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ellecdc · 3 months ago

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Hey! How are you? Do you think you could write poly!marauders where everyone pranks Sirius by dressing up as him for halloween?

hahahahah this is so funny - thanks for the request!

poly!marauders x gn!reader who all dress up as Sirius for Halloween [1.1k words]

CW: Sirius vs Remus re: their coaster debacle, referring to Sirius as a slut/trollop/and himself referring to 'cheap hookers', it's all in good fun

“I think this might be my favourite prank yet.” Remus chuckled as he helped you lace up the black combat boots on your feet.

James’ head snapped up from where he’d been focused on ensuring the buckle of his belt sat just right, his black jeans hanging dangerously low on his hips leaving almost nothing to the imagination as he flashed you and Remus his most convincing Sirius Black wink.

It sort of occurred to you then - seeing your two other boyfriends and all of your shared friends dressed up as Sirius - that your boyfriend was kind of a slut.

“Kind of?" Marlene had snorted as she flipped an errant strand of black hair away from her face (and dangerously close to her lit cigarette, mind you). “Babes, your boyfriend is a trollop.”

Lily came waltzing over to you in what she swore up and down was exactly how Sirius had 'swaggered’ his way through Hogwarts back in the day; white button down shirt barely buttoned at all, skin tight black jeans and black chunky boots, and hastily drawn tattoos in liquid eyeliner littering the vast amount of skin everyone’s Sirius Black costumes required to be visible.

“Hey there doll face.” She offered in as baritone she could manage to get her voice to go. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m a dog in bed.”

You let out a - very Sirius-esque, now that you thought of it - bark of laughter as you clapped excitedly. “This is going to be so good.”

“How’d you all convince him to bugger off before a party?” Peter asked then, struggling with the wig as he tried to move it higher on his head and out of his eyes. “He’s usually half-way drunk about now and hanging off one of you lot.”

“Remus pretended to be miffed at him so-” James offered, cut off by Remus stating he was “absolutely not pretending; he’s asked Sirius Merlin knows how many times now to use a sodding coaster”.

“So, in apology, Sirius offered to run to pick up the keg.” You finished as Remus and James argued about whether rings on the coffee table were really a punishable offence when there was already a cigarette burn in it, which started a whole new argument over who the fuck burned the coffee table. No one thought to mention that a quick spell would easily buff either out.

“How selfless of him.” Lily sighed as he leaned back against the kitchen island with an arrogant sort of elegance - she really was nailing this Sirius impression.

“Little did he know it was going to be his job anyway.” You snickered before you heard the door knob turning.

“Okay, okay, the keg is still in the car, but I also stopped by the department store and bought three packages of coasters. And you’ll never guess what! The coasters are-”

But before you could hear what the coasters were, Sirius looked up to see his flat full of all of his friends and loved ones…dressed like him.

“What the fuck?” Sirius mumbled quietly as everyone yelled “SURPRISE!”

“What do you think?” Marlene asked as she strutted towards Sirius not unlike she was on a catwalk, turning sharply in front of him and winking at him over her shoulder before stalking away again; Dorcas wolf-whistled at her the whole time whilst Lily hollered.

Sirius made a sound bordering a laugh and a scoff as his mouth fell open in a proto-smile, eyes dancing over Dorcas, Marlene, Peter, Lily, Mary, Remus, James, you, and - fuckin’ hells - even the cat had a sodding leather jacket on.

“Are….are you all dressed-”

“Like you!” Mary squealed excitedly, bounding in her place as she held her hands underneath her chin. “Don’t we look smashing?”

Sirius shook his head in disbelief as he let out a breathless laugh. “No; you all look like cheap hookers.”

A chorus of hey!’s and oi!’s and ‘we literally took these out of your wardrobe, Pads! sounded as James pulled Sirius into a headlock.

“I’ll show you a cheap hooker.” James muttered into Sirius’ cheek as the two pretended to wrestle.

“Oh I’m counting on it, Jamie. Can’t wait.” Sirius called as James released him so he and Marlene could retrieve the keg from the car.

“Surprise.” You offered quietly as Sirius accepted you into an embrace.

“I should have known you were behind all of this.” Sirius muttered in faux contempt before stamping the crown of your head with a kiss. “Was Moony’s mood just a ruse, then?”

“It wasn’t a sodding ruse, Sirius!” Remus shouted over the other party goers - Sirius paid him no mind.

“I thought it would be fun! It’d be like a Sirius Black themed Halloween Party in honour of your birthday coming up!”

Sirius' beaming smile fell into something softer as he trailed his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You guys are too good to me.” He murmured, Dorcas sidling up beside him to look at the two of you incredulously.

“Uhm, I find they’re rather mean to you, Black. I mean…this whole party was basically satire at your expense.” She said, plucking Sirius’ own leather jacket he had thrown over one of Remus’ jumpers which matched the leather jackets thrown over many of the party-goers as if to cement her point.

“Oh and you’d know all about partners being mean to you, is that it, Meadows?” Sirius challenged back. “I hear the way Marlene talks to you.”

“Yeah but Marly’s hot; bullying each other is just our love language.” Dorcas countered, shooting Marlene a wink over her shoulder which was quickly met by Marlene flipping her the bird.

“Yeah well, pranking is ours.” James added with a pleased sigh as he and Remus joined the conversation.

“I know it’s technically my birthday already,” Sirius started with a challenging look being shot at Remus as he reached into his jacket pocket, “but I got you a gift, Moons.”

Sirius handed three small boxes that held six coasters each - each coaster in the shape of a vinyl record.

“Awe, thanks Pads.” Remus said casually before shoving them back at his boyfriend. “Happy birthday Sirius! Use a sodding coaster.”

And to your absolute delight, everyone in the flat - in true Sirius Black fashion - chorused “okay Moons”, resulting in raucous laughter as drinks were passed out and the party finally commenced.

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myownwholewildworld · 4 months ago

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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.

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@holla-at-me-hood @httpsastral @evangelinemedici @cathsteen

@ksxxxxxx @whoaitspascal87 @passionnant-peche @madnessofadaydreamer

@hufflepuff-in-narnia @akumagrl @bobcatblahs @thepalaceofmelanie

@itsbrandy @voidofendlessdarkness @tardy-bee @pascalislove

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@witch-moon-babe @amortentiaxo @holaputanas @kmmg98

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 19 days ago

Text

yin & yang pt.5

Pairing: Ben Tennyson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: You were an unlikely pair, everyone could see that. But what happens when you get a glimpse into a future where your differences were too much for you to bear?

A/N: Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates! Happy Holidays <3

AA/N: Hella OOC. Once again I do not care. This part is shorter than the others and I just made it as random snippets from different episodes in Omniverse. For now I think I'm tapped out from this series but who knows maybe I'll watch another episode and want to write something

s1e3: A Jolt From the Past

Ben was not having a good day. Leave it to the universe to try and give a deep blow to his ego the second he thought things were looking up. He had expected to just go about his day, doing his job when all of a sudden, the universe decided to reward him with a new partner. Just when he was starting to get comfortable going solo.

It was only a couple of months after Gwen and Kevin had moved towns so they could be closer to Gwen's college that you had been made leader of a new task force. Details unknown to him because even though he's the wielder of the most powerful weapon in the universe, he wasn't cleared to know what his girlfriend would be up to.

Not knowing what the task force was about didn't sting nearly as much when he found out it was based on another planet, and you'd be living there indefinitely.

When you had left, Ben was in a funk for weeks, refusing to leave his bed, waiting for you to get off work so you could call him, only going through the memories of you he had; the jacket he had stolen from you, a rare framed picture of the two of you on his bedside table and more.

He had just gotten himself out of the house when 'Rook Blonko' suddenly appeared, whisking him out of trouble when he was about to embarrassingly get his ass handed to him.

And while his new partner was beginning to grow on him, Rook still found moments to drive Ben to wits end.

“It's why I'm looking forward to this. I'm anxious to see if Ben Tennyson lives up to the legends.”

“There are legends?" Ben was excited now.

“They can't all be true though, for instance, Alien X, that is just a myth, correct? And your relationship with Proctor (Y/N), that obviously must have been a result of some fan posting rumours on the extranet.”

Ben’s mouth dropped open in offense, he didn’t even know how to respond to that. Was this partner, who he has only barely gotten to like lately, seriously questioning his 3-year relationship with his future wife?

“Both of those things are true!”

Rook turned back with a small look of surprise before it dissolved and he chortled, “This is earth humour, you are being sarcastic, yes?”

“I’m not! Alien X is real, and I’ve been in a dating (Y/N) since we were sixteen!”

Rook took his irate tone in stride, shrugging like a complacent mother would humour her child, “Of course. I’m sure you’re in a relationship with the youngest ever proctor in the entire galaxy. You see, even I am capable of earth sarcasm.”

His jaw dropped even farther, "You're shitting me, right?"

"Well, if you're so insistent, why don't you show me some proof? As I understand, it is common for humans to take many pictures with their partner."

"I would if you hadn't thrown me into the canal!" He exclaimed, fishing his sopping wet phone from his soggy pocket and waving it in his face as water dripped down his wrist.

Rook didn't even blink, turning back so they could walk to the proto-truck, "Convenient."

Ben scowled, more annoyed than ever, trying to switch on his phone so he could try and show him any proof he had but it was in vain. His phone was completely damaged.

Ben stopped in his tracks staring at the now ruined phone with wide eyes. He hadn't backed anything up.

The candid snap he had taken of you while you unconsciously played with the necklace, he had given you as you sipped a smoothie. The text message where you said you loved him AND used a heart emoji. That picture of you asleep, your hair mussed, wearing only his T-shirt as you slept soundly against his chest!!!??

"Aw, man!"

Ben was lucky that he had a change of clothes at the Plumbers base. He should have known that when Rook said he wanted to stop by for a briefing, it wouldn't have been brief at all. He briefly considered ditching his partner and going home to take a much-needed nap. There really was something about water fights that tired him out more than usual.

He loitered around the mess area. All of the agents were currently on duty, so he had his feet kicked up on the table as he scrolled through his phone, absentmindedly liking Gwen's story of a picture of herself and commenting 'No one wants to see u dweebus, where's Zedd?'

"You look comfortable; almost like you're dating the proctor of this quadrant."

Ben's neck almost snapped in his shock, nearly falling to the floor in his effort to stand up. You were leaning against the frame of the door, an almost invisible smirk on your face and Ben’s stomach did a flip.

“(Y/N)! What are you doing home so soon?!” He exclaimed and bound over to you, to pull you into a tight hug.

“I asked for a week to spend with you, since I missed you so much.”

His heart jumped, "Really?”

“No.” His face fell, and you chuckled, gently tilting his chin up with a single finger as a tiny apology. He leaned into you like always and you let your eyes rake over him, tracing over every single line of his features before ending at his lips, leaning back when he attempted to kiss you.

“I just met with the Magistrata to give a brief on our progress. Due to the sensitive nature of the mission, we wanted to refrain disclosing any details over the comms." You explained, only feeling slight guilt at the sight of his sunken shoulders when you avoided his kiss again, "I did miss you, though. So, I’m on earth for two weeks before I’m deployed again.”

His face brightened, both at your confession and at the knowledge that you’d be in his arms for the next two weeks.

You chuckled again at the sight of his wide grin, “That happy?”

Ben nodded, finally capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that you intended to be short, very aware of where you both currently were. But when Ben’s hand cupped the back of your head so he could deepen the kiss, you found yourself winding your arms around his neck. It was times like this that you were reminded that Ben wasn’t the only one who was head over heels.

“Missed you.” He murmured against your lips, hand moving to gently frame your face as he coaxed your mouth open with his tongue.

“Ben, I have finished the mission repor—Oh my!”

You pulled away too slowly for your liking, but too quickly for Ben's liking, still keeping your hands on Ben’s shoulders, knowing that Ben hated whenever you parted too quickly as you tried to catch your breath.

Even as your subordinate stood at the door, averting his gaze out of respect but also still not being able to contain his shock, you still felt dizzy from the earth-shattering kiss you had just shared. It had clearly been far too long since you’d been together because while you were embarrassed that your subordinate had witnessed such a vulnerable moment of intimacy, a part of you couldn’t help but want to continue kissing him anyway.

However, you were technically currently off-duty, so you were free to kiss your boyfriend as you pleased. Technically, of course.

Still, you blinked away the stars in your eyes and stepped away from Ben, letting him hold your hand, “Blonko, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“You’ve met before?” Ben asked, pulling you closer by the hand and winding an arm around your waist. He sent a look to his partner that was extremely smug, but you couldn’t quite decipher why.

“I was on the selection committee to choose him. Given my experience with you, we figured it would be best for Magister Tennyson and I to be the ones to recruit your new partner.”

“A little heads up would’ve been nice.” Ben grumbled into your shoulder, now resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“You would’ve complained. It was necessary now that I’m leading the new task force. Besides, Rook is a great cadet; patient enough to deal with your temperament and dependable enough to put his foot down when you get carried away.” You explained, leaning into Ben as he began playing with your hair and interlocking your fingers with his that were on your waist.

Ben mumbled something negligible under his breath and you turned back to Rook who finally managed to compose the look of shock that almost seemed tattooed into his features.

"So, Agent Blonko, I heard from Magister Tennyson that there has been unusual activity in Bellwood. I know I'm off duty, but would you mind giving me a quick brief?"

Rook immediately took you up on your offer, eager to be recognized by proctor of this quadrant and the two of you conversed about the weird sightings that had happened as of late.

Ben didn't pay much attention to your conversation with Rook, already preoccupied with the way your thumb was running gentle circles over his knuckles. At first, he pulled you closer to prove to Rook that you were, in fact, in a relationship but he also was ecstatic that you were in his arms finally after missing you so much.

He wanted to keep showing you the affection he’d been holding back for so long, but Ben knew that if he kissed your neck right here, you’d slip out of his grasp—so he resisted the urge.

You heard his lips part and immediately responded, "Do not bite me or you're going to sleep on the couch for the next two weeks."

When you turned your head, sure enough, his teeth were inches away from your unmarred skin and he pouted, affronted, "It's not my fault you're giving him all your attention after we've been apart for 2 months!"

You rolled your eyes, casting a cautious glance at Rook before you were whispering, "Behave and you may bite me all you want back home."

Ben was all too happy to shut up and let you finish your conversation.

You certainly regretted making that promise two weeks later when the other agents in the taskforce asked what exactly you had done over your holiday to warrant marks all along your neck and collar.

***

s3e6: Frogs of War

You were outnumbered, outgunned; you knew that. The safety of the civilians was top priority and while their Freedom was priceless, saving their humanity meant nothing if the Earth was blown to smithereens.

Ben fighting against the Incurseans for longer could have taken down a couple more ships, but you knew it wouldn't take long for more to appear. Where was Paradox when you needed him?

A surrender really was the only option for the food of the humans and living organisms still remaining on the planet. You knew that. But the price of a peaceful surrender came at the forceful exile of the love of your life.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to go down fighting.

But fighting would only bring more destruction.

And while the thought of him living as a prisoner for the rest of his life tore you to shreds, you couldn't put his life above the countless citizens who needed you to protect their best interests.

"(Y/N)," He whispered helplessly, trying to convince you to take his side. You bit your lip, turning your eyes downward and his shoulders sank. This couldn't be the end; you didn't want him to leave with the sting of your betrayal.

You stepped forward, wary of Princess Attea that glared at you, waiting for the moment you stepped a hair out of line to kill you in your place. Heart beating wildly against your ribs, you moved toward Ben, coiling an arm around his shoulders and framing his face with your other hand before bringing him down to a passionate kiss.

Ben inhaled deeply, holding onto your waist in an iron grip, tilting his head to kiss you deeper. This was it; you were saying goodbye, the taste of apologies and pain on his lips. He didn't want to stop kissing you; he never wanted to stop kissing you. But ending the kiss meant goodbye, and he didn't want to say goodbye.

Kevin looked away uncomfortably at the sight of your tongue pushing past his lips.

You pulled away finally, lips wet but eyes dry. Ben didn't try to chase your lips like he usually did and that hurt more than you had expected it to, "I love you."

He nodded, mouth locked shut.

He was shackled shut in the escape pod and you watched with bated breath as the door shut in on him, catching a final glance through the foggy glass.

The sad smile you had meant to be reassuring had wobbled at the sight of his cheeky wink, trying hard to hide the upturn of the corner of your mouth.

His name was Bullfrag.

Only he could come up with something so imbecilic that it ended up creative. You had forced yourself not to laugh at the absurdity of it when he had introduced himself to you; appearing along with the other rebels in order to break you out of your holding cell.

You wanted him to embrace you, but he was hiding his identity for a reason, so you had to bite your tongue and meet his gaze through those stupid shades.

He knew that you knew, it was apparent in the tenderness of his touch, by the way he gently nudged you behind him, but the gestures had flown over Kevin's head, which made you question your time spent as team babysitter. Clearly, he hadn't been babysat enough. Personally, you blamed Ben for claiming all of your attention.

Once Magister Tennyson was rescued, he revealed his identity—a revelation that came as no surprise to either you or Gwen.

You didn't try to hide your relief when Ben transformed back. It might not have been obvious to many others, but it was apparent to him, judging by the immediately relaxing of your spine and your boyfriend, who knew you too well, pulled you into a hug before you could pretend like you weren't interested. Ben could feel every tense muscle in your body begin to ease once he had his arms circling your waist.

Your fingers immediately found the short hairs at the nape of his neck, heart reaching for him the second he sighed and surrendered to your hold. You exhaled, hiding a kiss to his shoulder by pressing your forehead to the fabric of his shirt.

"Are they gonna make out again? Because it was uncomfortable as fuck the first time"

Ben rolled his eyes, lifting his head from the nook of your neck, "That kiss saved my life!"

"Yeah, yeah, lover boy." Kevin drawled.

"No, seriously!" Ben argued, pulling out something from his pocket, "My amazing girlfriend passed a skeleton key in my mouth! It's how I was able to get out."

You gave him an unimpressed frown, he really should have been babysat more often in your early days, "Did you really think I would kiss him like that in front of his grandfather?"

"I mean, if you thought you were never gonna see him again?!"

You simply tutted at him, holding your hand out for the skeleton key, which he happily returned, not without a kiss to your hand and fingers, "I love you, too."

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

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gamerwoman3d · 11 months ago

Text

A Land Before Time

🔞 An MK1 x Reader 🔞

▸ includes: Liu Kang [mk1 versions] F! Reader◂

Author's Note: This was based on a sex dream that I had, that I feel @genesiswrld SHOULD have had, because Liu Kang is hot but Bi-Han is my squishy. Not saying the dream was wasted on me, just that it was misplaced 😆

Female anatomy used.

Imagine for a moment that this New Era is real, and the existence that you're currently living is also real, and contains the New Era inside it as a game - but you find a technical way through the use of coding and quantum tech, to enter Liu Kang's New Era, “cool world” style, as something of a god/goddess.

Because you live in our shared reality, the one in which the game was created, you can in fact “code” the New Era into anything you like, within reason. But you have to get past the guardian. Liu Kang and Geras are gods there. But here, they are just characters, with Geras also partially functioning as a type of uncrackable password manager/encryption software. You can give your own self all sorts of powers to take into the New Era; but you can't change the core game unless you can get past Geras and Liu Kang.

You would either need their permission, or you'd have to force/brute force them to comply.

You can literally step from our world into the New Era and live there, immortal, with godlike power. And you do that. You use the code and give yourself the boosts you think you'll need to defend yourself if necessary.

Because you have the capacity to travel to any physical point in the timeline, as well as any temporal point in the timeline, you choose something you think will be easy to start. A time with fewer enemies, a time that you wanted to see in your own world, once.

🔞 Spicy/Explicit after the cut 🔞

When you first stepped through the portal into the New Era, the pristine sands beneath your feet were deliciously toasty. You could not help but to remove your footwear and sink your toes into the sand. The air here is pure, and filled with the strange buzz of unseen insects in the distance. The soft swirl of sand in the hourglass before you quieted. Without the hiss of sand, an absence of familiar noises from your past life became distinct; no motorcars, no hum of electronics, no trace of people, and a distinct lack of birdsong.

If you peer into the reflection of the hourglass over Liu Kang’s shoulder, you can see glimpses of early six-limbed proto-vaternians being gently guided into evolution in a neighboring realm. Liu loses his concentration on the sands as he sees you. Nothing devastating happens in the universe in that instance; there is simply a pause in the work.

Liu Kang knows immediately that you are not supposed to be here, standing before him and the hourglass.

He knows because he has not yet created humans.

Outside of the very meticulously kept garden that surrounds the hourglass, dinosaurs still rule this earth. Even birds have yet to grace the planet.

“How are you here? Or perhaps I should ask, are you truly here? Is it possible that even gods can still have dreams, or hallucinations?”

You tell him you are from a timeline before his own. You are older than his entire universe, older than Kronika, than Geras, older than the hourglass. And while you yourself did not create his universe, you were alive at the time it was conceived[1].

You tell him you shared a planet with, and walked among, the beings that created his universe. His universe is based on what your people knew of their own universe. Your feedback may or may not have influenced these creators; but you have some access to their same power of creation, and have come to use the hourglass to enhance his universe for yourself.

You came prepared to fight if necessary. Liu Kang would be very particular over who has access to the hourglass.

You may even fight a few rounds if you're curious to test your code enhancements - at least until he understands that you do have the power to control parts of his universe already, and the power to defeat him if he made it necessary. Through the encounter, he learns that you aren't lying about being from an even older timeline responsible for creating the hourglass.

But whatever it is that you want to change about the New Era, he likely won't let you without a fresh fight. And another fresh fight, and another, for every single little change you think you could want.

“We don't have to fight. We can compromise.”

For Liu Kang, it has been a lonesome existence, living out the creation of the new era in solitude. Geras can offer Liu Kang company in much the same way as an AI Assistant bot can offer a human company. But you know the depths of loneliness must be unbearable for a creator who is utterly alone in the universe across all of time. You know this, because even in your own world, the mythologies of all creator gods often began with the creation of people.

Even the gods of your own reality were so unbearably lonesome that they, in myth, created all of your ancestors, either for companionship or worship.

Your offer of company is accepted graciously, the moment he understands that you won't be withholding your companionship to exchange for the powers of the hourglass. But to settle conflicts over what happens in the hourglass, you both have an idea.

Gambling, games, and wagers. But instead of betting on who will win a physical fight between you both, you gamble on which of you can bring the other the most pleasure.

You're both seated in the zen garden, where the tropical heat has warmed the sand. Sheets of some soft fabrics are laid out in a manner similar to beach towels, allowing you both to walk and sit without burning your thighs or disturbing much of the sand.

He has a very smug “I know I've already won” look on his face the moment you suggested a contest based on sexual pleasure instead of kombat. You might think billions of years of being pent up would give you an advantage over him, but it doesn't; your customized form in this new era was generated anew when you stepped through the portal into his era. This particular body has yet to experience such pleasure at all, and will react, on a neurochemical level, at its most basic “code,” reacting the same as it would if falling in love for the first time. It will, in a nutshell, intoxicate you with want and pleasure, as if you yourself had never experienced it before.

But you didn't realize this. Your overconfidence proved your ignorance.

“You decide the winner. I trust your judgment will be fair. Or at least I don't trust my own judgment call to be unbiased,” you say.

Liu Kang smiles.

“A designated judge will be unnecessary,” he says, "I am certain we will both agree on who has won the challenge.”

He looks off in the distance before continuing.

“I would appreciate it though if we could choose some less intimate positions, at least at first. I'm still not over the grief of losing my dearest friend, and my beloved. I'm not sure how I might react, looking into the face of another, knowing I shall never have these moments with her. It isn't that I don't realize the finality of her destruction; but giving this kind of pleasure to another is a turning point that I may never be ready for.”

You slide closer to him and caress his shoulder, enough for him to feel your inner warmth.

“Grief is made of the same stuff as love. It's just the love-stuff that's leftover with nowhere to go,” you say.

He lays his head on your shoulder, pulls your hand to his cheek and tilts his face into it. Peace painted across the features of his face as he melted into your touch. His relaxation left you with an indescribable euphoria that deepened with each breath.

“Thank you for saying so. I feel more comfortable now, knowing that you understand,” he says.

“And I'm glad you said something. I like it when you tell me what you want. We can do this however you like. After all, this is a kontest for providing pleasure; not receiving it,” you said.

“Buy you will be receiving it,” he gloated, “and I shall be providing as much as you can possibly stand.”

“Ooh,” you teased, “Promises, promises! Hah, I like it. I feel good about you taking the lead, if you would?”

“Of course,” he said.

As he smiled up at the heavens, he closed his eyes and bit his lip. His eyes squeezed hard enough that the apples of his cheeks warped around the outline of his eyes. He took a deep breath that sounded as if he swallowed an antagonistic laugh.

“You aren't allowed to hate me when I show you how easy this is,” he said.

He turned his body towards yours, guided your body into facing away. You removed just enough clothing to feel his touch, to not hinder him from penetrating you if he chose. The fabric that you left over the top of your glistening pussy was delightfully thin and stretchy enough to move to the side in a pinch.

You spread yourself face down across the sheets of fabric. The warm sand below the soft fabric gave way, cushioned your ribs, and pressed its warmth up into your breasts.

He crawled on top. His weight on you pressed you slightly deeper into the fabric-covered sand. The heat and weight of his muscular legs across the backs of your thighs alone was enough to make you crave completion. But then, his clothed erection pressed against the cleft of your pussy until your slit pinched around the thin fabric. He slotted himself into the fold of fabric and held you there, wedged between the hot sand and his heated, immovable body. You squirmed into him, only to discover that you couldn't move if you wanted to, with your legs pinned to the sand.

You turned your face to the side to look over your shoulder at him. He wore a smug expression as he looked down at you.

You could feel your clit throbbing against… the hot sand? or his shaft. You could not tell. Both were equally firm and toasty.

He was hard. Slotted against the fabric, he nudged his erection firmly against you, the head nestling between your folds to swipe against your clit. His breath deepend, you could feel the air from his nostrils against your neck, just below the ear.

Against your back, you could feel his chest expand and cinch with each breath. You were caught in heat, trapped between his muscles and the sand. You liked this, being at his mercy. He rested his chin on your shoulder and huffed, resting his entire weight on you as he hunched. The cock knocking repeatedly against your throbbing clit had you squirming, whining, whimpering as you held your squeals of pleasure in. He ran one hot palm along your side. He caressed and groped your glute before freeing his cock from its cage of fabric. He hooked a finger around the strip of stretchy fabric above your mound and slipped it to the side.

The bare cockhead slipped between the fabric and your clit. Liu Kang let the fabric snap back into place, catching against the bottom of his shaft. Your pleasure built up as he rolled his hips and frotted against you, fucking the gap between your panties and your clit.

You balled your fists, grabbing handfuls of sand through the fabric sheets. He repositioned slightly so that you could feel the wet swiping of his heated cockhead against your clit more intensely. Your fingers came undone from the fabric and all ten digits splayed out in a fan shape as your quiet whimpers suddenly broke into a muffled outcry of pleasure.

His hands found yours. He covered the tops of your hands with his palms and threaded his fingers between yours, gripping each hand with interlaced fingers. You felt the tips of his fingers curl past the webbing between your digits to press against the insides of your palms. He pressed your hands, and his, to the sand, to pin them where he wanted them - where you could push back into him, but not escape. Not that you'd want to.

Your skin tingled anywhere he touched it, and the skin where the pads of his fingers glanced against the inside of your palm, threaded along the webbing of your fingers, was exceptionally sensitive in a way that made you feel safe, loved, cared for deeply, and connected.

The warm weight of his body on yours made you feel safe, while the cock massaged between your pussy lips. His thrusts massaged them open without penetration until you could feel every fiber of yourself unwinding, melting into the sand.

You looked back at him, only to see that he was still gazing at the side of your face, waiting for you to open your eye. His smug, slight smile never left his visage. He squeezed your hands with a pleasant pressure, as if he were wringing them out. You realized in that moment that you were swollen inside, and quivering at the entrance.

Then he stops moving, intentionally. You feel him, all over you, weighing you down, trapping you in the imprint of fabric in the hot sand. You feel your heavy, puffy cunt lips throbbing against his stationary cockhead. You're sensitive as fuck. Even your heartbeat rocks your clit against his cock too much.

He breathes. He breathes out through his nose, his gentle panting breath trickles underneath your ear, down your neck. His chin follows, as he rests it in the crook of your neck with his jaw at your shoulder. His skin just feels like skin, yet you're electrified by it. You're so sensitive in your new form. He could stay like this all day. You cannot. He knows. You know he knows.

You know because when you look at him, his unchanging, stoic “I told you so” smirk is so purposefully calm, that you could consider it antagonistic. Even just this look he gave you had you dripping wet for him, to say nothing of the thick smooth, hot cockhead nestled against your clit, or the warm shaft that your heavy, fevered wet pussy lips spread themselves over. You give a defeated cry of pleasure and gave in. You tap out against the sand, to tell him he's already won, and he responds by firming up his grip on your hands and moving in for the kill. He devours your neck as he nudges your clit around and fucks you, alternating between the two activities until you cum beneath him.

Your orgasm does not slow him down. He slips his cockhead against the fluttering entrance of your cunt and pauses, as if testing something, as if something changed. The slick hole winks against him and he sinks inside to stay.

“You're so creamy after you've cum,” he purred.

His cock feels amazing, warm and firm and deep, exploring inside you. He pressed it past a spot inside you where the pressure feels so good that you feel you might die unless it, that spot in particular, is beat to hell. He pressed past it, but drew back, stroking slower and deliberate against this inner spot. You felt a sudden dying urge to feel him hammer his cock into this weak spot inside you. The change in your whimpers gave you away.

“This little spot right here is particularly velvety,” he said, “it's just gooey… no. Buttery. Right here.”

He let his cockhead glide against the spot in several slow deliberate strokes for emphasis. You groaned brokenly into the sand and bucked back into him. You had chills. You had goosebumps even on the hot sand. He held and pinned your elbows to your sides. Your nipples stood erect beneath you, the tips ground into the fabric as you bucked backward into him. He paused, held you down, let you rock and buck until the fit of passion washed over you, and you could still yourself. He didn't shush you. He just pulled back until his cockhead hovered a hair away from that sweet spot and he waited for you to collect yourself. You caught your shuddering breath, but couldn't look at him without feeling like you might cum again. You looked, and groaned deep. He acknowledged your desperation.

“I'm going to start fucking that velvety, buttery spot now,” he whispered toward your ear, “I do not know when I'll stop.

Scream if you need to. I've yet to create a single person that could hear you.”

His cock pinpointed that part within you that most yearned for it the instant he buried it in you. He pressed himself against it and wrung you out. You felt it as your own cum for him seeped out, dribbled down onto the fabric and soaked through the fabric into the sand.

Every stroke is devastating. You're loud as fuck and no one else can hear it. The skies open up and it rains on the two of you, mostly upon his back. Judging by his gentle moans, the rain itself seems to give him pleasure as the droplets hiss against his back, only to turn into steam. You could swear that you're causing it, that this rain is your rain. Suddenly you are cumming because it is raining, and it is raining because you have cum. When your palms tremble, he re-interlaces his fingers with yours to squeeze your hands in his, wringing you out, wringing out your anxiety, wringing out your pleasure, and possibly wringing out the very act of rain itself from the sky above. You couldn’t explain it, but somehow you knew.

You became the rain. And the rain became you. The rain became a goddess, and the goddess was you. The wetter he made you, the more the world flooded. He had no intention of going easy, but you found yourself clenching, squeezing, sucking him in, working yourself against his body as he worked you apart with his.

“That's it,” he huffed, “now, you're getting it.”

His breath grew ragged.

He said, “Rain.”

You nodded, not fully understanding.

“Rain on me,” he said.

Your eyes widened. He knew. You knew he knew. Rain pummeled your bodies in a deluge as you felt, not just the tension of your body snap, but the tension of your sudden ascent to godhood burst into creation, almost as a miniature version of the big bang. Untold energies from deep within your soul burst forth and spread out in all directions, spreading your power throughout all the realms, both giving you power over all the rains in the entire universe, and giving the entire universe the gift of your rains.

But you couldn't focus on the sensation of becoming a god, as Liu Kang fucked another blinding orgasm from you. This time, his composure cracked, and he came screaming with you in tandem, hot against you, his inner flame temporarily quenched by the deluge of your pleasure. The two of you thrashed against each other with abandon, riding out your pleasure together, before collapsing boneless into the soaked fabric atop the muddying sands.

The rains subsided gradually as the two of you caught your breath. You moved to roll over, and Liu rolled off of you onto his rain-soaked back. He closed his eyes and let the pitter-patter of the rain wash over his body, cooling him, turning to steam in the air around you both. You rolled onto your back beside him, then onto your side to drape yourself around him.

“Wow,” you said between heavy breaths.

“...Yeah,” he replied, still panting.

When you caught enough of your breath to speak full sentences, you could only think to ask one question.

“Did you just make me a fucking rain goddess?” You asked.

He nodded and laughed.

“You didn't think I'd let the first hot sex in my new era be mediocre,” he said.

“Holy fuck though,” you said.

‘Literally?” he teased.

“Okay yeah literally, but I'm starting to think I won that one,” you said.

He just closed his eyes and smiled.

“Okay wise guy, who won?”

He bit his lip and jerked his thumbs towards his chest, gesturing to himself.

“Ugh. You're impossible. Round two!” You demanded.

“You're losing this one too,” he said.

He rolled on top of you and peppered you with kisses. He promised you a second round, and a third - if you survived the second.

But first he needed to check progress in the hourglass. You peered into it with him and saw proto-vaternians in their pre-paleolithic era. A group of them surrounded a cairn, upon which sat a strange skull decorated with stones and feathers. You asked Liu Kang what it was; he told you it was a representation of you. You were the very first art, the very first goddess. You were the first to collect worship and be created in such a manner. You arrived in the new era just in time. The ancestors of the Vaternians had just created and worshiped their first god, which happened now to be you.

Had it not been for your intervention, Liu Kang would have been forced to grant this worship to the one you knew as Rain.

[To be continued.]

[Need more MK1 smut? Check the pin 📌]

[Need more Liu Kang smut? Check the Choose Your Own Adventure, below!]

#mortal kombat #liu kang mk1 #liu kang imagine #liu kang x reader #liu kang fanfic #mk1 #mortal kombat 1 #liu kang x you #liu kang x y/n #no beta we die like outworld empresses

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snakeeeater · 6 months ago

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hey man, nice shot

[dante sparda x gn werewolf!reader] -> prologue

PLEASE READ:

★ This is DMC5 Dante!!

★ This is borderline crack right now but will develop a bit more bear with me fellas

★ That’s all! Enjoy this wacky woohoo garbage

So, you’re fucked.

That’s what you’re thinking when the uglyass pyrobat you’re stalking breaks through the roof of a warehouse on Seventh. The building’s got these hellish glowing red lights pulsating from the cracks forming in its dilapidated state, and suddenly your M1911s and dearly beloved 14 Randall don’t feel sufficient.

You’re thankful for the rain and overcast sky tonight, because it masks your footsteps and softens your shadow’s mark against the ground as you slowly approach the place. The hood of your sweatshirt is soaked through— you thought about putting on your windbreaker earlier to stay dry and warm, but the plastic-y sounds it made when you moved would certainly gain unwanted attention from the demon you were stalking.

You shift one of the straps of your holsters before crouching by the window. Your knees crack. You press your back to the wall for a moment.

Okay.

Now that you’re this close you can tell that there’s definitely some sort of demonic ritual going on inside from what you hear— voices that sound like sandpaper speak in an overlapping chatter. You strain your ears. There’s the sound of magic sparking and the sound of something… squishy? It sounds like someone being sliced in a horror movie.

You shudder at the implications of that sound, but keep your mouth shut.

When hearing doesn’t yield any more ideas, you turn on your heels. The rubber soles of your combat boots grind the gravel under your feet a little too loudly and you freeze. A fearful eye of yours shoots up to see if the demons heard anything.

A second passes.

Another.

You seem to be safe… for now.

You decide against sticking your head over the windowsill and opt to put an eye to one of the holes in the walls. You squint through the hazy red filling the room.

And your blood runs ice cold.

A cross levitates in the center of the empty warehouse and a naked woman hangs upside down from it, spinning slowly. She’s been brutally ripped open and you’re sure all her blood was used in making the markings on the floor that you’re failing to interpret. Her— oh god, you want to vomit— her organs are organized in messy piles in what you assume are the cardinal directions.

In a fleeting attempt to tear your eyes away from that disgusting scene, you decide take in the demons.

You see three bowing Hell Caina, a triad of pyrobats circling the ceiling, the shadows of three Death Scissors, three massive Proto Angelo heading Scudo Angelo units of three, and at the center of it all, three goddamn Lusachia which were doing all the raspy chanting you hear.

You turn around, pressing your back to the wall.

The number three seems to be important to this ritual. You’d have to tell Morrison.

“Shit.” You press the heels of your palms to your eye sockets.

You almost laugh.

If you got back to Morrison from here.

Sure, you weren’t human anymore. Sure, you were legally dead, so it wouldn’t really matter if you were crushed like a grape. And sure, you survived a freak werewolf attack.

But after dying, being buried, transforming during the new moon cycle, and crawling out of the ground, you still weren’t able to bust out the monster hiding underneath your skin at will.

You massaged the scarring bite wounds that had been left behind on your left shoulder. They was no longer tender, but they still looked angry as hell.

“Maybe a life-or-death situation will bring it out.” You whisper so softly you can’t hear it yourself. It worked for most fictional characters, anyway. You’re left with virtually no choice.

You position yourself at the window.

Feeling like a stereotypical “bad boy” in a straight-to-DVD teen movie sneaking into his girlfriend’s room at night, you enter the warehouse slowly through the window. You’re not quite sure how the quiet rustling goes ignored. Plot armor, maybe.

You crouch in the shadows a stack of crates cast upon the floor and aim down the front sight of your gun, like Morrison taught you. You remember some wise words from… well, every movie you’ve ever seen featuring a person learning how to use a gun: aim where they’re headed, not where they are.

You take in a shaky breath and

BANG!

You’ve fired a shot at a pyrobat. By a miracle, you hit it and it spirals downward gracelessly, whacking itself on a Scudo Angelo’s head and twitching to death.

The entire hellish garrison turns to face you. If this were a Marvel movie, you’d make a quippy one-liner and kick ass.

In your current situation, however, a Hell Caina shrieks at you and slices a gaping hole in your body with its scythe. You blinked, and it was tearing into your flesh like a rabid dog to a raw turkey on Thanksgiving.

Through the pity-training Morrison put you through, the two of you found out that you can tank hits because of your werewolfish condition.

But it didn’t mean you liked to do it.

“Ow.” Is your response to the Hell Caina. It’s not even a shout, it’s more of a lame, throwaway comment. Some may even smell the stench of predetermined defeat radiating off of your body.

Since you’re close enough to shoot without missing, you point your pistol at its face and use your free hand to press against your wound. When you pull the trigger, it squeals loudly and melts away.

“Too bad I’m not like the other hunters.” You mumble. The tank role in video games was pretty boring. All they did was take damage so their cooler DPS-skilled teammates could do the actual killing. And then you died if you had nobody else with you.

It fits with your general luck.

You shoot a few bullets into the air and miss every shot. You shoot a Proto Angelo. The bullet ricochets off its shield, and you almost start sobbing.

You’re stupid for doing this. You’re no hunter. You’re too old to pick it up efficiently, according to everyone else you’ve talked to about jobs. You’re probably going to die somehow— maybe these demons will overpower your uncanny healing or just send you to Hell.

“This was supposed to be easy.” You laugh because if you’re not laughing, you’d be crying.

Your guns click with the telltale sign that they’re empty now.

“Great.” You growl. You hadn’t counted on wasting so many bullets in such a short amount of time— call it wishful thinking, call it ignorance, call it a total mistake.

A pyrobat spews fire in your direction, which you somersault to the side to avoid. At least you still had that ability.

You sigh as it obviously charges up another shot of fire to spit at you. “I wish I did Krav Maga when I was a kid. Then I’d rip and tear you guys apart.”

The pyrobat is unamused by your reference to Doom, the pyrobat spits fire again. You roll out of the way again. “Or maybe I should’ve been more like a stereotypical American and started learning how to shoot young.”

You’re talking too much for someone about to die. Your head is too light for someone who wants to run away.

The revving sounds of a motorcycle round up by the entrance of the warehouse.

“And that’s probably the police.” you sigh. This was turning out to be a whole mess. Now, you’d have horrible things happen to you and civilians would also be involved.

The doors to the warehouse bust open with a loud BANG. A man with hair the color of undyed silk walks in like he owns the place and every building in a five mile radius. In his hands he carries twin pistols that look like a similar model to yours. And on his back, he carries a sword like a badass.

You immediately envy this man’s swagger. He’s clearly another one of those “I’ve been doing this since I was ten” hunters, here to clean up a mess you couldn’t even get out of unscathed.

The man clicks his tongue at the sight of the mutilated woman. “That’s unfortunate. I guess that means… it’s time to groove!”

And the man grooves.

With a dramatic twirl of his twin pistols the man transforms into a force of nature so powerful, you swear all over that he could secretly be a demon king down in Hell. His mission? To come up here to crush the dreams and this power-boosting ritual of demon king wannabes.

Or something. Your mind gets a little carried away.

But he really is a whirlwind of carnage, seeming as though he is fused to his sword and ripping through demons like there was no tomorrow.

Correction: there is no tomorrow. Now for these pathetic pieces of Hell scum. He even laughs at one point after vanquishing all of the Death Scissors you’ve been narrowly avoiding. He drives his sword into the helmet of a Proto Angelo and it shatters with the force. He shoots a barrage of bullets into the Lusachia and it they fall dead before any even had the chance to teleport to safety.

And when he tap danced on the body of his final victim while humming a jovial tune, your jaw actually dropped.

He shoots you a look after the spectacle. “You one of them?”

The guy wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“Uh…” you look down at your body. Nothing about you screams demon. “No. I’m human.”

The man shakes his head, like he knows you’re lying but doesn’t care enough to let you know that he knows. “Call the cops on this place after you leave, alright sweetheart? Wouldn’t want that poor lady to become another face on a milk carton.”

“Yeah.” You nod. He called me sweetheart. You think dumbly.

It’s— made evident by your immediate thoughts— been ages since you’ve been flirted with, let alone talked to someone who wasn’t Morrison.

The man turns and begins walking away. Before his silhouette disappears into the night, he raises a hand. “Ciao.”

You spot the guy with hair as white as snow again at a crosswalk while walking home a couple nights later.

It goes like this:

You were rightfully restless after your warehouse fail. Your pay from Morrison was still in full, so you had enough to splurge a little on the finer things in life, like restocking the dwindling supply of Budweisers you liked to keep handy in your fridge.

You make your way down to the closest 7-11, which happens to be a five minute walk away from your shitty new apartment.

This area was the type you’d avoid in your old life— sketchy hoodlums loitering in alleyways, the telltale twitches of drug addicts walking by, and the accusing shouts of petty thugs getting into murderous fisticuffs.

You are by no means a pearl-clutching socialite with a plush and stuffed trust fund, but living here as someone who didn’t have the best means of defending themselves… well, it wasn’t a good idea. The people here weren’t significantly more dangerous, but they were a hell of a lot more jumpy than other people you’d pass on the street.

However, after being bit by one of those mangy dogs of the night, you weren’t so scared of meeting the next Ted Bundy while hunting demons.

(Okay. Attempting to hunt demons.)

As Jason Dean in the cult classic movie Heathers once stated, 7-11 is consistent across all American locations and you’re inclined to agree.

Every chain location you’ve been to has looked like a front for a meth lab. Every time you push a 7-11 door open, it feels like the introductory gas station scene in the Resident Evil 2 Remake is being superimposed over your reality.

You avoid a shirtless guy who won’t stop coughing onto the chip rack and make your way to the refrigerated drinks section for your Budweiser. You grab a box of fifteen cans for about twenty dollars and make your way to the front. You flash your impeccably-crafted fake driver’s license from Morrison to the underpaid cashier who doesn’t bat an eye at its legitimacy as you slide thirty dollars over the counter.

You almost tell her: “Keep the change, kid,” but you’re more broke than she is, so you grab the coins she’s pulled from the register.

You step outside the store and walk away from the encampment of cigarette smokers loitering by the entrance so you can place the box on the floor. You wiggle a beer can free, planning on popping it open when you get closer to home and chugging it.

You reach your first crosswalk shortly after this.

This is where you meet the guy with hair like Danny Phantom again. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him notice you, do a little double take, look ahead again, and then get closer.

“This is probably gonna sound real cheesy,” is his opening line, complete with a suave pause. “But you look familiar.”

“Hi,” You reply, feeling your face start to flush a little at the sight of a good-looking dude. Jesus Christ. You were in need of some normal human interactions. “We were in that warehouse on Seventh a couple of days ago.”

“Ah,” the man nodded. “The one where that poor woman was kinda… turned into spaghetti.”

You nod. “That’s the one.”

“Fancy seeing your face again.” He has a flippant lilt to his voice, which makes you want to bury your face into a pillow and start giggling. Thank god it was dark out and he couldn’t see how you were awkwardly biting your bottom lip and thank god both your hands were occupied.

“So, uh… here.” You say in a genius reply, holding out the sweating can of beer meant for yourself.

The guy looks at it in your hand. “Hunh? What for?”

“Well, you, uh, helped me out with that warehouse situation so I figured…” you shrug, the inside of the can sloshing slightly with the motion. “Y’know, it’s certainly the least I could repay you with.”

“Well, thanks,” He reaches for the can and your fingers brush. He shoots you a crooked smile. “I’d love to stick around but I really gotta bounce. I’ll see you around?”

“See you.” You try to echo his coolness with your words, but it feels artificial.

This marks the moment where white hair guy crosses the street away from where you’re going so you march onward, not bothering to look back at him and thinking quite hard about it.

But when you get home, crack open a beer, and begin to watch T.V through your neighbor’s window across the street, you realize you hadn’t asked his name.

[next]

masterlist

#dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #dante sparda #dante #devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc #dmc oneshots #devil may cry oneshots #jd morrison

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jazz-miester · 2 years ago

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A Taste Of The Divine

Pairing: Optimus Prime x Reader

Reader Type: Gender Neutral Bot

Song: The Summoning- Sleep Token

Warnings: Smut my dude. Valveplug. Bot's bangin'.

An: I could not get this out of my head. Pls. Enjoy. Also adding a read more lol

Tags: @rawmeknockout

There is no greater way of clearing his helm than having them buried between your shaking thighs. The sweetened taste of your transfulid on his glossa as he drug it between your wet folds and wrapped his lips around your poor abused node.

How many times has he brought you to the brink of almost overloading now? Two? Three? He has long since count. Time was lost when he did this. Time he would never regret losing.

Optimus rumbles against you. His frame shaking while he all but devoured you. The heels of your peds smacking against his broad back. One of your servos clutched the fabric of the berth. The other dug into the side of his helm. Pushing and pulling as if you were unable to decide of your wanted more or less of what he was giving you.

He cold feel the crackle of your charge bounce against his frame. A feedback loop of the pleasure that was racking through your frame. A growl left him as you managed to roll your hips from beneath his lips.

One of his servos splayed against your stomach plating. Pressing down on you to keep you from moving further. The other moved away from your thigh and traveled to your valve.

Optimus pulled away with a huff of air. That same servo going to gently spreading you apart. You coated his digits with your fluids.

His vents whirred and huffed heated air. A low rumble emitted from him. He wasn't as unaffected as one would think in this moment. His spike pressed harshly against it's housing. He could feel the fluid bleeding from it. Pooling against the plating.

The sight of you laid out on your shared berth was nothing short of ethereal. The dim lighting of your half lidded optics softened your features. Energon pooled in your faceplate. Your once, so neatly colored lips were open in a soft o. A breath left them. There. Smeared against your faceplates was the same color now on his own. Washed away from when he had made a mess of your valve.

"Please." Optimus caught your optics. His glossa darted out to catch the fluid that had been caught on his lips. His digits ran a loose circles around your puffy node. He could see the proto form beneath your armor jerk and flex with every pass.

"Please what? My dear spark." His normally smooth baritone was raspy. Almost needy. He craved you as much as you did him.

"Your digits. Please." There was a whine in your voice. Desperate. Pleading. You gave another as Optimus made another lazy pass then downwards. Just ghosting over the place you wanted it most.

Your vents hitched. Sputtered. "Optimus Please." He supposed he should. As much as he could look at you like this forever. Undone. Shaking, needing, and yearning for him. Only for him.

His spark would swell at this every time. Filled with so much adoration for you. Of this. The trust that you placed in him to let your guard down like this. Every inch of you bared for him.

Optimus propped a knee onto the berth. The weight of him creaked the metal frame of it. He could hear the cry you gave when his servo left you to grab your thighs. He pulled your legs around his hips.

Transfluid coated your thighs. It smeared across his own wide legs. A curse left his lips at the sight of this. You spread apart before him.

Optimus leaned his frame above you. His helm fitted next to yours. His digits sunk deep within you. Your valve pulled him in greedily.

"Is this what you wanted Dear Spark?" He lazily thrusted his digits in and out of you. He grazed his digits against the nodes that had you calling his name. "Did you want your Prime to overload you with his servos alone." He curled his digits within you.

Optimus pressed his lips against your neck. Pooling energon against your cabling.

"Or did you want my spike in that pretty little valve of yours." Optimus chuckled when a breathy curse left your lips. "Would you like that? Would you like to overload on my spike? The only thing you're able to say is my name when you overload on it?"

His digits left your valve. He wrapped his lips around them. Tasting you as he licked them clean.

Before you could protest Optimus had lifted you up. Rolling onto his back as he placed you on his lap. His spike spilling from its housing and smacking against your back.

Optimus's back pressed against the headboard of the berth. His helm tilted upwards to look at you. His servos traveled up yoursides. Moving to press against your chassis. Thick digits finding the seems in your armor above your spark chamber. He could feel the rapid thrum of your spark.

You chassis opened freely to show your spark. The light was bright. Shining. Optimus's own guiding light in this damned to long war.

Your hips rose as you poised yourself above his spike. The lips of your valved brushing against the tip of it before you sunk downwards. Your helm thrown back from the pleasure of it all.

Optimus kept his servos on your hips. Guiding you until your hips sat flush with his own.

"That's it my spark. Gently now." His voice caught in the end when you rose back up. A slow up and down as you stretched against him.

He pressed a servo against your back as he brought your forward. Letting your spark merge with his own. The feedback was instantaneous.

It was nothing but unfiltered love and want. Of ecstasy and pleasure.

He helped you move against him. Snapping his hips up to meet you with every downward move you made. Rolling your hips every time you met his.

"That's it my spark. Use me as you need. That's it. That's my spark." His frame shook as pleasure racked through him. Everything you felt flooding through him and vis a versa.

Your name was on his lips like a prayer. A chant he sung so that Primus himself may hear. Optimus prayed that he would. Unicron himself would repent if he saw you. Such beauty wrought from pleasure.

The charge you shared filled the room. Crackled and sparked between your frames. Bouncing and arcing between your frames as the pace quickly sped up.

It rose higher and higher. Reaching its peak when you cried his name against his lips.

Optimus swore there was afterlife, no living cycle, better spent than here and down. As you overloaded on his spike. You spark surging and spilling over into his own.

He could pass here and now happily.

There was no moving for the longest time. The two of you trying to cool your heated frames with desperate pulls of air. The two of you calmed with your sparks still pressed together. Sending nothing but love and want back and forwarth. Safety and happiness.

Optimus pressed his lips to your helm. Drawing lazy circles against your back. Tracing the odd and random glyphs of your name. His. Love. Protection.

Truly. This was the closet he could get to tasting the divine. Even with the Matrix in his chest, the only other thing closest to his spark. You. You were the only divine thing he would follow.

#Valveplug #Optimus x Reader #tfp optimus prime #g1 optimus prime #bayverse optimus #tfp optimus x reader #g1 optimus x reader #bayverse optimus x reader #smut #stickyinterfacing #holy fucking shit

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amidst-wonderland · 2 months ago

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smoke break

paring - river cartwright x reader

warnings - nothing out of canon, suggestive language

note - i had this sitting and had no plans to do anything with it so enjoy

“then again,” she announces with a smirk, flicking the ash into her mug, “that affronted prick has been buried in just about every hole i’ve got, but never quite fucked me the way he did you.”

“jealous?” river quips, though it wouldn’t take an idiot to hear the pungent disgust lingering in the cheeky retort, whether it’s due to the memory of a purposely botched training exercise, or the image of webb, fucking the girl he’d been pinning over for years was anyone’s guess.

“god no.” (y/n) scoffs, taking another quick drawl, “if i was, probably wouldn’t be stuck here doing lamb’s fag runs and spider wouldn’t be heading for a put-down count that’d make the grand national squirm.”

“ever the optimist.” he offers a lazy smile taking another sip of his pint.

“reckon you’d have to be if you’ve ever seen the size of it. i’ve had shits bigger than that thing." she delivers crudely, watching her other blonde colleague almost choke on his drink before taking another inhale off the snout, grinning into it as river checks his shirt for any spillage.

it was nice. two old friends having a giggle outside a local. away from prying ears and eyes, allowed to announce their grievances without the threat of a verbal kick up the backside from an omnipresent employer.

“so, he’s the reason you’re here - cut from the same cloth.”

“technically, i’m here because of him. you’re here because of taverner, by proxy.”

“how so?”

“christ river,” (y/n) sighs, “y’know it’d be romantic if it wasn’t so utterly pathetic. lied to me, didn’t he? all so he could play prince-fucking-charming. swoops in with the dogs when his fiancée gets compromised.”

“can’t say i haven’t been there.”

“you can.” she pressed, “it wasn’t play-pretend for some of us cartwright. nearly ended-up a human shield to our own firearms unit in some grimy dutch brothel because he’d had an epiphany.”

“which was?”

“that his missus wasn’t boss material.” she solemnly smiles, stubbing out the cigarette. “taverner had me pegged as her second after the op and he didn’t like it. i was on the up, you were her hot-shot proto-bond and he became the afterthought and god forbid someone forget james webb.”

“that’s how you ended up in slough house?”

“well, after the debrief from hell and an engagement ring lobbed in the thames.”

“do you regret it?”

(y/n) snorts, “course i do, that ring would’ve covered a bloody downpayment.”

“that’s not what i mean.”

“i know,” she hums, turning to dig through her bag for her phone in case lamb had texted, asking where his pack of richmond’s went. “besides, i’ll bet in his mind it was some petty revenge for barcelona.”

“but you weren’t even-”

river’s cut off when (y/n)’s phone begins buzzing. she doesn’t answer but begins reading aloud some previously sent text. “‘if i don’t have a fag between two of my fingers in the next five minutes, consider yourself sacked, cartwright too.’ sent three minutes ago.”

“better shift then.”

“hope you brought trainers.”

–

“look who finally decided to show up,” lamb announces, perched against roddy’s desk with his arms crossed, “poundland’s answer to bond and the widow.”

(y/n) watches river let out a heavy sigh of contempt in his exhaustion before slipping past him, placing the pack of cigarettes into her boss’ now outstretched hand.

lamb scrunches his nose as (y/n) moves to dump her bag in the corner of the room. “box is feeling awfully light. hiding something with that perfume love? like a couple of nicked fags.”

“thought i’d try it out for a bit, it’s called 'au du, fuck you'.”

“mighty repellent then,” he replies, tearing open the richmond’s and perching a straight into his lips. “shame it’s not worked on junior over there.”

river and (y/n) share a knowing look of discontent and mild amusement before heading out the room one after the other.

#slow horses #river cartwright #river cartwright x reader #jackson lamb

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affectionate-robots · 9 days ago

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The Señorita and her Tuxedo Blues

Fandom: Mega Man (Mega Man Megamix/Gigamix Manga) Pairing: Ariga!Proto Man/Robot Master!Reader Form: Drabble Requested: Yes (requested on Wattpad) Extra: Reader is female. This is sort of a reference to Señorita by Camilla Cabello and Shawn Mendes, hence the end quote. Imagine...

The moment you woke up in the alleyway where your deactivated and addlepated body was dumped, the first thing you saw was a man wearing a trench coat and sunglasses. And boy did you remind him so much of himself…

Fast forward to the present, that mysterious man was revealed to be Proto Man: The very prototype created by Dr. Light years ago. He was mysterious and lonely like you are;but every now and again, you lived and danced with him like the robot señorita you are.

"Oh, I should be running, but you keep me coming for you…”

#proto man x reader #protoman x reader #ariga proto man x reader #megaman megamix #megaman gigamix #mega man x reader #megaman x reader #proto man #protoman

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anamelessfool · 7 months ago

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Psychedelic Solstice Season Playlist🐐

Happy Solstice! I made a playlist for a card exchange, inspired by my art and my love for psych-rock, dark folk, proto-metal of the late 60s. (Course I added the brand new song!)

Link to Spotify Here

I'm including a link to my Young Nihil x F! Reader Fic to go along with your fuzzy guitars

Young Nihil x F! Reader 18+ MDNI (Link here)

Tags: Recreational Drug Use, Making Out, Music Festivals, Is he in a cult?, more tags on AO3

1970 Nihil was one of these friends of friends of friends. Some forty-something cat who lived further up in the mountains, in what you suspected was some sort of commune. Shit like that was pretty common around here. The higher up in the mountains, the weirder folks got. Could be the altitude.

Blessed to have you along for the ride. What a long strange trip it's been.....

#young nihil #papa nihil x reader #ghost fandom #fic playlist #the band ghost #papa nihil #my art #the future is a foreign land

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firesofdainix · 6 months ago

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spacetime continuum is such a cool concept! how did you even create the idea? and did you expect it to grow this much? Asking because I love it, back when you first started publishing them i checked the fwndom tag every day hoping youd uploaded a new one •-• its still my favorite series of fics in this fandom

Thank you so much for reading my stories! I admit I never quite expected people to love them much less be inspired, but here we are! March me would be so happy hearing this! So, there are three things that made me inspired to write Spacetime Continuum:

1. Broken AU and its impact in the Solarballs community, such as the Earth favoritism and evil Gas Giants

2. Earth's character being watered down to an innocent planet void of nothing wrong, which frustrates me greatly

3. The Ice Giants playing at most two roles in the Solarballs universes I had seen that time: being non existent, or being victims of the gas Giants.

For more information of the origins of this AU, click read more:

I mentioned that one of the biggest reasons I created this universe was because I had yet to see an AU where the Ice Giants are just as bad as the Gas Giants, and that they go with what the Gas Giants have for them without any coercion. Uranus' personality had been the very first thing I started writing and thinking about, hence my second work for Solarballs being about Uranus, when the paint dries. He was funny to flesh out, from being the insecure planet he is today to the prideful, boisterous and hot tempered character he'd been in the Proto Era. Jupiter and Saturn were the next to follow different tweaks of their character in canon, because my goal had been turning them into complicated and morally ambiguous characters. The Ice Giants are in POWER, IN CONTROL of their horrible actions (though you can make a case for Neptune being manipulated by Uranus, but it's clear he had no qualms killing the other giants and wiping out smaller bodies) in my universe, especially during the war for the position of Celestial Monarch.

The War had already been an integral part of the story, and it was mentioned in my first, now non-canon fic "Mars, god of war" along with hypothetical planets Antichton and Phaeton, plus their relationships with Venus and Mars. But during that, I didn't know what the war had been about, all I know is that Jupiter, Uranus and Neptune were all allies (to also combat the common fanon that Uranus is afraid of Jupiter) and their enemies are Saturn and Planet X. The character of Hades was born, and this drove me to write and flesh out the aforementioned Uranus fic linked earlier, with the earliest mentions of Jupiter accidentally killing Hades, and the animosity between Saturn and Jupiter/Uranus. I didn't expect myself to see the romantic tension between Jupiter and Uranus until now, so that was my fault LMAO

Since this is a series, and not a multi chapter fic, I didn't have to commit to a linear narrative and begin writing one shots about my universe, expanding the characters and the world revolving around the planets. My third fic I've uploaded was about Titan, aka "Saturn's moons hanging by a thread," and the two fics after it about the moons and how the elder Moons were affected by the war. It was an excuse to give the readers more details and clues about what happened before I immediately hit them with the Truth, which is why Saturn merely admonished his moons' actions against Titan in "moon eater." To set up Clues about WHY Jupiter killed Hades in the first place, but making it clear that the story Saturn told IS NOT the whole thing, as we see in "history is a story told by the winners of the fight," there were other factors at play, along with Uranus's ambitious motives (it'll be seen in a fic I'm uploading tonight!) it exposes Jupiter's mental stability and Hades's abuse towards his own older brother that drove him to kill him, even accidentally. And you have to take note this fic was written AFTER plot heavy and clue filled fics such as "after the battle," where Jupiter is written as a megalomaniac that finally got what he wanted; "you didn't know?" Where we are seeing the new personality of Jupiter, and the Ganymede fic, where Jupiter's actions are INEXCUSABLE and shitty. It's fun to see readers puzzling over what the hell happened in the last billion years.

However, since the series is built upon ideas that have taken a long time to consider and new ideas keep popping up, there are times when older fics contradict my new ones, such as changing Earth and Tierra from being the same person to different entities. But I hopefully usually keep my ideas and message consistent. I love having the creativity and using a show about talking planets as my muse and a sandbox for the different kinds of characters and themes which usually play out in the story. I know broken AU gets a whole lot of flack for being the main reason why Earth, Jupiter and Saturn's characters became damaged, but honestly I saw it as an opportunity. A way to integrate the "evil" gas Giants into my AU.

My goal is to keep everyone consistent, well-rounded, and having a defining set of goals and characteristics, including those who are used to drive the story or a character forward, such as Hades, Vulcan, Theia, Antichton and Phaeton, who already have SOME established depth to them other than being the partners of existing planets. I mean... Have you guys READ Antichton in "the consequences of our actions"? He was a bastard, as well-meaning POS who thought he was doing the best. And Hades, aka the planet I created to give Jupiter a character arc, only serving as a plot device? He STILL continues to haunt the narrative. He continues to make Jupiter uncomfortable at the mere mention of him. His murder is seen as Jupiter's power play and not retaliation. That's where I've been going.

Writing the characters who are alive with complex characteristics is something I enjoyed. I enjoyed writing Earth being an unapologetic, arrogant, insensitive asshole who gets on the nerves of other rocky planets. I enjoy writing Saturn as an unrepentant, vain, and self-centered planet who can't apologize without sounding like he forced it. I love writing Sun and how his favoritism, his greenhorn nature when he's been given his system led to the downfall of the solar system and cast permanent wounds to his Giants. And I enjoy writing Planet X, Tyche, Nemesis and Iris, who are up to no good.

The main themes or lessons in my series are as follows:

1. There is more sides to a story than what is given.

2. No one is right. No one is wrong. It all depends on what you're fighting for and the beliefs you have.

3. You need to learn responsibility. You are a born leader, use your talent to the utmost power. Don't play favorites, and discipline them when they go too far.

4. Revenge is a fickle thing: will it make you feel satisfied, or will it just fill your empty heart with negativity?

5. Immortality is sacred. One wrong move against those you love the most and you'll be dead.

6. Favoritism kills.

And a whole lot more I'm not getting into because they'd be spoilers, or they're not fully fleshed out as ideas yet! Thank you for enjoying spacetime continuum, and I hope to upload something about it soon! (Tonight lmao). I... Didn't think thisd get long but IT DID

#chel babbles #solarballs #chel answers #spacetime continuum au #holy shit i wrote an entire essay 😭#but ive been WAITING for someone to ask me this question!!!

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that-gay-guy-from-hell · 1 year ago

Text

I've Got You: Dante x G/N Reader

SUMMARY:

Dante and you are on a job where something happens; something that scares Dante.

BEGINNING NOTES: Protective Dante x Quarter-devil G/N Reader Unestablished relationship 🩹🩹🩹 The reader works at the DMC as a demon hunter Quarter devil = A situation like Nero, second gen. hybrid. You can heal like Nero does--much slower than the twins. The reader uses Gilgamesh Another semi-short story: Not fully proofread, will check later just wanted to post this now lol

A slowly slipping sun on the horizon gave the current gory situation a sickly divine glow. The cause of such bloodshed? Dante and you--both hard at work. While you worked, your face in particular had curled up into a devilish wide wicked grin; the madness of which only being further accented the furious insatiable appetite for violence that had consumed each one of your moves The reason for this uncharacteristic ferocious attitude was simple, you were drop-dead tired. This exhaustion was intense enough that it had swung all the way around back to you feeling rejuvenated and invigorated. A large spray of crimson carnage shot upward toward you, decorating your face and chest, as you used Gilgamesh’s boots to curb-stomp a Proto Angelo.

All the while, your red devil partner was cracking random jokes and making quippy remarks, as per usual; however, he couldn’t help but focus on your oddly sadistic behavior. Which, to his surprise--and slight horror--he found extremely arousing.

The way the sunset illuminated all the blood that sprayed up from each of your kills, how your body bent and contorted in just the right way, that unfamiliar dark smirk; all of it combined into a perfectly seductive bloody waltz. After ripping the throat out of a Hell Jeducca, you wiped some of the accumulated blood from your face. That’s when you noticed Dante’s stare, turning your smile from violent to loving as you waved happily; which evidently was too much of a distraction for the red devil. In a split second, a Fury that he’d been fighting managed to slice the side of Dante’s neck open and a large red spray came from the gouged-out flesh.

Dante let out a hissing grunt through gritted teeth and took a deep calming breath, turning to the large demon. As the pair circled one another waiting for the other to strike, both Dante and the demon were caught off guard by you shoving Gilgamesh’s gauntlets right through the Fury’s spine and out it’s stomach.

Dante’s heart skipped a beat as he stared; a part of him was fearfully concerned about your rash action but another part of him was amused by it--in more ways than one.

With an irritated grunt, you shook the corpse from your forearm, dropping it to the ground. Your breathing was ragged and you were standing staring down at the demon’s corpse; reeling at the fact that your stupid impulsive action worked.

After a short pause, you sighed in relief at a brief moment of peace and stretched your arms up, cracking your shoulders. As you stared at Dante, you felt an odd nervousness take over your body. He looked hot normally but with the way his hair was disheveled and stuck to his brow from the demon blood that coated the majority of him, it made him look both terrifying and tempting. He smiled at you through his heavy breaths, winking at you, and had his hands resting on his hips. It was then that you noticed his neck wound.

Taking care not to trip, you made your way over to the ragged man. Gingerly, you placed a hand over the torn flesh as a sad look crept into your eyes, Dante's eyes trained on you the entire time.

A small frown tugged at your face, “You alright?”

The youngest son of Sparda smiled and set his hand over yours; or rather, over the demonic gauntlet you had on, “Eh,” he shrugged, “I’ll live. What about you? You feelin’ alright?”

A surprised huff left your lips as you titled your head with a raised brow, confused as to why he was asking you.

With a faint hint of concern, Dante began to mindlessly thumb over your arm, “Your fighting style is a little more uh… brutal than normal, you can take a break. I can take care of the rest--we’re almost done anyways.”

You smiled softly as you began to slowly thumb over his neck, speaking in a smooth gentle voice, “I’m fine, Dante. Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s my job to worry about you,” he smiled warmly, “You’re my partner after all.”

With a bright closed-eye laugh, you gently punched his chest with your free hand. However, when you opened your eyes, you slowly stopped laughing. His eyes were trained fully on yours and they were half-lidded, filled with an oddly caring feeling. Bit by bit, the two of you leaned closer and placed your noses right beside one another--

A sudden intense pain shot through your middle as you pulled back from him, pushing him away. It seems Dante felt it too as he reacted the same way; however, when he looked down, he realized he was just barely nicked by the tip of the blade.

You had taken the brunt of the blow.

With shaking hands, you looked down at your middle and saw the sword that had pierced you before it was harshly yanked back out of you, leaving a gaping hole in its wake--allowing you to see much more of your insides than anyone probably ever should.

“Dante..?” You looked up at him with an almost confused stare before stumbling forwards.

“It’s okay,” he caught you as you fell and your hand had vice gripped around his arm, digging your gauntlets into his coat and bicep as he laid you onto the ground, “I’ve got you- I’ve got you.”

His eyes met with yours as you let go of him. As he stared into your eyes, an intense wave of emotions overcame Dante--it was a toxic combination of fear and anger, a pairing that only leads to one result.

In an instant, Dante he was in his Sin Devil Trigger. The first thing he did was shred a Gladius--the one that had speared you--into tiny insurmountable pieces. Then his attention was on the rest of the newly formed horde. To say that Dante is feral when in his Sin Trigger would be ludicrously underselling it. He’s only supposed to even consider using it when in a completely sound and stable mindset--the furthest thing from what his mind is like right now. All that was in his head was he wanted to protect you-- he needed to protect you, from anything and everything that might hurt you. It didn’t take long for him to have the demons killed off which then he should’ve returned to your side, allowing him to calm down and de-Trigger, but something else caught his eye.

The two of you hadn’t been alone when you started this mission; no, in fact, you had two other hunters that had gone through the opposite side and finally had reconvened with you both in the middle of the nest.

Vergil and Nero.

The father-son duo stood dumbfounded for a moment. Although Vergil was far from afraid of his brother’s devil forms, this was one of the very finite times that Vergil had seen Dante use it outside of their time in Hell. Whereas Nero could count on one hand how many times he’d seen his uncle like this; rendering him completely clueless of the amount of danger he, and Vergil, were truly in.

Nero smiled with a shake of his head, walking towards the rumbling red devil, “What? You two get your asses kicked that bad?”

Instantaneously, Dante was in front of Nero. Before the young hunter could even process what happened, Dante shot up in the air and dropped straight down. A large bright explosion emanated from the devil’s actions, which then decorated the area with bright sparsely placed hellfire. With a snarl, the red devil stood back up and expected the “threat” to be gone; however, it wasn’t--at least not in the way he expected. A faint smell of demonic magic in the air as Dante surveyed what happened.

He turned to the side and saw, a now Sin Devil Triggered, Vergil, holding Nero tightly to his chest. The two of them locked eyes and both flared out their wings, letting out a low growl the entire time; sizing each other up. Vergil, however, was quickly preoccupied by a pissed-off Nero complaining about how Vergil is squishing him “--to death”.

Dante noticed Vergil’s distraction and took a step toward them.

Seeing what was going on, you decided to intervene; even if it made you want to gouge out your own throat in pain, “Dante..?”

The red devil’s attention was immediately upon you and he was by your side, frantic at your still injured state.

Gently and carefully you placed a hand on his cheek, thumbing over the plate that created the underside of his eye and his cheek; doing your best not to cut or burn yourself, “They’re not going to hurt you or me; everything’s alright.”

Dante made a small chirping purr as he leaned into your touch before picking you up, careful as to not agitate your wounds. It was unclear just how far he had taken you but it was far enough away that the weather had changed completely becoming cold and rainy. There was no cityscape or demons in sight, just forest for miles around.

Perhaps if Dante hadn’t been in such an intimidating form, you may have considered this to be a date. Being out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but forest as far as the eye could see; it was breathtaking.

Dante set you down, gently bunting his head against you before standing up. He was scanning the area, listening and looking for anything moving or anything that might even so much as think about harming you.

“Dante?” You reached up for his hand, grabbing one of his claws.

The red devil turned to you in a panicked manner, thinking that something was wrong.

“Sit with me?” Your voice was soft, trying to calm him down, “Please?”

Although hesitant, Dante did as you asked with a small grumbled huff and sat beside you.

With a small grunt, you stood up and saw that he was going to as well, “Stay.” He growled in slight agitation, so you quickly tacked on a “please” to your request.

Very carefully, you sat sideways between his legs, doing your best to keep yourself from getting stabbed by his thigh spikes. Bit by bit, you leaned your head against him and a loud purr began to emanate from deep within Dante’s chest as he wrapped his arm around your lower back. You had the other hand in yours, using both your hands to hold it and play with it slightly. In your time working with Dante, you’d only seen this form once and it had been due to a similar situation where you’d been hurt.

“You know, you might look scary when you’re like this but,” you looked up at him, meeting his gaze, “you really aren’t much different than you are normally,” You adjusted your head a bit and let out a small laugh at him putting his wings around the both of you, “Okay, maybe just a little more protective.”

A small rumble came from deep inside his chest, laughing at your words. Even though he knew that you were going to be fine, that you would heal just like everyone else, Dante couldn’t help but worry about you.

“I love you; you know that Dante?” you smiled at the sound of his purring grow tenfold louder, “I thought so,” with a laugh you placed a small kiss on his middle, “When you are back to human we can finish that kiss, okay?”

He chuffed at you, eager to be able to kiss you.

With how hot it was within his grasp and the noise from both the rain and his purring, you couldn’t help but fall asleep. As you slept, Dante had managed to slide back down into his regular Trigger and then to human once more. A small content smile tugged at his lips, although your shirt was totaled, you were just fine. Without disturbing you too much he took off his jacket, wrapped it around you, and pulled you closer to his chest--setting you properly on his lap.

Dante closed his eyes as he held you tightly and, with a voice as soft as silk, he whispered against the top of your head, “I love you too, darling,” he placed a soft kiss atop your head, “So very much.”

Sorry for the typos (and apparently unsaved/half-done paragraph?? Not sure what happened but I tried to fill in what I thought was supposed to be there *Google Docs didn't save it for some reason smh*), they should be fixed now lmao

Want to see more like this? Want to read my work quicker and several stories that are not on Tumblr? Check this out on my AO3 (Linked here)

MASTER LIST FOR TUMBLR

#devil may cry #devil may cry 5 #dmc #dante #dante devil may cry #devil may cry dante #dante x reader #dante x G/N reader #Dante x male reader #dante x female reader #dante x you #Sin Devil Trigger #Sin devil trigger Dante #overprotective Dante #short #oneshot #reposted from my AO3

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changingfashionista · 2 days ago

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SOLARBALLS │ HELIOS X GN! READER│ M. LIST

[N] is a planet! This is from my book, fyi!

𐙚 ⋮ Favorite: ᵖʳᵉᶠᵉʳʳᵉᵈ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ᵃˡˡ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃᵐᵉ ᵏᶦⁿᵈ. ꒱ ‧₊˚

𐙚 ⋮ You have been the Helios's favorite for centuries. Nothing has made it change since then.꒱ ‧₊˚

Favorite, that word is what describes you. You have been the Sun's favorite since the beginning of the Solar system. Nobody knew the main reason why. It could be because (Name) is the very first celestial being ever created; many thought it was that. Many thought it could be because they had been with the Helios(Sun) for a long time. Many celestial beings thought maybe they were special because they didn't have a gender; they didn't appear like the normal masculine appearance but not the lower feminine appearance. Nobody knew why you were one of the favorites, but either way, that made them wish or want to be you. Many of the protoplanets were jealous of you as the Helios gave them attention, love, and protection. The Sun was affectionate to you; why couldn't the Sun be like that to them!? You were allowed to explore without any consequence! Get out of your orbit that Helios was very strict about. You weren't the main favorite of the Sun or the Giants, but yet you were still more loved compared to them. You were friends with the rocky planets, especially with ₱ⱤØ₮Ø Earth, ₮ⱧɆł₳, VɄⱠ₵₳₦, and Mercury. Why are you so special!? What made you special?

When the collision between Theia and Proto-earth happened. It wasn't expected! Everyone was confused about what had happened! Helios heard the collision and was surprised by this. This couldn't have happened, the twin planets wouldn't have died like that! Who or what made this happen!? Helios was trying to figure out how this could have happened when he realized that Thiea had killed Proto Earth.

Helios had a mental breakdown of his lovely celestial being, ₱ⱤØ₮Ø earth, had died, died, died, Died, DIED... ₮ⱧɆł₳ had killed him... THAT STUPID LOWER BEING KILLED HIS PRECIOUS ₱ⱤØ₮Ø, HIS TREASURE!!! The Sun was wracked with grief over the loss of his beloved ₱ⱤØ₮Ø Earth, and in his anguish, he realized that his child... wasn't there.

In his panic, he searched everywhere for his child, determined to find them, even if it meant leaving his orbit. He didn't care if the planets were put in danger; he had to find you. He refused to believe you'd left him willingly, after all, you were his precious child, the one who had always been by his side. You were more important! You were his child; also, why would he ignore this? You haven't done anything wrong to make him hate you like Venus, Mercury, and Theia. You have helped him in his low comparison to the other celestial beings that just do nothing but try to get something from him in the sadness of his dear planets. You were so important, he had a feeling that he needed to find you quickly. And oh how right he was. You.... You... Your body it was!... Helios was angrier at the sight of his child's distraught state. The protoplanet could feel the Sun's anguish and despair radiating from him as he saw your appearance.

"I'm here," (Name) called out, trying to approach the Sun and offer some comfort. "I'm here, Sun... I didn't disappear. I'm sorry I didn't mean to go..." (Name)'s body was visibly injured, their once healthy and vibrant (color) form now marred by deep cut and broken body parts. The wounds were severe, suggesting that they had been through a significant struggle or attack. Despite the pain, (Name) continued to call out to the Sun, desperately trying to assure him that they were still there despite their battered state, and then they blacked out. Before seeing that Helios's eyes turn red as he approaches you, dragging the protoplanets who were in quite distress.

━

(Name) felt a deep sense of unease as they noticed the planets' shift in behavior towards them. The planet would not even approach you. You were uncomfortable with this, having no friends within the solar system. The planet's uneasiness grew as you kept approaching them not knowing why they were uncomfortable with you. You were not expecting to overhear that your behavior seemed eerily similar to Theia's actions. Thiea? Who was Theia? You were confused about who she was, why her behavior was the same as yours, and why they didn't like that. As you question and observe the planets, you cause a slow build of suspicion and resentment amongst the celestial beings around you. You were puzzled and hurt by the change in your relationships with the celestial beings you had barely now met. (Name) was becoming aware of the growing tension but was at a loss as to why the planets suddenly harbored ill intentions toward them. They desperately wanted to have the harmonious bond they had once shared with the Sun and the other planets, that the other celestial bodies mentioned to them, but they were unsure of how to do so. They racked their brains, trying to understand what had caused the sudden shift in their attitudes. You decided to stop trying because they would not change no matter what.

After the orbit around the solar system and back to Helios who was now being called Sun. The Sun cradled (Name) gently in his palms, a gloomy expression on his face as they noticed (Name)'s smaller size and now vulnerability. As he held them, he discovered something, a powered eater, attached to (Name)'s neck. Disgusted, Sun swiftly removed the powered eater from (Name)'s neck, freeing them from its malign influence, but as soon as he did so, their nullification power was weakened, and their body began to heat up supernaturally to his horror, (Name) quickly began to disintegrate in the intense heat. He quickly lay (Name) in their orbit with a sudden gust of cold air, they were enveloped in a frigid sensation, which quickly extinguished the disintegrating process. Despite their fragile state, (Name) was still asleep, blissfully unaware of the tumultuous events that had just unfolded. As the Sun gently placed (Name) down, they looked at the powered eater with a newfound sense of determination, whispering furiously, knowing who did this, "Theia, you wicked creature. A weak failure of a planet using (Name)'s body to resurrect yourself? I shall not permit it! Not even in a billion years will you ever come again. " As Sun stared at (Name), who was peacefully asleep, and Proto Earth, who was in the finishing process of being reborn.

You woke up again; you saw the Sun; the Sun smiled with a shine, and his eyes were cheerful. He knew that it was you as your eyes Iight up / dark down to your original color; it was just you, not that lower being. It was just his child; his child was back, and this time, he would protect you no matter what it took. (Name) woke up after the argument with Kitty to the sight of the Sun warmly smiling at them, his eyes and cheerful voice full of joy. The Sun was elated to see (Name) back to their usual self, and their eyes lighting up/darkening down to their original color reassured him that it was truly (Name) before him, not the lower being he had been so concerned about. The Sun knew he had to protect (Name) no matter what, and he was prepared to do whatever it took to keep his child safe from harm. His voice exclaimed ❝𝐌𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 (𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞), 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤!❞. (Name) was utterly baffled by the Sun's sudden change in behavior in the show or more in the past. They had been expecting hostility and rejection from the Sun, but now, all they could sense from him was love and concern. Despite the warmth and adoration in the Sun's words and tone, something seemed amiss to (Name). Their gut told them that there was a deeper issue at play, but for now, they couldn't pin it down. (Name's) mind was a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty as they struggled to make sense of the situation. For now, they will accept his affection. Until they figure out what is wrong.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

ᴺᵉʷ! ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴇsᴛ!

➦ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐚 ┃ ?? %

❝Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy! This death will be art! This event will be history, and I'll be great too! I don't want what you have, I want to be YOU❞

You have reached the end of the memory

#yandere solarballs #yandere #gn reader #gender neutral reader #yandere x reader #x reader #solarballs #changingfashionsta #Spotify

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