forehead before she stepped back. calling silverwing forward in high valyrian, the dragon let out a number of whimpers and cries as she knew what came next. 

"dracarys"

a single tear drop shed from rhaenyra's eyes as she turned away from the burning embers, her promise of revenge at the forefront of her mind. 

"broken by the loss of one son, rhaenyra targaryen seemed to find new strength in the loss of a second. her eldest daughter's death hardened her, burning away her fears, leaving only her anger and her hatred."

[ilylovelyz]

⍣ ೋ Cupid's Chokehold.

˚ · . mirio x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ love at first sight to unrequited love to mutual pining, mentions of character death, a lil angst, reader is a cunty brat, smut, this is more fluff and angst than smut, choking, overstimulation, riding, unprotected sex, cervix, fucking, creampie, multiple orgasms, belly bulge, implied breeding, implied size kink, reader is sir nighteye's daughter, this is all over the place

you walk in, and my heart beats different.

admiring you from afar, mirio had only thought the only way he could really be with you was caring of you in place of your father, sir nighteye.

the moment he had met you, he already knew you would be an important figure within his lifetime. he was practically in awe when sir nighteye had introduced you to him as his only daughter. whilst you were less than cold and almost unreciprocated his warm introductions and questions about you, he was persistent, shaking your hand with a stern yet gentle grip.

personality wise, you had taken after your father, for you had inherited your father's stoicism, almost wary of all. yet, you were rebellious, almost bratty. your father ended up admitting he had spoiled you a little too much, resulting from you being his only precious child.

it came to mirio quickly that you were a stark contrast compared to his more bright and optimistic outlook. nevertheless, later the night of the first time he had met you, he could not help but let out an awkward chuckle at the fact that he just might've fallen in love with you at first sight. he doesn't know whether it was your witty attitude, or if it was your soft and easy-on-the-eyes features, or maybe even just because you were his teacher's daughter.

all he knew, was that from the moment he met you, he had a hard and almost unquenchable longing for you.

whilst the the situation was more than unplanned and undesired, he couldn't decline when your dying father had asked him to take care of you in place of his soon to-be permanent absence. the moment those words please take care of my daughter had left his weak teacher's trembling mouth, he had to agree. he agreed and swore with his entire life, that he would take care of you until the end of time.

he understood when you had at first pushed him away, not taking it to heart when you condemned him to hell. you had just lost your father, you just wanted to be alone. you didn't want what you thought was mirio's pity or sad condolences. you just wanted your father back.

however, he did not see it as appropriate for you to be alone during such a dark time. while feeling almost empty at the loss of his own teacher, he knew what you were feeling was much more than the loss of a teacher. it was a horrible time, but he didn't recommend trying to stride it out by yourself. from what information sir nighteye had told him about you, your father was your only family.

so, he tried again. and again. and again. he tried many times to win over you over, either with promises of getting you a bite to eat or just simple questions about you, he didn't allow himself to feel defeat when you almost always cussed him out each attempt.

the day you had finally let your walls down was a little unexpected. he remembered walking throughout the U.A dorms at night, simply because he wanted to take a late night stroll to relieve some stress. he was surprised to see you on the couch of the shared public living room.

while you did not notice him, he thought you had fallen asleep on the couch as you were limp against the soft cushions, face hidden and leaned against the crevice of your elbow. he was about five feet away from you when he realized you were actually awake. awake, and crying, soft whimpers and sobs escaping despite being muffled by your elbow.

with a soft call of your name, you had shot your head up, face morphing into an expression of distaste when you had, once again, set your eyes upon a helpless mirio. before you could cuss him out once more, he had shushed you, taking place on the couch next to you.

you were about to storm off before mirio finally confessed his intentions. your father had asked me to take care of you. regardless, i'm here for you, and if you want to cuss at me or whatever, then go ahead, i'll be right here the entire time for you, and i'll be here the next time as well.

silence followed afterwards, the next few minutes you didn't even seemingly breathe. mirio so much as let out a relieved sigh when you started to cry even harder, body flopping sideways like a cat into his lap. while you mumbled out obscenities at him, hands coming up to lay weak punches against his thigh, you giving into his support was no doubt one of the best relieving things in the world.

following that, you seemed to have finally accepted his place within your life. at first, you were still begrudgingly giving him a forced smile, engaging in short conversations with him before you just ignored him after a few words. after a while, you began to give genuine smiles at him, eyes crinkling up into pretty crescents when he was able to make you laugh. he didn't know how addicting your sweet laugh was.

he had confessed his feelings for you the morning of a particularly dangerous battle you were assigned to. he was almost crying, feeling almost helpless and scared, unable to help because his stupid quirk was taken away. he babbled out little "i love you"s, and recounts of how he's supposed to be taking care of you. although he knew that your duty as a hero was important to you, he still wanted to declare his love for you before anything could happen, hoping maybe you'd stay behind for him.

but you didn't. it felt as if you confessing your love back was saying goodbye. why would you say goodbye if you planned on returning back to him?

the two days following your departure, he watched the news intently, almost no sign of sleep within him. he pestered his teachers for updates on the situation, clawing at his hair whenever a devastating explosion followed the battle-site. he could only pray when he saw little saw the familiar dark green illumination of your quirk, praying you'd return safe and healthy.

he remembers the high dopamine hit you gave him when he first saw you after your return. your hero costume was tattered, hair and body distressed with little debris and minor wounds, you looked as if you were ran over by a semi-truck. yet, he still considered you the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, running up to you and embracing you with a strong hug.

he was on cloud nine when you kissed him.

the next few months were absolute bliss. he never knew how happy someone could make him by just laughing. he spent his time playing around with you, annoying you for fun, holding your hand, or just simply lazying around in your dorm room.

he felt so lucky to be able to score someone as amazing and beautiful as you. you were so charming and witty, yet still a spoiled brat. he didn't mind giving into your little whines of "i want this," or "can we/or you get [ ]..," absolutely enjoying the satisfaction of you opening his gifts with haste and excitement, even if it came at the expense of an empty bank account.

not even batting an eye at your more tedious "flaws", not taking it to heart when you would, almost like a child, cry out or get angry when something didn't go your way. a chagrin on his face when he once again, despite being very sleepy himself, had to carry you up two floors to your dorm room after you had fallen asleep in the most random place ever.

rest assured, he'd do anything to keep you happy. even if he had to do the weirdest of things to do so.

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

the obnoxious creaks of the bed springs echoed throughout the walls of your dorm room, accompanied by the soft pants, pleasurable moans and the lewd fapping of skin-on skin as you rode mirio for the nth time that night.

you whined out as you rode out your nth orgasm of the night, hips unfaltering with skill. you showed no signs of stopping, tight pussy walls clenching around mirio's thick cock. you were so blissed out in pleasure, focusing on relieving the angry stress that had you so mad earlier that you ended up just flopping onto the floor like a cat with defeat.

you were using mirio as if he was a high quality dildo, certainly too focused on yourself to care about the way his hands gripped at your hips with overstimulated pleasure and pain. "hah.. you feel so good.." you mewl out, hand coming down to rub at your clit.

a rough calloused hand travels up your warm belly, mirio lets out a choked breath as his hand continues upwards towards your perky breast, groping it as if it were dough within his hands. his cock twitches at the sight of you riding him like theres no tomorrow. he'd never thought a guy so simple looking would be chosen by a girl of the likes of you.

you're everything but normal, rather he considers you exotic in a way that has him fucking his hand at night. maybe it's the way your plump lips pout as you whine his name, leftover gloss giving an irresistible look to them. it could be the way your long pink acrylic nails scratch new cuts onto his forearm. his other hand moves up from your thigh to caress and worship your body, fingers making sure to not touch the pink glittery jewel of your pierced navel.

maybe that's what has him so addicted to you, so interested in your everyday moves, because you're so different to him it's fascinating.

you're practically fucking him like a bunny in heat, riding him so hard he can audibly hear the lewd impacts of his cock's tip hit your cervix. he's wondered how nobody has woken up to the sounds of your creamy cunt gushing or your loud moans. with the way the headboard slams into the wall, he's sure someone is bound to wake up eventually.

crap, that has his hands traveling back down to your ass, kneading the flesh with his hands while pulling your baby pink thong to the side so that way his cock can enter your cunt without your panties getting in the way. "you're riding me s-so good baby.. fuck. you want me to cum in this pussy again? fill you up nicely?" he gasps out, cursing out when you clench tightly around him again.

he's already came so many times tonight, his thighs are twitching and sore with overstimulation. but he can't bring himself to push you off and decline you. how could he say no to his precious girl? he promised to take care of you in any way after all.

ignoring the almost painful jolt that washes throughout his body, he brings himself to yet another orgasm. his thick seed fulls you up so deliciously for the nth time tonight. you feel so full, the soft of your belly bulging with his cum. your eyes flutter shut, lowly moaning, pussy milking him as another orgasm washes over you just with that.

but it's still not enough. not enough for a greedy girl like you. mirio gives a weak smile when you lean down to connect your lips with his, lazily intertwining your tongue with his. softly moaning into the kiss, his hands stay on your ass, softly massaging the flesh. your lips fit perfectly against his, like two puzzle pieces meant to be together.

your eyebrows furrow as you angle your head at an ungodly angle, almost digging your tongue down his throat. you silently groan at the lewd sounds of fucking face, thick saliva dripping down from mirio's chin.

you only pull away once the itch in your core once again tickles you uncomfortably. you look down at mirio with those puppy eyes of yours, though the heart eyes and darkness of them shows your true intent. "togata.." you mewl out, pedicured hand coming down to caress soothing touches against his hard sore abs as to win him over. "i want more.."

though, you already know his answer, only giving a sly smile when he tries his best to smile through the overstimulation, lightly tapping your thigh to urge you on. he can only try to focus on the pleasure and ignore the pain as you slowly begin to ride him once more.

how could he say no to you? he promised to take care of you after all.

please leave a like and repost with tags :)

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - i. a badge of honour

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. synopsis: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all. a/n: well, here it is! the first chapter of my new series, set in what is now scotland, during the romans' conquest of the british isles in the 1st century. hope you guys like it! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you so much for reading! <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. death, aftermath of a battle, burial of family members. reader is an original character - female, has a name (callie) and a physical description, family history, etc. i'll try to keep the references to a minimum though. age gap (callie is 26, marcus is 48). mention of infidelity and becoming a widow. marcus’ and reader’s pov. i have taken some historical licenses for ease of writing (use of "clan" as synonym for "tribe", references to irish/celtic gods, the caledonian people speak modern scottish gaelic instead of a (proto-)brittonic language). w/c: ~4.2k. dividers by @saradika-graphics i'll be tagging some people at the end of the chapter who interacted with this post. dw, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you ask me to! also, if you want to be removed from this post, please send me a dm.

A light breeze whistled through the nearby standing stones. The dying sun provided no heat, and the ethereal landscape was cold with hues of blue and grey. Despite the shimmering wildlife that came with the first hints of spring, the meadow was uncannily silent.

The crows cackling in the distance broke such tranquil peace and woke you from your slumber.

Slowly you blinked, something wet and warm covering your eyelids. You felt it slide down your skin, pooling in the dip of your collarbone. Your limbs felt so heavy, you couldn’t lift a hand to rub your eyes clean. In fact, you were so tired that even taking a deep breath hurt.

Your orbs fluttered shut, shattered and defeated.

Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, was calling you to His side. His presence was soothing, so inviting, the most melodic sounds guiding you to Him. With the eyes of your dying imagination, He extended a welcoming hand towards you, a soft smile on His mythical features.

“Come with me, sweet child of the tribes.” A guttural voice escaped His lips, so dark and sombre it enveloped you.

You nodded, gaze down, submitted to Him.

“You can’t just take her, Dhuosnos. Callie is yet to avenge them — her purpose must be fulfilled first before she can greet you as an equal.” A second voice, feminine, otherworldly and reassuring, interrupted your exchange.

Morrígan, Goddess of War, placed Her hand on Dhuosnos’ forearm as to stop Him from reaching you. A stone of relief, but also of disappointment, sat low in your stomach when He took a step back, head bowed towards Her.

Steadily you undid your curtsy, your green eyes locking on Hers. They were black as the night sky, Her pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another. You looked into the abyss of Her sight and felt a deep-rooted longing, one you never experienced before.

“You are not done yet, mo leanabh (my child). Your people await your return.” Morrígan palmed your trembling hand, escorting you back to the earthly plane.

“But…”, you turned around to look at Her, ask for Her advice.

But She had already vanished, a sweet scent of lavander left behind.

You gasped awake, your eyes so widened, the cloudy, sunset sky above felt like it was crashing down on you. You were laying down on a pool of mud. A deep, raspy grunt escaped your lungs as you tried to move your arms. When you couldn’t, you looked down, confused.

Aengus’ lifeless body was resting on top of yours. Your father’s henchman had made the ultimate sacrifice by hiding you underneath him, away from the prying eyes of the Romans. The dense liquid caressing the skin on your face was none other than his blood. A trickle of thick red dripped from the gnarly wound in his neck on to your cheek. His eyes were staring at you emptily, his soul had already left this world when you regained consciousness.

Your father, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis, the Caledonian Overlord, had come to the aid of the Taexalian Overlord, whose territory was succumbing to the legions of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, a Roman governor with a high desire to impress his Emperor, Titus Flavius Domitianus.

Your father had gathered as many fighers as the Caledonian lands could give him. Both men and women were called to arms when the tribes were threatened. Being the daughter of the Chieftain would not spare you. You would not have chosen differently anyway, had you been given the opportunity. Fighting for land, clan and honour was your duty as much as your brothers’ and sister’s.

The journey from Inbhir Nis (Inverness) to Cala na Creige (Stonehaven) had been unforgiving, with illness and evil lying in wait. But you all had been warmly welcomed by the Taexali tribe and were fed copiously, the uisge-beatha (whisky) being served like water.

Your combined armies, shy of fifteen thousand folk, had been ambushed at Raedykes during a repositioning exercise by the Roman troops led by Agricola’s most trusted man.

General Marcus Acacius.

His mere name made you sick, anger crawling under your skin.

Fighting off your own opponents, you had seen the Roman General charge against your father like a beast, wielding a gladius over his head. The metallic impact of their swords rang loud across the landscape. The men looked into each other’s souls, an exchange of words shared between them. You were too far to listen, too far to fully see what was really happening as warriors from both sides danced through the grass.

Then you foresaw it before it happened: the heavy Roman sword fell on your father, who was struck to his knees with the General’s blade lodged in his belly.

You tried to get to him, screaming “Athair (father)!” at the top of your lungs. His eyes locked on yours before he fell sideways. You lunged forward but didn’t get to him, Aengus stopping you in your tracks.

“No, Callie, it’s too late now”, he had sorrowfully whispered in your ear before throwing you off to one side to fend off an attacker.

And then blackness swallowed you, an enemy hit you in the head so hard you lost consciousness.

That was how you came to be where you were — with your back flat on the silt and Aengus’ body blanketing yours. The grey sky above you sensed your pain, and, at Taranis’ command, it parted in the middle. The God of Thunder released a downpour to clean the blood, soot and woad’s blue dye off your face and hair.

You cried your sadness away, rainy tears sliding off the corners of your eyes — your anger, your loss, your torment, you purged it all, sobbing until you were devoid of all emotion. Taking a deep breath, which caused a needling pain on your ribs, you pushed Aengus to one side to free yourself from his weight.

The thudding sound he made almost brought more tears to your eyes.

“Sorry, uncail (uncle)”, you muttered, hovering your fingertips over his eyelids to shut them for him. Now he could finally rest.

You stood up, your knees trembling like a newborn calf. A searing pain stabbed your skull, dried blood and dirt gathering on the wound on your scalp. With a straight back, you dared to look around you. The bodies of your own men and women were scattered around the hills of Raedykes. So many lives lost, you heard all your ancestors screaming from above, their cries falling upon you in the way of rain. The green, long grass was reddened with blood, but the weeping sky had started to wash away the atrocities committed by the Romans.

Then you saw him. Your athair.

“No, no, please, no...”, you whispered as your sight became blurry again, dragging your feet towards the fallen body of your dad.

Your soul tried to tear itself apart, become its own entity. You had to summon the last drop of the royal blood that ran through your veins to keep yourself in one piece. You knelt before him, craddling his bloody hand between yours. Unconciously your body rocked back and forth until you hugged him, laying flat on top of him.

Time stood still, like a thread on the expert hands of a wool weaver. It could have been minutes, hours or days, your pain too great to bear, to comprehend.

And then you felt a hand lightly tap your shoulder.

You startled, your mind and body jumping back into survival mode, gripping your sgian-dubh (small knife) close to your chest.

“It’s okay, mo phiuthar (my sister). It’s me, Torcall”, a raspy, masculine voice forced you to focus on the man in front of you.

He was your father’s most important tacksman and also husband to your older sister Mairead — your sweet Maisie, as you always called her. She was the eldest of the four siblings while you were the youngest. Always so witty and quick with a joke, Maisie kept up the spirits even when the circumstances were dire — in fact, before your paths had parted during the battle, she jested about your H-shaped shield being larger than you.

When you turned around, Torcall flattened his hands on your shoulders, slightly shaking you so you would come back to reality.

His blue eyes pierced through you, the situation becoming clearer in your mind. Thousands of your tribesmen were dead. Your father too.

“Maisie?”, you asked in a hush. Your heart clenched when your brother-in-law shook his head no. You were afraid to speak, but you did nonetheless. “Aodh and Somhairle?”

Torcall stared at you, his silence speaking loudly. “They are all dead.”

The air evacuated your lungs, feeling as if a spear had run through you. Learning about the death of Maisie and your twin brothers broke something within you, something fundamental and primal. They were your everything, your most trusted confidants. Despite being of different ages, you all were so tight-knit it was difficult to find one of you alone.

A heart-shattering wail escaped your lips as you bent over yourself, your chest snug against your knees.

Morrígan had unashamedly claimed most of your family that day, except for your beautiful mother. Now Her words made sense: you were yet to avenge them, to fulfil your purpose. She had spared you for a reason, not so you could pity yourself, knees deep in the mud.

To avenge them, you had to kill the hand who showered this tragedy upon you.

General Marcus Acacius.

A raven’s strident, gurgling croak forced you to look up to the skies — a subtle reminder that Morrígan was watching closely. The massive bird was circling above your heads, like a vulture waiting to feast on a carcass. With resolution, you wiped away your tears, your sobs now silent, and nodded at Torcall.

“I understand. How many…?”, your voice faltered before you could finish your question.

“A couple of thousands. We have found cover in the Dunnottar Woods while we regroup and… bury our dead.” Torcall replied, his eyes averted with the last sentence.

You had lost a sister, but he had lost a wife, the mother to his now half-orphaned children. “I’m sorry”, you muttered, your lips pouting once more.

“She died fighting, the death of a warrior.” His proud voice did not waver. “And your father?”

Your heart wept at his mention but managed to control the anxious fluttering.

“The General killed him.” Your teeth gritted with hatred.

“Mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, one of your father’s retinue members bowed his head to you once you walked into the circle they had formed in a meadow between the trees.

A few dozen men were scattered around the area, fires lighting the dark night while shades of red and orange flickered, creating fiery, dancing shades. You held a torch and carefully waved it in front of you, looking at the faces who watched you back eagerly.

You saw in your men what was brewing inside you: despair, defeat, sorrow. All your souls grieving in unison — all of you had lost someone that day.

At six and twenty, you did not expect to be in this position. You were the youngest daughter of the Overlord — you were never meant to lead your people. The task ahead of you felt titanic, unachievable.

But you had no other option. General Marcus Acacius had forced your hand.

He came, he saw, he conquered.

And now you had to deal with the gut-wrenching outcome of his departure.

“We’ll go back home to Inbhir Nis. But before that, we must give burial to our people.” You had to make a herculean effort to infuse your tone with steadiness.

Torcall first, and then the rest, bowed their heads to you.

“As you command, mo bana-phrionnsa”, he replied, and quickly barked orders around in your stead.

Your chest felt heavy with responsibility and grief. What pained you the most was not being able to carry your brothers and sister with you back home. They would not be buried under the cairns near you family home with the rest of your ancestors.

And what was worst — thousands of lives now depended on you. The weight of your tribe's destiny heavily rested on your shoulders now, like Atlas carrying the heavens.

Maisie, Aodh and Somhairle had been lined up on a patch of wildflowers that you had picked yourself the night prior — their arms were threaded together with your sister in the middle. Your clansmen had also surrounded the makeshift burial pit with wood to aid the combustion.

As you placed the last stone on top of them, you also deposited a bright, bloomed thistle. The flower that blossomed in every nook and cranny of your beautiful motherland, despite the harsh winter or conditions it faced. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, it would always come back, stronger and more brightful than ever.

Devotion, bravery, determination, and strength — the thistle was a badge of honour for the Caledonians.

With a renewed brawn unbeknownst to you, you threw the lighted torch and watched as the fire consumed the bodies underneath the stones.

There were no tears left within you. Only purpose and resolution.

The way back to Inbhir Nis was tiring and soul-crushing. Hiking through the Cairngorms had been a difficult task with so many people behind you, but luckily you all managed to make it through without any losses.

With each mile covered, you saw the devastation left behind by the Romans. If this was any indication of what awaited ahead, you should start bracing yourself for what you would see. It seemed that the Romans were set towards the northwest — Inbhir Nis was right in their path.

You quickly recognised the landscape as you walked towards Loch Moy. A thick, dark column of smoke towered above the pine trees. Your heart raced as you picked up your dark green skirt and ran towards the loch, ignoring the calls of your brother-in-law.

You could run through those woods blindly — this was the land where you were born, the land you were named after. Your name was an unusual one — Caledonia, in honour of the earth beneath your rushing feet. Just a few people called you Callie, mainly your family and closest friends. With your bright, fiery red hair, green almond eyes and a face dotted with freckles, you were the epitome of your people. That was probably why when someone new learned your name, they always said it suited you.

Dodging the last few trees, you made it to the edge of the loch. In the shallows, the crannog of Naimh, your community’s healer, was burning down to its foundation. You covered your mouth with a sombre expression, your eyes itchy because of the dense smoke and unspent tears.

The Romans had gotten to your settlement before you did.

“Callie, wait up”, said Torcall behind you, struggling to catch up with you.

He halted right behind you, the silence between you was almost tangible.

“The rangers have returned from their reconnaissance mission.” His voice was plain, contained. You turned your heard towards him, slowly, hardening yourself for his next words. “Your mother is dead.”

The last glimmer of hope within you vanished. A single tear skidded through your cheek — angrily, you wiped it off.

You were alone in this world. Everyone you cared for had been taken from you.

“Is everything to your liking, Dominus (Master)?”, the male roman servant asked in a low hush, head bowed, eyes fixed on the cobblestone.

“Yes, now leave”, Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The General looked around him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. He was accustomed to much more elegant surroundings. Although the barbarians did try, their architecture was nothing in comparison to Rome’s.

The castle he was in was small and it only had two floors. It was mainly made of sturdy, grey rocks and dark wood. The design was not very sophisticated, all square and rugged edges. It had two towers and a barbican. The decoration inside was bare, with just enough furniture and no luxuries.

The only warmth was brought by the colourful tapestries adorning the cold, thick walls — one had caught Marcus' attention at his arrival when he first entered the dais. It told a story he had not heard before.

A dragon-like figure lurked beneath the rippling surface of a lake, attracting the attention of the villagers. At dusk it would emerge, a guttural sound echoing in the dead of night, as if it was calling another. Any bìrlinns (wooden vessel) left on the shore would appear destroyed the next morning. Fishermen were worried and called upon the town's druids, afraid of the Loch Ness monster. To appease the beast, every full moon, the druids would whorship the creature, bringing oblations and sacrificies to quench its thirst.

Marcus made a mental note of keeping his distance from that Loch Ness. As a devoted Roman, he was wary of the mystic creatures that skulked in the depths of human fear.

Although he missed his home, he had several debts to pay. The Emperor would not accept no for an answer, so he had to be a reluctant participant in this incursion — in fact, neither Domitian nor Agricola had really asked him to tame the highlanders up in Caledonia. They knew his skills would be most needed in combat, having been praised by bards and poets alike after his many years in the battlefield.

At eight and forty, Marcus Acacius had had his good share of tragedy and death, both personal and in war. His life had not been easy, having to forge a name of his own since childbirth and then having been recently betrayed by his own spouse.

The thought of Livia still angered him — she had had the audacity of blaming him for her infidelity, accusing him of always being away, of loving Rome more than his own family. Her cheating had been going on for as many years as their arranged marriage, throwing a doubtful shade on his paternity to both his children.

His life had come crumbling down in the last few months, so maybe coming to Britannia had not been such a bad idea. Female adultery was a crime penalised with death and that was a decision that Marcus had yet to make — outing Livia’s unfaithfulness would condemn her to Pluto's realm. Did he really want that for who had been his wife for more than thirty years?

Pinching the bridge of his hooked nose, Marcus walked towards the only window in the room. The roman took a deep breath and exhaled steadily — he needed to think of something else.

His mind went back to the battle of Mons Graupius. The spilling of blood never became easier with time — if anything, it had become harder, splintering his soul further. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the piercing, pained shriek of a woman as he imparted death on Murdoch of Inbhir Nis.

Her hair was dyed with black soot and tied back, her face covered in a blue paste and ash. He was too far to catch the colour of her eyes, but he thought them dark azure. The fierceness of her expression took him aback, her voice shouting a word he did not recognise. But his eyes did not have time to linger on the feral woman a few yards away, because a savage attacked him.

His hand stilled on the rocky window’s sill. The barbarians called this place Inbhir Nis. The stone castle was that of the chief’s family, atop of a hill with views to the scenery underneath. It was rudimentary and lacked many commodities — nothing comparable to his villa in Rome. The tribal settlement was formed of huts made of stone, timber and hay.

Agricola had decided to burn down the outskirts of the town and killed the wife of the clan chief making a macabre example of her, so the people would submit to the Roman’s yoke quickly, crushing any opportunity of rebellion. The message was clear: Rome would not tolerate being challenged. Anyone who did, would face the most painful of deaths. The governor left to go northward, leaving Marcus behind to rebuild the area to Rome’s standards. The emperor had deemed the location an important enclave for his empire, being the main town in the Moray Firth.

Marcus was standing in what he thought was the bedchamber of Murdoch. With the Overlord and his family alienated, the primitive people of the highlands needed educating and he had been given the task of doing so. Not a welcomed one, but he had a duty to Rome that had to be fulfilled.

With a heavy sigh, he undid the brooch at the base of his neck, relieving himself of the heavy, white sagum (cape) that was part of his attire. He threw it on the uncomfortable bed. He unfastened the golden, laurel-shaped bracelets around his wrists, and then proceeded to undo the tight knots that held his armour in place.

Then a knock on the thick, wooden door broke the silence of the room.

“Come in”, thinking it would be his male servant, he didn’t turn around.

“Dominus, dinner is ready”, a very soft voice with a very marked accent made him look over his shoulder.

A pair of very bright, almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes locked on his, framed by what he would describe as fire hair — so red it looked like a hellish aura crowning your head.

So bright were your eyes, he almost felt his soul being examined by your hypnotising gaze. Marcus had never seen eyes like those.

How dared he stand where your father did? Anger shimmered under your skin, but you kept it in check. When you realised you were holding his gaze for longer than what was appropriate for a servant girl, you averted your eyes, inspecting the stones under your feet.

Torcall called you mad for doing this, but you had made up your mind. If you really wanted to overthrow the Roman General and win back your family’s castle and land, you would need to sew yourself into his everyday life. Gain his trust, learn his secrets and use that information against him. Your people were counting on you for freedom, and you would not allow yourself to disappoint them. Even if it was the last thing you did.

“Who are you?”, his raspy voice filled the atmosphere as he resumed the task of undoing the ties on his armour.

Did he have no shame, undressing himself in front of a maid? Mind you, you were not an innocent servant, having been widowed recently. But still. The romans had no modesty, you assumed.

You had to think quickly. You had learnt that the governor and the general both thought the whole chief’s family dead, so you could not out yourself. A very few, selected people called you Callie, almost always in the intimacy of your home, when strangers were not around. Your nickname was precious to you because it was only used by those you loved.

“My name is Callie, Dominus”, you offered your nickname in a rusty Latin. It had been a while since you had to use a language that was not your native one.

“Callie.” The way your name rolled off his tongue gave you goosebumps. You didn’t like the way he pronounced it — it lingered in his mouth for too long, dragging each letter. You wished your words back, but you couldn't change it now.

Instead of clenching your jaw, you nodded. “Yes, my lord, I’m one of the servant girls who tended to the clan chief’s family before you.” You explained, your head still bowed.

You ventured your eyes up for a second, catching a glimpse of his naked torso. Unconsciously, you pursed your lips. The way your heart pounded loud for that one second made you furrow your brows in confusion.

He might be a gorgeous man, but he was a killer. And you had no taste for soulless murderers, that much you knew about yourself.

“Call my attendant, Atticus, to help me get ready for supper. I have no need of you. And ask the kitchen staff to heat some water and bring it up here.” His tone was emphatic, unwavering.

His rejection, in other circumstances, would have been most welcomed, but you needed him to trust you, to confide in you so you could plot his demise — to destroy him. This was not a good start to your plan, but you needed to play the long game.

“I could certainly help you with a bath now, Dominus, but your wish is my command.” You forced the words out, when in reality you wanted to spit them to his murderous face.

He just nodded in your direction, his movements stiff and measured. “Just my attendant will suffice, now go.”

With your fingers laced on your back, you curtsied, walking backwards towards the door of your father’s bedchamber. You could not seem too eager, or he would become suspicious.

When you were in the corridor with the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath and straightened your back.

You would not take no for an answer. Marcus Acacius would yield to you, whatever the cost.

@devilbat2 @subterralienpanda @lordofthundersstuff @just-mj-or-not

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[spdrvyn]

TSUNDERE MIGUEL O'HARA THAT IS DENYING HIS FEELINGS FOR READER WHILE HE ACTIVELY THINKS ABOUT THEM 24/7 AND KNOWS ALL THEIR CUTE LITTLE QUIRKS (READER CAN BE SPIDERMAN OR NORMAL PERSON YOUR CHOICE) PLEASE I NEED TRUNDERE MIGUEL SO MUCH IM DYING IM STARVING *sob sob cry sob*

love, your best friend Dre <3

i won't say i'm in love — MIGUEL O'HARA

(( uhhh .... i have no clue who this motherfucker is! jk lol hi tommy [ you slut ] here is your severely in denial miguel fic, spoiler free. ))

"Lyla, arrange this mess."

Miguel waved his hand at the AI, eyes focused on the glowing screen in front of him. He always had the habit of keeping a messy desktop, though it wasn't a big problem for him considering his trusty artificial intelligence assistant.

To which the trusty artificial intelligence would poke and tease Miguel in response. At times, he really wondered if Lyla was secretly being controlled by a human. A pesky, occasionally annoying, childish human that constantly pushed his buttons.

"What's the magic word, Miguel?"

He groaned bringing his index finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, massaging the stress lines that have formed from constantly being teased and played with.

"...Please."

Lyla lets out an electric hum, her avatar glitching into a thinking pose. She stares at Miguel with a confused look through her heart-shaped sunglasses. "Sorry. The signal in here is so bad. What was that?"

"I said, please, Lyla. Get to work."

"Oh, don't worry. I heard you the first time."

The man lets out a defeated sigh, he's given up on trying to defend himself against Lyla. Even when he's old and withered, this charade will continue like a never-ending circus show.

Multiple screens pop up in front of the AI, to which Miguel bashfully averts his gaze. He's normally organized enough, in the workplace but he's also very busy. Little things like putting files in the folders they belong simply evades his mind sometimes.

However, one file in particular stood out in front of him from the corner of his eye. It was a drive, among all the others that are colored in the regular shade of blue and labeled accordingly, this one was highlighted in pink with a little heart symbol at the end.

"Lyla, what's that?"

Her avatar glitches again into her in a sitting position, a little teacup in her hands as she takes a fake sip. "Hmm? I don't know, I don't see anything. Which one are you talking about?"

"Ay dios mío... The one in pink, Lyla. What is it?"

"Ohhh..." An obviously fake display of surprise makes itself present on Lyla's face, she opens the file. "This is a drive of all of the times you talked about that recruit. Lovingly, might I add."

Miguel's eyes darted around the screen, folding his arms over his chest. There were many, many videos of him. The scroll bar just kept going like there was no end.

Hesitantly, he pointed to one among the sea of videos and Lyla opened it. The playback goes as follows, the 'recording' is from her perspective, it seems.

Miguel is hunched over his desk, mumbling nonsense to himself until it becomes more coherent as Lyla approaches him.

"Whatcha' got there?"

The camera shifts and zooms over to Miguel's hand, to where he's holding a small tupperware. Filled to the brim with baked goodies, a small sticky note is pasted to the top of it however the writing is too tiny to make anything of it.

'They got me a gift.'

'That's the third one this week.'

His chest heaves as he lets out a deep sigh.

'...I know.'

A small moment of silence before Miguel continues speaking.

'Esto es tan tonto. I don't why they keep bringing me these... these things! I don't know why they keep smiling brighter than sun when they give them to me!'

Miguel frustratingly opens the tupperware, brings one of the pastries close to his mouth and takes a big bite. A small groan escapes his throat.

'I don't know what they're putting in these things to make them so delicious! Giving them to me, of all people. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So smart they are. Agile, strong, and capable and— and kind...'

Another bite.

'You know that you've gotten them gifts before, right?'

'But they all look idiotic next to this. Made with their precious time and care. Putting in the effort to make sure that they actually taste good and they do,'

Miguel closes the tupperware with a loud snap.

'¿A quién estoy engañando? They're amazing.'

"Miguel?"

That wasn't part of the recording. Miguel swipes at the screen and it fades out of existence, little pixels hovering in his sight before it completely disintegrates. Lyla disappears too as you swing onto the platform of his office.

He tenses up once he sees you, leaning a hand against his desk. God, he definitely did not want to look at you after what he just watched. He especially did not want to look at you because of the blush that stained his cheeks. Thankfully, mostly hidden by the darkness of his chambers.

Of course, you greeted him with the same warm smile.

"Haven't seen you all day today. Are you doing alright?"

"Fine. Doing fine. Just cleaning, why are you here?" Says Miguel, he despised how his heart pounded in his chest so loudly right now. Whenever he was around you.

Being so composed was what he was known for, what he was respected for. Yet, everytime you even look in the same direction as him, his exterior just melts.

"I just wanted to check in on you, was all. I noticed you haven't come out in a while, I brought you an empanada from the cafeteria just in case you were hungry."

You toss the small container to him and he catches it in one hand, he could hardly comprehend what was going on right now. Staring mindlessly at the box. "Thank you."

"Of course. Take care of yourself for me, I'll... head out now."

He watches over the edge as you fall off the platform, landing onto ledge that separates his desk from the rest of the room.

"Can you start ranting now? I want to get this drive up to 600 videos."

Miguel grumbles, opening the box and biting into the delectable snack before going back to organizing his desktop.

[skvrpion]

Windows🔞

a co-opted fanfiction I previously wrote, now starring Trevante Rhodes

TW: drug paraphernalia, vouyerism, unprotected sex & general filthiness

Frozen rain and snow beat down on Shawna's roof as she struggled work Photoshop. Every picture she was tweaking ended up turning into a confusing mess, one exposure line would go too high, and she couldn't turn back. Winter storms kept her boredom high and thoughts on hold as she wouldn't dare leave the house for anything else.

With a defeated sigh, Shawna slid her MacBook under her bed and went for her phone that'd been charging for when seemed to be hours. Not one notification was to be found from any of her apps, not even the games she had shoved off into a folder. The only thing left was to go through her contacts and FaceTime every single person until someone picked up. Usually, it was her sister or old housemate that would end up persuading her back into editing or asking her to show them her pieces. She could always be thankful for the two when she needed them.

As Shawna began her mind-numbing quest, a faint light caught her eye from her bedroom window. It was rare she saw life coming from the outside her home, almost everyone in her neighborhood was old, dying, or extremely weird to the point that she didn't even bother staying outside after dark.

To her surprise, it wasn't a peeping tom or aliens trying to harvest her body for experimentation, but her neighbor that lived right beside her.

Trevante's blinds were always closed, no matter what time of week it was they didn't move a peep and tonight, they were wide open. From what she knew, he was a night owl with with a hulking stature. In the mornings she'd be leaving for work, his Jeep would roll in and he'd quickly depart into his home bundled in a ski jacket (it sadly never reached above 40 in their town). Shawna always wanted to stick around to see what he truly looked like, to even hear his voice and compare it to the image she'd formed in the back of her head over the months he'd been there.

For a moment, Shawna couldn't tell what she was looking at due to the bright wash of red that painted his room. As her eyes settled, the black SD card she had in her hand quickly left her grip and scattered across the floor.

She was captivated.

Trevante looked nothing like what she thought he did. He was way more mesmerizing than that.

Smooth brown skin flexed with the sharp, defined muscles that ran up his tall frame; almost like the marble statues she studied from the Renaissance. To her delight profile was chiseled flawlessly, cheek bones high and lips full. She watched quietly as he discarded everything but his pajama bottoms and stretched, taking note of each carefully built muscle could see.

‘Had he always been that jacked?’

Trevante threw himself back onto what looked like a bean bag and fiddled with something on the nightstand beside him. Shawna felt creepy for watching him, but just couldn't rip her eyes away. As he sat back once again, he drew blunt his mouth and lit the end, quickly tossing his head back into his inhale. A billow of white clouds escaped into the air above him as he let the hit go without even an ounce of hesitation. He lit it again as Shawna watched smoke pour from his mouth, then into his nose.

She had no idea her neighbor was a smoker; let alone how he kept the smell undetectable from her sensitive nose. Curiosity got the best of her as she inched closer to her window, giving her a better picture of what was unfolding right beside her. Smoke coiled around Trevante's room and slipped through his hands as he quickly finished off what was left of the blunt and laid deeper back into the chair. Weed wasn't something Shawna was interested in or used to. With Cogic parents, anything illegal she thought about doing would quickly be crushed and out the window. Even at the age of 27 they'd still come tearing her doors down if they suspected she was smoking pot.

‘Only if they knew what door it was in.’

A lightbulb went off in Shawna's head. She had the perfect idea to: A. get out of her boring house for a while, B. cross something off her bucket list and C. stare at Trevante in a more reasonable setting. Pulling her blinds shut, she ended the show and went back to her phone that'd been abandoned on her dresser.

It was time to make a game plan.

Flipping through countless unopened snapchats she landed on one story in particular that she quickly swiped left on.

Me | Can u show me how to roll up?

DeeStroyer | are pigs flying?? Wyd 👀👀👀

Me | I'm not being funny 💀 it's my neighbor

Me | I kinda spied on him

Me | he fine as hell & he was smoking with his blinds open

DeeStroyer | so you asking me to get you high so you can go over there and get some neighbor dick? sounds like a plan 😼

Me | yes and no! it's brick as fuck outside I know you not about to come to my place, I just need a way over there. If that doesn't sound too creepy.

DeeStroyer | there's only like 6 people that chief on this side of town, he probably comes into the smoke shop a lot. I'll catch him for ya freaky girl 😉

Me | jfc, thanks DD

Me | his name is Trevante!!

DeeStroyer | marked & 📝

Shawna slung herself into her bed and screamed into her pillow like a big ass kid. She may have found the cure for her boredom-fueled artist block.

Now to play the waiting game.

...

Three dreary days had passed and not once had Shawna's neighbor cracked his blinds. It wasn't going to kill her, but it was still bothering her that she hadn't seen or heard a peep of Trevante since that one night. Tonight was the same as every other night, her music was playing, a candle was burning, and she couldn't bring herself to render the perfect picture.

As she got lost in her head, her phone began to jingle and the name "De'aria😈" flashed across the screen. DD was calling her which meant the plan worked for failed miserably.

"Wassup' homieeee."

Her raspy voice struggled to keep up with her sluggish words as she laid on her futon with her hoodie covering her face. She was baked out of her mind and ready to spill the tea.

"You want news on your dream boy?"

"Yes please." Shawna said while turning her Pandora station completely off.

"Okay so one, he's fine as fuck. But like not even that he's like...super handsome. If you put him next to the sexiest man alive, boom, blown out the water.”

She paused to take a puff off the blunt she'd rolled and blew the smoke into the camera in typical high DD fashion.

"So, I was chillin' behind the counter, and he rolls in all smooth and and asks to get some wraps - oh his teeth are gorgeous. Anyway, I bullshit and act like the the case is broke so Mark could come fix it while I chatted him up for you. I asked him where he was from, and he said some shit about Louisiana - I was a little high so I really wasn't tryna pay attention. He’s thirty something and works logistics at the Med.”

Shawna clutched her imaginary pearls. That position was the most sought after in their town, with only one hospital they’d triple the average salary for the lucky fuck who landed the gig; the only catch was that they were located in the middle of nowhere.

"You gotta be some type of straight shot to move here and not go insane. So anyway, I asked where he lived since there's only three feet of town here and I told him he was right by you."

"You what?"

"Chill out peeping tom, I ain't blow your cover. I just said my really good friend had been wanting to smoke but I couldn't go see her so he could always show you if he wanted to, blah blah blah. He has your number by the way."

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

DD cackled over the phone as Shawna flushed with anxiety, it was always fun to make her friend uncomfortable.

"Calm downnn, he's gonna text you in like 5 minutes. I promise he's super chill, I just got off the phone with him and I think you'll be over there in like a day. I gotta finish this damn backwood before I burn my apartment down though. Later girl."

The FaceTime ended and Shawna was a complete mess internally. How was she going to talk to him? Spying on him was one thing but actually making contact with this man she'd fell even deeper in lust in was going to kill her. Before she could comprehend the situation, a random number popped onto her screen with a text.

hey, is this Shawna?

She held her breath, swiped right, and began to click her her keyboard, making sure she'd saved his contact as "Tre".

It was so happening. …

Shawna couldn't feel her feet.

She was walking only a few steps out to his house, but the combination of her nerves and the freezing weather had her body iced up. Her heart was racing out of her chest the closer she inched to his door, the light from inside his home pulling her in. After they ended their texts, Shawna immediately called De'aria and screamed a thank you. She raided her closet in search of something decent to wear, settling on a track suit that'd been re-gifted to her for Christmas. She bundled up and headed to her front door, getting more and more anxious the further she paced. Now she was standing at his front door with her camera bag in her left hand and her right hovering over the doorbell.

‘Just ring it you wimp.’

Her nerves got the best of her, and she pressed the glowing button twice, hoping he'd hurry up before her fingers fell off in the cold. Footsteps paced; locks jingled then the door quickly flew back to reveal a very damp Trevante.

"I was in the shower, sorry."

His voice was so deep Shawna could feel it vibrating in the back of her head, she would've screamed if De'aria was there. Without looking she shuffled into his place and was greeted by the strong smell of flowers; the smart man knew how to keep the smell of weed away from any surprise visitors.

Shawna studied his place, full of plants and odd nicknacks that'd been donated by various family members upon his sudden move. Trailing him, she realized how similar their houses were and began her picture taking. She loved scenery, it was just other people she couldn't photograph to save her life. They stopped at his room that Shawna had already seen in her creeping to collect what all they needed for the night. As her eyes darted in curiosity, a long, black cabinet with what looked like rocks and branches in it caught her eye. It was right beside his bed, and she couldn't figure out exactly what it was for. Maybe he liked nature?

"I wouldn't get too close to that." His voiced boomed from behind her. Shawna hid her startled reaction and turned her head back to catch a glance of Trevante. He was holding mason jar and an assortment of wraps, both brand new from De'aria's salesmanship earlier that day.

"Huh?

"Most people that come over don't like animals...well specifically them."

Shawna whipped her head back to the cabinet and realized it was in fact a terrarium she was staring at. Immediately she noticed a large, bright yellow snake that'd been hiding in the corner of the enclosure and another, fat, brown one that was coiled up tightly in the bottom.

"Carpet pythons. I forget they're in there sometimes."

She snapped three pictures of the serpents and left them alone, not wanting to bother whatever world they had going on in there.

"C'mon, we can match in the back,” Trevante said while eyeing his pets, "I'm really not supposed to smoke around them."

Shawna quietly made her way out of his warm abode and cut a left into what felt like the complete opposite. It was damn near pitch black besides the blue, fluorescent lights that casted a cold shadow across the room. It reminded Shawna of all those clubs she was drug to by her friends, just a little more inviting and way less crowded. Fiddling with the exposure on her camera, she snapped what at first was a box of nothing until her surroundings became fully recognizable.

A leather couch sat aside to one wall that was plastered with graphic style posters, some donning scantily clad women and drug paraphernalia. A fish tank glowed softly to the side of a record player that was across from them, and a coffee table stood neatly between it all. It was almost as if the place had been copied and pasted from an 80s movie set.

She tried for one more of the fish tank but caught Trevante in the midst of taking his hoodie off, he still hadn't dried off from his shower and the light was reflecting off his wet stomach. Shawna quickly put her camera down and hid her face in embarrassment while Trevante laughed. It's not like she hadn't seen him shirtless before.

"Sorry for flashing you. Can I see it?"

She handed him her camera and he softly smiled at the monitor; his shirt was still over his head leaving only the silhouette of his body visible.

"Send that to me later, it's nice"

Shawna got her camera back whilst a brilliant idea formed in her head.

"Hey before we start, can I take a picture of you smoking? That's really weird but it'd be cool with the lights...this room is really cool."

Trevante shrugged and plopped down into the loveseat, opening the glass jar he'd been holding on to. Now she knew why they called it loud, the smell almost making her eyes tear. Taking in the pungent aroma she took pictures of him breaking it down, subjugating her attention to the cone he gently stuffed. It was in that moment she noticed he in fact, was in grey sweats that she struggled to not further examine.

‘Bitch don't be creepy.’

The sound of the lighter flicking brought her attention back. Trevante was staring at her with a slight grin which made her face flush hot. Thank God it was cold out or she’d died of a stroke heat stroke then and there.

"You good?"

Shawna quickly nodded and held her camera close to her face, trying hard to conceal a smile that was working its way through her cheeks. Doing the same as he did the previous nights ago, Trevante lit the end of the joint and inhaled smoothly. To make the pictures more interesting he blew a large cloud of smoke that almost obscured the lens view. Shawna had no idea how it was possible to keep that much in his lungs, but she was soon going to find out.

"I feel like a model," he mumbled while flashing his teeth through the haze, "come here. Before I get too high."

Shawna's stomach dropped as she put her camera aside. She was about to be extremely close to a breathtaking man that she barely even knew outside of passing. All she could hear was De'aria bagging on her if she bitched out, tonight was not the night she'd fail. She slid next to him and sunk into the seating, unzipping her hoodie just a little bit to let some air hit her skin. Along with her nervousness, she was starting to break a sweat and had completely forgot about the thick jumpsuit she'd put on.

Relaxing, Shawna took the still lit joint from him and let it hang off her lip. He noticed and cocked his eyebrow before moving over to spark the flame again.

"De'aria?”

"Yeah, I punked out a lot."

"Well, you ain’t got to now, I got you,” he ensured, “Just go slow, inhale when I say...go."

A rush of warm smoke flooded Shawna's throat as she slowly pulled inwards, taking note to double tap before handing it off. Her lungs, however, almost gave out before she could exhale forcing her to cough into the collar of her shirt. Head rushing with endorphins, she'd was astonished by somehow surviving her first real toke of weed. Trevante replaced the spliff with a water bottle and laughed, making Shawna flush hot again. It was something about his smile that flipped her insides around and she really wanted him to keep doing it. She let him smoke a little more while she caught her breath and stared in awe as he French inhaled. She usually thought it looked stupid when people played with smoke, but he made it look sexy. He passed it back for her to finish the rest, but she willfully denied.

Being high was different for everyone, for Trevante it made everything feel good. From cramming numbers to partying he found solstice in the euphoric feeling. Shawna on the other hand was skeptic but quickly found her discernment to be highly false; whatever she was feeling had begun to creep down her body and into her chest. Warmth was the best way she could put it, and her thoughts? They were everywhere but where she currently was, only being able to focus on Tre’s inexplicably huge arms flexing as he ashed the joint.

"You high already?" he snickered softly beside her.

Instead of forming words that would've made absolutely no sense she opted to nod. Being high didn't seem so bad, not as bad as her dad stressed it was. Thinking of him, she started laughing again and ran her fingers through her braids, forgetting what it even was that had started her giggle fest. Trevante had gotten up to put a record on, as he always did when he smoked in here. Through the dim lights Shawna could make out an old school album and closed her eyes as the record scratched on. How he was even capable of standing was blowing her mind, she could barely type a text out on her phone which now felt microscopic in her hand.

As if Cupids angels had alerted who she was thinking about, De'aria's contact number popped onto her screen as her FaceTime rang.

"Uh oh." Trevante said while taking his seat back next to her, this time way closer. His arm was draped behind her neck when De'aria connected, making the matchmakers eyes go wide. Shawna popped a headphone in and only caught part of what her friend was saying.

"-ich are you high?! And is that his arm behind you?!"

She could only laugh, causing DD to explode in screams. The plan sounded like an L waiting to happen, but it actually worked.

"I can hear music playing, please tell me you tapping that tonight?"

"Shh shut up!" Shawna whispered while bringing her finger to her mouth. It's not like either of them could hear what the hell she was saying.

"This is great, bitch I gotta smoke another one for this. Don't call me unless you got some dick!"

De'aria ended the phone call abruptly, taking Shawna back to her home screen which was currently moving around. Instead of fiddling with it she placed it next to her and turned to meet Trevante's glossed over eyes. It was then she got a full view of his face and took in every detail she could; he really did have a perfect smile, and his beard was well taken care of. She even noted his eyes scanning her chest before he averted his attention elsewhere.

"You smacked," he said while fishing his lighter back out his pocket, "I rolled a dutch if you don’t mind the tobacco smell. You in or you done?"

"I'm aight." Shawna half mumbled; half laughed. To be truthful, the more she watched him smoke the more she found herself imaging what his lips felt like elsewhere. She questioned taking more pictures but gave up on the idea entirely as he made a sudden reach for her camera. He wanted to be nosy too - not knowing the preloaded SD card was also home to self-made nude studies from her time in art school.

Shawna couldn’t have moved fast enough as they both made a break for camera, praying to high heavens it would die before he could take a gander at her most precious assets. What started as gentle tug of war quickly turned into grappling contest as she fought him for her camera.

“What you hiding in here a dead body?”

“Maybe, just give it here. Your mama teach you any manners?”

He took full advantage of their heigh difference and held the device high in the air away from her reach with that goofy ass smile of his. If she weren’t pressed for her reputation she’d laugh. Instead, Shawna jumped, and failed, then jumped again before deciding to launch herself off the couch.

“Give it back!” Was the last thing Trevante heard before she slammed dead center into his chest – toppling them both to the cold floor. He threw the camera to safety, then focused his attention on halting Shawna’s desperate attempt at getting one up on him. She squealed, struggling to release from his solid grip until she ultimately gave up. At this point both of her arms were pinned behind her head and her legs had gotten tangled between his. She tried her hardest to look away from him, the thought of what it looked like they were doing was turning her on and she didn't want to 'pop a lady boner' as De'aria always said.

"Okay I give up," she panted, “you strong as hell.”

"Apologize for jumping on me then."

"Boy please. Manners remember?

"Sure. But how you think you getting out of this?"

"Bet if I kissed you, you'd let me go."

Shawna wasn't exactly sure if it was her or the weed talking, but she was feeling frisky and didn't want to waste such an opportune moment. She watched the solid man hovering over her pause to cock his eyebrows, then lean down closer in her face.

"Bet."

He tasted like mint and grabba, and her panties were instantly drenched at the softness of his lips. It'd been a very long time since she'd been kissed like this, hell she wasn’t sure if she’d even been kissed like this at all. Though she tried to restrain herself, Shawna stifled a moaned into Trevante’ mouth, prompting him to draw back – stifling a promiscuous grin as he gently placed her camera back in her hand and stood her upright. An out of breath Shawna eyed him bewilderedly and quietly considered how the next few seconds could go. In good ole Shawna fashion, she could chicken out and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the night…or she could get some dick for the first time in months.

Where her own words failed her, Trevante’ curious mind came to the rescue.

“I guess you won that one…Can I make bet?

“Yes” she blurted a little too quickly, prompting a laugh from them both. As Trevante caught his breath, he gently snaked an arm around her waist to steady her and caught her eyes – her heart thumping near out of her chest as they pressed against one another.

“I bet I got you wet just now.”

A gasp was the only thing Shawna could muster, in part to his filthy decree and also due to his hand gripping deep past her ass – fingertips dancing near the damp spot in her sweats.

For a second time she moaned, now with more conviction as the situation fully dawned on her. She was about to get laid with possibly the best dick east of state line – Trevante on the other hand was all teeth, marveling at how soft she was in his hands. To be truthful, he’d been in heaven tangled between her legs and wanted to feel more. See more. But, only knowing her for a few hours he was fully aware that she could hightail it back home if it was all too much.

But it wasn’t.

In fact, it wasn’t enough.

The soft grip Trevante had on her as tightened up as Shawna stole another kiss, ensuring her tongue held up a good fight against his as they stumbled back into the couch. By the time they separated she was seated eye-level with the drawstring of his sweats, finally getting a guilt free image of what he was working with. Even through the thick fabric she could make out his impressive girth, to her dismay it was about all she could ogle at before he tilted her head back towards his.

“You or me first?”

Before answering, Shawna shed herself of her zip up, “Me.”

Trevante responded by dropping to his knees, eyes never breaking contact as he helped her out of her fleece bottoms. For just a moment he reveled at her soaked panties, and to make her squirm he ran a gentle thumb in the center seam of the fabric before pulling it entirely to the side. His lips met hers with a ferocious force before she could chide him for teasing, turning her complaint into a meager whisper as her legs inched closed. She could only watch as he took her in with every part of his mouth, tongue toying with her clit as he kept her spread eagle by the inner thighs with both hands.

“Oh shit.” Was the only legible thing she could voice through the euphoria flooding her mind and body. With one hand nestled atop his fade, she gripped the couch with her entire might as he ate her from front to back; his head beginning to swivel as he lapped up the warmth dripping down her folds. Shawna had never been this horny before; of course, she’d heard about high sex but this. This was way more than she could comprehend; not even shit faced drunk did she get this wet from a kiss - let alone head. It didn’t help that her captor was the eater of the century. Just the sight of him nose deep in her pussy was enough to send her right over the edge. As if it weren’t enough, Trevante started the drawn-out process of spelling his name on her soaked clit; tongue dancing on the rock-solid button like it was his last meal.

He got to V before Shawna felting an abrupt orgasm coming on, nearly barking at the man for some sort of relief, “Tre stop…I’m finna, oh fuck.”

Startled he came up for air, his beard near drenched with her essence. She couldn’t push him back down fast enough as she began to climax against her own wishes. In seconds, Shawnas head snapped back, and she hyperventilated into a moan so loud it overcast the music – clawing her nails deep across ever taut back. Trevante met her cries with even harder tongue lashings, finally opting to let up once her legs stoped shaking.

As she came back to Earth, the man beneath her trailed small kisses up her thighs, meeting her blushed gaze for the first time in minutes. Shawna truthfully wanted to ball up and hide – to cum this quickly on her neighbors’ leather seats when there was a much bigger (and thicker) issue at hand was a bit embarrassing in her mind.

“My bad ma. You good? We can stop if you want.” He insisted from her lap.

“I’m okay. I just…wasn’t tryna do that so quick. Sorry.”

“Sorry for what,” he chided, “you taste good. Like I said, we can stop if you want to.”

“But what about you?”

“Me? I can handle that. Unless you wanna watch like you have been.”

A pang of guilt zapped Shawnas head – had he known she’d been peeping on him this whole time? She sat up, ruined panties getting warm for the ump-teeth time that night and gave him a puzzled look. He chuckled deeply and rose up. With the erectionin his is briefs now threatening to tent outward, he pulled his sweats completely off and gripped his hard on down. Underneath the fluorescent lights he looked godly, and his dick was every bit of enticing through the thin cotton briefs keeping him contained.

“I saw you that night. To be real I bout’ to jack off but I didn’t want to be the perv of the neighborhood,” he paused, hand slowly moving up and down his shaft, “but you. You wanted to see it too. You wanted to see me… like this?”

To Shawnas surprise he was beginning to moan through his words, right hand picking up speed in his shorts. With his free hand, the towering man retrieved her long-discarded phone from the floor and tossed it her way – already recording a new kind of masterpiece for her her collection. Though still incredibly high, she was still very horny and game to his antics; ensuring the flash was on, Shawna aimed the camera at her subject and took it upon herself to get him completely naked.

She took his low eyes into hers and cooed, “Let me take it out and you show me then.”

He let off another moan at her sudden touch, her fingertips tracing the poking veins trailing his skin as she peeled him out of underwear. Just as she though, his dick was as gorgeous as he was – thick and two toned at the tip, he was slick with precum and twitching out of control. With the roles now reversed Shawna was emboldened to see him get weak in the knees like she was.

“It’s so pretty Tre. Show me how you stroke it when you alone.”

“Yes ma’am,” he exhaled, voice shaking as he whimpered her name over the music. He worked his wrist from tip to the base of his shaft, fingers squelching as he pumped swears from his soul; the more he worked the wider his mouth gaped open – moaning with each breath he took.

“Shawna…,” his voice trailed off, eyes beginning to roll back.

“Huh? Say it loud papa.”

“Please baby. You got my tip so. Fucking. Sensitive.”

She was all smiles behind the camera, partly giddy from the weed, and incredibly humbled at her ability to take Trevante’ soul without touching him. He was moaning like a bitch, now choking himself out with that free hand that had held her captive minutes before.

Nasty ass nigga

“Where you gone cum Tre? On the floor or in me?” Shawna taunted. He paused for only a second and bit back a smile, “in you.”

Keeping him at bay, Shawna wagged her finger and propped her phone up on the arm of the couch, only letting him get close when she was ready. Letting her panties slip down her figure, she raised her legs and pulled him over by the back of the thighs. Eyes glued to the screen, they both watched as his head finally made contact with her folds, each parties faces screwing up with undeniable pleasure. Taking after his solo performance, Shawna snaked her hand around his throat and squeezed hard as Trevante slowly entered her pussy.

“Oh my God.” He exclaimed. Just as he expected she felt just as heavenly as she tasted.

A drawn out ‘Tre’ was just about all the stout woman could muster, occasionally peering down to watch him slide in and out of her with the growing conviction he had brewing that entire night. Rocking his hips to the slow tempo of the music, he made sure to keep that dangerous thumb of his on her clit and circle– he wanted to break her down for all the teasing she’d been doing, one step at a time. This time she was the bitch, cursing him with all her might as he fucked her deep into the couch. With every stroke her grip loosened on his neck, hands eventually flailing aside to anchor herself in place. To make things worse, Trevante’ face was crammed deep in her neck talking big shit while he drilled her,

Between each stroke he growled, “you taking this dick so good mama. Look at how creamy it’s getting.”

“W-why?”

“Why what? Why I’m fucking you like this? Cause you deserve it.”

Again, she began to pant just as she had when she came in his mouth, only this time she was dangerously close to ruining his furniture with sweat and incoming release. Shawna clung to his shoulders, squeezing him into her bare breasts to keep them both secure, and cried into the night as he roughly blew her out in missionary. Her walls began clenching involuntarily, eyes now glued to the roof of her skull as a second orgasm crept its way out of her. Besides their exclamations a sound akin to water splashing overtook their space. She was getting close and as much as Tre wanted to go all night, he knew she couldn’t survive another round.

“Let that shit out Shawna.” Was all she had to hear. With a screech of ecstasy her hips jerked into his and she wept; bouncing from his name to a string of curses she came harder than she had in almost a year.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Tre fuck!”

He, on the other hand, was still stroking– rhythm becoming unhinged as his own nut started to unwind. Even blacked out she could feel his dick hitting every spot she couldn’t with a pitiful rose toy; in typical Trevante fashion he snatched her by the jaw forced her to look him in the eyes as the tension holding him together snapped.

An airy “Im cumming,” was all he could muster – twitching inside the vice grip she had on his length one last time he finally let it all out: warm cum shooting in her soft walls and voice groaning through the blue lit room. He was surprisingly more of mess than she was, collapsing into her, hips jerking violently as his climax came to a slow end.

By the time they both came to the long-forgotten record had stopped and scratched in rhythm with their cyclic breathing. Shawna took the moment to lazily turn her phone off and untangle her body from his as he tended to the mess they’d created. She was three blinks away from sleep when he finally returned to escort her to a well needed bed, wet towel in hand for her to clean off as they shuffled to his room. Before quite literally collapsing into his bed she quipped an earnest statement his way,

“You think De’aria gone flip out when I call her?”

“Think? You better hope she don’t see that video. She might wanna watch next time like you.”

With a final grumble Shawna retorted “You the one that can’t shut your blinds.”

And with, that their banter was even for the night. With only the pale terrarium silhouetting their faces the pair drifted into sleep, chests rising in tandem to the sounds of life carrying on outside that cozy bedroom window.

[howtofightwrite]

re: the question about stunning someone with head trauma (and how you Should Not unless you're okay with them dying) would knocking the wind out of a character be a better way to have that happen?

Yes, but no.

So, knocking the wind out of someone is a lot safer. I wouldn't say perfectly safe, this is how Harry Houdini died, after all. However, it's a lot safer that head wounds, and usually wouldn't result in any major injuries.

The downside is against a trained opponent, who's ready for the hit, it's not going to work. This isn't called a, “sucker punch,” without reason. If your abdominal muscles are tensed for the punch, they will absorb a lot of the blow. So this works better against the unaware or the untrained.

The other problem is, it's not going to take someone out for the duration of the scene. In a self defense situation, winding your attacker is great, because it lets you create an opening to start your escape. But, it's not going to stun someone for minutes. From personal experience, you can measure the time you gain from winding your opponent in seconds.

There are combos that start with winding someone and lead into more painful blows that can extend that opening. But, there is a continuity of force: Incapacitating someone for longer requires inflicting harm that is increasingly difficult (impossible) to moderate.

If the goal is to escape from someone who means you harm, then yeah, an elbow strike to their stomach, will give you the opportunity to get out of there.

If the goal is to have a prolonged conversation while standing over a defeated (but still living foe), that's not really something you can do intentionally. At the same time, intentional application of lethal force isn't as reliable as you might expect. For example, gunshot wounds to the head are only fatal ~98% of the time.

The issue with this train of thought is that the individual inflicting harm cannot moderate for the desired outcome. Knocking someone out, only for them to recover, is 100% possible. However, you can't do that intentionally. And having a character who does bounce another person's head off the pavement until they stop twitching, is an incredibly violent act, and it's not going to be a casual, “well they're just knocked out.” It's a, “Carl, that kills people,” moment.

If you want a character that is disproportionately violent, and probably scares everyone around them a bit, this will feed into that presentation. If you want a character who's a good person because they don't kill people, then attempting to inflict life altering injuries on someone is probably not the best way to demonstrate their ethics.

(Remember, Batman doesn't kill people, he just shatters their spines; leaving them at the mercy of the American health care system. So, the real moral lesson of Batman is that it's better to be psychologically unwell and wealthy, than economically disadvantaged. You can murder half of the city, and he'll gently deposit you in a padded cell that you can escape from whenever you get bored of the place, but if you so much as imply that you'll resort to less than legal means to put food on the table for your starving family, he will end your existence as a vertebrate.)

And, yes, I fully realize that, by the nature of his character, and comics, Batman (like most superhero comics) is poorly suited to discuss the complex factors involved in street level crime. This this is more of a critique on the treatment of “violence is okay, so long as no one ends up in the morgue,” more than a specific character critique.

There's another part to this that worth remembering, and I know I've said this before, but when you're writing, violence offers diminishing returns. Violence releases the tension you've been building. You can think of it like a rubber band gun. Until you pull the trigger, that rubber band is under tension, and the moment you release it, you hit your audience. Now, getting hit a rubber band is a sharp, and somewhat unpleasant experience, but the second time is going to annoy you less than the first, and if you're constantly bombarded with them, you'll quickly become numb to their impacts.

I'm not saying that you can't, or shouldn't, use violence, however as a writer, you are paying a very real cost whenever you use violence to resolve a scene. It's something that you do need to consider carefully. Part of my aversion to questions like this comes from this structural consideration. A lot of writers make the mistake of using non-lethal violence somewhat indiscriminately. This can absolutely harm the credibility of your characters, and your world.

There is absolutely a place for violence in stories, however, this is a tool that is most effective when used sparingly, or deliberately. (This doesn't mean the violence itself needs to be deliberate, just your use of it.)

A lot of the time when someone says, “I want to use violence to temporarily remove a character from the scene,” that's a scenario that will harm your story. There are a lot of ways to remove a character from a scene, and I don't mean, “alternatives to fighting,” like hiding from them or talking them down. The limit here is your creativity, and in a lot of ways, violence is the least interesting way to achieve your goals.

-Starke

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[slut4celebs]

Star Wars versus Star Trek

Gracie Abrams x Reader

Word Count: 1,151 words

Trigger Warnings: Just playful arguing that ends in a steamy make-out. Mentions of sex, but no smut. MDNI.

Synopsis: Reader tells Gracie that Star Wars is much better than Star Trek. Unfortunately for them, they aren't home alone and get caught, and now the whole family is in the debate.

"Gracie, I love you, but you are incredibly biased. Your dad has carried the Star Trek franchise, I understand why you're arguing so strongly, but… He even your dad has said that Star Wars was his first love. Even he loves it more than Star Trek." She argued, her girlfriend having straddled her lap, her fingers twitching. It was obvious that it was a threat. Gracie was about to tickle her, and that was a fate much worse than death. "No, please, Gracie. Even your dad is on my side." She shifted, trying to escape Gracie's hold, but the action was futile and Gracie's fingers began to dance upon her skin.

"It's too late," Gracie stated dramatically as her girlfriend laughed. Gracie's eyes were alight with mischief. "You've already disgraced my family name. That is an action that is unforgivable, my love. Or, it is my enemy now." She teased, leaning down to press a kiss to her girlfriend's lips. An action that took away her whole 'enemies' point. But she couldn't help but kiss her, her fingers slowly ceasing as she focused on the feel of (Y/n) kissing her back. She could drown in the feeling. If (Y/n)'s lips had been poisoned, she would still die happy.

A soft moan escaped (Y/n)'s lips, making Gracie smile in the kiss. Her fingers moved from her waist to her cheeks. Her tongue swiped on (Y/n)'s bottom lip as a way to ask for entrance. (Y/n) granted it, parting her lips, hips rolling involuntarily under her girlfriend. They continued their kissing until the door swung open. Gracie yelped as (Y/n) sat up quickly, red in the face, and Gracie slipped from her lap and the bed, landing on the floor. She looked up to see her brother, August, looked just as embarrassed. Quickly he shut the door, and then he proceeded to knock.

Gracie got up with a wince, rubbing her back gently. Moving to the door, she opened it with a raised brow. "You know knocking after you open the door defeats the purpose." She said simply, shaking her head with a soft smile. "What did you need, August?" She asked her younger brother with an apologetic look adorning her features. (Y/n), on the other hand, was bright red and staring at the floor. She was unsure how Gracie could even be talking to him. She was absolutely dying of embarrassment of getting caught. The two of them had assumed they had at least thirty more minutes, but she guessed their playful argument seemed to have taken up their time.

"We just got back with dinner." He said with a sheepish smile. Gracie nodded, looking over to him and giving a quick thumbs up. She watched the curly haired boy disappear, and a sigh of relief fell from her lips. She couldn't help but feel a bit mortified in her own right, but she could see that (Y/n) was feeling it the most. Probably because this was her first visit to her parent's house to meet her family and she had just been caught. "Don't get distracted!"

August's last minute call caused the two girls to look at each other and (Y/n)'s head fell in her hands with a soft groan. "I am never going to make out with you ever again, Abrams." She stood up with a small, playful shake of her head. It was an empty threat and the two of them knew it. "Okay, let's go before your brother gets the wrong idea." She said, taking her girlfriend's hand and letting Gracie lead her downstairs to the dining room. It was obvious August said something by the little smirk on Henry's face, and (Y/n) was only getting redder in the face. Gracie, on the other hand, remained unbothered, getting hers and (Y/n)'s plates prepared since (Y/n) was practically frozen with nerves.

J.J. seemed to realize that (Y/n) was nervous, so he was able to ease the conversation. "So, (Y/n), Gracie says that you're quite the Star Wars fan. Which one is your favorite?" He asks. It was a conversation that he knew he could talk about forever. Unfortunately for his daughter, her girlfriend could do the absolute same. She watched the wide grin spread on (Y/n)'s face and she struggled to be annoyed that this was a conversation that might last the whole dinner and even after dinner.

"Well, I'm a little impartial to the prequels. But! Only because I have such an affinity for Clone Wars Obi-Wan's hair and Natalie Portman as Padme Amidala." (Y/n) had a type- brunettes with beautiful brown eyes. "With that said, the sequels will always be iconic. I mean, come on. The storyline is absolutely unmatched. I remember watching the move with my grandpa. I remember the A New Hope just absolutely changed my life. None of that answers the question, sorry… A New Hope or Revenge of the Sith will be my answer." (Y/n) concluded once she finally took a breath. Katie shared a knowing look with Gracie, knowing that J.J. was absolutely going to love her.

J.J. couldn't help the broad grin on his face before it was replaced with a playful smile. "Oh, so not my work then?" He questioned, causing (Y/n)'s smile to fade nervously a bit. "I'm just kidding, I completely understand your point of view." He said with a kind smile on his lips. (Y/n) did proceed to tell him she did love Star Wars films he produced, and then the two went on to talk about how amazing Dave Filoni was doing and how excited they were for Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy's upcoming Star Wars film. This lasted for two hours, passed the time Gracie was already showed and ready for bed.

Prying her girlfriend from her dad while Katie took J.J. from (Y/n) was like separating two best friends on the playground. "Can we talk about Star Wars tomorrow?" She asked J.J. at the bottom of the stairs. J.J. gave a quick 'Of course!' as Katie proceeded to take them to their room. "I told you your dad likes Star Wars more." She said, following Gracie upstairs.

Gracie turned to her with raised brows. "With all my love, baby girl… If you mention Star Wars one more time, I will not have sex with you tonight." She said, her eyes reading serious. Inside though, Gracie was happy to see her girlfriend and dad getting along so well. She knew they would though. They're both big nerds. That was her favorite thing about (Y/n) though. The fact she could talk about her movies and little space facts for hours. When they got to her room, she pulled (Y/n) onto her bed. "Okay… Where were we earlier?" She asked before kissing her girlfriend with a big grin.

[crystalflygeo]

The dragon and the sacrificial lamb ft. eroded!Zhongli + gn!reader

cw/tags: rape/non-con, angst, bad ending, yandere-ish zhongli? feral/eroded zhongli, biting, crying, restraints (courtesy of improper use of geo as usual ehe)

notes: Alright this is a special one get ready. There's two "version" of this story bc I couldn't decide which path I liked more. This one is the dark/bad ending. Both stories are exactly the same at the start, changing a few word here and there but then reach a point where they divert completely in reactions/emotions and the underlying feeling of the stories are very different. They can be read independently ofc so by all means feel free to choose which tags you vibe with more or enjoy picking up the differences between both!

Bittersweet ending version here!!

Once upon a time…

A long, long time ago…

The people of Liyue revered their beloved Archon Rex Lapis. Just and kind, he led his nation for millennia, upholding order and contracts, defeating countless enemies, and defending their safe Harbor.

It is said the Lord of Geo took a human as partner, and fell in love deep and pure.

And his partner loved him just as much.

A love that would tragically become a twisted obsession.

It is said the God understood that even he himself was not immune to erosion, and it would one day be his downfall. So, he made sure his people were ready to live on without him. That his adepti were strong enough to subdue him if the day ever came.

As for his lover… well…

-----

Your bare feet crunch along the soft grass as you run and run, panting, gasping for air, almost tripping and letting out a yelp but quickly regaining balance and scurrying faster, past the falling golden ginkgo leaves, past the soft sound of rushing waters.

The golden sunset is gorgeous, dying the sky pink and orange with pastel hues but you simply ignore it, having grown tired of it, sick even. It is fake, an illusion. Just as everything else in this adeptal abode.

Everything except, of course, you and the beast you are currently fleeing from.

It is useless to try to escape, this you know, and your heart clenches painfully as tears prickle at your eyes. You’ve done this before, played this game many many times. But at least for one moment… just one moment…

A roar turns your blood to ice and against all common sense you look over your shoulder to see a massive long dragon twisting in the air and diving straight towards you.

Your legs tremble and fail you as you fall down, the grass is soft but your body aches, tired, burning. You scramble around frantically to stare at the beast again and your eyes widen in panic as it lands right on top of you, majestic and terrifying, caging you with its serpentine body. The golden claws alone are as long as your forearms, digging on the ground at either side of you.

You whimper.

The dragon lowers his head, growling at you, fangs mere inches apart and you squeeze your eyes shut, tears running down your face.

“Why do you run away from me?”

“Leave me alone!” You scream.

“Are you not happy with me? My mate?”

At the words you only sob harder.

Mate.

Oh, how much joy did that word bring you once. And now you can only feel your heart shatter.

You feel a shift in the wind, in the energy, in the light around you, and when you open your eyes, the massive dragon has faded to a more human appearance. He changes back to the form you’re most used to.

Long strands of dark hair tipped amber, striking golden eyes with stunning red lines that highlight their sharpness, a handsome face and a muscular body with arms died black, and lines of gold… lines that run along his cheek and down his neck. Cracks, like a broken glass, like scars, under his eyes and around his chest, ruining the pristine skin and unable to disappear despite his ability to change forms.

The undeniable marks of erosion.

You snap back to attention when he dips down and starts nosing at your neck, his hands pulling at the robe you’re wearing, the only article of clothing you picked up before scurrying away from the mansion. It parts open easily, revealing your naked body to his eyes, littered in past bruises, hickeys and bite marks. Claims from the dragon.

“W-wait. Stop-!” You try to push him back, panicked, desperately pressing your palms against his broad shoulders, but of course he’s immovable as stone.

You kick and trash until he gets irritated and suddenly your arms are immobilized, held above your head and pressed onto the ground by heavy geo cuffs.

“Submit.” He growls.

You squirm a little more until your body sags into the ground, exhausted, panting. There is no use. Instead, you shudder as his hands grope and rub all over your body, rough and callous.

He spreads your legs and slots between them as your breath catches. His palm presses at a spot on your navel possessively, a glittering geo symbol engraved on your skin there, glowing subtly like his horns. You whine.

Then his touch goes lower and teases at your entrance, circling the hole and dipping in just barely.

“Z-Zhongli-!”

Another growl comes out of his throat, deep and guttural. “You dare speak another man’s name in my presence? In my realm? When you belong to me?!”

Your whole body shakes, with rage, with fear. Your heart about to burst. You grit your teeth and glare at the dragon god with as much venom as you can.

“I don’t belong to you!”

He snarls, eyes widening to serpentine slits.

“Insolent. No matter, I’ll fill you up again and show you.”

The eroded God leans down to bite at your neck and you yelp, sharp fangs break your skin and you cry as you feel the warm blood spill. His claws prick at your thighs as he starts unceremoniously humping against you. The ridges on his draconic cock making your hole twitch and you gasp as he presses in, dipping slightly inside your thigh warmth. No need to prepare your body after so many years of coupling. Your hole already soft and molded to him like a worn-out toy.

“No, please… n-no.” Your voice breaks, tears running down your face.

Everything turns blurry, fuzzy, and your head spins.

How had things ended up like this?

You see no love in his eyes, no recognition. And you don’t recognize him either anymore. This creature, this beast… he is not your lover. He is not Zhongli…

And hasn’t been for who knows how long…

Zhongli raises one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder while straddling the other and pushes further in the slick warmth, ignoring the sounds you make. “Too big! I can’t-!” You scream and it just urges him to slam it in. “No- Ahh!” Sheathed all the way to the hilt, Zhongli groans as you clench around him.

He immediately starts thrusting and you feel the world tilt. It’s all too much, the sound of skin slapping against skin, your walls getting battered by his thick member, his animalistic grunts and groans, and the way your body betrays you… a speck of pleasure mixed in with the pain.

It's so cruel.

“Sto- gh! Stop it! Zhongli, please…!” You sob.

Zhongli hisses, muscles taut and flexing as his hips buck into yours, finally finding that spot that has you choking out a moan, your body shivers, forced to surrender and feel everything, a hot coil building on your lower stomach where the mark of geo glows as he continues to take what he wants from your struggling form. He laps at your skin and nuzzles there, almost lovingly. “Mine.”

Your moans start turning sweeter, previously pained sounds turning to vocalizations of carnal lust, your eyes glassy. You try to fight it, conflicted, but the stimulation is too much.

You come with a raw cry through gritted teeth, tears flowing down your cheeks and your own juices coating your skin causing you to feel dirty in more ways than one. Zhongli continues through your overstimulated state, chasing his own pleasure as his thrust become erratic until finally, he stills deep inside and moans long and low, painting your insides white.

You feel him twitch inside you and groan, absolutely exhausted, overwhelmed with emotions, feeling sick, used and abused. He lowers your leg but doesn’t bother pulling out, keeping you there as he nips at your skin, murmuring soft words. “My mate. All pretty and filled up. All mine. Love you.”

You can’t bear to hear those words, spoken in the voice you continue to love after all this time. It shatters your soul, breaking it to pieces like the corroded dragon’s destroyed mind.

Feeling about to pass out, you close your eyes and your head lolls to the side, sniffling against your own forearm as tears continue to fall. “I love… Zhongli. Miss him. I hate you…”

He dissolves the geo shackles into specks of gold and holds your unconscious body in his arms, satisfied with the claims and scent he’s left on you. His tail swishes slowly, pleased with himself as he carries you back to the abode’s mansion.

Home.

Were he’ll keep you safe, bound to him.

Forever and always.

-----

…It is said that his lover is the key to keep the eroded God confined.

Trapped by the possessive dragon in a sealed realm, to keep him ensnared, enchanted and bound to them.

Until they both turn to dust.

[midnight-talescape]

𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓁(𝒜𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝓍 𝒪𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓁𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇)

Kinktober Day 5: Tentacles

This is like the sequel to something I planned on doing on day 15 for Zestial. So like it’s implied you fuck Zestial before.

This will usually end here, IF IT WASNT FOR THE FACT THAT TUMBLR DELETED MY ENTIRE STORY BECAUSE I EDIT THE ENTIRE THING AT ONCE!

Warning: Tentacles, mention of past relationships with Zestial, he also kinda bit a chunk out of you, but its more cannibalistic then vore so uhhhhh…. ooc etc, etc you get the point not for kid

Genre: filthy filthy smut

Word Count: 3.9kish

｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡+☆+｡･ﾟ･｡

Alastor look down in disgust at the overlord trembling below him. He had expected him to beg for mercy, or perhaps fight back.

But to his surprise (and confusion) the overlord simply gripped the necklace around him tightly as he desperately repeated someone’s name.

Curious and intrigue, he didn’t say anything only watch as the Overlord have a mental break down. When no one showed up after a few minutes, he fell limp onto the ground, defeated and more devastated then he ever was when Alastor beat him.

Deciding he have had enough of this nonsense, he walked toward him, ready to add a new voice to his radio when he started laughing and looked at Alastor with pure hatred in his eyes.

“Just you wait…” he croaked out, “…they will come for you… oh I can already tell they will love your soul…”

Alastor cracked his neck, suddenly interested in what this pathtic excuse of a overlord have to say.

“They?”

“They will come for your soul Alastor… they always do when they find someone interesting…” the Overlord mumbled out before laughing maniacally and collapsing onto the ground,

Scoffing Alastor reached out his hand and crushed the overlord, not even bothering to add his voice to the radio.

What a waste of time.

As he walk out from the alleyway he didn’t see a butterfly appearing where the overlord was at.

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Fuck!

Alastor swore under his breath as he struggle to stand. His usually immaculate suit now tattered and torn around the edges.

His composure finally cracking as he felt the suddenly very real threat of dying for the second time.

He stare at the pack of canine overlords, as he try to figure a way out of this… peculiar situation.

He’s sure there’s a way out of this situation.

These dumb mutt look like they share a single braincell, he just need to get away and then he can torment them another day. He just need to escape maybe he can strike a deal—

Do you need help?

Alastor's head snapped around at the soft voice, his red irises narrowing as he tried to pinpoint the source. He could sense the presence, but the words were almost inaudible, like a whisper carried by the wind.

Help? He started laughing at the word, a low menacing sound that echoed through the alley as he straightened his ragged coat. Attempting to maintain some semblance of his usually immaculate appearance. I'm the radio demon. I don’t need help, my dear.

He swiped at a hound, sending it flying back, blood spilling from its maw as it crashed into a wall.

If you say so.

You quiet down again as you watch in silent. Only asking again when Alastor was thrown into a wall a few minutes later.

Are you sure? You might be strong, but you’re still new to hell. I can help you for a price.

Alastor pushed himself off the wall, he hated being in this vulnerable position, the thought of losing to a bunch of lowly hounds was infuriating.

He sneered at the thought of needing help. He was accustomed to making deals, but he held the power in those situations. This time the roles seemed to be reversed, leaving him at a disadvantage he was unaccustomed to.

But he knew better than to turn down an offer when he was in a tight spot. He turned his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the voice's owner.

A price, you say? he repeated, a dangerous edge to his voice as he stared at the hounds, And what might that be, hmm?

Your soul.

You paused before deciding to explain more, knowing how bad it sound out of context and you do like him.

He’s the most entertaining soul that has showed up in hell in years after all, and it will be a shame if you couldn’t have him.

I collect soul as a… hobby? I will lend you my power and you will have your freedom. You can request anything you want, and in return all I ask is for your soul to belong to me.

Alastor's eyes widened slightly at the audacity of the request. He laughed, the sound mirthless as the hounds growled at the noise, uncomfortable with the way he’s acting.

"My soul?!" he scoffed, his voice booming through the alleyway, "You expect me to hand over my soul for your help?"

He eyed the hounds, his mind racing with potential outcomes. If he agreed, he would be at the mercy of whoever came for his soul, but if he refused, he could die right here, right now. He could feel his power waning, his body growing weaker with each passing moment.

“Very well,” he decided, a devious grin playing on his lips as he faced the hounds again, “I accept your offer.”

You smiled before a whirlwind of butterflies appeared and time stopped as they materialize to reveal you standing next to him.

“Do we have a deal?” You asked again, holding out a beautiful crystal that glows with power as you patiently waited for him to accept,

Alastor looked at the crystal, the power emanating from it practically vibrating against his skin.

"Deal."

He reached out his hand, his eyes never leaving the crystal as he took it, feeling the power coursing through him. A wave of energy spread through him as his wounds started to close, the tattered edges of his coat mending and leaving him in his pristine attire once more.

As the deal was agreed upon, the contract bind you together. The crystal turning a brilliant shade of red as you collected his soul, and your power travel through his body in return.

It wasn’t long before time started flowing again, a content sigh escaping you as you place the crystal back in your body, not noticing the way the canine overlords was looking at you as though you were a lost and forgotten dream.

His eyes flicked towards the canine overlord, noticing their gaze wasn’t on him but you. Something about their look sent a chill down his spine.

“Do they… know you, darling?” he asked, taking a step closer to you.

"You remember us, don't you, my lord?" the overlord asked, their voice a low snarl filled with something almost like desperation. "You wouldn't forget your servant who had serve you so loyally, right?"

You look up, tilting your head in confusion, trying to remember if you recognize them from anywhere, “Do I know you guys?”

The overlord let out a whimper at your word, "You used to own our soul... you were the one who gave us purpose..." Their eyes shone with a desperate plea, as if begging to be remembered, to not be forgotten.

“I don’t remember. Beside I must have already return you guys soul…”

You stared at them your eyes blank and continued with a almost cruel calmness, “…then that mean you guys no longer entertain me.”

Alastor watched you closely, a sly smile creeping onto his face as you confessed you didn't remember the overlords. He could practically taste their despair, and it sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine, the corner of his mouth curling upwards into a wicked grin.

The overlord let out a guttural wail, their voice filled with a mixture of anger and hurt, "No... please my lord... we can still be useful to you!"

Alastor took a step forward, his demonic form beginning to shift as he feel his new power. His antlers growing larger, and his coat turning a darker shade of red.

“There will be no need for that, i’m afraid.” his laughter ringing out like a dark, twisted melody. “You won’t be making out of this alive.”

You stepped back to watch the fight, the destiny of the canine overlord was not your concern.

The second you release one’s soul, they are no longer under your protection.

Alastor turn around to look at you, his voice a low growl, "I'll make sure to put on a show you'll never forget."

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That was almost a hundred years ago.

Ever since then you had kept in contact with him, even though the interaction was far and few in between.

Only really showing up when you felt bored and wanted to see him.

Or in this case, injured and hurt.

Alastor's eyes flickered open, the first thought to cross his mind was that he was still alive. He was so sure that death had finally claim him again.

He let out a groan, the sound amplifying throughout the room, and he wince. There was a dull ache behind his eyes, but other then that all his injury was healed.

"My lord..." he manage out as he sit up, his voice hoarse and weaker than he'd like.

You look up from your book when you heard him calling for you.

“You’re awake.”

Walking over you furrow your brow in annoyance as you inspect the now healed injury on his chest.

“I’m not happy, Alastor.” You lean down as though to make a point, your hand slowly brushing across his chest, “I don’t like my property broken.”

You ignore the way his body froze at your touch, the way he tremble as though being burn by your hand, yet he couldn’t bring himself to move away from your touch.

“You know you could have called for me right? Our deal said you can ask me for anything as long as I still own your soul.” With a little force you push him back onto the bed, your voice fill with something akin to caring but it was not for him,

Your annoyance was directed at the fact that he, who you see as yours was hurt. And not at the fact that he, himself as Alastor was hurt.

And that ignites a sense of anger in him.

It was always like this.

You will show up, save him or fulfill his wish before leaving him. You treat him like one will treat a pet, a prize, a thing, you can dispose of at any moment.

Your eyes will fill with something one will mistaken for love when you look at him, if it wasn’t for the coldness, the emptiness, deep inside.

You don’t love him.

He knows that, and he doesn’t care if you love him, that wasn’t part of the deal, and he wasn’t a pathetic demon that crave your affection.

He won’t be like that overlord he killed all those years ago.

“Are you okay, you’re a little quiet. I’m pretty sure I healed all your wound.”

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice strain and clip. “Just feeling a little… out of sorts.”

He avoid your gaze, the thought of you tending to his injury, taking care of him, stirring something within him that he refused to acknowledge.

You nodded your head before zoning out again, unsure of how to proceed.

You have never been good with people, even when it comes to interacting with the souls you own.

Just as you started considering leaving, Alastor's hand shot out as if sensing your thought. His clawed hand digging into your wrist before he can even think, tugging you back against him.

“You’re leaving already, my lord?” he asked, his voice cold and a hint of disappointment he tries to hide under his mocking smile,

He didn't know why it was so disappointing, and he didn't want to admit it, but it was. He felt a sudden desire, to keep you in the room, and this aroused an unfamiliar feeling within him. Almost like... longing.

You were his jailor, his owner, and yet he still wanted more, the very thought was preposterous to him and something he never thought will happen when he made the deal.

“Do you… want me to stay?” You ask hesitantly, unsure of why he’s acting this way,

Alastor’s breath hitch, his mind at war with his heart. He’s actively fighting the urge to pull you closer, to wrap his arms around you, to demand, to beg that you never leave his side.

"If you're offering so easily," he manage to say, desperately hoping he doesn’t sound as pathetic as he felt, "then who am I to refuse?"

He watch silently as you sat down next to him, in a almost obedient way. You’re a walking contradiction, your power limitless, and god know how many souls under your command. Yet you seem almost innocent in a way, just listening and following whatever people ask you to do.

Like a lamb that simply follow without question.

Like he can ask you to do anything and you will simply look at him with your pretty eyes before following along.

Quiet.

Obedient.

Like he was your master and not the other way around.

His tongue lick across the back of his teeth, as a hunger arise in his body at the thought. His thumb carefully running over your pulse point, feeling the thrum of life beneath your skin.

"You know, my lord," he started, his voice low and hungry, "for a powerful entity, your wrists are awfully delicate."

He couldn’t help it. He want to trace his tongue across your skin, to feel your racing heart, to make you shiver and yearn for more.

“My power… they come from emotion and not physical strength, even though I don’t feel them myself.” You answer truthfully, only instinctively struggling a little as you felt his body temperature burning your skin,

His hold was unrelenting, his thumb never stopping its gentle, teasing strokes. "Emotion," he muttered under his breath, the word sounding like a curse.

He'd never been one for emotions, he'd shut them down long ago, and it had served him well.

But now here he was, burning with want, with desire, with the need to feel more, to have more.

He lifted your wrist to his lips, his breath ghosting over the delicate flesh, warm, enticing, before his lips brushed over your skin, and he let out a satisfied hum, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

"You said I can ask for anything right?" he murmured, his grip on your wrist never faltering.

“Yes. Anything you wish for, and anything you may want.” You looked into his eyes, “A little… perk for my favorite soul.”

He couldn’t help the please chuckle that escape him upon hearing you confirm his word, reveling in the fact that he was your favorite. His tongue flick out to taste you, the smallest hint of desire seeping into his actions.

"What if I say I want to taste you, my lord. To know what it feels like to have you under me, to hear you beg as I fuck you senseless." He lean in closer, his voice a velvety purr against your ear, "I want to stuff you so full with my cum, you can do little but let me abuse you, my lord. Will you still fulfill my wish then?”

Your eyes widen at his crude words, a difference to how he usually act and your calm facade finally cracking.

“I-if that is what you wish—“

Without waiting for you to finish, he was already pulling you against him. His lips crashing down on yours, rough, hungry, and demanding as his tongue slip into your mouth before you can react. His body pressing against yours, lust pulsing through him.

He let out a growl as you whine, your eyes now filled with tears as you gag softly on his tongue.

He'd been watching you for decades, watching your detached expression, wondering how it would feel to crack your hard shell and make you come undone.

And now he was getting what he desired for who knows how long. He was unraveling you, making you cry and make sounds that no one else have ever heard.

After a few minutes you finally broke apart, a silver strand connecting you before breaking apart.

His heart gave a sharp thump at the sight of you, lips red and puffy, eyes dazed and lost, a far cry from your usual self. His fingers trace your lips, his eyes filled with an odd, heated possessiveness.

"Yes," he whisper, his voice hoarse and deep. "This is what I want, my lord."

Grabbing you, he pushed you onto the bed, pinning you beneath him. His teeth sank into your neck, biting with a fervor like he want to eat you alive.

To swallow you whole, to make sure you will always be with him and him alone.

To make sure that you won't look at anyone else the way he wish for you to look at him.

His eyes danced with dark, intense hunger as he watched you struggle to keep quiet, your efforts to remain silent just fueled his lust even more.

With a snap of his fingers, tentacles sprang to life from the shadows, their black forms slithering and reaching for you eagerly. Tugging and ripping your clothes in a ruthless fashion, leaving you bare and expose.

One long tentacle slithered up to wrap around your wrists, pinning them above your head. Another snaked around your thighs, forcing your legs apart, spreading you wide open. Leaving you completely at his mercy, and it fill him with a sense of satisfaction.

You struggled a little, uncomfortable with the tentacles wrapped around your body, but quite unfortunately used to it.

If you had a nickel every single time you got tied up by a soul you own.

You thought distracted as you remember the only other soul who had the audacity to ask for such a… outrageous request. Only focusing again when you felt a cool tentacle probing at your wet pussy trying to get in.

The probing tentacle slid against your wet folds a few times, slickening itself with your nectar before pushing past your tight entrance, sinking deep inside your body. Your body instinctively clenching around the foreign presence.

"Mmm, you're so tight, my lord,"

His eyes glint with lust and sadistic delight as he watch his tentacle play with you like a doll, the only sign of his arousal being the large bulge forming in his pant.

The tentacle wrap around your thighs tug at your leg. Forcing you to arch your back, to give it better access to your now vulnerable body.

“H-haaa…” you gasp weakly, your body trembling as you try to hold still, tears falling from your eyes as you felt the tentacles pounding against your cervix.

The sight only spurring on his dark desires, he decide he like making you cry, liked the contrast of your soft tears with your normal demeanor, the way you looked so helpless, so overwhelmed, so undeniably his.

"Such a good girl, taking it so well," he cooed, his voice dripping with sinful satisfaction.

The tentacle inside you curl and shift, pressing against your cervix with each thrust, as if trying to force its way deeper into you, to claim you completely. The pressure and pain from the tentacles only making you clench tighter around it, creating a delicious friction that sent waves of pleasure through his body.

"My lord," he moan, his voice thick with lust. "You're so beautiful like this, all bound and at my mercy. Your tight little cunt gripping me so perfectly."

Two more tentacles slither up to your breasts, wrapping around the soft mounds, kneading and squeezing the supple flesh.

One found your nipple, pinching and tugging at the sensitive bud, sending jolts of pleasure and pain straight to your core.

“D-don’t be so r-rough… haaaa!” Your body spasm as you try not to scream when a second tentacle saw its chance and slipped into your ass, “N-not at the same time—“

His eyes gleam with sadistic glee as he watch you squirm and gasp beneath his ministrations.

"Oh, but I think you like it, my lord" he purr, his voice dripping with dark dark desire. "You're being such a good girl, after all."

The stretch in your bottom half painful, but it only seem to make your body produce more nectar, coating the plunging tentacles and easing their way further and further into your body.

Alastor drank in the sight of you, bound and helpless, stuff full of his tentacles, your face a mask of desperate pleasure and pain bliss.

He knew you were on the edge, could feel your body tensing, could sense your impending release.

"That's it, my lord," he croon. "Cum for me. Cum on my tentacles like the good little fuck doll you are."

"N-no… wait..t-too much…” you wail your voice rising in pitch, as your body tremble uncontrollably.

With a final thrust, the tentacle break into your womb, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You wail again, your voice raw and broken before a tentacle slammed into your throat. Your body spasm as your pussy clench and flutter around the tentacles buried inside you.

Drool escape the corners of your mouth, tears streaming down your face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy as the tentacles continued their relentless pounding, fucking you through your climax, pushing you past your limits.

The tentacles showed no mercy, plunging into your abused holes over and over, the wet squelching sounds filling the room, your pussy gushing around the thick appendages, creaming them with your release.

Just as you were about to pass out, you felt a warm, viscous fluid gush into your stretched, pussy, the tentacles pumping you full of their essence before abruptly withdrawing, leaving you empty and aching.

Alastor gather your limp form into his arms, holding you possessively against his chest.

"Mine," he rumbled, the word a dark promise, a declaration of ownership.

He stroke your hair, his touch almost gentle, a stark contrast to the brutal fucking he had just subjected you to.

"You did so well, my lord," his voice a soothing caress. "Such a good girl, doing all you can to fulfill my wish…"

“S-shut up…” you groaned out, something you would have never said if it wasn’t for the fact that your body was so throughly fuck by him, “D-don’t expect me to agree to this again… you’re too rough… even Zestial is gentler then this…”

Alastor's eyes flashed with a dangerous rage at the mention of another male touching you, his grip on you tightening.

“Zestial, my lord?” He repeated softly as you nod dazedly confirming your word, his hand rubbing small circles on your back his voice getting dangerously soft, “Are you saying you let him fuck you as well?”

“Who else has had the… honor of fucking you stupid my lord?” He asked his teeth extending as he nibble your neck,

“O-only him and you…” You answered not recognizing the danger you was in,

The thought of another demon touching you, claiming you, filled him with a burning rage. But he quickly tamped down on his emotions, "Only me and Zestial, hm?" He mused, his fingers tracing over the marks and bruises littering your skin. "Well, then. I suppose I'll have to work harder to leave a more... lasting impression."

You screamed when Alastor bit down on your neck and tore out a piece of your flesh. Gulping it down, savoring the taste of your delectable flesh before licking away your tears.

“Shhhh… don’t cry… you taste so good, my lord…”

As you start to calm down, the wound on your neck healing and leaving behind unblemish skin again. He snap his fingers, and more tentacles slithered out from the shadows, their black forms coiling around your limbs again.

"Tell me, my lord," he murmure, his lips brushing against your ear. "How many more can you take before you break?"

[wineyoungie]

BEAUTIFUL BOY! ( demon slayer )

( with ) gyutaro

( summary ) you’re a demon slayer, but even you can’t help but notice the unique beauty of the blood thirsty demon in front of you.

CONTENT WARNINGS!

gn reader. mentions of blood. death. starvation.

you were on your back, clutching your head in pain. the blood was oozing out of the various wounds that had been inflicted across your pale body. your eyes were fluttering, the throbbing in your chest was making you weaker by the minute and soon you gave in to the desire to sleep.

it was an almost useless ability. you being able to see into creature’s pasts, human or not. though, most of the time it gave you leverage over most demons.

your feet scraped against the rocky ground, searching for the demon’s past self. the sound of gasping women caught your attention as you turned the corner. the small rocks fell from their hands as a boy faced them, smiling wide. his teeth were rotting, a sign that starvation controlled his body.

he was short, his cheeks and torso sunken in. his hair was matted and dandruff riddled. extravagant beauty was something that did not grace him.

the women turned, with their hands covering their mouths and noses, and ran away from the boy. you saw nothing terrifying or disgusting about him. so why did they run? he was just a human trying to survive the harshness of the world.

it was cruel how many people turned their noses up at the sight of him. it saddened you to your core. humans had always been the worst creatures in your opinion. always the ones to start wars and destroy the planet. though you took a vow to protect human life, it didn’t make you worship the ground they walked on.

you continued following him through his life, watching him and his sister grow. it seemed that his sister had given him a reason to endure the cruelty around him, gave him a reason to survive. but his reason was ripped away from him. you understood him.

it was beautifully sad.

your eyes opened, seeing the demon standing above you with a grin adorning his features. you could smell the blood lust dripping off of him. fear struck you suddenly as his face inched closer to yours.

“your friends will not defeat me,” he croaked, his hand clawed at his throat. it was almost scary, the way his stomach dipped in, his hip bones extremely prominent.

“and neither will you!” a scratchy laugh escaped from the back of his throat. he seemed excited to be able to take your life, most demons did. it was nothing new to you. you just stared at him.

as you looked closer, the similarities between him and his human self were astounding. he was still such a beautiful creature. that wouldn’t change for you. the things he had endured during his childhood would seem to make any reasonable person insane.

you’ve never been scared of dying, the thought of finally being with your family comforted you instead. you knew your end was coming and you shed no ounce of fear.

“you’re beautiful ya’know,” the words spilled from your mouth before you could even think.

“in my next life, i pray to the heavens that i will be gifted with even half of your strength!”

it was sad, the way he looked at you as though no one has ever uttered kind words to him. his devilish grin turned into a sad smile as he fell to his knees beside you. the blood sickles he once held, dropped beside him.

he began to cry.

ironic, isn’t it? the demon that was once so willing to kill you without mercy, was now kneeling beside you, crying his heart out. the pain that he felt was such a pungent scent. his years of existing were nothing sweet, and you felt it too. it was such a painful feeling.

you could tell your wounds were fatal, but at the moment all you could do was focus on him.

the way his body shook as he sobbed was an incredibly depressing sight to be witnessing. it caused your heart to overwhelmingly ache. you reached your hand out, softly cupping his jaw.

“you are beautiful gyutaro,” a sigh left your lips as your injuries continued to weaken you. the gash on your chest stung badly and your broken ankle wasn’t any better.

the demon in front of you didn’t seem as put together as he once had. the emotions of his past leaked from his pores and it made tears slip from your own eyes too.

you heard tanjiro yelling out your name as he rose from the ground, noticing the demon so close to you.

you were not alarmed.

“i will not survive my injuries, please have mercy on me and make the pain stop. i beg of you!” your voice was extremely weak. it was almost pitiful.

he bowed his head, showing that he respected you and your wishes. his hands reached for his sickles once more, and as he rose his arms above his head, a single sentence slipped from him.

“you’re beautiful too,”

[impala-dreamer]

Slow Like Honey

A Supernatural Story

~When Dean makes a deal with Michael, things go really well. Until they go really... really wrong...~

Dean x Reader, Micheal!Dean x Reader, Sam Winchester, Jack

3,124 Words

Warnings: Grace!Kink, NSFW, Show spoilers for 13x23, Mind Control through Grace? Idk it's awesome. 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Everything was happening at once and all Y/N could do was stand by and watch. She kept her arm around Jack, let him lean on her a bit, sure that he was more broken than he let on. Blood was pouring from his nose and mouth, but the stream appeared to be slowing a bit as the seconds ticked by.

Sam wasn’t as bloody, but just as hurt, if not more than she was. The ringing in her head wasn’t stopping anytime soon and her back ached as if a few vertebrae had been shattered after Lucifer had thrown her across the chapel and into the stone pillar. How she wasn’t dead, she couldn’t fathom, but the questions would have to wait- they still had a job to do. Not that it was going very well at the moment.

Michael- Dean with Michael inside of him- she wasn’t really clear what was going on- was hovering above them, held tight in one of Lucifer’s fists while the other pounded into him, surely breaking each bone in his face. He hung, limp and suspended over the ornate chapel floor while Lucifer sought to put an end to Dean and Michael in the same moment.

The Final Moment.

The Last Showdown.

This was it. This was what the history of earth and every damned thing that had ever happened to them had been leading up to. This single moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/N had no hope inside of her. Every ounce of faith in herself, Jack, Sam, Dean, Chuck, everything had vanished.

They were going to lose.

And then they were going to die.

She couldn’t decide which was worse, the dying or the losing after everything they’d gone through, but she figured after Lucifer ripped her apart, she wouldn’t really care.

Above them, Dean groaned painfully, his head snapping back awkwardly and dangling in the air. Lucifer reared back for one final strike and Sam shook his head, refusing to let it end with his brother’s body broken and tossed aside.

Lunging forward, he dropped to one knee and grabbed the golden blade from the floor.

“Dean!”

Somehow, beyond any belief Y/N had left, Dean managed to catch the sword and jab it into Lucifer’s chest.

His scream was deafening, the light of Archangel Grace escaping him was blinding.

Dean crashed to the floor and all eyes were on Lucifer, watching as the Devil Himself was defeated.

This was not the Final Moment.

It was not the end of them, but the End of Lucifer.

They hid their eyes as a final burst of light illuminated the chapel and when the searing heat cooled, they looked to find Lucifer dead, his massive wings smoldering on the stones.

It was dark, the church cast into shadow without the shining blast of Grace. Silence covered them; awe forced them to move. Dean rolled to his feet and Y/N ran to him, hugging him close for a split second before curiosity got the better of them both.

The group huddled around Lucifer, staring down in utter disbelief.

Jack was the first to speak, barely able to give a voice to his shock. “Is he…”

Sam answered, nearly breathless and stunned. “He’s- he’s dead.” A gasp of relief pushed out of him and Sam’s lips quivered in an unbelieving smile. He turned to Dean who was gawking at the corpse, exhausted.

“Holy crap.”

Sam took a step, the smile growing on his face. “You did it.”

Dean looked up with tears rimming his eyes. He tried to take a deep breath but the weight of what had happened was pressing down hard on his chest.

“No.” He grit his teeth, inhaled a little deeper, grabbed Y/N’s hand. “No. We did it.” A smile tried to tug on his lips but there were too many emotions trembling inside of him. Y/N squeezed his hand. He looked to her and then his brother, to Jack. “We did it.”

Sam broke; a strange laugh of relief bubbling out of him. He bent over, smiling, free from Lucifer for the first time in his life.

Jack stood there frozen, grateful but lost.

Y/N dropped Dean’s hand and covered her face, hiding the tears that were falling. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “I can’t fucking believe-”

Relief was short-lived.

As always, the other shoe dropped.

With a pained groan, Dean doubled over, his breath racing, his head swimming. He clenched his body tight, fighting against something the others couldn’t understand.

“Dean?” Y/N’s hand hovered over his shoulder.

Sam closed in. “Dean?”

His brother dropped down, nearly tumbling to the floor in pain. He gasped for air, grunting as if he were being torn apart inside.

“Dean!”

Y/N watched in horror as Dean struggled, shaking and panting with pain.

His voice rang out, echoing through the chapel. “We had a deal!”

She went to touch him, to wrap her arms around him, do something, anything to ease his pain, but suddenly, it was over.

His frantic breathing ceased, his muscles eased, his body unclenched.

Dean stood up straight as if a metal rod had passed down his spine. He took a small breath and his features relaxed into eerie calmness.

Sam jerked back, seeing a change that Y/N could not see from her stance beside Dean. His lip quivered and fear flooded his hazel eyes.

“Michael.”

Sam’s whisper shook Y/N to the core and she held her breath, turning to face Dean.

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then down at the burned wings on the floor. Finally, he set his eyes upon Sam and nodded slightly.

“Thanks for the suit,” he said, voice chillingly unlike Dean’s yet completely the same.

Y/N’s heart was racing with panic and she did the only thing her body would let her, she reached out and grabbed Dean’s hand, holding it tight.

A rush of wind, the flap of wings. Something tugged at Y/N’s insides and she felt her body lift from the ground. She squeezed his hand tight, refusing to let go, refusing to lose Dean again.

She’d been with him through horrors and a hundred deaths, stood by his side while the Mark of Cain had burned his soul to the point of demonic takeover. She’d followed him blindly to Hell and Heaven and back again. She would not let him go. Not ever.

The wind was pushing down on her, striking her from every side, the force of flight nearly killing her. She gasped, suffocating as the air around them thinned and her eyes lost focus as the world around them went dark, spotted by the clearest stars she’d ever seen. Below was gray and misty, above them nothing but blackness.

They were in the sky, above the clouds, she realized and her lungs protested the lack of oxygen. Her eyes went wide, mouth fell open, skin paled, fingers slipped from his hand.

A strong arm wrapped around her back and pulled her close. The tightness of his grasp around her shoulders felt strangely reassuring as she slipped quickly into unconsciousness.

It was raining.

She could hear it beating against the broken and rattling windows; smell the sweetness of the storm as it fell through the holes in the old, rotted ceiling.

Y/N woke up on the ground in the middle of a large empty space. The stone floor was cold and dotted with puddles as it rained down, collecting in the dips and dents of the old building. Large rusted machines lined the back wall and busted hanging lights dangled equidistant from each other down the length of the room. It was an old factory, she surmised, but where, she had no idea.

Her right arm was tucked beneath her head, her left dangled in the curve of her waist. She was sore but not from falling, as if she’d been placed there gently to wake on her own. She shivered at the thought and pushed herself up to sitting, rubbing her hands down her bare arms.

“You’re cold.”

Dean’s voice made her jump and Y/N stood quickly, spinning around to find him a few yards away. Everything she had inside wanted to run to him, kiss his lips, throw a comforting arm around him, but memory kept her feet frozen. Her pulse quickened.

“You’re not Dean,” she said bluntly, mouth dry and skin crawling.

He smiled softly, just a simple turn of lips that she’d seen a thousand times before, but this was different. His stare was sharp, his stance ridgid. It made her heart ache and her panic rise.

“No,” he answered easily. “My name is Michael, but I’m sure you have figured that out already. You’re not as… stupid as you appear, I’m sure.”

He took a step forward and she countered, almost stumbling over her own feet to get away. Her heel fell into a puddle and the sting of mold hit the air and her nose.

“Where are we?”

Slowly, he looked around and then shrugged. “What does it matter?”

Blood was pounding in her ears. Fight or flight making her bones tremble. She stretched out her fingers at her sides to try to calm herself, but it did little to mask the fear in her voice.

“It matters because I want to know,” she snapped, forcing as much confidence in her tone as she could. There was little left inside of her, but she always knew she’d go down fighting.

“So inquisitive.” He smiled again and turned to the left, one step starting a circle around her. “Well, I have a question for you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly, boots thudding through the open space. “What did you think you were doing by clinging to me like that? What was your plan?”

She swallowed hard; tried to think. “I wasn’t clinging to you. I was… hanging on. To Dean.”

An amused laugh passed his lips and her stomach flipped.

“Dean is… gone now.” He stopped his circuit and spun on one heel, turning to stare at her. “So why don’t I just get rid of you?”

Y/N held her ground, spinning to look him in the eyes. She was shaking, but stood upright, exuding what little strength she had. “You won’t.”

Michael tipped his head to the side, intrigued. “Really? And why not?”

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to keep going. “I don’t… I don’t know. But you could have let me go at any time. Hell, you could have dropped me somewhere over Chicago and yet you didn’t.” She lifted her chin, daring to quarrel with the most powerful angel in the universe. “I woke up here. Safe.”

Michael jerked forward, suddenly a breath away from her. She sucked in a deep breath and smelled the air on him, Dean’s faded gas station cologne. He clenched his jaw, annoyed. “Oh, you are far from safe.”

If this was the end, she wasn’t going to cower. She was going to face it with pride and grace. She dropped her shoulders and cocked a brow. “Well, if I’m wrong- Kill me.”

“We’ll see.”

Annoyance melted into something new. Michael narrowed his eyes, let his gaze drift down her face, her body. It chilled her and excited her in a way she couldn’t stand.

“He liked you… Dean,” Michael told her. “He cared for you. Loved you, even.”

Her chest ached. Past tense. He’s really gone. “How do you know?”

Michael stepped back, let his arms relax. “Because I can see inside of his mind.” He tapped one finger to his temple. “I know what he knew, I know what he felt… did… said, didn’t say. I know… everything.” He grinned at her shock. “I know you.”

Y/N shook herself. His tone was entracing but wrong. Everything about him was wrong. “You don’t know shit about me,” she spat.

“Don’t I?” He blinked slowly, capturing her attention even deeper. “I know how you came to hunt with the Winchesters after your family was killed by wolves. I know that Sam took a liking to you because you were good at research and liked… science fiction things. Dean didn’t care for you at first, did he? But… you gained his trust, learned from him, slowly became his lover. I know how you pined for him for years before he even saw you as anything more than a little sister. I know how you moaned when he first kissed you… How your fingers wrapped around his flannel whenever you were scared. How you… let him inside of every… part of you. How you would scream when he touched you just right-”

Enraged by his intrusiveness and her own whispering arousal, Y/N cut him off with a growl. “OK, enough! You’re just being crude.”

“Am I?” His smirk returned. “Funny how all human life depends on sexual intercourse and yet you find it so distasteful to discuss.”

Y/N scoffed and crossed her arms, symbolically closing herself off. “Well, we’re all a little fucked up, I guess.”

Michael’s eyes fixed on hers. “Yes. You are.”

The green was there, just as always. Deep and dark in the dim light, with flecks of gold that always mesmerized her. But behind the green was something else, a monster, a liar, another problem they had to solve.

Y/N looked away and took a breath to cleanse her soul. Without looking back, she changed the subject. “Why’d you break your deal with Dean?”

If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. A blank expression wiped his face smooth and he spoke slowly and truthfully. “Because I could. Because I… wanted to. Because there never really was a deal.” He paused for a moment, considering her frailties. “Dean was… desperate and stupid. I played him for the fool he was.”

Tears stung her eyes and Y/N grit her teeth, jolting forward with fists clenched. “Don’t you dare-”

“Or what?” Michael dipped his chin and looked closely at her. “How can a tiny thing like you hurt a powerful being like me?”

Fire burned inside of her and she went all in. “I don’t know, but I’ll die trying, you son of a bitch.”

Michael laughed. Fully and loudly. It was only a second, but he was clearly entertained by her vigor. “I enjoy your fire, your passion,” he explained. “I find you interesting. I’ll let you live.”

Surprise ran through her but Y/N kept her rageful sneer. “Gee, thanks.”

Michael was dismissive of her sarcastic appreciation. He shrugged and went on. “And in return for my mercy, you will be my slave.”

The laugh that echoed was her own and Y/N stared back in utter confusion and offense. “Excuse me?"

His foot fell against the stone as the circuit began again. “I need someone to show me around this new world. To explain to me about life here, help me move through the world unnoticed until I’ve worked out my plan.” He paused and regarded her with a possessive gaze. “That someone will be you.”

She stared back and jeered. “The fuck I will.”

Michael spun to her. His jaw tensed. “You will obey me.”

His tone sent a shiver down her spine but Y/N took a dangerous step towards him, testing fate. “I will… stab you in the neck.”

A spark of Grace flickered in his eyes and the blue made her gasp.

“I don’t think so.”

She could feel herself weaken, as if the glow was burning away at the resolve lodged inside of her.

“I… No, I won’t. You’re…” Her mouth watered, her eyes glazed over slightly. His face blurred, but the Grace was bright, sharp, digging deep into her. “No…”

Michael leaned in ever closer. “You like this, don’t you?”

She struggled to clear her head but he was already doing it for her. “S-Shut up.”

His eyes widened and the blue expanded, floating out to caress her cheek.  She swooned; a heavy gasp making up her last breath as everything around her slowed.

Michael studied her, fascinated.

“You find it… intoxicating,” he said, sending out another wave to sweet down her body and she moaned. “Arousing…”

The very word made her pussy ache and Y/N’s knees shook. She clenched her thighs together tight and dug her nails into her palm to stay steady. She just had to fight him, had to remember to fight.

The blue was everywhere, bright and warm. It ran slow, like honey across her skin, hitting every sweet spot that made her breath hitch and her eyes flutter.

“You’re so… easily manipulated.”

Michael’s songlike tone washed over her and Y/N crumbled, her body giving in to the pleasure. She swayed on her feet and Michael caught her, wrapping an invisible wing around her back, holding her upright but at a slight angle. She sank into the feathers, amazed at the strength, terrified by the feeling, but too light headed to speak.

Grace swirled around her nipples, rubbed between her thighs. She moaned and Michael watched intently, studying her, taking notes.

“A flick here, a touch there…”

Every word was like a tongue flickering over her clit, every stroke of Grace was a thick, delicious cock thrusting into her slick heat.

“A bit of pressure in the right spot… A taste of pleasure… And you’re a weak, helpless mess. Totally at my mercy… totally under my control.”

She tried to think of Dean, of how he’d want her to keep fighting, but the more she thought, the more Michael’s Grace flooded her system. The harder she fought him, the stronger his pleasure became until there was no more fight, no more worry, no more Dean.

“Your body… Mine.”

She moaned loudly, near to panting as his Grace pulsed inside of her, curling, thrusting, stretching, pounding.

“Your mind… Mine.”

Her eyes rolled and she cried out, cumming hard and squirting into her jeans. The warmth dripped down her thighs and she held back tears as her body shook, consumed with his power, lost in the ethereal magic in his eyes.

When she could stand, he pulled his wings away, leaving her shivering and feeling exposed. She trembled when he came close, held her breath as his fingers tipped her chin upwards.

The green was back, but she couldn’t remember why that was so important.

Michael swept through her mind and grinned. “That’s better.”

She sighed happily and smiled back, dazed and awed.

“Now…” Michael let his fingers slip down her throat, gently squeezing against her pulse. “Let’s get started.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05  

[julihlaufey]

Conversations On The Roof

✧⁠*⁠。A hero doesn't always have a good day. And on one of your worst days, there's nothing better than a rooftop conversation with Deadpool to make you sleep better. ✧⁠*⁠。

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Obs: This is my first work in English. You can also find it in Portuguese on the profile if you want. Good reading! ⁠♡

Female Reader/Sfw

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The nights in the city could sometimes be quite cold, especially after a day of work.

If your practices could even be called that, you didn’t receive any rewards for your actions, but to be honest, you were used to it by now. The big thing about being a hero was that you never got paid for your deeds. And if you ever messed up or slipped, all the "thank you" smiles for saving the day would fade, and the judgmental looks would appear. That was just another one of those days. You were sitting on the roof of a house near your favorite restaurant.

A place where only extremely "healthy" foods were sold. Perfect for the end of days like these. Your feet dangled against the wind, brushing the suit that covered you from head to toe.

Your hands were too busy savoring that masterpiece of cheese and grease that was your snack. And your dreams were too lost in watching the people flocking into the small restaurant to notice you were no longer alone.

— And another tough day for our Spidergirl. One more for the list!

Wade.

— How many times do I have to tell you. I don't use that name?!

— Então qual é o nome do seu herói? — Ele perguntou, já sabendo a resposta.

— ... Ainda não sei. Mas eu vou decidir. - Você olha para o lado, vendo-o rir por baixo da máscara e sentar-se ao seu lado de forma preguiçosa.

— This time I remembered to ask for extra mustard. - You said, handing over his still-wrapped sandwich.

— E queijo extra? — perguntou Deadpool, animado por depois de tantas vezes, você finalmente ter se lembrado.

— Wasn't it without? - You replied, watching the smile on his face disappear instantly. — Just kidding, extra cheese.

He gave you a playful punch on the arm, starting his meal. His legs swung carelessly.

— Looks like my day was a piece of crap, but yours was wonderful.

— You say that because I didn't try shoving you of the roof today or because my legs are swinging?

You roll your eyes.

— Because of the legs.

— Nah, it was crap. The idiot of the day found out I was coming and holed up in a panic room. The son of a bitch even mocked me through the security camera, can you believe it? - He said, pulling his mask up above his eyes this time, staring at you.

— And you couldn't get through a little panic room?

— I'm a mercenary, my love, not a magician. Unless you want me to be. - He added in a suggestive tone, leaning closer. You're lost count of how many times you rolled your eyes around Wade.

But surprisingly, those provocations and confident laughs were the best part of your day.

— But no. I didn't get that jerk. It's for next time. And you? Couldn't save the kitty from the tree?

— No. He suffocated on the rope in front of his ten-year-old owner.

He stared at you. For a moment, Wade thought it might be true, but he quickly caught on.

— Got it. My target escaped, but it was very hard. His son had to die, and he watched through the camera, unable to do anything.

— The little girl went into shock until her mom arrived, having to see him bloody and hanging.

— The boy was carrying a little truck. The father must have given it to him before I arrived.

— The little girl ended up hospitalized, and they don't know if she'll ever recover from the trauma.

— ... There was a baby and-

— No.

— Damn. - Deadpool slapped his leg in defeat. — But seriously, did you get the cat?

— Screw you. It was a fire case. The couple arrived, and the house was engulfed in smoke. I only managed to get the kid out.

— Isn't that good? You stopped a brat from dying. That's pretty sexy to me. You chuckled weakly at his infamous attempt to lighten the mood.

— They asked me to try to get to the safe. The couple's savings were there, and he had just lost his job.

— They can get the money back, darling. You weren't that bad.

— She's eight months pregnant, Wade. - You said, with a heavy voice. It wasn't easy to recall that stressful afternoon.

— ... Yeah, you got me there. And unfortunately, not in the way I wanted.

Rolling your eyes with a weak smile, you took a sip of your soda.— But look. You're a hero, you had to save their lives. Isn't that the hero's deal? The bad guy, the fire, was stopped, and the victims, the family, were saved. You did everything you could, cupcake.

— You're not used to failing and then having people look at you and curse like you're the worst person in the world...

— Ah, believe me, sweetie. Whether I kill, don't kill, or don't even show up at all, I get cursed.

You smiled faintly. Wade's jokes could usually cheer you up, and you truly appreciated his attempts to lift your spirits. But that day, things were a bit deeper.

Deadpool noticed, seeing that you didn't react as usual to his jokes. Crumpling the brown sandwich bag, he tossed it aside, giving his drink one last sip and patting his thigh twice.

You turned your head, confused.— Come on. Don't be afraid, I swear I don't bite. Unless you ask.

Laughing a little and rolling your eyes for the twentieth time that night, you accepted, resting your head on his leg.

— It's comfortable. - You commented impulsively.

— Thanks, I work out. I promise it gets even better higher up.

Feeling a slap on his knee, Wade laughed, taking off his mask completely. You felt his hand still warm through the glove, moving your hood aside and stroking your hair.

— Now, do you prefer a bedtime story about unicorns or how I beheaded a guy yesterday?

The soft touch. The calming breath that synchronized with his laugh as Wade tried to recount his work yesterday as if it were a fairy tale. Your eyes began to blur at each streetlight.

Your head relaxed and rested its weight on Wilson's lap. Maybe after a tiring and stressful day, all you needed was a session of Wade talking non-stop until you fell asleep.

[iamther0t]

(Gif isn't mine)

Nightmares (Bernard The Elf x Fem!Reader)

Request from @zero-spacee ♥︎

(sorry if it's not the best, I'm a beginner writer and am still learning! i ended up getting this one out quicker than I anticipated ^^)

Word Count: 900+

Y/N L/N; Santa's daughter, the only human besides her father to live in the North Pole.

She couldn't say it wasn't odd, being surrounded by elves for all her life. It was most certainly not bad, per se, just a little strange, her and Santa being the only of her kind.

It wasnt particularly lonely-- She made friends with plenty of the elves, as they got along with her and enjoyed her company.

But, there was one that had caught her eye in particular; Bernard, the head elf. They started off acquaintances, Bernard asking Y/N to help out with simple little tasks every now and then, and she'd oblige.

One special Christmas, when the two were left alone, a strange mistletoe had appeared above their heads.

After that, they'd gotten closer and closer, falling in love each passing second they spent in each other's presence.

When they'd earned the title of dating, all the elves were overjoyed to hear.

Well, except for Curtis.

"Goodbye, Santa!" A group of elves called out in unison as Santa waved goodbye, the sleigh floating upward into an abyss that lead him to the real world. A large, velvet bag that carried gifts rested beside him, snugly tucked out of vision and nuzzled against his calf.

Once he left, all the elves talked amongst themselves for a little while, the jolly spirit of Christmas lingering in the air, even when the main source was gone.

Y/N smiled, glad that everything had been going smoothly so far. She'd worried about the holiday season, moreso about her dad and boyfriend overworking themselves.

She searched amongst the bustling crowd for Bernard, though he was nowhere to be found. Her heart ached; all she wanted to do was curl up in her sweet elf's arms, the crackling fire filling the soundless room.

But it seems that wouldn't be happening as of currently.

With a defeated sigh, she yawned, suddenly realizing how tired she was.

Y/N crawled into her bed, the fuzzy green and red blankets tangled into a mess. They smelled sweet, like peppermint, while the pillows smelled--and tasted-- like marshmallows. She laid her head down, eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment. Tomorrow was Christmas, the best day of the year; what could go wrong?

Y/N shot up, chest heaving up and down with each swift breath that escaped her lips. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead, her shirt sticking to her chest. Her heartbeat elevated as distinct, vague memories of a gut-wrenching dream flooded her mind. The room was spinning and she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. It felt as if the unwanted knowledge of living throughout such a nightmare was overflowing, pouring out her mouth into a hopeless mess.

Y/N was used to having nightmares, as she used to have them all the time--nights similar to these stacking into a pile of horror, and though she was all too farmiliar with the situation, it still felt worse and worse each time.

But, no night terror she'd mustered through could compare to the one she'd awoken from just now.

Bernard had fallen off a cliff, inevitably dying.

*Her* Bernard had died.

In a panicked mess, she jumped out of bed; blankets that were wrapped around her legs securely had fallen to the floor. Tears pricked at her eyes, threatening to fall.

Running out of her room, she called for Bernard with fear laced in her voice. She'd checked the bakery; nothing.

The room filled with hot chocolate and marshmallow cluttered cabinets; nothing.

Y/N choked on a quiet sob. She sniffled, for she'd checked everywhere.

Everywhere except...

She raced to the stalls, her H/C hair breezing behind her as she ran.

She halted to a stop, noticing Bernard and Curtis.

Bernard's head perked up upon hearing footsteps enter the room. Noticing it was Y/N, he smiled for a moment, until he saw the tears streaming down her cheeks. "Y/N!-" He rushed to her, and she didn't hesitate to jump into his arms. He enveloped her in a warm hug, and the farmiliar smell of peppermint that often lingered on him comforted Y/N.

"Hey, hey, sweetheart, what's wrong? What happened?" He cupped Y/N's cheek with his hand, one arm still wrapped around her waist. Curtis peeked over Bernard's shoulder curiously, to which he shooed him off.

"I- h-had another nightmare...where y-" She choked on a sob. Bernard pressed a soft kiss to her temple, pulling her back into a warm hug. "Shh..you're alright, Y/N/N.."

He let her stain his clothes with tears; normally, he'd mind if it were with anyone else, but he'd always had a soft spot for Y/N.

"I'm not going anywhere, doll," He carded his fingers through Y/N's Y/H/L hair as she leaned her head on his chest.

"I l-love you.." She stifled words in between quiet sobs.

"I love you too.." He planted another kiss to her forehead. "Hey, what do you say we head back to my room with some hot coco?" The couple stood there in each other's arms comfortably, thankfully alone since Curtis had left the room, most likely going to check up on the workshop.

Y/N nodded, gazing up at Bernard. He wiped her tears, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Alright, honey.." He picked her up bridal style, somewhat catching her off guard, but once it had settled in what he was doing, she obliged happily.

(The End :D)