#slowly over time the boy allows himself to simply and fully trust the powerful being. and allow himself to be loved.

[coquelicoq]

[Image description: Stills from the anime "Natsume's Book of Friends" of Natsume and Nyanko-sensei/Madara together, including Natsume carrying, holding, consulting, playing with, and sleeping next to Nyanko-sensei in his cat form, as well as one still of Natsume hugging Madara's snout in his larger form. /end ID]

NATSUME’S BOOK OF FRIENDS - Natsume & Nyanko-sensei / Madara 2/3

[allmightluver]

@hhbluedynamite I’m going to make separate post here to address this. Tumblr mobile is a pain and I can’t add all picture examples I want to it here goes.

This has been a debate ever since My Hero came out,

“Why are All Mights eyes black?”

There’s been multiple explanations from how his borrowed quirk works to simply his own emaciated state. I’ve come up with my own theory. It’s said the eyes are the windows to the soul. I believe All Might’s eyes grow darker the more “weight” he carries.

For example,

When All Might was a kid, his eyes were normal. White. After losing his family, rendering him an orphan, white. Even after losing Nana, still he looked normal.

And after first releasing to the public.

This is because although he’d already been thru hell and back emotionally, he’s still normal. Even with his quirk.

Then, after he’d been in the game a while, they suddenly darkened.

Why?

Because by that time, the full gravity of his position, his responsibility and the realization he was essentially alone in that place, had fully sunk in.

Because he was so over powered above everyone else, everyone including the heroes left him to take care of almost everything they felt was too hard. And because he’s a selfless person at heart without a care to his own safety, he willingly allowed it to happen without asking for help. He didn’t want to risk losing anyone else. Which is also why he didn’t take on any sidekicks.

Until Nighteye.

Vigilantes showed us Toshinori when he wasn’t being All Might. And his eyes turn back into white in his more relaxed form, albeit with tired lines beneath them. However this is when he had Nighteye to count on. And Nighteye can see the future, so perhaps he would be safe, right? Well we know what happened there.

After he and Nighteye break up go their separate ways, we never see Toshinori with white eyes again. (Unless I’m forgetting so please tell me if I am). Now he’s injured, only a handful of people to trust, and none can truly understand what he’s going through. At this time he truly is alone, and the one thing that gives him joy is slowly but surely being fizzled out within him.

All Might’s eyes continued to remain black for years. Even after giving his quirk to Izuku. He still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders because he feared for Izuku’s safety. Blamed himself for every scar and Injury the boy suffered thru. Even though he was retired, nothing had changed. In fact it was worse now, because he could do nothing to help anymore.

And then he gains support items to face AFO for the last time. He’s a distraction, a willing sacrifice to slow the monster down, and he couldn’t be happier. We see the whites of his for the first time. All through the fight we see them, shaded albeit, but they’re there.

When he speaks to Nighteye asking if this isn’t the place he was meant to die, Nighteye confirms that it is. The fact that he’s still alive makes him raise the question, why is he still here then? I’m the mentor, Izuku is a ready and worthy apprentice. He doesn’t need me anymore. I’m supposed to be dead by now. His eyes seem darker here, as if the weight and his own depression have increased again. Perhaps begrudgingly accepting his fate.

But then here after Nighteye tells him he reads too many comic books, and that there’s no way he would go out that way, we get a closer look. Although his eyes are still shrouded in black because of his emaciated state. His eyes themselves are clearer, brighter. Even if Nighteye is only in his head, his words are still bringing him hope deep down.

While being tended to medically, his eyes are dark again, though I believe this is mainly due to him barely being alive and conscious at this point. And they’re still white, more than we’re used to seeing.

Finally after the war while they’re recovering, his eyes remain white, though they’re still shaded. The weight is still present. His work isn’t done yet. Izuku is losing his quirk, and he still feels like a failure in some sense because of that. Also because he and Bakugo almost died. And because of everyone who did die in the war all because he failed to stop AFO after three tries.

People who weren’t qualified to be heroes were even involved in this battle. And he thinks it unfair to hold such high standards when there are people who can still help, even if not at the extreme levels of the top heroes. He and Deku are proof of that!

In the last chapter several years later, we finally see Old Man Might! And his eyes-they’re so bright. ❤️

Of course they’ll always have a little shadow to them because of his sunken in appearance, but the tired lines under his eyes are gone. There’s not the black bags from pushing himself too hard, just the normal wrinkles that come with age.

This is Toshinori that’s been missing for decades. The man whose impossible weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders. He knows he can finally relax, he doesn’t have to be on alert or on call anymore. The world is safe without him.

He even found a way for Izuku to keep up his hero work with a suit similar to his own during the war (though most definitely suped up).

Finally, he can be at peace. His body, soul, and mind can finally begin to heal. He can work through all of the trauma he’s been stuffing down all of his life.

Finally, he can live.

[cursestothemoon]

😶 ok but like imagine a smut with inexperienced fred and an experienced reader. LiKE I CAN KINDA IMAGINE IT, LIKE HE TURNS FULL ON FERAL MID-WAY LIKE! Anyway if you could do that as a request that would be wonderful, but obviously no pressure😌

Fred the reader is very experienced and Fred’s a virgin and they’re first time:)

I combined these two :)

Feral Instinct

F.W. X FEM!READER

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal penetration, biting, choking, dom!fred/ sub!reader, inexperienced fred, experienced reader, praise, crude language, oral (female receiving), fingering

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

“We don't have to, Freddie, not if you don't want to.” Your voice was soft, thumb caressing the boys cheekbone. 

Fred shifted, his torso in-between your legs, turning his head to place a kiss on your bare knee. 

“I’m sure.” He replied confidently. “Wanna feel you...taste you.”

Your thigh twitched at his response before you nodded your head, unable to find words.

Fred was a virgin.

It wasn’t something he was ashamed of nor something he hid. Fred was confident in his choice of waiting for the right time with the right person. He had grown up with cautionary tales from Charlie and how he felt pressured into having sex and had an absolutely terrible experience.

Fred was a virgin and he was confident in it, however, you seemed to ignite something deep within his metaphysical being- something raw and dirty.

You were far from a virgin.

Your virginity was something you lost early in your teenage years. The ripe age of fourteen had seen your transition from child to young woman- at least that’s how most saw it. You never cared for the label of virginity, so when you felt you could handle the intimacy of sex- both mentally and physically- you did, you also trusted your boyfriend at the time and made the decision all on your own accord.

You were far from a virgin and you were equally as confident in it.

And regardless of the fact that Fred Weasley seemed to ooze raw sex appeal, you’d wait for him to be ready- if ever- to go all the way.

Fred was beyond ready to be as close to you as intimately possible.

Slowly, Fred peeled your underwear from your already sopping cunt. He felt himself go slightly dizzy at the sight of your bare pussy, slick with arousal. Sure he’d seen naked girls before-adult magazines passed down from Bill were a Weasley brother right of passage- but never like this, never in person, never this close, and never had he seen one that he found so pretty.

“C-can I...” His voice trailed off, eyes not moving from your pretty pussy as he spoke.

A high-pitched ‘mhm’ was all you could respond, making Fred look up to meet your eyes momentarily.

He raised his hand carefully, slowly dragging his middle finger down your slick folds, you shuttered at the feeling. Fred was testing the waters, trying to find what made your toes curl and eyes roll back.

After another pass of his finger down your slit, he trailed back up to find your clit, an simple task seeing how it only took him a moment- he was a virgin, not Severus Snape for Merlin’s-sake.

His middle finger circled your sensitive clit whilst the rest of his digits could just barely be felt on the rest of your cunt. Your breath picked up as he quickened his pace ever so slightly, his eyes fluttering from your cunt to your face, gaging your response to his actions.

Your eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the feeling of a slow and steady knot forming in the depths of your belly.

What you weren’t expecting was the feeling of a warm, wet, tongue licking a broad stripe up your slit before replacing the fingers on your clit.

You let out a choked gasp making Fred smirk against your cunt. The sound was the best thing he’d ever heard, he’s sure of it. You vocal response also helped build his confidence, you noticed the way he started lapping at your cunt faster with more purpose. He was a man starved, hands anchoring around your thick thighs and pulling you closer to his face really allowing him to fully immerse in your essence.

Fred was relentless as he went down on you, making you let out surprised gasps and loud moans at how good he was. He ate you out like he needed to in order to survive. Something took over him from the moment the taste of your arousal hit his tongue and mingled with his tastebuds- he’d never experienced something so mouth-wateringly erotic.

“F-Fingers, Freddie. Use your fingers, too.”

Fred looked up, mouth glistening with your juices as he spoke, “Wan’ em inside?”

He asked the question so seriously, as if you weren’t just grinding your clit against the tip of his nose while his tongue prodded at your hole.

“Please.” You whined, voice coming out desperate and breathy.

Fred pressed a kiss to your mound, bottom lip adding pressure close enough to your clit to have you squirming, before he brought his hand to your cunt.

With slow fingers he trailed down from your clit to your hole, looking up once his digits started massaging your entrance.

“Tell me if something doesn’t feel right or-or if it hurts.”

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips at how sweet your boyfriend was, “I will, I promise. I trust you, Freddie.”

Silence fell over the room as Fred carefully pushed his fingers inside of your weeping cunt. He noticed the way your walls immediately gripped around his two digits, making his cock almost painfully hard in his tight black boxers.

Fred attached his lips back onto your clit, sucking on the nub before experimenting with a soft nibble. The action made you jolt, the combination of his fingers slowly thrusting into you and the way he worked your clit had you crying.

“I’ll take it you liked that.” He smirked, pulled away momentarily only to drop back down and continue to lick your pussy raw.

Your moans grew louder as Fred quickened the pace of his fingers, managing to figure out what motion would light your insides on fire. The sounds were beyond pornographic, slapping skin, vulgar squelching, and your uninhibited moans.

Fred was reeling in the power he had over your body in the moment, the affect he had over your body. His confidence was surging and he seemed to just have this instinct of how to make you scream.

He kept going, the way your pussy pulsated around his digits only spurring him on.

“I-I’m close.” You warned him, hand lacing through his hair only to grip onto the strands tightly and draw out a groan from Fred.

The vibrations of his groan on your clit had you gasping, the added in sensation of him giving one last, hard, suck on your clit made your orgasm shatter you from the inside, out.

Fred kept working his fingers in and out of you, his pace staying consistent, as you came all over his digits. The sight of your glistening skin and arching back was one he never wanted to forget, the taste of your cum on his tongue awakening something inside him. Something feral, and wild, and almost barbaric.

The bed shifted as Fred pulled away and you tried to catch your breath, only to be taken back by the fire that burned in Fred’s eyes fueled by his lust. He worked quickly to shed his underwear, your eyes going wide at the sight of his cock. Long, thick, and glistening with precum- his prick was gorgeous.

Fred climbed back up onto the bed, kneeling on one knee and placing his other foot flat on the bed to steady himself. He gripped your hips in a bruising hold and pulled you closer to him.

“You sure you’re ready?” You asked, wanting to make sure one last time- even though the look he had in his eyes was confirmation enough.

Instead of using his words to respond, Fred doubled over and captured your lips in a bruising kiss. Teeth nipping at your bottom lip and tongue immediately dominating your own.

Pulling away, Fred lined himself up at your entrance and pushed in. He could feel each ridge and muscle of your pussy gripping his cock, making him question his ability to last inside you for longer than a few seconds.

The feeling was amazing. Your cunt was warm, wet, and the only place he’d ever want to be from now on.

Fred bottomed out, follow sheathed inside you, emitting a groan in sync with your whimper. He started to buck his hips against yours, losing more and more self control each time.

With his one foot flat on the bed he had enough leverage to ram into you hard, the angle making the tip of his cock hit places inside you that you didn’t even realize could be reached.

For the few seconds you were able to keep your eyes open to watch Fred, he seemed lost in the action. He had one hand firmly holding onto your hip and the other on the thigh that was rubbing against his leg, his head was thrown back and neck exposed as his hips fucked into hard and fast.

The sight was simply the most erotically breathtaking thing you’ve ever seen.

“Fuck.” Fred breathed out, drawing out the syllables.

You fought to keep your eyes open- though they fought to roll back in pleasure- as you lowered your hand down to tease your clit.

Fred seemed to sense your action and his eyes snapped open. He grabbed your wrist and shoved it away, his hand that was previously on your waist going to harshly rub at the sensitive button.

You lost yourself in the pleasure and it only seemed to grow when you felt Fred move so his face was closer to yours. He barred his teeth and bit the skin of your neck, moving down to your shoulder with his teeth leaving angry red imprints in their wake.

Groans and grunts found your ear, Fred’s raspy voice setting the depths of your belly on fire. Your orgasm was fast approaching and you were sure Fred was feeling similarly.

“M’ gonna cum-“ Fred grunted into your neck, shifting from kneeling on one knee to both.

His thrusts were longer and more drawn out as you could feel his cock twitch inside you- triggering your orgasm.

“Freddie, I’m cumming. D-Don’t stop.”

Your cunt milked his cock, pulsating and clenching around him, the sensation making his arms go weak and his body to fall atop yours. Fred’s balmy, warm skin felt familiar and stabilizing, the weight of his torso helping to keep you grounded. You wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding his body to yours as you both came down from your highs.

Fred kept his head in the crook over your neck, placing soft kisses to anywhere his lips could reach without his head having to move.

It was silent for a few beats until you decided to speak up.

“You know for someone who’s inexperienced, you’re really bad at being inexperienced.”

Fred giggled against your shoulder before lifting his head to place a kiss on your lips and look you in the eyes.

“I always seem to know what to do when it comes to my girl.” He teased, brushing his nose against yours.

You shook your head gently, with a smile, as you responded, “I’m serious! My first time i got my braces stuck to his and I sneezed into his mouth.”

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinruby003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

@onlyfreds

[mfb-better-fury]

Episode 2

Day

The boy from the observatory is exiting an airport on his quest to find Gingka by going to the WBBA headquarters. He momentarily stops to wonder if he should go elsewhere, but his musing is cut off as Johannes appears, forcing him into a bey battle. (Beat Lynx VS Mercury Anubius) Feeling outmatched, the boy decides to flee, but Johannes catches him easily.

Determined to find Gingka and share what he knows, the boy makes an escape by knocking numerous crates and boxes over.

At the WBBA, Kyoya is asleep in a bedroom with the new Leone sitting on the nightstand next to him.

Out in the hall, the others are gathered, having been joined by Hikaru. Gingka, Kenta, and Madoka are beginning to question Benkei about Kyoya’s condition. He is uncomfortable with this but admits there’s no point in hiding it anymore.

Shortly after the events of Battle Bladers, he had started noticing Kyoya acting somewhat strangely. Kyoya had denied anything was wrong at first, but after about a month he’d shown up out of the blue looking shaken. He’d then confided in Benkei that he was beginning to hear a dark voice in his mind. Obviously this concerned Benkei, and this worry only grew when Kyoya added it had gotten clearer over the past few days. He could now tell that it had latched on to his desire to defeat Gingka and was driving him to want more – to destroy him and Pegasus completely. Convinced this had to be L-Drago’s doing, the two of them had reached out to Hikaru and Tsubasa.

At the mention of her, the trio looks at Hikaru in surprise; she refuses to meet their eyes. She admits that what Benkei says is true – she and Tsubasa both had known about Kyoya’s issues all along. The three of them along with Benkei had decided to keep it all a secret so as to not worry anyone, though as they all knew from the World Championships that had not worked out with Tsubasa.

Madoka hesitantly starts to ask something but keeps faltering. Hikaru answers the unasked question – she’s never heard voices, exactly. For her it was a cold, crushing feeling when she launched Aquario, and nightmares when she slept. She is not eager to talk about this and quickly moves back to the topic of Kyoya.

Hikaru and Benkei explain that the reason Kyoya had distanced himself from them all after Battle Bladers was because of this voice, as he didn’t want to put them in harm’s way. Once it was loud enough that he couldn’t disobey it, however, costing him his spot in the Japanese representative team, he had decided that the only way to be free was to sate it. To do that, he had to find another way into the tournament so that he would be able to face Gingka. This is why he disappeared and formed Wild Fang.

Kenta asks if Nile and Demure know; Benkei solemnly confirms. Just as Benkei had found Kyoya with them, the dark power had spiked as it was realizing it would have a chance to face Gingka now that Kyoya was in an opposing team. It took all three of them to calm Kyoya and Benkei had confessed everything to them. There had been many more spikes during the championships, including one just before the press conference with Chandora. After they had snapped Kyoya out of it he wasn’t fit to attend, so they had sent Benkei as a way to cover their tracks and make sure no one knew something was wrong. Benkei adds with a sad smile that he is and forever will be grateful beyond words for them standing by Kyoya’s side, rather than running away to save themselves.

Gingka, Kenta, and Madoka are worried into silence from hearing all this. Hikaru sees this and assures them it’s not their fault and they shouldn’t feel like it is. As it is now, Tsubasa has broken free, and her nightmares are starting to dwindle. Benkei adds that this is the first time Kyoya has erupted like that since just after the World Championships, meaning it’s been a few months and they see this as great progress.

Even so, Gingka can’t stop himself from commenting that if he had been able to stop L-Drago when Ryuga had first reawakened, none of this would have happened to them in the first place. However, he let Pegasus’ anger about Ryo’s supposed death take control of him. He looks at the bey sadly. Benkei, Kenta, and Madoka remember the strange red aura that had surrounded him back then. Kenta says he had always wondered what exactly that was, and it makes sense that it would have been from Pegasus given the circumstances.

Hikaru is unable to provide Gingka with reassurance, not knowing what to say. She simply reaffirms that it is not his fault, no matter what he thinks.

After an awkward silence, Hikaru says she’s going to check on Kyoya and heads into the bedroom. Benkei watches her go; when Madoka asks if he’s going to follow he says no. Though he will follow Kyoya to the ends of the earth and fight by his side forever, this is one thing that Hikaru is better suited for than he is. He takes out Dark Bull to look at sadly, saying that it is all he can do to simply keep Kyoya from hurting anyone because he knows Kyoya would never be able to forgive himself if that happened.

The others are quiet for a moment before Kenta notices something and asks what happened to Bull. Benkei is caught off guard and tries to evade the question, but as he does so Bull is shown more clearly – it is rather heavily damaged.

Madoka cries out in alarm at this and demands to know what happened, before stopping herself as she remembers how Benkei had stopped the new Leone from hitting Pegasus, then proceeded to battle it. She realizes that Benkei has been going against Kyoya during these dark power spikes for months and feels horrible that she hadn’t thought to ask to check on Bull and Leone after the World Championships.

Benkei quiets her, saying that while he may not have the best tools like her or access to a bunch of new parts, he is still fully capable of taking care of his bey. During the World Championships, and even before that in the days of the Facehunters, he was the one who would clean and repair his teammates’ beys so they could continue to battle. This surprises them all as they hadn’t realized Benkei had this skill.

Even with this reassurance, Madoka begs him to let her give Bull a thorough repair while they try to figure out what’s going on with Leone. After looking at Bull again and thinking to himself that there is only so much he can do, and Bull has given him so much strength protecting Kyoya, Benkei relents on the condition that she allows him to help. Madoka agrees to this compromise.

In the WBBA bedroom, Hikaru is sitting in a chair close to the bed when Kyoya stirs. She is relieved to see him awake, but he doesn’t respond. His only action is to quickly look around then pick up Leone from where it sits.

After a lengthy silence, Hikaru gently tells Kyoya that Madoka would like to watch the new Leone in battle so they can try to learn more about it. Kyoya turns away at this. After another pause, Hikaru comes to a decision and leans forward a bit to say: “What if…”

Later in the day, the group along with Ryo is gathered in the multi-stadium arena in town. Kyoya and Hikaru aren’t present, making Ryo wonder what made them late when Hikaru was the one who told them Kyoya was ready to do the test battles and they should meet here. Though Kenta worries something may have happened to Kyoya, Benkei assures them that the two likely took a detour so that Kyoya could better clear his head before facing them. He then asks that they not bring up the incident, revealing one more thing – Kyoya hardly remembers anything that happens when the dark power spikes. The others are startled, but Ryo promises to keep quiet at least for now.

Moments later, Kyoya and Hikaru arrive. Hikaru apologizes for being late and explains they had needed to stop to pick something up. Kyoya says nothing and is clearly avoiding meeting their eyes. Due to his silence, Hikaru adds that Kyoya’s ready to get things started.

Benkei immediately offers to be Kyoya’s opponent, but Madoka shuts him down. She reminds him that Bull needs to be looked at and he should not battle until that has been done.

Gingka clenches his fists at his side and holds his tongue. Though he wants to help, he is certain that it would be a bad idea for Kyoya to battle him again so soon after what happened.

Kenta begins to offer to battle, but this time Hikaru denies it. She instead asks him to hold her tablet, then explains that Kyoya will be battling against her. Everyone else but Kyoya is shocked at this and Ryo asks if she’s certain. She responds by saying that it will be good for the both of them, then begins to head down to the stadiums without another word; Kyoya follows.

As they watch Hikaru and Kyoya take their places, Madoka expresses her concerns about Hikaru battling in a tournament-level stadium for the first time since Battle Bladers. Ryo is watching silently, hoping Hikaru knows what she’s doing.

Hikaru takes a moment to look at her launcher, then readies it. Kyoya only stares at her for a moment before speaking at last: “Are you sure?” The concern on his face is just as clear as it is on the others’ and Hikaru’s apparent confidence falters slightly. Her launcher lowers for a moment, but she then takes a deep breath and lifts it again. Her response: “I trust you, Kyoya.”

Her words hit, and Kyoya readies his launcher. In her mind, Hikaru reminds herself of something she has always been sure of: No matter what has happened to him, Kyoya is their friend. He would never hurt her.

The two count down and they both have a successful launch, which Ryo is happy to see. Madoka begins the analysis of the new Leone as it and Storm Aquario begin a steady but lighthearted battle. (? Leone VS Storm Aquario) Though troubled by everything that has been happening since yesterday, Gingka is relieved as he watches Hikaru slowly begin to relax and let herself get into it.

Outside in a park, the boy from the observatory hasn’t been able to shake Johannes. He’s now walking backward to keep an eye on Lynx but is flung back after a hard attack. Struggling to sit up the boy calls Johannes a bully; Johannes claims it’s not personal, just his job. He then calls for Lynx and the explosion knocks the boy further away. His cries call the attention of someone passing by, who considers the situation for a moment before turning in their direction.

As the boy tries to get a hold of himself, Johannes is snickering and saying that he should just give up now and go back home. Shaky and scared though he is, the boy refuses; Johannes tsks and says he tried to warn him before sending Lynx in for a finishing move. Before the attack can connect, they hear the call of someone launching their bey. Lynx is knocked away from Anubius as Storm Capricorn enters the battle, bouncing all over. Startled, the boy looks back in the direction the bey came from.

Tobio is still holding his launcher and muses aloud that he’s all about taking down a target, but there’s no point in a battle where the opponent has already lost their fighting spirit.

After a brief delay of confusion, the boy recognizes Tobio from Battle Bladers. He then hesitates because as he recalls, Tobio had entered as a member of the Dark Nebula. Then, out loud, he realizes something more important: “You know Mr. Gingka!”

Tobio acknowledges and agrees with this statement, to which the boy continues that he desperately needs to speak to Gingka as soon as possible. As Tobio gets a better look at the boy he finds that he looks somewhat familiar and wonders if he’s seen him in Gingka’s crew before. He decides it’s not important at the moment and turns his attention back to Johannes, telling him that if he wants a challenge then he and Capricorn will gladly oblige. Johannes watches Capricorn’s movements and the way it’s hitting Lynx for a few seconds, then hisses that this has become too annoying and calls his bey back. He takes off before either Tobio or the boy can say anything.

Tobio calls back Capricorn then turns to the boy, asking how he knows Gingka. The boy confesses that he’s never met Gingka but his cousin is often with him. This intrigues Tobio and he internally recalls that he hasn’t been able to pay Gingka and his friends back for helping him repair his, Ryutaro’s, and Tetsuya’s beys after Doji had made them battle Ryuga. As he looks at the boy again, he realizes why he looks familiar – he reminds Tobio of “what’s-her-face...Madoka”. He doesn’t remark on this yet, just tells the boy to call back his bey and they’ll go somewhere that he can get patched up. The boy watches him for a moment in silence before nodding, though he’s clearly wary.

In the arena, both Kyoya and Hikaru have managed to gain their footing. There is still clear hesitation in Hikaru’s calls to her bey, but she has started to smile. Kyoya has started to come out of his silence as well, though he is still fairly subdued.

Ryo observes that Leone is quite clearly much stronger than before and asks if Madoka has made any headway. She nods and begins to talk about her findings – Leone’s fusion wheel has been separated into a core and a frame, and if they rearrange these pieces, different modes are now possible to achieve. By flipping Leone’s fusion frame, Kyoya will unlock a counter mode instead of his typical defense. This is why after evolving, Leone’s hits had gained so much sudden power. In counter mode, Leone would be considered an attack type bey. On the other hand, if the fusion frame is flipped right-side-up, Kyoya should still be able to access defense-type features as per normal.

The others are impressed, but Gingka still wonders what caused the transformation in the first place. Ryo agrees with this and asks Benkei if he can remember anything strange happening before the battle took place. Madoka adds that he should share anything even if it seems insignificant.

After some thought, Benkei confesses that he may know something, though he’s not sure if it’s important. The night before last, he and Kyoya were training in Wolf Canyon. After Dark Bull was knocked out their training was interrupted by a light headed straight for Kyoya, now holding Leone. Once the light had faded and they could see again, Leone was left dimly gleaming and both bladers were confused as to what had just happened. He finishes with how since it had happened so quickly he assumed he must have just dreamed it.

Ryo is bewildered by the mention of “a light that fell from the sky” but Madoka remembers that she had seen the same kind of light pass by her window as she was working on Pegasus that same night. She then pauses and seems to contemplate something, murmuring about lights from the sky and wondering why that sounds familiar, though the others don’t hear this.

As for the battle, Hikaru has started to realize that although she is shaking, it doesn’t feel like the same cold fear that usually takes her over. No – this is excitement. She can’t remember the last time she felt this way. After taking a breath and clenching her fist, she thinks to herself that this is what she’s missed so much. Words from her mother, not from when she was a child but far more recently, pass through her mind: “At the end of the day, what beyblade is meant to be is a game. Taking it too seriously will take out any enjoyment you could get from it, and then what’s the point of battling at all?”

Hikaru knows she’s been letting her fear control her. For a while, she was too shattered to try and do anything about it. Now though, as she looks across at Kyoya who is still not quite himself, and down at Aquario which she can hear singing with the excitement of being active once again, she knows that just like Kyoya and Tsubasa have had to do, it’s her time to fight her fears.

As Kyoya is mentally noting Aquario’s attacks don’t seem to be very effective against the new Leone, Hikaru calls out and catches his attention. He finds her standing taller than she has in a long time, and she asks if he’d like to see if he can still take hits as well as he can dish them out. After a surprised pause, he manages a small smirk and wonders if she’s up to the challenge.

Hikaru tells Aquario that it’s time they let loose and have some fun, then calls for Infinite Assault. Aquario’s duplication technique goes into full effect, surrounding Leone and barraging him from all sides like waves crashing onto the shore of a small island. Noting that Leone is hardly bothered, Kyoya asks if that’s the best she’s got. Hikaru answers that she’s not done yet and she’ll make Leone lose its footing no matter what; her blader’s spirit has begun to rise around her for the first time in months. Kyoya tells Leone to stay steady; Hikaru tells Aquario not to hold back.

A pulse runs through the real Aquario, unnoticed. Before anyone can really process it, Hikaru’s spirit explodes and the stadium is engulfed in white light.

[whitexwingedxdoves]

Scream     part 4

Scream. Part Four: Help Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Platonic Peter Parker x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warning: Swearing, fighting, little fluffy. Summary: Scream pleas with Venom to help her, when he refuses you strike a deal with her. A/N:  Gets a little heated in this one. I’m not sure how many more parts there will be but im excited with what I have planned for this. I barley had time to proof read this one so, sorry if theres any mistakes; Ive been editing my podcast at the same time ha. If you want to be tagged, just ask <3 Master list of chapters

When you finally woke up, you found yourself in what you could only presume was a cell. Though it wasn’t bars and a metal bed, no. It looked comfortable and the walls almost seemed invisible if it wasn’t for the blue hue. What the hell happened.

You stopped panicking long enough to notice Bucky was sat in a chair just outside your cell. You allowed your eyes pan over him for a moment. His body seemed calm but the look on his face screamed worry. “You’re awake” he words were soft and despite your current situation, they made a part of you melt like butter. He pushed himself off the chair taking a few steps closer to your cell. “what-what happened?” you stumbled over your words as they seemed to crack in your throat. You listened to every word that spilt from his lips, explaining how Venom knocked you out, that Venom’s host was called Eddie Brock and despite them both being arseholes, Eddie seemed much more rational. He ended his little speech claiming that they had come up with an agreement, You were to stay with the Avengers, try to control the Symbiote or completely get rid but Tony argued his point of how it had to be your choice and despite Venom’s obvious opposition, Eddie managed to get him on board. You sat with the information you were given for a moment, allowing it to sink in. You clearly had a big choice to make. I want to talk to him.  It sounded like she was crying and instantly broke your heart. “She want’s to talk to him! I want to talk to him” your words seemed a little too stern but you stood your ground. Bucky nodded before leaving the room without another word.

You were only alone for a couple of seconds until a large framed man walked through the sliding doors. You watched the way he carried himself and already you could tell that Bucky was telling the truth, he was an arsehole. He stopped in front of you cell, a smirk etched onto his face which caused your eyes to roll. “She wants to talk to Venom” you demanded, in which he cockily shrugged and instantly morphed into the large Symbiote, it didn’t take long until Scream made her appearance. She was silent for a moment, you could feel your eyes welling up at the emotion she held. “You have to help me” though she stood confidently, her words showed weakness, even more so when he laughed at her. “You have to help me!” she repeated, her words louder now, causing Venom to growl slightly at her. “Help you? Look at you, no amount of help would stop you from being so pathetic” he spat at her, you could feel the anger bubble through your blood as his words cut through you. “You can’t just leave me here like this. We’re suppose to be family!” anyone with ears could hear the pain in her words. “You have to help me understand” she pleaded but you couldn’t take it anymore.

For the first time since she bonded with you, you took control. Forcing yourself to appear, your eyes filled with tears as you looked up at Venom. “Let me talk to Eddie!” you spat at him, your face showing nothing but disgust at the actions of the Klyntar. He laughed before his form shifted back to Eddie. “Can’t you talk to him” you so hoped that he would agree, that he would be the middle man, Scream needed so bad but alas, he just shook his head, a small laugh left his lips. “Look, it’s not my problem, I’ve got better things to do. I can’t babysit yet another Symbiote” he shrugged. Your eyes narrowed at the man as he turned on his heels to leave the room. “You’re both cowards.” You whispered, as he waved you off.

You sat back slight on the bed that was provided in the cell, trying to figure out what to do. You thoughts rushing from one scenario to another. One thing was for sure, you weren’t going to let them pull her from you. We can do this together. Despite her silence, you felt her gratitude towards you. If you can promise me, you wont try and kill everyone. I’ll help you, I’ll help you figure it all out! She promised and with that you called to Friday and asked to see Tony.

-

When you told Tony your plan of helping Scream, he was a little unsure but soon came around. You got him to agree to let the part he extracted from you, back into your body so that she could fully bond with you. Once you rested after you felt the rest of Scream find its place in you, you headed towards the gym. You saw Peter go in there not long ago and you figured he would probably be the best bet to help you with these new powers. With each step you could feel Scream getting stronger, it scared you a little, considering how much of a loose cannon she had been but you chose to trust your instinct.

Pushing the door open to the gym, you looked around to spot Peter, sitting on the edge of a boxing ring swinging his legs, listening to Happy drone on about the importance of understanding his strength. The bored expression on the teens face wasn’t lost on you causing you to giggle a little. Both their head snapping towards you before you started taking steps towards them. “Sorry to interrupt the pep talk” you giggled finally reaching them, you hand settled on Happy’s shoulder for a second. “You mind if I steal the kid for a moment?” you questioned he seemed reluctant at first but nodded, realising himself from your touch and throwing a look Peter’s way as if to say their conversation was yet but over.

You waited until the man left the room before turning to boy. Giving him a small smile before propping yourself next to him. “How you feeling?” he questioned, his voice a little shaky. You almost forgot how terrified he looked at you after he first met you. You nodded slowly pressing your lips into a thin line. “Actually, I feel great!” you admitted, placing your palms on your thighs. “I actually came here to ask you a favour!” you’re face scrunched up a little as you awaited his response. “Yeah- yeah sure. What is it?” you allowed a small smile to grace your face as he stumbled over his words. Assuming the boy had been fully informed of the decision you made, you sighed a little. “Well, considering you and Scream seem to share the same sort of... powers, I was hoping you could help me- help her figure them out” your words were slightly unsure of asking him to do such a thing. He took a moment, figuring out his decision before finally nodding, a little too aggressively.

-

You had probably been in the gym with the boy for hours at this point, constantly morphing in and out of your natural form as Peter taught you how to use your powers, the ones he shared with you anyway, despite being completely taken back by the webs that shot from her skin compared to the device he wore to make it happen. You on the other hand experienced scaling the celling for the first time, you couldn’t deny the fear that spread through your entire body, despite not having any control over it. Finally you had completely exhausted yourself but the boy barley broke a sweat, your head snapped at the sound of the door swinging open. Now standing in place of the door was Bucky, laughing slightly at how the two of you contrasted each other. You looked up at him like a saving grace for a moment, thankful to be done with this training experience. You noticed he was holding something in his hand but you couldn’t quite make out what it was.

“I think i’ve taken up too much of your time, Kid!” your words were breathless as you peeled yourself off the canvas you once sat on and patted him on the shoulder. Making your way over to the taller man, with a grateful smile on your face. He greeted you with a sly laugh, slightly mocking the way you obviously couldn’t match Peter’s stamina. Without a word, he held up a DVD case and displayed it on his chest. You’re eyes glossed over it for a moment before returning to his gaze with a rather large smile. “Fight Club?!” mixing you confusion with excitement as he escorted you out of the room. “Yeah, figure you’ve had a long day and you seemed almost offended knowing I haven’t seen it yet” a light chuckle left his lips as you both made your way towards your rooms. You didn’t say much of anything else before you reached your room, you told him you just needed to shower and signalled to the beads of sweat rolling across your body, he nodded and made his way to his room leaving you to do just that.

After you felt sufficiently clean and swapped your clothes for some that laid spare in one of the dressers, you made your way to Bucky’s room, lightly brushing your knuckles over the door. It took a couple of seconds before he answered with that forced smile of his. Though you knew it was genuine you couldn’t help but wonder if after all this time he’d simply forgotten how to smile. He lead you towards the bed before handing you a beer. You took in the sight of his dark room for a second before pressing the bottle on your lips, allowing the cold liquid run down your throat. You watched him fumble around with the DVD case attempting to figure out how his TV even worked. You didn’t offer any help, it was far too entertaining to get involved.

Finally he conquered the TV and sat back on his bed, holding onto the remote. He patted the mattress beside him, signalling you to climb on and you did just that. You allowed your body to curl up as you rested your back on the headrest of the bed, slightly turned in Bucky’s direction, resting the cold bottle on your thigh. When he noticed you had gotten comfortable, he pressed play and relaxed himself. You couldn’t help yourself looking at him every time something good was about to happen, needing to take in his reaction and never being disappointed. Every so often, he’d catch your gaze but instead of commenting on it, he’d ask about the plot line or one of the actor’s. You where taken back a little as he reacted the same way you did when Brad Pitt appeared on screen with nothing on but washing up gloves but it only made you laugh.

-

With your beer’s finished and the room now filled with the sound of Where is my mind by the pixies, you allowed yourself to stretch out a little. “So...” you pestered the older man, nudging him slightly with your knee. He just nodded in response, looking up at you. “Good, hu?” you giggled slightly placing the empty bottle on his night stand. You listened to the song for a moment, unintentionally singing along as you seemed distracted. You snapped back to reality as you felt eyes on you, looking up at Bucky, you couldn’t help but note how incredibly handsome he was in this moment. The way his eyes seemed to soak you up, the smile that got a little more natural every time he allowed one to pass. “Thank you” you whispered softly, slightly taken back by the way he looked at you. You’re eyes now filled with admiration for the man, you admired how he took the time out of his own busy day to make yours a little easier. He just shook his head at your words, his eyes darting between your eyes and your lips. The air suddenly feeling far to thick for your lungs as he got closer and closer to your face. The heat radiated off your cheeks as you felt his breath blow on you hair gently, each strand slightly tickling your face. Before you could even register what was happening, you felt his lips on yours. You didn’t react at first, taken back by the sudden gesture but as soon as you managed to wrap your head around it, you leaned into his lips kissing him back a little more hungrily than it started. You felt his arm wrap around your waist pushing you on your back gently as he hovered over you. Your hands explored his hair, grasping at it a little as he laid you down so delicately. Your breathing became short and restless as his hands explored the rest of your body, tickling slightly as he allowed his finger tips to tease the hem of your shirt. Oh, that’s hot!

Startled by the voice in your head, you pulled away from a moment only to receive a confused look from Bucky, attempting to ignore it, you pulled him back to your lips, easily falling back into his grasp. I wonder what he does with the metal arm. You groaned slightly at the voice in your head, praying and begging she would just leave, let you have your moment. Of course she didn’t, every so often she would say something to pull you from the moment until you had, had enough. Finally you pushed away from Bucky completely. “Go away!” you shouted, your hands resting on your temples. Bucky seemed a little taken back by your sudden out burst, sitting up right on the bed. “I thought you wanted to –“ he started before you turned your attention to him, a defeated look on your face. “No, I do – I really do but” now turning away from him, you could feel your face getting slightly flushed. “She keeps talking to me” you admitted only to be met with his laugh. You felt the weight of the mattress shift as he made his way closer to you, you felt the strap of your shirt fall onto your forearm before the sensation of the cold kisses he planted in it place, slowly making his way to your ear. “I know how we can shut her up”

tag list :  @sadbutradbarnes @sweetdayme4427​

[circuscarnage]

Birthday Escapade.

A Malleus Draconia and reader birthday fic.

Words: 2488.

Coloured banners were strung up on the walls, decorating the Diasomnia dorm in an almost welcoming glow. Black and green lines of fabric, embroidered with the inviting message of celebration. What had once been a room of polite gathering, had transformed into a much liver scene. Purple vines stuck out from the ground, acting more as decoration to the party, mimicking the witches of thorns power. Tables covered with delectable food as far as the eye could see. Edible works of art displayed for anyone to reach out and take. The most lavished of cakes being saved for the main table. The centrepiece of the room, almost impossible to miss, was a black sign coated in thorns, spindling a twisted birthday wish. Lilia had wasted no expense making sure everything was perfect. He had planned the entire thing. After all, this wasn't just anyone's birthday. It certainly was a change of pace for the normally dark and dreary castle.  

The entire Diasomnia dorm seemed more colourful than usual, and not just aesthetic wise. The sombre atmosphere was lifted with the sounds of delightful laughter and idle celebration. Students of the dorm gathered in the main foyer, enjoying themselves as they chatted away to their fellow classmates without a care in the world. However, the most important aspect of this celebration was missing.

Malleus Draconia was no where to be found. 

His guards, Sebek and Silver, had been scouting the dorm trying to find their lost master. They had checked down every hallway and searched all the rooms. Not a single stone was left unturned nor a speck of dust lingered in the process. They were at their wits end. Sebek's voice boomed throughout the dorm, ricocheting off the stone castle walls. Malleus's name sounded akin to thunder as it stormed every inch of the perimeter. It was uncertain which would give out first. His voice or the other students eardrums. 

You, however, knew better than to waste time on searching Diasomnia. If Malleus had fled, there was no way he would stick to the confines of the dorm. That was just too simple. Begrudgingly you left the Diasomnia dorm and headed back towards the hall of mirrors. When thinking of a safe heaven, there was only one place that came to mind. You knew exactly where he would be.

Ramshackle. It was very different compared to the other dorms. A shabby and old building that was as creepy as it was comforting. An uneven fence carved from iron surrounded the perimeter, acting more like a cage, warning those who pass by not to trespass. The vacant space and lack of activity made people wonder if it was simply just unfinished or abandoned. It certainly looked run down, even more so before Azul had it refurbished to extend his business. Luckily for you, that plan never came to fruition, so you could keep the haunted mansion you called home. 

As you approached, you could see the last remnants of winter still holding onto the Ramshackle dorm. Snow melted into the ground, slowly decaying into the soil as the seasons begin to change. The sugar coated season sluggishly torn away to be replaced with another. It wasn't hard to miss him. His raven black hair and pointed horns stuck out among the crisp white scenery. He stood against the decaying tree, leaning into the wood as if he was trying to merge himself into the plant. He was looking across the garden, but turned his head around when hearing your approach. "Ah, human." He greeted you casually, giving an affirmative nod of his head. "To what honour do I owe you this visit?" 

"Where have you been?" You questioned him, finally making your way up the steps and standing in front of him. He seemed taken aback at your forceful question. Why, he had just greeted you with a polite hello and you were already interrogating him. "The party has already started, and you're not even there!"  

Malleus quirked his head to the side. "Oh, was that today?" There was something different about his voice. The way his words lingered in the air, laced with a playful tone that spelled mischief. You looked down at his attire. Black dress shirt with a white suit jacket over the top. Black and green sash. There was no way he dressed up like that on a whim. This surely couldn't have been a coincidence. Malleus noticed your stare, lingering on his outfit for a little longer than necessary. "Must have slipped my mind." 

"Please don't tell me someone forgot to invite you to your own birthday." You hated to think he was acting like this because of some kind of petty vendetta against you. It wasn't anything new that people often forgot to invite him to events, whether that be the dorm leader meeting or social gatherings, but his own birthday? That must have cut deep.

Malleus chuckled. "Fuhuhuhu. That would be quite entertaining, wouldn't it? Forgetting to invite me to my own birthday. How quaint." He waved his hand. "No, I received an invite. I was even enjoying myself. And I appreciate how much effort Lilia put into the décor. I've just never been the one to enjoy these types of parties. It just feels so... Strange." Malleus looked down at his attire, emerald eyes observing the trinkets that decorated the white jacket. The handmade broach that resembled the curved horns that stuck out from his head. The black and green coloured badge that all to obviously drew attention to the date. Reminding everyone within a mile radius just who the special birthday boy was. He was used to being adored in lavished clothing, being of royal decent, so having an outfit that was traditional for many others was relieving. 

"The concept of birthdays... Forgive me but I've never embraced them fully, never needed to." You gave Malleus a quizzitive look, tilting your head a little to the side, imploring him to elaborate. He understood your plight and began to explain. "Compared to humans, fae live for an unnaturally long time. Our lifespans far surpass your own. Why, generations from now I'll still be alive. Wise with time and knowledge. Watching over the world behind the thicket of thorns. And you'll-" He stopped mid sentence. There was no need to continue. You both knew where you would be generations from now. Malleus blinked, the slightest glint of sadness present in his eyes. Possessing the power of longevity was something that many craved to have, but needless to say it did come with its consequences. The burden weighed on the back of his mind like an oncoming storm. 

Malleus cleared his throat, "Very strange indeed. You humans celebrate yearly the date of your birth, yet to us fae it is nothing more than a number. Even though I wish I could feel the same connection to it that you do. Maybe then I wouldn't feel such like an outcast..." Malleus blinked as he felt something touch his head. Unconsciously his hand had reached up towards his horns, bringing attention one of the many aspects about him that was different to humans. He was proud of his fae heritage, but always felt like it held him back when trying to forge connections. "Tell me, human." He brought his hand back down. "Am I forever cursed to be an outcast from a gathering? Even one of my own terms? I'm always one to be vacant, not on my own accord. My invitation being left blank while others have been sealed. So forgive my absence when for once I'm expected to be there."

"Tsunotarou-" You had to stop yourself, almost biting down on your tongue. Now possessing the knowledge of his name, it seemed needless to try and use the old nickname you gave him. It was sentimental, in a way. A name that only you could call him. A name made up on the spot yet seemed to fit a little too well. It always made your heart flutter whenever you used it. The way Malleus's eyes would light up in amusement, entertained by the fact anyone would ever consider calling him something so simple. Sometimes it was hard to conceal the corners of his mouth twinging upward in delight. You apologised and corrected yourself, "I mean, Malleus." It was an easy mistake to make. The way his actual name slipped off your tongue somehow sounded wrong. You had gotten a little too comfortable with that nickname. You hoped Malleus wouldn't mind.

To your surprise, Malleus grinned. A slight chuckle slipped between his lips. He was more taken aback by the fact that had felt the need to correct yourself then the use of his nickname. He was aware of your caution, and reassured you. "You may address me however you wish, child of man." Malleus turned his head to the side, looking off into the distance, and placed an hand thoughtfully on his chin. "I must admit, I have grown quite fond of that little nickname you call me. I do not mind being called that name," His attention was brought back to you, dazzling green eyes locking with your own. He huffed out a small laugh. "If you are the one to address me, that is."

You nodded your head, secretly gracious that he was allowing you to continue using that name. But you needed to address his previous statement. "It's understandable that you would feel this way. Being ostracized from a group can be quite intimidating." You sighed. "Trust me, I've been there. And sometimes it feels like you'll never truly belong." Malleus raised his brow. Were you trying to help him feel better or worse?

"But believe me when I say that the people there want you to be there too. They want you to enjoy yourself just as they have. And..." Your words trailed off. Your own voice getting quieter and quieter until even you couldn't hear it anymore. Words did not fail you at that moment. It was clear what you wanted to say. Whether or not you had the strength to say it was a different matter. Your eyes were in agreement, preferring to look at the ground below you rather than the person in front. Was it really that difficult to show your own emotions? You did genuinely enjoy your time together, and wanted it to last longer. Yet somehow whenever you tried to express this fact to him, something always stopped you. A defence mechanism that instinctively held you back. You looked back at Malleus. He stood still, patiently waiting for you to continue. You were thankful for his tolerance. Giving a curt nod of your head, you took a deep breath in, and exhaled. "...I want you to be there. I want you to be happy, on your special day." 

You braced yourself, ready for any sort of negative response. But as you waited in anticipation for a verbal reply, Malleus gave none. Instead he began to laugh. A slight chuckle that started out as a growl, but then gradually grew into a light laugh. He brought his hand up to his mouth, trying to cover it up, but he would have to try harder than that to stifle this laugh. You were confused. Was it something you said? Did it sound condescending? Needy? Selfish? That wasn't your intention at all! You just wanted to give him some reassurance.

His laughter eventually died down, allowing him to breathe steadily again. "Child of man, how presumptuous of you." A light titter escaped from his lips again. Whatever he had found entertaining about your statement, he clearly wasn't done. You furrowed your brow in suspicion as Malleus calmed himself yet again. "I do not need a celebration or to be surrounded by guests to be happy." He took another step closer, towering over you like a gargoyle, but it was not intimidating. The soft look on his face quelled any fears of threatening nature. It was actually quite surprising how peaceful he looked. "With you, I already am."

You had to turn your head away at that, letting out a small squeak that sounded more attune to a quack. Hearing such a genuine sentiment from him felt like wildfire had struck your heart, and it felt like it wasn't going to subside anytime soon. It was wishful thinking, but you hoped you didn't make your answer too evident. However, giving such an obvious expression meant it was easy for him to pick up. Malleus smirked at your reaction. Instinctively he placed his hand upon your head, smoothing his thumb gently over the grooves in your hair. He thought it was cute. Like a docile pet receiving praise.

You waved his hand off of you, not needing to feel anything more at the moment. You had wasted enough time standing here. It would be best to return the birthday boy back to his dorm. "I think we had better get back, your guards are in a frenzy over your disappearance." Malleus let out a small sigh. It was time to return to the party. After all, he wouldn't be considered a very good host if he was missing for the entire event. How else was he suppose to show he was worthy of peoples trust if he did not throw a good party? He was ready to return to the dorm, with you accompanying him. "Yes, I think I've troubled them for long enough."

You laughed, thinking about Sebek and Silver stumbling over themselves trying to find their dorm leader. Lilia wouldn't be too bothered, you thought, if you returned Malleus in time for his celebration. Turning around on your heels, you lead the way back towards the gate, eager to return to the party. At last, you could finally have a piece of that delectable looking cake. It had been on your mind the second you stepped into the dorm.

Before you could place a hand on the gate, Malleus called from behind. "And human?" You stopped in your tracks and turned to face him. He stood still, refusing to move unless he spoke. His face bore the same amused express, but this time it was different. It was gentle. His eyes holding nothing but appreciation for the human that stood before him. Someone who didn't see him as the terrifying figurehead of the Draconia family that so many made him out to be. Someone who wasn't afraid around him. Someone he was very thankful to have met. "Thank you, for seeking me out." He stepped forward, now walking by your side. It felt good for him to have someone beside him that didn't cower in fear nor turn away in intimidation. It made him feel accepted. "And for escorting me back."

[geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde]

Femdom Universe - Part 1

Hello loves! 

This series will be ??? parts long but all fics should be able to be read as standalone. This universe will mostly follow around Yennefer though it will focus on other characters in the universe at times! I have a few more parts drafted out and idk how long they will take me to post but they’re coming.

This is Geralt/Yennefer in a modern AU, Yen in a Pro-Domme, Geralt is one of her established clients.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, cock cage, discussions of orgasm denial, mentions of spanking, praise kink, subspace, no actual sex, soft domme Yen, just generally all around very soft

-

Yennefer opened the door and smiled at the man before her, Geralt had been a client of hers for well over a year at this point and in that time had also become a good friend. Her first client after moving to the city and her first real friend in much longer.

She turned on her heel, her dressing gown flowing out behind her, and stalked over to the seating area, making herself comfortable in one of the overstuffed chairs.

Geralt followed behind her at a sedated pace.

"You're late." She said simply once he had settled on the couch across from her.

"There was an emergency at work. Got held up."

Yennefer blinked slowly, unimpressed.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll call if it happens again."

Yennefer raised a well-manicured eyebrow.

Geralt sighed, "When it happens again."

Yennefer nodded, satisfied with his response. She knew his job was a priority, and very demanding. It was why he had first began experimenting with submission, needing to let go, not be forced to be responsible and in control all the time. But just because she understood didn't mean that he had an excuse to not communicate when he would be late.

"Now," she began, taking a sip of water, "you mentioned last night that you thought of some last-minute changes to the scene? Something new you wanted to try?"

Geralt blushed and nodded.

Yennefer wouldn't normally allow last minute changes that added new elements, much preferring the chance to talk with her clients about it and making sure they were making a fully informed choice, but she had worked with Geralt long enough to trust he had done his research.

And most likely had sat on this idea for weeks, probably months, before feeling brave enough to suggest it.

She was confident that he would ask questions if he had them and be honest with her if things weren't going well.

"Alright so what are you thinking?"

Geralt's blush deepened.

Even despite the year they had spent together having regular sessions, the man was still one of the most bashful people Yennefer had ever met.

"You mentioned once… putting me in a… cage. And I said I would think about it. And I have. And I want to… try it."

Yennefer smirked, "You think you're ready to try a cock cage?"

Geralt nodded.

"Use your words, love."

"Yes, Yen. I'm ready to try the cock cage."

"Perfect. I already have a couple purchased I thought you might like. Now, will you want it left on through the whole scene, or will you want me to release you and give you relief?"

Geralt grunted, his face a lovely pink color.

"Geralt, do you want to cum or do you want me to deny you."

"Deny me."

"If you end up getting aroused and you cum, do you want a punishment?"

Geralt shook his head and cleared his throat, "No… just… maybe some disappointment?"

Yennefer smiled, "Alright then. We can keep the rest of the scene as planned but add a cage and deny your orgasm, correct?"

"Yes. That's what I want."

"Perfect. Go on back and get comfortable. Kneel by the bed when you're ready. I'll have to go get the cages for you to choose from, but I'll be back shortly."

Cages weren't something she was sure Geralt would ever be interested in and she couldn't deny feeling thrilled he was willing to try her with this, to trust her.

-

Yennefer watched happily as Geralt's eyes beamed with interest as they looked over the cages. His eyes kept travelling back to the silver one. The other one, a black plastic one with a more detailed shaping, just didn't seem to be catching his eye. He traced the rings on the silver one with his gaze and Yennefer smiled.

"This one?" Yennefer asked, holding up the silver one in her hand.

"Yes." His voice already sounded wrecked and they hadn't even done anything yet.

"Yes what, darling?"

Geralt glanced up to meet Yennefer's gaze before quickly affixing his eyes to his lap, "Yes, Mistress."

Yennefer hummed happily, "Well done, darling. Now get on the bed and lie back, let's get this on you."

Geralt scrambled on the bed, his muscles shifting attractively.

Geralt was certainly the most attractive man Yennefer had ever worked with, possibly the most attractive person she had ever worked with, even.

And one of the best at following orders.

He laid back quickly, shifting into the position she always had him take with ease. His arms were relaxed and by his sides, his hands resting next to his thighs which were parted just enough Yennefer could slide between them easily.

He made a pretty picture.

Yen crawled onto the bed demurely, dressed in an elegant silken robe, and settled between his thighs, rubbing his right thigh comfortingly.

His cock began to stir.

"No, no, none of that. Let's get this cage on before we can't, shall we?"

Geralt nodded at Yennefer's question.

"Alright, love, your word and the rules and we'll get started."

"My safe word is unicorn and if I say it, everything stops, and we immediately move to after care. If I can't say my word, I squeeze your upper arm."

"Excellent work, darling. Now let's get started." She held a key out for Geralt to take with a tentative hand, "There is a key in the packaging, there by your head, and this is the other. Once I lock you up, you can keep the key if you prefer, or you can entrust it to me. It's your choice and I don't mind either way."

Geralt nodded, holding the key tightly.

Yennefer quickly slipped the base of the toy down, the ring fitting snuggly against the base of his cock and wrapping behind his balls.

She gave Geralt's cock a teasing stroke, making him suck in a sharp breath, before slipping on the cage, applying a gentle pressure until the base met the cage and she could lock the two together. She snapped the lock closed and looked up at Geralt with a smile, "All done."

Wordlessly, Geralt held the key out for her to take which she did with a gentle smile gracing her features. His trust was a heady thing to have and she was thrilled to have it.

She placed the key in a small pouch in the pocket of her robe for safe keeping and looked back up at Geralt.

Yennefer traced her hands up and down Geralt's thighs, admiring the way the muscles jumped under her touch.

"Hmm… you look excellent splayed out for me like this, love. Now, I'm going to play with you to my heart's content, and you aren't allowed to cum."

When Geralt had first come to her, he hadn't been particularly comfortable with giving up control and he had hated being doted on like this, her hands and eyes on him, appreciative.

Now, he shivered in delight with every pass of her hands.

She straddled his thigh and ran her hands up his hips, skirting just around where his cock lay, growing hard within its cage, tracing her hands up his abdomen, focusing on the hard lines and ridges.

Businessmen didn't normally look like Geralt, muscles built upon muscles, a beautifully trim waist that led up to deliciously thick shoulders.

Geralt's breathing was growing more and more shallow as she continued touching him, going slightly higher on his abdomen before trailing her fingertips back down to his hips and working her way back up. His cock twitched as best it could in the weight of the cage and Geralt rolled his hips.

Yennefer quickly pressed her hands flat against his hips, leaning her weight against them, "I didn't tell you, you could move, did I?"

Geralt whimpered and shook his head.

Yennefer pinched him on the hip, "What was that?"

"No, Mistress."

"You want to be good for me, don't you, Geralt?"

A whine, "Yes, Mistress."

"Then stay still, darling. Bad boys don't get what they want."

Geralt had shown early on he didn't particularly enjoy pain or punishments, not that he would have needed them often, he was eager to please, eager to receive praise. Although, he had always been rather fond of a good spanking.

But not this session, he simply wanted to lose himself and enjoy Yennefer's power over him, caring for him.

Geralt's hands clinched by his sides and he nodded, "Yes, Mistress. I'll be good."

"Good boy," Yennefer purred, moving her hands up his body to tweak his nipples in reward, making him moan loudly.

"That's right darling, let me hear you. You make the prettiest noises."

And so her hands continued tracing delicate patterns on his body, holding tightly around his throat for only a moment, just long enough to make his eyes go glassy with need, before focusing once again on his chest.

Yennefer wasn't sure how long she spent worshiping him with her fingers before finally, "Turn over, darling."

Geralt didn't hesitate to follow orders though his movements were slow and languid, the way he always got when he slipped into a submissive space. He settled on his stomach and Yennefer moved to straddle his waist, rubbing at his neck and shoulders. Despite how relaxed he was, the tension he carried was deep and no matter her efforts, Yennefer had never truly been able to get all the knots out.

"Would you like a massage, darling?" She asked softly, not wanting to jar him with any pain it might cause.

"No, Mistress."

Yennefer hummed, happy he was willing to communicate his wants when at one time she thought she would have to stop working with him because of how hard communication was for him.

She continued tracing his back until his breathing had evened out. She knew he wasn't asleep but he was certainly out of it. It had been at least an hour since they had begun so she decided that it was time to start bringing Geralt back.

With some soft words and touches, she got him situated on his side so she could slide in behind him, spooning him delicately.

"Geralt," she whispered, "are you hear with me, love?"

He nodded softly.

"Would you like to nap?"

Another nod.

“Do you want to take the cage off now? Or wait?”

“Wait,” Geralt whispered.

"Is this position alright?"

Geralt didn't respond for a moment before finally rolling over slowly in her arms until he could cuddle up to her side, pillowing his head softly on her breast, "Did I do well, Mistress?"

"Excellent darling. You were such a good boy for me."

Geralt smiled sleepily, his eyes already closed, and Yennefer held him gently while he drifted off to sleep.

-

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[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Negan x Reader- Letting You Take Care of Him

Word Count- 1.9k

Summary- Negan comes back from a particularly long run feeling like absolute shit and lets you take care of him.

Your concern was beginning to grow more and more with each passing day. For the 5th time in the last month, Negan had come back to the Sanctuary late and covered in numerous cuts, bruises and aching all over. He was really working himself hard ever since that Alexandria group piped up. The worst part out of all of it was that he was refusing any kind of help when he returned, barring the once over he allowed you to have for your own piece of mind, and you couldn't remember the last time he properly slept rather than a 'power nap'. Tonight you were finally going to talk to him about it properly. If he was planning on going out all the time for work then he needed to take care of himself a lot more. But before that, you wanted a bath so you walked over to the bathroom and ran the hot water, adding bubbles to the mixture and shutting it off once it was full. You began to play through the conversation in your head about Negan when you heard his heavy boots echoing in the hallway to your shared bedroom. You knew that Simon and some of the other saviours had tried to convince Negan to have a day off from it all but he would always refuse, telling them to stop telling him how to do his job but a part of you believed that you had a chance of him listening to you.

"Fucking hell am I glad to be back." His deep voice exclaimed as he opened the door and into the room. You could already see that this run out must have been pretty bad. His white shirt had been ripped at the side, exposing a cut along the skin and he had a black eye with a cut just above his eyebrow. You watched him as he went to slump on the sofa, limping a little on the way. Following behind him, you took the space next to him on the sofa, turning to face him.

"Let me guess, 'you should see the other guy', right?" You smiled sympathetically, placing your warm hand on his cold cheek and lightly brushing your thumb over the forming purple bruise. He leaned a little into your touch and chuckled.

"You fucking know it." He grinned, inspecting the spatters of blood still coating the top of Lucille. He went to move forward to kiss you in pride of his triumph but his grin changed into a pained expression as an ache in his back formed from the movement. "Shit. Guess I should've used Lucille a little earlier." He moaned, moving back into his earlier position. You moved forward yourself and placed a small kiss on his lips. You decided to save him on your little lecture- for now at least- and just focused on trying to make him feel less pain.

"Well I've just ran myself a bath but I think you need it a lot more than I do. It will help you relax... and you stink a bit." You joked, standing up to go to the bathroom.

"That sounds fucking heavenly, sweetheart. Thank you." He smiled back. That was one of the things you really loved about Negan. To his men and the rest of the saviours he acted like this stone cold monster who only cares for destruction and hurting people. But you always saw through his facade and realised he only behaved this way because he truly did care about them. All of them. Even the ones that could be complete dicks sometimes. And that was one of the things that drew the two of you together. He knew you didn't fall for the way he acted and used you to have real conversations with. These conversations led to the two of you fooling around and then ended up with him getting rid of all his wives and being fully committed to you. You loved how he could just be himself around you and you loved how he trusted you with every one of his personal thoughts, almost making himself vulnerable to you. It was like he was a different person when he walked through the door to your room. Well, apart from the swearing, but you don't think anything could change that.

You walked into the bathroom and pulled out a towel for him before walking back into the front room and practically lifting the man off the sofa into the bathroom. Hissing a little in pain, Negan stepped in, sighing in content as the heat went to his muscles. "Better?" You smiled at him, watching as his face went into complete relaxation under the bubbles. He took a deep breath and nodded his head, letting the heat take over his body. You leaned back and reached for the bottle of shampoo on top of the cabinet, pouring a small pool of it in your hand before leaning over and massaging your fingers into his scalp. Small moans left his mouth as you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging a little at the ends each time before cupping water in your hands and washing it out of his hair, watching as the foamy white slowly cascaded down his chest.

"That feels so fucking good." He hummed in a low voice as you washed out the last bit. You smiled at knowing that he was finally letting you help him relax. Next, you lathered your hands in soap, running them over his shoulders and down his chest, cleaning any bits of mud and dirt that made it through his shirt, being careful not to get the cut on his side. Within 10 minutes, the water was beginning to run cold so you helped Negan get back out. He put on his boxers and climbed onto the bed, the ache in his joints coming back almost instantaneously.

"Lay on your stomach." You told him, trying to softly roll him over from his back. He raised his eyebrow in confusion at you, trying to work out what you were doing. "Please? It'll be worth it." You convinced him, watching as he followed your orders, wincing in pain at each movement. You moved over him and sat on his arse, lowering your weight carefully to make sure you wouldn't hurt him.

"What are you doi- oh fuck." He cut his own question short with a low moan as you began to rub his shoulders, pushing in with the tips of your fingers. You could feel how tense his muscles were and knew that this would help. Your fingers trailed lower, focusing on his lower back which was causing him the most pain, massaging circles with the base of your palm as you felt him unwind. You continued doing this for a further 20 minutes before moving down and doing the same with the backs of his thighs and calf muscles, small moans escaping from the man's mouth at each little push as the aches began to slowly disappear.

"Who'd have thought that big man Negan could come so undone with a little massage?" You chuckled, sliding off his body after feeling satisfied with your work. The man in question rolled over and moved back up the bed, climbing under the covers and taking you with him.

"Thank you so fucking much for that. Damn that felt good, makes me feel 10 years younger." Negan stated.

"It's okay, Old Man." You grinned, laughing as his hand came up to flick your forehead while he muttered a 'rude' under his breath. You moved your hand up to his cheek as he leaned in and kissed you, pulling you closer to him and wrapping his arms around you. Your fingers found their way to his hair again, running through the greying strands. "Negan, can you promise me something?" You began to question, watching as his eyes peaked with interest. He nodded his head, confused again. "Please look after yourself better. No matter how much I love being able to take care of you for once, I'd love it so much more if you were to come in here the way that you left. Can you take the rest of the week off, please? Simon and the boys are good men, they can take care of anything that you need them to. You just need to get back to your usual self; I can see the way you're working now is exhausting you." You finished. You saw that he was about to open his mouth to retaliate. "Please, for me?" You practically begged. "It hurts so much seeing you like this and whenever you go out in a bad state it makes me worry that you won't be coming back." You confessed, moving your hand to rub the now dark purple bruise under his eye. He sighed.

"Okay but under one condition only." He responded with a smirk on his face. You looked at him quizzically. "As soon as I can move about properly, I'm paying you back for what you did for me today. I honestly can't believe how fucking lucky I am. Shit, I honestly don't know what I'd do without you." He said, whispering the last part as if he were embarrassed to admit something like that. You went to argue back that you didn't do it so he would do something in return but you knew that whatever you said would be futile so you simply nodded your head. You both laid down and you rested your head on his chest, being soothed by the sound of his heartbeat.

"I love you." You whispered against his chest, placing a kiss on the skin there. You felt him wrap his arms tighter around you and pull you closer.

"I love you too, doll."

[the-irish-mayhem]

I don’t know if there are AU fics there about Thor meeting Jane in Asgard instead of his mom in Endgame but... could you write if there are none? Love your writing style btw

I started this in quarantine last April, and here I am a year later finishing it. ANGST AHOY. (and thank youuuuuuuu!)

She’s more beautiful than he remembered. He sees her from behind at first, her small frame swathed in a simple, blue wrap gown. She’s folding her clothes from Midgard, hands deft. She misses Rocket darting behind the small lounge, syringe in hand. 

Thor steps fully into the room, and she must hear him. She calls out, “No, I don’t need any help with my clothing, but thank you for the offer.”

He can’t immediately speak. He means to say something, he... he must’ve had a plan before Rocket shoved him through this doorway? Surely, he’d thought of something clever and suave and charming, something that he would’ve said to her when they’d been together and he could make her laugh. Something he would’ve said before--

Before.

Then she turns and--Norns, she is beautiful.

“Oh, Thor,” she says, and then she smiles. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”

His tongue feels thick in his mouth. “Y-you-you, uh--” He swallows and tries again. “You don’t have to apologize. For anything. Ever.”

Her brow furrows. “Hey, are you okay?” She’d always known him so well, hadn’t she? And he’d just--allowed her to slip away. Over two years of living together, years of loving and being loved, and he’d just--

“Thor, what’s wrong?” The sheer concern in her voice as she sets her folded clothing down makes his knees feel weak. Then she’s walking towards him and he doesn’t feel prepared for this moment at all.

Norns, he’d made such a mess of everything, and then he’d never gotten a chance to fix it.

She seems to realize at that moment that he’s not the Thor she knows, and she freezes halfway to him. There’s a small, needy part of him that wants to reach out to her, just feel her touch one more time to remind him of a time before his failure so catastrophically rocked the universe.

The other part, that knows he is on a mission and needs to do this in order to succeed, tries to come up with an excuse or a plan. He had one before he walked in, certainly.

“You--” Jane draws back, adopting a tentative, novice defensive stance, “--are not Thor.”

That’s an easy enough answer. “Well, yes, yes I am.”

Her eyes narrow. “Mm, no. Last I saw him, Thor’s beard was shorter. His hair wasn’t, uh--” She glances at the top of his head, “--that. One of your eyes is brown.” She looks down at him. “If you’re Thor, then where’s your armor?”

“Um. Not. On?”

“Yeah, consider me unconvinced. If you’re Thor,” a clever smile dawns on her face, like she’s just solved a long series of complex equations, “then call Mjolnir.”

“Oh.” He’d somehow forgotten that at this time, he still had Mjolnir. He still had his honor, his courage, his--

He’d been worthy, at this time.

“Jane, that’s--I just--” Thor sees Rocket moving behind her, his arm cocked back and ready to take the infinity stone that flows through her veins. “Rocket, wait!”

Jane’s eyes widen, and she whirls around and screams, “What the fuck is that?”

“Thor, come on!” Rocket exclaims.

“Jane,” he says again, “Please just trust me. We need your help.”

She backs away slowly, trying to keep both Thor and Rocket, with his arm still poised to stab, in her sights.

“That’s a talking raccoon,” she breathes. “I’m talking to a raccoon on an alien planet.”

Rocket protests, but Thor cuts him off. “Jane, please.”

“We need to borrow the Aether for like two seconds,” Rocket says. “The fate of the universe kind of depends on it.”

“Someone better explain to me what the hell is going on and fast,” she says, voice raising to nearly a shout, “or you will not like what happens!”

Thor notices the molecular red and black swirling at her fingertips and in her eyes. If she stays this stressed, she’s liable to explode on them. That might knock her unconscious, and while that might make their task in stealing the Aether from her easier, but he can’t stomach the thought of doing that to her.

“Jane, listen to me,” he says, voice soft, falling back into a familiar pattern of calming her down when she’s upset. “I am Thor, but... not the one you know.” He desperately wants to reach out to her, as was his way when they were together, but he holds himself back. “I promise I am not deceiving you. I know that you cannot carry a tune when you sing in the shower, but you do it anyway. You graduated summa cum laude from Culver and got your first doctorate before you were twenty-two, and you always wondered if you should’ve slowed down to enjoy university life more. You always chew the end of your pen or pencil when you’re working. We had dinner with your mother every other weekend--” He winces a little at that mention. "That--um. I guess that hasn’t... happened yet.”

He sees wheels turning behind her eyes, and there’s something easy here between them, a familiar thread of trust that feels all too good for Thor to pick up again. Her brow furrows slightly as her incredible mind works, and her bottom lip ends up between her teeth.

“You’re saying this is time travel,” she says, matter-of-fact. Like she’s positing a hypothesis with Tony or Darcy in the lab.

He’s missed this. He’s missed her. Norns, has he missed her.

“Oh my god,” Jane breathes, “Time travel.” A massive grin spreads across her face. “It’s possible; I knew it!” Her eyes are alight and Thor is struck with another stab of longing. She’s standing right in front of her and yet he misses her so fiercely. “Tell me everything. How did I do it? I’ve only got some rough schematics drawn up of a wormhole generator, but I bet that’s how it was done. Ha!” She pumps a fist in a small victory motion.

“We’re wasting time, here, loverboy,” Rocket interrupts, his small claws wrapped a little too eagerly around the syringe meant to transport the stone.

“Rocket, shut up,” Thor growls.

She steps closer to him, her eagerness for knowledge shining from her face like a light. “How’d we compensate for the energy? Ooh, and how are you planning on returning to your timeline? Do you have some sort of recall device? How is that powered? Or is it like a yo-yo type of device which sends you for a certain amount of time and then calls you back automatically? That would make sense for why your raccoon friend is in such a hurry.” Her eyes widen a little. “That seems like something I’d do. It would probably be beyond the scope of our capabilities to make a power cell small enough to carry on your person, depending on when you guys came from--”

It comes out of him like pus from lancing an infected wound: “You didn’t do it.”

It breaks his heart a little bit to see her imagination come to a grinding halt, to see the shock and disappointment flood across her features. “I... I didn’t?”

Tears prickle at the back of his eyes. “No. You... no.”

“Oh,” she breathes. He can see her visibly shrink, shoulders caving in and her previous exuberance extinguishing like a snuffed candle.

His chest hurts. He wants to hold her.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks.

“Oh,” she says again, a different note to it this time. “Am I, um... you know. Dead?”

It feels like a punch to the stomach to hear her say it. He can’t voice it out loud. He’d seen her name on the list of known Avengers asset casualties. Her name was chiseled into stone on the Lost Monument in London. He’d only visited in a fit of drunken self-flagellation one time, and once had been more than enough.

Apparently he doesn’t need to say it. Even without years together under her belt, he’s never been particularly subtle nor she particularly obtuse.

“I see,” is all she says, her arms crossing over her chest, one hand coming up to her chin. Her thumb taps her lower lip once. Twice. “How did I die? Old age?” She winces a little. “Something sooner than that?”

Thor’s tongue sits thick in his mouth.

“A bad guy snapped his fingers and killed half the universe,” Rocket says, impatient with Thor’s inability to communicate. “You were part of the unlucky half.”

Jane’s eyes widen. “Snapped... his fingers.”

“Yes,” Rocket grits, “and if we don’t borrow the Aether we won’t be able to bring any of those people back, so if you don’t mind--”

She’s already offering her arm before he finishes his sentence. “Take it. It’s killing me anyway, although--” Jane lets out a harsh chuckle, “--if you’re from a future where I’m killed by a finger-snapping psycho-killer, then I guess I won’t die from this, at least.”

Rocket smiles at Jane and then sends a seething look Thor’s way. “See, Thor, how efficient a little cooperation can make things?”

For how much they struggled with fixing Jane’s Aether affliction in this timeline, it’s almost trivially easy for Rocket to jab the needle into Jane and take the stone. The syringe is specially crafted to draw in and store this particularly finicky stone, but it goes off without a hitch, and when Rocket withdraws the needle, Jane simply covers her now bleeding arm with a hand.

Rocket thanks her, the caustic raccoon strangely polite now that he’s realized what kind of person Jane is, and turns to Thor.

“Time to jet, big boy,” he says.

“Wait,” Thor says, impulse overriding any other judgements, “give me a moment.”

Rocket sighs, and glancing between Jane and Thor, he seems to understand. Given the chance, Thor knows Rocket would want to talk to his family that he lost. Thankfully, it looks like he will afford Thor the same courtesy.

“A moment,” Rocket echoes, a not-so-subtle reminder that they cannot stay here in the safety of the past when they have a job to do. A universe to save. People to bring back.

Rocket exits the room, leaving Thor and Jane alone.

“Do you, um.” Jane’s hands scrunch up the skirt of her dress before she gestures at the couch. “Want to sit?”

As he sits down, Jane follows next to him, so close and warm, he realizes belatedly that he has been dying to talk to someone who loves him. Desperate to talk to someone who knows him on a deeper level than his friends on Earth and New Asgard. (At this time, they’re all alive. His mother, here and hale. Volstagg, Fandral, Hogun, Sif, likely somewhere nearby and plotting with him on how they’re going to solve the latest challenge. And Jane.)

She asks him a simple, “How long has it been?” and it all spills out of him, a dam overdue to be broken after five years of holding his pain and guilt at bay. He tells her of Ragnarok, the broad strokes of it anyway, losing his friends and his home and Mjolnir, that they’d broken up, Thanos, the stones, the battle they’d lost, the five years of wounded peace, and the chance they now have to fix it.

“It doesn’t feel like enough,” he whispers. “All that suffering and pain because I failed. We found him, and I killed him... but what was the point? We were too late, and I was just an idiot with an axe.”

“I might not know you as well as your Jane does,” she says slowly, “but I know enough to know that you’re no idiot.” She leans into him, looping her elbow around his and reaching for his hand. Their fingers twine, something familiar to Thor but new for her. “Everyone fails at something. That doesn’t make you a failure, it just makes you like everyone else.”

“But I’m supposed to be better.”

She shrugs. “Then prove it. When I first met you, and you failed to get Mjolnir back from the crater site, you didn’t shut down or stop trying. You just...” She sighs. “I don’t really know, but you just decided that you were still going to be better, even if you didn’t have your hammer. You taught me about the realms, you went to Izzy and apologized for smashing her mug,” she chuckles a little at that, “and it probably wasn’t what you wanted, but what I saw then wasn’t a failure. I didn’t fully get it then, but you had literally lost everything--your home, your way of life, your family, Mjolnir and your powers--but you still smiled at us, still kept moving forward when everything was trying to crush you. That’s a hero, if you ask me.”

He swallows, his emotion for this woman threatening to overwhelm him for a few heartbeats. “Thank you,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against hers. She leans back, relaxed and easy.

“You should try to call Mjolnir,” she suggests, so casual and offhand that it nearly knocks him off the couch.

He could, he realizes. Mjolnir is not gone in this timeline, and if they will return the Aether to it’s proper place, Mjolnir can make the trip back just as easily.

He’s spent the last five years proving himself to be a worthless lump of a man, being the exact opposite of what Jane thought him to be, but it isn’t too late for him. It had never felt right, being in the skin of a depressed, lazy drunk who sometimes couldn’t summon the energy to leave his bed or talk to his friends. It hadn’t been him. In fact, he’s felt more like himself since he’d come back to the Avengers for this wild, last-ditch effort to fix what Thanos did than he’s felt in a long time.

The last five years have changed him, certainly, but if Jane can still see the man who’d unflinchingly faced down death as a human man in New Mexico, then he can try to see him to.

Thor stands and reaches out, calling for a presence that had been his constant companion since he was a boy.

He calls, and Mjolnir answers.

Thor smiles.

[rithalie-sideblog]

The daughters of Dracula

When Vlad Dracula first hears the prophecy he laughs and bellows with a voice that shakes his castle to the bone. 

Him? Falling in love with a mortal woman? Inconceivable, unheard of, simply a figment of an old man's scribbling imagination.

But then Vlad Dracula starts to think. And wonder. Because for all of his wealth and goods he managed to accumulate he was born a beggar and a thinker, as such happens when one learns life on the streets.

Prophecies have power.

So Vlad Dracula devises a plan. To make sure, he won't fall for the novelty that is a mortal woman, much less give her a son to fulfil the damned prophecy.

The first step he takes, he scours the village for his prey.

Mortal women, of all height and weight, from the plump daughter of the baker to the muscled heiress of the mercenary group. He kidnaps them from ungrateful families and bargains for them and soon his castle is filled with women's voices, their whimpers and terrified sobs. 

He avoids the young ones, as pretty as they might appear because Vlad Dracula might be a monster, but even he had rules by which to live his immortal life.

He never harms the women, despite their hostility and suspicion towards him. He leaves them be for the longest of times and watches as they slowly make the castle their home.

The women clean the spider webs, dust the old forgotten rooms and chambers. 

As they slowly grow more bold, they begin to take down the most horrid paintings from the walls, wash their clothes in the well in the middle of the cursed garden, stringing lines of laundry between the sculptures of demons and gargoyles.

Vlad watches it all happen from his tower, curiosity taking over him as he waits. Observes. Studies.

Finally, one woman seeks him out.

A pretty one, with her hair the color of honey, tangled way past her knees with her unable to cut it without any sharp object.

She demands a knife with a trembling voice and desperation laced with fear.

"Give it back soon." Says Dracula in his velvet voice as he gives her a dagger.

The woman never takes her eyes off of him as she backs away from the room, weapon held tightly in her hand.

By the end of the next week, most women have their hair cut, or braided into something new.

The honey-colored woman comes back with the dagger, placing it delicately in Vlad's outstretched hand. 

And she stays to talk.

A few years pass before most of the women warm up to Dracula, even if for him, it hadn't been much more than a blink.

They smile at him when he passes the corridors of his once gloomy castle, some wave to him, kneeled over the freshly planted potatoes in the gardens that once hosted the most exquisite of Louvre's hedges.

They come to him for his judgement, they trust him with their pleas and for his part, Dracula does his best to judge fairly. Years after Dracula's decision, the first woman wishes for more. He does not chase her away, even if his dark heart remains unchanged, curiosity driving him dangerously close to the edge of destiny's sword.

Vlad wonders if he should kill the woman before she can give birth to his descendant. If she were to bear a boy, the prophecy would come true and everything Dracula had done would have been for naught.

"It's a girl." announces one of the women as she comes out of the birth chamber, hands covered in blood up to her elbows. Vlad tries to not stare at them much as the relief washes over him.

A daughter, no son to slay him, no vengeance to come forth from his mother's mistreatment.

His plan is saved.

There are two more births that follow, and with each child being born a female Vlad grows more confident. Convinced he managed to beat the prophecy, he once again disappears into his tower.

He meets his daughters sometimes.

Pretty creatures, not a flaw to be seen on them. With hair the color of honey, mahogany and obsidian, they look at him with eyes of crimson and sunlight and moonlight, their sharpened ears uncovered proudly in the safety of his home, his vast galleries and libraries.

Dracula goes down deep into the guts of his castle and brings up the jewelry, old dress materials and sewing kits for them to use. He does not care what they do with the gift, but something like pride flashes in his eyes as he catches a glimpse of them covered in gold and silk.

As they grow, they get more and more bold, coming to his tower and asking questions about the world and life outside their castle.

Their Inquiries rarely go unanswered.

Dracula begins to let the mortal women go, the youngest of them past the age of her prime now. Some of them leave, but some of them stay, unwilling to uproot their lives again and comfortable with what they learned. Dracula begins to travel, living his years free of the burden of the prophecy, confident that his fate has finally been changed.

So when an angry woman shows up at the door of the castle, a three-year-old with crimson eyes' hand, gripped in hers, it comes as quite a surprise.

Dracula kills the woman, for she was not one of his, one of them, despite the claim she made upon Dracula's paternal role in the child's life. 

The daughters that greeted her warmly once she arrived had not known such violence before. They lick their lips and wrangle their hands at the sight of blood before them, and when Dracula sees that he gives them the woman's body to feast upon.

The boy is spared, if only for the foolishness of one of the women who rushes him outside when the carnage begins. 

He runs and when Vlad finds out about it, he flies after him in hot pursuit, but the boy is nowhere to be found. The prophecy protects him and fate is on his side and no matter where Dracula looks he cannot find him.

No harm befalls the woman who helped him, but upon hearing about the prophecy she weeps, for she did not know what calamity she brought upon her host. She leaves the castle in shame.

Three daughters of the Dracula grow hungry for blood, their beauty shining in its ethereal light brighter than before. Vlad feeds them and begins to teach them. Slowly but steadily he allows them entrance upon his dark and shrunken heart. They become his confidants as Dracula admits his defeat against the prophecy, preparing for the final act of the play. 

If his daughters showed promise even unattended, they shine with brilliance under his attention. Soon the castle is alive with the sound of magic, verbal disputes and turned pages.

When the child, now a man fully grown, comes back, bearing the Alucard title, Dracula steps forward to battle his destiny. He makes his daughters swear not to join him, and stay far away from the fight, for he had made arrangements for his knowledge to live on in them were he to fail.

Alucard is strong, but not as strong as his father.

He is quick, but not as quick as Dracula.

He is vengeful and drunk on the prophecy's promises, but not quite as desperate as Vlad is.

And yet, what finally brings The almighty Dracula to his knees is the fact that Alucard isn't quite as honorable as him.

When the edge of Alucard's blade rests against the honey-haired daughter of the Dracula he stops fighting.

After many years of undead existence, his daughters became his legacy, and he refuses to lose even a slight part of it.

Dracula's pause gives Alucard a chance to defeat him, and as he does that, all three daughters cry out in anguish.

Dracula's body caves in itself and turns to ash, and as Alucard lifts his fist in triumph, ready to claim the castle and all of its wealth as he was promised, he is met not with the radiant smiles of the saved woman but with weeping and sneers. The woman may have hardly loved the monster who kidnapped them, but his presence meant safety. It meant freedom to pursue what they desired, no mortal husband or any kin present to dictate their lives.

Three daughters of the Dracula weep the loudest, and through their tears they growl and hiss, blind in their rage. They chase Alucard out of the castle, the man unable to defend himself against their fury.

The brown and dark-haired ones stay on the stairs of the castle, but the honey-colored one chases Alucard to the edge of the woods, red droplets of blood flying from the spot where he threatened her. She almost gets him, her claws marking the tree, behind which he ducked with three deep lines.

And when the dust finally settles and the castle stops trembling with the sobs of the grieving women, they all come together to plan.

The rumors grow, ones of an imposing castle deep in the woods, that one day disappeared from all maps. 

Some say it's still there, just concealed with the magic of a really powerful witch, no matter what the church claims about having burned them all.

Others think it crumbled to the ground, unable to stand any more without its master there to keep it together. 

The Vatican claims to have destroyed it in the name of God, the village men grow bold enough to boast about the treasure they supposedly stole from there.

Alucard's tale grows, even as the man shrinks into itself, once his prophecy has been fulfilled and his sole reason to exist finally slayed. 

Very few remember Vlad Dracula's daughters, but there are traces of them left in the history.

Hushed female voices telling each other stories over the fire. Tales of the place where husbands' heavy hand won't ever reach. 

Rumors of libraries and workshops where all the knowledge is at your fingertips, your fate finally yours to choose.

Whispered clues to find the farthest tree on the south of the main road, its bark marked with three fine lines in the shape of the hand, and to march three hundred steps north of it.

And finally, three names to call forth when you reach the clearing, given to their daughters by the desperate mothers who wish for a better life to happen upon them.

Do you know the names? 

Did you ever have to call for them, deep in the night, three hundred steps away from the tree where a daughter almost avenged her father's death?

Don't you know the heart of greed and entitled desires? Have you ever heard of self-fulfilled prophecies? Didn't you see the hate in the eyes of the people?

Don't let them know.

Whisper the daughters names in the night, gain their strength. 

And don't let the world know where we are.

[ramblingkat]

I’m not sure exactly where this came from. And it’s four, almost five in the morning. Have random eldritch blurbs. 

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Isshin, Kisuke, Ichigo

Notes: Eldritch things are about. Headcanons as well. Here be monsters. 

He wouldn’t stop crying. 

At this point, Isshin was getting desperate. He could see that Masaki was as well. Both of them were going around with dark shadows under their eyes, and Isshin was feeling sluggish from how little sleep he was getting. Every time one or the other of them started to get to sleep, the crying would start again. 

Ichigo wailed, reedy voice raspy for all near constant crying he did. Even when the baby fell into some fitful sleep, he whimpered and fussed still. If Isshin thought he and Masaki looked horrible, it was nothing compared to their baby. 

He was so -thin-. They had taken him to their pediatrician. They had taken him to the specialist the pediatrician had recommended. They had even taken him to Ryuken, who was still working on finishing his training as a doctor. None of them could offer any reason on why Ichigo would not stop crying. Why he would eat greedy and almost as constantly as they could feed him, and still continued to lose weight. 

There was no fat baby cheeks for him. No pudgy little arms and chubby belly. Ichigo was thin, and Isshin could swear he was getting thinner in front of their eyes. 

He was desperate. 

So, after telling Masaki his plan, Isshin went across town and let himself into a candy shop. 

Inside, Tessai was cleaning, though his head came up as the sound of the wail that came from Ichigo. Before Isshin could say anything, there was the soft sound of the door in the back of the public area opening and a head of mussed pale hair sticking out. 

“What,” Kisuke said after a moment, blinking sleepily, “is that?”

He seemed to have just woken up, and Isshin had a moment of jealousy that the man could get to sleep. But he shook it off. He wasn’t sure if he trusted Urahara, there was always too much in that man’s head for him to fully trust anyone. Plus, having heard the official story that was told in the Seireitei over why the twelfth’s former captain was no longer a captain, Isshin had a hard time shaking off his paranoia. Even with everything the man had done for him since he’d come to the living world. 

That was not important now. 

“Ichigo,” he said, short and to the point. “He cries constantly. He barely sleeps. He’s always hungry.” 

Kisuke looked at him, a faintly dubious look on his face. “Don’t...all babies do that?” he asked slowly. Likely, Isshin thought  uncharitably, this was the closest he’d been allowed to a baby. Most people knew not to let assassins and madmen pretending to be scientists near children. 

“He doesn’t gain weight,” Isshin continued. “It’s not a physical thing. Masaki and Ryuken both say he’s having odd bursts of reiatsu. Masaki says she feels cold when she feeds him.” 

Just as he expected, that piqued Kisuke’s interest. The other man came closer. He looked at the baby in Isshin’s arms, then held his own out. “Give him here.”

After a moment of hesitation, he did. 

For being so uncertain about how babies worked in general, it was obvious that Kisuke had not been looking at Ichigo so much as how Isshin was holding the infant. He settled Ichigo into his arms with surprising ease. It was actually something of a shock, though Isshin couldn’t put his finger on why. 

Kisuke held his hand over Ichigo a moment, eyes glittering strangely all at once. 

Isshin looked away. 

When the light reflected that way, it was just safer to not look directly at Kisuke. Every instinct in Isshin’s body and soul screamed to take Ichigo away from what held him, even as his brain tried to reject that anything was holding Ichigo. 

Kisuke might not have corrupted his fellow captains like it was claimed, but he had definitely done -something- that was wrong. 

Then Ichigo stopped crying. 

His neck popped, Isshin whipped his head up to look at his child. But Ichigo was still there, Kisuke’s hand on his body. Eyes caught between bluish and brown slowly blinked close, tiny fingers curled around Kisuke’s.

“Go away,” Kisuke said softly. “For at least an hour. I need to focus.”

Isshin bristled. He was not going to….

“If you want your son to live for much longer. Go. Away.” 

Kisuke’s tone echoed in Isshin’s skull, and he swayed. To the side, he saw Tessai murmuring, hand held up, a faint glow around his head. Trying to think past the buzzing in his ears, he swallowed hard. “What are you doing to do?” 

Even his own voice sounded far away and distant. 

“I’m going to help,” Kisuke said after a moment, sounding like himself again, cheerful and like a human. A muffled human, but human nonetheless. 

He turned and vanished back into the private rooms. Isshin went to follow, only for Tessai to grab his arm. 

“We should go,” he said quietly “It would not do for you to die while your son is saved.”

He wanted to stay. Wanted to shrug off Tessai’s hand and go after his son. Whatever Urahara was going to do, it wasn’t going to be good. He knew it. 

But…. Urahara had saved Masaki, all those years ago. He’d helped Isshin settle into this life he had now. He was a monster, but he had kept his word so far. 

Isshin allowed himself to be tugged along and wondered what his son would be when he saw Ichigo next. 

<center>***</center>

Humming to himself, Kisuke slipped back through the shop. He came to a section of the hall, smiled, and then stepped sideways. The world twisted, and he followed his new path. In his arms, Ichigo mumbled, still pulling power through the grip he had on Kisuke’s fingers. 

“Poor little thing,” Kisuke crooned at him, allowing the poor thing to eat. “They make you half a monster and leave it at that. You’d think they’d know better than that.” He smiled. “Quincies and hollows, so similar in their needs, if not volume.” 

He felt power being pulled from him, being soaked up by Ichigo as the baby fed in a way he so obviously needed desperately. What had they been thinking? Oh, he’d expected something to happen, but to let a baby starve like this. 

Hollows and Quincy fed off spiritual power, even if the Quincy denied it. They could pretend with all their twisted little souls that they were just regular humans with powers. If that was the case, he wouldn’t need Quincy -and- human power to make a vaccine for the visored. 

Poor little Ichigo fed off reishi around him when it was free, and off the reiryoku inside of people when he could touch them. But he couldn’t get enough. Not for the hollow that was in the heart of his soul. Even as a baby, he could feel that hunger.

What were Masaki and Ryuken doing? Isshin was blind as any regular person now, so Kisuke could understand him missing it. But those two were still talented in their own way. How could they miss the fact Ichigo -hungered-?

Not that it mattered. Kisuke had plans for this malleable little soul. 

He always wanted a child of his own. 

Some more walking took them to the place he kept his precious little toy, the beat of her breathing echoing in his heart, pulsing in time with his blood. Kisuke could hear her singing, wanting to stretch out and reach for things not even he could see. But she was too small, too weak. Even as he fed her, there was not enough power for what she wanted.

But the core of that broken star was his own soul, and Kisuke knew she’d get what she wanted someday. Right now, she was quiet other than her soft song, though he could feel her buzzing as he got closer. 

The closest thing he had to a child so far, something pure and distilled of himself and Benihime. A thing of destruction, creation, and everything between. 

Her singing grew louder as he settled near the ornate wooden box that held her. Keeping Ichigo tucked against his chest with one arm, he opened the box and curled his fingers around the humming darkness that was the Hogyoku. 

She seemed to shiver under his grasp, pulling a bit of power from him, just as Ichigo had been before Kisuke had pulled his hand free. The boy whimpered, but was otherwise quiet. Though he’d just fed quite heavily on Kisuke’s power. Poor thing probably needed to settle that first, but Kisuke knew he’d be starving again soon enough. 

That gave him time for this. 

A sigh, and he shut his eyes. 

“Come on, we need to help feed your brother,” he said cheerfully, reality going hazy around him for a moment. 

When he had made the Hogyoku, Kisuke had started with a simple thing. A mix of the four powers. It hadn’t been hard to get what he needed. Though he had chosen to use a piece of his own soul, using Benihime to weave shinigami will with Quincy light, Hollow hunger, and pure human strength. Weaving the strands over and together, breaking them apart at the most basic of layers until they stopped being separate. When they went from being four different types of power and flavors to a glorious, radiant whole. 

He still didn’t remember everything, but it had ripped something apart, and he had killed half the people who had been in the labs that night. If Central 46 had discovered that, he’d have been facing them long before Aizen had made his move. 

But Kisuke had figured out how to put himself together again, to separate his mind and body from what it -could- be. 

He simply wasn’t done being Kisuke  and Benihime yet. 

But the Hogyoku was still this pulse infant of possibilities. Everything and anything was a potential reality for her. Once she fed enough. Once her song stopped having a note of hunger. 

Convincing her to share her food with her new brother took some doing. Kisuke was sure he was going to sleep for a week and then go hunting to feed all of them.

Well, that was what a good parent did, he supposed. .

Shifting, he held the Hogyoku above Ichigo’s chest. “Come on now,” he said cheerfully, even as she pouted in his fingers. “Be good.” 

Still, she resisted until Benihime sent a pulse down Kisuke’s arm into beating black creation. When would she learn that Kisuke was the nice parent?

Then a shift in his fingers, and a thick, oozing drop of something formed, dripped and shifted downwards. As it went, the bit of darkness shifted through solid, liquid, what he thought might be plasma, and a few other states of matter Kisuke had never seen. 

How interesting. 

Then it landed on Ichigo, soaking into his skin almost instantly.

Kisuke waited. 

A sensation that felt like a grumble through his fingers, and he felt the power drift from the Hogyoku towards Ichigo. Who absorbed it.

Then reality warped again. It had done it once with his first child, and now, it did it with his second. 

Ichigo’s eyes opened, a brilliant, faceted golden rainbow of colors with no names, and a chill ran down Kisuke’s spine. Fear and interest all at once. 

The two looked at each other for a long moment, then Ichigo yawned, blinked his eyes a few times. Kisuke was almost disappointed when they returned to the color they had been when Isshin brought the boy. But he also felt a bit of pleasure at a job well done. Already, even in just this few seconds, Ichigo’s cheeks were starting to fill out. 

“Really,” he said, putting the Hogyoku away, back into her box. “If your parents wanted to create a monster, they shouldn’t have stopped half way. That’s simply bad science.”

He stood, and then headed back to the front. 

Children were an interesting idea, but feeding them was the most Kisuke wanted to do with them until they were able to talk. 

“Remember,” he said to the drowsy infant he carried. “This is our little secret.”

Ichigo yawned and went to sleep. 

[teaplease1717]

Ashes of Love and War - Ch 9

Art by the amazing @rennomiya​

Story: Ashes of Love and War

Chapter: 9 / ?

Couple: Todoroki Shouto / Yaoyorozu Momo (TodoMomo)

Rating: M (for language and violence)

Betas: @flourchildwrites​ (Link)  & C’s Melody (Link) and 666-HyuugaNeji-999 (Link)

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21638800/chapters/59830819

Sorry for the slightly late chapter, I’ve been busy with the TodoMomo Mini Bang, but I got this wonderful picture from Rennomiya to say thank you! 

If you haven’t heard of it, the Mini Bang is a collaboration between incredibly talented writers and artists to produce new TodoMomo content and the posting dates are from June 14th to July 13th! Works are tagged to the TodoMomo Mini Bang 2020 collection on Archive of Our Own, if you want to look up the amazing works. Also, if you care to get involved, feel free to pledge to become a Book Club member. Basically, you’d agree to like, reblog and/or comment on a couple of our wonderful teams’ creations. :)

Also, thank you to my wonderful betas: Flourchildwrites and C'sMelody. And thank you to 666-HyuugaNeji-999 for doing a preview read to make sure everything flowed.

XXXXXX

Chapter 9: We Can (Not) Comfort

XXXXXX

29 days post the fall of Troy

Fucking Kaminari. 

Shouto leaned back in the tub and ran his hand through his hair, pushing back the red strands. He had tried not to dwell on it, but Yaoyorozu’s words from the night prior wouldn’t leave him. 

In truth, it wasn't surprising that Yaoyorozu’s friend had been on the receiving end of a god's unwanted affections, but the fact that he had taken her was. 

 Gods were only allowed to bring mortals back to Mount Olympus if they intended to keep them as consorts. Which meant that the god had fallen in love with Yaoyorozu’s friend, enough to marry her.

 He tried to recall if he had heard of any of the gods taking a mortal as a wife but couldn’t remember. After all, it seemed that besides starting wars, fucking humans was all they ever did.

 Shouto's jaw twitched at the thought. He closed his eyes.

 Yaoyorozu had never confirmed it was Kaminari who had stolen her friend, but regardless, it was clear that Kaminari had been sent to protect her. Shouto was sure of it.  But then — why use him? Was he simply a convenient bodyguard? Or was there another motive behind the curse? It couldn’t be that straightforward, could it?

 He ground his teeth and opened his eyes to glare down at the water. The bath had become cold. 

 There had to be a reason Kaminari hadn't simply whisked Yaoyorozu away from the battle.

 His stomach twisted faintly at the idea of the Erotes even thinking of touching her, but he pushed the feeling aside. He glanced at his weapon, Endeavor, leaning against the wall. Even without his godly powers, the Erotes was a decent enough fighter by himself. His sword, Chargebolt, had been given to him by Zeus and could release lightning-based attacks. He could have easily defeated the Athenians, but he hadn’t.

 Was he being controlled? Kaminari wasn’t the smartest of gods, but even he wouldn’t have done something so foolish as to curse Shouto on a whim. Would he?

 Shouto sighed to himself. He had always considered himself intelligent enough, but the mystery surrounding this was making his head hurt. If only someone was here that he could talk to — that he trusted. Midoriya or even Bakugo might have been able to dissect what was going on. 

 He flexed his fingers and stood up. 

 Not that it mattered. None of this mattered. He was still cursed for the time being.

 Shouto scowled at the knowledge as he dried off. Pulling on his perizoma, he picked up Endeavor’s sheath and grabbed his clean chiton, throwing it over his shoulder before walking out of the bathroom.

 It was almost dark outside. The fiery reds and oranges of the setting sun shimmered off of the tiled floors and bathed the marble pillars of the house in golden hues. The day’s oppressive heat had lifted somewhat, and a cool breeze flowed off the ocean. 

 The children laughed as they continued playing in the courtyard, getting their last bit of energy out before bed. A boy threw a pebble-sized bone into the air and proceeded to scoop up as many of the other bones as possible before catching the tossed one in a game of knucklebones. 

 Shouto watched the boys for a moment before a shift in the wind caught his attention. He raised his head and sniffed the air; his eyes narrowed. There were faint traces of magic in the wind. It wasn’t as heavy and oppressing as the stymphalian's. So a god’s. 

 A shiver ran down his spine. It felt like claws raking down his back. Shouto swallowed over the sour taste in his mouth and looked down at his hand. Ever since his fight with Dabi, he’d been crippled.

 His vision in his left eye had been impaired. It was healing slowly, but if it was too bright or dark, he had a hard time making out his surroundings. However, the deepest cuts were the ones no one could see; he still couldn’t use his magic. It was as if it had dried up. He had the memory of it, could still feel the sensation in his fingers, but anytime Shouto reached within himself to pull on his power, he felt hollow. It made him feel bare. Vulnerable.

 His fingers spasmed, and his hand drifted to Endeavor’s hilt. For the time being, all he could rely upon were his instincts and sword skills. His hand tightened on the hilt until his knuckles turned white. 

 It would have to do.

 He was strong. 

 “Hey, mister!” A high-pitched voice interrupted his thoughts.

 Shouto started and looked down. A young boy with dark marks around his eyes and sharp teeth shrunk back. The other children stopped their game of knucklebones to watch. 

 Shouto rolled his jaw and forced himself to relax. He hadn’t meant to scare the kid. “What is it?”

 The boy shifted. Tamashiro, if he remembered correctly. He was half tempted to ask the child to save his question for later, but this was the first time any of the children had addressed him unprompted.

 The kid looked at his sword, then up at him and straightened. “You can fight, right?” the kid asked, lifting his chin. “Are you any good?”

 A small boy with short black hair and gold horns scowled next to him. “Obviously not if he ended up here,” he said, scoffing.

 “I ain't asking you, Kota,” Tamashiro snapped. Then he turned back to Shouto, and a small grin pulled at his mouth as he took a step forward. “Teach me! I want to learn to fight.”

 There was an audible pause, and then Kota stood up. “If you're learning, I want to too!”

 It was like a flood gate had opened, as all the other boys began standing up and yelling over each other. 

 “Teach me!”

 “Teach me too!”

 "I want to kill a cyclops!"

 Shouto stared at them in surprise as the boys surrounded him.

 He didn’t know what to say. He had never dealt with children before. But he couldn’t think of a reason not to teach them. They’d eventually have to fight one day, whether they wanted to or not; the life of a half-breed was dangerous. They’d never be fully accepted by the gods or humans. The only way they’d survive was by relying on their own strength. 

 The smell of the god’s magic hardened his resolve. Shouto curled his hand into a fist.

 The strong live, the weak die.

 Shouto nodded faintly. “Okay.”

 The children shouted in triumph and began shooting off questions at him. He shifted awkwardly under the sudden attention. He really wasn’t good at this.

 There was the click of sandals on tile.

 “Everyone!” The familiar voice pulled at him. “It's time to get ready for bed.”

 The boys had vanished before the speaker had even finished her sentence. Shouto turned to look down the hallway and tried to suppress the feeling of his stomach flipping as Yaoyorozu drew closer. 

 It was the curse, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, even as he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders begin to relax.

 “Oh, Todoroki?” Yaoyorozu said, then paused; her eyes grew wide. She dropped her gaze, then looked back up at his face and away again. Her face appeared flushed, and something inside of him reveled in the tinge of red that was spreading across her cheeks. 

 He straightened, smothering the urge to smirk, as Yaoyorozu shifted.

 “Are - Are you done bathing,” she asked, her voice slightly higher. The curse pulsed in his veins. She pushed her bangs behind her ear without looking at him. “Aizawa said to come meet him when you are.” 

 “Hmm,” Shouto said. He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he watched Yaoyorozu nervously bite her bottom lip. He stepped toward her unconsciously. 

 Her eyes seemed to grow impossibly wide; her pupils were dark. She stepped back slightly, and he followed her. Her hand curled in front of her mouth. She still wouldn’t look him in the eyes, and he couldn’t suppress the part of him that wanted to see what she’d do if he cornered her. Would she look at him then? 

 He wanted her to look at him. 

 Movement behind her snapped Shouto back to awareness as Tokoyami appeared out of one of the side rooms. He looked at Shouto, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion, then glanced back at Yaoyorozu. She jerked and abruptly dropped her gaze to the ground, her hands twisting together in front of her. 

 Tokoyami turned back to Shouto; his stare was hard. And if he could read Tokoyami’s bird-like features, he’d say he looked furious. 

 Shouto felt the urge to scowl. His fingers twitched and tightened unconsciously on his sword’s hilt as he looked back at Tokoyami and met his cold glare.

 There was a long silence. 

 “Oh good, Todoroki,” Asui’s croaking voice suddenly interrupted, cutting through the tension as she stepped out from behind Yaoyorozu and Tokoyami. “Aizawa was looking for you, kero.”

 Shouto breathed deeply to calm himself before schooling his face into what he hoped was a neutral expression. “What is it? Did something happen?” he asked Asui.

 She shook her head. “Good news, actually," she said. Her tongue stuck out slightly from the side of her mouth. "There's an aurai here if you wanted to send your message, kero.” 

 That explained the smell from earlier.

 “Send a message?” Yaoyorozu asked, her eyebrows drawing together as she looked up at him. Her face was still slightly red, but her eyes didn’t flicker from his face as they had earlier. “To whom?”

 Shouto glanced at her. “I’m sending a message back home. To Sparta.” 

 “And you’re using an aurai to do so?”

 "Out here, the only way to contact anyone is to ask a favor from a minor god or one of the nymphs of the sky to carry it for you, kero,” Ausi explained.

 “Oh, I see,” Yaoyorozu said slowly. 

 Shouto stared at her for a moment before turning back to the nereid. “And you’re sure this aurai can be trusted?” Shouto asked skeptically.

 “Kero.” Asui pressed her finger to her chin. “Hado Nejire has helped Aizawa with small tasks before. It shouldn’t be a problem for her to bring your message back to Sparta.”

 In truth, he hated dealing with aurai — they were airheaded and generally unreliable, not to mention taxing to deal with. Out of all the nymphs, the aurai were the most energetic and nosy. Two characteristics Shouto hated. But, he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to contact Midoriya.

 He sighed to himself. “Where can I find her?” 

 “She’s out front right now.” Asui paused and looked him up and down. "And you should put on your chiton, kero," she added, her slightly croaking voice teasing.

 Shouto raised a brow questioningly, but Asui just smiled up at him, pressing her index finger to her lips as if she was letting him in on some sort of secret that he wasn’t understanding. Shouto didn’t dwell on it as he slipped on his clothes before going to find Aizawa and the aurai. As he passed, he glanced back at Yaoyorozu, but Tokoyami stepped in front of her. His eyes were narrowed in disdain.

 Shouto’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to keep moving. He couldn’t miss this chance.

 He stepped out into the fading sunlight. The smell of magic abruptly intensified. It smelled sweet and fresh, like myrtle, and he looked up. Aizawa was standing by the statue of Hephaestus, talking to a woman who was floating in the air. She had long flowing hair that fell past her knees and gleamed lilac in the fading sunlight.  

 Shouto moved closer.

 “They said they’re on their way,” the woman said with a giggle. 

 He could see Aizawa nod. “Good.”

 The woman looked up, spotting him. Her eyes went wide, and she hurried closer until her face was centimeters from his. “Oh! Who are you? You’re so handsome. But that scar!” she said, circling him with child-like curiosity.

 Shouto scowled and threw her a sharp look that she ignored. 

 “Todoroki,” Aizawa said, turning. “This is Hado Nejire.”

 “Hello! Hello!”

 Shouto nodded stiffly in greeting. 

 “Nejire can take the message for you,” Aizawa said, his voice dull.

 The woman twirled in the air, unperturbed. “Of course! Leave it to me,” she said, giving him a mock salute. 

 Shouto sighed to himself, the sound barely audible. He hated dealing with aurais. He rolled his jaw and looked back at the sky nymph. “I need you to deliver a message to Midoriya, one of the princes of Sparta.”

 Nejire nodded eagerly. 

 Shouto paused. The aurai had poor memories, so it wasn’t likely that she’d remember anything complicated. “Tell him that I’m okay and heading home. If everything goes as expected, I should be home before winter.” 

 He paused, his eyes sliding to the side to look discreetly at Aizawa. Shouto didn’t want to let the old man know more than he needed to, but the sinking feeling in his stomach said that Aizawa already knew. 

 The older man was far too smart for Shouto’s liking. 

 He brought his hand to rest upon Endeavor’s hilt as his gaze flickered back to the aurai. “And ask him how much he knows about Kaminari and his powers.”

 “Kaminari?” Nejire asked, blinking in surprise. “Hmm. I don’t get it.” She tapped her lip with her pointer finger. Then she smiled at him. 

 “But okay!” she said gleefully, almost bouncing. “Anything else?”

 “No.” His tone was clipped.

 “Okay! I’ll be off then!” She spun and gave Aizawa another mock salute. “Bye bye!” she half-sang as her body shimmered and then disappeared with a soft pop.

 Shouto watched the space where the nymph had been for a moment longer before turning towards Aizawa. 

 The older man was staring at him, his expression closed but eyes calculating. Shouto stiffened. It felt like a lump of dread had formed in his throat. If it wasn’t clear how much Aizawa knew before, it was now. He swallowed hard. 

 “I’m taking Asui and Tokoyami for the first watch. You and Yaoyorozu have the second shift,” Aizawa said, abruptly changing the topic. 

 Shouto felt his shoulders relax slightly, and he nodded. “Something has changed.” There was an unspoken question in his tone.

 Aizawa looked out towards the ocean. “Nothing for now,” he said at length. “But, I have a bad feeling. Ever since you all arrived, the stymphalian have been acting strangely. They’ve only been sending the omegas and gammas of their flock to attack. It doesn’t make sense. It’s almost like they are waiting for something, but I don’t know what.”

 “Do you think they are testing us?”

 “Possibly.” Aizawa tilted his head back, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “They could be weary and trying to determine how strong you three are.”

 “Perhaps,” Shouto agreed as he turned to look fully at him. “It hasn’t always been like this, has it?” 

 Aizawa didn’t look at him, and Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “What’s changed?” 

 Aizawa didn’t say anything. 

 Shouto studied him silently. He debated pushing Aizawa for more information. The older man was entirely too secretive for his liking, but Shouto knew he wouldn’t say anything unless he wanted to. 

 He scowled. Shouto hated people like Aizawa. He couldn’t read the older man at all. He was better with straightforward people like Bakugo. At least he always knew where he stood and what Bakugo wanted. 

 Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention as Asui and Tokoyami emerged from the house. 

 "We’re heading out.” Aizawa looked back at him, breaking the silence. "Do a full sweep of the grounds. We need to be extra vigilant until we figure out what is going on.”

 Shouto nodded and watched the three disappear over the ridge before he turned to go check the perimeter of the house.

 xxxxxxx

 It was getting late, and the moon was shining brightly by the time Shouto finished checking the grounds. There had been faint traces of something in the bushes surrounding the house. 

Someone had been watching them. 

Yet, it was too dark for him to be able to track down whatever it was until morning. He’d have to bring it up to Aizawa when he returned. 

Shouto’s jaw twitched as he returned to the house. The place was silent. Yaoyorozu must have retired after putting the children to bed. 

It would be another four or five hours until Aizawa and the others returned. He might as well try to sleep as well. The night prior, he had only slept for two hours before he became restless. And the night before that, Shouto slept even less. 

He made his way towards the courtyard and paused. 

Yaoyorozu was standing under the veranda. The moonlight caught in her dark hair and cast her profile in silver. She was staring up at the cloudless night sky.

She looked ethereal, and Shouto could feel his heartbeat stutter as he gazed at her silently for several seconds before stepping out of the house. “Yaoyorozu.”

She jerked and whirled around to look at him. “Todoroki!” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “You scared me.” Shouto’s steps faltered, and he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry.” 

Yaoyorozu shook her head, her posture relaxing. “It's okay.” She gave him a small, forced smile. “I was just startled. I didn’t hear you approach. Were you able to send your message?” “Mhm,” Shouto hummed as he moved closer. His fingertips ran over Endeavor absently, before resting his hand fully on the sword’s hilt. “I asked her to deliver a message to Prince Midoriya. To let him know we’re alive, and we’ll be coming home soon.” 

The corners of her mouth twitched. “I see.” She looked down and grew quiet. 

His eyes narrowed as he studied her profile. There was something off about her tonight. Shouto hadn’t noticed it earlier, so whatever had happened must have occurred while he had been out. He wondered if she'd tell him if he asked. 

Probably not. 

He sighed to himself. “Go get some sleep. You didn't sleep well last night."

She shook her head faintly. “I'm fine, but I could say the same for you.” She looked up and met his eyes. “You and Aizawa get the least amount of sleep out of all of us. You should be careful and watch your health.”

He scoffed silently. “I'm fine. There were worse nights during the war.” 

It was a half-truth.

Yaoyorozu didn’t say anything. He looked away as they lapsed into silence for several moments before he glanced back at her. Yaoyorozu was staring blankly out at the courtyard. He watched as her lips thinned, and she wrapped her arms over her stomach. His fingers twitched. “What are you thinking about?” 

She was silent for several seconds. “Many things,” she finally said. 

His hand tightened on Endeavor’s hilt when she didn’t say anything else. It had been a long time since he’d dealt with a woman’s feelings, but he vividly remembered that anytime Fuyumi refused to tell him what she was thinking, it meant something was wrong.

“Todoroki.” He looked up. “Would you tell me what Sparta’s like?” she abruptly asked.

Shouto’s mouth went dry, and he stood still trying to remember. “I don’t know,” he said hesitantly. He looked away. His voice was stiff. “I haven’t been there in over ten years — probably looks like any other city. Nothing special.”

“I see.” 

Shouto glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She looked almost sad as she continued to stare out across the courtyard. Her onyx eyes flat. 

Was she grieving? Remembering Troy and all those she had lost? Shouto swallowed hard. He had his own memories of the war. Of the people he had killed, those who had died honorable deaths of a warrior and those who had been too young to deserve to  meet Thanatos. 

He rolled his jaw. He didn't know how telling her about Sparta would help, but Shouto didn’t like seeing Yaoyorozu like this. He didn’t want her to suffer. The war wasn’t hers to bear.

He searched his mind for something to give her. 

“It’s pretty,” he began slowly. “The city is made of marble and limestone. And the pastures are rich, and the forests are filled with game, so we never go hungry. It… has its problems, but Midoriya and Bakugo, the princes, are trying to change things to make life better.”

Yaoyorozu looked at him. Her eyes studied his face as if searching for something. “And your family?”

“I’ve lived with my sister ever since Ares took me away from my mother when I was around six or seven.”

Her expression grew pained, and she dropped her gaze back to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly. “I’m used to it being just her and me.”

Yaoyorozu swallowed. Her hands tightened around her stomach. “And your slaves? How many other slaves do you have?”

“Just you.”

“And Tokoyami.”

“No, just you.” 

Yaoyorozu’s head snapped up, and her eyes widened as she stared at him. 

“Why? What’s wrong?” He lifted his hand off his sword as if he were reaching to touch her. His chest tightened. 

She glanced away, and he let his hand drop. “It’s nothing.” Shouto frowned. “Did I say something?”  She shook her head faintly. “No. I just - I just don't know where I fit in anymore.” “What do you mean?” he asked, studying her. “I…” Yaoyorozu dipped her head so that her bangs fell in front of her face, obscuring her expression. “Nevermind,” she said quietly.  Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?”

She shook her head again. “It’s not like that...I’m just....I’m thinking too much.” She curled a piece of black hair around her fingertip. “I’m just not used to this...” 

Yaoyorozu swallowed and took a shaky breath before continuing. “Back at the temple, I’d always be working. I had my job, and I knew what was expected of me, but these days...I...I just don’t know where I fit in anymore. I have too many thoughts, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do...” she choked, and her voice trailed off. Shouto swallowed hard as Yaoyorozu’s words hung in the silence. It felt like his heart was beating in his throat. He had never expected to feel as though he could relate to another so well, least of all, to Yaoyorozu. But, she was voicing the sickening feeling that had been swirling in the pit of his stomach for weeks. The war had stolen his youth. And now it was over, leaving him a warrior, a soldier, but without a purpose besides returning home. 

His fingers twitched. He had never considered that Yaoyorozu could feel the same sense of helplessness as he did. Shouto’s fingers curled into tight fists. “You were a healer, right? Back at the temple.”

She nodded.  “Why don’t you ask Aizawa if you can help him then?” She looked up. “Are you really okay with that?” she asked suspiciously. Shouto tilted his head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  She dropped the piece of hair and looked away, folding her hands in front of her. “Is it really okay for a slave to learn those types of things?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Shouto felt his stomach twist. He turned to fully face her and took a step closer. “I’m not the best with words. I’ve always felt that actions are what matter.” Her eyes darted up to his face, and Shouto swallowed. “So, I know my words probably won’t make you feel better, but, even so, I’ll just say that I don’t want you to feel like you have to suffer by yourself. If - if there is anything I can do to help, I want you to let me know.”

Yaoyorozu’s eyes widened as he brought his right hand up. His fingers, unfurling and half-hesitant, wavered for a moment before he brushed her loose hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to forget who you want to become just because you’re with me.”

She gasped softly. His fingers lingered on her face for a moment, and then his hand slipped under her chin to cup her jaw, lifting her head up. 

“Yaoyorozu.” Her name rolled off his tongue. He felt her pulse jump underneath his thumb. It sent a rush of excitement through him. “I want you to be able to rely on me. I want to take care of you.” 

She sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything. Her eyes were dark, almost pitch black. He could feel her warm breath on his face. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, and he felt his heartbeat speed up.

Slowly, Shouto leaned down. Yaoyorozu was still underneath him, and his lips skimmed over hers.

“You’re mine. Let me care for you,” he whispered as he kissed her.

 XXXXX

 Ahh! So they finally kissed again! I was really thinking of making us all suffer longer, but I was itching for a little romance. And since the chapter is a little slow otherwise, I hope you all liked it. :P

 Notes:

Aurai - nymphs of cool breezes.

Erotes - The Erotes are a collective of winged gods associated with love and sexual intercourse in Greek mythology. Kaminari is one of the Erotes.

Hephaestus - was the god of fire, metalworking, stone masonry, forges and the art of sculpture. He was also the patron of cripples and outcasts.

Knucklebones - a game similar to jacks or fivestones, but played with the ankle-bones of goats or sheep. 

Perizoma - A loinclot

Thanatos - Thanatos, in ancient Greek religion and mythology, the personification of death.

[ootori-sibs]

Winter lodge host club 4

Tw: gore, bones,

That evening, Haruhi was stressed, and made her way to bed rather early, but sadly she couldn't quite get to sleep, laying on her side with her eyes wide open. She couldn't stop thinking about that girl that had disappeared, that and the fact that she'd seen Mr Hirano just that afternoon. She tried not to think about what that man might have done to the girl, as revenge for Kyoya having escaped Shin no less.

Luckily, her knight in shining armour came to help her sleep; Takashi silently entered the room, stripping to his boxers and getting into the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. He was incredibly warm, and Haruhi felt herself shuffle closer into his embrace, he smelt like the charcoal from the fireplace. They'd both had a wonderful day and this was just the cherry on top, she turned to face him, gazing up into his eyes, "hello you~" she chuckled lightly, placing a quick kiss over his lips, smiling at his content hum in response.

Haruhi knew that Takashi had noticed how worried she was, the way he held her so close, so gently, he clearly wanted to make her worries disappear. She adored him so much, staring up into his eyes as she leaned in for another quick kiss, "love you," she murmurs, finally feeling sleepy.

"I love you too," Takashi responded, his deep voice rumbling and growly from his exhaustion, it sent a shiver down Haruhi's spine. She smiled and curled in on herself, letting him hold her close- she usually hated being held, it made her feel weak, but with Takashi it was different, he was protective and respectful, it was wonderful.

She woke up and it was dark, Takashi was fast asleep. It was incredibly quiet- no wait, it wasn't quiet… Haruhi could hear sounds, sounds that sent shivers down her spine. She could hear the wet sound of something eating, the crunch that she hoped wasn't bone. She slowly got out of bed, her breath hitched as she gripped the doorknob, nervously opening the door, not even sure what she wanted to see.

Stepping out into the hallway, she saw it. There was no mistaking it for anything else, that was the exact same beast she'd seen back at the summer camp, it's jet black fur almost entirely concealed it in the darkness, if it wasn't for the moonlight coming through the window that made its fur look almost green and the crimson blood on its muzzle, then Haruhi might not have even seen it. It was gorging itself on one of their guests, nose-deep in the girl's ribcage, it's enjoyment clear from its long, wagging tail. It hadn't noticed her lately, but she felt like she was going to be sick, the sight was awful.

Then the beast noticed her, turning to look at her, it seemed surprised to see her, pausing and tilting its head. Haruhi froze, terrified of the creature, she tried to recount what happened with Shin, there was no doubt it was the same creature, so it must be Shin, right? It shifted it's position to face her fully, lifting one paw to its mouth in a gesture that seemed to tell her to be quiet about what she'd seen.

Haruhi nodded, silently swallowing vomit as she hurried back inside her room, tears she didn't know she had spilled down her cheeks, she sank to the floor, resting her back against the door. She couldn't take her mind off what she'd seen, it was horrific, and that beast didn't seem to realise how figuring it's- his actions were. Haruhi ran a hand through her hair before wiping the sweat from her brow, she definitely wouldn't be getting any sleep that night.

Tamaki was sure he’d had a wonderful dream, he remembered blinking his eyes open to see a mess of fur and two big silver eyes blinking at him, the entity licking his cheek gently like how Antionette kissed him so often- but this friend was bigger than her. When he woke up he barely remembered his dream, only remembering when Antoinette gave him good morning kisses. He smiled softly, but frowned at the memory of such a strange dream- why couldn’t he contextualise the entity?

It didn’t matter much, though, Tamaki was happy to lean over and give Kyoya a little forehead kiss, the darling stayed asleep luckily, just snoring softly. The sun streaming through the window laned in Kyoya’s hair, giving him a shimmering halo- Tamaki’s shadow king, Tamaki’s queen. He traced a finger along Kyoya's arm, feeling the boy shiver in response, that made Tamaki smile, he was the only one allowed to see Kyoya in such a vulnerable situation, and he was the only one trusted to protect him like this. The thought filled the king with a sense of pride, he adored Kyoya with his whole heart and would sacrifice anything to keep him safe- he thought back to when harubhi told him she’d seen Mr Hirano, that man wasn’t going to even get close to Kyoya, not if Tamaki had anything to say about it.

Heading downstairs, he found himself the first one awake, he figured he might as well do something useful, so he started to make breakfast. He didn’t understand the first thing about cooking but one thing he did know how to make was scrambled eggs, and he also knew how to make something look good. So he grabbed some eggs and began working on making breakfast for everyone, adding herbs at random, his only guide was how it looked and smelt- tasting it every now and then. People began to make their way downstairs, commenting on the smell, the twins came down rather quickly so Tamaki put them to work making the coffee whilst he focussed on the eggs. He knew that just eggs alone wouldn’t be very good so he got to work on making toast, sliding a slice of ham between the toast and the egg, just to add a little variation. He finished the egg off with a little garnish of basil and a small rose just for decoration- he hoped he wouldn’t have to warn them not to eat the rose.

When Haruhi sat down at the breakfast bar, she looked incredibly spooked, not to mention how tired she looked. She’d commented on how impressed she was that Tamaki knew how to cook, but her voice was shaky, hollow. Tamaki sighed, leaning on the counter, “are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he chuckled to himself, but he was genuinely worried about her.

“I have.”

Tamaki forze, what? There was no way he’d heard that right, she’d actually seen a ghost, right? He chuckled, but he knew it was obvious he didn't find it funny in the slightest, “what do you mean?” he hoped to god she was joking.

Haruhi had leant in, eyes as wide and panicked as she’d ever seen them, “I saw one of the girls die last night,” she was whispering, her voice hushed and shaking, Tamaki felt a shiver run down his spine at the thought that another girl had vanished,”I saw the monster, and I swear to god it was the same one from the camp, senpai…” she paused, and tamaki felt his heart sink as he realises what she’d been implying, “senpai, I saw Shin.”

He felt sick, he felt faint, he felt like he was about to cry, the only thing he could utter was, “where..?”

She confirmed his fears as she sighed, not meeting his eyes. “Right outside your room, in the hallway…” Haruhi’s eyes were filled with sympathy and fear, but tamaki could see nothing but Kyoya's eyes when they were in that hedge maze, he had been so scared- he remembered every time Shin had wronged poor kyoya, and felt nothing but rage. He didn’t even respond to her, tearing upstairs as fast as humanly possible, running to his room as fast as his legs would take him. He threw the door to his room open, rushing to Kyoya’s side.

The boy was still asleep, unaware of the grave danger he was in, Tamaki sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Kyoya's hair gently. He was so beautiful when he was asleep, but that was beyond the point, he was in danger, if Haruhi was right and Shin was still alive, then that meant bad news for Kyoya. Tamaki would protect Kyoya, he silently swore to him that he’d never let Kyoya get hurt- he would do everything in his power to keep Kyoya safe, and Tamaki had a lot of power. So it stood to reason that Kyoya was safe and well protected, but Tamaki couldn’t help but worry about him, what if Tamaki wasn’t smart enough to protect him? What if Kyoya accidentally walked into the danger? What if-

No. Tamaki couldn’t be obsessing over hypotheticals, he had to be alert at all times, keeping Kyoya safe, he watched Kyoya slowly stirr, waking up. He smiled softly as he saw Kyoya's pupils dilate at the sight of his king, “well good morning, how's the love of my life feeling?” he cooed down at his sleepy boyfriend, happy to see his loving words counteracting Kyoya’s regular bad mood. He leant in, kissing the tip of Kyoya’s nose, giggling as the ravenet swatted him away.

“Oh fuck off idiot…” he groans, clearly not meaning a word of it, Tamaki could see the adoration in his eyes, it filled him with an overwhelming sense of pride- that was his boyfriend, Kyoya’s eyes were for him. He smiled even more when he felt Kyoya’s hand find his own, the other boy sat up, yawning. “Morning, fool…” Kyoya’s insults were nothing if not terms of endearment, Tamaki knew that by now and it was the sweetest thing. He would really hate to tell Kyoya what Haruhi had said- though he had been planning on it, Kyoya was simply too sweet and Tamaki didn’t want to upset him.

Umehito had a second guest to entertain, the beast itself had dragged down part of a corpse, setting it at Umehito’s feet and staring at him expectantly. He was impressed by the creature’s intelligence, Souh-san had it well trained- aside from the whole eating people thing of course. It wasn’t that much of an issue to resurrect the girl, he even got the touch the creature’s fur, it was so fluffy and soft, Umehito had to wonder if it was conditioned.

This morning he was simply sitting there with the girls, drinking tea and discussing things, Umehito had told the girls the monster was just Souh-san’s exotic pet, he’d left out the part where it had killed them both- he felt like that might upset them. They seemed enamoured with the idea of Souh-san keeping such a creature, going on tangents about fantasies of the guy as some sort of beast tamer, umehito had to admit the image was entertaining, but he couldn't imagine it going as well as the girls imagined- although the beast was living evidence he was wrong.

The hosts had gone out again, this time all the occupants of the lodge had left for town, he thought they were also going sledding, which sounded like a lot of fun. He took the girls upstairs to relax for a whole, they lamented not being able to go with the rest of the group, but were happy to sit and read instead. Umehito had noticed that Souh-san was taking his dog with him, but surely he couldn’t have taken the beast- although there was no one left to watch it. So he wandered around the lodge, trying to figure out where the creature was kept.

For some reason, he couldn’t even find the oversized dog bed it would surely require, that made two entities that Umehito couldn't imagine where they were sleeping; the beast and Ootori. It amused him to draw comparisons between the two; they were both completely under Souh-san’s thumb, but in the way that they’re both only there of their own volition, they have the same hair colour, they both seem overly entitled and rude- but only Ootori really scared him. He understood animals, they had very simple wants and needs, but humans were confusing and complex- Ootori was the worst of them all, he could threaten someone without even speaking, and you could do his bidding without even realising you were being puppeted. Umehito had to wonder if he was being a puppet, it had been Ootori who demanded he resurrect the first girl, and to remove her memories… Ootori must be rather fond of the beast.

[1zashreena1]

Princess and the Migraine -7

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: When Princess needs his help Murder Panther undergoes a trial by fire and comes out soft and gooey. Like a marshmallow. A really sexy, highly dangerous marshmallow.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and 'the code is more like guidelines' outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

NO SMUT, usage of names, mild groping (he’s still Diego), illness and medical establishments, plus size woman+fit man, secretly competent Diego!, helpless Princess, bad boys with too much money and not enough impulse control, secondary OCs, excessive swearing (???), illegal business dealings... I mean, its DIEGO

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I'm not a fan of "plot" so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​ @symbiont13​​ @nicke0115​​ @bunnykjm​​ @rosee-sensuelle​​ @girlpornparadise​​ @mandoplease​​ @heresathreebee​​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​ @jetiikad​​ @joalsglasses​​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​ @demoncatstone​​ @squidlywiddly87​​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​ @poeedamerons​

gif by @nicke0115​

Diego had received the normal text from his Princess, a simple and efficient 'here' attached to a selfie. This Friday the selfie was in his bed, that mane of ringlets tossed up over the pillow and those deep blue eyes half closed in relaxation. There was nothing sexual about it, hell, he couldn't even see her lips, and it still made him half hard. What if I could see that every day? In person, right next to her? I must convince her to quit that stupid little job.

Groaning softly, he flips the phone to be held horizontally in his left hand while the right presses the heel of his palm into his burgeoning erection. He cannot wait to bury himself into that soft little body; fingers, tongue, dick, anything. She is the softest woman he has ever touched, even her tiny little feet are soft, it is maddening. He slouches down into the backseat to relieve some of the pressure from his pants.

"You want me to stop anywhere, boss?" Bastian asks from the driver's seat. Bastian is a good kid, he follows orders, he is efficient, he even anticipates needs like this, offering to get food on the way home. He looks nothing like his uncle. Julio always did say that his little sister liked blondes and Bastian was living proof.

"No, I will see what she wants to do first." Diego wants to get his hands on Princess more than he wants food.

Julio chuckles from the front seat, "His dinner is already at home, eh?" He's been with Diego for twenty years, he knows how this goes down.

"One can only hope." Diego mutters as he flips through the 'Pretty Princess' photo album in the phone's gallery. Sure, there are the expected compromising pictures (much to his delight, she enjoys posing seductively at any level of undress), but many are shots of her laughing, being excited at a new restaurant, snuggled into his side at some scenic location perfect for a couples' pic.

A couple. Is that what they are? Does he want that? (Yes) Can I have that? (I will).  He hasn't wanted any of what used to be his regular girls in… six months. Sure, Franchesca and, and whatever-her-face-is accompanied him to some club events, he even let Franchesca blow him in the car. But it wasn't until he closed his eyes and saw another gaze, drowning blue and dark as ink, that he came. Vocally. Franchesca at least knew better than to comment. That was the last time.

He wants this. He wants Princess. His Princess. How, he has no idea, but he assumes he'll figure it out. He has figured out how to survive his sister and his profession all the way to age 42. He has figured it out so far and he has no plans to stop now. 

That book about relationships and autism spectrum really helped, maybe there are other similar books that he can get. Is there a book on how to get women to admit feelings? There has to be a book on something so… unusual, yes?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The elevator dings and he steps out before the doors are fully open. The common area is dark and quiet. "Princess?" He calls. Nothing.

Maybe she is still in the bed waiting for me. The image throws him into rapid motion; the jacket is tossed over the back of the sofa and he pulls the gun out of his belt to place it on the breakfast bar as he passes by. With huge strides, he hurdles up the stairs and into the bedroom. 

The small lamp on the nightstand is at the lowest setting, turned to a faint aqua color. She does love fiddling with the ridiculous color options. Her bag is on the floor in front of the closet along with her purse, shoes, and a trail of clothing to the bed.. Odd, she always places everything just so. Never just, just dropped… anywhere.

 Princess is in the bed… but she is asleep. 

Diego pushes his shoes off and pads over to her side of the bed. Her glasses are on the nightstand and next to them the gemstone ring he gave her is threaded onto one of the diamond tennis bracelet for safekeeping. It makes him smile, how thoughtfully she cares for his gifts.

"Princess?" She winces at his soft rumble and cracks one eye open. "What's wrong?" He reaches out to touch her hair and she flinches away. Ouch, what the hell?

She holds out a hand, he takes that instead. "Baby?" Her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her. Something is very wrong. 

Kneeling to the floor, Diego rests his chin on the bed directly in front of her face and waits. He has learned that if it's something physical that is bothering her he can simply wait her out. Each time that he has tried this it resulted in a shorter wait period the next time and a less agitated Princess. He's not sure if he is training her or if maybe it's the other way around.

Her fingers curl around his thumb, small but strong. Finally, she opens her mouth, "I have a migraine. Was fine earlier, but police lights. On whatever bridge. We sat for like ten minutes, Bastian couldn't get out of the traffic. I took medicine, but I need to sleep." She pauses, her eyes closed tightly and brow furrowed. Her breathing is shallow, like she is trying very hard not to cry. "I'm sorry, baby." She whimpers, and then a real tear does escape.

"No no no, Princess. No crying. Please do not." The absolute last thing Diego can deal with today is that pretty little face all red and messy with tears. She sniffles but doesn't move away when he wipes the tears with his thumbs. Those blue eyes are watching him very closely.

"Are--" she licks her lips and tries again, "Are you mad at me?" Her high voice cracks at the end and she blinks back more tears. Apprehension is coming off of her in waves.

Diego cocks his head, trying to understand where this question comes from. "You… think I will be mad at you for being ill?" Slowly, he leans closer to her while she nods tightly with a tiny 'mm hmm' of affirmation. When she huddles into herself, almost hiding under the covers, understanding begins to bloom. "Have other people gotten mad at you for becoming ill?"

Princess swallows hard, her eyes slide away from his. She is embarrassed. Someone has managed to shame her into feeling guilty about a hereditary illness she has no control over. He can feel rage climbing up inside his chest.

"Y-y-yeah. It's really inconvenient. I ruin p-plans like this. I'm sorry." Her voice is muffled by the covers. She picks at the stitching on the sheet, snapping her nail back and forth over the threads in a nervous tic.

Right now, I am doing the training because this needs to be broken. Immediately. He takes a deep breath, "No, Princess. No one can be mad at you for suffering from a condition you cannot control. That is ridiculous. I could never be angry at you for getting sick." He tries very hard to sound soothing and not like he's about to reprimand a ludicrous child. Slowly, he pulls the sheet down until her entire face is visible. Her eyes flick back to him, then away again. "Aqui." She obeys the command thoughtlessly, locking on his gaze. Diego raises a brow in question.

Princess huffs a soft sigh, then whispers, "Okay." Her face smooths out, eyebrows straightening and lips relaxing back to their normal fullness. Her little nose even unwrinkles as she eases. She must decide she buys it, because next she timidly asks, "Will you bring me a Coke?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Diego gets her settled with her phone (which he silences) and the small bottle of Coke (opened downstairs so the noise doesn't hurt her). When she pulled herself upright to drink he realized she was still dressed so he got her into pajamas, it was odd putting clothing onto her instead of taking it off. She kept her eyes closed and allowed him to move her around like a ragdoll, relaxed and trusting.

The tightness in his chest only worsened when she crawled into his lap and nuzzled into him with a plaintive, "Hold me." Princess wasn't really a cuddly type of girl, so he knew this was bad. After ten minutes she was done with the 'mushy stuff' as she referred to it. He let her get situated then went downstairs with instructions to check on her in two hours.

Diego spent the time researching migraines, her medication, and other possible treatments. Julio came and went with dinner, cheesesteaks that Princess had mentioned long before the police strobe lights. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The required two hours have passed, Diego swears it was two days long, so he heads upstairs to check on her. Princess is on her stomach, head turned to the left, and her mouth hanging open. His hand lands softly on her shoulder while he calls her, "Princess?" 

Nothing happens.

He tries again, just a little louder, "Princess? Hey, mirame."  Still no response. She is a light sleeper, this is highly unusual. And he is beginning to be concerned. 

Diego nudges her shoulder, then, when he gets nothing, pushes until she rolls over. She doesn't even make a sound. Shit. Shit shit shit. 

"Hey! Bicki! Wake up, come on." Her lashes flutter and she makes a whiny noise. Sitting on the bed, he hauls her into his lap so she leans back against his left arm. Tapping her cheek with his right hand gets a semi-verbal response.

"Dieg.. Where. I'm. Can't." She slurs and burrows into his chest. "Too brigh. Is brigh." Her voice is so quiet he can barely understand her. Her tiny hands are fisted in his shirt, hanging on for dear life. 

He grips her jaw in his right hand and turns her head to face him. "Princess? Can you tell me?" She's struggling through his name, like her tongue is too big for her mouth. "Yes, it's me. It's your Diego. We're home, in bed. You're safe." Her brow furrows as she processes this information. It takes three times longer than it should, he hasn't seen anyone this fucked up in a long time. Its terrifying. 

Finally, her hands in his shirt ease their grip and she looks around the room. "Diego?" She is squinting hard, blinking slowly.

"Right here, Princess." Turning her to face him, he can see that her eyes are completely unfocused, pupils so small they're barely visible in a sea of grayish blue. Her hands come up to touch his face and she makes a tiny noise of distress.

"Baby. Can't see. I can't." Her whisper fades as she goes limp, eyes rolling up. Her breathing stays even, if shallow, so he doesn't panic. Yet. She said she does this, that she will black out. Her whole family does it. Her sisters, her niece, her mom… HER MOM. 

Hit by sudden inspiration, Diego whips around to her phone on the nightstand and snatches it up. Her mom. Her mom would know what to do, right? Easing her deadweight back to the bed, he makes sure she is breathing easily, then turns back to her phone. He unlocks her cell with his left hand while digging his out of his right pocket. There, at the top of her contacts labeled 'Emergency', Mom. Dad. Diego. He ignores the sharp flutter in his chest at seeing himself as her emergency contact, and opens up the Mom item. Before he can second guess himself, he taps in the number in on his own phone and hits the green button. She better know who I am or this is going to be a disaster. 

It rings twice before a remarkably similar voice answers, "Hello?"

Shit, now what?

"Hello, is, is this Kat?" Fuck. Shit. Damnit Diego.

"Yes…?" It really is startling how similar their voices are.

"I do not know if you know who I am, my name is Diego and I--"

"Diego! Ohhh, I know who you are." She laughs lowly, just like Princess. He notes the fact that she recognizes him instantly for later discussion.

"I apologize for calling like this, but I need your help." He tries not to sound scared. He does not get scared.

"What's wrong? Is she okay? Are you okay?" Apparently he failed. Her mom, Kat, knows instantly that something is amiss.

"She said she had a migraine and took her medicine. Now, I cannot get her to wake up fully and she keeps repeating that she can't see. I don't know what to do, I've never seen her like this. Please." It all comes out in a rush, he hopes she can understand his rapidly thickening accent.

"Okay, first of all, take a deep breath." Do I sound that panicked? Should I be panicked?!? "This isn't that unusual for her more severe migraines. As long as she keeps breathing. Is her breathing fairly normal?"

He watches her chest rise and fall at regular intervals. "I, err, yes? It's a bit fast, but even." 

"Good. That's good, Diego. She is not going to like this, but you have to take her to the ER."

"Okay. I can do that. Yes."  Wait, what do you do when you take someone to the ER?

"Okay, listen. You have to tell them that she's had these since she was a kid. She takes the highest tablet dosage of imitrex, tell them what time she took it. She needs the shots, yes she has had them before, no drug allergies. Under no circumstances do you tell them that she blacked out or they will admit her. Also, no chance of pregnancy, they'll ask that. If they think she might be pregnant then they won't treat her."

THEY WHAT.

"What do you mean? Won't give her the shots? If she might be pregnant? What shots?" Diego is very confused. This is a lot of information in a very short time and all of it is very important. Why would that matter?

"Hospitals will not give medications to pregnant women. Only tylenol, generally. And that isn't going to help." Her mom sounds like this topic has been thoroughly debated in their household. 

"Okay. No pregnancy. No black out. Have been having these her whole life, need shots, have had those before. I have the bottle of ...imitrex? I should take it along?" He ticks each item off on a mental list. "Actually, could you text all of... that?" He most definitely does not want them to admit her.

"Of course. And taking the bottle is perfect, that's quick thinking. What time did she take it?"

What time did she take that?? She had already taken it when he got home. "Sometime before seven…? Yes. Between six and seven."

"One last thing, I want you to be prepared. Its two shots, a sedative and a pain medication, but they'll put it in her butt."

That's… interesting. "In her butt?? She won't even let me put something in her butt." He mutters petulantly.

Her mom is sputtering with laughter. "Oh, I see why this relationship works. Wow. This is perfect."

"Err, is there anything else? I've never been to an ER, so. Um." Something about the way she sounds just like Princess puts him at ease, like he doesn't need to worry about impressing her.

"No. I'll text you the list after we hang up. Just let me know how she is tomorrow, okay? I know you'll take care of her, Diego."

"Yes, I will. Thank you." He ends the call and texts Julio to get up here now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ER is pandemonium and Princess is extremely unhappy to be there. She is curled into his side, trying to hide from the noise and the light, while Bastian fills out forms for her. Julio thought to bring her purse, it was a very good idea since her entire identity is in there. When Bastian hands over the forms to the desk the nurse sees Princess's hospital work badge in his hand with her ID and she magically shoots to the top of the waitlist. 

The nurses come to take her into the back, they bring her a wheelchair which she grumbles about but goes willingly when Diego pushes her into the seat. He wants to go with her, but he isn't family. If this were anyone else he would do whatever he wants, but this is his Princess. The thought of breaking her trust by violating her privacy is unbearable, anything like this has never been discussed. 

They barely disappear around the corner before a nurse comes right back.

"Alright. Which one is Diego? She will not shut up and she will not calm down. Come with me." The nurse grabs his arm and practically drags him for a few steps until his longer legs catch up. 

They go into a curtained room where one nurse is trying to manhandle yoga pants down well-rounded hips and another is opening prefilled syringes. Princess is swiping at the unfamiliar hands on her body, unbalanced and jumpy. Little noises of fear escape from her lips in high pitches, her head is down and her eyes are closed tightly against the florescent lighting. Diego suddenly remembers that she can't see. She is terrified.

"Princess?" The second he touches her with one hand she dives into him. Her own little hands claw into his shirt and she tries to mold her body to his. "I'm here. You're safe." Wrapping arms around her, he holds her still tightly. She nods against his chest and relaxes a tiny bit. 

The nurse with the syringes looks pointedly at Princess's butt, then back up at him. Oh. Right. Sliding one hand down her back, he inserts fingers into the back of her pants and eases the elastic waistband down. "Its just me," he whispers into her hair as she trembles in his hold. The strong muscles of her butt twitch, but she doesn't fight him. She trusts me. 

Its over in under five seconds, both shots and both bandaids, one set on each side. She jumps with each injection but can't seem to process what happened fast enough to respond appropriately. 

The nurse doesn't even bother to look up from cleaning the table. "Okay, take her home and put her to bed. She'll sleep for the next eight hours." 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That's it?"

"Yep, thanks for your help." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess succumbs to the sedative halfway home and Diego has to carry her to bed. She really does sleep for most of Saturday. He keeps going in to check on her, she is completely limp and doesn't change position once. Its a bit disturbing how helpless she is like this. Has she had to do this alone before? Or, worse yet, with the awful ex?

He stays right beside her after that.

When she finally wakes her eyes are normal again and she immediately reaches out for him. "Diego?"

Her little question makes him smile warmly. 

"Right here, Princess. Welcome back."  He rumbles softly, unsure if sound still hurts her. Stroking one hand down her back makes her arch up into his caress. So beautiful. 

She squints up at him through the curtain of her hair. Slowly, Princess rises to all fours, then eases back to sit. "I…" she blinks at him. "I have to pee." 

Okay, so awake but not totally coherent yet. She requires a little assistance in the bathroom, mostly a steady arm to lean on, but they manage it with only mild to moderate giggles and one bruise-inducing bump to the corner of the counter. 

She stumbles back to bed, collapses face down, sticks her left arm out in his general direction, and wiggles fingers at him then back at herself.

"Take the stupid bandaids off. Shit itches."

Oh yes, finally time to touch the butt.

Diego sits on the bed beside her, one hip pressed up against her own. He firmly strokes both hands down her back just to hear her deep moan of pleasure. She arches up when he reaches the curve of her ass. Oh good, she is feeling better. Fuck that, she feels amazing, he chuckles at his own joke but doesn't pause in gently groping her. The silky panties slide easily over her cheeks, the sight makes his mouth water. The pale skin is only marred by the bandaids, so he pulls them both off in rapid succession then smooths fingers over the red marks. 

"Mmmmm," she moans with the gentle treatment, "Thank you for taking care of me. That's the first time someone other than my parents did that for me. How did you know to take me to the ER, anyway?" Her voice is muffled in the pillow, soft and sleepy and content.

Diego absent-mindedly runs a finger down the crack of her ass, feather light. "Your mom told me what to do when I called her."

"YOU CALLED MY MOM?!?!"

Judging by her volume, apparently no, sound does not hurt her anymore.

[condorclaw]

[This is about Phil and Wilbur’s life exchange, and Wilbur’s following death in 30smp. Take note of the warnings.]

TW: Major character death, implied suicide, blood, vomiting mention, death by explosion and burns

-

“What did you fucking DO!?”

The boy’s hands shot up to his brunette hair, gripping the roots tightly and tugging, his eyes blown wide and practically bloodshot due to strain. In front of him stood his little brother, bruised legs wobbling as he stared downward at the still, unmoving form between the two of them. The blood from the wound was beginning to pool into a pitiful red puddle, not big enough to draw attention, but still enough to be tinged with the scent of copper. The scent was revolting, making the older brother collapse to his knees, jolting the hands from his dark hair, which immediately slid down to cover his mouth, keeping him from screaming.

His voice still slipped out, shaky and full of terror, “I didn’t mean to! I didn’t think he’d-!”

“Shit, shit, shit-!”

The younger jolted his head in the direction of the settlements, where the faintest sound of whirring machinery and exhausted snorts could be heard. The shriek of surprise mixed with pain, followed by the heavy thud of something hitting the floor, had been enough to wake him from his slumber, but it hadn’t seemed like anybody else felt the same sensation. They wouldn’t know what the eldest had done to their father figure, how he caused him to slip and strike the floor.

If it had only been his neck snapping, the siblings could write it off as a tragic accident, one that the others would buy after all, since the sky builds were quite risky. But it didn’t look like the man had died from falling, but rather died from a blow to the side that caused him to stumble and lose his balance.

And that was exactly what had happened. Nobody would see this as an accident, which it had been.

“Ooh…” The little brother groaned, it being his turn to grab at his own blonde locks. His claws scraped along his scalp, not drawing blood, but causing a stinging sensation to crawl upon his skin, one that was comparable to how his insides were practically doing somersaults. “Ooh nooo…”

Back at home, everybody would laugh off such a pitiful strike of the weapon, but the brothers had frequently miscalculated the fragile nature of mortals, with this scenario never entering the possibility of their minds. Normally, it would be their friends accidently yelping out of both pain and surprise whenever the brothers would playfully nudge them, or them being accidentally buried underneath piles of dirt the duo would quickly dig up. Those had been harmless mistakes resulting in a bit of injury, but never anything life-threatening or crippling, and the two of them had tried as hard as they could not to hurt anybody.

Even when it came to the monsters and beasts of the land, knowing that the eyes of their new group were always upon them, it made the brothers wary to show their strength, preferring to dash away from the “threats”, faking their cowardice. In a way, it was still cowardice, but it wasn’t directed towards the creatures who threatened their home, but rather the lingering knowledge that though the siblings still possessed their birth powers, they were now in mortal bodies, and were extremely easy to kill if anybody got a good hit in.

The older brother had been cautious about the setup initially, not a fan of what appeared to be factions forming, wanting to avoid any possibility of conflict arising that could result in him, and his little brother, being forced to reveal their abilities for protection. It seemed like nobody had malicious intent for the most part, aside from a very dedicated man who greatly misunderstood the meaning of “communism”, which placed the brunette at ease. Well, for the most part at least, since his little sibling appeared to be quite concerned about the eccentric man after he had murdered a fellow prisoner imprisoned in the land. It didn’t require the brothers to reveal their abilities yet, however, so for now, everything was alright.

Until now.

“Tommy,” the brunette raised to his feet in unsteady, yet determined movements, his eyes aglow with both grief and hope, tears slowly trailing down his cheeks like rain. “I know how to fix this.”

If the others found the trained survivalist dead, with a large axe wound sliced across his flesh, they’d be able to track it back to the older brother, which was already bad enough. There would be no way for him to explain in time, no way for him to share the full story, no way for him to get away without calling upon his powers. That was terrifying enough, and the older brother deserved it for the sin he had committed in murdering the man who cared for the brothers as if they were his own, but there was one other component to the possible future that terrified the eldest more than anything: what would happen to Tommy?

No matter the scenario that played out within his thoughts, there was no ending where Tommy would survive if the brunette were discovered, which was an inevitable fate. If he insisted his little sibling had no part in the killing that took place, they would believe Tommy was the true killer, with the eldest trying to take the blame for him. If he just let them end his life naturally, however, due to the close bond between the eldest and the youngest, Tommy would be blamed as an accomplice and likely meet the same fate as his big brother.

He couldn’t even blame the others for taking the lives of the brothers if it were to happen. The eight- well, six, of them were complete strangers, him and Tommy being the only exception. In this bizarre scenario, the only one you could fully trust was your instincts, and the eldest knew instincts well. Neither of them was safe in this situation.

Which is why he had a plan.

“Wilbur, I swear, if you say what I’m fuckin’ thinking of-“

“Take mine.”

The knot of guilt in Wilbur’s gut only expanded when the pained look in Tommy’s eyes grew in intensity. His little brother’s fists clenched at his side, his claws digging into his palms. His teeth were gritted, and Wilbur knew he was going to argue back.

“Absolutely fuckin’ NOT!” The blonde roared out, thin tears copying Wilbur’s own, dripping all the way down from Tommy’s cheeks to his chin. “You can’t just-!”

“SHUT UP!” Wilbur hated screaming. He hated being forceful with those he loved, especially if it was his family, and sadly, Tommy was the only family left. But Wilbur was determined Tommy wouldn’t be left alone, he’d make sure of it. That’s why bringing back their father was top priority above all else.

If Wilbur were the one who had died, it would simply be seen as an “accident”. A miscalculated fall, just like the one that had taken the explorer’s life only minutes before. There would be no external wounds, nothing that could be used to pin the crime on either Tommy or their father. Tommy wouldn’t kill his brother like that, and there was no way their father would turn against the boys he had grown fond of so quickly.

Tommy didn’t have the energy to argue, hobbling towards Wilbur on shaky legs, soft hiccups escaping from his mouth, and Wilbur didn’t have the energy either, allowing the blonde to press his face into Wilbur’s chest, the boy letting out a muffled scream. After what felt like an eternity, Wilbur gently pushed his little brother away from him, offering a pained smile, “we can’t die, stupid. Remember? I’m sure I’ll just end up back at home. I doubt this land actually kills any of us, it’s probably a massive ruse.”

If Wilbur were being truthful right now, all of what he said wouldn't have been spoken. Wilbur and Tommy were no longer of immortal status in this form, and Wilbur believed beyond a doubt that their companion, Charlie, was really dead. Tommy didn’t need to hear that right now, though. Wilbur needed to pretend for his brother’s sake, and he was incredibly good at doing so.

“I’ll see you after all this is over, okay?”

---

Dull blue eyes gazed into the similarly clouded ones staring back at him. The man outstretched his hand, cautiously, as if he couldn’t believe what was real, or what just happened. Seeing his concern, Tommy took his shaky hand in his own, lacing the fingers together in a quiet reassurance of “I’m here”. His father’s eyes softened, a smile steadily crawling upon his face as he let out a soft bark of laughter, something that sounded like it would be used if somebody else was telling an unbelievable story. Yeah, Tommy couldn’t believe it either. Tommy’s stomach was too empty for the contents to be twisted in an uneasy manner, having been emptied out just moments before the older man had awoken.

“Hey, mate, how long was I out for,” his laugh was slightly hollow, his lungs still intaking all the air that had been lost while he was… passed out.

“Phil,” Tommy whimpered out, bringing up an arm, dirty with fresh blood, to wipe away the new batches of tears that were beginning to form. Though his sight was blurry, there was no mistaking the look of terror that spread across Phil’s face.

Before Tommy could protest, he was enveloped in a tight embrace of both strong arms and soft feathers, holding him close. “Shh, hey, it’s okay…”

It wasn’t okay though. Despite Phil’s smothering embrace, there was enough space for Tommy to peak over the man’s shoulder, seeing what laid beyond. Phil hadn’t noticed him yet, and though Tommy wished his father would never turn around, and that Tommy would never have to explain what just happened, it was inevitable. Noticing that his youngest son appeared to be focused on something else, Phil slowly turned to see for himself, and was faced with a horrifying sight, one that made him squeeze Tommy even closer to him.

“What the fuck.”

A broken laugh from grief escaped from Tommy’s mouth, the boy gripping onto Phil’s sleeves just as tightly as Phil was gripping him in turn. The silence was deafening, with only the unsteady breaths coming from the two blondes filling the air. Tommy let out a soft yelp when Phil accidently dug his own nails into Tommy’s back, making the older man flinch from the sound. He needed to know how this happened, he needed to know why Wilbur was-

“Phil.”

Phil was quickly snapped out of his overwhelming thoughts, questions and demands still rattling against the walls of his brain. He loosened his hold on Tommy’s back, instead making sure to rest his hands on his adoptive son’s shoulders to balance the both of them. Phil wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, but he didn’t want to set the younger boy off, not when he was already in such a bad state of shock.

“Phil.”

“I-I’m here. What is it, what do you need?”

“I… I need to tell you something.”

---

Wilbur’s body had never moved as fast as it had in the last second, his mouth open and gulping in the thick, smoky air of their outdoor prison. His hand instinctively grasped for anything to clutch onto, to ground him from the nightmare he had experienced. Thankfully, a rough hand quickly came to his rescue, grasping onto the shoulder of Wilbur’s sweater, and pulling him into a clumsy hug. The crushing grip immediately told Wilbur that it was Phil, that Phil was here for him and not wanting to let go.

Wait, Phil?

With a startled cry, Wilbur shoved Phil away from him, the force making him stumble slightly backwards, knees shaking. The smell of blood clinging to the back of Wilbur’s sweater told him all he needed to know about where he was, and that no, this wasn’t a dream.

“H-How!?”

“Mate-“

“How the fuck are you and I both here-!?”

Phil lunged forward in silent desperation, digging his fingers into the bloody material his son was coated with, silently begging for him to just shut up for a moment and understand that Phil needed to hold him now more than ever. Letting out rapid breaths accompanied by confused cries, Wilbur allowed Phil to embrace him once more, even trying to clumsily wrap his arms around the older man to reciprocate the affection.

For a moment, the two held each other in silence, Wilbur still trying to catch his breath. None of this made any fucking sense, and after a few heartbeats of quiet, Wilbur couldn’t stand not knowing anymore. He opened his mouth to demand answers, but he was cut off once more.

“Tommy told me. I know everything.”

Those words felt like Phil had just reached out and clutched his hand around Wilbur’s throat, tightening his grip, cutting off the brunette’s air supply. Wilbur could feel his mouth gaping open, silently mouthing words that had no sound to them. It was as if he was trying to form some kind of excuse, some kind of explanation that would make Phil spare his life, that would make Phil see that he wasn't a monster and that he just couldn't control himself. But instead of anything else, only guilt-filled pleads and begs emerged from his throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-"

"Shh… It's okay, Will. It's okay."

"-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Let it all out, it's alright…"

At some point, Wilbur's words became more like garbled sobs, with only the faintest sign he was still repeating his words coming from the soft "-ry" that Phil would hear being whispered amongst the tears.

It took quite a bit, but soon enough, Wilbur's lanky form was curled up in Phil's arms, his eyes still wet and his body covered with dried bodily residue, as Phil whispered comforting words into his son's ears.

Phil didn't hate Wilbur, and especially not Tommy. Wilbur had made a stupid mistake in an effort to joke around, no malice visible in sight. He had been trying to play in a way both he and Tommy were familiar with from their homes, but it didn't translate well when it came to mortals.

Wilbur and Tommy weren't the monsters they believed others would see them as, but rather two confused beings in a world they didn't fully understand. Wilbur was even willing to give his own life up for Phil, a man he had only recently met, because he believed the murder to be cruel, unfair, and accidental.

The only reason Wilbur was even alive himself was because Tommy sacrificed "part of himself" to bring him back, believing he didn't deserve to meet a terrible fate over a mistake he wanted to fix. Phil wasn't fully sure how the brothers' powers worked, but based on the panicked expression that Wilbur had worn upon learning what Tommy had done, he had a feeling it would have its own set of consequences in the future.

For now, Tommy was curled up in his shared house with his roommate, Sneeg, unconscious. There had been no time to try and clean him before Wilbur had woken up, and by now, the others were sure to rise from their own slumbers shortly. Upon hearing that Tommy was safe, Wilbur's sorrowing cries were accompanied by ones filled with relief.

Phil would never ask Tommy and Wilbur to reveal their true abilities, or even their true forms, to anybody else, and due to all the pain the three of them had gone through today, none of them were in a proper state to reveal such a big secret. So a cover story was formed between Phil and Wilbur, one that they'd let Tommy know about later. A story about how they'd gone out to gather resources early on, and were ambushed by a number of horrific creatures. Tommy had struggled back home, injured and exhausted, yet insistent he could manage, while Phil had to help Wilbur get back to the base due to the eldest brother's inability to walk steadily.

All of this was a lot to take in for Phil, and how could it not be? He had just met a gruesome end, one that fate itself hadn't even planned, and here he was, still standing, yet still shaky, as if he had fallen from a kitchen counter and damaged his knee, rather than falling from a tower and breaking his neck. The wound at his side had stopped bleeding as well, likely drying by the time the revival took place, or maybe something else mystical ceased the bleeding.

Whatever it was, Phil was incredibly grateful for what the boys had done for him, and though things wouldn't be the same as they had been just a few hours ago, the three of them could push on, and Phil would do whatever he could to protect them from now on.

---

Wilbur couldn't feel his face.

His ears were ringing loudly, the sensation shrieking inside of his head as he tried to grip at the floor beneath him, needing something to steady himself onto, so he could regain control.

But he couldn't move his arms. Gravity had them pinned to the ground, and no matter how much Wilbur's internal screams of desperation cut through the sharp ringing, begging and pleading with all his might, his body wouldn't move an inch.

Tiny pricks of heat began stinging his skin, as the initial numbness died down, and Wilbur tried to inhale as much air as he could to just stay alive, get back home.

I can't die like this!

In the distance Wilbur could hear the shocked cries of anguish and guilt from the one responsible, Ranboo, and it felt like a knife twisted into his gut. The others that had witnessed the accident had already accepted Wilbur's fate, it appeared. He wanted to scream at them.

FUCKING HELP ME!

Even though he'd never admit it, Wilbur knew they wouldn't be able to do anything. The only possibility of him coming back, good as new, as if nothing had happened, was if Tommy revived him once more.

And Wilbur would rather die a hundred more deaths than let his little brother push his own mortal form closer, and closer to the edge. Wilbur wouldn't be able to save him when that happened, and Tommy's visions had only got more vibrant over Wilbur's raw revival, showing signs of vulnerability.

The air was thick now, Wilbur's desperate attempts to gulp at it began slowing down, and Wilbur knew what that meant.

I'm really going to leave them all alone, huh? What kind of sick fucking game is fate playing right now?

Only a few hours ago, Wilbur had been watching Tommy work on his little mud hole. A home "worthy for mortals such as himself", as the blonde phrased it. Even though Phil was still resting from all the shock that he faced earlier, Wilbur knew he was okay, and he really believed that, yeah, the three of them would make it out of this weird place. Maybe Tommy and him could even take Phil back to their home, showing him where they grew up.

All that was just a dream now, though. Wilbur would never see it happen.

Letting out a final breath, Wilbur shut his eyes, the shouts from the witnesses dying out as the world became silent.

You two idiots better look out for each other.

[carlosjillgivemelife]

First time he...

So naughty headcanon. Carlos finally goes down on Jill, because the man loves her. Loved her since she drove off the fucking parking garage and into Nemesis. Anyways, it’s long. Tell me what you think--

So the first time that Carlos does go down on Jill, it’s emotional. Not for him in the sense, I mean he enjoys what he’s able to do for Jill and wants her to feel amazing!! More so for Jill. Jill isn’t one to have one night stands, she’s not one to hop into relationships easily. She’s a woman who is a military veteran, she’s former RPD, and member of S.T.A.R.S. All of that leaves her with a lot of emotional scars, and mental trauma from what she’s lived through and seen. She’s also very self reliant and independent. So when it comes to something like oral sex being performed on her, she’s resistant to the idea. She’s been through Hell and back, and is Supercop! As much as she is incredibly brave, and tough; these things never come without consequences. So, she’s self-conscious. 

Getting her to confess her attraction and feelings to Carlos was one thing! Letting him travel down her body with slow kisses, while making sure she is okay is a total different creature! 

(Small moment of appreciating our boy Carlos, and respecting Jill’s obvious lack of consent, and when she gives him consent. He is beautiful and I’ll fight Nemesis myself for him to be happy with Jill.)

Back on topic. When Jill finally lets Carlos go down on her, it’s when they are dating. Sex has been great, sure. But, Carlos is a smart man and he knows that she still has her guard up. She’s waiting for the world to implode, and for everything to come crashing down around them. He approaches that he’d like to satisfy her gently. He has seen it in her blue eyes how quickly she can shut herself down to the ideas of pleasure, and when she is not totally in control. It’s something that frightens her, and also means she’s vulnerable to someone else. Which let’s face it- Jill hates being vulnerable and feeling like she can’t immediately protect herself. It’s when it’s at night, and they are cuddled in bed that he asks her. He wants her to be when she’s most relaxed, and less likely to try and find a reason to deny herself anything that is meant to give her that pleasure. She deserves to feel beautiful, and to know he thinks she’s beautiful even if she doesn’t believe that she is worthy. Despite the fact she’s saved him, and she was the one to come crashing into his life (literally!) She deserves everything, and he wants to give her that. 

Our boy Carlos has planned this out! When she starts to say no, and become self-conscious to the whole idea he assures her. “Jill. It’s us. It’s only us. You can trust me. You tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” He may or may not have used those big honey-ember colored eyes on her. 

She finally agrees to it, repeating his words, “You’ll stop if I tell you to stop?” There is fear in her words. It’s not over the fact that he’ll not stop, but there’s more to this than just the simple act of oral sex and pleasure. This is trust. This is allowing for him to do something for her with nothing expected in return. He simply wants for her to feel good, to disarm her thoughts of having to always keep herself guarded and protected. It’s a sense of vulnerability and allowing that to happen! 

He’s slow, he starts with kissing her. It’s sweet and gentle, granted he’s damn near shaking with anticipation and excitement. It’s a kiss that is slow, where he feels her sigh, and muscles relax beneath him. When he finally moves away from her lips, he’s along her jaw, her neck. He’s touching her body gently. Over each scar his fingertips travel, each hard corded muscle she’s earned through training. There is absolutely no rush in what he’s doing. Carlos KNOWS if he dares to go faster than what she anticipates, this will be last chance he gets to show her how absolutely much he loves her. He has an almost laziness when he removes her shirt, he doesn’t rip it off her as fast as he can. He helps to take it off her like it truly is no big deal, it’s just one of his shirts, nothing to be alarmed about seeing her naked skin and breasts. She’s beautiful, even when she is already ramping up to become defensive, and hide herself. 

He assures her with nuzzling her breast, rubbing his cheek and face along her skin that it’s okay. “Breathe. It’s just us. Dogs are asleep, neighborhood is safe, no one is coming. You and me. There you go,” he’s really calm, and he only goes further when he feels her release a shaking breath, fully. When she does, he’s gentle along her nipples. Fingertips brushing back and forth slow stimulation, again nothing rushed. He watches how she reacts to that alone; deep breaths adjusting against him, soft pink flush spreading across her chest, her face, and the rest of the body. When he sees that she’s responding without resistance to that, or showing that she’s not afraid he then gentle uses his tongue and lips along her nipples. 

Languid. Slow. He has all the time in the world, he wants her to be relaxed and ready. He doesn’t move from one breast till he feels her arching up against him, and feels the pressure of her breast being pushed towards his mouth. That’s when he slowly crawls over to the next one. Jill is ticklish, and fuck she hates it. But, he does like to watch the faint squirm when his dark prickly beard rubs against her skin, and hears her protesting moan. 

“That tickles...” she’s breathy, but she’s not pushing him off and she’s responding positively. 

Carlos always grins when he hears this. She knows. He finds it endearing when she reacts in such a way. He doesn’t continue it, he doesn’t need to irritate her, he simply wants her to enjoy it. Onto the next nipple he goes. When he’s through with that nipple, he earns a sighed moan. She’s not fully allowing herself to experience all the pleasures that he wants for her to have. But! He earned a moan, even though it was a sigh and not fully released as she’s trying to keep control over herself; it was something. 

Carlos moves down along her belly, it’s with soft kisses, never anything sloppy and wet. He’s not a dog, he’s not going to lap at her like some mongrel. She’s delicious, and beautiful! He’s going to enjoy himself like this is the last feast he shall ever have. When he is around her hips, he doesn’t remove her panties immediately. He’s waiting for the invitation, for her willingness of lifting her hips up to him. So, for the moment he simply spends time rubbing at her thighs, at her hips, running his fingers delicately up from her knees to the point of her pelvis. He’s watching her legs, and the way her belly rises and falls with each breath. Each breath she takes is a little deeper, little more ragged and she’s starting to squirm a bit impatiently. It’s good though; her face is flushed and eyes are becoming intoxicated with vulnerable pleasure. So again he goes, up and down from her knees to her hips, slowly inching his way along to her inner thigh. Even then along that soft flesh he doesn’t give her what she’s desperately wanting. This is not simply fucking, this is not having routine sex. This is so much more for him, this is so much more for her. She’s starting to show reluctant release of control, and he’s relishing in it! 

Oh Carlos, you’re hopeless! Because he really does make sure to drive her senses wild! Up along from mid thigh, to almost touching where she’s wet and ready for him. Building that anticipation, building that desire to be further touched, and building that irritation that he doesn’t quite give her what she wants. It’s delectable! It’s evil! God she’s so beautiful to him when he watches how she takes a breath, and is squirming under him. Good! She’s showing further willingness and he keeps going. He keeps teasing, he keeps building that anticipation that mounts higher and higher. Up and down again, along her hips he follows and repeats the slow circle, then to the next thigh that he had been ignoring.

Jill’s starting to find her mind a mess of emotions. She’s impatient, she’s enjoying herself, she’s pissed, oh God don’t stop, get to the point- it’s a cocktail mixture of everything building up in her mind and she can’t pick which one to stick with. She’s moaning a little easier now, little fuller and deeper. She’s almost bashful with opening her eyes, and turning her gaze down onto him. It’s that sense of vulnerability and allowing herself to trust his intentions and not find her broken. It’s allowing herself to be in that moment, and feel everything that is happening in that moment. Not the next moment, not the moment before that. Just at the present moment when it’s simply her and him. There’s something about that which truly disarms her, and is almost terrifying. She’s not in control of her body’s response, and that pisses her off! Maybe it’s the way he looks up at her, his cheek resting lazily along her thigh, eyes drunkenly in love and full of fiery desire. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want him to stop, and that’s equally as scary. 

And again goes his fingers, guiding and brushing up along her inner thigh higher this time... but not quite the sweet spot! Jill is writhing and twitching. She’s moving her hips, trying to physically and non-verbally demand him to touch her. He won’t. He’s not going to yet, though he knows if he did, he’d find out how wet she is and yearning for him. That alone is so powerful and arousing for him. That he can cause this, that he makes her want him and only him. That she’s gifted him this moment and time where he can express his love on her, and damnit! This is the perfect time to take all the sweet ass time in the world. Finally though he does relent, and he brushes his fingers up along her. She’s wet through her panties, and she’s gasping and she mewls in delight. Fuck- that’s hot! He doesn’t take her panties off yet, nah, friction and that building again of intimate anticipation. He’s watching her, waiting for her to lift her hips and to hear a moan that tells him to please take off those soaked panties! 

Jill’s still fighting for mental control over herself. Never has she found herself to feel this good, not till she met and has been with Carlos. He’s pressing into her, fingers guiding over the texture of cotton panties, and always not quite there. She wants this to be over with, experience that high, then roll away and allow herself to feel guilty that she could enjoy herself so fully. But no, he won’t let her. Again there is the pressure of his index finger and middle finger, following up along her, pressing in at her clit and then moving away. Slow, and leisurely. God damnit! She’s so impatient, and she wants more. He won’t give it to her, yet. There’s something about feeling his breath hot across the inside of her thighs, and the scratching of his dark beard that almost undoes her. He’s so close, and she is so vulnerable and feels as if she’s on fire! So many damn emotions, so many thoughts that she finds them all muddled. She has her eyes closed, she can’t bear to open her eyes and look down at him. What’s more irritating for her, she feels her lashes are wet with tears. I promise you this! She’s not going to shed a god damn tear... so she keeps those eyes closed- for now! But when she feels him again blowing air gently along her thighs, and over where his fingers had been rubbing- she finally lifts up her hips. 

Carlos has to push her hands away from her panties; he wants to be the one to unwrap his present, to show himself what he’s been waiting for. He sits back on his knees and helps to slide her panties over her leg, and even helps guiding her feet through. She’s naked before him, flushed, and squirming. Beautiful. Perfect. She’s made for him, and fuck he couldn’t be any harder than he already is. He’s still in his sweats. He doesn’t sleep in a shirt since usually irritates him and at some point in the night he’d just end up taking it off. But there’s something primal, and raw with her being naked and allowing him to view her in a soft light. He sees her not as a survivor, broken, or a fighter. He sees only Her. All her flaws. All her perfections. He’s hungry. 

When I said earlier that he was shaking with excitement, Carlos is damn near an earthquake at this point! He’s so fucking excited, he’s so hard, he wants her to scream his name and pull his hair! But, he’s slow with his approach when he does begin to shoulder his way between her thighs. Correction he doesn’t “shoulder” himself between her thighs. He settles himself comfortably between, and drapes her calves over his broad shoulders. He’s watching her again, waiting for her to shut this shit down! He rubs the outside of her thighs, gently. 

“Is this okay?” He wants to make sure she’s comfortable. There’s something about it though that sets fire to his soul when he hears her say yes. It’s not yeah, it’s not sure- it’s yes! 

When he watches her laying back a little more heavily into the pillows, her head rolling back and forth and her body arching beneath him it does something to him. He wants her to feel this constantly. He wants her to know how he will think on this moment forever. She’s quivering, and her eyes are shut. She’s grasping onto the fitted sheet beneath her, and her legs are flexing against his shoulders. He’s doing this to her, and god damn, this was what he was meant for. 

Carlos doesn’t want to shock her yet, he doesn’t want to surprise her to a point where she reels back from him. First it’s his fingers testing her. It’s a god damn compliment that she’s so wet for him, that he made her this wet! He has to stop himself from beginning his feast to feed his soul. It takes so much control to keep him from diving forward into her. He uses his index finger to gently follow along her lips, up and down gentle, not yet pushing. He gets to feel her skin, he gets to feel how slick she is before he presses closer. How she moans? He’s never heard something so beautiful before. Raw, aching, and coming from her lips? He caused that, and he wants to hear that sound again! He pushes past her lips, and is against her clit, a slow circle that is soft and light along that sensitive nub. There’s that moan again! How the fire within him burns hotter when he hears it! 

He spends time there, slow circles that switch back and forth. Over his shoulders he feels her legs twitching, slightest pressure from her calves that urge him closer. He defies her from that, and wants to watch how she breathes, and how her head rolls back into the pillow. He leaves her clit alone, and again allows his fingers to run along her, gentle and exploring her far more than he ever has been able to. She’s beautiful, ever god damn inch. Every scar, every small bump of cellulite, every part of her that isn’t perfect with an even complexion. She’s a work of fucking art, god he’s lucky! So god damn lucky to be between her thighs, and have her trust. 

He teases at her entrance with his fingers, slight pressure as if he’s going to penetrate her. But, he never does. It’s there, and gone. Almost-almost! Then he draws away. She’s irritated, in a delicious way. That makes him grin watching her sighing impatiently. Her hands releasing and gripping the sheet again, and again. It’s a slow torture he wants her to have, and to be left shaking after. Again his fingers are there, pressure that almost pushes his index finger into her shaking core. Away he goes again. 

“Please,” she begs. That- fuck he thought the moans were beautiful, that could have had him undone himself! But, who is he to deny a lady?

He slips a finger inside her, slowly coaxing her with a bent motion. Come hither, my love. He wants it said through his fingers, and it’s heard. She does. She’s pushing her hips up towards him, her thighs are tightening on his shoulder. She’s soaking his finger that is bent inward to her, slowly moving, watching each emotion come undone on her face. Slowly he pushes two fingers into her, and the moans and gasps are truly heaven sent! He’s the maestro of this orchestra of sounds he causes from her. He conducts the symphony that has never sounded so sweet, and so beautiful before. He’s turning his wrist, his drawing art inside her soul. He’s creating something to be branded to his soul to follow him forever. He is the artist, and she’s the art that he watches come to life. God damn she’s beautiful. 

When he feels her muscles constricting around his fingers, beginning to quiver at hinted orgasm; he withdraws his fingers. There is a huff from Jill. She’s irritated! She was wanting that release, and he denies her that?! It’s cute to Carlos to watch her eyes open, and stare up at the ceiling ready to say something sarcastic to him. He doesn’t even want to allow her that to be had. Nah, he’s going to deny her that comment that is at the tip of her tongue. Because he’s going to rob her senses, and her mind with the tip of his tongue. Finally he gets to taste the decadent dessert that is waiting for him. It’s the tip of his tongue drawing from her core up to her clit. Jill was ready to say something, but it’s totally gone! Her mind has been erased, and she’s arching almost violently upward. 

On Carlos’s tongue she’s sweet, far sweeter than any honey or wine he’s ever had. Watching her body writhe, an her eyes fall shut is utterly insane. He’s causing this, he’s doing this to her, and he wants to watch her come undone. He wants her to release all frustrations against his mouth, and on his tongue. He wants for her to moan only his name. Again he delves into her with his tongue, and she’s gasping as if she finally broke the waters surface and can draw breath. It’s a violent delight to feel her beneath him, her legs clamping tighter to his shoulders, and able to taste what is his. He finally is upon her with his mouth. His beard irritates her skin, and his lips are speaking a foreign language that is only meant for her. 

It’s against her clit, it’s against her aching entrance to her soul, it’s along lips that are tormented with his cheeks that brush his facial hair against her. It’s his fingers coaxing her open, and helping to draw patterns along her. Further he explores, the further she’s lost. He’ll guide her from being lost. He growls in such appreciation when her hands are in his hair, finger tight in his dark lazy curls. She’s utterly helpless, and beautiful. She’s tensing against him, she’s pushing her hips to his face, and her legs are tight on his shoulders. He growls when she racks her nails across his scalp, and is panting. He teases her with his tongue penetrating into her, wanting more of a feast that is indescribable. He’s utterly lost to her. Jill Valentine claims his soul, his heart, his life. He can’t even begin to find rational thought to how she feels when she’s closer. He’s suckling at her, he’s teasing her with flicks of his tongue, he’s speaking to her in silence against her. He’s telling her how much he loves her, that she can do this, she can trust him. She’s replying with each moan, each shattering gasp that crashes through her. He wants this for her, and he wants for her to experience all of it. 

“C-Carlos!” There. That’s it. He hears his name from her lips, so desperate, and ready. So open and trusting, so vulnerable and broken. 

He guides her through it, his mouth is along her clit, and his fingers are inside her helping. He’s coaxing it out of her when he feels it. Had heaven and earth ever been moved, then it truly was thrown out of existence. She’s crying out! Her hands grasp tight to his hair, and her legs lock around the back of his shoulders. He feels her along his fingers, fluttering muscles that come in waves. He feels it with her hips pushed to him, and the throbbing pulse that runs through her. 

Jill, oh poor Jill. She sees white. Her whole body attacks her senses. She can’t fight the tears any longer, theys pill from between her lashes. She’s gasping, she’s moaning, she’s trying to keep the sob from erupting from her chest. She’s never felt herself crashing through existence, and writhing so deliciously. She’s never felt her body catch fire in a way that leaves her suddenly addicted. Fuck- she can’t even think, or form words besides Carlos’s name. She’s not sure what time, year, or moment it is. Only that she’s totally unraveled beneath him, and she’s shaking. She’s overstimulated, she’s hurting, and she feels amazing. Slowly she begins to climb down from the mountain peak that she reached. She can finally see through the white haze that had blinded her, and she finds herself trembling uncontrollably. 

Carlos slowly withdraws from being between her legs. He thought he had been ready for that, but god was he wrong. That was more than he ever thought of. He kisses her thigh, and slowly rises to be beside her, his hand on her belly. He draws their comforter over them both, holding her close. He sees the damp tears on her face, and waits for her to open her eyes to look at him. When she does, they are lost. They are searching, and he kisses her slowly. Still the taste of her is on his lips, and tongue. She’s flushed and she moves closer to him. 

He wants nothing in return, he wants for her to find her way back to earth, and in his arms. He holds her as she clings to him with her head on her chest. He’s silent. There’s nothing to say, though he wants to tell her in such detail how much he loves her, but for the moment, silence is all that they need. He could stay there like that forever, damn he’s tempted to.