#so I gave you my heart and Jagged fang

[angel-of-the-moons]

Chocolate and Cream

Eddie x Venom x Curvy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, SMUT, inappropriate use of chocolate, Venom's tongue should be a warning on its own, oral (Fem Receiving), piv sex, creampie, protected sex (personal headcanon that Venom can make it so the baby batter don't bake ;)), Venom is a great source of birth control, a bit of fluff, food play(?), Eddie and Venom love you so much, spme anal, squirting, Eddie and Venom definitely bang too tho IMO (PSA: PLEASE DO NOT PUT CHOCOLATE ON YOUR KITTY LADIES THAT'S HOW YOU YOU GET INFECTIONS)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Woo! My first Eddie/Venom fic! (Technically) This is based off a private fic an old friend of mine requested that I wrote years ago, adjusted more for a curvy reader, part of some of my self-indulgent fics regarding us gals on a thicker scale :)

🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷

You took one last look in the mirror, proudly nodding your head at your handiwork. It was a pain in the ass, for sure to get done, but with the help from some people in an anonymous kink forum, they were able to help you get this surprise for your lovely boyfriends.

You see, one of your boyfriends had this "thing" for chocolate. He needed to consume an insane amount of it or he'd have to resort to... other methods of gaining a certain chemical to sustain himself...

And of course, that's how this lovely idea came to be. Edible panties were soooooo boring!

Your body covered in chocolate-based body paint however...

You had painstakingly painted cute little hearts over your body, with some artistic swirls for extra flair. You kept your apartment freezing to avoid your body heat melting it too much, or while you painted around your nipples, the rolls of your belly, and of course somewhere far more intimate...

Then came the waiting game. You didn't know when they'd be home from running their "night errands". You knew full well what that meant, and you didn't really focus too much on that fact. It helped you sleep easier at night

You should have thought this through, though. If you sat down on your couch, the chocolate would stain it. You could sit on one of your dining chairs, but the surface was far too cold for your poor bare ass to handle right now.

Shit. Well, you could always--

You jumped back with a shriek, grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch and held it out, obscuring the view of your body from the hulking dark mass that squeezed through your apartment's window.

You relaxed slightly, your breath escaping you in a sigh.

"Venom!" You scolded. "You gave me a heart attack! Why can't you and Eddie use the front door?"

The large creature grinned, revealing jagged fangs that sent shivers of excitement up your spine. Or maybe you were just cold.

"It is faster, this way." Venom replied.

He tilted his head at you, and how peculiarly you were holding the blanket, concealing yourself from him. Then... He tipped his head back, sniffing the air.

"We smell chocolate." He growled, his voice excited as he tilted his head at you. "Are you baking, sweet thing?"

You suddenly felt very small, very awkward. Like a bunny caught in the trap about to be devoured by a hungry wolf. You'd be lying if you didn't feel a little turned on.

You also felt very stupid. God, this was so silly. Why did you...

Venom began to stalk closer, having to lean down to avoid hitting his head on your low ceiling.

"What are you hiding, sweet thing?" His voice rumbled lowly.

"Uhm..." You peep, squirming backwards, awkwardly looking around for a way out of this stupid situation you got yourself into.

"What." Venom said, each word punctuated by a step. "Are. You. Hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything!" You lie.

"Really?" He purrs, his tongue laving out to taste at the air. "Because it smells like you're hiding something delicious from us."

"I..." You take a step back further, only to bump into the wall, squealing when your bare back makes contact with the cold drywall.

And in a blink of your eyes, Venom was there, his large, opalescent eyes narrowing at you, his maw curling into a lascivious grin.

Yeah. He was definitely salivating.

"What are you hiding behind the blanket, sweet thing?" He purred once more, his massive paws gripping the plush knit quilt.

"Uh--"

"Last chance."

"It's... Uh...." You flounder for an excuse.

In the span of a few seconds, the blanket is ripped away and you squeak, your arms locking and Venom's eyes get big and his head rocks back as he looks down at you.

(Holy shit.) Eddie's voice breathed from inside his head.

Venom's grin spreads even wider as he tilts his head slowly in the other direction. "I knew you were hiding something delicious."

"I just... I wanted to, uh..."

Venom pressed his mouth to your throat, and you could feel his heavy, wet breaths as he inhaled your scent, his large hands gripping the upper parts of your arms as he held you there, against the wall, just breathing.

It felt like forever you were standing there, the feeling of him just... breathing on you was enough to get you hot and bothered.

"You smell delicious." He grumbled against your throat, opening his mouth to let his tongue slide out.

The moment it wrapped around your throat was electric. It sent a throb of arousal straight through to your core.

You let out a watery sigh, your breaths leaving you in trembled gasps as his tongue slides lower, through the chocolate on your sternum, and wrapping around your pebbled nipple, the chocolate melting and smearing under his hot breath and saliva.

"Did you do this for us, sweet thing?" Venom asked as he pulled away, looking down at you. "You wanted to surprise us? Hmm?"

"I... I got the idea online, and..." You said, somehow finding it within yourself to still be embarrassed.

"It is a tasty surprise." He said lowly, curving a taloned finger along your cheek. He leaned in and placed a small, unusually chaste kiss to your cheek.

"But you definitely taste better." He whispered into your ear.

You couldn't suppress the little noise that comes from your throat.

"Let us clean you, sweet thing."

Fuck, why did his voice have to have that bone-vibrating frequency? Why the fuck did it have to be so sexy?! Him and Eddie both! Especially Eddie's morning voice! Ugh! It wasn't fair how easy they could just render you stupid.

Venom got on his knees in front of you and brought his mouth to your chest, swiping his hefty tongue through the chocolate, a low rumbling emitting from him the whole time, sending those wonderful tremors through your very bones as he took his time cleaning you, licking up every drop of chocolate from your body, moving lower and lower...

Fuck, you'd swear Venom's purring would be a great substitute for a vibrator. Not that you ever needed one. The moment Venom could pick up on your scent and told Eddie, they were all over you. It was especially bad when you were about to start your cycle. Venom would go feral and pounce on you the moment he picked up on your hormones.

Your train of thought derailed somewhere around the thought of that one time Eddie woke you up with his hand between your legs and crashed into the station of Venom's tongue plunging through your now-soaked folds.

"We were right. You do taste better." Venom purred right into your cunt, making you gasp and cry out. "Though the chocolate compliments your taste well."

"Fuck!" You cry as he hoists your legs over his shoulders, pushing you up the wall with how forcefully he was thrusting his tongue inside of you; his massive arms caging you in and his hands groping and squeezing at your breasts as he voraciously ate you out.

You felt his tongue press against that wonderfully world-spinning spot inside your spongy walls, drawing out and drinking down more and more of your slick as he snarled into your puffy folds.

Your nails clawed at his arms, doing no damage to his odd "skin", and if anything it was encouraging him to go further.

You felt the tip of his tongue press on your cervix before rolling back around and curling, the pink muscle writhing and wriggling inside of you like it was fighting desperately to become a part of you.

You had half a thought to let Venom bond with you for a little while and do something like this with Eddie...

You practically sobbed when Venom brought one of his hands down, squeezing the plush rolls on your belly, kneading them lovingly before pressing down beneath your belly button, where he could feel his tongue bulge and roil inside of you.

The orgasm that you were starting to feel build exploded, going off before you had a chance to prep, your eyes rolled back and you arched your spine, your mouth opening in a silent cry, your body unable to find its voice as everything came crashing down onto you; his tongue eagerly lapping up each drop, every bit of your sweet cream.

The moment his tongue slid out of you, you felt empty, bereft of his contact. You whined when he pulled away, and he kissed your neck, licking the skin again.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. Eddie just wants his turn with you, now." He snarled, easing you down onto the floor, his hands caressing your legs gently as he stood.

As his head reached height with yours, his scary, alien visage peeled and melted away, revealing Eddie's gorgeous eyes, full lips, and patchy stubble.

"Hey, baby." He chuckled, giving you a kiss as he pulled you against him.

"Hey..." You said, your voice weak and shaky.

"Nice surprise, by the way." Eddie smirked at you, his hands going down to grope and squeeze at your plush ass, his thumbs tracing every dimple. "Vee loved it."

"I could tell." You smile up at him.

"So... Let's move the after party to someplace more comfortable, huh?"

🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷

God it always surprised you. It didn't matter which one of them fucked you, but somehow they always did it in a way that made you feel like they were trying to bully their way into your guts with their cock.

You whimpered as Eddie hugged your legs against his chest, snapping his hips up into you with so much vigor that he kept rocking you up the couch cushions. Hell, one of the cushions was a few thrusts from being pushed off the couch entirely.

"Fuck you're so fucking tight." Eddie groaned, looking down at you as every soft part of your jiggled and bounced with the force of his thrusts. He loved how you looked when you were utterly fucked out. Venom did, too. Venom's favorite "hobby" that Eddie teased him for, was how he loved to grab you and squish you in his hands, and move you up and down on his cock like a sweet, soft little toy.

Of course, you enjoyed it, too.

Eddie moved your legs so they were on either side of him now as he leaned down and kissed you hard, his plush lips and tongue greedily dancing with yours, your soft hands sliding up his back, feeling the droplets of sweat roll off of him.

Eddie had hips, and he certainly knew how to use him. The way he arched his back and gyrated them, you were tempted to joke and say he should start pole dancing. Maybe you'd bring it up with him when he wasn't currently stuffing you nine different kinds of full with his fat cock.

The tickling of the short hairs at the base made contact with your clit at every thrust, sending little flames of pleasure licking up your spine.

"Eddie..." You moaned, gripping hard at his shoulders and squirming your hips against his.

He gritted his teeth and groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. "Fuck, baby." Eddie hissed, "You gettin' close?"

"Mhmm--" You say, nodding with a weak mewl.

You feel him grin against your throat and he sucked on your skin, leaving a nice, dark present on your skin. He pulled away, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Oh-kay--" He grunted, leaning back as he slowed his thrusts almost torturously slow.

The black mass that is Venom slinked around Eddie's torso, thick tendrils moving out and gripping beneath your knees, gently forcing them as comfortably close to your head as possible, your cunt fluttering gorgeously around Eddie's cock so well that you felt Venom shudder.

Eddie stopped moving for a second that felt like hours, before he leaned over, one hand on the back of the couch and the other gripping the arm of it behind your head before sending on hard, brutal thrust down.

The moment he did that, you shrieked so loud you were sure your downstairs neighbors could hear you--hell, maybe the people down in the street heard how well Eddie was fucking you (with Venom's help, of course).

The sinful sound of his cock sliding in and out of your hole, your slick-coated skin slapping against each other was deafeningly loud to your ears as he fucked you with his newfound leverage over you, hitting your g-spot at just the right angle it had your brain going almost numb from the pleasure.

When you cum, you cum hard. You soak Eddie's stomach and your thighs as your pussy clamps down on him. You got so tight that Eddie's pace stuttered and almost stopped, a gravelly whine crawling out of his throat.

"God... Fuuuuuck, baby..." He panted hard, grinding his hips down into yours, bringing his knee up and pressing one of your thighs tighter to your body.

"E-Eddie--" You mewl.

"Just--Just a bit more, baby, I promise." Eddie hissed, his eyes closing in pure bliss as he fucks the absolute heaven that is your sweet little cunt.

"God--damn!" Eddie practically squeaked.

You see Venom's head materialize over his shoulder and he grinned down at you through your glazed-over eyes.

Oh god. That was a favorite trick Venom liked to pull. Whenever Eddie was close to coming, sometimes Venom liked to force a tendril up his ass, squirming and tickling his prostate.

"Vee, you little shit--!" Eddie moaned.

"Keep fucking her, Eddie." Venom purred, his tongue sliding around Eddie's throat.

"Gonna beat your fucking--" He hiccuped, his hips stuttering and jolting into yours. "--beat your ass for this..."

"You say that every time. NOW KEEP FUCKING HER." Venom snapped, forcing the tendril deeper into Eddie's ass, this time pressing with more force on his prostate, eliciting a broken moan from him as he slapped his hips harshly into yours, your sweet cunt leaving a nice creamy ring around the base of his cock.

"Fuck, baby..." You whine, feeling tears burn in your eyes as your second orgasm starts to build.

Venom can sense it, and you were fucked the moment his head snapped to look at you.

Completely, utterly fucked.

A smaller tendril splits off from the ones still pinning your legs up, and latches onto your clit, pulling and tugging and rolling in a way that has the air knocked out of your lungs.

"Oh shhhii-iIiIII-iit..." You sob, clawing desperately at Eddie's shoulders, feeling Venom's tongue wrap around one of your wrists, eagerly lapping at your skin as if he could taste your nectar from that alone.

You and Eddie cum almost simultaneously, your orgasms slamming you like a runaway freight train.

You once again soak Eddie's stomach and crotch, your spray and cum dripping down to soak the couch cushions as Eddie's hot seed floods your soft, now-pliant walls, groaning as Venom presses inside of him, making his hips jerk until he's fucked every last drop into you.

Venom finally releases the two of you and Eddie collapsed, Eddie laying across your plush body, your rolls, and cute squishy fat being the perfect pillows for him. (Your breasts too, as he buried his face in them.)

The two of you breathe hard, your sweat mingling between your bodies as you cool off, shivers causing goosebumps to rise up and down Eddie's back as his heart slowed, the heavy echoes still pattering against yours.

"Eddie?" You breathe.

"Yeah." He grunted, voice muffled by your breasts.

"I think we're going to need to steam clean the couch."

Eddie and Venom both broke out laughing.

And here you were, worried about chocolate staining your couch. Turns out it was the cream that was the problem.

[vaguesxrrow]

hiiya!

i was wondering if i could request a Charles Rowland x alive!reader [established relationship] who suddenly develops like supernatural powers and basically just him and the rest of the team helping out figuring out what exactly reader can do and how it works?

love ya and have an amazing day!

HI LOVEEE yes ofc, here u go ! this took a longgg time but thanks for ur patience

charles / superpowers reader

a/n: basically reader develops telekinesis but also with silver swirly whirlies !!

cw's: swearing

tags: gender neutral reader, reader has superpowers

wc: 1820

"motherfucker!" you swore as you tripped - over a tree root, you noted, because charles was always teasing you over the one time you tripped over your own feet.

automatically, you splayed out your hands in front of you to break your fall; your left hand met soft moss, but your right slammed against a small jagged rock, splitting it open slightly.

charles cackled at your misfortune, even as he backtracked to help you up. "you alright?" he asked.

"yeah," you grumbled, wincing a bit at the cut you had obtained on your palm. whatever. you ran your hands over your shirt and pants, ignoring the slight sting. disinfecting it could wait until after you finished this investigation. you were mainly miffed at your fall, and the damage to your pride.

"come on, then - according to the map edwin gave me, the troublesome tree elemental should be just up this w..."

"you with a map?" you scoffed. "that's interesting."

"[name]..." charles said.

"are you sure you're reading that thing right?"

"[name]," he stressed.

"what?" you noticed his eyes were fixed on something behind you. suddenly, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up pin-straight. when you slowly, cautiously, turned to look behind you, you were met with a wide, gaping mouth, and several sharp fangs.

oh. there was the tree elemental.

"RUN!" charles grabbed your hand and yanked you along, the creature just a hair's breadth away and far too close for comfort.

eventually, you came face to face with a tree - splitting you apart from charles momentarily. you reached out to once again gain purchase of his hand, but you were met with empty air. you whipped your head around to look behind you, and your heart dropped. charles was fruitlessly grappling at the floor as he was gradually being dragged away. the elemental had him by the ankles. two roots were wrapped tight nearly up to his knees, and you spotted another snaking along the floor, no doubt to coil around his torso as well.

you swore. there was no time to rally up the others for help - you had to save him now. even if you were woefully unprepared. this was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission, so you had no weapons. you guessed you'd have to make do with sheer willpower.

"HEY!" you barked at the tree. it reared its head towards you, and roared. if you understood elemental language - did they even have one? - you assumed it would be swearing you out. as if taunting you, it raised charles up into the air, swaying him about as if to hurl him across the forest.

"NO!" you cried, reaching out. suddenly, a beam of silver shot out from your palm, hitting the elemental square in the face. it recoiled, wounded. a spiderweb pattern of silver cracks spread from where you had hit it, growing and growing. the creature seemed to be shriveling up as the silver spread, its trunk turning from brown to a rotten shade of grey.

your eyes bulged, and your jaw had dropped to the floor. you only snapped out of your stupor when charles yelped as he fell to the floor with a 'thud', the elemental having let him go.

"oh my god," you muttered as you rushed to his side. "charles, are you hurt?"

he grimaced, letting you help him up. "i'm good," he said. "although... where'd you learn that from?"

"what?"

"the silver sparkly thing!"

you looked down at your hands. they had stopped glowing, and now were for the most part unremarkable; caked in dirt and elemental ashes. the only notable thing was that the cut on your hand had healed, leaving behind a scar that was a bit too shiny to be natural.

"i... i have no clue." you made uneasy eye contact with him. "charles, i don't know." your hushed voice clued him in to your apprehension.

he looked oddly at ease as he took your hands. "well, hey, good thing we're detectives then, yeah? we'll figure it out. and the others will help.”

⌦ --

when you opened the door to jenny's butcher shop, there were no flailing hands or interrogative "what did you find?"s when you entered. charles looked around curiously.

"jenny, where is everyone?" you asked.

she slammed her cleaver down. you were used to her terse demeanor by now, so you just smiled and thanked her when she said, "library."

charles followed you to your room. "you gonna get some rest?" he asked.

you contemplated it for a second. surprisingly, you felt energised, instead of the usual exhaustion you felt after barely escaping with your life. you told charles as much. "i think i'll read for a while," you said. "tell me when the others are back, kay?"

"i'm gonna go fetch them myself." he kissed you on the forehead. "we need to talk about these." he traced the lines on your palms gently.

you laughed softly. "i guess we do."

he squeezed your hands before disappearing through the wall. you sighed. yes, you would read. it would get your mind off things.

perhaps it was just the adrenaline giving you a false sense of energy, because 10 minutes later, your novel was abandoned and you were asleep, face squashed in your pillow.

you startled awake only when crystal, niko, and edwin barged through the door, edwin clearing his throat. as you jolted up, silver light shone from your hand once again, sending the book flying across the room, sailing towards your friends-

and smacked edwin square in the face. it slid off his body and onto the floor with a resonant thud. crystal guffawed, not even bothering to hide her amusement.

"oh my god, edwin, i'm so sorry!" you apologised profusely.

he waved you away. "when charles came to me spinning tales about how you developed... silver swirly powers, i did not believe him. but it appears he was telling the truth."

crystal laughed. "honestly, you hitting edwin in the face was worth carrying all these." she walked over to your bed and dumped out the contents of her bag. 5 volumes poured out, all thick and heavy looking. charles followed next, standing above you and playing with the ends of your hair as you flipped open one of the books.

"so, i'm guessing it's research?" charles asked.

soon, everyone was crowded around your bed. edwin flipped open his notebook. "close. first, [name], if you could recount the events leading up to this manifestation of powers?"

you recounted the events, elbowing charles when he snorted at your mention of falling. "and then, after i hit the elemental with my-" you gestured vaguely. "swirly whirlies, charles very elegantly fell on his ass-"

"it dropped me!" he protested.

"-and that's it. nothing really stood out."

crystal spoke up. "maybe i could... do my thing with your mind."

you shrugged. "sure. maybe i missed something."

crystal moved to put a hand on your shoulder, when charles intercepted her momentarily. "just, be gentle, yeah?"

his concern was cute, but you waved him off. "charles, i'll be fine. crystal, go on."

you allowed charles to intertwine your fingers before you were pulled into your memories.

everything was slowed down, a fuzzy vignette around the edges of the recollection. the green of the forest darkened from the all encompassing night, and then an epithet from your own mouth as you landed on the floor. on a rock - one that shined as it made contact with your palm, glowing so fleetingly you had missed it before.

the cut on your hand also lit up briefly, disappearing just as you wiped them off on the front of your clothes.

the memory stopped when you were pulled back into the present, charles's fingers still linked with yours. he looked to you, the unspoken question of "okay?" in his eyes. you smiled back, nodding in confirmation.

"there was a rock of some kind," crystal began.

"the one i cut my hand on when i fell, yeah," you added. "here's the scar."

"this is curious." edwin leaned in to inspect your palm. "certainly not a standard scar, nor healing process... it must have been magical."

"okay, so i cut my hand on a magic rock. great!" you exclaimed, feeling hysteria beginning to creep into your tone. charles held your hand tighter, grounding you silently.

"perhaps we should conduct some more research-" edwin proposed.

"research? really, edwin?" crystal said. "i say we see what [name] can do."

niko perked up. "training montage!" she squealed.

before you knew it, you were being ushered to the rooftop.

⌦ --

"it's not working."

you twisted your hand again, feeling stupid as you squinted at the coca cola can like it had personally wronged you in some way.

"this is not as badass as in the movies," niko mumbled.

"i think your efforts are very noble," charles told you, turning your chin and guiding you into a kiss.

the soda can exploded.

aside from the spraying of liquid from the can, there was silence for one... two... three beats. and then laughter, from everyone present - even you, giggling at the comedic timing of it all.

charles chuckled too, although you could see he was pleased with himself.

you rolled your eyes. "is it a crime to like my boyfriend now?" you grumbled.

"nah," he assured. "just might have inflated my ego a little bit."

you grinned at each other.

"hey, lovebirds!" crystal called. "you two are cute and all, but can someone help me clean up this spill?"

⌦ --

you and charles sat shoulder to shoulder on the ledge, his arm protectively draped around your shoulders. you could hear niko bustling around behind you, no doubt arranging the new 'training task'. so far, you had successfully decimated five (empty, this time) coke cans - and without smacking any of your friends in the face. your powers seemed to energise you the more you used them, but you didn't even know that for sure. not even with edwin's diligent research (while you were training, he had been reading).

"what's on your mind?" charles pried.

"just thinking," you hummed. "it's weird. having these powers that i don't know much about."

he narrowed his eyes in concern and shifted so he was facing you. you mirrored the action. now, you were sitting face to face, with your knees touching and ankles intertwined.

"i can't imagine how you're feeling right now. i mean, if i suddenly could shoot light beams out of my palms, i'd be pretty terrified," he said. "but i think you're super badass. and if you need anything, i'm here, yeah? it's important to me that you know that."

"i know, charles." you moved in to kiss him, and he met you readily, his hands coming up to your back.

any doubt you had quickly melted away as you relaxed into him. charles was right. you would figure it out.

[seradyn]

Royal Respite and Midnight Melody!

The two I’m most excited about 🤤🤤

I’m going to start with Midnight Melody cause I wAnT tOO

This is a short one shot I thought of when I reexamined some of Astarion’s lines post Cazador. When the player asks how he feels directly following the event, he explains he feels ‘numb’. From my own experience and what I’ve learned about surviving abuse, often people can struggle coping with a world where their abuser is out of the picture, because so much of their life was consumed by them, either physically or mentally. We see this not only in Astarion, but in Karlach too, who has similar feelings after Gortash’s death, because all the rage she built up around him has nowhere to go. It’s still there, but now it’s trapped inside without an outlet, instead of being healed when her abuser went away like they think it should have.

Astarion is the same way; without Cazador, where is he supposed to direct all his energy, his hatred, his rage over what happened to him? It’s still there, even though he’s dead, and it’s not fair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he struggled with his purpose after Cazador’s death. This happens with real survivors too; their whole world revolved around their abuser for so long, once they’re gone they just feel so empty and lost.

This fic is a take on that, where reader helps reassure Astarion that he doesn’t have to know what he wants right now, and they’re more than happy to help him figure it out. He tells them he doesn’t have a heart to guide him, but that’s not true. Is it not reader’s blood that flows through his veins? Does reader’s heart not beat for him? They remind him, hold his head gently to their chest so he can listen, can hear the heartbeat that is not only theirs, but one they give freely to him, too.

Basically more tooth rotting fluff and non sexual intimacy. Baby boy just needs to be held and I’ll be damned if I don’t smother him in affection. He deserves it.

Here is snippet:

~

“It’s nothing serious, of course…” he said quietly. Another lie, but you didn’t say anything, simply cradling his hand to your chest, a precious and fragile part of him. It gave him time to work up the courage to continue.

“It’s just that…When I was under Cazador,” he hissed the name, fangs poking out over his bottom lip, “every thought I had, everything I did was for him. He dominated us, mind, body and soul, and used that dominance to make our whole world about him.”

His eyes were wild with anger, that grimace back on his face, because it was so much worse to say it out loud, to acknowledge how much of his life belonged to his old master. You squeezed his hand to encourage him to keep going. This needed to come out, lest he push you away to protect you from the rot that did naught but burrow and consume down into his being.

“Even after the nautiloid, he inhabited so much of my thoughts,” he went on, his voice slightly rasped and shaking. “Though instead of fear or obedience, it was anger and determination to kill him. Even when he lost control of me, all I could think about was him. Even with his body rotting in the dirt, I cannot get him out of my head.”

“And now that he’s gone…I can’t help but wonder…what am I supposed to do?” His eyes filled with sorrow then, displeasure with himself. “With Cazador dead…I find myself losing all sense of direction.”

Your heart broke for him, jagged pieces of it left on the floor for you to step on. You cupped Astarion’s cheek, lifting his face to look at you. His eyes were wide, glistening in the dim candlelight as they filled with pain and worse: self loathing. You didn’t need the tadpole to hear that treacherous little voice in his head, one you knew like an old friend that whispered pathetic, worthless, weak. You knew he wanted to protect you, wanted to give you the life you deserved, yet he hadn’t the faintest idea how to do that, where to even start, and it pained him.

Gently, allowing him to pull back if he so desired, you led him into your arms, wrapping them around him so you could rub at the tension in his back. He nearly collapsed into your embrace in relief, immediately wrapping his own arms around you and crushing you to him. You massaged his shoulder blades while he pressed needy, frantic kisses into your hair, afraid you might pull away and leave should he stop.

“It’s okay not to know,” you said into his chest, kissing his sternum. “We can figure it out together. I’ll always be here with you, no matter what future you decide you want.”

He let out a tense breath, burying his face in your neck. “I know,” he mumbled. “I know whatever future awaits, I want you to be a part of it.” He leaned back, just enough that he could meet your eyes, so you could see into the dark abyss where his mind lingered. “The problem is, I don’t know what I want our future to look like. What I want it to look like.”

It was then you fully realized that what Astarion had been feeling since the confrontation with Cazador was lost. So, so lost, in a world without his master to contend with. The hopelessness you heard on his tongue was a knife piercing your tender heart, a sharp pain burning through your chest as it tried to beat around it, blood gushing from the wound and radiating out across your skin. What was freedom to one who didn’t know how to live with it, didn’t know how it felt? Though his chains had been broken, the memory of them still pulled him down and suffocated him. You wished so deeply to spare Astarion this pain, for he lived so long in the shadows of the world, you wanted to shower him in the light until he was blinded.

Abruptly, he shook his head, a growl ripping past his lips as he pulled himself away from you. It should be so easy, to move on and enjoy life now that he was allowed to. His desires could be fulfilled, instead of remaining the desperate wishes of a slave who longed for escape. The world was his for the taking, his life his own once more.

So why did he still feel so broken?

“Now that I’m free, I’m supposed to be able to do whatever I want. Follow my heart, as our companions said.” He spit the words; they tasted foul in his mouth.

“How am I supposed to know what I want without a heart to guide me?”

~

I’ll send you the full version once the first draft is done. Hope you like it 💕

Royal Respite has a similar vibe, and is also pure tooth rotting fluff/non sexual intimacy. It’s a one shot in which reader gives Ardyn a massage after he delivers the peace treaty proposal to the Lucian council. Just letting reader dote on him while he talks about his day, and letting him relax before everything goes to shit, basically. Ardyn has been working to make this plan come true for literally decades. I think he deserves some rest before it fully comes to fruition.

No snippet for this one yet, since I’ve been hyper focused on some of my Astarion fics *cough* see above *cough* but hopefully it doesn’t take too long to get on paper. You’ll be the first to know when there’s a rough draft 💕

[beevean]

🌹

Longish piece I'm proud of :3

~

“I don’t… disturb you?”

“Why would you?”

“Because of my… nature.”

He pushes the last word through his shame. Terrible, horrifying images crowd his imagination, too vivid to be dismissed as childish concerns: of himself with eyes burning with the flames of thirst and long fangs dripping saliva and blood, tearing and mauling Hector to shreds in search of his life, eager to steal it for himself because that is what humans exist for, to nourish beasts like him, he gave himself to him in trust and he will destroy that trust—

“Adrian,” Hector snorts, without hesitation in using his name, “I’m surrounded by ferocious monsters who would love to make a meal out of me. Why would you bother me?”

The unmentionable answer lingers between them.

He is in his teeth, sharp enough to pierce human flesh. He is in his nails, that require thick leather to be hidden to the world. He is in his blurry reflection, in the way he furrows his brows or curls his lip. He flows in his veins, from his mind to his heart, dragging him away from his mother’s sun.

No matter where he goes, or what he does, or what he thinks, Adrian’s father is embedded in his self. And his father’s favorite General has been trapped under his wing for far too long, and Adrian does not have the heart to burden him further.

“Then, it seems that you have a queer fascination with creatures of the night.”

Hector cocks an eyebrow at Adrian’s feeble attempt at a joke.

“Don’t compare yourself with the likes of the demons that roam the castle.” The hand that rests on his shoulder is light, yet firm. “You are a beautiful man, of elegant looks and disposition: I have no reason to be repulsed by you.”

Adrian has been called beautiful more times that he had cared to count, empty platitudes from empty people who stretch jagged smiles on their faces to win the Lord’s favor. He cannot take pride in a stroke of luck that he did not earn by himself, so he swats them away. Yet, from Hector, the word acquires a different meaning, and a sweeter taste. He doesn’t know yet the words with which to express the heat suffusing in his chest, so it comes forward in the form of a kiss on Hector’s warm cheek.

When Hector kisses him again, it’s soft lips against lips and smile against smile.

[m-for-musings]

Honey Webbing

Part III — Read on AO3

Minthara found herself back in the Underdark, the familiar darkness pressing in around her. The soothing scent of fungus and damp earth filled her nostrils, but deep beneath lingered the scent of blood and rotten meat that triggered a visceral sense of unease. As she moved forward, the shadows seemed to shift and coil, as if the very air was alive and watching her every step. Minthara quickened her pace, heart pounding, desperate to reach the faint glimmer of light in the distance.

But just as she neared the exit, a pale figure materialized before her - Orin the Red, her bloodied frame blocking her path. Minthara froze, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes met. Her gaze was feral, brimming with malice, and she felt as if she could see directly into her soul.

"Going somewhere, my dear?" Orin rumbled, her voice like the low growl of a predator. She took a menacing step forward, and Minthara instinctively retreated, her back hitting the rough cave wall.

"You can't escape me, Minthara," Orin taunted, her lips twisting into a cruel smile. "I know all your secrets, all your weaknesses. You can't hide from me."

The air crackled with raw power as Orin's body began to quiver and convulse, her features twisting and rippling in a grotesque display. Minthara watched in horror as Orin's flesh seemed to melt and reform, the drow's stomach churning at the sight. Orin's body swelled to monstrous proportions, her limbs elongating and sprouting wicked claws. A deep, earth-shaking roar burst from her lips, the sound reverberating through Minthara's very bones.

Minthara's heart thundered in her ears as Orin's eyes bled into an inhuman, glowing crimson. The pupils narrowed to malevolent slits, radiant with a savage, primal hunger. Orin's mouth stretched and contorted, her lips peeling back to reveal a maw filled with jagged, serrated fangs. Thick black veins pulsed beneath the surface of her charcoal-scaled flesh, and a long, barbed tail lashed behind her, radiating an aura of pure, unbridled danger.

The wall gave in like sand in the wind, and Minthara scrambled backward, her breath catching in her throat as she stared up at the towering monstrosity that had once been Orin. The Bhaal's Slayer loomed over her, its gaze boring into her very soul, and a rumbling growl built deep in its chest - a sound that sent a tremor of pure, paralytic terror coursing through Minthara's body.

In a desperate bid for survival, Minthara's hand flew to the hilt of her sword, but Orin's massive paw shot out with blinding speed, seizing Minthara's wrist in an iron grip. Minthara cried out as the bones ground together, her weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

"Tsk, tsk. Did you really think you could best me?" Orin leered, her hot, fetid breath washing over Minthara's face. "You're nothing but a pawn, Minthara. A tool to be used and discarded."

Panic rose in Minthara's throat as Orin's free hand shot out, her razor-sharp talons closing around the drow's delicate neck in a vice-like stranglehold. Minthara clawed desperately at the Slayer's arm, her vision darkening as she fought for each agonizing breath.

"No one can save you, oathbreaker" Orin growled, her malevolent gaze gleaming with triumph. "No one wants to save you. NOT EVEN THE GODS."

Minthara's world began to fade, the edges of her vision tunneling as the inexorable darkness of unconsciousness threatened to consume her. In her final moments, she heard Orin's haunting laughter echoing through the Underdark, a cruel and relentless refrain that would haunt her until the end.

And then, silence.

Minthara awoke with a strangled gasp, sweat soaking her skin. The nightmare had felt so painfully real, Orin's monstrous presence a tangible thing that had crawled into the deepest recesses of her mind. She shuddered, the phantom sensation of her hand around her throat still lingering. She hugged her knees to her chest, fingers trembling as she struggled to ground herself in the present - the soft, plush bedding beneath her, the warmth of the blankets draped over her, the faint scent of healing herbs in the air, the moonlight that entered through the window. She gingerly ran her fingers along her arms and torso, feeling the deft stitching of bandages and the smooth, tender skin where deep gashes marred her flesh. Minthara's brow furrowed in confusion and no small measure of suspicion. Someone had not only tended to her grievous wounds, but had also seen to her comfort, changing her clothes and making sure she was resting in a proper bed, rather than the cold, hard ground she had expected. The drow's eyes narrowed as she scanned the unfamiliar room, her mind racing with questions.

Minthara's brow furrowed as Halsin's image crossed her thoughts, a flicker of recognition sparking in her mind. Were these fleeting memories real, or feverish dreams? If real, why had he aided her? How did she come to be here, in the first place? Her head ached with those unanswerable questions.

Minthara bolted upright as the door at the corner of the room suddenly creaked open. She whirled towards the sound, heart pounding, every muscle tensed for a fight. But instead of the monstrous Slayer, it was Halsin who stepped through the doorway, a tray laden with various vials and salves in his hands.

"You're awake. Good," the druid said, his voice calm and measured as he approached her bedside. Minthara's wide, wild eyes darted between Halsin and the doorway, half-expecting Orin to come barreling through at any moment. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, the lingering terror of the nightmare still gripping her in its icy claws.

Minthara could still feel the sting of Orin's claws piercing her flesh, but she knew the Bhaal's Slayer was nothing but a pile of gore rotting beneath the streets of Baldur's Gate, a fitting end for her and her pathetic excuse of a cult. In fact, it shamed her that such visions still haunted her mind after so much time she had her well-deserved vengeance. Forcing herself to take a deep, shuddering breath, Minthara willed her racing heart to slow, steeling her nerves against the lingering tremors.

Halsin set the tray down on a nearby table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he were approaching a cornered animal. "How are you feeling?"

Squaring her shoulders, Minthara forced herself to meet Halsin's gaze, her expression hardening into a mask of steely resolve. She was Minthara Baenre, a veteran of countless battles, a survivor who had faced horrors beyond imagining. This nightmare, no matter how vivid, would not break her. She would recompose herself, gather her wits, and find a way to uncover how she had ended up here. 

"What...what happened?" she rasped, her voice quivering slightly, betraying her fragile state despite her efforts to hide it. "Where is...?" Minthara's voice trailed off as her gaze flicked to the tray of medicines, her instinct to fight-or-flight warring with the pragmatic need to regain her strength. She knew she was in no condition to escape, much less fight, not without Halsin's aid. As much as it pained her to acknowledge, she was still at his mercy.

Halsin's tone was light-hearted, but his eyes were worried and his muscles were tense. "You tell me," he said, carefully gauging her reaction. "The last time we saw each other, you were gathering an army to raid Menzoberranzan and kill your family."

Minthara's brow furrowed as she searched her memories, the pieces struggling to fall into place. She remembered only fragments of a battle, a mess of blood, steel and magic brazing the Underdark… But besides that, the details grew hazy and uncertain, as if a huge chunk of her memory was sliced away. The drow's gaze narrowed, a flicker of mistrust and suspicion igniting within her.

"I...I don't know," she admitted, cursing the vulnerability in her own voice. "The last thing I remember is..." Minthara paused, not entirely sure about what she in fact remembered. "I was in the Underdark…”

Minthara met Halsin's gaze, her own eyes hardening with a silent determination. She would not – could not – allow herself to be seen as weak, not by this man. But the uncertainty gnawing at her, the fear that she had somehow been manipulated or betrayed, was a constant, unsettling presence in the back of her mind.

"I intend to find out what happened to me," she said, her voice low and measured. "And I'll start by getting some answers from you, druid."

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help to you in this case." Halsin answered, shrugging. "As I said, it has been more than a year since I had news from you. When I found you washed up on the riverbank, you were barely clinging to life. I brought you here to tend to your wounds, but beyond that, I know little of what has transpired."

Minthara's eyes carefully studied the druid, searching for any hint of deception in his expression. Finding none, her expression softens ever so slightly. "A year..." she murmured, the gaps in her memory making the words feel foreign on her tongue. "Tell me, Halsin, why did you not leave me to my fate?"

The druid's brow furrowed, a flicker of sorrow passing across his features. "Perhaps once we were foes, Minthara, but I could not in good conscience abandon you to die. Despite our history, you are still a living, breathing soul, and I am sworn to protect the sanctity of all life."

Minthara scoffed, a hint of derision in her voice. "How convenient." Her gaze narrowed, a glimmer of both sarcasm and suspicion flickering in her eyes. This clearly didn't stop him from slaughtering his enemies when he saw fit in the past. "And what exactly do you expect in return for your...benevolence?”

Halsin raised a placating hand, his expression earnest. "I understand your skepticism, but I didn’t save you to get advantage over you, Minthara, if that’s what you’re implying. Once you're fully recovered, you're free to go.”

The drow's gaze narrowed as she considered his words, searching again for any sign of deception or half-truths. After a long, tense moment, she gave a curt nod. "Very well. Then I suppose I must accept your assistance, for now."

“I'm glad to hear it.” - Halsin's lips quirked in a small, wry smile. “Let me change your bandages.”

Minthara watched warily as Halsin approached with the tray of medicines and salves, her body tensing reflexively despite her weakened state. As the druid began to carefully unwrap the bandages around her arms and torso, she hissed involuntarily at the sting of the wounds. Halsin's movements were steady and practiced, his brow furrowed in concentration as he inspected the progress of her healing. Minthara found herself oddly transfixed, observing the nimble grace of his hands as he worked. 

When he was satisfied with his examination, Halsin selected a glass vial filled with a viscous, amber-colored liquid. Uncorking it, he gently applied the salve to the angry, inflamed gashes, his touch surprisingly gentle. Minthara fought the urge to flinch away as the coolness of the ointment stings her searing flesh. Halsin then placed his palms over the wounds, murmuring a soft incantation. A warm, tingling sensation spread through her limbs as the druid's magic knitted her skin back together, the pain and stiffness melting away. Minthara stared at him, her expression equal parts bewilderment and reluctant gratitude. Despite her mistrust, she couldn't deny the effectiveness of his ministrations. For now, despite being told otherwise, she was in his debt – a realization that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

“Now, you just need to rest. You should be fully recovered soon enough.” Halsin's words hung in the air as he turned away, gathering the tray and soiled bandages. Minthara watched him in silence, an unreadable expression on her face. As the druid left, she lay back against the plush pillows, her gaze drifting to the window and the vast expanse of night sky beyond.

Despite her determination to remain alert, to resist the pull of sleep and the vulnerability it would bring, Minthara could feel her body betraying her. The exhaustion, both physical and mental, bore down on her like a tangible weight. Try as she might to fight it, her eyelids grew heavy, the world around her fading into darkness. Gone were the typical elven meditations, the keen vigilance that kept her senses attuned even in slumber. In their place, Minthara succumbed to a deep sleep.

< Part II || Part IV >

[hecula-propaganda]

I wanted to post this on AO3, but right now I think it sucks. Anyway, have a Dungeon Meshi-inspired nightmare.

~

The wolf’s fur smothered all senses.

Hector was blind and deaf, because his eyes were clouded by thick darkness, like a night without stars, and his own heart hammered in his ears; his limbs were pinned under the wolf’s paws, solid and strong and hefty and with long claws piercing his flesh; and he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe anything that wasn’t the stench of blood coming from the beast.

You’re safe, pet. You’re with me. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I will keep you warm, I will protect you from the world.

And Hector could do nothing but hang from the wolf’s reassuring words, to not fall down the pit of the unknown; there was nothing else he could do, not even stop the shivers that shook his bare body, exposed to the ghastly chill of the dead coming from the wolf.

Why do you fear me, Hector?

He couldn’t give an answer. There was no answer for such a question, not one that could be uttered. The wolf dragged its tongue on Hector’s throat, jaw, cheek, slimy and lukewarm due to his own blood: Hector groaned, and when he turned his head, he met the eyes of the animal, blazing like the flames that eat at people’s lives. Like a house on fire, he would be consumed.

I have molded this body, shaped it to my design. Don’t I have the right to savor it?

The wolf lifted a paw, allowing Hector to stroke its chest: the ribs protruded from it like jags. How long hadn’t it been feeding? How long would it take until it starved to death? The beast would have succumbed to death’s embrace without protesting, were it not for Hector, its anchor in the storm.

It wanted Hector – no, it needed him. He couldn’t let it suffer, not it, his only safe haven from the world that wanted to tear him to shreds. It was only fair that he gave himself in return.

His tongue and thighs had already been eaten as an appetizer, so Hector swallowed blood and bile and nodded without a word.

Good boy. You’re the only thing left that makes me proud.

The wolf probed Hector’s mouth with its long tongue, and he didn’t know if the taste of rot that invaded him came from it or from those words, as sweet as fruit left out in the sun.

The animal licked the stump, not paying mind to Hector writhing in disgust at the sickly intimate contact. He couldn’t reciprocate even if he wanted to, he wasn’t allowed; all that was in his power was to open wide his jaw as much as he could, to let the wolf in, he’d better not touch it with his teeth, only wolves could bite…

Air. Sweet, stale air. Hector inhaled all the air that his body could take in, all too aware that the relief would be short-lived and the feast would soon begin.

How did he arrive there? Thoughts and memories were blurred by a thick fog. He only knew that the wolf would have died without him, and there was no higher honor and devotion than to give yourself to such noble creature. It was what he was born for.

The wolf rubbed its humid nose against his cheek, and for one second, Hector closed his eyes and welcomed the sincere affection from the creature, like only it could give him.

And then sharp fangs tore the flesh of his stomach.

Hector screamed. He screamed until his chest heaved, but from his body only a feeble wheeze came out, and it only agitated him more, no, he wanted to scream, how could he not even do that?

The muscles stiffened in anticipation of an agony that did not come, in truth, Hector did not feel a thing, except for the long snout of the wolf digging inside his viscera, unraveling his intestines and ripping them rapaciously, ripping his stomach apart and turning his liver into mush; the mess spilled out of him, as the beast made its way deeper and deeper inside him.

The cold seeped through him, seizing him in an inescapable grasp, but he could hardly shake from it.

Sapped of all of his strength, Hector no longer even had the energy to thrash around to get away from the revolting sensation of the wound being stretched open, the flesh giving out to that foreign body entering him.

Foreign? The power that flows in your veins… that’s me. Don’t you feel it singing for me?

Oh yes he did, his own blood singing, crying out, calling its source by name – he couldn’t stand it, but couldn’t deny it either, the bond wrapped around both of them, the life flowing from one body to the other.

We are inextricable, dear.

Hector was part of the beast, akin to a limb, and to the beast he was destined to return. Nothing of him, his body, his mind, his power, his soul, truly belonged to him.

Was for that reason that his demon friends had guided him to the castle? Was that what they meant, when they had reassured him that that was the only place where he could exist?

Hector observed without seeing the wolf chewing and swallowing pieces of him down his swollen gullet, with what appeared to be a smile on his muzzle caked with blood.

Only he could satiate and satisfy it. Only it truly loved him.

He should have been happy, he thought, looking at the hole in his stomach.

Aren’t you glad to join me again, flesh of my flesh?

Did it matter if he was? The wolf would have feasted anyway. It was for its sake.

The wolf kept making its way through him, its breath at last hot enough to keep Hector warm. His ribs snapped like twigs under the strong jaws of the animal, crack, crack, crack, nothing in him could oppose resistance. Until Hector felt its tongue caress his heart, like a gentle promise.

No, not that! Please, I beg you!

You offered this to me a long time ago, with all the love you could keep inside it. Don’t you remember? It will be safe with me.

No… leave something to me… don’t take everything for yourself… What will be left of me?

Hector’s heart was kept safe behind the wolf’s teeth, reduced to thin shreds. This time, he didn’t even attempt to scream. It was all pointless. He would not live for longer, and it didn’t matter anymore.

That used to be mine…

You’re delicious. My Hector. My precious Hector, my best creation. I can’t be without you, and you can’t be without me. I gave you life, and you’ll return it to me.

Despite the stillness of his torn chest, the wolf’s words no longer reached him. They were supposed to fill the void inside him with life and joy, it promised him; but the white-hot heat that seared him did not come from the animal, no, something else, something scary was wriggling where his guts used to be.

Teeth clamped down on Hector’s throat, to lacerate it and finally end his suffering. Without air, without blood, without anything that made him human, Hector lay limp and weak like the empty shell that he was; and oh, if only hadn’t he given himself to his wolf, if only he kept his heart for himself instead of looking for a person worthy of it! If only had he been born a wolf, and bit the beast that devoured him…

Hector opened his eyes with a gasp, and he was alive.

In the mist of sleep, the reality became clearer at every blink: he was in his bed, he was home, he was whole, and Rosaly was sleeping peacefully to his side, an arm stretched across his chest where his heart was pounding.

It was just a nightmare; at every breath, the details became muddier, confused, not important. He let them slide off his fingers.

Hector passed a hand on his throat, and not even the small bumps under his fingertips could upset him, because despite everything, he was alive, and he got his heart back.

Not resisting the impulse of leaving a kiss on the forehead of his beloved, Hector fell back into a dreamless sleep.

[shimmerbeasts]

her memory of zaun feels like a blur, compared to what it looks like now there's not really a stark difference ... if not for the lingering sense of growing aggression she finds spilling in the hearts of people all around her. the four men manage to lift her up easily only on the basis that she was too focused on trying to figure out her way back home - streets suddenly gotten crowded from night to day. she could swear yesterday it wasn't like this. wide eyed gaze meets the girl and child across the alley just as soon as the body standing in between them falls on the ground, blood spilling on her already stained shirt. when did her clothes even get so dirty? right - the riot on the bridge of progress. what happened next is blank. "uh?" she counters, almost surprised at the girl's attitude. "yeah i'm trying to, those fuckers said there's justfactories and addicts in my neighbourhood now." it doesn't make any sense. where did the houses go in the span of a night? "whatever, fuck it." fustrated huff leaves her lips as felicia makes her way out of the alley, the crowbar left on the ground by one of the goons picked up for safety just in case. "i'm gonna get to the bottom of this madness as soon as i find my friends," finally arm extends, hand offered to the blue haired girl along with a smile for the child. "thank you very much for the help."

Jinx raised a brow and blurted out: "Yeah, no doih! Someone dropped a tunnel on you, lady? Obviously, the streets are full of addicts and factories. Has been like this for the last eight years or so. You are sure, you are from this part of town?"

At least the woman had armed herself now. A crowbar probably would be enough against most opponents. As long as she did not run into a Shimmer beast or a Chem-Tank, she should be fine. Still, Jinx could not help but shake her confusion and annoyance. Most Zaunites by now knew what was going on and acted accordingly. This woman either had amnesia or was flat-out stupid, and somehow, Jinx felt like neither of those options was right. Something about the purple-haired lady whispered clever into her ear.

Jinx rolled her shoulders and begrudgingly took the woman's hand in a shake, her metal finger sharp and cold against her palm. "You're welcome", she said, "Just be more careful next time. Those streets are dangerous. More dangerous than usual." She turned to usher Isha to get moving. "Come on, Isha. Let's go back home before Sevika cracks her big head open in worry for us." She called over her shoulder: "I hope you find your friends."

Unfortunately for her, Isha had other plans. The girl shoved her hands against Jinx's torso in an attempt to keep her from leaving the scene. "What?", the Loose Canon asked and when Isha gestured at the purple-haired woman, she responded: "We already saved her life. What more could we possibly owe her?"

Isha stepped back and mimed strapping a mask on her face, raising an imaginary rifle and firing at the woman. She then grabbed her throat, made a weird choking noise and spasmed. Jinx gave an exasperated groan and shook her head. She said: "That ain't gonna happen. It has been months since they last patrolled the streets."

Isha did not seem convinced. She hammered a hand against Jinx's pistol. "Yeah, I know I am armed. But so is she. She got a crowbar now." Isha pulled harshly at the Loose Canon's utility belt, making the remaining Chompers clink and jangle. Their purple lights shimmered and their jagged iron fangs were smeared with paint.

"Alright, furball. I'll help again. You happy?"

A stormy, joyous hug followed by a hoarse purr, quieter than her sounds confirmed her suspicions. Jinx looked back at the purple-haired Zaunite and tapped her hands on Isha's shoulders. She said: "Be happy she is that stubborn. I'll help you find your friends. Just to make sure whatever is left of the gangs doesn't try to mistake you for easy dinner."

@forh3r cont. from here.

[sbnkalny]

Fear that on the day you stood against the Valuan empire

[aliensunflower-fics]

Marinette The Perfect Daughter In Law: A Prompt

[ I've seen a few ‘everyone loves Marinette AU’s’ and a couple Marvel DC ‘all the mentors want THEIR kid to end up with Marinette AU’s’ and well frankly! I felt inspired! So I present to you my new prompt / AU thing! In which all the most powerful / rich / popular people in Paris decide to play matchmaker… ]

It starts when Adrien and Kagami have a less than AMICABLE break up according to their parents and the media anyway in reality it was a really REALLY dull break up. The pair have been ‘dating’ (using each other as an excuse to go out and experience normal teenage stuff) since they were 15. Now at 17 soon to be 18 the pair decided to publicly break up in order to pursue other people and interests. The problem is they never told their parents the truth so both Gabriel and Kagami’s mother Tomeo feel protective and concerned about what must surely be an upsetting first heartbreak for their child. And okay maybe both parents take that out on each other and both get a bit defensive and protective. And MAYBE it ends with Tomeo vowing to get revenge for her daughter. Enter, Marinette. Up and coming fashion designer for the rich and famous! She’s single, talented, and as far as Tomeo knows Gabriel is interested in the girl for her talent. So what better revenge could exist but having Marinette take an interest in Kagami!

Kagami has no idea why her mother suddenly has an interest in Marinette but she wont complain about having more time with her very cute designer friend. And all the outfits Tomeo is paying Marinette to make for Kagami is giving the young fencer plenty of up-close and personal moments with Marinette. And okay Marinette is VERY cute and Kagami wont question why she suddenly has all this tine with Marinette, eating ice cream with the girl and having brunch. But she knows shes absolutely head over heels when Marinette shows up at her fencing tournament gives her a luck charm and cheers her on wearing HER colors. Obviously Kagami wiped the floor with all the competition she cant be seen hesitating in front of Marinette!

On Tomeo’s side of things she makes sure that the paparazzi still lurking around after Kagami and Adrien’s breakup catch photos of what could easily be interpreted as dates between the girls. After all this is a revenge ploy but also Marinette is fantastic so Tomeo is 300% down with Kagami ‘bringing her into the family’ something she tells Kagami after the first paparazzi ‘date photos’ leak into the news. Kagami still has no idea this was an orchestrated affair and just thinks her mothers caught on to her feelings and is overjoyed that Marinette is approved of because after the cheek kiss Marinette gave her for winning the fencing tournament Kagami was preparing to fight her mother for the right to pursue the young designer seriously. After all she never hesitates! 

But Tomeo never realized Gabriel isnt the only one interested in Marinette. Audrey Bourgeouis has been keeping an eye on Marinette trying to find a way to get Marinette on to her side and away from Gabriel. So when she sees the photos of Kagami and Marinette she sees an opportunity. After all if Marinette isnt exclusively into men (and those photos of her flushed cheeks as Kagami cleans ice cream off her bottom lip are a clear indication shes not) then Audrey smells opportunity. After all Marinette was Chloe’s first crush! How cute would that be! The next day Marinette is being offered yet another opportunity to intern under Audrey this time with much looser restrictions. When Marinette accepts she suddenly finds herself working with Chloe… A LOT. The pair are modeling together, often paired together for shoots in perfect complementary clothes that screams ‘opposites attract’. Chloe is also helping manage Marinette’s brand and the two start to get along very well. The model photos and their business lunches are soon plastered alongside the Kagami and Marinette outings with parisian gossip blogs finding their interest picked by this potential love triangle.

Chloe for one, was confused at first. Sure she knew her mom was interested in Marinette but she never thought SHE would be working so closely with her first crush. And Chloe tries to ignore it, after all those are dead feelings! And Marinette woud never forgive her anyway so why even- Wait. Is that Marinette in a downright gorgeous golden dress? A-and she will be posing right next to Chloe for their shared shoot? Well… Chloe always thought herself deserving of royalty and damn if Marinette aint the princess of her dreams. Sorry Adriken’s you had your chance to get the girl, but now its winner keeps all and Marinette is the only prize shes interested in. For the record Alya is freaked out by Chloe being nice, but shes more weirded out by Chloe being protective and handsy and downright shamelessly flirty with Marinette. Audrey is pleased when she hears the news and is quick to give her daughter encouragement acting as if none of this was premeditated at ALL.

Oh but they have no idea that this is just the beginning. Because guess who's moved back into town. Adrien’s favorite cousin and aunty. And Felix’s mom is quite the busybody and dammit Felix needs friends! And maybe a cute girlfriend! And oh whos that pretty girl on the magazine cover? Marinette? The one her celebrity connections have nothing but praise for? Perfect! Shes invited to lunch with Felix and herself on friday to discuss movie costumes! And oh Audrey dear dont you think Marinette would look fabulous sandwiched between TWO blondes! Felix hasnt modeled in a while but come now. So suddenly Marinette is being spotted with Felix guiding him about paris and modeling with him AND Chloe under AUDREY’s brand NOT Gabriels.

Felix thought hed really hate Marinette; he tried to ignore her he really did. But shes funny, witty and sweet. Not to mention trustworthy, so a good candidate for a business partner. And thats it, but then he has to admit hes impressed when he rolls up to a photoshoot and Chloe! The definition of brat personified is acting… Bearable. Yes, somehow Marinette has done the impossible! She has tamed the beast known as Chloe. And yes fine he will admit shes drop dead gorgeous and how intelligent of her to learn all sides of the fashion industry and boost her rep with modelling! Soon hes spending more time with her, he tries to argue he needs a guide, that shes the most bearable person to be with! That she is just a friend- Oh god. No it cant be! He sounds like-! Like ADRIEN! And Chloe already told him about THAT mess! No! Absolutely not! He will not lead on Marinette like his idiot cousin! Marinette is a rare and beautiful woman! She could be his queen! And god he has to admit it much as he loathes too Marinette’s smile is enough to make him thank every non-existent god. He will win her heart, show her that she deserves better than his brain dead cousin! Felix is sure mother will approve of his decision to pursue the girl, now he just needs to do more shoots with Marinette...

And that's what finally gets Gabriel to snap. Because REALLY Felix!? Is there no loyalty to FAMILY. Not to mention he was totally drafting a potential contract for Marinette when Audrey snapped her up the witch! But its fine! Marinette has always been interested in Adrien! Surely she still is? Surely she's not been swayed by any of her new suitors! Right? Gabriel knows he can't mess with Audrey’s contract so he goes through Adrien, freeing up his sons schedule and telling him to spend time with Marinette to help her ‘adapt’ to the harsh world of fashion and modeling. He uses Adrien’s heroic nature to make it sound like hed be saving her from Chloe and Felix. And sure enough Adrien bites, using his friendship with Chloe to worm into fittings, meetings, and photo shoots. At first hes just there to make sure Chloe and Felix arent hurting sweet Marinette. But when he sees the blondes fighting for her attention, flirting with her, posing with her in some rather romantic settings. Suddenly hes less worried and more… Jealous? No! Not him! Hes concerned, confused, suspicious! Obviously he needs to spend more time with Mari- Wait! When did Kagami get here to take Marinette to lunch! And why are they all ignoring him!!!

Now Marinette is fully in the public's eye. Gossip blogs are being fed bits of info writing up each ‘candidates’ appeal as THE romantic partner to the Marinette Dupain-Cheng paris new darling, the girl with a heart of gold too oblivious to see the trail of hearts following her around! But there is still another contender yet to enter the game! Jaggeds been away on tour teaching Luka his up and coming protege all the tricks. And lets not lie Luka has his own fans now, enough to rival all the others. Jagged sees Luka as his own son, even calling him as much! Hell hes even adopted Luka and Juleka and when I say adopted I mean Jagged literally got shared custody of the kids when their real dad tried to start trouble once Luka started gaining fame. Luka and Juleka for one love their adopted father and his wonderful fiance Penny. But back to Jagged, being Jagged. 

The moment Jagged is back in Paris he's checking up on his favorite designer and hopefully future daughter in law! When… WHAT'S THIS?! All the other ritchies in Paris are playing his game! Trying to get Marinette married into THEIR families! Not rock and roll at all! He was here first! And so being Jagged he decides to make Luka’s stake in the race for Marinette’s heart clear! By spamming social media with photos of Marinette being cute with Luka, taking his measurements, going out with him, the pair babying Fang, the two passed out against each other after a long concert. And he has photos going back at least a year or two! Soon Luka’s fans pick up the hype starting a trending hashtag finding the pair cute! Jagged feels confident that hes won! When Audrey retaliates, and from there its a complete train wreck. Before long each pair has a hashtag filled with cute moments and arguing over whos dating the model / fashion designer! 

Meanwhile Adrien is drowning in denial as he goes through each hashtag seething about how many MORE photos everyone else has with Marinette, when HE is her very good friend and was here first! Felix, Chloe and Kagami on the other hand have declared open war after they tried to talk to each other about the hashtags reasonably only for it to devolve into “so you agree Marinette is best with me!” - “WHAT! No! Thats not what I said! Besides she clearly is best with me!” - “Ridiculous!” And so on. Poor Luka is having an entirely different reaction hiding in shame unsure how to face Marinette because he WAS going to ask her on a proper date now that she seems over Adrien, because even with everything she's the melody playing in his heart and he had a plan! But now his mom and sister are texting him and teasing him and apparently he has MORE competition! Who do these people think they are to deserve Marinette! No! Luka won't lose Jagged has been teaching him to be bold and confident! And Marinette is worth all of his efforts! Jagged REGRETS NOTHING even if Penny confiscated the tv remote!

Marinette meanwhile has no idea what's going on because the whole class made a dumb bet on when the designer would notice with one of the bet conditions being that no one could tip Marinette off and that they have to keep her away from Paparazzi so they dont spoil it either. And sense Alya is helping manage Marinette’s social media Marinette hasn't looked at it yet so she has NO idea what's happening. But her birthday is coming up next week and Chloe definitely didn't get dibs on planning a surprise party for her all so she could spoil the girl and RUB her GREAT relationship with Marinette into her competitions FACES! The competition however (and Adrien JustAfriend Agreste) have decided that they really aren't going down without a fight!

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[drarrily-we-row-along]

Day 106: Eyes

"Malfoy," a voice called as his hair was pushed out of his face and his chin was tilted slightly. "Malfoy," the voice repeated.

Draco was quite certain he must be hallucinating, there was no way that it was who it sounded like.

"Draco," that voice said again, "Wake up."

His eyes fluttered open and he groaned in pain as the light seared through his retinas and straight into his brain.

"Hey," Harry bloody Potter said.

He opened his mouth and spit out a bit of blood.

"Merlin," Potter said, "Do you think you can stand?"

"Yeah," he grunted. "Yes. I'm fine. Thank you for your assistance, Potter."

The other boy huffed a laugh, "Sure. Come on. Let me help you get to Madam Pomfrey."

He shook his head, "Don't let me keep you from your important life," Draco said as he stood up and reached out to steady himself on the wall.

"Draco," he said.

Looking through his swollen eye, he tried to glare at the other boy. "Harry." he parroted.

"You don't have to be so stubborn," he said with a laugh.

He took a step toward the infirmary and his knees buckled.

Potter caught him and put an arm around his waist. "Come on."

(Read more below the cut)

"What? No one else to save?" Draco asked through clenched teeth as he started to hobble off down the hallway using Potter as little as possible.

"Not at the moment, no," Potter quipped. "You want to tell me who did this to you?"

He let out a humorless chuckle, "It doesn't matter."

Potter hummed and caught Draco when he started to slip a bit. "I've got you," he murmured.

Draco tried not to let the words go to his head.

----------

After they'd reached the infirmary Potter tried again to get Draco to tell him what had happened but there was honestly no point.

Madam Pomfrey had shooed Potter out and then Draco had a few hours of peace and quiet while his wounds were healed. Fortunately he had a good book in his school bag, which Potter had carried up for him.

"Why don't you stay over night, love," Madam Pomfrey said and Draco looked up from his book. "You're not quite ready to go back yet and it's just about bed time anyway."

"Thank you," he replied, giving her a little smile before going back to his book.

Shortly thereafter, the door to the infirmary flew open and Draco's head snapped up. Normally an entry of that magnitude meant that something horrible had happened.

But it was just Potter, looking thunderous as he stormed over to Draco's bed.

"Madam Pomfrey's just gone to bed," he said as he closed his book and set it on his lap. "If you've come here to inflict more damage, perhaps you could wait until the morning for her sake."

That stopped the other man in his tracks. "I'm sorry. What?"

"Just, whatever it is that's made you look murderous, I'm sure it's warranted but I do think that Madam Pomfrey deserves a good rest, don't you?"

"I'm not," he shook his head, "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Oh."

Potter rubbed a hand over his face. "I found Smith."

"Ah," he replied.

"He said that you didn't even raise your wand to cast a shield charm to protect yourself," Potter said as though he was personally offended by this.

Draco shrugged.

"Why?" Potter asked. "Hermione thinks it's because the Ministry has told you what spells you can and can't cast, and if that's the case, I'll write a letter to Kingsley right now-"

"It's not because of the Ministry," he interrupted.

"Then why-" he started before pulling over a chair and plopping down next to Draco's bed, "Why do you keep letting this happen to you?"

"I don't see them," Draco replied, staring at his hands that were twisting together in his lap.

"Look me in the eye and tell me that you don't see them," Potter replied.

He shook his head, "Why does it matter?"

"Draco," he said, "You can tell me-"

"There's nothing to tell," he snapped.

"Look, I know that the war was hard on all of us-"

"You have no idea what the war was like for people like me," he interrupted, trying to keep his breathing under control and his voice low.

"No, I suppose you're right," Potter replied and Draco couldn't help but look over at him. "Would you like to tell me?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "There is nothing to tell! Just like there's no reason for me to tell you who keeps cursing me. And there is no reason for me to tell you that I don't stop them because I deserve it!"

They both sat in stunned silence; Draco breathing heavily, his heart hammering away in his chest and Potter just stared at him.

Potter broke first, "You-"

"Don't," Draco said, shaking his head. "Circe, Potter, don't say it. Don't tell me that I don't deserve it because we both know that isn't true."

"Draco," he breathed and it was like he was shoving a jagged, rusty knife straight through his chest.

"Don't," he repeated, begging this time.

"Draco, listen to me."

He shook his head and to his mounting horror a tear spilled from his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault," Potter said.

"Don't," he begged, wrapping his arms around his stomach as though it could stop the way his entire body felt like it was unraveling. "People died-"

"Yes," Potter agreed. "People died on both sides. From your actions, from death eaters actions, from the Order's actions, from my actions; people died. You never actually killed anyone, though. You don't have it in you."

"Potter, I am culpable for-"

"You never killed anyone." Potter repeated. "You didn't want to hurt people, you didn't want to kill people, you just wanted to protect your mum."

"Don't." He shook his head, "You don't understand."

"I actually killed someone," the other boy replied.

"The Dark Lord doesn't coun-"

"When I was eleven," Potter started and Draco was so shocked by those words that he didn't even interrupt. "You remember all of the commotion at the end of the year or first year?"

He nodded slowly.

"I killed Professor Quirrell," he said. "Long story short, because of the blood magic protecting me, he couldn't touch me and it killed him."

"But that's not-"

"Second year, Tom Riddle was sucking Ginny's life force so that he could come back, I killed him. I stabbed the horocrux with a basilisk fang and I didn't even think about it," he continued.

"But-"

"Last year, Pettigrew died because he owed me a life debt and he tried to kill me."

"But-"

"I not only was responsible for Voldemort's death the first time and the second time, I was responsible for killing seven pieces of his soul."

"But it's not the same!" he finally managed to get in.

"Why?"

"Because you were on the right side of things and I wasn't!"

The other boy shook his head, "Yeah but it's not like you wanted to be on that side."

"When I was young-"

"Oh sure," he agreed, "you were a complete arse. But we wouldn't have won if you had turned me in, if you hadn't given me your wand, if you'd killed Dumbledore. It's not who you are any more."

"Still," Draco whispered. "I fixed that closet."

He nodded, "And I can't count the number of things that I've done to cause deaths. Godric, Draco," he shook his head, "I don't sleep well as it is, but I'd never sleep if I held myself responsible for all of the horrible things that happened because of my actions."

"Potter-"

"Look, it doesn't have to happen in a day, but you can't keep doing this, Draco. You can't keep letting people hurt you to atone for your perceived sins."

He let his head fall back against the pillows. As much as he would love to live in the delusions that Potter was offering he couldn't imagine that world actually existed.

"Be my friend."

"Excuse me?" he asked, looking over at the other boy.

"Be my friend," Potter said. "Please."

"Why?"

He sighed, "Because..." he trailed off.

"I'm not a broken thing for you to fix."

"No," he agreed easily. "I'm the broken thing."

Draco stared at him, "You make no sense to me."

Potter grinned like he'd complimented him.

"Will it shut you up if I say yes?" he grumbled.

"For now," he replied with a nod.

"Fine."

"Alright," Potter said, sitting back and making himself comfortable in the chair.

"What are you doing?"

He gave him a little grin, "Being a friend. You're stuck with me like glue now."

"That's a boyfriend not a friend, you're confused."

Potter shrugged and said through a yawn, "Boyfriend, then. That title is fine with me."

"What-?" he started.

But Potter leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead as though it was the most natural thing in the world and every word that Draco knew evaporated. "Good night, Draco Malfoy. Sleep well."

He was so stunned that he said nothing in reply and by the time he'd gotten his thoughts in any semblance of order Potter was fast asleep; his head resting on his hand as he snored.

Draco shook his head and decided that he would just have to wait until the morning to straighten all of this out.

For now, he decided that it might be alright to spend the next few hours with the tiny, fragile ball of joy unfurling in his chest.

--------------

Day 105: Cuddle | Day 107: Charge

[bruhstories]

Personal Demon

Summary: Because of a mistake, you're assigned a devil instead of an angel. Pairing: Demon!Eren Jaeger x Fem!Reader Warnings & Conent: oh boy, here we go - language, mentions of suicide, mentions of self harm, mentions of rape, fingering, unprotexted sex, alcohol consumption, mentions of drug abuse, mentions of reader in an asylum, sliiiiight dumbification of reader, slight corruption of reader, Eren's a little shit Word Count: 3.9 k

A/N: So I wrote this in, like, 3-4 days because I felt like it's pretty bad but not bad enough not to post it. I hope you still enjoy it, though!

You always felt it — breathing in your nape, moving in the corner of your room at night, whispering things you shouldn't dare think about. Your own personal demon. Most of the time you did a good job at ignoring it. Most of the time you abused substances to make it go away, at least for a minute. With the puff of weed or a bottle of alcohol, it stayed away, only watching from afar and never involving itself with you. Most of the time.

Keys clung in your hands, door shutting behind as you walked into your apartment, fingers wrapped around your grocery bags. Yet another night of drinking the voice away.

"Not today, Satan." You hummed, popping open a bottle of gin, nose scrunching at the bitter taste.

"I keep telling you, the easiest way to get rid of me would be to kill yourself." It spoke, this time outside of your head.

"And I keep telling you to stay the fuck away from me." You growled back.

"We both know that's not possible."

Another sip and you put the bottle down, hands digging inside the bag for a snack.

"You're gonna need something stronger than that."

There it was, the bar of chocolate you so eagerly starved for. The TV suddenly turned on. It was craving entertainment.

"Anything unusual happened today?"

No, it was craving attention and you were not about to give it any. You put the groceries inside the fridge and grabbed the bottle, plopping on the couch.

"How long are you going to pretend I'm not here?"

"As long as I need." You snapped back, eyes glued to the TV.

"Well, that didn't last long." It laughed. "Come on, Y/N, we've been together for, what, 24 years?"

"Can you just shut up? Disappear? Crawl back to Hell?"

"Nope. Waaaaait, I know why you've got your panties in a twist. It's because that Jean guy you like hooked up with Mikasa, right?"

It was impossible to deal with. Every single second, it was there. Since you've been born, it was there, always watching, always following you, always. You tried to go to a priest, a monk, anything, but nothing helped. The angel that was supposed to guide you happened to be a demon and there was nothing you could do about it. But you were not going to give it the satisfaction of ending your pathetic life, no matter how much you wanted to, because despite being a demon, it still had to keep you alive until your time came. It, however, did like to push you over the edge, push you until you grabbed a knife and slit your wrists, only for the knife to get shoved by some invisible force before you could finish the job. It tormented you and it loved it.

"I told you, not today, Satan."

"Ugh, my name's-"

"I don't care." Your head snapped into the direction of the voice, only to be met with a wall. "Let's face it, we shouldn't have been in this situation, so why don't you shut your mouth up and let me get on with my life?"

"What life?" It laughed and you could already picture the sneer on its face, flashing you fangs and a forked tongue. "That's not even what I look like."

"Get out of my head!" You screamed before grabbing the bottle and emptying half of its contents.

"Careful, Y/N, the neighbours might call the police and you don't want to end up like last time, do you?"

Last time... you were but a child, throwing plates at the wall only to make it stop talking when your parents admitted you to an asylum. You had to live with it for half a year before they let you out.

"Please, please stay out of my head." Tears pooled at your eyes as you clutched the bottle at your chest.

"Now why would I stay out when it's just so much fun in you?"

"God, I hate you so much!"

"Me or beardy up there? I couldn't quite get it." It laughed again, laughing at your damn misery as you got up from the couch and left the apartment.

The alcohol already made its way to your brain when you reached the ground floor of the building. Rain poured outside but you didn't care, you just ran as far away from it as possible and for the first time in years, it didn't follow you. Grateful and content, you slowed down, admiring the beauty of the city which you ignored because of the voice inside of your head. The smell of rain, the colourful buildings, the empty streets, everything felt new and refreshing, and you took it all in. Time seemed to slow down without itconstantly nagging in the back of your mind and you realised you were pretty far away from your home, an area unknown to you. Still, you knew how to get back, you hoped, but when you turned around, a man pushed you into an alleyway.

"Satan?" You whispered, dizzy from the lingering gin and smell of rain. The man pinned you to a wall and finally you were beginning to realise what was happening.

"Call me whatever you want, baby, just keep that pretty voice down." His hand moved up your thigh and panic seeped through your veins. "We don't want to draw any attention, now, do we?" He kissed your neck and you froze on the spot, eyes widening in fear and body shivering.

"L-let go of me!" You managed, the alcohol numbing your arms, rendering you unable to push the stranger away.

"Shhh, don't fight it." The man squeezed your arms, his fingers bruising the soft skin. Anger, sadness and pain coiled together in your chest and you couldn't breathe anymore. Oh, how you wished you never left your flat, how you wished you stayed back and listened to itconstantly yapping, like a maggot crawling into your brain. "Aren't you a pretty one?" He cooed, his hand travelling lower, lower, to the point where tears started rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the snot and rain on your face.

And then it happened — in the blink of an eye, your assailant was thrown against the other wall by the too familiar invisible force as you sank to the ground, eyes puffy and red, legs trembling.

"The fuck? What are you?" The man hissed at you, his hands holding his abdomen.

"I'm the devil." It spoke, voice inhuman and perilous, and you could only sneer at him. For the first time you were happy it was there. Sick, twisted thoughts invaded your mind and you wanted to watch him suffer, and itknew. It knew, because the devil was always in your head.

"You crazy bitch!" The assailant, now helpless and overpowered, did not know about your own personal demon, and he tried to get up, tried to leap forward at you and strangle the last bit of air out of your lungs, but he couldn't. Somethingwas holding him back.

"You want him dead?" It asked, but you know the devil took more pleasure in inflicting pain rather than swiftly killing.

"No." You grinned, eyes dark and dangerous. "I want him to suffer."

"That's my girl."

Blood-curling screams echoed in the alleyway. You didn't know what it was doing to him, but you knew for a fact that you were enjoying the sounds that came out of your attacker. His wrists contorted in a way you didn't think was possible, and the melody of broken bones reminded you that what was happening was wrong. For a moment, your brain was rational, telling you that it should stop, that you should both just leave and forget this ever happened. But... it also felt good, it felt like you've just been reborn, discovering a deeply buried part of you that ached to be exposed. Then, his legs twisted and the man winced in pain, so much pain, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

"More?" It asked and you nodded.

"More."

His arms looped, like a deformed puppet loosely strung, and it made him dance in the rain until his body gave up from fatigue.

"Aw, I was really hoping he'd be a feisty one." It mused, and you also clicked your tongue in disappointment. Before you left, you gave your assailant a good kick in the stomach, your boot stomping on his face with so much anger and force that what remained was unrecognisable.

Wet clothes piled on the floor, you wrapped your naked body in a blanket to warm yourself up. What just happened? What did you do? Why did you allow it to happen and more importantly, why did you love every minute of it? The questions jogged in your fuzzy brain, as you slowly sobered up.

"Why did I enjoy it, Satan?" You asked, lips quivering.

"I told you, my name's not Satan, it's-"

"Eren, I know. I remember." You could feel it quirk a brow, surprised and impressed by its name rolling down your tongue so naturally. "Why did I enjoy it? It's wrong and disgusting."

"Do you remember what happens when you say my name?" It sounded almost concerned.

"You physically manifest, I know. Now answer my fuckingquestion."

"What do you want me to say?" Itasked, fragments of muscle, skin and silk pulling together from thin air. First, its legs. Then, its upper body, draped in a charcoal-black robe. "That you're as sadistic as I am? Maybe it wasn't a mistake that you have a demon, not an angel." And finally, its face materialised in front of you — long dark brown hair falling down his shoulders and eyes so green, it felt like a forest was in them. It looked almost human, the hooked nose, the elongated ears, the deeply sunken emeralds and jagged mouth betraying its true nature.

"I thought you'd have fangs." Was your only response at the scene unfolding in front of you, blanket clutched at your chest. Any normal person would shudder at the demonic sight of Eren appearing in front of them, but to you, it felt comforting to finally assign a face to the voice you so desperately tried to ignore.

"And I thought you wanted to get rid of me." It scoffed, its facial features changing, becoming softer and resembling a human man, but those eyes didn't change an ounce.

"I don't know what I want anymore. If it weren't for you, I would've been raped and dead, probably."

"Just embrace it, Y/N. Just let go of that annoying voice in your head that tells you it's wrong." He encouraged. "There's no such thing as good or bad, right or wrong. It's just surviving, adapting or dying."

Eren looked unbelievably human and incredibly handsome in the dim light of your living room lamp. Maybe it was the alcohol that hasn't left your body yet, or maybe it was the fact that he saved you, again, but the truth was that the devil in your house was making you feel something you couldn't even feel for Jean — and you thought you were in love with Jean.

"Alright, let's pretend for a moment that I give into temptation." Your eyes found his and you felt hypnotised, the rational part of your brain slowly overshadowed by your instincts and feelings. "What then? Do you leave me alone? Do you go back to hell? Do Igo to hell?"

"Oh, I wouldn't call it hell. More like a demonic paradise." He shrugged, eyes bored and blank, devout of any emotion. You leaned forward trying to search for something in his darkened orbs.

"Why are you being nice to me? You're supposed to save me from death, not rape."

He clicked his tongue, your question drilling into his brain, repeating itself over and over again. Why did he save you? It's not like he cared, he only did his job, right? Right?

Wrong.

The demon you grew up with, the demon who tormented you, the demon who tried so desperately to ruin your life did, in fact, give two shits about you and your pathetic existence. Just not in the way you thought.

"Let's just say no one gets to touch you but me." Eren closed the gap between you two, his nose almost grazing over yours. He was absolutely intoxicating and you always fought with the constant need to let him control you. After all, he was always with you, he saw you hit your lowest points, he saw the best of you, he saw your naked body, he saw everything, ergo you were his. Your head quickly turned to the side before you leaned back, exhaustion written all over your face as Eren clicked his tongue. The thing about demons was that they couldn't physically interfere without their human's consent, only using invisible force to stop you from dying and he was just so close.

"Ah, but you can't touch me, though." You trailed off, brow quirked at his narrowed eyes. You've done your homework, you knew what he needed, but still, that side of you tried to prevail over the side that craved his touch.

"Yet." Eren snapped back before your drifted to sleep.

Once again you dreamt of it him, his cock buried deep inside your needy cunt as you screamed his name over and over again while you came undone. When you jolted up from your sleep, he was there, watching you, like a predator stalking its prey. Normally he wouldn't be there, but since you called his name, Eren was glaring down at your helpless body, famished for something only you could give him.

"What's the time?" You groaned, fingers rubbing your eyelids.

"Three in the morning." He answered, eyes glued to you. "Bad dream?" The demon sneered. You knew he'd been in your head again, you knew those dreams existed for a reason.

"They wouldn't be bad if you'd just stay the fuck out of my mind." You hummed with a fake smile.

"Alright then, look me in the eye and tell me, reallytell me you want me to leave you alone." But you couldn't and he knew it. "Stop fighting it, Y/N. For two decades you kept trying. Maybe you should stop being stubborn and just give in." Eren shrugged, his voice tempting and you only wondered if that's how Eve felt when the snake tempted her. You weren't a Christian by any means, but you knew the story well enough to figure out the consequences.

"I have work tomorrow. Please let me sleep." You got up from the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

And that's when Eren reached his limits. He followed you into your bedroom, something knocking the wind out of you as you fell on the mattress. Somethingpulling the blanket off of you. Somethingtravelling down your arms, goosebumps dotting your skin as he stood in the doorway.

"I can't touch you, but I can do so many things to you." He inched closer, his figure imposing and dangerous and you could feel your core burning. "I can smell your arousal, Y/N. I know you want it. You just have to say it." Eren demanded and you hated that he was right. Slowly but surely, the battle in your heart and mind was coming to an end the more he got closer to the bed. "Say it."

You whined and writhed in pain and pleasure, and in the blink of an eye your life flashed before your eyes as you came to the conclusion that you've tried so hard to stay away from the demon, but either he was too persistent, or you were too weak. Or you just simply wanted him to ravage you and you were okay with that. Your hands stopped moving, your body stopped fighting.

"Do it..." You half-begged, judgement clouded, vision blurry. "Please, do it! Touch me, break me, fuck me, please! I need you, need to feel you..."

Like some sort of spell had just been lifted, Eren felt relieved. The sight of your sprawled body, combined with the lustful look in your lidded eyes only fed his hunger and he was famished. Calloused fingertips grazed over your knees, up your thighs, sending chills down your spine as you arched your back, pulling the demon closer to your face.

"Kiss me?" You asked, voice sweet and needy and he crushed his lips onto yours. They were surprisingly soft, tasting of whiskey and honey and the flavour lingered on your lips after he pulled away. Your body quivered under his touch, yearning for more, hands tugging at his silken robe to expose the chiselled chest. Eren pressed his forehead onto yours, hot breath tickling your cheeks.

"I'm going to ruin you, Y/N." He dug his teeth into your shoulder, the imprint burning into your skin, all the pent-up frustration slowly being released with each movement. He dragged one hand over your breasts before settling on one nipple, fingers pinching it to earn a reaction out of you. A whimper escaped from your lips as you pushed your chest upwards, wanting him closer than the laws of physics would allow. Your slender hands tangled in his locks as Eren left a trail of purple marks and bites all over your neck and shoulder.

"Fill me up, please..."

"Patience." He mused. "I've waited so many years for this, you can wait a few more minutes." Head buried between your tits, his hand travelled lower until it found your wet cunt. Fingers grazed over your folds before he drove his index into your soaked pussy and that's when you knew just how much you craved him. Your silken walls clenched around his curled-up finger and your neediness made him add another one, moans drilling through his eardrums, into his brain. "Fuck, you're so wet..." Eren hummed, vibrations tickling your skin. You couldn't form a coherent sentence even if your life counted on it. All you could think about was that if his fingers stretched you, his cock would tear your cunt apart — and you reallywanted to feel that. Fingernails dug into his back and he hissed, his tongue flicking your nipple and all the build-up was too much for you.

"Eren, please..." You mewled, your chest rising and falling with each breath, with each touch, each lick.

"You want me to fuck you? Want me to tear you apart?" The demon growled. His sudden change in tone only further added fuel to the fire inside your core and you eagerly nodded.

"Yes, God — yes! But Eren, I want to see you, not this pretty face you put on." You pleaded, eyes teary and demanding.

"No." He simply answered and that instantly made you jolt up, forcefully pushing him off of you.

"Are you trying to screw with my mind again? You've literally been with me for 24 years!" You shouted, and even Eren was slightly confused. "You tormented me for two decades, put me in an asylum, constantly stopped me from killing myself and now I can't even see the real you?" You threw your hands at him and he caught your wrists with ease. "You owe me at least that, Satan." Tears freely rolled down your face and you could feel his hot tongue lick the salty drops from your cheek. Your pain was his pleasure, he was a demon after all, the embodiment of all evil, but he decided you were corruptedenough to at least see his true colours, which you only managed to glance at.

"You're right, Y/N," Eren kissed your forehead and you couldn't even notice the manipulative hints in his voice, "you deserve at least this." He pulled back, and slowly his face distorted, allowing you to look at his disfigured mouth, elongated ears and abnormally long tongue.

"Thank you, thank you!" You beamed with bright eyes.

The woman who battled her demon? Gone.

In her place stood only a shell of a person, whose sole purpose was to get fucked by the demon in front of her. You feverishly parted his lips with your tongue, touch-starved and desperate, and Eren threw you onto the bed, robe pooled on the floor. And you were right, his cock wouldtear you apart by the looks of it. Before he could do anything, you spread your legs for him, like a good little slut, mouth agape and nothing but lust in your eyes. The sneer on his face was unlike anything you've seen before, and it both terrified and aroused you.

"Eager to please, aren't you?" He climbed onto the bed, the velvety tip of his cock barely touching your wet slit.

"I'm begging you, Eren, please fuck me!"

The demon scoffed at your pathetic words, but he couldn't deny how much he loved to hear your needy voice. You wouldn't have to know that, of course. He ever so slowly pushed the tip in between your folds, your cunt greedily taking it all in while you whimpered at the foreign sensation.

"Shhh," Eren cooed at you mockingly, "you love it, don't you?"

"Y-yes, please, d-deeper..."

Was it really you speaking or was this another one of his demonic tricks? And more importantly, did it even matter that he made you say those things when his cock felt just so good inside of you? Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you as Eren thrusts became harder. Your tits bounced with every move, pleasure engulfing both of you and you never knew demons fucked so raw.

"Fuck, you're so tight." He hissed into your ear, the compliment only making you clench your walls around his impossibly hard cock. "Such a good girl." Eren praised you, knowing perfectly well how much you lacked appreciation from your parents, knowing perfectly well how your childhood traumas and frustration only aided him. He was your demon, after all. When your only response was to roll your eyes at the back of your head like a possessed woman, Eren picked up the pace, his abnormal tongue licking at your collarbone.

"D-do you l-like it?" You asked, concerned that he might not be satisfied with you. He wouldn't be fucking you so hard if he didn't, but you were so brainwashed that nothing made sense anymore.

"I do, doll, now be a good whore and rub that clit, will you?" The demon urged and with a shaky hand you complied, the friction mixed with his thrusts sending you into a frenzy. You were close and he knew it.

"Oh, f-fuck! Eren!"

His cock hit that sweet spot and you were done for, your legs loosened around his waist, falling onto the bed, but he kept on fucking you.

"My turn." Eren growled, his hands lifting your hips like you were some sort of ragdoll between his fingers. Your vision blurred, every word you tried to utter lost in your throat the more he buried himself into you, yet somehow you still managed to clench your walls. With one final thrust you felt him spill his hot seed, cum dripping out of your sore cunt as he pulled out.

Eren plopped next to you and you curled up in a ball, head on his chest. You were craving his attention, his care, but he responded by bringing his hands behind his head, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. He wanted to hold you tightly, he wanted to pet your head, but he couldn’t. And you were alright with that, because you knew that, no matter what, you would always have your own personal demon at your side.

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH37

It’s time. 

Previous    First     Next    AO3

Chapter 37: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing  (linking Nate’s version cause I couldn’t find one on YT linked to the original artist’s official account)

Alya scrolled down her Twitter feed, chin resting against her fist.

Up and Coming Fashion Designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng Meets with World Leaders to-

Alya scrolled past.

Audrey Bourgeois’s Protégé Designs Gown for Royal Family’s-

Swipe.

Clara Nightingale and Jagged Stone Announce New Single Featuring Marine-

Alya rubbed her eyes with a sigh. Marinette had a busy summer, and it was impossible to avoid her face or her name. School was starting tomorrow, and they were all moving up to lycée. Adrien moved to the same private school as Marinette, and everyone was talking about them. He and Nino made up, which Alya didn’t like, but she couldn’t rightfully ask her boyfriend to give up his best friend. Not like she gave up hers.

Marinette made a name for herself just like she always wanted. A different Alya would have been happy for her, and maybe deep down a part of her was—the part of her that still missed their friendship. She tried not to think about that part. It was too painful.

But that part was getting harder to ignore, especially when Marinette was everywhere she looked. Her friend group was dwindling as more and more of her classmates joined Marinette’s side. With Lila gone all summer and her social media flooded with Marinette, Alya spent most of her days exploring other hobbies. Reading, writing, watching TV, taking her sisters to the park. She’d been avoiding as much Marinette news as she could, but it was virtually impossible.

Prince Ali Discusses Go Green Initiative

That was Lila’s plan! At least she had a productive summer too. Maybe she’d be back in Paris soon, and they could hang out again. Alya clicked the article and turned the volume up.

“Prince Ali has had a busy summer with visits to America, Japan, as well as France where he attended Paris’s newest teen celebrity Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s debut fashion show!”

A pit formed in Alya’s stomach.

“The two connected behind-the-scenes and have become good friends. Marinette was even spotted spending time at the prince’s palace this summer with her boyfriend, Adrien Agreste, son of famous fashion designer Gabriel Agreste,” the reporter said. “Marinette has taken the world by storm, not only with her unique designs and bold message but her charitable heart too. She and Prince Ali have proposed a Go Green initiative that is spreading rapidly across Europe.”

“What?” Alya gasped. “But that’s-”

“Out of all my close friends, Marinette is the most selfless and hardworking person I know, and her campaign is going to change the world!” Prince Ali said on the screen.

“Her campaign?” Alya pressed her lips together.

I’m such good friends with Prince Ali. He invites me to his palace all the time!

She lies with every breath.

Alya’s stomach jumped up to her throat, hands shaking as she clicked on another interview.

“Aw, I always wanted a cat. They are so rock n roll!” Jagged gushed, nuzzling a kitten. “What do you think? Should I get Fang a furry sibling?”

“Definitely!”

I saved Jagged Stone’s kitten before he had to get rid of it because he found out he was allergic.

She’s a liar.

Ladybug consults me before giving out every Miraculous because we’re such good friends.

Your identities are your most important asset. No one must know who you really are.

“This just in, Ladybug and Chat Noir have finally defeated Hawkmoth with the help of their superhero friends Malin, Emerald Shell, Tigress, Souris Rose, Bunny, and Queen Bee. The team of superheroes faced off against Hawkmoth at the Eiffel Tower-”

Alya tossed her phone aside, burying her face in her pillow as tears slid down her cheeks. Her hands shook, lungs too heavy to draw a full breath, leaving her grasping for a foothold to fall back on. But there wasn’t one. A gaping hole had moved in where her heart should be, chewed away from months of lies and deceit.

Marinette wasn’t her enemy. She never had been. All along she’d tried to warn Alya about Lila, and even now she’d gone to such great lengths to throw them all a lifeline to save them from a ship they didn’t know was sinking.

It could have been Rena Rouge by Ladybug’s side. It could have been her helping Marinette, modeling in her show, visiting sick kids, changing the world—being a hero. Alya wasn’t sure she knew what that meant anymore, but if anyone deserved the title, it was Marinette.

She didn’t know when she moved. She didn’t even recall putting on her shoes, but she found herself stalking up the street to Lila’s apartment, tears burning hot on her cheeks.

More than anything, Alya wanted to be wrong. Wanted Lila’s apartment to be empty. Wanted Lila to be in Achu with Prince Ali like she said. But Lila’s grave expression when she opened the door was the final nail in her coffin.

“You lied,” Alya said, “about everything.”

“Alya-”

“Marinette was right about you, and I let you tear us apart.” Alya’s voice shook.

“Don’t mention that brat!” Lila snapped.

“She was my best friend, and you drove a wedge between us! You made me question everything I knew and loved for months. I’ve been going out of my way for you because I believed you were out there making a difference, and not once have you ever done anything except lie and use me!” Alya’s hands balled into angry fists. “You’re nothing but a coward, Lila. A liar and a coward!”

“Fine, I lied. You happy?” Lila shot back, crossing her arms over her chest. “But I’m not the one who turned my back on my best friend. How much did Marinette do for you for you to abandon her so quickly? I barely had to do anything, and you dropped her in a heartbeat.”

“You’re sick,” Alya said. “But you have nowhere left to run. Marinette claimed every lie you’ve ever told.”

“So what? I’ll just think of new lies. Marinette is kidding herself if she thinks this is over,” Lila said.

“I won’t let you.” Alya shook her head.

“What are you going to do? Post about me on your blog? Oh wait, you deleted it, remember?” Lila said. “If you get in my way, I’ll take away everything you love for good. No one will ever be your friend again.”

Alya stormed off, teeth grinding until they hurt. When she made it home, she slammed the door to her bedroom and dug her phone out from under the blankets. Her old tripod was still in her closet, and she set it up on her desk just like she used to. Lila had already taken everything from her. The least Alya could do was ensure that she never did it to anyone ever again.

Taking a few deep breaths, she pulled up her Instagram and went live. She sat in front of the camera as viewers piled in, composing her thoughts. Swallowing hard, she shifted in her chair.

“Hey, um, it’s me,” she said. “A lot of you have probably forgotten, but I used to run a blog called the Ladyblog where I would give all of the latest news on Ladybug and Chat Noir and superheroes. One day, without warning I shut it down, and I’ve never really explained why, but I think I’m finally ready to tell my story.”

She paused for a few beats, pursing her lips. “I had this friend—my best friend. She was scatterbrained and clumsy, and she could never quite confess her feelings to the boy she liked no matter how many times we tried. She was kind, always helping people whenever she could, but one day, someone new came along who had this fantastical life, and suddenly my best friend became this suspicious, skeptical person. She never wanted to be around when this person was there, which was so out of character for her. She was always nice to everyone, and she barely knew this other person. It didn’t make sense.

This person told such amazing stories, but my friend never believed any of them. Several times, she tried to prove that they were made up, but she never could, so we all turned our backs on her. We turned our backs on a person we knew and trusted and loved for someone who was, in actuality, a stranger. Well, this friend decided to leave our school because of the way we brushed her off. This person led us to believe that our friend was the one bullying her, and we couldn’t believe that our friend who was so kind would ever do such a thing. We shouldn’t have believed her…”

Alya shook her head. “My friend and I split up, and I became friends with this new person. I believed for a long time that she was so great and that she was out helping people. She told me things about her so-called extraordinary life and said she knew famous people, that she had done so many amazing things, and I believed her. Every time, I believed her, and I let her alter what I believed about my friends and about myself.

Since Hawkmoth is defeated now, and I’ll never get the opportunity again, I am, or rather I was Rena Rouge for a time. I was someone Ladybug trusted, but when I broke ties with my friend and started hanging out with this new person, Ladybug stopped trusting me, which didn’t make sense to me because this person was supposedly Ladybug’s best friend, so why would my friendship with her make me unworthy of being a hero? But I let her warp what I knew to be true. She convinced me that she had a falling out with Ladybug and that I was just a casualty. Because of her, I started to resent Ladybug, so I deleted my blog. Ladybug stopped trusting me because I was no longer trustworthy, and I see that now, um…” She paused to wipe her cheek.

“This person stripped everything that I was from me. She used me and isolated me from people I truly cared about, and I feel like I owe so many apologies. To all of you who followed my blog, to Ladybug for letting her down, to my boyfriend for brushing aside his suspicions, to the people who tried to warn me about her, and especially to Marinette Dupain-Cheng, my friend, for turning my back on you. I’m sorry…” She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “I’m really sorry. I know it probably doesn’t mean anything anymore, and I know that you have moved on in life, and I am so happy for you. But I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day, and I hope that no one ever has to be used by this person again. So, Lila Rossi, let this be a wake-up call to tell the truth because using someone the way you used me is so vile and disgusting, and I hope that you feel as horrible right now as I have felt for the past 6 months.”

Alya leaned her head back with a sigh, biting her lip.

“I’m sorry to everyone I’ve disappointed. If any of you out there ever find a Marinette in your life, hold onto them because they will always lift you up, and if you ever encounter a Lila—run.” She shook her head. “This is Alya Cesaire. Stay connected, bugheads.”

♪♫♪ Everybody’s Fool ♪♫♪

“There she is.”

“Ugh, can you believe her?”

“What a joke.”

Whispers echoed through the halls as Lila passed. Her first day at their new school, and everyone already knew her name, though not for the reasons she’d been hoping. This was all Marinette’s fault. That stupid goody-two-shoes stealing all of her ideas. Lila had spent the better portion of the summer thinking of ways to thwart Marinette, but when Alya posted that Instagram live, she was basically toast.

Maybe she could convince her mom to move again. They could start over in another country and leave those losers behind. But with how famous Marinette was across Europe, Lila doubted she could ever escape her. Ugh! Stupid annoying brat. If that ugly insect hadn’t defeated Hawkmoth, Lila would have been akumatized on the spot. Then she’d have shown them what she was capable of.

“Well, well, well, look what Jagged Stone’s new cat dragged in,” Alix called as Lila approached her locker down the row.

“How’s that tinnitus?” Kim asked.

“Is compulsive lying a side effect?” Nathaniel echoed.

“Lay off, dudes.” Nino chided. “Don’t stoop to her level. Just ignore her.”

“Oh, like she ignored Marinette and drove her from our old school?” Alix shot back. “Ignoring her would be too nice.”

“Yeah, Marinette never did any of that stuff Lila said! She’s totally the same Marinette we always knew,” Kim said.

Lila rolled her eyes, stuffing her books in her locker and slamming it shut. She didn’t have to talk to any of those idiots. They weren’t worth her time.

“She’s just lucky Marinette is so awesome. If I hadn’t spent the whole summer helping out with charities and being the bigger person, she’d have it way worse.” Alix grunted before their group stalked off.

Lila took a deep, shaky breath. Of all the mistakes she’d made in her life, Lila had to admit, challenging Marinette Dupain-Cheng was probably the worst. Left and right, she was met with glares from her classmates. Luckily, she was in a different class than most of them, though annoyingly, Chloe Bourgeois was in her class. As if Lila needed another reminder of Marinette.

Now that Chloe was officially a model for Marinette’s brand, everyone was enamored by her, and she was loving all of the attention. Lila could have barfed watching her take selfies with all of her adoring fans before class. Just because Chloe wasn’t tormenting everyone anymore didn’t mean she wasn’t still self-absorbed. It made Lila’s blood boil.

The icing on the cake was Alya. She’d gone crawling back to her old friends and boyfriend like Lila never existed. Neither she nor Nino looked twice at her all day. Lila wanted to scream.

Somehow leaving turned out to be the best decision Marinette ever made. Lila had been so busy making moves across the board that she didn’t notice her king was cornered until it was too late. The most infuriating part of it all was that Marinette did it without getting her hands dirty. If it were Lila, she would have scraped and clawed her way to victory, but Marinette took her out from above.

Ugh! Whatever. Lila didn’t need those idiots anyway. She’d always been better off alone.

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

[mcheang]

I was rereading your hunchback of Notre Dame story, and it got me thinking about the song God help the outcasts and how Lila is trying to make marinette into one I don't know how that can be spun/made into a story but if you can give it a shot then I applaud you👏🏼

God help my people

Post miracle queen

Marinette was mourning Master Fu and wasn’t feeling the usual fire about Lila lying.

It’s annoying how despite the fact that Marinette was back in school, some students still suspected her of being a bully. She understands. Damocles made all that fuss about expelling her and then later asked to keep the reasons for her return quiet so people would not ostracize Lila. Well, what about Marinette then? Doesn’t it matter if people ostracize her?

At least her class, Aurore, Mireille and Marc believed in her.

Lila was more careful about when she lied, knowing Bustier would stop her. At this point, Marinette is on a busting hiatus. No matter what she does, Lila always manages to lie her way out of suspicion. Tempting as it was to turn into Ladybug again and outing her in front of everybody, Marinette would rather not disgrace Ladybug’s image again.

She could always visit Alya as Ladybug but Lila would claim the heroine and her had a falling out.

She could call Jagged but she is a professional designer. Even if uncle Jagged gave her permission to sic Fang on her enemies.

Marinette had learned from Gamer 2.0 to do things at her own pace. Lila could wait. Her guardianship, on the other hand, could not.

It’s times like these that she could really count on Luka to settle her down. They would go on bike rides and enjoy a scenic view of Paris.

One day, Luka sensed Marinette felt sad. She explained it was because when setting up for Nathaniel's birthday party, Lila skipped the task of preparing party favours by promising to arrange a video session with his favorite manga artists, who also happened to be Marc’s fav artists.

Marinette didn’t mind the fact that Lila skipped another chore so much as she was raising Marc’s hopes.

But if she speaks out, people will think she is being mean.

Luka suggests that since she can’t tell her worries to her class, why not sing them to the world?

Coincidentally their bikes are parked near Notre Dame.

Marinette is nervous but agrees it is healthier to express her emotions.

And so she begins to sing in a sweet, angelic voice. Quiet compared to Clara Nightingale’s song, but it carried over the crowds and into their hearts.

I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there

I don't know if you will listen to a humble prayer

Yeah, crowds are starting to gather.

They tell me I am just an outcast, I shouldn't speak to you

Still I see your face, and wonder, were you once an outcast too?

Among them was Plagg. He’s a super immortal cat so he definitely heard Ladybug singing. He floated over, knowing Adrien would be busy with fencing for a while.

God help the outcasts, hungry from birth

Show them the mercy they don't find on Earth

Humans are cruel, even if they can be kind.

The lost and forgotten, they look to you still

But people still have hope.

God help the outcasts, or nobody will

Plagg felt empathy for Ladybug. She has so much on her shoulders. Some of her burden forced upon her by Master Fu. But while Ladybug was praised, Marinette was disbelieved when she voluntary tried to help. It’s not that dissimilar to Plagg’s reputation. People fear him but they forget that they ask for him to aid them in their wars or pestilence.

I ask for nothing, I can get by

But I know so many less lucky than I

God help the outcasts, the poor and downtrod

Marinette may have felt pity for others but what about herself? The others were being manipulated, but she was left alone to face her personal burdens.

I thought we all were the children of God

I don't know if there's a reason

Why some are blessed, some not

Why the few you seem to favor

They fear us, flee us, try not to see us

Humans can be so biased, so self-centered. Marinette is no exception but at least she tries.

God help the outcasts, the tattered, the torn

Seeking an answer to why they were born

Winds of misfortune have blown them about

Why did Plagg help the humans who cursed him? Why did Marinette help the class who took advantage of her and didn’t believe her?

You made the outcasts, don't cast them out

The poor and unlucky, the weak and the odd

I thought we all were children of God

We are not Jesus but we can try to follow his example. Show love instead of hate.

Plagg decided to help Marinette some more.

He’s the kwami of bad luck and whatever. Surely he can cause some nightmares. The class then began dreaming where a salty Marinette abandoned them because they chose Lila over her, and they realized how much they took her for granted.

Shocked by their nightmares, they felt guilty and decided to investigate the truth.

Truth comes out, and Lila ends up expelled after Alya furiously tells the principal her so-called disease is called compulsive lying! And if he doesn’t act mature for once then she’ll post the incident on her blog and let the public decide what they think of the Owl.

Oh, for the record, someone recorded Marinette singing and now she is asked to audition for La France a un incroyable talent

[mandoinevarro]

Deep into the Wilderness

Words: 4.7k (this was supposed to be short but, alas, i am an asshole) 

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, sex pollen :0, dubious consent (see: sex pollen), a bit of size kink ö, multiple orgasms :O, light descriptions of blood, magic nature if you’re in the mood, incredible coincidences if you’re not

a/n: i genuinely thought this would be a lil drabble :/, also fuck snakes all my homies hate snakes

There’s something wrong about the stars.

Nights in the Tatooine desert are usually dim and still, as stoic as the Mandalorian who’s been journeying across the endless dune sea with you in your little caravan of two. These past few days, you’ve noticed that the jagged difference between coarse sand and smooth beskar are no obstacle for his ability to blend perfectly into his surroundings. For days, you’ve seen the bounty hunter cruise the barren wilderness like he was born in it, climbing the mounds of sand leisurely and offering his hand when the treacherous ground gives in under your feet and you tumble forward. Ever the gentleman. Silent and observant, he tends to adapt to the elements around him and mimic their energy, until he becomes part of the landscape. Tonight is no different.

The normally scattered and shy desert stars have all gathered in a cluster right above your modest campsite, blinking down at you white and yellow and red against an electric blue sky, bright enough to spare the need of a fire. You feel watched. The stars’ ghoulish eyes above trail your every movement. Waiting to witness something.

Yes, a meek voice inside lies for you, it must be the stars, as you purposefully try to ignore the crushing weight of the Mandalorian’s trained gaze on you, much heavier than the strong beskared arm resting on your upright knee. The tube of bacta ointment moves awkwardly under your fingers and, Maker, you know it won’t be enough. The small holes on the wool covering his arm reveal two angry red pupils gushing blood where the snake’s fangs pierced him; pupils that stare amused at the medical salve that they know and you know and Mando knows will do little neutralize the unknown toxin. You sit so close to him you can hear the hitch of his breath when you pinch the tube and white balm oozes onto your finger.

“I—Mando, I-I think we should get help.” It doesn’t help your nerves that the man to your left hasn’t stopped staring at you since the ruby red viper appeared from under the sand like a conjuring, going straight for the Mandalorian’s arm and slithering back inside its hiding place beneath the dunes before either of you could react. It was unnatural; desert creatures tend to linger in the shadows and never attack unless provoked. Then again, everything about this particular evening—including the bounty hunter—seems to be slightly off, like when something in a familiar place is moved, but you can’t figure out exactly what.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the voice under the modulator scratches at a  lower register than usual, gruffier in a way that would excite you and warm your belly if you weren’t so worried about the liquid currently poisoning his bloodstream. It must be the pain. “Two days by foot to the nearest town. Just use the bacta.”

You gulp and nod as firmly as you can manage, trying to quiet the whisper saying that bacta won’t cut it this time as you get your finger closer to his arm. It’s strange that he asked for your help—the bite is right on the pulse point of his inner elbow, where he could easily do it himself. Maker, just focus. He must have had a good reason to ask you. Plus, you’re not about to miss the promise of even the slightest physical contact with the Mandalorian, even if the situation is not exactly as you’ve fantasized all these months.

Your finger presses lightly into one of the gaps, and with a bit more force when you hear a raggedy exhale leave him. The opening the snake left behind is too small for your finger, and most of the bacta gathers around its edges, while barely any gets to the wound.

“I, um…I need to cut it—t-the fabric,” you stutter and, stars, you sound like an idiot, getting nervous over applying balm when you’ve seen him cauterize his own injuries with a steady hand, much to your horror. You can feel the way his eyes feed from your words as they study you carefully, somehow strengthening the gravity pining you to the ground. A strange static crinkles in the air between you, so real you almost hear it, and for a moment you feel the weight of his stare move past your face, lower down your body. By the time he finally nods and signals towards the open medical kit with a tilt of his helmet, you’re warm all over.

Stretching your torso just the right amount so that his arm doesn’t slip from your knee, you reach straight for the scissors in front of you. Your fingers pinch the fabric to lift it while your other hand works the clippers, cutting with tiny snip-snip-snips that do little to fill the tense silence between you. Why it’s even tense to begin with is beyond you. Sure, Mando got bitten by some unknown creature that could potentially be lethal, but the invisible rope getting stretched from both ends more and more between your bodies has little to do with the mishap. Stars, it feels like it’s pulling you closer and pushing you apart at the same time, and the arm on your knee suddenly feels like it’s burning through your pants. What would happen, you muse as you crank your wrist, if the rope gave in?  

The scissors close their circuit, and you lift a small circle of cloth, leaving the clippers aside. It’s a little bigger than it needed to be, but the Mandalorian doesn’t complain when you properly apply bacta on the lesion, sitting like a statue with the visor shining dark blue at your face. The stars reflect distorted on his helmet with judging eyes, like they can hear your thoughts. Like they just know how being so close to the man you think about to warm cold nights is making your heart pump more blood that you need. To places that definitely don’t need it.

You raise your other hand and rest it on his bicep. It’s only to pull the sleeve a little higher. To give you more room to work. And it’s only with that touch that he flinches.

You immediately lift both hands. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry, does…does it hurt—?”

“—No.” Mando moves his good arm and grabs your hand roughly, bringing it to rest on his bicep once again. He clears his throat, unable to wash away the grainy strain on his voice. “No, it—it’s fine.” His large palm stays over yours for a moment, before pulling away slowly. Reluctantly.

You nod and continue your ministrations, massaging a little more bacta than necessary on the bite. Maker, you never want to stop touching him. The patch of olive skin burns hotter than the planet’s twin suns under your touch, and you feel under your other hand how every shift of your finger makes his bicep jump in response.

His flesh absorbs the ointment fast, and you’ve now covered even the surrounding area around the bite, so you lift your finger, a bit disappointed that your little moment of intimacy is over. Until you feel him tug at his end of the rope.

“Cut more,” he breathes, and you freeze before you can lift the hand off his arm, staring right at the visor with eyes round as moons.

“Cut—cut more? More cloth? Wh—”

“The venom will travel up my veins.” Mando’s voice is a little steadier, but it still doesn’t mask a strange tint of something that doesn’t sound quite like pain. “You need to check how far up it goes. If…if it goes into my chest…”

He doesn’t need to finish. You shuffle to your knees—a little clumsily because of the sand beneath—and let his arm fall to his side as you squeeze his strong bicep a little tighter. For support.

“Tell me when to stop.” The blades cut away at the fabric, revealing a vertical line of lovely skin with each snip. They go higher and higher, higher and higher, and it’s you who decides to stop when they almost reach his armpit. You rest the scissors next to your legs. The slit uncovers the upper half of his arm’s underside, and you can’t help it when one hand moves to rest on the pauldron and the other slips under the crevice to caress his skin.

Mando’s chest puffs with more air and moves quicker, and—fuck—he looks so broad like this. Sitting and injured, he still towers over you with the beskar and the mass of muscle beaten into him through years of fighting.

He could crush me. The idea pools hot in your core.

“What, uh, what am I looking for?” Your own voice is thick. It’s wrong, but you’re honest enough to admit it’s arousal.

“T-the veins.” You hear him gulp and imagine the apple on his throat bobbing up and down. “Feel around. Che—check if they’re protruding.” You comply, dragging your fingers up and down his burning, strong arm, getting caught up in how he tenses under your touch. He’s pulsing, sure enough, beating like a drum under your hand—you even manage to raise goosebumps when you give a test squeeze—but you can’t feel any veins.

“No.” The hunter exhales with relief and nods once, but his arm doesn’t follow, as it remains taut as wood. You don’t remove your hand. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into you.

An soft breeze raises a small cloud of sand and cools your face, whistling past you while it orders you to do it. “If it’s not pain,” you murmur, deciding it’s your turn to tense your end of the rope a little, “what do you feel?” You scratch your nails down his arm.

The gloved hand furthest away from you balls into a fist, clutching sand. “It—it, uh. It burns.” The words are dragged out and gritty, like they’re forcing their way out. He shivers and shuffles closer to you. “But—fuck—feels good. You—you feel good.” Encouraged, your nails sink into his flesh, testing the waters. Finally, it earns you a grunt, deep and rumbling its way between your thighs. In a split second, his arms fly to his shoulder, tugging at the cloak desperately, and you remove your hand from the opening to help him. It takes a few rough jerks, but the cloak eventually rips away from his pauldrons, and the Mandalorian throws it back. His hand travels to the side of his torso closest to you and signals. “Cut here.” He doesn’t offer an explanation this time.

Shit, you probably shouldn’t. But wetness is gathering around your folds and you’re not sure if you’ll actually get anywhere, but, Maker, you’re willing to try. Your hand is trembling when it finds the scissors next to you and you crouch slightly to cut away, eager and desperate to reveal more of the mysterious bounty hunter. This time, though, you don’t make a crevice, but instead cut a long rectangle from his waist to the side of his chest. You drop the scissors and the piece of fabric on top of the cloak and waste no time before your right palm crawls into the opening. Boiling skin welcomes your hand as it explores his naked torso, up a sturdy chest rising and falling rapidly, and back down again, savoring the sensation of soft skin over firm muscles flexing under your fingers. You stop at a trail of hair near his navel.

The Mandalorian growls. You scratch the hair lightly. The rope snaps.

Your hand slips outside when two hands grab your hips to lift you, setting you down to straddle Mando’s lap. You fall ungracefully, wobbling and grabbing at him to find your balance, until his steel arms wrap around your waist to press your chest to his. You grab his shoulders for support, and your warm breath clouds the beskar of his helmet. Your hips squirm unconsciously, making your core accidentally rub against something hard between the hunter’s legs. His grip on your back tightens and grinds you against him again, making him release a deep, primal moan against your ear. Fuck, you feel how hot liquid plops on your underwear as he ruts you against his erection, but somewhere in the back of your brain a puzzle solves itself in a snap and sends a pang of guilt to your chest.

“M-mando.” You sound whinier than you intended. “Mmando, I—I’ve heard about this, you’re poisoned, y-you don’t know what you’re d—”

“—Shut up,” he spits at you and pushes you roughly against him as a hand unwinds from your waist and wraps over your mouth. Your moans are muffled against his glove when a current shocks your body as your clit rubs just right over his bulge. You glance up at the stars, looking for guidance around the overwhelming pleasure threatening to break you, but they only stare back, burning brighter than before.

Suddenly, Mando pulls his hands away and pushes you off his lap. You fall back kneeling, worrying you’ve crossed a line somehow, but your anxieties disappear when you see him rip off his gloves and pull at your clothes hastily. You take the hint and help him undress you. The top garments he removes, but your underwear is ripped away and thrown to the side.

He whips around and finds his cloak, laying it on the sand and silently ordering with a finger to get on top. You shuffle on your knees until they reach the soft material, and—just when you’re about to turn around and beg him to touch you—the Mandalorian lifts the rectangle of cloth you cut away and wraps it around your eyes. Your vision gone but impossibly turned on, you feel his hands shove you back until you lay on the cloak.

Sand and hair tickle your face, and maybe it’s not the best idea to lay completely naked in the middle of a desert where you already know dangerous animals hide. The thought is quickly washed away by the heat of humid breath on your stomach. It throws you off for a moment, to feel a human gasp so clearly against your skin, but once you put two and two together the realization hits you so hard you slump limp on the ground.

The helmet…

You barely have time complete your thought. The Mandalorian climbs on top of you, a tuff of hair tickling your stomach. The trail of heat stops at your tits, where he takes a nipple into his mouth and bites down hard. You whimper to the sky.

“F-fuck, what—” He cuts you off when he laps at the injured nipple with fast, wide strokes of his tongue, before sucking hard on it. One palm holds down your chest, as the other comes up to squeeze your other breast, kneading and pulling the soft flesh like dough. You try to bite down your whimpers, but it’s too fucking much and they tumble outside urgent and needy.

Fuck, you should push him away. You both need to calm down before he forgets your body is attached to a living, breathing person and tears you apart. You—you—

The atmosphere seems to fall down on top of you when two thick fingers sink to the hilt inside your open hole effortlessly. You hum at the bliss while Mando’s wet tongue travels between your breasts, up your sternum, and leans into the curve of your throat, stopping only until it reaches your chin. You’re starting to cramp beneath him, trying to push down on his digits, but his body is too heavy over yours and fuck, fuck, you want him inside you.

His hand wraps around your cheeks and presses them together, making your mouth give in to the pressure and open up wide. His tongue—still salty with the taste of your own flesh—barges into the cave of your mouth and messily drags across its walls, your tongue, the roof, somehow everything at once with aimless movements that lack rhythm or pace.

And then his fingers start pumping. They start fast and hard and only get faster and harder, as they curl into a hook and hit something that makes you see the stars outside through the blindfold. Mando moans against your teeth, and you swallow every vibration.

“Yeah? T-there?” His mouth moves away from yours and trails the edge of your jaw, stopping at the edge and biting your neck. The two fingers working inside you push upwards to make room for a third one, and the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your clit up and down. Your scream echoes in the empty space of the sterile desert, now buzzing with life. “R-right there? Hm?” His voice hangs thick in the air, mixing with the loud static in your ears. Through the haze, you wonder momentarily what his face looks like right now. Probably red and sweaty, popping a vein or two.

“Fuck, I don’t k-know…I—I have to…” The Mandalorian removes all three fingers at once, making you yelp at the emptiness that they leave behind. Your pussy clenches a second too late and pulses around nothing, as you move in the darkness to find him again. You open your mouth to beg, but he grabs your shoulders before you can even gather some broken vocabulary together and he turns you around, pressing your chest and face against the cloak.

Resting your cheek on the cloak, you grunt at the abrupt change of position. Five fanned out fingers press down between your shoulder blades, restricting your movements and compressing all the air out of your lungs. You can’t breathe and you can’t wait, too stimulated to backpedal now, but not enough to be satiated.

An arm wraps around your midriff and roughly lifts your hips. You hear heavy breathing behind you and some incoherent mumbling, as a zipper lowers.  

Something round and smooth pokes at your entrance.

Is…is that…?

It definitely feels like the head of his cock as it runs up and down your folds gathering moisture. It even twitches a little against your clit and he’s grunting with every movement but…but even without your sight to help it feels so big. It can’t be his cock, in what universe would he be that fucking bi—

A grunt and a slight retrieval of his hips for impulse is all you get as a warning before he slams into you, lurching you forward. It knocks every single thought out your head, jamming what little air you’d managed to inhale on your trachea. The stretch bites, straining against your walls at an uncomfortable angle. And then he grinds further inside, deeply and hard as the bulbous head of his cock stimulates just about every nerve inside your pussy at once. You choke on your own cry, desperately trying to hold on to some sanity as you focus on processing the burst of pleasure that casts a dark shadow over the pain. The feeling secures every muscle on your body so tightly you think your spine is going to snap.

And he holds there, pulsing angrily and breathing down hot against your shoulders. You feel a slow trail of flames burn your insides with every strong sequence of thum-thum-thums of his thick cock against your walls.

Stars, did he cum?  Is that why he’s throbbing so violently, did he cum? It’s hard to tell when you’re so wet you’re sure you’re going to dehydrate tomorrow and fuck you only get wetter with the strumming and Maker you know the snake was poisonous but…but could he really want you this much?  

He sucks in a gulp of dusty air through his teeth, grunts and holds you tighter, his arm strong as beskar around your midriff and a burning palm pressing you against the cloak, sinking it deeper into the sand.

Finally, the Mandalorian pulls out with a grunt, your hips following his with a sucking sound because of the grip of your walls against his girth. He stops right before the tip slips out, its ridge catching on your opening. And maybe whatever venom running through his veins dissipated because he doesn’t move for a second that feels like an eternity. Fleeting disappointment surges inside you because maybe…maybe it was just the serpent. Maybe he doesn’t really want you. You are the only fuckable thing for miles, and you’ve heard enough about the toxin to imagine how desperate he’d be. Stars, you feel like such an idi—

Mando’s hips suddenly crash against yours, sinking himself to the hilt.

You feel him everywhere. Fucking everywhere, even where he isn’t. The fat cock hammering into you randomly with no pace or metric, seemingly determined to taste every inch inside your cunt takes most of your attention, but the hand on your back kneads and pulls the thin skin there as best as it can. You try to brace yourself against something solid—anything—but when your hands form fists they find only handfuls of sand, and the delicate particles do nothing to steady you from the animalistic thrusts of the Mandalorian.

So you moan, long and high to try and release all the pleasure stockpiling inside of you with no exit routes. Mando answers with grunts all the way down in his glottis. A deep and angled snap of his hips hits you somewhere electrifying, and you feel something hot and liquid knot your pelvic muscles tighter. His skin slaps against yours obscenely, paired with the squelching of your pussy trying to engulf him deeper and deeper in spite of his size.

“T-take it,” you hear him growl behind you. Barely. Your ears ring and you can’t even listen to your own whimpers anymore. His length keeps coming, restless and infinite and fuck, you need to focus on something else, something outside to keep your head from slipping away. “Just—just f-fucking take me whole, you—"

Fuck, focus. Focus, count to ten, do something—

You grit your teeth and you can’t even warn him. Something drops into your pelvic muscles and you swear you can see the blue desert sky in a flash behind your eyelids and feel the blinking stars prickling the nerve endings on your back, making you spasm desperately. Your head spins, and you only feel pleasure. Only him.

Still half-passed out from your release, you hear it before you feel it. The wet sound contrasting the dry dunes of how he keeps using your cunt to get himself off. He’s not letting you come down, fall to the natural next step of your cycle and relax. Breathe. No, he keeps filling every last inch of you, faster now with the help of the additional wetness and holds you in that state of euphoria that keeps hitting you like a tide. Shit, are you cumming again?

“F-fuck—fuck—d-did you—ngh—cum? W-was that—” Another wave hits you and you clamp down mercilessly around him before he can get an answer. His long moan gets you wetter somehow, and you can’t even savor it before the strong forearm holding your waist pulls you upright against him.

Up is down as you try to figure out in the darkness where your body ended up. Something slumps behind you and pulls you down with it hard against the cushioning of the sand. You find yourself impaled on the Mandalorian’s cock, his chest to your back. He bends and opens his legs to grab yours, pulling them back and hooking them around his cuisses. Propped up with most of your weight on Mando’s hips, your feet barely graze the cloak below them.

You reach up to touch him but he beats you to it, wrapping his arms around your torso and grabbing the surely bruising skin of your tits. Your eyes roll back and you try you best to keep your head above the water, which proves incredibly difficult when you feel his lips on your jaw, his drool trailing down your neck. You turn your head and he doesn’t miss a beat before his tongue slips between your lips, tasting and exploring and almost drinking from you like you’re water in he’s been stranded in this desert for years.

Mando thrust up at you, resuming his senseless fucking. And maybe you’re a little greedy. Maybe it’s wrong, especially because you don’t have an excuse to act like this, but you roll down into his cock, wanting him everywhere and for as long as you can get him. His thrusts are almost impossible to meet and his thickness catches at your opening, but you work diligently—determined to have him buried as deeply as he wants to go. The beskar of his chest trembles against your shoulders with a vibrating, noiseless moan.

“You—you pretty t-thing,” he breathes lowly against your mouth. You grab his knees for support and push down harder. “I’ve want—wanted this—w-wanted you f-for so—so long.” He bites your lower lip. His voice sounds delirious.

Maker, it’s ridiculous. You’re bouncing your pussy on his stiff cock like an animal in heat, but his words warm your chest more than your core. You know it’s probably the poison talking, but you indulge in it. You let your hand cradle his cheek and bring your lips sweetly against his, pretending you’re his lover and not just a vessel for his release. He gasps into the kiss.

It’s with your lips that he finally lets go. It happens midthrust, so his cum spurts out of you and dribbles down his cock. It smears on your folds and, surely, on the cloak beneath. Stars, you’re shaking. Your legs spasm with the promise of another orgasm that almost—almost happened. Still holding you, Mando pulls out, and the rest of his seed spills on wool and sand.

What now? If not the sweat and the fucking, then his release surely evacuated the venom by now. The Mandalorian pants behind you, just as spent and exhausted, and what the hell are you supposed to say to each other now? You squirm uncomfortably at the dilemma, and your slit accidentally drags against something upright beneath you. Mando winces at the contact.

Maker, is he still hard? How—?

Fingers dig into your arms and force you forward and away from him. You fall on top of the cloak, barely pillowing your fall with your forearms before you feel the Mandalorian turning you around to face him.

You lay open below him, ruined and confused in the darkness as to what he’s planning for you next. Your clit pulses with equal parts arousal and apprehension at the uncertainty, but it decides for the former when you feel him dip his fingers in your entrance and scoop his cum and yours. The sound of him pumping himself faster and faster is muffled by his moaning. It’s filthy gibberish: loose words of everything he’s dreamt about doing to you; of how he’s going to fuck you over and over again; of how you’re going to take every drop of him; of how good it’s going to be for you.

Four fingers land on your clit and work it wetly up and down. A whine escapes you and you’re so sensible it almost hurts and your head swims and he’s still talking but there’s something…something sincere about his words. Something that hides beneath the frantic movements against your bud that feels almost reverent. Like the snake’s toxin only lifted a veil, revealing the Mandalorian’s pent up lust and primal instincts below his layers of unyielding discipline.

“S-so, so fucking good for me, so—"

You cry out when your walls tighten around nothing with powerful contractions, deciding at some point of the frenzy that consumes you that you’ll take advantage of this queer land and the limbo its night has thrown both of you into. Deciding you’ll let the Mandalorian explore his more primitive urges and fuck you into tomorrow, whatever “tomorrow” may mean for your relationship with him.

The sound of him fucking his hand quickens and you hear it closer to your body. You can’t tell exactly where.

“I—I—gonna c-cum.” His voice tightens in his throat. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” you answer breathlessly, and you mean it.

[sbnkalny]

First day of waitressing for once, so I gave a homeless man rising to His or her lifetime, but most of the jokes will go over

gensnorist