#silver x shard

[matrix--lazy]

They like eachother very much

[no filters ↓]

[close-ups]

[robotskissingrobots]

FRESH CUT GRASS X FRIDA STATUS : CANON (I THINK?)

PROPAGANDA : N/A

SHARD X SILVER STATUS : FANON

PROPAGANDA : N/A

edit : I FUCKED UP ON THE CREDITS her user is polybiiuss . you should go follow her fr

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Idk what do you think about poly ships but could you give your thoughts on Silver x Shard x Larry?

I actually do love polyships! You wouldn't know this anon, but while I do have occasional monoships there is more than one fandom I'm a part of where I just have insanely big and complicated polyships😂

Anyhow, I actually kind of adore the thought of this ship? While out of all of the possible pairings here, Shardilver has always captivated me most, I loved their little trio and can't help but be sad that we won't see more of Joker, Jack, and Ace in action

As for canon stuff, I have to admit that I didn't really pay as much attention to Larry in my original read of the trio's first mission. This is largely because of how much of a sort of in your face rivalry Silver and Shard play with during the "follow Geoffrey" mission. I honestly have to give kudos to Larry for trying to focus on the mission while Shard and Silver take up time competing or arguing, especially since he's just kind of in the middle of it?

I feel like the trio really could have gone somewhere as a team and those couple issues of Sonic Universe (42 and 44) were just the beginning. Why? Well, they are a new team. These three are working together for the first time, learning about each other, and dealing with each other. I find it unfortunate that Shard and Silver's taking charge and Larry's trying not to rock the boat or making a wrong move leads to Larry being a bit out of the spotlight (after all, we only get to learn how Larry joined the secret freedom fighters because Silver asks about his "power"). This is all to say that...we could have seen them evolve and grow as a team and as characters a bit.

I think I'm going to go off for a second on some thoughts I have from them under the cut. In case you don't want to read all that though, the simple answer to anon's question is that I definitely can get behind Shard/Larry/Silver as a ship (though I am partial to Shard/Silver)

Okay, so I want to think about them as a team. All in all they're dysfunctional in that way where things just *barely* turn out. Shard and Silver are constantly competing/arguing, Larry really has no reason not to feel like a burden with his jinxes (especially with them coming into play in ways that present as obstacles when he tries to take charge of the situation), and all 3 of them are trying to prove themselves in some way while the mission goes...not as desired.

But in a way I feel like this trio pairing does or could have had a purpose. Silver has been trying to save his future by traveling to the past, but he's had a bad track record in prevention and actually pinpointing the issue that causes his bleak future (and his doubling down on his accusations to administer justice hasn't allowed him to make friends too well). Shard is the original Metal Sonic. He spent a lot of his existence following orders and obsessively messing with Sonic, uncaring of who he hurt or killed in the process. And although he eventually grew a soul and gave his life for Sonic and Tails, he can’t so easily leave his past behind. He can’t expect people to accept him or to forgive him. His attitude at this point is less about genuine maliciousness (as with his previous altercation with Sonic and Tails) or him actually hating Silver, but is more of a form of self protection. Larry has had a hard life. With his chronic unluckiness, he learned long ago that it was better if he stay away from others and just...try not to burden them, even if he can't help it. It gave him hope way back then, when Sonic helped him learn that he and his jinxes could have a use, and when he became part of the substitute legion of freedom fighters. However, it's clear from the story he tells Shard and Silver that he feels like he had a good thing going, only for his jinxes to ruin everything again. He just wants to be helpful, especially now that he's been given another chance to prove himself, but he's still afraid to be a burden.

All three of them have a past or track record that it's hard to move past, but they want to try. All three of them are looking to get something out of being a member of the secret freedom fighters (and though Silver is mostly doing so to get his information so he can find the traitor and go back to his own time, he, like the other two, is also being given another chance to do good via his membership of this freedom fighting group). For lack of a better term, this is a group of "failures" who are trying to do some good.

So I think if we could have seen more of them, we could have seen Silver and Shard come to care about Larry as a partner, appreciate him as one. Larry's background arc could have been about him starting to speak up and assert himself as a member of the group (instead of acting on his own to the group's detriment, sort of following along, or supplying commentary or advice occasionally). I think we could have seen Shard come to care about Silver and Larry (and their well-beings) beyond the mission at hand or his own goals. Just like Sonic often has to learn, we could have seen him grow more used to working in a team rather than trying to show off or prove superiority by handling most obstacles or decision making. I think this team could start as practice for him possibly trying to make up with others outside the secret freedom fighters in the future, and as a method of creating the "family" he wishes he had. I think we could have seen Silver becoming more closely involved with this time through them (further than he already is with his membership to the secret freedom fighters). His detachment to the people here and the lack of thought he's given beyond completing his goals and enacting justice are part of why he's so reckless, so coming to care closely about a couple of people who are hiding just like them and their well-being/home would do him some good. Like Shard, I think we could have seen him getting used to working better in a team rather than trying to handle things on his own.

They're all outsiders, so perhaps they could have created a kinship together so they don't feel so lonely? They're more similar than they believe, and I feel that they could have all grown together as people with their similar problems and situations

Okay okay, if you've read this far I feel perhaps I should give a slight change of topic. So, for fanon purposes, I bid you to imagine Silver and Larry napping, curling up in their sleep, and Shard...bidding himself to watch. He'll probably tease Silver about it later or make some statement about how not needing sleep makes him superior, but for now he just enjoys the moment of peacefulness. He enjoys watching the two at their most vulnerable, sweetly curled up around each other, sleeping like nothing in the world is wrong.

[blitztheinkling]

He's such a good mom guy's.

Gave silver and shard a baba. A mink named blizzard, she's very spoiled.

[yakkyrwhackr]

i love sonic robots

[rosietrace]

Glorious Masquerade, crimson flames (6/?)

Summary: Victoria has been graciously invited to attend the symposium hosted by Noble Bell College in collaboration with Night Raven College. Unfortunately, it seems she has a couple adversaries attending, specifically a certain prince of thorns...

( This does not apply to any of the main stories. )

Author's note: Yet again, another self indulgent chapter! I wanted more time to write Vivian and Florian and chose to write them into this, since this was originally just that one segment of Malleus and Victoria ^^||

{ Florian's Point of view }

"I'm so glad that our darling little girl is finally making more friends! It feels like it was only yesterday when she and Zen were constantly playing in the Manor's gardens…"

Vivian giggled, staring fondly as her daughter and her group mates continued exploring the town.

Florian nodded in agreement."Indeed. Though, as much as I appreciate that she's going out of her comfort zone more often…. I'm a little concerned about something." Florian admitted to his wife as they walked.

Vivian groaned.

"Darling, if this is about Draconia, then you should know that Victoria has everything under control. She'll make sure his fingers don't touch a strand of-"

"That's not what I meant, my love…"

They stopped walking, and Vivian looked at her husband with deep concern. Instinctively, she dragged him to a quieter part of the town so they could discuss his troubles more privately.

"Well?..." Vivian anticipated whatever Florian had to say next. Her hands were clasped together, close to her chest, as she became more concerned by the second.

Florian inhaled."It's about Flamm." He blurted out, startling Vivian a bit by the sheer unexpected answer.

"Flamm?? The- The student council president of Noble Bell College???" Vivian's eyes were as wide as tea saucers, she wasn't even moving by how stunned she felt by such information.

When Florian nodded in reply, Vivian inched a bit closer."But- Why?" She called into question.

Florian massaged his temples."As outlandish as it sounds, it's purely a gut feeling but-"

"FLORIAN JUST TELL ME, YOU KNOW I HAVE A PROBLEM WITH MY LEVEL OF PATIENCE."

He raised his hands defensively, slightly startled by his wife's spontaneous shouts.

"I have a feeling that he's scheming something malicious. Something that could potentially harm our daughter."

Vivian's eyes became wider, and her body felt uneasy. Florian held her close as she remained stunned. Petrified by the thought, even.

"Harm… Our daughter?"

"Yes…. And I'm afraid that she'll-"

"Don't."

"...."

"Don't fucking finish that sentence, Florian."

Grabbing him by the arm, Vivian tugged her husband around the town, keeping an eye out for Rollo.

"Darling I know you're upset but-"

"No! I'm not stopping until I make sure I rain hell on that boy for potentially harming our daughter!"

"But what if my gut feeling is wrong??"

She stopped in her tracks, her head hung low and her grip on his arms loosening. Florian exhaled and hugged her from behind.

"....."

"We don't know if what I'm feeling will happen, my love. But if it happens, I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure the safety of you and Victoria."

Vivian's breath hitched, and her delicate porcelain hands held Florian's arms as they were wrapped around her.

".... Okay."

♜ ♛ ________________________________♛♜

"Why are you here?"

Victoria bared her teeth, showcasing the irritatingly pearly whites to Malleus, practically unintentionally.

Malleus had his hand on his hip, lifting his head to look down at Victoria in a more assertive way. Which only irritated her even more.

Approaching him closer, Victoria's face was now inches away from his as they both scowled at one another. Completely ignoring that Sebek and Silver were also present.

"I should be asking the same thing. Why aren't you with your group mates?" Malleus's gloved hand held Victoria's chin, continuing to stare down at her.

Swatting his hand away, Victoria flapped open her fan."Sumeragi and Zen went to go souvenir shopping. I decided to stay behind, which resulted in this unfortunate encounter." As she delicately fanned herself, she sent Malleus a glare from the corner of her eye.

The corners of Malleus's forced smile twitched downward, a signifier that he was losing his patience with Victoria and her behavior toward him.

Sebek wished to interfere and talk down on Victoria for disrespecting his master, but Silver retaliated and somehow managed to convince him not to do so.

Does this prince believe that he'll earn my respect? Tsk… How immature of a mindset. Victoria thought.

And it seems that one of his subordinates is under the same belief… She pondered if she could manipulate Sebek out of his undying loyalty to Malleus. It wouldn't be easy, but it certainly wouldn't be difficult for a woman with her cunning.

"It seems you aren't enjoying this festival, Shard." Was what Malleus said to drag Victoria out of her line of thought.

She hummed."I'm not too fond of festivals. Zen manages to make it less pretentious." What piqued Silver and Sebek's interests wasn't what she said, but Malleus's reaction to it.

To them, it felt like he didn't like hearing that Zen made the festival more endearing for her.

"I'm guessing Vanrouge advised you to have as much fun as you can while you're attending?"

"How did-"

"Simple guess. Besides, I'd expect a person who's never invited to feel validated by finally being invited to something for once." By making her mocking tone sound as though she was simply treating Malleus's situation as a joke, Sebek began to lose his restraint.

"HOW DARE YOU-"

"Zigvolt. Don't involve yourself in this." Malleus ordered, immediately quieting down Sebek. Victoria let out a quick laugh at Sebek's immediate attempt at retaliation against her.

"It seems you and your subordinates share something in common, Draconia…" Victoria's heels clicked as she slowly approached Malleus.

Malleus tilted his head curiously. He wanted to know what she had to say, even if it meant she grabbed a couple of strands of his hair to flirtatiously play with it.

"What are you on about, Shard?"

She smirked.

"You're all simple-minded."

Malleus remained unfazed by her words, and it wasn't even the thing that shocked him.

What shocked him was that Victoria pressed her lips against the strands of his hair she was holding, and gently kissed it.

Malleus stiffened at the unexpected display of… What most would assume to be romantic affection.

".... Why did-"

Before he got his answer, Victoria walked away from him, Sebek, and Silver.

[ichorai]

snow spider ; miguel o'hara.

pairing ; miguel o'hara x spider!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; you were the ice to his fire—and miguel was burning for you.

words ; 4.4k

themes ; fluff, slight angst

warnings / includes ; set before the events of atsv, descriptions of injury/violence, cursing, a bit suggestive, mentions/appearances of other spidey characters, ben being a dramatic idiot, peter & may being adorable, cameos of magneto and doc ock, miguel is down so bad, can you guys tell i'm also in an asoiaf phase ? (winter is coming !!)

a/n ; there will be a part two set during the events of atsv !!

main masterlist.

You were Miguel’s seventeenth recruit. The first of your name. The first that wasn’t a Peter Parker, or a Jessica Drew, or a Ben Reilly. 

When Miguel dropped into your universe, one rife with crime and tragedy, stricken by a never-ending winter, he fell into a large pile of snow. 

“Damn it,” he whispered through chattering teeth, brushing off the frigid frost clinging to his suit and glancing around the iced-over city. There were sparse few people littering the streets, hovering over trash-fires and clutching rumbling stomachs. This was certainly a stark contrast to Nueva York—the universe looked dead, almost. A ghost town, frozen over into nothing but a glacial artifact.

Before Miguel could start forward to look for the Spider of the universe, a sticky web shot out from seemingly nowhere, binding his hands together. Ah. It seemed that you’d found him before he could find you.

“You’re not from here. I can’t smell the winter on you,” a voice echoed, saturated with curiosity, edged with caution. A second later, you materialized in front of him, clad in a white suit, sharp silver lines running over your form. On your chest was a spider, a pale snowflake engraved into its abdomen. Miguel stared at you with wide eyes. “Who are you?”

A beat of silence. 

“Your universe is cold,” was all he could think of saying, still caught off-guard. 

You took a step back. “My universe…?”

After clearing his throat, he shook himself out of his reverie. “My name is Miguel O’Hara. I’m from a different universe. I’m here to recruit you into my team to help keep the multiverse from collapsing.”

You shifted, muscles still tense. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

Lifting his wrists, Miguel twisted a hand and used his sharp claws to cut himself free of the sticky bonds. “Let me show you.”

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Miguel wasn’t supposed to like you this much. You were just meant to be another recruit for the Spider Society… maybe a close work companion, or a trusted friend at best. 

But as he watched you dart in and out of visibility, your suit only but flashes of white and silver, he couldn’t help but marvel at how easy it was to work with you. How much he genuinely enjoyed working with you, spending time with you, listening to you laugh at his stiff quips. And he really thought he was being subtle about it, but Jessica had already picked up on Miguel’s keen interest in you, always teasing him about having a crush on another Spider.

It wasn’t a crush, though. No, Miguel just really liked your work ethic.

Right?

“Heads up!” you yelled, swinging forward and using the momentum to kick an incoming car barreling right in his direction. The metal doors caved in beneath the power of your strike, veering to the left just in time to miss him. 

The two of you were taking down another anomaly that’d cropped up, one of the several dozens in only the past week. This anomaly, however, wasn’t the regular neighborhood villain they’d usually get, but instead an omega-level mutant: Magneto. 

Shards of metal rained down around you, but you were quick to deflect by thwipping out large, sticky webs to catch them before they could impale you. 

“This guy manipulates metal, Miguel!” you yelled. “Cuffs won’t work on him!” 

Another large metal pole rocketed straight for you, but Miguel dove towards you, yanking you out of the way.

“Thanks!” you told him, a bit too wound up to notice his large hands tightly wound around your midriff. “Can you distract him for me?”

Nodding wordlessly, Miguel shot out several glowing, synthetic webs in quick succession to momentarily blind Magneto. You used his shoulder to launch yourself upward, turning invisible in mid-air. 

Before the man could realize what was happening, you yanked his protective helmet off, landing a calculated strike to the back of his head. Immediately, all the bits of metal floating in the air came plummeting to the ground, and Magneto went limp in your hold. You swung down to the ground, coming back into view. 

“You’re gonna have to alert one of the Spiders that we need a metal-free cage for him,” you told Miguel, a bit breathless. 

Okay, a lot breathless. There was a sharp sting on your side—a broken piece of metal must have grazed you during the fight.

Miguel wound an arm around you to help you walk, concern festering within his chest at the sight of crimson staining your once-pristine white suit, his other hand dragging an unconscious Magneto by the scruff of his collar. With a tap of the watch, a portal opened up, flashing a multitude of bright oranges and purples. 

Back in his universe, Miguel was quick to hand Magneto over to a few Peters, telling them to be careful not to get any metal near him. You pulled off your mask and squeezed Miguel’s bicep in gratitude when he shifted his hold on you, ensuring that you wouldn’t put any weight on your injured side. Even exhausted, you were beautiful. Miguel remembered the first time he saw you without your mask: the entirety of his linguistic vernacular went flying out the window and he was left embarrassingly spluttering out a long string of incoherent sentences. You were patient with him, beaming wide and nodding emphatically, even though none of what he said had made sense. 

Yeah, alright, fine. Miguel had a crush. It really wasn’t a big deal (it was a very big deal). He’d be damned if he’d ever admit it to Jessica, though—that woman would never let him live it down.

Several Spiders waved hello to the two of you as you hobbled by, and you could only give them a winded half-smile in return. Some of them asked if you were alright, noticing the blood on your suit, but you reassured their worries away, “I’m fine. Miguel’s got me.”

A rush of protectiveness fell over him, and he clutched onto you all the tighter, hurrying to make his way back to the base. There were a few Spiders hanging around the control panels, chattering amongst themselves, and Miguel gave them a quick scan to make sure things were going smoothly since his departure. Once everything seemed to be in order, he finally tugged you into a more secluded room, helping you sit on a table as he grabbed the first aid kit. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, ripping off his mask as well. His dark hair was disheveled, sharp brown eyes softening with guilt. “I got distracted during the fight.”

“Hey, it happens,” you replied warmly, fingers lifting to pat his cheek. The feeling of your cold skin pressed up against the blistering heat emanating from his cheeks made a shiver dance up his spine. “We’re alive, and we got the anomaly. Everything’s fine.” 

“But you’re hurt.”

“I’ll heal.”

With careful, fleeting touches, Miguel drew back the ripped fabric of your suit to inspect the gash in your side. He cleaned away as much blood as he could, murmuring gruff apologies every time you flinched. The guilt worsened when he began deftly stitching up your wound—it didn’t go past his notice when your face twisted with the pain, and you bit your lip in a fruitless attempt to keep the sharp agony at bay.

“You did good out there, Y/N,” he said, desperate to distract you. “What was it like being the Spider in your universe?”

You spared him a loose grin, appreciating his attempts to keep you entertained. 

“Tiring,” you admitted, fingers digging into his shoulders when he began another stitch. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve heard the same story a million times by now. I was a scientist, trying to find a way to reverse the never-ending winter. I was bitten by a radioactive winter-spider… the only kind of spider left after our world iced over. I, uhm… I lost my uncle. My mom, shortly after. She was captain of the police force.” 

There was a long pause. It was obvious that you weren’t too keen on divulging all the details just yet. Your eyes watered with the memory, a glimmering film of tears warbling over your lower lashes, and Miguel gently patted your knee in understanding, silently reassuring you that you didn’t have to tell him everything.

You drew in a deep breath. “I realized I had powers—I had all the abilities of a spider, and I could turn invisible, and withstand the cold much more than before. I was known as the Snow Spider. A lot of people died from the frost. I couldn’t save them. I tried to help as much as I could, but it was just never enough. And then… I met you.” A smile graced your expression, one that sparked life into Miguel’s heart. “I moved from just helping my city, to helping the entire multiverse.”

Before you knew it, Miguel was tying off the last stitch, biting the thread short with his sharp fangs once he was done. You murmured a sincere thanks, placing your palm flat against his chest, feeling the quick thrum of his heart slamming against his ribcage.

If you noticed how his pulse seemed to kick up a notch with your ministrations, you didn’t say anything. For that, Miguel was grateful.

“There you go. That’s a brief summary of my life story. It’s only fair if you tell me yours.”

The man met your gaze, irises dark and warring with conflict.

“What’s there to say? I got powers, just like you. I lost people, just like you. I built the Spider Society… and then I met you.” The last bit was said as he nudged you gently, and he offered you a tentative smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Hesitant, you lifted your hand, softly grazing your knuckles against his cheek. Icy was your touch, but it felt nice—almost addicting. He found himself leaning against your hand, shutting his eyes as he exhaled.

“You’re a mystery, Miguel,” you murmured, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek as thanks for patching you up, before sliding off the table to stride away. Miguel watched you go with a lump in his throat. “Luckily for you, I like mysteries.”

“How long has that been a thing? I haven’t noticed because I’ve been too busy thinking about my… miserable past,” sighed Ben, coming to stand beside Jessica, the two of them watching Miguel follow after you like a lost puppy, face uncharacteristically mellowed with an undeniable lovesick expression. 

“It’s not a thing,” she replied with an amused scoff. “Not yet, at least.”

You halted what you were doing and turned around to grin at Miguel. “Look, I stitched my suit back together. It’s good as new!” 

His dark, molten eyes gleamed with affection. “It looks great.” He caught sight of your web-shooters, fixed against the base of your hand. “I still can’t believe you need those.”

“Well, I can’t believe you have spinnerets embedded into your skin. I can’t tell if I’m more grossed out or curious to know more,” you shot back, taking his hand to inspect his wrist with narrowed eyes. “What other kind of powers do you have?”

With a roguish grin, he bared his teeth, sharp fangs drawing out. 

“I can never get over those. They’re kinda intimidating, but in a cool way.” Before you could stop yourself, you tacked on, “And really fucking hot.”

Heat crawled up his neck. He stared blankly at you. “They’re poisonous.”

Still, you smiled at him, all sweet and flustered. “Hm. It’s a shame, really. I definitely would’ve asked you to bite me if not for the venom.” Neither of you were quite sure if you were joking or not.

Miguel was certain he was going to combust into flames. “I can still bite you without injecting the poison into your system. It’s a voluntary response.”

To his surprise, you burst into a fit of laughter. Gods, he was absolutely smitten with that sound. The way your nose wrinkled, the side of your eyes creased, the shaking of your shoulders as you chuckled… it was all too much for Miguel.

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” you warned.

“Oh, I can do much more than just tempt,” said the man in front of you, making your laughter taper away into silence. 

You studied him for a moment longer. Before you could say anything, both of your watches beeped simultaneously. With one more amused huff, you patted his shoulder, brushing past him and pulling your mask over your face. “Come on, mister. Anomalies to catch, universes to save… we can continue this conversation later.”

The months pass by in a blur. 

You were wrangling back another Doc Ock anomaly, having webbed up all his metal tentacles, easily tossing him into a temporary laser cage with a sweet smile. The villain was spitting obscenities, going on and on about the power of the sun in his grasp, how you’d ruined everything for him. 

“You’ll pay for this!” he yelled, slamming his fist against the glowing barrier. 

“Sorry, Doc,” you said with a mild grin. “I’ve met around a dozen of you, and so far, you were the most compliant. That makes you my favorite!”

You saluted him with a wink, before turning on your heel and striding away. It wasn’t long before Miguel found you, falling into step with your stride.

“Look at you, taking on anomalies all on your own,” he murmured lowly, nudging your side with his elbow. “Good job.”

With a scoff, you pulled off your mask, regarding him with an expectant gaze as you leaned forward, so close that your nose nearly brushed against his. He could feel the cold frost of your breath blow over the heated planes of his cheeks. “Well, then, Mr. O’Hara, wouldn’t I deserve a reward?”

The vampire-spider only flushed at your words, mouth falling open and shut as he struggled with a rebuttal. 

Your laugh, soft and tinkering, made his heart nearly seize within his chest. Still chuckling, you shoved away from him, saying that you had to get back to your universe to make sure everything was still in order there.

As you made your way out of the room, using your watch to portal through to your wintry hellscape, Jessica appeared out of nowhere beside him, one hand on her heavily pregnant belly, and the other cocked upon her hip. 

“God, you really can’t be more obvious, can you?” she asked.

Miguel spared her a glance, snapping out of his reverie and standing up straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone knows you’re in love with the Snow Spider. And don’t you deny it—I know a liar when I see one.” She watched Miguel frown, but didn’t bother protesting her claim. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. Tell them, you big grump. Y/N deserves to know.”

Before he could reply, Jessica was already hastening away, yelling over her shoulder that she had to go to the bathroom because the damn baby was kicking against her bladder again.

Jealousy was not an emotion Miguel was well acquainted with. Ever since he witnessed an entire universe crumbling away in front of him, he was careful not to get too attached to anything. To anyone.

But he did. He grew attached to Jessica, who was his most trusted friend, always giving him the best advice and always available to lend him a helping hand. Though he’d never admit it, Miguel was also rather fond of Ben and his obnoxious penchant for his dramatic tragedies. And, most obvious of all, he was undoubtedly very close to his best soldier, Lego Peter.

Then there was you.

It infuriated him—the way you’d smile around him, give him the most fleeting of touches, always pleasantly cold, leaving prickly goosebumps in your wake. You would offer him an affectionate nudge and a myriad of teasing compliments that made his stomach want to fold in upon itself. But Miguel tried not to think too much of it: you were a generally kind person, with many of the Spiders in the society taking a certain liking to you. It didn’t go past his notice that you’d caught more than a few romantic eyes. Every time a Peter or a Ben would openly flirt with you, he could feel himself bristling, bile rising within his throat.

Again, Miguel wasn’t used to feeling jealous. He wanted to be the one cooking dinner for you, holding you in his arms, kissing you, touching you—

To his relief, you never paid them much mind, often politely declining with a poorly-forged excuse of having to return to your universe.

It was nearly a year since you’d first met Miguel when you were at Headquarters, holding a babbling Mayday as she crawled all over you. You laughed when she climbed up onto your shoulders, slipping down into your hands with a gleeful coo, blue eyes bright and wide. With gentle hands, you brushed her messy ginger hair away from her face. 

“She doesn’t look like you, huh?” you asked Peter B. Parker. “She must be a carbon copy of her momma.”

“A good thing,” admitted the man beside you, muffling a yawn as he dug the heels of his palms into his sleep-deprived eyes, adorned with dark bags. “Wouldn’t want her taking after her old man, now would I?”

“Why not?” you asked, amusedly watching when May shot out a web from her tiny shooters, swinging away to clumsily scale a nearby wall. “I think you’re very handsome. Trust me, the sleep-deprived look is very trendy right now. In my universe, at least. Nobody can really sleep well with the never-ending cold we got going there.”

Peter gave you a loose smile. “You know what, you’re right. Dad bods are making a comeback. By the way, did I tell you about my coin collection—”

Before Peter could finish what he was saying, your watch beeped noisily, and Ben’s slumped hologram appeared over your wrist. “Y/N, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. You had to hold your tongue not to retort that he was the one that’d called you. “I need you to come comfort me and hold onto my strong, muscular arms as I tell you about my gruesome past.” The pale image of Ben flickered as he flexed his biceps. 

You rolled your eyes to the side. Ben had become a close friend during your time with the Spider Society, nearly inseparable after you’d saved his life from an Electro anomaly once. That man was quite the emotional one, he was.

“I’ll be there, just give me a minute.” 

“Bring me one of those Spider-burgers, will you? Extra ketchup and no p—”

You tapped at your watch and his hologram disappeared before he could finish his request. With a mild wince, you glanced at Peter. “You wanna come with me and listen to Ben dramatically mope for an hour? I��ll treat you and May to Spider-burgers, because it looks like I’ll have to stop by there, anyway.”

“I would, I really would, but I gotta put May down for a nap,” he said with a sympathetic slant of his lips. As if on cue, the baby fell back into Peter’s arms, yawning widely. Bouncing her up and down, Peter absent-mindedly remarked, “Make sure Miguel doesn’t catch you being all sweet with Ben. That guy is crazy about you. Hah, he’d lose his marbles!” 

You blinked.

“What?”

Peter froze, realizing what he’d just said.

“What?” he parroted.

“No, uh, what did you say, about Miguel being…”

“Nothing! Huh? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. I heard you. Peter, what are you saying? Miguel is—?” 

Sheepish, Peter scratched the back of his head. “Oh, wow, would you look at the time!” Peter pulled down the sleeve of his pink bathrobe to mimic looking at the watch. He hastily stepped away. “I have to go. I didn’t say anything. Bye! I’d love a Spider-burger with you another time! Bye! See you later!”

You watched in bewilderment when the older man swung away with his baby in his hands, muttering out a long string of panicked curses under his breath.

Miguel was crazy about you?

After a few seconds of deliberating your next move, you shot out a web and swung away, heading to Miguel’s private office, where you knew he would be buried in figuring out a solution to the influx of new anomalies. Surely Ben would be alright with you showing up a bit late (he wouldn’t, but you had more pressing matters at hand).

“Hey, Miguel,” you greeted with a soft voice, slipping inside after knocking twice. “Hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

The man offered you a warm grin. “Never a bad time with you. What’s going on?”

“Well, I just… I had a rather interesting talk with Peter B,” you started, striding across the office until you stood just in front of his desk, with Miguel on the other side.

He tilted his head. “Was it about that collection of coins he lost to an anomaly? He needs to get over that.”

“I—what? The poor guy lost his coin collection? He’d been working on that for years!” Shaking your head, you mindfully got back on track. “Well, no, that’s not what we talked about.”

Dark eyes narrowing, Miguel crossed his arms, deadpanning, “What did he tell you?”

There was a rather mischievous hue to your expression that Miguel misliked. Slow and deliberate, you stepped around the desk, fingers dragging along the smooth top. You stood so close to him that your chest was only a hair’s breadth from his—if he were to take too deep a breath, the two of you would be touching by now.

“Hm… Peter accidentally let slip that you have feelings for me. Is that true, Miguel?” The way his name rolled off your tongue nearly made him choke as his brain short-circuited. 

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, echoing the exact thing he had said to Jess a month ago. 

You studied him, gaze dragging from his stiff face, to his tense stature, and back up again. It may have been a trick of light, but Miguel could swear he saw your eyes linger on his lips. 

With a hum, you leaned even closer. He could hear your heart thrumming now, a steady, strong beat—which completely juxtaposed against his own rapid pulse, drumming loud within his ears. Up this close, he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of color within your pretty eyes, notice the way your lips quirked up with a sweet smile. Even whilst teasing him, you made sure that you weren’t overstepping any bounds, giving him ample time to step away if need be.

“Oh,” you said, feigning confusion. Your hand rested upon his clavicle, nails lightly dragging down his neck. A sharp thrill struck down Miguel’s spine at the sensation. You were barely touching him, for God’s sake! “So you wouldn’t mind if I… go ask Ben out for dinner?”

A beat of silence. Miguel’s brows knitted together.

The next words were susurrated as you dipped forward to nudge your nose along his neck, pressing a cold whisper of a kiss along the underside of his jaw. “Or if I… I don’t know… if I invite him to stay at my place for the night?” 

Of course, there was no real weight to your words. Ben was simply a good friend, but damn if you didn’t enjoy the way Miguel’s eyes twitched.

Finally snapping, a low growl rumbled within his chest, his hands shooting out to grab your waist. You were cold to the touch, the ice to his fire, as his fingers curled over your back, shoving you up against the wall behind his desk. As if on instinct, your hands came to clutch at his broad shoulders.

You smiled, wide and triumphant. You’d finally broke him. 

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he gruffed, staring deep into your eyes to make sure you were alright with this. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. From your gleeful expression, Miguel could see that you were just the opposite. 

“Oka—mmph!” 

His lips slanted over yours, warm and rough, yet cold and soft at the same time. It was a kiss of starkly juxtaposing contrasts, heavy with months and months of unspoken yearning. His large nose brushed against your cheek, angling his face to kiss you harder—deeper. 

When one of your hands slithered up the back of his neck to tug at the roots of his dark hair, he sighed against your mouth, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead over yours.

“He was right,” said Miguel.

“Who was?”

“Peter. I do have feelings for you.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, nudging your nose against his sharp cheekbone. “Really? I would’ve never guessed.” He surged forward to kiss you again, relishing in the way you just about melted into his touch. “If it wasn’t obvious already, I really like you, too.”

At your admission, Miguel beamed, loose and hesitant. “You still planning on asking Ben out to dinner and having him stay over at your place, then?”

You tapped a finger onto your chin, pretending to have a good, long think about it. “Give me a good reason to stay, and I won’t.” At Miguel’s slightly crestfallen expression, you patted his cheek, quick to say, “God, Miguel, I was just kidding. Ben and I are good friends. You and I, however… I wouldn’t exactly call you a friend—”

His lips met yours again, stealing the rest of your words from you. 

When you smiled into the kiss, he smiled back. It was a bit too early for love, sure, but Miguel already knew he was in too deep to back out.

He was falling in love with you. 

The thought terrified him to no end, but he merely kissed you harder, and clutched you all the closer to him.

[im-poe-dameron]

Okay last one I swear "You want me. I was inside you. I tasted you. That is a truth you will never escape." with… do I even need to say his name?? RAT BOI QIMIR

DARKNESS WITHIN

a/n: the way i was determined to write this. my laptop committed itself to death and i hand wrote this until i got a new battery. but anything to appease the current brain rot that has overtaken me. i love that we have a feral sith again. rip maul and revan you would have been obsessed with our boi.

summary: balance - the power of light and dark and everything that lingered between. a truth you held onto tightly for fear of losing yourself. but when false hope begins to fade and power tastes sweeter on your tongue than truth, you're left with what remains.

word count: 3.5k+

pairing: qimir x f!reader; the stranger x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, lightsaber battle written messily, corruption, corruption kink, cumplay, choking, dubcon (possibly but just in case), the arc of a fallen jedi.

Petrichor lingered in the air as you stepped off metal and down into the soft soil below. The holomap still glowed inside your small ship. Illuminating the darkened space with a familiar blue you’d caught yourself staring at while the cold temperatures from hyperspace sunk into your skin. The name listed beneath caused your heart to leap into your mouth—the bitterness of him stuck to your tongue.

Eriadu.

An unknown jungle planet along the outer rim. The last place you expected to visit.

The cover of darkness and clouds blocked even the moon’s soft gleam. Your hand twitched, fingers stretching inadvertently to your lightsaber attached to your hip. From where you could see, the soft silver practically held its own light. As if to tell you this was not a path you walked alone—you would not carry the heaviness of your heart in solitude.

If you focused long enough, you could practically feel the leather grip along your fingertips. The urge to flick the switch and bring forth the comforting teal you’d come to rely on, nearly overtook you. But darkness was your ally on a hunt this straining.

For weeks you’d traveled between planets, digging for any information. A piece of a map that would eventually lead you here.

Though the one you sought out remained unknown, similar to the far reaches of the galaxy, you somehow managed to pick up a trace of him. Of the Force signature that nearly burned its way through your own. Where you expected a shimmer of light, a void of nothing welcomed you. Begged you for a sliver of company: in the hopes that you wouldn’t be able to resist.

The feeling sunk down into your nerves, echoing in your chest even now. A song you wouldn’t soon forget—yet craved to hear more of.

Darkness remained a Jedi’s sole enemy. Even while the tantalizing remnants of something so forbidden threatened to unravel you. The threads you kept a tight hold of were now frayed. And the more time passed, the more you felt his pull. The way his fingers had gripped you tight—leaving invisible marks you’d trace later in your mind. Shards of that cataclysmic emotion which tumbled through you like a tidal wave.

Jedi weren’t meant for this. For silent hopes kept in secret—the yearning for more clawing at your insides. Attachment held many names and you’d seen its power. Yet this…was raw uninhibited need. A hunger for his flesh, his mouth, his taste, for words that spilled so carelessly. But held enough freedom for you to grasp.

You weren’t stupid. You could see the breadth of his power that lingered under the surface. The signature of something foreign, something ancient.

That alone should have sent fear curling around your spine, stiffening your movements. You were taught as a padawan that Jedi fear nothing. They were the symbol of peace; a beacon of hope for the galaxy to look towards.

No matter how much you tried to fight it, that didn’t rid you of the way your body practically flinched at each sound. Your throat, tight and unforgiving the longer you trekked into the forest.

You knew the terror housed in your body didn’t stem from the thought of facing him. The realization bled through your heart the longer you were out there—you were going against the code you promised to uphold the day you were knighted. A vow that would one day cost you your life. But thus was the price to pay for knowledge, for training, for a purpose. Betrayal from another Jedi was a blow to everything your faith centered around. And what you thought was merely a faint blistering second of desire, fanned the flames of something worse.

A searing ache that refused to be ignored.

Your boots sunk into the ground with every step. Clear footprints now marked into the soil for anyone to follow. Forgoing your robes on the ship, you did what you could to look like a passerby. Someone here for peace and a stolen moment of tranquility. Hopefully they wouldn’t spot the heavy breaths you took, or the way your body was wracked with a type of suffering you weren’t used to: guilt. 

Trees engulfed your line of vision, blocking what you hoped was a path. Instead you were left with a vacant hole in the Force.

What once was loud—the embodiment of chaos—suddenly fell silent.

As if it never existed at all.

“You’re still here,” you murmured, eyes falling shut. The pulse of your own heart filled your senses. A reverberation that grounded you to the planet below. “I can feel you.”

Sucking in a lungful of air, you allowed everything else to melt away. The trees, the earth, the glow of the moon. Until you were left with the steady thump, thump, thump, that rang in your chest. The inky black mess of darkness shrouded your vision; hindering what you could reach. Forgoing a river blocking your only way forward.

You did what you could to push through it. Past the barriers of good and evil; beyond life itself. Until you reached the middle, the balance of everything that lingered between.

Your own soft blue green signature wrapped around your body, acting as a shield to what lay beyond. Pressing further, you felt the icy cold bitterness of him. It spread down your spine, wrapping around bone and marrow. A threat layered as a promise.

The obsidian emptiness was tinged with a soft gleam of crimson. Blood. Spilled by the very hands you craved to hold you.

The vibration of power nearly rattled you from the inside out. The amount of his capabilities that once beckoned you forward, now creeped closer. Mirth and malevolence seeped into the air, invading your senses. Until the pungent taste of copper spread across your tongue. Burning you within moments.

The hair stood up on the back of your neck, chills overtaking you with a wolfish eagerness. And you gasped. Calling your saber swiftly to your palm, you spun—the teal igniting like a flame, illuminating the area. Your eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light, but in the darkness—melted into the shadows—you caught a glimpse of him. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you swung it forward, until the all too familiar sinister hum of a second lightsaber filled the area.

Red clashed with teal—sparks flying into the air—and you were met with the eyes of your mark.

The man who split you open down the center.

He stole the lid from Pandora’s box and watched in glee as every emotion you kept locked away, spilled free.

“What took you so long?” His lips curved into a smirk. Satisfaction gleamed from his eyes—a red reflection cast itself along his brown irises.

“You knew I’d come.”

“I hoped.”

“Hope…” You scoffed, attempting to steady the beat of your heart. “A dangerous thing for someone like you.”

With the tilt of his head you felt the ground level beneath you. “One could say the same for your kind.”

Heat from your blades clashing bled into the air. Yet neither of you backed away. This was no longer a fight of enemies, but rather you claiming back what he so callously stole. The sanity you once prided yourself on. Death would be an honor if it were to occur in battle. A worthy end to a Jedi as prideful as you, but the doubt he placed began to rise to the surface.

The answers to your myriad of questions—desires you sealed away—were gifted to you by him. As if he’d been waiting with baited breath for you to simply…ask him.

His smile deepened. “I can’t heal what’s been broken.”

You pressed your saber down, victory filling your chest at the sight of him sliding back. He’d been expecting a fight. Not your rage.

“Stay out of my head,” you spit.

“But it’s fun.” He huffed, standing to his full height, the strength of his body shoving you back. “Watching you grapple with the meaning of good and bad.”

“Shut up.” You swung at him again. Only for the attempt to be met with a slice of his blade. It nearly toppled you to the ground.

“It’s a lie. Everything the Jedi told you.” He advanced, his steps steady—measured. “There is no such thing as light or dark. It is just power.”

“You’re trying to get in my head. To tear me apart.” The clash of your blades pierced the air with a crack as you rushed at him.

“No,” he whispered, allowing his Force signature to brush against yours. You fell away, fear lacing your heart. “I was already in your head.” He swiped at you, the red crackle of his lightsaber singed your face as you ducked. “You let me in. You let me see every doubt, every fear, every desire. Willingly.”

“Shut up!” you cried, anger forcing its way forward. Hatred for everything you felt blinded you as you lashed at him with vehemence.

Loathing at the lust you gave into, the fear you let consume you. He worked his way into your heart and there was nothing you could do to combat it. You wanted to strip him from your body, tear away the flesh he touched. Yet the memory of how you begged, how you fell to your knees for him ripped through your head—punching the breath from your lungs.

Blow after blow, you watched as he fought you with ease. His slight shifts were enough to keep you off balance. Right where he wanted. Sweat prickled at your throat, pain spreading down your arms. He was purposefully wearing you down. Until your body gave way to exhaustion. Yet that’s not what fueled the rage you did your best to tamp down.

He was enjoying this. The way you struggled.

The final frail thread in your mind snapped and for the first time, you allowed your anger to bleed through. You let it fuel the adrenaline that filled your veins, pushing your body to keep fighting. With a hoarse shout, you shoved what Force you could his way and watched him slide back along the ground. Falling to one knee with a grunt.

Air burned your lungs as you gasped in time with the beat of your heart. Your arms shook with an unforgivable ache.

But you lifted your lightsaber. Teal casting a soft glow on your sweat slicked face—the echo of wrath glinting in your darkened eyes.

“You are the last person I’d let corrupt me.” You weren’t taught to despise someone this viciously. The Jedi spoke against it, but something hot burned in your chest. A promise that you would return to Coruscant with the handle of his lightsaber. His defeat would be your penance for the pain you caused.

“Why do you lie to yourself?”

“You’re wrong—”

He laughed, his foot slamming into your hip hard enough for you to hear a pop—pain rushing down your thigh. “I’m wrong? Tell me Jedi. What do you think they will do to you when you return corrupted? What will they do…when they find out how much you wanted me?”

Your scream pierced the air, burning your lungs. Ignoring the pain, you leapt to your feet, swung your blade in parries he quickly blocked, at a speed you’d never before witnessed. He fought against you with ease, but your refusal to back down is what threw him off. You wouldn’t let him win, refusing to back away from something like this. If he wanted to finish what started weeks ago, he’d have to impale you with his blade.

To your wonder, he seemed to avoid doing exactly that. Even as you fumbled, weariness settling deep in your bones.

With a twist of your wrist, his blade flew from his hand and landed mere feet away in the dirt. You half expected him to call it back, to end you where you stood, but he fell to his knees when your boot slammed into his leg. The teal of your saber now pressed close to his sweat glistened skin.

His head tilted up, eyes darker than you remembered, yet he never lost the mirthful smile that graced his lips.

“I didn’t want you,” you lied, in the hopes that he wouldn’t prod out the truth.

One final swing would silence him forever. You could release the Jedi from his threat, return home the same person you were before coming across him. And yet…you hesitated. Your eyes met his, the burn of tears welling up until you could barely see straight. His smile deepened, victory painted across his face, as you both came to the realization that would damn you right along with him. He could see it in your stance, feel how your Force signature begged to sink beside his, to feel the strength he once showed you—the tenderness that you knew existed beneath the surface.

Killing him ceased to be an option the second he opened your eyes to the truth.

“You do,” he said, his voice soft and raspy.

“No,” you whimpered, blinking back the tears.

He laughed, his hand calling his saber in the blink of an eye. Red flashed in the air, before your lightsaber was knocked out of your hands, now on the forest floor.

Instead of striking you down, he dragged you forward, your body forced to submit as his hand gripped your chin, angling you to face him. Your mind screamed at you to fight him, to resist the temptation, but his grip merely tightened. His eyes falling to your lips, to the way your jacket fell open at your chest, before finding your gaze again.

“You want me,” he whispered.

Where you expected to struggle against him—to flinch from his touch—you found that you craved more. You wanted him to bend you to his will, to show you the path to the dark side that remained like an echo in the back of your mind. A promise of more, wrapped in the threat of everything.

A gasp tore through your chest when he dropped his blade, his other arm hauling you against him as he walked forward. Your back scraped against a tree. Blood sprouting to the surface on the back of your neck. And if you had the ability to…you’d beg for more.

He grinned, seeing the flicker of uncertainty in the Force, the brightness of your familiar teal now a shade darker. His thumb pressed down, forcing your lips to part. To let him in.

Obedience was never difficult for you; having gone your entire life following orders left and right. But this…this knowledge that to follow his rule, to submit to his words, left you breathless. You were nearly angry at the person you let yourself become. Perhaps the Jedi were lying. You’d never know unless you asked, but to do so was to put a sentence on your head. To put questions in theirs. To push for more would reveal what you’d already done—what you couldn’t take back.

He watched the turmoil stream through you with interest. His eyes grasping what he could as you struggled with the truth he already gave you. Desire, want, hunger, it all stemmed from a place of power.

What mattered wasn’t that you needed it. You wanted it.

“I—” Your eyes fell to his lips, greed screaming through the Force as it all clicked into place.

With a snarl, he turned you, his hand wrapping around your throat as the other delved between your thighs, beneath layers of fabric you longed to get off. “I was inside of you.”

Breathing became secondary when his touch burned everything out of you, leaving a path of fire behind. Where he once caressed you with tenderness before, now turned rough. Shame should have ripped you from this intoxicating high, but the smile pressed to your ear when his fingers met your pool of slick, left you lost in the destitute darkness that consumed you.

“I tasted you,” he murmured, the rough pads of his fingers circling your clit—your mouth parting with a broken moan.

Dignity meant nothing to you when pleasure burned at the edges of your vision. Effectively blocking anything that might have come before.

“That is a truth you will never escape.”

Gripping his arm, you focused on the heavy breaths he exhaled, the shift of his body as he held you up where you couldn’t anymore. And beyond that, in the expanse of his darkness, you allowed light to pour through. To blanket him in what was once familiar, what remained buried in the depths of his mind. You gave him a piece of his past as he drowned you in your future.

“The Jedi will reject you,” he gasped, two fingers pressing into you, the memory of before sparking to life in your mind. “And when they do. You will find me again.”

“T-They’ll brand me a traitor—” If you were to return, you could never be a Jedi again. Never go back to the person you were before him.

Pleasure blinded you with every thrust of his fingers, the stillness of the forest now echoed with the mix of your breaths. You sunk into him, nails digging crescent moons into his skin, and he tightened his hold on your throat. He liked you this way. Pliant beneath his touch, eager and desperate for whatever he could possibly offer you. Being your prey was a mere fantasy, an act he allowed you to divulge in for as long as you needed.

Until the time was right.

His lips slid against yours, the kiss wet and heady. All the things you longed for, the past that you could not escape from. He kissed you without mercy. And you met him with an urgent acquiescence. The memory of his tongue against your clit pulsed in your mind, brighter than the day it happened as he stole the breath from your lungs. Saliva dripped down your chin, connecting you to him.

“Don’t you see?” he breathed, fingers curling forward—searching for something. The sharp inhale of satisfaction nearly tore you apart when your torso crumpled forward, a whimpered moan ripping from your throat. “You became a traitor the day you followed me into that temple.”

“I—”

The heel of his palm roughly pressed to your clit; your hips—acting on their own accord—sought his touch, grinding down with a pleaded out cry. You needed the bliss he once gave you. The sensation that haunted your every waking moment; that threatened to break you down and ruin all that you built for yourself. The feeling you were prepared to give up everything for.

“I can give this to you, all the time.”

“Please,” you sighed.

“Whatever you crave, will be yours.” He felt your walls tighten around his fingers, the hitch in your chest burned a hole through his. And like before when you cupped his face with reverence glowing in your eyes, he ignored it. Shoved it down into the pit with the remainder of his memories and feelings.

Your teeth dug into your lip nearly drawing blood when he sped up. The plunge of his fingers wet and loud in the air. To have you like this. Out in the open for anyone to discover, nearly drove him mad. He wanted to see your face, watch you shatter like before, witness the erosion of the Jedi spirit within you.

He wanted to bear witness to the corruption he caused.

“Say you’ll join me.”

Warning bells rang in the back of your mind, teal bleeding into your vision—the final hope of light that tried to pull you away from him. To remind you of why you were there.

Until darkness swallowed it whole, submerging it beneath the waves of a sea you’d never swim out of.

Grasping for the release you knew wasn’t far away, you bucked against his hand, mouth falling open as a cry pierced the air. With a grunt, he pushed his hips against your back, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder as you came with the taste of him on your lips. White flashed behind your eyes, hot and all consuming, your Force signature slamming into him with enough strength to send him stumbling. All with you still in his arms.

He collapsed to the ground, arm wrapped like a vice around your waist and fingers swirling around your pulsing clit.

“Yes,” you gasped, thigh quaking and face contorted in pleasure. “I will.”

Soft green began to morph behind your closed eyes. Dimming and bleeding to the edge of your senses, something brighter taking you over with a hunger you’d never experienced before. A raw ache that thumped in tune with your own heart. He turned your head, his lips finding yours, as your crimson signature called to his, bending and curving where his led.

He smiled, thumb running along the edge of your jaw. “Welcome my love.”

Your eyes fluttered open, lips pulling into a smile, as yellow slowly seeped into your iris. “Thank you.”

[diejager]

Saccharine and Monstrosity pt.1

Pairing: Eldritch Horror!König x mermaid!reader

Cw: kidnapping, manipulation, DARK FIC, trap, luring, mention of breeding kink, protective König, mention of partial nudity, hunting, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 4K

I got inspired by @konigsblog ‘s post.

You enjoyed the sun as much as any other betta fish mermaid, laying on the warm rocks and bathing under the bright, yellow sun. You lived in a school of fish that moved near the shores of a tropical island a few generations before, building houses under the coral reef and rocks where newly placed branches would grow and work as a natural shield. The world you lived in - the part of the ocean you called your home - was bright and colourful, the shallow waters clear and gleaming under the warming sun.

You liked all things bright and colourful, either big or small, you decorated your part of the cave with things you found while swimming around your territory. Be it a golden coin shining on the ocean floor, or a shard of coloured glass, you picked it all up and stuck it around your room. Sometimes, you found pretty things near the limits of your home, and other times, you ventured closer to the edge of the darkness when something shiny caught your attention. 

Over the ridge of sand that drew the start of the darkness, that deep and menacing slope down to the deepest part of your ocean, where darker, meaner and cruel beings born of cruelty and madness lived. It was somewhere all mers were warned of, to stay far away from the darkness and never stray from the light that fed and protected you. You thrived in the light, your body absorbing the warmth from the sun that made your scales vibrant and feeding from the fauna and flora that lived beside you: seaweeds and small fishes. 

Your kind grew up with stories of horrifying monsters and cruel creatures that lived in that abyss, lingering near the shallow to catch a pretty, little mer for their hoard. Whatever became of the taken was still unknown, once a mer was taken by One, no one would hear from them from then on. Your parents had warned you about straying too close from the shallow, daring fate when you swam over the ridge to collect those pretty gems you fancied so much.

“Don’t worry,” you’d grin at her, fins flickering behind you. “I’m a fast swimmer, mom!”

You were a fast swimmer, slipping between rocks and corals, hands cradling your little shells while you fled from the dark, twisting over the ridge and vanishing between the corals. That’s what you did most days, picking up people’s trash to make it your treasure, fingers cleaning the sand off the holes and crevasses before sticking them to your walls. You also tinkered with metal creations you found, a silver fork or a rusted-looking instrument. 

Granted, you joined in hunts, catching sardines and herrings, claws digging into its scaled bodies and teeth ripping into its flesh, the only other taste being sea salt, or bathed under the sun, but you preferred scavenging for loot. Although mers hunted alone, most found it easier to do it in groups, swarming shoals of fish and catching in a group of a dozen at a time for your little colony. So when you were fed and rested, you were back out, treading the line between the shallow and the abyss.

You swam slowly, head turning left and right for anything that would catch your attention, for that small glint hidden under a thin veil of sand or a long metallic object sticking out from the ground. You already had a few things in your arms, a few shells, human objects thrown overboard or floated into the sea, and small treasures: white pearls. You picked things up from both sides, mind in a comfortable and pleasant space, prideful of your catch so far that you were oblivious of the eyes following your colourful body. 

His pale eyes wandered over your puffy cheeks and sweet lips, those squinted eyes in mirth as you searched for more. He went down the curve of your shoulders and the swell of your breasts, perky nipples covered by pretty shells, over your soft stomach and that bright, colourful tail of yours that first caught his attention. Every scale glistened under the sun, reflecting the light on the sand while you swam, your fins curving with the twist of your tail. 

You were the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, an angel collecting treasure, just like he did. He saw the batch in your arms, clutched between your breasts when you dove to pick something up on his side. You were as adorable and innocent as you were pretty, your action oblivious of his predatory eyes, dipping into his territory without fear of retribution on his part. He liked that bold and daring attitude of yours, fitting for someone so courageously bright and flashing your bold colours to him. 

If he were to drop something closer to him, would you still swim towards it or ignore it for something closer to the ridge? If he hid until you were close enough, would he be able to wrap his limb around you? To feel your soft skin and coarse scales under his slimy arm. He was glad he decided to hunt today, searching for both prey - mer or fish, he isn’t picky about what he ate - and treasure. Hidden under a couple of tentacles, he dropped a golden coin a few feet away from him, his veil and the darkness helping him hide from your sight. 

His heart soared when he saw your eyes widen, a smile curling at the corners of your lips when you saw his little coin, diving towards him with enthusiasm. You were so close to him, hand stretching to grab the object with small, clawed fingers. When you held it in your hand, appraising it, he felt pride bubble in his chest, rising to his mind as he took this occasion to get his arm around you. You flinched when he wrapped the tip of his tentacle around your tail, squirming around in terror. In a panicked struggle to escape him, you dropped everything you’d collected and fled from him with a cry.

He watched you swim away from him through saddened eyes, hearing the thudding from the things you dropped, even the coin he gifted you. His eyes never left your fleeing body until you jumped over the edge, your tail the last thing he saw in that moment of self-deprivation and sadness. He hoped you’d come back, forgetting the fear of his sudden attention and daring fate once more.

He came the next day and the day after that, but you weren’t there, your precious smile and happy eyes were a memory in his mind, a fleeting moment in his gloomy world. He came back every day, hiding in the darkness, on the line between pitch darkness and light shading. He wished you were there every day, his eyes bleeding with optimism and hope for a single smidgen of bright colours. 

He hadn’t seen you in the following week. His shoulders slumped and caved into himself in sadness every time he came by, his blue eyes dulling bit by bit, that hopeful thinking drowning under realistic thinking and a pessimistic mind. Then he caught a glimpse of colour against the white sand. Before long, he saw arms filled with shiny items, trailing nearer to your side than his, but still chasing for treasures. 

If he wanted to approach you, to touch your soft-looking skin and run his arms over your scaled tail, he’d have to find a way to lure you in. He watched you the first few days, his tentacles curling on itself and burying himself in the sand, the hundreds of suckers searching for buried treasures to leave for you. When you turned your back to him, his unwinding arm left the things he found near the ridge for you to find and take. Little gifts for you, courting gifts he left and gifted you in an attempt to woo you. 

You were skittish and fleeing but took all his gifts with shaky smiles and grateful eyes, you knew he gave them to you. Of course, you did, you were his brave and smart little mermaid, approaching his offerings with apprehension - he felt hurt you feared and got nervous around him, but he understood you, his kind ate yours - and scanned the sand around you for any danger before crossing the line. He felt giddy when you added them to your stack, his mind-blowing with dreams and thoughts of you decorating your little cave with the things he gave you. On the ceiling, against the wall and on the ground or surfaces, you would use the things he gave you for your home. 

It sent him up the walls of his caves with joy and excitement, his limbs curling to rearrange his home to prepare for you, to accommodate your arrival to his big, lonely home.

It took a week or two - or so he thought, his perception of time was and had always been warped in some way - before you became comfortable enough to approach him, to let him curl his slimy tentacle around your tail and up your body. He could finally feel you and it made him ecstatic - he was over the moon every time he got to touch you. Little pokes, fleeting squeezes and feathery bites from his suckers on your flesh, all things he let himself taste before your coupling. A coupling between the prettiest and the cruellest beings in the ocean would unwind the seams that made your worlds, pulling the string that separated the beauty and the beast in this cursed universe.

Granted, you hesitated to cross into the pitch darkness of the abyss, dancing just a few inches from his abode with an armful of trinkets from König. Your slow and steady breath, words you blessed him with when you muttered to him, calling out to know if he was there and your grateful grin were a common, yet welcome sight in his daily swim. While a bit reluctant to join him on the other side, you eventually swam across, your eyes melting into the black before you. You were unseeing as much as you were blind, if not for the guiding palm of the Eldritch creature that you befriended and the shine of treasure you saw around him. 

You wished you could see anything but the gleam of treasure and the black mist of the abyss, your hand wandered over his, searching for his body, to feel the one who’s been gifting you treasures. Your fingers trailed upwards, feeling the tightness of his muscles, the curves and hardness of his arms were sinful. You truly wished you could see him at this moment, but you kept at your advance, clawed fingers moving slowly with unbridled curiosity. When you reached his broad shoulders and well-pronounced chest, it rumbled, a purr coming from König. Its deep sound shook you with need, your tail enthusiastically moving back and forth as you listened to him. 

“Are you happy, Schatz?”

His voice was even better than his soft purrs, in a way that made you want to melt into his arms and never bother moving if he kept talking to you, the sound of the creature that gave you gifts and affection. König’s spine-chilling voice seemed like a mix of many voices, both soft and raspy, and both deep and smooth, but it was something you enjoyed, that you found yourself liking a bit too much. 

“Yes,” you breathed, eyes travelling skyward, towards the source of his voice.

Your breath caught in your throat, choking a gasp at the prettiest blues you’d seen staring down at you. They were majestic, gem-like with a pretty sheen that made them glow like a beacon of light. You wondered why you’d never seen them, seeing how bright his eyes were. They lit up his face, or the veil he wore over his face, showing the pale streak of makeshift tears down the incision he made for his eyes. You shamelessly admired him, unbothered by the lost puppy-like stare you gave him in your glowing beauty. 

You’d crossed a threshold, where a creature of light never dared to cross, stepping into the arms of an Old One and embracing their madness. Although you were oblivious to his intentions, the loud proclamation of his courting rituals and attempts of crying out his love - the Old One’s rituals and cultures were much of a mystery to those who didn’t study them, much of a taboo for anyone outside of delusion and greed - he hadn’t refrained from his deliberate show that would be nearly shameful and embarrassing to others of his kind. 

Some wouldn’t bother with such frivolous acts: confessions from the deepest part of their dark soul, proclamation of love and undying adoration, or having to scavenge for gifts - offerings - to the subject of their attention. His kind took and took, reaching for that small glimmer of hope and beauty and corrupted it, bending it to their liking and building something from the ashes. It wouldn’t - would never - be the same as they were before, but that was how the Old Ones liked it: control, corruption, ruin, madness and power.

König wouldn’t do that, he wanted to cherish you, add to what you were and watch it bloom like those bioluminescent creatures in the abyss; even against his creator’s wishes. He’ll put you on the highest pedestal he has, eternally imprinting the image of you as his most precious treasure into his mind. You’ll be a thing of miracles, a thing of blessings, a thing of new beginnings. He wanted all and everything with you, but he’d have to take it slow, to coax you into this redundant pattern that ensured your trust and comfort and have you follow him of your own volition. 

He doesn’t mind waiting, he’s had hundreds of years of sitting and waiting, patience was a virtue he grew to learn, to hold in his giant palm and clutch like a gift from the ever-growing, chaotic universe. He can wait and plan, so he will, König will lay down his plan and wait until he can bring it to reality.

Wait he did, for you to grow comfortable enough to follow him deeper and let him pull you in from your side. It took you a month of back and forth, squirming around your infatuation with König and exchanging trinkets, words and fleeting kisses with him. He adored your little giggles when he traced your sides with a bolt tentacle, curling under your plush tits and the tip sliding under your strap. He loved the pretty shells you gave him, cleaned from sand and any barnacles, it showed him how much time you spent on it for him. His heart bloomed and swelled to impossible heights when you pecked his lips, giving him shy and gentle kisses that he grew addicted to. 

You were so sweet and so soft, your lips the taste of heaven for a creature of madness. Your hands were gentle like a cool balm over a burn, soothing his wild thoughts. Your little gifts for him - reciprocating his affection - were currently the most important things in his cave, a sign of your love and devotion. It made him wonder what would you let him do once you gave yourself to him. Would you succumb to the everlasting pleasures he could give you, or would you demand to help him take care of his own in a mutual haze? He couldn’t help himself, letting his chaotic mind conjure the most absurd and erotic dreams, his body vibrating with excitement; and now, at the peak of your trust in him, he watched his plan - a well-placed trap - come to fruition. 

“Come, Schatz,” he beckoned you forward, his burly arm stretching to coax you to follow him, holding out his open palm to you. “I have something I want to show you. Pretty things.”

Without a thought, to question his intentions or to ask why he couldn’t have bought them for you like he usually did, you took his hand and let his fingers curl over yours, intertwining your smaller digits to his as he pulled you to his chest. His embrace was as safe and pleasant as the last one - yesterday - and caused a flurry of emotions to erupt in your chest, he was warm in the cool darkness, loving in all the ways you could think. You could close your eyes and imagine a smile rippling across his face with joyfully squinted eyes peering down at you. 

Held against his chest, his other arm wrapped around your waist with a firm squeeze of his hand where your skin turned to scales. He whispered sweet promises, words of encouragement to see the way to his home and excited explanations of what awaited you. Pretty things, he said, you knew what he meant - at least you think you did - you shared much in common, and pretty things were something you both agreed on: shiny metals, interesting trinkets, shimmering shells or finely-minted coins. All things humans valued before throwing away; one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. 

How unfortunate that you couldn’t see in the dark, yet how fortunate you wouldn’t know the way back, it was something he relied on heavily to keep you, if you didn’t know how to navigate in this utter blindness, there were no risks of you trying to escape his caring hand. You were smart, you wouldn’t simply venture off without knowing where to go and how to see, especially with how vast his territory was and how dangerous it was. He shared his home with other simple-minded animals, sharks, fishes, eels and any other abyssal creature that lived and depended on the dark to live. 

Your innocent curiosity about the things he deemed pretty enough to hoard made his heartbeat, that addicting feeling he got from touching you, kissing you and speaking to you. Even if the deeper he went, the colder it became, you never once complained, your wide eyes and grinning face were the only thing you gave him. He was truly relieved to know that you were patient and understanding of his home, not one hiss or pout while you shook and clung to him, depending on him for warmth. He liked that, to see you rely on him so much. 

“We’re here, mein Liebling,” he hushed, cradling your face as he dove down, through the entrance of his cave. He shielded your fragile body with his many arms, protecting you from the rush of water current flowing against him. He chose this one to build his nest, using the strong current as a natural barrier against weaker creatures. 

When the waters calmed to a still, he loosened his hold on you, unravelling his arms to let you explore the many passages and alcoves in his home. To accommodate you, he strung up bioluminescent flora, using them as light to find your way around, with silken algae over a few rocks to mimic the beds mers slept in and a few other things that he thought you’d need: a mirror, a few floating plants to add to its mystical beauty and clusters of soft materials in nearly every room. 

He let you wander, your tail flapping back and forth to lead you down the long hall and explore the many rooms. He used a room to sleep, one as a pantry and storage, and another one to hold his hoard, but he had a lot of empty and unused space, more than enough for you and your children to thrive. He wanted to let you roam at your own pace, but he had something to show you, something he was proud of making. 

He pulled you from your little cloud of joy, wrapping an arm around you, his sticky suckers latching onto you as he coaxed you his way. Only then had you taken the time to admire König under blue light, cheeks warm with a burning flush and doe-like eyes staring at the naked expense of his hard abdomen, stomach sculpted to perfection that had Adonis shying away. His arms were big and round, muscles straining the scarred skin with delicious appeal. 

Downwards, following the sharp dip of his navel, were dozens of dark tentacles lined with round, pulsing suckers. Like an octopus, they were covered in a slimy sheen, every limb flexible and able to move independently. The lower ones were thick and soft, acting as a cover for whatever he hid beneath them, while some were thinner, whose source came from under his veil. Those, however, were a mix of normal and horrific tentacles, some had eyes replacing the usual suckers, tinted in the same colour as his irises, that glowing, pale blue. 

It made your body heat up, fingers tingling with nerves - or was it? When faced with something you found appealing, it’d be natural to feel flustered, no? König thought so, that’s how he spent the first days reacting to you, heating up to a bothersome flush to everything you did. He watched your awed stare, that daydreaming haze in your eyes when you looked him over, his whole body clear under the gentle light in his cave. 

“This way.”

Without making your gaze leave his figure, he drew you in, heading towards his biggest room where he caught and strung everything to fit his pleasure and mood. It was somewhere deeper into the system with walls strong and sturdy, and the round ceiling higher than the other rooms. On one side was a pile of golden objects of all shades, light yellow to a darkish gold, nearly bronze; on the other was a mix of pretty silver things and metallic black objects, rusted by age and the salty ocean; and on another, the smallest of them all, comprised of a few dozens of colourful shells and corals frozen in time that you’d given him. 

He saw your chest expand, your smile growing brighter and brighter at the pile of gifts you gave him, your bubbly laugh as you swam towards it, twirling around it proudly. You looked around the room, admiring his large collection and how it seemed to spill down every pile in an attempt to reach the other one, forming a protective ring around your presents, but always coming back to the bright pink, blue and yellow shells. You were happy and appreciative of the time he spent working and arranging his hoard. If he could, he’d preen and purr to you, to show just how much your proud smile meant to him, watching you appraise his work was satisfying. 

He already felt like things were falling into place perfectly, he could see the life he had envisioned with you coming to life, the little intricacies that popped into his mind seeming too appealing. His dreams were slowly becoming a reality, the things that he could only imagine were now tangible to his hands, and the future he salivated at was so, so close that he could sink his teeth into its flesh. 

He knew it. He knew it when he watched you swim to him with that big, adorable smile on your face, that it was in his hands. He could see it now, how his lonely cave would be filled with life and laughter, children with a mix of your beauty and his madness chasing one another between the many openings and your round, swollen stomach welcoming another of your children to the world. That was all he could think of while he cradled you in his arms, his tentacles latching to your tail and back. 

“You’re happy, ja?”

Next

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @candlewitch-cryptic @im-making-an-effort @0alk0msan 

[kaiser1ns]

#. SOUL EATER : RESONANCE

𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝗲𝗿/𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗰𝗸 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 ıllı. takiishi chika, umemiya hajime, suo hayato, endo yamato, sakura haruka, kaji ren & itoshi sae, michael kaiser, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, isagi yoichi

fluff. death weapon meister academy's best students and the resonance between you.

happy belated halloween! 500-600 words per scenario so hope you enjoy these treats from yours truly ♡

MEISTER!CHARACTER x WEAPON!READER

ITOSHI SAE

“Sae, please talk to me!” You tug at his blouse, practically pleading. “I’m sorry, okay? It just happened, and you know I’m still learning to control my powers—”

Sae’s gaze finally drops to you, cold and his face holds none of the understanding you’d hoped for. “You were being incredibly stupid,” he says bluntly. “Dr. Stein wanted us out immediately after you went out of control. When I wield you, I need to know you won’t act on your own.”

It’s not like you tried to go rogue. You’ve been with him through countless missions, pushing yourselves, and trusting each other even in the roughest of battles. But this? You bite back, your irritation rising. “It wasn’t my fault! And Dr. Stein helped, didn’t he? It’s not like I was going to die or anything!”

Your voice comes out sharper than intended, the words fueled by a frustration you can’t hold back. He knows you better than anyone and knows how hard it is to keep in sync, to keep this connection as flawless as he demands. Yet here he is, acting like one mistake makes you a liability.

“Y/N…” Sae’s tone turns low, a warning. “You were unconscious for two weeks. You don’t remember what happened. Do you want me to tell you?” His words hit you hard, hurting you more than any wound you have had so far.

He’s always held high standards for you that sometimes feel impossible. As his weapon, he expects you to be perfect—flawless, untouchable. You feel the weight of his pride as a meister, his expectations towering over you. And there’s a bitter ache that tightens in your chest as you wonder if he sees you as unworthy now as if you’re a weak link in his chain.

You exhale slowly, feeling the pressure of his stare, every unspoken word bearing down on you. “I know, I know! But it’s not fair to think I’d instantly be able to control all of that power the second it woke up in me! I’m trying, Sae.”

He sighs, and for a moment, the hard line of his mouth softens just a little. He reaches out and flicks your forehead lightly. “For someone who’s going to be with me for life, you’re rather annoying,” he says, his tone lighter. The tension eases, and every time he flick your head you know you have made up. He smiles a little and you can’t hold back as you grin.

“You’re the best,” you say softly, finally stepping forward and pulling him into a quick, impulsive hug. You press a light kiss to his cheek, the gesture small but he is used to your affection and he takes everything you have to offer. He rolls his eyes, but there’s a ghost of a smile in the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. You should be the best, too.”

TAKIISHI CHIKA

The night sky is colored with stars, tiny silver shards that seem to tease you with promises of power and action—things your meister, Takiishi Chika, rarely lets you offer. You sit on the cold stone steps, arms draped across your knees, watching him fight without you, again. He’s a human inferno slicing through enemies like it’s nothing. For all his talent, he refuses to call on you, even when a single second of hesitation could mean his life. 

You sigh, looking back at the stars, counting them just as you count each missed opportunity he has to use you. If only Takiishi would stop being so... Takiishi. The battle finally ends with him victorious, but there’s no acknowledgment of your presence—no glance your way, no word of thanks for even being there. He simply turns and begins walking off, leaving you alone on the steps.

“Takiishi!” Typical. You groaned, launching to your feet and jogging to catch up with him. “You can’t just leave me like that! Hey, are you even liste—”

Finally stepping in front of him. He pauses, looking past you, expression cold and bored. “Move,” he says, his voice flat and utterly indifferent, flames still flickering across his body as if they, too, ignore you.

“I won’t move until you realize that this is teamwork,” you counter, setting your stance. “You can’t do everything alone.”

“I don’t care. You’re in my way. Move.”

The indifference is like a cut, sharper each time he says it. You clench your fists, feeling the familiar ache of unspent energy ripple through you. “Fine. If that’s what you want, then maybe I’ll ask Umemiya. He’ll be more than happy to partner with me.”

The second Umemiya’s name slips from your lips, Takiishi’s face barely shifts, but something flickers in his eyes, gone in a flash. You feel the weight of his stare, and it makes you feel powerful that you have your meister in such an unusual state. It’s almost enough to make you stay but you take a step back, ready to leave, but his hand reaches out, catching yours.

You turn, surprised to find a softness in his face, he looks… lost. Vulnerable. “What?” you ask, brow arching. He doesn’t answer, just tightens his grip slightly. He’s like a wolf trying to hide its wounds, but you’re not about to let him off that easily.

“Don’t go...” he finally mutters, eyes avoiding yours. For someone who doesn’t want to rely on you, he sure hates the thought of anyone else doing so.

“And you suddenly care when I mention switching partners?” you retort, your voice softer now, realizing just how much the idea unsettles him.

Before you can question him further, a monster lurches from the shadows behind you. Takiishi’s hand snaps to your shoulder, pulling you behind him protectively, his flames flaring up in a blaze that makes the night momentarily glow. His eyes meet yours, this time without words, but you know what he’s asking.

You sigh, offering him a small, resigned smile, and nod. Maybe he’s stubborn, cold, and reckless—but he’s your meister, and for better or worse, you’re his weapon. He needed you now. Transforming and letting your power flow into his hands, trusting him to wield you to your fullest.

You would always be the strongest weapon in his hands, because even if he’d never say it, you were his, and he was yours.

MICHAEL KAISER

His hand trails through your hair, fingers brushing against your scalp in slow, gentle strokes that lull you deeper into rest. The exhaustion of yesterday’s training took a lot of energy and it’s hard not to sink into the comfort of him beneath you. His chest rises and falls steadily under your cheek, matching the rhythm of your breaths. 

“You’re that tired?” His voice is soft, a whisper more to himself than to you, but you manage a faint mumble, not bothering to move. It earns a small chuckle from him, and he pulls you closer, his hand never stopping its movement through your hair. “Still, you did well today. Especially against Isagi. That was impressive,” he murmurs. There’s a hint of pride there because he is so proud of you. He never expected less from the best weapon and girl in the whole wide world.

“Mmm, otherwise you’d still be complaining about losing,” you mutter, words muffled against his skin. Your fingers trace lazy patterns across his tattooed shoulder, and you can feel him smile at that. The Academy, your training, the never-ending cycle of challenges and rivals—it’s not important now when the two of you relax in his room.

You barely notice as your breathing slows, and the last thing you feel is his hand brushing your hair from your face before sleep overtakes you completely.

But all too soon, the alarm rings, pulling you out of the warmth of his embrace. You groan, stretching as you peel yourself off his chest, and the soreness from yesterday’s battles immediately makes itself known. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stumble to your feet as you walk over to where your uniform is laid out. You catch a glimpse of Kaiser stretching beside you, his hair tousled from sleep, his expression as groggy as yours. Yet somehow, he’s already flashing that smirk of his, the one he knows you can never fully ignore.

“You always look good when you’re about to kick ass,” he teases as you pull on your jacket, adjusting the fit around your shoulders. “Especially Isagi’s ass.” The playfulness in his eyes tells you he means it, though it’s more than just a compliment. It’s his pride, his own way of showing you how much he values you by his side. He can’t resist adding fuel to the fire, of course, but there’s this satisfaction of always being the winner, his appreciation for you and the way you fight.

“Shut up,” you mutter, rolling your eyes, but the smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. Kaiser grins, knowing he got through to you, knowing that he’s managed to start your day and remind you exactly why you’re here with him. As you finish dressing, he is in his uniform too, now wrapping his arm around your waist ready to go out and show you off, because as exhausting as it all is, being his partner—being the one he trusts, the one he praises and boost his ego—it’s something you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

UMEMIYA HAJIME

Everywhere you go, you hear whispers. First-years talking, pointing in your direction as if you’re something out of a storybook. "That's Y/N,” they’d say, praises dripping from their mouths, “Umemiya’s death scythe." There’s admiration there, and maybe even fear. After all, a weapon as powerful as you is rare, and with a laid-back meister like Umemiya, it seems like an odd pairing.

He’s known for his easygoing nature, approachable smile, and willingness to help anyone with anything… even if it’s absurd. To you, this sounds noble in theory. But in practice? It means moments like this one, where you’re looking down at your meister with your arms crossed, his hands clinging to your legs as he begs you to transform.

“Please, Y/N! I left my gardening tools in the shed back home, and we’re already here! Can’t you just… you know, turn into a scythe? Just for a few quick cuts!” You can only gaze down at him. A death scythe, being used to prune vegetables. The absurdity of it makes you grit your teeth. “Ume, I am not doing that! I’m a Death Scythe, not a hedge trimmer!” You try to shake him off, but he clings tighter, not one bit fazed by your irritation.

“Please, please, please!” he insists, hugging your legs harder. “I’ll cook for you, whatever you want! The most delicious meals, I promise!” He looks up at you, blue eyes pleading that would make a saint roll their eyes.

You narrow your eyes, pretending to consider. “Let’s see…” You tap a finger on your chin, drawing out the answer as long as possible just to make him sweat. “Eenie, meenie, miney… No!”

He sulks, face crumpling as he clutches at you dramatically. “Y/N! I thought you were my partner in crime! Partners always have each other’s backs, right?”

“Oh, don’t even try that on me,” you huff, crossing your arms tighter as you look away. “We are not partners in vegetable cutting.”

“Y/N!” he cries, the pouty lip and big eyes coming out, that was so immature for a strong leader and Meister, but that's just who he is.

“Umemiya Hajime,” you say, voice sharp and final, making him flinch. That full name is your last resort, and he knows it. “Go buy some vegetables from the market. I’m not wasting my energy on this.” Finally, with a sigh, he lets go and stands, running a hand sheepishly through his hair as he gives you a look of innocent exasperation.

“Fine, fine,” he mutters, deflated, but the spark never leaves him. “You win.” You’re about to turn away, feeling victorious, when he clears his throat, looking at you with a warning in his eye. “Just… to let you know, though, we’ve got to help an older couple with tree cutting tomorrow. They really need it.”

Your jaw drops and your eyes go wide. “What?”

He smiles, trying to look innocent. “Hey, they’re really nice! And they could use a little help from the strongest weapon-meister duo in the academy…”

You take a deep breath, feeling your energy drain just thinking about it. "You're unbelievable, Ume."

He raises both hands in surrender, laughing nervously as he grins, wide and bright, completely unaffected by the exasperation in your voice. It’s times like this when you wonder if you’re the meister and he’s the weapon. But one thing’s for sure: whether he’s charging into battle or begging for garden work, Umemiya Hajime is going to be the death of you. And if he pulls another stunt like this? He just might meet the wrong end of his own scythe.

NAGI SEISHIRO

“Sei, please!” you say, as you stand in front of the couch. “I’ll get you that new game if you accept this mission!”

Nagi Seishiro doesn’t even open his eyes. Instead, he gives a long, drawn-out sigh as he stretches his arms out behind his head, his tall frame too long to fit comfortably on the couch. His legs dangle over the edge, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Honestly, he seems to enjoy lounging around more than he enjoys actually doing his job as your meister.

It’s not that he can’t do the work. No, it’s the opposite. Nagi is ridiculously skilled—maybe even one of the best—but he’d much rather spend his time avoiding the responsibility altogether.

Missions? Too much hassle. Classes? Why bother. Training? He’s already good enough. Meanwhile, you’re trying your hardest to uphold your reputation, keep your grades up, and, most importantly, collect souls to be stronger. But none of that seems to matter to Nagi unless it somehow involves him not being bored during the mission or anything that has to do with moving.

He cracks one eye open, glancing at you with that familiar sleepy stare, “New game, hmm?” he mutters, finally giving you his attention.

You nod, your hands pressed together like you’re praying, “Yes! It's the new one from the series you like. With the best graphics and battles, you know the bes–”

“Hmm…” He rolls onto his side, considering if he should take up your offer. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Exactly,” you counter. “Just like this mission is going to be for us. But if we succeed, Lord Death said he’d give us a few days off, and… I’ll use that time to get you the game. You’ll have something new to play instead of replaying the same one a hundred times.”

The promise of the game seems more than appealing. He pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he scratches his head. “But this mission’s rated hard, isn’t it? Ugh… fighting tough enemies is such a pain.”

“Yes, but it’s nothing we can’t handle. You’re a genius, remember?” you say with a smirk, hoping to stroke his ego just enough to sway him.

His options between taking the mission and going back to sleep. Finally, he sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, fine. I’ll do it. But you better make sure you get me that game.”

You can’t believe that it took you all of your savings for a game, but you managed to pull him out of his comfort zone. As you gather your things and prepare for the mission, Nagi is already stretching out his arms, yawning. “Let’s make this quick, okay? I want to be back before I get too tired,” he says, already planning his next nap.

“Yeah, yeah, lazybones,” you mutter, walking out of your home, but even as you roll your eyes, you can’t help but smile. If tricking him with video games is what it takes to get your lazy meister in action, you’re more than willing to make that deal every time.

SUO HAYATO

“Come on, if you keep hiding things from me, I’ll keep seeking,” Suo’s calm, playful voice trails behind you as he walks with that unchanging smile, hands clasped leisurely behind his back. But you keep your gaze fixed forward, pretending you didn’t hear him, or at least, trying to. That relaxed, endlessly patient look of his was somehow just as frustrating as it was comforting, especially when you were feeling out of sorts. You know better that he is no stranger, he is your meister, and he knows when something is troubling you.

“I said I’m fine.” It comes out as a rude remark, and you immediately regret it. You stop, pressing your lips together in frustration, only to feel the softness in Suo’s eyes on you as he stops too. You turn, and though you try to fake your expression, the sadness in your gaze betrays you. He notices it all—of course, he does.

“Breathe in, then out,” he says softly, his hand settling on your shoulder. “I’m here for you.” His voice wraps around you like a safe embrace, and before you can stop yourself, the tears start falling. Your meister pulls you close without hesitation, his pristine white chang-shan serving as an unintended handkerchief.

You swallow, finding your voice as you mumble, “It’s just… Endo said I’m not worthy of being in Bofurin…” Your voice is muffled by his clothes, but he seems to catch every word. Each tear, each word, he hears and feels it. Your soul is connected to his so gets to experience your pain.

Suo’s hand moves gently over your back in soothing circles. “Ah, Endo,” he chuckles lightly, unfazed. “I should have guessed. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, as usual. Remember how he did the same with Sakura?” He leans back slightly to meet your gaze, even if one eye is covered by an eyepatch. You blink, remembering that day. Sakura had been angry and lost after one of Endo’s comments about him. But he’d risen above it, and you had admired his strength then, just as Suo had assured him he was worthy. Now, it feels like he’s giving you the same gift of perspective.

“But what if… what if I’m not as good as him?” you ask, voice trembling. “What if he’s right?”

Suo’s expression softens, and his gentle smile stays. “If you weren’t capable, I wouldn’t have chosen you as my weapon,” he says simply, his words holding nothing but the truth. “Endo wants you to feel lesser because that’s his tactic, his way of keeping others from growing. But you don’t have to give him that power.”

You take a shaky breath, letting his words settle. The doubts lose some of their weight in the light of his quiet confidence in you.

“Besides,” he adds, his tone playful, “That guy lives to get under people’s skin. You don’t need to believe everything he says.” He winks, and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes. There he is again, always finding a way to make you smile.

“Now,” he continues, holding your hand in his, “How about a tea date instead? It’s been way too long since we’ve had one, and I could use an excuse to relax with my favorite and only girl.”

MEISTER!READER x WEAPON!CHARACTER

BACHIRA MEGURU

As Bachira’s laughter echoed down the school halls, you couldn’t help but smile, clinging tighter to his shoulders as he dashed ahead, but with him everything is more fun when you don't do things normally.

“Bachira, slow down! We’re gonna fall!” you said, more like screamed in his ear, your words nearly drowned out by his wild laughter. And as much as you enjoyed it, sometimes he went a little too far.

“Not a chance!” he shot back, barely avoiding a janitor’s cart as he took a sharp turn. You tighten your grip, feeling the wind rush past as the hallway blurred by. Finally, with a screech of his sneakers, he stopped just outside Lord Death’s office, grinning back at you. “Arrived at the destination! Kisses can be used as payment.” He tapped his cheek with a smug look, and you rolled your eyes but leaned in, giving him a quick peck.

“Not the best drive,” you muttered as you slid off his back, “wouldn’t recommend…but will see if I would do it again.”

Opening the door, you straightened up, slipping into professional mode, though it was hard with him right behind you, still buzzing with energy. In front of you, Lord Death stood by his massive glass mirror, wearing his jagged, dark robes and that cartoony skull mask that had a way of being both silly and terrifying.

“Lord Death, we’re here,” you said, trying to balance respect and calm as you addressed him. "What did you call us for?”

“Ah, Y/N and Bachira! My favorites! Please, please make yourselves comfortable,” he replied, gesturing toward a table absolutely loaded with cakes and sweets. Without a second thought, Bachira made a beeline for the table, already stuffing his face with something chocolatey as you tried to listen to Lord Death’s orders.

“Now, now,” Lord Death continued, “I need the two of you to retrieve this missing item. It’s a secret mission, so remember: not a word to anyone. It’s for your safety.”

You nodded, glancing over at Bachira, who now had chocolate smeared all over his face, looking like a kid who’d just discovered sugar. “Fo yu feef fus fu fo fere fand—” [So you need us to go there and–] he tried to say, his mouth completely full. But he was cute and was excused by such informality and Lord Death enjoyed how the young weapon was so himself.

You shook your head, amused, and finished the sentence for him, “And get the job done as fast as possible.”

“Pricelessly, yes!” Lord Death clapped his hands together. “You two make an excellent team!”

You shot Bachira a look and handed him a napkin, wiping away the chocolate smears with a grin. “If we’re going on a secret mission, we might as well look good.”

Your partner just laughed, grabbing you and hauling you back onto his shoulders, bright yellow eyes sparkling with his never ending playfulness. “Hold on tight, Y/N! Next stop: victory!”

“Not again!” you yelled, clinging to him as he left Lord Death’s office at full speed, rounding the first corner so sharply you almost slipped. But you knew he’d never actually let you fall.

Lord Death watched you both go, shaking his head with a smile. “Ah, youngsters. Full of life.” He knew there was no better duo for the job.

ENDO YAMATO

It was supposed to be a simple mission: slip in, take out the Kishin, collect the soul, and get out. No complications, no distractions. But when Endo was involved, even the simplest things became… well, complicated.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Takiishi used me in that fight against the ninja guy?” he whispers, just a little too loud. You shoot him a glare as you crouch low, scanning for any signs of the Kishin lurking in the shadows. But Endo, oblivious to the situation’s demands, just keeps going. “Seriously, it was incredible! The way he wielded me—I'm telling you, it was like magic! I mean, you’re amazing, obviously, but this guy? The two of you together would be unstoppable.”

Your patience was wearing thin, and it was showing. You glanced over your shoulder, whispering in a low, scolding tone, “Endo, would you shut up for once? We’re supposed to be done with this by now.”

He just smirked, leaning against the cold stone wall as though this was a casual night out instead of a mission. “Aw, come on, doll. What’s the rush? We’ve got all night to take down one little Kishin." watching you with those eyes that showed nothing good, "Besides, don’t you think you need to loosen up a bit? You’re always trying to be ‘Miss Perfect.’ But you’re already the best, hands down.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. There’s no way you’re letting his endless banter derail the mission. You extend your hand. He takes it with a lazy smile, intertwining your fingers just a little too slowly. “Transform, now,” you whisper, trying to ignore the warmth of his hand in yours and the playfulness in his eye.

Just then, you hear footsteps, a shuffle in the darkness. Instinctively, your grip tightens, and Endo shifts, his form glimmering as he becomes a sleek, polished pistol in your hand. The perfect weapon for one clean shot.

“Right on target, or I’m putting you in detention,” you mutter, aiming carefully. A soft chuckle echoes from the weapon in your hand.

“Only if you’re the one giving it to me,” he teases, his voice vibrating through your body.

You don’t bother responding, steadying your aim. Pulling the trigger, the shot resonates in the silence as the Kishin collapses. A faint smoke drifts from the barrel as Endo shifts back, grinning as he strides over to collect the soul—a glistening blue orb hovering above the remains. He snatches it with satisfaction, letting it vanish into his mouth as this was his dinner, but he is always ready for dessert.

You’re already turning to leave when he catches up, nudging your shoulder. “So, now that we’re done here, think we can swing by the party? Takiishi will be there, and—”

His words trail off when he catches your unimpressed look. But as always, he doesn’t give up. Instead, he steps closer, tilting your chin up with his tattooed fingers. “Or maybe,” he murmurs, his voice low, “I could show you a little more of what I can do. Just the two of us.”

You smirk, catching his hand and intertwining your fingers as you start leading the way back to the academy. “You’d better make it worth my while, then.”

He chuckles, that lazy, cocky sound trailing after you. “Oh, you know I will, doll. Anything for you.”

ITOSHI RIN

You’d been searching for him all day, irritated, annoyed but not surprised. Why does he have to pick a fight with Isagi again? Poor guy probably didn’t even do anything this time, just breathing and existing. But Rin’s temper? It seems to have a strong trigger, and you are fully prepared to be the one to finally make it go off on him.

You scanned the room, spotting your friends who gave you sympathetic glances, some even knew what was coming. When you finally spot Rin sitting at his desk in class, like he doesn't care about anything in the world, he's just there.

Without a second thought, you shove the classroom door open, and it bangs against the wall with a force that pulls every head in your direction. Even Dr. Stein, who usually comments on such disturbances with some dry remark, raises his eyebrow at you, his mouth opening. But one sharp look from you shuts him up. He knows better.

“Itoshi Rin. Out, now.” Your voice is hard as steel, nothing like the sweet tone you save for casual days, when you’re both training, laughing, maybe even getting along for once. But today, this? This is all business, and everyone knows that if you’re mad enough to pull him out of class, he’s in trouble.

Rin just rolls his eyes and scoffs, pushing himself up from his chair and sauntering to the door. You let the door close behind you with a polite, “Excuse us, Doctor,” as you exit. Stein just sighs, casting a pitying look at Rin’s empty chair.

Behind you, someone whispered, “Think she’s gonna be the first meister in centuries to kill her weapon?”

Dr. Stein gave an unbothered shrug. “I’d like to see the body afterward, for... scientific purposes.”

Outside the classroom, you stop, crossing your arms and tapping your foot. Rin is slumping against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stares at you, his expression completely unbothered. He seems to be waiting for you to say something, but you wait for him, pressuring him to do something.

“What do you want?” he finally mutters, almost as if he’s bored.

“What I want,” you begin, warning him with that tone, “is for you to stop with this ‘I’m going to kill Isagi’ nonsense.” You can’t keep the anger out of your voice, but you do try to stay calm and controlled. He needs to understand that you are serious without having to scream it in his face. “Rin, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be the best. But you know as well as I do, we don’t need to crush everyone else to prove that. Not him, at least.”

He’s staring at you, but it’s clear he’s listening to you, but he doesn't hear. He finally scoffs, mumbling, turning his head in the opposite direction to avoid you. “As if.” What he hated the most was to be told what to do.

You take a step closer, pressing a finger to his chest. “Listen, I don’t have all day to deal with this. I don’t care if you have a grudge or if he has better luck sometimes. You’re my weapon. And that means you follow my orders.”

Rin’s eyes flash, and he grabs your wrist, his grip firm as he leans down just enough to be intimidating. “I do whatever I want.” You yank him closer by the shirt, unflinching. “And I can crush your soul if you ever cross that line with me again. So don’t forget, Rin—who’s the one with the control here?”

For once, his blunt expression falters. You’re not sure if he’s backing down…or if he’s just considering something else. Either way, he releases your wrist, mumbling under his breath, but for now, he’s been put in his place.

SAKURA HARUKA

"Can't you run faster?" As you leap from one rooftop to the next, Sakura's voice echoes in your head, scythe held tightly in your grip. To achieve his ultimate form as a Death Weapon Scythe, Sakura needed to consume the soul of a witch, and tonight, you had one within your sight. “Shut up! I'm trying my best here," you snap back, spinning the weapon instinctively to keep your balance. His groan vibrates through your hands as he starts to feel dizzy.

"Huh?! This is your best?" he taunts, irritated by your fighting, more like defending yourself. Your patience finally snaps, and you grind to a halt, releasing his weapon form as he transforms back to his human shape beside you. His expression is just as fiery as yours, brows knitted, eyes blazing. His sharper-than-normal teeth peek out in frustration.

"Sakura, stop! I’m fed up with your attitude," you say, barely keeping the anger out of your voice. He stares back at you, unyielding. "I'm your weapon for a reason, remember? Because you’re supposed to be one of the strongest Meisters out there. Don’t make me regret my choice of picking you."

The tension between you crackles, the adrenaline and frustration of the hunt mingling into something that even Lord Death won’t be able to stop, as he tried so many times to teach you to be one with your partner. But before you can respond, a voice interrupts from the shadows, lilting and playful, just what you need right now.

"My little pumpkins... I’m so sorry to interrupt," the witch croons, hovering just above you in the sky. Her glittering eyes shine in the moonlight, a smirk playing across her lips. "Are we going to do this tonight, or should I come back another day?"

The two of you whirl on her in perfect unison, “Shut up!” you shout, voices harmonizing as she pouts, clutching her hands to her chest in mock hurt. But you’re too caught up in the moment to notice the glint of magic in her fingers. Before you realize it, she’s already begun her spell. A sudden pulse of energy knocks Sakura against you, making you stumble on the edge of the rooftop.

You feel yourself losing your balance as the ground rushes up toward you, but Sakura’s arms find their way around you, his grip tight in fear of not letting you go. Instinctively, you clutch him back, bracing for a rough landing.

But instead of cold pavement, you crash into something soft and oddly bouncy, breaking your fall with an unexpected jolt. You open your eyes to find yourselves surrounded by squishy pumpkins conjured by the witch’s magic. You’re still tangled up with Sakura, his arms wrapped around you protectively, as he is more concerned now than angry. Your safety was his number one priority, even if you had arguments most of the time you had missions.

"Such cuties you two are!" the witch giggles, waving her fingers at you like she’s saying goodbye. “Well then, until next time!”

And with that, she vanishes, and your weapon mutters something under his breath, finally letting go of you as he stands up, brushing off imaginary dust with an embarrassed frown. You can’t help but smile at him, as he helps you stand up, handing his jacket to you as he walks forward, hands in his pockets as he sneezes and little air hearts appear around him.

"Soul resonance, huh?" you say knowing this won’t be the last time you’re stuck like this together.

ISAGI YOICHI

It was training time, the kind where you and your weapon partner go head-to-head against another meister and weapon pair. But this wasn’t just any opponent; this was Michael Kaiser, who had a habit of voicing his unwanted opinion about your partnership with Isagi. And, of course, Isagi chose him. His determination to take on Kaiser was fierce, and despite your reservations, you went along with it.

Running side by side, Isagi transformed into a set of shurikens, sharp and deadly, perfect for an offensive strike. You launched forward with a powerful kick, targeting Kaiser directly. He countered quickly, his weapon Ness—perfect, yet irritatingly well-matched partner—swinging to meet you.

"A strong meister like you using him? That’s so low of you, meine Prinzessin,” Kaiser taunted as he dodged your kicks, punches, and Isagi’s whirling shuriken form. His smirk was only growing wider as he grazed your defenses. Every time he opened his mouth, his mocking words were something you wish you could just cut with your weapon.

“Shut up, you stupid Emperor,” you spat, gripping Isagi as he shifted into his katana form, readying for another attempt to close in on Kaiser. You sliced left and right, and your movements were calculated, though the Emperor evaded most of your attacks. The best you managed was a slight tear on his shirt—a minor victory, though not satisfying enough.

“A girl like you, so strong, settling for a weapon like him?” His voice dripped with disgust as he angled Ness, testing your patience. “You deserve more than someone who thinks life’s a puzzle to solve. So much more. It’s honestly… cute, watching you struggle.”

It took everything not to let his words worm into your mind. You knew he was trying to rile you up until you’d snap and lose control. He wanted you to get reckless, to expose a weakness he could exploit. You clenched your fists, steadying yourself. You weren’t going to let him get the satisfaction.

“Isagi, I swear, I’m going to kill you for picking him instead of Barou,” you muttered through gritted teeth, tossing a glance at Isagi mid-battle. He chuckled nervously, though he knew just as well that this rivalry ran deep.

You darted forward, throwing Isagi in his shuriken form in a high arc behind Kaiser, who barely gave it a glance, his eyes pinned on you as you closed in. The fool thought you’d just thrown Isagi away.

“Oh, finally giving up and throwing out the trash?” Kaiser sneered, that self-satisfied smirk still painted across his face.

You mirrored his smirk, feeling the satisfaction bubble up as you locked eyes. “Quite the opposite. I’m taking it down.”

In a flash, Isagi shifted mid-air, transforming back into his human form just in time to land on Kaiser from behind, knocking him to the ground. Before Kaiser could react, you pressed a foot to his chest, holding him down firmly. Isagi stood beside you, eyes shining as he looked down at Kaiser with that victorious smirk.

“Who’s unworthy now, Emperor?” Isagi’s voice was laced with mockery, enjoying every second of the results. Kaiser, winded but not defeated, glared up at you. But even he couldn’t deny that for once, he’d been outmatched.

KAJI REN

You're patrolling the streets of Death City, trying to find the Kishin that has been disturbing the peace for a few days now. Beside you, Kaji Ren walks, hands in his hoodie pockets, a lollipop perched between his lips as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Headphones cradling his ears, pulsing with the beats of a very familiar song. Just as you’re about to comment on his distracted state, he freezes, eyes narrowing as he spots something moving in the shadows.

Without thinking twice, you reach out, snatching both his lollipop and his headphones when he barely has time to register the theft before you’ve popped the lollipop into your mouth, its sugary taste spreading across your tongue. Kaji’s eyes widen, and for a second he looks stunned, ready to make a witty remark but you’re already moving, sliding the headphones over your ears, the music from your shared playlist flooding your senses, pumping up your adrenaline.

“You—!” he starts, but he’s already transforming, his body twisting in a flash of light until the cold steel of his scythe form lands firmly in your grasp.

The music pulses through you and the beat matches your footsteps as you lunge toward the Kishin. With Kaji in your hand, you dance around the creature, slicing it as you move to the rhythm. You could feel his irritation vibrating through his blade form, and if he’d been human, you’d bet he’d be yelling, but his words are muffled by the blasting music in your ears.

“Y/N, watch ou—” You grin to yourself, knowing you don’t need the warning. You leap high, spinning mid-air, and bring Kaji down killing the Kishin with a powerful strike. It vanishes quickly, leaving only its blue soul glowing in the aftermath.

Landing gracefully, nodding your head to the rhythm as you pull off the headphones and let Kaji return to his human form. His mouth opens, clearly ready to throw an insult, but before he can get a single word out, you press the headphones back into his hands with a nonchalant smile.

“Yes, yes. Here you go. Return what I’ve taken,” you say, casually, popping the lollipop back into your mouth. “But I’m keeping this,” you add, twirling the sweet between your teeth. “It’s just too good to give up.”

“You won’t even he—” His protest dies as you press a finger to his lips, your teasing smile flashing as you look up at him, “Shhh, Ren. You’re so cute when you’re mad, you know that?” The faintest hint of a blush creeps into his cheeks, his brows knitting together, making him look even more annoyed. You always cut him off, you didn't listen to him and he was mad, but at the same time, he was too enraged to say anything. Turning away, looking forward to your next task—if only to tease him more.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

WBK. Weapon!Togame, Weapon!Hiragi, Meister!Nirei, Meister!Choji, Meister!Kiryu, Weapon!Suzuri

BLLK. Meister!Karasu, Meister!Barou, Weapon!Reo, Weapon!Otoya, Weapon!Shidou, Meister!Aiku

taglist :: @kiurona @nyxypoo @17020 @stunies @maruflix @ryescapades @yoru-exe @heartkaji @seneon @choccorin @littleplantfreak @meidiary

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[cherimoyatea]

The LaDs Men healing your inner child...

...they accidentally evoke your insecurities and comfort you.

❧ Part IV - Sylus - Tight Threads

Pairing: Sylus x You Synopsis: An ill-fitting dress triggers a panic attack during a date with Sylus. Word count: 963 Tags: sylus being a suggestive little tease, panic attack, body image issue, romance, fluff, comfort Side notes: Welcome to the last part of the mini-series! Fun fact: The plot (some parts at least) is based on true events, but unfortunately, there was no Sylus to comfort me back then 🫠 I refrained from going into details about MC's body type so that anyone can envision themselves in the role. A tight dress can be uncomfortable no matter the size and shape. However. Sylus loves you just the way you are! And with that, this series comes to an end. Thank you for reading 🩷 Part I - Xavier ❧ Part II - Rafayel ❧ Part III - Zayne

Ruby-red eyes gaze at you intently from across the round table as you nervously fidget with your dress. The restaurant he chose is even more lavish than you imagined and your nerves are on edge. In this dress that's way too tight and short, you feel as if you can't breathe, and you can't shake the impression that all the other guests are focused on your insecurities.

''Is everything okay, Kitten? You seem... tense.'' Sylus swirls his glass of red wine between his long fingers while you nervously shift in your chair. You blush as you suddenly feel his gaze on you and adjust your dress again. ''Sylus, I appreciate your invitation, but you didn't need to go this far.''

Maybe you should have mentioned that the custom-made dress didn't fit properly when he handed you the pink paper bag with it earlier. You remember standing in your bathroom, holding it up against your body and squeezing yourself into it while he waited in your living room—hoping he wouldn't hear you curse as you struggled to pull the zipper up at the back.

There was likely a mistake by the seamstress, but you still insisted on wearing it to honor his gift.

The silver-haired man takes a sip from his glass and leans back to make room for the waiter as he approaches your table with your orders. For him, it's just another evening in a high-end restaurant, but he has noticed that you're uncomfortable. ''If you'd prefer, we can move our date somewhere else. Would you like to leave?''

You shake your head as the waiter sets your plate down, unwilling to shift the date elsewhere. After all it's not his fault that the dress was poorly tailored, accentuating all the parts of you that you are self-conscious about. You grab your own glass nervously, hoping a sip of your drink will help calm your nerves. But instead, you both startle as you accidentally tip it over, sending it crashing to the floor.

"Oh dear, how clumsy." You hear whispers from a nearby table, accompanied by giggles, as the waiter gathers the shards from the floor. You can't help but feel sick as you cautiously look around, realizing everyone is staring at you.

Sylus's head immediately swivels toward the table of giggling women, and his serious glare silences them instantly. They sheepishly return their focus to their plates, poking at their food, and you could swear you saw a brief flash of red in his left eye.

But right now, you have other worries.

"Excuse me!" You quickly stand up from the table and hurry through the restaurant, heading to the restroom to escape. Your heart races as you crouch by the luxurious sinks, resting your head on your knees in an attempt to calm your quickening breath. A panic attack, of all times!

Just a few moments later, you hear the door to the restroom open, and someone approaches you slowly, crouching down beside you. Without looking up, you know immediately that Sylus has followed you. He lowers his head with a concerned expression and gently takes your hand. ''I'm here for you. What do you need?''

''T-The… the zipper…'' You stutter as you continue gasping for air, futilely reaching with your free hand for the zipper pull between your shoulder blades. Sylus follows your movement with his eyes and then yanks the zipper down your back in one swift motion. ''Calm, deep breaths, Sweetie. It'll get better soon.''

His rough, calm voice is soothing as he gently strokes your trembling back, careful not to overwhelm you with his presence. And finally, you feel the tension slowly lift from your body for the first time that evening as you take a deep breathe.

Sylus waits patiently beside you, continuing to stroke your back, and after a while, your breathing steadies. ''I'm so sorry… I've ruined the evening.'' You whisper weakly as he gently helps you stand up from the cold marble floor.

''Take off your dress, Kitten.''

Sylus doesn't answer immediately, giving you a moment to steady yourself before he moves closer with a charming grin.

Your eyes widen in surprise at his request, completely caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor as you look at him in disbelief. ''W-What?!''

Your heels scrape against the marble floor as you step back, feeling the sink behind you. This time it wasn't a panic attack that caused your heart to race in your chest! ''Here!? Now?? Are you serious!?''

''Dead serious.'' The attractive giant replies as he almost towers over you. It's only when he grabs a familiar-looking pink paper bag from the floor that his words make sense. Until now, you had been so focused on managing your panic attack that you didn't notice him bringing it into the restroom. He takes out your favorite jeans and a sweater, and hands them to you with a smug grin. ''I took the liberty of borrowing a few things from your closet before we left. I hope you don't mind.''

Surprised by his thoughtful gesture, you take the clothes and press them against your chest. He must have overheard you earlier in your apartment and snuck into your bedroom to get the clothes and empty paper bag while you were busy getting ready. ''But... what about the dress? This casual outfit would be completely inappropriate for a venue as expensive as this.''

You shift your gaze down to the dress, now hanging loosely from your shoulders. The zipper torn at the back. But Sylus shakes his head as he gently lifts your chin with his fingers so his gleaming eyes meet yours again.

''I don't care about that damn dress, Sweetie. You're the only expensive thing in this inappropriate venue. Remember that.''

Thank you for reading!

Cheri 🍒

[matrix--lazy]

HELLO SHARDILVER NATION‼️🏳️‍🌈

[no filters ↓]

[biteofcherry]

Forage and grind

orc!Curtis Everett x female reader

summary: You always felt like you belonged there. Naively, you even felt safe. But when his silent observation snaps into action and you learn why you caught his interest, belonging starts to hold more terror than longing.

warnings: orc!Curtis; dark!Curtis; heavy dub-con; captivity; thigh riding; rope bondage/shibari; suspension; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected sex; heavy breeding kink; size kink; hints of degradation;

word count: 5k

Author's Note: I'm a bit late with this installment in the Scaretale universe, but life happens and you gotta deal with it 😜 Some parts of this story I'm happy about, some not so much. You judge for yourself.

Shards of light bounced off the golden coin, sending flickering butterflies of yellow around. The club was a glowing, warm space, but you always appreciated the additional reflection or spark, especially those tossed your way. 

You grinned, catching the coin mid air. You slipped it into the little pouch hung by the belt around your waist, where it softly clinked as it met a few other shiny tips you’ve been given that evening. 

Scaretale had the reputation of a place of mystery and horror, which you never understood. Granted, being filled with a variety of creatures (some of which were barely contained beasts) made it somewhat scary, but you never felt that shiver of wariness that so many of your friends, or people in general, experienced. 

As you moved around the club’s floor you felt warmth and a particular, restrained camaraderie. Not safety, exactly, but something akin to familiarity. 

The interior was elegant, fancy even, combining human modern design with the lush mystery of dark magic born in the heart of ancient woods and meadows. It was not only aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but called to your heart with a reflection of something hearty from the old times before you were born. 

It was that obsession with medieval stuff, as your friend called it, rolling her eyes. And she claimed that you applying for a job at Scaretale was taking that obsession way too far. Especially since, in her eyes, the creepy haunted-mansion-like club had nothing in common with medieval, or even renfaire vibe. You wondered if her eyesight was skewed. 

You felt drawn to the Scaretale, as you were to the monsters’ realms themselves. Not fascinated, but simply drawn, as if you knew you belonged there. 

Which is why you were stubborn and pushy when you approached Ransom with your brilliant offer to work there as a waitress. 

Something he was clearly disinterested with. 

At first, at least. Because as you listed your experience from human establishments you worked when in college, Ransom’s eyes twinkled with sudden recognition. That shifted into a dark sort of excitement, which for a split of a second made you wary. 

You may have found Scaretale as a place where you felt comfortable, but its owner wasn’t someone you’d ever let your guard down around. 

All that mattered was that he agreed and you found yourself hired as the only human in a monster club. With monsters’ silver and gold coins, it turned out to be a quite well paid job, too. 

Though you felt in your element when moving between booths and nooks, your instincts still reacted to some of the creatures with more fear and caution. You learned who was more approachable and open to conversation, or teasing (like the satyrs who always flirted and regularly tried to talk you into joining an orgy), and who was better served quickly and subserviently (a growly werewolf, for example). 

Some monsters came only once, snatching their match and leaving. Some were regulars, seeking fun and new bodies to debauch. 

There were also regulars whose agenda you never figured out. And you tried not to be too curious about it.

A group of enormous, beefy orcs visited every two weeks, or so. Though they were restrained in the way they talked, when they walked through the club everyone seemed to tense in fear. 

Orcs were the most known warriors. Bloodied, ruthless, ripping worlds to shreds. As a human your knowledge was limited, but from snippets heard here and there you learned that their race raided many kingdoms and realms in the past millennia. Nowadays they were more like mercenaries.

With the occasional brutal raid for their own benefit. 

They came to the Scaretale cleaned up, but you still could easily imagine their bodies splattered with the enemy's blood. Not to mention the glint of weapons always present at their side, which made your skin crawl with trepidation. 

Your instincts often whispered caution when you waited for some of the creatures visiting, but when it came to these orcs the alarms were ringing loud. 

It wasn’t just prey sensing a predator prone to snap its teeth, but a sense ingrained into your blood like voices of the generations passed. 

It always skyrocketed when you felt the burning gaze of the biggest orc following your every move. 

He appeared to be the leader; it was clear in the way their group lined when cutting through the club, as well in the way they sat around the table. Not to mention that one time when you picked their orders from the bar and the bartender pointed at one of the beer mugs saying that one was for the war chieftain.

His mug was bigger than the rest and the foam floating on top sprinkled with crushed juniper berries. An unusual combination of flavor, you thought, but didn’t pay it much attention. 

Or rather, you tried your best to not pay it attention.

Which was hard to do when you felt his eyes following your every move and when you had a full body shiver reaction upon seeing that monstrous figure whenever you served the orcs’ table. His biceps alone were the size of your whole head. You were sure that he could crush your skull with just one of his big hands. 

The other orcs were large and intimidating, but their war chieftain surpassed the scary level. 

Still, you schooled your features and played a polite waitress role. You even encouraged yourself with a little inward game of pretending to be a medieval inn beer-maid. After all, the setting was perfect with the Scaretale’s vibe and a group of sword-and-ax wielding warriors as your customers. 

That night, however, as you were about to bounce from one served table to theirs to take their never changing order of limitless beer, you found that four of the orcs had already left. Or disappeared for the moment. But there was still one left at the table.

Their leader. 

The one scaring you the most. Always intently observing you with those piercing blue eyes. 

His pale, green-tinted skin made those inhuman irises stand out even more. There were some faint, green markings along his cheeks, but you didn’t know if it was a part of his natural pigmentation, or some sort of a deeply ingrained tattoo. 

Orcs were said to be unkempt beasts, but his beard was groomed. Thick and dark, bearing flecks of gray. His lips were a shade of pale pink, wide and plump, and spreading where two white lower canines grew out into sharp, tusk-like features. Unlike his companions, who had their hair braided, or cut into mohawks, he had his hair buzzed close to the scalp. 

He had one of his elbows resting on the table, thick fingers rapping slowly against the wood. His other arm was thrown across the backrest of the seat. Though in rest, his muscles were bulging; evoking a flicker of terror at the thought of him actually flexing and using those massive arms as he fought. 

Compared to him, you were small and fragile. 

Despite certain aspects of the size difference turning you on, you’d rather not test those urges with someone as dangerous and brutal as the orc. 

Hair on the back of your neck raised in alert as you neared the table. His gaze was on you for a while now, but it felt scorching hot the closer you came. Mustering an easy smile, you asked him if he wanted the usual (always that damn beer with juniper berries). 

“No.” His gruff voice rolled over you like a lick of thunder. “I’m done with poor substitutes.”

A frown marred your face. You didn’t understand what he was referring to. The Scaretale’s beer came from the best breweries and was spiced with some extra fae herbs. No customer has ever complained. 

Also, you didn’t think this orc would quietly stand for something he didn’t like the slightest bit, and he was regularly drinking that beer. 

Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around your wrist and you were yanked forward. 

With a gasp, you landed on his thigh. Your legs parted as your center settled atop a thick, leather-covered thigh. He held your wrist in one hand, while settling the other on your waist. You weren’t a tiny creature by any means, but his huge palm seemed to span your entire side. 

“Do you know that orcs are most known for raiding elven kingdoms?” He asked in a hushed tone, as if he was sharing a secret with you. You shook your head in response. 

As you learned of different monsters, when it came to the orcs you often stumbled upon art depicting huge beastly warriors doing explicit things to elven maidens, but you thought it only to be a kink many humans liked to think of, disregarding actual history and nuance. Especially, since you never met or heard of an actual elf existing.

Honestly, you suspected it was also humans’ fault - twisting the information on fae folk and coming up with new names for the subspecies.

“For riches and land, like with any other realm, but-” his fingers dug a little deeper into your skin and he pulled you along his thigh, making you gasp. “The main reason was to capture elven maidens.”

“There was something about the elven women that was irresistible to us. How fragile they were compared to orcs in size. How sweet and wild they smelled. How tight their holes were around orcs’ massive cocks.” 

He grunted out the last part, once again drawing your body forth on his thigh. With your legs spread and layers of your skirt too thin to provide cover, hard muscle of his thigh and the rough edge of leather pants he was wearing grazed your sensitive clit. 

“It’s still believed that elven cunts are the ripest for orc seed. Taking it so well and bearing many healthy babes.”

There have been some encounters with a few openly lustful visitors in the Scaretale, but none breached the boundary with you. No one grabbed you and put you into his lap, and made you grind against their thigh while they revealed obscene details behind their species’ primal behavior. 

This orc acted as if he had the right to move your much weaker body anyway he pleased. If he merely toyed with you, perhaps you could twirl away with the excuse of your duties awaiting. However, there was something about the way he treated you that rang a different kind of alarm. 

“Chieftain-” you placed your hands against his wide chest, trying to squirm away.

“Curtis.” He gripped you tighter and bounced his leg, making you moan as the meat of his thigh crushed your clit. “My name’s Curtis.” 

While you would welcome any customer telling you their name with a cheeky smile, this orc wanting you to know it and use it when you addressed him was like sealing your fate. 

You froze as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a whiff of your scent and sweat. He groaned in delight and the sound of it vibrated down your chest, puckering your nipples into stiff points. 

“And you hold the unmistakable fragrance of juniper berries bathed in dew, my little elfling.” 

His words rolled over your body, trailing fear in their wake. It was no random sentence to make about you. Not after the brief recap of filthy history he treated you to minutes ago. 

His intense obsession made sense now. A terrifying sense. Impossible, too.

“I’m human!” You protested, fighting with all your might against the fate he laid out for you, before you even knew it would concern you directly. 

“You are,” Curtis didn’t deny it, “but somewhere in your lineage an elf mixed their blood with your human ancestors. That gene sparks intensely in your body.”

There was never any tale, not even a secret family anecdote that regarded a relationship with a magical creature. If it was a scandalous romance, it was hidden well, too. You could call bullshit. Claim it was a lie that Curtis used to grope you and have his way. But with how intensely he was always observing you, how he acted now, despite previously shown restraint, you had a feeling he wasn’t tricking you. 

Then the memory of Ransom near cackling with glee after studying you for a longer moment resurfaced. He didn’t want to hire a human, he had no interest in it. But if he sensed you were part elf and he knew orcs were his regular customers…

Yeah, Ransom wouldn’t pass that opportunity for mayhem and his own gain. 

“Please?” You looked up at Curtis. “Let me go? I- I have work to do. And-” 

Your words turned into a muffled moan when plush lips suddenly crushed into yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. The way Curtis’ mouth took yours was barbarous; a shard of that savage pillaging he boasted about. 

You felt the pressure of his tusks against your face, but surprisingly neither even nicked your skin. His tongue plunged between your lips in a savage thrust - as disgusting as it was, something about it made your body shake to its core. 

Was it your weakness for primal wildness that responded so eagerly?

When Curtis pulled away, your mouth was tingling and wet. Your panties felt sticky, too. 

“You’re an addictive sweet little berry, Juniper.” He hummed, rubbing his big thumb along the seam of your inner thigh. “And I’m going to grind you hard, until I bathe whole in your fragrant juices.”

Heat flooded you as an image of brutality with which he’d take your body flashed in your mind. 

There wouldn’t be anything smooth, or delicate about the way the orc treated you. Not because you thought him to be incapable of finesse, but you sensed he was excited about ruining you. 

A squeak ripped out of your throat when Curtis suddenly got up. He hoisted you over his broad shoulder, gripping your struggling body with ease. None of your screams to be let go were respected. And none of your yells for help were answered by anyone from the club. 

Lights of Scaretale, welcoming and homey until now, blurred as you were being carried away. Until darkness of one of the mysterious corridors swallowed you. You had no idea where the orc was taking you. Your knowledge of the corridors was very limited, knowing only that some of the monsters took their partners that way. 

He didn’t slap you when you wiggled, but his large hand spread over your ass and gave a hard squeeze. Probably to remind you of the size and strength of him that surpassed yours a thousand times. 

It didn’t stop you from trying to bolt when he eased you down on your feet. Your surroundings were completely different from the familiar layout of the Scaretale, yet so innocently domestic it gave you a whiplash. 

It appeared you were in some cottage, not very modern judging by the interior. Wooden furniture and wrought-iron details. The bed standing in the middle was an enormous feature, as was a round wooden bathtub in the corner. A type where you had to boil your own water to fill it with. 

If you were looking for a medieval experience, that was the fucking peak of it. 

Curtis’ big hand snatched the back of your shirt as you tried to run away, yanking you back to him with ease. The fabric tore as he gripped it and the orc simply ripped it fully off of you. Then your skirts.

“No!” You struggled between the urge to cover your naked body and scratching the monster towering over you.

“You’re spirited and strong, that’s good.” He praised, easily capturing your wrists in one of his hands. “You’ll fit the war chieftain’s wife role. Bear healthy babies, too.” 

“No worries-” he interrupted your next splutter of protests with a calm, almost mocking tone. “Orcs have mastered the ways of breaking an elven maiden into an obedient, dripping wife.” 

In a swift move he had you plastered to his chest, one arm securing both of your hands at your sides as he reached for something with his free hand. Then something abrasive brushed your skin.

The first loop of the rope around your middle and arms surprised you so much you only gasped. But then Curtis weaved it up and around, creating intricate patterns on your torso as he tied knots and interlooped thick strings of rope. He crossed it around and between your breasts, squeezing them as he tightened it. 

He forced two strings of rope between your lips, creating a makeshift gag. 

With your upper body completely bound, Curtis gripped your hips and tossed you onto the bed. Before you managed to kick at him, he had your ankles tied. He circled the rope around your legs a few more times, pleating pretty knots, until you were completely immobile. 

“Soon,” he propped your bound ankles on his shoulder as he looked down at your helpless form, “you’ll grow to love my ropes on you.” 

You glared at him, but your objection was muffled by the strings across your mouth. 

The sound of your moan was stifled, as well, but resounded much louder when Curtis bent you in half, bringing your legs closer to your chest as he buried his face in your exposed pussy. 

Your folds were slightly puffed and tingling already, roused from the way he had you riding his thigh in the Scaretale and responding to the graze of harsh rope against your sensitive skin. They were begging for a tantalizing tease to continue, to draw your pleasure to a maddening sharp edge. 

But the onslaught of a hungry mouth conquering your wet softness short circuited your brain. 

It was so savage, yet something about it being unapologetically brutal and ruthless scorched your body in a blaze. 

Moan turned into a choked cry as Curtis’ fat tongue licked between your folds and entered your dripping hole. Your breast swelled, the bite of rope heightening as your chest arched within the bonds. Your fingers curled helplessly at your sides, unable to grip anything. 

The sounds Curtis made as he feasted on you were obscene - uncultured, beastly growls and slurps. When he sucked on your clit, your own voice gurgled against the makeshift gag. 

“That’s it, Juniper,” he grunted against your pussy, drinking up your juices. “You’re gonna cum on the orc's tongue. Gonna be my good slut. My own breeding stock.” 

You writhed against the bonds. Against the growing pleasure that was rapidly nearing the precipice. But it was inevitable. His wide, plump lips devoured you, munching on your folds like on the juiciest fruit, before ripping the seam with a tongue brutal like an axe and squishing your clit with rough licks. 

You came with a scream. Within your bonds, the orgasm seemed to be relentless, rattling in each limb like a caged animal. 

When Curtis lifted his face to stare down at you, a dark triumph of conquest glinted in his eyes. He counted your body giving in as a battle victory. And you knew he wasn’t done raiding that field. 

Your slick shone on his face and beard, his tusks were sticky with it. He made no move to clean it off, bearing that wetness like a proud mark of his triumph. 

He kept looking at you, bracing one of his heavy arms across your legs to pin them to your chest, as his hand moved up the curve of your ass. A single digit swiped between your swollen folds, stealing your breath anew. An orc’s one finger was like two of yours, maybe even thicker. 

Curtis didn’t coo at you when you mewled at the intrusion as he pushed that finger into your still fluttering pussy. He snarled in hunger, pushing it against the resistance of your tightness. 

“Breathe through it,” he instructed harshly. “Save your cries for when I split you on my cock.”

You preferred not to think of that part, but it was hard to block it when Curtis started thrusting his digit in and out of you, mimicking what he was going to do using his cock. His inhuman, monstrous, orc dick. 

A shiver rocked your whole body, clenching your walls around his finger. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little berry,” Curtis grinned, lewdly flicking his tongue to lick his bottom lip and the side of his tusk. “I’m going to force my cock into your snug pussy. Stretch it so good and deep.” 

“Hear how wet you are for me already?” He teased, thrusting his finger rougher and raising the embarrassing sound of squelching. “Your cunt’s weeping for my cock and my seed.”

You shook your head, but all movement ceased and your eyes rolled to the back of your head when Curtis pushed a second finger along with his index one. His groan of pleasure was louder than the echo of sloshing wetness trickling around his digits. 

“What a good, hot, wet hole.” He moaned, slowly dipping in and out of your channel; delighting in the feel of your velvet walls gripping his fingers. 

“Bet the other one is just as good.”

You didn’t have time to process his words when he eased one of his fingers out of your pussy and firmly pressed it against your rim. 

Despite your gurgled, weak protests, his finger was slick enough with your wetness that he breached your hole with ease. Well, to him it may have felt easy, but to you it was a struggle depriving you of air. 

“Never had your tight ass penetrated, my wild Juniper?” He looked at you, gloating. “I swear, conquering your body tastes better than any bloodbath and battle victory.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a lewd moan leaving his lips as your walls cinched around his fingers. Then his eyes snapped open again and he was staring down at you, greedily catching every grimace and flicker of pleasure on your face as he fucked both of your holes with his fingers. Faster and faster. 

His grin was near terrifying when your body tensed and you cried out an intense release. 

Curtis pushed his fingers as deep as he could, wiggling them slightly as your walls pulsed around them. When your high subsided in slow waves, he withdrew his fingers and smeared your own cream all over your ass and thighs. 

When he let your legs drop onto the mattress and untied the rope around them with a single tug on one of the knots, you prayed reprieve was coming your way. But then he was flipping you onto your belly and yanking you down across the mattress.

Your legs hung over the edge of the bed, toes barely reaching the floor. Only for a moment. 

Because Curtis bound them into a new position, spreading your legs wide apart. Another rope was weaved and knotted between some of the existing loops. Then he tugged. Harshly.

And your body lifted off the bed. 

You squeaked, confused. Your body swayed in air, yanked higher as Curtis tugged on the rope again. Focused on the sensations he ripped from your body and his presence cutting off anything else, you didn’t notice the iron hooks drilled into the ceiling. Through which Curtis weaved some of the ropes, lifting your helpless body to a preferred height. 

“You’ll rely only on me, Juniper.” Curtis growled, rubbing your parted thighs. “On the bonds keeping my elven slut in place. And on my cock ripping your tight pussy.” 

Your tongue moved against the rope between your lips, failing to sound the pleads for mercy. A tremor rocked your body as you felt the orc’s large body pressing itself between your spread thighs. 

The leaking head of his cock brushed against your abdomen and when you felt Curtis’ hips settle against your butcheeks the whole length of him pressed against your belly. When he held it like that the tip of his dick reached your belly button. 

There was no further preparation graciously given as he gripped his cock and guided it up between your parted folds. Then again, perhaps you should consider him thoughtful, given the two earlier orgasms he wrung out of you to have you creamy and loose. 

Still, when the bulbous head of his dick pressed against your cunt, your entire body tensed. 

It was too big. His entire body was too big. And you had no choice, but to take-

Not a scream, but a moan so high pitched and strangled ripped out of your throat that you were sure it could be heard loud and clear to anyone outside the cottage. 

Curtis speared into you in one, firm stroke, not bothering with the slow and gentle. His cock stretched you wider than two of his fingers had. It sunk deeper, too. To the point of near discomfort as the tip nudged your cervix. 

“Fuuuuck!” Curtis moaned shamelessly, digging his meaty fingers into your hips and holding your swaying body in place. 

“What a snug, delectable cunt.” He rolled his hips in a circle, eliciting new sensations that had you mewling. He chuckled in response. 

“I’m gonna be riding and filling that pussy so often, Juniper. Until you swell with my seed. Then I’ll sate its pathetic need as your belly rounds and your breasts leak milk. Then plow it again to plant another babe. And another.”

Your walls fluttered around him. Heat filled every inch of your body, even as fear and shame mixed at the prospect of enduring all that he promised. 

A gasp soaked into the rope gagging your mouth as Curtis used your bonds to move your body. He wasn’t fucking you, he was swinging your suspended body back and forth, using you. 

Quite slowly at first, relishing in the way your tight channel was clinging to him as his cock eased out. Then the way you stretched around the veiny girth as he plunged back in. It was after one of the easy strokes, when your cream gushed out as his hips met your asscheeks, that Curtis snarled impatiently.

And started really fucking you. 

Not only swaying your body, but meeting it with rough thrusts of his own. Battling any remaining resistance and conquering your body. 

Your breasts bounced with each move, your nipples tightened painfully. Saliva was pooling around the rope gag in your mouth, wetting the hemp and dribbling down your chin. The slight bite of the rope against your skin evoked a tiny prickle of pain that shifted into a burning kind of caress. Monstrous cock filling your pussy provided unparalleled friction and pressure that your clit pulsed without being directly stimulated.

It messed with your mind and overloaded it with how many sensations could be experienced by your body, even though it was fully immobilised. 

You came in a rush, crying out and clenching your eyes shut as white, hot pleasure bursted through you. Curtis welcomed it with a grunt, snapping his hips faster and harder. 

“Your body’s eager to receive my seed, my spicy berry.” He growled in pleasure. “Creaming and opening up to serve its purpose. I’d be a bad husband, if I didn’t spoil you with what you crave.” 

One of his hands moved across your back to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head up.

“I’d be a poor slut owner, if I didn’t breed you full.” 

His increasing moans combined with the sound of slapping skin and squelching wetness; your tiny whimpers getting lost in the wilderness of it all. 

There was a splutter of low, angry barks of That’s it and Take it all as Curtis fucked you brutally. When he bellowed his release it carried outside like a battle cry. 

Your body seized in an unexpected, small orgasm as you felt his thick cock throbbing inside of you and hot spurts of cum filled you. There was so much of it you felt a pressure grow low in your abdomen. 

Curtis held you in place, breathing heavily and kneading your muscles as he filled your body with the last drop of his cum. When he withdrew, you felt a heavy dollop dripping out and splashing somewhere below. 

A tug on the rope had your body plummeting down, but only your upper half lowered. Your cheek rested against the sheets, while your ass still hung higher in the air. 

“Better to hold all my seed in.” Curtis hummed, patting your wet pussy. “Until I’m ready to fill you again.”

You groaned, seeing his hand palming his softened cock and beginning to stroke it back to attention. 

Curtis fucked you four more times that night. Three times having you suspended in the air, though in different positions and angles. For the last, he had you fully on the bed, too exhausted and spent to really fight him, so no ropes were needed. He plowed into you from behind, crushing your body with his weight. 

Though it provided a warm kind of comfort later when he held your curled, sleepy form to his massive body. 

When you woke up late the next morning, the bright near-noon sun was filtering through the wide open windows. Through one of them you saw Curtis. Wearing only his warrior leathers and chopping wood. As you stretched, you felt ache awakening in places you never considered could feel sore. 

You still felt the imprint of his cock inside you. 

And the sticky remainder of his cum, that had to drip out of you during the night.

There was so much of it when he filled you over and over again, you wouldn’t be surprised if the orc managed to obtain his obsessive goal to breed you. 

Your fingers traced across your belly, but before you spiralled into thoughts and images of swelling with the monster’s baby another sensation drew your attention. On your ankle, you felt a soft, insistent caress.  

When you glanced at it, you saw a wide leather cuff. A small padlock was clasped on the buckle, making it impossible to take off the cuff without a key. A thin, but sturdy chain was attached to the cuff, the length of it laid in shiny coils on the floor. 

“You’re not yet broken enough to keep you unrestrained,” came Curtis’ calm, deep voice. 

He stepped inside, the axe in his hand catching the light and glinting dangerously. He put it aside, then splashed his hands with water from a tin bowl placed by the entrance. Thick fingers started undoing his breeches as he slowly approached the bed.

“Spread your legs, Juniper.” He coaxed. “I want to fill your ripe pussy before we make a meal.” 

[naffeclipse]

Sea Tears

Reader x Selkie!Moon

Commission Info

Thank you to the darling @cipher-the-sidhe for commissioning me to write about Selkie!Moon! The setting and the scenario are absolutely delightful. It's a shame I haven't written a selkie until now but I'm so glad I finally did!

Content Warning for mild injury and blood.

———

You tread carefully through the salt-tinged darkness and listen. A low hum plays along the moonbeams brightening the Salish Sea coast in an ancient voice you cannot translate. The fish and the seals might understand it as it thrums like insects on the wind or the constant, murmuring dance of the waves. You wonder if it is simply the sea. Perhaps it is something hidden along the dark inky waters now softly lapping up in the high tide.

Bends and sharp juts of coves shelter the rocky beaches. Further inland, a dense forest of coniferous evergreens conceal the beautiful shore and thrive in high levels of salt spray. You descend to the water, minding every step knowing that a slick, ocean-stained rock could easily lead you into a stumble and your head could crack open like an egg on the wave-smooth stones. 

These beaches are not for sunbathing and sand castles. They are to stand and admire the great breath of the Salish Sea and the bumps of crags lining the dark teal ocean—if the mist and cold don’t form an avid deterrent.

You rub your arms over the sleeves of your jacket and breathe a crisp scent. Driftwood dots the edge of land and water, and heaps of bull kelp sway farther out in the sea, lurking like guardians just along the surface to whatever might wander from the depths. 

Tonight, the fog is wonderfully parted by the silver-fingered light of the full moon. You scan the crevices in between dark, angled but blunt rocks, seeking the smooth fragments of seashells. In your years, you have rarely discovered a whole heart cockle or horse clam shell. There are only remnants of what was whole. 

The sand is firm and brown. The water gushes between stones before receding gently back with a frothy lace edge, bubbling and tumbling over itself just to do it all over again. You spy a fragment of a castoff shell, bleached and pale. You bend carefully down to scoop up its shard like a piece missing from a puzzle you wish to finish.

You hold it between your fingers. A curve or perhaps half of a spiral of a shell, sculpted by the waves now, softened by the time of being broken. Still, it is beautiful.

Carefully, you straighten while you slip it into your pocket. A soft understanding fills you to the bottom of your rib cage. A kinship, perhaps. You cast your eyes around you for a moment, admiring the moonlight until it shines upon a texture that is not often found here. 

Fur. Silver and speckled in blue-gray, it sits, slumped and hunched between two rocks, lying lifeless.

A seal. The dawning comes upon you in a moment of the rushing tide, and then, your feet are moving towards it. Your heart twists while you watch it sharply. How it could be so still and thin? Is it injured? You don’t have your phone with you—you left it in the car parked beside the oceanside road. Who would you call? Wildlife service? Perhaps it’s already too late.

No. You pray it isn’t.

You weave between sand and stones. Where the unmoving figure lies is thick with rocks, with almost no beach to speak of other than what is buried beneath. Your sandals slip on the slick edges of the rugged terrain. Wobbling, you catch yourself before you sling your body along a craggy boulder. You pass over the harsh edges and corners of the rocky shore, almost within reach. The fur hasn’t moved an inch at your rash approach. Your throat bobs for a moment in the horror of coming upon a long rotted seal—then your sandal-clad foot slips. 

A whip of sea and wind, and you fall. You throw your elbow down to catch you and it scraps sharply down the side of rough rock. You gasp when you bounce and slide, splashing into a thin strip of the tide slipping between cracks and crevices, but hold your chin high, away from any fatal head injuries.

You inhale slowly, eyes wide in the relief that you are not currently dripping your brains out of your skull like spilled yoke. A thin, stinging pain erupts along your forearm. Prying yourself off of the ground, watching where you place your feet, you get back up. A glance at the fur confirms it is still there. Slowly, you twist your arm to examine a fine, ragged cut slicing towards your wrist. A mix of sand, salt water, and blood spread across your skin. 

You breathe as it flares with pain. You close your eyes and convince yourself that you’ll clean and bandage it once you get back to your car.

First, the seal.

You lower your arm. Blood drops into the water as you at last reach the two stones the fur is wedged between, and tentatively, you reach out with the vain hope it might be warm and move with life. Your fingers stroke over the beautifully silver shade of the coat, dappled with blue-gray markings and a few, lovely rings at the end. But strangely, it’s cool with mist and bunched like fabric. Your mind turns the conundrum over slowly as if examining a broken seashell before you tug on it, higher, higher, until you hold in your hand the thin skin of a seal.

A pelt.

There is no blood, sinew, or otherwise, much to your relief. It carries a smooth sleekness on its underside. The strangeness of it tugs at a part of your mind, a memory of folklore and tales spoken around a table late at night. The beautiful pelt fills your vision with its starry silver shade and the Pacific ocean-deep hue of its markings. Carefully, as if handling platinum and sapphires, you caress the fur with the back of your fingers. A drop of blood from your arm threatens to stain it and you quickly shift the hide to your clean arm. You can’t ruin this beautiful coat with your crimson.

You lift your head. You gaze out over the ocean, rippling with the incandescence of the moon upon its onyx surface. Your heart bobs within you. Your eyes seek, and your ears strain.

The hum of the ocean which has filled you since you first arrived in the darkness grows. It is no longer a muffled, soft sound carried from behind closed lips but a soft melody lifted upon a voice. It rises to the sky. Over the driftwood and waves, you turn to face it, clutching the seal skin to your chest.

A man sings.

A part of you, undeniable and filled with longing, strides towards it. Following the curve of the rocky beach, you watch your every step. A plea in your core echoes with the desire to find the one singing. The crystal vibrations of the siren call rings through your bones. 

A rocky cove crops up on the side of a bluff, cutting off the beach but resuming with a swell of the tide into its darkened alcove. Once you near the mouth, you stop to bask in the lovely timbre. 

Then, with your fingers tangled in the soft, sleek fur of the seal pelt, you stand upon a rock just out of reach of the oceanic tide and peer into the cove.

In the glow of the night, a man stands in the icy shallows. You can only gaze at his striking figure wrapped in moonbeams. He steps lightly, his movement rhythm. The water ripples softly underneath him. He waves his arms, his limbs flowing over his head and down, like a wind sweeping the rocks and ushering the mist higher onto land. He turns, and one leg sweeps over the inky surface before stepping back. 

His body is long-limbed and slender, blue-gray like the speckles on the fur you hold. Upon his face is a marking of a silver crescent. His rich copper eyes flash in the dimness and are half-lidded in his homage to the great sea. Your breath stalls in your throat caught upon his visage. His face is wide and flat. Draping behind his head is an appendage much like a seal tail, an even darker blue with spots of glimmering silver-like stars.

His voice carries a song you have no name for but that which you hold only the most reverence in its echo. Your lips part unwittingly in adoration. He sings to himself and dances to an audience of the black sky filled with the moon.

But you twitch a hand forward as if you might catch a note of his lullaby and cradle it close to your chest. The man’s head snaps towards you. You freeze.

In a second of time and starlight, he holds your gaze, and you slip into the coppery irises that fill his wide eyes. His attention slips to what you clutch. You glance down, admiring the fur anew before you find your voice, hollowed and soft.

“Is this yours?” you ask.

The man stares, motionless like the bluffs the waves beat against. A few heartbeats pass within you. The man gently dips his head. The tail on the back of his head sways slightly like a nightcap.

“It is,” he speaks. “Please return it to me. I cannot return to the sea and my brothers without my coat.”

His voice rasps through the salty air and brushes the shell of your ear as if he whispered it to you. 

The word emerges in your mind like the fall of dusk. Selkie. One who has shed his fur to take a faintly human form under the full moon. The tales you’ve caught murmurs of were always of women, beautiful and naked, who begged for their seal skin back but spent the rest of their days held captive by the man who kept it hidden, forced to become a bride and carry his children.

An ache takes over your heart at such a cruel fate.

You answer with a gentle, “Of course.”

You slowly step into the icy waters. A shiver rolls up your body and you catch your tongue between your teeth to keep from gasping out at the shock of the brine. The selkie watches you, his eyes unreadable, his hands poised with his fingers half furled—as if you intend to dangle his seal skin in front of him before yanking it out of reach.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. You wade far less gracefully in the echoes of his dance and song to reach him under the cove’s mouth, “I didn’t intend to keep it. I only meant to return it to you.”

You find the truth along your tongue. Even if you didn’t catch a glimpse of his beautiful melody, you would have left the coat where it lay, too afraid of stranding a selkie without her or his skin.

He says nothing until you present it to him. Carefully, you hold it out to him and his long fingers grasp it. A soft breath leaves him. His shoulders lower while he turns his coat over and examines it, stroking the fine fur before leveling an unreadable gaze over you. You’re small before his tall figure. You feel clumsy and cumbersome in comparison to his lissom body. 

A true selkie, right before your eyes.

“So you did,” he at last murmurs as if he were dreaming. His copper eyes glide over you. His blue-gray body shimmers with a galaxy-like illumination. He carefully folds his coat over his arm before holding out his other hand and bidding you closer. “Come here. Sit with me.”

You stare at his offered palm. A few thoughts cross your mind of danger and temptation, a selkie ready to snatch away an unwary human, but would he have asked you so kindly? You slide your fingers into his grasp. He holds your hand before gently tugging you down until you cross your legs and sit in the icy cove water beside him.

“Is it true?” you ask, then flush slightly with the bluntness of your voice echoing in the alcove.

He tilts his head at you, the appendage at the back of his head slipping over your shoulder. His silence coaxes you softly into asking, “Do humans really steal the coats of selkies and force them into marriage?”

The selkie’s eyes lower, somber, before he dips his chin. “It is true. But not always.” His eyes find yours and hold them softly.

He has yet to release your hand, but slowly, he lifts your wrist and turns it slowly. You almost forget the sting until the sight of the bloody cut down your arm strikes you once more. Your lips twist at the sight, glancing at the selkie and fearing his judgment. How human you are, bleeding in his ocean.

“What did this?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes outlining the edges of your wound.

“A fall,” you say sheepishly, “I thought your coat was an injured seal.”

A laugh, rolling and deep, loosens from his lips. A not unwelcome shudder fills you in the sound. Mischievous and sincere, all at once.

“You must be more careful,” he says, his laughter dying as he leans closer.

You curl your fingers. Pressing back in the slightest as he hovers over your torn flesh, you hushly ask his name.

But he doesn’t answer. You watch in the quiet of the tide as the selkie blinks, and a tear falls onto your sliced forearm. A soft tingle spreads through your flesh. You glance down, and another tear falls, mingling with the sand and ocean salt, but the tingling becomes a gentle sensation knitting and stitching the skin together. In stunned silence, you observe seven tears in total bind your wound as if you never fell.

“This is my thanks for returning my coat.” The selkie releases your arm to gently wash it with a touch of brackish water. Blood and sand wash away, leaving your skin as it once was. He lifts his head and smiles. “I am Moon, and I must go.”

“Oh.” The sound is so small coming from you. “Moon…”

You echo your name. It feels so weak in comparison to his, but he takes it within his mouth and he sings it once. Your heart bobs within your chest as if floating upon a storm-tossed sea. 

“Goodbye,” he rasps. He holds your gaze, soft as seafoam, and tugs his coat over his body. He slips down into the water. A flick of velvet flippers emerges, and a large seal lifts his head above water. 

You gaze at the beautiful copper eyes of the seal. Whiskers twitch and a wet nose presses closer to you. Slowly, carefully, you stretch your fingers and stroke the soft fur of his head. Your palm runs down the slippery slope of his neck to his strong, blubbered back. The selkie holds beautifully still.

“Goodbye, Moon,” you whisper.

The selkie eyes upturn, somehow grinning in an animal form. In a sharp splash, he turns and dives into the water. The sleek dappled fur of his pelt mingles with the moonlight reflecting upon the black ocean before the waves reclaim one of its own. 

You stay in the cove for a time you cannot account for, watching the waters, wishing to catch the echo of his song just one last time.

Gradually, like the moon beginning to shift across the darkness, you get to your feet. Water splashes back into the cove. Your heart grows heavy and forlorn, and you rub your fingertips together as if still stroking his fur.

Perhaps you might return in search of broken seashells but find the selkie again.

[blitztheinkling]

SHARDILVER ON THE WALL!!!!

Shards yapping.

Silvers done with shards said yapping.

[seeingivy]

dinner party

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's (older brother) fic

previous part linked here

an: what is going on in the house of commons (I do not know) MAJOR CRINGE ALERT but it's part of the lore idgaf this was a long time coming

--

it’s four thirty in the morning when sukuna decides to pry you from your computer. 

he’s almost positive that he’s going to get pushed back, cued on by the combination of your sleep deprivation and the concerning amount of energy drinks he knows you must have consumed within the hour. 

but the tangled mess of your hair and your deep, dark eye bags, have bothered him long enough – and if anything – he’s given you tons of grace for letting it go on for four days. 

sukuna gets working hard. he just can’t stand by working yourself to the bone. 

he finds you hunched over on the kitchen island, head down on the counter as you scribble away on your notebook – a sizable amount of ink smeared on your hands, a few empty wrappers of protein bars at your side, and your eyes barely open. 

sukuna leans forward, resting his forearms on the counter, before reaching forward to push your computer shut. the sound that follows jolts you out of your concentration, to find an…almost irritated sukuna sleepily rubbing his eyes. 

“hey. did i wake you up? i dropped the glass earlier by accident.” you mumble. 

“you broke a glass?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah. most of it is in the corner over there, i’ll swear i’ll clean it up as soon as i’m done.” 

sukuna opens his eyes fully this time, to find the stacked pile of glass sitting in the little corner, sparing you a glare before reaching for the little bin. the guilt flares up in you as you watch him drag his tired body over to the side, carefully shuffling all of the little shards away into the bag,

“sukuna. you don’t have to do that. i was going to clean it up.” 

“well, fuck off now. more time for you to sleep if i do it for you.” he mumbles. 

you’re positive he meant to make that more domineering then it ended up being. 

and it’s horrible. it’s been days since you’ve slept next to him, always climbing in as he’s climbing out to go to work – pressing a consolation kiss to his cheek before you pass out into the sheets. and now he’s up in the middle of the night, cleaning your mess just to ensure you a few more minutes of rest. 

“i’m almost done with my personal statement, i just want to make sure it’s done before i send it out to-” 

“your personal shit will still be there tomorrow.” 

you sigh. the pulsating in your head throbs quietly, eyelids heavy and aching from the light of the screen, tiredness sagging in your bones – dragging your limbs down as you lean on one of your arms. 

you still have three paragraphs left to write. your activities section could be better. you need to upload your transcripts and make sure that the letters were uploaded to the portal properly. and- 

“i’m almost done, really. i was just going to come to bed and-” 

“perfect! come now.” 

sukuna switches sides, walking up behind you and replacing his fingers with yours on your head. he can feel the pulsating under his fingertips, noting the way you lean your head against his chest and lean back the second he starts massaging into your skin. 

“you’re starting to fucking piss me off.” sukuna mutters. 

that’s what he says. it sounds more like you’re starting to concern me. 

“i’m coming, sukuna. just give me a few more minutes, okay?” 

sukuna pulls the stool at your side, before looping both of his hands around your thighs and pulling you up into his lap. his hands are steady – holding you firmly at your sides – as he looks up at you and you dig your hands into the hardness of his collarbone. 

you loop your fingers through the silver chain around sukuna’s neck, tugging on the little dog tag charm at the end to pull him closer to you. it’s a chaste kiss that you press to his lips and you you can feel him staring after – big, brown eyes peering into yours – as he kneads his hands into your skin.

you scoff. 

“are you poking my butt?” you ask. 

“maybe a little.” sukuna responds. 

“you’re such a dog.” 

“you cop a feel almost everyday. god forbid i touch my girlfriend’s butt.” 

sukuna reaches forward, tucking one of the loose strands behind your ear. 

“we used to be a real country, y’know? people used to touch butts all the time.” 

you smile and sukuna reaches up to run his fingers over your lips, the softness mirrored on his face too. and you know that a lecture is going to follow, so you bury your hands into his messy bedhead. 

“you have to fucking stop this shit.” sukuna states. 

you sigh. 

“i know. it’s just that once i start, i find it hard to stop. i just want to finish it all in one go.” 

“you want to clean up animal shit that badly?” 

you groan. 

“you’re so mean, sukuna. it’s not cleaning up animal shit…” 

“yeah, yeah…i’ve heard your whole healing and love for the earth and animals shit before, i know.” 

you dig your hands into his scalp. 

“i…i just want to make sure that i only have to apply to veterinary school once.” 

“you’re being stubborn. so what if you have to try again? it’s not a big deal.” sukuna states. 

“s’not about that. i just can’t afford to do it again, sukuna. it costs thousands of dollars and i’ve been saving up for so long. i’d hate to see the overtime i worked go to waste when i don’t even get in.” you murmur. 

sukuna doesn’t think it through when he says it. he’s almost certain that if he had thought through it properly though, it would have been the same conclusion. 

“i’ll pay for it.” sukuna states. 

it’s a horrible sensation – like pins and needles in your chest. 

you knew that sukuna was rich. that his family was rich. 

and that in earnest, sukuna probably would pay for it without even batting an eye. it wouldn’t even be the first time that you would have taken a handout from his family – for rent, car loans, when you applied to college. 

mrs. itadori was too generous. it seeped into sukuna too. 

but you refuse to take handouts from your boyfriend. not when the debt you have to pay them back is already so high. 

“are you crazy? you can’t just offer to pay for my vet school applications if i don’t get in anywhere this time around.”  

“you know i have a job right?” sukuna responds. 

“i know you have a job. but you can’t just offer it up like that! you’re acting like it’s just a five dollar iced coffee or something. it costs thousands of dollars, sukuna.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“it’s like an investment. you can pay me back.” sukuna states. 

the same line mrs. itadori uses. it never feels that way when they’re the one quietly shuffling you money in envelopes when you have eviction notices on your door that you never pay back. 

“you would never take my money.” you state. 

sukuna grins, before leaning forward to press a kiss to your collarbone. 

“you know me so well, princess.” 

you frown. 

“and you expect me to take yours.” you mumble. 

sukuna runs his hands through the front of your hair, before angling your down up so that you’re looking at him. 

“you know i only have a stable income because of my parents, right? that’s…i had a leg up, sweetheart. didn’t have to worry about working during school – hell, i went fucking abroad just because i could.” 

you glare at him. 

“that’s…that’s such a copout. i can’t just take a handout from you because things are harder for me. i know that you may have had some things considerably easier but that doesn’t mean i can just…start taking your money.” 

he glares back. 

“considerably easier is the understatement of the year. and i have every intent to let you pay me back when you’re a cushy doctor. you’re going to buy me a new motorcycle with that money.” 

sukuna watches the thought rattle around in your head. 

“we’re in it for the long haul. not a big deal if i have to help you pay for vet school applications, which i won’t have to because you’ll get in, but what’s mine is yours. s’gonna be our future student loan.” he murmurs. 

there’s the ghost of a smile on your face. sukuna’s fingers continue to meld softly into the hardness of your hip bones, the sensation so soothing it almost makes you keel your head back. 

and you’re sure that’s part of it – the soft touch, the overexertion, the crippling fear that you’re about to graduate and not even sure what you’ll be doing next year, that you could fail and have to rely on him – that makes you start bursting into tears and stand up to wrap your arms around him.  

you delude yourself for a second into thinking that’s how it could be. that maybe for once you wouldn’t have to worry about this type of thing, because he would be there to help you. that he would let you pay him back, that it would be your money. 

“i can’t take your money, sukuna.” you whisper. 

sukuna smiles. 

“you would do it for me.” 

“i wouldn’t be able to do it for you. i-i would want to but…” 

sukuna frowns. 

“you know money doesn’t mean shit to me right?” 

you sigh. 

“but it does to me. we already owe you so much and…and this can’t be another thing on the list of stuff i have to pay back.” you state. 

sukuna hooks his hands under your knees, before tilting you over his back and marching his way back to the room. there’s angry grumbling under his breath, that’s fully intelligible to you and makes your breath hitch. 

“why are we having this stupid fucking conversation at four in the morning? i’m not about to get into the whole logistics of marriage and shared bank accounts when you can’t even stop giggling after i touch your thighs sometimes. just chill the fuck out.” 

you feel bad. but you can’t help but laugh at how stupid he sounds as he flops you flat onto the sheets – that he haphazardly mentioned marrying you – as he rummages through the closet for your pajamas. you can tell that he’s tabled it for now and you’re more than grateful as your eyelids start to heavy with sleep. 

“arms up.” 

you oblige as he reaches for your shirt – and lightly push him as he tangles it over your head for far too long – before pulling it straight off. there’s a wide smile on his face and you reach for his wrist to stop him. 

“what’s wrong?” 

not the time. 

“nothing! i just….nothing, sorry.” 

you take the shirt from his hands before slipping it over your head and switching into the shorts. sukuna’s always quick with things like this – closing his eyes and turning around – always waiting until you were done. 

besides your momentary lapse in awkwardness when you were able to take the bath with him, you hadn’t pushed anything farther. but it was pooling in the pit of your stomach – that want to be closer to him, moving in tandem with him for something…more intimate. 

you’d talk to him about it on the weekend. 

--

“are you…sitting at the kids table?” 

you look up to find a blonde girl standing against the back end of the wall, nursing a little glass of wine in her hands. you shoot the group of kids an apologetic smile before you push off the floor, rubbing the red spots in your knee from the carpet, before giving a polite smile. 

“ah. i kind of lost my boyfriend…and i can’t find my friends. they were also playing the entire game wrong and it was hurting my soul a little bit.” 

the girl laughs, pushing her hair behind her shoulder before extending her hand out to you. 

“valid. i’d do the same thing. i’m kisa.” she states. 

you swear you know her from somewhere. though the likelihood of that is probably ninety percent – there wasn’t anyone in this town who didn’t know each other. 

“i’m y/n.” 

“wait. y/n? are you sammy’s sister?”  

point proven. 

“that’s right. yeah, she’s here somewhere. our mom was invited, she’s really good friends with mrs. itadori.” you. 

she hums in response, as you watch people shuffle in and out of the room. there’s a highly doctored smell of perfume in the room – billowing black dresses and shiny pearls – as all of you mom’s friends amble around the foyer taking their pictures. 

mrs. itadori spent a decent amount of her time planning extravagant dinner parties. and once in a while, you had to drag yourself all the way out here to show your face with yuuji. it was hardly pleasant. 

yuuji’s dad would always make a shitty comment, sammy’s ass kissing would be at its peak, and the two of you would be left to fend for the wolves. 

sukuna, naturally, knew this. so he decided to attend to. 

you just didn’t realize he’d be so popular. neither did yuuji and it makes your skin itch that you don’t know where he is right now. or that you can’t resolve the tension that he must be feeling – especially when it’s about sukuna. 

“why are you here?” 

she grins. 

“i have this really hot ex-boyfriend. i was figuring he might be here tonight since he’s back in town.” 

“do tell.” 

“oh, he’s gorgeous. like, i don’t want to objectify men, but i literally do. he’s like attractive in a ‘i want to pour battery acid into my eyes every time he looks at me’ kind of way.” 

you laugh.

“the best kind of attractive.” you affirm. 

“you get me, bitch! it’s like…i don’t mean to be so crude…and i’ve already had three glasses of wine so i’m going to blame it on that…but i need to get dicked down. fuck, i’d even suck his dick if he let me. and i hate sucking dick!” 

you snort. 

weirdly enough, this is one of your favorite things about parties like these. or going to the bar. talking to random girls in the bathroom – finding out that it’s their bachelorette party or whatever boy problems they’re having. there’s a soft solace in other people like this – that talk so openly with strangers, with a quiet trust that you can’t really seem to place. 

“weird question. why do you hate it?” you ask. 

“not weird at all, honey. it’s just not very fun to do. but sometimes it is, when you can tell the person really likes it. like my ex-boyfriend, i’d suck his dick all the time just because i wanted to, just because i liked to make him feel good. and he really loved it. and some people are fucking into it, i don’t know, they love to suck dick and do that type of thing. s’all about your interests.” 

you nod, mulling over her answer in your head. 

“do you like sucking dick?....that sounds more crude when i say it but also i’ve been talking about it for the past twenty seconds so.” she asks. 

“no! no, it’s not rude. and i asked. um, i haven’t done it before. i mean, i have or…or at least tried to but i don’t count that for…other reasons and stuff. but no, i haven’t.” 

“do you want to? you’re pretty, you said you have a boyfriend right?” 

you smile. 

“yeah. yeah, i just…get nervous about that type of thing. we haven’t done anything yet but i feel like we might soon.” 

she narrows her eyes. 

“he doesn’t pressure you, right?” 

along with the quiet trust, there’s always a well of concern. 

“no! no, the opposite really.” 

“good shit. well, don’t think about it so hard. it’ll come to you naturally. plus, when you like someone a lot, that type of stuff kind of comes with it. like my ex-boyfriend? total fucking sweetie pie. he could be standing in front of me and i’d dick him down right now if he asked. just for old times sake.” 

you laugh. 

“i really hope you find him. and get dicked down for your own sake.”  

“he was just so fucking hot! i’ve never had a guy make me feel like that. it’s like…i couldn’t have really reached my prime at my highschool prom with a guy two years younger than me…that’s embarrassing.” 

you pale. and right at that moment, sukuna walks up to you, eyes wide as he glares at you. 

“what the fuck are you doing?” 

“sukuna.”

you pause, the awkwardness of his name falling out of your mouths at the same time confirming your suspicions. 

just your luck, her aforementioned, beautiful ex-boyfriend, is sukuna. 

“sukuna! i didn’t realize you were back.” 

you can feel your chest simmering. because now she’s batting her eyelashes and twirling her hair in response to him. sukuna doesn’t even spare her a second glance and instead uses it to shoot bullets at you with his eyes. 

“what are you doing?” 

“i didn’t know! how was i supposed to know?” you whisper.

“we all went to the same school, y/n.” 

“i don’t memorize what all your ex-girlfriends look like sukuna. i have a very small thread of self-confidence and i’m hell bent on keeping it for the time being.” you respond. 

sukuna doesn’t find your joke funny. 

“do you guys know each other or something?” kisa asks. 

“kisa. this is my girlfriend, y/n. she was best friends with yuuji, remember?” sukuna states. 

she pauses for a second, before jolting up. 

“ah. the little one who used to take the cheerleading pictures, right? frizzy hair, big glasses?” she asks. 

you pinch your lips into a straight line. 

“that would be me!” you state. 

“shut the fuck up.” sukuna responds, before yanking you by the elbow into the kitchen at the side. 

you spare her a last glance over your shoulder – confusion spreading over her face – followed by the seclusion to the quiet of the kitchen. 

sukuna leans back against the fridge, running his hands through his hair, giving tight-lipped polite smiles through the people passing through the rooms. 

“what did you talk about?” 

you dig your fingers into your palm. sukuna picks up on it. 

“nothing. just pleasantries and stuff. it wasn’t a big deal!” 

“tell me. i can tell whatever it was is making you feel like shit.” 

you take a deep breath. 

“i don’t feel like shit, i just-” 

“are you guys fighting about something?” 

your eyes widen as you turn to yuuji, leaning against the frame of the door with his arms crossed on his chest. you muster a peachy smile, shaking your head as you walk up to his side and loop your arm through his. 

“of course not. we never fight!” you state. 

yuuji raises his eyebrow. 

“you never fight? ever?” 

“no! no, of course we fight. all the time actually.” you state. 

you look over at sukuna, who starts gesturing to you with his hands – with an irritated look on his face. 

what the hell are you talking about? 

you gesture back, shrugging as yuuji shuffles the two of you over to the drinks, filling up the glasses. 

“well, that doesn’t sound very healthy.” 

you take a deep breath in. 

“we don’t fight an abnormal amount. we’re like normal couples. we fight and then make up. there’s nothing weird about us actually, we’re perfect! It’s-it’s like conflict resolution and-” 

yuuji laughs, before leaning closer to you and wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

“who are you trying to convince? me or yourself? you’re rambling so much.” 

you groan, burying your palms into your eye sockets – you’re already messing this up. royally. yuuji gives you a warm smile, one that you can see from the little gaps in between your fingers, as you cross your arms and lean against the counter. yuuji gives sukuna a small nod, as sukuna takes the spot at your side, and links his arm around your shoulder. 

it feels wrong to be so openly affectionate like that. for him to pull you closer to him when yuuji’s standing right there. 

you lift your shoulders slightly until he drops his hand and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“so really. what happened?” 

“nothing. i was talking to kisa and didn’t realize it was kisa.” 

yuuji leans his head back. 

“which one is she again? the neighbor?” 

you can feel a wave of discomfort, of an unnecessary defense bubbling up in your chest. he wasn’t actually talking to the neighbor – she just wanted advice on whether or not she should break up with her boyfriend. 

and sukuna told her not to. 

“no. she’s the girl sukuna went to prom with.” you state, brushing down the pleats of your skirt. 

“ahh, that’s right. his first girlfriend.” 

yuuji circles the last sip of his drink in his cup before downing it and turning to both of you at his side. 

“so what the hell is he so pissed about? you can’t talk to people now?” 

“he wasn’t mad. we were just talking, yuuji.” 

“you looked pretty mad. and you were whispering in hushed tones.” yuuji states. 

sukuna clears his throat and you can tell that he’s simmering with irritation from the way his fists are clenched and curled at his side. the animosity in his eyes does little to help too. 

“i just wanted to know what they talked about and clear up anything that she might have said that might not be true. i don’t want her to get the wrong idea.” sukuna states. 

yuuji rolls his eyes. 

“she’s a grown woman. i think she can tell right from wrong by herself. and i’m positive that if she did say anything, it’s not anything that wouldn’t be true.” 

you shove yuuji in the side. 

“what’s your problem? you’re being so mean.” 

“i’m not being mean! it’s just a fact. you…you know how he can be. do you really think he just changed like that?” 

maybe it’s a mix of things. 

that sukuna’s ex-girlfriend just spent five minutes telling you about how much he apparently loves to get his dick sucked and you have yet to muster up the courage to do it. or that your hair’s been getting consecutively oily as the night goes on and sticking to your forehead or that yuuji tends to throw some hurdle into your relationship every chance he seems to get. 

or that you can’t pay for vet school so it’s time to cut back on iced coffee since you’re going to be taking a loan or that your mom’s walking around in fake pearls and someone most definitely will make a comment about it that’ll have her leaving the party crying. 

or that you can never seem to win. or do anything right. 

“you’re such an asshole sometimes. why do you always have to talk about him like that? do you think i’m so pathetic that he’s going to leave me for some girl he literally talked to six years ago? do you think i’m so pathetic that i’d date someone like that?” you mutter, before brushing past his shoulder and leaving the room. 

sukuna can feel that irritation festering up in him and makes his best efforts to swallow it down as he turns to yuuji. sukuna debates his options – following you or beating it out of yuuji. 

the second one seems more productive for the time being. 

he turns and can immediately clock that yuuji feels bad – his face drooping like it would whenever sukuna would beat him in a video game or leave their board game early to hang out with his friends. 

“what the hell is your problem?” sukuna asks. 

the drooping is replaced with anger, an irritability as yuuji scoffs before turning around. 

“what’s yours?” yuuji mutters. 

sukuna reaches for his collar, shaking him from filling up his glass again, before yuuji meets his eyes again. 

“no, seriously. what the fuck is your problem? why can’t you just be happy for her? we were getting along just fine before this until you decided to be a little bitch about it.” sukuna asks. 

yuuji rolls his eyes. he pulls back, tussling out of his grasp before leaning against the closed door of the fridge. 

“i didn’t have a problem with you. but you’re doing the same shit as before – being careless. and you’re doing it with my best friend.” 

sukuna wants to punch him in the face. 

“are you ever going to be satisfied with what you have? you just had to have her too? she was my friend first.” yuuji states.

sukuna doesn't know why it flares up in him - that possessiveness. you don't belong to him but you certainly don't belong to yuuji either. he doesn't get to stake a claim on you just because he knew you first.

“you sound like a pathetic child. you know you don’t own her, right? you can’t fathom that she could have someone else be special to her that isn’t you? that you can’t be a spoiled little kid and have to learn how to share?” 

sukuna’s hit a nerve, though he’s not entirely sure why. but now yuuji’s crying, shoving him hard into the counter, before his pounding footsteps reside as he runs up the stairs.

there’s an immediate guilt, coupled with a resounding headache. 

--

when sukuna makes it back to the apartment – after having dozed off for a decent amount of the train ride home – he’s thrown off when you push him against the wall the second you make it back into the house. and dig your hands under his shirt, dangerously lower than you ever have before. 

“jesus. what’s wrong with-” 

he can barely finish because you’re cutting him off by kissing him – almost aggressively – and latching your arms around his neck and jumping up onto his thighs. he’s quick to catch you, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth, kissing every spare patch of skin you can find. 

“what are you-” 

he can’t even get a sentence out. 

“doing, pretty girl?” 

it’s almost like you don’t hear him or something. there’s something insatiable burning in your eyes, nearly twitching with a fervor with something that he’s never really seen before. 

correction. something that he’s never seen in your eyes before. he’s seen it before – hundreds of times. in the shitty bathroom in the bar, from the girl he met on the dating app, and even kisa back in the day. but not with you.

he almost hates it.

sukuna pushes you back, resting your legs against the weight of the kitchen counter before letting go and trying to pull away. 

but it’s almost like you’re trying to entice him. grabbing him by his necklace and pulling him back into you, letting one hand roaming through his hair and the other underneath his shirt. 

there’s an insatiable fire pooling in his stomach. but it’s the wrong timing. and it’s almost too…tantalizing, too tempting that it felt wrong. 

this was not how he was going to do this with you – at least not the first time. 

he was no stranger to it – the intense, all consuming feeling that came with this. a part of him even wanted it. but he wanted the other side first, that aspect of it more. 

the part that he never had. the romance, the yearning, and the godawful ache. 

the love making. 

he had every intent to worship you the second he got, to drag it out for as long as he could. like he was a man starved, like he’d never get a chance to do it again. 

and there was no way he was going to bring that out, or be able to even do that, on the heels of his argument with yuuji, after whatever it was that kisa must have said that had you so worked up. 

sukuna doesn’t know what else to do. so he brings his hand up and takes a fist full of your hair – and uses it to yank you off of him. you’re panting hard, eyes nearly glazed over as you look at him and reach down this time. 

reaching for the buckle of his pants. sukuna reaches for your wrists and squeezes hard. 

“what are you doing?” he whispers. 

you pant, before shaking your head. 

“you know…” you respond, gesturing with your hands. 

“i don’t know. what are you doing?” he deadpans. 

you glare at him. 

“you know…we’ve been dating for some time now. and we love each other…it…it’s only right to do this type of thing. don’t you want to?” 

it’s that same meek look – that squirrely, almost timid way of talking. when he heard that godawful comparison for the first time, that filled him with an unappeasble rage. 

lipstick on a pig. 

it aggravates him to his core because he hasn’t heard it in months. that awkward, shy voice. he had gotten used to the real one – filled with a comfortable confidence. that cracked jokes and poked fun at him all the time. 

the part of you that saw him like a real person. 

“sure i do, princess. you know you drive me crazy, right?” 

you give him a grin, before reaching back for the buckle of his belt. and for a second time, he’s quick to pull on your wrists again, before leaning his forehead against yours, his breath tickling the tip of your nose. 

“no, seriously. what are you doing?” 

you bite into the hardness of your cheek, pinching your eyes shut. 

it’s not awkward. just say it. 

“i’m trying to…suck your dick.” 

sukuna takes a deep breath, using his pointer finger to angle your face back up by your chin, brown eyes overwhelmingly warm and soft as he looks at you. and it aggravates you. you know what he’s going to say. 

“you…you can’t stop me, you know? i’m ready to do this. i’ve..i’ve been thinking about it for a while.” 

sukuna raises his eyebrows, almost like he’s disbelieving of what you’re saying, before he talks. 

“okay, angel. can you just kiss me first?” 

you feel your cheeks burn. 

“what?” 

“i’m okay with it if you want to. i just want you to kiss me first.” 

you laugh, before cupping the side of his face and rubbing over the soft indent of his dimple. 

“are you being serious? you’re not like…copping me out right?” 

sukuna glares at you. 

“i just fucking asked you to kiss me. you just pounced on me like a fucking lion out of nowhere.” 

you bring your hands to his cheeks and can’t help but smile into his face. 

“why are you…so cute? you just want me to kiss you?” 

sukuna wrinkles his nose in disgust, before reaching forward to pinch the sensitive skin on your arm. 

“you fucking ruined it. now you’re never sucking my dick.” 

you snort. 

“well…technically i did kiss you. just really aggressively.” you mumble. 

sukuna’s laugh is soft, almost quiet as he leans forward to press a kiss to your hair. 

“kiss me properly. i’m not going anywhere. i…i want to savor it.” 

you swallow hard, as he takes over the open space in between your legs, and leans forward. his hair is tickling your forehead, your breaths slow as you cycle in tandem, and you loop your arms around his torso. 

there’s a small amount of desperation in the way that sukuna kisses you, a burning that ignites over your skin and makes your stomach drop to your core. but it’s almost like he’s slowing you down, curbing that feeling in your chest – by ubbing circles into your back, a contentment in his demeanor – that you’re cued into by the way he’s smiling into the kiss. 

that’s when you realize. 

“you’re not going to let me do it, are you?” you murmur, whispering against his lips. 

“perceptive.” sukuna mumbles back, before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. 

you groan, which has the smallest of laughs bubbling out of him. it’s free of any teasing – that you’re positive of as he lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss on each of your knuckles. 

“i like the rings. wonder what your hands would look like around my…” 

“well, now you’re just being fucking annoying.” 

“i’m joking.” 

you sigh, leaning your cheek against his shoulder, as you blink hard. 

“why not?” 

as quickly as that quiet, squirrely voice came back, it’s almost like he decimated it in his hands with a few seconds. if this were months prior, it would have taken him weeks to convince you that he still liked you. 

you had stopped viewing his actions as swift rejections, as slights against you, and started taking them for what they were. 

sukuna was going to kill yuuji for trying to shit on your relationship later. you were meant to be together, that much was obvious. 

“yuuji and i kind of…fought. i want to be in the right mood when we do this.” 

you lean forward, cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

“you know, he’s starting to really make me mad. he should just leave us alone if it pisses him off that much and-” 

“i said more than he did. it’s my fault. i’ll apologize tomorrow.” 

you shake your head. and there’s an awkward silence, before sukuna asks. 

“so what did she say? i know that didn’t come out of nowhere, even if you were thinking about it before.” 

you groan, digging your face into his neck. 

it’s almost embarrassing now. 

“she was there to see you. wanted to get dicked down by you. and mentioned that apparently you really like having your dick sucked? i don’t know…i just…had a long week. vet school and my mom and yuuji and…and you. figured i’d at least relieve some tension and give you what you wanted. like two birds in one stone type of thing.” 

“please don’t refer to sex as a stone.” sukuna deadpans.

you laugh and it makes sukuna smile. 

“the only thing i want is you.” 

you sigh.

“ugh! i’m…i’m so annoyed because i actually know that. if you were going to get up and leave you would have done it by now because it’s been months but i just…felt so stupid or like undercooked or something because we haven’t done it yet that i just-” 

“do you feel like you have something to prove?” 

you bite your lip. 

“i guess. it’s about you but…but it’s about other stuff too. i want to be strong enough to do it. i don’t want to let bad experiences hold me back when you’re obviously a good guy and obviously good in bed but-” 

sukuna smirks. 

“obviously?” 

“you’re so annoying.” 

sukuna wraps his hands around your cheeks, before pulling you up to look at him. and practices the way he’s worded this in his head a hundred times, hoping that it comes out right. 

“angel?” 

“yeah?” 

“about what you said. about other stuff.” 

it’s almost like you’re a kicked dog, trying to retreat after he mentioned it. 

“i don’t want to push you into telling me. and you don’t have to. i can…i can piece some of it together. but i just need to know what not to do. i’ll never forgive myself if i ever hurt you, especially if it’s something regarding this.” 

he leans his forehead against yours, his voice so quiet that it makes your chest ache, with overwhelming, sincere love of his consideration for you. 

“i’m sorry it happened to you. you don’t even have to tell me. write me a list or send me an email. i just need to know what’s off limits, anything that could possibly…remind you of anything that happened to you.” 

you angle your face back up, leaving a lingering kiss on his lips before pulling back. 

“are you tired?” you ask. 

he leans back, in confusion. 

“no?” 

“then, i’ll tell you right now.” 

sukuna’s eyes widen. 

“i’m not trying to pressure you.” 

you smile, before linking your hands into his. 

“i know. you’re not. i’ve been thinking about how to talk to you about it. and one of the biggest hurdles is…having to address that it happened? but if you already know…all i have to do is tell you now. and…” 

you sigh. 

“and it’s you. i feel safe enough to tell you about it but just…just don’t be weird about it?” 

sukuna reaches forward, crossing a little x shape onto your chest. you tilt your head to the side, in confusion. 

“what was that?” 

“crossing your heart. like the promise?” 

“you’re supposed to cross your own heart.” 

sukuna glares. 

“i’m not going to spell it out for you. you’re smart enough to figure it out.” 

it takes a few seconds, but you reach the conclusion. 

sukuna crossed your heart instead of his. he made the promise on yours, because yours was more important than his own – enough to make an oath on.

yours over his. 

it’s the only reason you’re able to muster enough courage to even tell him what happened in the first place.

--

next part linked here

an: ladies and gentleman, we cringe. (this was a long time coming but it's for plot purposes)

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